This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
Tara-Papa-Rua-Bloody-Roas!
Grant Newton
A less visited national park and the opportunity to explore the tops attracted many to seek an adventure in the Paparoas. Little did they realise, they could have picked a better weekend.
group of 14 had signed up for a 4-day Waitangi Weekend trip along the Paparoa tops but due to the disrepair of the Pororari Track, the trip was extended to amedium/fit (should have been fit!) and subsequently 5 people arranged a shorter trip. The nine who set off were Glynne Lloyd, Harry Smith, Eva Lottermoser, Raymond Morgan, Alex Ellis, Trish Knox, Hugh Fyson, Garry DeRose and I. The long distance adventure began with an arduous ferry and bus journey — a fit trip in itself! We arrived at Barrytown at 3:30am, just in time to get to sleep before the sun rose. It was a slow start and not even the lure of following Andrew Squires’ trip by sitting in the Barrytown pub could deter the leader, though a certain Mr H Smith (ret) was cursing not having swapped groups! The trip began with a gentle haul up the Croesus Track under fine skies, but nearing the bushline the mist rolled in. The only sign the Buller region is sub tropical was the banana skin hanging from a tree, though this was a result of Raymond Morgan’s poor throwing arm. We ate lunch in the shelter of the bush, feeling like we had signed up for a winter trip, but upon breaking out of the bush the conditions were a little more pleasant. Heading past Mt Ryall we followed the track till if began to descend, where we then made’ I our own trail heading north along the Paparoa Range. The open tops travel was good with some views amongst cloud that was rolling in and out. Come 5pm and we had found a sheltered basin that made an ideal campsite just before Mt Anderson. Glynne and I went in search of water, but after descending a ridge, we decided that we were wasting time and retreated back up to some pathetic tarns —
“Papardit Range north of Mt Ryal Grant Newton
The tops were to present a problem or two — they were not quite high enough to avoid the bush altogether. After rising in the morning we began with a short bush-bash grovel to get to Mt Anderson, before enjoying better travel on the open tops. Our first objective was to reach the escarpment that dominates the landscape. We reached the escarpment and while not a sunny day the clag was dissipating and reasonable views were possible. There was even a track above the escarpment — surely such luxuries can’t exist here we thought! The escarpment was a spectacular formation and the cameras got a good lunch was a little tricky. We eventually found a spot on the edge of the escarpment and enjoyed a brew. The afternoon involved further tops travel over Hawera and the half decent weather went sour just before White Knight where the map indicated a tarn. It was a steep descent into the basin but a sheltered spot, I’m sure on a beautiful summer’s day. Umm... this was meant to be a summer’s day, just rapidly they would do!
turning to a miserable day!
Pe MR LR ORAZ E Lad TamTEEESR MLE a Ge —workout-The-wind-picked up -and-finding-shetter-for ———
Trip Reports
As the tents were being pitched the rain began to start, and the next priority was a brew. Glynne Lloyd, not renowned for his pyromaniac tendencies almost set the tent on fire, but after the guy fawkes display, it was time for dinner. We were just beginning what turned out to be a grotty 30-hour stetch of miserable weather. Trying to relay our response on the mountain radio proved a challenge, the radio hurriedly set up in a basin with the aerial low. Now in these situations, Harry Smith’s height to hold the aerial may have been useful, but alas Harry had the Paparoa weather sorted (it was already looking like a collection of the worst the Tararuas and Ruahines could throw at you) and he was in his pit. Glynne though was too keen and eager for a sane person and was still lurking outside. All jokes about being vertically challenged were put on hold as he proudly held the aerial aloft and two-way communication was suddenly possible. The murky weather forecast was just the news we didn’t really want. After a night of rain we set off in miserable conditions at 8.00am, knowing we had a long day ahead. The route followed a ridgeline with 13 marked high points and then Mt Bovis — we had plans of camping before Bovis in a basin. The gale force winds were prevalent from the start, the rain heavy and horizontal, this was the worst the Tararuas would throw at a tramping party, surely not the Paparoas! As we summitted each high point and
Tarn by White Knight
We plodded on having a short and bleak lunch stop, wondering why were we here? The numerous other unmarked high points continued to loom up out of the fog. Then came a couple of gnarly peaks with a bush-bash io follow, but finally in the afternoon we found our way to the Mt Bovis ridge. We were rewarded with the rain and wind coming straight into our faces instead of our sides. The scrambling got harder, the wind stronger and the bodies more tired, yet nobody even hinted at wilting, not even Harry. It was early evening when our proposed campsite before Mt Bovis was spotted, the wind funnelling through making it more bleak than a very bleak place. We forged on to bag Mt Bovis and all felt staunch at having clambered over 14 high points in one day. From Mt Bovis, there was a track, well that’s what the map said. All we saw was another high point in the distance with a marker pole, between which lay a deep depression in the ridge and a bash and scramble that teased us — this was no track. As we persevered on, the bushline became our goal and after 8pm we finally made it, the wind was no longer an issue, only the miserable rain and identifying a flat camping site. With more imagination than a dreamer we spotted a place on the track and pitched the tents at 8.15pm. It may have been the most miserable campsite imaginable, but at least we could dry off and eat dinner? Limm carried on in the bleak conditions, the minutes ticked by at a rate which suggested this would take longer than expected. The opportunity to sidle was taken from us as the poor visibility forced us to play safe and keep to the exposed ridge. This enabled Harry to relive those grovels in the Tararuas and Ruahines, and before long he proclaimed — “this is not the Paparoas, this is the Tara-Papa-Bloody-Rua-Roas”. It was an unfortunate realisation that led us all to accept Harry’s comment as true!
it is well worthwhile to check your cooker’s performance before leaving home. We were exhausted and the prospect of no dinner was bleak, and although rest was the top priority, food was still an issue. It became a dessert only meal as we settled in for the night. The flat spot wasn’t too flat, the tree that grew under me was reshaped, but at least warmth and some form of rest were in order. Discomfort had never been so comfortable!
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The rain finally stopped during the night; the morning came cold like a winter trip, but cleared skies were greeted with some enthusiasm as we headed down off Mt Bovis, emerging onto the sun-drenched flats at the bottom. Something didn’t seem right, was the miserable weather something that really happened or just a terrible nightmare? We crossed the flats of Bullock Creek and had lunch near the 4WD track, splitting into 2 groups as a few trampers felt they hadn't been tested-enough. Well + actually they wanted to tramp in conditions that finally offered an experience worth avoiding a warm cosy home for. The Inland Pack Track was perfectly graded and offered some pleasant travel as we pondered that nightmare that will be known as the memory of our harshest day’s tramping. Our last hurdle was the Pororari River which was brown and in flood. Raymond & Eva nervously looked at the river, thinking ‘no, not a return to Bullock Creek’, but alas Gazzo arrived and leapt straight in, the crossing reaching chest deep, but seemed no wetter than yesterday. We-meandered-down-the beautiful Pororari-Valley admiring the rock formation or the lush bush, alarmed that so many people would be wandering this track. If only they knew what can happen a little further up!
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Grant Newton
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Trip Reports