A Mountain Packraftineering Traverse of the Merrie Range

Last Christmas Belinda and tried this trip only to be turned back from lake 1100m by strong winds and a weather front. Our approach was from the Hauroko Burn to Lake Roe and then via lake 1200m around peak 1566m. Gavin had been previously to the lake from the South Branch of the Florence ascending a series of hanging valleys so I was keen to try this approach.

On 5^th April Belinda and I rendezvoused with Gavin at Borland Lodge where we left his van. Then we took my X-trail over the Borland Saddle to the Grebe where Belinda dropped us off. She was planning on packrafting Shallow Lake and then doing the same at Island and Green Lakes. The forecast was for 4-5 days of good weather.

We dropped down to the valley floor and crossed an open boggy flat to the start of the Florence. The whole valley is really a swamp with pernicious tramping through thick bush and wet flats. Thankfully, Gavin knew the way as we set off up the Florence. About 7 km up the valley one climbs up to a saddle south of knoll 512m to avoid a small gorge. It’s a bit of grovel but on the saddle much more pleasant. Here we found a good campsite next to a huge tree. The day was overcast and cool. That night a deer was roaring near us.

We got up late at around 8.00 am, as it was only getting light then. We set off across the broad saddle and then on the other side started dropping down towards the Florence,  through much more pleasant, open forest. The sun was shining and reached us as we came out onto the riverbank. After a short while we ran up against a rock face on the TR so waded across the river and travelled up the other side to the junction of the South and North branches. Here there was a large open clearing covered in sphagnum moss, low Coprosma bushes, which led us easily into the South Branch. The valley is pinched here so we climbed up the TL past it to a more gentle country. After about 2 km, we started an easy ascent to Lake 650m. We noticed lots of different Coprosma berries – red, pink and white.

The forest was easy to travel and quite open with deer trails. It did not take us long to reach the first lake, which was exquisite in its surroundings with the sun shining from a cerulean blue sky. We stopped for lunch and then tramped along the TL to the head of the lake. From here an easy ascent took us around hill 894 to another hanging valley covered in golden, tawny tussock and copses of mountain beech. Down below us, a hind and her fawn ran into the bush. At the head of this basin was a ring of high cliffs with a series of waterfalls from the higher lake at 1040m. We walked around to the start of the torrent and found a remarkable lead on the TL of this “ A stairway to heaven”. The ascent was straightforward to a ridge above the lake at 1100m where we decided to camp.

Our campsite was Arcadian with a spectacular view of the next lake and a cataract falling from lake 1100m. It was absolutely calm, the sun warming us, the only sound a distant susurration of falling water. Gavin got the Copper Hotel up while I made a hot drink. High above us was peak 1566m that B and I had sidled around at Christmas. Gavin assured me that it was an easy circumnavigation around to the lake below us to the next level.

Another clear sunny day greeted us the next morning. An ephemeral, red alpenglow crept across the surrounding peaks as we prepared to leave. An easy tramp around the lake took us to the tussock slope leading to lake 1100m. Here we launched our packrafts at the stream outlet and paddled up the still waters to a gully near the head. The lake was windstill with unblemished reflections of the surrounding peaks.

We landed easily, rolled up the packrafts and started up easy rocky slopes towards the ridge crest about 400m above. We moved swiftly with smooth, measured steps up the slopes away from the grey break cold into the warm, life-affirming world of sunlight and hope. From the stony saddle, we looked into a hanging valley to the NE with several tarns and shadowed ranges beyond. This was our Rubicon; no touring back once we descended into the valley ahead of us; no plan B. “Columbus had no plan B when he set out for the New World in 1492” I reassured Gavin. He did not reply. We cruised down and then left to reach steep tussock slopes dropping into the North Branch of the Florence. Then the slopes dropped away into vertical bluffs but hidden terraces led us down to the scrub line. The final push to the valley floor was little fun through tall tangled scrub down near-vertical slopes and cliffs.

(Photo by Gavin)

Once clear of this it was an easy walk up the valley to more bluffs. I vacillated about camping below these but the sites were not appealing so we climbed about 150m up open tussock slopes to camp on top of hill 1057m in a spectacular location. I was whacked so glad to stop. The view of our next pass looked straightforward. During the night the wind got up and persisted until dawn.

We knew the next day’s travel would be long and uncertain so got ready in the false dawn and away early. It was an easy 300m climb to the next pass. Down below us a small lake scintillated in the rising sun. The descent was fine all the way to Lake St Patrick. By now we were both “scrub-a-phobic” so after carefully studying the map decided to head left 1000m to avoid a band of scrub leading down beside the stream in the valley that we were following. This proved an excellent paragon, a clear descent.

It was cool with a northerly wind blowing down Lake St Patrick, so we decided it would be faster just to walk around this rather than a paddle. Ahead we could see the next pass to the west of Mt Watson, which looked easy enough. We stopped for lunch at the head of the lake and then it was a 2 km plod through waist-high tussock to the start of the next climb. The climb thankfully was an easy 150m climb to a hanging valley with a small lake. At the entrance was a huge white boulder that had recently fallen from the cliffs above that we thought might be white granite. It was quite striking. The wind eased off as we closed on the boulder slopes leading to the pass above. Clouds were filling the sky so we can sense a cold front approaching. From the pass, there was a rocky/tussock descent into the Diamond Creek, which we followed to the bush line. Here we sidled right and up to camp beside a small tarn on the shoulder below peak 1063m.

A tumult of swirling greys now filled the sky, lowering onto the peaks to the west and north like a funeral shroud. We quickly got the Copper Hotel pitched and dinner ready before the drizzle started. It lightly rained all night and stopped at dawn. We sidled further right until overlooking knoll 763. Gavin had loaded waypoints to this and further along the ridge down to the Spey. The bush was soaking wet as we spent 4 hours bush-bashing down to the Spey. We were soaked and our packs mud-splattered as we finally reached the Wilmot Pass road. Just then a Real Journeys bus stopped and the driver kindly offered us a ride to West Arm. Then he stared at me and said “ it’s Dr Mulvany” which had me nonplussed, as I did not recognise him. Once at West Arm, we boarded the ferry to Manapouri. The Real Journey’s lady took one look at Gavin and me and said: "You'll have to clean yourselves up". But how? We decided it prudent to stay outside so clomped up to the top deck for the trip across the lake where Belinda picked us up.

Acknowledgements: Thanks Gavin for a great trip. Thanks to Belinda for dropping us off and picking us up at Manapouri.

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From the Hollyford to Martyrs Homestead via the Red Hills

We started this trip on 16^th March 2019, the day after the worst mass shooting in Aotearoa/New Zealand history. A crazy murdered 50 people at 2 mosques in Christchurch stunning our nation known for its warm acceptance of different cultures among its many migrants.

Gavin and I rendezvoused at the Sandfly Café in Te Anau, then drove on to Gunn's camp in the Lower Hollyford where I left my car and continued to the road end where Gavin parked his van. The day was warm and sunny as we put our packrafts in and set off down the quiet Hollyford River. There were long placid stretches of river between dense podocarp forest and sections of rapids, which we walked around if we were unsure how difficult they were. The easier ones we ran sometimes bouncing along wave trains and occasionally hitting rocks. Huge mountains loomed skyward to our left, sentinel peaks of the northern Darrans - Madeline and Tutoko.  

We came to the rock garden where there is a jet boat track on the TR of the river. This was very muddy and quite a trial to negotiate. Eventually, we got back on the river at an awkward spot where a rapid charged into a rock face but with consummate skill we avoided this by a fast and furious paddle further back. Eventually, we reached the junction of the Hollyford with the Pyke River, now a mighty river. It was another 8 kilometres to the lake to the hut on McKerrow Island, our destination. We ran a big wave train on a grade 3 rapid and had more ones that we decided to walk around.

Further on we had to do a long portage around a dangerous rapid on the track on the TR. This climbed up a small cliff on slippery rocks and here while struggling with my inflated packraft, a maladroit movement precipitated a face plant. I thought I’d broken my nose as it was very painful but Gavin reassured me it was fairly straight. Finally, we got back on the smaller branch that runs down the east side of McKerrow Island. We paddled around the island on the lakeside to reach the hut just on dark. There was a lovely German girl in residence called Esther Gonstalla who warmly greeted us as we entered. I noted she had a Scottish accident and an Italian surname! We spent a pleasant night there. We had covered 28 km that day

Next morning, we awoke to another fine day. It was quite early and the sun was a long time coming. We chatted with Esther who was most interesting. She was a graphic designer who wrote books on climate change in which I have a great interest so we had much to share. Her books are mostly only available in German but one called “The Ocean Book” is in English. I made a note to order it when I got home.

We set off under a partly cloudy sky onto a flat Lake McKerrow. We angled across towards the right-hand shore and soon could see Demon Trail Hut. There was a light following breeze that gave us a bit of a push. Further on we could see a headland and when a few kilometres off, a trio of jet boats rounded it and passed us heading up the lake. After another 5 kilometres, we landed at a sign that said Hokuri Hut and had lunch on the beach as we were not sure how far away the hut was. Then it was another 4 km across to the lake outlet where we glided onto the wind-still Hollyford river for its last run to the sea. The bush ended in the sandspit and an onshore wind arose for the last kilometre to the Martins Bay Hut, which we reached in the afternoon. It was empty as we settled in and dried off some of our wet gear. Later on, some trampers arrived but there was plenty of space and no one was noisy or a nuisance. We had a run of 23 km that day.

Monday dawned with a glum shroud of cloud, layered over the surrounding peaks like a funeral cortege as we set off for Big Bay. I unwisely wore shorts and somewhere just beyond Long Reef got badly stung by nettles on my legs and left hand. The track was overgrown, very wet and unpleasant. An hour and a half later, it improved as we came to beaches at first boulder ones but later sandy ones, which were easier to walk along. It is about 9 km to McKenzie Creek and several more to Big Bay Hut. There was little wind, a gentle roll on the ocean, the air warm and muggy.  My back ached and my mood morose as we plodded along the fringes of Big Bay. Thankfully the hut hove into view and I could drop the deadweight off my back.

I had my quotidian sandwich while Gavin cooked his noodles. I mused through the hut book and this entry caught my eye dated 6/11/18 “This happened a week ago when 3 s’landers and 3 guys from Haast were here for 3 nights and 4 young trampers arrived (3 French and German) had walked from the Pyke only to be turned away by the 6 hunters saying the hut was full!! The young trampers were forced to continue to Martins Bay. The whitebaiters would’ve happily hosted the trampers had we known of the very selfish behaviour of the hunters.”

From the hut, we crossed the walkwire across the Awarua River and plodded on to the Pyke Track to the Pyke Crossing. This is pretty easy going especially since the locals have opened up the far end for their 4-wheelers. It is about 10 kilometres long. We camped at our old spot by the Pyke.  Enigmatically both my calves were aching and I could hardly bend down or even walk. I was worried that I would not be able to carry on the next day. At bedtime, I took some Diclofenac and Paracetamol.

We were away early up the Pyke as diaphanous veils of mist were lifting off the flats. My legs felt 95% better. The toetoe and tussock were dripping wet as we pushed through it. The sky was clear and the rose-blush of the rising sun tinged the summits with an aureate luminosity, promising a fine day ahead. It was quiet until we heard the call of 2 Whio who glided along the stream nearby. Two kilometres up the river we reached the junction with Durwand Creek and following this up in the forest we crossed Chrome Creek and started the ascent towards the tops. The forest was fairly open and the going improved the higher we went. Deer trails in places helped a lot. Gavin used his GPS waypoints to speed our ascent. It’s about 1000m to the open tops and it was cloudy by the time we got there. We had a spell at the bush line before plodding across peaks 1166 and 1149 to drop onto a bush spur to the northeast. Moirs Guide talks about “excellent bush campsites” near a tarn on the ridge to peak 1208 but when we got there none were in existence apart from a small area with some rubbish from a previous hunter visit.

The sun was now out and there were exquisite, empyreal views of Red Mountain and the Olivine Range to the east. The air was still, no sounds reached us just a ringing silence, an existential affirmation of being alone in this enigmatic paradise. Gavin had previously been across Stag Pass, which was visible from this prospect. The weather forecast, which we got on his InReach was still very good, promising a great day on the tops to come.

Next morning, I gathered up most of the debris from the hunter visit and buried it under rocks as I did not have anything to dig a hole with. Then we set off for a short section of bush leading to the ridge system to the north of us. We reached Peak 1208 and turned right to the next one along the range. Behind us was a view towards Big Bay opening out with a great affirmation to the Tasman Sea to the west.  Ahead a tussock ridge led northwards. To the east of peak 1306 were two lakes about 200m below us surrounded by bare russet earth ... perfect poetry of nature. Our peripatetic wanderings took us to a large basin where a lapis-blue lake lay. It was a long way around this on the ridges, so we dropped into the basin and stopped by the lake for lunch.

From there we gained the ridge to the north overlooking another basin but this time we tramped around the ridges instead of cutting straight across. This was around 5 km and slow going with tall tussock. To the northwest was a prospect of flats at the head of Low Creek, a tributary of the Jerry. Behind us, Madeline and Tutoko dominated the southern horizon. Once past peak 1220m we were slowly descending to a tussock plain with a number of lakes. We picked out one at the far end and made for it. Just below this, the forest started and more lakes rested in little valleys in the forest. About 2 km ahead was peak 906 in the forest, our waypoint for the descent to the Cascade.

The day was beautifully clear with a spectacular array of peaks, glaciers and rocky heights surrounding us. It was good to stop and in a desultory manner, I spread my wet gear out to dry, had a wash and felt better. In the evening a helicopter flew nearby carrying a deer on a strop. It seemed to drop this off on the tussock ridge above us to hunt more deer. Shortly after I spotted a few deer bolting down the slope in the tussock. Towards dusk, we were visited by a troup of insolent keas. They rapidly became a nuisance, strutting up to the tent, their razor-bill beaks intend on mischief. We tried shooing them away but to no avail. We were surrounded by these demons, who attacked on all sides. I spent half an hour outside in the dark standing guard. The moon was full and the Milky Way a stunning sight. The Southern Cross was easily identified as was Venus. Eventually, I tossed a small stone at one approaching the tent, scoring a direct hit. It squawked loudly and took off. However, his mates on the other side were not put off by this, until I lobbed a stone among them. Up they flew making a horrendous noise and circled the tent several times at low altitude protesting loudly like demented Nasguls and then flew off. Towards dawn, I was in a sleep fugue when suddenly a group of keas shrieked not centimetres from my head. As it was nearly dawn, I got up and chased them away and had breakfast. Dawn slowly arrived as an orange luminosity silhouetted the dark ranges and a crimson light suffused the cirrus clouds.

A slope took down into a series of clearings surrounded by forest and tarns. Gavin navigated us through open moss-covered trees to the top of 906m, an inchoate knoll in the forest. Then it was a gentle descent towards the Cascade River far below us out of sight. Lower down it steepened but was still fairly easy going. We had difficulty finding and staying on the spur that Gavin had waypointed until much lower where it was more defined. Then, we put the GPS aside and I led down an open narrow spur on good deer trails out into the Cascade Valley.

We stopped for lunch on the riverbank and dried off the wet tent and fly. Then we launched our packrafts and paddled off down clear green river walking around the larger rapids and running the smaller ones. After about 5 km, we had to leave the river to climb over a bluff where the river was pinched into a gorge. It was a steep climb to the 200m level and then a sidle which went on for a long time. I was worried about the lateness of the day and thought we’d have to bivouac in the forest, which seemed to lack any suitable campsites not to mention water. Gavin suggested we drop back to river level and fortunately this took us past the gorge to a paddleable section of the river. A short distance down on the TL, we came to a flat where we found a delectable campsite among beech trees.

Next day, we continued down the river paddling most of the way and portaging any big rapids. The river now ran between high, eroded cliffs but beaches beside them enabled us to walk around any dangerous rapids. Ahead we could see the mountains ending as we ran out into the plains. Charlies Bump came and went and a bit below it we reached the tree line where the 4 WD track runs into the Cascade. Here we debarked, packed away our packrafts and walked up the track to Martyrs Homestead. There we met Brian on his 4-Wheeler and stopped for a chat. Out on the road was Carol and her friend with our food resupply. However, one look at the portentous weather forecast precluded our journey south …heavy rain for 3.5 days in a days time. So we went back to Arrowtown instead and a day later the deluge started, the heaviest ever. Martyrs had a metre of water through the house, Haast was isolated and the Waiho bridge washed away cutting off Fox and Franz townships, at Homer the rain gauge recorded 2 metres of rain in 36 hours. We were lucky!

Acknowledgements: Thanks to Gavin for his great company, expert navigation and wise counsel. Also, I acknowledge Carol for coming over to Martyrs with our food cache and taking us back to Arrowtown and the following day to the Hollyford to retrieve the cars. Thanks to the Muldrews at Martyrs for permission to cross private land.