The original plan was to do a trip from the Lower Hollyford
to the Arawhata via the Pyke and Red Hills but a biblical deluge struck
Fiordland on 3 February dumping 1 metre of water in 2 days. This caused major
damage to the Milford Road cutting off Milford Sound and stranding many
tourists, inundated Gunn’s Camp in the Lower Hollyford, caused major damage to
several huts, resulting in a state of emergency. Ironically, while many people
were being evacuated from Fiordland, we were trying to get in. As the road to
the lower Hollyford was closed, we decided the best plan was to do a trip in
Southern Fiordland.
So on Waitangi Day, I rendezvoused with David and Gavin at
Joyce and Johan’s place at Clifden. Belinda then drove us into Lake Hauroko on
an overcast and windy day. It was pleasant enough as I surveyed the scene at
the boat landing. I noted a fresh breeze out in the bay and wondered if we
could make it down to Teal Bay and across to the start of the track to Lake
Poteriteri. Usually, its just Gavin and me on such trips but this time we had
invited David Cary to join us. David had been on several trapping trips with me
and was just getting into packrafting and keen to come.
Gearing up, we set off across the bay, paddling into a light
southerly. It is about 4 km across to the headland where the lake turns south
and this went easily. Rounding the headland, we were into a stronger wind and
waves so about 2 km further on, we pulled into a beach to reassess the situation
and have lunch. I was standing on the beach, munching a sandwich, when I
noticed 3 boats coming down the lake. They saw me and veered in. There were 4
guys from Wakatane–Graeme Hancock, Brett and Glen Bennett. We bantered about
the weather and our destinations and when I broached the topic of a lift to
Teal Bay, they were more than happy to oblige.
So deflating our packrafts, we piled in for a fast run down
to the hut. Once out in the lake past the islands, I was very glad of the ride
as it was a strong wind and I doubt we’d have been able to make much progress
in that. As it was mid-afternoon and drizzling on the surrounding peaks, I
suggested that we stay at Teal Bay Hut and make an early start the next day.
Then Johan arrived with a boatload of tourists and the lads took off down the
Wairaurahiri. We settled in and spent a comfortable night in the hut amusing
ourselves, trapping mice.
An early start next morning saw us paddling across a windstill
lake to the start of the Wairaurahiri River. We landed on the beach and deflating
the packrafts, and set off into the forest. A while later, we found the track
from the wire bridge heading to the Rastus Burn. 30 minutes later, we crossed
the single stand walk wire bridge and continued on the track to Lake Poteriteri.
This is indistinct in places and later we missed it entirely, heading up the
wrong spur. We suspected as much when the disks disappeared and Gavin studied
his GPS. Then it was a steep descent and wander across the next creek to
eventually join the track over the dividing range. It was a twelve hours day, from
Teal Bay to the Poteriteri Hut.
The next morning was windy as I strolled up the beach
wondering if we should try to paddle across to the creek that drains Lake
Mouat. This is about 7 km away. We had a
leisurely breakfast as the wind abated and we thought we’d be alright heading
away in the packrafts. We paddled northwards along the coast to the far
headland. By the time we reached it, the lake was fairly flat so we headed
across to the far creek. At first, I wondered if the white streak visible above
the junction of Mouat Creek and Lake Poteriteri was low-hanging cloud but on
closer inspection, it materialised into a raging torrent spilling from a side
valley to the north into Mouat Creek–the first inclination of trouble ahead.
We paddled into the beach at the mouth of Mouat Creek and
did a recce. A short distance along was a furious, swift tributary entering the
main creek and it was unfordable on foot. It was swift and tannin-stained from
the recent floods. I thought that if I padded out into the main current and
powered into the side stream just past a fallen lodge across the entrance, I
might be able to land on the far side. So I jumped into my packraft and just
managed to achieve this manoeuver. After throwing my gear up on the bank, Gavin
and David followed. Then it was into head-high crown fern trying to follow rather
indistinct deer trails. What followed was 10-hours of unpleasant fern and scrub
bashing over several bluffs, along riverbanks and around 2 water-logged swamps.
The latter was truly nightmarish and the only way around was to head around
them close to the hillside slopping through deep mud. Clearly, the recent flood
had deposited a vast amount of water in the valley resulting in a raging river
and bottomless swamps.
In the evening, we finally reached Lake Mouat and started
paddling. The last time we were here, two years ago, we had a lovely campsite
on the TR near the head but we feared it would be underwater now. About a
kilometre up the lake, we noticed a beach covered in driftwood and a rock
overhang. This proved to be an excellent campsite for us. The cliff was
overhanging and underneath the leaf and forest debris was dry. After pulling away
a few logs, we had a nice dry level space for our 2 tents. I was wandering
around in a desultory, vacant haze slowly getting organised while Gavin and
David purposively got their bed organised and dinner cooked. I slept well as we
were exhausted after two twelve-hour days carrying heavy loads.
During the night, I reflected on the journey ahead and
decided it was very unlikely we could cross Mouat Creek, two kilometres above
the lake to reach lake 550m on the way to Lake Monk. Next morning, Gavin
admitted he had the same thoughts. The day was overcast and cloud down on the
peaks but we could see up to the bush line and wondered if perhaps a spur might
take us from the lake onto the main Cameron Range. However, the map was not of
much help so we set off on a reconnaissance to the head of the lake. It was
mirror-calm on the obsidian waters as we paddled along but it all looked
hopeless. At the head, we paddled up the river a bit and noted the swamp there
looked Gothic and ineluctable. Returning to camp, we advised David that retreat
would be the best option. Then it was another 10-hour scrub and fern bash back
to Lake Poteriteri where we camped beside the beach on the northern side of the
creek–the site of our previous camp. The campsite was delightful with a
spacious view up and down the lake where the usual afternoon breeze has worked
up a chop.
The morning dawned fine and still as is common in Fiordland.
The sky was clear and the last vestiges of cloud had dissipated as a warm
orange alpenglow spread onto the surrounding summits. I studied the spur from
the beach on the south side of the river to peak 1099m and felt it would be a
gentle ascent likely on deer trails. Gavin was a bit down but warmed to the
idea in due course as did David. So after breakfast, we paddled over to the far
beach, rolled up our packrafts and started up on a deer trail. The forest was
open and the whole spur was excellent going and although we lost the trails a
few times, it was a straightforward ascent right to the bushline. What a joy to
clear the bush and walk across the sun-drenched tussock and take in the enchanted
scenery all around us. Above us, the summits were rounded and tussock covered
and could wait until tomorrow. Bright Gentians and flowering Hebe subalpina were
specked around the tussock. We set up a camp at the bushline in a sheltered
place enjoying the repose and contentment after the arduous travel of the
previous days; our weariness replaced by the energised biosphere and powerful
sunlight.
It is about 5-6 kilometres of ridgeline to the main Cameron
Range, which we joined at peak 1050. There are 6 listed peaks en route and none
were difficult–just like walking along some of the great Scottish ridges. We
summited some and others, we sidled. On one col we saw a deer grazing and a
nearby cache of helicopter fuel. On another section, there was a huge rock like
a giant molar and an overhanging ledge on the south side offered the only way
through along a deer trail. By lunchtime, we were at peak 1050 and past it, we
stopped on a col for lunch. In the far south Lake Hakapoua shimmered in the
afternoon light and to the east, lazy cloud was layering the land underneath a
cobalt sky. The tussock was graced with yellow and white daisies and grey rocks
guarded some of the summits. Ahead was Mt Aitchen, 1189m and we had decided to
camp on its south side near some tarns that Gavin had seen on his GPS. Sidling
around the west side of the peak, we came to a series of tarns on a large
terrace about 80m below the ridge and found the perfect campsite.
The scene was Arcadian on a dry level terrace, just below
the ridgeline with scattered tarns and a small stream coursing through. Below
us was another terrace maybe 100m lower with a large lake–a swimming hole too
far! Off to the south, forested hills sloped off to a blanket of cloud, hiding
the south coast and the Southern Ocean. Once we got the tents up, I went off
for a bath in the creek and washed some clothes. It was not unpleasant lazing
around in the warm airs in the soft evening light.
Next morning, we regained the ridge and set off for the bush
line and spur leading to the top of Lake Hakapoua. The bush was fairly open and
straightforward to descend though we had to constantly move to the left to
avoid steep gullies. There were a few
cliff lines but nothing of consequence. Once on the valley floor, it was a bash
through head high crown ferns alongside Big River. Once on the beach, we blew
up the packrafts and set off. There was a northerly blowing down the lake so we
paddled over to the east side and had a following wind all the way to Trev’s
Inn. Here, we spent 30 minutes talking to a group of Invercargill hunters who
had just arrived by helicopter. Then it was on down to Big River draining the
lake to land at the South Coast Track. It is about 2.5 kilometres to Westies
Hut, which we arrived at in the evening. Westies is an iconic place built in a
cave under a sea stack on the stony beach. Anne and Cliff McDermott look after
it and have done a great job–a lovely place to chill out after our arduous
travel of the previous week.
The track to the Waitutu Hut was in poor shape and next
morning we trudged along it arriving at lunchtime in drizzly rain. Rose was in
residence and later we met her co-worker, Mickala. They were in checking traps.
The forecast was not looking good, maybe another ‘rain event’ and we had a
message from Joyce and Johan to say our pickup on Sunday was off. Next day, we
set off for Waitutu Lodge and arrived in sunshine at lunchtime. Pete was the
caretaker and welcomed us warmly. No one else was staying so we had the whole
place to ourselves. The warm shower was delicious. The plan was to walk out to
Rarakau on Saturday. David was keen to spend another day walking out so Gavin
and I did a 10-hour day to the road end where Belinda kindly picked us up
shortly afterwards.
My gratitude to Gavin and David for a great journey and companionship,
to the jet boaters for the lift, to Rose and Mickala, our DOC heroines, to Pete
at Waitutu Lodge and to the 2 unknown German trampers who retrieved Gavin’s
headlight from Westies and tracked me down in Invercargill.
