The Morda Brook

In between lunch and an appointment we decide there is time to sneak in a few volcano ticks or 'bukits' as we have come to know them after our time in Malaysia in January. The day is humid to the point that raindrops indifferently fall in ones and twos without discernible pattern. We initially miss our turn and end up at Polaris Place, where a highly visible worker imitates a dragon and the industry whirs around. This is the former site of Styaks swamp crater though no trace remains and we are not even sufficiently excited to leave the car. We drive on to Hampton Park and walk up an uninviting drive following council signage. The council park skirts awkwardly around a private house and their animals roam the public land. Horses and sheep flee into the long grass. We appear to have ably shed the industrial landscape besides a persistent hum. Standing atop the tuff ring we look down at trees of the height and variety that suggest a settlement long defunct. This suggestion is conf...

I drove back into Rotorua and the minutes raced by as the moments dragged. I felt like I had got away with something and that after this day, everything would be different. This dichotomy of tiredness yet awareness, accomplishment yet humility has for me followed a number of intense experiences - like the last vestiges of a flow state that refuses to accept normal life. The day had started at 5am with pizza and coffee in the car on the way to Maungarangi road. The early rise served its purpose and we slid down the put-in ramp at precisely 7am. So it began. The normal Okere Falls lap went smoothly for me, capped by a smooth dry face line on Tutea. It's hard to beat that feeling of muscle memory dialling in, the body focusing for the challenges ahead. As we floated down and unanimously voted to walk Trout we laughed about paddling well now being an 'omen'. In retrospect this was certainly another way to calm our nerves (or at least mine). We rolled down through the slalom gat...

The Ikawhenua range sits between the Rangitaiki and Whakatāne rivers, a piece of land some 20km wide but at least 100km long. During the covid lockdown my mind had insistently played a simple dream of fly camping. Aotearoa emerged into alert level two and I decided the Ikawhenua was the place to be. Given I have something of a predilection for over-training it seemed prudent to cut myself off at the pass and pick what appeared to be the easiest hut to get to. Ergo, I selected Mangamako Hut, situated above the stream of the same name and accessed through forestry near Kopuriki. The kayak guidebook warns of the Aniwhenua take-out that "the area is notorious for car theft". This caused me some pause for thought but I eventually decided (hoped) that the car would be safe enough at the Lake Aniwhenua campground, parked conspicuously in front of some nearby houses. Transport situation relatively assured, I pointed the mighty cadex in the direction of lookout road. Ten hair raising ...

Sometime in late 2018 I decided it was my duty to build a canoe. Furthermore I decided that whilst power tools were available, these did not suit my style. No, it was hand tools for me. The very notion of the intrusive, destructive, awful machines was alarming. They were antithetical to my style, inherently evil, harbingers of all things bad and so forth. Also I didn't know how to use them. In truth I chose hand tools because I wanted to see how hard it would be. Could I pick up a saw, sandpaper, paintbrush and with little else build a boat? Thus was the enticing dream. The idea formed slowly in my head, inspired by a number of books acting in concert. Firstly, An Englishman Aboard: Discovering France in a Rowing Boat  by Charles Timoney. A tale of the authors piecemeal descent of the Seine river in a homemade rowing boat. Secondly, The Pull of the River: A Journey into the Wild and Watery Heart of Britain by Matt Gaw.  Collected explorations of different rivers...

The section of the Ngaruroro between Kuripapango and Whanawhana is known in whitewater circles as the lower gorge, or sometimes simply the Ngaruroro gorge. I refer to it here as the 'middle' section of the river, in order to leave the stretch from Whanawhana to the sea as the 'lower'. There is about 50km of river between Kuripapango and Whanawhana and within this stretch is the hardest whitewater the Ngaruroro has to offer, culminating in one or two rapids which probably reach class IV. There are plenty of stories out there about people doing long day trips on the section, finishing in the dark or taking on high flows. I have now had the privilege of completing the section twice, both as overnight trips. Much like the upper river, this section holds great significance to me but it is for starkly different reasons. Let me take you back to 2013. In 2013 we had a great winter of flows in Wellington and I was chock full with motivation for whitewater paddling. I go...

With the exception of Te Awa Kairangi - Hutt River, the Ngaruroro holds more meaning for me than any other river. It is difficult to succinctly express what different parts of this river have meant at different times in my life. For this reason I have broken the river into sections and will order them as the water flows. By the upper river I mean the stretch from the source to Kuripapango, flowing almost exclusively through Kaweka Forest Park. The Kaweka range was the site of my first tramping experiences. Fly camping, forest service huts, snow and the ubiquitous kanuka scrub. For many summers the family camped at Kuripapango. I remember the obscene heat of the tent after a baking Hawkes bay day. I remember the terror of running low water class II in a sit on top. I remember the cicadas. I remember skimming stones. I remember. In 2011, I started learning to whitewater kayak in a meaningful fashion. Dad would take me up to Kuripapango and we would paddle the oxbow sectio...