Trip Reports
Wednesday Walkers Stewart Island Trip – March 2012
Tuesday, April 3rd, 2012
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The flight from Invercargill to Masons Bay where we landed on the beach was super and the weather good. After a short walk into Masons Bay hut and laying claim to bottom bunks we decided to walk inland a Kilometre to the old homestead then climb Sand Hill, a dominant hill at the edge of extensive dunes. The track was easy to start with up through sandy tracks but petered out about two thirds of the way up so we bashed our way through scratchy Dracaphillum and flax to reach the pole marking the top. The views over the sand dunes to the sea and islands beyond were great and inland the scrub was sculptured by the wind.
In hope of an easier descent we decided to go down the sandy slopes on the seaward side of the hill. Just as we started down, a vicious hail storm hit with the wind driving it, stinging our bare legs. By the time we reached the dunes the storm had passed and we made our way along the sandy edge of the bush and tracked to the hut to warm up and have lunch.
In the afternoon we explored the dunes with their beautiful tufts of orange sedges and a few deer prints on the sands. Joans’s Skipbo game made for a fun evening.
March 25th 2012
By 9.15 a.m. We were rested, fed and watered so ready to go and explore Masons Bay beach. As we headed out to the sea the wind was fierce, picking up the sand and hurling it into the grasses of the dunes. Although punching into the gale wasn’t the easiest there was plenty to see and photograph as we walked the 10 kms to the gutter at the southern end. A pod of whales had been stranded and were almost decayed to skeletal remains. Lots of fishing debris strew the tide line. The dune grasses rippled and flattened away from the gale. Skiffs of rain had us hunching to minimise the blast. Shelter from the island at the gutter was a welcome place to rest and have lunch, then the sun came through long enough for good photos of the cliffs and wild seas beyond.
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The tide was beginning to swish water part way through the gutter and the seagulls were making the most of feed at the waters edge.
On the return trek up the beach we appreciated the tail wind. When the big gusts hit I spread my arms like sales to help me on my way.
After 20 kms of hard walking the hut and a warming fire were very welcome.
March 26th 2012
When we set out on the four hour trek to Freshwater Landing the weather hadn’t improved but we had a tail wind. I enjoyed walking through the wind sculptured scrub to the serenades of Tui and Bellbird. Mud puddles were a constant challenge to negotiate and board-walks made for easy crossings of the sedge swamps. I was lucky to see a Kiwi picking its was through a manuka patch. Around 12 noon some of us stopped in a dryish spot for lunch and were entertained by a Bell Bird preening itself.
After another 20 minutes walk the landing came into view. We crossed the swing bridge and it was great to dump packs and enjoyed the shelter of Freshwater Hut
About 4.30 the sound of a motor signalled our water taxi’s arrival. The Pilot looked like a retired fisherman dressed in his trackies and gumboots. He said there was a three metre swell out in the bay. When he called into base the lady’s voice didn’t sound too encouraging. “Rather you than me out there in the bay today!”
Freshwater Creek level was up a couple of feet and the wash from our boat swished into the flaxes and sedges as we motored towards the sea. Our skipper handled the huge waves of the bay with the skill of a lifetime at sea and we enjoyed the exhilarating ride.
From Oban wharf a driver kindly met us and delivered our packs the short distance up to the delightful Thule View Cottage.
Sunshine made the last two days of bush walks and a trip to Ulva Island a delightful top-off to our Stewart Island adventure. A big THANK YOU to Ross for organising yet another great trip.
Tricia
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Upper Kakanui River – Jan 2012
Sunday, January 22nd, 2012
However, after brief 5am rain, the blue started to appear from the west. That was enough for six of us to pack our bags, though not all had seen the unexpected white layer on the Kakanuis.
Before boots were donned at the car parking spot right above the river, the cameras were clicking and the adrenilan rising, as the views down into the gorge and surrounds were nothing but spectacular.
After a very steep 20min descent to the river down a “strictly” quad-bike track, we were quickly acclimatised to the cooler day with the first of many river crossings. In spite of an earlier recce, there remained the challenge of picking the easiest side of the river for travel and the appropriate place to cross as the nature of this gorge demands it.
This was not a trip where getting from point A to point B was relevant. Rather, take your time and enjoy the amazing surroundings, and that we did. The cameras just kept on clicking, in what I was told was perfect light. The river right through this area is frequently confined to narrow channels of highly polished solid rock, the grain and contours of which is stunning. The depth of water at these places was also mind boggling, remembering that this is after all, the higher reaches of the Kakanui
river.
It was warm and sunny in the gorge, but about midday the clouds built and the cold wind found it’s way right down to where we were.
On the recce, a few days before, there was a heavily populated sea-gull colony about two km up river from our start point. However, on this occasion, although there were a few seagulls in the air,
the entire colony was vacated. I wonder why. Had our presence in this amazingly secluded spot just five days before been too much for them, or is it simply the end of their breeding season.
What with watery sun and cool wind, the dreams of having a swim before tackling the steep climb back to the vehicles shivered out of our minds. Our timing (by chance) was perfect, as rain was clearly imminent as we arrived back at our vehicles.
This was a first time trip for the club and one to be treasured in future, always in the summer and requiring fine weather.
Enjoyed by Jane Green, Jackie Gumb, Noel Pullan, John Hore, Mark Smillie, and Bill Bews.
Thanks must go to Paul Ruddenklau for allowing access to this beautiful part of North Otago .
Kakanui River Gorge January 2012
Backwards round the Temple – 2000
Saturday, September 30th, 2000
The sound of laughter drifted up from the creek, waking us from our light sleep. There seemed to be a lot of joviality among the late comers, given the hour, 11.05pm.
A very wet Bill appears in the candlelight. No it isn’t raining. An unplanned dip in the river virtually at journey’s end, after having made good time up the valley by torch light, seemed to set the scene for what was going to be a weekend of adventure. “We know you like to freshen up after a tramp Bill, but you usually take your clothes off first!” someone fires from the top bunk.
Ross and I had taken up the suggestion of an earlier departure and leisurely tramp in, to a hut still bathing in late afternoon sunshine, so plenty of time for gathering firewood, cooking a meal, and ‘hanging a billie’ for the late comers.
The club programme read “Nth Temple – Sth Huxley – Sth Temple round trip”, but that would involve pitching tents the first night at the head of the Nth Temple, then carry them more than likely wet, over the mountain range tomorrow, so Bill decided to do the trip in reverse and stay in the Sth Temple hut the first night. He had done the circuit in anti-clockwise direction last time, and it had seemed to be pretty straight forward, but how often had he looked over his shoulder?
Perfect tramping weather, and we were off to the head off the Sth Temple valley, but woops, not even mid-morning and we’re up to our necks in scrub and no track, but fortunately, not for long. Soon we’re peering up the slopes ahead for the best route to the saddle and oh, it looks so close. There is no ‘best route’ to the saddle and we soon remember also that distances in this kind of country are deceptive. As the scree gets steeper, we deliberately choose slightly different routes to minimise the risk of falling rocks. Eventually, one by one we reach the saddle, albeit in different places, and with differing degrees of elation, as for some the usual excitement of “the view” is overtaken by “where the hell do we go from here?” We are slightly separated from each other on the ridge, so it is a matter of finding our own down and “whew” it is steep in places. Thirty minutes later however, it’s not so bad after all, as we’ve found an excellent camp site, exposed, but what a view at 5000ft. A perfect evening with food to match and a sun that almost refuses to set.
Our easy traverse high above the Sth Huxley next morning is interrupted rather savagely by a large gash in the mountainside, so it’s down, down, down, fill the water bottles and up, up, up, to resume at about the same elevation until we get closer to the crossing point into the Nth Temple. Once again we’re gaining height at an ever increasing angle, so we pause for lunch in the middle of a huge rocky basin, surrounded by scree, above which are almost continuous cliffs. Bill’s lunch stop is short, as he sets out to find a route to the top, and it’s not long ‘til he’s out of site, so one by one we set out after him. “What’s it like up there?” someone shouts. “A bit hairy. Can you see a better way up?” was the reply we didn’t want to hear. By now, Colin, Margie, and Bill had all scaled ‘the chimney’, so there was no point in our not following, or at least trying to. Following Ross and Jim, I was last but not least, up the chimney. Santa would have handled it better I’m sure, as part way up I’m ‘stuck’, but after a call for help from above (that is, from trampers as well as from He from further above!) I’m soon standing with the others, looking down into the Nth Temple.
Just like yesterday however, the interest in the view was overtaken by the more pressing question of “Bill, how do we get down from here?” The question was somewhat answered as Bill got out his cellphone, and with a forced calmness explained to Pat that we “may” be late home. However, while we tail-enders had been playing Santa Claus in the chimney, Bill had been ‘exploring’ and with a casual wave of the arm said “We can get down there, it’s okay, I’ve been down for a look.’ I’m sure the rest of us thought “You don’t say, and what’s your next joke Bill!”
This was certainly adventure at its best. With butterflies rampant in the stomach, we each moved tentatively over the edge, each watching the one in front for the sometimes elusive foot and hand placements needed for the descent, while all the time trying to avoid dislodging the ever present rocks. And so with the afternoon fast disappearing, we descended, ever so slowly at first, but later, much more quickly, as the going became easier, that is until we reached ‘the ramp’. Bill confessed later that his biggest apprehension of the whole trip was finding the top of the ramp, an absolutely vital spot from which to make the final but very steep drop to the valley floor. Good luck or good management, we came right onto the cairn marking the spot but, for those who hadn’t been here before, the adventure looked to be far from over as there appeared to be no way down that last 100m. Bill by now, knew exactly where we had to go, and led off confidently down an inconspicuous, but very steep route, where in places there were the signs off the odd step having been cut in the rock. Valley floor at last.
After a quick snack and a short rest on the beautifully soft coprosma mattress we were off on a real track, telling the bodies it wouldn’t be long now. Just as the trip had begun, the head torches were out for the last hour or so back to the vehicles.
This turned out to be a full weekend (some would say fool) but also enjoyable, and one which will stay in the memories of the participants long after the blisters and aching feet have healed.
By John Hore (with serious alterations and poetic licence by Bill Bews.)
