Just another magical Fiordland trip for the memory bank... This time written up for FMC Wilderlife blog.
https://wilderlife.nz/2021/06/getting-scroggy-with-it/
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An unforgettable four day off-track tramping trip in Fiordland, and my first long form magazine article :)
https://www.wildernessmag.co.nz/a-grave-adventure/ I wrote a Wild Trips report for Wilderness mag about this great Fiordland overnight tramp!
https://www.wildernessmag.co.nz/trip/cleughearn-peak-loop-fiordland-national-park/ In December, I had a road trip planned which included an attempt to bag the newly minted Paparoa track, followed by the mightiest of all the Great Walks, the 85km Heaphy Track. Before we had even left home a large slip had delayed the opening day of the Paparoa, taking it off the table for me (and in fact, it is yet to fully open!) I made the journey north with a pretty questionable weather forecast. After much deliberation, it was decided that I would run the first stretch to Heaphy hut with overnight gear and continue on the following day, which had a slightly better forecast. It would be hard and miserable, but I bargained on it being possible The initial chunk went smoothly, if wet. Very wet. All the streams I crossed were humming. That night, drying my running gear by the fire and chatting with friends, I was optimistic. The first creeping doubts arrived the following morning, with a pair of trampers who reappeared only an hour or so after leaving the hut, claiming to have been turned back by flooding. Lest they be exaggerating, I set out. After only a kilometer, I encountered said flooding. It quickly became exceedingly deeper, with floating Nikau palm fronds providing interesting obstacles. When the chocolate-milk floodwater reached shoulder depth, I finally came to a halt. I could swim a ways and see if the situation improved, but even if the flooding was short-lived, it would slow me down substantially on what was already to be my longest run. Starting to shiver, I reluctantly accepted the inevitable. It was not going to happen for me. I turned back, chasing down the couple to whom I had given my car keys. It was a pretty sad 15km run back to my car, feeling deflated. Having been ousted on the Heaphy track, my motivation to try to squeeze the Milford into the final days of 2019 gave way to my desire to cram in a few extra days of work before the Christmas break. I figured I could run it in the New Year, and try to get back up to Karamea later in the summer. After a few busy weeks at work, the Apocalypse Storm hit Fiordland, closing the Milford track and the Milford road. I took this as a final blow to my goal... All momentum felt like it was lost, and I found myself reflecting upon what had made me set this goal in the first instance. I was seeking a way to maximise a sense of adventure with a scarcity of days off work. I now found myself with ample time off, getting out on varied outdoor adventures. In the first six weeks of the new year, I bailed off an attempt to reach the Garden of Eden Ice Plateau, took a six day alpine skills course, tried canyoning for the first time, climbed my first alpine rock climb, snagged a couple of other trampers' peaks and spent some sumptuous days cragging in sunny Wanaka. I no longer needed my goal in order to scratch that itch. To continue to cling to it gave me an anxious feeling in my belly, the opposite of what I had hoped to achieve. Therefore I made peace with failure. While I certainly could have done more to achieve the endeavour, I gave it a good crack given my dirtbag budget and other competing interests. In the end, nature gently dissuaded me from my check list... and I'm ok with that.
P.S. I am lucky enough to have worked on and around both the Heaphy and Milford tracks... So I'll end with some Milford eye candy... Four months after ticking off the Abel Tasman, I found myself in the depths of the stormiest Spring I can remember. Every weekend I had free, fresh snow hammered Fiordland. My window for ticking off the Kepler and Milford tracks was shrinking. Not to mention, I was yet to recover my running legs, after becoming a slave to the skis. I was beginning to let go of my goal, to accept defeat. Then one Sunday, it all changed. We were supposed to be checking stoat traps across lake Te anau, but had pulled the pin due to gales whipping the South Arm into angry peaks and troughs. Not boat-friendly. I eventually got away from work at midday, and decided it was time for a big run. A return trip to Luxmore hut sounded good. A devious voice in the back of my mind suggested I could just knock the whole thing off, and while I hushed it, I did pack my running vest with a sizeable stash of snacks. I set out on the familiar terrain and as I gained elevation I was feeling good. Upon reaching Luxmore hut, I sent a text message to a friend, suggesting I was considering going for the whole loop that afternoon and asking him to keep tabs on me. The reply read “Yes yes yes, go go gooooooo.” I continued on and was pretty blown away by the veiws over the alpine section. Honestly, this must be the most underrated of all the Great Walks. It was stunning! Once I committed to descending into the Iris Burn I knew what I was in for, having worked in that valley several times. It would be long and undulating but largely downhill, and through such beautiful open forest with giant podocarps. I committed, and every time I hit a spot of reception I had another “go, go, go” message from my mate. It definitely helped. In the final ten kilometers my legs became heavy and aching, and it became a tough mental game. With a few kilometers left, my mate appeared in his running gear, grinning widely at me. Feeling revived by his presence, and more than a little emotional at the sweetness of the gesture, I stumbled on (at times literally), to make it home for dinner. Shit yeah. Another one down. That didn't hurt a bit.
June. Mid year, midway through my goal to run the Great Walks. I had fallen right off the training bandwagon, after a rock climbing holiday caused me to forget to use my legs. Yet I found myself in Nelson, so the temptation to try to tick another off my list was high. In my usual style, I impulsively booked a water taxi after a brief glance at the tide table, and drove out to Marahau. The day dawned bright and frosty, the sunrise gracing the hills of the Abel Tasman with a rosy blush. As I packed my backpack, I had a fortuitous yarn with a local DOC worker. As it turned out I had misread the tide table in my haste and my planned run from Totaranui back to Marahau was not to be. I adjusted my expectations and caught a lift to Awaroa instead, shortening my run by seven kilometres. It was truly the most beautiful morning to be on the water. The ocean was still and calm, the skies cloudless. The water taxi skipper took us on a detour to Shag Harbour to see the seal pups, dozens of them playing in the calm waters. It was a pretty neat experience, as they dived and turned, breaching the water and looking back at me with big doe eyes. My heart melted a little bit. Eventually we tore ourselves away and I was deposited onto the golden sand beach at Awaroa. My body was slow to warm up from the brisk start, but as I found my rhythm I felt a growing happiness. To be frolicking in such a paradise, free and easy, all the time in the world and nothing but pristine beaches, bright blue water, and lovely native bush, fantails flitting around my feet. What a privilege. As the sun warmed my face, I breathed deeply, savouring the sweet scent of the honey dew, growing on the beech trees. From Bark Bay to Torrent Bay was just pure stoke. Gentle hills, an ever-changing view of scenic bays. Gorgeous, perfect running terrain. Soon enough my luck began to run out, and my lack of training became apparent. I took a break on the hill above Observation Beach to rest my legs and enjoy the moment, before the final ten kilometres. They were tough, as I really hit the wall. But it was just so pretty, it was a cocktail of pain and happiness.
The final strides, I emerged to the tidal section at Marahau, unable to wipe the grin off my face. I sat in the sun and demolished chips and a beer, soaking up the experience. Mmmmm. Halfway. Life is good. As I made my way to Whakapapa village, I caught glimpses of Mt Ngaurahoe between roiling clouds. I wondered whether it was worth setting out that day, as it looked to be pretty cold and miserable. Yet, no precipitation was forecast, so I coaxed myself into jacket, gloves and beanie, and tentatively set out. The track meandered through a wide open sub-alpine landscape, low-lying dracophyllum scrub and tussock, with the occasional peek at Mt Ruapehu, wearing a fresh coating of snow. There was plenty of flowy running, and I couldn't believe how good I felt, having only had one rest day since running the Waikaremoana track. I took a quick look at the Lower Tama lake, before continuing on to Waihohonu Hut for a short pitstop. From there the track climbed fairly steeply up through a stand of beech forest, before giving way to some fantastic downhill single-track forest running. Yippee! I emerged from the bush to find another climb as the scenery changed to an other-wordly craggy landscape, sparcely decorated with hardy alpine grasses and cushion plants in shades of kahki and mustard. It began to hail just before I reached Oturere hut, so I ducked in to layer up and have a bite to eat. From here the track entered the red rocky heart of the mountain. I reached the Emerald Lakes in conditions of 20-30m visibility, creating an ethereal atmosphere which only added to their magic, the tourqoise taking on a dream-like quality. As I joined the Tongariro Crossing track, I encountered the infamous hoards of day walkers. I didn't mind, ducking and weaving through the crowds until the climb to Red Crater. The climb. Holy smokes, I had no idea about this climb. A steep ridge of gravelly scoria, causing every forward step to sink back downslope. This was a slog! With decreasing visibility, I was continuously asked, “how far to the Emerald lakes?” despite them being only 50-100m away. I puffed and scrambled and laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation – something that was to happen several times over the next few kilometres. As the ground levelled out I asked a tourist, “Is this the top?” He smiled yes, and I let out a loud squeal of joy, and asked him to snap a photo. “Check out my view everyone, isn't this worth it?!” I laughed. I was familiar with the section of track from there to Mangatepopo and I proceeded with glee, anticipating the wonderful downhill running to come. As I traversed the broad flats between Mounts Tongariro and Ngaurahoe the ground was carpeted white with hailstones. They bounced off my head and shoulders, stinging my bare legs. It all combined to give an incredible feeling of aliveness, and I loved it. The descent proved to be as joyous as I'd hoped, my footwork felt smooth and light, one of those runs where it all just falls into place – really, if you haven't run the Tongariro Crossing, you must! The trudge from Mangatepopo hut to Whakapapa Village lived up to it's reputation. Muddy and tedious after the excitement of the Crossing, I knew that all that stood between myself and my goal was mental endurance. I chose to listen to a podcast to help me push through fatigue and press on. It wasn't easy, but at 3.30pm I reached the carpark, giddy with excitement. I had overcome my doubt and fear, and the sense of achievement was tremendous. As I sat in the back of my van with a cold can of beer and a hot Radix meal, I thought to myself, “This running dirtbag life is a charmed one.”
With the Routeburn and Rakiura under my belt, I set off for the North Island to tackle my next challenges. Having picked up a rental van in Wellington, I left Wairoa at dinner time and began the slow and winding drive to Lake Waikaremoana. By the time I pulled into the holiday park, it was dark and raining. I gratefully submitted to an early night, curled up in the back of the van. The next morning I awoke to continued rain. I made coffee and headed over to te Kura Whenua, the beautiful new visitors' centre built by Nga Tuhoe, the caretakers of Te Urewera. Since 2014, a Treaty Settlement between Tuhoe and the Crown endowed Te Urewera with the legal power of its own entity: Te Urewera cannot be owned by anyone. Tuhoe were named custodians of Te Urewera and have since stepped into the roles formerly filled by Department of Conservation staff, such as hut wardening and pest control in the area. Their visitors' centre has a tiny gift shop where you can buy items emblazened with the phrase 'care for nature,' but it is otherwise sparse. Two display cabinets sit empty, awaiting strengthening before receiving Tuhoe taonga, or treasured artifacts. I chatted with Tina, who was taking care of the water taxi bookings, and seemingly most of the daily running of this part of Te Urewera, about postponing my booking by a day in hope of better weather. She enthusiastically agreed to this plan, and I happily went back to bed with a book. The holiday park was quiet. There was a young couple sharing a tiny tent and an equally tiny Toyota Platz. They sat out the rain side by side in its front seats, reading. Groups of hunters pore over maps at the visitors' centre, and all of the fishermens cabins do indeed appear to be filled with fishermen, largely of the silver-haired variety. I find a wonderful book on the Tuhoe people in the visitors' centre, and I sit reading it for over an hour. Eventually Tina sits down for a korero. She talks of Tuhoe's desire to honestly assess every action in terms of its effects on Te Urewera, with a 'no harm' goal. We discuss a section of the track which was closed for several months this summer, due to structural concerns about a bridge. From the outside it has appeared that the closure dragged on for much longer than necessary, and I had wondered if this was due to inefficiencies as Nga Tuhoe and the Department of Conservation work together on managing the Waikaremoana track. I learned that there was much more to it; the approach that Tuhoe seek to take is a truly holistic one where every impact is considered, no matter the time taken. When looking at using helicopters, they consider the contribution to climate change and ask if it is truly necessary. They seek to reduce waste and to use non-tanninised timber, to reduce the impact on Te Urewera. This thoroughness of course slows decision making processes, yet I find it inspirational. Speaking with Tina, the vibe I got was idealistic and optimistic. I love that this is the spirit in which Te Urewera is being managed. I went for a short run in the afternoon to loosen up the body and take in a couple of local waterfalls, and went to bed that night feeling happy and excited. The following day the mountains were still hiding in cloud, but the temperature was noticeably warmer as we boarded the water taxi. The water level was too low to access Hopuruahine Landing by boat, so we were dropped at Whanganui hut to start. I felt heavy and slow from the outset, slowly settling into my rhythm as I neared the edge of the kiwi enclosure. The track went up and over a small hill before continuing along the lakeshore once more. I began to appreciate the short uphill sections interspersed with lovely downhill running, my body slowly relaxing into it, relief coursing through me. I could do this. I spotted a couple of bright blue Hochstetter mushrooms on the side of the trail, which always make me smile. The forest was gorgeous, with big Mamaku ferns stretching their dark fronds sensuously over the track. The cloud was slowly burning off, gifting me views of the perfectly still and calm lake as I continued around. The track kept me on my toes with sections of slippery rock and tricky tree roots, but continued to be gently undulating. 23 kilometres in I reached Waiopaoa hut. The last pit stop before attacking the Panekire Range. Apprehensive but tracking well for time, I gobbled down some food and reminded myself that it was ok to walk the steep sections. I set off, gradually ascending through glorious tawa forest. Then things got seriously steep, with several sections of stairs. Once the track rejoined the ridge I was soon immersed in a mossy wonderland. In the clouds, the forest told me that was its usual state, everything laden with moisture, lush and dripping. Green upon green, times infinity. I reached Panekire hut before I knew it. I eagerly anticipated some downhill running. The last stretch of ridge blessed me with some incredible views as the clouds parted perfectly. The descent to Onepoto was much steeper than I'd realised, making running it a real struggle. My knees loudly voiced their unhappiness as I stumbled down. Eventually I was at the road, exhausted, more relieved than anything, but as I checked my time, a smile slowly spread across my face.... yessss. I stopped back at the Visitor's Centre and waved through the window to Tina, who came running out with a big smile. She was thrilled to know that I had finished, and in half decent time. “You could be one of those multisporters!” she told me. I laughed self consciously and thanked her for all her help. Although this trail had been one of the more logistically tricky ones I had run so far, the hidden gift it had brought me was the interaction with local people such as Tina, which gave a beautiful human element to the adventure. Waikaremoana will stay in my memories for a long time to come.
In the final days of 2018, I had spent eight days traversing some of the most spectacular terrain of my life. The three people I was with each had a unique approach to life, a level of commitment to adventure and challenge, that really moved me. I was working a lot this past summer, and had little time for these trips, yet this one left me hungering after... something? I felt a deep desire to set myself a goal, one that would truly test me. I pondered objectives. Climbing, mountaineering, or running? With small windows of time off, I thought running would be my best bet. I have always said of the Great Walks, that I would love to run them all someday. Right, 2019 would be that someday. Having never run farther than a marathon, this was a goal that would push me, but that I thought I could achieve. I knew the key to following through was to tell people about my goal, and then to take a first step. So, after seeing the New Year in near Wanaka, I set out on the first of January to run the Routeburn Track. The day dawned clear, my tummy full of bubbles of excitement. Starting near Paradise, the track weaved gradually up valley, making for lovely running. I passed smiling faces, everyone calling, “Happy New Year!” as I passed. This pleasant cruise continued all the way to Routeburn Falls hut, where the track left the beech forest, and an alpine wonderland unfolded. A tussock basin dotted with mountain daises and gentians, presided over by an increasingly moody sky. I stopped to put a warm top on, before continuing on in search of Lake Harris. When I popped up at lake level, rocky bluffs all around, I gave a woop of joy. It was so stunning. I passed a busy Harris Shelter, stoked for some flowy downhill running on the Fiordland side. My views were mostly shrouded in cloud, but I knew this landscape well enough to fill in the gaps. Somewhere between Harris Saddle and the descent to Lake Mackenzie, I came across the Te anau runners who I was to swap keys with, to get our cars back around to our respective sides. We snapped a selfie, all smiles, and it was neat to share a moment with other runners. As the track descended to Lake Mackenzie, I enjoyed the views and the magical goblin forest I was entering. I took a quick stop at the hut, and had a yarn with the hut warden, Evan, who raised funds for the large number of stoat traps in the area. A bloody legend. The work has paid off, and I appreciated the number of riflemen squeaking in the bush as I passed through. As the track climbed on, the rain really set in. I passed a group of trampers who couldn't believe I was going all the way to the Divide - “that's really far!” Hmm. Not quite the encouragement my tired legs needed. But hey, I asked for a challenge. Puddles under foot, rain dripping off my nose, plod plod plod. There, the turn off to Key Summit. A wave of relief and happiness. Smooth running ahead, with long switchbacks descending to the finish. I'd done it. 32Km 'off the couch'. It hadn't been easy, but it had been a great start to my challenge. Two months later, the Rakiura Track was in my sights. I collected my friends from the Invercargill airport and we set off to catch the ferry from Bluff, conversation bouncing between catching up on each others' lives and quizzing one another on the run ahead – Do you think I have enough food? Did you bring Gurney goo? Are you gonna run in shorts? Being so used to running alone, and having noone to ask these things of, I couldn't stop grinning. These were my people! We scored a pretty calm crossing of Foveaux Straight (despite the coffee stains on my shirt suggesting otherwise!), and stepped off the boat in Oban to find a cool and partly cloudy day. Perfect. We had not long checked in at the backpackers and our lift to the trailhead arrived. No time to get nervous, we were into it. Our local guide told us his daughters had also run the track, and snapped a group shot of us before wishing us luck and leaving us to it. There was a long pause before one of us asked, “I guess we start running now?” Nervous giggles and we were off. The first six kilometres of track had me feeling like I was on the Abel Tasman. Long golden sand beaches and tourqoise water that looked deliciously inviting as we warmed up. The track wound through a forest of tree ferns and kamahi, draped with tangles of supplejack – the kind of bush in which one is grateful for a cut track. After Maori Beach the track climbs up before giving us the choice of an out-and-back trip to Port William hut. We chose not to, based on the mistaken belief that this would add 4km to the stated 32km length of the track (it is in fact included in the 32km total). The ten kilometre stretch from this junction to North Arm hut was absolutely my favourite part of this run, getting progressively more muddy. Beautiful big Rimu trees towered overhead as I sloshed my way through the slop, giggling with glee. Having seperated from my mates, a 'halfway buoy' hanging from a tree overhead gave me a boost of encouragement as I plowed on. Nearing North Arm hut the forest changed to stands of Manuka, with mounting anticipation of reaching the coast again. From the hut, the track followed the coastline past several lovely bays. At Sandfly Bay I admired several big gorgeous rata trees, bent and gnarled. Tui twirled and chortled overhead, and I remembered startling a deer in this section when I ran this track three years ago. I eventually reached an old logging 'road', the trail became wider, and I knew I was on the home stretch. I stepped up the pace and reached the carpark feeling pretty wrecked, but stoked. I had a good sit down before starting the walk back to the backpackers. A couple of hours later we were at the pub demolishing burgers, and that beer never tasted so good. Two down, seven to go. The adventure was only just beginning. My first night-time run was not planned. I had just finished a twelve day work stint and was driving north to spend a weekend at Lake Taupo. As I reached Waiouru I felt a stab of regret that I would be driving past Ruapehu in the darkness, robbing me of the sight of that mountain I was becoming rather fond of. I was feeling grouchy and grumbly, trying to decide where I would park up for the night, when I felt a sudden strong desire for a night-time adventure. On my previous days off I had gone for a moonlit hike up Mt Taranaki, and it had sparked a curiosity, a plethora of new possibilities...
I grabbed a coffee and a feed and took the turn off to National Park. A couple of hours later I was jogging by headlamp up the start of the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, enjoying the stillness and calm on a walking track that is notorious for its bedlam. The night air was cold and fresh, and a sense of adventure coursed through my veins like adrenaline. I turned my light off for awhile when I reached the boardwalk section, and lay on my back soaking in the starry sky. After a winter overseas, I found New Zealand's nightsky to be incomparable. The dark silhouettes of Ngauruhoe and Tongariro gave me a sense of being enveloped in their fold, nestled and safe. I made my way up to Mangatepopo Saddle, grateful for the cool night air, the only sound coming from my heaving lungs, and the far off tinkle of the an ice axe on rock. I could see the light of a solitary headlamp coming down from the summit of Ngauruhoe. I ran as far as South crater, and spent some time indulging the sense of awe I always feel in an alpine environment at night. Eventually the frigid air temperature coaxed me into returning to my van. This was the fun part - I plugged in my head phones and put on a happy playlist, and took off down the track. The gradient was perfect, I felt like I was flying, dancing over rocks from old pyroclastic flows, smiling into the darkness. I fell into the rhythm of my body, as waves of exercise-induced ecstasy rolled over me, and floated back to the van. By the time I drove to a nearby campsite and snuggled in for the night, I was brimming with gratitude - for a new favourite activity, a new love of an area of New Zealand I had not yet explored a lot, and for the capacity for physical activity to transform my state of mind. Yeahhhh!!! |
I am a conservation field worker in New Zealand. I love mountains, sunrises, river swims, barefeet, cold beer, campfires, live music and whiskey.
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