Pell Stream Hut | Lewis Pass Scenic Reserve, West Coast
Participants: Ray Salisbury & Kathy Engelbrecht
Winter was over; spring had sprung. The destructive forces of nature that had hammered Nelson during August were but a memory. It felt time had come to emerge from hibernation and rise to the call of the wild. At this time of year, fatigue had set in. And when half my party excused themselves, leaving only two trampers, the temptation to post-pone this trip again was strong. Only the determination of Kathy was enough to encourage me out-of-doors.
Saturday arrived and I collected Kathy at Kohatu. She was brimming with enthusiasm as we glided south toward the Buller gorges. Past Springs Junction we parked at Marble Hill campsite, pulling on boots and gaitors. A vehicle track led us across swampy terrain to the shingle river bank. Here, the Maruia was fast-flowing, careering downstream toward the Sluice Box, the footbridge and the track leading toward Lake Daniell.
Further upstream, we located a wide, shallow crossing, perhaps knee-deep. Safely across, we set out on the 4WD road that runs parallel with the Alfred River. We passed a couple of petrol-heads in their trucks. A large slip had obliterated the road, so we criss-crossed the Alfred River until regaining the forest-lined vehicle track, side-stepping boggy puddles.
After an hour we dropped into Pell Stream. Across valley, Blackadder’s Rest was squatting on a grassy shelf, a pleasant place to eat lunch. Next to this red-roofed hut filled with historic info was a memorial cross and plaque remember Ross Blackadder who was accidently killed nearby in 1938, aged twenty. While of historic interest, this private building had no bunks, so we moved on.
Returning up the 4WD track, we spotted the track signpost we had missed earlier. From here, a well-worn marked, cut and benched track took us uphill into a verdant beech forest where robins, tomtits and bellbirds sang to us. Two small gullies were sidled.
Ninety minutes later, we clambered down into the Gilchrist Creek, a fairly sizeable, boisterous tributary. From here onward, the ‘medium’ rating of the trip began to look more like a ‘fit’ trip. A massive landslide had taken the track out. So we started to criss-cross the stream, threading through logjams, relishing the remnants of track which cut direct lines across river flats. Occasional track markers or cairns were a comfort as we tentatively tip-toed along unstable scree slopes, or waded in the cold current, knee-deep. Thankfully, the sun reached this remote valley; the day was unseasonably warm.
Ninety more minutes elapsed until we arrived at a sidle track that bypasses the main gorge. The track abruptly disappears. One needs a head for heights and good balance to confidently climb above the gnarly slip. Higher up, on the lush green mossy terraces, the ground trail was reasonably marked with red or white permolat, some decades old, some new. We admired two trees that had grown together into one large trunk.
An hour had passed sidling the gorge below. The afternoon was over when we found ourselves riverside. We’d expected to find easy river flats, but these had overgrown with scrub. However, a handful of orange DOC triangle markers pointed into the bush – a recent deviation which we followed over more terraces above the river. As daylight faded, and a morepork hooted, we struggled to spot the eclectic mix of pink tape and permolat. Our progress was slower than Noah.
Dusk descended when we stumbled over Pell Stream, past half a dozen big tree stumps, to the hut. It had taken us seven hours to travel 17km. No one had been in this isolated hideaway for three months and the visitor book spanned a decade.
The following day, we dilly-dallied, drinking tea and enjoying the morning sunshine chase away the cold. Inevitably, wet socks and soggy boots were donned. Reluctantly, we set off downstream, wondering if our journey would be impeded by tree-fall or menacing log-jams. That is the essence of adventure, pushing into the unknown, trusting your navigational nouse and experience gained on previous forays into the hills. A pair of whio glided in a pool, as we waded downstream.
Yesterday’s route was reversed, and we were fording the Maruia River to Marble Hill by 4pm. Thankfully, the river was below normal flow or we would have been trapped.
To conclude, I think hot, long summer days would be ideally suited for this challenging journey into a seldom-visited valley. Trampers need a good eye for navigation and be confident on rough, untracked terrain.
Grade: Difficult
Time: 6–7 hrs one way
Distance: 34km total
Access: Marble Hill campsite, 4km southeast of Springs Junction
Accommodation: Pell Stream Hut (4 bunks & open fireplace)
Maps: BT22, BT23