This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
by Tony Gazley Only a couple of weeks ago I had been standing somewhere near here. But in the thick mist hadn't been exactly sure how far it was to the summit. I knew that the route to the top of Eyre Peak was a reasonably straightforward scramble up a broad gully from a scree slope at the head of the unnamed valley draining Billy Saddle. And I had already spent most of the day navigating through a fog as dense as I had ever experienced and had found the top of the scree — but which was the right gully?
In the murky gloom I had picked a couple at random. The first ended at the ridge with tottering rock towers looming out of the mist, and I had an uneasy feeling there was a very large unseen drop beneath me on both sides. That was not quite what I had expected. The second gully ended in steep, wet, and slippery slabs, and so I had called it quits. But anyway, I had already made up my mind that whether or not I reached the summit I would come back on another day, and hopefully in better weather.
And this time it really was different. The sun shone from a clear blue sky and there was only a gentle breeze. I had followed my track back to the top of the scree, although this time I knew where to go to avoid the ferocious scrub that had previously brought me to a temporary standstill. And the way to the top was now obvious — and was actually not too far from where I had already been. At 3 o'clock I stood on the summit. The view was a 360-degree feast of peaks and valleys. To the north stood Mt Earnslaw dominating all else, while to the west was the rugged terrain of the Eyre Mountains Conservation Park stretching to the horizon.
The valleys were deep and U-shaped — clearly eroded by the glaciers that must have covered much of the area during the last ice-age. There were small remnants of beech forest in the lower valleys while the rest was open tussock grasslands and scree. Most of the peaks were steep and craggy, and the whole picture reminded me of the Scottish Highlands.
I stayed for some time enjoying the unusual scenery before descending to pick up my gear stashed under a rock, and then climbed the short distance over the saddle to camp by some delightful tarns on a grassy bench above Billy Creek. There was still some time before the sun dipped below the ridge and in the warmth of the evening I enjoyed a lazy couple of hours admiring the view, and then cooking tea.
During the night ! was surprised to hear the sound of gentle rain on the tent - it had been a clear starry night when I had last looked. The day dawned grey and overcast but the rain had stopped and I packed and left early for a brief tiki-tour of the park on the way back to the road end.
The map seemed to show an easy route into the head of the Lochy River and so I went that way. Sidling high to avoid having to climb out of Billy Creek I was surprised to turn a corner in the valley and come face-to-face with a line of bluffs. The map had not shown these although they were definitely more than one contour high. Fortunately there was a steep zigzag way up through the middle which led to a deep tarn high on the ridge. This showed a strange change of light from dark green while approaching it, to dark blue when walking away.
The idea was now to sidle high above the Lochy River directly to Mataura Saddle, and then follow the length of the valley back to the road. The sidle turned out to be as easy as it appeared on the map, and was either open grass or scree the whole way, and all the while there were great views of the distant peaks and valleys.
From Mataura Saddle the valley descended steeply at first over rocky ground and then snowgrass. Further below was the dreaded band of scrub, which thankfully could be avoided by yet another high sidle on the steep valley side before dropping down to the river again where the grassy terraces began. I stopped here briefly before heading off down valley on what I hoped would now be easy travel. But this was not to be. The scrub closed in again and the only way ahead was down the river itself. While this was slow going with slippery rocks, deep pools, and small waterfalls to negotiate at least it avoided being savaged by the thick matagouri intertwined with bush lawyer on either bank. Before too long the grassy terraces reappeared and the walking was easy again. Then a large patch of pleasant open beech forest with faint animal tracks to follow led to the only hut in the valley — an old musterer’s hut now maintained by DOC. This was a hut for real trampers — beech branches for a frame covered with corrugated iron. Plus an open fire with a wobbly chimney. There was a dirt floor and the bunks were fashioned from more beech branches laid side by side. There were no mattresses, which would have made for an uncomfortable night’s sleep for us softies of today. The hut logbook went back to 2004 and there were only three pages of entries — it seems that the area is seldom visited.
From here on the valley opened out to wide grassland, obviously once grazed as shown by the remains of old fence posts and rusting barbed wire. Later I crossed the park boundary fence and was joined by a herd of about 40 cows, most with calves, who decided to follow along beside me. If I stopped, they stopped, and when I started they came with me. I have no idea what they expected from me but after a couple of hours they seemed to tire of the whole thing and dropped back. From here I was on my own again along the weary 4WD track — and it had started to rain. I arrived at the road just before needing to use my headtorch to see the way ahead.
I had thoroughly enjoyed my couple of days, and would like to go back to other parts of the park, but there are many other things to do first. However, if you one of those who don't enjoy bush-bashing through the muddy Tararuas but are keen for adventure in an untracked wilderness of deep valleys and rugged peaks then maybe the Eyre Mountains Conservation Park is for you. Pity that it is just a bit too far away for that weekend trip.
Billy Creek from the summit of Eyre Peak Camp below Eyre Peak