Last weekend Sam, Craig and myself were able to get through a Tararua Moonlight Southern Crossing. I wrote about an aborted attempt to do this jut over a year ago Craig and I were ready to go, but pulled out because it looked certain that the Tararuas would still be shrouded in cloud. A big storm was also coming 24 hours later that could have caused problems if we’d been held up for too long, and it proved to be really bad for a couple of people on the night following the one we planned. That was my first boycotted Moonlight Southern Crossing, and Craig’s third. There’s a tricky set of circumstances that have to come together, and at that point it’s necessary to be able to pick up and go on short notice.

This year, a departing southerly had dumped snow on the tops a day or so earlier, the stormy weather had since passed by, the sky was suspiciously clear (as opposed to clouds that so often dominate the Tararuas), and there was a Full Moon. All of these requirements for a Moonlight Southern Crossing came together at the same time, which is a rare event, and to top it off it was a weekend! And waiting on the road upstairs to be collected at 1pm on the Saturday, I had a phone call where Craig told me his car wouldn’t start. Flat battery.

Dates: 24th – 25th July, 2010
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Otaki Forks to Kaitoke.
People: Sam, Craig and me.
Huts visited: Field Hut (0 nights), Kime Hut (0 nights), Alpha Hut (0 nights)
Route: Otaki Forks up to Field Hut, past Table Top and Dennan to Kime Hut, over Field Peak, Hector, the Beehives, Atkinson, Aston, and Alpha to Alpha Hut, then through Hells Gate to Omega and allllllll the way along Marchant Ridge past Marchant and Dobson, then out at Kaitoke. (Actually out at Kiwi Ranch for our own convenience, which is next-door.)
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I find this type of thing notoriously difficult to pack for, because it’s not something i do very often. The Tararaua Southern Crossing is typically a 3 day tramp, but with some effort and fitness it’s feasible to walk it in a long summer’s day, or (in this case) a long winter’s night, albeit using some basic alpine skills. It helps a lot to reduce weight but I don’t like leaving behind safety equipment in the Tararuas, ever, or generally in back-country places. In the end we all took sleeping bags and bivy bags in case of emergency (but didn’t bother with a tent or any other kind of shelter), and I left behind a few luxuries like extra hut clothes and a ground sheet, and the food was much more biased towards lunch-type stuff. I threw in a few Moro bars purely for caffeine content. I think maybe I saved a few kilograms, even if it was hard to tell after a while. Adding the ice axe after all of this didn’t help with the weight thing, though.

Craig leaves Otaki Forks.

Fortunately Craig managed to get his car running with the help of a friendly neighbour, and having left town an hour later than planned, we were writing in the intentions’ book at Otaki Forks at about 4pm, all ready to leave. This meant a late afternoon start up to Field Hut. We were joking about how Craig was going to get his car back to town later — I’d informally agreed to drive him back to Otaki Forks the next day… maybe fairly late in the day, or on Monday evening after work. As we joked across the field near the junction leading off to Waitewaewae, a lone figure approached us on the way down from Field Hut. Sam and I were busy joking about how we should ask this person to drive Craig’s car back… would Craig trust a random person? Well, it turned out Craig did trust this random person, because as he got closer it turned out to be Spencer — a friend through the trampey club — and we not only trusted him but he was more than happy to drive Craig’s car home for him. Spencer had been up past Kime Hut during the day, but turned around after encountering some slippery conditions earlier in the day, not having wanted to keep going through that on his own. He’d not been able to get the door of Kime Hut open, which was frozen shut. Things may have changed through the afternoon, though, and although we’d not packed crampons we did have ice axes. We’d just have to go up and see what things were like — the opportunity was far too great to not try at all.

We waved goodbye to Spencer and continued on. With the crisp clear skies, and actually being a day before the real Full Moon, we saw the nearly full disc of the Moon above the eastern horizon as we climbed Judd Ridge. During our ascent as the Moon climbed higher, the Sun set in a brief wash of bright yellow and orange light through the leaves.

We made it most of the way to Field Hut by about 6.25pm, almost without torches but succumbing to their use in the last few minutes as the shadows under the trees became too dark to walk safely. Nobody was staying at the hut, which seemed surprising on the first weekend of really nice weather for a while. I wrote a brief note about our plans in the hut book, we re-filled water bottles, and immediately (but too late) discovered the water was contaminated with yucky toxins. Thanks a lot all you annoying people who burn your toxic rubbish in the fire places instead of carrying it out. What happens, of course, is the residue settles on the hut’s roof and runs into the water supply, so we basically had yucky barbecue water.

Looking down on the cloud
from near Table Top.

Anyway, it was too late to worry. Our water bottles remained full in case it was difficult to find later on. There would probably be tarns here and there, but chances are the tap at Kime would be frozen over by now. A short walk further up, and suddenly we were above the bush-line approaching Table Top, looking down on the clouds trapped in the valleys below us. There was still not much snow, the tussock was well frosted over. Things gradually changed as we climbed further past Bridge Peak, and by the time things flattened out the snow was more wide-spread. We mostly avoided the established ground trail at this point, which tended to be covered in ice and not as easy to walk on. Walking beside it through the tussock was fine, though. At 8.45pm we reached the sign-post on Hut Mound that claims Kime Hut is 15 minutes away. As Sam expressed, it’s about the fastest 15 minutes ever because by this time Kime Hut is an easy 5 minutes below, and that’s how long it took us.

Sam operates on the door latch.

The door was frozen shut, which is exactly what Spencer had warned us about earlier. With a closer look it turned out to be the bolt on the door that was the main problem, and the ice around the bolt was no match for Sam with an ice axe and a few minutes of careful sculpting. It was about lunch time by this point, and we pulled out some lunch-time snacks.

Kime actually felt warm inside at first, very unusual. Its reputation as a refrigerator is deserved. Thinking backwards I think the warmth was an illusion, with me having warmed up from the movement in getting here. With ten minutes of sitting down eating my solidified caffeine, I was definitely feeling the cold. As expected, the tap was frozen at Kime so I kept my toxic barbecue water. As Craig and I left, Sam kicked a hole through the ice in a small tarn (maybe a puddle) outside Kime Hut, and re-filled his bottle, but I was already wanting to get moving and warm up far too much to stop and unpack again. Sam caught up after a few minutes.

A very bright planet Venus hung in the western sky behind us as we left Kime to ascent Field Peak, and the Southern Cross sat roughly ahead of us. By now the Moon was fairly high in the sky and lighting our way, with no need whatsoever for torches. There was less snow that we expected, but the ground and was completely iced over. As we moved through the landscape, hundreds to thousands of glittery silver reflections of the Moon shimmered all over the ground around us.

Craig on Mt Hector.

The first slight awkwardness was really getting down the South Face of Field Peak, probably because the southerly would have left more snow on the southern sides of everything. As before we could still stick to the tussock for the most part, which provided much more stable support than the iced-over ground trail for shuffling down-wards. By 10.30pm, an hour after leaving Kime Hut, we stood at the memorial cross on top of Mt Hector that was placed by tramping clubs of Wellington to commemorate trampers and mountaineers who died during the Second World War. Icily-lit outlines of the nearby lower peaks and ridges surrounded us. Light claggy cloud wafted around and above, but still allowed through enough moonlight to let us see ghosts of the surrounding landscapes. Apart from the noise we made shuffling through the tussock, the air was

We sat for a while on Mt Hector.

Getting down the south face of Hector was similar to the south face of Field Peak, generally okay. I think the trickiest section was making our way over both sides of the Beehives, through which there were a couple of short zones where it was necessary to balance on rock covered in black ice. On one occasion I just went down a couple of metres in a controlled slide, which seemed the easiest way to go. The ice axes helped a lot here and I’m glad we brought them with us.

From there on we were at a lower elevation, the air around us was once again clear of any kind of clag, and the ridge-line was more flattened out. With less slow and less steep regions, slipping became less of a concern. For much of the rest of the night, however, I still had my ice axe out simply to use the spike for support, not wanting to completely trust the rocky parts of the track ahead. The snow, on the other hand, was fairly gritty and easy to walk on.

Craig waits on Aston Peak.

At 1.30am we sat on Aston, signposted as 2 hours from Alpha Hut and still surrounded by iced-over tussock. Venus was long gone over the western horizon by now, and to our left (later to be in front of us), another bright object which I presumed to be Jupiter was rising. The southern cross was now nearly standing on its head, having rotated nearly a third of the way around its celestial pole during the past 6 or 7 hours. We sat here for a while, not feeling especially motivated to get up and move quickly. Within about 15 minutes or so, however, we were up and on our way. Alpha Peak was clearly visible in the distance, chaperoned by a long Quoin Ridge leading down to the Hutt River. Behind it was a set of lights from somewhere out in the plains of the Wairarapa. Probably somewhere like Martinborough, but we didn’t check to be sure.

It still took us an hour to cover that distance, and by now the Moon was clearly beginning to fall from its high point in the sky. To the north-east I could see the constellation of Orion beginning to skim the northern horizon. I usually associate Orion with the summer night sky, and it’s unusual (for me at least) to see it in the winter like this. With it rising another 4 minutes earlier ever night, however, I guess it will be high in the sky during mid-evening by the time summer comes around. Sitting on Alpha Peak in the moonlight, I kicked a hole through the ice in a puddle, briefly considering replacing my toxic barbecue water that I’d been sipping since we left Field Hut, but decided not to when the murky mud surfaced amongst my access point through what had previously been a settled and shiny iced-over water point. Alpha Hut wasn’t too far away. Still, we briefly considered simply pulling out the bivy bags and sleeping bags and spending the night up on Alpha Peak. The conditions were perfect for it.

Fifteen minutes down from Alpha Peak, at 3.15am, we reconvened at the bush-line, a relatively short distance from Alpha Hut, which we reached about 10 minutes later. Craig quietly opened the door for a peek inside, as we didn’t want to disturb any inhabitants, but he soon declared that nobody was home and so we took some liberty in entering and relaxing for a while. I have to admit I was surprised that on a Saturday night during a weekend with the first near-perfect weather in some time for both a Saturday and Sunday in succession, we didn’t meet anyone in any of these three huts. I’d have thought there might be a few people getting up to the tops for the weekend. Perhaps they were all outside walking around in the moonlight as we were. From here we’d be leaving the tops, and heading down-hill on our way out. Feeling the need for some caffeine, I ate another Moro bar.

It was 4am by the time we left, needing to either stop properly or get moving, because it was increasingly cold just sitting around. The eastern direction from Alpha Hut leads through a dip called Hells’ Gate. I’ve been through it before on a Saturday afternoon in nice weather, having come up from Cone Hut and Bull Mound. At that time I didn’t really notice it as much more than a dip into a saddle followed by a climb, and I guess I was expecting something similar this time. Unfortunately this expectation was not quite so realistic when approaching the same section on the back of 12 hours of walking, and having had no sleep for 19 hours and counting. It just dropped and dropped, there was tree-fall, slippery areas, and it kept dropping steeply, and then we finally began to climb again. This took well over an hour, and at 5.25am we finally sat next to the DoC signpost at the top of the eastern side of the saddle, ready to head down Marchant Ridge.

I’ve never been along Marchant Ridge before, but it has a strong reputation that precedes it. The first time I visited Alpha Hut, page after page of the hut book was full of people declaring they’d experienced their worst tramp ever, or wasted a day of their life. John Pascoe, a well known mountaineer (and critic of the Tararuas) declared in his 1952 book “Land Uplifted High” that Marchant Ridge is up-hill in both directions. He may well have lifted this quote from the talk of the day — as Craig noted at the time we visited, the ridge has no less than 8 officially recognised spot-heights along it. I think the most potentially demoralising part of Marchant Ridge may be that it carries on for such a long distance just below the tree-line, ensuring that views of the surrounding landscape are limited, and ensuring that little progress is made in actually getting down.

Marchant Ridge is heavily walked because it’s the primary way into or out of the Tararua Southern Crossing — an honour that would likely have gone to the much nicer Quoin Ridge next-door if the Wellington Regional Council hadn’t usurped Quoin Ridge as part of an official water catchment zone, and limited access accordingly, completely preventing it for many decades and even now only allowing people to pass through without stopping.

I don’t want to sound too critical of Marchant Ridge. This visit beginning at 5am having had no sleep for almost a day was my first visit, and I was beginning to feel really tired, especially after Hells’ Gate. Thinking objectively though, it wasn’t really that bad. It’s a nice bush walk, and I think if some time I visited Marchant Ridge for some kind of Marchant Ridge Appreciation Tramp, I might find a lot of things to like about it. For one thing, given how the ridge spends so much time just below the bush-line, there’s a lot of walking through mossy goblin forest. Somehow Marchant Ridge reminded me of the times I’ve visited Nelson Lakes, in the sense that you can walk for a really long time and very little actually changes. If you’re the kind of person with a short attention span, then perhaps it’s not for you.

Signs of sunrise, 7.02am.

Anyway, Craig stepped in a hole somewhere near the beginning, aggravating a knee injury, and so we had a lot of time to take it in for what it was. Under the circumstance, feeling so tired, I was personally starting to wish Marchant Ridge would hurry up let us head down-hill so I could at least feel as if we were getting somewhere. Somehow this changed from about 7am onwards. The Sun began to rise, and suddenly it was daytime. We didn’t need head-torches any more, and I guess a switch flipped over in my brain telling me I didn’t need to feel tired any more. It was a new day, after all, and I’d usually be awake by this time. The objective part of my mind told me that this effect would likely wear off about mid-afternoon, at which point I might just collapse. We should be out by then.

Marchant Ridge has a few officially maintained side tracks that lead down to the Tauherenikau River. We passed the first of these off the first spot-height, called Omega (1118), and it’s a direct way down to Tutuwai Hut. The second, which we passed at about 7.15am, is known as the Block XVI (ie. Block 16) track, which retains its name from the days when tracks were named after the numbered segments into which the range was divided. I’m not sure what the reasoning is for the Block XVI track — on the map, it’s like a track designed to go from nowhere in particular (an anonymous point in a ridge with exit points on either side) to nowhere else really special. I may walk it some time to see where I end up, but at this time there’s not much motivation to walk 2/3 of the way along Marchant Ridge simply to go down again. I’m sure there’s a good reason why it’s still officially there, rather than having devolved into an interesting off-track navigation or hunting route as has happened with so many other old tracks.

Sam in one of the fire-affected
parts of Marchant Ridge.

Maybe one of the nicer things about Marchant Ridge, at least as I write this, is how the trees open up for a while, notably around Marchant Peak. The cleared section of the ridge is covered in regrowth but it’s not high enough to block the sunlight or obscure views. Apparently this is at least in part due to a major fire along the ridge some time ago. Maybe some frustrated exhausted person decided they’d try to burn the ridge down? I wouldn’t be too surprised. As we continued along the relatively open section of ridge during the clear and crisp mid-morning (now about 9.30am), we could easily see the basin of the Hutt Valley ahead of us, completely shrouded in very low and reflective fog. Behind it in the far distance, the towering snow-covered shape of Mt Tapuae-o-Uenuku stood up from its location in the Inland Kaikoura Range of the South Island. It’s often visible from Wellington, but I don’t remember having seen it as dominant as this from the North Island. I guess it’s the altitude we were at that helped.

The Hutt Valley, Tapuae-o-Uenuku behind on the left.

Eventually the track leaves the main part of Marchant Ridge, veering south (from south-west heading downwards) as the structure of the spurs becomes more messy. It’s here that the elevation actually begins to drop, finally. At about 11.30am, we arrived at the track junction at the top of Dobson’s Loop, where an alternative track leads down to Smith Creek Shelter, and finally I was in a place where I’d been before. By now it was about 11.30am, and we were starting to think about how to get away from the dead end of Kaitoke. A taxi was the best bet for us, so we called ahead from here, intending to be down at the road within about an hour. (Hutt and City Taxis would get us from Kaitoke to the Upper Hutt Railway Station for about $50, which isn’t bad when split between three people.) Rather than go the full distance to the dead-end of Marchant Road, where teenagers burn out their cars on Friday nights, we decided to drop off to Kiwi Ranch. Kiwi Ranch is a Youth Camp, which incidentally will let people park their cars in a more secure area for a small fee. Even better, there’s an un-signposted (but very obvious) track that leaves the main track, about 10 minutes from the main road-end, and drops straight into Kiwi Ranch. Very handy.

Sam waits.

It turned out that in the state we were in, an hour wasn’t nearly enough time to get down to the road from the top of the Dobson Loop. Fortunately there’s still very good Vodafone reception from near Puffer Saddle, and we were able to call back and postpone the collection time for another hour. Finally, at around 1.15pm, we stepped out into the sunshine on the main driveway of Kiwi Ranch, with about another half hour to spare before our ride showed up.

And that was it. Tararua Moonlight Southern Crossing completed. Overall it took us 21 hours from start to finish, of which my GPS thinks we spent about 13 hours actually moving. This was about 4 or 5 hours longer than we’d anticipated, having expected to be walking out at around 8am or so, but that was fine. It was a nice day, and to be honest I just felt like sleeping. If and when I do it again, I think I’ll bring crampons. They’d not have been any use on this occasion, so we were lucky, but it was clear once we were there that had there been more snow than there was, there would have been several slopes that could have been tricky to cross, especially in the vicinity of Hector and on either side.

I guess I still haven’t grasped the main driving motivation behind walking a Moonlight Southern Crossing. I’m really glad I’ve done it, nevertheless. There are recurring stories of people doing this in the past, and it’s something for which the opportunity is quite rare with the combination of recent snow, calm clear weather, and a Full Moon. If the opportunity comes up and there’s an interest and ability, it’s best to grab it while it’s available as long as it can be done safely. Getting over the tops through the glittering snow in moonlight was a novel experience for me. On the other hand, it’s not as if it’s necessary to walk a Southern Crossing overnight to see snow glittering in moonlight. We could have simply gone up to Kime, walked around in circles in some kind of awe at 2am, and walked down again the following morning. The transport would have been easier, too. Maybe one of the rewards for me is also that I managed to get some new red line, never having walked a full Southern Crossing in the Tararuas before now. I guess if someone asks me from now on, I could say “yes, but not during the day”.

I’ll have to walk a Southern Crossing during the day some time and see what I’ve missed out on. Maybe I’ll also go back and take a better look at Marchant Ridge, without the lingering problem of it just being a frustratingly long conclusion to something else.

In some ways this rescue wasn’t very interesting. It barely made the news at all. It was reported very briefly in the DomPost, not even giving an approximate location, but reporting the GPS failure. A press release from the Life Flight Trust (duplicated here) adds a few more details, but wasn’t picked up and analysed by any popular media outlets that I can find. Also being a press release from the helicopter operator, its main focus is that they rescued people with their helicopter rather than explaining why those people needed rescuing.

The mention of “deep snow” in the Alpha Hut area means they were probably coming over from Aston (on the Tararua Southern Crossing route) or around Quoin Ridge in the water catchment zone. From reports it’s unclear exactly why there was a problem, if the two of them intended to be out overnight, or even if they’d actually requested a rescue or if it was just lack of information that resulted in the decision to send a helicopter. If a message had not gone out, maybe they would have simply reached Alpha Hut, or just had a night out walking around in circles in calm but cold weather. Such things happen, but usually go unreported.

From informal chats I think what happened is that in attempting a Tararua Southern Crossing, they took a wrong turn at Alpha Peak earlier in the day, apparently not having a proper map or anything, and went down Quoin Ridge instead of towards Alpha Hut. Then the Sun went down. From the result it sounds as if they were probably not carrying their own shelter, and relying on reaching Alpha Hut that night for their safety (see The Hut Fallacy).

I found this story interesting because of how the GPS was mentioned. I’ve also met at least three people now who heard the news and independently expressed similar feelings. The implication from the reports is that the failure of the GPS was a key factor in causing the rescue. I’m not sure this can ever be the case, though, because a GPS isn’t the kind of tool that it should ever be necessary to rely on if other preparations have been made.

It’s sad how the media machine can simplify a story like this, through no intent of anyone specific but by how it operates, republishing information and then simplifying it to fit in small spaces. Irrespective of what actually happened in this case, the worst thing is how the presentation could just reinforce impressions that anyone might already have that a GPS makes things safe, and that it’s perfectly acceptable to assume one can send a text message from a cell-phone and expect a helicopter rescue to be called out when a GPS fails. It’s the same kind of media simplification that suggested a cell-phone would have saved a couple of unfortunate people about a year ago (see this specific example from Newstalk ZB) when really there were a plethora of reasons that added together. In that case it essentially came down to bad preparation and some dreadful decisions. The cellphone factor was almost a completely irrelevant red herring, but for a while was pushed to the front of many media reports, probably because it simplified things in terms with which more readers were familiar, reinforcing whatever false beliefs readers may have already had.

Sometimes I think the reported messages are irrationally harsh on those being rescued, to the extent that people can get called idiots or stupid even if they were mostly well prepared and did 99% of things right but just made a silly mistake that resulted in a high profile rescue. Maybe rescuers have been quoted out of context or in the heat of the moment, or are just trying to take advantage of any media attention to get another safety message published through the media lens (although to be fair there are a lot of people rescued who’ve done some pretty idiotic stuff). This time it’s the opposite. Nobody’s out there denouncing the two rescued people as morons (which I think is good), but there’s also a very skewed presentation of what the actual problem was. If anything it could only lead to a worse understanding of what happened, and how to avoid it happening to others in future. If that’s all that’s going to be printed in an outlet like the DomPost, it probably would have been better for everyone that it didn’t get printed at all.

A few times now, I’ve wondered just how many degrees of separation there are between people who visit New Zealand’s back-country. Maybe a few people know nearly everyone, and the whole network is very closely connected. Maybe there are geographically localised networks.

Dates: 12th – 13th June, 2010
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Walls Whare Road-end.
People: Steve, Megan B, Hans, Christine, Kevin and me.
Huts visited: Totara Flats Hut (1 night)
Planned route: Up past Cone Saddle, over Cone and down to Neill Forks for Saturday night. Then back up and around Totara Flats, back towards the road.
Actual route: Straight to Totara Flats for Saturday night, up over Cone and back to start.
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We chased rainbows through the roads of the Wairarapa, and rain finally began to come down on us as we arrived in the parking area at the road-end of Walls Whare. There’s a nice camping area here, but it’d be somehow silly to use it this time given we were arriving at around 9.30am on a Saturday morning. Being a trip organised on behalf of our trampey club, our group consisted of Steve, myself, Megan, Hans, Christine and Kevin — a chap who mostly goes out with the Alpine Club whom Christine had managed to rope in on short notice. Apart from Christine, none of us had met Kevin before, but going tramping with people is a great way to meet people.

Our intent was to get in to Neill Forks Hut for the evening, which I was looking forward to because I haven’t been there before. We shared our van with another trampey club group of people coordinated by Megan S, and their idea was just to walk to Totara Flats alongside the river, stay for the night and walk back. As we drove up a couple of TTC members were about to leave, taking a retired Search and Rescue dog for a walk in to Tutuwai and back to Cone. This was good weather for tramping, despite the rain setting in.

As often happens, I took a little while to get my things sorted, and eventually found myself running over the swing bridge that crosses the Waiohine Gorge, flapping around as I sorted out my pack, camera now firmly attached. The others were waiting on the far side, having been away from the van two or three minutes before myself. We all left the far side as soon as I arrived, heading along the relatively obvious track and hoping to soon be at Cone Saddle. I had a strange moment there glancing at the end of the bridge, wondering if maybe everything wasn’t quite right. It was just a little rain . . . great tramping weather. As the minutes wore on, we discovered that Kevin wasn’t so unknown to us after all. Soon after we left, Hans had an enlightened moment where he exclaimed something like “ah, you’re that Kevin”. It turns out they’d anonymously come across each other a few weeks ago.

Within twenty or thirty minutes we’d spread out somewhat. It wasn’t a bad track, actually, gentle sidle above the Waiohine moving in and out of the trees and with the occasional view out over the Waiohine below. That was the problem, actually, and maybe why something hadn’t seem quite right. We weren’t going up, and surely we shouldn’t be anywhere near the Waiohine at all.

Kevin, Christine and I found and consulted each other near the back of the group, wondering if there was something wrong. Pulling out and checking a map, it became apparent that yeah, we certainly shouldn’t be where we were. Oops. A minute or two of continuing and we soon caught up with the others, who were having similar thoughts. This was certainly a problem, and it was about now I had one of those enlightening “ah yeah” moments, during which memories flooded back of the three previous times I’ve been to Cone Saddle. On every one of those occasions, the track went straight up a spur leading directly off the end of the bridge. The most recent time hadn’t even been that long ago. Some quickly performed in-the-head logic suggested that the track junction we were after would probably have been exactly where it was a year previously, which was more or less where we’d started from. Somehow we’d wandered off the end of the massive Waiohine Gorge swing bridge and missed a major junction.

As an aside, I’d like to note that some people would call this a “navigation” error, and possibly even an idiotic and embarrassing one. I wouldn’t. If you never tried to navigate, it can’t possibly be a navigation error, after all. If anything it was just a small mis-judgement of vectors that mis-placed us a little. Consequently instead of directing ourselves towards Cone Saddle and eventually Cone Peak (which should have been more vertically inclined), we were gracefully sidling towards Totara Flats.

Our first order of business was to decide how to avoid embarra creating disorientation and confusion for other groups of people enjoying the range. Obviously back-tracking to walk straight into Megan S’s group behind us was out of the question — they would have been very confused, possibly even dying of confoundedness on seeing us re-appear. Assessing our situation, we could probably divert up an alternative route to Cone Saddle, the base of which we’d yet to reach, but it’d be a big diversion that would take longer. In the end we decided to press on to Totara Flats, and possibly continue up and around the long way to Neill Forks Hut if we had time. Even if we stayed at Totara Flats, we’d have a while to get our story figured out before Megan and co showed up.

Kevin and Megan at Makaka Creek.

Pleasant Tararua rain continued to fall, but not so much as to flood the side creeks and prevent us from getting to our newly chosen destination. We wore raincoats, but were also under trees in general. Exposure to wetness was only average for the Tararuas. Good tramping precipitation. The route this way towards Totara Flats has at least a couple of significantly sized side-creeks that may flood dangerously — Clem Creek and Makaka Creek (aka Long Flat Creek), although neither was very full at this point. The main Waiohine River was high enough, however, for us to decide on the high water route around the slip two thirds of the way along. Having a hill to climb was rather a nice change, even if it was only for a short distance. The far side of the slip leads into a third creek on the southern end of Totara Flats, unnamed as far as I know, which is also prone to flooding and I’ve seen it in the past in a state which I wouldn’t enter it, but today, as we found on reaching it at about 12.30pm (three hours after starting), it was still perfectly crossable.

Totara Flats, and the site of the (newer)
old hut towards the back left.

We eventually drifted along the approximately 2.5 kilometre length of pretty river flats, sparkling with lively grasses and generally photogenic as places often are in the rain. The site of the old Totara Flats Hut lies part way along here, towards the back of the flats in a raised section. It was moved a few years back due to a determined flooding risk, I think, and is now reduced to a few sheets of corrugated iron left in the trees. The area now seems to make a popular campsite, being raised above the rest of the flat. The naming and positioning of Totara Flats Hut can be confusing when comparing different maps. Some maps label the now-missing hut as the “new Totara Flats” hut, as it was new when it was built as recently as the 1970s. The really new (and current) Totara Flats hut is back where the very old Totara Flats hut used to be, a few hundred metres further north, opposite the confluence between the Waiohine and Totara Creek, and very close to the bridge over the Waiohine. Some maps still label the location as the “old” Totara Flats hut, including the map on my GPS which is based on late-1990s data from LINZ.

Hans and Megan arriving.

Within a minute or two of us walking into Totara Flats Hut, the rain started persisting down with real cats and dogs force. Perhaps it was just the verandah amplifying the rain. Still, overall, a good Tararua day and great tramping weather. We’d walked in at about the same time as a trio of people from the Hutt Valley Tramping Club, who’d come from the Holdsworth Road end, and had a chatter with them. It turned out Kevin knew a couple of them really well through the alpine club.

By now it was lunch time, but we still needed to decide what to do from here, and if necessary get our story figured out before the others showed up. Being situated in a large cosy hut like Totara Flats with rain hammering on the corrugated plastic roof does strange things to people’s judgement which are sometimes difficult to understand. Weighing the prospects of staying against the prospects of continuing towards Neill Forks, possibly walking the final hour in the dark (being a week or so before the shortest day and everything), we elected to sacrifice travel in the good tramping rain and remain here for the night. Kevin’s declaration that he’d been to Neill Forks a few weeks before, and that it was a dank and soppy hole in the ground, or something to that effect, sealed the deal. His description reminded me of an entry I’d seen in the book at Powell Hut on the late Saturday morning of a few weeks before, of a group that’d left to go up Holdsworth in yucky weather before heading down to Neill Forks. Okay, so he was that Kevin, as I confirmed with him. I guess you quite often run into the same people in the hills.

With the decision now made, I quickly snatched my favourite Totara Flats bunk, which is the top level bunk next to the window overlooking the Waiohine River. Last time I was here I’d spent some time gazing out the window waiting to see a large tree or two floating past. That had been great Tararua tramping weather, too. This time we’d not had as much rain as last time.

Kevin and Christine fighting
with a crossword.

Steve also hovered towards the bunk room, but in his case it was to hide himself away in his sleeping bag for a snooze. We waited and waited for Megan S’s group to show up, and as time went on Christine eventually roped us all into helping with her crossword puzzles, which took a while. I read a few more pages in my book, and as we waited we were joined by another single person from the direction of Walls Whare. It turned out she was someone Steve knew through his work, and I guess the degrees of separation are rather small in the tramping world.

The Waiohine went up and down with the showers, rising and falling, speeding up and slowing down very noticeably during the several hours as we waited. One of the Hutt Valley club guys was paying close attention to it, and kept us updated as to the state of the marker rocks he was watching over in Totara Creek as it poured into the far side of the Waiohine. In the space of a few hours, Totara Creek rose by perhaps 30 centimetres, and then dropped by the same amount. The main river was certainly full enough to be a dangerous crossing for the whole time we were there, but not as flooded as it could be. Earlier as we’d coasted along the flats, I think I’d been able to see the stones below the water within a metre or so of the river’s edge. I suppose there probably hadn’t been enough rain in the past few days to fully saturate the soil, and the river levels were much more reactionary to heavy showers passing over the catchment than they would have been after a few days of persistent rain.

As for getting our story straight, we didn’t really. I think it was some kind of justification about having decided to come this way around our loop in case the creeks were flooded by the following day. Whatever it was, it was enough to satisfy Megan S and her associates. They showed up about three or four hours after we had, having coped with some higher side creeks, I suspect. They weren’t too late to help with some of the harder parts of the crosswords. Before long we were chopping veggies, figuring out how to open tins of tuna without a can opener, and eventually Steve slunk out of bed and cooked a nice Green Curry meal, which was topped off by some kind of cream and apricot on ginger cake dessert whipped up by Hans. Good food by all accounts.

I took a look outside and counted three stars in various directions, generally through cloud, and the rain continued to clatter on the corrugated plastic verandah. On announcing the stars when I returned indoors, Kevin raced outside appearing quite enthused, soon returning with a muted look of disgust on his face. Maybe I hadn’t been descriptive enough. I slunk into bed at around 8pm, I think. It was dark out side and the rain continued to clatter on the roof. Classic tramping rain.

Me, Hans, Steve, Megan, Kevin and Christine.

We’d discussed our options for Sunday, which amounted to either walking out the quick way (side-creeks allowing), or following around the loopy way up to and along Code Ridge. The second option had won convincingly, with nobody really wanting to go back the way we came, and we estimated it’d probably take about 7 hours looking at the topology and using standard group timing metrics. It was about 9am by the time we left, after a relatively casual pulling together of things. I’m fairly sure Steve would have won any competition of the most sleep at Totara Flats that weekend, having clocked up around 16 hours as we figured out. He must have been very tired, but didn’t hold anyone up. I killed some time as people got ready by going out to find some firewood, having felt somewhat guilty about not having contributed much to the HVTC people’s effort to keep the fire going the previous evening.

Christine clambering around the track.

During our climb up to Cone Ridge, which starts steeply, the rain continued. It looked as though it could be rather cold higher up, but I was one of the few to take a gamble and stick with only wearing my shorts, and no thermal long-johns just yet — I sometimes find I can get very uncomfortably hot otherwise, I guess. Cone Ridge becomes a more shallow climb at around 600 vertical metres, and in several places we found ourselves clambering around small ponds and bogs that had collected on what might normally have represented a track.

Two hours after we left, we passed the turn-off that would have led down to Neill Forks Hut, but nobody felt like running down the hill to take a photo proving we’d been there. An hour later we found a smidgen of snow, indicative of the relatively cold temperatures at this higher elevation.

We were sleeted on through the trees as we approached Cone, and I finally caved in and got my overtrousers and balaclava on. It wasn’t windy, though. Just great Tararua weather. As we approached the wacky antenna thingee on Cone some time after midday, which the most obvious route avoids by about 100 metres, the sleet even let up and allowed us to see some of the surrounding range in relative comfort as it hovered in the midst of the glinting cloud that settled in the valleys. Still quite cold, and kind of murky, but also very cool. It was nicer than last time I was here, when the wind chill made things less comfortable. We celebrated, each having a toffee pop. Cone Peak (1080m) lies just above the bush-line, and the three-way route junction is marked by a standard 3-way DoC signpost. I was the last to head back down into the trees, and took a minute just for myself.

Looking towards Alpha, Aston and Hector.

The track from Cone Peak down to Cone Saddle is a fairly normal walk down a spur in the Tararuas, offering the occasional vantage point to gaze out towards much higher peaks such as Alpha and Aston and Hector to the west. That part of the range, up to 500 metres higher than Cone, was well covered in a white blanket of snow, and made a good sight despite also being blanketed by cloud. As we descended, Kevin explained how he was now up to his seventeenth day in the Tararuas, and had been rained on every time. This contradicts my own experience. Still, I think we’d timed our visit to Cone Peak nearly perfectly despite the amount of rain. The cloud had parted, albeit briefly, during the short time we’d spent above the bush-line and had made for a relatively pleasant visit. Awesome Tararua Weather. With the rain holding off, I even managed to remove my raincoat for a while.

There are a couple of notes about this particular spur that come to mind, from Cone Peak down to Cone Saddle. The first is that I was in a group where we saw a kaka screeching and flapping in the trees around here a couple of years back. By itself this would not be significant because I’m sure kakas get to many random places, and they’re known to live in the Tararuas. I think someone up the front of our group on this occasion also mentioned seeing a kaka, though, so perhaps there’s a kaka or two that especially likes this region. The second note that comes to mind is that although my relatively modern map only shows the two “official” maintained tracks down to Cone Hut… the first directly off Cone Saddle and the second from slightly further down… Kevin’s map showed a third track labelled as the Block XIX track, heading down the spur from spot-height 812 directly towards Cone Hut. I forgot to look out for the likely starting point of this route, but it could make a fun navigation exercise some day.

Cone Saddle is easily recognisable.

We re-grouped at Cone Saddle at 1.30pm or so, an hour after our visit to Cone Peak and probably about 4 horizontal kilometres of travel back to the Waiohine Gorge bridge. Cone Saddle is within reasonable reach of a Friday night walk, which was nice to know for me at least. As we dropped further, nearing the road, the weather situation changed quite suddenly. Within minutes, the ambience of light below the tree canopy dramatically diminished, and soon more rain set in. This was a fresh southerly front finally on its way through, but fortunately not one we’d need to spend a lot of time enduring. Overall we spent about 2 hours getting down to the road from Cone Saddle, a journey that becomes fairly steep and slippery near the bottom. We emerged at the bridge from the opposite direction to where we’d headed the previous day’s morning, somehow amused to re-discover the track junction we’d walked straight past, and quickly made our way back to the van where Megan S and three others had been waiting for about 90 minutes. It took us about 6.5 hours in the end, so thankfully our estimate hadn’t been too far off.

The Waiohine from above.

There are many things I think I enjoyed about this trip. I was able to see the Waiohine River, one of my favourite Tararua rivers, in relative flood once again. I still haven’t seen it much close-up out of flood, and maybe that’s one of the reasons I like it so much. I also got to climb up a hill, which was fun and rewarding as usual. Oh, and I’ve now met Kevin, which seems to put me less degrees of separation away from knowing many more people who visit the back-country.

I think the Holdsworth Jumbo Circuit (AKA the Powell Jumbo Loop, the Jumbo Powell Loop, the Jumbo Holdsworth Loop, and so on), is by far the most popular tramp in the Tararuas. The circuit is typically walked over a couple of days, and the three back-country huts spaced around it are supposedly responsible for some insanely high proportion of hut ticket revenue for all of Tararua Forest Park. (Higher than 50% at least.) The Holdsworth road-end is one of the Tararuas ‘ most accessible, and the loop attracts people from all sorts of backgrounds. For many people it’s their first experience outdoors.

Date: 15th May, 2010
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Holdsworth Road-end.
People: Megan S, Megan B, Richard, Christine, Katja and me.
Huts visited: Holdsworth Lodge (0 nights, camping nearby), Mountain House Shelter (0 nights), Powell Hut (0 nights), Jumbo Hut (0 nights), Atiwhakatu Hut (0 nights).
Route: From Holdsworth road-end up to Powell Hut, over Holdsworth to Jumbo, down to Jumbo Hut, down the alternative track north of Raingauge Spur, then past Atiwhakatu Hut back to the Holdsworth road-end.
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We walked the Holdsworth Jumbo Circuit as a daywalk, which is very feasible if you’re reasonably quick, and easier if you’re taking daypacks rather than tramping packs. We’d heard of others walking the loop in about 8 hours, but without much context to go on. With nobody being certain exactly how long it’d take, we drove to the Holdsworth road-end on Friday night to camp in preparation for an early getaway — staying at Holdsworth lodge would have been preferable, except that it’s closed for maintenance at present.

It’s amazing how much extra junk it’s necessary to take just for camping overnight, or perhaps it simply spread out because we didn’t have nice structured packs to stuff it all into. At least we were able to leave it behind in the morning. Christine and I both still forgot to bring inflatable mattresses in any case, so had to get used to sleeping on the harder ground, although it fortunately wasn’t too cold.

By morning we still hadn’t finalised which direction we’d walk the loop, the choices being to either head up past Powell and get onto the tops immediately, or to stay in the valley until Atiwhakatu Hut and then head directly up to Jumbo Hut at the bush-line. The weather systems were fairly complicated with a couple of fronts on the way through, the first of which hit overnight with some rain. We hoped to avoid too much wind, though, and when the rain held off for a while in the morning we elected to go straight up to Powell in the hope that we might get through the section on the tops during a break in the weather.

After a wake-up at six am (ten hours of time to sleep but it’s never quite enough), we managed to get away and walking at around ten past seven, passing Holdsworth Lodge a few minutes later in it’s partly-renovated state. With the doubt about how long it might take, we also took torches just in case we were walking out in the dark. As-ever pessimistic, I personally threw in my bivy bag, but never expected to need it.

Views towards the road
from Rocky Lookout.

The track up the hill is very well maintained, sidling around as it climbs slowly. We reached Rocky Lookout a few minutes before eight, having overtaken a collection of happy guys on their way down to Totara Flats for a hunting exhibition. (We heard them and smelt the cigarette smoke five minutes before catching up.) They were having a great time and were fun to chat to briefly. With another twenty five minutes up the hill, we reached the sign-posted track junction that splits off to Totara Flats. It’s a few minutes after this where things flatten out to Pig Flat, and DoC has installed some lengthy boardwalks… not always the nicest things to walk on, but I guess it makes sense with the amount of people this track gets. Pig Flat was also the first view of Powell Hut, perched as a small dot up on the spur ahead of us, chaperoned in a way by the dominant shape of High Ridge out to its left. We passed Mountain House (just a shelter these days) at about eight forty.

Mountain House Shelter.

From Mountain House, the track up to Powell becomes more steep. It’s still well graded at first, but eventually it’s necessary to clamber up a few small rock faces that require a moment’s consideration. The rain had begun again, too, which meant that by the time we reached some of the more exposed rocky out-croppings, we began to get decidedly wet. No matter, though, because Powell Hut wasn’t too far away. We walked in at twenty past nine. The hut is sign-posted at four hours from the road and this is probably a realistic time for many groups who walk to Powell Hut, but with daypacks and generally being reasonably quick, it was a little over two hours.

Richard nearing Powell Hut.

Nobody was home, although the book indicated some people had left earlier in the morning on the way down to Mid-Waiohine. Sitting in Powell Hut and regrouping, we spent about half an hour deciding what to do next. Rain was coming through intermittently and the wind outside was icy, not strong overall but every so often coming in ominous gusts that caused the windows to rattle. We also had one member of the group feeling a little queasy, with the climb apparently having made it worse.

Katja, Megan S, Richard and Christine.

In the end we put on full storm gear to deter the wind and carried on, with possible bail-out plans of either heading back the way we came, or going down the East Holdsworth track. Mt Holdsworth itself is about a 270 metre climb from Powell Hut, which we thought could possibly take nearly an hour going by standard metrics, but it was surprisingly fast. We stood at the trig on the top at half past ten. Perhaps the speed was due to the wind lashing us for much of the way up, but I bet the daypacks helped. Then a funny thing happened, and the sun broke through the clouds.

The East Holdsworth spur
(from near Mt Holdsworth).

The wind was still cold and occasionally gusty, but with everyone covered up that wasn’t too much of an issue, and the walk along the tops towards Jumbo became an increasingly nice jaunt. It’s very well marked simply by the amount of people who walk it, especially in these conditions when there’s no snow around. One thing I regret is that I forgot to look out for the plane wreckage on Shingle Slip Knob, which is supposed to have been placed back in its original location after having been illegally and bizzarely removed last year by the New Zealand Sport and Vintage Aviation Society and Wairarapa Helicopters. (For a more complete explanation see: [1] [2] and [3].) It must have been clearly visible from Mt Holdsworth, but by the time I remembered we’d walked too far, and the site was hidden by the jutting-out shape of Angle Knob. Oh well.

Christine, Megan S and Richard
nearing Jumbo Peak.

From Holdsworth to Jumbo (Peak) took about an hour of procrastinated walking between half past ten and half past eleven, which we tried to spread out because we didn’t want to leave the tops too early. After ten minutes of hanging around on Jumbo in an increasingly nice weather window, we veered to the east back down to Jumbo Hut (about thirty minutes away), to find three pot-smoking guys sitting around having a good time. I don’t think I’ll ever understand the pot-smoking thing (or even the smoking thing) but they were out having a good enough time — they’d walked here from Powell Hut this morning, in worse conditions than we’d done. They commented on how covered up I was, which I’d completely forgotten about until this point, so I sat down to remove my beanie and my balaclava and my mittens and my raincoat and my overtrousers, and suddenly my daypack was much more full. As they left to head down Rainguage Spur to Atiwhakatu Hut, where they planned to stay the night, the six of us settled into lunch.

Looking back to Holdsworth from Jumbo.

Looking down on Jumbo Hut.

Checking out the look book at Jumbo Hut demonstrated just how popular-a-circuit this is, and why it’s responsible for so much hut ticket revenue. The past couple of weeks had seen two large groups (one school and one scout, I think), as well as countless other casual groups of visitors in between. These huts must be packed to overflowing at times, which I think makes me more glad we were walking the loop as a daywalk.

The thirty minutes of sitting around for lunch gave us more time to consider options. The “official” Holdsworth Jumbo Circuit (if there’s such a thing as official) follows Raingauge Spur from Jumbo Hut. It has a reputation of being one of the stinkiest worst steepest and most horrible climbs in the Tararuas, although I think this may be a combination of it being fairly steep, and having so many people walk it — I don’t personally remember much about Raingauge Spur from last time I went up in late 2006. With time on our side, it still being merely twelve forty, we elected to head down the alternative track that’s north of the main Raingauge Spur track, which has a reputation of being a much nicer walk, although it drops to about two kilometres north of Atiwhakatu Hut rather than going there directly.

Cute goblin forest.

The alternative track is sign-posted from just behind Jumbo Hut, although it almost looks as if the sign is pointing down Raingauge Spur when the track actually leave directly behind the sign. It is a nice track, too, with pretty goblin forest near the top. I’ve come to dislike Crown Ferns in general (the knee-high ones that hide the ground underneath), but this particular track showed me they can actually be very nice when there’s a good track through them. The walk to the camp-site on the Atiwhakatu River at the bottom of the track took about an hour, after which we commenced following the more yucky (but still walkable) track for the remaining two kilometres to Atiwhakatu Hut, arriving shortly after two pm. Despite having walked past this hut during five separate stages of its being re-built last year, this is the first time I’ve had an opportunity to visit it since its completion, and it was nice to see it. After a year the hut’s still vaguely sterile — it’s not yet covered with ad-hoc clothes-lines and other bits and pieces that people have brought in, but it’s getting there.

Atiwhakatu Hut.

The timing was going really well at this point — we’d been walking for about seven hours, not especially rushing, and completed the better part of the loop with only a flat walk out remaining. The three smoking chaps we’d met up at Jumbo were already relaxing on the picnic table out front, and they greeted us happily. A few others were also hanging out in the hut, including a group of young children having a great time spreading out on the platform bunks inside. As we were there, another group of people showed up and carried on towards Mitre Flats, before yet another couple of small groups drifted in. It must have been about that time of day.

We left Atiwhakatu Hut at about half past two, and from here the track out to Holdsworth is really well graded and hard… not such a good thing for tramping boots or feet, but probably much better for the track’s ability to cope with the amount of the people it sees. This section of track must also be very interesting for a person who wanted to see a variety of different kinds of New Zealand back-country bridges. Nearly every tiny side-creek is bridged, and there are a plethora of different styles, including the odd bridge that looks quite out of place but does the job perfectly well.

On our way out, we passed a couple of other quite large groups of adults and children walking in. Needless to say, the twelve bunk Atiwhakatu Hut was going to be very packed this Saturday night. It’s a very accessible hut, though, and a great target for such groups since the original hut was replaced last year. I guess the main thing to take into account, which of course applies everywhere in New Zealand, is that you should definitely be prepared to camp outside if you visit a hut like Atiwhakatu Hut.

It was ten to four as we arrived at Donnelly Flats, which would have been a great place to camp if we’d intended to take all our camping gear with us. Twenty minutes later, we arrived back at the road where the cars were parked. Not a bad day in all — almost exactly nine hours, although from that experience I’d expect it could be done in a couple of hours less by someone who didn’t bother so much with stopping, and a crazy mountain runner would probably knock it off in half the time. On the other hand, it also makes a pretty good overnight weekend tramp.

Things began with an idea of a weekend expedition over the Tararua tops to Tarn Ridge Hut. Somehow, even with the weather cooperating for such an idea, things didn’t quite work out that way. It was the opposite, and we spent the majority of our time navigating off-track below the bush line.

Dates: 7th – 9th May, 2010
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Kiriwhakapapa Road-end.
People: Illona, Richard and me.
Huts visited: Blue Range Hut (1 night), Mitre Flats Hut (0 nights), Mid King Biv (1 night)
Planned route: Up to Blue Range Hut for Friday night, over to Cow Creek, navigate up to Table Ridge, along around Mitre and Girdlestone, and to Tarn Ridge Hut for Saturday night. Down over Mitre, then up Donald Spur and past Blue Range Hut back down to the road.
Actual route: Up to Blue Range Hut for Friday night, over Te Mara and down Donald Spur to Mitre Flats, then up to Mid King Biv for Saturday night. Back to Mitre Flats, up onto Blue Range near Stoney Creek, along to Bruce Hill and down a spur to the south-east to the old bush tram track that leads back to the road.
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Originally there were going to be four of us, but Paul unfortunately had to drop out with a foot problem, which left Richard, Illona and Myself. We stopped for a Friday night dinner at Carterton, which has a fabulous kebab shop, then continued to the Kiriwhakapapa road-end. Along the way we discussed the original plan, which would have been to walk from Kiriwhakapapa to Cow Creek, up to Table Ridge, along to Girdlestone, and then on to Tarn Ridge Hut… then come down over Mitre and up Donald Spur (a more direct way back to Blue Range Hut) on Sunday. The more we thought about it, the more that this idea seemed to be skimming the edges of available daylight at this time of year. Consequently, we thought we might try doing it in reverse instead, which would make Saturday the longer day.

The Tararua Main Range
under a blanket of cloud.

By about a quarter past eight, we’d begun our walk up to Blue Range Hut, eventually to arrive at about 10pm. The solar powered lights are back, which is nice, given they’d vanished last time I visited — perhaps they were just out for maintenance.

With a long day in mind for Saturday, we were up about 6.30am, and out the door at a quarter past seven to walk past morning views of a sliver of cloud sitting on top of the Tararua Main Range. Our 7.15am departure might have allowed enough time for our day’s plan, except that we had more trouble than anticipated in finding the top of Donald Spur — the spur to the north of Donald Stream that heads west of Te Mara (1104), and a known short-cut down to the Waingawa River and Mitre Flats. The informal route up to Te Mara is marked off the main track up from Blue Range Hut with a ribbon tied to a tree branch, but after this we muddled around for some time, and possibly wasted about an hour in confirming we were actually walking down the right thing.

Illona near the top of Donald Spur.

The delay wasn’t too bad in essence. All three of us have done reasonable amounts of off-track navigation, but none had been in a proper position of responsibility. I think the experience helped to boost everyone’s confidence because we all knew that decisions we made would actually have consequences. We did eventually find the top of Donald Spur, having back-tracked to Te Mara peak, which we’d originally sidled around (trying to be smart). Then we just trusted the bearing to let us sidle up the side, making sure the terrain around us matched what was expected, and eventually confirming with the GPS just to be sure we were correct about our assumptions. Once on Donald Spur things were fairly easy going, although there was more tree-fall than I would have expected given how often I’ve heard it’s used. The tree-fall might be left-over from a storm a year or three back, and maybe not completely cleared out.

Tree-fall on Donald Spur.

Richard crossing the Waingawa.

Donald Spur drops into Donald Stream, a couple of hundred metres in from the Waingawa River. We reached the Waingawa at about 11.20am, which is probably about an hour and forty minutes after we’d become confident we were near the top of the right spur. After a five minute stop for a snack, we crossed the Waingawa (which was running very low) and carried on for a little over an hour along the main track towards Mitre Flats from the direction of Cow Creek. By now we were really starting to realise that we’d need to hoof it if we were going to get up Mitre, around Girdlestone and on to Tarn Ridge Hut before dark. It isn’t a terribly nice track. incidentally. Very muddy in a few places, and also just one of those tracks that weaves around the inside of little gullies, involves clambering over logs, and other annoying little things that make it slightly slower than might otherwise appear. The LINZ map data also doesn’t clearly indicate that much of this track also sidles fairly high above the Waingawa. (To be fair, however, it possibly does show the track on the appropriate side of the contour lines if you look closely enough.)

Arriving at Mitre Flats.

It was lunch time, about half twelve, as we walked into Mitre Flats. Very coincidentally, within a minute of us walking up, two guys arrived from the direction of the Pines — it turned out to be Adrian and Robert, both of whom we knew. It’s a small country, I guess. They’d camped at Kiriwhakapapa last night (apparently turning up after we left, and they’d seen our car), then driven back to The Pines entrance, and were now on their way to walk to Cow Creek Hut and eventually meet up with the car they’d left at Kiriwhakapapa. As for ourselves, we were beginning to have doubts about whether we still wanted to go all the way up to Tarn Ridge. With a little over four hours of reasonable daylight remaining after we’d finished lunch, standard metrics suggested it could take us about 3.5 hours just for the 1100 metre climb up to Mitre, before carrying on around Girdlestone. The area wasn’t familiar to any of us, and if we were lucky we’d be walking up to Tarn Ridge Hut with torches on the edge of darkness. To add to this, we were having some doubts about the length of time it might take to navigate down to Cow Creek Hut on Sunday, especially if we ran into similar problems as that morning, and once we finally did get down we’d have at least another four hour walk ahead of us.

Illona had a rather good idea, though, of going up for a look at Mid King Biv. It hadn’t been obvious at first, because Mitre Flats is one of those areas that’s on the edge of all the maps. Once we were looking at the correct maps, however, and had some time to absorb the idea, it looked feasible and interesting. Mid King Biv is named after Middle King Peak (1521) underneath which it sits. It’s sheltered just below the bush-line and accessible from the tops, but (it turns out) is also very accessible from a spur that leads up from the confluence between Baldy Creek and South Mitre Stream — just south of Mitre Flats Hut. With this in mind, we wrote some notes in the Mitre Flats hut book about our adjusted plans, convinced Adrian and Robert to leave a note on the car after they walked out, and (eventually) Illona would send out a text message to inform our emergency contact. With the new plan, we wouldn’t be able to walk out the original route, either, so we made alternative plans to come back to Mitre Flats the following day, and find another off-track route over Blue Range.

Studying maps around
South Mitre Stream.

At 1.30pm we began walking straight up the South Mitre Stream, beginning from the small bridge that leads towards Atiwhakatu Hut, but we soon found an easier ground-trail on the true right. After a small (but obvious) creek shown on the map, there’s an informal marker tied to a tree about 5 metres up Baldy Creek from the confluence. Inside the trees, it’s a short hop up a slope, then a cairn. After this, although we continued to have maps and compasses out for most of the climb, things are relatively easy heading up the spur on what is often a well-defined ground trail. We decided it was probably safer to stick with the ground trail when we could, as long as it didn’t suddenly veer away, since it looked as if the contour lines get rather close in a couple of places. At a high enough point, Illona was able to get out a text message to indicate our adjusted plans.

Things gets tangly nearer the height of Mid King Biv, above about 1000 metres. Apparently Mid King Biv was quite difficult to find until very recently, but it’s now quite well marked off the main route along the spur since a couple of years ago. At first we reached a point where we could stick our heads out on the Baldy Creek side of the spur, and noticed a couple of cairns, but they might have indicated an older track or a less common route around that side. After pushing around a lot, Illona spotted one of those giant orange Department of Conservation triangles up ahead, and we found it much easier to reach by going back under the trees and continuing to bash our way through. The triangle primarily indicates where a short, DOC-marked track leads off to the Biv, which is obscured just below the bush line and not very visible from far away. It’s also necessary (or at least sane) to follow this route a short distance to continue going up, since otherwise there’s no obvious way straight ahead.

Turning off the spur to Mid King Biv.

Mid King Biv.

We reached Mid King Biv at about 4.30pm, and it’s cute. We filled a handy bucket from the stream behind the biv. There’s a good space for camping out front, and a nice fire pit in an area that would be sheltered from the wind coming over the ridge. The biv itself is basically just a box, with 2 mattresses — one of which sits on a platform about 20 cm above the floor. I lifted the lid of the platform to find a scummy old billy, and a few sheets of broken glass that looked as if they might once have been in the small solitary window on the end opposite the door. The hut book’s very cool. It dates back to 1999, and is probably only about 20% full. It looked as if someone might visit every month or two, although some people certainly don’t write in the book. The person who’d come down from here and written in the Mitre Flats book the day before certainly hadn’t.

It also makes some of the bureaucracy that surrounds back-country recreation fairly obvious. When a hut is so small and remote, the three required signs that cover DoC’s perceived legal liabilities really stand out. On opening the one and only door of the biv, we were greeted with a proportionally large FIRE EXIT sign, which mostly overlapped the standard DoC “environmental care code” sign to make it look as if the environmental care code ends where the FIRE EXIT is. Below the two of them was the giant sign stating “DANGER — Only use your gas stove in ventilated parts of the hut!”, never minding that there aren’t any unless you have your stove running in the middle of the fire exit. Completing the lower section of the door was the regular sign to say “WARNING — the water we provide here is probably okay!”. Incidentally, the water is provided by the Department of Conservation’s well-engineered and very natural looking stream behind the biv that’s a tributary to Baldy Creek down below. All of these signs are spaced on the door of a box in which it’s not possible to stand up straight.

The base temperature on Saturday night wasn’t too bad, but there was a lot of wind chill coming over the ridge and down to meet us, which made things uncomfortable when sitting outside to prepare dinner. We spent most of the time wrapped up well to keep off the light but icy breeze. Illona did most of the preparation of Paul’s green curry recipe, which worked nicely, and then produced an interesting dessert based around berries, chocolate, and some weird kind of spongy italian biscuit. Very nice.

Nobody felt like camping. Once the dishes were out of the way, we squeezed into the biv, abandoning the second mattress to lean it against the wall. Richard and I head-to-tailed on thermarests on what remained of the floor. We also briefly made more specific plans for getting out on Sunday. Plan 1 would be to cross the Waingawa opposite Mitre Flats, then attempt to get straight onto Blue Range. Plan 2 would be to find a route up to Lookout Point (on Blue Range) which Richard had come down about a week before. Plan 3, if the first 2 failed, would be to go back up Donald Spur to Te Mara, and down past Blue Range Hut. If we were really in trouble, plan 4 would result in a long and tedious day following the main track out to Cow Creek, then up past Blue Range Hut.

As we extinguished our torches and darkness enveloped the interior of the tiny box, I noticed for the first time that those Department of Conservation FIRE EXIT signs glow in the dark! For the entire night, every time I opened my eyes to what might otherwise be total blackness, I could bathe in the warm glow of the FIRE EXIT merely 2 metres from my face. It continued to glow just as clearly at 6am.

Departing under the
Main Range.

On Sunday morning, we were once again up at 6.30am, but this time things took a little longer to arrange and we weren’t away until an hour later. Following the initial part of the track that sidles around the main range ridge from the biv and back to the spur, we initially began to follow it upwards by accident towards the main range, but soon noticed our mistake and headed back into the trees to where we’d come. We mostly followed the ground trail to get down, although we probably relied on maps and compasses more frequently than on the way up. The spur broadens in a couple of places which resulted in a few minutes here and there of searching around to find the optimal way down without going too far from our bearing.

Baldy Creek as it meets
South Mitre Stream.

It was 9.20am when we reached the confluence of South Mitre Stream and Baldy Creek, and 30 minutes later, after some shuffling around on the edge of the stream trying to figure out just how far the ground trail on the true right went, we were back at Mitre Flats Hut to note in the book that we’d passed through again. After this we backtracked to the main bridge over the Waingawa, and quickly found our route up to Blue Range.

The proper spur that we’d had in mind starts at Stoney Creek and heads a little north of east, but we didn’t follow that far because there’s an informal track that begins from behind a big obvious sign. In one direction the sign points towards Mitre Flats, in the other direction it points towards the road (The Pines). At first glance it seems fairly pointless having this sign at all, given that it only offers a backwards and forwards option, and most people probably want to go to wherever they didn’t come from. On closer inspection, it probably exists because directly behind the sign, a third informal ground trail climbs the hill and it stands out very well. I think this is what remains of the track to the old Mitre Flats bridge, which was further along the river, and we even saw an old orange marker some way along it. Apparently there’s also an unmaintained and rougher track along the river, so there may be some connection.

In any case, we followed this ground trail for a few minutes looking for an obvious route up the hill, based on vague memories I had of doing something similar about three years ago. The trail mostly runs parallel above the river, but we spotted a few options for heading up-wards and soon decided on one roughly opposite the hut, just north of the top of a slip, at least as we discerned later once we’d figured out what spur we were on. This took us up a small bubble of a spur heading south-east, almost at right angles to the main spur, and briefly well defined at about the 500 metre contour. There was even an occasional axe-blaze chunk taken out of the odd tree, and we figured that as we couldn’t possibly go past the initially planned spur (one would think) we may as well follow it, and they eventually met nearer the top. After a brief sit-down followed by a little extra climbing, we found ourselves on the southern-most of the two nearby spot-heights at 865 metres. It was nice to be on Blue Range.

The main Blue Range ridge has a ground trail along much of it which, if you don’t mind sharp Totara branches regularly slapping you in the knees, and occasionally face, is superior in many ways to some of the more official tracks around the Tararuas. (The one I mentioned earlier near Mitre Flats comes to mind.) We pushed north along the range towards Bruce Hill (975), taking guesses every so often at where we were, and confirming with the GPS once we’d placed our bets. The range veers to the north-east as it nears Lookout Point (725), which we didn’t visit because it’s off to one side but which is reportedly not a very impressive lookout point, but is the top of another common route down to the Waingawa River. Very soon after Lookout Point, the going became much tougher and more overgrown. It was still very doable and there’s still a ground trail, but things were certainly slower. After a kilometre of bashing and climbing, we arrived at a small plateau just south of Bruce Hill to stop for a snack, maybe ten minutes before 1pm.

From here we’d had an approximate idea to navigate down a wonky spur to the east, then south-east, into Mikimiki Stream, and I hopped up to the top of Bruce Hill, about 100 metres north, to calibrate the altimeter. We debated for a little while about exactly where to go to find our east-ward spur. I managed to confuse myself because there’s a very well defined, and marked, ground trail that heads south-east off the plateau, which I thought might twist eastwards soon after it left. I think Illona had it most correct when she suggested we’d need to simply push eastwards off the plateau and follow a bearing, even though it wasn’t very well defined at a first impression. In the end, we looked at the time of day and considered there were only a few hours of daylight remaining, and followed the markers, leaving at about 1.10pm or thereabouts.

It quickly became obvious that the markers were leading us straight south-west down a spur towards spot-height 535 and onto the same old tram-line track we’d have been aiming for anyway, albeit a few kilometres further from our destination. We knew from past ventures, however, that the tram track was very fast, and figured we may as well just hit it further back, possibly adding half an hour or an hour to what we might have otherwise had to walk out. It’s actually a really well defined and easy to walk hunters’ trail down that spur. It’s marked frequently with blue milk bottle caps and white plastic covered in reflective tape, and even hops out onto rocky knolls between the dracophyllum for short stints, affording some nice views of the surroundings both out towards the Wairarapa, and in towards the Main Range. Overall it’s far superior in quality to many official tracks, and we hit the main track a little before 3pm. Not too long after, about 4.15pm or so, we stepped back out to Kiriwhakapapa Shelter where we’d left the car.

What a great weekend. As places go, the Blue Range in the Tararuas isn’t a bad place to get lost. There’s not a lot to fall off, there are plenty of spurs going to interesting places, and it’s on the side of the range more sheltered from the rain coming off the sea to the west, which among other things makes it just a little easier to push through the bush, and probably to find a reasonable campsite if necessary.

It’s strange that our initial plan had involved little if any navigation, because I think this is perhaps one of the most worthwhile navigation trips I’ve had so far. All three of us had done some off-track stuff in the past, but none of us was too confident beforehand. Realising that we were all about equal with navigation skills, I think, helped us all to take the responsibility more seriously and it was a good confidence booster. As Illona pointed out, we each tended to look at similar problems in different ways, and it helped to learn from each other without immediately having to feel as if one person was more of an expert and authoritative over anyone else. I’m hoping I have an opportunity to get out on a similar trip again some time.

Lack of getting outdoors has been catching up to me over this time, though. A couple of weeks back, I got bored and went for a 30+ km walk around Te Kopahou Reserve and the nearby coastline. It helped me recharge a little, but was still fairly suburban, and so most recently I’ve been for a daywalk into the Tararuas.

Dracophyllum near spot-height 656.

Date: 18th April, 2010
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Kaitoke Road End.
Route: Start at Kaitoke, walk to Smith Creek Shelter (via Puffer Saddle), then up to spot-height 656 and back to Kaitoke via the main Southern Crossing track.
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I’ve never entered the Tararuas at Kaitoke before, just north of Upper Hutt, and I’m unsure why it’s taken so long. I think I considered it once, but was put off by the prospect of leaving a car overnight at the Kaitoke road-end, which has a reputation for being very insecure. In retrospect it’s usually possible to leave vehicles at the Kiwi Ranch Youth Camp, not far away for a nominal fee, and there’s even a connecting track up to the main route of Marchant Ridge. This time, given it was a daywalk (and also a Sunday), I figured it’d be okay to just leave the car parked on the side of the road for a while, and it worked out okay.

Hard, often slippery clay near Kaitoke.

I left the car at about 9.45am or thereabouts, taking the first 10 minutes to walk up the unsealed road to where I probably should have parked but didn’t. From straight inside the park gate, the track remains quite hard on the feet around here, and it wasn’t long before I felt some painful rubbing on the back of my heels. In hindsight I’m starting to regret my decision to have bought a pair of cheap Scarpas, which seem to have made very little progress towards wearing in, despite a lot of wearing. I think perhaps I bought them half a size too small, and I can’t get into socks of the sort of thickness that I should really be wearing with these boots. Oh well. I probably should have stopped and taped up my feet, but couldn’t be bothered.

Young Rimu.

A further 10 minutes and I passed the track junction where I’d need to choose between heading up Marchant Ridge, or on to Smith Creek Shelter. I hadn’t known exactly where I wanted to go as I left, or even how far I’d get, but had at least made up my mind to start by aiming for the shelter (so I’d at least get somewhere well defined) and then assess my options, choosing between continuing to Tutuwai Hut, heading up and back around the Dobson Loop, or simply coming back the way I came.

The track from here heads around Puffer Saddle, then drops to the true left of Smith Creek as it flows towards the north-east aiming at the Tauherenikau — one of the major rivers to come out of the Tararuas. The track itself along here generally stays under trees, and although it’s not right alongside the creek it’s never far away, and there are a collection of minor side creeks. There’s one notable detour (well signposted by DOC) that’s put in place due to a slip. I didn’t bother to check out what sort of slip damage it refers to, and once climbing up a short distance the detour is fairly flat and not much extra effort at all.

Smith Creek Shelter.

At 11.30am I reached the junction with the track up the side of the ridge to spot-height 656, but for now at least kept going literally just one more minute to Smith Creek Shelter, where I stopped for some lunch. The shelter itself isn’t exactly the nicest place to have lunch on a sunny day. It’s more or less a hut, even with a sleeping platform for maybe 6 mattresses, but there are no mattresses and there’s no glass in the windows and there’s no door. Unfortunately the shelter is close enough to the road that it’s more vulnerable than usual to vandalism, and I guess this is one reason why these kinds of comforts have been removed.

The Tauherenikau.

Anyway, having pulled out a map and done some quick measurements, I decided that if I wanted to get to Tutuwai Hut and back, I’d most likely be walking out in the dark with my torch and it probably wouldn’t be terribly interesting either. I made up my mind to stick with the Dobson Loop, and in turn this would mean I could be quite relaxed about the whole thing, so I ended up wandering out through the trees to the Tauherenikau to kick some water around and enjoy it for a while. It’s a very nice river, especially in the sunshine. From about 12, a couple of other people wandered up on their way back from Tutuwai, and after a quick hello I waved goodbye and started up the hill.

The track up between Fell Creek and Canyon Creek climbs about 450 metres to SH 656. Getting up hills is something I quite enjoy, and getting away from the flat was some good relief for my heels for a while. I stopped for a few minutes on the way up, picking out a few birds (a North Island Robin, and either a Kaka or a Kereru… probably the latter), and 45 minutes later I reached the thinning trees. It’s not a land of tops at this height, but the trees thin out into a Dracophyllum sort of region, allowing for the sunlight to wash in and regular sights out to the sides. In the distance, a helicopter buzzed around — apparently part of a Search and Rescue training exercise due for the weekend within the Eastern Hutt and Tauherenikau catchments.

Views from the ridge.

At 1pm I arrived at the junction with the main track down Marchant Ridge, near this end of the Tararua Southern Crossing. For a few minutes I tinkered with the idea of searching through the bush to bag the nearby spot-height 705, but all I found for my few minutes troubles were caches of old roofing iron hidden in the trees. I couldn’t quickly find any obvious places where people had pushed through so I stopped short of going too far.

So my loop walk continued with another 80 minutes of casual strolling along the ridge, including 10 minutes to simply sit and listen to the surroundings. I think this walking up to and along the ridge was the much nicer part of the day, plus romping around in the Tauherenikau for a short while. All of these certainly beat the prospect of another long flat walk through the valleys, which I’m not terribly fond of. I reached the initial junction leading back to Smith Creek at about 2.20pm, with just a further 30 minutes back to the car.

fallacy [fal-uh-see]. 1. a deceptive, misleading, or false notion, belief, etc.: That the world is flat was at one time a popular fallacy.. 2. a misleading or unsound argument. 3. deceptive, misleading, or false nature; erroneousness. 4. Logic. any of various types of erroneous reasoning that render arguments logically unsound.

The Hut Fallacy. 1. a deceptive, misleading, or false notion or belief prevalent in New Zealand outdoor circles that the objective of reaching back-country huts can reliably replace additional measures of safety. 2. a presumption that plans work, judgement is always perfect and/or that accidents only happen to other people.

I hope nobody minds me defining this term, at the very least for my own purposes. Despite this kind of thing happening often, I don’t know of a quick and easy term to describe it. I think The Hut Fallacy is something that pops up often in New Zealand’s back-country.

Huts have existed in the New Zealand back-country for as long as people have had reason to use them, but the first dedicated tramping huts were only built aroun the 1920s, and from the beginning they were built with safety in mind. One of the early and well documented efforts was in the Tararuas, where a group of advocates including people such as Willie Field and Frank Penn, convinced New Zealand’s fledgling Tourist Department to sponsor the development of what eventually became the Tararua Southern Crossing route. Track cutting was only part of the work, as it was eventually decided that huts were necessary for the safety of tourists on the route*.

This was all happening at about the same time as the very young Tararua Tramping Club organised its first official club attempt to cross the range, in January 1922. Thanks to the lack of a century of experience now available, the group was woefully under-prepared by today’s standards. They had limited clothing and shelter, coordination and planning was loose, and many safety technologies available today hadn’t yet been invented, including waterproof clothing. A tragic consequence was that one member of the party, Harold Freeman, died of hypothermia in the exposed vicinity of Alpha Peak. For many of those involved, in a context where people were still discovering how to visit the outdoors with very little experience or peers from whom to learn, the disaster would have been the first realisation that tramping in New Zealand mountains had potential to be far more dangerous than a simple walk through the park.

One of several direct outcomes was for the Tararua Tramping Club to build a new emergency shelter in the vicinity of Hector, which came to be known as the Hector Dogbox. In June 1922, however, before it was even completed, another tramper – Esmond James Kime** – was caught in a southerly storm. Despite surviving 5 nights in wet clothes in the snow, he was discovered and taken to Alpha Hut in reasonable and responsive condition, only to abruptly die within an hour of arriving, probably due to the brandy he was given in an effort to help. The Hector Dogbox blew away before the end of the 1920s, and was soon replaced by Kime Memorial Hut, which then became a popular tourist destination for skiers until access to Ruapehu improved.***

New Zealand’s back-country now has roughly 1,000 huts (the exact number depends on who you ask) of a variety of origins from dedicated tramping huts, hunting huts and what began as private batches. With few exceptions, they’re typically open entry for use by anyone on the condition of paying for inexpensive hut tickets or an annual pass. A few huts, notably those on tourist-marketed Great Walks, are far more expensive and require booking in advance for regular use. All huts, however, exist at least in part for safety purposes. With a few exceptions, doors are unlocked for open entry, and an underlying rule is that they can be used by anyone at any time in case of emergency, booking or no booking.

There are regions that have very few huts, but in general huts are common enough to be a major part of the New Zealand outdoor experience. The scattered nature of huts means that to reach a hut requires traversing a lot of terrain, and reaching a hut can be a fulfilling experience that involves far more than simply getting there. A person who’s visited a large number of huts in an area is likely to have an exceptional knowledge of the terrain, which is one reason why it’s common to meet people who like to tick huts off a list, or describe trips and features in terms of where the huts are. Having arrived, huts often have a lot of character that’s been built and maintained by the variety of interesting people who have visited, stayed in and maintained those huts over the decades. This is especially the case with some remote huts that see few people.

Sometimes tramping in New Zealand is all about reaching the hut, and I guess propagation of this term as if it’s a definitive goal of tramping bothers me. It’s great, of course, to make the most of and enjoy huts, but I think what concerns me is an underlying impression sometimes present that huts are always present and frequent in tramping as cellphone coverage is on State Highway One. When a presentation about beginning tramping effectively tells people that reaching the hut is always the end goal of people going tramping (as did a powerpoint presentation I attended a couple of years ago), as if there’s no other reason to go tramping in New Zealand’s back-country and as if the hut is always reached, I think things can get mis-represented.

Tramping safely, irrespective of the terrain (everything from great walk to off-track bush-bashing), is (or should be) about making good decisions at decision points so as to be able to reach points of safety, and being as confident as possible of not becoming stuck between points of safety… even if that means refusing to leave the one you’re at. Huts are one point of safety in the outdoors, and maybe this is where some of the confusion comes from. I start to get uneasy if I’m going out tramping with someone and discover they have a different attitude to me about huts, because typically this means they’re somehow of the frame of mind that huts are what makes tramping safe. In other words, “why take a tent fly when we’ve got the hut?” This is where the whole Hut Fallacy thing, as I described earlier, starts to become apparent.

Well, there are plenty of reasons why it’s important to take portable shelter despite an intention to use huts. For starters a hut could be full of people already, it might be damaged or otherwise uninhabitable, or it might not even exist as a map shows it. Huts are moved and removed from time to time, and occasionally maps are just wrong from the beginning. The second potential problem is that of actually reaching the hut. It might be on the far side of a flooded river, the party might take a wrong turn or make a navigation error before arriving, or an unexpected injury might make it impossible to reach.

The wonderful thing about portable shelter is that it’s like carrying a point of safety with you everywhere. Tents, fly’s and bivy bags can’t be used everywhere, but they can be used a lot, and it’s often surprising just how possible it is to effectively set up this kind of shelter in some places when a party becomes desperate. It’s a little extra weight, but I have real difficulty understanding how people get into a frame of mind where they see relying on huts alone as being a safe way to visit the outdoors.

It’s a situation that goes beyond individuals, and I presume much of people’s attitude is shaped by those from whom they learn and associate. From time to time I meet groups and families in huts who haven’t given a second thought to their lack of shelter. We once met a large group from a tramping club, walking up an increasingly high river in the rain to an 8 bunk hut, and between 8 people they had a tent that would fit 3. The more experienced of these two people, both of whom died in the Tararuas last winter, was described as experienced by friends and family, yet the coroner’s inquest seems to imply that they didn’t properly check the forecast, made awful decisions, ignored advice, went into white-out conditions without appropriate navigation skills, didn’t carry portable shelter, and were ultimately driven on by the anticipation of reaching Kime Hut! It’s now emerging from the inquest that for this person it may even have been an habitual attitude. In another recent inquest, it’s emerged that the victim of a river crossing made a bad decision about continuing in bad weather, and then put herself in a position which made crossing the river imperative.

I honestly don’t want to be too critical. I’ve rarely met people in the outdoors who aren’t wonderful people and have interesting insights into all sorts of things, and very few people are outdoors with an intention of taking unreasonable risks. I also hope people think the same of me despite whatever weird Mike’isms come along with me. (Honestly, pretty much everyone who visits the back-country is strange in their own interesting way.) I guess I just have severe difficulty appreciating how people manage to take safety measures in the outdoors so casually. Maybe I just think this way because of the people whom I’ve learned from, but I can’t help but believe that it’s an irresponsible way of doing things, if not for one’s own safety then for the safety of others to whom one is responsible, or of everyone who might inevitably become involved in search and rescue efforts.

Footnotes

* In the 1920s context, the term “tourists” would probably refer mostly to those within New Zealand, even the Wellington and nearby regions, wanting to safely visit the mountains, rather than today’s common use which is typically about attracting visitors to New Zealand from overseas.

** The history books I’ve found only seem to refer to him as E. J. Kime, but through the magic of online government resources it’s now easy to search historic death certificates at Births, Deaths & Marriages Online, which reveal 24 year old Esmond James Kime died in 1922. Interestingly the National Library’s digitisation of historic newspapers also reveal a couple of references in 1915, including some examination results (E. J. Kime passed science examinations for both Magnetism and Electricty, and Applied Mechanics for materials and structures), and also an Esmond Kime — a young postal officer — who was admitted to hospital following a bicycle accident. Historic online resources are awesome.

*** Information in the last few paragraphs was compiled from Chris McLean’s book Tararua: the story of a mountain range.

• 16th February 2010
• 17th February 2010
• 18th February 2010
• Update 10th March: 10th March 2010 — coroner’s findings released

It’s interesting reading, especially the latter articles, and seems to developing into some good examples of things they might have done better, but more importantly the presence of a culture that wasn’t a safe one to mix with the outdoors, yet also one which is very prevalent (in my opinion at least).

Wellington Anniversary Weekend meant an opportunity to have a slightly longer trip in the Tararuas than the usual weekend, and we used it to visit the middle part of the main range, beginning from Otaki Forks and ending at Poads Road near Levin. The forecast leading up to the weekend was uninspiring, suggesting several large splodges of rain would position themselves all over the lower North Island, especially on Saturday, but perhaps clearing a little after that. There was no forecast of strong wind and we went ahead with the plan, but somehow boasting about a lack of strong wind didn’t convince my work-mates not to laugh at me when I left to visit the Tararuas on Friday night.

Dates: 22nd – 25th Jaunary, 2010 (Wellington Anniversary Weekend)
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Otaki Forks to Poads Road.
People: Amanda, Richard, Tim and me.
Huts visited: Waitewaewae Hut (0 nights), Nichols Hut (1 night), Dracophyllum Biv (0 nights), Te Matawai Hut (1 night), South Ohau Hut (0 nights).
Route: Walk up Saddle Creek and camp on the plateau, then past Waitewaewae Hut and over Shoulder Knob to Nichols Hut for the next night. Then to Te Matawai Hut via Pukematawai, and out to Poads Road via the South Ohau River.
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We left a van at Otaki Forks a little after 8pm, intending to swap it with another group on their way along Oriwa Ridge. A few others had signed the intentions book so we weren’t the only people braving the rain, but most going elsewhere. The only people who’d written about going our way, up towards Waitewaewae, having left earlier in the afternoon, had abruptly scribbled out their plans for a 4 day trip and written OUT. Apparently they’d changed their mind for some reason.

With an hour of light left and wanting to get ahead of the rain, the four of us began walking towards Waitewaewae with an idea of camping on the plateau above Saddle Creek. Despite the rainy forecast, it was still a calm evening without much rain scheduled until early morning. The only small delay was around the significant active slip on the Waitewaewae track, but we figured it out after a few minutes. The last light of the day held out until we were well into trees near Saddle Creek, and from then on we walked with torches. In this creek in the past, during the daytime, I’ve found it easier to simply walk up the creek than to figure out the entire criss-crossing track, though I think it’s a personal preference. By torchlight I think we all decided it was much easier to stay on the track as much as possible. This track is also much more steep than I remembered it. I was too busy looking at the ground ahead of me to properly notice, but others in the party reported that Saddle Creek seems to be a haven for glow-worms. We reached our camp-site at 11pm, which thankfully wasn’t too sodden, and set ourselves up for the night.

The Otaki River, just
past Waitewaewae Hut.

Next morning I found I was apparently the only person to have had a reasonable sleep, and I still didn’t think there had been enough of it. Up at 7am, the forecast rain was yet to begin, although the tent flies were sodden. We were packed and leaving by 8, towards Waitewaewae Hut before continuing on to Nichols for the night. We stopped briefly at Waitewaewae, 90 minutes later, where we met a chap who’d walked in and arrived the previous night. He had an optimistic plan to head up to Te Matawai Hut, then down the entire Otaki River, apparently oblivious to the amount of humidity in the air. Despite declaring his plans he didn’t exactly seem in a rush to go anywhere, and as we left at 10am, he returned to his sleeping bag.

Richard on the way up to Shoulder Knob.

It turns out to be quite a big slog up to Shoulder Knob, which is at the bush-line. It’s a 900 metre climb, taking us 3 hours in all, including an odd stop along the way. We were greeted at the top by a voodoo-doll-like statue tied to the pole on the knob, just one of those semi-weird things in the back-country that I’ve trained myself to appreciate.

Tim borrowed my camera and snapped this
rare photo at Junction Knob which actually
has me in it.

Visibility had dropped as we approached the bush-line, and soon after leaving it we were in at least 3/4 storm gear, with the cold wind coming from the south. Actually the whole thing was very confusing, especially with no rain. It all felt like sou-easterlies but was difficult to tell, so with wind going clockwise around low pressure, perhaps the system we’d expected had gone further north? We were guessing in any case, but as time went on it was all so dramatically inconsistent with reality that we leaned towards throwing out what we knew of the following days, and just focused on getting between points of safety, the next of which was to be Nichols Hut. The wind was still fairly light, and that was the critical thing at the time.

Tim shelters from the wind below Mt
Crawford as he waits for us to arrive.

We arrived at Junction Knob just before 2pm, the point on the Tararua Main Range between Nichols and Anderson Hut, where the signpost informed us that our destination for the evening was but 90 minutes away. For the remainder of the day, we continued along the main range with about 30 metres visibility, tolerating light but icy winds from the south-east between the occasional eddies and sheltered spots. The high point along here is Mount Crawford (1482), ceremoniously marked with a short drainpipe poking out of the ground. For a few minutes we accidentally began to head down the wrong spur off Crawford, but managed to catch it once the route dissipated more than seemed reasonable and we noticed the bearing didn’t appear quite right. In the end, including this detour, it took us 2 hours from Junction Knob before we reached Nichols Hut just off the eastern side of the ridge, and it was a good sight.

Amanda followed by Richard.

The door of Nichols had been barricaded on the outside with a saw-horse, and we soon found this was because the door wasn’t clicking shut properly. A couple of notes in the book indicated that the door had been discovered swinging open when people had shown up. Tim and Richard got a fire going, and we settled into an entree of cheese and crackers, followed by Amanda’s design of yummy Chorizo Couscous.

Nichols Hut.

The hut literature at Nichols was unexpected, especially the collection of 4 wheel drive magazines given that they were at a hut at 1242 metres altitude on the Tararua Main Range. Unfortunately not much to read, in any case. The picture magazines weren’t too enlightening either, though the latest Hunting & Fishing catalogue was advertising one of the funniest looking gun-wielding swamp monster outfits I’ve ever seen. Heavy rain finally arrived at 8.30pm, just after we’d gone to bed and almost 24 hours later than we expected. It also stopped well short of what we’d expected, only raining on and off and with nothing sustained. No wind either, though I guess Nichols is reasonably sheltered given that it’s not tied to the ground as some nearby huts are, and we fortunately had no issues with the door swinging open.

The main range north of Nichols.

Rain had stopped by 6.45am when Amanda dragged herself out of a sleeping bag on the lower bunk and started a billy boiling. We packed up, feasted on brekkie, and I took a few photos of the door latch to forward to DOC at a later date. We also hunted around for replacement firewood, which was difficult. For future reference I’d suggest that anyone visiting Nichols Hut from the northern direction should grab an arm-load of firewood as they leave the bush-line, only about 5 minutes away. We re-barricaded the door, and at a relaxed 8.45am, we left. Once again it was quite a dreary day outside, with thick cloud and little visibility.

Figuring out a route around Kelleher.

The light but icy wind was now coming from the west, for whatever reason, and we’d given up on trying to figure out how it related to the models issued a couple of days earlier. Wind wasn’t as much of a concern just now, anyway, because about 5 minutes north of Nichols Hut the Tararua Main Range dips into the bush-line. It stays there for some time, except for a brief 100 metre emergence to sidle around the eastern side of a peak called Kelleher (1152), which after 90 minutes appeared high and some distance before us. We continued past an obvious track marker below Kelleher, then sat down in a sheltered area for a quick snack, and to figure out which of the apparent routes ahead was most likely to be the intended track. Amanda and I eventually took alternative parallel options along the slope, both ending up on a short west to east spur.

From here it wasn’t clear at all, but through the thick cloud it looked as if we could head towards a little knob not far away, and it’d sidle around Kelleher nicely. Moving to the knob, however, there didn’t seem to be any emergence of Kelleher behind it as we’d expected, even after checking where it should be with a compass bearing, which was actually fairly disorienting. By now we should have been able to see a clear outline, or upward-sloping ground, or something to indicate the presence of anything other than a void directly beyond in a westerly direction. I guess thick cloud can do strange things to perception on the tops. It makes nearby things seem far away, and short climbs appear much further than they actually are, and on occasions like this it causes trampers to summit peaks like Kelleher completely accidentally. Having eliminated the alternatives, and confirming suspicions with a quick reference to a GPS, we eventually determined we were 200 metres off the side of the route we wanted along the range, and re-traced our steps. At least we didn’t waste another two hours heading down the far side, which is what a couple of people writing in the Nichols Hut book had indicated they’d done.

Back-tracking to the previous marker we’d seen prior to having even sat down, and taking another look around, we quickly spotted a giant cairn that led straight back into the dracophyllum. Just over an hour further of walking, we arrived at Dracophyllum Biv, a cute 2 person hut under the trees. It’s also well tied to the ground despite being surrounded by trees, presumably for good reason. We stopped for lunch.

Arriving at Dracophyllum.

It’d taken around 3 hours to reach our lunch spot, the track being peppered with many peaks and ongoing undulation. We thought the next section would be similar, being roughly the same length before emerging from the bush-line, but northwards from Dracophyllum Biv was much faster. An hour or so later we were emerging into more leatherwood and dracophyllum, eventually back into nice alpine scrub. It still wasn’t exactly raining, either, which didn’t stop us from becoming saturated thanks to the fog of tiny hovering water particles that weren’t massive enough to figure out whether they should obey the force of gravity or the force of the up-draft blowing over the ridge. For the length on the tops we could clearly hear the Park River, 300 metres below to the east, and had the cloud lifted we’d have been opposite Carkeek Ridge. We never saw further than about 50 metres, however.

Tim approches the turn-off near Pukematawai.

The main range leading north-wards to Pukematawai undulates with several spot heights, each of which appeared distant, high and ominous, but all of which we found to be much quicker and easier to ascend and overtake than it had first appeared through the deceptively thick cloud… probably because we rarely saw far ahead in the first place. At 3pm we reached a collection of stakes poking out of the ground, just short of Pukematawai, and marking the turn-off point down towards Te Matawai Hut. At Amanda’s suggestion, we stopped on the sheltered side of the ridge for a few minutes and put on over-trousers, in anticipation of being about to walk directly into the freezing westerly wind. It was worth it, too, even just for the first few minutes during which we were most exposed.

Amanda ready to leave.

From here it was time to say goodbye to the main range. When there’s more than a 500 metre vertical drop in the space of about 2.5 kilometres, a track will generally be steep. The last stage of our day therefore became a controlled slippery slide down through the mud to Te Matawai Hut, the highlight of which was the first sign of our entire tramp of the sun finally coming out. It didn’t expose itself completely, but as we left the cloud layer on the main range, we did finally get a vague warmth forcing its way through some clouds above us. At one brief moment, there was even a small patch of blue sky. It wasn’t until a couple of hours later, however, standing on the deck of Te Matawai Hut with most of our clothes and gear hanging out in an optimistic attempt to dry them out, that some cloud properly lifted for a few minutes revealing large amounts of the main range in the distance, over which we’d spent our entire day. Much of the range is obscured by trees from Te Matawai Hut, but we could almost see as far back as Dracophyllum Biv, and the undulating shape of the ridge that we’d noticed now made complete visual sense.

The first blue sky of our weekend.

The main range finally emerged.

Tim managed to get another fire going after some effort, and over time we hung out much of our gear inside, actually being able to get it reasonably dry on this occasion. Te Matawai Hut perhaps doesn’t get as many visitors as its size implies. It’s very large as huts go, yet every time I’ve visited (this was the third) there’s been nobody else. On this occasion it also had much better reading material, including a bunch of old FMC Bulletins. I got the one in which several people had written in to comment about an incorrect answer for question 10 in the quiz of a previous bulletin. It was something about the name of a certain kind of 3-pronged nail that was once used in climbing boots.

After more cheese and crackers, we settled into a nice dinner of a certain kind of satay noodle recipe that Amanda had dreamed up. We’d just gone to bed at 9pm, and it wasn’t long after that when we heard someone enter and walk around a little. They weren’t there in the morning and never wrote in the book, but it appeared as if there was at least one other person wandering around. Perhaps they were on their way up to Arete Biv, or somewhere nearby to camp. Weird — I’m not used to people who aren’t me walking into huts at night.

Heading downstairs on Monday morning.

Our last day was a straightforward walk down the Ohau River. We were away shortly after 8am, and 90 minutes later following a skid further down the hill, arrived at the new South Ohau Hut. Last time I’d been here there was nothing but the fireplace of the old hut, which is appropriately the location of the new hut’s woodshed. South Ohau actually looks really nice, and it’d be easy to spend a few days relaxing there. Not being in any rush, we hung around for half an hour before beginning our walk down the river.

South Ohau Hut from near the river.

The South Ohau River itself is a slightly gorgey river, and even when it’s low as it was on this occasion it has a few tricky sections. If it were up even 20 centimetres further, it’s likely some parts would be waist deep (as Richard had experienced a few months before), and beyond that it could be very challenging if possible to follow at all. This morning however, it just took time. It took 90 minutes to reach Deception Spur, where the South Ohau meets the North Ohau, and we stopped briefly for our final lunch. The remainder of our river walk, about the same distance again but much more easily navigable, towards where it meets the track out to Poads Road, took only half that time.

Just over an hour later, having walked the last section of track as well as having met the second and third people we’d talked to in three days — a couple out for a short daywalk — we were standing next to our van at the end of the Poads Road entrance to the Tararuas, nice and early to beat the holiday weekend traffic.

The South Ohau River.

The full published results are available on DOC’s website.

The original proposal of the Te Araroa Trust was to go more or less via this route, but the Trust put together the alternative proposal to build a track along Oriwa Ridge, below the bush-line, after the DOC Wellington Hawkes Bay conservancy expressed concern that the earlier route could be too dangerous for the often less experienced trampers that Te Araroa might be expected to attract. This has been brewing for about a year now, and has unveiled much controversy over balancing the seclusion of dedicated wilderness areas and the promotion of recreation, and all that.

Having gone through the submission process with 218 submissions, DOC has decided that its initial concerns are no longer relevant. It’s decided that for various reasons Oriwa Ridge probably isn’t that much safer anyway, that the reasons against the Oriwa Ridge proposal out-weigh the reasons in favour, and ultimately that there will be no track built through Oriwa Ridge. Reasoning that the Te Araroa Trust has since included rugged exposed alpine routes in other regions of the track, DOC has now also come out in favour of the original Te Araroa proposal that it initially had concerns about, to follow the existing and more exposed route through the Tararuas at higher altitude. As long as everyone who walks this section of the Te Araroa Trail takes standard precautions (ie. doesn’t take undue risks), this should be a win for everyone.

It ruffled feathers and caused stress for people on both sides early on. Oriwa Ridge is within one of two Remote Wilderness Areas in the Tararuas — special areas set aside to receive little or no development. This is so experienced people really can get into the wilderness without having to run into tracks, huts, helicopters, and too many other people. Despite having been a popular route many decades ago, Oriwa Ridge itself has a reputation (deserved or not) of being a remote ridge to walk along thanks to a famous storm in the 1930s that left behind lots of tree-fall, causing the ridge to be a comparably challenging, but rewarding route for people who enjoy getting out to that sort of place. The Te Araroa Trail proposal would have ploughed a more heavily walked track along the ridge, which contradicts the idea of a remote wilderness zone and (being on the ridge itself) would have made it difficult for people visiting the region to avoid.

When the Department of Conservation eventually requested submissions on the Oriwa Ridge idea back in August, it triggered debate amongst many of the locals who visit the Tararuas. The Te Araroa Trust encouraged its supporters to make submissions in favour of its proposed route. At the same time, however, several of the local tramping clubs approached the Federated Mountain Clubs of New Zealand, which made a strong submission against the proposal.

In some ways it’s a shame that so much time and effort has been spent both by people in the trust, in DOC, and other interested parties, certainly with much stress along the way, to effectively arrive at the conclusion that the initial idea was always the best. I suppose at least it’s been thought through in a lot of detail now, however, and hopefully everyone can at least see there’s been reasoned consideration.

Perhaps the last word is that anyone who still wants to walk along Oriwa Ridge, as part of their own Te Araroa route or not, can continue to do so. I’ve never been there, but I intend to see it sooner or later. Unlike many countries, there’s no legal requirement to fill in any forms or pay any admissions, or stay on any marked track. All that’s required is to leave it as you find it, and to be fully responsible for yourself. Once these things are accounted for, Oriwa Ridge and nearly anywhere in New Zealand’s back-country is there to be visited in a relatively un-touched state. It’s one of the beauties of our public estate which I hope I’ll never take for granted.

Dundas Hut at sunset.

By now, we’re narrowing down some ideas. Over Holdsworth to Neill Forks might be worth doing in dodgy weather, and it’s near the top of the list. Looking more closely at the forecast though, it seems as if things may become more bearable late on Saturday. From somewhere an idea dawns that we could do what we originally planned in reverse, and it seems better and better the more we think about it. Getting over Cattle Ridge on Saturday with its reputation of exposure to wind could be a problem, but maybe it’s worth a try all the same. There are really only a few hundred metres to cross over the top before heading down the other side. Mmmm, sleep would be nice.

Dates: 18th – 20th September, 2009
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Putara road-end.
People: Illona, Amanda, Richard and me.
Huts visited: Herepai Hut (1 night), Roaring Stag Lodge (0 nights), Cattle Ridge Hut (0 nights), Dundas Hut (1 night).
Route: From the Putara Road End to Herepai Hut for Friday night. Then past Roaring Stag, up and over Cattle Ridge, down to cross the Ruamahanga River, then up to Dundas Hut for Saturday night. Over Pukemoremore to West Peak, East Peak, Ruapae and Herepai, then down past Herepai Hut back to the Putara Road End.
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Sometimes I wonder what I’m getting myself in for, but it usually pays off. One way or another, I’ll enjoy it or enjoy the end of it. Besides, as long as good decisions are made between points of safety, bad weather tramping lets you see places in a way that’s often missed.

It really is raining by the time we roll up to the end of Putara Road at 8.30pm, gateway to such fascinating places as Roaring Stag Lodge and Herepai Hut. Thankfully nobody wants to camp in this, so we’ll be walking for a while to avoid it. Two large vehicles are parked at the road, which look distinctly like the types that would belong to people who’d more likely be at Roaring Stag, fitting nicely with our plan to instead walk to Herepai Hut in the other direction. It’ll mean doubling back tomorrow, but Herepai’s also closer, and we want sleep, or I do. After some time we cross the long swing bridge over the Mangatainoka River, and after that there’s about 400 metres of walking mostly up-hill. Trudging up the muddy track by torchlight isn’t the most riveting experience, but at least there’s some drying out to look forward to, and it usually pays off. Right now it’s just raining and cold. 2 hours after leaving, when we do reach Herepai, it’s a happy relief to find it empty, so we’re not be disturbing anyone.

Unpacking and hanging things up doesn’t take long, not to imply that many things ever actually do dry out but sometimes it’s good to feel as if you’re doing something useful. With a quick assessment, we resolve we’d like to be away by 7am, meaning a wake-up call at 6. Seven hours of sleep will really help, and I slink into my nice comfy sleeping bag as the sole occupant of the top platform. Rain pounds on the roof for most of the night. Every so often a strong gust of wind rustles surrounding trees, but that’s all outside. With luck it’ll stop some time tomorrow morning, and in anticipation of the wind also dying down, we’re looking forward to a good weekend.

For some reason Illona’s alarm goes off at ten to six. This is ten minutes earlier than advertised and she probably planned it. I can hear everyone rummaging around below, but really can’t pull myself out of bed. The deal I’d made with my brain was for 6am, and until then it isn’t going to help me at all. Eventually the clock ticks over, though, and I slide down, slip on some crocs and look outside. Part of the main range is visible within the dingy lurking cloud, a thinnish layer of icy snow settled on the area between East Peak and Ruapae. It’s still raining, still windy at the top, and I’m very glad we decided not to head straight up this morning.

Illona and Richard preparing to leave.

Thankfully due to people more organised than myself, the billy’s boiled, and a quickly mixed hot brekkie helps. Before 7am, we’re fully packed, have latched the door, and commence wading through the track that’s become much more boggy overnight. It’s getting warmer with the walking and, even better, the barometer readings imply the weather has improved from the previous night. Shame about the rain.

I suppose one of the things easiest to notice about the route we’ve chosen is the excessive up and down. It starts with a climb of about 500 metres up to Herepai Hut (which we’d done on Friday night), followed by a drop of about the same amount down to Roaring Stag Lodge on the banks of the Ruamahanga River, which we’re now doing. A little demoralising in some respects given what’s to come.

The Ruamahanga River outside
Roaring Stag Lodge.

Roaring Stag Lodge is in a nice place on the banks of the Ruamahanga River, and it’s a good site for a hut. As we arrive at about 8.30am, we’re greeted by two lively and enthusiastic hunting dogs, supervised by three guys preparing to leave for the day. As they head off back up in the direction we’d come from, we take off a layer because it was getting hot. It’s still raining, though.

From Roaring Stag Lodge, we cross the long swing bridge over the Ruamahanga River to the base of Cattle Ridge, and begin climbing. Despite having climbed about 500 metres on Friday night (and dropped the same amount earlier this morning), getting up to Cattle Ridge Hut is the first big climb, straight up from around 450 metres to about 1150 metres where the hut is placed. We lose the track momentarily within the trees on the way up and have to sidle around some slippery soil, but otherwise it’s a fairly standard up-hill Tararua track. The rain is less noticeable under trees, and by the time we reach the bush-line it’s finally stopped, thankfully consistent with our most recent weather forecast. In fact, there are even traces of blue sky phasing in and out. Now we only need to contend with a freezing breeze whenever we’re exposed. There’s a wide landscape below, straight down to Roaring Stag Lodge which is directly visible for most of the climb, and right until the track curves over the top of the ridge to where Cattle Ridge Hut sits, just above a murky tarn. The two huts are only separated by 2km on a flat map, but there’s around 700 vertical metres of climbing in that 2 km, which makes it feel further.

Richard outside Cattle Ridge Hut.

We reach Cattle Ridge Hut at 10.30am, having coasted into the base of some of the lower clouds, and stop for a very early lunch. Flipping through the hut book, we also discover we aren’t the first people to pass through for the day. In fact, a group of three apparently crazy guys have been through at 8.30am, roughly the same time we’d been at Roaring Stag, with the intent of walking our entire weekend circuit back out past Herepai before the end of today. This seems very ambitious, not solely because they’re doing it in a single day (which seems feasible for a very fit person), but because they’re doing it on this specific day with gale-force southerlies forecast for much of the time, which seems potentially very miserable compared with what they might get a day later. Perhaps their schedule is restricted. Anyway, as long as the make good decisions they’ll be fine, and perhaps we’ll see them at Dundas Hut if they decide not to go beyond. Looking at how freezing, windy and clagged in it still is on the main range and with the knowledge it’s likely to stay that way, it isn’t exactly something that would appeal to me right now.

Cattle Ridge Hut is more run down than what I remember from 18 months before, but still perfectly adequate. The hut is (I think) being considered for removal thanks to its close proximity to the much more modern Roaring Stag Lodge below, despite the vertical distance between the two. The stove was removed a while back (since there isn’t much dead firewood above the bush-line). For better or worse, a 44 gallon drum which a tramping entrepreneur had last-time left at the hut with instructions about how to use it as a replacement stove has now also been removed. Furthermore on a similar theme, Cattle Ridge Hut is one of the huts that had a bunk removed as a victim of the unfortunate fire exit technicality that affected DOC 18 months ago. Even though the bureaucracy is sorted thanks to some emergency negotiations with New Zealand’s Department of Building and Housing (which administers building regulations), Cattle Ridge Hut is still down to five bunks as a reminder of the confusing ways that governments can work. If anything, the missing top bunk does mean there’s more space to sit down for lunch without having to bend forwards.

Crossing over Cattle Ridge.

After our 45 minute early lunch stop, we finally leave Cattle Ridge Hut at around 11.15am, venturing back out into the frozen and murky tops. Cattle Ridge is notorious for wind, being very exposed to the freezing southerly and sou-easterly that’s occurring right now. We follow the network of cairns and, eventually, marker poles, which lead to the route down the western side — fortunately despite the wind, it’s not clagged in so we don’t need to be as concerned about navigation. I’m really glad we have full storm gear for this part, even though it’s only a few hundred metres over the top before we shimmy over the ridge. There’s a very icy wind chill, despite the wind not being uncomfortably strong to stand in.

Rounding an inconspicuous corner, however, the wind is suddenly gone, and we’re at the top of the small scree gut (perhaps 50 metres down) that marks the beginning of the descent. It’s not a tricky scree gut and has a lot growing on it, so with the usual care it’s quite easy to get down as these things go. Alpine plants are fantastically trustworthy for how solidly rooted they are. As we glance over to the main range from near the top of Cattle Ridge, we can see Dundas Hut murmuring in the distance, perched near the top of a baby spur that’s set back between the two more mammoth ridge/spurs that come off Logan and Pukemoremore to either side. Dundas Hut itself is coming and going at about the level of the clouds, and it’s nice to finally be able to see our destination for the night. It’s only a shame there’s a 600 hundred metre vertical drop between here and there.

Amanda nears the Ruamahanga River
on the western side of Cattle Ridge.

The track down the south-western side of Cattle Ridge is fairly steep, but (again) typical and easy enough to get alllll the way down. After walking 2 horizontal kilometres and a 600 vertical metres, at 12.30pm we’re deposited, once again, at the Ruamahanga River — apparently a river we can’t leave behind. This is a higher section of the same thing, which flows all the way around the end of Cattle Ridge before turning back on the far side past Roaring Stag Lodge where we’ve just been. I’m assured that for some reason it makes more sense to climb over the top of Cattle Ridge and go all the way down the other side, however, rather than follow the river. By now it’s actually quite sunny, and Illona’s decided to try and climb the social ladder by offering around some biscuits she brought. They’re quite yummy. Amanda points out that we’re now within the inner reaches of the range.

With the rain overnight and earlier in the day, it shouldn’t be too surprising that the river’s flowing higher than usual. It’s not flooded, but certainly thigh-deep, flowing quite fast, tricky to stand in with any stability, and without many options up or down-stream for finding optimal places to cross. In its current state, it’s a good candidate for a technical river crossing, and carrying this out is actually quite a fulfilling exercise. Unlike some other occasions in which I’ve been involved, we actually talk to each other and reach a consensus about all the details of which method we’re going to use before we begin. This is a very positive thing, since so many people have so many different ideas about the “correct” way to cross a river, that multiple times in the past I’ve found we’ve made it part-way through a river only to find people trying to do different things.

All lined up perfectly, gripping hip-belts behind each other’s backs, we carefully nudge our way into the Ruamahanga River, staying lined up well to minimise the surface area visible to the current, and it’s working really well. Half way through, I’m starting to think that this is probably the most successful technical river crossing I’ve ever been involved in (not much of a challenge, I’m afraid). I’m busy boasting to everyone about this, and perhaps it’s my emotively flailing arms that push Richard into a big rock on the river floor, causing him to stumble slightly up to his waist. I feel some mild responsibility which I mostly keep quiet about, but no matter. It’s still the most successful technical crossing I’ve ever been involved in.

We pause for another snack on the far side, then at 1pm we climb up into the sidling track (about 100 metres above where we’ve left the river) that follows around the edge of the spur off Pukemoremore, then to the base of the baby Dundas Hut spur we could see earlier. This track seems fairly damaged in a few places. It never feels unsafe, but it’s narrow in places and on at least a couple of occasions, large trees have fallen and require awkward and creative circumventions. It’s uncharacteristic of the sorts of tracks we’ve seen so far during the weekend. At the base of the spur is the confluence where the two side-creeks meet having come down the gulleys on either side, we pause for yet another snack, and it’s up-hill to Dundas Hut on the main range.

Amanda crossing the confluence
at the base of the Dundas Hut spur.

Looking up towards the
Tararua Main Range.

This will be the final climb of the day, and it’s another 600 metres more or less straight up. At least it’s a completely honest spur, with no messing around and undulating. Within 30 minutes we’re back above the bush-line, and the surrounding environment is impressive to take in. We’re well sheltered from the sou-easterly by the two massive spurs on either side, which means it’s a quiet and calm atmosphere for most of the way up. The creeks on either side of the spur are loud and easily audible, but it’s funny to only be able to hear one at a time, alternating as the track up the spur alternates from side to side, as little as a couple of metres either way.

At 3pm, the spur flattens out slightly, for a short while, just before the final climb up to the perch above Dundas Hut, and 15 minutes later we finally reach the sign which diverts traffic bound for Dundas Hut down to the right, off the spur. Sure enough, Dundas Hut is lurking in the hazy depths below, and within 10 minutes we’re sitting inside. It’s surprisingly warm, given the air temperature outside and the lack of insulation. Perhaps there’s been an unlikely coincidence of sunshine coming through the skylight and warming the inside of the hut at about this time of day, or perhaps we’re imaging it. Amanda pegs her socks outside on one of the metal cables that anchors Dundas Hut to the ground, perhaps in the hope they’ll dry in the remaining sunshine and wind. Nobody else is quite so enthusiastic. Looking up to the main range, no longer far above us, the clouds are shifting quickly in the air, but we’re well sheltered down here. We were curious if those three guys might have stopped here for the night rather than continue their circuit, but they haven’t, and in fact they’ve written in the book that they passed through for lunch. They must have been having an “interesting” day, and they’re most likely still going.

Amanda looks up towards
Pukemoremore near sunset.

Tonight, however, we’re focused on preparing to stay the night. Illona’s planned a very nice Soba Satay noodle meal with a ginger cake dessert. Tramping dinners can be fantastic when they’re well planned and with the food divided, and this is no exception.

The late afternoon dwindles as I’m scrubbing the plates outside the front door. We have a colourfully muted sunset with lazy clouds dangling around Pukemoremore and its spur off the main range behind the hut. As time goes on, the cloud movement above the range slows down, thankfully as was forecast, and hopefully to stay that way for tomorrow. It’s getting cold, though, and as the sun drops to the west we’re spending more time in sleeping bags for warmth. Dundas Hut survived the 6th-bunk-purge that had affected Cattle Ridge, but the redundant wood-stove that was once here is long gone, evidenced only by the nailed covers on the floor and ceiling, and therefore there’s no extra heating. I am, once again, on a top bunk, and Dundas Hut as with some other smaller huts, has special rules which state that those in top bunks aren’t allowed to sit upright. To ensure of this, the designers instituted a cunning system of ceiling support beams that lie in strategic places relative to the bunks. At first it makes climbing into the top bunk a challenge, but one is rewarded with a satisfying feeling once it’s completed, and therefore it’s well worthwhile. Obviously more huts and bunks should be designed like this, not because I want to use them all the time, but because I think it adds to the tramping experience.

Having settled into my sleeping bag and only hit my head once, I pull out my book to read, only to realise that after 2 pages it’s finished. (Damn these books with 10 blank pages at the end.) Amanda shuffles outside having remembered the socks hanging on the anchor cable, and brings them inside in a fairly crusty state, half way to being frozen. This prompts an idea of bringing in all the boots and socks, some of which are still in the old wood-shed part of the porch just outside the door, to prevent them from freezing. So far I’ve managed to avoid getting up, but at that point Amanda rather annoyingly points out that the tap might be frozen in the morning, so perhaps we should fill up on water now. (Nothing annoying about Amanda, of course, only what she stated.)

Grrrr, this means I’ll have to get up, even though “I bet it’s not frozen in the morning.” All the same I unzip my sleeping bag, pull myself out of my liner, roll over and fall to the floor in a semi-controlled fashion, then rummage around to find my water bottles. Richard’s doing something similar, and Illona’s pretending to be asleep, perhaps having already been through all of this while I wasn’t paying attention. I hop outside onto the freezing deck in bare feet to fill them up, shake icy water from my fingers (brrrrr), haul myself back up onto the bunk, hit my head on the beam as I’m trying to slide back into the delicate configuration of sleeping bag and liner, roll over and re-arrange my things, then lie quietly. Amanda briefly ventures outside again, comes in and comments how clear the sky has now become, with a brilliant Milky Way outside. I choose to believe her, but despite my efforts I can’t make much out through the corrugated plastic skylight directly above me that’s rapidly attracting condensation. It’s a quiet night, bearable but not exactly warm. I find myself stirring at 4am for a sip of water. Groping around in the dark, I discover a thin seal of ice around the top. Hmmmm.

Roughly Sunrise, 6.35am.

And it’s welcome to Sunday morning. With our adjusted plan that spends Sunday on the tops instead of Saturday, we’ll have a longer than expected day today, and therefore intend to be away by 7.30am. This translates to a 6.30am wake-up, although in the emerging pattern I notice everyone except for me rustling ten minutes earlier.

Well, it turns out the idea to bring the boots and socks inside was a very good idea. Unfortunately it just wasn’t quite good enough, because it turns out they’re all well frozen despite our precaution. The socks that hang on the wall are frozen. Everyone’s boots that were under the bench are frozen. The tea-bag in my cup is frozen. By this point, I’m willing to agree that there might have been something worthwhile in Amanda’s idea the previous night. We haven’t tested the tap so far this morning, however, and with all the water we saved there’s no reason to test it, so perhaps we’ll never know for certain.

Illona sips a cup of tea over frozen
socks, boots and gaiters.

Stepping outside, it looks as if it’ll actually be quite sunny today. We lay out our frozen boots and socks in an attempt to thaw them in the morning sun, but it may take some time. If I’d actually believed this was going to happen, I might have made an effort to shape my boot-laces into a more artistic and symmetrical pattern. Well, breakfast perhaps.

They’re not thawing out very well, and nobody really wants to try and pull frozen socks and boots onto their feet. It’ll have to happen soon, however. Application of sunblock could be a good diversion, even though for some reason I seem to be having trouble getting it out of the tube. Strange — usually this stuff flows so easily. Finally though, we do make the effort to freeze our feet, which should hopefully warm up and quickly thaw out as we begin to walk. It’s even less fun than pulling on soggy socks and boots in the morning, however. I think I have a clump of ice somewhere under my heel, and might need to do something about that later.

Leaving Dundas Hut on Saturday morning.

As it is, though, we close the door at Dundas Hut and leave at 7.30am, happily at the exact time we’d hoped for. It’s actually quite a climb out of Dundas Hut, especially noticeable early in the morning when getting into it so immediately. Last time I was here, I made a silly mistake of drinking far too much water which contributed to severe problems later in the day, and this time I was being much more careful. In fact, this time I’d filled up with a complete 3 litres of water which was at least twice as much as what I expected I’d probably need. Still, better to have too much than not enough if in doubt.

Nearing the top of the Dundas Hut spur, I’m already feeling quite hot and sweaty in the morning sun, though this is quickly thwarted on reaching spot-height 1415 at the top of the spur after 20 minutes, where we’re suddenly hit by what remains of the light but still-freezing sou-easterly. It gets stronger as we briefly drop into a saddle below Pukemoremore, but is never threatening. Evidence of the overnight cold is all around, though, including small remaining slabs of snow, and one small tarn which is very solidly frozen on top when I test it. We stand on top of Pukemoremore at around 8.15am, the highest point we’ll reach during the entire weekend at 1474 metres.

Early clouds on the Main Range.

We carry on over Walker (or rather sidling around to the left of it), all part of a very pleasurable ridge to follow, although with the freezing breeze it makes sense to stop a few times and all of us end up wearing over-trousers, gloves and hats to keep off the threat of the wind chill. Every so often, we spot the footprints of the three people the previous day, deeply embedded in the alpine mud, and more often than not they’ve become the moulds for icy casts of their boots that are now in-set into the ground.

Coasting along the ridge as wispy clouds waft over the range with the light suffix of a sou-easterly, turbulent patterns form over and under each other in seemingly chaotic patterns before disintegrating in a vapourous wash of transparency. To the west, the town of Levin is bathed in an opaque sunshine, shielded from the ravages of an overcast sky by the profile of the Tararuas, the silhouette of which right now includes our kitted out storm gear. If there’s any doubt about the point of going tramping on the Tararua main range, this should seal away any concerns because studies show that the weather affects people’s happiness and by adding to the profile of the Tararua main range, it occurs to me that we are helping to shield Levin from the dasterdly and treacherous light wind that would otherwise carry demoralising cloud over the district to the west. Somewhere out there, people are producing higher and more efficient economic outputs by working harder because they’re happier (as various studies imply), improving the economy of Levin and by extension the world. And it’s all thanks to trampers in the Tararuas. We’re happy, too.

Illona double-checks the map.

Amanda, Richard and Illona wait
for me to hurry up and take a photo.

As we pause at times, we can see as far as Mount Eggie/Taranaki, Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe in the distance. Looking out over the plains, we contemplate how they might have been as forest wet-lands, prior to European settlers arriving with their newly-invented techniques of turning the vast majority of New Zealand’s original wetlands into land that could be used for farming, but completely transforming the eco-system as a consequence. Eventually as the sun rises in the sky, the cloud that blows over the range from the east disintegrates entirely, leaving us with a completely sunny, though slightly breezy day on the tops. On reaching West Peak, we have the last climb of any significance ahead of us, since it’s here that the main range drops into a saddle about 200 metres deep between two ridges, re-commencing at East Peak on the far side — exactly 20 metres higher than the West Peak on which we stand. I bet this is treacherous in the wrong kind of weather, and perhaps it wasn’t much fun for those guys the previous day, but for us it works out okay. Overall it takes about 40 minutes to drop into the saddle from West Peak, then climb to East Peak, and we pass it by at roughly 10.45.

Amanda and Richard climb
up to West Peak.

And suddenly our time on the Main Range is almost over. Already. Because at Ruapae, we’ll be turning off and working our way back down to Herepai Hut, where we began so long ago on Saturday morning. The only concern I have from this point is a short section of ridge I remember from last time, which has slipped on both sides and which is largely held together by Leatherwood. To an extent, the thought of it has been haunting the back of my mind for much of the weekend, especially since the Department of Conservation decided to start warning people some time ago that the ridge has fallen away and it’s necessary to be very careful. Once we arrive shortly before Ruapae, however, it’s barely noticeable such that until it’s gone, I’m not even sure if we’ve passed it by. The ridge is held together by Leatherwood and it’s reasonably steep on either side, but nothing like as bad as I remembered it. So that’s good. I’ll remember for next time that I shouldn’t trust my memory, and this experience wouldn’t be the first time.

And we leave the Tararua Main Range, turning off at Ruapae towards the East, over to Herepai. Half way there, we stop in a flattish place sheltered from the wind, bathed in sunshine, and have an early and lazy lunch. From here we can see the leatherwood-laden ridges to the northern end of the Main Range, not a good place to be stuck without sufficient planning. We take our time, knowing that from here it’s mostly down-hill. Through some bad coincidences of timing, this is actually the first time I’ve been able to get to the Tararua tops all year, and the first time on any tops since April. It’s been awesome.

Illona in front of East Peak (left) and
Ruapae (right) on the Tararua Main
Range, seen from Herepai.

Anyway, it’s time to leave after a while, and we walk past the Stan Evans Memorial Cross on Herepai at about 12.20pm. The track along this spur is tussock-laden, and it’s necessary to take care about stepping in hidden holes and such, but it’s generally easy. Within 20 minutes, we’re looking straight down to the roof of Herepai Hut, not far below, with the long upper reaches of the Ruamahanga River in the background as it flows south-ish towards Roaring Stag Lodge. Roaring Stag is hidden behind a dent in the riverbed, but from this perspective we can see roughly where it should be. It takes 15 minutes to jaunt down the steep track into the trees and reach Herepai Hut, and then we once again stretch our legs in the sunshine. Checking the hut book, it seems to three crazy guys did pass through here last night, although they didn’t leave much more information about their trip except to imply they were heading back out to the Putara Road. And this is where we were going, too, maybe in a more relaxed state.

Final views of the Main Range.

We sit in the sun at Herepai Hut for about 15 minutes, before leaving on the final leg of the weekend. From here it’s just down. It’s the third time we’ve walked along this section, and the first in the sunshine. It seems somewhat less muddy than it was yesterday morning. After an hour of walking we cross a long bridge over the Mangatainoka River, which the track follows for the remainder of the distance to the road, and from here on it’s flat. There’s a nice camp-site below the bridge, reachable from a short track that begins a minute or two from the end closest to Putara Road, and we head down for a look before finally returning to the van, a further 40 minutes away.

There’s an annoying amount of mud just before the road, which nobody manages to avoid — only irritating because it complicates the act of putting boots away later, but I suppose this is part of the whole thing. Overall it’s be a very rewarding and relaxing weekend, a good thing given the ugly weather in the beginning, but now it’s all paid off.

Alistair and Patricia navigating
down Te Mara.

Dates: 11th – 13th September, 2009
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Ruamahanga and Kiriwhakapapa road-ends.
People: Marie, Alistair, Patrisha, Richard, Tim and me.
Huts visited: Blue Range Hut (1 night).
Route: From Ruamahanga Road End up a south-east spur to Blue Range, heading south-west along the ridge to Blue Range Hut for Saturday night. Then up to Te Mara, and down to the South East. Out at Kiriwhakapapa.
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We spent Friday night in Kiriwhakapapa Shelter, sharing it with another club group, even though we weren’t intending to start from there. It’s not quite as exposed as the Ruamahanga road-end further north, though. The rain was coming down persistently by the time we drove up, and one way or another anyone on the edges migrated further inwards overnight. Eventually the bellbirds began to wake, and some kind of bird that I couldn’t identify began making a lot of noise as it started fluttering around with its nest in the ceiling.

Our plan for the morning, after driving slightly further north, was to head a short distance up the track on the true right of the Ruamahanga River before turning straight up a spur, and navigating our way onto Blue Range. Alistair looked up a grid reference for the point at the bottom of the spur we planned to climb up from the Ruamahanga River, and we keyed it into a GPS so we could confirm the approximate point we’d want to head up-hill, just in case there was any doubt. Ideally we wouldn’t need it, though.

Ray, from the other club trampey group, was very kind to drive us around from the Kiriwhakapapa Shelter and drop us at the Ruamahanga Road End on Saturday morning, which we finally left shortly after 8am. Perhaps it wasn’t quite raining, but it wasn’t far off. We began by climbing a fence, and this was undoubtedly the climax of the trip until that point. Shortly after this we made our first navigation error, embarrassingly enough as we tried to navigate along the track markers over the farm-land. It did take us to the highest altitude we’d been during the morning to that point, although some mild depression followed once we realised and had to turn back the way we’d come.

The flooded Ruamahanga River.

The Ruamahanga Road entrance to the Tararuas actually has quite a long walk before the park entrance, to the extent that we actually walked for a good hour and 45 minutes before reaching the park boundary. (This, of course, included our unintended detour up a windy farm track, which probably added half an hour.) Still, much of the walk seems to be in a buffer zone between the forest park and the farm-land, which isn’t really farm land. During this walk we could look down to the Ruamahanga River from the sidling track high above, well endowed with muddy flood water, and it was nice to know we’d not need to go anywhere near it in the next couple of days. Eventually we passed a sign indicating the official border of the Tararua Forest Park, and the surrounding trees very quickly changed to provide a more consistent canopy over the track.

Alistair working his way
around the creek.

Soon after entering the park, we had our first minor creek crossing, followed by a much more gnarly creek in a small gorge of its own, though there were plenty of hand-holds to get up and around the edges without any real concern. At this point, we were more or less at the bottom of a very nice, direct spur (east of spot-height 635), heading upwards towards the south-south-east, making it fairly straight-forward to plough upwards and be confident of getting onto the main Blue Range Ridge.

The route up this particular spur is overgrown in places, especially for the first 10-20 minutes. As usually happens, though, it became clearer higher up, and animal tracks along the obvious and a handy deer track developed to make the going somewhat easier. Alistair reckoned he noticed one or two markers, but apart from this we didn’t really see much sign of people at all, although it’d be a reasonable assumption that it’s quite a well walked route.

Our lunch stop occurred on the high point of our initial spur, north of spot-height 875, and we stayed until 12.45, then headed along the main part of Blue Range towards the south-west. By now the rain was coming down steadily, but the tree canopy was holding most of it off, apart from all the water settled on the vegetation we had to push through.

Patricia on the ridge
towards Blue Range Hut.

It’s an okay ridge and certainly not difficult to traverse, but I wouldn’t personally rate it as one of my favourite to walk along. It was interesting though, because it was one of the few ridges I’ve visited so far which felt as if there was much more of an animal track than a human track. I guess people must follow it from time to time, but there wasn’t a lot of evidence of this — Marie found a single ribbon marker tied to a branch on the ground, but that was about all. There was a very nice little track to follow, however, which made good diversions around many obstacles that weren’t always immediately obvious. Animal tracks tend to have good ideas, though, so it was generally a good idea to follow them. I guess my only regret is that deer aren’t about a metre taller. For however much the route was relatively easy-going, everything that hit tended to be about chest and head high, and there was a lot of it. Furthermore, the track would every so often divert into a small space under a big fallen tree, or something similar, which would either require a little pack dragging or some awkward circumvention of various obstacles. Maybe things wouldn’t be so difficult if the New Zealand back-country hosted introduced herds of wild elephants rather than introduced herds of wild deer, but that also wouldn’t be quite the same.

We continued to follow the ridge until about 4pm, at which point the bearing carried us into a thick patch of something where it wasn’t quite clear whether it was best to push through it, or sidle around. Marie did some investigations pushing through, and after some fighting with a variety of dracophyllum, suddenly emerged onto the short side-track that leads down to Blue Range Hut. And this was the end of the day’s walking.

The other group of club people, who’d walked up to Blue Range Hut from Kiriwhakapapa that morning, were happily relaxing and reading in the hut, not very bothered to get out of their sleeping bags as we walked soppily through the door. The first order of business was to get a brew going, which was well worth it.

The next order of business was to get a couple of tent flies set up outside, since there wasn’t going to be enough space in the hut to comfortably shelter everyone. Trish, Richard and Tim elected to spend a night on the floor, but Marie and Alistair preferred a Huntech fly outside, and soon after I decided I’d rather have my own space. There are two or three possible tent sites outside Blue Range Hut, but all are fairly thin and not well suited to the tent fly’s we had, and so we put them up on the flat area out the back, partly anchored to the hut’s picnic table. Alistair gave me a hand with my own, and as we were threading the pole through the fly, it snapped, which is never a good sound to hear — especially when it’s raining. It turned out to be not too bad-a-break, though, and very fortunate that the fly would still go up. Still a bit of a pain, but more of a relief that it wasn’t the end of the world. Overall it worked quite nicely, with the only problem being that I wasn’t able to angle my own fly very easily with the wind, and ultimately I nearly lost a peg overnight. No matter, though.

Back inside it was nearly dinner time, and Alistair took some glee in smoking out the hut with prime steak for everyone in our group except the two vegetarians (who’d brought some kind of pasta thing). Everyone who’d been hanging out their clothes to dry probably had a meaty scent left on them by morning. Dinner was fantastic, as it usually the case when Alistair’s involved.

Cattle Ridge in the distance
on sunny Sunday morning.

The rain kept falling, and hadn’t relented at whatever time it was that I wandered back out to the fly to get some sleep. I think it’d stopped by about 2am, although recurring gusts of wind would whip themselves up in the surrounding trees as a threat before descending to the fly. I woke on Sunday to the machine gunning sound of a Whitehead in the upper branches, and noticed that my badly-angled tent fly had nearly lost a peg in one of the front corners. I lay there for a while having discovered it was 6.20am as the occasional light gust caused the corner to flap rather wildly, then decided it might be in my better interests to reach out and try to plug it back into the ground. Optimistically warm morning sunshine glinted through the lower branches, but not direct enough to dry anything out. In the distance through the gap in the trees, Cattle Ridge Hut reflected the Sun’s rays as a bright dot in the distance.

RIchard stands in front of the
sign pointing to Te Mara.

We left at about 8.15am, intent to get back to some more off-track navigation. This would begin by heading up to Te Mara — the high point of Blue Range at 1104 metres. Alistair knew of a side-track directly up the spur from the direction of the hut, which I happily managed to walk straight past — doubly amusing because there’s a sign nailed about 2 metres up a tree which I didn’t notice at all. Noticing track markers really isn’t my strong point, I guess.

Sidling around below Te Mara
after we made a minor nav error.

Te Mara’s marked by a drainpipe in the ground, and it was here that we calibrated some altimetres before navigating down the spur to the south-east, probably about 8.30am or so. It’s a very nice route to follow down, where the bush isn’t too dense, there’s plenty of space to walk, and the ground is comfortably soft. It took a while, though, and there was at least one place where we nearly fell off the spur. There’s a ribbon-marked track all the way up, though, and if we had any doubt we were able to look around for a marker. The route ends on the old bush tram line between the Kiriwhakapapa and Mickey Mickey road ends, right at the point of quite a nice picnic seat. We stopped here for quite some time, had some early lunch at 11.30am, and tried to dry out a few things in the sunshine that was by now beginning to creep through the branches.

Sunning on the tram-line route down below.

From here there’s just a cruisy walk out along the old bush tram-line route, which gradually descends down to the Kiriwhakapapa Road End. Those in the other group were sitting around in the sunshine waiting for us when we arrived, having been there for about an hour or so. All good.

Morning at Mangahao Flats.

Dates: 21st – 23rd August, 2009
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Ohau and Mangahao region.
People: Amanda, Dirk, Illona, Richard, Duncan and me.
Huts visited: Mangahao Flats Hut (1 night).
Route: From Poads Road to the Ohau River (camping a couple of minutes before it), up the Ohau River to Deception Spur (where the North and South Ohau split), up Deception Spur, down into the Mangahao River on the other side, and to Mangahao Flats Hut for Saturday night. Out at the Mangahao Dams on Sunday.
[Photos and Movie]

We began having made some vehicle relocation arrangements that dropped us at the end of Poads Road, east of Levin, at around 9pm, and from there we walked about an hour in the darkness to what’s a very nice camp-site about 2 minutes before the track meets the actual Ohau river, almost exactly at the point that a dry weather track heads up the Gable End Ridge. There’s a walk through some often muddy farm-land at first, past the moo-cows and electric fences, but after that it’s all under trees. The campsite has an open clearing with a fire pit, but the best camping spots are under the nearby trees, and there are lots of them.

Last time I visited this camp-site was with Craig, John and Paul, and at that time we had plans to do something very similar to this weekend. For various reasons, we changed our plans and I missed out on seeing the Mangahao River at the time, but on this occasion it all worked out.

Entering the Ohau.

Having woken at 6.45, we packed up and were away so that we walked into the Ohau River — the water supply of Levin — shortly before 8am. River levels were conveniently low, albeit with very cold morning water, and it was a straight-forward walk up the Ohau to the base of Deception Spur, 40 minutes later, which is where the South Ohau and the North Ohau rivers join. Each of these branches has its own hut further up, with each hut being named after the branch on which it resides. On this occasion we didn’t want to follow either, but instead head up the spur between the two.

The lower end of Deception Spur.

Deception Spur is actually really steep in places for the first 15 or 20 minutes, more-so than I remembered it from a couple of years before. There are several places where it’s necessary to clamber up walls several metres in height that at least feel near vertical, and which are steep enough to allow for quite a slide if you slipped. It still seems very safe, however, simply because there’s so much dense kruft growing on the spur that it’s difficult enough to move, let alone fall off. Although it can make things awkward to bash through, it also means there isn’t really a shortage of hand-holds and foot-holds. The biggest danger is probably getting a pack caught on something and having it spring you backwards with an unexpected great force, so there’s still some need for care in that respect.

A brief window through the trees.

Things thin out a little after about 20 minutes, and although there are patches of thick scrub to awkwardly push through, it’s easier, and becomes more typical for the 600 metre climb towards spot-height 865. There was a small window in the trees after a couple of hours, from which we could see some of the higher ridges towards the north. I took a photo for the record, but all of Deception Spur remains under the bush-line to the top, so this particular view is unusual. Perhaps half an hour after that, we reached the ridge-line at the top of the spur, and found a place just over the top, where warm sun was creeping through the tree branches to have some lunch. From here we’d be navigating down the far side on compass bearings, and when it became apparent that we used different methods for compass reading and therefore ended up with different bearings, we spent much of the time arguing about which is the more True North — grid north or magnetic north. I guess the irony is that neither of them is parallel with the Earth’s rotational axis.

Our plan, from spot-height 865, was to head south-south-west to the top of a slip (marked on LINZ’s topo map), then head roughly east down a vague spur to the Mangahao River, which we began at around 12pm. It appears very steep at first, but there’s not much alternative so it’s really just a matter of being cautious to hold onto things as appropriate and not to slide too far. The first thing to take note of when doing this is to avoid wandering west along another spur towards spot-height 660, and eventually down towards South Ohau Hut. That’s the wrong way (unless you’re trying to do it for some reason). The second thing to be cautious of is walking off the top of the slip. It’s a wide open view through a small gap in the trees above the slip. The ridge in that direction trends towards it, and it’s probably not a bad idea to stop before falling off. It was also the point at which we’d turn to the east. The route east from here wasn’t clearly marked with any obvious trail, but it wasn’t so thick and overgrown to make it difficult to push through the trees.

There was some debate about whether we should try to stay on the ridge, or sidle it in the gully to its north. Things became clearer when half way down, we started seeing blue triangle markers on the trees which were consistent with what Illona identified for us as stoat tunnels, which are used recurringly to monitor the densities of stoats that enjoy peanut butter so that DOC knows how much to budget for when it feeds them, or something like that. At regular intervals, someone will walk up the route and bait the tunnels, then come back the next evening to count the tracks of stoats left in the tunnels and get a better idea of how many there are. We followed the marker trail all the way to the Mangahao River, which ultimately took us down the small side creek to the north of the spur, and the numbering on the markers gave us a handy count-down to indicate our distance from the river at the bottom. We reached it at around 1.10pm, just over an hour after leaving point 865.

Duncan, Richard, Amanda, Dirk and Illona
on the edge of the Mangahao River.

With a hop through the river and after a short sit-down, we were now able to walk along 2 km of the track beside it towards Mangahao Hut, our destination for the evening. Although it’s generally quite a nice track as Tararua tramping tracks go, there are one or two places where the track alongside the Mangahao River gets a little hairy. Storm damage from a couple of years ago still hasn’t been completely worked around, and at least one of the side creeks had us placing rather a lot of trust in some loose-feeling branches in order to climb up to where the track continued. Overall this is just part of it, however, and we reached the sunny Mangahao Flats Hut at about 2.30pm. We expected to meet another group here this evening but they hadn’t arrived yet, so we stretched out, rinsed off, and went on a firewood collecting mission.

Mangahao Flats Hut.

Mangahao Flats Hut is a really nice hut. It’s a similar design as Waitewaewae, with 16 platform bunks and a heap of room on the floor or outside if it’s needed. When our other group showed up and we could exchange van keys, we still weren’t crowded. There’s a nice vista out over the river, which has wide banks, and it’s possible to go for a nice walk over the rocks. Still being near the end of winter months, the sun was setting by 6pm and with Dirk having built a fire, we settled into Amanda’s nicely organised dinner of smoked salmon pasta.

Mangahao River during early morning.

After 12 hours of sleep, people slowly began to rise in sequence some time before 7am, albeit with no major rush to leave. I wandered down towards the river as I muched my brekkie to take in some of the quiet morning atmosphere as the sun slowly emerged. The Mangahao River must be one of the nicest rivers in the Tararuas. It’s wide and scenic, and it’s also gorgey in places which must mean lots of good swimming holes. I’d like to walk along it in the future, keeping in mind that there would probably need to be at least some pack-floating to do it properly.

It was about 8am when we finally left, heading along the main track towards the Mangahao Dams, where our vehicle was parked. About the third major side-creek on the true right, about 25 minutes north-east of the hut, is probably the most awkward along the entire walk. Storm damage still remains from a couple of years before. To stay on the track it’s necessary to clamber up a rather steep wall, although we had an option of walking along the river if we’d wanted to.

The track sidles high above a slip from where there’s a scenic view of the Mangahao negotiating a hair-pin bend, before it descends back to the level of the river. At this point an informal sign nailed to a tree notifies those coming from the direction of the dams of the option between the wet feet and dry feet routes. The track itself continues along the river bank above some areas which appear quite gorgey, and we stopped quite often so Illona (the resident ecologist) could point out all the Bellbirds, Squeaky Tricycles (aka Tomtits) and Machine Guns (aka Whiteheads). An hour from the hut (our time), a bridge crosses Barra Stream. 30 minutes later, just before another bridge crosses Harris Creek, there’s a very nice camp-site at the flats on the river-side of the track. It comes complete with a picnic table, and we also noticed a couple of folded tarps pushed under nearby branches which probably means the site is well used.

The bridge over the
Mangahao River.

We ambled our way to the major bridge over the Mangahao River, reaching it at 11am. The bridge is currently one of the classic 40 year old swing bridge designs, but it appears DOC is gearing up to replace it with one of their more modern designs, given that both ends show preparations. 45 minutes from the bridge, we walked off the marked track and into the wide and mostly dry bed of the Mangahao River, just before it reaches the No 1 Reservoir behind the top dam. With the weather that we had, there was no need for the marked track any longer, and we left it inside the trees to follow the main route of the river out in the wide open.

The Mangahao tree cemetary.

Probably the reason the river bed is so wide is because it borders the reservoir, and at times this entire area would be artificially filled behind the dam. The region itself is a cemetary of dead trees, remnants before the time of building the dams in the 1920s, and drowned nearly a century ago during times when reservoir was filled to a higher level. Today they’re simply skeletons, surrounded by a sea of river rocks. It’s strange to think of the Tararuas as a place that would be dammed like this, yet in the middle of the 20th century there were plans for even more massive damming which would have changed the landscape of the range to an even more massive and noticeable extent. We stopped for lunch in this curious landscape, before resuming the 15 minute walk to the dam, to the parked van, and to an exit from the Tararuas early on Sunday afternoon.

This equality is one of the wonderful things about the outdoors in New Zealand. it manifests itself in the informal experiences of meeting people out of context and away from their normal day-jobs. If Craig and I or anyone else had been tramping up that way this weekend (as we’d planned) and happened to meet people, it no doubt would have made no difference who they were or what they’d achieved. You get to meet and chatter with all sorts of people in New Zealand’s back-country, and meet them on equal terms. One way or another everyone’s out there to enjoy themselves.

I won’t dwell on the specifics of what happened right now. The published information is so sparse and it wouldn’t be fair to people involved. No doubt more information will emerge from those in the know in the coming weeks. Whatever happened, it’s a testament to the impressively coordinated and largely voluntary Land Search and Rescue organisation, and to the SAR Coordination team of the New Zealand Police and all other organisations involved, that the trampers were found so quickly once it finally became possible to mount a search.

It’s strange having been to these places, even felt as if I was in some kind of trouble near there at times (especially this time), yet never for a moment having thought I wouldn’t get out safely. I’m fortunate enough to have never been in such a catastrophic situation to date, and I hope I never am.

Perhaps it helps to ease the mind if you’re as prepared as you can be, to the extent that if you make a mistake (preparation or otherwise) your further preparation will be more likely to compensate. Having experienced, competent and level-headed friends nearby also helps tremendously when things get difficult. When this kind of awful thing happens, however, it’s a saddening reminder that on occasion things can go tragically wrong, even for experienced people and in places that are well frequented and which might sometimes give the impression of being much more safe than what they really are. Probably all we can do now is try to learn from it.

It was a trip that that the club rated as Easy, organised by a fun chap called Andrew who really likes excessive good cooking on the club’s easy-rated tramping trips. We were starting from Otaki Forks, walking to Waitewaewae, and coming back. Waitewaewae (also known as YTYY) is definitely straightforward if you’re reasonably used to tramping and all the efficient packing and tuning that goes with it. It’s sign-posted at 4 hours, it can be walked in 3 by someone reasonably fit, and last time I checked somebody had crossed out the 4 on the sign and written 7 hours. The reason for this is that the YTYY track involves lots of undulation, and also walking up Saddle Creek, which can be slippery. Last time I visited Waitewaewae Hut from another direction, we were due to meet another group who never showed up, as one of their party had slipped in Saddle Creek and been airlifted out. If a group happens to be very inexperienced, the walk to Waitewaewae can be a challenging first tramp.

I going off on a tangent, though. Andrew is a chap with many fun stories, and one of the stories that he raised to convince people that the walk to Waitewaewae was very do-able was about an earlier time he’d been at Otaki Forks. Having arrived on Friday they’d stayed the night in Parawai Lodge. Whist packing up to leave in the morning, they met another club group of absurdly crazy fit people who’d walked the entire Southern Crossing overnight!

To my recollection, my first reaction towards Andrew was “why?”. At that time when I was relatively new to tramping, and to the Tararuas, I saw the Southern Crossing as the major thing to do in the Tararuas, although I now know many places I’d rather visit in the Tararuas. The thought of walking the Southern Crossing (typically a three day tramp) over a single night seemed absurdly pointless. Why??? Nobody in our cheerful easy-rated group had much of an answer.

It took a few months of getting to know more people before I was able to piece together the attraction of trying to attempt this strange feat of walking between Otaki and Kaitoke in the dark. The attraction, of course, is the combination of snow and moonlight. It’s not just a walk in the darkness with head-torches to no end, it’s a walk through the well-lit snow under a Full Moon, and it’s a way to see the Tararuas in a way that very few people do. (Even less people than the amount who see them in the sunshine, apparently.)

It’s difficult to get the right conditions, too. For a Moonlight Southern Crossing, it’s necessary to have a combination of snow-covered mountain tops, a Full or nearly-Full Moon (which occurs only several days each month), clear weather all night (ie. no or very few clouds), and, for practicalities sake, the time, ability and fitness to do it. The time, ability and fitness factors are often the most difficult, because on what is typically short notice it’s necessary to be in a good frame of mind (and fitness), to get transport at both ends, and if optimal conditions occur during the week, to potentially take two days off work.

Earlier this week, it looked as if all these factors were coming together. When Craig first asked me if I was interested, it took a night to get my head together about what was actually involved, but after I’d shaped it out in my head I became very enthusiastic. This would be Craig’s third attempt at a Moonlight Southern Crossing, with him having turned around early due to weather conditions on the previous 2 attempts. (In his blog post to which I linked earlier, Craig implies it’s only his second attempt, but Craig’s also a liar liar pants on fire.) For me, it was my first attempt, but I was very hopeful all the same.

Craig and I both arranged to take Friday off work, sleep Friday morning, do some car juggling on Friday afternoon, and be leaving Otaki Forks at 5pm. We planned to be at Field Hut by about 7pm, Kime some time before 10pm, and hopefully over at Alpha nearer the other side by about 2am. Some people walk the entire thing in a night, but we planned for the cop-out option of walking as far as Alpha Hut, and stopping to get some rest before heading out the eastern side of the Tararuas. The traditional Southern Crossing route then heads along Marchant Ridge (famous for its claimed feature of being an up-hill walk in both directions), but we thought we might adapt the main route and take the alternative across the Tauherenikau to Cone Hut, then out at Walls Whare some time on Saturday morning.

I’ve never really packed for something like this before. Craig and I were taking an ice-axe each as a precaution, but with the trip basically being a 15 hour walk overnight without much planned stopping, it’s also tempting to leave out luxuries that might weigh a bit. For a while I was concerned that I don’t really own a pack designed for shorter overnighters — the next size down that I have from my 70 litre Macpac pack is a 28 litre daypack, which is very nice for daywalks but it wasn’t quite enough for what I had in mind. As it turned out, I think I ended up packing almost the same as what I would on a typical weekender anyway, except for less food, and minus a couple of token extras (like Crocs). I also substituted my thermarest for a foam mattress, which to my surprise I managed to fit completely inside my pack. I figured that if the situation reached a point where I needed either of them, we’d likely be stuck on snow. Despite being less comfortable, the warmth insulation properties of foam mattresses outshine inflatable thermarests by a long way.

It’s difficult to skimp on things while still feeling safe. I’ve seen people leave things before on the assumption that they’ll use back-country huts, but I feel very uncomfortable doing this. Even with the well-maintained back-country huts along the Southern Crossing these days, you can never safely rely on a hut with 100% certainty in New Zealand’s back-country. Huts are a fall-back safety thing and typically if you’re in trouble and you reach a back-country hut, you’ll almost certainly be okay, but they might also be burnt down or full of smelly people, or you might not reach one as planned if you break a leg. They should really only be treated as a convenient luxury once you’re already there. Ultimately I think I got my pack for an overnight walk in the Tararuas (without water) down to about 13 kilograms including the ice-axe, which for me is akin to me not taking a hard-cover library book, so it’s not much of a saving. It wasn’t too concerning though, as I think I could still happily walk up to Kime with that sort of weight in the time we’d planned reasonably comfortably.

But, we’re not going now. Earlier today we were getting ready to leave, but in an anti-climatic phone conversation a couple of hours ago, we decided to call it off. Unfortunately the cloud’s just getting worse, and Craig commented that he thinks it’ll probably get sucked even further into the hills late this evening.

Next time, perhaps.

It’s not too bad. Realistically it wasn’t going to happen tonight, although I say this now before tonight’s happened at the risk of looking silly. I think all the preparation has gotten me even more enthused to attempt this at the next practical opportunity if I’m able to, whether it happens to be next month or a year from now.

No doubt people involved have their own much more complete sets of photos, but I’m quite chuffed to have my own. This is the first time I’ve had an opportunity to watch a hut being built in this way.

It must be an interesting and unusual project to be involved in building a back-country hut like this. One of the guys there told us that as Atiwhakatu Hut is near the Holdsworth road, they were spending about seven to eight days on the job at a time, then getting a break. When he was working on Maungahuka Hut near the Tararua Peaks, though, he spent a solid month up there.

Dave getting snowed on.

Dates: 29th – 31st May, 2009
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Holdsworth Road-end.
People: Dave, Marie S, Marie H and me.
Huts visited: Holdsworth Lodge (0 nights), Atiwhakatu Hut (0 nights), Mitre Flats Hut (1 night).
Route: From Holdsworth road-end to somewhere past Atiwhakatu to camp on Friday night, Mitre Flats and up then down Mitre on Saturday, back to Holdsworth road-end on Sunday.
[Photos and movies]

After starting out at Holdsworth Lodge, plan A would be to climb up Baldy, then get over Three Kings and Girdlestone to spend a night at Tarn Ridge Hut, drop down over Mitre to Mitre Flats on the following day (possibly with a very early start if we had to fit into a weather window), and walk back to Holdsworth on the Monday.

All four of us began walking at about 7pm. Some time around 8.30pm, we reached the site of Atiwhakatu Hut, now appearing nearly complete from the outside but still with lots going. A guitar from inside the old hut strummed something from Metallica as we approached, quickly identified by Marie S, and one of the builders came to the door to greet us and chat for a bit. He suggested we could camp on the helipad area next to the river not far away, but at the time we were set on carrying on to a river-side campsite below the second track up to Jumbo so we’d have less to walk before a potentially long day tomorrow. We never reached it that night, because sleepiness and undulating awkward tracks won out. About 15 minutes after Atiwhakatu, we set up tents on the track.

Despite having been walking with torches in the early winter darkness since we began, it still wasn’t terribly late. We sat in Dave’s tent for a while considering maps and likely scenarios. Recent weather had left snow on the tops, and although Dave had brought in an ice axe, we weren’t well equipped if the snow proved to be too much. Furthermore, a cold snap and heavy snow warning for Sunday morning meant we might potentially get to Tarn Ridge for Saturday night, and not be able to get out. Without knowing what it was like in advance, and after some lengthy consideration, we decided our best option was probably to avoid committing ourselves to the tops. Plan B was to aim straight for Mitre Flats, walk up Mitre from there, and find something else to do on Sunday, possibly head up to Jumbo and walk over the tops to East Holdsworth to get out on Monday.

Dave crossing the Atiwhakatu River.

Nearly ready to leave at 7am, I pulled on my right boot and was dismayed to see my boot-lace fray into some kind of thin elastic as I pulled it tightly. I was even more dismayed as I pulled on my left boot, only to have on of the lace eye-lets pop off and hit me in the face before burying itself somewhere in the nearby track. Fortunately my boots were still usable and my gaiters to a lot to help them remain tied up, but I think these boots might be on their last legs.

Marie H and Dave climbing up to Mitre.

We reached Mitre Flats at 10.45, dropped lots of gear at the hut, had a quick lunch, and within an hour we were on our way up Mitre. The track up Mitre starts with a small amount of clambering followed by a few short and sudden switches, but quickly morphs into a reasonably consistent and fairly direct track upwards through the trees, varying in gradient every so often. It’s not the most interesting track and the truth is that it is consistently up. With the weather not being too fantastic anyway, Marie S decided to head back to the hut while Dave, Marie H and I kept pressing up to the bush line where we promptly decided that Marie S’s idea wasn’t so bad after all. There wasn’t a lot to look at. Any possible visions of wondrous flats of the Wairarapa were being covered by thick cloud, and we decided at that point to turn around and return to the hut rather than press on up to the fog-smothered Mitre.

Dave highlights a rare view from
the bush-line below Mitre.

Marie H returns from an excursion.

Three of us arrived back at Mitre Flats at about 3.15 to find Marie S happily settled in. With evening approaching, we spent an hour finding and chopping firewood, and Marie H went off for an excursion with her pack. Sadly it was all too damp, and we never managed to get a proper fire going despite the helpful firelighters that’d been left behind.

As evening approached another 7 people showed up in a couple of groups, all having walked in from The Pines with the alleged intent of walking up Mitre on Sunday. Somehow this seemed unlikely, though, because the forecast from Sunday included a severe snow warning as part of one of the more extreme weather events seen by the region in recent times.

We were all on de-hy BackCountry meals that night, partly as a consequence of late organisation, but also because we’d expected the trip to be somewhat more exerting than it turned out to be with the change of plans. This was the first time I’d tried one, and I have to say I was impressed with my Classic Beef Curry meal, which was quick and easy to prepare (add boiling water and wait), and tasted good enough. Then we just trimmed the top off the bags, ate out of the bag, and so had minimal dish-washing afterwards. The only note was that a 2 person Backcountry Cuisine meal couldn’t possibly feed more than 1 person with the amount of food you get, certainly not in a tramping context when you tend to spend the day burning energy. All four of us had bought a 2-person meal for each night.

Dave, Marie S and I found bunks, Marie H set up a tent outside, and we went asleep with the noble intent of rising at 7pm to be away and off to Jumbo at 8. And thus I woke at 7.20 when Marie S poked up her head and asked if we were supposed to be awake by now. The only answer I had for this was “probably”, but it was easier to ignore any motivation for effort and wait for someone else to do something first. With Dave on the far end also unwilling to be the first to get up, it wasn’t until Marie H came in from outside that anyone really bothered to do anything.

Marie S, just after a washed out side-creek
crossing north of the Baldy saddle.

We left over a staggered time between about 8.40 and 9am on Sunday morning. The weather decayed, but it was cold enough to never actually rain, and the forecasts of snow down to 200 metres were happily accurate. Instead of rain we had a combination of snow and hail, but the shelter alongside the ridge there was very little wind, snow and hail both tended to bounce off raincoats (as it does), and this made it a rather pleasant walk if cold at times.

At about 11.15am we crossed the saddle below Baldy, covered in frost, and by now the snow was coming down very persistently, especially in the areas without much tree shelter. There was about a 20 minute slip-slide down the Atiwhakatu side of the saddle, and not long after we met another party of 6 or 7 people who’d come down from Jumbo and were heading for Mitre Flats. We exchanged information, and they told us there was a lot of snow up there. It was an enticing idea, but after a short conference at the track junction a few minutes afterwards, we decided we might just go straight out and find a cafe rather than walk up to Jumbo and spend an extra night in the range when it was seeming increasingly likely that we’d simply need to come straight back down again the next morning due to the conditions.

Balefire of the old Atiwhakatu Hut.

Now with a cafe in mind, all four of us duly abandoned the idea of lunch. Before 1pm we reached Atiwhakatu Hut during a land-mark moment. The new hut was still getting some final touches, but the builders had nearly finished dismantling the old hut which they’d been living in for several weeks, and happened to have a large bonfire going. It was hot, too. I suppose if we’d been able to burn the hut at Mitre Flats last night, we may have stood a better chance of getting a fire going, too. Oh well.

The final section of this route, between Atiwhakatu Hut and the Holdsworth road-end, is a very well-maintained track, being part of the Holdsworth/Jumbo circuit which is by far one of the most walked tracks in the Tararuas. If there’s something noteworthy about it, which both Dave and I found amusing, it’s the great range of types of bridges that have been used to make up this section. There’s nothing difficult (like 3 wire or 2 wire), but there’s a combination of 1970s swing bridges, more recent suspended plank bridges boardwalks with handrails (and typical 1 Person Maximum signs), strange metallic arch bridges that look as if they’re being re-cycled from some other location, and the list goes on. You can be reasonably sure that if there’s a muddy patch along here, DOC has built a bridge over it. The fun comes in guessing what kind of bridge it’ll be.

This more or less concludes the trip, because we walked out past Holdsworth Lodge at 2.45pm, around 6 hours after we left Mitre Flats. This is the first time I’ve really walked through New Zealand forest during snow, and it was wonderful. I hope I have more opportunities in the future.

Crossing the Waingawa under Cow Creek.

It seems weird going back to somewhere where I’ve been as recently as a week earlier, but that’s what I did last weekend. This time it was with the trampey club, and it wasn’t quite the same place. Instead of just walking from Holdsworth to Mitre Flats and back, we began further north at Kiriwhakapapa, then walked back to Mitre Flats before coming out at Holdsworth.

Dates: 8th – 10th May, 2009
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Kiriwhakapapa to Holdsworth Road-ends.
People: Steve, Daniel, Andrew, Justin and me.
Huts visited: Blue Range Hut (1 night), Cow Creek Hut (0 nights), Mitre Flats Hut (1 night), Atiwhakatu Hut (0 nights), Holdsworth Lodge (0 nights).
Route: Kiriwhakapapa to Blue Range Hut (Friday night), down to Cow Creek Hut via an old track to Cow Saddle, then to Mitre Flats Hut for Saturday night. Out to Holdsworth road-end on Sunday.
[Photos]

We’d planned to camp at Kiriwhakapapa on Friday night (though it turns out there’s a shelter), but with the rain we decided instead to walk straight up to Blue Range Hut, which took between about 90 and 120 minutes (I forget), and being under trees meant the rain wasn’t too much of a problem. Usefully enough, that Friday night walk got most of what would have been Saturday’s climbing out of the way. Blue Range Hut is one of those fun huts with interesting signs and lots of character, thanks to the humour of people in the Masterton Tramping Club, but you really have to be there to appreciate it.

Cattle Ridge in the morning,
from Blue Range Hut.

Steve crawled out of his sleeping bag at 7.30am on the dot, and as I stared at the multitude of maps on the ceiling I could hear him stuffing things into stuff-sacks and assembling his cooker. He had a billy boiling before long, and it was time for brekkie. It took me about 20 minutes to finally roll off the top bunk, stepping outside to a chilly and crisp morning. The trees part next to the clearing outside Blue Range Hut behind a picnic table which seems to have been placed there since I last visited, offering a direct view to snow on the nearby range. It would have been cold up there overnight!

Blue Range to Cow Creek.

We were packed and leaving between about 8.20 and 8.30am, set to meet back at the track junction 10 metres above the hut. A brief gap in the trees allowed a glance towards Mitre Peak, hiding behind a clump of light gray clouds. Then we were under trees again, heading towards Cow Creek Hut. A friend (Craig) had told me earlier that there’s a very nice route directly from Mitre Flats, down from Te Mara (1104) leading west, then south-west above Donald Stream. I kept an eye out for this but I started looking too late, and missed it, but next time I’m in the area it could be an interesting route to find. Rather than walk directly to Cow Creek Hut on the marked track, we thought we might follow an old track which leads down to Cow Saddle, and then turn back towards the hut from there. This old track is shown on some older maps, and begins behind the sign at grid reference S25 213437. It then follows the ridge over spot heights 970, 890 and 810 before dropping down a spur to Cow Saddle.

The on Cow Saddle that marks
one end of the old track.

We thought we may potentially need to do some navigation along this route. It’s actually a very clear track, though, and according to a couple of people I spoke to, in better condition than the official track to Cow Creek Hut. We didn’t actually walk along the official track, however, so I can’t say so from experience. There are no official markers along the old track (DOC, Forestry Service or otherwise), but a helpful person has marked it occasionally with fluorescent pink ribbons. Even so, they weren’t necessary at the time we visited because the track itself was so obvious. At 10.50am we emerged from behind a tree on Cow Saddle with a sign nailed to the trunk that incorporated a symbol of a cow. I’ve arrived at Cow Saddle previously having come down from Cattle Ridge on the opposite side, but on that occasion I think we must have entered it slightly further along, because at our current location there was no sign-post pointing to Cow Creek Hut. We turned left to follow the track down Cow Creek, however, and within 20 minutes and one Bus Stop Sign (nailed to another tree) later, we were on the shores of the Waingawa River — not at all flooded, which was consistent with the complete lack of rain and increasing amount of sunshine so far.

There used to be a cable-way with a winch next to Cow Creek Hut until very recently, so I hear. This is now gone, and replaced by one of those mammoth new suspension bridges with wooden planks that the Department of Conservation now seems to favour. There’s a sidling track from Cow Creek around to the end of the bridge, which we duly ignored, and instead we walked around the edge of the Waingawa River and ultimately waded through the river almost directly underneath the bridge. And thus we arrived at Cow Creek Hut, too early for lunch at 11.30am.

Cow Creek Hut.

Cow Creek Hut is an old Forestry Service 6-bunker, and looks well placed in the trees. I’d like to visit it overnight some time in the future, but its location in the shade meant it wasn’t an optimal place for lunch on a day such as this. Steve wrote something in the book, which to this day I don’t know what it was, I bounded over the bridge and back — just so I could say I’d done it — we all messed around and did nothing in particular for about 20 or 30 minutes, and then we wandered south along the bank of the Waingawa River in the direction of Mitre Flats, looking for a sunny patch.

The exit pool.

We found it at about 12.30pm, a nice peninsula of rocks on the edge of the river. If we’d had wet tent flies from the previous night, this would have been a wonderful place to dry them out. For half an hour we sat around and ate lunch in the sunshine, and with a weekend forecast of continuous heavy rain, the five of us elected for a time to wade down the Waingawa River. We left our lunch spot at about 12.30pm, and potentially could have followed the river for the rest of the day, all the way to Mitre Flats. Due to some cold feet it was not to be, and 30 minutes later we decided to exit the river and instead follow the track which runs alongside. The first exit point was on the far side of a small pool in which Steve quickly found himself up to his waist before being able to climb out, and then spent a minute or two figuring out how to lever his pack and himself above an over-hanging tree root. The sight of it encouraged Andrew, Daniel and Justin to find an alternative route to the track through the trees, but it looked quite fun and I felt left out seeing Steve do something like that. As soon as it was clear there was a way up the other side, I jumped in. It was fun.

Walking alongside the Waingawa.

It’s quite a good track between Cow Creek and Mitre Flats, which sidles along the true right of the Waingawa River for the entire distance, albeit climbing up the hillside from time to time. For a couple of stretches we ventured back into the river, and at one point a deer and (apparently earlier than I arrived) a stag came down to the river’s edge on the far side.

A couple of side-creeks could flood for a while in heavy rain. One is North Mitre Stream where we arrived at about 2pm, and the other is Peggy Stream, about 15 to 20 metres south of it. After this we continued along the track which sidles up and down and through old board-walks buried 30 cm under mud, until we reached Mitre Flats at about 3.30pm.

Nearly at Mitre Flats.

Mitre Flats was similar to how I’d left it a week before, which wasn’t too surprising. We arrived shortly after a couple of other chaps who’d walked in from The Pines, one of whom was a volunteer DOC warden, also from the Tararua Tramping Club and a great source of information about nearby routes. I asked him about the second track up to Jumbo that I’d had trouble finding a week before, and he confirmed that it certainly did still exist. I’d probably missed it because it’s easy to coast along next to the river (where there’s a nice campsite) and completely miss the main track’s excursion slightly uphill. I guess I did this in both directions, and it’s something to keep in mind for the future.

He also confirmed that the morning’s forecast for the weekend had involved the words “rain”, “hail” and “severe”, each several times and in a variety of orders. What wasn’t completely clear was exactly how the rain, hail and impending severity would manifest itself on the south-eastern end of the Tararuas, given that it was coming from the other side. Hopefully it’d be clearer by tomorrow morning, when he was scheduled to make a 7am radio call for rugby results and an updated forecast. We manufactured our Moroccan Couscous and had a nice dinner. A fly wouldn’t stop buzzing near the window, even after the candles were out, but I eventually got to sleep on the top bunk at the late hour of about 8pm. It didn’t rain much overnight.

We woke to the overnight rugby results booming through Mitre Flats Hut at 7am on the dot thanks to the radio call that the helpful warden guy was making for a forecast, followed by further repetition of the words “rain”, “hail” and “severe”. The weather was quite unusual. Looking outside there was actually some blue sky, although I somehow managed to get hailed on under the blue sky. The rain and occasional hail was coming in waves, every so often being blown horizontally over the range from the west and ceremoniously landing on us. In time it began to rain more properly, and by 8am we’d all left Mitre Flats on our way out to Holdsworth Lodge. Just chugging along.

For me at least, I now walked along this section exactly a week after I’d walked along it previously. This time, however, I was trying to keep an eye out for more of the side routes. The first couple were in the vicinity of the Barton Track, which leads up an east-west spur in the direction of Baldy. My LINZ map shows a loopy bit here where one option heads about half way up the spur before going down and sidling around, and this is where the marked track leads. The second option (also shown as a track on the map) simply sidles around the lower section. A week before I’d never actually seen the division, but the warden guy had told me that the lower track split off in an obvious place. Sure enough, we did spot what was probably it heading off into the trees some way up the hill. The second route I wanted to find was the one that keeps going straight east to west up the spur to Baldy when the marked track curves around. Older maps that I’ve seen show this track explicitly and the warden guy referred to it as an escape route. I didn’t see any clear diversions from the main track for this one, but I did note a couple of places where I think it would have been reasonable to keep walking upwards on a bearing when the track curved around.

Sidling over a small side-creek somewhere
between the two Baldy spurs.

The rain was now hammering the tree canopy above, but it wasn’t too much of a problem with us walking under trees. Still, the weather was curious. At one point we gazed through a gap in the forest to see the great plains of the Wairarapa bathing in glorious sunshine… while we were still being rained on. There was little doubt that the mountains of the Tararuas themselves were sheltering us from a greater deluge coming from the far side, but it didn’t feel like it. We reached the washed out side creek north of the south-east Baldy spur at about 9.20am or so, at a guess. It was very straightforward, unlike when I was on my own a week before and had driven myself to unnecessary concern. We left Baldy Saddle shortly before 10am, and after a 15 minute slippery slide down the southern side, we crossed the bridge over the Atiwhakatu Stream.

Doubtlessly my moment of triumph.
Now that I’ve found this sign,
I know I can navigate!

The next route I needed to tick off my list from missing a week before was embarassing, because the northern track leading up to Jumbo Hut is a well maintained track that many believe to be in better condition and more interesting than the more popular Rainguage Spur. At 10.20am I caught up with the group at the front who were aware I was looking for it, and were milling around the giant bright yellow and green Department of Conservation sign in the middle of the track, wondering just how I could have missed it. I’m now fairly sure what happened was that in both directions, I’d followed the edge of the Atiwhakatu Stream too closely instead of the track markers. This is a generally safe thing to do, but at that exact point the track leads up the hill slightly to the junction with the track up to Jumbo, whereas I’d continued to walk through a nice camp-site below it. Steve took a photo of me standing behind the sign, so I can now prove that I’ve found it.

Atiwhakatu Hut now has walls.

The next stop, now at 11am, was Atiwhakatu Hut. Its building had progressed even further than the wooden framing of the previous Sunday, to the point that it actually had walls embossed with Placemakers logos. The DOC-warden guy back at Mitre Flats had mentioned it supposed to be the same design as Roaring Stag Lodge, and it’s now finally beginning to look like it.

Of course, with all the rain, the builders were hiding inside the old Atiwhakatu hut with smoke pouring out and having slapped a giant piece of “DANGER KEEP OUT” tape over the door. At one moment Steve attempted to get a closer look at the construction site, until one of them shouted out the window that he should keep out. Fair enough, I guess. It’s still a building site, after all.

Looking back somewhere towards
Mt Holdsworth.

With the constant rain things were going rather quickly, and they only went faster from this point on because the track between Atiwhakatu Hut and Holdsworth Lodge is practically a State Highway. At 11.45am we walked past the junction heading up to East Holdsworth, at 12.20pm we cruised through Donnelly Flats, and at 12.35pm we exited past Holdsworth Lodge, having seen only a single person heading the other way for a short walk. Perhaps the forecast frightened people away.

I tried to write in the book at Holdsworth Lodge but gave up after a minute because my fingers, which had been rather exposed to the wetness, were rather numb and unable to accurately control a pen. Having attempted several methods of using one hand to push the other, I decided that there was little chance we’d be abducted by aliens between now and our collection, and so it’d be unlikely that anyone might consult the book to confirm we’d gotten out, anyway.

We probably could have stayed in the lodge for the 80-90 minutes until our collection, but it wasn’t very handy to the road. Thus, we ate our lunch and left-over chocolate in the shelter above the Holdsworth parking area, watching as several waves of rain came through. Quite a sombre way to end the weekend, but it was a good weekend. Considering just how much rain was expected, we were fortunate that everything went perfectly such that we didn’t need to resort to any of several backup plans. Saturday, especially, was a gem of a day. It was almost disappointing that we weren’t really equipped to go up onto the tops in the Tararua snow, but I know there will be future times.

Waiting for collection.

Between Atiwhakatu Hut
and Mitre Flats.

Dates: 2nd – 3rd May, 2009
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Holdsworth road-end.
People: Just me.
Huts visited: Holdsworth Lodge (0 nights), Atiwhakatu Hut (0 nights), Mitre Flats Hut (1 night).
Route: Start at Holdsworth Lodge, walk straight to Mitre Flats (via the track), then walk back.
[Photos]

Being on my own and with the forecast, I made up my mind not to do anything too dramatic, and settled for starting at Holdsworth Lodge and walking north towards Mitre Flats, which would let me red-line the section of track between Mitre Flats and Atiwhakatu Hut. Having driven up from Wellington, I left the Holdsworth road-end at about 10am. From here it was a matter of following the Atiwhakatu River north-west for a while past Donnelly Flats, where about 30 people, all with tents and open flies set up, seemed to be doing some kind of bushcraft or first-aid training involving a mountain radio.

Nice Jumbo/Holdsworth Boardwalk.

This entire section of track up to Atiwhakatu Hut at the base of Raingauge Spur is part of the very popular Jumbo/Holdsworth loop, and the track is kept in very good condition. It was even much improved on what I remember from about two and a half years ago, when we were occasionally clambering over tree-stumps and so on. Now, nearly the entire track is flat. Every significant side-creek is bridged, and every insignificant side-creek or muddy patch is board-walked. It might almost have been a Great Walk track, except that I saw several twigs that had been loosened from the trees above and not immediately swept away by the lurking wardens of the park.

Atiwhakatu Hut is sign-posted at 3 hours, but for me walking by myself on such a flat track, it was about 90 minutes, possibly slightly longer. The track has been maintained this way the loop is so popular, but I couldn’t help thinking that maybe it was an expensive prank by DOC to lure unsuspecting trampers deep into the Tararuas before unleashing on them the up-ward horrors of Raingauge Spur. I could sense the evil chuckle of the perpetrators as they rubbed their hands together with glee at the approach of another victim whilst they hid in the trees. This time, though, I had one over on them, because I knew that I wasn’t heading up Raingauge at all. I might be wrong about this, to be fair. I haven’t been up in a couple of years and the track up Raingauge could now be far more walkable. Perhaps DOC has installed handrails… and an escalator…

The rain started to fall lightly, which wasn’t much of a bother at first because the tree canopy sheltered me from most of it. I eventually wore my rain-coat over my shirt, mostly to protect it from the loose water coming off bushes that I pushed through from time to time.

Progress continues on the
new Atiwhakatu Hut,
midday Saturday.

Atiwhakatu Hut is currently closed. In fact, it’s about to be pulled down in favour of a new hut due to be opened at the end of May. Smoke emerged from the trees as I approached and the old Atiwhakatu Hut was inhabited. Despite being officially closed, the old hut is currently occupied by the people busy building the new hut, right next door. This is the first time I’ve seen such an event taking place. It was an interesting scene, although at midday Saturday there wasn’t much more than a floor.

Having passed Atiwhakatu and the turn-off up Raingauge Spur, I continued into the red-line jungle. The track this way is still marked, but being off the Holdsworth/Jumbo loop, it suddenly became much more rough in comparison. In practice, this meant less bridges over side-creeks, more mud, more wet tree roots, more slippery rocks, and more undulation. The track is also less direct. The straight line on a map represents a less-straight line in the real world. All of this added to taking about twice the time to cover a similar distance through the rest of the day. Actually it was typical Tararuas under trees.

My nice LINZ S26 Carterton map shows a second track leading up to Jumbo Hut that turns off north of Raingauge Spur track. I loosely kept an eye open for this, but I wasn’t paying attention the whole time and I didn’t see anything obvious. I’m wondering if maybe it’s not a maintained track any longer, but it could be an interesting navigation exercise some time.

Somewhere near the saddle
below Baldy.

The area further on from Atiwhakatu Hut includes a couple of nice campsites. About an hour after leaving it, which had included a brief sit-down for some lunch, I arrived at the swing bridge over the Atiwhakatu River, and this point more or less marks the end of anything that could be said to resemble flat-ness, despite what anyone might say about the track between Holdsworth Lodge and Mitre Flats being flat. It’s only flat compared with the rest of the Tararuas. Immediately after this swing bridge, the markers lead away from the Atiwhakatu River valley, up about a hundred metre climb to the saddle below Baldy (1325). The track then leads down into the Waingawa River valley, half way down a spur on the other side before sidling around and around and over side-creeks, a couple of which I thought might flash-flood in heavy rain. The track finally finds a spur to get down to Mitre Flats.

The first stream after the saddle below Baldy was confusing. My map indicates that the track happily sidles around and crosses the stream. On first reaching it and stepping over, I almost walked straight up a seemingly obvious parting in the trees on the true left which I’m sure people must have been up before, but suddenly this didn’t feel right. Backtracking, I noticed a marker down-stream a little. What actually happens is that it meanders around one of the side creeks for about 30 metres before lifting up on its true right, following beside it for another 20 metres or so, then dropping back from the true right into the stream, which joins another stream coming down at that point from the far side.

As I arrived at this point in the stream, marked by two of the giant orange triangles that DOC uses for entry and exit points, I was still confused. By now I was thinking that perhaps I still needed to continue further down-stream, and I double-checked my map which still implied I should expect to see a way out the other side anywhere near here. 15 seconds later, I found it. A large orange triangle sat in a tree on the true left, at the top of a 2 to 3 metre high steep-ish slope of scree and rock-face, which was not rich in obvious hand and foot holds. This could be awkward, especially given that climbing has never been a big interest of mine. I did manage to clamber up, but only after struggling to find any reasonable hand-holds. Glancing back, I had no idea how I’d get down the following day without blindly kicking around for thin foot-holds that I’d be unlikely to find before slipping, and thoughts of this concerned me for a long time afterwards.

Still, that was tomorrow’s problem. From now I could only hope that it wasn’t a sign of more to come and I bounded up the hillside to put it behind me. The route up this way actually passes through a very pretty moss-covered stream, up part of which it’s necessary to walk. I hadn’t seen anyone since leaving Atiwhakatu Hut, and it was awesome!

For a marked track, I did occasionally think it was a bit thin on the markers. I must have wandered off the track about three or four times, although it was obvious when I had, and it simply meant back-tracking a little and carefully trying alternative routes until I found something that looked very obvious. (I’ve felt more lost in bush on the Tinakori Hill in down-town Wellington than I was on that track.) I never had to resort to trying to use navigation skills.

My LINZ map shows that in the last section towards Mitre Flats, the track briefly splits into two, with an alternative section called Barton Track leading higher up the spur before coming back down and re-joining the track that sidles around the side. Although I noticed several possible places where routes might have led off to the side, I never saw an obvious track split off. At the time I wasn’t paying enough attention to whether I was predominantly climbing or sidling, and I’m still unsure which of these two tracks was the one I followed. Presumably the other is unmaintained, but maybe the higher one is a part of an alternative and more direct route up to Baldy from Mitre Flats.

Arriving at Mitre Flats.

The final swing bridge over South Mitre Stream was mildly confusing. I walked off the end of it and kept walking along what I thought was a track that evaporated into not much at all 30 metres later. Back-tracking, I discovered I should have doubled-back and walked underneath the bridge. I coasted into Mitre Flats Hut at about 3.10pm, where a couple of other people had also just arrived. They were expecting another four in a family group behind them, having walked in from The Pines. I quickly grabbed a mattress and hauled it out onto the deck for the best bed in the hut before anyone else would have a chance to snatch it.

We waited and we waited for the other four, and after two hours, another couple finally arrived and began pulling off gaiters and boots. Apparently one of the remaining two, who hadn’t arrived, had been having some problems, and they’d decided to bed down on the track under a fly for the night, so it was only the five of us. I read my book, we played 500, we played about four rounds of Last Card during which I only ever picked up a single 5!

For a while it rained outside, but the rain stopped and as darkness fell a crescent moon poked through the clouds from time to time. I heard two gunshots ring out in the distance that night, implying that some hunters were out nearby. Meanwhile the thought of getting down the slope into that stream near Baldy was still playing on my mind, and I was still very concerned. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, though, short of walking out somewhere completely different. I decided that it was likely I was blowing it out of proportion in my head, and that it’d be perfectly okay because people would be going that way frequently and not have any problems. That night on the deck and I had a wonderful dream. Strangely it was all about writing this trip report, having no recollection about anything on Sunday before Atiwhakatu Hut, and concluding that everything between Mitre Flats and Atiwhakatu Hut must have been completely eventless, insignificant and unmemorable, and nowhere near as bad as I was imagining it was going to be. Then I opened my eyes in the face of a bright sky at 7.15am, and I was both happy and sad.

The Waingawa in the morning.

I had everything outside on the deck, and was able to pack without being of much disturbance to those inside (I hope). I poked my nose in to say goodbye, though, and to return my mattress, then I walked away at about 8.20am, returning towards Holdsworth Lodge, taking a slight detour to stand half way over the main bridge over the Waingawa River for a look, before returning around the corner to the other bridge over South Mitre Stream, and from there straight up the spur.

Misty trees climbing
out of Mitre Flats.

Within a few minutes, a violent fwoo fwoo fwoo fwoo fwoo fwoofwoo fwoofwoofwoo fwoofwoofwoo came from the trees ahead of me, as a Kereru (aka New Zealand Pigeon) distanced itself from my approach. I find Kereru quite amusing to watch. They always come across as being clumsy fliers, and for their size, they tend to land and sit on branches that appear much too small to support their weight. The branches bend a lot but a Kereru will hold on and look at home.

I found that I barely walked off the track in this direction at all — contrasting the previous day when I’d walked off it several times. I spent much of the next 90 minutes, however, wanting to hurry up and get to this problematic stream, at the very least so I could happily discover that it wasn’t a problem at all, perhaps adjust my plans, or otherwise just put it behind me. Within five minutes of it I could hear the water running in the distance, and when I saw a goat track head off beside the main track, I was tempted to follow it on the pretext that perhaps it linked up to a more accessible crossing point. I decided not to do this on the grounds that it wasn’t a very logical course of action, especially as I hadn’t even been back to assess the drop properly and weighing that against following a random goat track, my original intention easily made the most sense. Thus with complete trust in the Department of Conservation, I followed the markers for another 3-4 minutes down to the stream.

Not that bad…..

And that was when I realised what I’d been hoping would be true all day. It really wasn’t that bad after all. I probably should have taken a third or fourth glance backwards a day earlier, and I might have realised it wasn’t as vertical as I remembered it. Solo tramping is great. There was still need for care, but I could actually see some foot-holds to slide myself into and lower myself down. From there it was one two three over a little scree, and I once again stood on the edge of the stream. It was insignificant and unmemorable, just like my dream had foretold.

And suddenly, for no particular reason, the music of Tom Jones broke into my head. Tom Jones and I celebrated my success with a jelly bean. Then we celebrated with another jelly bean. Then I walked across the stream, and the two of us celebrated once again. I eventually needed to convince Tom Jones that I couldn’t afford to let my teeth fall out before I’d had a chance to munch, crunch and digest my lunch.

“Sure thing!”, said Tom Jones, as he relented, and let me put the jelly beans away.

“Aren’t you getting a bit to old for this?”

“No Way!”, said Tom Jones. “I love tramping, and I love singing!”

And thus he launched himself up ahead and did a twirl on a slippery rock with his microphone in hand. Then I enjoyed, accepted, tolerated and eventually reviled repetitively singing together with Tom Jones as we powered up the hill towards the saddle below Baldy:

It’s not un-u-su-al to be loved by anyone
It’s not un-u-su-al to have fun with anyone
But when I see you something a some–thing anytiyeeeiiime
It’s not un-u-su-al, to see a fryyyy… a wanna yaaaaahhhh

Mmmmmmmmmwaaaa!

Tom Jones was singing badly out of tune. Twenty repeated first verses later it was clear that he couldn’t even remember the words to his song that he’s been singing for 44 years — a definite sign of senility. I left him deleriously spinning on a wet tree-root, and as I glanced back at the sound of a fwoop fwoop fwoop, I think he was being pecked at by an angry and unappreciative Kereru. There was nothing more I could do for him at the time, but if anyone’s looking for Tom Jones, he was last seen in the Tararuas, in the vicinity of grid reference S26 177367.

The rain had held off and at 10.30am when I stood on the saddle, I briefly considered heading up towards Baldy for a look, but decided it would be something for another day. Therefore from here, it was a 20 minute down-hill slide back to the bridge over the Atiwhakatu River. I’d been meaning to look out for that side track up to Jumbo — the side-creeks around it are easy to identify, and supposedly it starts opposite a substantial slip on the other side (ie. true left) of the Atiwhakatu River. Unfortunately I forgot to keep my eye open at the critical time, and once again didn’t notice any obvious track leading up a spur. Having returned, Amelia (a friend) has already shown me a photo of the giant sign that existed a couple of years ago. I’m reasonably sure I didn’t walk past that, although it wouldn’t be the first time I’d looked through something obvious. I’m curious now if DOC may have de-commissioned maintenance of the track in favour of encouraging everyone who does the Jumbo/Holdsworth loop up Raingauge Spur, but so far this is just me speculating.

One of a couple of camp-sites further
up from Atiwhakatu Hut.

I stopped and sat at one of the camp-sites along the way for about 15 minutes since maybe I don’t do enough sitting, and arrived again at Atiwhakatu Hut at almost exactly 12pm.

The new Atiwhakatu Hut looked different! Compared with the previous day, it now even looked like a hut. I was impressed with how quickly it had changed overnight. I guess they must be working on it fairly intensively. It was about lunch time, so while the builders hammered behind the trees, I wandered to the flats in front of the hut and had a quiet lunch in front of the river.

The new Atiwhakatu Hut at
midday Sunday.

The Sunshine even came out.

Well that was nice, but by now I was starting to feel as if I was ready to get home, so I didn’t waste much effort in making my way back along the well-graded loop track to the Holdsworth road-end. And the Sun began to come out — at first on the far side of the river, but soon it crept more closely into where I was. From here I finally began to see more people again — typically a mixture of people who looked to be aiming for Jumbo, and several day-walkers and dog-walkers, although there was no way any of the day-walkers could be hoping to complete the loop in a day with remaining daylight. After an hour at 1.15pm, I stopped for a couple of minutes contemplating whether I might want to head up the hill to Mountain House, just to see it again for the first time in a while, but I decided against it reasoning that the detour would probably add at least an hour. So at 2pm I walked out past Holdsworth Lodge and back to the car, and that was the end of a nice overnighter.

The story from the Dominion Post is available on Stuff.

The wreckage was taken illegally in March by Wairarapa Helicopters following a commissioning by the Sport and Vintage Aviation Society for a new museum being built. After discussions with the families of the pilots who died and were buried nearby, the helicopter company has now agreed to return the wreckage, with an agreement that DOC won’t revoke its permit to operate in the park. It seems there will be no prosecution.

This is good news. The plane wreck has been on the side of Shingle Slip Knob since 1955, clearly visible from one of the most frequented tramps in the Tararuas (The Jumbo/Powell loop). Perhaps it was decided that prosecution of either or both organisations would not accomplish much or might work out worse for everyone. I still have trouble believing that nobody involved could have realised that it was most likely illegal to simply fly into the Tararuas and take things, or that nobody would notice, or that nobody would have a problem with it being done.

At Totara Flats in the Tararua Range, March 2007

It was raining outside. A lot.

Apparently they had no idea that they might be breaking some kind of law by fly into conservation land and taking things! I’m not sure why — if I wanted to reconstruct a New Zealand back-country hut for a museum in my back yard, would it be okay for me to fly in with a helicopter and take that from conservation land too? Perhaps the leave-it-as-you-found-it rule isn’t quite so obvious for people who don’t spend a lot of time in or near New Zealand’s conservation land.

It sounds as if it was some kind of misunderstanding and I haven’t exactly figured out what I think about this at the moment. Supposedly DOC’s lawyers and the families of the pilots will decide what happens next.

There seems to be a continuing discussion about this issue over at the NZ Tramper website.

The Tararua Range is dotted with plane wrecks which make up much of the history of the region. A particular one of these wrecks is very well known to people who visit the area, as it’s clearly visible from Mt Holdsworth and the surrounding ridges. It seems that recently, this wreck has been raided and major parts of it have been stolen for unknown reasons.

The Shingle Slip Knob wreck of 1955 is clearly visible from the ridge between Jumbo and Holdsworth along the popular Jumbo/Holdsworth loop. (This photo from December 2006.)

According to the linked article from the Dominion Post, an unidentified helicopter was seen making three trips to the wreckage, and further investigations have now found that the plane’s engine has been taken, and other parts have been moved to other places for easier removal.

From the linked article:

The wreckage of a plane strewn near the gravesites of two pilots killed in the crash in the Tararua Range more than 50 years ago has been stripped in an act damned by the Conservation Department “as daylight robbery”.

“In the past week, parts of the plane’s remains, which are now owned by the Crown, have been whisked away and other sections have been moved into clearings for easier removal.

[--snip--]

Tramper Barry Durrant told The Dominion Post he saw a red and white Hughes 500 helicopter make three trips to the site of the wreckage last Friday.

The Department of Conservation staff who administer the park are fairly dismayed, and I don’t blame them. So am I. It’s disrespectful to the pilots who died in the accident, and it’s disrespectful to everyone who enjoys the history of the Tararua Range.

Update 8-3-2009, 9pm: There’s a conversation thread about this topic running over at New Zealand Tramper.

A Tararua Rainbow, looking
south from near Neill Peak (1158).

Dates: 12th – 14th September, 2008
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Walls Whare Road-end.
People: Alistair, Sarah, Illona, Amanda, Bernie and me.
Huts visited: Cone Hut (1 night).
Intended Route: Walk to Cone Saddle and camp on Friday night. From Saturday morning head up to Cone, over to Neill via Neill Saddle, across to Winchcombe Peak, continue to Hector, then follow the Southern Crossing track to Alpha Hut for Saturday night. Out via Marchant Ridge on Sunday.
Actual Route: We got to about point 1055 below Winchcombe Peak, then decided to turn around and head back to Cone Hut for the night and head back to Walls Whare on Sunday.
[Photos and movies]

We arrived at Walls Whare in coordination with another club group that was indirectly aiming for Totara Flats, with both groups planning to walk the first leg of their trip on Friday night. The others intended to spend the night at Cone Hut, whereas we thought we might just camp up the hill at Cone Saddle, which was marginally closer to where we planned to go.

The track was very muddy all the way up to Cone Saddle, and for a while we suspected we might not actually be able to find a flat area that wasn’t a bog to set up our Huntech flies. After a while we began to spot the occasional flat area several metres off the track, however, which was reassuring. At Cone Saddle we set up one fly slightly off the track, and another in the middle of the track, where it looked deformed once it was set up thanks to a bit tree-stump… otherwise it was very comfortable. Huntech says these flies are for 2 people, but with some ingenuity it’s nearly always possible to get 3 people under them, and we easily had 3 under both.

It began to get light around 6am, but with the fly still fairly damp and very light rain outside, we were a little reluctant to get up. From 10 metres away in the other fly, we heard Alister’s voice state something along the lines of how he’d be going at 7 with or without us, but it wasn’t until after some morning wake-up brews from within sleeping bags that anyone really began to stir properly. Thus it wasn’t really until about 7.15am that we actually got going, heading north up the track to Cone Peak (1080). Within 10 minutes we heard the screech of at least one Kaka, and turned around to see it fluttering away in the tree-tops above us, which I thought was quite a neat thing because although small numbers of Kaka are known to live in the Tararuas, it’s the first time I’ve ever had the pleasure of actually seeing one there in the wild.

Being under trees, the water was transformed from a light, misty rain to some more focussed drop-lets dripping from the branches, which is a nice setting to be walking through in the goblin forest up towards Cone. Before long we were starting to get damp, however, and some of us found raincoats. The occasional windows through the trees that looked off the spur towards the west let us see through to some increasingly impressive rainbows.

We still needed water for the day (even though Alistair had pointed out we’d walked past several obvious mud puddles on the way up), and the most obvious source was around Cone Peak, which has the odd tarn. We reached Cone a bit after 8.30′ish, and stopped just inside the tree-line because Amanda pointed out that it was likely to be much colder outside than it was under the trees. There was a last slab of snow nearby in the trees. She was completely right, too, and a moment after I stepped out for the 100 metre walk towards the tarn, I was glad I had my raincoat to fend off the wind, and wishing I’d bothered with my balaclava.

The route turns from north to east at Cone, and to get to the tarn for water, we’d strayed some distance from the main route towards Neill (leaving most gear back under the trees). Consequently, we were only exposed on Cone for a minute with the exception of the dash for water.

The cairn for turning north,
just west of Cone Peak.

We left Cone at about 9am, and 10 minutes later we reached the cairn which marks where the marked route swings from west back to north, as it dips into Neill Saddle. From here the route dips into some more very nice goblin forest, which is quite steep in places but still very pretty. We also passed the odd pool of water which might also have been good for collecting water if we hadn’t already filled up so recently.

Chasing a rainbow on
Neill Peak (1158).

We arrived at Neill Peak (1158) at about 10.30am, and for a few minutes we had more exposed tops to traverse, which was okay for as long as it was possible to keep the freezing wind off. There was still a very light misty rain, and consequently we were following rainbows for much of the time. Getting down from Neill was fairly steep and muddy in places, but easily do-able with care. By 11am we were in trees again, heading towards point 1055.

It was about now that things changed. After 4 hours of walking we were only a third of the distance we’d planned to travel for the day. Nobody was knackered, but although we expected things to get much faster and easier after reaching Hector and the main Southern Crossing trench back to Alpha Hut, several of us were starting to wonder if we were likely to make it through the entire day. Optimists in the group were guessing we’d be at Alpha by 4.30pm, but pessimists were picking more in the region of 6pm and becoming concerned about whether it was worth it. After some brief negotiations, we very quickly reached a happy consensus that we’d be better off not continuing with the original plan, and at 11.15am we decided to turn around and go back. Exactly where we’d go back to was yet to be determined, but there were several options. Shortly afterwards, we went back to the lower part of the slope on the western side of Neill for some lunch on the slope. We were still in a wafty mist at times, but the Sun was slowly beginning to emerge by now.

Everyone was away again a bit after 12, when we kept going back up to the top of Neill, now going more slowly because there was probably a little less enthusiasm. The rainbow was now to our right and occasionally behind us, and it really stood out. We spent about 30 minutes walking and standing on the tops around Neill before dropping back into Neill Saddle, and with a bit more time to enjoy the relatively lazy walk it wasn’t until 2.30pm that we were back on Cone, and sat down in what was now becoming warmer sunshine.

A discouraging view from Cone of
where we would have been.

By this point, we were think we might just go down to Cone Hut, and try to beat out the other club group if necessary, so they wouldn’t re-locate our van to the far end of Marchant Ridge. Another possibility had been to go direct to Totara Flats, where they should be staying the night, but we didn’t know for certain that they’d be there anyway. So Alistair had a go at phoning Craig (in the other group) to pass on the message that we were going to Cone, and was fortunate enough to be able to talk to him directly. It seems there’s work-able reception both on Cone Peak, and at least along parts of Cone Ridge, where they were.

So now it was just a task of getting down to Cone Hut. We left Cone at about 2.50pm, and arrived back at Cone Saddle at around 4.20pm, hearing more Kaka squalking on the way down. After a brief sit-down at the saddle, we finally reached Cone Hut at 4.50pm. Alistair and Bernie got started on building a fire and although we had some damp-wood issues at first, it wasn’t long before the place was warming up. We settled into dinner, and soon after went to bed with the roaring of the Tauherenikau River outside. It did come up as a topic of conversation that we were having a much better time roasting in Cone Hut after a relaxing day than we might have been having in an Alpha Hut freezer after an exhausting day.

Everyone slept in on Sunday, and lazed around until well after 10am, which seemed a bit unusual for what the trampey club had rated a fit trip. There wasn’t much incentive to leave early, considering that Craig had told us the other group wasn’t likely to reach the road-end any earlier than 2pm. We were literally about 1.5 hours away. Previously a few of us had been thinking about the possibility of walking out via Tutuwai Hut while the others went out the other way to get the van. This never eventuated, though, since in the end we couldn’t be bothered and were having too good-a-time socialising, or something like that.

We did finally leave at 10.30am, though, with a plan to continue very casually and to find a nice place for lunch on the way down, in what was now bright sunshine. After about an hour, we found such a place just off the track, and stopped for a very leisurely lunch and gossip session (which is completely normal on any trampey trip). As we munched and chatted, a group of 6 or 7 people from what looked like another tramping club walked past us up the hill, on what they said was some kind of circuit daywalk. These were the first people we’d seen since waving goodbye to the people of the other trip on Friday night.

Sunny walking back
to the van.

We got up and left again at 12.15pm, and roughly an hour later we were back at the van. This was excellent timing because during the 20 minute window that it took for everyone in our group to reach the bridge over the Waiohine Gorge, all 9 people from the other club trip turned up having arrived from Totara Flats… so we didn’t even have to wait long to get back into our van.

In the end it was a really worthwhile trip, as most trips are. Among other things, I got to see a Tararua kaka in the wild. We didn’t get to go to where we originally planned, but I think it says something about the people you’re out with when everyone can reach a quick and easy consensus to give up without any dissent. We had a great time.

The Tararua District Council has published the proposed plan on its website. In addition, comments received about the proposed plan are also available for download, either as a summary or as a complete scan of every submission.

The Tararua District is already known for the Tararua Wind Farm, which is operated by TrustPower and sits in the wind tunnel between the Tararua and Ruahine Ranges. This is probably why the energy companies have such a vested interest in the region. As Robb pointed out, however, the changes proposed by the energy companies might result in changes to the District Plan which make it much easier for very large wind turbines to be built, and which could potentially affect the skyline of the Tararua Range and the Ruahine Range, whatever that might entail.

As I write this I’m still trying to figure out exactly what’s been submitted and its significance. Section 2.6.1.3 of the proposed district plan looks of particular interest because it deals with “protection of important natural features, landscape and habitats”. The section goes on to refer to several notable things which include both the Tararuas and the Ruahines. On this section, Meridian Energy has commented about the ambiguity of what makes a “significant landscape”.

Another possible concern is that TrustPower has sought deletion of certain clauses which refer to protecting the “Skyline of the Tararua Range” and the “Skyline of the Ruahine Range” and the “Skyline of the Puketoi Range”, arguing that “skyline” is an ambiguous term and not based on a valid assessment of the landscape. (According to the original draft plan if I understand it correctly, this clause was originally requested by the Department of Conservation.) TrustPower also wants to change some of the terminology from terms like “protection of” to alternative terms like “management of”.

As Robb also pointed out in his blog (see his comment), another important concern is just how much risk the mountain ranges could be in themselves from continued development by energy companies in the longer term future, particularly if there’s a change of government. Such a change any time in the next 10 or 20 years might result in a major change in policy towards large scale development either nearby or inside what is currently considered back-country territory. Irrespective of what the actual motives are or the likeliness of things happening today, these are the kinds of reasons why it’s critically important to monitor what actually gets written down in these sorts of guiding documents. It’s never absolutely clear what might change in the future to affect the motivations and intents of corporations (or leaders or influential individuals) — particularly when lots of money is involved — but at least having some kind of protection in writing makes it easier to keep things in perspective.

District plans by themselves don’t usually determine whether resource consent will be granted for any particular request, but wanting to do something that’s consistent with a district plan that’s already developed will typically make it much easier to get something rubber-stamped. This is likely to be why several energy companies, and also the government’s Energy Efficiency and Conservation Authority, have requested that the plan explicitly recognises that renewable energy is an important thing that contributes to the Tararua District, as it will help renewable energy-related requests to be more streamlined and more likely to be granted through the resource consent process. At the same time, a district plan that makes a less explicit attempt to protect the landscape and skyline value of nearby mountain ranges would make it even easier for energy companies to gain consent for structures (such as massive 200 metre high wind turbines, for instance) which are visible from very far away. This might be a good thing depending on who you are. For instance, making it easier for companies to develop an industry in your region will also inject money into your local economy, although with appropriate guidance it might also be possible to have the same effect without having as many negative externalities. From a tramping and outdoors perspective, this could be harder to find a genuine outdoor experience in certain parts of the Tararua and Ruahine ranges, especially if there are always large human-built structures in the background.

Personally I’d be interested to know what the proposed District Plan means by “skyline”. This is also part of the issue raised by the mentioned energy companies, and the plan doesn’t seem very specific. Reading the draft, I’m confused if “skyline” refers to the silhouette of the mountains as seen from a distance, if it means the view of the horizon as seen from within the mountains, if it refers to the views from people within the Tararua district, or if it’s a combination of these. For myself I think all are important, but that’s just me — whether it’s something that’s out-weighed by the importance of wind generation of electricity in the Tararua District is something that I think needs to be clarified and decided.

Comments about the submissions are being accepted by the Tararua District Council until Friday 3rd of October 2008, so if you’re feeling concerned about this, you have until then to make your voice heard.

For myself, I’m thinking about submitting comments on the submissions to express my concern over protecting the landscape in some way for everyone who visits the area for tramping purposes, but I haven’t completely decided exactly what I’ll say at this point. As a regular visitor from Wellington, I think I might have to at least double, if not triple the amount of after-tramping ice-cream I buy to even come close to the kind of contribution that energy companies make towards the Tararua District’s economy. This is probably the context in which any submission I make will be treated, and from many perspectives that’s fair enough. Ultimately, it’s really also up to the people who live and spend a lot of time in the Tararua District to decide what they want. Personally I’m hoping they decide that the landscape is an important enough thing to make sure that it’s preserved for themselves and for everyone.

Anyway, within a short time my email had made it to the Visitor Asset Manager at the Kapiti Area Office, who responded immediately to let me know that they were onto it, and to try and confirm some more details of what the exact problem was, and offering some hypotheses about possibly lifted lap joints around the skylight. I was impressed, but I was really impressed when I received another email a few days later saying they’d visited Penn Creek Hut for a look, letting me know what the problem was and indicating some plans to re-roof the hut next spring.

DOC often gets criticised for all sorts of reasons, especially being such a big department with so many responsibilities to so many people, many of whom have conflicting interests. It’s great to get responses like this though, I think, which just demonstrate that underneath it all there are still a lot of really great people whose main job and interest is to keep things running well.

Dates: 1st – 3rd August, 2008
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Otaki Forks region.
People: Craig, Fraser, Peter and me.
Huts visited: Field Hut (1 night), Penn Creek Hut (1 night), Parawai Lodge (0 nights).
Intended Route: Otaki Forks to Field for Friday night, then up to Vosseler and navigate down spur to Penn Creek Hut for Saturday night. Out to Otaki Forks via Table Top on Sunday.
Actual Route: Straight to Penn Creek Hut via Table Top on Saturday (due to heavy rain), then back up to Table Top on Sunday via spur starting at S26 025307, due to a flooded side-creek blocking the usual track.
Related bits: Craig also wrote about this weekend.
[Photos]

Saturday night, prior to which we didn’t do much at all: There’s a little mould on the Penn Creek Hut mattress that I’m sitting on as I write these notes. We’ve been here for 5 hours now, since a bit after mid-day. Water drips from the skylight into a bucket. There’s also water dripping into the fireplace, thwarting efforts to get a fire going. We even tried to burn some of Peter’s marshmallows, but that didn’t work either. Did I mention that the trees are dripping? And so is the sky. The bucket was nearly full when we arrived and we’ll need to empty it before we leave.

There were supposed to be six people in our group, but two bailed on Thursday, citing correlations between the reputation of the Tararua Range and the weekend’s forecast. This meant that before we arrived, we only had Craig’s small billy in which to cook. Fortunately there’s some quite good cooking and cleaning gear at the hut. Craig organised the trip. He looked impressive earlier today, sporting his Oringi Jacket — “the jacket that keeps you and your shorts dry” — just like that guy inside the back cover of every FMC bulletin. Peter’s on his first ever club trip, having arrived a few weeks ago from Scotland. Fraser’s also on his first club trip although he’s been tramping in New Zealand before, particularly in the Orongorongo Valley, and has some interesting stories. Last night I asked Fraser about his pack, which looks about as old as he is and far more worn down. He told me he found it in a dumpster and had to argue with his friend about who’d get to keep it.

It’s almost dinner time, I think. There aren’t any pure vegetarians or vegans on this trip, but we’re all what I’ll call “transitive vegetarians”, which means that it’s okay to eat meat as long as the animal it comes from was itself either a vegetarian, or a transitive vegetarian. As I write this, Peter’s busy cooking us some kind of sausages, which are a good bet for transitive vegetarians even if we don’t know exactly which animal or animals they came from. Fraser’s directing the pasta cooking, Craig’s fighting with the smoke pouring out of the fireplace, and I’ve been assigned the noble job of trip historian which is why I’m here writing notes.

We might have had nothing to do for the whole afternoon, but luckily a thoughtful nomad has passed through and left a copy of The Calling by Paul Block. It’s a work of literary genius that we assumed was published by Mills and Boon until we looked more closely. Three people (the original owner, the second-hand dealer, and the person who paid a whopping $2 to the dealer) have wanted it already, and that’s only for this particular copy, so it must be in high demand. Previous visitors to this hut have already used parts of the book as fire-starting material, and who could blame them? Its pages look much more flammable than the copies of FHM and New Zealand Pig Hunter magazine that were hidden above the doorway. This book is very practical.

Since we arrived, Fraser’s found yet another use for its remains, proving once again that it was money well spent by someone. We now have a deck of cards made by cutting up the pages, and he’s gone to a great effort to accurately represent the royalty. Cuts of the cards also caused random words to be removed, sometimes changing the meanings of sentences in intriguing ways. An hour ago we played Last Card with some adjusted rules that included reading inspiring out-of-context passages as we played our hands.

6 of Diamonds: He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

Last night, a slip on the road prevented us from reaching the overnight parking area at Otaki Forks. The slip was the usual one, about 30 minutes walk from the end of the road. Our rental van arrived at 8.15pm, and Fraser showed up in his own car shortly afterwards. Fraser had already been here much earlier, but ended up ferrying two people back to Otaki soon after he arrived. The couple had reportedly spent 2 hours walking from Parawai Lodge, in the rain, in complete darkness, without torches, and without much useful walking gear. They were optimistically aiming for Otaki Beach, but had unexpectedly found themselves in trouble and were by then simply struggling to avoid stepping off the edge of the road. They were extremely relieved to have met Fraser, and to be given a ride back to civilisation. They also stressed to Fraser that conditions were just horrid, and that if we intended to go anywhere we would definitely need “spikes”. None of us were sure exactly what that meant.

Alistair and Steve, who were sharing our van, left on their Fit trip immediately to get up to Field Hut. We’d also planned to walk to Field Hut last night, then continue to Vosseler from this morning and navigate down the nearby spur to Penn Creek Hut. That idea no longer seemed likely with the forecast, since rivers would probably be up. Consequently, Craig proposed last night that we should only walk to Parawai Lodge, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. None of us had “spikes” with us, but we decided to take our chances on that one and assess the ground conditions as we met them.

Having reached the picnic area and crossed the new bridge, we could see the torches of Steve and Alistair high up on the hill to our right. With the new bridge in a new location from the old temporary bridge, and with it being dark, we had some trouble actually figuring out how to get to Parawai Lodge, and after a minute of thinking we decided to just keep going to Field, especially since we were already enjoying the walk.

The two hitch-hikers were probably exaggerating or badly informed, but it was true that the track up to Field was badly damaged by the recent storm. Finding trees over the track was frequent, often requiring scrambling over and under branches, or major detours. Even so, walking to Field Hut at night is so common that we didn’t have any concerns about problems getting there. Actually, it’s very common, and the likeliness of anything going wrong was next-to-nothing, especially getting lost. If anything had gone wrong, we should have been very embarrassed.

8 of Spades: In his early thirties, he was raggedly handsome with a firm jaw, thick brown hair, and penetrating pale blue eyes.

On a related topic, somewhere within 30 minutes of Field Hut I was surprised to hear Alistair swearing quite loudly from not far ahead, and Steve’s voice wasn’t far behind. Hearing Alistair swearing doesn’t usually bother me, but the two of them should have been at Field Hut by now. Actually it sounded as if they’d met Fraser up ahead, and that Alistair wasn’t happy to see us. Was the track really so bad that we’d caught up? Should we have brought our tramping “spikes” after all?

What had actually happened was that two minutes from Field Hut, Steve and Alistair had found their way around the outside of another big pile of broken trees, only to have ended up walking back the way they came. They must have gone for about 10 minutes without actually noticing the inverted effect of gravity on their trajectory. Alistair’s reaction at meeting Fraser was probably one of gratitude in helping them to realise the error, but maybe it just came out wrong. To a chorus of mocking, all six of us arrived as a group of happy trampers at Field Hut at about 11.30pm last night, and went straight to bed. Nobody else was demented enough to visit Field last night.

Steve and Alistair left quietly this morning before the rest of us had properly woken up. They’d decided there was a good enough weather window to get past the Tararua Peaks and to Anderson Hut by tonight. For ourselves, we barely heard them leave at 6am, and weren’t up until two hours later. There wasn’t much point, anyway. We probably could have gotten up Vosseler and navigated down the spur to the NNW without a problem, but the constant rain and forecasts of more rain meant we’d have to expect a risky river crossing at the bottom, or a very bad camping experience, literally a few minutes from where we are. We decided during this morning’s breakfast that we’d be better to come straight here via the track from Table Top. It was sad because it meant only three hours of walking on what was supposed to be a Medium-Fit trip. Still, having seen Penn Creek when we arrived here, I’m glad we didn’t bet on being able to cross it. I’m a closet hut-bagger, and at the very least this one is another hut to tick off my list.

So we left Field Hut at 9.20am this morning, and there’s not really a lot to talk about. The track down from Table Top was very muddy, indicating (as Craig pointed out) just how much water was still waiting to drain out of the hills. A couple of side-creeks and a lot of down-hill later, we reached where we are now. That was at 12.30pm, now it’s closer to 6pm, and there’s been a lot of sitting and lying around in between. The room’s becoming increasingly smoky because the fireplace doesn’t seem to be venting very well. I think we’ll give up on the fire.

4 of Hearts: “If you refuse to perform, I’ll be forced to take invasive measures.” He did not elaborate but held up an enormous pair of ominous-looking birthing forceps.

To summarise, we’re stuck in a hole and it’s raining and the roof leaks. I should add that there’s also an annoying tree branch near the door of the long drop which is hard to see when wearing a raincoat. I’d already hit my head on it twice, and the third time I was certain that I wouldn’t, but somehow I still forgot about it two seconds before it mattered, and now my head hurts. On the positive side we have sleeping bags, a deck of cards, an enlightening copy of New Zealand Pig Hunter magazine full of high quality articles to interest today’s up-and-coming hunting community, and dinner’s looking tasty.

Sunday night, prior to which we were cold and wet: That was a very exhausting day, for me anyway, even though we didn’t really spend long walking by fit trip standards. I think everyone else handled it better than I did. Steve dropped me at home back in Wellington tonight and my head was still spinning enough that I grabbed his pack from the van instead of my own. They do look kind of similar in the dark, even though Steve’s pack was much cleaner and nowhere near as saturated. I think I’ll go and collapse soon. I’ve developed some kind of cold, and felt the day really badly.

Last night I spent long periods of time lying awake in the bunk, and can confirm that while the rain went away for a few hours and I hoped we might have a typically clear and sunny Tararua day, it started bucketing down from about 4am and was still going during breakfast. Last night I was on dish-washing duty (the trip historian doesn’t gain much prestige when others are cooking), and after looking at the rocks near the river this morning, I think Penn Creek came up by another 5 centimetres overnight.

We left Penn Creek Hut just before 9am this morning, heading back to Table Top, and we almost lost the main route out straight away. It climbs up the bank for a while shortly after leaving the hut, but we kept going along the edge of the creek for a few minutes without noticing the junction. I’d stayed behind for a minute to sweep the place out and if I hadn’t gone the same wrong way as everyone else, we could have had a confusing beginning to the day. We figured it out, though, and all was well for the next 25 minutes until we reached the second side-creek that crosses the track which has a fairly large catchment. This is the creek which crosses the track at about point S26 025307, but you can also identify it as the part of map S26 with the contour line that looks like a wonky piece of string. 5 centimetres in Penn Creek translated to much more in this side-creek. Instead of the dainty waterway we’d waded through yesterday, it now looked more like a rapid ready to drag away anyone sorry enough to dampen their toes. We decided not to dampen our toes, at least more than they were already, and instead figured out an alternative plan.

3 of Hearts: “I love this child!” Rachel exclaimed, kneeling and hugging the surprised little girl. “You could have been born a salmon!” she added, kissing her cheek.

There appeared to be a really nice looking spur that might offer a good alternative route up to Table Top. It’d start heading up to the west from almost exactly where we were standing, then briefly north-west to join with another spur that comes down closer to the hut, then west again before heading into the dreaded light-green zone that symbolised things like leatherwood. We set off on a compass bearing, and within a few minutes a nicely made track became very obvious. After twenty minutes we were only checking bearings every so often to confirm it was still leading us to where we expected. Presumably this spur is a commonly used escape route from Penn Creek Hut during heavy rain, or at least from where that side creek crosses the track. Fraser aptly referred to the route as the “Tramper’s Superhighway”, not to be confused with the “Hiker’s Superhighway”, which is the Abel Tasman Coastal Track and is far less interesting than any random spur in the Tararuas when it’s raining.

Despite the clarity of the track we were following, there were no artificial markers until we reached what we think was the junction with the other spur at point S26 018308, or thereabouts. (You can also identify it as the part of map S26 with the contour line that looks like a flattened paper-clip with a dent in it.) Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to nail white tags on about 15 trees at this point. They were all facing up-hill for people coming down. The only casualty during this section was Craig’s Oringi raincoat, which now has a small tear in the back. The Tramper’s Superhighway only lasted until we reached the line of thick scrub and leatherwood, and then any illusion of a pre-existing route stopped very suddenly.

We must have missed a better route, but never found it after a lot of searching. Ultimately we spent the next 2 hours travelling at a snail’s pace, clambering and pushing and yanking and kicking and dragging and scraping our way through some very stubborn and very thick and very waterlogged vegetation, which annoyingly made very little effort to keep the water to itself. Personally I was sopping wet, having made a silly decision to remove my raincoat before we reached it, and the slowness with which we’d had to move ensured that my fingers were very numb, and I was finding it difficult to perform any delicate actions. Fumbling through my pack to find mittens and over-trousers took a good 5 minutes, most of which was very slowly trying to put them on. It was 1pm before we’d escaped into the liberty of a slightly more tussock-laden landscape from which there might have been a reasonable view if it hadn’t been in the cloud, and it was finally possible to start moving and get blood flowing again. Even then, we still had another 30-40 minutes of negotiating around recurring patches of leatherwood before reaching the actual peak of Table Top, marked by a triumphantly white pipe poking out of the ground.

7 of Diamonds: The deafening roar of the crowd was punctuated by dozens of explosions as additional rockets hurtled aloft, setting the sky ablaze with colour. Aidan and Rachel, sharing both the statement of the moment and their own private joy, continued to embrace and kiss.

Until now I’d never considered Table Top as anything except a flattish area that might have been similar to the top of a table. The idea that it was actually a mountain peak with a pointy bit poking out of it hadn’t crossed my mind. Arriving at this peak from the side opposite what I’m used to was confusing. This was a state of mind more than anything else, and to be fair to everyone else in the group, I think it only applied to me. Standing in the cloud with next to no visibility, feeling cold, damp and tired and in a confused state of mind, it wasn’t obvious where to go from here, even though we knew exactly where we were and exactly where we wanted to be.

The map made it clear that the main Southern Crossing track we wanted was literally 50 metres south-west of exactly where we stood. With limited visibility, though, the bearing looked as if it was just leading into another steep leatherwood-laden hell-hole. I personally had trouble convincing myself to go that way. It’s a good thing that people other than me were in the group that weekend, with minds that were working much more rationally, and we eventually found a way down the small spur to the north-west, finally locating the main track towards Otaki Forks via Field Hut. That was a really good feeling.

By now we were already going to be at the van at least 2 hours late, but were still hoping that Steve and Alistair wouldn’t be waiting too long. They had several rivers on their route, and we’d been seriously considering the possibility that they wouldn’t make it back by tonight at all. We had the keys for the van, however, and felt a responsibility to get them down as soon as possible just in case. So we split the group, with the idea that Fraser and I would run ahead to try and get down sooner while Craig and Peter would follow behind. Despite my state of mind, I was also convinced that the only way I could keep myself sane after freezing in the Leatherwood was to actually try and go somewhere quickly.

We stopped briefly at Field Hut so we could get something to eat (until now we’d skipped lunch) and so I could replace my completely saturated clothes with something dry, and then hopped on. Actually Fraser did most of the hopping, since by that point I felt as if I was carrying an angry elephant on my shoulders with sharp needles poking out of its hooves, and not even the good kinds of needles that pump in stimulants. The state of the track didn’t help much, either. Seeing it in the daylight just re-inforced how much it’d been pummeled by recent storms, and in one instance it took us a good 5 minutes of searching around in circles to figure out where to go next. It still took us more than 2 hours to get down, mostly thanks to me and my pack-elephant that refused to walk anywhere on its own.

6 of Hearts: “If only I had my full surgical kit”, he mused as he removed the scalpel from its box and used it to cut away the man’s pants. He felt a fine spray of water against his face and looked up.

Fraser and I left via Parawai Lodge, and also via the Ranger Station, writing in both intention books in case Steve and Alistair would check them when passing through, assuming they weren’t already waiting in the rain outside the van 30 minutes up the road. Actually, Fraser wrote in both books while I took a chance to collapse outside, not feeling too well. We hoped the Ranger might be at home so we could exert our charm and beg for a lift back to where we’d parked, but there was no such luck. By the time we reached the van 30-40 minutes later, we found that Craig and Peter had overtaken us, probably during our detours via the intentions’ books. Craig was ready to send Peter and I back to Wellington in Fraser’s car while he slept in the driver’s seat waiting for Steve and Alistair. In a coincidence of timing, however, Steve wandered up the road just as we were re-packing our gear.

So I suppose the whole weekend worked out well, apart from me planning to take at least tomorrow off work. As I’ve already said to several people, this is one of those trips that I’ll be appreciating much more tomorrow than I have today. Right now I think I want to go to bed, just as soon as I’ve figured out what to do with Steve’s pack.

As far as club trips were concerned there were several out this weekend. Paul C was organising a relatively ambitious trip over to Dundas Hut, Bronwyn was heading to Roaring Stag Lodge, and Paul J was going up to Herapai (before later deciding to beat Bronwyn to Roaring Stag and snatch the best bunks). For ourselves, we planned to head along Cattle Ridge, which I hadn’t done before and was personally looking forward to.

Dates: 9th – 11th May, 2008
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Putara Road End to Ruamahanga Gorge Road.
People: Sam, Paul, Marie H, Marie S, Jen, Harry, Enrique and me.
Huts visited: Roaring Stag Lodge (0 nights), Cattle Ridge Hut (1 night).
Route: Putara Road to Roaring Stag (via track), up to Cattle Ridge Hut, along Cattle Ridge and down to Cow Saddle, then back to Raumahanga Gorge Road via the Ruamahanga River Track.
[Photos and Videos]

We arrived at the Putara Road End at about 9.30pm on Friday evening, with the prospect of a damp night. It’d been raining consistently during the drive from Wellington, but the showers conveniently stopped at the most useful time, giving us a chance to set up some tent flies next to the vehicles. Marie and Harry set off to camp near the first foot-bridge, but the rest of us stayed at the road. I was tucked in under the fly fairly quickly after we had it set up, but I heard rumours that Sam had managed to get a small campfire going for a time in the damp conditions. It did rain overnight, too, but the wind stayed away and apart from a little dampness seeping under the flies we got through the night pretty well.

Everyone was stirring at about 7am, and after a casual breakfast and packing up, we’d left by about 8.15am. Marie H had already gone ahead to Roaring Stag before we left, but Harry came back from the foot-bridge to meet us, proudly sporting his external frame pack which he’d brought so he could appear as trendy as Sam and his mountain mule.

We reached the second footbridge just before 9. After a quick re-grouping, we began the climb up to the junction, which is the first significant climb of the trip. By 9.40am we’d reached where the track splits between heading towards either Herepai Hut or dropping back down to Roaring Stag Lodge, about 3.5 kilometres away. The creek just before the lodge, through which the track runs, was full enough that at first glance I was glad I wasn’t there by myself, although checking up and down it there were several good crossing points, and we were at the lodge a bit after 11am.

Unpacking at Roaring Stag Lodge.

Marie H was at the lodge to meet us, drying out her tent fly on the bench outside. It was still very early, but Roaring Stag is a nice place to stop, and we decided to have an early lunch. My feeble attempt to dry out my own huntech fly didn’t work very well, but that was okay. We lazed around at Roaring Stag until mid-day’ish, then in the light rain we crossed the bridge towards the final leg for the day, up the spur to Cattle Ridge Hut. And it was nearly all up, for the record, albeit with a few undulations near the top, for almost the next couple of hours.

Cattle Ridge Hut.

Cattle Ridge Hut was the planned stopping point for the night, but we still had some time to burn having reached it by 1.45pm. Sam suggested a short wander outside around the tops in the cold, and eventually managed to convince three of us (Jen, Paul and myself) to follow him. There wasn’t much to see at the time because the tops were clouded in and there was a biting cold wind, unless you happened to be Jen, who didn’t feel the cold. It was good to feel as if we were doing something rather than sitting inside for the rest of the afternoon, though. We collected some dead leatherwood on the way back, with the idea of testing the claims that leatherwood burns really well.

Cattle Ridge Hut used to be a 6 bunk hut, until recently. It’s now a 5 bunk hut thanks to the unfortunate Department of Conservation bureaucracy (tied to the NZ government’s bureaucracy) which requires DOC to meet building codes that were presumably designed primarily for metropolitan zones. Under the rules, any hut with 6 or more bunks is now required to have a second fire exit, and in many cases it’s easier for DOC to remove a bunk than figure out how to meet this rule in a tiny cabin. This is ridiculous in the back-country context because huts exist as much for safety, and 6, 8, 10, 12 or 14 people will quite happily cram themselves into a 6 bunk hut as well as they’ll fit, sleeping on the floor when the bunks run out. (Three months ago we had 12 people sleeping in a 6 bunk hut because it was necessary.) All that removing a bunk does is reduce the overall comfort, as well as potentially reducing the number of people who can fit.

Thanks to a similarly illogical decision, the hut’s fireplace has been removed. To illustrate the conflict between DOC (who’s responsible for maintaining the huts) and back-country hut users, however, someone has carried up an adapted rubbish bin and left instructions in the hut book about how to use it for a nice substitute fireplace, albeit an outdoor one. As it turned out we didn’t get the entire bin operating according to the instructions, but by 5pm we’d borrowed the lid as a base and there was a good campfire going, mostly thanks to Sam. The inflammable properties of leatherwood lived well up to their reputation in the damp conditions. We used the fire to boil several billies full of water prior to cooking dinner, as well as just to mingle around and keep warm.

Dinner was a pasta, salami, veggie and butter delicacy full of tasty cholesterol, followed by a sweet dessert of cake, custard and marshmallows, which we’d been unable to toast properly having run out of dead wood. It was still very nice for a tramp. Harry, Paul and I shared the floor while the others figured out how to shorten themselves enough to avoid kicking each other’s heads. (Like several other huts in the area, the bunks at Cattle Ridge are built for small people.)

We aimed for a 7am wake-up on Sunday morning, but everyone was up and about earlier than that. The day outside was exceeding expectations to the extent that we could actually see the sun rising. Cloud was still wafting over Cattle Ridge from the west and obscuring it in a recurring pattern, but it was thinning and by the time we left at about 7.50am to walk along the ridge, we had a relatively clear and sunny view over to Dundas Ridge.

Paul C’s group, who’d been planning to visit Dundas Hut, were scheduled to be over there right now. Compared with our own day ahead, mostly coasting along flat and downhill routes, they had a steep descent of about 700 metres to look forward to, before a steep climb of another 700 metres to roughly where we were now standing. We picked out the location of Dundas Hut from a distance, but despite some effort we were unable to see any figures departing from the hut, and so we couldn’t point and laugh at them.

Sam and Harry about to enter
the dip in Cattle Ridge.

I suppose the most prominent feature of Cattle Ridge is the dip between Pukeroa (1318) and Pukekino (1370), with a drop to about 1260 metres between the two. It’s not a huge drop but it is steep, especially on the Pukekino side, and the most annoying part is that this whole section is full of spiky Spaniard, which pricks through gaiters and is very difficult to avoid — especially given the frequency with which it’s necessary to grab vegetation to avoid slipping. We began to negotiate the dip at about 8.35am, and as the group spread out we arrived at the other side between about 8.50am and 9am.

With the Cattle Dip negotiated, we continued along the ridge to the south-west. The sunshine we’d enjoyed on the tops so far was now fading, and by the time we reached point 1360 near the edge of the ridge, at about 10am, visibility had deteriorated to about 20 or 30 metres.

For a weekend that had looked as if it could be full of miserable weather, we’d had sunshine and clear skies exactly when it mattered, when we were on the tops. Furthermore, a bit of reasonably safe navigation to find our way down the spur to Cow Saddle made the trip more interesting. After Marie H pushed me up the front, I got a kick out of following my 160 degree compass bearing for a while. Not having been here before myself, I was a little concerned about the possibility of missing the turnoff at point 1130, where the main route down to Cow Saddle veers off towards the east. This concern was unfounded, however, because an orange triangle route is well marked from some way down the spur, and the track is heavily enough walked to the extent that we had already veered off by the time I realised it.

Paul and Harry below the tree line.

Below the tree line, the route became quite steep, and there were several occasions where it was necessary to climb down sections using all four limbs. We got down without any problems though, and were at the junction on Cow Saddle (665 metres) at 11.30am. The saddle isn’t too far from Cow Creek Hut, but we didn’t visit the hut today, instead taking the left turn towards Cleft Creek, and eventually to the Ruamahanga River which would lead us to the road-end where we planned to exit.

The track sidled around the hillside for a short distance, but within 10 minutes we were walking down Cleft Creek, which I found very nice and scenic creek to walk along. At midday we still hadn’t left the region, and stopped for lunch. As well as our own standard lunches, Marie H still had an entire bag of marshmallows that we had to eat, and we also had a substantial chunk of fruit cake that hadn’t been eaten during dessert the previous evening.

We were away again at 12.40pm, and shortly afterwards the track climbed above the true right side of the Ruamahanga River. I found my terramap to be a little deceptive during this section, because at first glance I’d thought the Ruamahanga River track followed the river almost at river level. This was wrong, of course, and the track is actually located a good 40 or 50 metres above the river for much of the distance.

At 2.10pm, we reached the most significant creek crossing, which is the junction of what Harry called Unnamed Creek, and according to Harry that’s also what everyone else calls it. He was a bit miffed to see Sam’s LINZ map, which claims the creek is actually named Paddy’s Creek. The other significant feature, which we reached at about 2.40pm, was a miniature gorge that surrounded one of the side creeks on the true right of the main river. This was notable because the track took us right to the bottom of the gorge, perhaps 10 metres down, via a track that appeared to be slightly dodgy. Being tall would have helped. We got past it, though, and were soon into the final section towards the road.

By 3.10pm the track had widened into a broader 4 wheel drive track, or possibly a quad bike track. I think we officially left the park during this time, particularly since we passed a big sign in the middle of nowhere in particular, which announced “Tararua Forest Park”. 10 minutes later we were on proper farm-land, complete with an old rusty bulldozer, and from there it was a walk over fields between cows and sheep to locate the van where we hoped Paul Jeffries had left it.

It was good to finally see the van, especially with the overcast and slightly murky conditions, and we exited the farm-land shortly after 4pm. It was a great trip and very worthwhile, I think. It’s always nice to go somewhere where I haven’t been before, and this was no exception.

This weekend was going to be a great navigation trip, which I’d been looking forward to because I’m really keen to get some good navigation experience. A couple of people had to pull out on late notice so there were only the three of us in the end. We hadn’t decided exactly where to go until Friday night at the railway station, but the basic idea ended up being an approximate anticlockwise loop starting and ending at Otaki Forks. I’d looked at the forecast on Thursday afternoon and it hadn’t actually appeared too bad, maybe with a bit of rain around Saturday night or so. It didn’t quite turn out that way, though.

Dates: 28th – 30th March, 2008
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Otaki Forks Road End.
People: Allen, Marie and me.
Huts visited: Kapakapanui Hut (0 nights), Renata Hut (1 night).
Intended route: Up the Fenceline Track to point 476 above Otaki Forks, then south-west around the ridges to Pukeatua, past Kapakapanui and down to the saddle near point 822. Cross the road and head on to Renata Hut for the night. On Sunday, walk along the Renata Ridge Track to point 925, and head north up the ridge for about 1km before hopping west onto another ridge and going north to Waiotauru Forks. Jump over the footbridge, and back out to Otaki Forks.
Actual route: Well the first day went okay, but we ended up walking down the 4WD track towards Waiotauru Hut until we could see that the river was well up after a lot of recent (and continuing) rain. At that point we turned around, and hitched a ride out to the Akatarawa Road in a grunty Toyota LandCruiser.
[Photos]

Marie and I wandered down to the toilet block at another nearby campsite (woohoo! flush toilets!) and collected a couple of billies worth of water for the next morning. Everything was set up within half an hour, and 8.30pm signalled bedtime. It wasn’t really bedtime. We had a brew. Actually, we were probably still yakking to each other under the fly at 11pm.

A hunter (presumably) drove up some time early on Saturday morning, and disappeared while we were still lying in sleeping bags, leaving a ute behind. The weather looked a little overcast by the time we were up from about 6.15′ish, and it didn’t change a lot during the next 90 minutes of our relaxed brekkie and packing up.

We began by heading clockwise up the tourist loop track known as the Fenceline Walk. Roughly 100 metres vertically up the hill, we left the main track, onto a well walked route up a spur which ends just north of point 476. The route up this spur switches quite a bit, but generally it’s heading north west. We ended up standing around in a clearing at about point 476, or nearby it, checking the map and trying to think of ways to confirm that that was about where we were, since it wasn’t completely obvious. We’d really wanted to go south-ish from here, but there wasn’t any clear way to do so through a dense barrier of trees. The most obviously walked route seemed to be continuing north-west. This issue was quickly resolved as soon as we noticed that the track in front of us turned abruptly south into a gap, followed by a wide open clearing, after about another 20 metres.

The Terramap for the Tararuas also indicates a small tarn near here, which we walked past at about 8.45am, even though it resembled more of a mud pit with extra high grasses. The route continued straight from the opposite side of the clearing, and for some time we were able to continue along the ridge in what was a fairly good track, both out in the open and when it went under trees.

There are a couple of places along this bit of ridge where it’s necessary to veer around towards the west, rather than the usual south-west, and fortunately this was where the track led us although for me at least, I was trying to keep an eye on my compass bearing to make sure we were going where I thought we should be going. The most difficult part of the stretch was in the vicinity of Pukeatua (point 812), at which point we wanted to go straight west rather than accidentally heading down any of the spurs that surround it.

Allen looks for an opening.

By 10.30am, the unofficial track that we were on had led us to a small clearing surrounded by dense growth, and no apparent way out. At this point, Allen dropped his pack and climbed a short way up a tree for a look around, but was unable to see anything obvious, so we decided to back-track a little. This wasn’t too concerning because we already knew there was at least one other possible side-track that led west-wards not far back. I’d almost walked up it accidentally, without even noticing that the most heavily walked track had continued over the top of a gully (shown on the map as the head of a stream) just north-west of Pukeatua. We didn’t even have to go back properly, because as soon as we’d withdrawn from the clearing the trail of occasional snapped branches indicated that others had already bashed through in the general direction. At 10.45am we were back in a place that looked quite familiar to where I’d reached before, and noticed that it’d even been marked with a couple of orange ties on nearby branches. After a short break for some scroggin, we picked up the trail once again.

The ridge west of Pukeatua briefly took us into the open, and I made an embarrassing mistake of following a ridge almost directly south. I’d even been following my compass bearing at the time, but somehow had momentarily gotten into my head that I was supposed to be going south rather than west, and I didn’t realise this until Allen and Marie yelled out to ask where I was actually going.

Our destination from here was Kapakapanui, which means it’s necessary to head south after about 1.5 kilometres. On the map it appears that the westward ridge runs out at just about the right time to turn south, but we did still find several places where other side tracks wandered off in alternative directions, presumably down other spurs to the north and so on. Consequently it turned out to be necessary to keep a close eye on the bearing when following the route, and occasionally check ahead to find out where the various off-shoots were actually going before making a proper decision. The point that we needed to head south was very clearly marked by no less than 6 markers of various types on nearby trees. This was very helpful too, because the obvious route continued to the west, probably about to veer slowly north-west and then north, towards another ridge in which we had no interest.

Geographically challenged just
above Kapakapanui Hut.

By now the overcast sky had turned into a consistent drizzle, no doubt a sign of things to come. Even though we were sheltered to an extent underneath the trees, we were starting to get very wet by 12.45pm when we stepped out in front of a large orange triangle along the loop track just above Kapakapanui Hut. 5 minutes later we were entering the hut, and sat down for some lunch and a short brew. It was an hour of sitting around and chatting before we left, following the track up the hill to Kapakapanui Trig, at which we arrived 40 minutes later. Typical views from the Kapakapanui Trig are expansive both towards Kapiti Island on once side, and over in the direction of Kime Hut on the other side. Today it was just white in all directions, and also windy. Immediately after the trig, we arrived at the signposted turn-off down along the ridge towards Renata Hut.

The route down towards Renata is clearly signposted at the top, and it’s an orange triangle route the entire way down, beginning out in the open before descending underneath a tree canopy for the majority of the ridge down towards the saddle. I was a bit surprised, however, to find that for an orange triangle track it was probably the most overgrown route we’d walked on all day. It did get better after the first part though, once it had flattened out a bit. Having left the turnoff at 2.25pm, this part of the walk lasted nearly a couple of hours before we reached the saddle, which is also an intersection between our own track towards Renata Hut and the 4 wheel drive road that comes in from the Akatarawa Road towards Waiotaru Hut. Allen commented that this specific area had once been surveyed for a school, back when Odlins owned the land and had plans to build a logging settlement. The initial road was built, but the settlement never went ahead after it was decided that the timber in the area wasn’t actually worth that much anyway, or something like that. My recent Terramap shows that the road becomes a walking track between the saddle and Waiotaru Hut, but it’s actually a 4 wheel drive road for that entire distance. It was raining steadily out in the open, so rather than hang around getting wet we quickly hopped over the road into the track on the other side, and we were back on our way to Renata Hut.

Renata Hut.

The three of us finally reached Renata Hut at 4.50pm. After hanging up our soggy raincoats and soggy socks and soggy shirts and soggy gaiters and soggy shorts and soggy undies and putting out our soggy boots, we eventually got some dinner sorted, which was an assortment of mixed vegetables, bacon and soy-based vegetarian bacon pig-flavoured dog biscuits… which weren’t actually too bad. It was starting to get dark earlier by this time of year, despite the extended daylight savings, and we went to bed not too much longer after dinner, continuing to gossip for another hour or so as the candle near the window slowly burned down and went out.

The rain continued all night, almost persistently. I woke up on one occasion and it sounded as if it had died off, but this didn’t last for long and it’d started again the next time I was awake. When the light finally did begin to seep through the roof, I didn’t feel very inclined to drag myself out of bed at all, but I convinced myself once it became clear that Marie and Allen were both slowly getting themselves sorted out. So after a quick and informal breakfast, and after putting away the dry clothes and putting all our soggy clothes back on, we eventually made it back out the door.

It now seemed unlikely that we’d be able to go through with the day’s plan, which was to head towards Eldar Hut and then walk along the ridge from point 925 towards Waiotauru Forks. Instead, we started thinking about alternative plans. The most obvious idea was to try to get around to the Forks via the main track instead, past Waiotauru Hut. Another obvious way out was along the 4 wheel drive track towards the Akatarawa Road, although then we’d need to try and get a phone call out to get collected, or wave down a passing car.

Both of the maps we had (the LINZ map and the Tararua Terramap), the latter of which is only a year old, show a footbridge right next to Waiotauru Hut. Allen, however, who gets around a lot and is generally more reliable than a map, was very sure that there was no such bridge. I still haven’t been there to check but after asking around a couple of other reliable sources since we returned, it sounds as if he’s correct. At the moment at least, there’s apparently nothing more than the remains of a washed out bridge next to Waiotauru Hut, despite what is indicated on the maps.

Allen gazing at a dirty river.

Having left the hut at 9am or thereabouts, it wasn’t much more than a 30 minute climb back to the saddle intersection with the 4 wheel drive track, and the first place where we’d need to make a decision. We had the entire day ahead of us at this point and it was preferable to get ourselves out if we were able to, so we began walking down the hill towards Waiotauru Hut. After an hour of walking though, we got our first view of the river and decided there and then that we did not want to try and cross that river. With the amount of brown much flowing through it, there was no way we’d get through it safely.

Returning to the saddle (again).

Once we reached the saddle again at 11.35am, it was the third time we’d visited it in the past 2 days. On this occasion, we continued to follow the 4 wheel drive track generally south, down the other side, hoping that at some point we’d get some mobile reception and be able to call someone in town to arrange for a collection in about another 3 hours or so. Literally 5 minutes after we left the intersection, though, there was a face poking around the corner. We hailed the guy, noticing as we approached that he had a rather big Toyota Landcruiser parked just around the corner. A few metres further, and we discovered that it wasn’t just him — there were more of them: 3 vehicles and 6 people out playing in the mud with their big grunty snorkel-equipped toys. It was an unofficial trip by several members of the Wellington Cross Country Vehicle Club.

Walking out to the Akatarawa Road.

The 6 of them were on their way up to the saddle and planning to do some other side tracks, but offered us a backup plan to possibly give us a lift back to civilisation if we were still stuck by the time they’d turned around and come back. We’d thought we might have actually been out at the road by the time this happened, we must have been only about half way. We were all a bit sick of walking by this point; besides the general enjoyment of tramping, I personally find walking along roads to be a bit boring. So we took up their offer of a lift, and some visits down some side tracks, and got a neat ride out in a genuine 1980′s Toyota LandCruiser. This was a treat, and personally I enjoyed seeing 4 wheel drives vehicles actually being used for what they’re supposed to be used for, instead of just burning fossils to collect children from school and blocking my view on the road. The two people who collected us had been in the country for 6 months, had been up here 3 times now, and have apparently collected trampers every time. Perhaps this has something do with their like of mud and visiting the place after heavy rain, but that’s just a guess.

We were expecting to just get a ride out to the Akatarawa Road, or at best to Waikanae, but in the end they were kind enough to give us a ride all the way back to Allen’s car at Otaki Forks. It’s great how people will help out in situations like this, and it was an unexpected end to an interesting weekend trip. At least there was no need for a shower when I got home.

The last time I visited Waitewaewae Hut (aka YTYY), I was on my first ever trip with the Wellington Tongue and Meats. This had been the easy-rated trip up Saddle Creek from Otaki Forks, and considering Andrew was in charge, I think as many people had gone for the cooking as for the walking. With a large group of 12 people, the track that was signposted as 4 hours ended up taking us more than 7, and several people on their first ever tramp were feeling almost dead at the end of it.

This weekend there was another group from the club doing a similar trip to what I’d done earlier, but personally I was in a separate trip coming into Waitewaewae from the other end. Our basic plan was to start from the Waikawa Stream, meet the other group at the hut on Saturday night, and then we’d all walk back to Otaki Forks on the Sunday.

Dates: 8th-10th February, 2008
Location: Tararua Forest Park, North Manakau Road to Otaki Forks.
People: Steve, Lesley, Kerry, Marie, Andy, Sylvia, Dave, Sue, Allen and me.
Huts visited: Waitewaewae Hut (1 night).
Intended route: Begin at the end of North Manakau Road, follow the Waikawa Stream and pick a spur towards the saddle north of point 673. Continue down the other side into the West Waitewaewae River. Follow it to Island Forks and along the main Waitewaewae River to the Otaki River. Carry on to Waitewaewae Hut. Then out via the main track over the plateau and along Saddle Creek back to Otaki Forks on Sunday.
Actual route: Bingo.
Related bits: Dave also wrote a trip report about this weekend.
[Photos]

It was a complicated transport arrangement on Friday night. Steve (from our group) was the only bus driver available, so it was necessary for him to drive the bus to Otaki Forks to drop everyone off, after which the remaining ten of us piled into the van and set off for the North Manakau Road-end, some distance further north. Both road-ends are windy and bumpy and have to be negotiated slowly, and it took quite a while for us to get to our starting point. At the end of North Manakau Road, we were quite surprised to find both a long drop, and a concrete barbecue, but not much else. Maybe it’s a popular place for people to camp for the night before setting off.

The large fly goes up.

We arrived shortly after 9pm and, after noting that there wasn’t really anywhere useful to walk to on a Friday night, we set to work putting up the flies. There was plenty of space, but the ground was far too hard to knock in any pegs, so we had to find some heavy rocks to weigh them down. The problems compounded when we realised that the main guy rope on the large fly we’d brought with us was a couple of metres too short. It almost got to the point of having to yank out some bootlaces to tie it down, until we figured out that it’d be feasible to tie one end directly to the van. The large fly was properly up by about 9.45pm, and with the front of the van sheltering one end of it we even managed to cram seven people under it quite comfortably.

Steve crosses a slip that
we found quite early.

People were stirring a little after 6.30am or so on Saturday morning. Allen had a billy boiling before long for everyone who wanted hot water, and after an hour or so we were packed up and ready to get going. The North Manakau Road-end actually has two obvious exits. One of them, on the left of the road when facing the end, is signposted as some kind of bush-walk and immediately starts going up-hill. I don’t know where this track goes, and we went the other way, which basically continues straight ahead into the trees from the end of the road. This track goes straight down towards the Waikawa Stream, which was where we wanted to be, towards the site of one of the Tararua’s old logging mills. We’d hit the river within 3 or 4 minutes, and even though there’s a track marked along the river’s true right to the old mill site for about a kilometre, it wasn’t very distinguishable to me from the river itself. Personally I never even noticed the site of the Old Mill. I’m unsure if this is because I wasn’t looking hard enough, or if there’s just not much to see.

Navigationally speaking, the entire trip was likely to be quite straightforward. The plan was to follow the Waikawa Stream south for a couple of kilometres, then head up a spur to a saddle, which was also pretty much south-wards. It was a good place to practice navigation techniques, though, and several of us had maps and compasses out to try and pick up the variations in the stream.

Marie and Andy
heading upwards.

The stream did have a few kinks in it to throw us off, and at one point we nearly headed up the wrong side-stream, and only realised after a bearing found us somehow heading north-west. Looking at the map, though, it would have been difficult to take a wrong turn that didn’t eventually take us to where we wanted to be anyway. Allen and Sue, of course, had been all around just about everywhere nearby except for this particular stream. If we’d found a way to get lost, we would have known because they would have begun to recognise where they were. They probably wouldn’t have told us, though.

Lesley near the top of the
saddle, heading down.

We found what we thought was the right spur at about 9.40am, and there was even a bit of a track worn around it. At first, the track seemed to go more alongside the river rather than up the spur, but it eventually headed up, and we were on what I presume was the saddle at about 10.35′ish. After a small amount of surveying to check if we should be heading either way along the ridge, we ended up heading straight down the other side, and into the West Waitewaewae River. The descent took about 30 minutes, and we stopped for a natter and a short snack at the bottom.

Sylvia shows off
fancy footwork.

The West Waitewaewae River is a little gorgey in places, and within about ten minutes we were wading through knee-deep water for the first time. As things go there wasn’t a lot of water in the river, though, and it was quite a nice and gentle walk under the trees. The group stopped for lunch shortly before 12, and with quite a lot of time to burn, we boiled some more water and took a 30 minute break.

After lunch things became a lot more gorgey, intermittently at least. At about 12.45, we came across our first part of the river that looked a little difficult. It was a section with a small waterfall that looked deep underneath, and had steep walls on either side. Dave and Andy were the first to climb around the edge. They didn’t make it look easy or particularly safe, either. I was starting to consider my first practical attempt at pack-floating at about the time that Sylvia got everyone’s attention by mis-placing something and falling backwards into the river from the wall above. Sylvia was fine (apart from being a little saturated), and when she stood up it became more obvious that the depth wasn’t much more than waste deep. Steve and I ended up just wading through, while I think everyone else found a convenient ledge about knee-deep under the water which was a little easy to sidle around.

Dave next to the main
Waitewaewae River.

We were walking again at 3.35pm, with the next phase of the trip being about 5 kilometres along the main Waitewaewae River to where it flowed into the Otaki River. The main river continued the occasional gorginess, resulting in more places where we needed to wade through waist-deep water. This also contributed to the number of good swimming holes that we walked past. We didn’t stop for any swimming in the end, but it might be worth remembering for the future.

Sue and Allen lead everyone in
another crossing.

There’s a big slip marked on the map about half way along that stretch, which we’d reached by 5.10pm at our fairly relaxed pace. It was starting to get later in the day now, though, and notably the sandflies were starting to hover around the water, biting when given the chance. We weren’t too far from the hut by now, which was evident by the increasing numbers of footprints visible in the sand, suggesting that this part of the river was getting to be a little more populated. For a while, however, we were still considering camping for the night. The weather was calm, and we walked past quite a few possible campsites in the flats alongside the river.

We never did stop, however, and secretly I was quite glad inside. Camping would have been nice, but I’d only just renewed my annual hut pass the previous Tuesday, and somehow staying in a hut somehow seemed to justify this. We finally reached the Otaki River at 5.45pm. From here it was a short jaunt further down-stream to the swing bridge, 15 minutes away, where we stopped to re-group. We were all over it by about 10 minutes later, including Marie who put on a small circus act by holding her pole in her mouth, and were settling into hut life by 6.20pm. Overall it was a good day, apart from Kerry’s injury which was still bothering her. I think the only irritation for me was after I pulled off one of my gaiters and discovered that one of the lace brackets from my boot had fallen off, probably in the West Waitewaewae River since I think that was about the time I thought my lace had come loose. It’s probably washed well out to see by now.

Arriving at Waitewaewae Hut.

Already at the hut for the night were a couple with a friendly dog, who were camped outside, and a family group of four who were currently preparing dinner and playing card games. What we didn’t find, against our expectations, was the other group. Considering how late it was in the day, this seemed strange and a little concerning, especially after the dog couple told us they’d overtaken the group at the log hauler near the start of Saddle Creek back at mid-day. As we heard a helicopter fly overhead shortly after our arrival, we joked about how it might have been for them.

Waitewaewae Hut was very similar to how I remembered it from September 2006, the only obvious difference being the movement of the long drop. (The track to the previous location has been filled up by a large tree branch.) The current Waitewaewae Hut itself has an interesting distinction of being the first hut that New Zealand’s Department of Conservation funded the building of using the fees from back-country hut tickets. This was a demonstration in 1991, in response to a lot of controversy over the introduction of hut fees, shortly after the department usurped control of the country’s National Parks and Forest Parks, and whatever was in them. To quell some of the complaints from many people who objected to being charged for use of the facilities that they themselves had spent time and effort building and maintaining, the government department wanted to demonstrate that those fees would actually be spent on supporting recreational activities. Consequently, Waitewaewae was rebuilt. Although there less objections to the payment of fees after 17 years, the hut book at Waitewaewae still gets the occasional comment from someone complaining about how they feel insulted for being asked to pay them.

We settled into a couscous dinner, and as we waited for the other group, I flicked through the hut copy of Ross Kerr’s A Chronology of the Tararua and Rimutaka Ranges. Sue meanwhile explained to one of the other people at the hut just where we’d come from that day, pointing to a stream on her Tararua map which I noticed was covered in a very comprehensive grid of drawn lines. The other group still hadn’t arrived by the time we went to bed after several hours. It was quite possible they’d had a minor mis-hap, so we assumed they’d probably just stopped and camped somewhere along the way, or returned to Otaki Forks. For the entire day, I’d been expecting to be sleeping on the floor. I felt a little guilty snatching a mattress on the so-far completely vacant top level. It was tempting to sleep on the deck outside and a couple of people almost did, but everyone was inside by the end, even though Steve and Marie preferred to stick to the floor. It may have been just as well that everyone was inside, as there was rain overnight.

The first people started waking up at around 6am on Sunday morning, partly prompted by one of the couple camped outside who came inside briefly around then. Allen and Sue were keen to get back to their car at Otaki Forks so they could get home early, and they were away by about 7am, dragging Dave behind them, who was needed so he could be dropped at the Waikawa road-end in order to collect the van and bring it back to the Forks. Before they left, however, Steve (who knew how to use the timer on his camera) made sure to get a nice, group photograph of everyone. The couple with the dog and the family group were away next, but everyone else in our own group took a bit longer to get going. It wasn’t likely to be a long day, at least compared with the previous day, and so it took until about 7.45am before the rest of us were packed, ready to leave and walking again.

Incidentally as a bit of mostly useless information, the Terramap of the Tararuas folds really nicely if you’re going on a similar route to ourselves and stopping at the hut overnight. The hut itself is near the edge, duplicated on both sides of the double-sided map. This meant that for all of Saturday we were walking from top to bottom of the map, from Waikawa to Waitewaewae. On Sunday morning I pulled it out and neatly re-folded it to the other side, and once again we were walking from the top to the bottom, from Waitewaewae Hut to Otaki Forks.

Circumventing the track via
the Otaki River.

After a brief discussion, we decided to avoid the first part of the track from Waitewaewae Hut, which is known for it’s fluctuating altitude, and instead wander around the curve in the Otaki River, which was all flat. We’d reached the big orange triangle, at the intersection of the Otaki River and Arapito Creek, shortly after 8am. By this time I was the only person remaining in our group who’d done this before, and unfortunately I had some fake memories of the incident. My specific memory had been that there was some climbing up above the creek to the track from this point. This memory also seemed completely logical after seeing that there was an obvious track going up the hill from that point. The further we climbed, however, the less obvious the track became, and I’m now wondering if it only existed because so many other people had had the same false memory that I’d had. Or perhaps it had something to do with the exact placement of the big orange triangle down at the river level.

After a couple of minutes, Steve asked me if I was sure that we were going the right way. I admitted I wasn’t, and so we decided we’d probably be better off going back down and simply following Arapito Creek for about 200 metres, to the point where the map indicated that the main track crossed it. The logic in my mind had told me that since I’d remembered another track, this creek must certainly have been quite difficult to navigate. It wasn’t of course, and within a minute we were practically walking on a highway with orange triangles every 30 seconds.

From here there was an uphill climb of about 250 metres to a plateau, although the track tends to undulate up and down for a bit which probably makes the climb a little further. Kerry wasn’t having quite so much trouble with her knee any more by now, especially having gotten away from the uneven and hard ground of the riverbeds that we’d been walking along for nearly all of the previous day. (My accidental guiding up and down a very steep section earlier probably hadn’t helped, however.) We still took things quite slowly, however, with no real reason to rush. I’m unsure exactly what time we reached the plateau’s high-point, but it was probably roughly 9.30am, after which we began to descend and very quickly found ourselves walking in Saddle Creek.

Saddle Creek.

The track from Waitewaewae Hut back to Otaki Forks zig-zags frequently over Saddle Creek for about 2 kilometres before heading up the hillside, to the extent that it’s often easier to simply walk in the creek than to keep following the track up and down beside it. In our case, the remaining seven of us went at our own pace and we spread out quite a lot, occasionally regrouping. I quite enjoy it when this happens because it’s a nice change from constantly catching up with people, and I tend to make better decisions about where to put my feet when I can see further ahead of me. A little after 10am, though, I caught up with Andy, Lesley and Sylvia, all of whom were crowded around a tree. It turned out that Sue, from the other group, had left us a note, and it was interesting reading.

Steve and Marie
read the note.

The previous afternoon, one of them had had an accident and slipped over in the creek, twisting an ankle. After attempting to walk her out, it’d quickly become clear that doing so wouldn’t be possible. Ray, also from the other group, had decided to activate his personal locator beacon, which I later heard him refer to as his pocket helicopter. Ray and Sam had then walked back to Otaki Forks to raise the alarm that way in case the beacon failed. Within a couple of hours, however, a helicopter had arrived and the injured person had been flown out. So that helicopter we’d heard the previous evening had actually been for them after all. The note went on to say that they’d camped in the surrounding area that night, even though we couldn’t see anywhere nice to camp no matter how hard we looked. It must have been quite an awkward night. According to the note, they’d left about 90 minutes before we arrived, so they probably weren’t too far ahead. The others carried on while I waited for Steve, Marie and Terry to catch up, if only to see the looks on their faces.

We re-grouped again about half an hour later (about 10.50am), after those in front had stopped rather than overtake the family group that’d left the hut before us. We actually weren’t far from the turn-off point from Saddle Creek; once we got going again, we’d only been walking for 5 minutes before we unexpectedly ran into our friends from the other group. They’d been waiting for quite some time for us to show up. After having had some issues getting around an active slip on their way in on Saturday morning, they hadn’t yet decided whether to continue along that way or to follow the river instead. If they did the latter, they also didn’t want to go down the river without us knowing about it.

An added complication was them having had to divide up everything from an extra pack, since Sarah had been flown out without taking everything with her. Most of this was figured out already, but Steve helped out by carrying an additional pack which by now was almost empty, strapping it to the back of his own. After some discussion, we all decided to continue back on the track. Nobody knew what to expect from the river, whereas we knew that the main track was quite easy once we’d gotten around the slip.

The old log hauler.

Our group was walking again at 11.15am, leaving Saddle Creek behind and immediately finding the old log hauler, which is placed right next to the track, and overtaking the family group who’d sat down behind it for a snack or early lunch. Much of the track between Saddle Creek and Otaki Forks is wide and flat. In fact, the old rails that were used by the log hauling engines continue to exist along some parts of the tracks. At 11.30am we reached the main obstacle, which is where the track hits quite a large, active slip. From here it’s necessary to climb up and around the top of it, using a much worse track that won’t be permanent for as long as the land continues to get washed away over time. Getting around it only takes on the order of 5 minutes, but the sudden difference in terrain could be quite a shock after a while of flat, wide tracks.

Steve on the final leg.

We returned to flat, wide tracks soon enough on the other side, however. Those of us up the front got ahead quite a bit, and we stopped for some lunch at midday, triggered by having caught up with the couple walking their dog. From here the whole walk out was much less structured, though. Once Steve decided to get up and leave, I followed shortly after, and we were almost immediately out from under the trees and into chirping cicada country. Everyone followed at their own pace, with many people apparently stopping along the way for a swim in one of the nearby rivers.

By 12.45pm, I’d reached the grassy plateau just above Otaki Forks, where the Waitewaewae Track meets the track up to Field Hut. This had definitely changed since last time I saw it. In particular, there was now a 2 metre wide lawnmower track through the grass, with a sign indicating that the marker poles should be followed back to the forks. At first I thought that DOC had simply clearly mown the original track so that people would stick to walking in one place, rather than wandering all over the field. After a few minutes, though, it became clearer that this track didn’t seem to be going exactly where I thought it was. I did end up back at the Forks, but it was probably about 4 or 5 times longer than the original track, which is much more direct. Presumably DOC wanted to make something that had a shallower gradient, considering how much Otaki Forks is frequented by people who just want a short circular walk, or who want to get to one of the nearby rivers.

There’s a new very grunty bridge there now, too, which in any other location would look like a monstrosity (which is exactly what has occurred with the new DOC bridges in places like Mitre Flats). At Otaki Forks though, it probably makes some sense because so many people visit. Another tramping club was having some kind of children’s camping picnic on the other side of that bridge. Those kinds of things frighten me, and I decided to go sideways slightly and walk over the old swing bridge instead. Half way across I looked down and noticing that the water in the river was only ankle deep, I wondered why I hadn’t just waded across.

The time was now past 1pm and I thought that Dave would almost certainly be back with the van. Looking around however, I couldn’t find him or the van anywhere. Dave arrived with the van about 20 minutes after I had, and I found out later that after a rather fast 3.5 hour run from Waitewaewae Hut to Otaki Forks, Allen and Sue had taken him to the Brown Sugar Cafe in Otaki for a coffee, which explained his lateness. Meanwhile I found the club bus, in which Ray and Sam were sitting half asleep. We went back down to the field near the bridges and threw a frisbee around for a while, as everyone slowly trickled in.

It was a fun trip in the end, made even more exciting after hearing about the helicopter adventures of those in the other group. Apparently helicopters on club trips are something to do with Ray and Sue being present, so I might have to take that into account when planning what I sign up for in the future.

We were supposed to be walking through rivers all weekend according to the original plan, but the weather was so good that we just couldn’t help ourselves, and ended up on the tops. Eventually, we found ourselves moving very slowly thanks to some very overgrown ridges.

Dates: 30th November – 2nd December, 2007
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Poads Road to Mangahao Dam.
People: John, Paul, Craig and me.
Huts visited: Te Matawai Hut (0 nights), Arete Biv (0 nights), Dundas Hut (1 night).
Huts seen: Herepai Hut.
Initial intended route: Begin at Poads Road, wander up the South Ohau River to the old site of South Ohau Hut, wander up past Te Matawai, then down the Mangahao River to Mangahao Flats Hut, and out via the Dam.
Actual route: With some really good weather, we went from Te Matawai Hut up to Arete, over to Dundas, from West Peak to East Peak, then around the ridge to Ngapuketurua, north-east along the ridge, and down the Puketurua Track to the dam.
[Photos]

Leaving Poads Road
on Friday night.

The van was shared with the Easy-Medium rated Bacon-for-Breakfast group. They dropped us off at Poads Road shortly before 8pm, before carrying on further north to the dams. Friday night involved a walk for a little more than an hour, into a clearing just after the suspension bridge, which made a nice camp-site. To be more specific, Craig and I both set up our small Huntech flies under the trees nearby. John and Paul took a gamble that the weather would remain dry, and slept outside under the trees, with a vague plan to crawl under the flies if it started raining. I don’t know for certain what time John and Paul were stirring, but Craig and I, at least, were awake from about 5.30am on Saturday morning. Personally I didn’t actually get up until around 7, though, when Paul poked his head under my tent fly.

The original plan had been to walk along the South Ohau River for a while, then cross over to the Mangahao river and follow it back along to the dams, via Mangahao Hut. It would probably have been possible to do it in a single long day in good weather, and we had the entire weekend. Considering the apparently excellent weather, John proposed a different idea based on something he’d done about 15 years before. Specifically the idea was to walk around the tops, past Dundas, rather than going on our original planned route along the rivers. This was an attractive proposition, and we’d still have until Te Matawai Hut before making our final decision.

John, Craig and Paul at the
former South Ohau Hut site.

We were away shortly after 8am, and began wandering along the Ohau River. By 10.40am, we’d reached the base of Yeates Track, and began the climb up to Te Matawai Hut. We reached the hut at 12.20pm, which made it a good lunch stop. There was one person already at the hut, who was very quiet. He acknowledged us politely, but didn’t say anything for the entire time. He looked to be busy packing a daypack while we consumed our lunch to plan the remains of our trip, and eventually he left to wander up in the direction of Pukematawai.

John, meanwhile, pulled out a topo map and studied it closely. After some consideration, he estimated that it might take another 5 or 6 hours to reach Dundas Hut by that evening. Craig then made an independent assessment and arrived at the same conclusion, which was very encouraging. The walk on Sunday was a little less certain, as the map showed the route dipping into a few short stretches of light green, which likely meant Leatherwood. John’s recollections from 15 years earlier, however, were that there had been a good track cut through it all. This had been 15 years before, but Leatherwood grows very slowly, right? Still, the consensus for Sunday was that it would probably take up to 8 hours of walking along the ridges and down the spur to the dam. This was allowing a full hour to get between East Peak and West Peak, which are divided by quite a deep saddle, although there would only be a couple of significant climbs.

So the final consensus was that we would take advantage of consistent dry weather and go the longer way, around the ridges. We wandered from Te Matawai Hut at 1.20pm, an hour after arriving, and with the expectation of a further 5 to 6 hours of walking before we’d arrive at Dundas Hut. The first minor scare occurred 10 minutes later, when Paul accidentally tripped over a deceptively flat and safe piece of ground. At first we thought he might have damaged one of his ankles, but after a couple of minutes Paul was feeling okay. Craig and I used the time to rub it in by getting a photo of Craig triumphantly conquering the same piece of track without falling over.

The new Arete Biv.

The conversation on the way up the hillside was dominated by a discussion about rules for hut-bagging, and whether a hut should still count if it had been removed and replaced by a new hut. A couple of glider pilots were buzzing around us by the time we reached Pukematawai, shortly before 3. The quiet chap who’d left us at the hut was sitting on the top in the sunshine, eating snacks out of his daypack. He remained very quiet, and we left him a few minutes later to cross the saddle over to Arete, which was a quarter of an hour away.

Both Paul and John, having expected to be wading through rivers for most of the weekend, had only bought relatively small bottles for carrying water. That, as well as the simple desire to see a new hut up close, helped with the decision to wander down to the new Arete Biv. Given that it was so close, this was a surprisingly complex operation. If we’d just been wanting to stop at the hut it would have been simple, but nobody could be bothered to carry their packs all the way down, or to leave them on the top of the peak for that matter. Instead, we ended up walking a short way down Dundas Ridge to drop our packs, and it was 20 minutes of awkward sidling whilst carrying awkwardly shaped cameras and water bottles (for me at least), before we made it to the biv. Half an hour later, after noting that the new biv still leaks, we were back with our packs and ready to go. I looked at my watch and it was after half past four. I’m not sure where the day went, and we still had some distance to go.

Stopping briefly at Dundas.

It was quite a fast track walking along the ridges over the next couple of hours. The only person we met was a young chap who’d come over from Cattle Ridge, past Dundas, and was now heading towards Arete for the night. He hadn’t decided where he’d go from there, but was considering completing a northern crossing as he’d already done most of it. With the ups and downs, we reached the top of Dundas (the peak) by 5.40pm. We were aiming for Dundas Hut by the evening, although for a reason that none of us quite understand, Dundas Hut is not only a long way from Dundas Peak, but there’s even a higher peak (Logan) in between the two. Logically the hut should be called Logan Hut, or Pukemoremore Hut, but perhaps it’s called Dundas Hut for some kind of historical reason.

Our estimated time for reaching Dundas Hut had been between 6 and 7, but by 7 we hadn’t even even reached the top of the spur at which the hut was below. Paul in particular was very keen to get there, having been starting to get a bit sick of walking all day. He raced out ahead into the distance. I was probably a minute or two behind when I reached what I thought was the right place for the turn-off, but noticed that Paul had continued to run ahead. I took a look around and there were about 5 or 6 cairns scattered around the nearby area. I wandered over to the edge of the ridge, and sure enough, the small shape of Dundas Hut and its nearby dunny were visible on the northern side of the spur, 200 metres below me. By now Craig had arrived behind me, and a quick discussion confirmed that yes, we were actually supposed to be turning off here.

Cairns at the top
of the spur above
Dundas Hut.

From my point of view this was great, because Craig and I now had an excuse to blow our whistles, and we did. There was no reaction from Paul though, and presumably he was too far away, now well down into the saddle on the way to Pukemoremore — the next peak on the ridge. I ran over to the top of the saddle and saw that in the time we’d spent bureaucratically checking things, Paul had managed to make it half way down into quite a deep saddle. I yelled out to him, and this time managed to get his attention. And if a million tiny landslides were triggered in the Tararua Range at precisely 7.12pm on the 1st of December 2007, they might all have been caused by one of the loudest expletives uttered in history echoing around the hillsides at that instant. It was all in good fun.

The hut was still 200 vertical metres down the reasonably steep hill, and so we still had quite some way to go before finally arriving a little after 7.30pm. The lack of recent rain in the Tararuas was quite evident on the way down, with much of what would usually be slippery mud instead being cracked and condensed, hard ground.

Mattresses at
Dundas Hut.

Dundas Hut is a nice 6 bunk hut, which probably only averages a few visits every month, judging by the hut book. Dinner that evening was pasta and some kind of tasty sauce, with a very random assortment of veggies. Notable points about Dundas Hut are that one of the bunks appears a little unstable, and the standard DOC mattresses don’t fit very well into the very non-standard bunks. It was actually quite a challenge for Paul and Craig to force the mattresses into a flat position, and I was thinking at the time that it’d be funny if they suddenly sprung upwards during the night, flinging their occupants against the ceiling. John and I didn’t even bother, and dragged our mattresses onto the floor, instead.

The estimation for Sunday was that it’d probably take about 8 hours of walking to get to the Mangahao Reservoir by the agreed collection time of 3pm. This meant we’d need to get going by 7am at the latest, but the earlier the better. As it turned out, we were all up and awake by sunrise at 5.30, and leaving within an hour of that. I filled my 2 litre water bottle right to the top, and I think Craig did the same. Paul and John hadn’t bought bottles quite as big, and Paul borrowed my spare 1 litre bottle to add to his smaller bottle, while John scavenged an old 750 ml bottle that someone had left at the hut.

In general, uphill walking tends to be my favourite part of walking. That said, I really hate steep climbs that come first thing in the morning. If there’s going to be a steep climb, I prefer to have a 20 minutes or so of easier walking to start off with rather than having to get into it straight out the door. Unfortunately, as Dundas Hut is 200 vertical metres down a steep spur, this was exactly what we had to walk into. We got it out of the way, though, and after 25 minutes or so, I was standing back on the main ridge with all the cairns.

John, Craig and Paul heading
towards West Peak.

The plan for the day was to cross over Pukemoremore, and then race along the ridge towards West Peak. After this we’d drop into quite a deep saddle and climb up to East Peak, and everything going to plan this should be the last significant climb of the day. From West Peak onwards there would be about a further 7 kms to the top of the Puketurua Track, and we’d have about 4 or 5 hours to cover it. The route did drop into a few light green zones on the map, particularly in the ridge that conneted Massey Knob with Ngapuketurua but John had done this route 15 years ago at which time there was a good track cut through it all, and leatherwood grows very slowly, right? Besides, something would have to be seriously wrong if we couldn’t average 1.5 kph.

Craig and Paul at
East Peak.

We reached West Peak some time after 9am, and were walking into the saddle shortly after. Overall it was about 15 minutes down one side, and about 30 minutes up the other side to the top of East Peak, where we stopped again. For a few moments, it actually looked as if some classic Tararua claggy cloud was rolling in over the on the eastern side. Once we arrived there at 10am, we looked back to the west, and noticed that much of what we’d walked over that morning in the west was now obscured in cloud. It never quite fell on top of where we were at any one time, though.

From East Peak, we made our way north to Ruapae. One particular part of the ridge had almost fallen away, with large slips on both sides. In fact, the slim half-metre-wide piece of ridge on the top was already a little wobbly, and apparently only held together by the roots of the leatherwood on one end. Craig, who was walking with me at the time and had been over that bit a couple of times before, commented that it gets thinner every time. We stopped briefly for a rest on Ruapae, a little after 10.30. During lunch I noticed I was actually getting uncomfortably low on water. I’d begun the day with a full 2 litres, but looking at my water bottle, I now only had less than half of that. This was quite disturbing and I’d clearly been sipping water more frequently than I should have been. At the very least, there were no more major climbs, so with any luck I should hopefully be okay if I was careful from now on. The altitude was now dropping gradually, and we were getting into some slightly more overgrown vegetation. This became painfully obvious after Ruapae, however, when we had our first dose of relatively thick Leatherwood.

Leatherwood is an alpine shrub that’s common at certain altitudes in particular parts of New Zealand, notably in the Tararuas and the Ruahines. It’s the kind of shrub that would almost be thick enough to camp on top of, but not quite. It also tends to come in vast fields, meaning it’s necessary to either take long routes around it (not always possible), or attempt to push through it, which can become very tough, painful, and especially slow. This leatherwood had had a track cut through it many years before, and probably occasional weirdos similar to ourselves would come along and continue to push through the track, making sure it wasn’t completely overgrown. Unfortunately it didn’t appear as if any of the weirdos before us had brought chainsaws with them, and neither had we.

When pushing through leatherwood as part of a group, I think it’s most beneficial to be at least second, rather than first. This makes it possible to see how well the person in front is doing at finding a relatively pain-free route, and to try going a different way if it seems appropriate. The only down-side to this strategy is that as soon as the person in front wanders off in a bad direction and finds themselves stuck in some horrible cavity of stubborn thick tangley branches, it means that you end up being in front, and subject to the same risks to the advantage of the people behind.

Paul negotiating
Leatherwood.

Paul was the first person in front on this occasion, and the only person to have ended up taking one of the most unlucky routes which eventually forced him a rather long way out towards the side of the spur near a steepening drop, and without any obvious way of coming back to the centre of the ridge. This meant that for some time, he ended up quite a long way behind the rest of us, and it was completely due to bad luck and happening to have been the first person.

I think I remember John declaring after about 10 minutes that that we were probably through the last of the leatherwood. Suffice it to say that it did actually take another hour to finally bash our way up to the next peak, called Hines, only a kilometre or so away. By now it was shortly before 12pm, and John (as the designated trip leader) was starting to get nervous about the time we were making. He was out-voted when it came to deciding what to do, however, and this was where we stopped for an intentionally brief lunch. During this time, Craig found his phone and spent a few minutes sending a text message to indicate that there was a little leatherwood and that we might possibly get out a little late. Fortunately from Hines we could see along the next part of the ridge towards Massey Knob. Although it looked a little green, it also looked as if there were plenty of clear patches, and it’d be quick from here.

As Murphy’s Law might have predicted, the continuation of our trip around the ridge to Massey Knob was not as quick as we’d hoped. What had appeared to be a reasonably easy ridge from a distance was actually covered with very inconveniently placed shrubs (including the occasional patch of Leatherwood to be negotiated), and rocky out-croppings that needed to be climbed around.

It took about an hour to get to Massey Knob, and a little after 1pm we began bush-bashing our way over to Ngapuketurua, on the parallel ridge to the north-west. Once again this part of the route, approximately 1 km, consisted largely of leatherwood. There was actually a vague track through much of it after some searching around, but there were also some areas where the leatherwood completely dominated, and finding a way through resulted in many scratches and took lots of time.

By now I was beginning to get increasingly concerned about the amount of water I had. With the lack of rain in the range over the past weeks we’d passed quite a few dried up tarns, which were little more than mud. For me, it was like an oasis in the distance when we emerged from yet another patch of leatherwood to see a small tarn in the distance which actually still had water in it.

The other three looked at me a little strangely when I dropped my pack, grabbed my spare 1 litre water bottle (which Paul had now returned to me), and ran over to try and find a way through the thick leatherwood that surrounded most of the tarn. I finally found a way around the back, and leant down to try and reach into the water. It was suddenly apparent that there wasn’t much water in this tarn at all. At its deepest, it was probably only 3 or 4 centimetres deep. My right foot sank half a metre into the mud, and as I retrieved the bottle I had about 200 mls of some kind of stagnant brown mixture with floating things in it and a couple of insects flying around inside. I made up my mind at the time that it probably wasn’t worth trying to get more water than this into the bottle, especially since I’d probably be scooping in mud to do so. It was a bit demoralising after the initial thoughts that had gone through my head, and I stashed what I had back into my pack. With any luck I’d never need to drink any of that, but I’d at least keep it in case of an emergency.

At 2.20pm or so, we finally arrived at Ngapuketurua, and this was the peak above the final ridge we’d need to walk along. Ironically there was even a small cairn at our feet, marking the exact place where we should probably be turning off down the ridge. Perhaps one day in the past, this cairn might have been in the open, but today the entire peak was covered in thick scrub, naturally including the recurring patches of leatherwood We were in the middle of it all. There would be quite a bit to bash through no matter which direction we wanted to go. Fortunately we could see along the next part of the ridge towards the spur containing the Puketurua Track. Although it looked a little green, it also looked as if there were plenty of clear patches, and it’d be quick from here… just as soon as we’d found a way to negotiate the first 200 metres or so.

Paul bashing through scrub
down from Ngapuketurua.

As Murphy’s Law might have predicted, the continuation of our trip down the remaining ridge to the Puketurua Track was not as quick as we’d hoped. In fact that first 300 metres was very difficult, and once again we ended up separated, with Craig and John being unlucky enough to find a bad route that went all over the place, while Paul and I managed to get further ahead before stopping to wait. Once again there was a glider pilot zooming around us, but this didn’t hold quite the same fascination as it had the day before. It seemed ironic to be up so high on a nice day and not be terribly inspired by the views any more.

By now it was quite obvious that we’d be late out, probably by several hours. It wasn’t clear if there would be a van there to collect us at all, although for me any concerns about that were eclipsed by my mounting concerns about the lack of water. I was down to taking sips of half a mouthful at a time, and I was expecting it to run out any time now.

In actuality, even though negotiating the ridge still involved a lot of pushing through some thick branches and sustaining lots of scrapes and cuts, there was actually a reasonably obvious route. Paul made up his mind that he wanted to get out quickly once again, and after some time we arranged that he should race ahead along the ridge, down the spur to the dam, and attempt to catch the others with the van before they drove away. I was almost considering following him for a while, but I was getting towards crisis point with the water situation, and very concerned about the risk of exhausting and dehydrating myself by going too quickly. Consequently, I gave up trying to keep up with Paul towards the end of the trip along the ridge, although my excuse for stopping at the time was that I wanted to double-check the bearing on the dammed lake, clearly visible below. It was reassuring to know that the intended spur was the next one along, and from there I continued towards the top of the spur at a slightly slower rate. The worst part, however, was seeing from close up just how long and shallow the target spur actually was. There was water at the bottom, 500 metres below, and at this point I’d love to be getting down as quickly as possible, but that didn’t seem entirely likely.

I actually almost missed the turn-off point, although the most obvious track along the ridge virtually stopped almost immediately after it, forcing me to back-track about 10 metres to find the junction that led down the spur. I began to follow it for a couple of minutes or so, before deciding that I should probably wait for Craig and John to catch up, both because it was feasible (though unlikely) that they might also miss the turn-off and we’d get split up, and because I wasn’t sure that I should be walking on my own, given the whole water situation and the possibility of ending up very dehydrated.

As I re-gathered myself in the place where I’d stopped a minute down the spur, I pulled out the 200 ml of dingy brown water that I’d earlier liberated from the tarn. The protein-rich wildlife that had been fluttering around earlier was now still, possibly due to lack of oxygen. The water was no longer as brown as it had been, but after a minute of watching the floaties slowly descend to the bottom of the bottle, I decided it might still be a wise move to find a treatment tablet from my first aid kit, just in case. The only tablet I had was intended for a litre of water, so if it was needed, this would be quite disgusting. I threw it back into the top of my pack, and wandered back up to the top, at which time Craig and John were just arriving to within shouting distance.

The three of us began trekking down the Puketurua Track at about 4.20pm, relatively slowly. The latest edition of the Terralink map of the Tararuas attaches a label to this track indicating that it’s “overgrown”. Ironically, this was probably one of the best tracks we’d had for the entire day. It was almost as if it was walked quite frequently, although I can’t understand what the incentive would be to walk up to a ridge that leads into 6 hours of leatherwood bashing. That would have to be by far one of the most frustrating routes into the range.

Personally I was starting to feel quite a bit of dryness in the back of my throat, and it was near the top of the spur that my water finally ran out. Similarly, Craig and John were on their last mouthfuls. At roughly the 600 metre mark, Craig asked if he could swig some of the tarn water that I’d acquired earlier. This was a convenient excuse to stop for a rest, and when I saw Craig wetting his mouth I decided I might follow his example. I have to admit that that was by a large margin the best disgusting stale chlorinated water I’ve ever tasted.

Water at the bottom of
the Puketurua Track.

Finally, after a long time of shallow downhill and the occasional frustrating shallow uphill, the spur dropped off into a very steep descent. Shortly after this, we were at the river, and we stopped for about 10 minutes. I don’t know how much water John got through, but Craig and I drank through at least 2 litres each just standing there. John got started walking back towards the dam, by now not far away, although Craig and I stayed behind to collect more water for the last few minutes of the walk. By the time we left, my own pack was 3 kg heavier.

Craig sidling around the
lake below the dam.

The river and the lake behind the Mangahao Upper No. 1 Reservoir was quite low, perhaps due to the lack of recent rain, and none of us were entirely sure which side of the lake was optimal to be walking along. The western side of the lake appeared to have a clear track, whereas the eastern side might have had a track above it in the trees, and offered a much more direct route to the dam. John crossed the river to walk along the other side, but Craig and I decided to try our luck on the nearby side. This decision was just a topping off of the day’s activities, and by the end of it I thought I might have been better off following John. The side of the lake was steep and although there were clearly footprints from others who’d been there before, there was no way up to any track in the trees above, even if it existed. Nevertheless, Craig and I reached the dam within about 10 minutes of sidling around the lake, and at 6.20pm, more than 3 hours after the arranged collection time, we were able to look over the top to see that the van was, indeed, waiting for us on the ground at the far end, with Paul and John already outside packing up.

Now that the whole dehydration issue was behind us, it was quite a relief that we wouldn’t be staying an extra night at the road-end. We discovered later that the people in the other group, not having had any idea of where we were, had spent 45 minutes driving the windy and nauseating road in order to get cellphone reception. At that time Murray had received a relayed message indicating that we might be late, and they returned. By the time they had arrived back, Paul was waiting for them. It might have been a combination of the road, the van, and the recent sculling 2 litres of water within 3 minutes that caused me to almost get sick on the way back to Levin, but I managed to hold it in.

It was getting late, and rather than go straight back to Wellington, we all stopped at Levin for dinner on the way home. Overall it was a really fun weekend, even though we were quite short of water for a lot of it. Hopefully I’ll learn from the experience to be a bit more careful about how quickly I’m drinking the water I have.

Sam collecting water
on Bull Mound

This weekend we went for a trip into one of Wellington’s two main water catchment areas. For some confusing reason, the Tararuas were in the middle of experiencing several very fine days in a row, which perhaps makes the trip quite rare.

Dates: 16th-18th November, 2007
Location: Tararua Forest Park, Walls Whare Road-End.
People: Sam, Marie, Eddie, Lee (a friend of Sam’s visiting from the Otago Uni Tramping Club), and me.
Huts visited: Cone Hut (0 nights), Alpha Hut (1 night), Eastern Hutt Hut (0 nights).
Intended route: Begin at Walls Whare, walk via Cone Hut up to Alpha, continue along Quoin Ridge down the spur, and out via Pakuratahi Forks.
Actual route: Similar until Quoin Ridge, at which point we split up. Marie and Lee continued down the ridge and ended up drowning (accidentally) in the Western Hutt River. The rest of us followed a spur to the Eastern Hutt River.
[Photos]

We used the club bus for the first time in a while, now back having had some rust removed (I think). I think the only down-side of going to the end of the Tararuas closer to Wellington is that you don’t get to stop at somewhere like Carterton for dinner, which has some very nice food places. Instead, we settled for Featherston, where we ambushed the local fish and chip shop. By now I was at the state of trying to empty some of the left-over shrapnel from my wallet so I wouldn’t have to carry it around all weekend, and I almost managed to do so except for an annoying $2 coin. It’s actually not a bad cafe and sells some other things too, but I was too pre-occupied with my weight saving that I didn’t notice some of the other things on the menu before I ended up with some very salty fish and chips. I wasn’t really sure if this was what I should be eating before embarking on a trip, so half of my chips survived being obliterated by my digestion, and ended up in a nearby rubbish bin.

Having arrived at the Walls Whare, we still hadn’t fully decided whether we wanted to walk anywhere on Friday night. It would have been completely feasible to walk in to Cone Hut, but doing so would have complicated things by dramatically shortening what we could really do on Saturday. Shortly after Alpha, we’d be turning into the water catchment area, where it’s illegal to stay the night. In other words, we’d either have a relatively short walk and then have to stop, or we’d have an uncomfortably long day and arrive at the collection point a day early. So in the end, we camped at the road-end.

Cooking breakfast in bed

Naturally, being a trip organised by Sam, we began with a tent fly that had nothing to prop it up, and nothing to tie it down except the single tent peg which Sam had packed (doubling as a billy-hook, I think). This was all intentional, and we (referring to Sam in particular) improvised by running around and finding a few sticks and logs to hold up the fly and also to tie it to. He then set up his cooker and boiled some water, which made for a nice brew. I don’t usually bother with tea or coffee on trips, but I’d actually brought a mug this time so I could be social. Unfortunately I’d left it buried in the bottom of my pack somewhere under the fly, and I missed out on this occasion.

Lee spent much of the evening trying to convince us to play checkers or backgammon on his fancy fold-able plate and cup set, which had the board designs for these games printed on the plastic, as well as including the appropriate pieces. Nobody was really interested sitting in the wet grass in the dark to play checkers, and nobody really knew how to play backgammon, although we eventually learned when a couple of the girls from one of the other groups wandered over to our camp-site and explained it to us.

It was a very calm night in the end, and went really well, although Eddie reported some trouble getting to sleep having had some mattress or sleeping bag issues. We awoke with the sunlight and some very noisy birds, some time before 6am. After some brief wandering around having a quick breakfast for myself, I made a feeble attempt to dry out the tent fly, since it was me who was carrying it. It was covered in dew on both sides, and really didn’t want to dry in the cool morning shade. In the end we folded it up and settled for it being somewhat heavier than it should have been.

If New Zealand’s great walks are like tramping motorways, then the track to Cone Hut is at least a State Highway. To be fair, it’s perhaps a little more like a South Island State Highway, because it dips into the occasional muddy bog. Other than that, it was a very flat and easy track. We passed one person who walked in the other direction during this phase of the trip. He was a hunter on his way out, dangling a gun from his waist and with what looked like it was probably a deer over his shoulders. It was hard to tell because he’d wrapped the corpse in a pair of polypropylene long-johns, which I wouldn’t personally have wanted to wear afterwards, but w