The ascent of Mount Karioi 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)

The ascent of Mount Karioi

Trip report by Clive Sligo

Trip dated: Saturday17th June 2006

Mount Karioi is one of a chain of coastal volcanic cones stretching from Herekino in the far north , and includes a large field which touches the coast at Maunganui bluff, and the eroded cone of the Waitakeres, and the isolated cones of Pukekohe, Karioi and Pirongia, through to the most recent mountain now called Taranaki. At 756m in height, Karioi is dwarft by its volcanic cousins, but provides opportunities for great coastal views, and a walk with a wee bit of challenge. The cone rises from the coast, and slots between the harbours of Raglan to the north , and Aotea to the south.

Mid-June is a time when mountain climbing activities are dependent on the behaviour of the weather, and so the planning of a tramp to the top of Karioi demanded serious consideration of the conditions of the day. The "Tramper" advertised a trip from the north-eastern (coastal) side, but advise from Wendy Goad, who is relatively familiar with the area, recommended an ascent from the southern flank, which is far less exposed to onshore winds. The long-range weather forecast indicated that protection from the elements would be the dertermining factor in planning the trip. The Club needed a pleasant day in the bush, rather than a survival exercise, and so an approach from the south was chosen.

To the howl of the wind and hammer of the thunder the busload of five (Ken and Dianna, Bill, Glen, and Clive) set off for Taranaki, where the numbers increased by four (Janine, Ngahuia, Paul and Mike) then to Bombay for Fons and Judy, and finally Te Kauwhata for driver Rae Mitchell . There will be those smart-alecs among you who will be wandering how the bus got to Te Kauwhata without a driver. My advice to you is - come tramping sometime and you'll find out just what this new bus can do!

By about 10pm we had navigated our way to the little town of Te Mata, south-west off the Raglan road, and just a few kilometres south-east of our objective. The night passed without incident, other than a band of angels which cast a heavenly glow on Father Bill. Bill thought, and to the best of my knowledge still believes that it was a streetlight.

By morning the rain had eased to the odd shower, and after breakfast under the shelter of Te Mata school (c1879) veranda we headed down the Te Mata - Ruapuke road to the start of the Wairaki track. This is a 4-wheel drive lightly-metaled affair which traverses a couple of kilometres of open farmland to the base of Karioi itself. Thereafter, a reasonably well-maintained foot track provides a direct approach to the summit.

The party departed to the accompaniment of a thunderstorm - fortunately over Pirongia to the south, so we only caught the edge of the belt of rain. Once under cover of the bush, we were protected from the elements and we made the ascent more easily than anticipated.

The track time advertised at the road was 2 hours, and this proved to be about right. The bush was of average quality with few large trees, and thinned to alpine scrub near the summit, on which was constructed a small helicopter pad and a signal station. A couple of timber ladders near the summit itself were the only remarkable features of an otherwise straightforward track. The views were great - on a good day they would have been brilliant. The return trip was completed in even time, leaving plenty of time to make the return journey to catch the footy on TV. For trampers interested in avian activity, the birth life was poor - 1 tui and 1 tomtit heard, 1 fantail 1 harrier seen - which is about as bad as it gets.

Being Aucklanders, we just had to interrupt the return journey with a visit to one of the cafes in the pulsating metropolis of Whatawhata, to test the quality of the local coffee. Although the local furniture stock of about four chairs was insufficient to cater for our numbers, the brew was up to standard and more suited to our needs than the traditional end-of-the-tramp ice cream.

Special thanks to driver Rae (who made an accomplished debut), strategist Wendy (who masterminded the plot for the day), and workhorse Dianna who does a million things to oil the mechanics of most trips.

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