Crossing Alps and Crossing Rivers – Hokitika to Tekapo

Rainy rest days were filled with trip planning, snoozing and jigsaw puzzles, all 999 pieces (yes 1 piece was missing). I’d reluctantly decided to rent a personal locator beacon as we would be going well off the beaten track this time, which added to the weight of 15 days worth of food. Even with the lightest food, my pack was uncomfortably heavy, made worse as my old man knees were still stiff and sore following our 3passes trip. There would be no time to feel fully fresh. Wet coast weather soon subsided. Replaced by wow coast weather. Big river crossing and mountain passes on the menu, we had to make the most of a weather window, stiff, sore knees or not. Besides a little pain never hurt anyone.

– The journey resumes –

Luck and the sun continued to shine as Stam collected us from the roadside shortly after beginning our hitching efforts began. By 10:30 we were on the trail entering the west coast bush along the Hokitika river. An early slip on a wet rock was an unwelcome reminder of the hazards ahead. The riverbed, which the trail generally followed, was littered with Jade green stone, and gold. (Maybe not gold but certainly looked like gold). I selected a small rock of each and placed them in my pocket. “Well done Alan,” I thought. After trying to save as much weight as possible, I was now collecting rocks on day 1.”Stam was travelling the same way as us for the first few days. We saw him again in the hut in the evening, and at a cableway crossing. Essentially a high ropes course style crossing over a river. Stam showed us pictures of the trout he had caught for lunch, it looked tasty. I showed him my rocks. I looked stupid.

– Pierre mid flight –

The trail continued along the Whitcombe river, in varying stages of degredation. At times it was well formed and fairly wide, just the occasional tree fall blocked quick progress. Other times the trail was the river bed, rocky and slow going. If the trail wasn’t well formed or along the river, the trail twisted through the roots and branches with regular landslides which had wiped the trail out to negotiate. Resulting in a sketchy (at best) traverse across loose rock and soil. Needless to say the going was slow. The trail continued the mountains steadily growing higher and nearer. The Whitcombe river became narrower and steeper. Through the damp rainy air I could smell wood fire. The Rock hopping Pierre had arrived at the hut an hour before me, His shoes already cooking dry on the stove, medium rare by the time swung the door open into the warmth. The hut was a welcome sight indeed.

– Green stone and gold in the river valley –

Moments after leaving Neve hut the trail vanished, time to simply follow the river valley. Pierre much faster over the rough terrain was ahead and out of sight early. Relentless crossings of the Whitcombe river followed, scrambling over boulders, beating my way through bush, and wading up to my waist in fast flowing glacier fed water. Eventually the bushline passed and tussock emerged, Tussock dotted with the needle Shap plants to thwart progress further. Still before midday I reached the pass, met with the screech of a Kea overhead. It was now just the scramble down the Lauper river to contend with. Rocks grew to boulders, boulders grew from the size of Sofas, to the size of cars and then to the size of houses. As much climbing as walking was needed for both the way up the Whitcombe and the way down the Lauper rivers. Pushing the limits of what would be considered safe with a 20+kg pack strapped to my back. As well as countless more river crossing through a river laden with rapids and waterfalls. Where small gorges formed to prevent direct progress along the river, Tussock and those pesky needle spined plants did their utmost to keep the average speed below 2km per hour. It was slow, it was hard, it was bloody good fun. After several hours the valley floor of the Rakaia river, which could be seen almost from the pass, yet never seemed to get closer was directly ahead. Rain had now set in, just the Rakaia river to cross. A river famously fearsome, although our luck was good and the water level low. Still a waist deep wade through its flow of freezing cold water was required to reach our destination hut. Pierre’s shoes were already cooking towards well done as I came dripping into the hut.

– Down the Lauper –

Some backcountry huts have a mountain radio. This meant that we were able to acquire the latest weather forecast. A forecast supplied by the NZ met service. This meant that the forecast was wrong. An early start to avoid the predicted low cloud, poor visibility and afternoon rain was not required after all. Sun cream dripping into my eyes was the only visibility hazard. Together we picked our way up the mountain towards Butlers Saddle. Not without a cold early morning river crossing and some serious bush bashing to make our way up onto the Tussock land. Canterbury bush is however far more manageable than West coast bush, but to say it was easy would not be true. My cheap sunglasses, as cheap sunglasses do, had broken a few days earlier, and so the snow at the top was negotiated through squinting eyes. Reaching Butlers saddle before midday and greeted by two incuisitive Kea at the top.

– Early morning river crossings–

On the way down from the saddle I saw the most amazing thing. The Eastern slope still heavily covered with snow. Pierre, a mountain man from Briancon, elegantly skied down 500metres elevation on just his shoes, jsut walking poles helping control the speed. He did not fall once. I however, made the task of shoe skiing look like a lamb finding its legs for the first time after being born. Where Pierre made it an artform from da vinci, I made it look like a potato print from primary school. Best in the class of potato prints, but a potato print nonetheless. More practice required!

– Curious Keas on the Butler Saddle –

More rock hopping down a steep sided creek was required to reach the hut that evening, the rain nor low cloud never did arrive. Mild sunburn the only issue. After 4days of hard hiking we had come to the crux of our route. Several route ideas were discussed, my knees far from feeling fresh, persuaded me not to take on a proposed route across 2 more steep passes instead opting for the river valley route. No matter what though both options first involved crossing 4 major rivers. The Lawrence, the Clyde, the Havelock and the Rangiata. Theoretically 4 river crossings. Although Theory doesn’t quite marry up with practice on braided rivers. 10 – 20 crossing later we had made it over the first 3 rivers. The predicted low cloud which had actually arrived cleared bringing the baking sun back. Fine weather was on our side, and flat terrain. (I say flat, it was a rocky River bed, just devoid of hills). We decided to have a huge 40km day and get to crooked spur hut along the river valley.

– One of many many crossings –

River crossings began as fun. Carefully selecting a safe place, occasionally getting it wrong, returning to the same side and trying again a few 100 metres up or down the river. After another 10 – 20 crossings of the Rangiata we had become very proficient at the task. The final leg up the bush stream suprisingly presented more of a challenge than the braids of the Rangiata. Bush stream had a much faster flow. Powerful currents formed between the rapids, the depth for me was waist high(ish) for Pierre this meant it was approaching chest high. Yet the greatest challenge was the tiredness and fatigue setting in after a long day. Our decision making in crossing location became poor, just going for it rather than carefully selecting. We had a few sketchy crosings. “At least we’ll die smarter” Pierre said. The fatigue and decision making was at its worse during the final crossing. I just about waded across the fast flow of water marginally above my waist with difficulty. I turned to help Pierre. In hindsight, once I was across I should have removed my heavy pack before assisting Pierre. As I said fatigue was affecting decision making. Pierre almost made it across, at the last moment the current got him, just out of my arm reach I couldn’t grab and hold him instead I joined Pierre for a little swim as I too slipped in. Fortunately I had wedged myself against a rock as I fell, and Pierre in safety position (feet first soft knees) had navigated his way quickly to the shore. We would live. Wetter but wiser.

– Another river crossing on the Rangiata –

North bound TA ( te araroa) hikers met us in the hut. They quizzed us about the river crossings they had coming tommorow. Our soaking wet clothes told enough of a story, particuarly regarding our last and what would be their first crossing. Having crossed our rivers, combining 2days into one and without having any weather delays during preceding days, we were well ahead of schedule. Tonight I would eat like a king! chocolate and a museli bar to start, followed by a super size portion of rice peas and tuna, finished with chocolate and dried banana for dessert. Perhaps just a king of a small poor nation.

– Low cloud and rain according g to the met service –

There was no wood to make a fire, so the morning started with the unpleasent ritual of wet socks in wet boots, followed today by wet trousers and shirt too. In true met service style, the forecast we had heard 2days previous was completely wrong. The baking hot sun was as equally unwelcome as rain though. Tired legs and tired minds made the journey through tussock land tougher than it would usually have been. Nonetheless we pushed on arriving at the planned stop by lunch time. A few hunters arrived moments after dressed in full camouflage. Perhaps they were expecting the deer to shoot back. They’d travelled up on a quadbike, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find heat sealing missiles on board. They looked ready to go to war. It was the Himalayan tarn they were hunting not deer. A relatively recently introduced species (Will humanity ever learn?). They also came equipped with the latest forecast; Strong winds about the summits for tommorow. We would push on further today after all.

– Hot, tired, sweaty, smelly –

Our pace reduced as we ascended Stag saddle and then a short side trip to Beuzenberg Peak, 30 metres shy of 2100 metres. The reward for our efforts were panoramic views across the tussock and scree slopes of the Canterbury high country, an expansive vision across Lake Tekapo to our ultimate destination, all encased within the backdrop of the high peaks of the southern Alps, including the towering Mt Cook – Aoraki. A painful journey down the ridge on sore knees followed to Camp Stream hut a further 10km away.

– Beuzenberg Peak views –

A 40km+ day followed by a 30km+ day, anyone would think you’d sleep well. Add into the equation a corregated iron hut and strong winds creating a roar all around only broken up by creepy Halloween horror movie esque rattles and squeeks. It sounded like jigsaw was on his tricycle outside. My sleep was far from the greatest and dreams far from normal. Our final day awaited, both of us were feeling worse for wear. My knees felt like they needed oiling and my feet replaced with a newer, stronger, updated version. 12km of track led to a gravel road. The end felt in sight, although still nearly 30km away. We hoped following the gravel road would mean the chance to hitch a lift. All 5 vehicles heading our direction chose not to offer a lift, and only one managed to slow down enough not to cover us in dust and throw stones up in their wake. We both had some choice words for these drivers in native and foreign tongues.

– More Beuzenberg views, Lake Tekapo –

A further 20kms down the road, feet pushing on through pain Germans came to the rescue again! Seeing a camper at a view point I enquired if they were heading back to Tekapo. They were! They were also happy to transport to weary, and smelly hikers to the town. Sitting down had never felt so good. We had achieved our goal, in 7 days rather than the 10 minimum we had planned. A reward was due. Burgers and beer were ordered and demolished in record time! As the waitress came to clear our licked clean plates, she asked; ” how was your meal?” I exchanged a glancing look at Pierre, a nod received in response. “Same again please,” I replied.

– If it wasn’t for the view this gravel road would really suck! –

It’s amazing how somethings work out. Tekapo hostels were all full, rain was forecasted, 4g gave us the ability to check more reliable forecasts than met service(YR and Windy). Satisfied that tommorows rainwould arrive and would be heavy, we chose to not camp instead to try and reach the sanctuary of christchurch! An hour of roadside thumb out action followed. Again a German (Swiss German) came to the rescue. We were so tired our hitching posture descended to the point of resting our outstretched arms and thumbs on our walking poles. Tim drove us to the door of our hostel deciding he too would stay there. It also worked out that Sarah, a good friend from uni was in Christchurch, so we met with her and her friend Lucy for beer in the evening. Back in civilisation I just needed to create and implement a plan to get to family and friends for Christmas. Hitching a lift again with Tim up to Kaikoura got me halfway. Sarah, Lucy and there drinking habbit also arrived in Kaikoura that evening. Beer wine and cards were enjoyed sheltering from rain in their camper. Before I hitching a lift the morning after to Picton, taking a ferry across to Wellington for Christmas. Time to relax!