Mountain-packraftineering on the Cameron Mountains

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.   

The Wills-West Hunter-Landsborough trip

After our return from South Westland, we were still restless and ready for another trip, preferably a shorter one this time. Studying the maps of the Haast region, I noticed a potential 4-5 day trip up the Wills valley, over Wilson Pass to the top of the West Hunter, over Lower Studholme Pass and Watkins Dome, down the slopes of Mt Napolean to Harper Flat and a long walk back to the car near Pleasant Flat. As the weather forecast looked the best in months, we decided to start on the 13^th of January.

It was another 4.45 am drive from Invercargill to Arrowtown on touron-free roads in the crepuscular hours. I wheeled into Gavin's place just after 7.00 am and then promptly set off in convoy for the West Coast. At Makarora, we had our usual stop at the Country Café for a coffee before carrying on to the Gates of Haast and Pleasant Flat. Just before the bridge at Pleasant Flat, there is a 4WD track into the site of the old Landsborough homestead so we left my car there and drove back to the Gates of Haast where Gavin dropped me off with the gear and parked at a layby back down the road.

Loading up, we started along the old track at bridge level, which ended in an awkward slip on the hillside. Scrambling along this, we picked up the continuation of the track on the far side. This meandered along through some nasty patches of stinging nettle. Near the Wills, the track was in much better shape and well disked. The day was sunny and warm under a cerulean blue sky, the forest vibrant and welcoming. Our packs were light for once without the packrafts, which we left in the vehicles. We had intended to pick them up on our return and paddle down the Haast River with John Longden. 

It is 7-8 km from the bridge to the Wills Hut, which is situated on the big flats in the Lower Wills Valley. There are lots of ups and downs, even a ladder up a cliff face and nevertheless, it was a pleasant ramble. Two falcons paid us a visit, alarmed at our presence as we cruised past. Once out on the flats, I noticed how vibrantly green the beech forest was reaching up to tawny-brown tussock and the grey cliffs of Mt Brewster.

We forded the river easily and walked up the extensive flats to the renovated Wills Hut. This is a 4-bunk DOC hut and very nicely restored. By now it was later afternoon and I was glad to spend the night here. Looking through the hut book, it does not get a lot of use though it is an invaluable and welcome base in the Wills. I was feeling the lack of sleep from my early start so had an early night.

We were up at first light and off as the mist was lifting off the flats and the rose hint of dawn slowly crept down the surrounding mountains. We had a few fords to cross, picking up the easiest travel until the valley closed in. Then we met a bedrock gorge and here we diverted up the bush on the TL. From here on, it was mostly on the boulder banks, across slips with diversions into the bush until we reached the top flats. The mountains were spectacular and the snowfields a russet colour from the recent Australian bushfire ash. We had a leisurely lunch on the grass of the flats before pushing on up the valley. At this stage, we did not have a view of Wilson Pass, which was around a bend ahead. It was very hot and sultry as my desultory pace slowed. I was keen to keep on but realised it would be a hard struggle in the heat so suggested to Gavin we bivouac at the bush line and make an early start tomorrow. 

We found a nice place at the bush edge on the TR and set up camp. It was rather idyllic and cooler in the shade. Later, I climbed a tree beside the tent and set up our skinny rope for Gavin to practice abseiling. The trees hereabout are amazing–knarled trunks, pachydermatous, scaly bark covered in multi-coloured lichens, a black fungus or mould on the smaller branches. I studied it for some time, imaging this living sentinel of the forest, standing firm in the summer heat and winter snow, the nagging winds, the cloud hurrying across the sky, year in and year out. Then my gaze shifted to the surroundings–verdant green forest reaching up to tawny tussock below grey rock slabs and lustrous snowfields. A powerful luminosity and energy enlivened the scene bringing a sense of wonder and enjoyment. With a sense of contentment, I lazed around until dark. We planned for a big day to cross Wilson and Lower Studholme Pass.

We both slept poorly so it was no hardship to arise at first light. Soon we were away following a deer trail around the bush edge and crossing the first stream. The scrub was minimal and it was open easy country. There were lots of flowing plants–Hebe subalpine and treadwellii,  Ranunculus Lyalli, Gaultheria crassa, Olearia moschate,  tiny cushion plants which delighted us.

We reached scree slopes that curved around to the right to old avalanche snow that took us up to a steep cirque leading to Wilson Pass, now visible among shifting cloud. We climbed off the valley floor onto a steep spur that led to an old deer trail on its crest. Then it was a steady climb up tussock slopes to the pass. Suddenly, upon the ridge north of the pass, we saw a herd of chamois, who stood like sentinels gazing in our direction. Then two of them came on down the ridge for a closer look–graceful and elegant denizens of the high alps, their tan-coloured pelage contrasting with the tawny tussock and grey screes. Then suddenly they were gone leaving us with a sense of loss, an intuition of sadness. We carried on.

It was very steep on the Hunter side of the pass so we walked along to a promontory, which afforded us a good view of the country below. A tussock slope dropped down the cliffs to a basin a long way below so we moved over to it and commenced the descent. About halfway down, we decided to try a different route, which was more or less straight down and this zig-zagged through cliff lines and took us all the way down to the valley floor at 960m. Here we crossed to the TL and climbed up this for about 1.5 km before starting our ascent to Lower Studholme Pass.  This is a 700m climb up tussock, scree and was very straightforward. Nearing the pass we spied another small heard of Chamois, racing across the screes and silhouetted on the skyline.

The pass itself was covered in shattered rock and slabs and on the other side was a great view of the distant Landsborough, glinting in the evening sun. Further along to the north was Watkins Dome 1946m, a steep snow slope on the right and a black rock buttress on the left. We found an easy scramble up the rock buttress. The snowfields were russet-coloured from fallen ash. To the north was an extensive plateau of snowfields and shattered rock leading to the NW slopes of Mt Napolean. There seemed to be an endless succession of spurs to cross until we finally reached tussock slopes and far below we could see a weather station perched like a dunny on a knoll. Near it was a tarn so we descended down to it at 1600m and camped in a most delightful spot.

Gavin had a grin from ear to ear and later when sent a message to Carol telling her “he was in paradise”. We had been 13 hours on the go, climbed 1650m and felt . . . knackered. Gentle tussock slopes descended into the shadowed valley of the Landsborough and looking over the bush-covered Solution Range, we saw the expansive snowfields of Mt Hooker. The dying embers of the day saw us set up camp on our best day of the trip.

We arose at 5.30 am the next morning. The cobalt sky had a rose hint of dawn, and cloud filled the valleys as set off for the bush line above Harpers Flat. It was straightforward and then it was a long haul down through the open forest to the valley floor 1000m below us. The last 200m or so were down very steep crown fern slopes among pungas and beech to the luminescent tussock of Harper Flat. It was hot and languid as we walked down the flats to Strutt Bluff as heat waves danced on the stony flats. About 2 km down valley, the Landsborough River had cut into a bluff forming a deep pool. I tried to wade it as I had done previously but this meant a swim and a dangerous one at that as the river thundered past. So we backtracked and tried to follow along the banks and hopefully over the top of the bluff maybe 70 m above. Unfortunately, this did not work so we went back along the boulders until I spotted a line of weakness up the face of the bluff. Here, I deployed our skinny rope and leaving my pack climbed up maybe 7-8 m to some trees where we managed to grovel along a ledge past the pool and abseil back down. This diversion cost us 1.5 hours to progress a mere 10m–sigh! 

At Strutt Bluff, the river had changed course and wiped out our large marker on the bank that we'd placed there 3 years previously, so it took us a while to find the start of the track. Once on it, we had no difficulty following it though it was overgrown with Blechnum Ferns and had some large windfall on it. Then it was another 4 hours plod out to the car along the 4WD track.

At 8.00 pm, we finally made it and decided to head home as we were too tired to paddle the Haast River the next day. And so ended a splendid 4-day circuit as we set off for Gavin's place in Arrowtown.