Lost and Found in the Darrans

Lost and found in the Darrans by MEGAN SETY with Angie wilkinson, brendan eckert and Tony gazley photos megan sety and tony gazley We had grand plans to spend two weeks based out of Homer Hut, located just before the descent into the Milford Tunnel, and tick off a number of various alpine adventures. Our first day we aimed for Mt. Talbot, but found ourselves trundling up to Barrier Knob instead to avoid the clagged in mountain and still refresh the feeling of walking with crampons. Then we sat out a few days of rain before setting our sights on Triangle Peak or Flat Top Peak, figuring the forecasted 2 days of fine weather would be enough to get at least one summit. But it wasn’t. And we settled for the guidebook described ‘improbable staircase’ over U pass, a feature to rival any scene of the Hobbit.

W ith only a few days left, we set our sights on Mt. Madeline or even Mt. Tutoko, launching from Turner’s Biv – the real reason we’d come all this way. David Jewell had described Turner’s Biv as one of his favourite places in New Zealand, and he’d told us that he’d previously had to turn around after encountering a river too swollen to cross and running out of time. We were both excited and wondering how we’d go. We had only four days to summit and return before the notorious Fiordland weather was due to hit.

We knew the walk in was big, in fact most people cheat and chopper in to Turner’s Biv. But choppers are banned from 1st December to cut down on traffic and maintain the alpine environment. This was a Christmas trip, so no chopper for us. As it turned out, this trip was all about losing and find things.

Our first day passed easily. Other than carrying the maximum weight possible, it was a relatively easy day with no elevation gained to get to where Leader Creek meets the Tutoko River. It was here that we would head up and off track, and where we’d camp for the night. We’d humped in tents for this night, but the weather was so fine, three of us opted to sleep out under the trees and luckily the temperature drop at night meant the swarm of sandflies disappeared when we actually tried to sleep. We stashed the tents in a bush since we’d be at the bivvy the next night or so we thought. Nobody lost anything on Day One.

The morning of Day Two set the scene for the whole trip. Just after leaving camp, Tony dropped his walking pole in the Tutoko River. Brendan promptly chased it downstream and retrieved it. Minor disaster thwarted, we crossed the river to meet our first cairn of the hundred-odd ones awaiting us. We had scouted the crossing the night So he and I dropped our packs, turned off the creek and charged up. It took us more than an hour to find Climbing up the dry streambed (photo - Tony)

before as it wasn’t clear just which stream bed to head up and we were grateful to spot a cairn on the opposite side confirming the way.

Crossing the river was like time travelling. Gone was the easily navigable track and thin bush. It was replaced by giant boulders, an overgrown stream bed, and last winter’s washed-down debris blocking the way. It was arduous and fun, like climbing a jungle gym. Along the way were cairns to help choose the right fork in the dried-up streambed. We stopped for lunch when the streambed hit Leader Creek, giving us a view of Leader Falls and the Age Glacier. We still hoped for a late, but not unreasonably late, arrival at Turner’s Biv that night.

We found a doable crossing, spotted some orange tape and easily bashed 20 metres uphill to something you might call a track. For another couple of kilometres we following one orange tape to the next until both the ground trail and tape disappeared, only to be filled in by thick immovable bush. We dropped to the creek again and started working our way upstream. If you look at the map, we only needed to go about a kilometre upstream before turning uphill to head towards Turner’s Biv. We made good time for a while, but eventually we hit a section in the creek where the hillside had been recently washed out. Even if we could get safely to the far side of the impending mud slip burial, there was a giant pool below a boulder bigger than a car. There was nothing for it, but to bash uphill and alongside the stream. The bush was too tall for me to see over the top of it (at just 162cm) so Brendan walked behind me shouting left, right, over the tree, around the boulder. It must have been less than a hundred metres and it took over an hour. Along the way, Tony lost his crampon and Brendan found it. When we got to the other side, Angie realised her camera had also been sucked into the bush. While Brendan went back to find the camera on the promise of six beers for successful retrieval, Tony and I pushed on ahead, hoping to scout the route and save some time.

At some point, we would have to leave the creek and gain about 1,000 metres in elevation over another kilometre. The route is theoretically marked with cairns, but only after you clear the bush line. We weren’t even in the bush and we had no idea where the cairn trail started. Tony had been this way some five years prior, travelling in the opposite direction and vaguely remembered abseiling down from the bottom of the cairns to a nice campsite at the bush line. He remembered an old dingy rope others had left behind.

a place that looked like a nice campsite, amazingly discovered by Tony’s sense that it was just over this hill, but no sign of cairns, ropes, ground trails or any hope of an upward approach. The ascent is incredibly steep and you can wander blindly without being bluffed out.

We returned to our packs, found Angie and Brendan snacking and quite equally chuffed at regaining a camera and being owed six beers for finding said camera. We delivered the bad news. It was now on 2pm, it would take over an hour to reach the campsite and when we did, we had no idea where to go. We had no hope of reaching Turner’s Biv tonight and the mountain summits seem to slip away.

Nobody considered going back. We put on packs and bashed through one of the nastiest leatherwood bushes I’ve met. In fact, it ate one of Tony’s Crocs and when we realised his Croc was gone, Tony was so angry at the leatherwood, he refused to go back for his Croc and this time We packed up and took off. Even getting to the red rope was a mission. I made notes, drew a map and we even took away points just to be sure we could get back to the campsite and our stashed gear. When we finally got to the red rope, we discovered that Brendan had managed to see just a one metre length of red sling. There was no rope, but there was a lot of tat over the next hundred metres up, used by previously parties to climb up and abseil down. We took off our packs to pass them up and climb up the One blue Croc on Tony’s foot (photo - Megan)

no one was jumping at the chance to find it.

We reached the campsite and found one of the most amazing swimming holes on possibly one of the hottest days in Fiordland that summer. Who knew if we would ever see Turner’s Biv or Mt Madeline, but who cared. Lots of people had seen those places, surely almost no one had found this swimming hole.

The swim was pretty refreshing and Brendan was once again roused to go find something. He started exploring the hillside, looking for anything that would be a clue to our route. He ran back, grabbed my camera and then shot off to take a photo of something. He yelled at us to look. He pointed out a small section of red road visible about 500 metres away. I didn’t see anything, but the 14x zoom on the camera did. Brendan had found the old red rope Secret swimming hole (photo - Tony)

marking the start of our route!

At dinner, we made a plan. We’d already left our tents behind, so we’d be sleeping out but thankfully the evening weather was fine and warm. We would let go of the summit push leaving behind ice axes, crampons, ice screws and miscellaneous glacier travel gear. We’d sleep in and then attempt to find Turner’s Biv – we figured our chances were slim of finding any route as everything was overgrown and there wasn’t a cairn in sight. At 10am, somebody put on a billy and I had to finally get up. It was one of the best sleeps I’d had out on the/a mountain.

The red sling (photo - Tony)

Steep stuff (photo - Tony)

miscellaneous slings and trees. As I turned around to grab my pack, I found a walking stick that had been left behind. We were now even. One missing croc replaced with a walking stick.

Once we scaled the steep section, it was another bushbash through thick brush. We cut up Angie’s sunglasses case and tied the fluoro green strips to bushes to mark our way back. When we came out the other side, we saw a cairn and for the first time in 24 hours, it seemed like we might get somewhere we had planned to. Many more hours, and surely a hundred cairns later, we found Turner’s Biv. At times, Angie and I would stop and stare up waiting for a cairn to materialise in our vision.

Turner’s Biv was magical. There was an incredible view of Mt Tutoko, constant rumbles of ice fall, fresh water dripping off the nearby glacier, and dried snow grass spread across the rocks as a bed. It was worth it. The next day we were up and away by 6:30am. We had one day to walk out what had taken us three days to walk in. We found the cairns, then Angie’s fluoro strips of sunglasses case, then the newly drilled bolt for abseiling. Two 20 metre abseils and we were nearly back at the campsite.

Abseiling (photo - Tony)

View from Turner’s Biv (photo - Tony)

We bashed down to the stream, and of all things, Tony’s blue Croc was sitting on top of a leatherwood bush and he couldn’t resist the temptation to retrieve it.

We crashed out after about 10 hours to the roadend, stripped and swam in the Tutoko River under the bridge. We crammed gear in the car, squeezed and turned the key to silence. The engine wouldn’t start. Two sets of tourists refused to give us the 10 minute ride into Milford. So Tony opened the bonnet of the hire car, wiggled some wires and possibly waved a magic wand because the car started. We drove to Milford for burgers and Brendan started cashing in on his beers.

We never got to a single summit, but we did spend a once in a lifetime night camped out in Fiordland with dry weather, swam in a secret swimming hole and claimed the right to say we found the way to Turner’s Biv. I learned two things on this trip, losing the summit may bring you more than you think and Brendan will find anything if you promise him beer.