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Published: March 1st 2011
Feb. 23, 2011 - A Pain in the Ass
We waited yesterday in Hokatika for our friends from Christchurch. Thankfully, they were unharmed by the devastating earthquake which had struck the city earlier that day. To kill time, we washed our clothes and get our food supplies for the next tramp: Ivory Lake. This tramp will be mostly a route, and should be the hardest of the tramps that we've undertaken.
At 8:00 p.m. Helen, her son Rowan, and his friend Matt arrived to meet us. We immediately set off for the trail head, as it would be getting dark soon. The road to the tramp's start is long and twisty. When we arrive at the end of the road, it's too dark to start, so we pitch tents and camp for the night. We won't use the tents on the seldom used route, as there are back country huts.
We got up and moving early today, and we're packed and walking before 9:00. It was a bit cold and wet, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. We tramped through soggy green fields towards some forested mountains. From here it was uphill. The way up was quite steep, sometimes
nearly vertical climbing up tree roots. When tramping through the forest there are not really any noteworthy views. Because of how cloudy it was, this wasn't a problem anyways, as any views would be fleeting.
The thing about walking through wet, or damp woods, is that you must always watch your step very carefully. Root and rock are ever present. You can use the trees for extra support and balance. However, if you do, you must take care not to grab a rotten one.
I choose not to take care. Mid-stride, I blindly reach out for the nearest tree. This turned out to be a rotten tree. Looking back, in my defense, the tree couldn't have been any more obviously unsafe to grasp hold of then if it had had a bright colored, glowing neon sign that said: DEAD.
So, I grab the branch. Well, it was having none of that, and immediately disintegrates. From here I'm treated to a lesson in gravity and inertia, as I fall forwards, my momentum sending me careening out of control towards a small ditch. My fall was broken by a rather large and very hard rock, which my tail bone smashed into at
less then ideal velocity. The pain was very severe, causing me to cry out in a manner that frightened Andrew and Chad (I assume because of how manly it sounded).
The tail bone is not a fun area to injure. Luckily, I think it's only a hard bruise. Still, it hurts something awful. Also, turns out that the muscles around the tail bone are constantly used while walking. This made the final leg of today's tramp annoying.
The second half of today's walk was all steep uphill, to a ridge. From there we descended to our hut, and I could finally rest my weary bones (some more so then others). Considering how much I enjoy sitting- I'd say it's one of my primary skills- I can't think of an area I'd rather damage less then my ass. Hopefully it feels a bit better tomorrow.
Feb. 24, 2011 - The Day the Music Died
Strap in, because this one was epic. An epic failure, that is. I suppose it was just a matter of time really. We've lucked out in so many ways thus far, that a bad day was over due. Well it came, with a vengeance. When I
awake early this morning I have no idea that this would become the hardest day of tramping so far. Without reaching for the melodramatic, this day was full of life-threatening moments.
After we'd all breakfasted and packed, we head back up to the ridge line. We'll be traveling along an exposed line called Dickie Ridge. We have good views for approximately twenty minutes or so. Then heavy clouds move in, and we're tramping in fog. My tail bone was still in a lot of pain this morning, prompting talk of me aborting the route. I was loathe to do this, and choose to stick it out.
We start up the ridge. We must follow this forever, until we reach another ridge, which leads down into our target valley. It doesn't take long for the way up to become very steep. Soon, the trees are gone, and we're going through thick damp tussock. The ridge also begins to narrow, uncomfortably so. In moments we're tramping on knife's edge.
The ridge narrowed to as little as two or three feet wide, sometimes a bit more. On either side of you, mostly hidden in clouds, was a sheer drop off of several hundred
feet, down green-grey sides of the surrounding vales. Comfortable flat areas are few and all too brief. Most of the time I'm grateful for the heavy cloud we're tramping in, as I didn't want to know how high we were.
Hiking on this knife's edge is by far, both the hardest and most frightening thing I've ever done. Several times we must ascend super narrow, vertical peaks. More then once clinging on to the thick tussock, and small bush for dear life save me from falling a certainly fatal distance. After one particularly harrowing traversal of a vertical peak- I was dangling by one arm for a moment (being held by Matt, who was being anchored by Chad), searching blindly for foot holds- I notice my eyes are blurring. I was crying from the mixture of tension and joy at having made it to a small flat alive. We press on. The green hillsides soon give way to ever steeper grey sharp rock. Seemingly every little peak we climb becomes the hardest thing I've ever done. Our backpacks are not making this any easier.
We soon enter a section of ridge line where failure is not an option. Well, that's
not entirely accurate. Failure was indeed an option, but at this point it would involve certain death. Dickie Ridge at it's narrowest moments was unnerving. Many times I'm on my hands and knees, clawing up vertical peaks. The sharp grey slopes are full of thin rocks that seem to flake off at the slightest touch. Having your few precious handholds disappear from under you is irritating to say the least. I take no solace in each successfully completed peak, knowing that a steeper and harder one likely waits, hidden in the cloudy gloom.
Usually when I hike, I'm hearing music in my head. Helps pass the time. Today, I'm so tense and focused, that there is no music. My only stray thoughts are to occasionally wonder how far I'd fall if I slipped or missed a step- you know, before the rocky slopes below knocked me unconscious on the way to my doom.
Some people like to have rope when doing this ridge line. We had none. What we did have were Rowan and Matt. They're young, fit, and very surefooted on the ridge. The rest of us wouldn't have made it, especially through some of the super steep climbs
and rocky descents, without their help. We continue on.
When we at last reach the top of the ridge, the area widens considerably. The steep traversals have taken a lot of time, and were mentally and physically exhausting. Added to that hindrance is the cold cloud we've been in all day. Navigating is slow and difficult. More then once we must do some backtracking. At 6:30 we're still no where near off the mountain. We must push on. Finally we locate the ridge that leads down. This one is thankfully very broad and much gentler in grade. Eventually we spot our hut... a good 500 meters below, nestled in a green valley with a blue river. We continue down the grey dale. It's getting late, getting dark soon, and we're still a good ways off from the hut.
We break out our headlights, and continue trying to reach the valley floor below us. We head down a steep gorge, just as the day's light is fading. Soon it's completely dark, and we're not at the hut. The valley is full of steep undulating and rolling green hills and mountain streams. All of which are now not visible to us. It
is decided to camp outside, as it's too dangerous to continue in the dark.
We find a relatively flat area on the edge of a cliff (naturally with a sheer drop off of more then 50 feet to the crashing river waters below). We pull our pack liners out, and put ground pads atop of them. We'll be in sleeping bags under the stars... unless it rains (and I think by now you can guess what's going to happen). At 3:00 in the morning it starts to lightly rain. I seek refuge in my pack liner. It's still wet and miserable.
Today was not fun. It was anti-fun, unfun. I'll be glad when this tramp is over. Right now, I'm just glad to be alive (even if it's wetter then I'd like).
Feb. 25, 2011 - Top Waitaha Hut
We were all up at dawn this morning. Considering the cold and wet, and how fleeting sleep was, this was easy. We eat, and quickly pack our saturated gear. Today we mean to find the hut we meant to get to yesterday. It should be a be a short walk. Soon we're off, looking for a way down to the
green valley floor.
Our path down is winding, undulating up and down, back and forth, over rolling green hills. The way is sometimes steep, and everything is damp from the previous night's rain. Eventually we reach the bottom. From here we'll follow the river a short tramp to the hut.
A little after 10:00 a.m. we spot it. At last! (And alive!) For a while the sun peaks out to say hello. We all use the opportunity to hang and dry our wet belongings, which is nearly everything. The hut is gloriously warm and dry.
The rest of today will be a rest day. I'm ready for one. We've all just finished lunch. Other then Chad, no one is inclined to hike up the short distance to see Ivory Lake today. At this point, I certainly don't regret missing it. I plan to do very little for the rest of today.
Feb. 26, 2011 - Moon Beam Hut
A meeting was held this morning. There was a difference in opinion as to which way to proceed from Waitaha Hut. Chad still wanted to get to Ivory Lake, and was keen to continue the route as planned. The Christchurch delegation
was wanting to switch plans, and head down river and out. Their plan was to avoid more passes and ridges like Dickie. In the end, Chad and Andrew decided to push on as originally planned. I opted to go down river, hoping the way would be easier. So, naturally, my way was much much harder.
We breakfasted and packed. Then Andrew and Chad set off. I left in the opposite direction with Helen, Rowan, and Matt. We were tramping down the Waitaha River. This river has a rather nasty reputation, and it wasn't too hard to see why. The beautifully blue river is always fast, and what began as an easy downhill grade, filled traversable river rocks, soon becomes a steeper affair. The waters begin to crash downstream, and the river boulders grow to house size. When traveling in and down the sides of the Waitaha became impossible we were forced to bush bash.
West Coast bush is notoriously thick, due to the heavy rainfall the coast is inundated with. The bush I found myself bashing through was no exception. In fact, I'd say it was easily the thickest and toughest I've ever tramped through. Before long my arms, and
legs about the knee, were covered in fresh cuts, scrapes, and new bruises.
Tramping through bush that thick isn't fun. Your pace, if it could be called that, grinds to a slow crawl. Because of how seldom used these routes are, and how thick the vegetation gets, a proper path has never been cut. This means you must add the tedium of route finding to the joy of our bush bashing.
For those interested in experiencing bush bashing of this sort, please, immediately seek professional help (your friends may wish to remove sharp objects from your reach as well). I suppose if you must insist on simulating the experience, you could always attempt to walk through a wall. But please, remember to load it up with thorns first (in the interest of accuracy).
It was hellish, and the way down the valley took ages. Along the way down, during one of our more treacherous river crossings, I fell in the water and have likely destroyed Chad's camera that was loaned to me for this trip. Seems like par for this course. Finally, we reach a low forested ridge line. We hope to and find the remains of a badly overgrown
former, but still followable trail. The going doesn't really improve, however, at least now we have a better idea of where we're going.
The forest is thick and damp. The undulating overgrown trail is steep at parts and is difficult to follow. We find ourselves constantly having to negotiate big windfalls, areas where storms have felled and uprooted several trees, which block and destroy the path. These slow the pace further. We also must cross several slips, or landslides. These are sometimes uncomfortably steep, and often end in dangerous drops offs into the raging river below.
We've been tramping all day, and aren't at the hut. Everyone is tired and worn out. Soon it will be getting dark. As the light begins to fade we push on hard. No one is eager to spend another night outside. When the sun sets, and the light fades, we break out our headlights and keep walking. The final hour is spent tramping through a pitch black forest. When Helen cries out that she's spotted the hut, we all join in the celebration.
Moon Bean Hut. We made it! We were walking (and bashing and smashing) for 12 and a half hours today. This
is the second nearly 13 hour day on this route. After walking so long, the meal I've just finished (at 10:30) was maybe the best ever. I'm beyond exhausted. Time to pass out. We plan to start early tomorrow, but at least we should get out.
Feb. 27, 2011 - The Light at the End
Well, today began and came as early as I feared. After yesterday's grueling tramp, I wanted to sleep for 15 hours. I reckon I got less then five. I was almost too tired to sleep (I didn't even know that could happen). Every cut and scrape I'd received yesterday was burning all night. My tail bone and knees ached constantly. We wake at 6:50, and are walking again by 8:00.
We're immediately back into the wet and thick forest. We're still following the winding Waitaha River, as it flows down the long green valley. We don't get many views. This is fine by me, as it begins to look ever more likely that my digital camera is dead. (Pause for a brief moment of silence... moving on).
The way is again quite steep. Despite heading down valley, we must often climb up and around
gullies and gorges. Sometimes the way up is nearly vertical, and only made possible by using rock, limb, and root; anything to help get some leverage. And then there were the slips.
I thought that yesterday's slips were big and annoying. And they were... until today came. When we climb high on the valley wall to avoid a huge gorge, we are faced with again navigating large sections of windfall and some daunting slips. Often these precarious landslides, which have devastated hundreds of feet of the "trail", as the hillside has literally fallen away- destroying all vegetation in its path- end with deadly drop offs to the Waitaha roaring far below.
Again, the going is slow. Despite our pace, I'm determined to get out today, no matter how long I must tramp. After eight hours of walking we finally reach Kiwi Flat Hut. It's 3:30, so we decided to push on. It'll likely be at least another five hours out from here. Getting out of Kiwi Flats takes longer then we'd like. There's supposed to be some markers from an old track. Finding this proved to be rather a tiresome chore, involving some back tracking and more heavy bush bashing.
At last we locate white markers, and are back on track.
So we plod ever onward. Eventually we make our way back down to the Waitaha River. The river has widened, as the valley begins to finally draw to a close. Sensing the way out is near, we press on harder. It's getting late, but all are ready to get off this route. We finally spot the small tree covered ridge we must cut over, and make for it. Then behold! The other side!
The ground gently falls away and becomes flat farm land. We've made it. Now to get back to the car. Andrew and Chad will hopefully have gotten out far earlier today. They were going to bring both cars over to meet us. Just as we're clearing the last of the trees, when the sun has nearly set and the day's light has begun to fade, we spot someone signaling us with a headlight. It was Chad! He and Andrew made it, and we were out!
Overall, very little went right on this tramp. Without doubt, I can confidently say that it was the most difficult thing I've undertaken. It held literal moments of life and death,
and more physical challenges then I thought myself capable of. Today we did another 12 and a half hours. In the last 48 hours, I've tramped for 25 hours. Never done that before. Never plan to again.
And yet strangely, I'm glad I stuck through to the end. Despite the pains, the aches and scratches, I'm glad I came. I never want to do this route (or one like it) again, but there's no denying, it was a great adventure, and everyone made it out, more or less, in one piece. It was great hiking with Helen, Rowan, and Matt too. Special thanks must be made to Rowan and Matt, without help from both I wouldn't have made it. I'm ready for a short break, but still. What an incredible adventure.
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Linda
non-member comment
Yikes!
I didn't realize you'd be dangling off cliffs with your fingers!