A once-forbidden land: walking the Hutt catchment's Quoin Ridge

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A once-forbidden land: walking the Hutt catchment's Quoin Ridge John Rhodes Monday, 8 am. Kaitoke. It's fine and veryfrosty. Over the 4WD trackto the Eastern Hutt. This place has been reopened for only nine days. Let's see what we've been missing for the last forty years! n the shade, the air is bitter, but my pack has enough weight in it to give warming exercise. Behind me, morning mist lies over Te Marua and Upper Hutt. At the crest of the ridge the first sun lights the bush, and there's a distant glimpse of snowy tops to the north. That's where hope to be in a few hours. The road ends in the valley bottom. A new sign at the Eastern Hutt River says it's six hours to Mt. Alpha. Out of sight, only a few hundred metres downstream, is Hutt Forks, where the eastern and western branches of the Hutt River join. Across the river, a track leads up the Eastern Hutt. Ifl want Quoin Ridge I should ignore it and head for the hill, but supplejack and low undergrowth deter me. I'll stay on the track five minutes and see ifit offers a better jumping-off place. Yes! It turns away from the river and climbs. The new Forest Park map doesn't show this track. That would be improper; the map was printed before we were allowed in here, and a red line might have tempted us. The track climbs steadily through pockets of Dawsonia 15 cm tall and reputed to be thel biggest moss in the world. Whether that's true or not, there's nowhere else in the world l'd rather be right now. This is new territory! From the saddle the track descends to continue up-valley. It has saved me a good halfhour, but now I must leave it. A ground trail with occasional dabs of orange paint heads up towards Quoin Ridge. There's no sign of in- Frozen tarn below top of Alpha on Quoin Ridge John Rhodes vading hordes of trampers since the reopening of the catchment, but I guess that will soon change. The ridge gives straightforward travel. The map shows One of my regrets, now, is that never came here when a couple of open places, which prove to be areas of burnt it was verboten. It would have been pretty easy just to bush, giving views down the Hutt Valley to Wellington. wander down off the tops and unless one was dead un- Between the dead upright trunks, the moss on the lucky, by the time one was caught the deed would have ground is still frozen. been to all intents and purposes done. As it is, the trip has lost a bit of its spice. A hind and I startle each other. The hind crashes down into the bush on the Eastern Hutt side, while continue At10.20 am l'm on the ridge. The junction is marked by along the top. I reach open snowgrass tops in time for blue tape, and another ground trail leads in from the left, the 12.30 pm news and forecast. Shooting in Phnom presumably from Hutt Forks. A Quoin Ridge purist Penh and upset Irish Catholics in Portadown. But the would have come that way, of course. ridge ahead - what a long way to go! Then I realise l'm Tramping and Mountaineering 1997

Quoin (right) in view south from Aston John Rhodes looking at the Southern Crossing from a new angle, and About 5.30 I emerge into the scrub on Mt. Elder. I'm the next knob, only a couple of kilometres away, is Al- hoping there's water at Elder bivouac because I've only pha. The peakl'm standing on is Quoin, so my "red line" got 1V4 litres. I refilled my bottle at a tarn just below Alis nearly finished. There's time to relax and boil the billy. pha. There should be a tank at the bivvy. It's 500m away Just in case, l've carried water from the river. That's just on a ridge to the south. Technically, this is in the Hutt as well, for the puddles they're hardly tarns are catchment, but it seems the Regional Council has been murky. I take an hour for lunch. The skyis grey now and willing to allow a little dent in their boundary here. the tops of Aston and Alpha are in cloud. The tiny hut is damp and uninviting, but its tank is full. A quoin is the cornerstone of a building. I'm not sure that pitch my tent on the chopper pad nearby and cook my this hill has as much importance as that to the Tararuas, meal. The lights are coming on in Wellington. The city but it's good to be here at last. It's been a new experi- looks like a suburb of the Kaikouras, pink and towering ence to tramp a major Tararua ridge that doesn't thave a behind it in the glow of the vanished sun. I snuggle into muddy trail along it. bed and listen to Alastair Cook's Letter from America before I nod off Alpha, 3pm. The time on the notice back at the river was right. Spatters of snow. There's been a week of mild By morning cloud has come in from the north and I can weather since the last fall. Compass out now, ready to see nothing. Breakfast in bed, pack a wet tent and depick the kinks in the ridge so I'll know when I'm at Aston. part. Not too many views today. I stop for an early lunch Keep an eye on the time too; a useful guide to how far at Renata Hut, then cross the Waiotauru logging road and one has gone in cloud. It turns out to be unnecessary, for pick up the track to Kapakapanui. Last time à was here, Aston is pretty obvious. I leave the main track and turn Queen's Birthday 1965, there was no track, or only west. Just below the top, I'm suddenly in sunshine. Veils traces of one. We had a hard time of it: half a day or and wreaths of vapour swirl up out of the Waiotauru Val- more from Kapakapanui to Renata Hut. This time, thanks ley. This is magic! I let rip with two cameras. to the track, I'm on the big K in 2% hours, and somewhat impressed at our route-finding in '65. When you Below, on Wellington Harbour, the Interislander is com- look south from here the way to Renata is far from obing in from Picton. Reluctantly, I head down into the vious. bush. DOC has re-cut the track and the going is easy. The Western Hutt River (tiger country, I've heard) is on The top of Kapakapanui is in cloud, SO there's no view my left; the Waiotauru River, which flows into the Otaki, of Waikanae. At a guess, it will take an hour from here. is on my right. I've never been in either. Also, some- The walk down to Ngatiawa Stream is lit with afternoon where not far below the ridge along here, a recent plane sun that gilds the bushedge and the grassy terraces crash. Sad business, that. I don't see any sign of it: it's where farmland meets forest. It's a special time and a buried in the bush and SO am I. special place. Tramping and Mountaineering 1997