This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
he scene: a friend of a friend’s backyard, Glenorchy, 9pm-ish, 5 Feb 97. “Which of these poles is the long one?” “I thought they were all the same ...” “Nah, nah, remember one of them is as bent as a fiddler’s elbow — remember last year?” “Yeah, but none of these are bent.” “OH @#%**!!”
We were determined to reach the Olivine Ice Plateau after our rained-out attempt of Xmas 95/96. Hence our rescheduled trip set for February which we were reliably informed would be a “bombproof” time to visit this part of Mt Aspiring National Park. Sure enough the forecast looked great and Queenstown and Glenorchy were in fine form when we arrived. But what can you do about plain stupidity? This group of highly experienced trampers had made meticulous preparations for the 12-day trip — ensuring plenty of days for bad weather, or optimistically, rest days. But one minor detail had been overlooked — did our tent match the tent poles we had been issued with (ironically by one of the members of the party). In short, despite some heroic attempts to prove otherwise, we concluded that a 4-person Spectrum tent cannot be pitched with a set of 2-person Olympus poles. Tentage aside, the trip was superb. We only lost % of a day with the tent debacle, thanks to a friendly landscape designer from Dunedin.
The first day and a quarter wandering up the Dart and Beans Burn familiar ground, made all the more pleasant by the complete absence of rain. The track/route is in good nick and reasonably easy to follow. It was with a degree of anxiety that we greeted the next day — desperately wanting to break the jinx and get over Fohn Saddle.
Another beaut morning saw us up to the top of the saddle in no time after choosing a steep creek bed as our access point, and then a short sidle from the south to the saddle proper. The weather started to close in as we dropped towards the Olivine River, bringing low cloud and drizzle. It stayed that way as we alternated between bush and river, making our way towards the confluence of the Forgotten and Olivine rivers. The pool at the point where the Forgotten River cuts its way out of its lower gorge is a sublimely serene spot — in the right weather that is. After 1%4 days of rain the I emerald pool and feeder waterfall had turned into a murky grey torrent. Meanwhile, the inside of our hire tent was beginning to feel a little too restrictive as the next round of cards were shuffled and bodies moved to prevent the onset of bedsores.
The rain eased just enough by the 4th day to coax us out of the tent to follow a well-blazed route up through: the-spectacular bluffs-of the Forgotten River Gorge. Progress up the Forgotten Flats above the gorge was swift, only momentarily stopping to solve the odd “how-to-we-get-around-thisone?” dilemma caused by a rising river and resilient scrub. A good spot to cross the headwaters of the Forgotten was eventually found just below the steep (but short) grunt up to the wellappointed rock biv at the top of the valley. This biv served as home for the next two days as the weather maintained its gloomy and damp disposition, and we maintained an optimistic demeanour with the promise of “showers clearing” crackling over the mountain radio each night. Our optimism was rewarded as the 7th day dawned with promising breaks in the cloud. We picked our way up to the rock-strewn benches below the imposing bluffs heading up towards Forgotten River Col. Snow on the benches was scarce but a snow bridge to the right of the main nose of the icefall off the col provided good access. At this point the clouds departed, the sun generously making up for the cool southerly breeze as we plodded our way onto the Olivine Ice Plateau. An awesome place. We had planned to spend at least a couple of nights here but it wasn’t to be. So instead we clicked off several rolls of film and enjoyed sheltered conditions as we crossed the plateau, climbed up Memorial Icefall, and wandered along towards Solution Col. From the Col we were now surrounded by the fractured icefalls that feed the Joe River. The rest of the afternoon was spent picking _our_way.down. snow slopes _and around slots, avoiding the odd schrund, and then through moraine to the valley floor. Ahh, the Joe. A pleasant looking river from afar. (There seems to be a conspiracy between people who have visited this area to not disclose the truth. I will maintain to the Beans Burn rock biv was this conspiracy. For the real story read the 1997 Club Journal.) The next two days were spent I nonchalantly wandering down the Joe in perfect weather (the weather part is true) following well-blazed trails through alpine meadows and lush bush ‘to arrive at the vast Williamson Flats where the Joe meets the fabled Arawata River. , Similarly the lower and upper gorges of the Arawata were negotiated with ease on the true right (despite a very inviting boulder bank on the true left of the upper gorge) all in sight of the dominating icefalls and cirques of the Mercer Glacier and Mt lona. Breaking out into the upper flats of the Arawata a mere 15 mins’ away from the much vaunted Arawata rock biv was somewhat
I “he temperature in the shade of the trees was in the high 20s. The sun beat down mercilessly from a cloudless sky as we reluctantly left the now sparse trees and pushed on for the summit. The tramp so far had brought us from the carpark through open grassland, cool dark bush, and open forest with occasional clearings which allowed glimpses of the view beyond. The track was steep in places and slippery-with-leaves, and-we-encoun= ~ tered some eroded stretches and the odd low branch hazard.
We stopped for a drink by the
of a relief before stepping back into the reality of the Olivine River and sub-alpine scrub travel, arriving at the biv just in time to make our 8pm radio sked. Shane was not impressed with this tardy end to the day!
Our metropolitan-houred dinner was interrupted by the arrival of a party just after dark from Arawata Saddle. Valuable pieces of advice gleaned from our own travels and the “Biv Book” were relayed. The last challenge remained — Arawata Saddle to drop us into the Matukituki River, just opposite Mt Aspiring itself. The weather held till lunchtime at the saddle when wind and drizzle moved in. Firmly of the school of thought that you should never carry anything you never intend to use we dug out the rope that Shane had been car-
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6 - 18 February 1997 Andrew McLellan