Jul 20, 2022
A Ruahine Roast: Te Atuaoparapara
A trip around a classic Ruahine route, where tramping took the backseat to some enthusiastic roasting.
“I drink these when I’m in the mood” Regan explained gesturing to a car door full of Sprite as I hopped into his overloaded station wagon. Before we could think more about that statement, Regan’s electronic Japanese girlfriend piped up, presumably to ask him not to share details of their relationship with the rest of us. Darkness descended as we cruised up the Kāpiti coast on our way towards the Ruahines. It would take us over three hours to reach where we were going, so we had plenty of time to explain the ‘lore’ of our tramping posse (aka the Wellington Outdoors Club) to newcomer Hugh. Much to the ire of Susie, Mat and Reganit became apparent that Hugh had also spent time living in Sweden, a topic I tortured the party with for the rest of the trip. Following the write-up of our trip to the Aorangi Range Susie was careful to watch what she was saying, lest she gave me any new roast material. That was until she happily declared that:
“I get Prince Andrew hands when I exercise”!
I’ll let the reader read whatever they want into that. We stopped at Burgerfuel in Paraparaumu for dinner. Leaving the carpark Regan almost got us hit by a car, perhaps unsurprisingly not the only near-death experience of the trip. Over the hill Mat admired the ominous shapes of wind-turbines in the dark, before Regan attempted to kill us again with his driving, this time hitting surface flooding at full-speed. The straight roads of SH2 soon gave way to wiggly farm tracks, headlights illuminating the eyes of a thousand demon sheep. On arrival at North Block carpark doors were flung open and we staggered out into the night. We debated whether we should stay at Triple-X Hut as originally planned, or walk up the hill to Sunrise Hut. I was a proponent of the “hour” walk up to Sunrise, but it took half an hour for me to swing the others to my cause.
Headlights strapped on, we closed up the car and set off up the track to Sunrise Hut; it was only 10:30pm. The track to Sunrise was broad and well-graded, zig-zagging its way up through primeval forest dominated by rimu giants and towering tree ferns. The occasional possum and views out over the twinkling lights of Hawkes Bay spiced up what was otherwise an uneventful walk. Half-past midnight we finally broke out of the bushline, making haste across a thin layer of fresh snow to Sunrise Hut. Opening the door we were hit by a wall of warm air, the fireplace glowing bright orange in one corner of the hut. Two older gentlemen had quite efficiently spread their shit across the entire 22 bunk hut, and looked quite disgruntled by our arrival. For us it was straight into our sleeping bags, no time to waste if we wanted to wake up for the sunrise the following day.
History of Sunrise Hut: In 1983 Barrie Atkins, a senior New Zealand Forest Service ranger, caught wind that there was $50,000 up for grabs for a project in the region — if it could be used within three weeks. Not one to shy away from a challenge, Barrie quickly priced up two kit-set eight bunk cabins from Fraemohs Homes in Christchurch. One of these was then installed at Buttercup Hollow and christened as Sunrise Hut (the other becoming Barlow Hut). Over the next three winters the track up to Sunrise Hut was cut and benched using pick and shovel by three Forest Service cullers (‘Blue’ Wilkinson, Peter Dandy and Shaun Cameron). Their hard work soon became a sensation, so much so that the hut was enlarged by DOC in 2005 to accommodate 20 bunks. [I met Barrie and his son Cliff when I visited New Zealand’s Subantarctic islands].
Saturday: Sunrise Hut to Waikamaka Hut over Te Atuaoparapara
When we roused from our sleep just after 7am our neighbors had already left, but had thoughtfully stoked the fire for us. I crawled out of my sleeping bag and, half-dressed, went out into the snow to try and take some photos of the sun rising over the east coast. As sunrises go the colours were not fantastic, but the sky was moody, the patchwork of farms below us being slowly illuminated as the minutes rolled by. Susie joined me outside in her Birks™ and we went for a wander up some steep snowy banks for a better view. Behind us we could see Waipawa Saddle accompanied by Te Atuaoparapara, which was jumping in and out of the cloud.
Shivering I soon retreated with Susie to the warmth of the hut. The others were now up, the the exception of the steam train, who was still happily snoring in his bunk.
We heated up some water and started on breakfast. Susie was so excited by the new experience of having hot water on her muesli she exclaimed that she would never go back to cold muesli. Eventually we decided we should probably wake Regan, he did have the car keys after all. It was after 9:30am by the time we left the hut along the ridge towards Armstrong Saddle.
Armstrong Saddle story: Hamish Armstrong took off in bad weather in his silver and green de Havilland Gypsy Moth from the small east coast town of Akitio just before 10am on 21 July 1935. He was never seen again. The wreckage of his plane was found by trampers on a saddle 15 days later, but Armstrong was nowhere to be found. His suitcase was recovered, containing his personal effects including a shirt branded “Triple-X” (the hut by the roadend is named after this) but mysteriously missing his shoes or glasses. Armstrong’s body has never been found and probably never will, but the saddle on which the wreckage was found continues to carry his name.
The weather was variable on the saddle, the wind was rising and grey fluffy clouds were approaching us at eye level at a rapid pace. Continuing up the ridge we soon became enveloped in snow fall, losing all sight of Te Atuaoparapara ahead of us — luckily I had Susie’s yellow pack to guide me.
About 500m from Armstrong Saddle we dropped our packs and made haste down the ridge to Top Maropea Hut for a quick look. We hoped that by the time we rejoined the main ridge the snow storm would have passed.
I was relieved when we reached the shelter of the bush. The beech trees were dusted with snow, which created curious patterns when combined with the broader leaf of the leatherwood.
Eventually the track took us off the ridge and we dropped steeply down to the site of Top Maropea Hut. The hut glistened in iconic Forest Service orange, a colour scheme also shared with Regan.
The hut had handsome views out over the headwaters of the Maropea and looked very habitable despite being marked as “historic” on the topomap. The climb back up to the ridge certainly warmed us up, and by the time we were clambering up to the main range the snowfalls had all but cleared. We took the opportunity to break out the snacks, of which we discovered we had a great variety.
From our snack spot we dropped down to an unnamed saddle before beginning our climb up the leatherwood covered ridge leading to Te Atuaoparapara. We were grateful for the unmarked track that blazed a trail through the contorted shapes of the surrounding scrub.
As we made our way up Susie gave me a lesson on New Zealand’s strategic position in the world. I responded with a practical lesson on the strategic advantage of holding the high ground in a snowball fight. Regan chugged away slowly at the back, to his credit he could blame long-COVID for his lack of fitness (unlike at Ivory Lake…). Meanwhile Hugh the snow-plough was exceeding all expectations, stomping a path through the snow up the front. As we gained altitude the leatherwood gave way to snow encrusted tussock, which gave a satisfying crunch underfoot.
Far down below the Waipawa river’s stony banks snaked through a densely forested valley, before escaping out into rolling farm land. If I squinted hard enough I could see Waipawa Forks Hut, which all going to plan we would pass on our way out on Sunday.
As we approached the lower summit of Te Atuaoparapara the path became less distinct, hidden by a healthy dose of snow. Hugh attempted to take us off-piste towards some bluffs, but this was quickly rethought and soon we were snow-bashing our way straight up to the peak. This was pretty tiring but the view along the ridge to the high summit of Te Atuaoparapara was worth it.
Cresting the top, the wind blew wickedly over from the west forcing us to hunker down in our coats — or attempt too if our fingers were too cold to work a zip. Ominous grey cloud whistled over the summit, partially obscuring it. Ascending in to this cloud we soon sighted the trig, which had a healthy amount of ice on it.
Despite the pleasant weather none of us were too keen to hang around on the top. Mathew valiantly took one for the team and went further down the ridge to precariously place his camera for a self-timer group photo before racing back to catch the shot. The lighting was fantastic.
At least we had proof we made it to the top if anyone found our bodies. Thankfully by the time we had faffed around doing the group shot the cloud began to clear, giving us a full view of the ‘spicy’ section of the trip. It was one of those sections that every trip report mentions, but no two accounts being alike. I couldn’t even find anything written about doing it in winter. Maybe we were idiots, but by the time I thought that we had already gone over the top.
A steep but very manageable section led down from the trig, leveling off before the ridge became a mangled mess of rock. A scree slope dropped down to the west, presumably with bluffs hidden somewhere to make any accidental trip down more exciting. It wasn’t exactly clear if it would be better to go over the jagged rocks or under them. However I didn’t really have a say in the matter as the wind was blowing so fiercely that the vanguard (Regan and Hugh) couldn’t hear me. We ended up staying high on the western flank, dropping in a sidle through snow and decent rock.
Leaving the jagged rock behind we found ourselves on a windswept spur, that led steeply down to a saddle in front of a broader plateau. I let Regan be the hero and kick steps down the spur. All was going remarkably well, heck, the run out didn’t even look that deadly, probably survivable. Then I heard a feeble voice being carried up the slope by the wind…
“Sam, I don’t like this, I don’t like this one bit”
I thought this was probably just a case of the cold causing Regan to lose his balls, but to be sure I came down to investigate. The wind was blowing the snow off the spur, leaving behind a thick layer of ice. At least the runout wasn’t deadly I thought aloud. Regan didn’t look keen. With the thought of the seeing the famous rocket ship toilet at the front of my mind I bloody mindedly decided to push on. Questionable intelligence. Stepping past Regan I dropped on to the leeward side of the spur, utilising the snow bank that had built up to descend lower. This was going better than expected until I went too far east and found myself start to slip on some pretty solid ice. Suddenly the run-out looked less than favourable.
Luckily I managed to get back in to the snow bank, and from there methodically kicked steps, shoving my gloved fingers into the bank for added comfort. In this fashion I managed to descend to where the slope mellowed, and from there I walked to the saddle. Looking back up I thought ‘man, that ice-axe that I left in the car would have been handy!’.
Hugh was less than enthused by the slope. I plonked down my pack and stomped back up the hill, determined not to let my bloody-mindedness create a “I never want to tramp with you again” experience for the others. Hugh’s pack came down first, suspiciously heavy. Susie refused to give me hers, I think she was worried that I would roast her at a later date about it. Soon enough we were all down from the slope, happy albeit with shaky legs.
From the saddle we climbed to the south across the relatively flat ridge. The going was easy but I think we all had a warm hut on the mind. We were lured to the east by a curious letterbox-esque contraption, which almost led us down a spur too early for the saddle. Again disaster was averted though, as we remembered before we had committed that we needed to continue further than you would think along the main ridge. Eventually we reached the cairns that marked the descent to Waipawa Saddle.
The descent was much more pleasant than that which we had just experienced. It was a bit of a free-for-all, every man (and woman) for themselves, all trying to avoid falling in tussock holes in the snow. From the saddle we turned to the west and dropped into the upper Waikamaka, following a poled route.
We were happy when we were in the bush once again. From the bushline the track followed the river, criss-crossing bank to bank. This made for an interesting challenge for those trying to keep their boots dry. Some were more successful than others. Regan tried to out-do us all by falling in the river. Somehow we all made it to Waikamaka Hut in one piece, happy to have our shelter for the night. It was just after 4pm.
The Heretaunga Tramping Club own and maintain the 8-bunk Waikamaka Hut. The first Waikamaka Hut was planned and built in 1939, designed by Chris Higgs. By 1966 the stream near the hut had started to undermine it and it was decided to rebuild it at the present site on the true left, up on the small terrace. Impressively, in 1982–83 the potbelly stove was carried in bit by bit , and the hut had an overhaul in 2016. We certainly appreciated these efforts!
First order of business was boots off, snacks out and fire on. A good stock of firewood and a healthy dose of that ‘sheer bloody-mindedness’ ensured that the fire was a success. Making the most of the last daylight we did a firewood run, before the candles were lit and Regan began on making dinner (knew there was a reason we brought him). Susie offered around mugs of wine. In a not so subtle flex Hugh produced a case of whiskey from his pack. Dinner was delicious (thanks Regan) and of course it was topped off with a mascarpone dessert. Susie didn’t let her lactose intolerance hold her back from the heavy cream concoction (I wondered if the rocket ship toilet might fly away in the middle of the night). Whiskey was drunk. Regan’s game was played. Hugh produced more card games from his pack. Susie killed me in Coup. I revenge killed her and Mat. Eventually the combination of all the food, alcohol and the days events hit us, and we all crawled into our sleeping bags before drifting off to sleep.
Sunday: Waikamaka Hut out to carpark via Waipawa river
The following day we were in no rush to rise. It was cold after all. We played a game of ‘who can be the last into their walking clothes’, that game you play when you just want to stay toasty warm (and ‘relatively’ fresh smelling). When we did leave the hut after 10am everything was frozen. White frost dusted the trees like icing sugar. The rocks by the river were frozen solid, which was less than desirable. A few skiddies were done (both kinds).
It only took five minutes for Mat to end up flat on his back complaining about a spinal injury. We soldiered on. With care we made good progress, admiring the ice ladened vegetation that eked out a living on the waters edge as we went.
Shouts of joy came down the valley when we finally reached the sun, although it held out until we were almost at the saddle. Huddled on the eastern side we stopped for a snack and some sunscreen, looking out down the course of the Waipawa.
The track down from the saddle was first out in the open, before weaving a course through some very dense leatherwood. At one point Mat and I took a short-cut down some scree. Mat almost did an impressive 360 wipeout, but sadly made it to the bottom in one piece.
From the bottom of the scree we followed the open stony banks of the river, guided by the path of least resistance. A few sections of the route ducked into the bush, and I almost made us bushbash down the wrong side, but for the most part it was easy going. High above us we could see Te Atuaoparapara, watching as we walked downriver.
Eventually we reached some markers indicating the track up to Waipawa Forks Hut. After a short grunt up we found the hut, gleaming in the sunlight. We unpacked our bags and I was so bold as to take my boots off to enjoy the sun (sorry team).
Unfortunately our sunny lunch was cut short by the sun dipping below the ranges, leaving us to munch down our assortment of lunch foods in the gloom. With chattering teeth we set off once again, this time in search of the track up to Triple-X Hut. This proved more elusive than anticipated, as it is marked in the wrong location on the map. After a bit of hunting we found the overgrown entrance to the track upstream from the hut on the opposite bank, marked by a cairn. From this point it was just one consistent grind up to the track that we had followed in on Friday night to reach Sunrise Hut. In the daylight the track looked even better, a highway leading down the hill. The downhill gradient enabled us to resume talking to each other and we soon found ourselves at the turnoff to Triple-X. Of course we had to bag it.
After a quick peek and a bit of déjà vu (exactly the same design as Waipawa Forks) we continued on our merry way to the carpark. Soon we were crammed back in the car and homeward bound.
The loop around Te Atuaoparapara is an absolute classic that I can recommend to any experienced trampers out there — a great cocktail of good views, well-kept huts and beautiful country. For anyone attempting in winter I would suggest taking an ice-axe, and be prepared to turn around from the summit if conditions aren’t anything but good.
Epilogue
The sheep looked much less scary in the day time. Cruising down SH2 we were subjected to an hour long spiel about Regan’s misspent youth blowing up old ladies’ letter box and flour bombing gang members. Crossing over the ranges Regan insisted that we stop in Levin for the “best pad thai in the world” as a sign on the outside proclaimed. Inside we found a cheerful chap sitting watching Youtube on TV. I felt like we had intruded but he welcomed us in, insisting we sit at a table that was half laid with dirty glasses. When the food came out it was interesting. In a bizarre stroke of luck my chicken pad thai only had one piece of chicken in it so chances for food poisoning were minimal. Mat rated the bathrooms as “one of the highest densities of mold I have seen in the region” — that’s really saying something for Wellington.
Indicative route times
Friday times:
North Block Carpark to Sunrise Hut: 2 hours
Saturday times (conservative):
Sunrise Hut to Top Maropea Hut turnoff: 0.5 hours
Turnoff to Top Maropea Hut: 0.5 hours
Turnoff to Te Atuaoparapara trig: 1.5 hours
Trig to Waipawa Saddle: 1.5 hours
Saddle to Waikamaka Hut: 1 hour
Sunday times (conservative):
Waikamaka Hut to Waipawa Saddle: 1 hour
Saddle to Waipawa Forks Hut: 1.5 hours
Waipawa Forks Hut to Triple-X Hut: 1.5 hours
