TRAVEL

by Ross Jamieson

Can’t holiday in Germany on a flash Rhine boat or go up Australia’s Murray in a paddle steamer? How about a raft trip down the Waiau Toa/Clarence River in Marlborough instead. Wonderful guiding companies will wine and dine you, just as luxuriously – but around a campfire. You will pitch your own tent and master dug squat loos surprisingly easily.

We were a group of 13 friends, mainly retired engineers and nurses in our seventies who arranged a trip through one of the great Seddon-based rafting tour operators.

Met off the Picton ferry, we gathered up the tents and sleeping gear provided and bussed up the dramatic vineyard-lined Awatere to Molesworth Station. The night was spent in the Upcott shearing quarters. A feast, cooked on a coal range coupled with an engaging talk by the farmer added to the conviviality. Deer, rabbit, possum, TB, and weed control had bankrupted most earlier farming ventures. DOC now claims to have matters in hand for NZ’s largest farm. Driving through it the next day it's evident how new pasture types maintain the nation's biggest cattle herd in this harshest of environments.

A low water flow stopped us starting at the Acheron confluence as planned, so on to Hanmer to overnight. A hairy road trip over Blind saddle the next day had us at the Quail Flat launching site. Five rafts awaited us for the four-day trip. Two were for supplies, two with raised stern seats for the guides' long oars, and on the last paddlers controlled the raft sitting on the inflated thwarts.

The five guides were brilliant. Two women, one a Kiwi the other American; two younger men and the chief guide whose wife’s home-cooked cakes supplemented the gourmet food. All were certified rafters. The humour was tops, encouraged no doubt, by the generation gap, for we were the oldest group they had taken. Off we paddled to the Airstrip campsite - four hours downriver.

The 230km long, still drinkable Clarence is graded 2/3; not hard to raft, although river flow and wind can impact a trip's ease. It toddles its picturesque way between TapuaeO-Uenuku (Hillary’s first ascent) and the seaward Kaikoura range. Seismologists are known locally as “cockroaches” as they swarm into the Clarence after earthquakes to update knowledge about its ever-changing limestone features. Guiding companies were cock-a-hoop to have more challenging rapids after the massive 7.8 shake in 2016.

Setting up camp was a breeze, particularly as the cooking was all done for us. Drink was plentiful for those so inclined round the camp fire – which unsurprisingly all were.

It was a tad disappointing not to be woken by raucous bird choruses. A fulsome cooked breakfast, then break camp and load up rafts and set off down river again. This pattern continued for the next three days spending 4 to 5 hours paddling and navigating through long flowing sections and rapids. The low water flow called for alertness to avoid rocks or getting stuck in the shallower reaches. The Clarence is an ever-changing mountain divided gorge passage; chalky white bluffs; slips; red rock outcrops; subtle tweed coat like colourings of alpine vegetation; farm stock and wild deer, pig and goat sightings. It’s remote. We met no one.

On the third day one raft broadsided in a rapid. This required rescuing its occupants through a series of rope belays secured around boulders, and the all the more challenging getting the gear to shore. The raft was pinned against a rock by the weight of river flow. Advice from the watching engineers how this could best be effected - would have filled textbooks, whilst the drenched rescued crew dried out around a driftwood fire. An engrossing hour’s distraction.

A memorable stop was Matai Flat. Standing in awe amongst these giant trees one could be forgiven for expecting a Moa to stomp around into the sun speckled dark undercover. Maori have lived around the Waiau Toa for 700 years. Judging from uncovered bone middens, Moa were hunted hereabouts. .

The last day's rapids were excitingalthough thoroughly manageable. Names such as Jaw Breaker, Nose Basher, Handkerchief and Sawtooth gave an idea what to expect.

Near the river's mouth earthquake damage was very evident. The final rapid was memorable for it had reinforcing iron ‘sputniks” protruding from a re-engineered bank. We passed under the SH1 Bridge in the throes of reconstruction. It was a wistful paddle to the lagoon shore to part with rafts that had served us so well. Farewells were had to friends who, on and off have taken trips together since university in the 1960s. In our case cared for by great guides who were not even born then.

Cell phones back on to find NZ was to lock down the next day and oldies to be confined to their homes. Cook Strait ferries back to Wellington could be cancelled too. A sombre, sobering welcome back to civilisation.

Thank heavens we did not have to get back from Germany or the Murray River.

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