The testing ground. Day 3.
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 Karangarua Valleys.
This is day 3 of a four part journey. Here’s a link to day 1 or day 2 if you’d like to read them first.
Day 3
Adventured 6-10 Jan 2017
The dappled patterns of my fly flapped in the morning sun. My eyes crept open. I was immediately aware of my aching body. I groaned as I felt the stiffness of abused muscles from the day before
“Yesterday must have been a decent wee stretch of the legs, I reckon” I said to myself and giggled. I contemplated sleeping a bit longer.
The Karangarua Saddle is waiting.
I knew the saddle was the biggest obstacle on this trip. There’s no easy way out of the head of the Landsborough and 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 the butterflies from the night before reformed my stomach.
I sat up and beads of dew ran down my face from where my beanie scraped the fly. I needed plenty of time to get over that saddle. I couldn’t afford to waste the day any further.
It was the crux of the trip, and I wasn’t going to get anymore sleep now anyway.
Climax Rivulet
It took several limping laps of the tiny clearing in the scrub for my legs to start responding properly. I wondered what other people were doing with their New Year break. I imagined them wandering out to the coffee machine in their bathrobes. I looked up at the surrounding mountains. The two scenarios seemed impossibly separate. It felt like the nearest person was 100km away. I hadn’t seen a track or any other sign of human activity since early the previous day.
I had a relaxed start, enjoyed a good brew and soaked in the feeling of being completely alone in a wilderness area. Adequately caffeined I prepared myself for more boulder hopping. My legs groaned at the load.
The tops were again shrouded in high cloud, and seemed to threaten rain. The Upper Landsborough felt remote and wild. Mobs of tahr dashed from the scrubby benches, and watched me with careful eyes, from the safety of massive boulders sitting amongst the scrub.
Lower in the Landsborough I had mainly seen nannys and kids, now I was seeing bachelor groups of young bulls. I contemplated trying a stalk, but the thought of carrying meat over the Karangarua saddle put that thought quickly to bed.
The tops remined clagged as I boulder hopped higher in the valley. I drew close to the rock biv I had been aiming for the day before. It was on the opposite bank. The river surged swift and uncrossable and I drew a small dose of consolation on my failure to reach it.
The valley seemed to open up as I made it past the scrub line. I climbed up onto a tussock bench and a welcoming hollow with a perfect table rock demanded a brew.
The Upper Landsborough was peppered with interesting place names. Struggle Creek, Fiasco Creek, Romping Water, Repulse creek, Danger Stream and Omen Torrent made me wonder what sort of time the pioneer explorers had had up here. I empathised with them. A stream named ‘Climax Rivulet’ made me really wonder what had happened there.
Crossing the Rubicon
More boulder hopping led to the much more pleasantly named Bubble Creek. The boulder strewn banks eased and I was able to follow the river, looking for a crossing point. At the confluence of the Landsborough and The Romping Water I found it.
After crossing the river, a hearty wee climb on the true right led to a tussock bench and I was rewarded with spectacular views of the Upper Landsborough.
The Rubicon Torrent in the Upper Landsborough. It is named after the Rubicon River in Italy which, in ancient times marked the boundary between Rome and Cisalpine Gaul. It is associated with Julius Caesar, who in crossing it with an army in 49BC was effectively invading Rome and starting a civil war. Crossing the Rubicon is a metaphor for doing an act that cannot be reversed, passing the point of no return – or as Caesar put it “The die is cast”
The tussock bench, strewn with roughly hewn boulders, sloped up towards the crux of the trip. I gazed across the valley, at the Rubicon Torrent. I would have liked to cross the Rubicon and daydreamt of leading a legion to battle with the wild terrain on the other side. As it was, I simply looked at it from across the valley and wondered if I was passing a point of no return.
That’s not a saddle
I was comparing the map to the ground as I picked my way up the tussock bench, looking for where the bluffs descend to a lower saddle.
Surely I was getting close to the saddle by now.
I scanned the sheer face of rock on my left, looking for an indication of the saddle. I sat down and compared my position on the map to the ground. A cold bolt ran through my body. My head whipped up and I stared with wide eyes at the bluffs ahead.
Oh shit. That is the saddle.
The looming bluffs I had been looking at did not lower to the saddle as I had thought. Those bluffs were the saddle!
In my planning I had studied photos and they hid the scale of the bluffs. Now, tiny and alone I was confronted with the cold reality. I studied the map with feverish eyes and prodding fingers. I had to be wrong. There was no way I was crossing that!
The study confirmed that indeed, the Karangarua saddle loomed before me. My shoulders sagged, and hot tears prickled in my eyes. All this way and I was going to have to turn around. 18 hours yesterday and… all for nothing. Trapped by an impossible sheer face of bleak black rock.
My view of the Karangarua Saddle. The rain was blowing directly into the camera lenses and this is the best photo I have of the saddle (so far)
I approached the saddle to a handy spur which offered a good overview of the route. Fog drifted in and out of the valley and persistent light rain kept the temperature down.
Despite looking like an impassable rock face, the Karangarua Saddle has one fault in it. A 5m wide shelf, runs diagonally across the bluff from South to North. As I studied the saddle I saw the shelf. It looked nowhere near as climbable as my research had suggested. The shelf could be gained by a short but scary looking climb up a small steep chute, covered in mossy vegetation, with several steep streams intersecting it. From there the shelf itself could be followed with relative ease. The edge of the shelf grew from a 50m drop to a 300m fall at the top. I could see there was a point where the shelf was dissected by a thin creek that made for short exposed traverse.
The Karangarua Saddle viewed from the true left of the Landsborough. This photo is from an article written by ‘Madpom’ for the NZ tramper website. The red line indicates the route through the saddle.
I sat and contemplated the saddle. I had wanted a challenge on this trip but this seemed above the level of challenging and into the realm of deathly. I studied the map for another way around but the only other route involved a glacier and perhaps a worse rock scramble. It was over the Karangarua saddle or back the way I came.
I sat and studied the saddle. My eyes swept over every part of it and I visualised climbing it. I thought if I entertained the notion, maybe I would find the gumption to actually do it. The shelf looked ok. It was just the approach and the short, exposed bit. And the terrifying 300m drop. I realised that the scariest section was right at the start. It seemed like if I tried and it was too dodgy getting onto the shelf I would know before I got into real danger. The shelf appeared to be easy going, with little chance of slipping but high consequences.
I will try the start. If it’s too gnarly, I’ll back out before I get committed.
I strapped my bow to my pack and cinched it down hard. I tied up any loose straps and double checked all the pouches were closed. I tightened my boots.
Ice axe gripped in white knuckles I stood and stared at the saddle. I tried to pull my mind out of my body, withdraw from the moment.
Was this a good idea? Should I turn around? Was the weather good enough for this? There’s no shame in tuning round.
I told myself that a good story wasn’t worth dying for.
My Mum would rather cuddle a failed adventurer than cry over my crumpled body.
I wondered how long it would take them to find me. I considered turning around once more.
No. I can do this. I’m sure I can do this. Its gonna take courage and careful moves. But I can do it.
The approach
I was perched on a steep, wet rocky approach. I sank my iceaxe into the thin layer of moss and the tip grated through 10cm of the gravelly soil before hitting rock. It wasn’t going to stop a fall. But it gave me enough to pull on, an extra point of contact. I up the moss till I was crouched opposite the shelf. A steep slippery stream ran down the rock, between me and the shelf.
If there was a Rubicon, this was it.
Last chance. I’m committed if I cross this.
I eased myself towards it. The ice axe gripped the thin soil and I extended a leg for a foot hold on the other side. My boot found a slippery ledge. I tested it, before easing my weight across. A clawed hand found a tiny tussock, which clung to the thin soil as I hauled on it for security. The ice axe came over and then I was standing on the bottom of the Karangarua Saddle.
The Mantra
I muttered to myself as I climbed.
“You can do this. Three points of contact. Keep balanced. Check the route. Reassess the weather. Breathe. You can do this.”
I repeated this over and over, as I made deliberate progress up along the shelf. I crept along the top edge of the sloping shelf, hugging the sheer wall of the bluff. It was easy going. If there wasn’t an exposed precipice metres away, I would have walked across it without a second thought. The consequence was high though. A slip here would send me sliding towards the edge, and I would only have around 5m before plummeting to almost certain death. Better not slip then.
“You can do this. Three points of contact. Keep balanced. Check the route. Reassess the weather. Breathe. You can do this.”
I placed one deliberate foot in front of the other, followed by my ice axe. I traversed along the Karangarua shelf and repeated the
I forced a smile onto my face.
“This is fun!” I lied.
It staved off the crippling doubt for a minute or so.
I made steady progress up the saddle, and soon the grand view of the Landsborough disappeared, as I entered the clouds. My world shrank to the sheer wall on my left shoulder, 15 metres of inclined and sloping shelf in front, and a boundaryless white void to my right. I climbed in this moving bubble and hoped that the shelf continued all the way to the top.
It did not.
Ahead of me the shelf got thinner and thinner, and at the edge of visibility it disappeared into a jumble of bluffs and loose rock. This wasn’t right. The shelf was supposed to go right to the top. For a few seconds my mind raced with the implications. I swore at the fog, at the traitorous shelf, at the rock, at myself, at my heavy pack.
I brought up the image of the route, as seen from the bottom, in my mind.
That’s right. I remembered that at one point the shelf had seemed to split in two, with a more obvious shelf running above a lower one. I cautiously crept to the edge and peered over.
Fog.
“Bugger.” I said. I picked my way back down, repeating the mantra more often than before. I needed it now. I peeked over again and saw the lower shelf beneath me.
“Oh thank, goodness.” I said to the shelf.
As I descended the false shelf I looked for where the two split and eventually saw why I had missed the split. It was not obvious from on the bluff, as the shelf seemed to continue up. But if, instead you traversed across a short exposed tongue of vegetation, it lead around a corner to the lower shelf.
I was forced to dip into the reservoir of courage once again. Finding it depleted and shallow, I reached deep within it and scooped the last handful out. I faced the barrier and inched out onto the tongue. The pick of the ice axe scraped against bluff, through the thin soil. This vegetation was literally clinging to the wall. I edged further onto the face and the exposure sucked at my heels. The dense fog disguised the height, maybe that was a good thing.
“You can do this. Three points of contact. Move one limb at a time. Keep balanced. Breathe. You can do this.”
I only had about 7m to cross but for two agonising minutes I crept across the exposed face, concentrating on controlling my movements and my mind.
I stepped onto the relative safety of the shelf and my breath burned hot against my lips as I heaved haggard breaths.
Karangarua Saddle whoop
The climb continued and I felt my limbs become heavy with the constant stress. I squinted hard up into the fog every minute or so, scanning for a sign that I was nearing the top. I had been climbing for 40 minutes and my nerves were raw. I was worried there would be further obstacles.
“If I make it over this thing, I’m going to stand and scream at the world”I told myself.
It had been foggy and raining on and off all day, but now I felt the wind tug at my jacket. Maybe that was a sign I was getting close to the top? I hoped it was, I didn’t know if I could handle this bluff in the wind.
Gradually the shelf opened up. My pace quickened as I was able to move away from the exposed edge. Then, out of the fog, rows of tussock appeared, sloping down to the Karangarua Saddle itself. I lumbered over and pranced among them. An excited squeal escaped from my maddened mouth.
I jumped amongst the beautiful tussocks. I held the ice axe above my head like it was the weapon of a conquering Viking and screamed into the wind and fog.
“KARANGAAAAA-RUA SADDLE WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!”
“I did it! YAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSS! I did it” I howled and thick chunks of frothing foam leapt from my gaping mouth.
I’m ashamed to admit I even yelled things like “I’m invincible, nothing can defeat me!”
Who cares, it felt good.
indeed.
Broken arrows
Now all I had to do was get off the saddle into the Karangarua itself. The descent was all tussock and scrub country, there were no major obstacles to overcome, so I expected to make short work of it. It was a simple matter of sidling down, till I hit a stream and following that out to the main valley. The fog would make it more difficult, but I was confident it was going to go smoothly. I set off into the fog, angling downhill, expecting to hit a stream in the next ten minutes.
An immense bluff wall appeared from the fog. I stood and stared at it for a few seconds before turning and searching the scrub below me for the stream. I
I’m too high. I must have sidled above the head of the stream.
I changed tack, and angled downhill. I descended into scrub and began to fight my way through it. I didn’t mind a bit of scrub bashing. It would be fine once I made it to the stream.
Time dragged by. I hadn’t touched the ground for 15 minutes. Instead, I was battling my way down, standing on shrub branches. It tangled on everything. I wondered if I was going to have to stop measuring metres per minute and change to minutes per metre instead.
The scrub wears you down. What had been annoying ten minutes ago, was now frustrating beyond belief. I still hadn’t reached the stream and resorted to just plunging downhill. It was an infuriating mix of being caught up and falling. I fought to get through the scrub, the branches tangling arms, legs and pack. I pushed hard against the begrudging scrub. Then with a sudden pop it released and I fell through it and landed in an awkward heap. Now I was tangled in a lower layer of scrub. You can’t argue with progress like that. Next came the problem of getting up. Everything that was pushed against, bent, and equated to exactly zero lift of my body. Once I had clawed myself back to my feet, it was a case of repeating this inefficient process.
At one stage I swung the bow in front of me and a flapping movement caught my eye. A couple of arrows were broken, the front halves dangled from the quiver, the rear halves snapped and lost in the scrub.
I need to be more careful with them I thought, knowing the sentiment would only last five minutes.
was a distant memory. It seemed as if I was swimming amongst the canopy of a forest and the ground was far below me.
After a soul destroying two hours I had moved half a kilometre. Every arrow in the quiver had broken. I pushed through another layer and tumbled down through the scrub. I lay in the scrub, pinned facedown by my pack. I decided to ‘rest’ before continuing. In a serene moment, while ‘resting’ with my head downhill I heard the gurgling of a tumbling water penetrate through the layers of tangled foliage. I swam towards it and, ten minutes later, broke into a stream.
“As easy as that aye” I said, eyeing the scrub with murderous eyes.
Soaked and sodden, I stomped down the stream. I enjoyed the sensation of unimpeded travel and an hour later I sloshed across the infant Karangarua River to the hut.
Note: That’s not smoke from the chimney. It’s just a deceptive tendril of fog.
On unpacking I discovered that not only had I broken the arrows in the quiver but every arrow I had. All the arrows in the quiver, and even the spares in the long pouch on my pack.
I’d carried this bow 3 days, into three different catchments and now it was useless.
I didn’t want sleep anyway
I stood in front of the fireplace, shivering as I used feeble hands to try to light it. After an hour of futile effort, I gave up. I put my efforts into a hot meal followed by a
I retired, ready for a good nights sleep. I only had one and a half days walking remaining. After two days of off track travel all the hard stuff was done, and there was even a track from now on.
I replayed the challenges of the day in my mind. The Karangarua Saddle had truly tested me. It had taken every ounce of courage I had. A warm feeling of achievement settled upon me. I reflected that the 18 year old me would not have been able to do what I had done today. The years of building experience, resilience and mental fortitude had come to glorious fruition in that one hour of effort.
I drifted to sleep, content to face an easier day in the morning.
I woke in pain after a few short hours. My toe was throbbing, and occasionally sharp stabs of pain shot along it and radiated along my foot. I tried to ignore the pain and sleep through it but after half an hour the throbbing intensified. I wondered if I was going to be able to walk the next day.
I hope you enjoyed day 3. Leave a comment with your scrub experience.
Click here to read Day 4