R amble in the ough ugged aglan ange A B ack in 2008 I read in this journal a story by Tony Gazley about the Raglan Range, which he described as tramping’s best-kept secret. A Google search revealed that this ‘best-kept secret’ is an area of Marlborough roughly between Nelson Lakes National Park and the Kaikouras.
As I discovered in three separate trips there, the Raglan Range (officially the ‘Leatham Conservation Area’) is divided into sharply contrasting halves. The eastern half consists largely of former farmland and is festooned with wilding pine and four-wheel drive tracks. The western part is like a drier and more rugged Nelson Lakes, and in fact is treated by DOC as an extension of the National Park, which the Wairau River divides it from.
This western part of the conservation area presents significant tramping challenges. The several broad valleys that run through it contain marked trails and several comfortable huts. But between these valleys lie craggy mountains rising to 2000 metres with no obvious routes over them.
by Paul Christoffel with Bernie Dixon and shay bendall A decent trip into the Raglan Range therefore requires several days and some navigational nouse – not something I am known for.
I went on two slightly thwarted WTMC trips to the area where we got up to the tops but had no time to progress further. I realised four days were the minimum needed, which is, of course, the length of the Easter holiday. So when a Raglan Range trip went on the WTMC trip schedule for Easter 2015 I volunteered to lead it, despite having only a vague idea of the route.
The WTMC trip schedule listed two landmarks on the proposed trip route – Hellfire and Misery Streams. For some reason few signed up for “Hellfire and Misery”, while Mike’s trip to the prettily-named Cotterell and Chitterden Peaks on the other side of the Wairau River was quickly full. Furthermore, several of my punters pulled out and in the end there were only three of us. This turned out to be a reasonable number for what was quite a challenging trip.
One member was Bernie, a young lad recently arrived from Otago. This was to be his first medium-fit trip with the club but I’d accompanied him on a medium trip and his long stride and fitness seemed up for the challenge. The other punter was Shay, a little older but very fit. He promised not to go runnning ahead of us.
Day 1 Getting to the start of our trip involved heading down the 4WD road that ultimately links the Wairau Valley with Hanmer Springs. The club van negotiated a tricky stream crossing no problem but it was a different story on the way out on Monday. We first had to drop Mike’s group off at their starting point then double back over a rough road, so we didn’t hit the track until 10.30 am.
It was a lovely sunny day as we crossed the swing bridge over the Wairau and then, instead of following the track markers to the right, headed left. I found on the internet an account by a group that had done the trip I planned, and we followed their route closely. After heading a couple of kilometres north up the Wairau River we came to Hellfire Stream and followed it into the bush.
Between 2008 and 2012 volunteers from the Nelson Tramping Club worked with DOC to cut a track up Hellfire Stream to the tops. So we found ourselves following a well-cut track and orange triangles along the true right of the stream. This was easy and I had visions of reaching our goal – a tarn at 1700 metres – in good time. Then we hit treefall which seemed to go on forever. My visions quickly reajusted – would we get there by nightfall?
We fought our way down and crossed the stream to the relative safety of ordinary thick bush. Thankfully the tree fall – presumably a huge slip – eventually ended, but we lost sight of any track until about an hour later when permolat markers suddenly appeared. We followed these for a time and eventually came across orange triangles. I looked for a spot in the sun for lunch, but because we left so late the sun seemed to be forever just beyond us. Hellfire Stream, by the way, seemed pretty benign despite its name.
After lunch the trail got increasingly rough. I hadn’t tramped with a heavy pack in well over a year and whenever I stumbled I overbalanced and regulary fell. It was getting tiring and I was relieved when we emerged into a lovely grassy clearing. This was where our internet companions camped on their first night, but we still had plenty of daylight. We relaxed in the sun at last, until it moved on and we followed suit.
Eventually we were out on the tops, but still had a long way to climb. Bernie and I were completely exhausted and lay down to admire the view while Shay tried to convince us it wasn’t far to go. The sun had set by the time Camping spot on day 1 we reached a large tarn, our camping spot for the night. It was almost windless but at 1700 metres a bit cold. My cooker struggled to get the billy boiling and I regretted not paying more attention when packing to the fact that neither of my gas cylinders were full. Breakfast, dinner and hot drinks had already drained most of our gas supplies on day one of a four day trip. Furthermore I left my pocket knife, which I’d had for nearly a decade, at our lunch spot. Thankfully Shay had a knife that could be used to cut up vegetables or we would have been truly stuck.
Day 2 The next day dawned cloudy. We needed to get going as we had to climb 250 metres to get over the craggy peaks overlooking our tarn before they clagged in. I was a little nervous about what lay on the other side, but needn’t have worried. As we clambered over the parapet of jagged rocks we were greeted by gentle slopes, although these soon got very steep. It was claggy and drizzly by then and the wet grass was getting us soaked. Shay and I donned overtrousers, which, for me at least, proved useful in sliding down the slopes. The clag made navigation tricky but soon we came across a large tarn which was marked on the map. This was good, as I knew we needed to get into the nearby headwaters of Misery Stream to get down to the valley far below.
Paradise ducks ‘gazzoonked’ and squarked loudly as they swum across the tarn. As we headed into the Misery Stream headwaters we came across an enormous field of speargrass. Shay and I were grateful for our overtrousers. An hour or so later we hit the valley floor and it was just a short walk downstream to Top Misery Hut, where we arrived just as it started to rain.
Top Misery is a pleasant hut with an excellent stove. We lit a fire which served the dual purpose of warming us up and boiling water for hot drinks. The hut book dated
The Branch River Valley from the early 2000’s, and a number of WTMC members were among those who had stayed there. The DOC sign suggested boiling the water for drinking. Was this just a reference to the tank water or the stream as well? We all drank the stream water all day with no ill effects, so maybe it was the former.
After lunch we headed off in drizzly wind-blown rain, which thankfully didn’t last long. This time we were following a marked track that went in and out of the bush. Eventually we emerged from the bush to a stunning sight. The Valley had opened out to be perhaps a kilometre wide. On either side huge peaks rose 2000 metres into the clag. It was the sort of scenery you couldn’t capture with a camera. Even more so than with Hellfire Stream, Misery Valley seemed completely misnamed.
We had a navigational glitch at the far end of the valley but eventually found our way back into the bush. After a while we came across pine forests – the result of the old Forest Service’s attempt to stabilize the eroding former farmland. We were on the border between the east and west of the conservation area. We arrived at Bottom Misery Hut, where Misery Stream hits the Branch River, in good time. Shay set about chopping firewood from a selection of large logs while Bernie and I relaxed. The wood shed had a resident rat but fortunately he couldn’t get inside. I had seen on the net that the hut had been recently done up, so it was securely rodent-proof and had a nice new stove which we fired up for a brew and dinner. A recent entry in the hut book was from a party led by Shaun Barnett, doing our trip in the opposite direction. He later wrote up the trip for the September issue of Wilderness magazine and graded it as follows: “Difficult. Off-track travel and route finding”. I liked that very much.
Day 3 Our internet companions spent their third night at Branch Biv, nearly three hours up the valley, but they still didn’t get to Lees Creek hut until 7 pm. We therefore had a long day ahead so needed an early start. Daylight saving ended on Sunday but as a psychological ploy we kept our watches on the old time in order to get away by 7.30 am (6.30 am – the correct time - sounded way too early). It dawned to a beautiful but chilly morning. The track up the Branch River is pretty straightforward, with large stretches along a broad valley. We got to Branch Biv in well under three hours, by which time it was warm and sunny. The track ends here.
We had seen no-one since Friday morning so were surprised to find the gear of two hunters in the biv. The hut book dated from 1986 and still had plenty of blank pages. DOC has a sign in the biv suggesting boiling the water, yet there had been no similar sign in Bottom Misery Hut where the water supply was also from the river. The water looked pristine and we ignored DOC with no ill-effects. I knew we needed to head up into the bush to avoid a tricky river gorge, which we did. Eventually we found a trail which we followed until it reached a large slip. Then we did more bush-bashing until we found another trail which led down to the river, by now just a stream. This we needed to follow almost to its headwaters, which went well until we reached a junction, with one stream flowing in from the left and another from the right. A check of the GPS confirmed that the stream to the left wasn’t marked on the map despite its substantial flow, so we headed right.
Suddenly we came across a cairn, which I figured marked the point where we would try to cross the mountain range to our right. Earlier it had looked impossible but this looked doable, although very steep. Up we clambered, with Shay going way ahead. I missed an The rugged tops above the headwaters of Lees Creek obvious scree slope to the right and instead took Bernie and I though a narrow gut, which was pretty hairy going. But we made it in the end and flopped exhausted onto a wide ledge for our lunch break. The views were fantastic but I was nervous about our next move. The cliffs behind us looked horribly sharp but to our left was a nice gentle slope so I decided to head that way. Nope, wrong way, so the horribly sharp rocks it was. I regretted leaving my gloves buried in my pack and my hands were soon covered in cuts and scratches. But finally we emerged at the top.
The view down the other side into the headwaters of Lees Creek was just as scary. This was incredibly desolate county – think Mad Max – and felt so remote. It was hard to believe there was a ski field no more than 15 km away. Now here was a spot where ‘Hellfire’ and ‘Misery’ would be appropriate names! Yet there was something strangely beautiful about it. According to Sean Barnett, ‘the Bounds of Hades’ was an early name for the Raglan Range, and I could see why.
Heading down to the headwaters of Lees Creek The way down was steep but soon we hit a large scree slope and were at the bottom in no time. From here, rather than heading along Lees Creek, we sidled across the slope, making rapid progress. This was brilliant travel, although I did notice Bernie, unused to long hard days, lagging behind. Shay and I, on the other hand, were being propelled along by adrenaline in this amazing country. Eventually we hit forest and, as sidling was working well, we decided to keep going. Bad call, as we were soon mired in treefall and new-growth beech. After an age, we fought our way down to the creek and crossed to gentle easy slopes on the other side. In no time we emerged into the valley below, which I knew was no more than a couple of hours from the hut.
I had been here twice before, the last time on a winter trip when we camped at the head of the valley. On both occasions Lees Creek was full of water. This time, however, it had disappeared after a dry summer, leaving a dry creek bed. The creek eventually emerged from under the ground, as if by magic, several kilometres downstream.
Bernie got slower and slower as nine hours of hard tramping took their toll. We removed stuff from his pack and I sent Shay ahead to the hut to collect and chop firewood. Once the route became obvious I headed off also, there being little else I could do. Bernie arrived some time after us and collapsed on the ground for half an hour. When I saw him later in the year he told me he loved the trip, and clearly meant it. That last couple of hours had obviously been erased from his memory.
Lees Creek Hut was less inviting than I recalled. There was a dead possum under the hut and a remarkably bold mouse hung around, startling Shay as it ran across his foot. The stove worked well though, and rather ironically we ended the trip with gas left over. Bernie eventually recovered, much to our relief, and the colour returned to his face. He tucked into dinner with enthusiasm.
Day 4 On our final day we only had a three hour walk so figured we had loads of time. We lit a fire – there was plenty of wood thanks to Shay’s efforts - and gave the hut a thorough clean. We arrived at the club van around 11 am, only to find Mike’s group already there. We all headed off with the aim of getting an early ferry, although hit a delay when the van got stuck crossing the creek. It was all hands to the wheel, as it were, and Bernie and Shay ended up soaked from their efforts. Despite my scepticism we all managed to get the early ferry despite it being a long weekend. It was a satisfying end to a brilliant tramp.
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