Red Hills - Xmas 1984/85

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Red Hills - Xmas 84/85 Jim Robinson The 1984/85 Hollis 'Tongue & Meats' head count revealed that half of this Christmas trip was notable for many year's group had stumbled over things. Extremes in weather, diffi- Whitcombe, Browning and Harmon's cult river crossings, and John's passes and splashed through the fanatical determination to have Rakaia, the Hokitika and the Waimak' everybody eat peanut butter (part of on last year's Christmas trip. This his food quota), are three that excellent return rate displays clearspring to mind. However, the most ly one of two things: either (1) the notable notable was the average age excellent organisation and leadership of the trip members. No formal of past Christmas trips by Michael survey was made, but I wouldn't mind has made them experiences worth betting that 75 percent of us were repeating, or (more likely) (2) we around (though maybe not bashing are all masochists and completely off around the hills) when the 'Five our nuts, and thus sadistically Mile' was still a proper tramp.. attracted to a gruelling two weeks of Receding hairlines aside, a quick self punishment.

Whatever our individual motives, reached the side creek up which our December the 27th saw us collectively route was planned. It was steep and heading down the West Coast. It was before too long the bush-line was a long day's driving, but with our below us, the fuschia and scrub capable chauffeurs and an early start giving way to snowgrass, Spaniards to the day (the obscene hour of 6 am), and Mount Cook lillies (sorry! I we'd reached the ragin' township of meant buttercups). Haast by about 4 pm. We were all in high spirits. The The sun shone and shone and shone, weather forecast was just great for and by now the nearest water was 500' the whole of New Zealand - except for below us. With rasping breath and a small area, down on the southern dripping brows we climbed upwards. West Coast... The more enterprising ones of us managed to find water captured in the A few K's south of Haast, and we'd leaves of the ranunculus to alleviate reached the Arawata. This was where their thirst, but apart from this the trip really began, but not by there was nothing. foot! As the jetboat sped up the large river we began to get good The keas seemed to enjoy our presence. views of the kind of terrain we'd be "Keeaaaah" they cried, whilst scorntramping through. It looked very fully swooping around the valley. rugged and forbidding! After three- When we stopped for rests, several quarters of an hour we'd reached gathered around to see if they could McArthur Creek - our destination, and pinch anything. One had the nerve to campsite for the night. After quick- 'have a go' on one of Ian's boots ly setting camp and donning sandfly (while it was being worn), tugging repellant, we were able to sit back eagerly at the sole to see if it and enjoy our return to the bush. It could yank it off. The boot was too really was good to be suddenly three tough for it, which was lucky because days' tramping from civilisation, Ian was too knackered to take any with the only noise being from the sort of defensive action. river and the mozzies. When we finally reached the ridge-top But, like usual, all was not as it it was 6 pm. Despite being at 4300' seemed. A distant humming suddenly there was no wind at all. It was a developed into an irritating buzzing, beautiful evening. As we pitched the and then with a bbbzzzzrrrrITIRRRCARRR tents beside two small (joy!) tarns, a helicopter zoomed overhead. Deer- Mt Aspiring threw off its shroud of stalkers were to make frequent and cloud and glistened in the evening annoying appearances throughout the sun. At nearly 10,000', Aspiring trip. dominates the surrounding mountains totally, and its distinctive shape The new day dawned sunny and warm. makes it unmistakable. Perhaps motivated by the rather awesome prospect of tramping for (so we After the long day, everyone was thought) the next 16 days, we were up ready for tea, and it was with conbright and early and tramping by siderable frustration that the cooks 8.10 am. (Maybe, on the other hand, discovered that one of the two it was just the sandflies...) primuses wouldn't work. What to do? .On the tops with inadequate cook- The lower reaches of McArthur Creek ing power and no firewood. Alan came were a bit of a grovel. Before up with the answer: snowgrass. It Christmas the West Coast had suffered was a non-stop process gathering the serious flooding (so, what's new?) dead grass, but it flared beautifully and all sorts of stuff had been and boiled the billy very fast. The washed down specifically to make our only problem was that it made a real travel slow and awkward. As we mess of the outside of the billy. As climbed higher we could boulder hop for the primus, I am sure more silent more and more, and things improved. abuse was directed towards it than Beckoned on by the approaching lunchanything or anyone else on the whole time stop, steady progress was made trip. It remained a weighty piece of by one and all. But the creek had useless baggage for the remaining 12 another card up its sleeve. We came days. upon a couple of really nasty little stretches where the water raged around some massive rocks. We had If possible, the next day dawned to take off our packs and scramble up sunnier than the first. With Aspiring and over them. forever in view, we headed off for Bald Mountain (5070') and the bright Refuelled and rested by lunch, we set red Raddle (4260'). Little did we off again at 2 pm. Shortly we'd know it, but as we posed for photos on a sizeable patch of snow, we were Hill Range. We'd reached the snowtouching the white stuff for the last grass and the drop by about 3, and time (apart from one tiny bit). Yes, after a quick lunch headed down off our ice axes were to be used for many the ridge top a couple of hundred things, but not for self-arresting. feet to a campsite beside a large (For future reference, some of an ice tarn. It really was one of the most axe's 1001 uses: posing in photos, beautiful spots I have ever been in. tent pegs, digging channels to direct A small creek fed the tarn a few water away from tents, as a geologimetres from the tents, which were cal hammer (please note, this was not pitched at the foot of a largeish a club axe), as a conversation gently-sloping bank of short snowstarter while walking a tourist track, grass and moss. The rest of the tarn as a walking stick, as an aide for was surrounded by trees and scrub, river crossing, and as a depth tester above which peeked glimpses of snowfor murky water. Move over, Swiss capped mountains. The tarn itself Army Knives!!) was about waist deep, and surprisingly warm. The remainder of the day Raddle, a muddle of red rubble, has was spent sunbathing and reading. We nothing growing on it at all. The left the tins unopened, as the next ultramafic rock retained the sun's day was to be a rest day specially heat like a kiln, and with the lack for eating the food. of shade it was very hot. The ultramafic hills are very impressive, and Eager to explore the area more fully, quite beautiful in their own barren John and I left earlyish the next way but are not exactly the kind of morning with the planned intention of terrain you want to linger on. It climbing Red Mountain. It was very was with relief that we reached the interesting travelling with John, who cool waters of the Cascade after is knowledgeable in the field of another long day. The last 1000' or geology. However, we fossicked so of the descent is full of bluffs, around so much that Red Hills (4310') and makes for very slow travel became our revised destination. From indeed. This would be okay in itself, here we dropped down to the tarns but for almost the whole time you can that feature on that Wilderness see the sparkling Cascade winding poster, and had a quick, cold swim. below you with tantalising invitation. Group discussion at this time centred Returning to the others at 7.30, we around basic physical requirements were surprised to find they had (water), but merged into complex waited for us before starting the abstract daydreams (the feasibility feast. Hungrily everyone dug into of carrying portable hang-gliders). the spuds, meat, fish and veges accompanied by bread freshly baked by Peter. Not so hungrily, All exhaustion was forgotten however still dug into the plums, everyone peaches, as we relaxed that evening in an A+ cherries and pineapple rings. We campsite across the Cascade. We then retired to the tents to digest really noticed the longer evenings and dream of the next food dump. that Southerners enjoy during the first week: we could wander around without torches 'till well after ten. The next morning Ian's pack was reduced considerably. By 48 Tararua biscuits, to be precise. Somehow he'd been misinformed to bring them, and hadn't realised that his pack shouldn't really weigh about half a ton (those things are HEAVY). At this stage of the trip we were rolling in extra food. People were actually giving food away, despite words of wisdom that "You won't be doing that in a week" (a warning that proved VERY correct). Nonetheless, the prospect of reaching all the goodies in the food drop was a powerful lure (there is food and FOOD!), and before long we were scrambling up a ridge onto the Red Baking bread - Red Hills, South Westland

At 12.15 am there was a tremendous The clag stayed, however, and it was BANGIBANGIBANGIBANG! Shocked from drizzling as we departed from the oblivion, none of us knew what the tops the next morning. It rained on heck it was, until Peter's voice and off lightly throughout the day as called out from the darkness, "Happy we dropped into the Pyke. Despite New Year!" Our rather sleepy, this, it was a very pleasant day. bemused expressions must have been The upper reaches of the Pyke are quite a sight, because Peter never bordered by beautiful large river stopped laughing about his double flats, and large clumps of native happy celebrations for the whole trip. mistletoe brightly cloak the trees. The travel was fast and before long By 2.30 pm, January the first, we'd we'd reached an old airfield accomreached Telescope Hill, after about panied by a tiny hut. "What a hole," five hours on the trot. It was "Talk about grotty," and "Yuk!" were extremely hot, with no readily availjust some of the adjectives levelled able shade amongst the long tussock. at the collapsing pile of old iron Good campsites were few and far and logs. between, and eventually we made do with the dirt surrounds of a small We headed on for another half hour tarn. The flies were pitched quickly before camping on a large river flat, to get some shade from the hot sun, close to where a small slow-flowing and we all lay down to an afternoon's side creek joined the main river. It reading. I admit that I was one of was a pleasant spot, though not an those who vocally wished for a bit of ideal campsite - there was too much cloud cover, or at least cooler scrub. temperatures on following days. We got our wish - and how!! By about 7 the next morning there was also too much water. That night it That evening it started to rain, rained heavily, and the water in the though not heavily. We pitched the side creek became banked up, because tents and hoped that the tarn wouldn't it was unable to escape into the also rise above six inches, which thankrisen main river. Sue, forever the fully it didn't. early bird, was up first and informed Red Mountain and the Bonestelle Lakes

As for us pikers, we read, played scrabble and slept. Occasionally it took our fancy to look at the river and stretch our legs. Wishfully, we also had a go at eeling, but to no success. I think they'd all been washed away. Despite being on half rations, and being rather bored, the life of leisure was quite fun for about 36 hours. But then, at about 4 pm, the * fun came to an abrupt halt. We found ourselves suddenly in danger of being flooded out again. Frantic packing up and digging of canals followed, but the rain eased and disaster was averted. Had the main river come up another foot, we would have had to swim to get off the airfield, so things were a bit touch and go. Camp on Telescope Hill After two nights on the airfield, the river had dropped right down, and we were able to leave. As we down us that we had about 12 feet in towards the Diorite River, sped the sun hand before we became submerged. actually made feeble attempts to Eating brekky, that margin was down break through the clag. Lake Wilmot to 8 inches; packing up it was half was up several feet, but we were that, and as we left it was lapping informed by a group who'd been held around our boots. In all, it must up by it that it had been far higher have come up over 5 feet. the previous day. As it was you went waist deep in water (on the track). When we stopped for lunch at the We couldn't go forwards (for obvious Barrier River, it started raining. reasons), so there was no question It never stopped for long for the about where we headed. As we renext 2 days. traced our footsteps through deep and at times swiftly flowing water, the Our food drop was on the bush line up rain continued. When we came to a the Diorite, but in view of the side creek as deep as the one we'd weather we decided that the most just left, Alan and Michael went off prudent decision would be to stay in 'prospecting' for an alternative the Olivine Hut until the weather route. After half an hour they cleared (Ha ha) before making the returned with the good news that the ascent. airfield, still high and dry, was just a cooee away. We would, they said, camp there. There was just one snag - getting there.. Being the slightest, I was the first to be suspended from Alan's "fireman's chair" hung from a tree that stretched high over the opposite bank of the creek. I'm pleased to say I made it (hardly got my feet wet!), as did everyone else. Quickly we retreated to that yukky grotty hole, which didn't seem so bad now. Having arrived, Alan and John went about making our stay at the Pike Hilton as pleasant as possible. While all of us pikers (Ha ha) pit bashed, they reroofed right with stones, flax, polythene, corrugated iron and an old wheel-less wheelbarrow that was hanging around outside. That done, they sanded down the floor (ie, put sand on it!), plugged the remaining leaks, and Emergency! Draining floodwaters away placed eight armchairs (well, fuel from campsite in Upper Pyke Valley cans) around the fire. Great!

The next day we were still waiting. lake does seem to go on and on and By now we were three full days behind on. The hut, being at the end of the schedule, and our food supplies were Hollyford motorway, was chokkers. getting somewhat limited (ie, break- Nonetheless, the roof over our heads fast = Refresh and two sweets; lunch was very welcome as the rain set in = one Tararua bikky; tea = half the again that evening. Besides, the usual bolstered with 'E Rice'). The other parties made good trading weather still didn't look like it was targets - for although we were very going to clear, so we decided that if low on food we still had an overit was still the same the next mornabundance of sugar. Maybe our hungry ing we would abort the food drop, expressions helped clinch the deals, instead proceeding down the Pyke and but that evening we sat down to a along the Hollyford track. second tea of macaroni and dates. The clouds scudded across the over- The next day the weather had improved cast sky, and the rain splashed on dramatically = it was only drizzling! the roof the next morning. The We set off at 8 am or thereabouts, decision was made. Meanwhile a and by 11.15 had reached Hidden Falls Parawai Tramping Club party crossed Hut. On the way we passed a couple the Olivine (which they'd been unable of groups working on the track, and to do the preceding evening, and in the places where the upgrading has instead camped on the other side) and been completed relatively recently joined us. They reassured us that we the travel is superb. Elsewhere had made the right decision by tellthere is just mud and more mud. The ing us that they had just spent a wet Hollyford is not a spectacular track and cold three days up on the Olivine in the sense that the Routeburn is. Ice Plateau (where we had planned to However, it has a couple of impressgo), waiting for the weather to clear. ive waterfalls (Hidden Falls are A+), Not wanting to get into the same very nice bush and river vistas, and situation, we quickly headed off for of course, fewer people than the more Lake Alabaster, with only an occaswell-known tracks. ional belly-rumbling reminding us of all the goodies we were leaving By about 3 pm we'd reached the road behind. end. If it hadn't been for Alan we would then have had about 9 miles of The journey down to Lake Alabaster road walking around to the start of was very nice, if somewhat wet. The the Routeburn, stopping on the way at Olivine log book had been full of "Gunn's Camp" to replenish our entries warning of the 'black swamp', depleted supplies. However, after he a seemingly horrendous patch of deep had sweet-talked one car driver (who mud and slime capable of losing the made two journeys carrying us and unsuspecting tramper in its damp and packs) and two MOT blokes, much of murky depths. The reality was an the trip was done by vehicle. Like anticlimax, I am pleased to say. they say, you don't get anything unless you ask... Lake Alabaster itself offered the only real problem. The lake's water That evening, we cooked on gas stoves, level was really up, and we had to perused our maps by gas lights, wander around its edge through water that was often waist deep. But worse was to come.. Alabaster Creek, which floods down the hillside in a spectacular waterfall, was severely banked up behind the flooded lake. Consequently a channel about 30 ft wide and 8 ft deep had to be crossed. The joys of tramping!! Ironically, a week earlier we would have jumped at the chance to plunge into that cold water, but at that moment it was not an attractive proposition at all. Eventually the crossing was made by means of a rope draped from either side. Once we'd made the crossing we headed quickly for the wet weather track that runs alongside the lake. From there it was plain sailing all the way to Alabaster Hut, although the Micheal Hollis poured coffee from a big tank full of fine day for quite a while). They hot water, washed our dishes with had come up Dead Man's Track, which running water, and looked out at a cuts out half the Routeburn. They beautiful view through large, clean gave us some popcorn and offered us windows. The simple luxuries of life! transport in their truck to Queens- We were at Lake Howden Hut, the town, an offer which we couldn't nearest sleeping quarters to the road refuse. So, our plans were changed on the 'Divide end of the Routeburn. yet again. Instead of camping on It is a truly fantastic hut, and if Routeburn Flats as we had intended, it wasn't for one thing, everything we shot straight out to the road end would have been perfect. That one that evening, where the truck was thing? People. People, people and already waiting. What service! more people. And some more people. Thank you, Parawai Tramping Club. Quite simply, it was darned crowded, and for all its luxuries, I would So the tramp was at an end, and as it prefer to stay at Pike Hut any day turned out, it was very lucky we'd (well, almost any day!) There is, I come out early. The grotty weather agree, a place for both kinds of returned, with thunder and lightning tramping, but somehow on a welland buckets of rain. In fact, it was established track it is difficult to just as well the trip had been feel the same satisfaction and pride changed, because if it hadn't it was upon conquering a summit. It may quite likely we would have been seem masochistic, but in my eyes a held up at the junction of the view is far more beautiful if you Williamson and the Arawata, at have firstly grovelled through McArthur Flats, a place that some Spaniards and the like, scrambled up trip members didn't recall with great rocky faces, and thought at least fondness! once "I must be crazy.. before you get there. A bit of sweat and On the trip: Michael Hollis (leader), suffering seems to increase one's Alan Radcliff, John Rhodes, Peter sense of appreciation and enjoyment. Jackson, Sue Charles, Malcolm Charles, Ian Wightwick, Jim Robinson. That said, the Routeburn is still a splendid track, and I would strongly recommend anyone to traverse ito We left Lake Howden Hut about 7.30 am and zipped up Key Summit (not really a summit at all) without packs. Although the morning clag was still quite thick, we got the odd spectacular glimpse of the surrounding peaks and the Hollyford Valley. Returning to the lake, we donned our packs and set off for Lake McKenzie, a beautiful bluey-green semi-alpine pool that reflects the surrounding peaks on its glistening surface. From there, a well graded climb led us around to Harris Saddle, for a late lunch. I was just going with Ian to fill the billy and have a quick look-see at the view, when a yell caught our attention: "Hey - Tongue and Meats! Over here!" It was the Parawais, sprawled around a tarn enjoying lunch, Jim Robinson with gear scattered everywhere drying out in the sun (this was the first Stop your snivelling creek-bed come rain hail and flood-water laugh againo (Come Rain, Hail, Haiku - Hone Tuwhare)