Leader: Matthew Battley
Team: Finn Drummond, Blair Ramsdale, Sylvie Admore, Carmen Chan
Total Number of Skinny Dips: 29
Date: 22nd of November – 30th of November
Sitting back in Auckland City, within my bedroom and gazing at this laptop screen, it is somewhat surreal that all that was experienced was simply a few days thence. For the next period of time, I will now put down into words memories of what had happened so that such an experience, can be remembered.
Planning for this trip began a long time ago. Within the midst of examinations during October, when Matthew Battley sent out the call for recruits. An eight day trip! One month later, the team began to band up in Christchurch. Matthew Battley, Sylvie Admore, Finn Drummond and myself caught the NakedBus down to Wanaka and subsequently ‘Yelp!’ to Makarora. Blair Ramsdale – a meticulous hunter with a penchant for spreadsheets and dinner organizing was to meet up in Makarora from Queenstown.
Makarora is a township nestled halfway in between Wanaka and Haast. With a population of 60 people and hidden by the Southern Alps, the place consists of a campsite, and a pub adjacent to the DOC centre. We attempted to check in at DOC but found that it was closed on weekends. Undeterred by the closure, we set up camp and watched a flock of woodpigeons sweep past us just before another crazy Yelp shuttle veered into the campsite and out tumbled Blair and a wide eyed, grey haired shuttle driver. He had just travelled from Queenstown to Makarora in just over an hour, with the apparent driving speed being on average 130km/h.
And thus, the crew was finally together: Three mechanical engineers, a lawyer and a doctor. Five expeditionists about to head into the bush together for eight days living on cheese and crackers, salami and whatever Blair managed to dream up on his mysterious spreadsheet. Prior to the journey, we’d never hike together, and yet we were about to embarked on one of the longest expeditions of our lives.
The weather had appeared a bit sketchy for the trip. In poor weather, we would be unable to go through the Gillespies Pass, and with clear weather, Makarora was scheduled for a 1080 drop. Uncertain about our route, we decided to work this out in the town’s soul centre and decided to head to the Makarora Pub on the pre-journey dinner. Three hours later, we ultimately decided to call at the DOC centre the following morning and wandered off to our tents. We never expected that they wouldn’t work weekends, but luckily the pub was open so we borrowed their landline phone to call DOC and found out that they wouldn’t drop bait until there were predicted clear patches of weather with no wind. We were clear for the journey.
Thus, at 9:30am on the 23rd of November 2014, a band of five AUTC trampers caught a Jet boat down Makarora River into the entrance of the Young Valley. Racing down the water with snow tipped mountains looming into the distance, one couldn’t help but feel the incredible excitement of the trip to come. What will the next seven days bring? The water was clear, sun was shining and the mountains were beckoning. We were dropped off on the side of the bank, and loading up our packs, slinging on our laden packs, we began our journey towards our first destination.
The landscape is beautiful. Our boots squelched into soft peat, and streams of light angled into boughs of beech as we made our way into the valley. The native rock wren flittered amongst the bushes, and mossy banks lined the mounds of the track. Clambering amongst the beech strawberries and shards of schist, we tramped six hours through beech forest towards Young Hut. This evening, we entered into to the wonderful world of Monty Python and the Life of Brian. Having never seen their shows before, I was swept by a flurry of interestingly unique British humour. The night ended up with tales from the world of Bazoum, and the traditional table traverse underneath Young’s tables.
On the second day, we woke with the crack of dawn. With poor weather predicted for the afternoon, it was ideal that we try and cross Gillespie’s Pass before it became too difficult. Nestled in between Young and Siberia, the route was only 12km but it was predicted to take 6-8 hours. The track leading into Gillespie valley is glacier carved valley, filled with mountain tarns and mind-blowing. We walked into the valley until it appeared to come to a deceiving ‘dead end’.
Imagine reaching the end of a lengthy route on a flat plain, approaching the base of a mountain and then wondering ‘where next’. Look upwards. Yep. Bright red pole markers peeked in between the mountain scrub and snaked vertically upwards. We crawled up vertically for over an hour, climbing in total over 900m to reach the summit of the pass. With each periodic gaze upwards from the track, I couldn’t help but feel swept by the heady view, and the growing excitement that with every step, we were growing more level with the snow-capped peaks of Mount Awful and Mount Dreadful.
View from the summit: Mount Doris lying nestled in between Mount Awful and Mount Dreadful.
Unlike the predicted forecast, the weather held, and following a break-taking pause at the summit, we made a meandering descent down the pass through knee-deep snow. Travelling downhill as steeply as we came upwards with a weeklong laden pack sat heavily on all knees, but it gave returning to the valley floor a sweet triumph as we subsequently spent the afternoon sunning, swimming in the steams and waterfalls around Siberia Valley. It was during this afternoon that Blair and Finn officially started the skinny dipping contest, and we met Doris, the Mountain Duck (of which Mount Doris is named after). On the third day, we made a morning trip to Crucible Lake, which was nestled high above Siberia Valley. As opposed to a typical mountain tarn, Lake Crucible sits within the cupped ‘bowl’ at the end of an age old glacier at the base of Mount Alba. The journey starts with a steep rise following the grasslands of Siberia, and sit at the end of a harsh rocky valley high in the peaks.
Walking towards the crucible, we heard thunderous roars of avalanches between the upper peaks and hopped past mountain streams trickling from the adjacent glaciers lining the rock faces. Before climbing up the rim of the bowl, we had predicted, after the reports from Alistair McDowall a few icebergs floating within a pool. This was supposed to be Blair’s plan for a midday bath.
As we peered over the rim, we found a massive ice sheet spanning over 300m in diameter sitting adjacent to three small glaciers. A nippy wind sang through the air, and as Sylvie, Matt and myself settled down to gaze at the Antarctic-like beauty, both Blair and Finn promptly ripped off their clothing and jumped in for the midday swim. I’ve got to admire the guys. They lasted for over fifteen seconds.
After the morning trip, we made our way back to Siberia for the midday meal, and pulled on our wet weathers as the rainstorm set in for our afternoon trip towards Kerin Forks. The terrain is relatively easy, but the challenge in the route is the river crossing that occurs directly prior to arrival at Kerin Forks hut. It had been raining for the past one and a half days and by the time we arrived opposite Kerin Forks, the Forks had swelled into a rapid beast. The wind was growing, and the weather darkening. As we stalked upwards and downwards searching for a widened base to cross, an oystercatcher followed us with its loud shrills as we searched for a wider base to cross.
Crucible Lake – Iced Over
There were two options that we had at this point: 1. Either attempt to cross the river or 2. Make a tramp back to Siberia Hut and wait out the storm for the next 2-3 days. After some discussion, we decided to attempt a crossing and eventually selected a place where two perceived ‘banks’ were present halfway. Pausing to tie our roll mats to the top of our packs (reduces the buoyancy of the pack, and surface area in contact with the river), and securing our hiking poles, we shuffled the shorter fellows between the taller and linked arms with packs. The water was a deep blue in between the two sections with an unknown depth, but the aim was that shorter individuals would be secured should the weather rise above our heads. Planning the ‘caterpillar’ as a contingency plan if we needed to turn back, we began our slow and steady way across the rushing torrent. Finn directed the calls as we took careful steps across. The water buffered at our packs, and the group swayed with the gushes. The water rose to chest height at points, but within one adrenaline punched, timeless moment, we made our way across the river and crawled upwards over its high banks. Success. The evening was spent baking tramp bread, continuing Doris the Mountain Duck’s story, and having story time by Finn where we listened to the tales of a forty year old climber who decided to explore the Hindu Kush.
Day four consisted of a meander along the Young Track, past Wonderland Flats, across Jumboland (named after a horse named Jumbo) into Top Forks. Much of the track is relatively well marked until the end where we bush bashed along the river banks to the odd knoll at the corner prior to Top Forks. That evening, we feasted upon copious amounts of pita bread and meats. The subsequent morning, we slept past the rainstorm, until Matt literally started climbing the banisters from pent-up energy. Thus, during the afternoon, we commenced our journey up into the North Branch of Top Forks, past Disappearing Tarn, Lake Diana and Luke Lucidus. All really, really excited for a dip in a rain, we went for a swim in Lake Lucidus, followed by a flurry of dressing on its banks. While we made a beeline back for the hut, Finn and Blair continued on their skinny dip challenge in the other lake, with Blair also bagging the Disappearing Tarn. At the hut, we spent the evening baking bread and finishing the night with a game of charades.
By the intentions guide, nobody had been at Top Forks for over a month. With the poor weather, we had been the sole trampers within huts and it was thus a surprise at 8:38pm when new trampers knocked on the hut door while Finn stroked his beard to act out ‘Fluffy’ Bunnies in a game of charades. Spontaneously opening the door, while in his underwear, we heard an American accent float through the frame as she said ‘sorry, do you have any clothes on?’ Three women gazed wide eyed into the small backcountry hut at the sprawl of packs, clothing, food and liners filling the room… and then back at Finn who was lost for words. Sylvie ultimately gasped out an explanation: ‘..we’ve been in this hut for two days….would you like some hot water?’.
Day six was spent hiking back towards Wonderland Flats, and exploring the unmarked valley. Imagine a hidden valley and rushing rivers of icy blue. It was as if the mountains had played one big bowling game. Boulders the size of houses and a rubble of fallen trees sat precariously layered by carpets of moss. We boundered, and we caved. Slipping in between the tiny gaps between these mountains houses, we worked out ways up the valley like ants caving through mounds. Many-a-times we slipped through rabbit holes.
Arriving back at Wonderland Flats in the evening, we built a campfire and settle in for a yarn and hypothetical marshmallow toasting. The carpet of stars – an overwhelming richness of constellations littered the sky’s vault dusted out skies as we beeded down for the night.
We woke up on the seventh morning to blue skies, a nippy breeze and a snowline that was down to 600m. A pair of Canadian geese honked past nearby, and mountains with their steamy new snow budded off new cumulus clouds. With much shoulder shrugging (which Sylvie taught, would warm us up), we broke up camp, slipped on icy boots and started on the track back towards Kerin Forks. Back at the hut, we lazed by the deck while watching the Kerin River meander down the valley. Now significantly lower, it was somewhat surreal to believe that we had crossed its watery depths during a raging rainstorm.
Through the Rabbit Hole
Matt had booked for us a jet boat out of the valley and we’d hopped on, expecting a simple shuttle out. Instead were treated to the full tour of the valley with the adrenaline kicks included. With easy breezes, blue skies and glacial water, we finished the adventure racing out of the wilderness with the full skids and spins. The packs – now significantly lighter - bounced in the back seat, giving little hint of the weight that they’d once carried.
That night, we had dinner once more at the Makarora pub. The drinks flowed freely, and we ate until even Matt could eat no more. The Young-Wilkin tramp was a journey into the Southern Alps was one of incredible beauty, challenge and companionship. Eight days in the wilderness without communication with the outside world – except for face to face contact – re-routed the mental circuits and our minds to a simpler way of life. There is something incredibly beautiful and enriching about sharing the wilderness of landscape with those who are entirely present along with you. Ears perked, the body adjusted and there was something ‘right’ about simply lying in the sun to gaze at mountains. There was something free about crouching down to drink from glacial streams, and to wash in mountain waterfalls. New Zealand has a landscape which is both wild and magnificent and these eight days certainly brought us all closer to home.
Author: Carmen Chan
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