The steady rains of this brilliant summer have finally paid off with the first trip down the Lee Stream, since June 1996, back then there were two and a bit trips done in three days.
31st Dec 2006 Just in the nick of time
After a couple of days of good rain the Taieri was up at 120cumecs, Pomahaka was up, the Manuherikia was up! At last another crack at the Lee Stream.
In the days of Bandits, Turbos and 270s, we just made it paddling under the ford and that seemed good then, this time it was three and a half to four hand spans on the high side of the ford pillars. Guessimation, art and science of flow .
a quickflow check trip out to the Lee stream ford on the arvo of the 30th, showed that the water was all up, just hoped it would drop down to the level we did it at in 96'. One way to find out!
Plan to turn up tomorrow morning!
Round to Howie Wilsons (the regular meeting point these days) at 8am, the Taieri at Outram was now 220 cumecs, still hoping the Lee had dropped enough for us to get a crack at this creek, otherwise it would be another 1 hour dash down the Lower Taieri and back to town for morning tea.
It was all good, the sun was shining briefly, before the rain, well typical Dunedin pissy drizzle.
I wasn't sure what to expect, my previous experience of the first twenty minutes down stream of the ford involved getting hung up on a willow, being pinned and losing my paddle. Nice
The first rapid was a pearler in the old days.
Now it is called Gated Community
You feel as you are entering a hallway, with the water backed up on large rock, with the water heading around to the left. (this can be scouted on the right) from there you can paddle/ float up to the rock on river right side and jump out on to it, and take in the full commitment of your undertaking.
The drop has not matured for the better.
The drop is walled on both sides and has wood in it, the pool below has a large tree reaching like a gnarled witches finger in the run out of the drop, all this with the pool funnelling in to a large sieve. After stepping on to the rock we entered the pool and made the first move of the day, a committing Class 2 ferry up around the witches finger to the river left. phew. Then jumped out and made the portage around the sieve.
Photo: Jo Kippax 1996 (Craig Adams on first drop of Gated Commmunity)
The gate for this community just clanged shut!
At theis point i was hoping the rest of the day wasn't going to be like that!.
From GC it felt like it opened slightly.
( Memory, a fickle thing at the best of times. but the Lee seems to be less clogged than it once was, nature in action in May 06 with a huge flood in the Taieri catchment it peaking at Outram at 660 cu.)
Still heaps of trees though. vilgilance!.
The boating is grand, lots of little drops, double drops, etc punctuated with bigger ones, and short portages. Rim shot
Howie Wilson Al Ritchie
Howie Wilson, tearing it up on a random drop.
Head High Tackle would be the next rapid of importance This horizon line we scouted on the left, and has the river going under a head high tackle slab of rock. Due to the large boulders we portaged high up on the left, the first of the adventure portages.
Balooga falls An Awesome Double drop
Pencil Sharpner leads into
Pencil Dick Falls
is the second half of a rapid, a 4 or so metre drop, up against a big as rock, aptly named due to the angle of entry i had into the pool below last century
PD falls can be portaged on the left
Just after PD Falls there is
Pinball over the first drop and hook around to the right of the buffer with the sticky wood stuff in it , and hold onto your hat. It just makes you want to squeal like a girl....
Depravity, the downward slide... Looks like a stonking first slide move heading right, well from portaging just right of it, it looked good.This has some seriously continuous drops as you can see. (looking up from halfway down) The portage was brilliant, enough to make you want a lighter boat, and to feel like your having value for time invested. An all over body work over! love it.
This rapid (or parts of this rapid) definitely need further investigation
Back on the water and your nearly out, just some manky shallows, and choosing which tree lined nightmare to go down, actually did some quick portaging to avoid tussling with the trees.
There are some willows that have resisted encouragement to be torn out at the roots, that are seemingly thriving on the
abuse, lying across the main flow. The odd trap for the
casual floater.
Then float down on the last of the tea colouerd water and join the caramel thickshake of the Taieri.
5 1/2 hours back to the car.
Next trip down i will be getting the Camera out a whole lot more, and add them to the descriptions.
Lets all do a raindance!!!! it's so worth it!
The nod of respect to the old days 1st Descent June 96' Jo Kippax Paul Pujol Keith Riley Rich Kersel Beezal Robertson Craig Adams
2nd Descent Next Day Paul Pujol Tim Barry Al Ritchie Graeme Noble
3rd attempt next day Paul Pujol Dave Liow
plus others
Third time unlucky, i think they walked/grovelled out due to low water at Gated Community, throught he blackberries ekk!.
Fact File Length: 5.5 km
Gradient Average: 30 metres/km Level: It so needs rain Gauge: Can you paddle under the ford, or 3 hand spans on the pillar or wait for me to mark it. Time: 5 - 7 1/2 hours Map: Dunedin I44-J44 Put in: 10 km, from the Outram bridge, along the George King Memorial Drive till you drop down to the ford. Take Out: Standard Lower Taieri, just before the Outram bridge. Flava: Gorgeous ,Treed, Portages, Modern-day classic
Have been out to the Lee Stream Ford again and this time i took a can of paint! The Yellow Strip of paint, you can see it has some built in room for error.
If you are in the yellow it should be all good, if you are off the top of the paint then it could be more than you want.... not sure although i'm sure we will find out once it rains.
All the best and hopefully will see you there on the drop!
The following is a personal take on a trip to the river, looking for the bliss that is just under the surface
All Photo Credits: Brendon Robertson
Shedding the demons of the past on the Waiatoto River
December, 1994 I was looking upon a group of weekend warriors arriving from Melbourne with dismay; it was an invasion of my campsite. I wasn’t concerned about the fact that there was more than enough room here at Mount Arapiles. From my moral, spiritual high ground, I viewed these folk with the eye of a curious outsider. They were intriguing in their enthusiasm. If they were serious about their rock climbing, why didn’t they move here too! There I was living the dream, at the premier rock - climbing crag in Australia, I had a full-time commitment to my craft. In my second month climbing there I was beginning to feel like a local. You could choke on that youthful arrogance. I was fulfilling a pilgrimage, which was key to my on-going apprenticeship. There were so many amazing climbers here, it was humbling, and motivating. I was leading a simple lifestyle that many had done before, and since; I totally felt that I had found my path. Although it meant I was financially challenged, (the Australian dole was looking like a sound option!) I was not distracted by the 9 to 5 dogma that these new arrivals were pretending to escape from. As I believed, you were selling out to the man if you didn’t fully commit to the search….
Flash Forward September 2005. In a post lunch, zombie-like state, I was displaying a classic lack of Gorm, in my attempt to stare my workstation into productivity. In a desperate move to inspire me in to action, to give me something to push me through the drudgery of another day in the office, I snatched Graham Charles’s New Zealand White-water Guide off the shelf. This, as you can probably guess, is a well-practiced ritual, lots of rivers read about, studied, dreamed about, many warrior plans made then left undone. No follow through. God I need more follow through.
It would be a sad sight for the young man in Arapiles. I can see the feeling of disappointment in his future self, worn as a scowl. Here I am hunched, and buckled over the keyboard, sitting on the ergonomic, gas-operated, multiple-levered, still uncomfortable chair. The only similarity would be the tired old Subaru wagon in the work car park. Maybe the older warrior is hanging on to this tenuous connection too this younger self. I throw off the encroaching self-absorbing cloud, again leafing through the guide, desperate for something that would both fire the warrior spark of old, but would also suit my stale skill level. The mission needs to rouse me, and my posse of mates out of our offices. After some thumbing of the well-used guide, my eyes landed upon the plainly obvious, the Waiatoto River should be just the one.
The vital ingredients seemed to all be included, a helicopter, multi day trip, some interesting white water, but not too hard nor too easy (it’s a delicate balance), new country to travel through, and most importantly, a perfect way to get a bunch of mates together to spend time away from the hum drum drumming.
In this age of busy, over-committed, over-emailed, over-texted, over-worked people the idea of escaping to the simple things like eating, sleeping, and boating would be reasonably attractive. So I decided upon Labour weekend as the time for the great leap back. Originally I thought a cheeky group of eight would be just right for this outing, but by time we were to fly up the valley we had a solid team of twelve.
On the day I first fired out the conspiratorial email, there must have been a few people struggling with the Post Lunch Come Down along with myself, looking for an opportunity to don their weekend warrior garb. It was email and texting that kept this motley crew of teachers, pharmacists, students, carpenters, wine makers, lawyers, and deer farmers all linked, technology was critical, modern day planning seems relies on it. On reflection the logistical can of worms for 12 people to go kayaking on the other coast, all at the same time, in the same river even, was not as bad as I had anticipated. To receive an email from one of the weekend warriors gave me quite a buzz. It seems that I need for my own well being to focus for my previously longtime latent recreational energy, regain the mastery of the Work-Life balance. The days were passing quickly.
A flurry of emails with Heliventures of Haast got us a flight cost of $180 each. That would drop us at the edge of the wilderness area, on Bonar flats. During this planning time, I managed to scope out some photos from a friend’s previous trip, confirmed we were in for a grand adventure. They showed some cool drops, phew - at least it wasn’t going to be to boring. The idea of cracking out the trip in two days, instead of three was also a possibility which would leave another day for us to get into some more trouble, elsewhere. A little bit of research did wonders for the build up of anticipation.
The days were counting down. The weekend prior to our trip, there was the Bliss-Stick Kayak Surf Competition at St Clair Beach in Dunedin. 60 competitors turned up to thrash their moves out in the waves. The atmosphere was humming, lots of kayakers from all over the south getting together. A few of our dozen were even in the finals, awesome; the energy boost to the crew heading up the Waiatoto was palpable.
Friday, Labour weekend 2005
All of a sudden it was midday Friday, goodbye office I’m gone. Supplies for the twelve weekend warriors to be purchased, a bargain at only $28 dollars each for three days, my army was cheap to keep on the move The traffic was mad. Even though you try to leave early, it always happens, you just can’t get it together and “early” ends up being “late”! You end up in the traffic escaping the city, but hey time for a reality check here. There’s no reason to complain. It’s only going to take twenty minutes to get from one side of town, instead of the normal ten. Dunedin, it’s all right here! All that needs to happen is for 12 independent outdoor types to meet at the Waiatoto airstrip for the 9am lift on Saturday morning. On the patch of land beside the river on the airstrip, morning came around quickly. Hell it was morning when we arrived! I can’t believe it! This seems to be working. On cue the stragglers from Dunedin and Cromwell arrive, just one more to come and we have our dozen. Gear is checked, re-checked and boats are being packed. A busy spot this airstrip - hunters being flown out by Cessna, white baiters, driving past heading to their stands by the river. Rumour had it that one had pulled up 74 kg yesterday! The warrior alone, lost in the wilderness between Waiatoto and Queenstown, Martin, arrives to complete the crew, just in time for Morgan Saxton, who drops in with suitable theatrical showmanship. The faint hum of the 500 had been gaining volume until he pulls into sight with a big highside swoop to woo the crowd, landing soft as a butterfly. Timing is everything! I whip around the crew and wrench the $180 from each. Wow nice earnings for a couple of hours’ work.
By 11 am and we were all alone in the silence of Bonar flats, three lifts of four people, with two of those swinging a net carrying six kayaks each. Totally unbelievable! It has really has worked, we’re all here. The hum drumming of civilization was fading with the helicopter.
Maybe the young pilgrim in Arapiles might have lost his scowl? This kayaking lark was not something he had personal experience with then, but he would definitely appreciate our location, and the style in which we were going about our way.
Since we all live in different places these days, work and this 21st Century life, means this crew doesn’t get together that often as a whole. So drifting down the easy water it was all about reconnecting. Some of these people had been away for 5-6 years, OE refugees. The river valley was filling up with excited chatter, the heli flight, the anticipation of the river ahead, and of things gone past since last get-togethers. Excitement is rampant. We quickly head off down stream towards a suitable lunch spot.
Fed and watered, we got back on our winding pathway. Just as the flat water, river braids and sunshine were wearing our patience thin, up ahead the river obviously gorged up, hopefully constraining the water to provide some interesting whitewater. To kick off the fun was a straightforward 2-metre drop through a slot, leading through a boulder garden. The crew was fizzing now! From pouring over the guidebook, and studying the topo map we knew majority of the whitewater highlights were going to be in the next 5 or 6 km. This water was just entering the realm of low grade 4, and it was glorious, all the drops could be boat scouted.. By this I mean we were able to see the next move or couple of moves from the boat in the eddy above, looking over your shoulder down stream.
The harder rapids were interspersed with some nice big bouncy drops, connected to the next by technical rock gardens, with a side order of flat water. The larger drops were all run, but sometimes a small dose of soul searching was needed before making the leap. It felt so good to be back amongst it.
The group fell into to a natural rhythm. For each drop someone would be the probe, out front, scouting the line, passing the vital route information back via eye contact with hand and paddle signals, then moving on. Reclaiming the groove, so familiar in days gone by. It was in this trusting manner, that the 12 of us made surprisingly brisk progress down this section. Only once did I drag my heavily laden kayak back up to run a drop a second time. I paid the obvious price for my actions, boat full of food, wine and dry kit, slippery booties on greasy rocks. Skinned shins were destined to be mine. Still it was worth it, just that once! Eventually the river’s intensity began to ease, we had blown away the cobwebs from the city, were thriving on this challenge, and everyone was in the zone for more. Alas we had to wait till tomorrow, as the day was running out, and we had a reservation to keep at Axius Flats regarding dinner and accommodation. We paddled on, the chatter, laughing and the maniacal giggles continued; we were in the candy shop.
Traveling down river in self-sufficient style definitely means you cannot bring the kitchen sink, unless that sink can fit in the back of your kayak. Accommodations were bivvy bags and a large fly. In the kitchen, we had running water of course, and four cookers to cater to the crowd. On the menu was Miso soup, followed by a big veggie udon noodle number with instant pudding for the sweet finish. The skinny self-sacrificing disciple at Arapiles, would have been jealous, only if he had known what an udon was.
The sky darkened, and the fire was lit, tall tales were told: of foreign and local adventures. With only so much innate ability to listen to smack being talked, too much wine and sleep finally dragged people away to dream about their day.
Awakening the next day brought the realisation that you HAVE to get back in your boat, yippee! The sun is shining and some pixies have prepared breakfast, coffee, perfect.
According to the guide “there is only one rapid of note today”, “the scenery is superb. With this reassurance, it was a leisurely start, with much good humour. At the crack of 11am we were on our way. After the previous day’s good boating we were keen to have some more, but knowing that it was the last of the trip, we wanted to savour it as well. We came upon the rapid; it was bouncy and continuous for 200 metres or so, with a dogleg path. It was one that some choose to get out and scout, watching others run it to confirm their line. As it dropped towards the large pool at the end, there was a couple of hydraulics that managed to catch a few people out. In this case it was all pretty sporting and everybody had the wherewithal to negotiate his or her way down, maybe with a roll, maybe not.
From there to the road bridge on the Haast-Jackson’s Bay highway, there lay some grade two rock gardens, and as we had all seen from the helicopter a large dose of flat water, meandering its way out to the Tasman Sea. As the guide says there’s not much else to do apart from float and contemplate life, and life is feeling pretty damn good. The drudgery of the office had been well and truly rinsed away; I’m sitting more upright, quietly chuffed that the logistics were right for this crowd to get together, managing their families, and schedules to be here. Spending time with this amazing group of people has been brilliant, and is to be cherished because of its infrequency.
Smiling to myself at another goal ticked off.
I am finding follow through!
I also give thought to the young man living at Arapiles, as a dirtbag derelict, believing in his high ideals. I find him naïve in his regard of the weekend warrior, but also kind of cool in his own scrawny, un-co way. Those high ideals we once shared are now slightly world-weary. Though with some reflection on my former self I have managed to pull myself kicking and screaming out of the day-to-day rut I had ended up in. For that I will always be eternally grateful to this younger man’s spirit. I am stepping forward with my finger raised to the man, armed with a healthy dose of cynicism, a bucket load of gorm, and the knowledge of what need to keep myself from disappearing under my desk again.
Like they say, “That one good trip, deserves another”, so I best organise the next dose of medication, so the search continues. I’ll put it to them tonight, after we have packed up our old outdoor wagons and headed down to camp at Neill’s Beach.
a quickflow check trip out to the Lee stream ford on the arvo of the 30th, showed that the water was all up, just hoped it would drop down to the level we did it at in 96'. One way to find out!
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