Fine weather was forecast. Most club members had ‘already been there, done that,’ so my challenge was finding folks to join me on my inaugural exploration of the St Arnaud Range.
Graeme was invaluable in providing a vehicle, reliable navigation, and previous experience on these windswept tops. Alison was also a seasoned veteran, having already walked up to the ridgeline. In her mid-twenties, Heather was fresh off the plane from Edinburgh. This wide-eyed lass was keen to try hill-walking in Aotearoa. (Except that our mountains are a bit bigger than her Munroe’s.)
Trio of Trampers on Parachute Rocks
Day 1 [9km, 1260m, 6 hrs]
Upon arrival at Lake Rotoiti, we were guided to the ‘Tramper’s Carpark’ by attendants wearing orange fluorescent vests. Kerr Bay was a hive of activity, being the location of the annual Antique & Classic Boat Show. The commentator’s voice drifted on the wind as we made steady progress through luxuriant beech forest on the tourist track. When we climbed above the zig-zaggy trail to the tree-line, the lake was chocka full of tiny dinghies, yachts, launches, canoes and motorboats. We turned our backs on the parade, and climbed to Parachute Rocks for lunch.
Heather on Parachute Rocks
Some four hours had elapsed when we reached the rarefied air on the ridgeline, almost beyond the discordant cacophony 1000 metres below our boots.
And then the air force arrived. Four jet planes flying in tight formation made a low pass over excited crowds. If we were to enjoy mountain quietude, we would need to travel a fair bit further.
Graeme confidently led us southward. We were tip-toeing the razorback ridgeline that divides Marlborough from Nelson, a balancing act that required careful foot placement – but nothing too exposed or scrambly.
1.5 hours on this undulating route put us in the saddle beyond Pt 1787m, just past where the Grunt trap-line falls sharply into the Travers Valley. We made a left-hand turn, descended scree and sidled through tussock to reach the giant tarn which feeds Rough Creek. Suitable tent sites were found, and the billy was boiled. As we dined, I pondered that four is the perfect number for a tramping party to engage in meaningful conversations.
Tents at Rough Creek Tarn
As the sun sank below the ridge and shadows lengthened, we retired early, content to be immersed in nature. There was not a breath of wind and the silence was wonderful. The solitary sound was primal snoring emanating from the leader’s tent.
Day 2 [10km, -900m, 4 hrs]
Sunday saw us stretch our bodies back into shape. We delighted in our rocky surroundings. Our tarn was a mirror, reflecting wild mountain grandeur under a vast blue dome. After a leisurely breakfast and photo shoot, we headed over a low saddle to explore more potential tarn-side camping spots.
Heather at Rough Creek Tarn
Then the clouds rolled in, so we got our maps out. Armed with a vague sense of direction, Ray led up tongue of tussock, skirting the boulder fields on to the main range in limited visibility. Once at the battered wooden signpost, we’d completed a loop. A small contingent from MTC were huddled below the ridge eating lunch in the mist.
With minimal effort, we dropped down to Parachute Rocks to boil the billy for the last time. Two hours of switchbacks put us back at the car. Ice-creams and Bundabergs were a pleasant reward for our physical exertions.
Parachutists were: Ray (leader & scribe), Graeme with visitors Alison & Heather