Adventure Magazine 226

It was 1pm and we had 20km of unknown wilderness river
in front of us, so we promptly pushed off to enjoy the first
few kms of stunning alpine country. A few boulder choked
rapids kept us on our toes, until we came around a bend to
see a horizon line in the river and a lone ancient beech tree
far below us. With the river looking like it dropped off the
edge of the world we expected a big portage and got out to
inspect the rapid, to be pleasantly surprised to find a clean
3m waterfall and boulder gardens. This was our entry into
the beech forest, and a section of amazing whitewater. We
made quick ground until encountering a more technical and
consequential rapid. By this point it was late in the day, and
our margin for error was disappearing along with the sun.
We opted to bushwhack our boats up and around the rapid.
I made an unfortunate misstep and gathered some cuts
and bruises from a gravity assisted descent at one point,
but we all made it back to the river safely. Our stoke came
back with just a few paddle strokes on the river, and we all
shared high fives half an hour later when we popped out of
the beech forest and could relax and watch the sunset as
we floated the few kilometres of flat water.
We loaded our boats onto the waiting vehicle as it got dark.
Satisfaction levels were high, but the trip wasn’t done yet
with our other vehicle still parked way up in the hills where
we’d left it that morning. A layer of low cloud had moved
into the Teviot valley, and we crawled our way up through
the mud and the murk onto the top of the Old Man Range
once more. It was 11pm at night and we were above the
cloud for a stunning moonrise, while crossing all fingers
and toes that we didn’t get a vehicle stuck in the snow or
mud. The cards fell our way, and I made it back to Wanaka
at 1am thoroughly exhausted but stoked on exploring a
new part of our backyard.
A couple of weeks later conditions aligned once more, and
five of us found ourselves at the Aspiring Helipad at midday
on a Monday. It had rained the day before, and we hoped
that the North Branch of the Motatapu River would now be
at an ideal water level. As the heli gained elevation it was
odd to gain a new perspective of our local area, Glendhu
bay, Treble Cone ski area, and Wanaka itself. Only a few
minutes later we found ourselves very much alone, high
in an alpine valley with no marked access. Our friend Ben
Young had done his chopper pilot training in Wanaka,
and regularly flew this route as he gathered his hours.
This river was his project, and after taking a moment to
appreciate the snow capped mountains, we set to our task
of discovering what the river held downstream.
It was low volume and bouncy to begin with, much like
a poorly shaped water slide. The alpine setting was
spectacular though, and the moody afternoon light painted
a stunning picture as we found a few bigger rapids and
drops to really get our hair wet. It was not long until the
river grew in size and became consistently steeper.
The quality of the whitewater increased, however the
opportunities to stop were slim and margins for error
low. We took our time, settling into an efficient leap frog
style where one person would get out and scope the line
through the next rapid, and then if things looked positive
wave us through. In this method we moved at a solid pace,
with periodic interruptions to stretch our legs by walking
around a rapid that was not going to leave a kayaker in a
healthy state.
Distance wise we began to get close to the confluence of
the North and South Branches of the Motatapu, however
we were conscious that the valley still looked a long way
below us. We weren’t wrong, a particularly long section of
tight continuous whitewater awaited. This section would’ve
required linking consequential move after move for almost
500 m, and while it seemed each move was possible we
were conscious of the dwindling daylight and the fact we
were still a long way from home. In the best interests of
leaving our future selves something to aspire to (and more
honestly our own self preservation in the moment) we
opted for the tramping with kayaks option. Our portage
put us back on the river at the top of another steep rapid,
however we could see a pool at the bottom and too many
great moves to ignore so we took turns at paddling the
best rapid of the day. After emerging from this mini gorge
thankfully the river did finally ease, and we popped out at
the confluence with the South Branch.
The sun was low in the sky, and floating through the far
mellower whitewater we had ample time to appreciate the
revegetation work going on around the Motatapu river.
This was highlighted with one more mini gorge and two
harder rapids amongst the beech forest. We emerged to a
stunning sunset over Glendhu, rather thankful for going two
from two and again escaping nightfall on the river.
Spring had a kick in it’s tail though, and another weekend
rain event lined up the Otago headwaters. This time my
friend Cam Kerr and I had our eyes on another close-asthe-crow-flies
Wanaka river, the Dingle Burn. Our ambition
was to paddle from its source below Highlander Peak
where it starts life as a small stream and follow it 30 km out
to Lake Hawea.
The weather was clear and sunny as we left Wanaka, but
got steadily more gloomy as we approached the Ahuriri. A
flooded river and muddy 4wd access into Ahuriri Base Hut
boded well for our kayaking, but not so much for the uphill
grunt to come. Our planned access route was to tramp
600 m up onto the crest of the mountain range separating
the Ahuriri valley from the Dingle Burn, and then descend
to Top Dingle Hut. The climb was a proper slog, but we
were able to move surprisingly quickly on the old farm
track. Standing at 1450 m with our kayaks looking across
to the snowy peaks of the Barrier Range was a stunning
and surreal moment of ‘why did we think this was a good
idea?’.
The rain turned right back on for our descent, which was
to prove more technical and scary than the kayaking to
come. The track was muddy and slippery, and our kayaks
were acting like anchors trying to drag us to the bottom
of the hill by the fastest route possible. There was a real
sense of relief when we reached the friendly fishermen and
warm fire of Top Dingle Hut. The crux of the trip was now
in front of us; how good had our weather forecasting been,
and was there the right amount of water in the river for our
kayaks?
Previous Page: Cam Kerr high above the Dingle Burn, earning his paddle strokes - Image by Nick Pascoe
Right: Shannon Mast in the upper reaches of the North Branch Motatapu River - Image by Max Rayner
Following Page: Cam paddling past a massive landslide in the lower Dingle Burn - Image by Nick Pascoe
32//WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#226