First stop was Kerin Forks Hut where we signed the hut book and set out under the midday sun up the Wilkin Valley. I was pleasantly surprised by how good the track was as we walked through the beech forest. However, we came unstuck at the edge of a clearing where we lost the track markers. The choice was dipping between house-sized boulders by the river or a steep climb through the bush. I chose the former, Katie the latter. I gingerly plunged my boot into the knee-deep eddy on the side of the river before scrambling up the sandy bank on the other side. I then rock-hopped along the river to the planned meeting point with Katie at a creek that flowed off Mt Jumbo. Katie was waiting, leaning on a boulder while I hauled my way up the steep stream bed to join her.

From here was a rude 100m climb to Jumboland. A hut once stood here, built by the Otago Section of the New Zealand Alpine Club, but it was removed in the 1980s when Top Forks Hut was built.

Mts Arne and Aeolus watch over the entrance to the Wonderland Valley, and, on the far side of Jumboland, another rude climb awaited before a descent to the upper flats.

As we crossed the flats, a yellow Piper Cub swooped down and landed. We crossed the river to the ‘airstrip’ – a relatively flat section of low grass – and exchanged greetings with the passengers before continuing up the valley. Our route cut to the north-east away from the marked track, following a hole between pockets of forest and scrub, then rejoining the river on the far side. By staying on the true left we avoided climbing Pt710 and made excellent time to Top Forks Hut.

The following morning ominous cloud transformed into sheets of rain. We weren’t bothered – we were dry and warm in the cosy older-style hut, which had recently had some TLC and featured a nice open fireplace. The rain ceased by midday and we detoured up the North Branch Wilkin Track, taking care when crossing the river as it was running much higher than the day before.

After climbing through an ancient moraine wall, we emerged from the beech forest beside Lake Diana, from where it was easy going along a boardwalk to Lucidus Lake which nestles beneath commanding mountains with Greek mythological names: Pollux, Castor and Apollo. We returned to the hut to collect our gear before heading up the steep South Branch Wilkin Track in the direction of Waterfall Flat and Rabbit Pass.

It was a quick climb through the beech forest before sidling above Snow Bridge Gorge on a narrow scrubby track. Beneath the spur of Mt Twilight this turned straight upwards, making us clamber up trickling mountain streams. A 200m climb gave way to a sidle before we reached Waterfall Flat. The track markers evaporated at this point and we did our best to cross the grassy flats, finding every hole between the tussocks as we did so. After about a kilometre, beneath where the words ‘Waterfall Flat’ are marked on the topo map, there’s a large boulder with a cairn on top. Underneath we found a cosy rock bivvy fashioned by river stones and waratahs, a perfect place for the night in a spectacular spot.

The grass was frosty and our boots were frozen when we awoke on our ‘day of reckoning’, so we agreed to wait for the Waterfall Face to thaw out. We set out mid-morning under a bluebird sky and after 15 minutes reached the lower slopes of the face, where we picked up a line of orange snow poles.

“Oh boy, here goes nothing,” Katie said as she led up the face, which steepened quickly, the route cutting diagonally to the right through some slick rock bluffs. I just prayed that the tussock I clung to would hold.

Step by step, and fully focused, we made our way up the face. Up a gut and onto a bit of a spur, then a traverse back to the left over an exposed slope. One slip would be fatal. As we came over the lip a wave of relief washed through me, quickly followed by the thought: ‘I do not want to go down that!’

In front was a gentle valley dominated at the far end by Pickelhaube, the pointy mountain resembling the spiked helmets once worn by the German military. The South Wilkin flowed lazily down the valley.

We made a quick dash to Pearson Saddle where we became the focus of a circus of nine kea. They were curious enough, but lost interest as we continued up the valley towards Rabbit Pass.

The pass itself is unspectacular, but just past it one gets a 500m view directly down to the East Mātukituki. We were under no illusion that all the hard work had been done, and dreaded the next section almost as much as the Waterfall Face.

The route goes along a ledge leading to Lois Peak. After climbing 200m, we felt we were going the wrong way. Weren’t we meant to be descending? A large orange triangle and standard marked our point of descent. Here, a chink in the bluffs led to a 30m descent down schist with the consistency of dry Weet-Bix, a downclimb that Moir’s Guide understatedly suggests ‘some might find awkward’. For the second time that day, I was clinging to sub-par handholds, wondering what I was doing with my life. A fall here would be less severe than on the Waterfall Face, but the holds were worse and ice made life awkward. However, by taking things slowly, we made it down to the schist scree, bodies intact but perhaps minds scarred.

It was then plain sailing down scree slopes and through alpine scrub until reaching one of the tributaries of the East Mātukituki. We powered down the initial boulder-strewn section of river until the open flats of the East Mātukituki Valley. This place is magnificent; ice-capped mountains framing waterfalls, beech-clad slopes and the river running between deep blue pools that would be inviting on a hot day. Lower down the valley, we crossed the river before emerging onto Ruth Flat, where we found a perfect campsite on the true left of the Mātukituki. We set up our tents and settled in for the night.

Next day we walked for half an hour along mellow river flats before leaving the river as it plunged into the Bledisloe (Bloody-slow) Gorge. Next, it was beech forest and a steady climbing sidle before crossing a deep boulder-strewn ravine. The track then veered upwards – the gorge’s nickname being all too apparent. When the climb relented we found ourselves in an enchanted forest, a chorus of birdsong echoing through the treetops. Shuffling along narrow ledges, we passed waterfalls and forest pools before negotiating a series of small bluffs.

Finally, we broke from the bushline to views of Ruth Flat to the north, Aspiring Flat to the east and Cameron Flat to the south. Cloud poured over from the Bonar Glacier, gushing like a perpetual wave between Popes Nose – what a great name for a mountain – and Mt Avalanche.

The track to Junction Flat wove through a ghoulish forest with dead trees frozen and half-submerged in the landscape. This changed to living beech trees that provided much-appreciated shade from the sun. Soon we again reached the East Mātukituki and crossed an impressive three-wire bridge over water that moments before had been making a chaotic descent down the gorge.

Camping spots abounded at the flat but we pushed on, fording the Kitchener River before starting towards Cameron Flat. The track undulated up and over slips and other obstacles, carving a path through lush beech forest. About halfway, with the aid of a wire, we crossed a   waterfall that had worn down the huge rock over which it ran. (After heavy rain this can become impassable forcing parties to spend an extra night in the bush). From here we followed the river closely, admiring reflections of Fog Peak in the river’s slow-moving pools.

We decided to camp on the edge of the park at Glacier Burn, where ice melt flowing from an impressive canyon brings frozen winds. Then, it was a simple hour’s walk across pasture with one final river crossing before we reached the road.

Rabbit Pass deserves its infamous reputation. For the most part though it is easy walking in pleasant wild valleys, punctuated by two difficult, technical sections on either side of the pass. These are quite do-able if you have the right experience, devote your complete attention and have good weather.