Big Bay Fieldwork June 9-14 err...15

Frontispiece: Triumphant and exhausted after carefully removing a block of very tacky blue clay gouge. It absorbs the shock from a hammer blow so perfectly, that you end up expending more effort sampling it than you would with a very hard rock. 99.9% of Alpine Fault movement probably occurs in a 1.5m wide zone of this stuff. Extracting an intact sample allows us to determine the coefficient of friction, permeability, and other important properties that will affect the types of earthquakes generated. Photo by Lara.

As far as fieldwork goes, I can safely say it was the best of times and the worst of times...

We awoke to a frosty winter wonderland at Homer Hut well before dawn, carefully packed our tramping gear, field gear and food and carefully drove through to Milford Sound. After a Bowen Falls detour, we met our pilot Shaun and loaded up for another beautiful flight out of Milford. Shaun said he wanted to get some video footage so he flew us past the Age Glacier and across the Donne Glacier on the flanks of Mt Tutoko (2723m), definitely not the shortest route but arguably the most scenic possible route to Big Bay. To clear the saddle we actually had to spiral upward to gain altitude. The tide being low, we safely landed on the north end of Three Mile Beach and Shaun kindly taxied us as far south on the beach as he could, saving us probably 30 minutes of walking with heavy packs.


Mt Tutoko



After a few minutes enjoying the sun and letting the surrealism of the Cessna flight wear off, we slung our rather heavy packs on our backs and set off for McKenzie Creek as the plane shrank into the distance. With a sunny day and prospect for dry feet for a day or so, I fought the inevitable and removed my boots for the McKenzie Creek crossings. We took a rather ambitious "short cut" through the bush, and another to skirt the lower McKenzie Creek gorge. At the main fork in the creek we headed south towards the Alpine Fault. Much of the creek was steep boulder hopping with few downed trees, which made for surprisingly good travel. From the top of this creek we had a commanding view of Big Bay far below and in the distance.We dropped packs and searched a few hundred meters for a suitable campsite, which looked grim for awhile. We were incredibly lucky to find a dry site just big enough for a tent and with a bit of engineering were able to carve it into a very comfortable camp, our home for the next 4 nights (and shelter in times of persistent rain). No sandflies either!


Going up McKenzie Creek


Big Bay in the distance


Camp McKenzie

The fieldwork was amazing! We explored 6 unnamed creeks never before visited by geologists. From maps and aerial photos I could tell they had the right ingredients to have good exposures (evidence of slips, steep, narrow, and running perpendicular to the trace of the fault), but the quality and continuity of the outcrop far exceeded my hopes. These creeks have some of the best exposures anywhere on the Alpine Fault, and allow for a much better view of the inner workings of the most important fault in New Zealand. It is the sort of place I really need to spend a long week of good weather in the summer to fully document. Despite great outcrop, I still had the usual head-scratching that goes with doing fieldwork in my field area. There seems to be an endless supply of things I have never seen before and do not quite understand yet! The samples and descriptions from this fieldwork will probably become an important part of my PhD.

Friday in particular was probably the best single day of PhD fieldwork I have done- sunny and relatively warm, we followed the Alpine Fault trace for over a kilometer with 5 superb exposures of the fault to document and sample. Unfortunately the day was too short, but if we had another hour or so we would have scrambled up to the saddle near Mt Pyke, the highest point on the Alpine Fault at 680m, which potentially has never been visited before. We bush-bashed back in the failing light, making it back just in time to do without using a headlamp.

Some of the other days were not quite as pleasant with persistent light rain. Some of the rains we stuck out, others we retreated to the tent for a cup of soup and dry clothes. Once the rain soaks through the canopy of the trees, it does not take long for every bush and fern to have the capacity to drench any miserable soul brushing against it. At one point it became too wet to write in my waterproof notebook, which I took as a sign to call it a day.


Pacific Plate at top and center. Alpine Fault core at lower right.


A wet and cold (but still smiling) field assistant

We also felt two local earthquakes of M4.7 and M4.9 which was exciting.
The first we felt from our tent (150m from the Alpine Fault) at 7:30am, the second we felt a mere 10m away from the fault! For the second one the shaking lasted a couple seconds and the trees, heavily laden with water from the rain, release all their water in one instantaneous downpour. Halfway through the quake a distant boom was heard to the SW. After both earthquakes I remember being left with an uneasy feeling of "now what!?" We hoped they were not foreshocks...10m away from the fault would probably be a pretty horrible place to be in a M8 earthquake!

Another important and unexpected find was perfectly-preserved marine shells in a glacial silt deposit at 400m elevation! The shells still have their mother-of-pearl and look to be really young. Dating these shells will give me an uplift rate due to the Alpine Fault in this area.


Surprise find! Young marine fossils in glacial silt at 400m elevation!

We were thoroughly wet by the time we packed up so we opted to follow the river down the gorge this time. The going was remarkably easy and it was obvious the nastiness of the gorge has been drowned out in surplus sediment. The rain just would not quit though! We saw lots of double rainbows that seemed cruelly ironic as the rain continued to fall. We made it to Big Bay at a comfortable hour, happy to have a large place to spread out wet gear but not as happy to be back in the realm of persistent sandflies. We found the firewood supply hopelessly wet, but we hung our gear around the stove to psychologically dry anyway.




After a while the rainbows seemed cruelly ironic as the rain continued to fall...





We were scheduled for a 2pm pick-up on the beach (5 minutes from the hut), so I had a lazy morning of listening to music and reading some old National Geographic magazines in the hut. The weather was patchy but we were pretty certain of a pick-up. At 1:45pm we walked out to the beach where I walked in circles to avoid sandflies and keep warm. The wind and rain came in gusts and sheets with some nice fine spells between. The waves had a horrible way of sounding like a motor whenever my back was turned to the sea. As the chance of a pickup decreased, my brain fluctuated between confronting our increasingly grim situation and really random irrelevant thoughts...I remember thinking about the phrase "It's a bird! It's a plane!..."- who the hell gets that excited about a bird!? A plane on the other hand...

After 3 hours of waiting for the plane to whisk us back to Milford (my boot prints littering the beach in all directions at this point), the sun began to set and we unpacked our packs back at the hut for an uneasy night's sleep. All of a sudden we were 3 days walk from the nearest road end, without a means of communication, and with only a day's worth of food. Part of our predicament is the weather did not exactly match the forecast and we had no way of knowing when it would improve enough to fly and that there were also concerns that the pilot may have forgotten about us. We explored the option of breaking into private huts to use a radio, but ultimately decided our best option would be to hike along the coast for 5 hours to Martins Bay where we knew there would be an airstrip (which would be easier for the pilot to land at) and we might be able to find a radio...and as a worse case scenario this would also put us about a two days run from the nearest road end should we be desperate enough. We left intentions in the Big Bay Hut book for the pilot to check should they land at Big Bay and not find us, and we had a personal locator beacon as a last resort.


High spirits


3 hours later...

June 15, D-Day, the Day of Desperation. This day perhaps deserves its own post but I would rather not overly reminisce on the misery. We awoke well before dawn and started hiking with our stupidly heavy backpacks (rock samples) by headlamp south along the beach. There was a light persistent rain associated with gale force headwinds. The winds were northwest and we hiked into them almost the whole way. The sea was also rough and the winds carried the spray from the breaking waves directly into our faces. Every hundred meters or so we would have to hide behind a rock to recover. Looking back was completely demoralizing- we never seemed to travel as far as it felt like in the strong winds. The plane would definitely not be flying in this wind so we had to hope for a sudden change in the weather. My memory has already begun repressing, but the weather combined with our predicament left me truly and utterly miserable. I did not take a single photo the whole time as it was not something I particularly wanted to remember.

Once at Martins Bay we checked all the huts and I found one with a radio I could almost break into if i could reach through a narrow slot and undo the window latch. I made a contraption out of a steel rod, a stick, a colander and some number 8 wire that very nearly almost worked. It was a frustrating puzzle that I felt so close to solving, but ultimately had to give up in the interest of time.

We walked onward toward the airstrip- I was feeling very dejected and despondent knowing that we might have to run out the Hollyford on an empty stomach. A hundred meters short of the clearing I heard a motor running and instinctively ran to the clearing and waved my arms as frantically as I could just missing the plane flying overhead. My heart sank thinking I had been a few seconds away from being seen. Then I saw the plane reappear and land in front of me! I can't tell you how happy I was to see that airplane and our pilot Jennie climb out. It turned out they had not forgotten about us and the weather was worse at Milford than it was at Big Bay and she took off as soon as traffic control gave her clearance.

We had a nice flight over the Kaipo coast (everywhere inland was socked in) where I spotted some enticing cave entrances in the limestone. Back at Milford we were surprised to see a clear crisp day with waterfalls everywhere after the rains and fresh snow on the peaks. The fieldwork was very productive and in retrospect it was a healthy dose of suffering to keep things in perspective. It could have been so much worse.


Hollyford skyline

Thanks to National Geographic for funding, pilots Shaun and Jennie at Fly Fiordland and a special thanks to my great field assistant Lara.

Fox River June 6

I've had this one in my sights for years since it was suggested to have one of the two best stream passages in NZ. It has a tricky entrance series and has a reputation for being very cold and very prone to flooding. For these reasons I have had great difficulty persuading someone to go on a trip with me until now.

It was actually Justin that persuaded me, as I was eager to drive home and get sorted for fieldwork I had scheduled just a couple days later. Although we were unsure whether the underground stream dropped low enough for us to enter safely, we were both keen for a try and to at least scout the cave for a more ambitious trip later on.

We donned our wetsuits and vertical gear and clambered toward the distant roar of the stream below. The first obstacle is a short climb over a rock ledge with a 10m drop below. Then came the slots where it took us almost an hour to go 20m horizontally! Here we abseiled part way into a slot, bridged across while still on rope, and then began to climb back up the other side. Once on top, this same process was repeated to cross the second slot. Once this was surmounted we could take off our vertical sets and jump in the frothy tannin-stained stream. We saw fresh foam 2m above the present water level in places, indicating that yesterday's rains would have made this cave a death trap then.



The force of the water looked intimidating at first, especially the eddies and hydraulics at the small waterfalls, but we quickly gained confidence as we cautiously headed upstream. The stream was wonderfully sporty and loads of wet fun- swims could often be avoided by climbing traverses and crossing ribs of bedrock protruding up from the deeper pools like ghostly waist-deep walkways in the dark red tannin-stained water. For the most part the passage stays about 3-4m wide with wall-to-wall water and about 60m high. Formations flow down the walls at intervals, brightening up the dark manganese-coated walls and the dark water, which suck the light and contribute to the ominous mood of the cave.

We made it about halfway up the whole stream passage before deciding we should call it a day. It took us half the time going downstream as we were more comfortable with the cave and could float downstream with the current. This trip whetted my appetite and I can't wait to return for a more thorough explore. Thanks to Justin.

Metro June 5

It was around 10:00am on Saturday by the time I made it to Charleston for the annual Queen's Birthday caving weekend. To my great surprise few people were around and almost everyone had already gone caving...before noon! A rarity for this breed of caver. With not many other options available, I opted to join a trip to "re-find an old cave we have a good chance of finding." Despite being well aware that this translated to "miserable half day bush bash in the rain without going underground," I was game. Let's just say the day felt disturbingly like fieldwork, left me scraped and bruised, and only increased my determination to get underground on Sunday...

Metro, an apt name for this floodwater maze cave. As Senator Ted Stevens once said of the Internet, "It's a series of tubes."- a mazy series of big subway-sized tubes. Entry to the cave is controlled to protect it- tourists can visit the cave by guided tour or qualified cavers can visit by permit only. This was the last permitted West Coast cave I had yet to visit, so seemed a logical choice now that I am the Conservation Officer for the NZSS and should be made aware of any potential issues.

Though not particularly sporty or adventurous, the cave has lots to offer in its 8km of passage. A huge amount of questionable digging has been done over the years by Venturer scouts and the tourist operators with the result that a lot of the squeezing and crawling has been eliminated, which makes for a tamer trip. The amount of alteration due to digging in the cave is unfortunate and takes away from the scientific value of the cave (the sediments are great recorders of the history of the cave, but are useless if moved or disturbed), as well as the natural feel of the cave.




Hall of the Refugees


Interesting ceiling textures

Nevertheless, it is a very nice cave. There are some nice formations in places, such as the Dragon's Teeth, the Hall of the Refugees and near the Pollen Exit. The main entrance (above and below) is particularly breathtaking and one of the nicer cave entrances in NZ- a lofty cathedral with an enormous skylight/arch, a showering waterfall pouring down from the ceiling, and a great view of untouched West Coast bush. Maybe not from a conservation point of view, but I am happy to report I can (just) fit through both cave gates, so I am still undefeated against NZ cave gates. Thanks to Mary.


Cavers of all ages at the Queen's Birthday dinner

Cascade Fieldwork June 1-3

Off to the Cascade, Marytr and Jackson Rivers for a few days of solo fieldwork before a drive up the coast to meet up with the cavers. This is the area I have spent the most time and since fieldwork is now starting to wrap up, it was easy to drift into nostalgia.

When I arrived there was abundant evidence of recent rains and the bush was still thoroughly wet (and thus me too as I waded through it). The days were short and cold, but at least were sunny and (relatively) sandfly-free. Doing fieldwork alone, I often worked late days, arriving back at my car an hour after the sun had set.

This fieldwork was a bit unusual for me in that it was not exploratory "map and see" fieldwork, but a very focused trip to grab very specific samples for laboratory tests that I wished to do. Finding these samples could take a couple hours or a lifetime...

I stopped at the Marytr River to collect calcite from both sides of the Alpine Fault (by comparing stable isotopes in them I can maybe tell whether both sides are hydrologically connected or separate like California's San Andreas Fault). I did reasonably well and found good samples that should be suitable. As a side note, the Marytr outcrop appears to be rapidly evolving (eroding) yet again!


Lower Cascade

I spent a whole day wandering around the giant Cascade rock avalanche making observations and desperately looking for organic matter in the deposit so I can estimate its age. After lots of digging I found a few slimy, organic-looking chunks, which may or may not be sufficient. Fingers especially crossed on this one.


Rock avalanche deposit and Cascade River

I grabbed a mylonite (ductile fault rock) sample with green hornblende crystals from a creek near Martyr Saddle. By dating this mineral, I should be able to determine whether the fault-related deformation can be attributed to the Alpine Fault or is much older.

I also crashed up an unnamed creek just south of the Arawhata in search of the southernmost schist mylonite. Negative. The southernmost schist mylonite is somewhere north of my field area!

It's hard to have good action photos doing fieldwork alone so enjoy the scenery shots!


Jackson River Road

Tree Climbing 24 May

I have always been intrigued by arborists and tree climbing but I never thought it was an activity I would ever get to really try. Enter my flatmate, a PhD student in ecology who is studying the birdlife in town and their food availability. Part of his study entails leaving bug traps in the canopies of 50m high trees around town. Now several weeks later, I would be his field assistant to help him remove the traps.

It was really interesting to see the techniques arborists use as there is some overlap with caving techniques, but they have some other really clever bits of gear and techniques that are uniquely their own. Plus their harnesses are way more comfortable!

Since many tall trees do not have branches right at ground level, it is often necessary to throw or lob a weight attached to the end of some fine string over a trustworthy branch (this takes quite a bit of technique as I discovered). Once a branch is successfully slung, a rope can be tied to the string and hoisted over the branch. The arborist then climbs the rope using a harness and prusik to climb on the first branch. Attached to the harness is a lanyard of sorts that can be wrapped around a trunk or branch and affixed to the harness to provide an anchor when needed. The arborist then carefully climbs the tree where possible (dragging the rope behind him). If climbing is not possible the process of slinging branches with rope is repeated. Once at the desired height, the rope is attached to an anchor which allows the arborist to move about the canopy as if tethered to a maypole. Descent is easily done on the rope and the rope can be pulled down after.



Most of his trees were rigged with parachute cord from his previous trip, which saved considerable time as we could tie a rope to the end and just hoist it up and over the tree branch at the top of the tree like you would with a flagpole. Tie one end to an anchor and you have yourself a rope to ascend.







The traps are of two types. One consists of a half of a funnel (teet end upward) glued to the trunk of the tree. As the bugs climb up the tree they get led into the trap by the funnel shape. At the top of the funnel is a container with antifreeze that collects the bugs so they can later be sorted and counted. The other type of trap hangs from a tree branch and targets flying insects.



We climbed 2 Sequoias and a eucalyptus, all about 50m in height with his collection traps at about 30m height. The views from the top were spectacular and it was a weird feeling being tethered off of a living organism 30m off the ground. The exposed eucalyptus tree swayed in the wind and I could certainly see how an arborist could get seasick. The last Sequoia we climbed was directly above the Dunedin one-way system with cars racing below at lunch hour. It was quite a cool experience!





Thanks to Ed for some entirely amusing hours hanging out 30m off the ground in trees in the name of science.

Aramoana-Victory Beach 21 May

It was forecast for a warm sunny day and low swells along NE-facing coastlines so I persuaded my officemate to put in kayaks at the Aramoana Spit and see how far we could make it around the backside of the Otago Peninsula. The sea was perfectly calm with not a hint of a breeze (much to the disappointment of the sailboats not moving despite sails fully rigged). Marco had never kayaked before but he got the hang of it by the time we reached Tairoa Head at the tip of the Otago Peninsula, and then we made good time cruising along the coast. We past several world-class exposures of volcanic rocks with interesting erosional and intrusive relationships. Rerewahine Point was particularly interesting- an old volcanic vent with WWII bunkers perched on the edge of dramatic cliffs.


Tairoa Head Lighthouse, geology and seals


Rerewahine Point (note WWII bunkers)

We kayaked across the huge bay to land at the far southern end of Pipikaretu Beach to stretch our legs and have a bite to eat. Here we found out that since it was a sanctuary there was no access at the low tide mark (rather than the usual high tide rule), but we found out in the friendliest possible way and were soon on our way again, no harm done. We headed south to the headland off of Victory Beach where the waves were blasting the cliffs dramatically 30m into the air. We then returned the way we came with the swell now in our favor. A curious Little Blue penguin followed us for over a hundred meters, popping his head up a few meters in front of us every few minutes before diving again. It was really great to see the wildlife so prolific along this coast. On the way back I made a pretty exciting landing maneuver climbing up kelp and rocks so I did not have to urinate in my wetsuit. Once back to the harbor mouth we had a quick stop at Pilots Beach before heading back to The Spit. We kayaked over 16km of open ocean in a few hours- not a bad effort.




Pipikaretu Beach


Victory Beach and the Pyramids in the distance

The only stretches of the ~90km of coast between Blackhead and Waikouaiti I have not traversed by walking, climbing, swimming or kayaking are the short stretch at Lawyers Head and from Sandfly Bay to Victory Beach. Thanks to Marco.

Tiropahi Canyon 29 April

Despite a very late start, the allure of a warm, cloudless day and low river levels beckoned us into the narrow depths of Tiropahi Canyon. I had driven over the bridge at its start countless times, always slowing to peer downstream. Several times I had attempted to persuade people to do a trip with me, but river levels, cold weather and laziness remained persistent and effective excuses. Sara was all too keen (and trusting) so we organized gear and set off under the bridge in the early afternoon. Although I knew vaguely what to expect from the canyon, to my satisfaction it proved to be more narrow, scenic and challenging than I anticipated.

Upstream the Tiropahi lazily cuts its way through some beautiful limestone scenery. Here at the start of the canyon, the river encounters hard gneissic basement rock, which it vigorously cuts on its hundred-meter descent to the Tasman Sea. At its start we swam a few still pools and negotiated our way down some shallow but swift boulder rapids to where a great 1.5m diameter log was wedged lengthwise across a dark and intimidating narrows beyond. After a few moments' appreciation, we climbed on down, realizing there would be no turning back.




Peering into the start of the narrows

All too soon it became obvious we were not going to be seeing that glorious sun for quite a while as the narrow canyon was trending the wrong way to catch the sun at this hour. The surprisingly frigid, tannin-stained waters were a thick inky-black in the shadows. Strong reflections on the surface were nearly impenetrable, which added extra uncertainty to each step we took. Unfortunately due to the poor visibility several superb-looking cliff jumps were passed up because water depth and obstacles could not be confirmed.

Several long swims down the narrows brought us to several small waterfalls, which we carefully downclimbed or bypassed, including three short jumps. At one point we downclimbed into a 2m deep breached pothole and swam through its small exit. In a couple places logs just below the surface of the water were used as balance beams. Considering the low water levels, the river still had a good flow to it. I noticed several obstacles and hydraulics that would become very dangerous in higher water. It was a beautiful stretch of canyon, though alas too dark to get good photos of with my camera. After a very narrow two hundred meters of canyon, the canyon opens a bit wider, though still with several swims and obstacles to surmount. Ahead in the distance we could see sun entering at the turn in the canyon and before long we could hear the roar of the 25m waterfall- truly an awesome sight. Sunlight mixed with the uprising mist from the falls to create a dramatic golden atmospheric haze. After spending about 5 minutes trying to thread a chockstone, we finally succeeded and rigged a solid two-point anchor for the drop. I went down first, finding my googles quite handy as I stood in the brain-numbing spray to give Sara a fireman's belay if needed. The rope pulled fine and off we went across the long turbulent pool at the base of the falls.


Near the end of the narrows


Abseiler at top right

A half kilometer of scrambling and wading between 200m high walls brought us to some faded pink flagging tape I hoped marked a trail that would get us back up the hill to the road. We removed wetsuits and had a quick snack as the sun set over the seldom-visited, rocky West Coast beach. The track was overgrown at first, but the quality quickly improved and was easy to follow until we reached the top of the hill. Here the flagging disappeared and we spent about fifteen minutes trying to pick the track up again in the dark. In the end, we found it and shortly after the track was very easy to follow apart from a painful 30m stretch that involved caving through gorse. The return hike from the beach took us about an hour. Once back at the car, we made a quick dinner, satisfied with the day's adventure.


Thanks to Sara.

Caves & Other Distractions 18-30 April

I have been working pretty steadily for the last couple months so that I would be able to have the time to take a 1.5 week road trip with a visiting friend to Golden Bay and the top of the West Coast. While I had been to many of the places we visited before, this was a new opportunity to experience them in a new way, seeing things in more detail and staying at some really amazing places I had always wanted to. Expectations were high as I had been looking forward to this trip since late January.

After allowing Sara to have the first day as a jetlag recovery day, we got right to it the second day, donning wetsuits for a tiki tour of the northern half of the world's longest sea cave. She bravely slid through the Perfect Squeeze and we headed on to the amazing underground Totara Beach. Despite the cold we hung out until the tide would not allow, and then swam along the now surging coastline to a place where we could escape up the cliffs. We then packed and groceried to leave the next day on our road trip up to the annual caver Easter weekend meet-up at Patarau (with plenty of stops along the way).


Totara Beach

We made the long drive to Lewis Pass via a hour detour into and out of Christchurch. We ran out of daylight and changed plans to camp near Sylvia Flat hot spring. I had a nice romantic candlelit soak alone under the stars until joined by a burly local hunter. We had a leisurely morning (Sara and I, not the hunter!), with a daylight soak in the springs in spite of the frenetic sandflies. After a great lunch stop sitting on Maruia Falls, we drove on to Flora Saddle where a completely packed parking lot reminded me it was a holiday weekend and my plans to stay at Upper Gridiron might not be realized. We packed and set off anyway, Sara comfortable with the fact we would have to hike in the dark if the shelters were full. The pleasant stroll to Gridiron was as nice as I had remembered it five years ago and we made good time. The upper rock shelter was occupied so we stayed at the lower rock shelter, which despite being colder and more primitive, certainly has more charm and conjures up childhood joys of treehouses and forts. While the plush Salisbury Hut was probably overcrowded with people, we had a great night and morning looking out from our peaceful balcony on to the forest and creek below to the sounds of birds and creek. It was great to finally spend a night here; I am so happy it remains unchanged in the last five years and is still a relative secret.




Lower Gridiron Rock Shelter. Fire/kitchen at left, Sara at master bedroom/platform, fresh spring water immediately below.

Due to time we hiked back the way we came and made the long drive through Golden Bay, around the Whanganui Inlet to the paddocked coastal karst of Patarau. I had a new appreciation for the lush scenery and intricately winding road as I distractedly drove around the Inlet. When we arrived at the coast it was obvious the sunset would be enveloped in thick clouds on the horizon, so instead I talked Sara into a throughtrip of Baby Grand Cave from the large and cruisy Grand entrance to the wet and sporty Baby entrance. We found a choice camp spot on a slight slope (later determined to be a wise choice) in the Sandhills Creek paddock. That Friday night it rained (and rained) and more or less did not stop raining until we left on Monday. As the weekend went on some of the other tents became kiddy pools, but ours remained mostly dry. Saturday morning I made a few rounds around camp, catching up with cavers I had not seen in months. The weather was not particularly motivating so it was pretty much a camp day with higher hopes for better weather on Easter Sunday. The highlight was sitting in Leo's homemade hot tub under an umbrella as the rain poured down.



Sunday the weather was similarly miserable but Sara and I tried to make the best of it. We crossed the flooded Sandhills Creek near its mouth and had a wander along the rocky coastline to the south, leapfrogging between overhanging rocks during gaps in the rain. We then slacklined in the rain, which I discovered was significantly easier with an umbrella in hand. In the afternoon at high tide we ran around a few rocky headlands between waves and walked as far as the small arch. We waited out the rain under an enormous overhang nearby.






Photo by Sara


Curious kids and a sackful of eels



In the evening I managed to convince Sara to go for a late night trip to Echo Valley Palace. The road was still partially flooded and we saw a few large eels wriggling around the shallow pools. I navigated through the foggy darkness by GPS and memory, finding the cave without too much trouble. It's a very short but photogenic cave, and we had no trouble losing track of time while exploring its wonders.





On Monday we said our goodbyes (after having tea with a parrot) and headed back around the Whanganui Inlet. We sneaked in a quick climb at Payne's Ford, and some laundry and dinner in Takaka, before ultimately ending the day at the caver's hut on Takaka Hill (my home away from home).


Whanganui Inlet

The following day we got an early start and drove to Totaranui in Abel Tasman National Park. Here high seas and strong winds deterred my original plans, but we decided to attempt to bush bash to a secluded unnamed 100m long beach. The going was surprisingly good following a faint deer trail until we got to the sea cliffs. We could see the beach enticing us from below, but the route down was not obvious. We began clinging to trees and roots down the steep slope before ultimately traversing into a small dry drainage which led us to our beach. On a beautiful sunny day with calm seas this would be a pretty magical place. Again we made the best of the weather by watching the dark skies and turbulent seas from the comfort of my hammock as the tide slowly came in. Periodically wind would pick up chunks of sea foam and swirl them up into the sky in dramatic fashion. It was a really special place- I must explore Abel Tasman for more hidden gems another time.




So close yet so far...


Hammock at left







Next up we drove out to Karamea at the top of the West Coast, catching a beautiful sunset on the way (above two photos). Sara and I then had a great trip through Honeycomb Hill Cave (accessible by permit only). We went around the tourist loop and then through the gate past the Bee's Knees, Hives Canyon, D Canyon and to the G Entrance before exiting at the river via the Gradungula Passage. Here we ran into a DOC ranger counting blue ducks and cruised down the river with him to the Honeycomb Arch. As we sat and ate lunch, Sara spotted a pair of blue ducks flying through the arch. Although lighting was non-ideal for photography, we stopped to appreciate the arch for quite some time. It is certainly the most photogenic arch in New Zealand. In my opinion Honeycomb Hill is also one of the most spectacular caves in New Zealand. The Oparara and Heaphy Rivers remain one of my favorite regions of New Zealand, and I hope to return for more exploration someday.












Note small figure on ledge in distant center

I drove down the coast, all too aware that the trip was beginning to come to its end. We spent a night in well-earned luxury near Charleston before descending Tiropahi Canyon (described in a separate post). The last night we camped at a special little spot I discovered near Punakaiki but had yet to stay at- an old sea cave (now completely dry) with a stunning skylight and ample overhangs with hanging fern gardens and peacefully dripping water. It was a fitting end to an amazing trip.






The last night's camp

Thanks to Sara- I can't tell you what an amazing time I had.