Aniwhenua

This weekend I learnt several important things about rivers and life. Life is more enjoyable above the river than hanging upside down beneath it!

I decided to join the Auckland Uni Canoe Club (AUCC) this year to get on some wild rivers and experience the thrill of white water kayaking for myself. It has been too long thinking about it, and now after jumping into the Aniwhenua River and letting the current take me away, I’m looking forward to the new adventure. I had an interest in Dragon-boating for a time, but never pursued it. Until now.

Rafting the Rangitaiki

Beyond Rotorua you venture into thick country. Classic North Island outback where the most popular past time is heading out to the bush to hunt wild pigs. As our van and trailer-load of kayaking gear bustled into the bush just out of Murupara I half expected to bump into Sjors Corporaal running along the forest road with a boar carcass on his back.

Instead, a massive windfall from last week’s storm had plummeted exactly twenty-six thick pine trees across the entrance road to the Rangitaiki River. Our plan to raft down the grade 2-3 mid-section of the rampant Rangi was now foiled, no-one was game enough to try carrying the 40kg plastic inflatables down the mile-long obstacle course. We retreated to the Aniwhenua to salvage the day.

Aniwhenua Falls

Aniwhenua Falls is spectacular in full flow. A tumultuous accelerates from the still canal in a moment, exploding into the get-in hole. The more experienced kayakers were having a crack at paddling off the falls, nothing to it right? Nothing but a rocky ledge to the left side, its all about the line. The rest of us were launched off the power station walls…

Thrown into the deep end

Reacquainted mate after 6 years, Scott Osborne was one of the first in, fortune had it that he flipped over as soon as his kayak plunged into the boils. The stage was his as he busted out a clean roll to show its done.

Rafting up before hitting the first rapids

The Aniwhenua river run is 8km in length, with about 8 sections of rapids separated by longer stretches of calm flow. Getting the rapids was a simple case of leaning forward and powering straight into the wave trains, each stroke keeping my unstable Bandit stable.

A river rat infiltrates Richard’s kayak!

Out of the red zone, relaxing, right way up

Bernoulli’s equation now gained new meaning as we emerged from the narrowest section of gorge, the river valley really widened out just and as sun finally broke through. Stiff and cramping up as we limped up the bank carrying our kayaks, what a relief it was to be back on dry land!

I revelled in the new experiences that I’d had on the Aniwhenua. The moments that follow overcoming personal boundaries are always the best. It was awesome to get to know a whole new club – AUCC are a great lot and I’ll be back for more white-water this easter for their most remote trip to the Mohaka River near Napier. Four days away camping in real North Island wilderness, I can hardly wait.

A taste of the Mohaka…

Arthurs No Pass – to the Brink & Beyond

Arthur’s Pass was the destination, Three Passes was the goal. Though as plans warped and moulded to the weather, the trip took on a very different flavour to what we were expecting… all for the better!

Arthur’s Pass National Park marks the northern head of the Southern Alps, hills turn to mountains, things get serious. In terms of mountaineering, Nelson Lakes is home to some good training climbs for the more treacherous climbs in Arthurs Pass and Aoraki-Mount Cook. Lacking the experience to give impressive peaks like Mt Rolleston and Mt Armstrong a real shot, we headed in to scope out the alpine brothers. 

We arrived early for our wilderness meal, so to keep our appetites at bay we nibbled on a taste of Foggy Peak climbed from Porters Pass par entrée. A cool Speights at the Summit? We’re in south now, would be a crime not to! It was a well deserved treat after two hours spent fending off 120km/h winds and sonic sprays of hail to reach the 1730m high point. Luckily, in the past others had been driven to the ground by gales on the exposed ridge too, and had built us rock shelters at vantage points along the route. We retreated from the summit with our hands shielding our faces from scree particles, and a fair dose of wind burn.

Craigieburn Forest was our campsite for the night – we were reacquainted with our old friend The Kea. How I’d missed him. What a relief to find the car’s rubber linings still in tact after a night filled with squawking Keas.

Rivers were still “burly” when we finally made our entrance to Arthur’s, so we left the Waimakariri to down-brew while we made our assault on Avalanche Peak. The climb was saturated with magnificent views of Mt Rolleston crowding the backdrop. The route from Avalanche Pk along the ridge behind me seems straightforward in summer… but hidden from sight is a 30m vertical face to be negotiated. Serious stuff.

I was plagued with regret having not brought the tent, to spend a night on a tussocky flat section below the peak would have been fabulous. Instead we spent two hours sleeping on the high plateau, dwarfed beneath Mt Rolleston.

By Tuesday the rivers had finally receded, so Ben & I tackled the Waimakariri river traverse. Mostly easy going along the wide glaciated valley flats, but further upstream the river gorged forcing us to cross each of the half dozen braids. We paired up for the wilder torrents, and with Mt Harper and Mt Speight dominating the end of the valley, we successfully made it to Carrington Hut. Filled with hot, sweaty DoC workers, and now 5pm there was no way our day was over just yet…

Reading the hut book warned us of the short yet difficult passage to come… “If you sleep in and start your tramp at 1pm arriving at Carrington by 5pm it would be foolish to think  that you would be able to reach Barker Hut before dark… If you decided to attempt such an adventure you would most likely find yourself camping just below Barker Hut on a ROCKY outcrop and returning feeling like a LOSER  but thankful to be ALIVE. We speak from experience…”

Considering that it was now 6pm, we were determined not to suffer their same misery – 7 hours in we’d still have to move fast, and stretch the daylight hours to the limit. The route along the rocky White River was almost non existent, and as the darkness closed in the cairns began to blend into the sea of boulders. With dusk came a showcase of colours etched into the cool sky beyond Mt Carrington. Colours morphed, intensified and faded with each weary turn of the head.

Mountain Art – Dusk on White River

All the while, we could see our goal – Barker Hut – neartly perched on the huge rocky buttress at the end of the valley. As we finally neared closer and began the last climb, our hearts sank. We had reached what would later be infamously referred to as: The Chasm of Doom. Each of the three hanging glaciers above Barker leaked gushing tributary flows into the main White River – the Cahill glacial stream had gouged out a deep chasm now filled with white water.

Our final obstacle, we scoured the banks for a safe place to cross. 9:30pm, night vision weakening, we helped each other across the thigh-deep current, making sure each foot placement was secure – a firm forearm grip, and Ben pulled me onto land. Our adrenaline was racing now, even though we’d crossed quite safely. Now it really was one big push to top out on the 100m high outcrop – relief. Ben climbed up a few minutes later, and was ecstatic. 10:15pm, almost twelve hours had elapsed when we finally opened the wooden door to Barker Hut.

In the morning we were able to take stock of what a prime location the hut was in. Three high glaciers poured into the gorges flowing around the hut’s rocky foundation. From the hut we eyed up the four painful hours of river-bashing that had consumed late last night. From the 3-walled toilet, my eyes followed the White Glacier to 2300m, where Mount Murchison – highest in Arthurs Pass – claimed his spot one hundred metres above.

Prime Real Estate

After sleeping off our mountain hangovers, Ben & I set off to explore the route to the base of Murchison. While lunching on a moraine spur, we scoped out the ascent along the leading ridge to Kahutea Col, where snatching a summit would be simple. We made it to the snowline, a rock dislodged, I sprained a thumb… Sunbathing on the glacier seemed like a far better idea. And so it was. You can’t be epic all the time.

Ben soaking it up at the base of White Glacier

Braving a dip in the Barker Tarn

As our final night at Barker Hut dimmed, we watched misty cloud passing over Harman Pass way below, and creeping our way… minutes later, our screens were blank. Minutes later, the white-out had passed. Hours later the hut rattled furiously and shook at its supports – a fantastic shelter for Cantabrians – the whole night wind powerful as a magnitude 7 earthquake blitzed Barker to oblivion. For once I was glad not to be in a tent.

Suited up in full weather gear, we braved the return journey with the assurance that we knew the route. Misty rain accumulated, and the rivers rose noticeably, so to cross the Taipoiti we jumped in the ‘Clough Cableway’ keen for a novelty crossing. This ancient piece of machinery was built to remember a 16 year old who had died crossing the raging White river. As it turned out, the machine was more dangerous than crossing the river by a long-shot!

Three thick iron cables hung across the 30m wide river, holding a small cart to be manually winched across. It was great flying across the river, the cable whizzing past my face, rain in my face, river gushing way below. Not so great was getting my hand caught between the pulley and wire – if I wasn’t wearing gloves my hand could have been seriously injured. My screams to Ben across the river were drowned out in the rain. Luckily he was tired and released the winch, not a second too soon…

Somehow, the return trip still took just shy of 12 hours. Mission and a half! Returning to Nelson along the West Coast completed our deluxe South Island tour. This was Ben’s first real taste of South Island tramping, he bravely pushed himself to his limits, and was hugely satisfied with the trip. Though when he returns, he’ll more likely be gliding than tramping!

Arthur’s Pass – a great place for everything

You win some, You lose some: In the Kahurangi

I lay on the ground in agony. My ankle throbbed, sending shoots of pain up my calf. Alone in the wild Kahurangi Jungle, I wondered why I put myself through such hardships. And still a few kilometres away from my car, time was ticking down to the Cook Strait ferry crossing, far away in Picton.

Rewind one week…


…I find myself climbing up the easy Chummies Track with three friends – my first trip to the Kahurangi. Although the hut waiting for us at the bushline was rarely visited, the bushy ridge track was smooth & clear, showing little sign of the floods and slips that had devastated nearby Nelson during the week. The relentless 72-hours of rain had finally let up for us this weekend, so when we finally emerged onto the ridge top, the clouds swirled around the surrounding summits for a sweet sunset.

Wild Tussocky Ridgeside

John Reid Hut was a small 6-bunker with an open fireplace – put to good use for our creamy pasta concoction. Another advantage to taking it slow – a hot meal at the end of the day! Sure beats cheese & crackers for dinner as I had done at Nelson Lakes.

The stately John Reid Hut

We were too lazy to get up early for the sunrise, but luckily my cousin Raymond Salisbury was onto it when he came here. This is what we slept through… a really incredible place caught at just the right moment.

Mt Patriarch – Raymond Salisbury

First thing on Sunday, we climbed through thick tussock and snowgrass, forging our own path to gain a better view of the territory. Each of us tried to find the easiest route up top, to balance on the knife edge of the imposing ridge leading towards Mt Patriarch.

Mt Baldy to the left, Gomorrah hiding under cloud in centre

Peering over the edge, all of the Kahurangi lay before us. Vast and remote, you could easily spend a year lost in these mountains, we thought. We were more than satisfied with just a weekend for now. The sharp granite face of Mt Baldy gleamed, stealing attention from Mt Sodom and Gomorrah close behind.

What a ridge

“This ridge is tops!”

We were having way too much fun trekking along the ridge and lying in the snowgrass lapping up the views, that time flew by overhead and took our chance at the summit in it’s beak. Shortly after we spotted a Kea – shouldn’t you be stealing boots in Arthurs Pass? We weren’t too worried, today the view of the impressive peak was enough. 

What a day – heading down to the Gibbs Valley

Considering his options…

We wandered along the valley floor beside the meandering Wangapeka, all very relaxed. We were back in Nelson for dinner, a perfectly good trip. There was nothing painful or hard about the trip, the views and the company was great. And all that stuff. But…

Wangapeka River

Fast forward a week…

This isn’t just another story of a day spend discovering a new ridgeline.

This is about a search for my roots – back to the source. Following more than the line of a rocky knife edge, today I was following my line of ancestors – following the footsteps of triple Great Grandfather John Park Salisbury, the man who pioneered the first tracks and farming through these ranges. While some of us we were tramping in Goretex-lined boots and carrying 500-gram sleeping bags, JP would have been forging this same route with gear that belonged in the mid 1800s. And all without the help of topomaps and DoC markers.

While driving to work the following Friday morning, the crisp ridgeline and smattering of snow on the Twins and Mount Arthur was irresistible. Learning of the early 2pm finish for Christmas, it was a no-brainer! Amped, I flew along the coastal highway past Motueka to begin my spontaneous evening trip.

However, my troubles started early… I overestimated the off-road capabilities of my Nissan Pulsar and bottomed out on the muddy road to the track! I spun my New Balance wheels back to a family Christmas camp where I found help to haul me out of the ditch. Phew. 

IN MY HASTE to make up lost time, I found myself half an hour down the track with NO FOOD! Devastated, I plodded back to the car ready to drive home, ready to give up. But wracked with guilt as I could feel Old Man Salisbury watching from above, I couldn’t leave yet. I grabbed my food bag with a sigh, and for the fourth time, I ran into the hills…

Dense Kahurangi forest, penetrating streams

A few hours before at the Christmas camp, I’d been told the track “wasn’t too flash”. “Five hours to the hut”, they said. I’d smiled and told them “E kore e mau ia koe, he wai kai pakiaka – A foot accustomed to running on roots makes the speediest runner”.

But now in the thick of it, pushing onto 8pm, crossing deep streams with deep climbs either side rutted with deep, thick roots… I was starting to feel like the slowliest runner. Desperately trying to cut down the tramping time as I wasn’t keen to arrive at midnight, I threw myself at every climb burning my legs to oblivion and leaving a salty trail in my wake.

I felt lost travelling up the steep valley, slips and windfalls had disguised the trail, sending me into a bush-cracking frenzy. Through the thick canopy I tried to pick up features around me, but I was already falling into “WHERE IS THE HUT” mode, where anything could look like the hut. A patch of sky must mean the Ellis Basin! …but time wore on, twilight darkened, and the climb steepened…

I had earlier dreamed of an epic midnight ascent of the mountain, I can always sleep later right? Wrong – I conked out within minutes inside the smoky hut, though my empty stomach soon stirred me to down a few mouthfuls of cheese and bread. Exhausted. Why? 

Late dusk arrival: Mount Arthur

Mt Arthur, Ellis Basin Hut at dawn. If only…

I sprung awake at 6.15am after a fitful sleep. Spurred on by fear of missing the ferry, I set an unofficial record for leaving a hut, from the horizontal to the vertical in 16 minutes. Somehow, the run down took exactly the same time as the ascent. Last night’s mission and lack of sleep slowed my reflexes, so every rooty descent was technical and awkward. At my lowest point I managed to catch both feet under roots: I tumbled to a jolt, whacking my knees on rocks in the process…

I drove off, aching & hungry, looking back enviously at Mount Arthur, glowing mockingly in early sun. This means I’ll have to come back now!

The Hard Way

Although this could have been a great two-day wilderness experience, I’d somehow turned it into a rushed, lonely, and painful twelve hours! Back to the drawing board? Once I had boarded the ferry and my fear of missing Christmas in Auckland had subsided, I could relax and rethink the trip. I’d learned a few lessons that’s for sure. But did I regret the trip – should I have stayed home and packed? 

Ellis Basin Caves

.Wondering why I had chosen such an unused, obscure route to Mt Arthur I was surprised to later find out that the Ellis Basin marks the entrance to the deepest cave in the Southern Hemisphere! In January 2010 an extreme team of Kiwi cavers led an expedition into the giant cave network, to go where no-one had gone before. My trip seemed worthwhile after all. Next time I’ll take a rope.

Nelson Lakes

The classical Nelson Lakes view: Lake Rotoiti from St Arnaud

Nelson – the top of the south. So its fair enough that it hosts the magnificent Nelson Lakes National Park – the northern-most strain of the Southern Alps.

Despite their grandeur, I couldn’t find anyone to accompany me on the ambitious journey I’d set through the park this weekend. So I took to the mountains solo. No need to worry, I was well equiped, into my new 25 litre pack I stashed a sleeping bag, goretex jacket, a few thermals and plenty of food. A short ninety minute drive from Nelson to Robert Ridge, I left straight after work and was on the trail by 6pm – onwards to Speargrass Hut!

Crossing the Speargrass Creek bridge to the hut

Stage 1: Robert Carpark -> Speargrass Hut (1hr15)
No time to lose, I was off. Still getting used to running with a 6-8kg pack on my back, I had a leisurely jog to the hut, sidling around the head of Mt Robert and alongside Speargrass Creek. The hut was perched in an open clearing of, surprisingly, speargrass – late evening cloud hung around the epic looking gulley towards Lake Angelus… I decided to call it a night here, and rest up for the big trek tomorrow.

Israeli Man saying goodbye at Speargrass Hut

I shared a breakfast of PowerBar muesli in a bag with an Israeli couple, and a British tramping family who were forever asking their son Thomas to kindly brush his teeth. Too bad I’d ditched mine – unnecessary weight! The water was so pure, my teeth were cleaned to mountain-stream fresh breath standard.

Stage 2: Speargrass Hut -> Sabine Hut (1hr40)
On the road at a spritely eight o’clock, I took to the gradually declining trail to Sabine Hut with gusto. I passed a few small forest tarns along the way, uniquely out of place. In the huge scheme of time, I cut through the still forest as a momentary blur.

Blue blur through the greenery

Was this a great mass of blue sky appearing through the trees, or the huge still expanse of Lake Rotoroa? The air was still but for the irritating buzz of sandflies – I avoided being their morning tea and spent mine swimming in the lake. Cool and refreshing, I drank as I swam. The lake’s surface coated in spongy moss gave my feet a good massage before moving on down the Sabine River.

Early morning bath at Rotoroa

Stage 3: Sabine Hut -> West Sabine Hut (2hr30)
Travelling down the true right bank of the river made for an idyllic run. It felt like true South Island, open grassy patches with views down the river to the high 2000m peaks still holding snow at the tops. The track was mostly flat, except for a few “step-ups” as an Australian tramper put it, the trail was fast going helping me to cut the tramping time to West Sabine hut in half.

Cairns lead the way

Taking a break by the river

To cross the river though, not quite so easy! – the bridge had been smashed in a flood, and the warped wreckage was still hanging in the blue rush. Thanks to some local knowledge, I found  a log conveniently lying across the river, which I waltzed across. As it turned out, this one broken bridge would affect almost everyone on the circuit and everyone planning to come in the next week – with big downpours forecast, the tame Sabine would soon become a raging, rising torrent.

Tricky traverse

Stage 4: West Sabine -> Upper Travers (2hr50)
After a cramp relieving lunch with a fellow solo Swiss man, I braved the brutal climb ahead up to Travers Saddle. Still sucking down gallons of the sweet stream nectar, I realised I was over-hydrating when I started stumbling in a dizzy haze all over the trail. Too much of a good thing – I decided my blood electrolytes must have been diluted from all the drinking, so I rushed a sachet of Vitasport into my reservoir, along with a gel-shot of Leppin. I slapped my face together, and it made all the difference. December two years ago I was cruising down this steep scree slope with Rangitoto College tramping friends. What a challenge attacking the slope from this direction! Every so often I paused to catch my breath, but looking back to see where I’d come, my breath was instantly taken away….

Magical run

 I reached the saddle at 4pm, exhausted but revelling. Mt Travers looked dangerous, a lot sharper than I’d remembered… Being alone high on a mountain pass made most things seem more extreme, although I was still in just a t-shirt and shorts, there was barely a zephyr of wind pushing through the saddle – bizarre. The weather always a huge controlling factor had made today’s epic journey a lot tamer than it could have been.

The Triumph of Travers Saddle

I hopped down the boulder field a few hundred metres to Upper Travers hut, staunch at the head of the Travers Valley. There I met a real crowd, a swift contrast to my high wilderness experience minutes before. Older folk from Melbourne, two brothers from Arizona USA, as well as the usual European cocktail. They were all interested to hear about my quest – they had not yet been over the saddle, so I shared my tales about the wonders of the valley yonder.

Stage 5: Upper Travers -> John Tait (1hr)
Although I relished the company and donations of tea and chocolate, I was itching to get a bit further before dark to make Sunday a short one. My feet became itchy after two hours in the hut… and before I knew it I was waving to my new friends from down the valley before disappearing into the bush again. But to my horror, when I finally made it to John Tait just before dusk, the hut was empty! This second contrast of the day, a very long day, made for a very lonely night. I set the fireplace ablaze to keep me company, the licking flames and crackling beech leaves my only amigos in the huge hut. I collapsed into my new Mountain Hardware Phantom 45 sleeping bag, enjoying all 500 grams of down powered warmth.

Warmth

Stage 6: John Tait -> Hopeless (1hr40)
As it turned out, the head-start I gave myself outweighed itself as a sleep-in. Well worth it. The green-moss goblin-like forest woke me up as I followed the Travers river downstream to the infamous Hopeless Valley.   Ironically, it really did live up to its name this time two years ago – heavy rains flooded the creeks and we were trapped an extra day – we escaped barely before Search & Rescue were called! So I started up the creek with trepidation, along with a huge dose of nostalgia and flashes of déja-vu.

Harry Hancock & co – Hopeless Hut founder

The creek was so low, a mockery to our epic survival battle back in 2009. Hopeless Hut had even had a makeover, the cracked windows and rusted sink replaced and shining new. This hut, one of my favourites in NZ, has rich history – and by some great fortune, when I arrived I met the Harry Hancock – the man who built the hut back in the 1950’s! It was opened by none other than Sir Edmund Hillary. Its vintage gives the shack real character, I find the new modern huts lack soul. But in the wilderness a roof is a roof! If its rainin’ you ain’t complainin’.

Stage 7: Hopeless -> Angelus (2hr50)
I gritted my teeth for my last hurdle – I reminded myself that from Sunset Saddle its all downhill to the finish. This was my mantra as I picked my way through the vaguely marked cairns up the the rugged scree basin. Not basin, ocean. An ocean of rock determined to sink my ankles and slow my progress towards the saddle surface. Deciding that the markers had been designed for people coming down from Sunset, I was all but left stranded in terms of navigation and had to decipher my own route up around the daunting waterfall face and around the misty alpine tarns.

Mountain Arena

Alone in this wild mountain arena now felt the most remote of all. It was overwhelming, and almost hard to breathe at times as my guts clenched in a sensation overload. Mist crept over the ledge I’d just climbed, and with it a jagged whiplash of chill forced me to a thermal for the first time. Again the extended effort of climbing almost 1000 metres from the valley floor, combined with low sugar levels was making me feel delirious – I gave up holding out for lunch at the hut, and stopped just below Sunset Saddle for a much needed boost. And that I did, I cut steps up the last snowy slope to finally reach the saddle, marked with a huge mound of rocks. Phew. From Hopeless to [the wings of] Angelus.

Stage 8: Angelus -> Robert Carpark (1hr50)
Feeling absolutely shagged by the time I stumbled into the new hut at Lake Angelus, the warden took pity on me and boiled me up a heavenly cup of tea. I had two. Of the five approaches to Angelus, the route via Sunset Saddle is the hardest and most untracked of all – in fact it’s not even marked on the map! Definitely the most satisfying though.

Warden gazes over the lake to Sunset Saddle

Now all that lay before me was 12km of snaking ridgeline over the open rolling tops to Mt Robert. The trail was rough as it sidled the notable Julius Summit, I skipped over plate-like shards of rock crumbling from the Roman’s terraces. At last Lake Rotoiti re-appeared, heralding the incredibly nauseasly steep, zig-zagging “Pinchgut” track. I collapsed in a heap at the car park, with no one else around except the beech trees towering around me, unfazed and unaware of the journey I’d just completed.

Descending the Pinchgut It was hugely satisfying to conquer the whole Sabine-Travers circuit in just a weekend, and such a success that this may be the first of more multi-day runs to come. The “Solo Experience” was new and exciting, especially when tested out for the first time in the magnificent setting of Nelson Lakes. Though for every awesome moment of silence, there was always a tinge of loneliness. For safety’s sake I’ll keep solo trips at a minimum, as long as I can convince someone to join me – that means you!    C’EST FINI

Run statistics
Distance: 74.2km (7km, 40km, 27km)
Vertical gain: 4733m
Max slope: 55% (Sunset Saddle route)
Huts: 8 (Speargrass, Sabine, W. Sabine, U. Travers, John Tait, Hopeless, Angelus, Relax Shelter)

Elevation Profile

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