St Arnaud - Upper Travers Hut

Christmas Eve! We left St Arnaud early in the morning, ready for the most celebrated stretch of the entire Te Araroa. Nelson Lakes is home to the almost-mystical-in-their-reputation places like Blue Lake and Waiau Pass. With a plastic grocery bag of cookies and four pizzas stuffed inside one pizza box strapped on top of Toby’s backpack, we set off into the calm morning. Lake Rotoiti lay still and clear as glass, and we blazed along the dark forest Lakehead trail by the shores without speaking. We’d nailed 10 km before 09 in the morning. Finally we were at the unfathomably beautiful foot of the mountains.

The 14 km to John Tait Hut were magical. In bright sunshine we traversed through endless golden meadows filled with wildflowers and grass as tall as I am. Trees crept up all the way to the mountain tops. It was pleasantly warm, like proper summer, and we wandered along the banks of the crystal-clear Travers river. Without question the most stunning section of trails we’d seen so far. I couldn’t hold back little squeals at particularly fitting moments when the world was just too beautiful to digest.

We crossed the river back and forth over huge swing bridges, tracing the mossy beech forest banks where we enjoyed gummies from the alpine store and Toby had a swim. The only interruption occurred when we were scrambling over a fallen tree. Toby and Patrick cleared it, but Etienne and I both banged our shins really hard on the trunk. No biggie right? You’d think, but within half an hour it was still bleeding, and the surrounding skin was swelling up. I threw a bandage on it and pushed it to the back of my mind for the time being.

We reached John Tait Hut early in the afternoon. We’d planned on stopping there, but none of us were tired, and we’d heard Upper Travers Hut 7 km away was in a great location. Sleeping there would also put us in a better position to climb Travers Saddle the next day. John Tait hut lay in the woods on the edge of a meadow, and the skies had just clouded over. To my astonishment, the man sitting outside was none other than Dom – a possum hunter form the North Island that I’d met on the ferry to Picton. He never mentioned he’d be on the TA, but out of nowhere here he was! He immediately strapped on his tiny backpack and joined our party. We shared a packet of ginger nuts South had gifted me in St Arnaud and headed onwards.

There seemed to be an immediate air of apprehension between Toby and Dom. Those who can riddle me the male ego… They walked along stonily while I chatted to them intermittently. It culminated when we crossed a tiny bridge over a narrow canyon with a clear river flowing at the bottom. It was impossible to tell exactly how deep it was, but Dom insisted that he wanted to jump off the canyon wall. Toby looked glad to see his rival perish while I tried to persuade Dom it was a stupid-ass idea. To no avail, and we held our breath (and I filmed) as he threw himself down the canyon and landed with a spectacular splash and a thumbs up. He lived to tell the tale, but I’d had enough and walked on – leaving the fallen hero to get himself up from the canyon and get dressed.

We walked on under the grey sky. After gorging ourselves in town, we’d killed off two bags of wine gums already. Only the last kilometre before the hut did today really start to feel like work. Etienne especially was struggling. He’d lost a pane of his glasses and had problems with old sports injuries to his foot ligaments. I tempted with massages and encouragement. Coax and pull for the last of the 31 km.

Upper Travers hut, once in sight, became an instant object of adoration. Nestled in beech forest on the edge of a tussocked meadow pierced by a rushing creek, it lay crowned by a majestic mountain crest beneath Mount Travers. Unlike the lonesome Richmonds, the Nelson Lakes is heavily trafficked where it intersects with the famous Travers-Sabine circuit. The hut was crowded to the brim, and the four of us ended up sharing three top bunks. A sour-faced Dom crawled in just after our four-leaf clover returned from an icy wash in the river.