Caves in Fiordland. The last great unknown in New Zealand's last great unknown.
A year ago I got sidetracked while talking to GNS geologists about my field area, and we got on the topic of newly identified karst sites found as a result of ambitious fieldwork done for the new Fiordland geologic map. I suddenly realized I had rather exclusive access to the most promising unexplored karst in Fiordland and that now would be the perfect time to mount a Fiordland caving expedition. By carefully cherry-picking the most promising sites, we would have a better chance of finding caves than any subsequent expedition.
This expedition was over a year in the making and I got to learn all about the joys and frustrations of being an expedition leader. The first step was research. I spent countless hours picking GNS geologists brains, pouring over geologic maps and scouring the landscape via Google Earth. I carefully weighed the most promising sites and narrowed the twenty something options down to 3 targets to be flown into by helicopter. I came up with several other objectives in known karst areas for the remainder of the expedition. The second step was to gauge interest, secure participants, and delegate a bit of responsibility. I then began a rather ambitious search for potential grants- long helicopter flights in Fiordland are far from cheap! I spent considerable time making strong applications to some high profile expedition grants. I struck out on the big ones but managed to secure useful grants from the NZSS and NSS which helped soften the blow. Then came the attempts to force commitments from expedition members as the more bodies in the helicopters, the more ways the cost is split and the more people we have to tackle individual goals. Then came the task of organizing gear. Lastly, I had to deal with the curve balls of last minute dropouts and the possible effects of the most recent and devastating Christchurch earthquake. The night before the expedition I stayed up entirely too late, woke up early, packed in a little over an hour, and drove to meet the crew in Te Anau. I had a lot on my mind during the drive.
It was a brilliantly sunny and warm day in Te Anau when I pulled up just after noon. I was too stressed out to say hello to my dear friends and immediately pulled out maps and fretted over the poor weather outlook. Everyone was looking to me to make a decision as expedition leader. We spent an hour or more examining the variable and low certainty weather forecasts, discussing potential plans, and trying to contact the helicopter pilot. In the end I had to make the hard decision- all three groups would fly in today...this gave us only 2.5 hours to sort and pack gear, coordinate groups, buy food and be at the airport! I frantically ran about in a stress- and hunger-induced daze. Time flew and I found myself eating a camp dinner in the parking lot of the Manapouri airport as the second helicopter load of people took off for the remote fjords- we would be flown in last.
The flight was spectacular, though poor for photography as we flew into the glare of the descending sun. Mountains and cliffs and lakes and deep valleys raced past, the occasional boat on Doubtful Sound being the only sign of humanity in this vast wilderness. The helicopter dropped us next to the sinking tarn at the head of our remote cliff-lined valley, already well into the shade. We focused on unloading the helicopter as rapidly as possible and within minutes the pilot took off, flew over the ridge, and the sound of waterfalls and streams regained control of the landscape.
Intimidation and awe. I remember distinctly the surrealism of the helicopter flight like a half-remembered dream and the jading realization that here we were in the middle of nowhere, where we were perhaps only the second group of humans to set foot. I had been dropped off by helicopters numerous times in remote places, but never had I felt this consciousness so strongly before. The cliffs seemed grander and the bush thicker than in Google Earth. Reality had a curious larger than life feeling to it. I remember feeling genuine intimidation and a touch of paranoia- I think I was deeply worried about the success of this trip. I did not think we would even consider flying in until the next day and here I was already, one of 6 small figures in a vast expanse, on the brink of exploration.
After a few minutes, we set out in all directions to find a safe, sheltered and dry campsite. This is easier said than done, and it took all 6 of us searching different places for over an hour before we compromised on a relatively dry location protected by the bush (at the expense of large flat tent sites). We set up tents, made a kitchen and set up the mountain radio just in time to call out to the other two groups, who had both made it in alright and found suitable campsites. After a cup of tea or two, we settled in. I slept poorly, as I have for the last couple months.
The next day we promptly killed one of our best leads, the submergence our tarn drains into- too wet at the moment. We all set off together up the granite ridge to the tops, taking in breathtaking views the whole way. Tarns, lakes, fjords, waterfalls, mountains, cliffs, fog, and mist- it was all stunningly beautiful. Around lunchtime we arrived at an unexplored karst field and began semi-systematically checking sinkholes for possible caves. Despite promising appearances, we found most holes choked with sediment or boulders. At the end of the day, I climbed down a narrow rift in my t-shirt and pants and found the most promising cave yet. Every turn looked like it was going to become impassible but then it continued on, the stream slowly picking up volume from small in-feeders. I went in about 100m to a boulder choke, then quickly returned the way I came as I was gone for a while and the others would be beginning to worry.
One of our best leads (unfortunately needs a snorkel and wetsuit after 5m!)
A completely unexplored karst field
The next day, much less optimistic weather- intermittent showers and cloud about the tops. Enthusiasm waned. Michael and I decided the most useful thing for us to do was to go back and survey the cave I found, so we did. Michael moved some boulders at the boulder choke and we continued exploring on down several sporty waterfalls to where we climbed into a comparatively roomy chamber 5m by 8m. At the end of this chamber a balcony looks down on the continuing passage 15m below. Very enticing but unfortunately we were running out of daylight. We decided to survey as far as we could in an hour and then head for home. We made it back to camp in less than 2 hours- if we knew we would have been back so fast we would have stayed longer! The evening's mountain radio weather forecast reported a very narrow weather window for escape before we would be trapped by a Southerly for several days. The rain came down in torrents that night.
There was not much to do the next morning but wait. We had hourly check-ins with one of the other teams that was coordinating helicopter extractions. The valley was fogged in about half the time and things were not looking well. We had a quick look at a cave Andy found the day before, then packed up all our gear, minus the tents, in case we could not get picked up. Out of nowhere we heard the helicopter (over an hour earlier than scheduled) and frantically rushed to tear down tents and pack the helicopter as fast as we could. In minutes, we were off again, this time cutting through rain and clouds. A couple hours later and we probably would have had to wait it out for days...
Photo taken from helicopter at midday. We narrowly escaped being trapped for several more days.
The poor weather limited what we were able to accomplish and we ended up spending two days in and around Te Anau. Nine of us took a water taxi across the violent swell on Lake Te Anau to Aurora Cave. I led a fun trip down the sporty and dramatic river passage to Aurora Falls, then we stumbled our way around the upper levels towards Picasso's Gallery and the Emerald Pool Passage. I enjoyed taking the lead and setting the pace of the trip.
Several of us wrapped up the expedition with the goal of surveying Steadfast Cave on Mt Luxmore, a daunting task that needed to be done. While we were buying hut tickets, we had a chance encounter with the pilot, and to my great surprise we were back in a helicopter headed for Luxmore Hut within half an hour. The pleasant hut warden treated us well and before the others (who had hiked) arrived, we were hiking across the karst headed for Steadfast. While we did not complete the survey, we finished surveying the most challenging part of the cave and left some great leads including the bottom of the cave which has a good draft. I still have hopes of a kilometer-long system and a possible through trip.
Above two photos by Jean
Despite far from stellar weather and current events, we were able to accomplish quite a bit. We ended up surveying a touch over 1km of cave, collected hundreds of useful GPS points, collected critters, botanized, re-found old caves, found new caves, and left going leads. Overall, I am satisfied with what we were able to accomplish. During the expedition I told myself repeatedly that I would never organize another expedition again. Time has faded that voice of reason and I suspect it will not be the last I organize an expedition. Thanks to the 14 participants, GNS geologists, grants from the NSS and NZSS, and others who made it happen.
For the most recent bout of fieldwork I set my sights on the Kaipo Valley, a seldom-visited valley north of Milford Sound. Despite enormous slips with copious outcrop, the last visit by geologists was in 1998 and before that in the 80s. Descriptions of the geology were few and varied so we did not know what to expect. The flight in (via a 50 year old Cessna) was nice and bouncy due to strong winds which had our stomachs dropping and the look on the pilot's face told us we might be turning around. Once out of Milford Sound, the winds were not so bad and we followed the fault straight to the Kaipo Valley. To drop altitude the pilot flew further up the valley where it narrows. I got a fantastic 3 second view of the mile-high Kaipo Wall, before a full sideways turn the width of the valley set us on a flight path for the swampy airstrip.
