Jack Tame: The majesty of New Zealand's landscapes

For my birthday this year, my wife went above and beyond.  

I didn’t want a product. I didn’t want a thing. For the last year of my thirties, I asked for an experience. And a couple of months before the big day, I casually dropped it into conversation.  

“How would you feel,” I asked. 

“If for my birthday this year, you took on all of the family duties for a bit... So I can duck off for a couple of nights in the bush?”  

I’ll admit to a bias —I’ve spent more time in that any other— but I reckon the Kahurangi might be our best National Park. Although Fiordland National Park obviously boasts the majesty of Milford, Doubtful, and Dusky Sounds, and Abel Tasman has the golden sand beaches, between the nikau groves meeting the Tasman and the true sub-alpine, I reckon nothing can rival the Kahurangi in terms of sheer variety of landscapes.   

I was reminded of that diversity this week, when, for my birthday escape, I joined my brother and brother-in-law and drove up the Wangapeka River enroute to climb Mt Owen. 

We started at the Blue Creek resurgence, where beautiful, perfect, clear water pours from the vast underground caves. Not too far away (as the crow flies) is the Pearse Resurgence, where cave divers recently set an extraordinary and terrifying record, diving 245m deep into the earth.   

Like so many beautiful spots in the South Island, the Kahurangi had a gold rush. Unfortunately for the hardy souls who braved the Wangapeka River in the 1860s, the quantities of gold recovered were ultimately modest at best. The older I get, the more I marvel at the ridiculous, old, gold works, the huge bits of rusted iron machinery that once upon a time took were hauled up the least-hospitable valleys, only to be abandoned and left to be slowly consumed by the bush.   

We climbed straight up. It was too steep for chatter and we soon fell into the rhythm of the bush. The crunch of our boots, the gasping, heavy breath, the birdsong. So much birdsong. Again, the older I get, the more I appreciate it. There were countless bellbirds, robins, piwakawaka, and my new favourite cutie of all the New Zealand natives: tomtits. We paused for a moment for a handful of pick-n-mix, and two tiny, sweet little rifleman came and perched on a twig right next to us.   

We climbed above the bushline and then down into another valley, up an old creekbed to the tidy DOC hut. It was pretty busy and we still had legs, so we kept climbing, up another hour to a couple of tarns, where we pitched our tents for the night. We were surrounded by three mighty limestone mountains, a little plateau with spongey earth and tussock. Mother Nature’s colosseum. We dropped a couple of beers into the tarns to cool them off as we pitched our flies and cooked dinner.    

We were at 1500m. Hardly Everest, but high enough for the temperature to drop fast. One minute your clothes are rotting with sweat, the next you’re double socking. We slept in puffer jackets and polyprops. Without any clouds or light pollution, the sky was so pure and bright. I had to pull a beanie over my eyes to try and doze off. Is it even tramping if you have a good night’s sleep? 

In the morning we left our camp and started climbing before sunrise. From the little plateau, we worked up through the huge glaciated marble karst that builds to the mountain summit. You can see why these landscapes were chosen by the location scouts as Lord of the Rings country. Mind your step. Skip the crevasse. Up, up, up.  

The views from the top were awesome. Not just ‘awesome’ as in good, but awesome in the true sense of inspiring awe. We could see incredible ranges on all sides, clouds sitting deep in the valleys below. In one, cloud spilled over the lip of an alpine ridge and down the otherside, like water tipping from a glass. Several times we all just stopped. How often in life are you ever in a time and place where we can’t see or hear any sign of human civilisation?  

I’m impossible to buy for but for my birthday this year, my wife nailed it. I walked out with burning quads and a couple of blisters, so content, so full of gratitude.   

And to think these landscapes are there for all of us. That it’s our home. What a gift, indeed. 

See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:07):
You're listening to the Saturday Morning with Jack Team podcast
from News Talks.

Speaker 2 (00:11):
A't be so for my birthday this year, my wife
went above and beyond, as she so often does. I
didn't want a product. I didn't want a thing. I'm
not really interested in stuff, But for the last year
of my thirties, I asked for an experience, and a
couple of months before the big day, I sort of
casually dropped the idea into conversation. How would you feel?

(00:34):
I asked my wife, if for my birthday this year,
you took on all of the family duties for a
little bit so I can just duck off for a
couple of nights in the bush. Now, I'll admit to
a bias, right, I have spent more time in it
than any other. But I reckon the Kahuangi might be

(00:56):
our best national park. Although Fjordland National Park obviously boasts
the majesty of Milford, Doubtful and Dusky Sounds, and Abel
Tasman has the golden sand beaches. I just reckon between
the Niko Groves meeting the Tasman Sea and the true subalpine.
I just reckon that nothing can rival the Khudangi in

(01:18):
terms of the sheer variety of landscapes, and I was
reminded of that diversity this week when for my birthday escape,
I joined my brother and brother in law and we
drove up the Wangapeka River en route to climbing Mount Owen.
So we started at the spot called the Blue Creek Resurgence,

(01:38):
where beautiful, perfect clear water pores from the vast underground caves.
If you don't know what a resurgence is, it's basically
an underground river, and the key is in the name.
It's where it resurges or resurfaces. Not too far away
from the Blue Creek Resurgence as the crow flies as
the Pierce Resurgence, where cave divers recently set an extraordinary

(02:02):
and terrifying record diving two hundred and forty five meters
deep into the earth. Like so many beautiful spots in
the South Island, the Kahudungi had a gold rush. Unfortunately
for the hardy souls who braved the Wungapeka River in
the eighteen sixties, the quantities of gold that were actually
recovered were ultimately modest at best, and the older I get,

(02:25):
the more I marvel it just the ridiculous old gold works,
the huge bits of rusted iron machinery that once upon
a time were hauled up the least hospitable valleys, only
to be abandoned and left to be slowly consumed by
the bush. We climbed straight up, straight up. It was

(02:49):
too steep for chatter, and we soon fell into the
rhythm of the bush. The crunch of our boots, the
gasping heavy breath, hearts beating in our chests, the bird song,
so much bird song. Again, the older I get, the
more I appreciate it. There were countless bell birds, robins,
piwacka whaka, and my new favorite cuti of all the

(03:11):
New Zealand natives, tom tits. We paused for a moment
for a handful of pick and mix, and two tiny,
sweet little riflemen came and perched on a twig right
next to us. We climbed above the bush line and
then down into another valley, up an old creek bed
to the tidy dock hut. It was actually pretty busy
and we still had legs, so we kept climbing up

(03:34):
another hour to a couple of tarns, where we pitched
our tents for the night. We were surrounded by three
mighty limestone mountains, a little plateau with spongy earth and
tussock mother Nature's colosseum. We dropped a couple of beers
into the tarns just to cool them off as we
pitched our flies and cooked dinner. We were at about

(03:59):
fifteen hundred meters, so hardly everest, but high enough for
the temperature to drop really fast. The sun goes down
one minute your clothes are rotting off, your body heavy
with sweat, and the next your double socking. We slept
in our puffa jackets and polyprops without any clouds or

(04:19):
light pollution. The sky was just so pure and bright.
I actually had to pull a beanie over my eyes
to try and get to sleep. Is it even tramping
if you have a full eight hours In the morning,
we left our camp and started climbing before sunrise. From
the little plateau. We worked up through the huge glaciated

(04:40):
marble cast that builds to the mountain summit. You can
see why these landscapes were chosen by the location scouts
for Lord of the Rings, Mind your step, skip the crevass,
up up up. The views from the top were awesome,
not just awesome as in good, but awesome as in

(05:03):
inspiring oar. We could see t rereadable ranges on all sides,
three sixty degrees clouds sitting deep in the valleys below,
and one cloud spilled over the edge of an alpine
ridge and then down the other side, kind of like
water being tipped from a glass. Several times we all

(05:24):
just stopped. How often in life are you ever in
a time and place where you can't see or hear
any sign of human civilization. Look, I am impossible to
buy form, but I've got to say for my birthday
this year, my wife absolutely nailed it. I walked out

(05:46):
with burning quads and a couple of blisters, just so content,
so full of gratitude. And to think these landscapes, these
places are there for all of us, that it's our home.
What a gift. Indeed.

Speaker 1 (06:00):
For more from Saturday Morning with Jack Tame, listen live
to Newstalks I'd Be from nine am Saturday, or follow
the podcast on iHeartRadio