Knees trembling, I look down at the runout below while balancing nervously on frozen scree. Somewhere on the side of survivable, I think.
But let’s rewind to the previous night where this story really begins. We were five trampers happily starting up the track to Sunrise Hut in Ruahine Forest Park, thoughts firmly fixed on snuggling into our sleeping bags. It was 10pm, after all. I’d left my ice-axe in the car; we would turn around if conditions got gnarly.
The wide, benched track wound playfully through rimu and ponga forest. Three NZ Forest Service cullers spent three winters in the 1980s cutting this track by hand: an impressive feat. We caught the occasional glimpse of the twinkling towns of Hawke’s Bay stretching for miles.
The track followed a few steep zig-zags before it left the bushline, and there was a light dusting of fresh snow on the ground. In front was Sunrise Hut, illuminated by the gentle orange glow of a fire burning inside.
The hut is situated in Buttercup Hollow and is one of the best-placed and most easily accessible huts in the North Island. Its history is about as Kiwi as it gets. In 1983, senior NZ Forest Service ranger Barrie Atkins heard there was $50,000 up for grabs for a project in the region. But there was a catch: the money had to be used within three weeks.
Barrie priced two kitset eight-bunk cabins from Fraemoh Homes in Christchurch (similar to Lockwood). One of these was promptly installed at Buttercup Hollow and named Sunrise Hut. The other became Barlow Hut, sited at Makaroro River to the north. Sunrise was extended in 2005 to increase its capacity to 20 bunks, and the sun has been rising on it for the past 40 years.
We watched the sunrise the following morning, but by the time we set off towards Armstrong Saddle, threatening clouds hovered overhead.
In July 1935 Hamish Armstrong crashed his de Havilland Gypsy Moth into the saddle in some particularly bad weather. The wreckage was found after two weeks; the only sign of Armstrong was a shirt branded Triple-X. (A hut near the trailhead now carries this name).
From Armstrong Saddle we followed the broad ridge to the west. Te Atuaoparapara towered above us shrouded by intermittent cloud. Then we too became enveloped, caught on the ridge as snow began to fall aggressively. Such conditions are not ideal when attempting to cross one of the most prominent peaks in the Ruahine Range, so we dropped our packs and beat a hasty retreat to bag Top Maropea Hut. Travel down the spur to this hut was fantastic – first out in the open then through the enchanted forest, which was dusted with snow. The hut was a cheerful Forest Service orange and sat in a large clearing – perfect for lying outside with a book on a long summer’s day. How- ever, all our snacks were on the main ridge with our packs. After signing the hut book, we were forced once more into the bush.
The weather had cleared on the main ridge, but we were tortured by having to drop down to another saddle before starting to climb Te Atuaoparapara proper. Impressive scars were raked across the hillside to the left where the ridge dropped into the steeply eroded valley. A blazed trail led through a dense mix of tūpare (leatherwood) and harakeke before opening to more pleasant tussock slopes. The snow was gathering in ever larger piles and we were soon stomping over completely frozen grasses. It took one final grunt to bring us to the snow-covered summit ridge that curled up to the peak. The ridge was picturesque, but the wind whistled straight through our bones as we stood at the ice-encrusted trig and looked out across Hawke’s Bay and other Ruahine peaks.
We peered over the southern side of Te Atuaoparapara with some trepidation. Our route was to Waipawa Saddle. It’s popular among experienced trampers as a summer trip, but I had not read of anyone doing it in winter. However, time was on our side and the snow conditions were good, so with a healthy dose of youthful optimism we decided to give it a crack.
A steep but manageable section leading from the trig became a mangled mess of rock. A scree slope dropped to the west, presumably with bluffs hidden somewhere to make any accidental trip more exciting. It wasn’t clear whether it would be better to go over the jagged rocks or beneath them. Our bet was under and it paid off; travel down on the western side was good, our boots biting satisfyingly into scree and firm snow. This section of rock gave way to a windswept spur that led to a broader plateau some 60m below. All was going well until a voice at the front of the party said, “Sam, I don’t like this, I don’t like this one bit!”
The wind had swept the snow from the spur leaving a thick layer of ice. This was a dilemma. We were close to being off the peak, but there was still 60m between us and a safe path. None of us had snow gear – a choice we made because some in our group didn’t know how to use it. Perhaps rashly, I decided we should push on. Cautiously, I came to the front of the party, struggling for traction on the slick ground. I dropped down the leeward side of the spur using a snow bank to descend. This was going better than expected – or it was until my footing started to give way and my body jolted downward. I managed to stop myself by plunging my hands into the snow. Looking down, those 60m appeared much further than they had just seconds before. By kicking firm steps in the snow I avoided any other mishaps and was soon down on safe ground. It was then a matter of relaying packs down the hill and taking time with less experienced members until we were all in the clear.
From there it was relatively smooth sailing. We passed frozen tarns that would make for great camping in warmer months, before continuing to the end of the flat ridge. The route took us further than seemed intuitive, but we found a set of sturdy cairns that marked the way to Waipawa Saddle.
We went down the Waikamaka, hopping from one side of the river to the other until we reached Waikamaka Hut. Perhaps the most notable feature of the Heretaunga Tramping Club’s hut is the long-drop, which is shaped like a rocket ship. That night we reflected on the day and concluded that we should each have had an ice axe for the descent from the spur. Another learning opportunity.
The next day we waited for the sun before setting off back up the river, which was frozen solid. We were soon back at Waipawa Saddle, looking east down the Waipawa River to the farmland beyond. The tussock in the valley gave way to tūpare, making us grateful for the cut track until we emerged onto a stony riverbank. We stopped at Waipawa Forks Hut for lunch and had to search for the overgrown entrance to the track to the car park. It was upstream from the hut, contrary to what the map showed.
Back on the Sunrise Track in the daylight we were able to appreciate its quality: a highway through the forest compared to our experience the previous day.
Walking through the lush forest, I reflected that Te Atuaoparapara is a magnificent mountain for trampers but one that should be treated with respect (and an ice-axe).
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