UKC

Walking in New Zealand: North and South

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 UKC Articles 03 Mar 2015
The Alex Knob Track, 2 kbJohn Ross writes about walking in New Zealand in 2009, taking in both the North and South Island with their glaciers, mountains and assorted flora and fauna along the way.

Read more at http://www.ukclimbing.com/articles/page.php?id=7127
 Bobling 04 Mar 2015
In reply to UKC Articles:
Thanks John brings back happy memories of my time there. In return I'll be so bold as to post the write up from one of our tramps in the Tararuas just North of Wellington. The post was called "Terror in the Tararuas"

"The Tararuas, just North of Welly, are famous for being horrible. The wet and windy weather combined with the rugged terrain gives them a pretty bad reputation in a country with so much good walking, but I was keen to get up and see them again before we left the country and it seemed like the ideal way to de-stress after our frantic last weeks of finishing jobs and moving out of our house. So the day we left our house we hopped in a hire car and drove up to Otaki Forks to head bush for a couple of days. A late start and heavy packs saw us at Field Hut at about four o'clock on the first day and the idea of pressing on to Kime that night (another 2-3 hours walking and another 500m of altitude to gain) was not so appealing so knowing we had 'only' six hours of walking the next day we decided to stay on at Field that night making up for it with an early start and a longer day the next day. Big mistake – though we didn't know it at the time.
Breakfast and the traditional log book entry saw us away at about 9.45, later than I would have liked but OK as we had the whole day ahead of us, an easy hour took us to the top of Table-Top where we found a DOC gang working on the path whilst a helicopter buzzed in and out carrying materials for the track upgrade. Shortly after this things started to go wrong. The climb towards Kime Hut took us into the clouds and up to our turn off for the ridge which would lead over a succession of small peaks before turning off to a steep drop and our destination for the night, Penn Creek Hut. A few false starts and we found the right path, though DOC's helpful marker poles soon disappeared. This did not matter too much as given the path was on a ridge with sheer drops on either side it would have been hard to miss the correct direction. We dropped back below the cloud layer to great views and eventually made our way to the top of Mt Vosseler. Here I realised two things, one hard on the heels of the other. The first was that we were making slow time - it was now about 3.30 and we were only half way up the ridge, the second was that the time listed between Kime Hut and Penn Creek Hut (four hours) was for the shortest route which we were emphatically not on. In fact the route we were on was about double the distance for the route that the map quoted as four hours. Oh wonderful hindsight! So there we were half way through the afternoon at 1500m elevation after a long day's tramping with a good five hours on our feet left to go. Some food and drink lifted morale slightly, as did the knowledge that once we were off of the ridge the path was marked as being a 'track' rather than a 'route' which hopefully would mean faster travel. Ho, ho, ho!
Four hours later we dropped down into the bush and saw the path disappearing right into the heart of thick bush. The path didn't magically clear once we got into the forest, in fact it got worse – it was an effort to follow DOC's orange flashes to stay on it, and even when following them there was a regular obstacle course of tree trunks to be ducked or hurdled, bushes to force through and bogs full of "bastard grass" to wallow in, the thought of trying to pick out the path by headtorch when I was having a job doing so when the sun was up made me feel weak at the knees.
Still on the plus side we were off the tops, and a couple of hours steep descent should see us near the bottom of the valley where water, a fire and comfy beds awaited us.
Two hours later and the situation had taken a turn for the (even) worse, the sun had set leaving the forest in total darkness pierced only by the weak beams of our head-torches. The path had got a little better, but not much, and our speed had slowed from painful to 'if we go any slower we're going backwards'. Convinced that the Hut must be close, more from wishful thinking than from any rational deductions, we staggered on, like a couple of thirsty dogs with our tongues lolling over jaws, drawn by the sound of the river crashing down the valley floor (we were now out of water). Then it hit me – the river, oh f*ck we have to ford that river, and from the sounds of it it is a raging torrent not a placid 'creek'. Another half hour and T announced that she would be going no further that night – very sensible as it turned out. I did a quick recce about a hundred metres further down the hill to make sure it wasn't 'just around the corner' and was forced to agree that there was no point going any further.
So there we were on a steep hillside at 10.30 p.m. with no water and having missed our dinner, oh, and there was a river crashing away below us that we would need to wade before we could begin the seven hour climb back to the road-head. As if this was not enough we needed to be back in Wellington (an hour and a half's drive away) the following evening to get to the hotel we'd stashed our stuff in to sort out all our gear so we could make our (non-changeable, non-refundable) flight to Melbourne the following day. Great, well done me! What a pleasant way to relax after a frantic couple of weeks! The bright side was that the 3 or so kilos of camping mat I had been carrying round with me for emergencies such as this now proved worth their weight in gold. With a little effort we found about six foot of level path we could squeeze onto and plonked the mats and our sleeping bags down onto them.
The relief in our throbbing feet and legs, coupled with the spreading warmth of our ever trusty sleeping bags is hard to describe. It was blissful. The last liquid we had to drink was a half bottle of wine, so in the interests of hydration that went down the hatch and added to the strangely euphoric glow. Thank God it wasn't raining.
If you've seen 'Platoon' and can remember the the morning after the final battle when friend Charlie Sheen wakes up in the hush of dawn with after the pandemonium of being over-run by the Vietcong the previous night then you'll know how it felt to wake up the next morning. Sleep had been instantaneous and, despite the rocky path we'd slept on, deep and undisturbed, but most importantly refreshing. We were thankful we had not tried to press on the night before as it was another two and a half hours before we made it to the bottom of the valley – it would have taken us all night if we had tried to reach the hut the night before. Joy of joys the creek was also fordable, a few minutes search found a place 30 metres up river where the water was smooth and only came up to our thighs. We reached Penn Creek Hut shortly after and drank the best coffee I will have for quite some time, followed by a meal of roast lamb in mint sauce and mashed potatoes and miso soup. A roast dinner, albeit dehydrated, at 10.30 a.m. is not perhaps conventional but it hit the spot. The sun was out and it seemed we might just make it out that day after all. The Tararuas had had their fun with us and might now let us go, or so we hoped. To cut a long story shorter another nine hours foot-slogging, and the climb from hell, saw us stumble, bowed but not beaten, back to the rental car. We reached the hotel at about 10.00 that night and collapsed into bed after highly amusing showers which consisted mostly of us discovering in quite how many places we were hurting.
A Wellington coda worthy of the Tararuas' reputation, though I wouldn't be sorry if I never saw them again. T, bless her, may even come tramping with me again!"
That was a few years back and ever since "not as bad as Pen Creek" has been a catch phrase for my wife and I.
Happy days!
 Dell 05 Mar 2015
In reply to Bobling: Sounds bloody awful. I'm putting it on the 'to do list' for the next time I'm in New Zealand!
 Bobling 05 Mar 2015
In reply to Dell:

Definitely Type II Fun. That climb on the last day - it was 600m of 'path' but really a near vertical staircase of tree roots (Seems to be a Kiwi speciality), and I was carrying my wife's pack by that point too. There was lots of swearing!
 BruceM 06 Mar 2015
This sort of thing is why traditionally, kiwis are not obsessed with grades, or which route is which, like the brits. As a kid we would just go out into the hills and try to get from a to b on the map, not knowing if it were possible, and aiming for about 25-30km/day with 25-30kg packs. All that tree climbing, mud, swimming was great fun. You would come back battered and often broken and relieved it was over. But next weekend somehow the craving for more was back. This is also why, I believe, Ed H got to the top of the big E. Completely diff hill culture to Europe and the UK. I can understand both now.


Fui
 nz Cragrat 06 Mar 2015
In reply to BruceM:

If my pack was over 20kg it was time to throw away food... or something. Did your pack weigh 5kg or something?
 BruceM 06 Mar 2015
In reply to nz Cragrat:

Obviously you weren't tough enough!

Unfortunately we were poor - homemade sleeping bags, big chunky warm gear. And pretty naive. Tins of food - fill that 90l pack! But now I can barely carry 5kg. And wrecked feet/ankles/knees...
 Bobling 06 Mar 2015
In reply to BruceM:

For myself I loved that - I'd much rather go slower with a bigger pack than obsess over toothbrush handles. Don't know why I just enjoyed it! I did get some funny looks when we first got back though - heading up to Ogwen Cottage for a day's winter walking with an 80L pack.
 BruceM 06 Mar 2015
In reply to Bobling:

You sure it wasn't the colour-striped polypro long johns with shorts over the top that you were wearing?
 Bobling 06 Mar 2015
In reply to BruceM:

It's a very sensible outfit, infinitely adaptable to any situation!
 BruceM 06 Mar 2015
In reply to Bobling:

The crowds who used to stare at me wearing that when passing Ogwen Cottage didn't seem to think so. Or maybe they did, and that was just my paranoia. Seemed fine around Chamonix, but I think the locals liked the colours.

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