Olivine Range

The Olivine Range trip was our end of summer extravagance. An exercise in expensive simplicity travelling to the other end of the country to immerse ourselves in some wilderness for a time.

We walked from just above Monkey Puzzle gorge on the Cascade road up a great old route up the Martyr Spur (look for the one and only track marker where you would expect it on the road). Martyr Spur is part of the ultramific belt that runs through this part of South Westland abutting the Alpine fault. The red rocks provide a startling contrast to the tussock tops.

The tarns on the tops were a picturesque place to camp with Red Mountain on the other side of the valley.

The next day we wandered up the shapely ramp to the crazy fastness of Staircase Mountain. The big surprise being the vast formations of worn bedrock as we descended to the south. A legacy of the glaciers.

The old fella was watching us, Tititea, peak of glistening white...

Our rough plan was to head south along the ridge as far as time allowed, with escapes over the ultramific belt to the Cascade river when required. The next chunk of ridge was our first obstacle and we sidled low.

Before traversing the ironic (for Wellingtonians venturing south) Tararua peak, and camping in the high basin just to its east. The colourful view from our tent door presented rainbows, sun shafts and sun sets over the Arawhata and Castor & Pollux

We had sort of contemplated Joe Peak as our turn-around point, and a worthy goal it would have been, but we were thwarted the next day by the steep ridge following Bald Mountain. A steep gap presented a possible desperate route which all things considered we declined. We headed out over the ultramific Mt Raddle...

A surprising foggy moonscape where rocks like graters lurked at the slightest wobble.

Descending to near bushline we were getting desperate for a campsite when we found a little platform which just needed a little clearing, the girls (and I) got to work and it proved a worthy spot.

All that remained was a wander down to the Cascade. We tried an orienteers route, linking up the two little creeks to Woodhen pond and it goes all right, but apparently the better route hugs the river somewhere. Suffice to say the Cascade doesn't give in easily and isn't really designed for trampers, which is all good in my books...a few pics...

A great area for a bit of off track tramping in South Westland!

Chamberlain Creek 2

Amidst the wider turmoil of the Christchurch earthquake we escaped to the hills. Clare was up from Christchurch for a breather and an adventure while Caspar was after a good mission before Nadspar 1 enters the world. Chamberlain creek fortunately is a place where many purposes can be realised.

This trip was a sequel for me after Penny and I ventured down last summer, but sequels aren't always flops. One of the greatest pleasures of the outdoors is showing other people places you love.

We walked in on Saturday evening to Herepai hut discussing the earthquake, and life and software development strategies. Being Agile seemed to become a theme for the weekend, retrospectively this was quite appropriate for our incremental iteration.

Ruapae and East Peak can be hard work in the wrong weather conditions, but on Sunday morning it was peaceful, wisps of cloud rose around us rather than being pushed. We angled into Chamberlain creek on the spur SW from East Peak missing the worst of the bush bash. Kitting up in the sun before entering the creek it didn't take us long to reach the first waterfall.

The first waterfall commits you to the task at hand, especially once the rope is pulled. It is quickly followed by a smaller waterfall and then a section of rough travel down to the tightest part of the creek a curvaceous stepped waterfall requiring the full 25 metres of doubled rope. The sides of the canyon jut out angularly creating almost a corkscrew effect as you descend into a dark pool.

This really is the crux of the canyon, what follows is fun bouldery travel with several compulsory swims and two jumps of note (which can easily be abseiled). You become quick at committing yourself to the plunge.

And you become eager to see what lies over the next horizon line.

The final jump is an appropriately climactic conclusion. You round a corner, see the Ruamahunga river appear over a sharp grassy spur and the river falls away at your feet. You couldn't hope for a better take-off spot or pool, but the height still gives some concern. A very majestic spot.

After Chamberlain Creek there is still a couple of kilometres of gorge on the Ruamahunga which would quickly become dangerous in high water. We pack floated out through deep still pools skirting some lovely looking tubing rapids. The common option is to follow the river down to Roaring Stag lodge but we cut off the corner, heading directly east to the track via a lovely open spur (within cooee of the lakelet, and Ruapae stream. A great summer day trip for fit and experienced parties.

Races and Photos

The only thing that beats sitting in the sun during afternoon smoko is sitting on the couch with a beer looking out at the harbour. These two times are in a category of their own, when you just sit and let life drift by, like you need to sometimes to keep perspective.

My office looks north out onto the ground level of a 3 storey giant white wall. I have had brief Banksy moments where I contemplate creating a metaphorical hole for myself to escape through, with only myself to benefit though, and the presence of several giant sized metaphorical holes in my head, the investment seems unneccesary.

Banksy shows the sea to the West Bank

We have been escaping recently by indulging in races. First up was the Winter Classic the iconic hard man orienteering event this year run in the wilds of Karori.

We rough and tumbled through the scrub and possum trails of Wrights Hill reserve, popping out occasionally onto the well loved mtb trails of Salvation and Deliverance, appropriate lines of weakness for our jungle adventure. The old guy with the trophy is Penny's Dad Neil. Winner of the prestigious Wayne Cretney Memorial Cup for the M40 grade...Neil can now run M65!

Last Saturday our adventure fix was the Mukamuka munter. 3 hours worth of Orongoronga grunt and suffering. The first two hours were fantastic, running the wild south coast past Tutaekirae head and through into the land of quad bikes, fishing shacks and craypots, turning up the eroded Mukamuka valley and cranking up the gravel that evolved into boulders, into scrambling, into relief as South saddle was reached on the side of Mt Matthews. But was it worth the grief at limping down a beautiful single track just right for powerful strides with crippling cramp in both hamstrings?

Bryn looks good as he starts to drop me

Other recent highlights have been a descent with Brent of the Karapoti gorge on our new inflatable canoe (many of missions to come)....grade 3 in flood still a little bit bony and a few log jams but great times!! ....And the recent publication of Jonathon Kennets new Tararua Adventure Guide, with the most bad taste cover photo ever chosen...;-)

Penny continues to work and study hard with exams now confirmed for February/March and bus drivers provide me endless entertainment and challenge. I am now in a small team managing 500 of them. What else to say? Maybe I have to start getting political again!

Oops one last photo for the records: Aaron, Jamie and Brent, Arrow adventure race 2004, how come it looks like the 1980's?

Three Passes

I'm not sure why, but the Three Passes has never held much allure to me. Maybe it was the plod up the Waimak, or the awkwardness of transport at the other end. Maybe it was the valley travel, when around Arthurs Pass I always yearn to be on the tops. But regardless, a few days ago it happened anyway, sort of without thinking, a semi-drunken proposition at a party to run the Three Passes in a day in winter, which Greig Hamilton cruelly held me to...

5:30am: The river bed is crunchy. The stars are so bright and so uniform that it is like the deity has put a colander upside down on our horizon. Though with torch on and head down the fog of our breath leaves us stumbling on the slippery stones. We expect to get wet early, but the frozen mountains are bonding firmly with the water this morning. The braid of the Waimakariri that normally crashes into the bluff just upriver from Klondyke Corner has vanished leaving only a worn channel.

We stick on the true left, navigating by the vague silhouette of Mt Stewart and the patterns of alluvial gravel. The comfort of our lives becomes dependant for an hour on the whimsical gradation and deposition of rocks. When we hit a line of beech, we know we have crossed the Crow and we move on upriver, finally crossing just before the rough fan of Greenlaw Creek, which I remember from daylight sometime, and popping out at Carrington close to dawn.

7:40am: We leave the Waimak and head up the White river, underneath the Clough Cableway, where Greg slips, sucker punching his kidney on the only rock in the vicinity. I pause for a quick photo of Mt Murchison, the highest point of Arthurs Pass National Park.

The Taipoiti is good going, a lack of water, and good footing. Frozen waterfalls pause breathless and the canyon closes in, but ascends only steadily. Rock Wren live here, but this time of year, they will be deep in their bouldery tunnels wrapped in a lifetime of collected fluff from dead chamois. I look back to Mt Harper with interest in the long ridge.

Onwards and upwards. The Ariel Tarns are snowed over, hidden for the winter, but the Whitehorn snowfield is in good condition and the sun is rising behind us, tickling the backs of our ears with a hint of warmth.

We plunge down into the dark Cronin. Blue glacial ice hangs high on the true right. A sturdy remnant. The sepia 1970's shots in the Arthurs Pass Visitor Centre show this glacier plunging boldly down the face. THe going becomes hard, soft snow over hard rocks. We stumble our way down the valley until we reach a point where the reflected heat of the river has been enough to melt a narrow path of snow along its length. We boulder hop quickly towards Park Morpeth Hut at the junction of the Wilberforce.

12pm:Browning Pass was originally proposed as a road link. What were they thinking? With crampons on running shoes I was only too aware of my limitations. The slope is like that of a volcano, you ease up it until it steepens and you are committed and have no choice but to continue.Greig has much more experience on steep ice than me and following his crampon steps was very excavating exercise. I needed to make sure!!

The crater rim reached I collapsed with the view of the frozen Lake Browning, a vista seen many times before in tramping magazines. While back down the precipice (ok the exaggerations are growing) the Wilberforce stretched away down to the plains of the Rakaia.

We stopped here also for our team photo, squinty and rattled...

From here it was all down hill first into the headwaters of the Arahura, blocked occasionally by frozen gullies of snow. Then onto the well kept old packed tracks around Harman hut, where dracophyllums and mountain cedars give the bush character. The track to the tussockly Styx saddle can be run with ease, and then all of a sudden you can see the sea. Well down valley over Lake Kaniere towards the Hokitika coast.

4.40pm We leave the Oasis of Grassy Flat hut bathed in light. This is the best hut of the lot situated in a large basin with shear but well spaced ridges rising all around. I promise myself to come back one day, to explore the side track that heads up to Browning Biv and the tops beyond.

6.30pm We arrive finally at the road end, having succumbed again to our torch light on the short winter days. Penny is there instead of Dad, and it is great to see her. Nothing left to do, except fish and chips in Hokitika and the long drive back to Arthurs Pass. A great day out.

Waterskiing Wanaka

Things Ain't too Bad

We have been stuck somewhat in the throes of work, play and exhaustion. Parenting is hard, even if it is only of a feline variety. Sherpa Tenzing came into this world four months or so ago, he has been with us for a month. He's a cutie...

Today for the first time in a while I saw all the beauty in the world. The tooth I got pulled out yesterday must have done the trick. Sunrise from the deck probably helped as well...

At lunchtime Penny rescued me from work and we went running around the Ataturk memorial at the head of the Wellington harbour. It was such a still, mild day, that it felt great just to be alive , to be running. No pictures today from there, but the words from Ataturk on the memorial inspired me. A perceptive recognition (if unwitting) on the foolishness and universality of the human condition.

"Those heroes that shed their blood
and lost their lives;
You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.
Therefore rest in peace.
There is no difference between the Johnnies
and the Mehemets to us where they lie side by side
here in this country of ours.
You, the mothers,
who sent their sons from far away countries,
wipe away your tears;
your sons are now lying in our bosom
and are at peace.
After having lost their lives on this land they have
become our sons as well."

Our sport has been a highlight recently. Grit occasionaly triumphing over fitness. Greig Hamilton and I won the New Zealand 24hr rogaine champs in the Akatarawa forest in April. The highlight being rough and tough bush navigation in this terrific little chunk o country.

While earlier in April we journeyed down to Central Otago: Alexandra, Cromwell sort of way for a long awaited National Orienteering Champs. We ran on the old sluicings of the old timers in Roxburgh, Bannockburn, Earnscleugh and Naseby. A terrific weekend of competition and camaraderie. Here's a couple of maps...

And theres been the odd other trip as well. Chamberlain Creek in the Tararuas was a bit of a blast. Abseils and deep pools discouraged the camera. Its a shame as we would have been a site walking into the Roaring Stag Lodge in our wetsuits. A hut fairly full (30 people in a ten bunk hut) of VUWTC punters.

And before that Caspar and I took on the Carkeek picnic (courtesy of Greg Thurlow hospitality) and were whipped. The Carkeek picnic is is a highly regarded traverse of the Northern Tararuas in a day, via the parks spiritual heart Carkeek Hut, ridge and Park Forks, high up the pristine Waiohine. Caspar took some photos of this trip. He was looking a bit nervous for a start...

But as we got the South Ohau and then Arete under our belts he started to pull through, it was a bit foggy and I got us briefly lost coming off the summit of Lancaster, but by Carkeek ridge the fog began to clear...

And Carkeek hut showed up.

After this it was a wonder down to the lovely Waiohine and a long trudge up thickening regeneration to McGregor and Jumbo. The others met us there and the mission was over bar the pain of the final little walk out!

Apart from that I don't know what is there to blog? Bus and babies? I guess theres the failed trip to the Gardens in February still hovering around. I will have to dig up some good photos of southern rata flowering...,

Reading Out Loud

One of my strongest memories from this past summer is reading a Hone Tuwahre poem at Zoe and Nick's wedding. I suspect I had the honour as I was their oldest looking Maori friend. I enjoy reading out loud, it is a chance to unlease those creative juices somewhat and throw off some of the cloaks we are shrouded with...

The poem is called "Hmmmm" it is a love poem, with a strange mix of homely nostalgia and thirst for life. As I read it I was moving through a wrecked old farmhouse beside a river in South Otago, a landscape that Tuwhare called home.

Hmmmm ...

It is a house which requires
care in construction.

It has no walls thus permitting
expansion. The ceiling
is unlimited stretching to heaven.

It may endure given a chance
thats for sure: hmmmm ...

Because it is of earth, smelling
of earth, its foundation
may be built on sand.

It may be a house built on thin
wooden legs, steadfast, and
walking into a river swollen
suddenly by a cloud-burst:
or a house-boat chundered-out
and abandoned on a reef of mud.

But since there are no walls --or roof
to it, love may be seen as bars
of feeling - tones and colour, warm
cold, hot, grey and with lots
of blue, or just plain
shitty coloured!

Fleshed out though, the house of love
isn't shapeless. It has presence.
It has form - a brilliant arc
uniting heaven and earth: actually
love-thoughts seeking a new way
of expression: aha, aha aha
as horses pounding into the straight
riders snarling -- the anguish
of stretched leather smelling of sweat.