There's one spot however, that was just more ... interesting. Pt 953; on a spur that drops north east from Bannister splitting the headwaters of the Ruamahanga. It's a bit of a mission to get to from any angle and has so far eluded my efforts to link it into a through trip. It seems a fitting finale - just a question of designing the route.
The two other spots are on the ridge between Dundas and Arete - so it will have to be a west - east traverse, a little north of the usual Tarn Ridge highway. In a nod to Tararua history it seems fitting to throw in a few routes that are no longer on the maps.
So, the final plan is a Poads Road entry to head up the Ohau River and Deception Spur; drop into the Mangahao then climb Triangle Spur to the Main Range at Dundas. From there, pick off two spots on the way to Arete Hut for the night. The following day, climb to Bannister, drop to 953 and crack open an imaginary bottle of bubbly. It looks like a steep but doable drop to the river junction and a steep but navigable spur to Pukekino on Cattle Ridge. The quickest exit from there looks like the old track from Cow Saddle up to the Blue Range track and out to Kiriwhakapapa.
Two days should do it, but I'll take an annual leave day in case.
As this trip marks the culmination of a somewhat lengthy and eccentric pursuit, I guess I should briefly address a few obvious questions.
What is a spot height? They are cartographer creations from the process of making the topo maps; most of them have nothing to distinguish them on the ground.
How many are there in the Tararuas? Until recently I would say there were probably three or four hundred. However, to claim I've visited them all, I should have a more precise estimate so did my best to count them. Turns out there is around 650 and they are bloody awkward to count. Here's the DOC map website if you want to check (select topo maps and turn on public conservation areas in the drop down menus).
I pulled a few notes together on spot-heighting a while back - they might even provide enough of a response to the other obvious question ("why?") to avoid committal under the Mental Health (Compulsory Assessment and Treatment) Act 1992.
One final word on the matter; by knocking off the spot heights one cannot be considered to have 'done' the Tararuas - much though I might like to think so. There are tracks, huts, unofficial huts, old hut sites, rivers, streams, waterfalls, spurs, plane wrecks, vegetation types, geological features ... any number of reasons to explore a little bit more. But I reckon after this I might have had enough for a while.
What: Spot-heighting, navigation, northern crossing
Where: Ohau to Kiriwhakapapa
When: 18-19 May 2019
Who: Solo
Map
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| The whole 9 yards |
At 04.30 the cell phone buzzes to confirm that Mike has scraped himself out of bed and will be heading my way soon.
In an impressively complicated plan he is dropping me up the coast whilst Angela and my usual support crew head to Nelson to buy a house - but that's another story.
It's a pleasant change to have company for the trip which consequently passes quickly. There's a near full moon but a lot of cloud about, I'll be keeping an anxious eye on the weather all weekend as it is forecast to deteriorate to gales and rain in the afternoon, becoming severe over night.
About 7am Mike wishes me luck and I head out with headtorch on. It's calm with no sign of wind, let alone the forecast gales.
I'm well along the gorge track when a figure appears in the gloom. The hunter is good natured about the prospect of me blundering ahead and disturbing the game. He brushes aside my apology and says he's heading up Blackwater Creek for a look and aims to be home in time to have lunch with the missus.
About 7.50am the track takes to the river where the rocks are wet and slippery from the periodic drizzle; at least the river isn't up. I potter on to the base of Deception Spur by 8.30. And that's the most useful the walking poles get all trip.
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| Base of Deception Spur - junction of North and South Ohau branches |
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| Saturday - the interesting bits |
The base of the spur is steep with lots of regenerating rata. And a band of kiekie (that Dr Suess designed sprawler with dark green hard edged strappy leaves). Easy to drift off the foot trail through here. Further up there's a good ground trail. Few views - all of mist, and I'm getting somewhat damp from the occasional shower and pushing through wet vegetation.
My risk assessment is most on my mind - the weather is number one, and slips and falls are number two. I've defined the assessment points and contingencies, should it deteriorate faster and further than predicted, and keep rehashing them in my head. I'm most conscious of not letting the pursuit of the last spot eclipse getting out on my own two feet.
At 1020 I'm at the cairn on the ridge (865m) - still no wind, and cold and dank. A smart right turn to follow the trail along and down the spur towards Girdlestone.
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| Top of Deception |
I reckon there must be an old route down here somewhere - I failed to find it once before but I'm not concerned about bush bashing to the bottom. I pick a spot where the spur flattens just above the 720m contour - there's a bit of a spur leading to the left - no trail but it looks good. It isn't, but I manage to cross a wee creek and sidle across slope to the right and onto the correct spur which has blue triangles and a strong ground trail. I follow this down to the junction of a creek and the Mangahao River. It's a bit after 11; still overcast but calm. (last time through I think I came down just a little south of here)
Pairs of piwakawaka flit above the river from the trees as I top up with water ahead of the long climb to the Main Range.
.
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| Back across Mangahao River to the base of the spur I came down |
Across the river and down stream 50 odd metres there's a short scramble onto an old terrace, where the main valley track is easily found - there's orange tape and a rat tunnel on the track; about opposite the wee stream I emerged beside.
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| Big rats here - look at the size of the rock |
I still haven't found the best route onto the base of Triangle Spur, but it is pretty open bush so easy to wander about and up until you see a pink ribbon and a ground trail. I knuckle down for the long climb - 900m or so.
The temperature drops and a wee breeze springs up but still nothing significant. I have a bit of trouble keeping to the trail towards the bushline, but on exiting I find some blue tape and a swathe through the scrub. The breeze has stiffened.
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| Out of the bush - not a lot to see |
As the wind strengthens, the temperature drops. I'm pretty damp so it's time to get into the lee of a knob and whip my top off to don a merino layer - as well as gloves and balaclava.
I'm at my first assessment point - out of the bush the conditions are deteriorating but still ok so I decide to push on to the ridge.
The wind gets stronger towards the top and is now whipping across the ridge. I hunker in the tussock to get a bearing and check the map as the clag is well set in now.
It's downright unpleasant on the ridge with the wind slashing stinging rain against my exposed cheek and pushing me about. There's a couple of points where I need to check the map because of the clag and near pt 1437 I drift onto an animal trail heading west down a spur - fortunately quickly identified and rectified.
It becomes one of those head down and soldier on experiences. I'm conscious that there are no real bail options from here - down to the left are steep faces into a leatherwooded hell and down to the right is ... the same. Soaked through, the only way to maintain temperature is to keep moving - stops are short. I pretty quickly lose count of the ups and downs but keep an average bearing for the ridge on my compass - I'm focused on the wee climb to the sign on the ridge pointing to Arete Hut. The walking poles are a help to keep balance in the wind but catch on everything and are a hazard when clambering.
The dried heads of spiky spaniards periodically fool me into seeing snow poles (there's none along here), until finally one turns out to be an old metal stake - and then the sign. The trail down starts ok but is not that easy to follow as it drops towards the wide face the hut is tucked into. I remember to pass the tarn on my left then follow my nose until the hut pops out from the dip it is hiding in. I've heard of people staggering about having a deal of trouble finding it in bad conditions.
I'm pleased to find it empty. At 4.30 it has hardly been a long day but I'm wet, cold and tired. It's an immense relief to close the door on the wind and rain and set about getting soup on and sopping clothes off - they'll not be drying tonight and I can already feel what they will be like to put on in the morning.
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| Phew |
Arete is a tidy wee two bed hut with a bench. It's surprisingly small for where it is located - on the nexus of the Main Range and the Northern Crossing. There are quite a few log entries from people who have headed out for some adventure, only to be beaten back to the hut by the weather. I join the list of people that have been entirely relieved to finally reach this haven.
Once settled in, it dawns that the trip along the ridge knocked off the third and second to last spot heights - there's only one to go. I'm painfully aware though, that that can't enter into my decision making. If all goes as forecast, severe gales will come through tonight with plenty of rain which will die through the morning. The morning of course when I intend to climb the exposed ridge to Bannister.
It's 7 degrees in the hut so not freezing but I get into my sleeping bag and read a VUW tramping club year book. It's either that or hunting magazines. Outside the wind gets up further and the hut thrums.
The gale certainly becomes severe during the night. You know those gusts that wake you and get to the point where you think something will give if it continues - I remind myself the hut has withstood far worse, roll over and try to cover my exposed ear. The wind lashes sheets of rain against the hut.
There's a big moon somewhere above this chaotic weather. It has the clag glowing, without giving any sense of source.
It's after 7 when I wake enough to decide to make preparations. It's light, and despite the clag there is a bit of visibility. The wind has dropped but it is cold with occasional drifts of rain.
The plan is to cross the basin above Arete Stream and see what the wind is like in the saddle, then start the climb up the Twins - if it is too rough I'll turn back for a day at the hut.
As I get ready, the clag starts to shred and a glow of sun reflecting off distant slopes peers through where the saddle to the Twins must be. As I watch, the sky clears briefly to the east to show a sunny morning in the Wairarapa.
I'm much happier setting out knowing that with the west-east flow over the mountains it will be drier and clearer in the direction I'm heading.
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| A hopeful sign |
About 8.30 I have dragged on the last off my sopping gear and closed the door. I take a bearing but quickly discover it isn't needed. There's a path past the loo that leads down a wee spur to an old sign to the hut. After this a few cairns and a bit of a foot trail lead diagonally up slope - I drift off line but soon find a strong foot trail that sidles onto the ridge above the saddle. I've stashed one walking pole in my pack but can't say the other one is adding much value.
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| Start of Sunday - Arrows to Arete Hut and pt 953 |
It's bitterly cold but the wind has dropped further and the rain is holding off. I decide it's a goer and start climbing to the first Twin. The clag periodically breaks and gives glimpses of a sunny Table Ridge, and, briefly the bright dot of Arete Forks Hut way below.
On the Twins I note the puddle I drank from last time - it would be pretty clean now given the rinsing it got last night.
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| Towards Table Ridge |
Approaching the top of the second Twin, Bannister plays hide and seek through the clag.
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| Second Twin and up to Bannister |
Around 9.40 I'm on Bannister - the wind is chill and the rugged ridge route to Waingawa is appearing and disappearing literally every few seconds.
What was supposed to be the riskiest part of the day is over - nothing but a stretch of spur between me and that final spot. I check in with the support crew and head down out of the clag.
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| Main ridge south west from Bannister - now you don't see it ... |
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| Now you do |
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| My spur down slowly emerging |
Pretty soon I have unimpeded views of Cattle Ridge in the sun and Bannister Basin down to my right. There was a Forest Service hut in there once, but I can't see any indication where. The 1979 maps show it near the stream, a ways down the basin, but not subsequent editions. I haven't seen a map with a route marked to it.
There's a reasonable ground trail on the spur, mostly deer by the look of it, but if you keep your eyes open it gives a good route through the tussock and patches of low scrub. There's a couple of spots on the way down where you might veer onto a side spur in clag but nothing a compass wouldn't prevent.
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| Down my spur - planned spur up Cattle Ridge ahead |
Before long I'm looking down to my spot - just above the junction of the Ruamahanga and a sizable stream from the catchments to my right.
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| At last a clear view to the final spot |
A bit over 1000m there's a band of scrub I have to do battle with but I may have just missed the trail - it wouldn't be much fun coming up. I realise I have lost my favourite cap somewhere on the way through, but going back is really not an option.
The spur flattens with some clear areas and low knobs. Someone has set up a trail camera pointing at a wallow. Of course I stop and give it a wave. There's also a box with an antenna and a rain gauge - I'm hardly the first here.
At 1053 I'm at pt 953. There's sun breaking through and I'm even thinking about shedding a layer. It's pleasing to know that this is not just another hard to reach spot, but the last of the hard to reach spots I have set myself. There's the satisfaction that I guess every hut bagger and stamp collector gets from finishing their particular collection - but I'm not really of a mind to savour it right now. So far this trip has been about assessing risks and margins - and now I'm contemplating the climb out and where I'll have to bivvy down if I'm too knackered to make the road end tonight. I do manage a little self-satisfied bask as I sit and munch on fruit bread and camembert.
Above, Cattle Ridge, Bannister Ridge and the Main Range circle the horizon. From down here it's fair to call them ramparts.
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| Last one |
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| None to go! |
A hint of a trail along the spur has disappeared, and I'm looking for a way through the scrub and down to the river junction. It's pretty horrendous - there's no indication people or animals have come this way. It's steep and the vegetation starts as close scrub then becomes forest with dense, rotting branches and black slippery humus. I have to zigzag to avoid frequent drops and hang off trees and handfuls of ferns to negotiate the unavoidable ones. The sound of the rivers gets louder.
A patch of mountain cabbage trees near the bottom would normally have got my attention but I am far more intent on whether my next foot hold is going to crumble, leaving me relying on a spindly coprosma.
With slightly shaky knees I scramble out to the waters edge almost an hour after celebrating success at 953.
Although the stream on my right isn't named, it is a respectable size. It joins the Ruamahanga and drops into the dim start of the upper gorge.
Despite the rain the water is reasonably clear and I top up - this may have to see me out.
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| Ruamahanga on right - unnamed stream on left - gorge ahead |
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| Sun on the tops - not so much here |
Scanning the other bank, I find a way to scramble on to the spur. I'd identified two options for this climb: from this junction, or from the next junction up the side stream. I chose the main junction, as I figured people are more likely to head for a landmark like this - particularly if they were aiming for the gorge or to head up the Ruamahanga.
I see no signs that people ever thought this way at all. It's a steep scramble for a start, a steep but reasonable section in forest, and then the scrub starts, lower than the map indicates. Every step up is a struggle; crawling through, under, over and around - unweaving tangled branches before trying to slide between, only to have a spike of dead leatherwood stop you dead as it stabs into your thigh.
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| Back to 953 and the spur from Bannister |
The sun is shining now but I'm feeling completely drained. I've tried before but it is hard to describe how demoralising some scrub can be - just as you find space to stand, you're confronted by a waist high step up and a stubborn leatherwood - clambering over is the only option. It's a strain to lift a leg high enough then scramble for purchase on the slimy bark. The branches refuse to bend out of the way but snap suddenly just when your weight is committed. Forcing your way through, a totara branch flicks a face-full of spiky leaves, dislodging glasses. On the other side you're forced onto your stomach to squirm between gnarled stems with branches snaring your pack. And so it goes and goes.
The spur is steep and the map is telling me that I have another 100m of glacial progress - to my utter relief I struggle out and onto tussock at about 1020m. This is about where the other option spur joins mine. I've stumbled onto an animal trail - no idea if it goes right to the bottom, but it looks like a better option than the way I came up.
There's plenty of game sign on this spur, I follow trails all the way to the top, albeit somewhat slowly. By the time the spur rounds gently onto the flat expanse of Pukekino I'm in clag again and the temperature has plummeted.
It's 2.50, I'm feeling wrung out and cold. I let the support crew know that I'm still alive and that I may biv down at Cow Saddle. After a snack I set the compass and set off into the gloom.
Although cold, it's not windy, so it's just a question of the occasional glance at the compass and rocking along trying not to notice the chafe. The clag just sits there.
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| Pukekino |
A bit of unhindered walking along the mostly flat ridge puts me in a better frame of mind. However my text at 3.36 from the top of the track to Cow Saddle still only rates the probability of getting out tonight as 'an outside chance.'
The ground trail at the top of the spur is not that distinct and I'm starting to second guess myself. However, pretty soon there is more sign of human traffic and I relax a little - just concentrating on not slipping. I'm expecting to walk out of the bottom of the clag but it clings stubbornly to below the bushline.
There's a wee stream shortly after the bushline, which today has a respectable trickle - you can't rely on it in summer. Once in the bush I know it's about 300m down to the saddle and I'm thinking I will at least be able to start up the other side in the light.
Just before 5pm, I drop my pack in the saddle and study the map. I'm going for the road end now. It'll be long dark before then, so I just figure on getting up to the flat part of the spur above (800m) before cracking out the light.
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| The final push - last coms point at arrow |
There's a wooden sign in the saddle, if you head back towards Cow Creek a very short way there's a tin sign on a tree - this marks where to look for a ground trail through saplings heading upwards. It gets steadily gloomier as I climb, but the trail is good and even when I wander off, I soon find my way back to it.
At around 820m I give up and get my torch out. This is my new headlight and I discover how utterly ridiculously useless my old one was. I pretty much stick to the trail all the way up, with a few minor excursions. Although not a marked track it has had enough use over time that it is noticeably harder underfoot than the surrounding forest.
I can't really claim to be navigating now - I just have to keep going up until 970 metres and then worry about it - until then the trail marks the path of least resistance so I just concentrate on keeping to it.
The clag is thick in among the trees and the drifting droplets reflect the light.
When the trail finally tops out, I take a bearing southwest and follow whatever ground trail presents itself. It seems to take a long time to travel what is a very easy 400m section of ridge to the track. Finally the sign pointing to the Waingawa River appears reassuringly out of the dark. It's feels like much longer, but it has only been a bit over an hour and a quarter from the saddle - I might actually get out tonight.
Mentally I have the rest of the trip broken into five: a long flattish bit, a steep climby bit, a mucky sidle bit to the Blue Range Hut junction, a long steep down bit, then a lovely flat stroll out. I knuckle down to ticking these off.
At 7.30 I ring Brother Number One from the junction - 'any chance of a pick-up?' I'm mentally prepared to kip out in the road end shelter but somewhat relieved when, as always, he is most obliging. "8.30?" "Nah, better make it 9 - it's wet and lethally slippery."
Last time I came down here the Moreporks were starting their evening calls. Tonight they have well passed the initial flurry of 'good evenings', with just the occasional late call drifting across the hills.
The good headlight probably balances the extra time needed for careful foot work. Every root is just waiting to skate a foot sideways or tip your balance. I note three trees on the way down with metal collars - presumably to protect mistletoe from possums - I see what I think is a mistletoe in the beam of my light but can't get close enough to investigate.
At last the track bottoms out by a wee creek which marks where to cross and start the comfortable amble along the old tram way. I wobble along at my end of trip can't-go-any-faster pace, occasionally humming under my breath: "no more spots to go, no more spots to go ..."
At 0845 there's a near full moon but no cars at the road end. Perfect. I have just enough time to change into my hut clothes before sweeping headlights herald the arrival of Brother Number One, a flask of hot soup, and an end to this particular chapter.
Postscript
What's next? Don't know - might look at some bike trips, and the Kahurangis are calling ... certainly not chasing spot-heights anywhere else.What does it feel like to finish something that has taken so much time and effort? Still working it out. I really don't recommend aspects of it - there are many spots which are buried in scrub or gorse which are basically a pointless and painless aggravation. What I do recommend is anything that gets you to explore new corners and spot heights certainly get you to do that.
A lot of people think you have to be a lunatic to go off track and solo in some of the remoter corners. I've thought about this a lot on my trips - they have a point and I reckon there are some ethical considerations you have to work through.
It is essentially a selfish act - for convenience, and my own preference I rarely go with a group. This has some unavoidable consequences, for example, a slightly higher risk of an incident, a more significantly higher risk of adverse outcomes from an incident (e.g. from lower ability to self manage), loss of socialisation of experience, role modelling higher risk practices, higher individual environment foot print (e.g. solo transport) ...
I don't think it washes to say that you knowingly take the risks on yourself. Someones will suffer emotional harm if you end up dead in a creek, and you can't opt out of SAR mounting an expensive search effort. So, in effect you are individualising the benefits and socialising the costs.
To me, this creates some moral obligation to share some of the benefits and to reduce the potential costs. For example; good planning including a detailed risk assessment (mitigate risks, identify contingencies), avoid dumb decisions, carry the right gear, carry a PLB (reduce search costs), explicit intentions (reduce search costs, piece of mind for family), use hut log books (search costs), carry a cell phone, give back (e.g. share experience through a club or online, go on pest control trips) ...
Enough of that. Given the momentous occasion, a few acknowledgements are in order:
- The support crew of course for foregoing having someone around most weekends (to paint the drains and whatever else you are supposed to do with an aging villa), and for drop off/pick ups at unfashionable hours in obscure locations
- Brother Number One and Janne for innumerable early drop offs and late pick ups, warm beds, hot dinners, and don't-shoot-me-vests
- Family members and anyone else that patiently wades through these rambling accounts and makes the mistake of politely expressing interest
- Those that would have turned out should I ever have pulled my PLB or missed my due time
