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"Rocky Mountain High

by Frances Graham

Waking up was a shock to the system. Sleeping under the stars that night, we awoke colder than our 2.30am bunking. The frost covering our pits was clearly the reason why. But beaut frosty mornings invariably bring beaut frosty days. The first in weeks, according to the Ranger. The Dart River proved to be a sub-zero floating ice-berg as we crossed in first thing that Sunday morning. So much for warm dry feet as we continued down the four wheel drive road into the land of perma-frost and sunshine.

Eight kilometres up this country road, amid farmlands, we hit the junction of the Rolling and Wangapeka Rivers, where the Main Wangapeka Track starts for the Karamea, (and continues on to the West Coast). Mt. Patriarch posed stately in the cloudless blue sky for the Japanese tourists among us, and the beautiful Paradise ducks honked down the river, as we went down the Wangapeka.

We lunched about four hours later beside the river and remains of mine machinery from days gone by, when gold was hunted in this area. Later in the afternoon we passed Kings Creek hut, leaving the solid block of ice in the billy, continuing along the north branch of the Wangapeka. Arriving at Stone hut (7½ hours from the Dart) we left Steve's party spluttering in our dust back at Kings hut.

Tramping up over the Wangapeka Saddle the following morning saw us climbing with growing anticipation at the snow above us. At the trig (4,525 ft) we looked across the snow capped tops and proceeded to plod along them, with the surrounding ranges stretching for miles. Nugget Knob (5,125 ft) was soon directly above us. If it hadn't been for the bit of a bluff dividing it and us. It was here I decided to test the force of gravity while negotiation this bluff, involving throwing oneself off the vertical edge. I thought this was a bit risky and painful, so there was a compulsory half hour shake.

Hurricane hut was to be but dreamed of as we diverted to the forest line below Nuggett, and pitched fly in the snow, enjoying our 'room with a view'. For entertainment we shouted into the distance and listened to our echoes bounce off the ranges many miles away. We departed the fire for pit as darkness fell. However this was not as darkness would usually have it - the end of the day. Nor was it the beginning - of our sleep. It was but a mere continuance of the day. For many of us, sleeping was beyond our capabilities, as we tossed, turned and sighed all night. It was clear that Chris was happily in Noddyland, however, much to our annoyance. Or was that an avalanche continually rushing past our fly!

Sleep practice ended in relief on Tuesday morning. We climbed back up to the bluff beside Nuggett. A few keen ones climbed the Knob and raced down trying to break speed records in whatever trend gave best velocity. Finding an un-named stream (probably the infant Karamea) off the range below Nuggett, we dropped down for a bit of character building through the grappling triffids. Hitting the Wangapeka track, we wandered along west to Helicopter Flat hut in the late afternoon.

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Early morning greeted us with yet another crisp frosty morning as we headed down the Lost Valley. The frozen tarn, which initiates the Lost Valley Creek, stubbornly refused to break. As we heaved rocks at it they clumsily skated across. Unlike trampers who tend to fall in at the unstable sides, eh Chris! The valley could very well be lost, in the mist that hung over us as we dropped down through this really pretty area to Luna hut. The vast Luna Slips rose majestically into the mist further along the river where the Karamea runs into the Taipo. We left the valley and wandered up the large Karamea River shingle flats and into the bush. The track markers were obviously laid by drunken forestry summer student type workers as we bashed our way along the side of the deep, slow flowing river. Exiting the bush at a clearing on the true left of the Karamea, where Meteor Creek flows into it, we mended our wounds and crying stomachs. Thereafter, heading up Meteor Creek in an effort to reach it's source. However keenness wore off in proportion to our skin when river bashing commenced. Windfalls were the order of the day as we clambered over, under, through or around them. It's great fun balancing on slippery logs! Oh well, there's always the river to break one's fall!

Curses, battles and frustration grew exasperated and annoyed, to the point where we finally stopped around 4.00 pm (approx two-thirds of the way up). The river was narrow and steep making campsites less than scarce. We hunted down fire wood (all wet) and pitched the fly in a confined flattish space, complete with cold and colder running water. And Mike, never ceasing to amaze us, yet again lit a fire from the abundance of wet wood. Darkness had fallen within an hour and our morales were boosted enormously by the fire as we cooked and laughed over it. Sleeping again proved to be a bit of a strain for some. Chris complained Mike had both females to himself; and my feet hung out of the fly into a slight tributary of the creek, as I slept curled round the pole and down the fly at right angles to the rest, i.e. space wasn't plentiful.

Thursday's dark and gloomy morning initiated with orders from Mike to David for the breakfast making as David slept at the access end of the fly - and while he was there he may as well ... Breakfast was consumed in pit as we all dived back for more kip. Mike, contrary to popular belief, didn't let this fashion continue, as we were relatively quickly geared up to hit the stream once again.

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Finally reaching its source at around 3,900 ft, we kept on climbing up a spur to the snow line from where we climbed up to Mt. Luna (5,350 ft). It was beginning to clag in, (first and only time), so we made a hurried descent and followed steps Steve's party, we guessed had made. We spotted the hut from a long way back. This always seems to be the worst way to see a hut as it takes much longer, than imagined, to reach. From our high view point on the ridge we could see down on the arrow-straight valley of the Crow to the north, and the Stone Creek pakihi to the south. We sidled round under Maudies Peak (5,285 ft) looking down on Lake Luna, frozen over, then basked down the slopes to the bush line. Soon arriving at Kiwi Saddle hut we found Steve's party enjoying a pitish day, so in our envy we told them huge fibs, enlarged beyond belief on our past days - all epic stuff! Especially the one about the 'track' above Meteor Creek. Boy, was Steve getting some threatening looks from his, until then, loyal party!

Sunshine shone on Mt. Luna and N.W. Nelson on Friday as we looked high up at the mountain we'd conquered the day before. We raced down Kiwi track to the genuine Daniel Boone style Kiwi Log Cabin. Then retracked down the Wangapeka and along the beautiful river to Rolling Junction (about nine kms from Kiwi Saddle). From the junction we plodded down the Rolling River gravel road, heading for Courthouse Flat hut, four kms away. Courthouse Flat was apparently a hive of activity in the 1870's when there was a great deal of gold in the area. Streets were laid and a courthouse was built. But the gold proved elusive and within a few years the place was deserted. The hut is a sixteen man Forest Service one and Steve's and our group crowded each other out round the fire that night, before spending our last night in the park.

Saturday saw us road-bashing twelve kms to Rolling Junction and the Dart. We bussed back at 12 noon to wet Picton and the 6.40 pm sailing back to Wellington. The ferry trip was epic in itself. 'The' ferry rage of the year I'll bet. And a tramp that suited this fine style through a truly beautiful region of North West Nelson.

Mike Sheridan

Tracy Buckland

Chris Duffy

David Malcolmson

Dean Patten

Francie Graham

(Steve's Group:

Steve Kohler

Geoff Plimmer

Boyd Russell

Jim-Bob McKenzie

Sandra McClennan

Scott Peterson)

Mike to Francie: