29 November 2016 - Ohakune Club, Ohakune, Ruapehu District

While agreeing that we needed to head off as early as possible, I had made it clear to my husband that did not wish to woken by any artificial alarm clock. However he need not have worried about that because the bellbirds and tuis were busy waking the whole domain up as soon as there was the slightest hint of dawn. We stayed abed until 6 am, then thought we may as well get up and get going; our cut lunch had been prepared the night before and we sat down to a slightly inflated breakfast claiming there would be extra calories burned today.

Ruatiti Station

There was still a further seventeen kilometres of unsealed road to travel before we reached the road end of the Mangapurua track and we were well pleased that there was no one else on the road. Arriving at the car park, we found it very uneven and were glad that the Ruatiti Domain had met our overnight camping needs; the car park was to have been our back up plan. Even with the front wheels blocked up high, we were still uneven, a fact that did not please my husband who likes the van to be absolutely level for the health and wellbeing of the gas refrigerator.

It was still only 8 am as we set off up the track, the first part passing through private farming country; Ruatiti Station. The whole track follows the original road into Mangapurua, a road fraught with maintenance issues which was the major factor for evacuating the settlors in about 1943, my grandfather and his family being the last of the families to leave. It is now part of the “Mountains to Sea” cycle trail which starts at the Turoa Skifield carpark and ends at Castlecliff Beach in Wanganui, part of which has to be undertaken by river. Jet boats are geared to pick adventurers up at the Mangapurua landing and take them down to Pipiriki. 

It took us an hour and twenty minutes to reach the top of the first climb, and it is from here on a clear day one can enjoy stunning views across Tongariro National Park but, alas, not today. As we had walked up the winding road, mist had wrapped itself around us and soon after, as we started along the ridge, drizzly conditions set in. I had worn my floppy sunhat in the hope there might be some sun, and to keep my head warm in the early part of the morning. Instead it served to keep the water from my glasses and was soon drooping forward in a most annoying and unattractive manner. 

The memorial and walkers

Fortunately we had done this walk before and then enjoyed the extensive and distant views; today we had to be satisfied with those over the regenerating bush below us. I had forgotten how undulating the “flatter” ridge road was. Parts of the road were just exposed rock and parts more pleasant gravel. As I walked I thought how unpleasant it would be to cycle this route, particularly since this stretch of about 12.2 kilometres is mainly uphill.  On arriving at the Mangapurua / Kaiwhakauka Junction at the 10.8 km point, we were caught up by a small group of school “children”; Year 5 students from Wanganui Collegiate who were cycling through to the river and there to swap their bikes for kayaks from their class mates who were returning via the same route. This small group of seven were accompanied by a parent who was accompanying them on his quad bike. He would not be able to continue past “Johnson’s”, a further 8.2 kms; there he would wait for the return party.

Clearing skies but no distant views

We walked on ahead of them and were caught up again near the trig, just 1.4 kms on, and spent some time chatting with the adult. The young ones ran the short distance up to the actual trig, while we remained at the memorial. Last time we climbed up to the trig, it had been that; a scramble up the steep banks holding on to trees and roots, now apparently there are steps cut into the steep areas. 

While we ate our lunch, we admired the memorial to the settlors of the three valleys which culminate at this peak. On 25 April this year, there was an unveiling of the installation to coincide with ANZAC Day; pertinent because all these settlors were returned soldiers from the First World War who were offered re-hab farms for services rendered to their country. One should never look a gift horse in the mouth, however the land should never have been cleared in the first place; no sooner had the bush been felled, did the erosion begin and the land literally slid off the steep sides into the rivers. Many simply gave up and walked off in the earlier years and then there were those like Fred Bettjeman who held on until the last, kicking and screaming to the end.

Flowering Rangiora

The memorial features an axe set into a pinnacle of a pyramid bearing the names of the original settlors, and was designed by my Uncle Ron, he who died just a week ago. The ceremony last April was attended by more than two hundred people who arrived by horse, quad bike and helicopter. My parents and my uncles, both over 90 years of age, were among those who took the scenic aerial route. It was pertinent too that the service marked one hundred years since the Mangapurua Valley was opened for settlement.

Abundant black berries on Five Finger Jack

From here on to the Wanganui River, the road is basically all downhill, but we left that to be enjoyed by our new acquaintances. We turned back the way we had come and trudged along the road which had become muddy in the interim, caused by the rain and traffic. I did take time to enjoy the scenery, the fauna (feral goats, pigeons, tomtits, tuis and a multitude of other birds who serenaded our path from their hiding places in the scrub) and the flora. But I must confess that the final descent through the farmland was hard going and at 3 pm I crawled into the motorhome, and lay flat on the floor until revived with a steaming cup of coffee and promise of dinner out.

So we drove all the way back out, past our camp of last night, past the steep banks of the Manganui-o-te-ao which really must be one of the loveliest rivers in New Zealand, meeting only two vehicles and then in convenient spots, and back to Ohakune, where we checked out the Indian restaurant and settled for a delicious chicken jalfrezi and a bottle of red. The “Magic Chilli” advertises itself for “Fine Indian Dining”; this is a long shot. The food is indeed wonderful, but the decoration is horrible, the name cheap and nasty, and the plastic gingham tablecloths cannot be considered appropriate for “fine dining”. However we were well satisfied and wished the proprietor and his family well; business in Ohakune is hard and this last winter has been a poor one. 

We had already eyed up this park-over-property and at $10 it offers a spacious flat and quiet spot. It will do.