Flat out

Text taken from the club newsletter.

Flat out

Sam Harrison | 2 Oct 2025 | Tararua Forest Park

The last time I tried to go to Mangahao Flats Hut I got rained out and ended up marching my punters up the hill to Waiopehu instead (that story here). Imagine my delight when the eye of the storm lined up perfectly over my second attempt. A day and a half of fine weather in between two weeks of rain. I had been ambitious with this opportunity and invited over twenty people to a hut that sleeps 15. Thankfully in traditional fashion the day I received emails and texts that whittled us down to 14 brave souls.

1. Swims and seista

Reservoir №1 to Mangahao Flats Hut It was 7.30am when I rocked up to Platform 10 to pick up the punters. Almost immediately I got some rude looks from some bus drivers, obviously they despise the filthily casual van drivers. Feeling the pressure I loaded up the packs with great efficiency and jumped in the driver’s seat. I was about to drive away when I realised I should probably count the punters. Good thing I did as there were two missing! A few phone calls later and everyone was accounted for. After a quick stop in Waikanae we hit the Mangahao road. Marlies was in front in her Honda Jazz. It was not a fair fight for a rally stage, with the van struggling to keep up with the dynamic Jazz. Thankfully a bout of car-sickness gave the van the edge and we reached the first dam appreciation stop in front. Soon after we were all assembled in the carpark next to Reservoir №1, ready for the adventure to begin. Given the drive it was around 10:30pm.

The track started with a sidle above the reservoir. There was one or two awkward scrambles but for the most part progress was swift. The group naturally began to drift apart. This wasn’t unanticipated nor did it bother me, I had a plan in place to ensure everyone was happy. We crossed over a swingbridge and began crossing river flats under the shade of forest giants.

Hopping through the mud the valley narrowed and we began to traverse again, this time above the Mangahao River. After a kilometre or so we descended back to the river where another swingbridge spanned over to the true-right.

From the bridge I spied a little spot down by the river’s edge, a perfect place for lunch. It took a little scramble but the spot was as good as it had looked from above. On three sides it was bound by the perfect blue water of the Mangahao, water cascading down the hill opposite. A log stretched across the bank just begging to be sat on.

Our lunch stop enabled the plodders to catch up and soon we were all enjoying the sun next to the river. It was so pleasant that the brave few decided that a Spring swim was on the cards. The water was indeed ‘refreshing’. After lunch we climbed away from the river and began our journey above the Mangahao Gorge. The track got rougher and we scrambled our way up rocky steps.

Cross a stream India decided to slip and hit her knee, which looked dramatic but she could walk just fine. I had relieved Jacqui of duties at the back of the pack, which was moving at a snail’s pace. On the plus side, this gave me plenty of time to admire the tranquil waters of the Mangahao, its emerald green waters pleasing to the eye.

Even these emerald green waters grew wearisome. When I finally snapped I put in my apologies with the read-guard and opened the taps. Charging through mud puddles and clambering out of gullies I sought out the frontrunners. I finally caught them at Harris Creek, where they sat shivering on the track, waiting for our arrival. It had only been around forty minutes…

I joined them in this vigil, and after twenty long minutes the bridge again groaned as the plodders crossed Harris Creek. It was clear that action was required with the afternoon quickly fading away. The pack of the chief plodder was opened up and cans, water bottles and other miscellaneous paraphernalia was distributed amongst the group.

From here the track was flatter and we followed river flats up the valley. Spirited debates (and silky sawing) passed the time, much to the ire of everyone just along for the ride. This only halted when we arrived at a sign marking the high and low water tracks to the hut. We waited here to bunch up before heading down to the crossing of the Mangahao.

The water was cold and refreshing. Although slow it was lapping at my thighs, making me forget my frustrations from earlier in the afternoon. One by one my punters crossed.

“Put your boots back on there are no more river crossings” — Ellis to Francis after one of the two river crossings.

To my surprise the plodders arrived in good time and we crossed back over to the true-right for the final stretch of the walk.

It wasn’t far from the river crossing to Mangahao Flats Hut. There I found a pair of DOC rangers and gave them the bad news that their solitude was about to be interrupted by fifteen boisterous members of the venerated Tongue & Meats.

Indeed, there was a flurry of activity as trampers arrived onto the deck. I vacated and headed into the bush to search firewood, leaving the others to get settled in. With great industry we managed to restock the woodshed and then finally had to accept it was time to go inside. Bodies were moving everywhere as pots and pans emerged from packs. I had delegated dinner duties and India had settled on making jackfruit tacos. I am not too proud to admit that these were nicer than anything I make at home. The pièce de résistance of the night was the 1.8kg of birthday brownie that Nicole had secretly carried up to celebrate India completing another lap around the sun.

2. Salami and spades

Mangahao Flats Hut to Reservoir №1 I thought I had a stroke of luck when I bet Ellis in a game of rock-paper-scissors for the last bunk. Turns out I drew the short straw as I got the pleasure of ASMR snoring directly in my ear, curtesy of Francis. When 7am rolled around all of the punters were up and moving. I enjoyed the novelty of being the slow mover in the morning, setting myself up at the table with a cup of coffee and a piece of brownie. I encouraged the slower punters to depart first, leaving the rest of us to give the hut a good scrub and polish.

We left an hour after the first leavers. It was rather rude having to do a river crossing so early in the day. With dripping boots we set off in pursuit of the plodders. For the first time in the weekend I broke into a sweat, a nice change.

It took us about 45 minutes to catch up. We had learnt from the day before and had a plan of attack for dealing with this leapfrog situation.

Stopping at Harris Creek we were soon passed by the back. Instead of sitting solemnly on the track we doubled back and set ourselves up at picnic table we had spied on our way past.

Hot chocolate was soon shared around and we had an impressive charcuterie board laid out. A game of last card helped pass the hour until we got back underway.

We enjoyed stretching our legs again and it wasn’t till near the end of the traverse above the gorge that we caught up to our friends again. We regrouped at the bridge, taking the opportunity to indulge in the last of our snacks here.

Unlike the day before the wind was blowing harshly up the valley, not that this stopped the brave few from a second swim. One by one everyone crossed the bridge and we began the final push back to the van. This section seemed shorter than the day before, even with Ellis and I unsuccessfully trying to skirt around the edge of the reservoir (top tip, it isn’t quicker). We were soon marching into the carpark, happily kicking off boots and unbelting packs.

As with any tramp, this one had its trials and tribulations. Yet, it was a happy reminder of the fun that can be had club tramping. It’s amazing the things you can put up with in good company!