The Matukituki–Waipara–Arawhata Mountaineering and Packrafting Expedition

I could see a razor-sharp spur dropping down the face from the ridge and on the west side of it, steep snow grass slopes led to a tussock terrace 300m below. This was what I’d seen on Google Earth. I peered at it for a long time assessing our ability in down climbing such a steep face with our big packs. We went on for a little while as Moirs and Danilo’s description suggested climbing higher to find a route down the face further along. However, I remained sceptical and doubled back and told Gavin we should try the spur instead. Then I cautiously started down the face with Gavin following. The utmost care was required. The slightest error would end very badly.

This summer we did a tramping-packrafting trip up the Wilkin, over Pearson Saddle and down the Waiatoto River to the coast. Since then we were keen to do another trip in Southwestland and decided on the Arawhata. But where to start? After studying the map, I decided the most practical route would be up the West Matukituki Valley to Matukituki Saddle, down the Waipara Face of Lake Bonar and out the Waipara and Arawhata rivers to Neils Beach. However, the Waipara face was relatively unknown and there had been few crossings of it. In 1863 Sir James Hector crossed the range from the West Matukituki to the Waipara and Arawhata but had to retreat owing to bad weather and the shortage of food. There had been a few crossings since then but none with packrafts to my knowledge.

It was dark as I left Invercargill early on the morning of 6^th March on the drive to Arrowtown. There I met Gavin and we drove in convoy over the Haast. As usual, we stopped at the Makarora Country Café for a coffee before carrying on to Neils Beach. There we left his van outside Jimbo’s backpackers and drove back to Wanaka to Gilbert Van Reenans place. Gilbert is a legendary climber and good friend and had kindly offered to drop us off at Raspberry Flat in the West Matukituki. It was around 4.30 pm before we arrived there. We made it up to Aspiring Hut in less than 2 hours where we stopped for a bite to eat. Then it was on to Shovel Flat where we camped among the trees. It was grey and overcast, threatening rain.

 

Next morning a thick blanket of cloud hung over the valley as we set out. It was a pleasant walk to Pearl Flat through the wet grass. Further on, we came to a bridge over the Matukituki River leading to the new track on the true left of the river to the headwaters. Presently, we arrived at the bush line as the sky was clearing from the east, promising a fine day. At Scott’s Rock Bivouac, the track ended and it was a bit of a scrub bash to the grassy flats up ahead. Then we climbed above the waterfall into the Gut. I’ve been up the “Waterfall Route” many times so we followed this up. It started badly when I went too high. I was thinking that Gavin might lose confidence in my route-finding ability so I hastily retreated and tried another line nearer the creek bed that went much more easily. It was pretty straightforward until we reached the head of the gut where water ran down the slabs. I started up the wet rock only to discover it had slime on it and was very greasy and slippery. It needed the utmost care in climbing as with our very heavy packs we had limited balance, if we slipped. Gavin followed with aplomb. About halfway up, I veered off to the right onto dry albeit steep rock and found this led easily to the hanging valley above.

 

(Photo by Gavin) 

Rounding a rock, we met 2 climbers having lunch. They had just retreated off Mt Aspiring and were curious about our intended route to the Waipara especially so when we admitted we were carrying boats with us. We walked on a bit further and stopped for lunch. After a while, the two climbers joined us again and asked us more questions about climbing and routes in Te Wahipounamu.

Above us we could see Hector Col. Matukituki Saddle lies about 500m to the South West along the ridge but it was far from obvious to us. However, easy grass and scree slopes to the left led us up to the ridge. By now the sky was clear and a strong easterly wind blew across the ridge. Mt Aspiring was visible over the slopes of Mt Bevan and appeared very bare of snow and ice. On the other side of the ridge was a huge drop with vertical eroded slopes. We struck the ridge to the east of point 1602m and we climbed towards it over small rock and tussock steps. Below was Bonar Lake that in the 1940’s did not exist because an icefall filled the head of the valley.

 (Photo by Gavin)

 (Photo by Gavin)

 

I could see a sharp spur dropping down the face just before point 1602m and after pondering this route for some minutes decided to try it. It was exceedingly steep and required the utmost care but by zig-zagging down the easiest lines, we could avoid the worst of it. Lower down, we worked our way over to another spur on the left and by following this down reached the terrace at 1300m. From here we went west across easy slopes. Eventually, this became more convoluted, riven with steep gullies and scrub. We could see a route down near some steep streams and headed down instead of going for the big creek draining under Waipara Saddle. At first relatively easy, this deteriorated as we entered more dense scrub. At about 1000m we found a small terrace with a good campsite so decided to stop as it was late in the day and we were whacked.

Once the tent was up and we had a hot drink, we felt much better. The site was atmospheric on top of a buttress with a clear view down to Lake Bonar 500m below and the Waipara River snaking off the NW. Across the valley were giant slabs, sanded smooth by the retreating Bonar Glacier, now a remnant, hundreds of metres above us. The sun was sinking into the western mountains and shafts of light slanted into the dark recesses of the Waipara. My gaze swept around this startling landscape and I felt overwhelmed, engulfed by our insignificance in this awesome scene. There was no wind, the only sound being of falling water from the waterfall just behind us. We got into our sleeping bags before dark. I could not sleep so slipped a sleeping pill, then oblivion and extinction until later that night when we were hammered by ferocious katabatic winds off the Aspiring ice. I awoke to the flapping of the tent door and the roar of the wind. I crawled out of my sleeping bag to lash the tent more securely and then with earplugs in, I fell asleep again.

We awoke before dawn and I got a hot drink ready while Gavin packed. We got away quickly as we were anxious to get off the face. The slope heeled over and became very steep and was covered in near impenetrable scrub. We kept to the spurs but inevitably we had to cross gullies as we tried to work our way leftwards. Sometimes we ended up on top of vertical buttresses and cliffs and had to backtrack to another line. Down below we could see some taller forest and eventually we got there. Then we moved leftwards again and the going was better. At one stage I inadvertently upset a wasp nest and got stung on my right hand and legs – a pain that felt like fire. We came out on an open creek and followed this down to the lake. What a relief. Looking back we could see our route and a better one further west in a large creek.

 

Around the lake were some idyllic campsites. The day was brilliantly fine and warm, the sun blazing out of a blue sky and the lake iridescent and exquisite. We studied the maps and GPS and Gavin suggested we head inland away from the river, as there appeared to be a clearing there that led down to flats beside the Cabin Pass Rapids. This did help but there was dense brush on the clearings and not that easy. We boulder hopped along on the TL and after about 1.5 km we reached some clearings on that side that led down to more extensive clearings on the TR. At one stage Gavin fell into a hole between boulders and forcibly hyper-flexed his right knee, causing severe pain. Once we crossed the river, it was easy going all the way to Binnacle Creek where we found an Arcadian campsite among trees on its banks. Although it was early afternoon, we needed a shorter day after the struggle of the previous day. I noticed Gavin now had an effusion in his right knee.

We set up camp here and dried off our wet gear. I went off for a wash in the creek. The rest of the day was spent lying around enjoying the ambience of our surroundings and resting. We were very aware that the next day would bring some tough country in front of us – the Companion Ladder Rapids and Apparition Spur. We were not mistaken!

We were up early and away. We passed the "Funnel", another nautical name for a slot in the mountainside where a creek issued. Further on there was some fording of the river to pick easier going on the TL, some boulder hopping and some bush bashing. The deer trails were sometimes good but then inexplicably vanished. The bush in places was truly horrible with much crawling under tree fall or negotiating steep gullies. Past the Companion Ladder Rapids were some flats. We stopped at the Third Mate Creek for lunch. It was a pleasant spot in a clearing and I made my usual sandwich with partially squashed Rye bread, cheese and Thousand Island dressing. Gavin was having a bit of a nap so I stood up to survey my surroundings. Just then I saw 3 climbers coming up the creek. They wore helmets and harnesses. I waved to them and they acknowledged this. Who are these people I thought and why are they here? How often does the Waipara get 2 parties in it at the same time?

When they arrived, I saw that they were Japanese. Whatever are Japanese climbers doing here, I thought? They spoke some English but their comprehension seemed poor. They had been 5-days making their way up the TR of the Arawhata and Waipara rivers. I told them that there was difficult country ahead, but I'm not sure whether they understood me. They were looking for Mt Aspiring but did not seem to realise that they had to climb the Waipara face first, then find Bevan Col and afterwards negotiate the infamous Gut. Luckily, I still had my large-scale maps of the Waipara face and Matukituki Saddle, which I gave them.

 

Up ahead we could see Apparition Spur. Moirs has the suggested route on the TL but we decided to keep on the TR as the river was now pretty uncrossable. We were able to boulder hop a lot of this but lower down we were forced into the bush up against a cliff. I studied this obstacle, which was about 10m high and looked difficult. There was no way to continue around its base so we’d have to climb it. All I had was 30m of 3 mm cord so I took this out and tied onto it and leaving my pack, climbed up the cliff. Then I fixed the line and told Gavin to shoulder his pack and climb up my route holding the line as a hand-rail. This he duly did and then I climbed down and asked him to haul up my pack. What I did not realise until then that it is near impossible to haul up a 25 kg pack on a 3mm line. He tried several times but it was hopeless so I shouldered my pack and climbed up again. Further on it was very difficult with drops and gullies intersecting the steep slopes. We were able to get back to a small beach and boulder hop until steep slabs, against which the river ran, stopped us. Here we climbed up again and at the end of the spur, we arrived on top of a cliff with a 10m vertical drop to a beach underneath us. I could see that the Japanese climbers had ascended this from the scuffmarks on the mossy walls. I doubled the cord and threw it down and suggested we lower the packs and climb down the cord but Gavin was aghast. Then he made a very sensible suggestion that we backtrack and paddle down the rapid close to the cliff. This we did successfully. Just down from the corner was a bush-covered island in the river and here we set up camp in a lovely glade for the night. We were both whacked again!

 (Photo by Gavin)

 (Photo by Gavin)

I was not sure how far we would get next day but there was an expectation of easier terrain past the dogleg. This proved ephemeral when we got there. At the end of the flats, we again entered more difficult country – a combination of river boulders and bush bashing on the TR as the river was now too big to ford. There was some truly aboriginal forest here, a peripatetic wander up and over bluffs and tangled gullies. There were many “dear God will this ever end” moments. Charlie Douglas had said the Waipara was one of the most difficult west coast valleys and I’d concur with this appraisal. On our left, the Waipara thundered down interminable cataracts interspersed with huge boulders. Where possible we followed the bouldery river-banks, scrambling up and down mossy rocks. In places, we could see the footprints of the Japanese. One could tell from their tracks that they were experienced. Campbell Creek Flats came and went. Further on, about a kilometre from the big bend, we finally reached a long stretch of placid blue river. Great, we can finally launch our boats. And what a transformation - gliding along without any great strain to a pull-out on the TL at the old bush-covered slip before the bend.

 

The day was clear and sunny as we had lunch and packed away our rafts. Then we found deer trails that cut off the corner as we swung to the west into the final section of the Waipara. At first, this was relatively easy as we reached a few small clearings but then deteriorated as the trails vanished and the terrain became steeper and rocky. We were forced up the hillside through dense bush and late in the afternoon, we stopped in the forest at a flattish spot just big enough for our tent. I was done in again and ready to stop. We built up a platform with some fern leaves at one end and pitched the tent on this. Gavin went off and found water nearby. It was very pleasant with the sunlight streaming in among the tree ferns under which we were camped. And there were no sandflies!

Our GPS indicated it would be about a kilometre to our put-in so off we went, next morning. The going was hard and at one point, a foothold gave way under Gavin as he was crossing a steep slope and he fell down between boulders. He cried out in agony and I hurriedly got out my first aid kit and gave him 2 Tramadol. Had he broken his leg thoughts ran through my mind. How on earth could we organise a rescue from this inimical place where there was no opening for a helicopter and tall trees overhead would limit access? After a few minutes, Gavin was able to weight bear so we limped onwards. Somewhere to my right was the roar of Gorge Rapids. The GPS showed flatter country ahead. Approaching Saddle Creek we came up against a huge buttress around which the river swirled. It was too dangerous to packraft, so we climbed over it and then had an awful struggle through tightly packed regeneration bush into a dank, lugubrious forest on a steep bouldery slope. However, once across Saddle Creek it was easier going and a kilometre on, we finally found our put-in. From here it was an easy paddle down a few rapids to the Arawhata River.

 

The Arawhata is a giant river that drains the Olivine, Marion neves and Snowdrift Range. And it has power as I swept into it from the Waipara. Flying along, the river swept into many bends so we tended to ferry glide away from the right-hand ones where trees lurked underneath the surface. It was an easy paddle to Jubilee Flat where we had intended to camp but just down from the hut, we spotted a blue rope in the trees on the TR bank, so pulled in for a look. Here among the trees were a large tarp and some tents pitched nearby in a most delightful place so we stopped there. It even had a table and chairs so we were able to live in "voluptuous magnificence" for our stay! That night I had a good look at Gavin's leg and I thought he might have a fractured Fibula. However, later an x-ray did not show a break and I assume he is likely to have had a torn Peroneus muscle

The next day we continued on past Callery and Quail Flats. Rounding a bend, the Arawhata Bridge came into view. There was a big boil there so we walked around it and launched on the other side. Then it was an easy paddle another 6-7 km to Neils Beach. There the forest stopped, the river ran into the Tasman Sea and a gentle surf broke on the bar. It was a still day – low cloud hung over the coast and the only sound was from the distant surf. We landed, did the high fives and traipsed along the beach to the settlement.

Thanks again to Gavin for your enthusiasm for this trip, your courage and perseverance in the face of unrelenting difficulties and injuries and your determination to reach the finish line. Thanks to Gilbert for your support and the drop off in the Matukituki.

 

The Cascade to Hollyford tramping and packrafting expedition

This journey has been on my shelf for a long time and after our recent Wilkin –Waiatoto Expedition, we were keen to explore further south. The logistics are a hassle to sort out and we decided the best plan was for Belinda and l to leave a car at Gunn's Camp in the Lower Hollyford and drive our other car to Arrowtown to Gavin’s place. Then the next day, Carol would drop us off at the Martyr Homestead in Southwestland. This all went according to plan and on 14^th February, we said farewell to Carol at the locked gate at the road end, south of Jacksons Bay and started down the gravel track. There were just the three of us, Gavin who has been with me on 3 other tramping – packrafting trip in the last 6 months and Belinda. We each carried a week’s food, camping gear and our packrafts that as usual made for rather heavy packs. 

The day was clear with some cloud on the tops as we walked past the homestead. I had intended to call there but no one was about. It is advisable to get permission in advance, as this is private property.  We carried on to the Cascade River. Here, we decided to cross as there was a good ford and flats on the true left. After a kilometre, we were forced into the bush and this was a bit slow until we came out onto flats further on. The day had brightened up and it was pleasant enough strolling along the 4-WD track. This entered the bush for several kilometres and then emerged onto cleared flats where there were some fine stately Kahikateas, NZ tallest trees. A mob of cattle watched us pass and we arrived at a bucolic hut with some derelict cars parked nearby. Here the track did a sharp turn to the left and re-entered the bush. A short while later we came to Dee Creek, which was dry. Further on we came to Limestone creek which we walked down this to pick up the track again on the TL.

Then, it was a long plod to Barn Bay. I saw 6 deer on the track that clearly has not been used for some time as there was windfall across it in several places. Scrambling across this we stumbled into a wasp nest and Belinda and Gavin got stung several times. On reaching the Hope River, the route disappeared and we kept mostly to the TR in bush down to the airstrip which is right on the coast. There was a house there and a young affable Hungarian was in residence. We decided to camp on the airstrip and cook on the porch.

Next morning dawned fine and clear. Gavin was as usual very organised and ready to depart in no time. Leaving the airstrip, we waded across the Hope River onto the sandy beach opposite. The day was warming up with a blue sky and a heavy surf rolling in off the Tasman and crashing with abandoned restraint onto the boulder beaches. It was about 5 kilometres to Sandrock Bluff, mostly on boulder beaches. This was a slow walk with our heavy packs. Years ago, a mining company sent a bulldozer south along this coastline and at Sandrock Bluff, it made a rough zig-zag track over it. We found this and it led upwards for about 100m before dropping into Bluff Creek, which we followed down to the coast again. Here we stopped for a pleasant lunch. 

South of here, the beaches were mostly sand and small stones that made for easier travel but the big surf kept us further up the beach. We passed bleak Browne Island off shore and then closed on the rocky headland of Bonar Knob. Rounding this there was a tremendous view southwards with some prominent headlands far away but it was hard to know where Gorge River lay hidden. The bush came down close to the beach and was sculptured into waves by the incessant wind. From the flax bordering the beach, we could often hear the alarm cries of Tawaki or the Fiordland Crested Penguin. On one occasion we saw a few peering out at us. Apparently, they moult at this time of the year.

Then, we saw a distinct valley open up ahead of us – Gorge River at last. It issues through a steep defile and has a deep pool before it discharges into the sea. On the far see, we could see the roof of the Long's house and their wind vane and the sounds of an angle grinder drifted over the water to us. I suggested we inflate one of our packrafts and Gavin ferry the rest of us across. Surmounting the bank on the far side, we stepped onto the tiny airstrip and on our left were the Longs house and the DOC hut next door. Ah, the delight to heave off our monster packs and boots and get into my crocs. Once we settled in and had a hot drink, we felt like new people.

Just then a plane did a low fly past the airstrip and when we dashed out, we bumped into Catherine Long, who was surprised to see us. Once I mentioned Tara, she guessed we were her parents. She invited us in for a cuppa later. The DOC hut was small but spotlessly clean and bright – a welcome haven indeed. In the evening we called into the Longs and had a pleasant discourse with Robert and Catherine. They are known as “New Zealand’s remotest family”, good friends of our Tara. They are the archetypical, quintessential Kiwis before the rest of us lost it to our consumerism-based society. Later, I reflected on how many Kiwis live in voluptuous magnificence into huge, lavish houses in places like Queenstown and who whinge about paying tax and don’t know the meaning of social inequality. I realise that the Longs are indeed fortunate to be away from that hubris, to have found their place in nature. We as a nation could learn a lot from their outlook, to appreciate nature and live in harmony with it. 

 

Next morning, we bid our farewell to the Longs and started off southwards under a grey sky and blustery onshore wind. The rain was not far off. The plan was to make for the Hacket River and camp there. The coast was of greasy boulders and it made for slow going. In places, loose cliffs bordered the beach and there was only a narrow passage between these and the pounding surf. Longridge point came and went as the weather slowly deteriorated. Somewhere before the Hacket, it literally sheeted down as we crouched under some cabbage trees that offered scant protection from the deluge. It was somewhat Gothic, inimical and lugubrious! The mist had descended in an ineluctable miasma as we plugged along this sodden coast. Then, we arrived at the Hacket, which was a rapidly rising torrent of brown water rushing into the surf in a deep channel through a sandbar. We decided to chance a combined crossing at its narrowest point. Linking arms we plunged in only to have Gavin lose his balance on a big rock that we could not see. Unfortunately, his new camera got immersed and ruined.

Once we recovered from this, we wandered up the creek for about 100 metres and found a clearing in the bush that had been previously used by hunters or fishermen. The rain had eased off to drizzle as we pitched our tents. In the evening the weather cleared and we even had some sun as I put up a clothesline. I went off for a bath in the river nearby much to the delight of the sandflies.

From the Hacket, it is only a few kilometres to Awarua Point but was slow going on big boulders - the worst to date under a grey weeping sky. It is a low promontory inhabited by some shags drying off on some offshore rocks. On the far side is the deep indentation of Big Bay and it is about 7 kilometres into it - all slow going until one hit a 4-WD track near the far end. A big sea was running in and massive waves were exploding in unfettered fury. At the end was a wide sandy beach bordered by Awarua River on the right. A track led around this into the bush where we came across some old cribs and this carried on for just over a kilometre to a walk wire across the river to the DOC Big Bay Hut. Thankfully, this was empty. 

The first task on the agenda was, of course, a hot drink. In no time, Gavin had heated up his customary noodles while I got myself organised in a desultory manner. The rain came on in more earnest now so we were glad to be in a shelter. Someone in the hut book reported seeing " the biggest rat I've ever seen". We could hear an ominous gnawing sound from somewhere under the hut sink that continued all day. Belinda’s feet were very sore and left big toe nail had a bleed underneath the nail and appeared to be infected. The rest would do her good. I found a copy of Dr Dave Baldwin’s book  “The Bushman’s Bible” that he had donated to the hut and started reading it. Apart from the colourful language, it was an excellent read.

The next morning it was still raining so we decided to stay put. However, by lunchtime, it has eased off and some blue sky appeared, so we set off for the Pyke Crossing. It was about a 4-hour walk across on a mainly good track. At the Pyke was a nice campsite where we set up camp. We all went off later to have a bath in the river.

It was cloudy next day as we inflated our packrafts for the push down the Pyke. There were a few easy rapids and it was very straightforward. The river grew in volume with each tributary and by the time we entered lake Wilmot it was pretty big. In places there were trees in the river and care was required in avoiding these “strainers” as we call them. Gavin capsized on an eddy line but thankfully he was near the bank and was quickly back in.

Belinda was keen to circumnavigate Lake Wilmot, so Gavin and I pulled into a beach at the south end and waited for her to do this. It was drizzling and dank clouds hung over the valley like a widow in mourning. I spent the time muttering imprecations to a patient Gavin about Peter Thiel (Mr Paypal) and his covert citizenship granted by our previous inept and corrupt government. The wind was now getting up and we could see Belinda coming down the lake in the following sea.

Once we re-entered the river, the waves disappeared and we entered the enchanted forest once more. Gliding along we noticed some cut branches on the TR of the river and then we were hailed by a lively, bearded chap called Bruce Ray (aka Sammy Stoat). There was a large rock in the river so we pulled in for a chat. Belinda had met him before at Okarito and Tara has also met him on her travels. “Are you Bruce? Tara mentioned you to us” I asked him. “Stan-n-n. I’ve heard about you. I’ve met her mother. Wait a minute (swivelling around again to look at Belinda) – you’re her mother.” “Come on up for a brew in my hut. It’s called Alcatraz cause it’s built on a rock”. Unfortunately, we were worried about the deteriorating weather and after a few minutes, we reluctantly had to carry on. It’s inspirational meeting people like Bruce and the Longs who live a virtuous lifestyle and have found their place in nature, unsung heroes, and archetypical kiwis!

 

About 5 kilometres further on we reached the Olivine River confluence and we stopped at the hut for lunch. It was a hurried affair and we were all a bit damp and in Gavin’s case, quite wet. On we went around many bends till we eventually reached Lake Alabaster. Here there was a fine view down this large lake and with the wind behind us, we made this a fast paddle. Towards the far end, there was quite a fetch and the waves were building but it was easy enough to cross over to the TL and the large Alabaster Hut. Surprisingly this was empty.

Soon we had all our wet tents and gear hanging up to dry in the cavernous porch. Later a young German woman arrived and was surprised to see only the three of us considering all the wet gear drying outside. Her name was Anya and she appeared to be in her 40’s and taking time out from a desk job to sort out her priorities. It poured that night, rattledrumming on the tin roof.

We got away next morning under another grey sky but at least it was not raining. The Pyke was huge, brown and rushing down to meet the Hollyford River. About half way along we came to Hidden Falls Hut where we stopped for a spell. There was some young “Real Journeys” staff there that we chatted to. One of them was Robbie who said he was a sea kayaking guide. “You must know Tara” Belinda explained. “Tara, she taught me. You must be her parents” he exulted. When I explained our car was at Gunn’s, Robbie offered me a lift – so I was saved the 8km walk from the road end. Then, all that remained was the 3-hour drive back to Arrowtown.

Thanks to Belinda and Gavin for a super trip. Thanks to Carol for driving us across from Arrowtown to Martyrs, to the Longs, Bruce and Robbie for your hospitality and exemplary providence.