Trekking off-piste to the isolated Kākāpō Hut
Hiking the community-cut track to one of Kahurangi's most remote huts.
The Wangapeka Track was complete. My toes had touched the West Coast surf and I’d waddled on up to the road and quickly flagged down a ride to Karamea. Now all I had to do was figure out how to get back.
I had to take a different return route, because, well, I’m me. Using the way back to explore fresh, new terrain felt like a sensible ploy. A couple of nights in town would allow me to rest, resupply and route plot.
Karamea is a cool little town. It’s the northernmost town in the West Coast Region, the ‘end of the line’ as far as roads are concerned, escapable to the north only by the Great Walk known as the Heaphy Track. The hot sun was beating down on the tidy, coiffured grass of the community campground, while music emanated from the pub, providing a soundtrack to its bustling beer garden. It has a definite vibe: one which proudly screams “we may be small, but we’re more than capable!”. Earthy, sustainable types mingle with rugged farmers. Isolation and off-grid living are their shared cornerstones, along with, presumably, knowing everyone else’s business.
The other striking thing about Karamea is it doesn’t really know where it is. The campground is located at the domain, which is behind the school, next to the tennis courts and a little distance up the road from the pub. These are all in the township of Karamea. However, its main shopping centre is 1.5km up the road, in a place called Market Cross. Four Square Karamea is in Market Cross. It isn’t just Auckland that eats up surrounding suburbs and claims them as its own. Karamea may be small, but it’s more than capable.
Despite having two CBDs, it’s a delightful place. I would’ve stayed longer, but for a weather window that suited my return. Oh well, just the two nights this time, please.
I began to formulate my route back to Tasman. It looked possible to return using only small sections of the Wangapeka historic gold route that had served me on the way out. My time in this sweet little town ended and I was kindly dropped an hour from the track start by a Kiwi campervanner. My 65 litre pack was crammed to the brim with provisions for this extended adventure, forcing me to strap a 150g packet of Proper Crisps to the outside of the bag. No matter, they’d be gone by mid-arvo!
I duly trudged along the dusty, gravel road and returned along the first 10km of Wangapeka Track to Belltown Manunui (not a big bird) Hut. After a night there - part of which I spent driving a weka crazy, by whistling to it through the mosquito guards on the windows - I stepped out into the morning rain and hiked the kilometre upriver to where that hut used to be. Belltown Manunui Hut was moved in recent years, after finding it was slowly migrating towards the river.
Belltown Manunui to Kākāpō Hut
In a valley north of the Little Wanganui River, lies the Kākāpō River and its namesake hut. Twenty years ago, according to Remote Huts, DOC said it would no longer maintain it, prompting a huge local outcry and an eventual walk-back of the decision. Years passed, tracks to the hut became impassable and it came down to several passionate volunteers and some trust funding to save the hut.
Today, a civilian-cut track crosses two saddles between the old site of Belltown Manunui Hut and the Kākāpō Valley. The start is clearly marked by a white cross, made from Venetian blind, on a tree and then single white pieces are used throughout as markers.
The rain slapping my poncho, I set off on this next adventure, initially climbing a creek, before sidling round Mt Scarlet, en route to Lawrence Saddle. Once over the saddle, the rain gave up and the sun broke through, prompting a foot soak in the chilling waters of Bellbird Stream. This was infinitely better than the foot soak in the swamp that immediately followed.
Shortly after passing the second saddle - affectionately named ‘Unnamed Saddle’ by fans of the route - the rain was back on, this time with a vengeance. I slowly descended to the Kākāpō Valley via the steep civilian track (which briefly touches the route marked on NZ Topo, but is a completely new route). Poncho back on, but cruising in shorts, a lurking wasp took advantage and stabbed me in the calf muscle with its rear spear. I yelled at it, as if that would make it change its ways.
Shortly before the valley floor, the civilian track turns to a DOC trapline, marked with pink triangles, to lead the way. My leg was stinging, my shoes were full of water and my concentration was waning, which is probably why I managed to get my feet tangled up in a small log hiding beneath the ground flora and throw myself to the floor. The weight of my loaded pack teamed up with gravity and brought me helplessly and hard to the ground. This was not a good time.
After approximately an hour stumbling across the valley floor, a large clearing in the trees emerged and it was with much relief and excitement that I spied the dinky four-bunk hut. I stepped into the porch and ripped my pack off. My hand dripping wet, I grabbed the bolt on the door and Kākāpō Hut, my little abode for the night, was open for business.
Four bunks, a bench seat, fireplace and metal cooking top, are squeezed into this little shed. No other humans were there.
The hut has undergone a chunk of work in recent years and I was mostly glad for the new roof, as the rain went up a notch and hammered down noisily for several hours. I was cold, but reluctant to light the fire, since I’d read about the chimney’s habit of filling the place with smoke, so I just hopped into my sleeping bag and snoozed.
One quirk with this place is the double bolted door - one on the outside and one on the inside. This means, once you are inside, the only way to prevent the door from swinging open is to lock the entire outside world out of the hut. On a rainy night, with no one around, this isn’t a problem. However, I have that problem: every time I sleep alone in a hut, I sleep hallucinate the late night arrival of a fellow tramper. This night was no different. Around 2am, a couple of large raindrops hit the roof:
“Knock, knock!”
Startled, but brain still bleary, I came around from my hard-earned slumber. I rummaged for my headtorch in darkness and flicked on the red light. I lay there a while, plucking up the courage to unbolt the door and look outside. Finally, convinced that anybody out there would have knocked a second time by now, I reached out from the bottom bunk and unbolted the door. My red light shone out into the drizzly night and revealed not a soul. I was still alone.
Kākāpō River and Saddle
The deluge of the day before had brought the river level up by several metres, which was unfortunate as the route out to Kākāpō Saddle requires a bit of travel alongside and through it. Fortunately, the rain had passed and a gradually improving day awaited for this next adventure.
The first 3km from the hut follows the continuation of the trapline and allowed me to travel at a reasonable pace through the bush. At the end of this, a final pink marker led me to the river bank and gave me a push: “you’re on your own, now!”. I looked upriver at the raging torrent pouring across the big boulders and struggled to see a way through.
I dumped my pack and went ahead on a recce. By standing on tip-toes on some small rocks, I was able to clasp hold of a shrub’s branches and sidle round to a flatter, more open section by the river. A worn path through some cutty grass led to a short, steep climb up a bank and back into the woods.
Travel between the trees was reasonably quick and there was even the beginnings of a worn path at times, but this soon befell the same fate as all good things. Thicker bush, steep bluffs and ‘incorrectly figuring out the best way through’ became the chief obstacles and cost me time. When the way was blocked, I tried my luck on the river, clambering up big boulders and wading through rare shallow sections.
After more than six hours, a couple of feed stops and one fairly big wrong turn, I spotted a white cross nailed to a tree on the river’s true left. “Oh, am I glad to see you!” I cheered as I lurched forward, splashing through shallow water, like an excited Will Ferrell character, towards it.
The crucifix marks the start of the civilian-crafted route to Kākāpō Saddle. It’s easy follow, sometimes up steep terrain, with a few stream crossings.
From the saddle, a re-cut, re-routed, remixed version of an existing trail leads down the side of Herbert Creek and rejoins the Wangapeka Track. I re-trod a short section of my old mate Wangapeka, before switching onto the Leslie-Karamea Track. Following the true left of the Karamea River, this passes through a mix of thick, dark forest and across the boulder piles of the Luna Slips.
The evening was a pleasant far cry from the one that accompanied me in to Kākāpō and it wasn’t long until I pulled up outside the roomy Trevor Carter Hut, ready for kai and a kip before the second half of my return journey.
Inside, I found a solo American tramper was my hut-mate for the night. No sleep hallucinations for me!
Special thanks to Louisa Hines, Hayden Miller, Andrew Barker and the many other volunteers for the relentless work in keeping Kākāpō Hut accessible!
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