Kawekas Trip report by Clive Sligo and J.McCarvill Trip dated: 26 December 2001- 5 January 2002 For many years I have tried to imagine what New Zealand was like before it was changed to suit the purposes of mankind, when the dominant species in the land was avian. A visit to Stewart Island provided the opportunity to experience a past era, or as close as one can get to see New Zealand as it was in about the 1860's. On Boxing Day eight trampers gathered at the assembly point, Invercargill Airport, and made their way to Bluff and the Foveaux Strait Ferry. The group comprised Fr. Bill Fletcher, Jude McCarvill (leader), Liz and Mike Sampson, Rosemary and Raymond Muldoon, Peter Allen, and Clive Sligo (scribe). From the Airport we carted our gear to Bluff, the ferry terminal, and spent a couple of hours looking around the township. Fishing is the main industry, with paua products a side interest. Rosemary, Raymond and Bill visited a house advertising paua products, and this was situated on the main road just around the corner from Glory St. On leaving, Bill advised them that they truly had witnessed the paua and the glory. (Sorry about that one - it was inserted under threat of excommunication.) Having stocked up with a few momentoes of paua, we boarded the ferry, which pauaed its way across the Strait in a little over an hour. European discovery of Stewart Island is credited to Captain Cook, who mapped it as a peninsula attached to the mainland by a narrow spit. Recent cartographers have denied the existence of this spit, and this was confirmed by my personal observation, leaving me with the conclusion that perhaps Captain Cook downed one or two tots too many as the sun dipped below the yardarm on that evening 232 years ago. The capital (and only town) of Stewart Island, Oban, in Half Moon Bay, was reminiscent of a coastal town of the early days of settlement in New Zealand, or perhaps a fishing village in the Orkneys. It had a character of its own. Bird song was continuous, and kaka and wood pigeon flapped about, disregarding the low-key human activity around the sprinkling of buildings that comprises the township. After completing with DOC the arrangements for hut passes, then sorting out the gear, the group settled for a meal at the hotel. The night was spent at the local camping ground, where the group tented down to the accompaniment of steady rain. As tent space was cramped, Jude stretched out on a table under the open shelter provided within the camping ground, which we used to store our packs and food. Her presence kept a troublesome possum at bay. --To Ulva The first morning dawned reasonably bright and a trip to Ulva Island was scheduled. Ulva is a bird sanctuary, built along the lines of Tiritiri Matangi, and although larger in area, bird life is not as prolific. Most of the more common birds are present, weka are seen frequently, and yellowhead, saddleback and brown kiwi have recently been introduced. The day passed with a leisurely stroll around part of the island, visiting many of the idyllic beaches, lunching with the wekas, and generally enjoying the environment, which was to be a pleasant prelude to the tough days of tramping ahead. Mike and Liz, however, did not visit the island , but commenced their tramp of the North Western circuit first thing that morning. At the conclusion of the day a water taxi took us to Christmas Village Hut, about 25k North up the East coast of Stewart Island. As there was no wharf on this part of the coast each of us was ferried onto the rocks separately, with pack, and fortunately without mishap. A short walk along the beach, followed by an excellent dinner prepared by Jude and Rosemary saw us in bed by dark. (10-30pm in December). --The Ascent of Mt Anglem At just under 1000 metres, Mt Anglem is the highest peak on Stewart Island, and can be approached from the Christmas Village Hut. The sign said 5 hours return, but we left early, anticipating a longer day taking in the views and enjoying the scenery. Geologically, Anglem surmounts a large mass of diorite (low-silica granite) which is separated from the southern portion of the island by a fault zone extending through Peterson Inlet and North West up Freshwater Creek to the Ruggedy Range. Everything south of this fault zone (say 2/3 of the land mass) is a huge chunk of granite. The lowlands and swamps of Freshwater Creek are within a rift valley which follows the fault line. The climb was demanding, as the track (like many on the Island) is poorly maintained, so progress was slow. The views, however, were spectacular, and the clarity of vision such that is was possible to see through binoculars pods of whales off the coast, and seals and dolphins herding schools of fish for feeding. This was of particular interest to Bill, who spent some time observing the marine life. Due to the Latitude, the bush quickly gave way to scrub, then tussock and alpine plants, which dominated the tops. Although the slopes were moderate, the slippery, muddy track made for a laborious climb. However, it was worth it. The view from the top stretched from the sand dunes out West at Mason Bay to the Ruggedy Range in the NW corner of the island. The entire Northern Coast could be seen, and down the East coast to Paterson Inlet. Across the strait was Bluff Hill, with the towering flue of Tiwai Point belching a plume of smoke. The ascent completed, the party of six descended to Christmas Village Hut to meet Liz and Mike, who had completed their second day of the North West circuit route. The evening was spent observing whales and seals doing their thing just off the coast. --Return to Oban The following morning brought heavy showers, and later steady rain, as Liz, Mike and Bill followed the track Northwards. The intentions of the remaining five were to move South to Oban, then West to Mason Bay, to await the arrival of Liz's party. The tramp to Oban was planned for three days. The initial leg to Big Bungaree was demanding, and made more difficult by the poor condition of the track, and wet, slippery conditions. Poor track maintenance combined with over 270 days rainfall per year made for a bog along many sections of the track. A 1-km stretch of sand at Murray Beach provided a short respite from the laborious track, but it was short-lived. We arrived at Big Bungaree Hut tired and a little grumpy, but after Raymond fired up one of his well-timed brews we were back in business again, enjoying the delights of Bungaree Beach. The beach featured magnificent views of bush-clad ridges descending to the shoreline, unspoiled by development, pristine by nature. The tramp from Bungaree to Port William was far better going, with a much improved track at the Port William end. Although the track followed the coastline, we saw little of the ocean, as we were immersed in the bush. Bird life did not reach expectations, with not much more than the odd kaka and occasional chatter of a parakeet heard. Port William Hut turned out to be a large, modern affair, perched on a shelf above the beach, with a flat , open, grassy area surrounding it. Port William itself is a large sheltered inlet containing several sandy beaches. An old wharf is present near the hut, and the bushline drapes characteristically about the shore. Port William to Oban, (a good track as it is part of the "great walks'' system) provided us with an encounter of a number of whale carcasses, the remnants of a stranding just over a year ago, at the Southern end of Maori Bay. This section of the tramp offered spectacular views of the coast, North to Mt. Anglem. On arrival in Oban, we set up in the camping ground, and during our preparations for New Year's eve were surprised by the arrival of Fr. Bill. Apparently his boots had given out on him, and rather than risk the rigors of the North West circuit in bare feet, made it back to Christmas Village, then by water taxi to Oban. He brought with him a couple of bottles of wine as a peace offering, and was given in exchange a can of speights, to let him know how much we appreciated having him back again. (a good thought for the speights ads on TV) The New Year's eve festivities in Oban were enjoyed by all. --The Kiwi Hunt New Year's Day dawned with the threat of rain, forcing us to pack our gear and tents before everything got wet. Rather than tramp to North Arm then slog our way over to Freshwater Landing, the group opted to take a water taxi to Freshwater, and tramp from there to Mason Bay, on the West coast, where kiwis were known to frequent. Just before moving off, Peter Allen announced that he'd visited the medical clinic in Oban to have an eye injury checked, and had been ordered by the duty nurse to go to Dunedin hospital for specialist attention. His eye had been whacked by a stray branch of supplejack during the landing at Christmas Village some days previously. He was on a plane within the hour, to Invercargill, then by bus to Dunedin. The remaining party of five were transported some 6 or 7 km up the Freshwater River, at the head of Paterson Inlet, and after reorganising the food set off for Mason Bay. The track was dry and level, and we joined about 30 others at the Mason Bay hut, all intent on making contact with kiwi. The track from the old homestead (now occupied by DOC) to the beach was a well-mown strip of turf some 2m wide, stretching over 1.5km, with the hut about 500m from the dunes. During the night, kiwi came out onto this track to feed, and thus were easily located. All of the party got to within 3 to 4m of the birds, and the lucky ones had kiwi sniffing and probing around their boots. The party spent 3 or 4 days around the Mason Bay hut, as there was plenty to do, with day tramps along the beach and around the dunes, scaling local lookouts for panoramic views of the coast, or relaxing in the sun around the hut. Some were in need of rest. Raymond had physical ailments ranging from a poisoned toe to shin splints, back pain and numerous lacerations, and to cap it off the antidote the Oban doctor prescribed created stomach problems. Despite this, he never complained, and was invariably first out of bed, distributing tea to those recovering from the previous evening's nocturnal kiwi hunt (1:00am was not an unusual time to conclude this activity). Wed. 2nd saw the arrival of Liz and Mike, having completed the North West circuit. On Thursday morning Peter Allen made a surprise arrival on the flight from Invercargill to Mason Bay, to complete his Stewart Island adventure. His eye was pronounced healthy. On Friday Liz, Mike and Clive returned to Freshwater Landing to catch the taxi back to Oban, for their Sunday flights to Auckland, whereas the remainder stayed on for another week to explore further sites on the Island. Just what they got up to is not known to the author, but should be well worth telling in another chapter of this saga. (* Part 2 follows) --Conclusion There is no doubt that the experience was worthwhile. The opportunity to visit a place like Stewart Island does not come very often in a lifetime, and if on offer, should be taken. There is a similarity about most tramping experiences, such that one patch of bush, or alpine ridge, is the same as any other. If you wish to extend your tramping experience beyond the norm., then go and have a look at Stewart. This dissertation is concluded with some quotes frequently heard during the tramp:- "You might think it's a rock, but I'm telling you I saw it move" "If there's another hill like this one, I'm not going any further" "Oh, for a lovely, boring boardwalk" "Does anyone know the cricket score?" "How many biscuits each?" Thanks to Liz and Jude for the excellent job in organising the trip, and to all party members for their company. Judy McCarvill continues the saga from Mason Bay ... "We farewelled Liz, Mike and Clive and the remaining party headed off down to The Gutter which is a beach trek 9 kms there and 9 kms back so a good walk. The Gutter is a sandy rise/pass and there would only be the odd time when water would go right through to the other side. In effect the land at the end of the beach is two islands. Then the next day we farewelled Peter who was heading for time in Dunedin and the Catlins. This day we had an early lunch and then headed back up the track to the Homestead (now a DoC house). We followed the fence line around the big hill and through the Great Sand Pass in the sand hills to the beach with a brew for afternoon tea on a knoll. Out to sea was some turbulence with white water and brown things. The binoculars were put into use and certain members of the party were sure it was a pod of whales but one other doubting party member said "No - its a reef" remembering that the ship the Cavalier had been wrecked in 1901 and ended up down by The Gutter. The matter was set to rest by the DoC Launch Master (Alan) back at Oban who without any prompting said there was a reef out there visible at Low Water. Yea!!! Poor Bill. Then down in the Ferry Building waiting room a map with the reef marked on it. Whales - what an imagination!! The Reef is not marked on the Topo map - I had already checked that. ** OF REEFS AND WHALES AND THINGS THAT GO SPLASH. . (By Clive Sligo) The climb had been steady, we'd run out of puff. The sea was resplendent, across to the Bluff. We stopped for a breather, and Ray brewed the tea, And Bill grabbed his glasses, and looked out to sea. "Look at this," he exclaimed, "The sea is alive, With all manner of things that swim, splash, and dive, The school fish are swarming, it's clear to the eye, And out in the Strait, pods of whales pass by. The petrels are diving, the albatross soars, The seals and dolphins are there in their scores!" The tea was forgotten, we queued for a glance At the bright, seething ocean, our view to enhance. Then a brief anti-climax - Good Heavens, what's wrong? The glasses still had both their lens covers on!!! With wry grin and knowing glance Bill eyed the mob, Who'd recovered their thirst, and were back on the job! (Clive's comment - A considerable degree of poetic license has been used in this composition). Continued from:** We camped at Freshwater Landing for a night and then some took the Water Taxi to Fred’s Camp while Bill walked through the swamp and we have it on his authority he got wet in the swamp to his waist. Fred’s Landing is a good hut right on the water's edge and with fresh mussels for the collecting at low water. Those who have been here will remember the dunny up the hill with the wonderful view! Spent 2 days here relaxing and playing cards. Have to admit Bill is very smart at cards and so is Rosemary but then you can’t play if you don’t get the right ones to play with!! Judy (Show photos of this trip)

Queen’s Birthday in the Kawekas

Trip report by Lee Glogoski

Trip dated: Friday31 May - Monday 3 June 2002

The hot pools are fabulous and we will probably do some walking. How could I resist? Queen’s Birthday weekend in the Kawekas – where are they? – somewhere along the Taupo/ Napier highway. It was easy; we were taking the club bus, converted, so we could just sleep in the back. No worries

We left Auckland 6.30pm, sort of, and arrived Kaweka’s 4.00 am, sort of, and so slept some more. Any bangs crashes and lost ways were part of some disjointed dream!!

Looking at the map over breakfast the first tingling of apprehension started to appear. “Hey Pete, it looks like a reasonable walk, and those white bits – they’re snow right? Oh and maybe we’ve overshot the start. You think?” So back in the bus and back down the road. It was a wonderful winter’s morning, long shadows in the valleys, sunshine on the hills. We walked through frozen fields whose feathery tops glistened in the sun with the last of the morning frost. Over a couple of stiles and somewhere way ahead in the distance, forest and snow covered mountains.
“Oh yeah right, like that’s where we’re going!!?”
And so we started, up through the beech forest until we reached Middle Hill Hut – aptly named because there is a hut on a fair sized wee hill somewhere between the flats and the mountains. And lunch was fabulous, lying out on the grass, feeding our faces, in the wonderful warmth from the sun.
Doesn’t get much better than this. What? Who was that masked man?

Lunch over, we lifted our packs and decision time. Four tracks from the clearing, the one we arrived by, one went to the loo, one to the hunter’s safe and the unknown middle one? Mmmm difficult choice.
A thousand metres to climb that day, and from here the track continued steadily and steeply upwards. Every hopeful hilltop clearing revealed yet another ever upward ascent. Only when the legs were too tired and the breath a little laboured, did we stop for a brief respite. The soft sponginess of the undergrowth was a pleasure for our feet, the bright green ground moss, a bed for the small delicate ferns – oh yes, there was a lot of looking at the ground. But to lift our spirits and keep our eyes skyward the mellow call of the bell bird, the happy fantail encouraging us forward, the clear blue sky at the top of the ridge and Bill’s butterscotch candy.
Snow, pure white snow, everywhere, on the ground, in the trees, on the branches and Bing Crosby singing “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas”, only it was the wrong season, and Bing Crosby wasn’t there for anyone else! Perhaps, a winter wonderland in the middle of the Rockies and Bambi would appear any minute now, uh uh - definitely time for more fluids.

At last we broke free of the forest and before us our inimical mountain. Sometimes it makes you wonder and then you just have to do it. We reassessed. Could we possibly take a short cut across the mountain and not follow those annoying poles which seemed to be taking the long route to the top? Pete figured the poles followed a ridgeline up the mountain and if we were to deviate, we might find ourselves in very deep snow. We found ourselves in deep snow anyway, but there was a rock or tuft of grass for a handhold and every now and then somewhere firm to put our feet. We scrambled shakily over those
last few rocks at the crest and now we were on top of the world. You just had to be there. We were standing on a flat plateau, the sky lifted, separated above us, slate grey, pale gold and the slightest touch of blue. Directly in front of us but far away across many lesser mountains, we could see Ruapehu and Ngaruhoe, sentinels of the ski fields. Away to the right the Ruahines, where the boar and the hunters roam, to the left Napier, a village nestled in the arms of the Mahia Peninsula, and us wind swept, cold and happy. We all took photos, of the scene, of all of us, of each of us. It was too cold to stay for too long, and still a long way to go. Though we would have other ridges to climb that day they felt like the gentle undulations along some sleeping giants spine.

At day’s end came the challenging decent down to Ballards hut. Every kids dream slip sliding down a snow-covered mountain. The reality was a little different. Steep decline with heavy snow cover meant our front leg would crunch through the surface layer sinking then sliding forward trying to find grip at the same time our back leg was stuck in deep snow somewhere behind us. Trying to slide on our butts left us pretty much in the same situation, at some point the snow would give way and we would once again find ourselves doing some kind of weird split thing with our legs. We arrived at Ballards hut with not a sprain or break amongst us. We were happy to be there.
Ballard’s is a hunters hut; not the luxurious huts of “round the mountain” no sounds of talking or laughter, just a small orange deserted corrugated hut –desolate. And that’s why we were there, to make it alive again. We left lighting the fire to a very capable Bill, helped by Paul when he wasn’t assisting Pete come up with some culinary delight for dinner and so nice to have a cup of tea. Sandra and I did the dishes – not glamorous but in the moonlit snow, inder the shelter of the trees it was beautiful. Bill told a few tales around our camp stove, we all snuggled into fairy down and did I mention the port? Purely for medicinal purposes, takes away some of those aches and guaranteed for a good night sleep!

Well we did sleep in a little bit, after all it was a long weekend. After breakfast, a general tidy up, then on with the packs, and hit that slippery downward slope only this time going upwards. We had to re-trace our steps back to a junction at the top of the ridge and from there we would start our descent to the Makino Hut and Te Puia Springs. There were times on the ridge when it was quite scary. But if you didn’t think about it, kept walking across the snow covered scree slope, carefully putting your feet into steps made with the help of Pete’s snow axe, and didn’t look down, it really wasn’t so bad at all. Kind of fun really and nobody slipped so there was no story to tell. The wind, ever heard of Caladhras - LOTR, seems to be a mountain wind thing!
Going steeply down hill, you use those other legs muscles that you didn’t use coming up, so really a very balanced work out. We were once again very grateful to DOC. for planting those tough little plants and placing those really cute rocks in all the right places to stop you from going down the mountainside at twice the rate we intended. It had been a tough but fabulous walk along the wind swept mountain peaks but sheltered out of the wind we stopped for a cup of tea – good on ya Bill.

It was a shame but also a relief to leave our exposed mountain and head back into the beech forest, a different kind of beauty to greet us. Many of the trees were showered in soft lacy fairy moss and the tree roots covered in the many layers and shade of lichem green. Exposed twisted roots of over turned trees sculptured like miniature castles, darkly coloured in a dappled green world.
Somewhere far off the sound of gunshot, a timely reminder that we shared the forest with others. When we arrived at the Makino hut, rifles hung from the hut wall, and evidence of the hunter’s success, was layered in the hunters safe. Light rain was falling and the verandah was a welcome stop for lunch. We were joined by the hunters and a couple of keen young trampers who had run up from Te Puia lodge. After lunch the hunters headed back out into the bush, our young trampers were running back down to TePuia. Just another routine Sunday in the Kawekas.

Back on the trail again and all down hill to the river. Te Puia hut for the night and hot pools for the body. Dam, but no, Queens Birthday and every one decides to holiday at Te Puia for the weekend. No room, getting late for walking, about 5.00p.m. But we decided to continue on and join the rest of the team at Manatutu, where there just happen to be more thermal springs. We estimated about 3 – 4 hour walk depending on terrain. We followed the river through the gorge which was not difficult but not as gentle as we would have liked in the glooming of the evening. We stopped when Bill spotted a suitable site, level, close to the river, plenty of wood for a fire. We all set to, Paul and Sandra put up the only tent – for Sandra and me, Peter and Bill did that crazy fly sheet thing, I think I was taking photos. All settled, dinner, port, camp fire burning, the thousand stars of the milky way and the sound of the Mohaka River – it really doesn’t get much better than this.
An easy hours walk out the following day, and at last we found our hot pool. A steaming waterfall caught in a small pool, just big enough for the five of us. No idea how long we spent just soaking away our fatigue and talking. A glass of Chardonnay and it would have been perfect. Our last lunch together, with the rest of the team and then back on the road and back to Auckland. .

Lee

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