This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
north-west to the Kawakawa, but we were a slow party so we abandoned that idea Instead, on the Sunday we travelled south over Mt. Barton and along the ridge beyond. This is the only extensive area of open tops in the Aorangi Forest Park. The decision was well rewarded as it was a magnificent —day,-spoilt-only-by-my-lack-of-a. camera.
Just after passing point 800, we spied a tarn nestled in the manuka about 50m below the ridge on the west side. It looked a delectable spot. We carried on to point 845 and descended steeply into Mataopera Stream, which feeds the huge Ngapotiki fan. We were
John Rhodes
desperate for water (for some reason we hadn't visited the delectable tarn) so we brewed up the moment we hit the stream. Then we walked back along the beach to the lighthouse. I subsequently learned that this tarn, though not marked on the _.map,_is well known to Haurangi aficionados. Pre-eminent among these is Harry Smith, Grand Old Man of WT&MC and de facto member of Christchurch Tramping Club. The tarn’s name is Frog Tarn and it is indeed, according to Harry, a delightful camping spot. Furthermore, Frog Tarn is the only source of water on these otherwise dry tops.
Trip Reports It must have been a club trip up the Monaro Track behind Ngawi on 30 May that got me thinking about Frog Tarn again. The following Saturday I was supposed to attend a meeting in Wellington; the arrival of a large anticyclone late in the week, coupled with a phone call from Alan Radcliffe in Gisborne with a request for a trip, ordained that I should excuse myself from the big smoke and spend the weekend doing something Real. We left the lighthouse at 11am, 40 minutes later than in ‘91, but with a less ambitious plan. Instead of travelling all the way up Stonewall Stream we would go only to the foot of a spur that leads directly to Frog Tarn. A phone call to Harry had confirmed that this spur would provide good travel. The Stonewall Basin is guarded by waterfalls and vertical cliffs at the point where the stream emerges from its valley onto the coastal flats: a delightful spot to lunch or camp when biking around the coast, but a discouraging start for a trip into the interior. The recognised route to circumvent these hazards climbs a steepish face in grass and manuka just north of the stream. It emerges onto a somewhat exposed ridge and climbs this to a level grassy spot at about 250m. Complete absence of wind on 7 June made these steep bits no problem. “We found two pieces of venetian I blind marking the start of the next segment, which sidles the southwestern face of a steep pyramidal knob (at 037542) above the lower gorge of the Waitetuna. In 1991 a cut track led around here to another flat grassy spot just inside the forest park boundary. Harry had warned that it is now overgrown. We failed to find the track, went too high, and spent a frustrating 34 hour in steep scrub. We emerged on the shoulder, lunched, and descended to the stream via a prominent scree. We later learned from Joe Hansen (DOC) that the best reverse route is up a track through manuka immediately down-valley of the scree.
For the first kilometre the Waitetuna gives open, easy travel. The valley then narrows, but provided the water isn’t high the going is still generally easy except at a small waterfall. This is negotiated by climbing a sloping log that leads from the middle of the plunge pool to the top of the fall. Someone has sawed steps in it but these are now worn smooth and round. I left a camera with Alan to photograph my “perilous ascent,” then recorded him from above with my spare. With careful counting of side streams and analysis of kinks in the main valley we kept rough tabs on our location, arriving at the foot of the recommended spur at about 3.15pm. I filled my water bottle in case by some gross error we should fail to find the tarn. At 5pm we emerged from the last of the scrub onto a knob on the main ridge and took a fleeting view out to White Rock and the ocean, already engulfed in
The campsite at the north end of the tarn is only a few centimetres above water level, but firm enough. Alan made his usual gargantuan stew, and as usual I was allowed the leftovers. Over a brew and Alan’s chocolate biscuits, we listened to readings from Harry’s Frog Tarn trip report in the WT&MC Newsletter (November 1996). The sky, which had been cloudy all day, had now cleared. By 8pm we were in bed, with our door open to enjoy the stars. A westerly had sprung up and was whistling in the tops of the manuka and over the ridge, but our possie was very snug and the tent flaps hardly stirred.
We lay in bed on Sunday morning till the first rays of the sun were on the ridge. Then, wearing every stitch of clothing we had to protect us from the nor-wester, we walked (on the track) back up to take in a stunning vista up the Wairarapa coast in one direction, and across the Aorangis to Palliser Bay and the Rimutakas in the other. A leisurely breakfast followed. Leaving the camp set up, we walked along to Mt. Barton and gave the eastern Aorangi saturation photographic treatment in both prints and slides. Back to camp for lunch and a brew, and a complaint to Harry that at this time of year the sun doesn’t reach his campsite. (Got This was all very well, but where was Frog Tarn? Then Alan spied it in a hollow only a hundred metres away. Gratefully we crashed down through the trees knowing there would be a track somewhere but not wanting to spend time in failing light looking for it.
that, Harry?) We packed, then walked southeast along the ridge to point 845, where the view is even more spectacular. One feels that one could just about jump off into the sea, only 1% km away. (It’s an interesting commentary on our perceptions that the slope from the eastern Barton tops to the sea, which seems to be at least 45°, is actually only about 30°). Much of the Mt Barton ridge is richly carpeted with Celmisia (mountain daisy), in concentrations which I have seen nowhere else. The daisies are particularly abundant around point 845, and must make an impressive display in summer.
Mataopera Stream has two branches. My memory from ‘91 said that we had descended on scree into the more northerly of these and so out to the Ngapotiki fan. However, when Alan and I looked over the edge this time we instantly dismissed such a route as suicidal. The top sixty feet or so was precipitous. Was memory playing tricks? Had we gone down further along, the other time? We went south till we could see into the next branch. This was full of bush and looked safe but probably very slow. It might consume more daylight than we had left. (We later learned that a SWTC party descended this way a couple of years ago). I began to regret our leisurely morning and late departure.
We climbed the next knob (774) to see what prospects it offered. Cow turds! “If they can get up, we can get down,” said Alan. In half an hour we were in the stream. The lighthouse, silhouetted against a rose-pink evening sky, made an excuse for more photos as we walked back along the coast. We were at the car at 5pm, four hours from camp. Fortunately the inward journey to Frog Tarn is a bit slower than that. It will remain a special place that demands that blood and sweat be expended to reach it.
ere I was in Auckland at the time of the monthly Sunday tramp in Wellington. I was about to join friends, ex-members and members of the Auckland Tongue & Meats for their Sunday trip. Lucky me! We were off to Tiritiri Matangi Island which entailed a short cruise aboard a catamaran from Gulf Harbour, near Whangaparoa, Hauraki Gulf.
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Trip Reports