I've rabbited on about the hills behind Shannon before ... in a nutshell: scrub, hydro dams, and more scrub. You'd think I'd've learnt by now - you have to allow much more time than you think to travel off track in these parts.
This is the second in what is proving to be a series of trips into the interior to polish off the various points on the scrubby ridges and spurs around the Mangahao dams.
The mission is to wander through the little corner of the Tararuas defined to the north by the Mangahao gorge - which bears the dire warning: "River subject to rapid flooding." If that is not enough, it is renowned for its scrub, there are no marked tracks and no official road end in the east. In short, like someone clasping a handful of pamphlets on Lambton Quay, it sends the signal: 'avoid eye contact and do not approach.'
All going well (which you can assume won't happen) Sunday will see me sauntering over 'Peak' and down a curving spur back to reservoir two.
What: Spot-heighting trip and explore around Taramea Stream
Where: Near Mangahao River and Burn Hut
When: 26 - 27 May 2018
Who: Solo
Map:
I park in the traditional spot by the dam to reservoir two. It's cold out but not raining, the breakfast pie from the Olde Beach Bakery in Waikanae is helping ward off the chill.
The floodway is spilling even more vigorously than last month and there is an actual river down stream. Across the dam is a grassy bank, scattered shards of pink indicate that someone has been shooting clay pigeons - hopefully not when anyone was coming up the track.
About 8.25 I enter the bush.
The familiar track follows the river then ducks up a spur to pt 657 before there's any need for the map. A gap in the bush gives a view south, up the unnamed stream valley (below Burn Hut) to what has become a sunny day and peaks dusted with snow (possibly around West Peak).
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| A dot on the spur to the left is Burn Hut, and there's snow somewhere in the distance |
When the track breaks out of the bush I start scanning for trails running north east along the flat topped ridge to pt 730. The planned route heads north east along the ridge that forms the west side of Taramea Stream, at some point I'll drop to the stream and climb the east ridge to follow it SSW to the head of the valley.
One of the track marker poles has tin wrapped around it, on the assumption that this is marking something important I slip off the track and into the scrub (no trails to be seen). I think it's about 0945.
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| Looking north - scrub |
The scrub starts low with occasional animal trails but inevitably gets thicker and higher. I briefly pick up an old cut trail but this seems to drop too far east so I leave it to plow my way up to 730. This turns out to be an undistinguished scrubby knob (surprise!). I take a bearing and struggle on for 695. At times there is a bit of a trail on the east side of the ridge which gets me to the lump between 695 and 675.
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| 730 - scrub |
Here things speed up with a ground trail and some very old spray markers. When this starts dropping I back track and bash to the spur top and pt 630. There's a wee clearing and sunlight. It's 1pm so time for a bite.
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| A little damp but the sun's back on pt 630 |
Back in the bush I backtrack up the trail but it disappears soon after the point I found it. More scrub bashing. At 675 I've had enough and rather than head further through the tangle, drop as directly as possible to Taramea Stream. It's the usual sort of jumble of rotten, mossy logs on the steep valley side but it least it's not scrub.
The stream is a good size - and there are occasional glimpses of sun on large old trees on the eastern slope. At 1405 I'm starting to watch the clock - if it's good going on the eastern ridge I might have enough time to head north to pick up two spot-heights near the Mangahao River - but probably not.
I pick a random spot about 20 minutes down stream and climb a wee spur to the ridge. There's reasonable forest cover but in the 25 minutes to get to the top I've decided that time will be tight even if I don't divert north - the two spots will have to wait for another trip (probably from the eastern side of the range).
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| Ridge top - reasonable sized forest |
At this point the ridge has a high canopy so going is good. Ground trails come and go and I don't see any signs of people. Inevitably, there are scrubby patches, often there is a bit of a foot trail on the east side but these soon peter out. There are a few clearings where wind has got in and knocked a strip of trees over. The further up (south) I get the worse it gets. A few pink ribbons below 730 raise hopes briefly but they soon disappear, as does any trail they might have been associated with.
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| Wind throw clearing |
At pt 730 I stop and look up the ridge at the intervening scrub and figure it's a mugs game to keep fighting through - time for plan B. During trip planning (i.e. 6am when I was heading out the door) the support crew asked; 'what if you don't make it up the ridge?' To which the reply was an airy - I'll just drop to the stream and follow it up to the hut - it will be impossible to miss! Time to put that confidence to the test.
The scrub is not so keen to relinquish my tender flesh - it's a bit of a battle through bushlawyer before I can reach the trees and start dropping down the mossy slope.
The stream is smaller than earlier but still appreciable, I turn up stream (south) and make as good a time as I can in the remaining light. The river bed is reasonably wide and not gorgy, there's a few spots requiring a bit of a clamber but nothing dramatic.
The air is cold and soon, with headlight on, I'm breathing downwards to avoid the clouds of exhaled vapour. The world narrows to the section of stream in my head light. It gets tighter and the trees close in.
Towards the head of the valley I'm basically wading up the slot of the (now) small stream as it runs through cutty grass and leatherwood. My somewhat loose plan is to follow the stream til it runs out and if there is a choice, bear right to hit the saddle below the hut.
Something odd about the outline of a leatherwood's tortured branches makes me pause and look back at it. On closer inspection, one of the branches has been sawn through - many years ago. I haul myself out of the water and find more cut branches. There's an old track heading upwards. It proves to be easy to follow and, as I climb, the close scrub gives way. No longer hemmed in there is a strong sense of emptiness and a wide, dark sky. The wind is decidedly cold accentuating the feeling of space. It's exactly the feeling you get climbing out of a cave on a dark night.
A large animal or two crash off through the scrub.
In the dark it's hard to tell directions and I'm intrigued as to where I will pop out. To my surprise the first thing I see are the water tanks on the back of the hut. The climb was probably only 60-70 meters but they would have been hellish meters if it was not for the track.
It's about 1815, the hut is empty, and I'm wet and cold. The rain sets in shortly after I arrive and I am doubly pleased to have found that track. With dry clothes and the billy on I'm on my way to setting things to rights - now to see to those blocks of ice that are passing for feet. The hot billy does the trick as I wait for the dehy to soak.
There's reception here so texts are possible, but I'm careful to conserve the battery as I haven't brought a power pack. With a full stomach and warm feet I select a book from the hut library (two books and a pile of old magazines) and read by candlelight before an early lights out.
Wind and hard rain buffet the hut and I'm just warm enough in my three season bag. I wonder drowsily what the next day will be like.
The day greets me with a weta in the sink. Releasing it back to the wild I look out at high cloud and no rain. It's decidedly cold so there may have been a bit of procrastination before finally donning wet gear (0820).
The track to the ridge is wide, I glance at the scrub hemming it on the left and for a third time am pleased to have found the old track in the dark. At the ridge there is, in theory, a short (600m?) hop along to Taramea. There are occasionally animal trails to the west of the ridge top but it's mostly scrub bashing and hard going.
At Taramea I stand chest deep in scrub and contemplate the surroundings. Down ridge is pt 730 and the limit of my travel last night - looking at the scrub it was a good call to exit to the stream - it would have been hours of pitch black misery to come up here. I find out later that Taramea is the name of wild spaniard - fortunately I did not have to contend with that as well (I assume it used to be plentiful here but the regenerating scrub may have out competed it).
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| Taramea |
It's a quick zip around to pt 853, the map shows the track running over the knob - but it doesn't, and so the next round of scrub bashing starts.
The map shows a gentle descent to a saddle then a climb to Peak. I'm not even half way down to the saddle when it becomes clear (once again) that I will not be making my deadline if I have to bash through this stuff all the way to Peak and over (I'm supposed to be helping the parents shift in Tawa at 4pm).
A deer bounds over the scrub about 50m ahead before stopping to check me out - once still, it merges into the landscape, becoming invisible. If I had a gun I would probably shoot it purely out of spite for the ease with which it negotiates this horrific vegetation.
My bail out plan is to drop into the stream running north east from the saddle (well, it worked last night didn't it!). Once again, the scrub band runs a long way down the slope and there's a lot of swearing required before I finally can duck beneath the canopy. It takes a bit of compass work and casting about to find pt 640 (there is no way I'm leaving that as an orphan). When I finally get on to it, the spur is well formed with reasonably open forest. Trails come and go but no real evidence that any are from human traffic.
The spur pops me into a clearing that gives quick access to the lower slopes and a last bit of a scramble down to the stream. It's a good size here and the valley is surprisingly wide and not gorgy. It's mostly scrub so feels open. At 12.45 it's touch and go to get out and to Tawa by 1600.
As I potter downstream it starts to rain and the river stones get decidedly slippery. The stream is quite navigable although the force of the water increases with each side stream.
As always the travel is slow and it takes longer than you expect to travel the distance on the map. Towards the bottom the valley narrows and the sides steepen and become more forested - at one point a steep spur in the rain and mist looks like something from Te Urewera.
The stream becomes more gorgy requiring a few sidles and occasionally a wet midriff. It's better than I had feared but the curved wooden bridge is a welcome sight about an hour after leaving the spur.
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| Signs of civilisation |
It takes half an hour to whistle back along the track to the dam with the river on the right looking even more river like than yesterday.
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| I'm still finding the flood way a novelty |
Wet kit and pack are quickly relegated to rubbish bags in the boot and I'm soon heading for Tawa (arriving about 1610 so how's that for timing?!).
Post Script
10 spot-heights knocked off, legs and hands covered in scratches, and numerous bruises. Not quite the haul I had in mind but not bad. The cold southerly front was relatively benign saving it's most savage efforts for the dead of night.My best advice is that if you have to travel in these parts - stick to the stream beds or study the vegetation carefully before choosing a ridge or spur.
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