Craig Potton is one of New Zealand's most famous landscape photographers. Flicking through his latest book, something caught my eye. An image, and a feeling. A need to get out of that chair and onto the coffee table, into those pages, between the leaves, and into that photograph of the Thousand Acre Plateau.
Rising like Mesa from New Mexico, the Thousand Acre Plateau, once a sea bed, is one of New Zealand's oldest pieces of rock. Much of the rest of the country is the spew of a thousand earthquakes and volcanoes. This land is old land - risen slowly on the back of a timeless continental drift.
Sebastian, a friend of mine from Nelson, couldn't think of a better way to spend the weekend - so we determined to climb those thousand meters and see for ourselves.Half an hour's drive north of Murchison along the Matiri River, the trail head takes the last few meters of dirt road, as the path continues north along the bank of this great river. Hopping over the dried out West Branch of the Matiri River, the trail hugs the bank, rising high through a scree fall as river twists west with views of the the unnamed mountains.
Sebastian and I made our ascent through dense forest. Skirted the southern end of Lake Matiri, the rains began to fall as we approached the Lake Matiri Hut. A log fire, rehydrated pasta; we read aloud from M. Scott Peck's "A Road Less Travelled". As the rain fell in increasing intensity, Sebastian and learnt that "love is not a feeling...but an activity...in investment in one's own or another's spiritual growth...and is best maintained not by mutual dependence, but by mutual independence". Mmmmmmmmmmm
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The rain fell all night. Lightening struck and thunder roared through the valley. A late start on day saw us set off north, along the side of Lake Matiri. Warming up our worn out legs, down a shallow hill we hit our first obstacle. Water. Tons and tons of water.Bay Creek was flooded. Ten meters wide and one meter deep, its relentless flow blocked our path. Nature caught out: we imagined ourselves stepping through the wall of water, only to see a tree, ripped from the earth, carried off, lost.
I thought M. Scott Peck probably had something wise to offer on meeting ones limits, acknowledging failure and moving on.
We turned back.
Returning past the hut, we headed back to the car, fingers crossed that we weren't blocked. It was obvious as we approached: the aptly named Rain Peak had recieved more than it's fair share of precipitation. The West Branch of the Matiri River - yesterday a dried out river bed, was in full flood. Raging, storming past, as the rain continued to pour, we turned back, disheartened and sodden to the Lake Matiri Hut. If only M.Scott Peck had a chapter on always checking the weather before going tramping.
