This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
s I write this report winter is well-upon-us, with the rain- and wind blowing and the air temperature so low that any thought of tramping requires major psychiatric analysis on the part of those contemplating such an action. One can’t help but fondly reminisce on tramps in warmer times. One such trip was undertaken by John Collier and myself during late January ‘97.
For some time now John and I had been-swapping ideas.on alterna-.. tive overnight tramps outside the Club’s regular fare. One such trip which seemed ideal for the warm summer weather was an ascent of the Eastern Waiotauru River (the Snowy), with the intention of gaining the saddle between Field Peak and Mt Hector — an area I’ve been absent from for some ten years or so. Those who have
Howard Biggs climbed Mt Hector and know the _view into the upper reaches of the Snowy, would thus appreciate the interest of a couple of keen trampers to head into this seldom traversed terrain. Having donned boots and packs we left Otaki Forks carpark at the most respectable time of 10 am, having had a leisurely drive up from Wellington that morning.
Our first mission of the day was a safe traverse of the old school road through a minefield of roadkills, whilst avoiding becoming roadkills ourselves, and declining numerous cups of tea from the various campers along the way. We had no time for such distractions; we were keen trampers with some keen tramping to do! Good time was made via the high sidle track to Waiotauru Forks for lunch, except for a short delay incurred while navigating our way past one particular slip. John elected to go across it, while I elected to go above it. Though the distance around was longer, unbeknown to us both, it was the quicker, so having made my way around I thundered up the track looking for John. John on the other hand assuming he had travelled the shorter distance, thus shorter time, waited for me to appear from over the top of the slip. No Howard. This resulted in a series of “far calls” bellowed out at full lung capacity before things were sorted out, which must have sounded quite peculiar to some campers in the valley below.
Lunch at Waiotauru Forks was consumed with vigour, followed by a well-earned siesta. With the sounds of rushing water and the abundant bird fife in our ears and the warmth of the midday sun on our faces, at that particular moment I don’t think one could have _ wished for a more idyllic location, than the one we were presently absorbing. If you consider fly fishing is one of life’s passions then at this particular location and time you could be forgiven if you thought that you were in heaven. That was until the rocks started flying which scared the willy out of the trout snoozing in the pool before me. John!
Trip Reports
Having taken the high sidle track to Waiotauru Forks we now followed up the river bed of the eastern tributary, or the Snowy as itis called, passing the scant remains of logging operations from a long past commercialised use of the Tararua Forest Park. And the higher up the valley we got, the more interesting the geology of the area became. Passing great whirls of contorted layers of sedimentary rock exposed by the cutting action of the river exposing fossils of long since dead shellfish and the occasional glint of iron pyrite or fool’s gold imbedded within exposed fissures of quartz. Distractions aside, our destination for the day still lay before us further up the Snowy. One reason for this particular trip was to check out the rumour of a rough and well-hidden campsite, the existence of which John and I found oddly intriguing. After numerous false sightings of potential tracks, our destination for the night wasn’t quite as hidden nor as barren as we expected. Instead we found a well-stocked camp with a large fireplace, a couch made from wood, and even a tolerable sleeping area. The only major difficulty, as we saw it, was the distance needed to travel to replenish one’s water supply. But disadvantage conversely can be a blessing; in this respect, the seventy-five or so metres to the river should at least afford some pro- tection.from.the inevitable floads|. the Snowy experiences each year Morning found us in pleasant conditions meandering along the upper reaches of the river until we reached the true right tributary which would lead us to the northern flanks of Mt Hector, still some hundreds of metres above us. From this point onwards the elevation of the right tributary began to increase with more frequent log jams and rapids, until we entered a region that resembled a hanging valley, affording the most spectacular views downstream. At this point we encountered our first waterfall, a rock wall of some ten metres in height which, although it offered numerous foot and hand holds, had me wondering at the remaining gripping power of my wellused Buller gumboots which are at least three or more years past their expiry date! Those of you who have seen them will know what I mean. With no major mishap incurred by me, much to John’s relief as he was precariously positioned directly below me on the rock wall, we decided it was time for lunch.
By this time the weather before us started to take on the appearance of “Do we really want to go into that?!” as dark clouds started to block out our tops view and light rain began to fall. But as they say, “in for a penny in for a pound, too late to turn back now”, so onwards and upwards we went. After a second waterfall was encountered the terrain became markedly steeper, heralded by the appearance of a nanny goat and her kid. Again at this point I began to have grave doubts about the ability of my Bullers to cope with the terrain, especially because of the numerous small rocks entering every opening my boots... offered. But as they say, persistence conquers all, and I’m sure at least some rocks found an acupuncture point or two, though I have yet to notice any benefits. By early afternoon we had left the relative safety of the upper Snowy and were now floundering our way up a narrow feeder creek of erosion debris, climbing higher on the eastern flanks of Field Peak, or so we hoped! The terrain became increasingly steep and more precarious the higher we climbed. Choice of a route up at this point became increasingly moot as we needed to go up, but by which way? Should one stick with the loose rocks and gravel fans or link up with the increasing patches of tussock, though cruelly spiked with speargrass? The tussock won out, but not by much! By now the weather had really started to close in reducing visibility, to some ten metres or so — you know, the usual weather to be found on Mt Hector. Although by rights we knew pretty much exactly where we were climbing out of that rock gut up to the track leading from Field Peak to Mt Hector, the increasing white-out conditions and the flattening of the terrain as we gained the ridge left us both with an eerie feeling of dislocation in time and space, a partial numbing of the senses — feelings experienced by many trampers during whiteout conditions. It was not entirely unpleasant for either of us on this occasion, as we knew exactly where we were, but it is easy to see how trampers get totally disorientated and into trouble in such conditions if they don’t use some common-sense and a compass. Then, not quite so unexpectedly, “hello, what's this? A track!” Thus we emerged onto the Southern Crossing track about thirty metres below and south of the top of Field Peak, thus achieving our objective for the trip. With handshakes and smiles all round that would have put to shame even a Cheshire cat we made a pleasant descent back to Otaki Forks and home in time for tea. Though we didn’t quite achieve the lowest point in the saddle between Field Peak and Mt Hector due to the weather, this shall be corrected in a follow-up trip in the near future. Overall we both thoroughly recommend this trip to any person looking for something a little different in their tramping to quell their thirst for adventure, even if it is only for a short time.
party members parked their motor transport at the south end of Campbell Street in Karori on Sunday 10 August 1997 and were off on a 10am start to the day’s activities. The trip schedule contained three clues — Wright's Hill, Wellington reservoir, and the windmill. Trip leader Dot pointed skywards and led off up a good track indicating that Wright’s Hill would be our first target. We stopped several times to admire the views across Karori towards Tinakori, Makara and Kelburn, I while Pete took a photo or two. At the top we celebrated with a cuppa underneath the wooden viewing platform, and the altimeter read 360m. Nearby were the entranceways to the underground fortress built on this hilltop during WW2 to do battle with enemy forces using Cook Strait.
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Trip Reports