Labour weekend we dusted off the creek boats and took off for the classic South Island multiday trip - the Karamea. Three days out from putting on the river reached 2000 cumecs, and a little research indicated that 500 cumecs might be more 1than we could manage. With the promise of not too much more rain we headed northwest.
Flying in through low cloud and drizzle, we blessed the pilot for giving us a quote ahead of time as we trundled slowly up the river, boats swinging in a net below the chopper. Putting on at Venus Creek hut we warmed up on some truly excellent three plus boulder gardens – just like the lower Matakitaki but it just kept on going.Back in the day when I’d last paddled the Karamea it had been warm and with a minimum flow – quite unlike this trip, where it hailed so hard at one point that ice floated on the river, swirling in eddies. Gleams of occasional sunshine were followed by ominous rolls of thunder, and James pulled out a good line which we were all keen to believe – “this is just the perfect amount of rain to keep the river at this flow!”
New slip rapids below Karamea bend were a surprise, as we inspected what definitely was no longer class three. Vibrating with cold on the bank, I was quite unsure of where the line was as I headed off to run a drop. A classic creeking mistake, which meant some time in a nasty place bashing my head on rocks before bailing as I reached hole number three still upside down. Dave’s throwbag sailed out right on target and James was onto my boat before it had passed the next eddy, which relieved some of my grim feelings of taking a cold swim.All was forgotten in Roaring Lion hut, a hard to find but beautifully maintained six bunk treasure. With the pot belly roaring and wine and warm clothes we fended off the resident weka, ate masses of excellent food and laughed as we watched Grant – an extremely experienced climber who’s scaled the Nose – struggle with the ascent to his bunk.
Arriving at Roaring Lion rapid the next day we got our first appreciation of the power of the river – a kilometer of big class five (plus?) chundering down between huge boulders. The portage took some time, and our sixth member of the team – Jethro the random British tourist – got a thorough introduction to carrying his loaded creekboat on the Coast.Putting back on the river we sailed into a great series of rapids reminiscent of Buller earthquake in flood – only every now and then you’d get a cracker with a few big rocks in it which may have been a touch harder. We all felt our necks stretch as we flew over enormous waves, working hard to avoid the double-decker bus sized holes which looked like they’d keep an unwary kayaker for quite some time. I felt my courage returning and started taking on some of the big lines – while also appreciating that the chicken shoots had opened up and were sometimes the best – and fastest – way down.
After a pleasant evening in Grey’s Hut (an adequate 6 bunk hut, highly recommended if it’s pissing down) we put on for our last, very short day, which promised more big volume class 3-4 and the last big rapid, aptly named Holy Shit. Inspecting the size of the holes at the bottom, we were dismayed to see Jethro’s boat run its own line, very successfully until the it hit the crux move. James and Dave took off after the boat, and while James made the move to the right, Dave took a bold line into the largest hole, only to reappear way downstream, clutching the back of James’ boat. While feeling sorry that James was now entirely on his own, chasing two boats and one swimmer, I focused on the rest of the team, with the objective of getting everyone safely to the takeout.
While Grant and Aroha portaged and I went into chicken shoot mode, Jethro disappeared. The randomness of having a tourist along came clear, as we found out later he’d got sick of walking in the bush on the bank, and jumped in and swum down some big class four on his own.
Grant and Aroha joined me at the bottom of the rapid and we got down the next chunky drop, happily finding Jethro – and his boat – on the bank at the bottom. While swimming in the by this stage huge river, he’d realised that he would not make the bank unless he sacrificed his paddle to the river gods, and so we unpacked the split and as a team we went in search of Dave.
Dave was in better shape on river right, and as the river flattened out we popped him on the back deck and checked the flow. We’d had 250 cumecs on the gauge for most of the trip, with a high of around 350 cumecs on Monday when we ran the lower river.The sun came out at the takeout where we found James, who’d run the final drops on his own and also explored the lower river in his search for Dave’s boat. Feeling that the beer would taste better if we had all our gear, I set off on a float down the river to the bridge while the team went off to see if it had gone as far as the Karamea river mouth. Dave’s luck turned, as on that now awfully wide stream, I spotted a familiar yellow blisstick pinned in a logjam. Clinging precariously to the tree while I considered my options for getting the boat off, I eventually clipped a sling to the grab loop, and paddled my wee arms off hauling the boat upstream and out of the trees.
It was all worthwhile as I pulled up outside the Last Resort, where the team were getting into toasted sandwiches and lattes on the sunny deck. Flat on my back with a cold coke in hand, I couldn’t stop grinning. It had been an excellent weekend out.Thanks to Jethro for the pictures!
