Team Tararua S-K Valleys Bradley Houghton and Tim Pickering

The lads - Tim on the left. Me on the right

‘Twas the night before SK Valleys, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The puffer jackets were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Putara road end soon would be there;

The nervous runners Bradley and Tim were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of low rivers danced in their heads;

September 20th 2.00AM. My alarm went off but my eyes were already wide open. It was the morning I had been waiting for. It was SK Valleys day! I would find out if there was any reality to the dreams that played on repeat through my mind. Tim Pickering was my partner in crime. We jumped into Joe Murphy’s $2000 Audi station wagon with fingers crossed that the engine light that Joe said occasionally came on was just some kind of misunderstanding. Next stop Putara road end!

Putara > Roaring Stag

The moment had finally arrived. I was about to take my first step towards the carpark of glory. Months of dreaming. Months of planning. We were actually about to take on the dragon. It was 4.30AM, I had just taken a nervous shit beside a carpark at the end of a long gravel road somewhere in rural Waiarapa. What better way to start the longest day of my life?

 What I love about these adventures is the huge anticipation that builds up the closer you get to D-Day. It’s always the same problem and it always has the same solution. I need to get to ‘Y’ from ‘Z’ which is ‘X’ away. To achieve this I just need to keep moving no matter what. The day started like any great adventure should. A terrible selfie attempt, a high five and we were off.

I hadn’t run any of the route until Totara Flats so I was finding it hard to get my head around the pacing for the day. I had no idea if we were moving too fast or too slow. Having a more experienced partner in Tim was great. He reassured me we were making good progress and that we were just cruising along nicely. It was a great relief to get to the top of the first climb. We were actually doing it. We were traversing the mighty Tararua. 

We made steady progress down to Roaring Stag. It was slippery, rooty, muddy and I was loving it. The sun was just starting to make inroads into the dense bush as we rolled into Roaring Stag. Our early start time was going to work out perfectly. I think that is one of the keys to a good time, especially without daylight saving. Hit the river as the sun comes up so you can maximise the full day of sunlight. A quick bathroom break and a look around the hut and we were ready to keep trucking

Roaring Stag > Cow Creek

I can’t emphasise how much I had thought about this section. In my head it was clear. Make it through the river, make it to Kaitokie.

I had read every report, talked to anyone I could and had the river level on refresh for the last 2 weeks. I just had no idea what to expect. Well that’s a lie. I knew to expect a lot of water and freezing limbs. In hindsight, I think it was a great decision not to have scoped out this section as it really added to the adventure vibe.

Following advice from Kyle we headed over the swing bridge and took the most direct route we could find down to the river bank. The river was high and fast but more importantly clear. The small amount of boulders that hadn’t been swallowed up were dry so we made steady progress down the true right of the river with a few diversions into the bush along animal tracks. We inevitably got bluffed out and decided it was time to test out the river. 

The water instantly chilled my body and I was deafened by the alarm bells ringing inside my head. 

Focus, focus, focus. We crept our way across the river at around waist height. You could feel the raw power of the river with each negotiated step. This wasn’t too bad I thought, trying to convince myself that I was actually Wim Hoff. At this point Tim stumbled and almost went for a swim. A good reality check for both of us. We agreed that the next crossings we would link up. 

We stuck to the true left as long as possible. We climbed up into the bush on some steep terraces to avoid crossing back but inevitably we got bluffed out. My hands were so cold that I couldn’t get a hand hold to climb the bluff so it was back into the river.

After a few crossings and some backtracking to pick better lines we were standing opposite Cleft Creek. Tim loaded up the photo that Joe had sent him. There was no mistaking it. We had made it! Across the river (not before I made one last attempt at going for a dip) and up the steep bank. Tim announced he had found the track. A sense of relief washed over me, we were on track and unscathed. I wouldn’t have wanted to be in the river for too much longer. It felt great to start moving again. 

The track wasn’t in great nick, a lot of windfall and large areas were submerged from the recent deluge. I couldn’t complain though as previous parties had bush bashed their way through. God bless those little orange triangles and the hardy souls who had cut the track. 

We climbed steadily up to the saddle, I think I could almost feel my feet again. We made good progress down towards the hut and the Ruamahanga already seemed like a distant memory. I had read in all the recent reports that we should cut across the river to Cow Creek hut and not take the sidle track to the bridge. Before we knew it we were at the swing bridge.Whoops. To be fair, I don’t think we were quite ready to get back in the river.

Cow Creek > Mitre Flats

Spirits were high. We had conquered the biggest challenge of the day and we were right on time. The Waingawa river was a restful soul in comparison to the Ruamahanga. It gently guided us along its river terraces away from Cow creek and to Mitre Flats. The temperature was on the rise and the early morning start had already begun to feel like a figment of my imagination.

The track through to Mitre Flats Hut was a good representation of the day. Lots of bog, trails resembling streams and lots of windfall.It was very stop, start and I was getting frustrated thinking we were slipping behind schedule. Speaking of slipping. It was at that point in which I performed my best impression of a newborn giraffe flailing its way across an ice skating rink.

  I had been warned by multiple sources to look out for the legend that is the slippery plank of Mitre Hut. But here I was, sliding across some mystery substance trying to hold myself upright. A full 360 degree spin and I was at the edge of the plank. I was either going to have my feet slip out from underneath me or it was a jump into the unknown. I took the later option and ended up jumping into the giant grass who had so well hidden what was lying beneath.

 It was official, I had been fully welcomed into the Tararua. This must have looked hilarious for Tim who had suspiciously dropped a little further back behind me. Almost like he had the infamous landmark tagged on his watch.

We had a bit of a laugh, I regathered myself and a few minutes later arrived at the hut. A quick refill and repack and we were ready to go. Efficiency was the motto of the day.

Mitre Flats > Atiwhakatu

I had heard a few bad things said about the Barton track so I was a little unsure of what to expect.  It started off nicely. Not too many roots and the gradient was manageable. The trail flattened off after a while and Tim joked that maybe that was it. One thing I have learnt in my limited experience is there’s always at least one more up.

The trail started heading down and I managed to get myself in quite the compromising position. One foot slipped down the trail and the other got pinned back up behind me.

 “YEEEEEOW” 

I don’t know if he saw us or just heard me flapping around on the ground but that was the voice of Joe Murphy. We traded stories about how our respective days were going. He informed us we had one more big up before we reached the Baldy turnoff.

I was conscious of holding him up and him missing the FKT so we parted ways. We eventually made it to the turn off after a few sections where a snorkel and flippers wouldn’t have gone a miss and we started the descent down to Atiwhakatu. I felt like we were rolling along nicely and we started to pass more and more people.

 “The next 1.5k is really messy” one of the trampers coming the other way informed us.

1.5k? It must feel like 1.5k if you’re walking along with a big pack and walking stick. It turns out he knew exactly what he was talking about. Up and down. Then down and up, I was starting to get pissed off now. DOC must have moved the hut at some point as it took an age to arrive. Just as my irrational frustration was starting to peak we arrived at the hut. We had dropped 5 minutes on this split but we were still up on the day.

Atiwhakatu > Totara Flats

There were a few people having lunch out on the deck but all I could offer was a head nod and a quick hello. I was entrenched in my head thinking about how we had lost 5 minutes. A quick splash in the bottles and we were off. Pig Flat and phone reception here we come.

I lead out from the hut at a decent pace determined not to let the day slip away. We had a split sheet for 17 hours but I had always told myself it was just about the adventure. I found myself pushing along chasing time and running scenarios through my mind – funny how things change.

The river ridge track turnoff was upon us before long and we said goodbye to the easy running for now. There were quite a few day walkers  going up and down the track, one of them told us there was a Kaka close to the top. I had no idea there were still kaka in the Tararua, it’s a long way from Zealandia!

Tim was starting to pull away from me on this climb. It wasn’t particularly steep but it seemed to go on forever. I felt like I was trudging through quicksand in comparison. I had to remind myself he has one of the best times on the main range and was the reigning A100 champion.

This was the first time I started having some mental games to contend with. Feelings of incompetence and inferiority started to bubble away. Thankfully we started to encounter people again as we got closer to pig flat which jarred me out of my darkening mindset.

“Nice day for it isn’t it?”

 That simple question from a stranger got me back on track.  It was the perfect temperature, we were in a stunning part of the country, there was Kaka frollicing about and I hadn’t been swept down the Ruamahanga. What more could I want?

We arrived at Pig Flat and we both made “we’re still alive” phone calls.

It was great to hear Brooke’s voice. I told her I scored the river ridge track a 2/10 on the fun factor and she gave me some sage advice.

“Smash 2 gels and put your big boy pants on” 

Can’t argue with that.

It wasn’t long before we turned off onto the Totara flats track. This was the first time my legs started to feel a bit fatigued, more on the downs then the up. The constant drop downs and sloshing in the mud was starting to add up.

We both started running low on water at this point. We had just been running with a 500ml all day and drinking from the streams which was working a treat until this point. Totara Flats couldn’t come fast enough. Eventually the hut appeared and we ran into Totara Flat right on time.  That felt good as I felt like we may have been behind after dragging my sorry arse up the river ridge track.

Totara Flats > Cone Hut

It was nice to be entering familiar territory. 6 weeks earlier Marta had battered me up and down the cone loop track with a bonus Neil Forks hut excursion. This next segment should fly by.  A quick refill and repack and we were off. Well not quite. I couldn’t find the bloody start of the track. Doh! Maybe a bit of mental fatigue was starting to creep in. After inspecting the Heli-pad and the track which we had just come from we eventually got the legs rolling in the right direction.

It’s funny how you often get what you ask for and then immediately regret it. Going up to Pig Flat all I wanted was some downhill. Running down to Totara Flats all I could think about how glorious Totara Flat sounded. About 5 minutes into running through the grass clearings I was ready to be climbing again.

My mind drifted to how fast Joe must have scorched his way through here earlier in the day. The longer the day went on the deeper my respect for the likes of Joe Murphy and Tim Sutton  grew. It would be an absolute treat to witness them going hammer and tong over this terrain.

If the earlier issue leaving the hut was a sign of things to come we had now arrived at our destination. The GPX took us to what looked like an unscalable cliff. It didn’t look right to me as when I came through here last we had stuck to the river. I made the decision we should keep heading down a bit further. The only problem was the river was so much higher this time around.

I didn’t recognise anything and a slight sense of panic started to brew. Our options were to try clamber up a steep bank or to sidle through the river around some large boulders. We decided to get our feet wet. We travelled another 400-500m along the bank before we got to one of the big orange triangles. You beauty!

We shot up the slip and started heading inland. We stopped after a few minutes. This didn’t feel right. There must have been a turn off to another track. Back down the slope we went and there it was like a glowing neon sign. How the fuck did I miss that?  We were getting a bit frustrated and down beat. More wasted time and energy, I think we must have lost 20-25 minutes with my subpar navigating. Lesson learnt … hopefully.

Back on to the track and a sense of relief as things started to feel familiar. Undulating along the river bank above the river. I was furious with myself but I was trying to remind myself that we were here for the adventure. Nothing is a given and there was still a long way to go. I don’t know if Tim was frustrated with me but if he was he did a good job of hiding it.

We got to the cone saddle turn off and started the slow grind up. I was feeling anxious as I could feel my climbing legs starting to slow. My lower back was starting to really tighten up which was sucking all the power out of my power hike.

I was starting to feel a little sorry for myself at this point. No one wants to be the person that holds their partner back. I reminded myself there was still a job to do. Self pity could wait, I had a date with the carpark of glory to attend. The fact was it was still light and we were getting closer to cone saddle with each step. It’s all about the small victories.

Tim did a great job of setting a steady pace which kept me honest without completely deflating me. He navigated our way up without losing the track and he kept me in good spirits. We both still had our humour which was a godsend at this point.

Eventually the track started heading down again so you know shortly we would start heading back up, the way of the Tararua. The second pinch was nowhere near as bad as I imagined and we shortly reached the cone hutt sign.

“20 minutes.” We will be there in no time, or so I thought.

I don’t know who the psychopath is who made this sign but they need to take a good hard look at themselves. You just shouldn’t mess with people’s heads like that! 

Why couldn’t I get over this stupid sign? My favourite childhood wrestler Dwayne Johnson started playing on loop in my head 

“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT THE SIGN SAYS”

Cone Hut > Kaitokie

The air was starting to cool and the sun was slipping behind the hills. Headlamps on and we departed cone hut. Good decision, within 500m they were in use.It was a cool feeling switching the headlamps back on. I had never started and finished the day by headlamp.

We made quick work getting down to the Tutiwai turn off. 

The stranger from earlier made another appearance in my head

“Good day for it isn’t it?”

The sound of the Tauherenikau river. The reddy orange hues of the sun struggling to keep it’s head above the horizon. The cool air being drawn deep into my lungs. In this moment I could feel the frustrations of earlier melt away. Enjoy the moment, it will be over soon. 

Once we had passed Tutuwai the track became much harder to follow. Large areas of the track were fully submerged reflecting back our headlamps. This is where I really started to mix between jogging and shuffling. The death march had begun and I was okay with that.

Over to Smith creek and we were on the home straight to the aptly named Puffer Saddle.

The climb itself wasn’t as bad as I was expecting but it lulls you into thinking you’re gonna be at the turn off well before it appears. The lights of the Hutt Valley began to appear through the scrub. We heard  the distant cheers of our welcoming party at the carpark of glory and we were late – time to get this mission done. 

Down the steps and there they were. My wife Brooke, our mate Jub and Chief BSR, Master of intel Chris Martini.

No time to stop and chat, this was a business trip.

Through the ropes course and into the carpark.

Camp chairs, pizza and Martini with the Whiskey, god that was tough to get down.

A big thank you to Tim for putting up with me all day. A big thank you to my wife Brooke for putting up with me every day! If you’re on the fence about attempting this mission just do it. You will not regret it.

Splits – My watch stopped around Tutiwai so it’s a hybrid between Tims and mine.