Temple to Ahuriri - ANZAC weekend 2006

ANZaC weekend. 10 pm, Saturday.
Andrew is in from Wellington and we're at Mark's place in Rangiora.

The weather forecast for the entire South Island is crap.
What to do
Where to go

Up in the morning and check out the websites. Again no satisfactory results.
Kaikoura's are out
Arthurs Pass is out
Ohau?
Ohau can get passable weather when the rest of the Southern Alps are getting shite.
Okay settled, we're off

"Can we detour back into town and I'll pick up some maps?" says I
"It's okay, we'll buy a map in Twizel"
Little do we realise this statement is to set the tone for the entire trip.

Incredibly the hunting and fishing shop in Twizel is open. Unsurprisingly it does not have the map we need. No worries though, Andrew has done this trip only a few months beforehand.

As we turn off highway 8 into the Ohau road Andrew has a flash of recollection, "hey guys, I've just remembered it took us four days to do this trip last time. It's okay though, they were pretty cruisy days."

At this point we have two and a half days at our disposal.

Incredibly, we carry on. Up the familiar road, turn off at the Temple carpark, into our gear and off. The first river crossing is about 2 minutes after leaving the car. 1 hour 50 later the second river crossing is a stones throw from the hut. We're racing along, it feels good to be in the hills again.

After a meusli bar at South Temple Hut we're off again, up and sidling the gorge and then into the flats above the bushline. We camp under Mt Maitland by torchlight, Damn it's cold. The realisation that always hits me that those thousands of stars glittering above us are always there, that the light pollution and smog of Christchurch are hiding such treasure.

Barry's borrowed Olympus turns out to be a very old one, with a door at only one end. Owing to the lumpy nature of our campsite Mark ends up sleeping half out of the tent and I am curled around a large tussock all night. Note to self: encourage Barry to buy a new Olympus, they're significantly bigger.

Feeling vaguely refreshed we are up and away at 7.30. We rapidly climb up to the tarn just under Mt Maitland. The sun hits us and breakfast is a pleasure. I hate choking meusli down in the cold grey of pre dawn. A brew of coffee once again proves the worth of the titanium flamethrower.

As we stand on the col overlooking Watson stream Andrew announces "I'm pretty sure there's a short cut over that col over there"

Incredibly, we agree to check it out. Time is precious today, we have to make it to the campsite under Mt Huxley tonight if Andrew is to catch his plane on Monday night. The alternative would be unthinkable: we retrace our steps to make it out on time.

The col is merely a shortcut into the main tributary of Watson stream. No worries though, we can see another col that should overlook the Ahuriri. It's a long sidle, and it's lunchtime when we make it into the head basin of Watson stream. At my insistance we stop for lunch. After many occasions of running my blood sugar down and getting exhausted and grumpy I've learnt that I need to stop for lunch. What a beautiful place, I wish i could linger here for a day.

The col does indeed overlook the Ahuriri, and further sidling is blocked by a large gut. So it's down a thousand metres or so into the valley. We step out of the bush at the back door of Top Hut.

"I've just remembered something" says Andrew, "last time we were here we spoke to a guy who said he was going into Watson stream from behind the hut"
Nice to know we were in the right place. It started to rain about his point, which isn't too bad considering the forecast. We stormed off towards the head of the valley, darkness drawing near.

By 7.30 we're govelling around on very steep snowgrass, clearly off route. It's raining, very cold, and we only have two headlamps between three of us. With some releif we decide to call it quits and camp on the flat below. A sandy campsite warns of flooding, but we're too tuckered out to care. Mark's a trooper, cooking diner while andrew and I snooze in our sleeping bags. We're woken several times in the night by horrendous rockfalls on the slopes opposite us (presumably not called Chosspile Peaks for nothing). Despite there being no evidence of rockfall around our campsite it still sounds mighty close!

As we're packing up in the morning I notice a flash of orange
"hey, I haven't seen that sleeping bag before - is that new?"
That defensive tone is rising again "No, I've had it for ages"
"Ages?"
"Since christmas, when I forgot to bring my sleeping bag down and had to buy a new one"
It's alright for some, think I'll make do with my 1981 Fairydown Lightweight for the time being.

Up and away at 7, it takes us half an hour to gain the campsite we were headed for last night. Andrew was right, it is a beautiful campsite, It doesn't matter much when it's dark when you hit the sack and dark when you leave again though. I resolve to return in fine weather with plenty of time to spare.

We race up to the col back into the South Temple and are on top by 9.

Now the pressure is really on Andrew. Visiblity is about 50m, horizontal freezing rain, there's 4 inches of snow on the ground.
Are we in the right place?
"Er, I think it's here" Says Andrew. Without a map the compass is useless. Over the edge we go.

It's steep, very steep. The snow appears to be making the slabby scree a bit less poxy than it otherwise would have been. Because we can't see more than 50m everything seems fearsome. We traverse for a while and then a sudden break in the mist reveals a clear route to the bottom of the valley. Phew brilliant

There is still a ways to go, it's about a 7 km walk down to South Temple Hut, but we've cracked it. A leasurely lunch including soup and coffee at the hut and the final 1 hour 50 to the carpark round off what -incredibly- turns out to be the perfect trip.