Abel Tasman

In my penultimate South Island trip of the summer, I decided to visit Abel Tasman National Park. After all, it would be a crime to live only 1 hour from the golden shores of Marahau without dipping my toes in the sand.

I jogged into the National park expecting beautiful beaches and sea-side relaxation – but once again, I succeeded in making the easiest of the ‘Great Walks’, into a rip-roaring adventure with uncertainty lying around each corner.

I started out with a couple from Wellington as they began their 3-day northern hike, but within twenty minutes, I was bored and my eyes were drawn away from the trail-highway, to the seductive coastline. I strode along a dozen beaches while hundreds of holiday-makers sailed, swam, and sand-castled. Meanwhile I revelled at being off the beaten track once again, boulder hopping around the rocky coastline and occasionally squeezing through tight caves.

Eating nectarines in the shade of the cool forest at Watering Cove campsite was excellent, the air smelt like summer. Golden.

After a leisurely trip north, I ducked my head into Anchorage hut – lifting my Hut Bagging total to over a half century. Though on most hot days of summer the hut would be the last place I’d want to stay, a sleeping bag on the beach would be all you need for a great night sleeping under the stars.

Each clearing through the cool forest revealed a new hidden bay waiting to be explored. Judging by the huge number of kayaks at each cove, the sea-borne travellers were getting the best of it.

 Dirt-crete: thousands of tourists pound and compress this trail into a fast, yet exceptionally hard running surface.

 Seals and White-faced Heron were rampant along the coast, hissing and inhaling violently as I burst into their territory. Threatened, as I cut the line between them and their offspring, I sent the oily creatures flapping into the ocean … safety, for us both. Meanwhile, I managed to capture our mutual fear as we dodged and darted each other along the narrow strip of traversable terrain.

I present to you, In the Hall of the Seal King.

http://www.youtube.com/get_player

The sunset was a mere reminder of the epic-ness had that day. Wood-fired pizza with a band of Dutchmen, couldn’t be better!

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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St James Rogaine

For my third weekend based in Nelson I was keen to get out a bit further afield, beyond the bordering Richmond Ranges. Also, this weekend was rearing all over the country with mountain events – from the south, the glamorous Kepler Challenge 60km run in Te Anau. To the north, the infamous GOAT 21km around Ruapehu guaranteed to chew up your shoes, if not your soul. I had been looking forward to the Goat all year, but the Cook Strait proved too much of a logistical challenge. Plus, I was in the South Island already…

No Goat this year

I found my revenge in the form of the St James “Office Hours” 7-hour Rogaine held in the ranges beyond Hanmer Springs. Although I couldn’t find a team mate in Nelson, I didn’t give up. I took a gamble, and made the 300km journey to registration at St James Homestead hopeful, and nervous, to find a team… Success! The gamble paid off, I joined up with Elisha Nuttall and Joel Smith from Canterbury and Otago, and we made the ultimate team.

Elisha & Joel rearing to go at briefing

THE MAP

High above the steamy Hanmer Springs, we were now in real Canterbury high-country, and the most incredible terrain for a rogaine I’d ever seen. Take a patch of North Island farmland, add some towering 1800m mountain ranges and braided river valleys, and you get the idea. A nor-westerly was threatening us with rain so we packed for the conditions, carrying a stash of Gore-tex and merino. Joel scoffed at the briefing and repped a cotton tee-shirt, the whole day.

First up the first hill, foolish but necessary

9:30AM: The horn sounded. We darted up the nearest knoll-top for our first 10 points of the day. We were in the lead. Our strategy was to start out with some flat controls to start the day at a good pace, we headed north and pick up up 7 more controls without much trouble. The second most-valuable control in the far north had a pot of jelly-beans at the flag, we were delighted. To be my downfall or not, this lead to me ditching my salami sandwiches, chasing a sweet-toothed sugar craving all day. Only one hour had passed, how long would I last?

Jelly Beans. Yummy

Rugged high-country terrain

We had a horrible time finding #60 perched on a saddle above Horrible stream – I was convinced we were at the right saddle and high point combination, but there was good reason why the compass didn’t agree… Determined to make up time, we raced on to catch up the school team who had ashamedly crept past us.

Cresting the rocky spur to #70

After following the easy ridge up to Samoa Mound, we crashed down a scree slope into the valley heading west. We cruised through 5 easy controls, before filling up water in the DW stream. The terrain was extremely rough and made running hard at the best of times. We pushed straight up the hillside to collect #62, and while sidling round to the next stream gulley we met eventual winners Chris Forne and Nathan Fa’ave climbing in the opposite direction – clearing finding it hard work too!

Marshy, wide valleys to the west

Big scree covered slopes

With time ticking rapidly towards 7 hours, we had to start lowering our expectations, and we dropped four controls high on the St James range. We were saving our climbing energy for the big 100 pointer atop Peter’s Hill – number-one priority in our race plan. We cleared the swampy Peters Valley of the low controls and made a late dash for the summit! 1 hour 20 to go…

Battling the weather to summit Peter’s Hill

The rain that had held off all day finally made its presence known, and at 1100m above the valley plains we felt its full force. Joel, still hugging his cotton t-shirt and not much else, didn’t complain, all eyes were focussed on avoiding the prickly matagouri scrub and searching through the mist for the orange-white control flag. Boom – there it is: we punched our wrist bands and scrambled into the final stream gorge to find #72. The clue seemed straightforward: “Base of rocky outcrop/spur”.

Only a few obstacles before us to conquer

We spent 20 minutes of precious time searching the steep stream banks to find no said rocky outcrop – the 7-hour countdown was racing, find it or flee! One last desperate attempt for a valuable 70 points, we charged down the gorge to try and find it en-route to the finish checkpoint. There it was! For once it was the map who was wrong! By now we didn’t care, and battled through the shrub up & over the spur to descend to the road – five minutes to go – three of us ran the final kilometre towards the finish, with a generous helping of seconds left in reserve.

FINISH. 6:58:34

We almost cramped stiff after stopping in the rain. Back to St James homestead for a few moist sausages cake and tea – no better way to finish an awesome day in the hills. Even better was the luck of finding such mint team-mates – Joel & Elisha were solid all day – even though we’re spread across the country we’ll definitely meet up for some adventures in the future…

Nathan Fa’ave and Chris Forne powered their way through the course to pick up 1620pts from a pot of 1710. Impressive stuff from the adventure racing & orienteering champs. We were happy with our collection of 1200pts, and picked up an iced Christmas cake for our efforts. Thanks to Grant Hunter and the team at NZ Rogaine Association for organising such a sweet event.

Mount Hector

We woke from a luxurious twelve hour sleep in our campsite by Otaki Forks, already deep in the foothills of the tempestuous Tararua Ranges. When I stumbled out of the tent, I was disappointed. The brilliant sunset had been replaced with a billowing, brewing layer of cloud. Then I remembered the ranges’ reputation: the fog mountains, they were. All the more epic for a mountain run!

Camping at the trail start paid dividends, we hit the trail direct from our tenting field. Over the swingbridge and we instantly felt initiated into the ranges. There’s not much gentle about the place – a stiff climb greeted us from the offset and didn’t relent for several hundred metres of gravel-crusted ascent. Within minutes we were raised from the river-side plateau and were gazing through the gorged valleys of Otaki Forks.

It felt good. Today we were cutting into fresh, mountain blood. There’s nothing quite like venturing into a new mountain range; each step falling on virgin trail – we were excited. We soon climbed higher than volunteers could be bothered laying gravel – great-walk no more – a decisive transition into native Tararua forest and the run was now properly rugged. Beech leaves garnished the moist Greywacke, tangled in roots from warped Kamahi and Montane Podocarp. But whatever it happened to be, we puffed and ploughed over it, every drop of energy aimed at sending us higher and closer to the summit. Yes, the deadly Summit Fever was beginning to take hold.

Eventually we crested TiroTiro Knob and emerged out of the bushline to meet Field Hut. No ordinary hut, this was the first hut ever to be built in New Zealand, and is today one of nine hundred and sixty roofed siblings. It was built in 1924 by Tararua Tramping Club for the popular Southern Crossing trip traversing the ranges – the Wellingtonians obviously got sick of bivvying under canvas tarps every night. In a place this rugged I almost don’t blame them.

I took a quick geeze through the hut-book to find some familiar faces – Anton Gulley & Peter Luk’s small group of hardy AUTC mountaineers had come by this way in the deep snow of August.

We took a quick break to scoff down some Al’s Powerbars, thermal up in the chilling weather, then back to the game. The remaining subalpine Beech quickly wore thin and we were running through alpine tussock grasslands. Steering into thick fog with less than fifty metres of visibility, every change in the trail came as a sudden surprise – mostly in the form of a hill. Tough the climb was sporadic not a consistent uphill grind, giving us plenty of chances to stretch our legs over some quick going mountain marshes and the occasional knoll descent.

Now approaching Kime Hut and up to twelve… thirteen… fourteen hundred metres high the wind became ferocious and the rain followed suit, hammering into our thin jackets sideways. We were pretty glad for the shelter at Kime Hut: if I’d been going solo I’d probably have turned back at this point. It was gnarly. If some emergency struck, with only a thermal and jacket I was under-prepared for the harshness of this mountain. So close to Hector that we could taste it, we buffed up and primed ourselves for the last push. We topped and dropped Field Peak blocking us from the summit, then fronted up to the beast himself…

Our blood was pumping with anticipation of summit-dom. Matt led the assault to the memorial cross at the summit, I followed close behind, and swallowed hard when I heard his victory cry of WHAKA YEAAHH!!

HECTOR.

Mount Hector…

Toby stoked to reach the summit of Mt Hector

The weather was still atrocious at the peak, but our brains now well-marinated in toxic adrenaline – we revelled in it. Summit Fever had finally taken control. The two-metre high memorial cross was larger than I’d imagined – the plaque at its base commerates mountain-men who had died in the Great War. We breathed our last breath of summit, and set off the way we’d came, hoping to not suffer the same fate of those men. Hypothermia on this mountain was a real threat.

On the descent we passed a large group of school kids, Toby and Matt sprinted past giving them a shock but I stopped to find out they were from nearby Horowhenua College – I warned them to watch their step on this gnarly mountain, but I guess kids around here are bred tougher than in the north.

From there the job was all but done. Once back inside the sanctuary of the bushline we could relax and take shelter within the plush forest again. We sped through the long downhill, enjoying the openness of the bush, and though muddy it was very runnable – a refreshing change from dirty Ol’ Waitakeres. Every stride dowhill was a stride towards the warmer valley so we finally dried off and recovered after the pounding at Hector. At last at Otaki Forks we took a more adventurous route to the campsite along the Waiotauru River – with the rain it pushed a strong current that could be lethal with bad footing and a fall. Luckily we survived.

Exhausted,  we reflected back at camp on the incredible adventure. Gazing back towards the hills still hidden inn cloud, it was hard to imagine how rough it had been only an hour ago, over a thousand metres above. The Tararuas had proven themselves a foe worthy, and to be taken seriously. In hindsight we were lucky to have claimed the summit and escape unscathed.

Our next mission will be to repeat Graeme Dingle’s impressive traverse of the Tararua Range from North to South in twenty-four hours. Scanning along the topo map, for quite some time, we have our work cut out!

With the Summit Fever finally wearing off, we continued our journey south…

Definition: Sum~mit Fe~ver [suhm-it fee-ver] noun

Dillusional mental state experienced at high altitudes, usually experienced while climbing to a geographic high-point.

Symptoms may include:

-Compulsive desire to run or climb up steep hills

-Heightened sweating rate and deep breathing

-Loss of judgement, inability to turn back to base of mountain despite external warning signs

-Rise in frequency of cold head rushes, excitement, elevated heart-rate, extreme alertness

-Increased awareness of how awesome the universe is.

Now you’ve read the story, watch the short film: Mt Hector – The Movie.

http://www.youtube.com/get_player

Music: Requiem for a Dream – Clint Mansell

Mt Ruapehu Summit Run

Exams done and dusted, I farewelled my friends in Auckland and began my southward journey: The Big Move – to Nelson. I gathered some mates to join me on my traverse of the North Island, Matt Ogden and Toby Scott. Both excellent orienteers, we were sure not to get lost on the way, and also sure to capture the optimal route to Wellington. I lured them along to the road trip with promise of grand mountains; they weren’t disappointed. We were out of Auckland late so we literally didn’t stop until we hit the central plateau, where we tasted the sweet volcanic waters of Taupo Nui a Tia.

Arriving late afternoon we were only planning a short jaunt into the Kaimanawa Ranges to the east of the Desert Road… but seeing the snow flaked peaks of Ruapehu from Lake Taupo… oh so tempting… We spontaneously swung a right, and despite the warnings of DOC Turangi, slipped on running shoes at the Top-O-the-Bruce and began the climb up Mount Ruapehu. Inspired by the Swiss machine, Euli Steck, and his mesmorizing speed climb of the North Face of the Eiger, we were spurred on towards the summit.

We were surprised by the volume of snow still lying in the valleys of the northern side of the mountain, but from Iwikau Village we followed the rocky ridges and mostly stayed out of the snow for the first half. Matt separated himself at one point from us trying to take a quicker snowy route up one valley, but found himself faced with some serious rock climbing. Having watched Dean Potter free-basing the north face of the Eiger he decided he wasn’t quite up for it yet. 

It was gnarly running up the jagged spurs to the NZAC Alpine hut, but we pushed a solid pace, the fear of impending twilight hurrying us upwards. We gained the hut in a fifth of the time it took me to walk with pack and crampons in winter – such an awesome feeling – running light with minimal gear made the mountain seem so accessible, and with daylight-saving hours our chances of making the summit were looking great. Though lacking an ice-axe, we shot down the self-arresting practice slope with confidence knowing there was sufficient friction between the icy snow and our bare thighs… Phwoarrr.

Still climbing higher into the mountain, the rocks thinned out and we found ourselves trying to perfect our snow-running technique, something you get little practice with in Auckland. The drop into the popular Whakapapa Glacier was too steep to risk without ice axes, so we ascended Glacier Knob – a great route choice, a final surge through the saddle and we burst out onto the spectacular Summit Plateau. 2620m above sea level, we were the highest men on the North Island… Achieving our goal in just over eighty minutes, our minds were blown – on top of the world! Believe it or not, this was Matt’s first mountain experience. He’d been reluctant to try his hand at trail running, he felt naked without a map in hand. But now, he was convinced. A mountain running convert, to the rush of running high above the clouds…

The late evening mountain breeze was picking up so we didn’t hang around – a quick reccie up Cathedral Rocks peak and over to breathe in the tangy aroma of Crater Lake, before striding down the hospitable Whakapapa Glacier. Landing into soft snow on the way down made it feel inviting to heel-strike; Matt Ogden fell into this trap and felt the burn on his shins later. Toby meanwhile mastered the forefoot glide across the snow. We lost our height half the speed that we gained it, and soon we felt the pounding transition onto the jagged rocks again. Mist rolled up the valley, and stripped away our visibility – this made it difficult to pick the best route down; too lazy to get out compass or map I just winged it – and paid the price. I ended up approaching the ski-field village from the west, and so gifted myself a few extra valleys to climb up and over before joining the others at the car.

 The terrain here is remarkably rugged and its no wonder some of NZ’s top mountain runners gather in December to run the GOAT, a 21km race around Ruapehu’s crustiest flanks from Whakapapa to Turoa. Unfortunately I’ll miss the race this year, locked away in the mountainous surrounds of Nelson. 

Route to the Summit Green – Fast, Red – Slow

Running to the Summit Plateau of Ruapehu was an incredible experience. For an area renowned mainly for the Tongariro Crossing, a trip that is only really worth doing in the snow, I’d recommend more people to have a crack at climbing Ruapehu. Given some basic mountain experience and skills, the summit is easily attainable and makes for an awesome day out. Enjoy the film below to the sound of Radical Face – ‘Welcome Home’.

http://www.youtube.com/get_player

Ruapehu – the Movie

Mokoroa Falls & Goldies Bush

After a hard day’s work studying Thermo-Fluids, Gene Beveridge, Tom Reynolds and I decided to take on some fluids of our own: the Mokoroa stream bash.

Tom approaches Mokoroa Falls

Nestled in the outskirts of Muriwai, the Mokoroa – Goldies Bush route is a solid circuit for an afternoon’s bash in the bush.

The descent from Constable Road to the stream has been upgraded so it is no longer as gnarly as it once was, and is now a sedate gravel bash unfortunately. Confusingly, to head up the Mokoroa stream from the junction, you turn right. The track loops underneath the bridge heading along the Goldie Bush Walkway.

Now the fun begins.

Gene and Tom were both repping the Inov-8 X-talon 212, a sensible choice as the track was greasy from the rain. Meanwhile I was left slipping through their hoofprints in my sleek pair of New Balance Minimus. I really like the Minimus trails, and even in the slippery conditions they forced me to keep my balance by other means; increasing my cadence and using the trail to my advantage. Basically grabbing onto trees and plants to avoid shooting off on a tangent into the stream!

 Along the upstream journey there were about ten crossings of the Mokoroa, some at rocky sections like the one above. The rock was covered in a devious layer of stream-grime. The crossings were OK today but after heavier rain they can quickly become raging torrents and can make the route pretty treacherous. I reminisced about travelling up this stream in the summer of 2010 during a midnight rogaine event; navigating was definitely easier in the day time!

Start and finish at Constable Rd (far left)

Left: Mokoroa Falls from the viewing platform.   Right: Tom charges down the muddy Goldie Bush track

The Goldies Bush Walkway was a mud-fest, luckily it was a downhill so we let gravity take care of business down to the bridge. All that was left to finish is the uphill grind to the car, a humbling experience, I let the stairs finish me off, and felt smashed at the top. A very decent track, and a quality low-key adventure. I especially loved the Mokoroa stream route – high adrenaline stuff when done at race pace, and a lot of tricky terrain to negotiate. Get out there and give it a go! This run would be paradise on a hot summer’s day.

http://www.youtube.com/get_player

The entire run took us about 70 minutes. The upcoming Speight’s West Coaster adventure run takes in this section as part of the Marathon event, starting at Bethells Beach on 26th November. Including the Te Henga trail and a lap of Lake Wainamu, this race is a real challenge – good luck to the brave!

From Trails to Champions

Labour Weekend came at just the right time. Rugby World Cup finals weekend, and also the end of a second semester of Engineering. Perfect chance to get out of the big smoke, and no better way to celebrate that than with a smorgasbord of trail running in the off-road mecca that is Rotovegas! I drove down with hilarious Australian side-kick Matt Meckenstock, but only after playing cat & mouse to find him on K road amongst a sea of Welsh & Australian fans – Matt was more worried about putting the Welsh in their place and making them wish they were in yellow!

The gang: Ruby, Matt, Bryan, Me, Malcolm, Kristian, Paul, Kerry, Jo, Sarah  Photo: RunningWildNZ

Saturday began with a 13km jaunt through the Whakarewarewa forest with Kristian Day, Ruby Muir, Matt Meckenstock, Timothy Burrell, and the efficiently late-arriving Kerry Suter. A stirling line-up to say the least. As we emerged from the Redwoods, Green Lake appeared in true Rotorua turquoise blue with the rich accompanying aromas that we all know and love. At the end of the plush lake-side trail we met with Paul Charteris’ band of old-hands to the trail game. 

Sublime running alongside Okataina

We were here to celebrate Paul’s birthday, from here we would guide us on an exclusive tour of the new trail section for the future Tarawera Ultramarathon 100-miler. The Tarawera race is Paul’s brainchild, and is rapidly becoming one of the must-do 100km runs in New Zealand. As if 100km wasn’t enough, a new 100miler event will start at Tarawera outlet at dusk, and take the trail warriors over the mighty Mount Tarawera through the night to the Redwoods where they continue the centurion onwards to Kawerau! Sign me up, did you say?

Downhill carves its way down the gulley

The new trail was excellent. There’s nothing much better than running virgin trail – untouched, untamed, and all the while unknown – what is around the next corner? Time to find out. We blissfully ignored the “DO NOT PROCEED – TRACK IN CONSTRUCTION”… signs, to later find that at one point the cliff-side was completely washed out. We realised why we’d brought the resourceful Kerry Suter – from his bulging pack he unravelled a length of rope, quite useful for an abseil…

Kerry makes the abseil look easy. Photo: RunningWildNZ

A little yonder we discovered a cool spring, gushing straight from the earth. Purest water in NZ in my opinion, bar Nelson. Nelson has the best water in NZ.

Relaxing at the springs. Photo: RunningWildNZ

After a goat-worthy uphill grunt and screaming downhill with Kerry chasing at my heels, Hot Water beach arrived in view. Here Kerry is checking the map. Something doesn’t seem quite right. I, meanwhile, plunged in  without hesitation…

“Hmmm the trail seems to have ended. Better check the map”

At the end of the 31km we indulged in some post-run whiskey and mallow-puffs at Hot Water Beach. To equalise our core temperatures we stood in the rain while scolding our feet in the squalls of boiling water floating in with the tide. Kristian was so knocked out from the festivities that he decided he wasn’t up for the return journey, and instead we opted for the boat cruise home…

Proud to be a Kiwi on a weekend like no other

Paul breaks out his Poi Poi skills

We spent the afternoon at Paul’s sipping on cool beverages, and eating junk food like every good trail runner should do. Mexican was the menu for the evening, and with that the beefiest-bean-burritos in town! When the sun gave the Northern hemisphere a chance to hit the trails, Paul and Kate Townsley exhibited their glowing Poi-Poi and Fire ball skills for a spectacular display.

Sunday dawned a new day, and we took advantage with another trail run based from Lake Rotoiti. We ventured along more virgin trail up a meaty uphill, shaking loose the bonds from the previous night, and sending us whooping down the most sensational down-hill sections of the weekend. The photo below is a close representation of the adrenaline-flowing, eye-watering action as we approached terminal cadence. 

Blitzing through plush trail

Once we’d recovered from that buzz, we found ourselves in a clearing – a forest ampitheatre – where our calls of TAAA- RAAA- WERAAA echoed for miles around. 

Gazing out over Lake Okataina

From Okataina we were treated to more glorious lake-side running towards Humphries Bay. At one stage our enthusiasm was too much for a young family out tramping, as we flew past on one tight corner. “Sorry!”

Kristian and Ruby pacing along to Humphries Bay

Running with All Blacks flag flapping proudly

Returning around the western side of Lake Okataina was a tough ordeal. The legs were now feeling the toll of two long runs back to back, and an insatiable was too much even for Al’s Powerbars, the energy-packed bars fell helplessly into a pit of endless hunger. Matt Meckenstock was feeling it too. Kristian Day and Ruby Muir meanwhile were flying ahead on their Leppin & Plum lined stomachs. Millar Road did eventually materialise, and with it a bunch of grapes – swallowed whole.

Lake Okataina

After the almighty effort, we didn’t waste time driving back to Auckland just in time to witness the All Blacks become World Champions against the threatening Français… From Trails – to Champions.

Champions of the WORLD photo: http://www.ruggaworld.com/

Marathon in the Kaimais

At the Superdune Multisport race earlier this year I won a free entry to one of the Xterra TrailRun events, a series of 6 races at different locations around Auckland, run by Total Sport. At the end of the series there is a grand finale dubbed the NZ Trail Running champs, held in the northern Kaimai Ranges near Waihi. This seemed far more exciting so I waited patiently for the big one…

Full Moon at Dickey Flat – still suited up

I spent the Friday night before the run mentally preparing for the race – coming in the form of a classy buffet dinner at the Langham for an Engineering function, followed by casually crashing the Outdoor Clubs ball. We eventually escaped Auckland and by 1:35AM we had pitched a tent at the event base, and conked out for a solid four hours of quality sleep.

0545, DICKEY FLAT: It was a blisteringly cold start to race morning for the early start. My muscles were almost covered in a layer of frost for the first few kilometres into the race as we set off up-stream along the Waitawheta River, a jewel of the Kaimais. Waihi is famous for its mining history, so the Kaimais are full with evidence of the gold-rush culture, all adding to the atmosphere of the race.

The Marathon field at the briefing

Captain Yakuta Nakimori (otherwise known as Kristian Day) didn’t waste time this morning – as soon as he’d seized control over my bag of Leppin gels, he took off into the lead. It was a fun forty-five seconds while it lasted. While Kristian surged ahead, I found my pace with Australian trail runner Matt Meckenstock. We didn’t need much introduction, Matt was a great dude to run with. He kept us entertained with bird calls – a man of the land – and also a few bails into the river. Local veteran Clive Reynolds also held us to a solid pace, so we stuck together as a pack of three.

Liquid Mountaineering – credit: RunningWild NZ

I found myself struggling to keep up at times with these two, especially over the rugged farmland sections. I would blitz the rooty downhills to catch up, only to slowly drop away… things weren’t looking good only 15km in. A faceful of chocolate cake and a dunk in one of the river crossings sorted me out, the adrenaline kicked in, and we stuck together as a unit of three through to end of the 23km section, clocking in at 2:42. Unfortunately I was too distracted by the crowd fanfare to grab myself a sausage at Dickey Flat, so I left feeling a tinge of regret. I’d have to satisfy myself with more warm chocolate cake to fuel the ongoing effort. I took the opportunity through the dark gold-mining tunnels to fill up – with my face in the bag of cake and Vogels I was protected from cracking my head on the rocky roof.

Marathon 42.2km route – start & finish at Dickey Flat road end

The Karangahake Gorge track was a stunner – if it wasn’t a race I’d have been tempted to take a leap into the river – now 10am, the sun was blazing. We dodged and side stepped the hundreds of short coursers that had just been released, all adding to the fun. More people out enjoying the trails the better!

At the base of the climb to Mt Karangahake I unvolunteerily decided to make my break on Matt and Clive, who had been fantastic company. If I was going to gain on Kristian, it was make or break. I kept a steady jog up the climb despite feeling pretty smashed, pulled on by the endless supply of mid-courses needing to be overtaken. With one eye over my shoulder to check that Matt wasn’t planning a comeback, I pushed hard around the mountain to the point of dizziness up muddy hills and through vine-infested trails. But once I turned off for the final downhill to the finish, my worries vanished. I let go with a second wind, and emptied the tank down the twisting single track for a glorious finish at Dickey Flat. Golden.

Finish line in sight – credit: PhotoSales

I ran the finishing chute with mates Ben Duggan and Adam Clayton; both had just finished their debut trail race in the 19km and loving it. My final time was 4:45, so this ranks as my hardest and longest race yet. It turns out I gained 25 minutes on Matt Meckenstock in the final 15km – he later told me that he didn’t realise I’d gapped until 10 minutes after, by that time it was too late!The DUAL marathon in March was the same distance, but my time of 3:20 there reflects the toughness of the Kaimais terrain. It was an awesome race and I’d definitely recommend making a visit to the Kaimais if you are looking for some juicy trails, gnarly hills and grand scenery. 

Delight at the finish

The only disappointment to the day was the absence of Timothy “Tank” Burrell, who has yet to release his trail running revenge since a classy sub-12 hour Tarawera run – but he was excused as he was about to clean up in the mighty Te Awamutu Singing Championships with a massive $850 rake in. Congrats Tim.

Marathon elevation profile – 1800m vertical!

Kicking Back in the Kaimanawas

For this trip, most of the drama happened before we even made it to the hills. From a week out, the weather forecast for a Taranaki summit looked miserable, as we knew it would be a hard enough challenge even on a blue-bird day. Despite the NZ weather websites declaring the Sunday of our summit attempt a write-off, I stayed optimistic and loyal to my Mountain-Forecast.com that gave us a much nicer sounding day… come Friday night and the consensus was rain, and plenty of it coming from the west…

‘Run to the East!’ we said, and a last minute trip to the Kaimanawa Ranges was jacked up. Sheltered by his older brothers Ngauruhoe and Tongariro, we would escape the worst of Taranaki’s rain dance. Up at 4am and out of town by 6am, we arrived at the gateway to the Umukarikari mountain range fuelled up on day-old bread from Tokoroa bakery.

Once our fearless leader Tom Goodman had packed, and re-packed his pack, we began the five hundred metre ascent to the bush line.

Lois at the bush line

From there we picked our way across the range towards Sharp Cone. The sparse, rolling ridge-line snaked along into the cloud and out of sight. The blustery wind gave the place character; this was wild country. At first I didn’t know if it was worth venturing into the Kaimanawas, thinking they were just another set of hills… but impressive hills they were! We flew our All Blacks flags from our packs on the summit of Umukarikari, proud to be Kiwis.

A patriotic Aidan near Umukarikari

I now know the Kaimanawas to be an place of inspiration – Malcolm Law credits a long tramp here for giving him the idea to run the 7 Great Walks in 7 days, and so he did it. While walking along the spine of the Umukarikari, wind slapping me in the face, my idea to run the North Island’s twenty-one highest peaks became more realistic the more I thought of it… it will happen!

Five Kiwis and a Chilean

Scenery of Champions

Waipakahi hut appeared at the end of the range, and we enjoyed a good hour with the hut in sight before we finally stumbled onto the deck, to smell the fire. Hmm this must be good to be true, and it was. We had no business with said hut, we left the teenagers from Taupo to enjoy their comforts while we began on the great Waipakihi stream bash down river. By six o’clock we were rightfully tired after our crack-o-dawn start, so as soon as I walked across an old fire pit in an open tussock clearing, we dumped our packs for the night. This was a perfect place to camp alongside the river, while the girls put out the tents Aidan and I set ablaze to a ruthless camp fire. The petrol-doused tussock ignited with a blast, and it was a toasty inferno from that moment on, swallowing even the wettest logs whole.

All it needed was marshmallows…

Three AM, I woke to hear the characteristic pitter-pattering sound of….rain…I lay there for a few moments before realising that I’d left my pack outside not properly sealed. Foolish! I scrambled outside to drag my wet pack under the tent fly, cursing my assumption of a dry night. It was a hard task getting up when a soggy dawn came round, even harder when you have friends frying bacon and eggs for you, in the rain, dedication.

Get up Tom! … but its raining…

Eventually we began our day’s daunting stream bash down the Waipakihi river. There was no track but the river to follow, which made for some creative route choices… Will it be quicker through this deep section? Or maybe it will be faster to climb a bank, and bush bash to cut a corner… We trekked through thick fields of tussock, and made countless crossings back and forward over the river on our downstream journey. How good would this be in the summer, we thought – definitely a different place in the heat, with so many ideal turquoise coloured swimming holes just waiting to take a “sweet Mangere” bomb from an overhanging beech tree.

Stream bashing down the Waipakihi

After decrypting the intersections of spurs with predominant curves of the river, we decided we weren’t far from the base of the climb to Mt Urchin so we pushed onto the junction for lunch. The little warmth that we had managed to grapple hold of while walking dispersed faster than I would have ever imagined from Newton’s Law of Cooling. So we crammed our faces full, shouldered packs, and began the uphill plough to the bushline again. When I say plough, for one I mean penguin waddle, as one member’s drenched shorts were causing major chafing issues – not humorous at all on their part! Above the bushline we were hammered with the worst that the Kaimanawas could throw at us, and all the more epic for it. Rain spat in our faces at we charged along the ridge towards the trig – just as the Haka transforms mere sportsmen into warriors, we fuelled our summit assault with chants of Maori mountain peak names….TAAHUUU-RAANGI….PARE-TE-TAI-TONGGGGGAAAAA!!!

Aidan celebrates triumph over Urchin

It worked incredibly – we felt invincible to the onslaught of the icy rain. A few token photos at the summit, before taking off for the finish – only five clicks down through bush tracks separated us from completing our journey.

Aidan and I decided to go ahead of the other four so that we could collect the car from the other car park. At the road end we analysed the map: either 4km taking the road…or about half that by straight lining it through a power station and down a steep gulley. No brainer! We followed some faint tracks past giant concrete surge tanks, realising they were maintainence ways to the power-lines. When the trail ended we were forced to begin an extreme bush crash down the slope, and finally emerging at a road – a quick jog to the cars, and before long we were cruising home after an exhilarating weekend.

Aidan galloping down to the car park

I was impressed with the Kaimanawas after my first visit, but after opening up the map a few more folds, it seems we were hardly scratching the surface. My eyes are drawn to one peak in particular, in the centre of the remote, untamed wilderness. Looking closer at the contours, I can just imagine the majestic 1,726-meter pyramid thrusting into the eastern sky. The Seventh highest peak of the North Island.

MAKORAKO…

Kaimanawa Ranges