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A Chapter Of F'Land

by Mike Sheridan.

The 1981 VUWTC Fiordland Expedition.

Way back in 1904 W.G. Grave, the great explorer of Fiordland, did a bit of an epic from Lake Te Anau to Sutherland Sound. Some 78 years later a keen type picked up his book ....

Fiordland ... Ah ... memories of rain, bush, more rain, thicker bush, still more rain, sandflies, torrents of water and epic steep bits.

Six excited trampers congregated in Te Anau on Monday 28th December. After a quick dip off the wharf into Lake Te Anau, the troops indulged in their last junk food for a few days. Rapid Travel Ltd. provided an excellent and extremely friendly service, transporting up Lake Te Anau to the mouth of the Worsley valley early that evening. A seemingly insect proof hut on the Lake edge put a roof over our heads, but nosy sandflies can enter through many small holes. (Does it follow then that the same number would enter through a larger hole?)

Tuesday dawned, and the trip proper began. After strapping up both of Alan's twisted ankles (twisted the day before, playing silly buggers in Dunedin) we hit the track. Travel was good on an overgrown and marked deer trail as far as the walkwire across the Worsley and thence via a ground trail and the river bed to the Castle river. A quick lunch was had at the junction with Terminus creek,in the rain, sauntering up afterwards to Prospect creek. A good route past the steep cataract out of Lake Brownlee exists on the true right, 300-400 ft. above the creek.

Much film was spent on the Lake whence a route was chosen on the t.l. (true left). One spot of about 60 ft. involved packfloating to avoid a climb over a small bluff - laziness to the fore except for Terry, that is, who didn't seem to be too keen to get damp. Still, I thought, plenty of time for that! Camped at the head of the lake in light rain.

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Grovelling through "pleasant ribbonwood and grassy flats" - a quote from Moirs; it proved to be the catchphrase of the trip. It was actually pissing down and we were climbing up/through/over/under ... real shit ... Never believe anything you read. Up past the t.r. of Lake Sumor until a leaky bivvy rock just below the head of the valley provided an adequate lunch spot ... tea spot ... and sleeping spot, although we did have to pitch a tent inside.

The view from the bivvy rock was incredible. "Four miles beyond we saw the end of Prospect valley. A magnificant mountain rose like a gigantic wall, 3,000 ft straight out of the valley, then sloping steeply back to its dark, rocky summit, it rose another 3,000 ft."^*

Luckily there was an escape from this seemingly impassable headwall - as Grave himself found. Up towards the left lay Hunter's Pass. That would have to wait. That afternoon the whole cliff face was alive with waterfalls.

Thursday as overcast, and we overslept and were not away until 9 am, with blue patches appearing towards the sky. The going wasn't too bad up to the pass - staying on the t.l. of the stream draining the pass. On the other side we wandered down to the large tarn/small lake about 200 ft. below and had a spot of luncheon in the now claggy weather. Some four hours later a break in the clouds and seemingly we could see the route down the other side; Geeeee ... Epic bits! We sidled slightly left and then down. We used a rope across a few slippery slabs and tussock with rather nasty fall-outs, and again, to lower our packs down a steep slab. However the route was quite negotiable and would have been straightforward on the ascent. However, in the scrub things got steep and slow as we hung on while being ravaged by sandflies. Sandflies which could attack a moving target. Alan seemed to be quite frustrated with his snowfoam sticking out from his pack, in places resorting to taking his pack off and dragging it through the scrub.

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We eventually reached Starvation creek about 8-ish. Starvation creek was named by Grave after his party spent four days camped there on a spoonful of cocoa each. It took us five hours down from the pass. Campsite manufacture took another couple of hours, eventually settling down for the night to see the New Year in.

After the epic of the last day, the next day an easier time was called for. So, in the Sunshine we wandered off down to the Dark river which took about two hours to the forks - either in the creek or following the t.r. bank. We followed the t.r. up for an hour or so then crossed over to the other side for an hour to find a campsite, just before the river swept north and steepened. A lazy afternoon in the sun being molested by keas. While Lynette's back was turned, Mike (which one?) took to throwing stones ... and the other Mike managed to score a direct hit ... with a sock, yes, actually knocked it off the branch with a wet sock. It screamed off and kept its distance for at least an hour.

Saturday, and the clag was back in again. Climbed the spur on the t.l. of the Dark, which provided good travel. However we bluffed ourselves by going too high, so we had to backtrack slightly and drop into the river - we had passed the cataracts I'd been warned to avoid. The rest of the journey up the Dark was up the river bed scrambling up over boulders. As per Moir's description we entered the dried up creek bed and climbed out onto a spur on the t.l., to get views of the large un-named lake. Rain and wind forced us to camp in the tussock - quite exposed, however we batoned down the hatches. Not much eventuated except rain of course.

Sunday - a pit day, well so everyone thought but weather cleared slightly so Mike and Mike went up to the Light/Dark saddle for a look. A route down looked feasible, so we were packed up by 3.30 pm and on the saddle by 4.05, molested by half a dozen keas. Amid comments from Lynette and Derek, questioning my sanity, this was it - the supposed 'Epic' bit. The Light/Dark saddle. Only been done once before in this direction. Sidled across to the Bushy Rib we had spied (probably the one described in Moirs). It appeared to continue uninterrupted to the valley floor. Bit of a push through rather dense scrub to get to it. However we got bluffed; thoughts of mutiny flashed through my mind - "get back", I cried atop a tree, "the rib is further over to the left." So it was back up and across, then with Derek leading the way down the rib. Nothing we couldn't handle, all the way to the valley floor. Everyone was elated. This was it, we'd done it. In the valley floor about 7 pm.

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Next day it rained again, solidly. Another epic day had meant another late start. Travel was quite good down the East Light, mostly in the river and then when it got gorgy, on the t.r. The deer trails were amazing - it certainly made things a lot easier. Pity the deer don't blaze their trails as well.

Headed for a saddle and lake more or less by compass ... and lunched under a fly by the lake. A fire, a brew and the drenching rain made moving off rather slow. However we pushed on around the west side of the lake and across the swollen outlet on a fallen log. Another messy hunters' camp with canvas, polythene, old cans and string spoilt our "total wilderness experience."

Sidled down into the north branch of the Light after being confused and not believing my compass, however better minds reasoned it out. The north branch seemed to have a few waterfalls to negotiate, and much discussion was entered into, until an equilibrium of opinion was worked out.

A small gorge upstream of a major fork was sidled high on the t.l., then around a waterfall on the same side close to the river. There was quite a lot of water in the river. I think it was closely related to the amount of rain falling. Above this waterfall, the river flattened off and travel was really good, through beautiful beech flats. Pushed the troops on past these flats however to where the river steepened again and campsites weren't quite so abundent. However, after engineering work, a reasonable site eventuated.

Tuesday was a welcomed pit day - bulk hail, rain and thunder. Wednesday began to have thoughts of swamped campsites, but we managed. Thursday dawned fine; maybe we could still get out on time. Away by 7.30 and around another waterfall on the t.l. close to the river. An hour later we got to a confluence in the head of the valley. Followed the t.l. branch however things got confusing when the stream disappeared underground. So we followed the dried up breek bed towards Staircase creek saddle. Gradually as we climbed, the stream got bigger. Brillant day, frosty page 74morning and we were in the shade all morning - all added up to: Bloody Cold.

Climbing up through waterfalls, sunshine, with full storm gears on. The sides of the gut were quite steep but creek itself is quite negotiable. Had to stop near the top when we finally got into the sunshine, to restore circulation to numbed toes. Epic. Had lunch here, about ten minutes below the saddle. We finally left two hours later after thawing out. Sidled left from the saddle down to the moraine and around the lake. We sidled high on the t.r. above the scrub and then down to mid flat. However the sidle down through Staircase rapids was not so easy - quite slow. At some stage blundered onto two markers but no ground trail at all. Eventually headed for the river again via a dried up creek and crossed the river following the markers. The markers meandered a bit, and troops were bickering a bit, so we pushed across the river and hit the track to Sutherland Falls. Eventually hit civilisation at Clinton hut at 8.30 pm stopping for a bite to eat (scraps). Much to the amusement of faces peering through the windows of the hut.

A bed for the night would be quite nice we thought so it was off to Dumpling, arriving at dusk at 9.30, and talked our way into the hut (you have to book you know...) for $4 each. Hotel accommodation. We were still eating and cooking at 11.30 pm when all the loops were in pit.

Next morning we timed our departure to the last possible minute and we were off - racing. We gained a bit of time so lunch was stretched. Had one hour twenty minutes to get the last five miles done. An average of four miles an hour with five minutes to spare. All was going fine ... the last mile however was rather long. We had to break into a trot, followed by a sprint for the last quarter mile. Believe it or not Terry managed to twist his ankle somewhere about here so we had to drag him by the ears more or less (well no, not really) and eventually just leaped onto the boat as it was pulling out.

Trip members

What a way to finish a trip - running. Fine style.

Mike Sheridan

Alan Clelland

Lynette Hartley

Mike Robertson

Terry Patterson

Ian Whiteley (Derek)