How did this come about? It started back in February when we did a conservation trip to Mamaku/Indian Island for Pure Salt Charters. It was a memorable trip with an eclectic party, with fine weather in a fabulous location. Initially, I had thought we’d offer to go again in spring but should we be cherry-picking our trips? The 27th of May saw our party of 5 including Sally, Belinda, Gavin, David and I lift off from the Te Anau-Manapouri airport and head into the dark mass of clouds smothering the Fiordland Mountains to the west. The weather thickened as we wove our way up the Spey Valley among foreboding peaks, wreathed in shifting clouds. I was nonplussed when our pilot said “Don’t take any photos once we get into the clouds” . . . why I wondered? We seemed to skim over dark-green, umbrageous forest and soaring bush-clad ridges disappearing into a grey mantle of storm wrack. Then, we were plunging towards the steel-grey waters of Supper Cove as the rain slanted down. We seemed to hover over the water and settled onto some logs underwater which I gather was the helipad at high tide. Well, this is going to be interesting, I thought as I pulled off my boots, preparing to wade ashore. By providence, B2 arrived in the inflatable, wading it towards the open door so we could jump in without getting soaked.
Once ashore, we waited in the dripping rain as B2 and the pilot moved our pile of gear into the boat and then ferried us out to the Flightless, looking forlorn out in the gloom. Soon we were aboard to be greeted by the ever-affable, imperturbable Sean. He soon disappeared into the wheelhouse so we took off our boots and made ourselves comfortable in the lounge as we steamed down the Bowen Channel towards Mamaku Island.
It was not unpleasant sitting in the cabin staring out at the strong northerly whipping up the seas outside. I wondered how we were going to get ashore on the rocky northern coast of Mamaku. If anything it became more violent outside as we progressed westwards. There was no option but for the Flightless to drop us off on the more sheltered side at Waka Cove. Even that was not an easy task but B2 managed it skillfully. Time had flown and as it was about a kilometre to our campsite, we set off with as much gear as we could carry on the trapping tracks. Now it would not have been too bad if the tracks went in a straight line but they zig-zagged all over the place so that we only got to our old campsite just before dusk. Just as I was walking up the track, I was startled by a large kiwi rushing past. We got our tents pitched and put up our two tent flies to make a kitchen.
The next day, we retraced our steps to Waka Cove to uplift the rest of our gear and on the way back started to rebait some of the traps. Once back at camp, we split into two teams to start checking different trap lines. It was overcast and relatively mild. Belinda, David and I worked the trap lines to the west while Sally and Gavin took the ones to the east of the creek. We were all back in camp before dark which was at 5.30 pm. The next day, Sally and Belinda and I worked the trap lines on the southwest of the island while David and Gavin covered the high hill ones. It was a strenuous day covering a lot of territory. The following day, we were able to finish the rest of the traps noting that the junctions near the lake were not well marked and easily confused – we plan to remark them next time. The day had been warm and some blue sky and sun had appeared briefly. The afternoon was spent relaxing around camp and on the shore rocks, David went for a paddle around the island. We got a message on our InReach that the Flightless would pick us up early the next day on its way to Supper Cove.
A calm sea greeted us as we lugged all our gear down to the rocks. It was just getting light and far away, in the direction of the Acheron Passage the Flightless was making directly towards us. Soon we were aboard and heading east to Supper Cove. The other guests were a hunting party. Once at Supper Cove, we were dropped off and said goodbye to the crew. We loaded up and set off along the mossy, slippery, rocky track to Loch Maree. It’s about 12 km away and as it was already approaching noon, we deemed it wise to make haste. It was drizzling and cooler here as we steadily marched along the sodden track. It was all of a bit of a blur, a mindless, unremitting, plod in the liquid forest amid the sound of falling water. David disappeared ahead of us. On and on it went, winding our way up a bluff above Loch Maree and then a descent into a gully where the route disappeared in the fading light with the prospect of a bivvy looking increasingly likely. But by back-tracking, we picked up the route again and carried on now with headtorches and with renewed vigour. Then half an hour later, we arrived at the pitch dark but welcoming hut.
Sally’s parka had given up and she was soaked . . . a plastic rubbish bag was pressed into service as an undercoat. It was raining the next day as we left for Kintail about 10 km away. It was an acerbic, cheerless plod through mud, swamps and dripping bush but despite this, the rain forest was quite beautiful. I walked this with my mind on mute – it was type-two fun. I do remember seeing Kintail and that thank God feeling. The wood was very damp and the fire like our demeanour was . . . mute.
Day three saw us off early for the crossing of Centre Pass, a 700m climb in the persistent . . . rain. Our low-carbon route was losing its appeal. Our spirits lifted for awhile once we cleared the bush line but fell again as the pass disappeared in yet more ragged cloud. Even the keas had scampered as we plot upwards into the murk, rain and wind. Then it was down the zig-zags into the subalpine scrub and later more stately forest. The Warren Burn eventually decided to plunge off into the Spey Valley where we found the Upper Spey Hut. There was little dry wood for the stove and a broken hack saw blade did not make it any easier so it was another cheerless mini-fire.
The last day saw us off down the Spey on a better track, across several wire bridges and a steep pull up to the road for the final few kilometres to West Arm. The skipper on the RJ boat demanded cash for our ride across the lake and for a minute I thought he’d kick us off but Mike MacManus (God bless him) came to the rescue.
Acknowledgments: A big thanks to the team of Belinda.
Sally, Gavin and David. Thanks to Sean and the awesome crew of the Flightless.
Thanks to Mike MacManus for saving us from packrafting home across Manapouri. The last 4 photos were taken by Belinda.
