The Testing Ground. Day 2
A four day attempt of an East-West traverse of the Southern Alps, from the Hopkins River to the West Coast Highway, encompassing the Landsborough and Karanagrua Valleys.
This post describes the second day of a four day trip. If you haven’t read day 1 and would like to, click here.
Day 2
The best days start before dawn
07 Jan 2017
I squinted around the hut. With a muffled groan I swiped at the noise blaring near my head. The noise continued. I slowly emerged from the world of dreams enough to find my watch and turn off the alarm. I sat up in the bunk groggily. I looked back at my pillow and started to sink back towards it. A flicker of light shot through the sleepy neurons in my brain.
No-one achieves anything lying in bed.
I groaned. I planned to stay in a in the Upper Landsborough that night. A nice thought, the only problem was 26km of remote wilderness in the way. It was going to take a big push. I groaned again. I wriggled out of my warm sleeping bag. I wriggled back into cold wet clothes with yet another groan. Morning groans complete, I stuffed away my gear. I stepped into the frigid morning air, pulled the hut door closed and swung my head torch out into the gloom.
It was 4 am.
The hut sat on a beautiful grassy flat. It was as easy to walk on as a rugby field (not a good rugby field – the kind of rural rugby field with big clumps of grass, big muddy wallows and the occasional sheep running across it midgame.)
The flat didn’t last long. Within 10 minutes I heard the rushing of the river and found it running hard against the hill. There was no way to sneak up the flat, and I was forced into the bush to sidle across a steep face. That sidle turned into a difficult few hours bush bashing in the dark. By the time dawn arrived, I was growing frustrated at my lack of progress. Already an hour behind the time indicated in the book, I hoped to make better time in the daylight.
I found an old stoat trap line, and worked along the face till the river relented and swung away to the other side of the valley. Back on a river flat toetoe tufts brushed against my shoulders as I strode up the valley. The flat was covered in a thick shoulder high stand of it, but the going was easy and at last I felt the ground roll beneath my feet.
As the dawn chorus faded it was replaced by a deep rumbling, gurgling sound. I found a pleasant grassy spot and whipped out the jetboil. I surveyed the valley as I spooned mouthfuls of breakfast into my mouth.
Some people are still in bed in the city and I’m the only person in the Landsborough eating egg.
I frowned.
Probably the only person in the Landsborough full stop.
How does the fact that I’m eating egg add to this experience? I pondered.
I shrugged. Day two alone and I was already going crazy.
After recovering from my reflective thoughts about my solo existence, and the effect eggs had on this I cruised further up river. The high cloud allowed views of the surrounding peaks and I realised I was having a pretty alright time. I worked my way up the valley, stopping when a striking view demanded a cup of tea be drank before it. I was still behind time, but that became less and less important as my senses took in the grandeur of the valley around me.
Under the shadow of Zora
As I got further up the valley a massive buttress rose into view. It was the face of the Zora Canyon. I spent the next few hours plodding towards it. It continued to grow until it completely dominated the view.
The hours rolled past, like the different river flats I crossed. I wove in and out of the bush. Whenever the river cut too close to the hill, I pushed up into the bush and was forced to sidle across steep bushy slopes. These sidles were hard work and unpleasant. They were the complete opposite to the easy strolling up the flats.
I pondered this contradiction, and procrastinated the fact that I was going to have to bush bash again. I surveyed the river with hopeful eyes. It was deep and swift. Uncrossable. I spent several moments gazing across at the pleasant flat opposite with feverish eyes before turning to the bush with resignation. I readied my mind for an hour of scrabbling. The Zora face receded from view as I climbed in to battle the foliage.
An unexpected encounter
Scratched and wild eyed I burst out of the bush and stumbled onto the flat. Leaves and twigs cascaded from my pack. I had covered a bit of ground and the Zora face loomed over me.
I was admiring its bulk when my eyes darted to a familiar colour on the opposite bank. Several tahr browsed on the flat, beneath a scrubby boulder field. The binoculars revealed it was a family group, a mob of dun nannies with kids at their flanks, peppered through the tussock.
I was carrying my bow, but didn’t want to shoot anything yet as I didn’t think I could carry a heavy load of meat over the Karangarua Saddle. That crossing would be challenging enough by itself. My intent was to hunt on the way down the Karangarua so for the moment the bow was purely ornamental. I watched the mob as they fed along the bench, but as always the urge to keep walking pulled at me, and I turned back towards the Zora face.
A few more river flats rolled past. I was skirting a narrow strip between the river and the bush, which was growing narrower as I walked along it. Wondering if I was facing another bush bash I again looked to the river. With surprise I noted it ran wide and shallow. It had broadened enough to ford. I waded across and sprung along the flat with the joy of one who does not have to bush bash.
It wasn’t long before I found another mob of tahr. Using the piled riverbank as cover I quickly closed the gap between me and the tahr. I snapped a few photos.
I didn’t think I could get closer and was about to continue when I spotted a nanny and kid alone by a small stand of beech trees. Using the trees as cover I snuck close in behind them, closing the distance from 100m to 20m. I crept closer, taking photos as I went. Slowly, slowly I crept. I could hear the grass ripping as the nanny fed. I raised the camera to my eye. The tahr kid saw the movement.
The kid surveyed me with curious and ignorant eyes. It watched me, in between questioning glances at its mother. When it saw her browsing, blissful and oblivious, it turned to study me once more. The nanny glanced over in between mouthfuls. She paused as she realised something strange was crouched by a bush close to her.
She watched for several long seconds before turning to run, her kid scampering beside her. I lowered the camera and watched the pair disappear into the bush.
With the excitement of the stalk over I edged closer to the Zora confluence. The river flats ran out and were replaced by steep, boulder lined banks. The water was deep glacial blue and rushed through the narrow chute between the boulders. Any thoughts of crossing back to the true left would have to wait.
It seemed unlikely that I would make it to the rock biv tonight, but I held on to the dream.
If I make good time through this next section I might just make it!
Six hours
The Landsborough had other ideas. Tramping turned to a mix of rock hopping and bouldering. I climbed caravan sized boulders, then lowered myself down the other side. When boulder was too difficult I was forced to take off my pack, heave it onto a shelf, and place my bow on top of it. I would haul myself up after it. Pack on, pick up my bow, shimmy across the boulder, bow down, pack off, lower myself off the other side. Reach up to grab the bow, pack on, walk 10 steps and it was time to tackle the next boulder.
Progress slowed to a crawl. By this stage I had covered 17 km in 12 hours. I now slowed to a miserly 1 kilometre an hour.
The hours dragged by. I still felt relatively strong but my pace didn’t reflect it. The long day started to take its toll, and the repetitive clambering seemed to take longer as I clawed my way along.
A break in the rapids offered a large wide pool, I crossed the river back to the true left, which made almost no difference to my pace.
I ate as I went and fell into what endurance athletes refer to as grinding.
Just keep moving, I’ll get there eventually.
After several hours of grovelling, a flat opened up on the opposite side of the river. It looked like amazingly good going. Not a boulder in sight. I fantasised about being able to walk 10 m without having to climb a rock.
The river roared, between me and paradise. Frothing white waves leaped from it, as it rolled powerfully down the channel.
But that flat looks so good! I’d make up hours. Surely, there was a crossing around the corner.
Around the corner, the river was marginally better. There wasn’t any white-water, but it looked deep. I undid my chest strap and waded in to my knees. I felt the current pulling at my gaiters, pushing against my legs. I took another step.
I can do this.
The water was just over my knees and I was not yet near the middle. The current was stronger here than I had expected.
An alarm bell rang somewhere at the back of my mind.
This is a real dumb idea, Tom.
You dweeb.
I stared with longing eyes at the perceived paradise on the other side. I backed from the water with slow steps, still staring at the unreachable flat. I turned to the ever present boulders. They welcomed me back into their fold, as the mountains’ long shadows enveloped the valley.
5 minutes later I had a moment of clarity where I realised how stupid I had been to even consider crossing the river. I recognised the risk vs reward was totally unbalanced. I was alone and tired, I could not afford to risk a river crossing where I wasn’t certain it was safe.
I was glad I had been able to stop myself from making a really bad decision just because I was sick of boulder hopping.
This will do
Glad that I had stopped myself from making a stupid and potentially lethal mistake I attacked the boulders with gusto.
6 hours after crossing the Zora I arrived at a larger side creek. It was 10pm and I had been walking for 18 hours. Disappointed I hadn’t made my goal I started looking for a place to camp as the growing gloom crept over the land.
Headtorch on, I pushed through layers of wet scrub looking for a clearing, a flat spot, anything. Moir’s had said there was decent camping spots here, but all I found was acres of soaking scrub. After 15 minutes of exhausting scrub swimming I was drenched again and my standards for an acceptable camping spot had slipped considerably. I found a sloping bench, mostly free of scrub, big enough for a fly. This will do.
The waiting crux
I felt myself start to drift to sleep as soon as I pulled myself into my sleeping bag.
It had been a massive day, I had covered a big chuck of rough country and hadn’t seen a track the whole day. I allowed myself a small smile of self congratulation but I knew the biggest challenge was still to come. Crossing into the Karangarua tomorrow was going to be tough. There’s no easy way out of the head of the Landsborough. The route I had chosen was a spectacular bluff, known as the Karangarua Saddle. It was an immense wall of rock with a single narrow route running through the middle. I pictured the Karangarua Saddle in my mind and butterflies formed my stomach. It was the crux of the trip, and I had agonised over whether I was up to the challenge. There was nothing more to do until I saw it for real. The butterflies in my stomach intensified but not even nerves were enough to keep me from sleep that night.