When is a walk not a walk? When it's a river journey of course.
New Zealand, I guess to keep the unwary on the straight and narrow, has developed nine Great Walks. Most of these are, as you would expect, on dry land and covering mountains, bush, islands and of course the coastline. All except one.
The Whanganui Journey is actually not a walk but a kayak voyage on New Zealand's longest navigable river. The three day trip (not trek) from Whakohoro to Pipiriki takes in some stunning scenery and some challenging river rapids. Well, challenging enough when your chosen vehicle is a 14ft open canoe. Anyway, as this is not your usual multi-day trip, uncharted waters so to speak, I thought it would be useful to pass on what we learnt. So here it is, our handy cut-out-and-keep guide to the Whanganui Journey…..
Prepare for the worst - hope for the best
If we were anxious before we left the motel in downtown Taumarunui, it was nothing to how we felt after the safety briefing. The talk of losing canoes, rapids, eddies, submerged rocks, overhanging branches and of course accidental drownings had done absolutely nothing to calm our nerves. Quite the opposite really. Why on earth did we chose this as our hiking trip this summer. Couldn't we have done something less risky like climb a mountain or something? To make it worse, I knew it was my idea and as each new revelation was revealed in the briefing the glare from Sarah's eyes got sterner and sterner. I can't be sure but I think she may have mouthed "You're dead" at one point. Great, I thought, if the rapids don't get me then a whack over the head with a paddle should do it.
It didn't get any better once we were kitted out with our river equipment. As well as the obligatory canoe and paddles, we were handed a river map which highlighted the rapids, a life jacket for when we capsize and waterproof barrels for our possessions. Oh, and the pièce de résistance, a cut off milk plastic bottle to help bail out the water. Nice.
Take everything, including the kitchen sink
Although we are experienced hikers, we didn't have a clue how to prepare for a multi-day river trip. After much deliberation, research and discussion we did the sensible thing and took exactly what we would've taken had we been walking the 90km. Well, it was much easier, had already been proven and besides.... we had saved a packing list on our file server.
As we packed our canoe at the waters edge, we saw groups of people carefully lashing pots, frying pans and huge cool boxes to their canoes. What about the weight, the decreased manoeuvrability and the satisfaction in only taking the bare essentials? Oh how amusing. This smugness, which of course only manifested itself externally with welcoming smiles and handshakes, was to soon evaporate.
In a little under eight hours, our three days rations of dehydrated hiking food would look severely inadequate against our fellow travellers' spaghetti bolognese, chilli con carne and other such succulent delights. Rehydrated beef stew is a delicious meal when you have to carry it on your back for several days but not when you have to cook it next to those enjoying more sumptuous offerings. At the end of a day of furious paddling we were starving and the meal we had 'prepared' was delicious. We sat in silence relishing the flavours and textures whilst secretly wishing our companions choked on their Black Forest gateau.
The long drop
Whilst Whanganui may be blessed with some stunning scenery and a wonderful feeling of remoteness, it comes at a price. The loos. I have to say that I am no stranger to porta-loos. I’ve used them on construction sites, at festivals and at running events. But nothing, nothing prepared me for these long drop loos. Oh my god! The first time I used them I was simply not prepared. I walked in, sat down and took a breath……. bile churned in my stomach and I suddenly felt light headed. “I know”, I thought to my self, “I’ll simply breath through my mouth”.
This was not a good idea. Now, rather than smelling the poo I could taste it. I’m sure it had burned my taste buds because even hours later, whilst we were eating our breakfast, the taste of porridge was seriously…well…..poo flavoured.
I started to fear my early morning movements, so to speak, and calculated just how many times I was going to have to visit the toilets. Over time I developed a technique. The trick is to take a Buff, or some sort of scarf, liberally doused with deodorant or perfume, and position it tight against your nose. Then simply breath through your nose. Now don’t get me wrong, using this method you’re not about to sit their for hours on end doing crosswords but it will stop you wanting to throw up. Which has got to be an improvement.
It is no surprise then that the first flushing loo we encountered on the bus journey back to the canoeing centre was greeted with such enthusiasm.
Whilst we are on the topic of bodily functions, an honourable mention has to go to the possum who kindly left a little present on the breakfast table. They were running around on an evening, clearly not afraid of humans, and I guess one of them decided to mark its territory. It could’ve been worse I suppose - river rats were also know to inhabit the area around the huts, no doubt attracted by the food that gets dropped. Which brings me on to…..
Take everything in - take everything out
A word of caution - everything that you take in, has to be taken out. Don’t fancy finishing that not-so-tasty rehydrated chicken curry? Tough. There are no rubbish bins so it has to be packed up and taken home. If you think the thought of eating a meal that you don’t like is bad, so is having a sloppy mess in one of your bags for another two days. Suck it up.
It’s not all downhill from here
I was under the impression that water flowed downhill. Not so. There are some seriously flat sections of river that need to be crossed. In my head, this trip was going to be a leisurely ride down a river with the occasional rapid. It is bloody hard work. When you are not furiously padding to navigate a rapid, you are furiously paddling to get through a flat section of water. If left to its own devices, the canoe with gently float through these sections but they have a mind of their own and have a tendency to float toward the nearest rock, tree or canyon wall.
After 90km of paddling be prepare to have hands as rough as sandpaper; blistered and calloused. Or take cycling gloves.
Be Prepared for People
If you’re not a people person, then this is not perhaps the trip for you. Yes you do get some ‘me’ time on the river but at the end of each day all the paddlers end up at one of the designation campsites or huts. Ok, so its not going to be like the last evening in Glastonbury but with 25 bunks and 50 camping spots, that is a lot of people in one smallish space.
If you are a people person then be prepared to meet some interesting folk, and I mean that in a good and bad way. In many ways, this was the highlight of the trip. Within a few minutes of arriving we got talking to Pete from Taumarunui who is a keen disc golfer (think frisbee meets golf), Brady - an american finding his way in New Zealand and manager of a restaurant in Wellington, Anna - originally from Sweden but living in New Zealand and an amazingly competent woman. She was taking her son down the river for the first time. Natalie and Greg on a three month holiday from Canada, Francis, Troy and the rest of that family crew. Oh, and I mustn’t forget the Spanish guys who seemed to tackle everything with a smile and a joke.
It was quite comforting to know that, should you get into difficulty, there was plenty of people around to help out. And to provide some entertainment. On one particular long flat section on the last day we were slowly drifting through a narrow canyon with Peter, Brady, Francis, Troy and the rest of the clan. It could have been quite a trial - the river was moving slowly, it was very hot and it was taking a huge effort to get anywhere. Thankfully we have the melodious voices of our companions to keep us entertained. Their repertoire was eclectic to say that least, segueing from pop ballads, to haka, show tunes and easy listening classics. It was like having the most random of radio stations in your canoe with their voices in harmony bouncing off the canyon walls. Add to that the near perfect mirror reflection on the water and it it made for a truly memorable paddling experience.
The singing didn’t stop there, unfortunately. When we arrived into the Marae at Tieke Kainga we were asked by the warden if we would like to take part in that evening’s welcoming ceremony. “Sure,” I said. I’m all for new experiences. Five other male travellers also volunteered to take part. “Excellent!,” said our host, “What song are you going to sing?”. Song? Sing? In public? This wasn’t part of the deal. Why had I been so hasty to get involved? Never volunteer for anything had been my mantra and it hadn't steered me far wrong in all those years. Eighteen months in New Zealand had clearly had an effect.
What on earth was I going to sing? My only other public performance had been in a Karaoke bar nearly thirty years ago. I did’t think ‘Wild Thing’ was going to cut it somehow. It was agreed that I would go second, after Angel one of the Spanish contingent. Up he stepped, with the rest of his fellow countrymen, and gave sterling performance, including harmonies and a rhythm accompaniment. The bastard! How was I going to follow that? It was my turn. Shite!
The only song that I could think of that was remotely appropriate, from my home region, and one that I stood a chance of being able to remember, let alone sing, was “Brothers in Arms” by Dire Straits. There I stood, out in the middle of the field in front of our host and the rest of the hut occupants and wondered if I could go through with it. I opened my mouth and took in a gulp of air…….
“These mist covered mountains are a home now to me. But my home is the lowlands, and always will be………”
As I sang I looked over towards our host who had his eyes closed. I’d like to think that he was concentrating on the melody and the moving words of my rendition of the rock classic but I rather think that my singing was causing him pain and he was willing me to stop. Ah well. I should’ve gone with Wild Thing.
Expect to get Wet
It may sound obvious but you are going to get wet at some point on the journey, either deliberately or by accident. Probably both. Our paddling experience and skills had been steadily improving over the first two days. Yes, there had been a few close calls and one or two times where the canyon wall got a little too close for comfort in one of the rapids, but we were doing ok. Certainly better than some of our travelling companions who seemed to get dunked at every possible point. Well, with the exception of Natalie and Greg who were experienced canoeists and did this sort of thing for fun back in Canada. They took capsizing very seriously - primarily due to the fact that the water they were used to was glacial and a bit on the chilly side. Nothing like the Whanganui in the summer - the water temperature was like a tepid bath, albeit a bit muddy from a recent tropical thunderstorm.
Obviously the biggest risks are the rapids that pop up every now and again. But add to that other canoes and jet boats and you have quite a potent mix. The jet boats, in particular, were a risk. These took holiday makers up and down the lower part of the river - thrill seekers and those less inclined to canoe. Their wake was immense, especially when it started to bounce of the canyon walls. To only warning that was given was hearing another canoeist shout “JET BOAT!”, perhaps preceded by the faint roar of an engine. If you were lucky, there was enough time to rotate the boat so it was perpendicular to the wake. Too slow? Well you’re going to meet the wake side on and that is no fun.
Yes we were doing ok and were even starting to anticipate problems before they arrived. So by the time the last day came around - the day with the biggest rapids and a particularly tricky set called the 50:50. So named because you had a 50% chance of making it through upright. After negotiating the first set of rapids that day we were getting confident without being too cocky. With an hour to go before the end of our journey, we had made it through the majority of the rapids and were almost congratulating ourselves when we came across a monster set of white water. This was a rather tricky s-bend in the river with enough of a gradient drop to make the water rip up. At this point in the journey eight boats had congregated together at the mouth on the rapids and we lined up in turn to take a run through the white water. There we sat, the sixth in line, watching each boat got through - keeping an eye out for tips on what to do, or more accurately what not to do. Of the first five through, four had tipped out. The odds were not looking good. But still, we had made it the far without getting wet so surely we would be ok.
We lined up out canoe and started paddling furiously - the one thing that we learned is that you need to be going faster than the surrounding water in order to have any control over your vessel. “Faster!” we shouted as we entered the foaming water. We were in control and well through the first part of the rapid. “Change!” I shouted, indicating that we needed to change the side we were paddling on. “Faster!” came the response as we hit the most turbulent part of the rapid - the water was reflecting off the left hand canyon wall, the one that was getting closer and closer as our canoe sped into the right hand bend of the rapid.
It all happened so quickly. We hit a trough in the waves, another wave came over the front of the boat and we were sucked under. Rapids 5 - Canoeists 1.
Being suddenly dunked under water is quite an experience. By the time your realise what has happened other thoughts take over. “Now what?” being the most prevalent. We still had the canoe, one of the paddles (Sarah’s) and we happily floating through the backdoor of the rapid towards a rock. The rock was already home to two soaking paddlers; Anna and her son, so surely there would be room for two more? Ahh, make that four more - the boat behind with Pete and Brady had also succumbed to the rapid. My the river was doing well today.
As the rock got closer I stretched out an arm and flailed as I tried to get purchase on the jagged rock. I felt my fingernails scratch at the surface but I couldn’t get enough of a hold to slow the canoe. Blast, we were going to be dragged further downstream and possibly into another set of rapids. Suddenly I felt an arm grab my wrist. It was Anna. She had managed to secure her position and that of her son’s and then was able to grab me as we floated past. It was good timing because almost at the same time, Brady had grabbed our boat to slow their descent down the river. Anna now had two canoes and four people in her grip.
I managed to get a foothold on the rock and slowly dragged myself out of the water whilst Anna held onto the boat. Damn! I’d lost my hat. “Is this yours?” came the voice from a kayaker who had seen our predicament and came to help. He had found my cap floating downstream and had paddled back up to return it to its owner.
Pretty soon all three boats were upright and the process of bailing out started. This was not as easy as it seemed on dry land. At one point, Brady was scooping water out of his boat and accidentally tipping it into ours. “Do that once more and I’ll kill you”, Sarah shouted. Ah the camaraderie of canoeists!
Once more of our travelling companions came over to help, and returned my lost paddle, we were soon back on our way. Natalie and Greg floated past. They were dry and clear hand;t been one of those unfortunately to get a dunking. These were experienced canoeists and obviously knew how to negotiate rapids - they had taken one look at the water, and the drop in the river level at this point, and decided to get out and walk the canoe over the gravel bank. Discretion being clearly the better part of valour in this instance.
We soon passed the sign that said “Pipiriki 500m”. Our destination was in sight. We’d done it! Not quite, as it turns out. Just around the bend and less than 100m from the end was the 50:50. A foaming, frothing double rapid that was right int the middle of the river. No going around. No gravel bank to help out. “Here we go again,” I shouted to the front of the boat before adding, “at least we won’t have far to float!”
Miraculously the 50:50 didn't claim any of our canoes that day - the river was in flood and so this set of rapids was not as viscous as usual It was still a close run thing though - no sooner had we got out of the rapid then a sideway current spun the boat through 180 degrees and nearly, nearly tipped us out.
It’s Nice to be out of the comfort zone….and to return to comfort
We could have quite easily gone hiking, as we did last year. That seems more natural to us. If we haven’t quite got the magic 10,000 hours under out belt we must be pretty close. After all, walking is something that I have been doing for a while. All my life actually, give or take a few months at the start and a couple of occasions after particularly heavy nights on the beer.
Canoeing, on the other hand, is not something that either of us had done a lot of, especially if you discount the couple of trips on the municipal pond in Scarborough.
Just as it was great to get back onto dry land for the last time, it also gave an immediate sense of self-satisfaction. We had spent three days out of our comfort zone and had lived to tell the tale. Before we started the trip, the biggest fear had been capsizing and being out of control. The strange thing was that, it wasn’t all that bad. Once you had actually been through it, and had the soaked undies to prove it, the rest was a doddle. Everything after that point did’t seem too bad. Maybe the trick was to capsize on day one? Maybe not.
As we sat on the air conditioned bus, eating the homemade chocolate muffins that had been provided, we could finally reflect on what an amazing three days it had been. Yes, it the scenery was stunning, the weather was perfect and the river was exciting, but above all we got to meet some really great people.
"Another day, another blister"
Home for the evening - watch out for possum poo!
Not sure the floppy hat is appropriate paddling attire.
But it did stay on, even when we capsized
The only way to travel
