It’s Boxing Day 2024. We are headed into Lake Sumner Forest Park for the club’s annual Christmas trip. We plan to utilise a section of the Te Araroa Trail during poor weather, then launch out into the unknown during days of fine weather. A rugged off-track deviation over the Nelson Tops will elevate the trip rating from easy to difficult and add spice to what would have been a rather pedestrian outing. The itinerary promises an eclectic mix of pleasure, pain and zombie walking.
Our diverse party of 10 veterans and newbies convene at the Boyle Outdoor Centre in northern Canterbury. A warden drives us along to Windy Point. Shouldering packs, we stroll down a 4WD road to cross the swing bridge that dangles over the Boyle River. A gnarly trail winds through regenerating scrub then spits us out on a 4WD track. Eventually the proper track is attained, leading through beech forest and clambering across gullies, skirting the valley wall a long way from the Hope River.
Three hours have elapsed when the welcome sight of Hope Halfway Hut appears through a curtain of rain. This six-bunk shelter is unappealing but offers respite from the showers. With dusk biting at our heels, we stumble into St Jacob’s Hut, a two-roomed six-bunker by the bush edge. The otherwise tidy hut is stained with smoke from a thousand fires. Tonight, we are relieved to have the place to ourselves, and Jo is excited to spend her first night in a backcountry hut. We have walked 18km.
Next morning, our crew de-camps. Ten souls move as one, cruising along cattle flats, weaving through matagouri thickets, threading through a labyrinth of swamps, following a poled route. Hares bolt from hutches and Canada geese honk. The country we walk through has been heavily modified by man, and introduced animal species seem to dominate.
Top Hope Hut is empty and sports a grand view across valley to the Doubtful Range. Five members make a recce up-river to locate Hot Spring Stream. Pack-less, we move fast, criss-crossing the river to make a direct line up-valley. The tell-tale smell of sulphur lures us up the creek to natural spa pools lined with river stones. We soak in the heated water for an age – a delightful taste of decadence.
On Day Three, a smart start sees us march in a uniform line towards the valley head. As the valley narrows we endure wet boot crossings to make efficient progress through stunted scrub. After three hours we pop out into the open tussock on Hope Pass (951m) with one foot in Canterbury and one foot in Westland. We fill up drink bottles and check the compass. The forecast is a window of two days’ sunshine for our adventure over the Nelson Tops.
Greg makes fast headway up the hill, pushing through thick scrub on a southerly bearing. We tentatively follow him, as his pack is swallowed up by impenetrable foliage. Eventually his enthusiastic efforts wane and he is bushed. Ray discovers a new direction of travel until he too reaches an impasse. Janey forges ahead on a new lead. We are sweating profusely in summer heat, hauling overladen packs that get tangled in tight spaces. Our limbs are scratched and bleeding.
Two gruelling hours of aggressive bashing through flax and stunted dracophyllum see us top out onto the open mountainside, elated. Another hour sees us arrive on a modest 1500m knob. The views are breath-taking but alas, we are out of breath. The older ladies are exhausted. We endeavour to keep together on gentle tussock slopes. Dark craggy peaks loom above, but by sidling along the 1500-metre contour we maintain a steady altitude, wading through long grass to reach a deeply incised gully. After ten hours’ hard yakka, we pitch camp here. Our idyllic mountain eyrie grants a grandstand view south to the serrated peaks of Arthurs Pass, backlit by the setting sun.
A gentle zephyr caresses our tiny tent village. We wake to clear weather. Ray and Greg choose an escape route off the exposed tops. A line of parallel ridges drop from the golden tarn-studded plateau. One particular spur has no scrub and a moderate gradient – we aim for this, some 3km away to the southwest. Ray shepherds the group down an undulating spine, along a grassy expanse, past a bone yard of deer skulls to a smattering of small tarns. Greg boldly leads down the spur, while the veteran ladies look out for the newbies. We reach the East Branch of Mackenzie Stream. 15 minutes upstream we discover Mackenzie Bivouac sited on a grassy bank. Meticulously carved into the wooden wall panels is a bush poem from the 1960s. The author was legendary ranger Max Polglaze.
Our jubilation upon reaching the river is stymied as we begin our descent. Giant landslides and rockfall have demolished the forest. Vertical valley walls hem us in, so there is no option but to continue downstream. We are grateful the weather is holding – just. We scramble over fallen trees, zig-zagging the swift current to make meagre progress.
Greg and Ray scout ahead, swapping the lead when at an impasse, keeping a wary eye on their companions. Somehow we find a way forward. After three hours of intense river travel we arrive at the forks. Here, a rough ground trail leads along the main Mackenzie Stream to extensive river flats where we establish camp. Sandflies and showers drive us into our tents.
On our fifth day we stow wet tents into wet packs. We pull wet boots over wet socks. Splashing across the wide Hurunui River, we are thrilled to find the hot springs perched 20 m above the track. Stripping down to underwear, we submerge battered bodies into the 40-degree pool. In moments such as this, life is good.
We lunch inside the capacious Hurunui Hut as rain returns. The afternoon is spent wandering the vast valley, skirting the bush edge on cattle flats. We spread out, lost in our own worlds. Late in the day, we reach the somnolent shores of Lake Sumner. Here, a relentlessly nice path skirts the lake shore, climbing up toward Kiwi Saddle. It is twelve hours since we started. Our boots have clocked up 25km when we trudge down to Hope Kiwi Lodge. TA walkers have the woodstove pumped up. We are glad to sleep on mattresses for our final night together.
The last day is nearly a repeat of the first, albeit in the reverse direction. Once beyond the Hope River bridge, it’s the same route; same showery weather; same cowpats; same boggy terraces. Janey and Ray volunteer to hitchhike back to Boyle River to retrieve our vehicles. We reunite at a café in Murchison for ice creams, coffees and hot pies.
We have walked 100km in six days. Jo reflects on her first tramp: “Thank you for the adventure of a lifetime. I will always remember it with great fondness. I actually loved every moment of it.”
Intrepid trampers were: Ray Salisbury (leader & scribe), Greg (scout), Sue, Kath, Isobel, Era, Joanna, Chrissie, Janey, and Margaret.
What: Annual Christmas Trip
Location: Lake Sumner Forest Park, Canterbury.
Duration: 6 days
Distance: 100km
