I don't mind tramping in the rain. I guess you wouldn't get much tramping done in New Zealand if you had a problem with it.
But the weather forecast showed particularly heavy rain spreading from the west so we thought it might be the right time to head to Marlborough, in the north east of the South Island.
We decided on a short circuit at the northern end of the Hanmer - Tophouse Road (often now called the "Rainbow Road" and probably because of the toll gate Rainbow Station have put on it). Our plan was to tramp up the Lees Creek, cross the ridge at the twin tarns its head, travel on down Coldwater Creek and then back down the road.
So, when we arrived home from the Koropuku we cleaned up, dried our gear, repacked and headed north a few hour later.
It was dark when we got to Hanmer Springs. New Year's eve crowds were wandering about, but we soon left them behind when we turned up the gravel road to Jacks Pass.
It definitely feels like you're in the back of beyond driving that road, especially in the dark. And a good while later we were actually onto our 3rd topomap after leaving sealed roads when we crossed Island Saddle.
At the bottom of the short valley down the other side we turned off to the Island Gully Hut. It was quarter to midnight.
DoC's Island Gully Hut is a great place for a stopover. It has five bunks and a potbellied stove. It could be a livesaver for people biking through, or others unable to cross the saddle in bad weather.
In the morning we travelled on down the Wairau valley.
It's easy to miss the start of the track to Lees Creek if coming from the south. Well we did anyway, and we were keeping a lookout for it. There's a carpark opposite the start just up from the road.
The track immediately crosses the swirling blue Wairau River on a long swingbridge.
The walk into Lees Creek is easy and the valley is very attractive with a tidy, manicured parkland look about it. However it was hot going in the windless beech forest and I was glad there was no reason to hurry. The open river flats are richly carpeted with tussock grasses and were great places to stretch out and look up at the rugged ridges on either side.
Pat Barrett, Ian and Peter Umbers had arrived at the hut ahead of us. They're stalwarts of the Catholic Tramping Club and we often seem following in each others footsteps.
We'd known they were tramping the route and looked forward to catching up with them.
The weather was perfect, but perhaps a bit too perfect as it encouraged laziness. Still it was very pleasant just loafing in such a great place.
During the night the rain started, and it came down quite solidly. The storm continued in the morning so the laziness was extended to a long lie-in.
It cleared up around noon so we packed and headed off together.
The upper valley has long flats with shortish sections of bush. Keith Johnson had left some good tips in the hut book describing the deer trails. These were spot on and we had no problems making progress toward the twin tarns in the head of the valley.
Our path into the higher regions steadily unfolded ahead of us and had a spectacular craggy LOTR look to it.
It was cool and the sharp wind blew torn remnants of cloud across the sky and the sun came and went casting a sparkling light on wet stone.
We walked up a rocky stairway splashed with running water to the twin tarns.
The tarns joined each other on a wide undulating shelf close to the rim of the valley. We paused there.
The scene had an attractive asymmetry, as if the featuring rocks and areas of sand, brushed by borders of tussock had been arranged by an exquisite Japanese gardener.
But there was an ambiance of fragile idyllic remoteness to the place too, easily marred by intrusive presence. I could easily understand the Maori concept of the behaviour for resting at a taumata. This was a place for quiet respectful talk and behaviour.
Peter, Ian and Pat had a consideration to work through: whether to stay at the tarns or go on over into the Coldwater valley.
Honora and I continued sidling the slopes to the col overlooking the head of the Coldwater.
The Coldwater valley stretched away to the south. The steeper valley walls showed it still retained the characteristic U shape of the scouring by ancient glaciation.
The guys came up too but still seemed reluctant to leave the twin tarns.
Honora and I could see our destination for the day. It was down in the first beech forest in the head of the valley.
We ran down fine scree into rich herb fields. Flowers were still about but they had just past their peak display.
We found a good site to put up our fly on a small grassy terrace protected by beech forest. It had a fine place for a fire pit close by too. We'd not long got our camp established when Ian, Peter and Pat arrived to camp nearby.
Ground wood was damp from the recent rain but we all managed to find enough dry wood to get a good fire going. However it came on to rain quite steadily again so the best place for appreciating the campfire was to one side under the overhanging edge of the beech forest rather than sitting close around it.
In the morning the temperature had dropped quite a bit. It was only overcast and drizzly but it came on to sleet for a short time.
Pat, Peter and Ian had risen early and climbed to check out a large tarn on the Mangerton Ridge above us.
We packed and headed down valley. It was an easy walk and time passed quickly.
The walk was only marred by the increasing pollution of cow faeces. It's hard to believe it can be economic to run stock in such a place. Well at least economic enough to justify the environmental degradation it causes. Perhaps Texas corporate millionaire Tom Wilton Sturgess only continues farming it for tax purposes. His CV certainly doesn't show any connection with real farming or environmental consciousness.
As soon as we reached the road it came on to rain quite heavily. We'd been walking along it for an hour when Peter Umbers stopped and gave us a lift back to our vehicle (he'd managed to hitch as soon as he reached the road). That saved us another hour in the wind and rain so we were very grateful.
On the drive out we stopped in the shelter of the Island Gully Hut for a late lunch. We shared it with a North Island couple who seem totally dedicated to their tramping, and a group of soaked and bedraggled Wellington cyclists.
It's interesting that it's my instinct to get things well sorted out in advance, but Honora and I never plan our holiday tramps at all, but they just seem to work out by themselves anyway.
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