ds
27-10-07, 12:46 AM
WESTLAND SOJOURN
The weight of the pack’s strained our burdened legs as we soldiered our way out of this, at times, god-forsaken place. The past 12 days had taken their toll on our malnourished bodies, while the skillful Sand fly feasted well on our foreign blood, leaving us looking like characters from some freak show. Ultimately the wind & rain had dampened us physically though not our spirit. Though we did not have a beast on the ground, our encounters were close & varied, in the end out witted at a game that requires all variables to work in ones favor. Regardless, we felt fortunate just to be in the company of such a grand location. New Zealand’s Rakia watershed with its healthy population of Tahr left us with a deserving respect of our surrounds.
Some pictures whilst in the Rakia
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/ResizeofImage-04.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/glassingTahrRakiaNZ2.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/ResizeofTonyuphighNZ2003.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/ResizeofImage-05.jpg
Reaching our car Tony and I feverishly searched for any food we may have left behind, wishful thinking really, as there was not much to be found other than some junk food, which we devoured not unlike savages. By the time we returned to our backpackers accommodation the general store would have closed for the night, this left us with no other choice than to have pasta & cheese sauce, one of few meals that had accompanied us out of the mountains.
The following morning we awoke early in the hope of repairing our car, just prior to our Tahr hunt we had sustained damage to the exhaust which now required urgent repair if we were to stick to our planned schedule. Luck was on our side and we were West Coast bound by mid morning. We arrived in the picturesque town of Franz Josef some hours later, after checking in at the backpacker’s hostel we began the task of packing our packs in readiness for the mornings walk into the Whataroa Valley.
The Whataroa/Perth valleys.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/ResizeofWhataroariver1.jpg
It was no surprise to see the heavy helicopter activity as we drove to the mouth of the Whataroa, for the morning had dawned fine and clear. The region had just recovered from a large low-pressure system that bought with it heavy rain and unsuitable flying conditions, leaving many hunters and mountain goers in general, stranded at their accommodation at the least. This off course being nothing unusual for Westland, with an annual rainfall of approximately 300cm, one can expect rain to fall on roughly half the days of the year. Successful trips are as much in the hands of the weather gods as they are in sound preparation. The extended forecast we obtained from the D.O.C office showed a high pressure system headed our way, resulting in stable weather predicted for the next week. By the time we had prepared ourselves for our sojourn 3 separate hunting parties had been flown into the Whataroa valley.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Image-291.jpg
Tony crossing the Whataroa swing bridge.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/TonycrossingWhataroaswingbridgeNZ20.jpg
The all too familiar strain of our packs soon welcomed us as we tramped the way towards our destination: a side creek of the Whataroa River that afforded possible access to the mountain tops. Our physical preparation prior to this trip had been long & tedious though if ‘shanks pony’ are ones only form of transportation a fair degree of conditioning is required if you’re to enjoy the splendor that these wonderful mountains have to offer.
Entering the creek that we would be calling home for the next week we soon noticed chamois sign on the ground. Also in abundance were suitable locations to set up our fly camp, though as we gained elevation we were to find few suitable campsites. Finally we decided on a campsite at the fork of the creek, which afforded us good vantage to some slips as well as access to the tussock. We were soon to realize others had beaten us to our remote mountain camp, the remains of no less than 4 chamois were found, though if it were any consolation, parts of all the decomposing beasts had been salvaged and the hunters now long gone.
We felt fortunate to have stable weather predicted for the next 6 days; past experience has seen us confronted with a mixture of weather conditions with rising rivers & horrid rain not uncommon, it’s wise to expect to be tent bound for at least a portion of your stay in Westland. Proper consideration of gear used is paramount, as is normally the case the more expensive higher quality gear seems to outlast its cheaper rivals, though not always the case there’s nothing worse than having to replace gear due to improper selection and or doubtful quality. Ultimately the mountains will decide, though there is one certainty, they won’t be bashful in determining whether your gear experiences longevity. The Westcoast sure has an uncanny way of welcoming its visitors.
Continuing our walk, with the mountains we will be hunting in the background.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Image-051.jpg
Fly camp.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Image-101.jpg
The next couple of days we hunted solidly, spending full days out in the hills. Though the Chamois were proving elusive, we soon realized that most of their movements centered on dusk and dawn with the usual midday walk through the creeks producing very few sightings. The weather was stable, though the mist that was now frequenting the tops made glassing the tussock near impossible. What time I did spend behind the binoculars proved to be fruitless with no animals observed above the bush line. Some years earlier Tony glassed this exact location and sighted many Chamois, which left me with hypothetical assumptions as to why there were now no critters. Either way the scenic grandeur of this landscape made spending time here unforgettable, I made time to savor the moment.
My midday lunch was cut short by the ever-menacing mist, which would roll in and out, though now began to make its presence felt on a permanent basis. My evacuation was hastened, as visibility was reduced, careful not to become part of the rock art l cautiously descended into the creek below. While negotiating a rock fall I haphazardly stumbled on the skeletal remains of a Chamois and soon enough found the ‘dead head’ with 8 ½ inch horns which l was pleased to find intact. By this stage the mist had engulfed the creek, with the mountaintops now no longer visible. Camp was still some hours away though with time on my side l frequently sat in ambush around likely feeding areas in the hope the sudden change in weather might bring the Chamois out to play a little earlier.
Dead head.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/deadheadWhataroaNZ20031.jpg
While still-hunting my way down the creek l caught site of three Chamois as they materialized through the mist. For a change l had the upper hand, as the animals were oblivious to my presence. The Chamois which consisted of a buck, nanny & kid, unknowingly milled about, slowly making there way to the creek. I waited cautiously in a kneeling position; taking advantage of the situation I used my range finder (which I found struggled to work efficiently in the heavy mist). The buck offered a broadside opportunity at 38 meters.
The silence of the evening was bought to an abrupt halt as the Chamois made quickly their escape, though the buck was less fortunate than his counterparts. I decided to leave him where he lay as darkness engulfed the creek system, not wanting to push the animal & risk losing the beast in the dense scrub.
My decent to camp was tricky; trying to traverse the miniature waterfalls in the dark was definitely looking for trouble. Not to mention the boulders, any grip my boots may have had during my ascent was now a lethal cocktail of slippery wet rock which under the cover of darkness presented an extremely hazardous situation to find ones self in. I soon picked up the signaling beam from Tony’s headlamp, which offered me some assurance as I excitedly made my way to camp.
The morning dawned overcast as Tony departed for a hunt and I prepared to climb my way to where the Chamois hopefully lay. I was not to be disappointed for I found the buck where I last sighted him in the fading light. Though no record breaker at 7 7/8 inches I still felt satisfied to finally secure a Chamois buck after no less than 3 attempts.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Image-022.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Image-131.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/1youngChamoisWhataroaNZ20031.jpg
Back at camp we feasted well on Chamois, which came as welcome relief to the tiresome and far less appetizing dehydrated meals we had learned to accept on such hunting adventures. A highlight was the use of the 2 kg salt bag, which was always a burdened addition to our packs. Past experiences usually saw us feeding the salt to the mountains: this came as a welcome relief indeed.
Tony persisted for the remaining days though ultimately the Chamois’s wary nature outlasted his perseverance. Packing camp we made an early start to our hike out of the mountains, once again headed for civilization. The walk out took a good part of a day, with enough time to consume a hearty evening meal, pack our packs and prepare for the next stage of our hunting holiday. The long walk into the Karangarua valley in the morning, where we will once again pit our wits with Chamois & Tahr on another Westland sojourn: though that my friends is another story.
A look into the Karangarua valley.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Resizeof2005_0615Image00612.jpg
The weight of the pack’s strained our burdened legs as we soldiered our way out of this, at times, god-forsaken place. The past 12 days had taken their toll on our malnourished bodies, while the skillful Sand fly feasted well on our foreign blood, leaving us looking like characters from some freak show. Ultimately the wind & rain had dampened us physically though not our spirit. Though we did not have a beast on the ground, our encounters were close & varied, in the end out witted at a game that requires all variables to work in ones favor. Regardless, we felt fortunate just to be in the company of such a grand location. New Zealand’s Rakia watershed with its healthy population of Tahr left us with a deserving respect of our surrounds.
Some pictures whilst in the Rakia
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/ResizeofImage-04.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/glassingTahrRakiaNZ2.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/ResizeofTonyuphighNZ2003.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/ResizeofImage-05.jpg
Reaching our car Tony and I feverishly searched for any food we may have left behind, wishful thinking really, as there was not much to be found other than some junk food, which we devoured not unlike savages. By the time we returned to our backpackers accommodation the general store would have closed for the night, this left us with no other choice than to have pasta & cheese sauce, one of few meals that had accompanied us out of the mountains.
The following morning we awoke early in the hope of repairing our car, just prior to our Tahr hunt we had sustained damage to the exhaust which now required urgent repair if we were to stick to our planned schedule. Luck was on our side and we were West Coast bound by mid morning. We arrived in the picturesque town of Franz Josef some hours later, after checking in at the backpacker’s hostel we began the task of packing our packs in readiness for the mornings walk into the Whataroa Valley.
The Whataroa/Perth valleys.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/ResizeofWhataroariver1.jpg
It was no surprise to see the heavy helicopter activity as we drove to the mouth of the Whataroa, for the morning had dawned fine and clear. The region had just recovered from a large low-pressure system that bought with it heavy rain and unsuitable flying conditions, leaving many hunters and mountain goers in general, stranded at their accommodation at the least. This off course being nothing unusual for Westland, with an annual rainfall of approximately 300cm, one can expect rain to fall on roughly half the days of the year. Successful trips are as much in the hands of the weather gods as they are in sound preparation. The extended forecast we obtained from the D.O.C office showed a high pressure system headed our way, resulting in stable weather predicted for the next week. By the time we had prepared ourselves for our sojourn 3 separate hunting parties had been flown into the Whataroa valley.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Image-291.jpg
Tony crossing the Whataroa swing bridge.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/TonycrossingWhataroaswingbridgeNZ20.jpg
The all too familiar strain of our packs soon welcomed us as we tramped the way towards our destination: a side creek of the Whataroa River that afforded possible access to the mountain tops. Our physical preparation prior to this trip had been long & tedious though if ‘shanks pony’ are ones only form of transportation a fair degree of conditioning is required if you’re to enjoy the splendor that these wonderful mountains have to offer.
Entering the creek that we would be calling home for the next week we soon noticed chamois sign on the ground. Also in abundance were suitable locations to set up our fly camp, though as we gained elevation we were to find few suitable campsites. Finally we decided on a campsite at the fork of the creek, which afforded us good vantage to some slips as well as access to the tussock. We were soon to realize others had beaten us to our remote mountain camp, the remains of no less than 4 chamois were found, though if it were any consolation, parts of all the decomposing beasts had been salvaged and the hunters now long gone.
We felt fortunate to have stable weather predicted for the next 6 days; past experience has seen us confronted with a mixture of weather conditions with rising rivers & horrid rain not uncommon, it’s wise to expect to be tent bound for at least a portion of your stay in Westland. Proper consideration of gear used is paramount, as is normally the case the more expensive higher quality gear seems to outlast its cheaper rivals, though not always the case there’s nothing worse than having to replace gear due to improper selection and or doubtful quality. Ultimately the mountains will decide, though there is one certainty, they won’t be bashful in determining whether your gear experiences longevity. The Westcoast sure has an uncanny way of welcoming its visitors.
Continuing our walk, with the mountains we will be hunting in the background.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Image-051.jpg
Fly camp.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Image-101.jpg
The next couple of days we hunted solidly, spending full days out in the hills. Though the Chamois were proving elusive, we soon realized that most of their movements centered on dusk and dawn with the usual midday walk through the creeks producing very few sightings. The weather was stable, though the mist that was now frequenting the tops made glassing the tussock near impossible. What time I did spend behind the binoculars proved to be fruitless with no animals observed above the bush line. Some years earlier Tony glassed this exact location and sighted many Chamois, which left me with hypothetical assumptions as to why there were now no critters. Either way the scenic grandeur of this landscape made spending time here unforgettable, I made time to savor the moment.
My midday lunch was cut short by the ever-menacing mist, which would roll in and out, though now began to make its presence felt on a permanent basis. My evacuation was hastened, as visibility was reduced, careful not to become part of the rock art l cautiously descended into the creek below. While negotiating a rock fall I haphazardly stumbled on the skeletal remains of a Chamois and soon enough found the ‘dead head’ with 8 ½ inch horns which l was pleased to find intact. By this stage the mist had engulfed the creek, with the mountaintops now no longer visible. Camp was still some hours away though with time on my side l frequently sat in ambush around likely feeding areas in the hope the sudden change in weather might bring the Chamois out to play a little earlier.
Dead head.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/deadheadWhataroaNZ20031.jpg
While still-hunting my way down the creek l caught site of three Chamois as they materialized through the mist. For a change l had the upper hand, as the animals were oblivious to my presence. The Chamois which consisted of a buck, nanny & kid, unknowingly milled about, slowly making there way to the creek. I waited cautiously in a kneeling position; taking advantage of the situation I used my range finder (which I found struggled to work efficiently in the heavy mist). The buck offered a broadside opportunity at 38 meters.
The silence of the evening was bought to an abrupt halt as the Chamois made quickly their escape, though the buck was less fortunate than his counterparts. I decided to leave him where he lay as darkness engulfed the creek system, not wanting to push the animal & risk losing the beast in the dense scrub.
My decent to camp was tricky; trying to traverse the miniature waterfalls in the dark was definitely looking for trouble. Not to mention the boulders, any grip my boots may have had during my ascent was now a lethal cocktail of slippery wet rock which under the cover of darkness presented an extremely hazardous situation to find ones self in. I soon picked up the signaling beam from Tony’s headlamp, which offered me some assurance as I excitedly made my way to camp.
The morning dawned overcast as Tony departed for a hunt and I prepared to climb my way to where the Chamois hopefully lay. I was not to be disappointed for I found the buck where I last sighted him in the fading light. Though no record breaker at 7 7/8 inches I still felt satisfied to finally secure a Chamois buck after no less than 3 attempts.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Image-022.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Image-131.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/1youngChamoisWhataroaNZ20031.jpg
Back at camp we feasted well on Chamois, which came as welcome relief to the tiresome and far less appetizing dehydrated meals we had learned to accept on such hunting adventures. A highlight was the use of the 2 kg salt bag, which was always a burdened addition to our packs. Past experiences usually saw us feeding the salt to the mountains: this came as a welcome relief indeed.
Tony persisted for the remaining days though ultimately the Chamois’s wary nature outlasted his perseverance. Packing camp we made an early start to our hike out of the mountains, once again headed for civilization. The walk out took a good part of a day, with enough time to consume a hearty evening meal, pack our packs and prepare for the next stage of our hunting holiday. The long walk into the Karangarua valley in the morning, where we will once again pit our wits with Chamois & Tahr on another Westland sojourn: though that my friends is another story.
A look into the Karangarua valley.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v508/dstoj1/NZ/Resizeof2005_0615Image00612.jpg