Ramping it up

Days 80-86, Pelorous Bridge to St Arnaud

Tēnā tātou katoa! As you read this, I’ll most likely be travelling through Nelson Lakes National Park. I’ve learnt how to schedule posts, which feels a bit like time travel. It’s been great to get the chance to catch up on these chronicles on our rest day in At Arnaud.

This post is quite hefty, so I hope you’re in a comfy spot and have some time to get through it! This reflects both the effort and length of time we spent in the Richmond Ranges, a series of peaks and valleys lying between Nelson/Tasman and Blenheim/Wairau. I spent nine days there with my Dad (for the first bit) and my sister Helen, who continues to walk with me and is getting more resilient by the hour.

DAY 80 - Pelorous Bridge to Captain’s Creek Hut (19km)

My sister Helen was going to be dropped off at the trail head from Havelock after Helen, the shuttle driver, finished her school bus run in the morning. This meant that Dad and I had a bit of road walking to do to get to the trailhead, so we left early and skipped the chance for a last supper/breakfast at the cafe. Despite our packs being ridiculously heavy with 10 days’ worth of food, I decided to stuff my snack pocket with a couple of apples from another overhanging apple tree in the first few kilometres of our pleasant-enough road walk.

The farm gradually turned to indigenous first and we began to feel we were truly in the foothills of mountains. When Helen passed us in her shuttle, Dad and I cranked up the pace and 40 minutes later were reunited with her at the boundary of the Richmond Forest Park. We got going quickly to stop the sand flies from eating us alive. Te Hoiere / Pelorous River, with its sparkling emerald hue, was a joy to walk alongside and cross on a few rickety swing bridges.

It began to rain more heavily as we ate lunch huddled under a bush. The rest of the day’s walking was slippery and technical, but we were lucky to get to the hut before it started bucketing down. Helen and I (and Dad shortly after with his new trail friend) were greeted by a couple at Captain‘s Creek Hut who had been waiting out the rain, but that moment to move on never came. Helen’s doctor skills immediately came in handy when Rob walked in the hut with a graze on his hand.

Knowing how many walkers were behind us, we expected it was going to be a cosy night all squished in the space together. Some of the walkers kindly offered to set up their tents in the pouring rain. In hindsight, I’d have rather had my own space because boy did I have a hot and sweaty sleep. During the evening we heard a loud crash, which turned out too be some rocks falling off the cliff face above the river. That was reassuring.

DAY 81 - Captain’s Creek Hut to Browning Hut (18km)

The rain had transformed the previously emerald river into a rapid muddy gush overnight. The unrelenting rain pattered down as we ate porridge inside our cosy hut, but luckily we found a dry gap to leave the hut and set off on the slippery track.

We stopped briefly at middy creek hut before our first decent climb in the Richmond ranges up to Rocks Hut. I was surprised to find a flushing toilet there, and we later wondered where the flinched contents goes... Rocks Hut is a lovely 8-bunk hut with plenty of room. We were sort of sad we weren’t staying here for the night ourselves - it was 2pm so we chose to push on to Browning.

The next stretch to the hut was largely pleasant forest walking, but was made slow-going by fallen trees and overgrown, steep sections of trail. We walked through a brief exposed section with views to Tasman Bay, which gave us a feel for the imminent alpine terrain we’d encounter on the following days.

By this point we’d been on the move for 10 hours and it was getting late. Still adjusting to walking collectively and not on my time schedule alone, I found myself getting anxious because I usually try to get to the hut before dinner time. This was a good exercise in patience for me, a skill I’m yet to master. We were walking at a collective pace now, my Dad, Helen and I.

We welcomed the junction to the hut (Browning Hut: 1km) with a whoop of relief. The last kilometre contained tricky downhill bits, but the light filtering through the forest was magical. Helen reminded me that we wouldn’t have experienced the beautiful evening light had it not been for our lateness to get there.

The hut finally showed its roof, and I ran all of 50m before realising I shouldn’t outpace myself. At the hut we had dinner and sorted Dad’s food, which we’d take with us further when he left us the next morning. The other walkers arrived soon after, and it was a fun night that night in the hut.

DAY 82 - Browning Hut to Slaty Hut (14km)

We left Browning Hut with enough time for Dad to get back to Nelson, where he’d fly back to Wellington from. It took us an hour to get to Hacket Hut where we departed from Dad. He met up with Sam and Kasia’s (TA walkers) friend who could give dad a ride out. Their friend had a friendly dog called Gus, and he gave me my daily dog fix I’d been missing since leaving Wellington. This was the third time Dad and I had departed on the trail, and it wasn’t easier than the last.

Rob and Kaz joined Helen and I at Hacket Hut and we spent the rest of the day first crossing the river many times and then climbing up, up and up. Rob cranked out his music to get us up the steep climbs which really helped, and Helen set a steady pace.

We arrived at the next hut called Starveall for lunch. Side note: the peculiar comes from a guy who wanted to take his flock of sheep over the hills to Nelson, and the spot where the hut lies was not ideal because the vegetation was inedible to the sheep - hence ‘starve all’. The great thing about the hut system in Te Waipounamu is the greater choice of places to stop for lunch or for the night.

It got windy on the tops, but nothing a Wellingtonian can’t handle. There were some steady rocky climbs but Helen and I quickly found our feet on them. It was one of those days where time blew by, and soon we were descending into the valley where our home for the night lay.

Slaty Hut is in the most prime spot, sheltered from the ridge and with enough space to spread stuff out to dry in the tussocks. We met Courtney, another TA walker and nurse from Christchurch, who was sunbathing outside. We would be increasingly meeting new walkers on Te Waipounamu who may be walking the other direction (northbounders, or NOBOs) or people who have taken a break between islands.
Courtney was walking southbound with us. Helen and I cracked into a new flavour of the Local Dehy meals were splashed out on (an awesome local vegan dehydrated meal company based in Wānaka). Tonight’s flavour was spaghetti bolognese, a simple but hearty meal. My quad had been playing up today, which meant the downhills were a bit painful. I was naturally feeling quite anxious about this as the terrain over the next days would really test my leg out. Luckily, having a doctor as a sister really helps and she allayed my catastrophising thoughts.

DAY 83 - Slaty Hut to Mt Rintoul Hut (13km)

My quad tendon was feeling a tiny bit better today, but not enough to have full confidence in it. I think the uncertainty of how it would hold up meant that I had an emotionally shaky start to the morning. It was one of the harder mornings I’ve had in the trail, but it was a bluebird morning and I tried hard to keep focus on the task ahead, which soon became quite apparent as soon as we emerged at the ridge line: to our right, two maunga (mountains) lay ahead. They could only be Little Rintoul (deceiving name, that) and Mt Rintoul itself.

Between us and the peaks lay the undulating path which we could see quite clearly. The trail notes describe this day as one of the hardest days of the Richmond Ranges, and looking at the distant scree (loose rock) slopes I could tell why. Luckily, the weather was on our side.

There was no point, however, in thinking about the day in its entirety as that overwhelmed us. Instead, we focused on achieving each section as they came. The morning involved a series of warm-up scree climbs and walking through patches of stunted forest. My quad was behaving itself better than I thought it might, but I was still gentle on the downhills.

We stopped for lunch to refuel our spirits and bodies before the first climb up to Little Rintoul summit, a steady 500m elevation gain over just over a kilometre. The climb started in forest, and soon opened up to the scree slope. The track (if you can call it that) was marked by metal poles with orange caps. As long as you get to the next one, you’re all good. We developed and sustained a great momentum, and before we knew it we were at the summit of (not so) Little Rintoul. That was the easy part.

Descending from the summit, essentially to the same elevation as we had been before the first climb, proved to be a hilariously precarious challenge. With Helen leading the way, we inched down the mountainside on loose rocks of all shapes and sizes, hoping hard that the ground would not give way at each step. In the rare moments we dared to switch our concentration from watching our feet to looking at the path ahead, we could see Rob and Kaz crawling down below and wondered what they were thinking about this intrepid section. Further up, on the ascent to Mt Rintoul, we could see the orange dot of Courtney also moving ever so slightly up the mountain face. The distant figures gave us hope that we, too, could emerge from this descent unscathed.

At last, we miraculously found ourselves at the bottom of Little Rintoul with hardly any mud marks or scratches. We took a moment to look back and appreciate what we’d just endured. My quad thanked me when the second ascent began. Give us uphill climbs any day! The conditions were much of the same as on Little Rintoul, only the peak was 100m higher.

45 minutes of slogging later, we made it to the top just as a thin veil of cloud rolled over the tops. Proud and tired, Helen and I high-fived each other. I had a small dance party on the top before making our way down to the hut. The descent was in comparison much gentler, and on the way down we encountered some goats just chilling on the top of the mountain. I’m not going to lie, I was a bit jealous of their lifestyle although I did wonder what their main source of food was up here. Those are some hardy animals. The bush line teased us by being so close, yet located on the other end of a massive scree slide. Using our skills acquired from the previous sections, we slid down the hillside to the forest where another steep descent down to Mt Rintoul Hut lay.

The hut was cosy as we arrived because Rob and Kaz had popped on the fire to heat up water for their warm sponge baths. A poster on the wall about the hut informed us that Rintoul was a friend of Wakefield who published content about colonising Aotearoa in his journal in the 1800s. I had a suspicion these mountains were named after some white guy who was complicit in colonising this country. It seems a lot of these peaks are, but no doubt these maunga hold significance to tangata whenua that is not reflected in the whitewashed history of this land.

This was a long, hard day. Despite this, of maybe because of this, we were in good spirits in the evening (albeit exhausted) but with just enough juice and curiosity to get us through the next sections of the Richmond ranges and see what this incredible part of the country has to offer.

DAY 84 - Mt Rintoul Hut to Mid Wairoa Hut (15km)

After the rigours of the day before, we were pleased to see the elevation profile was less daunting. The morning started off with a (relatively) easy yet undulating stroll through stunted mossy bush. Helen cranked out some of her music to get our legs turning faster. Though birdsong is scarce in the mountains, we noticed a little bird following us and responding to the music. It was as if they were singing along, or perhaps wondering what on earth this new bird was doing in their forest.

After a downhill clamber, the next junction appeared which took us down to Tarn Hut, the midway point of the day. Through the spindly trees, we could see a large tarn (alpine lake). I knew there would be a lake by the hut, but expected it to be the size of a small swimming pool. The water was stagnant so not ideal for a midday dip, but the hut was in a lovely location for lunch. I enjoyed my peanut butter wrap (surprise) with salt and vinegar peanuts.

Helen and I were full with more energy than usual in the afternoon. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but maybe it was the instant coffee we had that morning. With that, we played some word games to pass the time which included making up rhymes about the trail and inventing new words and definitions. We had a massive descent through the beautiful beech forest to look forward to at the end of the day, taking us back down to 400m of elevation. It wasn’t as steep as I’d expected it to be, but it still tested our leg muscles.

Once at the bottom and nearing the hut, we crossed a rickety swing bridge before arriving at Mid Wairoa Hut. Just as we got there, so too did another sibling duo walking northbound. We spent the evening swimming in the ice cold swimming hole, dodging dozens of wasps, and exchanging trail notes. By this point we were used to crammed backcountry huts and navigating our way around the small space. I slept on the floor that night, which was preferable to the top bunk where the heat rises.

DAY 85 - Mid Wairoa Hut to Hunters Hut (17km)

The trail tested us today. We started the morning with some rock hugging and root clambering up and down along the Wairoa riverbank. The river’s intensity was a constant force during the morning’s walk, and there was no better reminder of this than when we crossed its energetic path numerous times. There were some sketchy moments where one wrong foot placement could end up in an unfavourable situation, but luckily we managed to escape any cliff hanging.

The NOBO walkers we’d stayed with the previous night had said that today’s walking (for us) would be ‘cruisy’. It didn’t take long for us to question what their standard of cruisiness was, and whether it matched up to our definition.

A kilometre out from Top Wairoa Hut, we crossed paths with our first two non-TA trampers. One of them asked if we could do them a favour. They wanted us to call their partners from the ridge line to let them know their plans had changed. I said we’d do our best to find reception and then went on our separate ways.

We stopped for lunch at Top Wairoa Hut, an orange tin hut with the numbers 513 mysteriously written on the roof (I think it’s a forest fire service number or something?) I found a Wilderness magazine from 1997 to read while we ate. It’s amazing to see how much things have changed in 24 years regarding conservation and access to the outdoors. Climate change was still a relatively novel concept, and the style of sandals cool in the 90s are definitely back in fashion now.

Not realising there was no easy river access from the hut (unless we wanted to climb back down the way we came - no thanks), we left the hut with the uncertainty of not knowing where our next water source was going to be. We both felt uneasy about this as the day was hot, but thankfully we found a little waterfall not far up the track to fill our bottles with. It’s times like these where you truly appreciate the power of water.

The 700m rocky ascent up to the ridge line was unforgiving, and both Helen and I were feeling the heat and previous days’ efforts beginning to take a toll on our energy levels. Reaching the ridge, however, reminded us that climbs like these reward us with remarkable views. From the top (and after I made the call to one of the tramper’s wives), we took a moment to soak in the majestic red hills, forest-clad valleys, and dramatic rock formations surrounding us. I must confess that haven’t seen Lord of the Rings before, but I feel that this would be their location scouter’s dream.

The climb to Mt Ellis, or more accurately sidling around the summit, was a breeze in comparison to what we’d just endured. So too was the first half of the descent back down into the valley. The second half brought with it familiar challenges of slip-sliding down vertical scree slopes. The hut we were walking to was a faint dot in the distance at this point, which was both motivating and cruel. The afternoon sun beat down on the red parched rocks. We were hungry, tired, and wanted nothing more than to dip our weary bodies into the gushing river that lay 500m below us. Eventually, our feet met the river bed again and were treated to a quick dunk as we crossed to a tamer path.

The Red Hills behind us, the easiest part of a difficult day

The path stayed tame, save for a few tricky rock climbing moments. We were overjoyed to see the river up ahead which marked the climb up to the hut. But this point, Helen and I were desperately trying to distract ourselves from our exhaustion. Up and up the trail went, to the most anticipated view of the day: Hunters Hut with bunks free for us to sleep on. With our priorities straight, I got the cooker going straight away as we nibbled on some scroggin (I’m immensely impressed by Helen’s ability to ration her scroggin supply).

The views from the cooking bench in the hut transported us to a Jurassic time. By far some of the best views of the trail so far, conveniently paired with the most challenging terrain. A good reminder that good things in life can come from the hardest of efforts.

DAY 85 - Hunters Hut to Red Hills Hut (18km)

After a hot and sticky night’s sleep (they almost always are in huts) we awoke to the dark. A weka greeted me outside the long drop - luckily they had not found our shoes and shoes interesting nor pleasant-smelling enough to steal them during the night. After yesterday’s big day, I sensed a general tiredness among us walkers. It’s easy to overlook what the accumulation of a week’s mountain tramping does to one’s body, mind, and spirit. According to the elevation profile there were no sustained climbs or descents forecast today, but more undulating up and down throughout the whole day.

I made a pact to myself not to check the map until at least lunchtime, as I noticed I’d become dependent on it to get me through the day. My intention instead was to focus on being with the land and environment around me. As usual, Helen set the pace and off we went, Boulder hopping along the start of the day’s track.

The terrain was slowly changing as we moved more deeply into the Red Hills ecological reserve. As one might imagine by the name, large red rocks form the contours of this landscape. Some smoother rocks looked like they were covered in a red velvet blanket, while other jagged boulders were shaded a duller rusty red. Wherever we looked, there was something geologically interesting to see.

Helen and I got to the first hut, Porters Creek Hut, at 11am. Being the ever-ravenous trampers we are, we couldn’t turn down the prospect of an early lunch. For anyone who cares about my latest wrap filling combo, it’s peanut butter with salt and vinegar peanuts sprinkled on top.

It was hot and humid as we left for the second stretch of the day. Soon we caught up to Rob and Kaz who were packing up their lunch stuff as we passed them. With us all being refilled again, we strode on together for a bit and chatted the time away. A small blister was forming on my toe (the second I’d got on the TA so far) so Helen and I stopped to tend to it while the others trucked on.

We continued to dip in and out of rocky valleys, with the occasional forest to relieve us from the day’s mugginess. Though there was a gentle flow to the rivers, they were for the most part quite dry. We hadn’t had a single drop of rain since the second day which was convenient for us, but not so much for the water tanks at each hut. Most of the terrain was walkable - at least, compared to the day we climbed the Rintouls - but of course there were a few moments of cliff clambering and scree skiing, or as I like to call it, screeing, to keep us on our toes.

A few podcasts later, we had reached the final climb for the day. The hut came into view shortly after we reached the top of the steep bit, and our power legs kicked into what my dad calls the ‘end spurt’ mode. The mud bogs didn’t slow us down as we marched on to Red Hills Hut, a newish 6-bunker built in 2009. For hut standards, that’s brand new. The others had made themselves at home as we arrived, and we followed suit.

I satisfied the jab of hiker hunger that hit me in the last kilometre with a muesli bar smothered in peanut butter. It’s a great feeling, getting to the end of a remote stretch, with spare food to eat. The main topic of conversation at the hut this at night was the food everyone was going to get when they got to St Arnaud. I’m not sure they’ll have many vegan options, but I’ll raid the overpriced grocery store’s vege section and that will satisfy me.

This has been the longest amount of time I’ve spent outside of everyday life/‘civilisation’ and I have not missed home comforts as much as I though I might. I’m looking forward to having a shower, but the privilege of getting to move through the mountains every day outweighs the things that I might be considered to be giving up. It forces me to channel my overthinking energy elsewhere, not on how I look or what others might think of me. I hope to translate this beyond the mountains when re-thinking about what I really value.

Also - Helen, my sister and the best pace setter on the planet, has done so incredibly well to jump into the hardest section of the TA. She’s consistently out-performing me on the porridge and is way more generous with her snacks than I am with mine. I have a few things yet to learn from her.

DAY 86 - Red Hills Hut to St Arnaud (20.5km)

The final day of the Richmond Ranges had arrived. I had mixed feelings about getting into town again: objectively I could see the appeal of a shower and eating something other than porridge or wraps, but personally I didn’t feel a strong need to have these things. With only one way forward and our bodies reminding us of the importance of rest, we packed up and got ready for the climb up, then down, into the Wairau valley.

There was an option of getting to the road faster that some walkers took, but I wanted to walk the TA route as the views from the mountain were supposed to be good (they’re hard not to be around here). So off we went, opting for the longer but more beautiful option of trail. The climbs were manageable, in similar forests we’d become so acquainted with in these last few days. Helen’s Achilles was playing up a bit, so we took it easy on the uphills.

The 4WD track leading down to Tophouse was a breeze. We flew down the hill escorted by a view of the braids of the Wairau River. As soon as we hit the road end and sign signalling the beginning/end of the Richmond Ranges, we turned off our airplane mode and got in touch with family to say we’d made it out alive. It was though those exchanges we also learnt about the Covid level change that had happened while we were out in the wop-wops: Auckland at Level 3, the rest of us at Level 2. It wasn’t completely unexpected of course, but initially I had many questions about what that would it would look like for us as smelly. Sweaty trampers in Te Waipounamu, the South Island. Like the rest of the country, we’d just have to wait and see.

We flew down the 8km stretch of road into St Arnaud. Not even the gale force gusts blowing us sideways could stop our stride. Soon, the houses became more frequent and we did a little dance when we saw the sign for the Alpine Lodge where we were staying.

Despite feeling absolutely out of place walking into a sophisticated and clean lobby, the receptionist welcomed us warmly and made us feel right in place. It was a relief to learn they’d received our resupply box we’d (well, my Mum more accurately) sent from Wellington. We got settled into our private backpackers room, had a shower (it was alright, I guess) and began to relax a bit. After our collective celebratory dinner of burgers, pizzas, bowls of vegetables, and strawberry cheesecake, we plopped in front of the TV to ‘watch’ the Bachelorette. Give me mountain views any day.