Ngaruroro Chapter One: Upper

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 section, running the shuttle. We named features on the river; Igloo rock, boil rapid. The class II rapids were challenging and I remember working hard in the Perception Whip-It to surf small waves.

At age 13 I embarked on my first solo tramp and where did I go? The Ngaruroro. Specifically, I went to Rocks Ahead Hut. Being nervous, I put on full speed to get there before dark and consequently arrived at a time more suitable for lunch. That afternoon, I spent the time crossing the river on the cableway, lying in the bivouac and gazing at the river.

My dad paddled the upper river from Boyd to Kuripapango in what I believe was 2008. I was old enough to remember him coming home sunburnt and more excited than I had ever seen him after a river trip. He was adamant that it was one of the best things he had ever done. I would often look at the Kaweka map on the wall above my bed, trace the blue line of the upper Ngaruroro with my finger and wonder what it would be like to do the trip.

And then we moved to Wellington and most thoughts of the Ngaruroro were pushed aside. There was study and slalom training to be done.

Finally, in late 2019 the stars aligned. Dad and I both had free time and the Ngaruroro rose dramatically. The trip began well before the trip began. We didn't know when the water would peak so we got stuff ready early. So early in fact that we spent two full days twiddling our thumbs in the house with packed drybags on the floor at our feet. I seriously questioned whether the trip was a realistic prospect. All of a sudden I was doubtful, maybe the river wouldn't rise. Then when the river started rising, maybe it would drop too fast. Then when the level was holding perfectly, maybe the gauge was only up because of feeder streams and the river was still bone dry. Nevertheless, we made a call to the heli pilot and drove the 4hrs north to Napier. After a night in the motorcamp we drove a further hour up to Kuripapango and got all our gear to the helipad. As we drove up the car was getting buffeted around by the wind and the doubt came back. Maybe the heli wouldn't be able to get off the ground, maybe it was all for nothing. But minutes later, over the horizon came the bright yellow dragonfly and I knew that the upper river was finally on.

Helicopters are surreal machines and landing at the Boyd airstrip was no exception. The noise faded down the valley and I bounced up the hill to have a look at the hut - excitement was high. Getting down to the river was a little bit of an exercise, around 30 vertical metres separates the airstrip from the waters edge. One load for boats, one for drybags, a well timed hop over a muddy creek and we were down. We loaded our boats on the gravel, donned sunscreen and pushed off into the river.

Looking up the Ngaruroro from Boyd airstrip.

The stories had not been over-blown, the upper Ngaruroro is unreal. The river flows lazily through a tussock filled valley with occasional rocky pillars over the river. It felt like leaving aotearoa, or at least like we had been transported to central otago. The rapids in this stretch are mainly shallow shingle runs so frequently I would lean back on my boat, float in circles and try to preserve the moment. After around 5km, Gold Creek enters from the TR and with that the whitewater begins to make itself known. As the whitewater fades in the tussock fades out, replaced by beech forest with an intermediary of kanuka. Again, the whitewater is low volume, but with our fortuitous flow timing everything was comfortably boatable and only two quick scouts were required. With this water level the section down to Ngaawapurua is solid class III. It was highly enjoyable; engaging route finding, magical patches of sunlight and intermittent gorge walls. One drop pushed into the class III+ realm due to its increased verticality and multiple moves. Arriving at Ngaawapurua we stowed our boats above the waterline and climbed up to the hut clearing with our drybags. The familiar routines of camp life emerged quickly. A washing line rigged outside. Unpacking the sleeping bag. Lighting a fire. We went to bed excited about what the next day would hold. Not least on our minds was the bonus water of the swollen Ngaawapurua Stream to add to the rivers flow.

A classy class III somewhere above Ngaawapurua.

It wasn't a particularly warm morning, not cold by any means but somewhere in that grey middle zone where everything seems sharp and well defined. We got on the water efficiently and started turning corners in the beech forest. The water level was perfect, rapids were no longer bony and class III was frequent. We found Omarukokere Bivouac for morning tea before wending our way down more delightful boulder gardens for lunch at Rocks Ahead. Like many things revisited it was foreign in a way I couldn't put my finger on. Perhaps it was the mode of arrival, the kayak in stark contrast to sweating through the Kaweka hills. Though the sun was out a brisk wind kept us moving through lunch and saw us back on the river. I struggle to remember individual rapids from the trip down to Kiwi Mouth but I can remember the joy of bouncing down big waves and fun eddy turns. At this flow truly one of the best grade III sections I have paddled. In this stretch the river cuts through more bedrock and tall greywacke cliffs appear regularly. Simultaneously the beech fades out again and is replaced by more what I think of as classic Kaweka terrain. Kanuka of all heights, patches of shingle and a selection of clay pans. It was only 3pm when we arrived at Kiwi Mouth but it felt like we had a full day under our belts. The afternoon was left to lazy wanderings around the area, reliving old memories and taking photographs.

Arrival at Kiwi Mouth Hut.

Waking up to the final morning of a trip is always bittersweet, the excitement of another day on the river mixed with the dream fading. The whole environment felt powerful, 40 odd cumecs rushing along under our boats, frequent strong gusts ripping through the valley and a sunlight bright but hard to feel. The rapids down to Cameron were spaced out a bit more than before but sported bigger features which kept things noticeably cool. At Cameron we got off the river to try and regain some warmth and huddled on a warm patch of the helipad eating peanuts and chocolate. There was only 10km to go to Kuripapango now. Back on the river, the wind kept getting stronger, painful spray pelting our exposed faces. Plumes of water rose from waves and holes blinding you just before you could see what you were dropping into. More dangerous, the wind kept catching the blades of our paddles, forcing us to grip tightly. At one constricted section, the water was flat but Dad was blown clean over as a strong gust caught his paddle like a sail. I have never experienced wind on the river like it, a genuine hint of fear in both our eyes. And then it was over, the rapids eased back, the wind died a little and we floated into Kuripapango having passed through the carwash.

The river winds through the Kanuka below Kiwi Mouth.

Over the years, I had thought about doing this trip so much that the idea of what it would be like was well formed in my head. Trips like this run a distinct risk of not living up to the expectation conjured by the mind. The trip might be fantastic but comes with an unwarranted feeling of something missing. Not so with the upper Ngaruroro. I was anticipating a lot of wilderness class II but received a 60km section of solid grade III. It was a great adventure, nothing less, and it surpassed the imagination. Wait for the water and do it.