Dame Kerry Prendergast and Sue Pankhurst find the going hard on the unstable rock of the Richmond Range.
Over 141 days Tim Pankhurst, his wife Sue and former Wellington mayor Dame Kerry Prendergast walked the Te Araroa Trail from Cape Reinga to Bluff - but not without injuries, fears of drowning and falls, their endurance tested to the limit.
The descent to the Wairoa River gets steeper and rockier. There goes another toenail, I think, as the pressure builds on feet pushed hard up against boot-toes. The rush of the unseen river rises more loudly through the trees as we make the precarious descent and finally it appears, crossed by a swing bridge.
The Mid Wairoa Hut just across the river is an older six-bunker redolent of years of smoky fires. Its begrimed interior is dark and cheerless, befitting our apprehensive mood. The water supply is a bucket filled from the river. There is no sunlight in the narrow wedge between the river and the cliff immediately behind the hut. But this sombre spot is particularly attractive to sandflies and the nasty biting little blighters drive us back into the hut, where we inspect and repair damaged feet.
A hut book entry from Te Araroa walkers Billy D. and Ross B. four days earlier warns “even at normal flows the river current is very strong. We managed the first crossing fine but the second was impassable about two hours up. Be careful out there.” They returned to the hut and walked out to the road end. But Geoff Williams, our companion at Slaty Hut, made it through on that day.
I have a sleepless night. We are halfway there and although we have coped pretty well, the worst is to come. The river thunders beside the hut all night and does not look or sound any lower at first light. For the first time I question what we are doing. I feel responsible for whatever peril we are heading into.
We are subdued in the morning and head into the stygian gloom of the dank bush up the steep track behind the hut with a sense of trepidation. A wire rope has been strung as a handhold where the track has fallen away. This is reassuring, pointing to more assistance in tricky parts. But it proves to be the only concession. You are on your own here.
“This is another rigorous section,” the trail guide warns. It follows the Wairoa River’s left branch to Top Wairoa Hut. “If this small river is running high, the track is impassable, for there’s a number of crossings, one at the head of a small waterfall. The track sometimes goes high above the watercourse, with a camber that may tilt you towards a drop-off, but nothing that sure feet can’t handle.” That’s all right then.
The trail notes are similarly worrying. “In some areas, erosion on the track presents slippery and/or narrow footholds and extreme care should be taken through here. Some trampers will find this section challenging.”
For Petr Cech, a northbound solo hiker from the Czech republic, it was fatal.
His body was found downstream from the Mid Wairoa Hut in May 2023. He struck heavy rain after last being seen at Hunters Hut and was either swept away crossing the Wairoa River, or fell off the steep face.
Laura Waters in her BeWILDered account is daunted by this section too. The trail notes add, “There’s a river crossing on a rock chute just above a 4-metre waterfall ... the water is flowing fast down the chute and if you lose footing, you go over the waterfall.” This strikes fear into Laura’s heart. ”I might get washed over a f***ing waterfall?” she writes. “Seriously, should trail notes ever read like this?”
There is no conversation, apart from murmured advice on a foothold, or where to hold on. Every step has Sue focused, talking to herself – foot, foot, foot. Progress is snail-like but we are advancing into the gorge, tracking the river. In the first hour and a half I do not see one place that looks safely crossable. The river roars on.
We approach the first crossing after two hours of watchful walking.
There is no option but to cross here. The river narrows into a chute downstream, sweeping out of sight and deepens around a rock face above us. It is not far across and the water is clear but it is dismayingly swift. The main current is only several metres wide. It looks wadeable beyond that to the far bank. If we get across the midsection we should be fine.
We link up, with me upstream and little Sue in the middle and take a first cautious step into the torrent. It is strong, tugging at our knees. Kerry has replaced her broken pole with a stout beech staff but it floats up in the current. Another step, sliding our boots across the rocky bottom and Kerry, struggling to stay balanced, promptly goes down, pulling Sue in too. She keeps hold of Kerry but pulls me in and all three of us are floundering in the current. One of Sue’s walking poles goes twirling away and disappears into the rapids. Sue makes it back to the bank while I take over her hold on Kerry. She is immersed in the water, shocked and gasping. “Let’s get you out of here,” I say and haul her back to the sandy shore.
We have two options – to go back, or try again, knowing this is only the first of eight crossings. “I’m not going back,” says Kerry. That is what we needed to hear.
I am confident I can manage the river on a second attempt and help the women across one at a time. Sue is game and we link arms and push our way across with me upstream without incident. Kerry has started off on her own and gets unsteadily through the swiftest part before stumbling and tumbling into the water again, drawn to it like metal filings to a magnet. I grab her by the pack as she slips back into the river and hang on until she can get upright and struggle out. She is cold and shaken but we are across. The prospect of seven more crossings hangs heavy but we will take each as it comes.
It is another two hours of slow going on a narrow track, across steep slopes and bluffs before the second crossing. Packs need to be taken off to get around one bulging boulder. It is a mild day and we have dried out by the time we approach the river again, rocks at its edge slippery with bright green moss. It looks less daunting here, or maybe we are coming to terms with it.
We know that crossing together, given Kerry’s instability, will mean we will all get a dunking. Getting wet does not faze us but being bumped over rocks and rapids in the gorge with no easy exit does. It is downright dangerous. The answer is for me to get across with Sue first, which we do without any drama. I have brought 10 metres of stout rope and now tie that around Kerry’s midriff. She will have to get across on her own, using her poles for support, but at least she will not get swept downstream. I can haul her in like a fish. But there is no need. She bravely enters the current and makes unsteady way across, staying upright.
Crossings then closely follow and we wade across without incident, with Kerry roped up, as our confidence grows. The crossing above the waterfall that spooked BeWILDered’s Laura is at the base of a deep pool before it plunges over a chute between boulder ramparts. It would not do to go over there and we studiously avoid looking at it as we make a straightforward crossing on smooth rock with the water only knee-high.
At last we are clear of the gorge, the 7km taking six-and-a-half hours, much slower than the standard five hours. The timing does not matter, we are safely through.
Edited extract from Every Effing Inch, by Tim Pankhurst (Panky Press, $40), available from The Underground Bookstore and major booksellers.
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