February 2, 2024
“Aim for the V! Hard on the right!” Usually, I was good at spotting the “V” but with roiling water coming at you from both sides, one can get slightly distracted. Ahh…but there it was, and Nick as navigator at the back of the canoe had seen it and followed our guide’s lead.
Loading up for our maiden voyage. Note the blue dry barrels with all sleeping bags and clothes. The yellow dry bags have the things we might need on the river: sunscreen, insect repellent, raincoat…
A nice calm river. My phone safely in its pouch.
Back in April (last year) when I first started looking at adding a canoe trip to our New Zealand adventure, I thought I was taking the easy way out for traveling 135 kilometers. I pictured a lazy float down the scenic river, a posh camping spot with catered gourmet meals, and a comfy bed on a platform in a roomy tent at the river’s edge. Five easy days down the river.
Nick and Mark at one of the many, many waterfalls on day 1.
If you squint your eyes, some of that “vision” was in the ballpark.
“Lazy.” The Whanganui River is NOT lazy, even when it is not at flood stage, as it was for us halfway through our trip. The “normal” downstream flow is, at a minimum, “swift” as in the speed of jogging at a decent pace along the river’s edge to keep up. But don’t be fooled, there is no river’s edge. It is mostly cliffs or magnificent nearly vertical mountains. But add 25″ of rain in a 24 hour period and you have an issue.
The canyon for the next 135 kilometers.
Essentially, the Whanganui, in the part we traveled, is a canyon which means the extra rain water in addition to the draining hillsides, cliffs, and creeks that empty into the river, can only bring the river level up. And up it went. After a day and a half of biblical rains (this IS New Zealand…did you know it rains here?) the water rose by 5.5 meters or 18 feet.
For those of us familiar with rising rivers, they have a lovely, cleansing effect on any fallen logs, leaves, sticks, etc that have “littered” the banks of the river in the non-rainy season. Thus as the river rises there are increasing amounts of moving hazards for canoers. One of the added “bonuses” of the Whanganui is that many of the cliffs are actually compacted pumice from the nearby (45 miles) volcano, Mt. Taranaki. As you canoe down the river, you encounter what you think is foam from the white water, but it is actually floating rocks. Some are larger than footballs, and like icebergs, have an equal presence below the surface. The good news is that even the football-sized rocks are light (although a little weight is added as they get water-logged). Still, seeing rocks in the water, when you know there are heavy granite boulders hidden beneath the surface is a bit disconcerting and confusing.
And “scenic.” What an understatement! Magnificent vertical cliffs and walls dripping with rainforest vegetation of ferns, trees, and vines, not to mention the hundreds of waterfalls that shimmered or roared down the canyon walls. I gave up counting the waterfalls after 58, and that was the first two hours. Then there were the hidden waterfalls which created their own private caves, discovered only by the tell-tale roar of falling water and turbulence seeping out of the cave as you passed by.
The first day and a half the lovely blue skies were punctuated with soft, billowy clouds that could be seen above the cliffs. As the adventure continued, the afternoon became overcast and finally began to drip. For the next two days, it was biblical rain.
The John Coull campsite and the rain. Our tent is the blue one on the right just behind the yellow one in the foreground. Did I mention it was wet?
“Posh”…well, that is all relative. The New Zealand Department of Conservation (DOC) has created several campsites along the Whanganui that are accessible only from the river. They are very popular and are well-regulated to keep the numbers appropriate for each site. Our adventure company, Canoe Safaris, had grabbed enough campsites for our group of twelve folks including two guides. The group was wonderfully international: 1 Kiwi, 3 English, 1 Swiss, 1 Canadian, 2 French, 1 German, and 3 Americans.
Each campsite has some “level” campsites and a shelter used for cooking with a roof and a single wall, plus a table for use by all campers, not just our group. Each site also had one to two pit toilets in various levels of cleanliness. But…there is a toilet seat. That could be considered “posh” (if you are squinting and considering the closest log as the alternative). That said, it is BYOTP (bring your own toilet paper) which can become an issue when you are canoeing and water is everywhere. Ziplock bags are a commodity that can bring you riches.
As for the “comfy” bed, Canoe Safari, boasts about their 3″ self-inflating foam sleeping pads. And indeed, they were damn nice. My only problem is that there were ON the ground, which required a great deal of maneuvering for this old lady to get up and down in the “3-person” tent which comfortably fit only 2 people if there was no luggage involved. Not to mention it was about 3′ tall. No standing.
Our guide Wilson putting the finishes on the lamington, a traditional NZ dessert: white cake covered in jam, then covered in coconut. Wilson added whipped cream and blueberries. NZ gourmet. Also take note of the high regard for toilet paper—right up there with dessert.
“Gourmet meals”? Remember, this is camping and there are chilly bins (coolers) for refrigeration, and plenty of other water-proof barrels for the rest of the food. However, the food component was well thought out: a fair amount of variety, hot and cold breakfasts and hot dinners; breads and wraps to be made into lunches; simple appetizers plus a modest amount of beer and wine as the chefs (otherwise known as our guides) cooked dinner. Canoe Safari had planned the meals, prepped most items by pre-chopping, and bagging it by meal, however, the guides, “catered” the meats, veggies, curries, fajitas, steaks (last night) with flourish. And, of course, treats like chocolate or cookies when we broke from canoeing. As I was unable to help with transporting barrels and equipment up the steep embankments (to avoid losing anything if we got flooded), I offered my expertise as chief bottle washer. Fortunately, we had a stellar group and I was never left alone with all the dishes!
“River’s edge”? Thank goodness our guides, Canoe Safari, and the Department of Conservation, understand rivers. Not that there is an option along our portion of the Whanganui to have a tent at the “river’s edge”…, it would have been stupid and catastrophic. Each campsite (we stayed at three over the course of our trip) requires a hike up a very steep path, sometimes aided with steps, mostly with sandy mud…but very steep and (to me) long. All of the “able-bodied” canoers (in other words, not me) had to carry up all of the gear when we camped. It usually took about an hour of climbing up and back, then another hour of pitching tents while the guides started putting the “kitchen” together.
Now I’ve set the stage. Going back to April and considering this trip, I thought canoeing would mean I wouldn’t have an issue with walking. I didn’t understand the geography of the river. Getting up to the campsites was a huge challenge. But, with the aid of my trusty walking sticks that had been my life-line on the Abel Tasman hike, I was able to make it to the campsites. I didn’t help with equipment and barrels (that contained all of our personal belongings and food for the group) but I tried to get up slowly and stay out of the way of the folks who were pulling their weight. Generally, I made it up. Only once did I require a “boost” from one of the other canoers who tactfully asked if she help by pushing up on my butt at a particularly steep incline. Modesty and grace had left me a couple of days earlier, so I accepted her help. A few days later I found out that she is an immunologist with a paper being published in the New England Journal of Medicine that day.
Our first day we received instructions: go for the “V” in the river, follow your guide, loose hips (to ride the rapids…wait…rapids?), 90 degrees to any waves, and if you capsize pick your legs up to float so you don’t get entangled in any underwater hazards. Right. Wait…rapids?
Within one minute we hit our first rapids…I suppose they might be considered Class One…but to me they were crazy. We made it through and were about to relax to pat ourselves on the back when the next one came along. Whoa. That was fast. And so on. Most of the first day was punctuated with smaller and sometimes larger rapids. Mark was the navigator on his boat and they stayed safe, but there was a difference of opinion between the canoe mates, so things were challenging.
By the end of the day we were happy for our “happy hour” and traded tales of potential mishaps, amazing flora and fauna, and overall pride that we had made it safely to our first campsite while enjoying a glass of wine and beer. In the morning, Mark woke up with vertigo and as we were stopping down the river to take on three more canoers, it seemed prudent to have Mark go back with the van that dropped the new folks. So Mark headed back to town.
We continued on, beginning to feel like we were getting the hang of how to shoot for the V and how to deal with the eddies and whirlpools that surround the end of the rapids sections. By mid-afternoon, I was feeling quite confident, until we hit one set of rapids with a particularly wicked set of eddies and whirlpools. We capsized.
It is strange what goes through your head as the water swirls around you and you are worried about your loved one, and worried about yourself. I knew I was fine. Earlier in the day, we had all put on our raincoats as a gentle rain kept falling. Because it was overcast at noon, I took off my sunglasses for my regular glasses and at the last moment added a cord to keep my glasses on, “just in case”…
I grabbed for my paddle (a MUST rule when you go over) but it slipped under the canoe rails and into the river. I was under the canoe and could not see what was happening beyond the inside of the canoe. I happily noted that my glasses were floating in front of me, still attached to my neck. My life jacket kept me buoyant. I shouted out through the canoe hull to let them know I was OK. Wasn’t sure they heard. I picked up my feet as I had been told and recognized it was excellent advice.
Thankfully, the water was a very pleasant temperature, and, as it turns out, I would have been happier in the water, rather than in the canoe with the slight wind adding a slight chill. I could hear voices shouting at me to get out from under the canoe. Remembering all of my canoe camp training from Plantation Summer Farm Camp, I knew I was in a safe place. However, this was not the First Lake, this was a raging river. I took a deep breath and attempted to get to the outside of the canoe. I couldn’t. I was stuck. Got back into my canoe air pocket and assessed the issue. My life jacket was getting caught on the bracing straps that normally hold the water-proof barrels. I unclipped the straps, took a deep breath, ducked beneath the gunnels and made it outside. It was at that point, in the water, that I realized how turbulent the water was. It was not just the downward flow of the river, but water from all directions beneath the surface. It was a little surreal, and actually pretty cool. Easy to say from the comfort of our Airbnb in New Plymouth.
Getting back into the canoe was another challenge. As I mentioned, there is very little or no “river’s edge” and at the point where we were, there was a choice of large rocks or a sandy shore. Needless to say, I chose what looked easier for me. Maneuvering the boat to the “sandy shore” was not easy. Nick was still in the water…healthy and wet. The guides, along with all of the canoers, were trying hard to help me find a way to get in. I stepped onto what I thought was the “sandy shore” and sank up to my thigh in mud. Not wanting to lose my shoe which was being angrily sucked further into the mud, I finally extricated myself. Nick had a similar experience. We both escaped with both our shoes. A small miracle.
The large rocks on the shore suddenly looked very appealing, and I found that there were submerged rocks that allowed me to actually get up enough to, ungracefully (but safely), get back in our canoe. Nick, “hopped” in behind me. We took inventory. Nick’s sun/rainhat was gone. More critically, my walking sticks were somewhere at the bottom of the river or perhaps to the Tasman Sea by now. I would have no way to get up those steep banks to our campsite. In addition, it was gently raining, and we had been wearing our rain jackets when we capsized. The jackets were soaked through and through.
Afloat, we managed to make it another couple of hours to our campsite. Despite the light rain, we had not been cold, but with the hope of dry clothes at the campsite, we were suddenly shivering until we could find dry clothes to get into. The gentle rain had turned into heavy rain and our rain jackets and hats were useless. We changed into all the dry clothes we had, fashioned an haute couture rain jacket from the garbage bags we had brought, and sat out of the rain under the “sun” shade that now gave us campers a little cover from the rain.
That night it poured all night. The river continued to rise. The detritus was barreling down the river. The river had risen above what Canoe Safari and the Department of Conservation (DOC) would allow for navigating the river. The good news is that we were at one of the “posh-est” campsites on the river—John Coull hut. The bad news is that we were there for the foreseeable future.
The John Coull campsite is one of the larger ones. It has four (count them!), four CLEAN pit toilets, plus a small indoor building for a small camping group (not ours), but room overall for a total of about fifty campers. The campsites were tiered on the steep hillside, three levels, with the DOC “kitchen” shed at the top. John Coull was cool.
Overnight the rain never stopped, our sleeping bags, pads and clothes were all wet. By morning, the river had risen 18′ and was rushing down the canyon with tree trunks and all, at breakneck speed. Our guides were very careful to give information in tiny bits, as in truth it was a very “fluid” situation. They were communicating via satellite walkie-talkies with their home base who were keeping close tabs on the weather forecasts and DOC information. By lunch time, it was clear that we couldn’t be on the river.
Just as lunch was being spread out, and the rain had abated, one of the dads from the indoor building campsite came to our area and yelled the equivalent of “Is there a doctor in the house?” I was chatting at a picnic table with the immunologist and Nick (retired paramedic). Both got up to follow the dad.
By now the entire 50 folks of the campsite were on alert. Word came through (via the younger siblings of the injured) that some of the boys had been playing in the bush and had disturbed a wasp nest. Running to escape the angry wasps, one boy had tripped and injured his ankle and suffered multiple wasp stings. All the boys had been stung EXCEPT the one who was allergic. Phew.
However, the immunologist and Nick assessed that the potential break and wasps stings warranted a helicopter to the nearest medical facility. There was only one place for the helicopter to land…right on top of our tent on the 15′ wide lawn terrace. Everyone on the terraces had to strike their tents. And of course, the sun had finally come out, so we, along with everyone in the campground, had just hung all of the soaking laundry. Given the wind force of the rotor blades, all of the laundry had to come down. Then it was a waiting game for the helicopter.
Tents were cleared, the helicopter landed exactly on our tent site.
The helicopter landed smack dab on where our particular tent had been, and would be again after the helicopter left. The helicopter nurse jumped into action, consulted both Nick and our fellow canoeing immunologist, assessed the patient, concurred that the patient needed to be evacuated and “packaged” the patient for transport.
In the meantime, the “audience” comprised of the other 45 campers considered ways to sneak onto the helicopter to escape. At that point, we had no idea when the river would stop rising, and when we would be able (or even want to) head downstream in the rushing water and back to “civilization.”
As far as I know, no one escaped on the helicopter except the young boy and his mom. Once the helicopter was gone, we all re-pitched our tents and had lunch. The entertainment portion of the afternoon was done, so we were back to looking through the trees to predict how much higher the river would rise, and check out what exciting things were now floating down the river.
Our guides could not tell us what was in our future. Only Mother Nature knew. Fortunately, the sun had managed to dry out our sleeping bags and, for Nick and I, our raincoats, allowing us a little warmth, although the temperature was quite mild. The hardest thing for me was the loss of my walking sticks. With my bum knee and the steep, uneven slippery surfaces, I could not get up the steep hills that went from our tent to the “kitchen” at the top or the toilets at the bottom. I commandeered two of the paddles and used them to “paddle” up and down the hill between bed, bath and beyond.
The next morning was the fifth day of our five day canoe trip. That means we needed to be back to the base, not to mention we had an Airbnb with a hot shower to get to. [No showers for five days, other than a capsize in the river, is a long time.] On the last day we should have been about 20 kilometers from our final destination, however, we had missed almost two days of paddling. We had 55 kilometers to do in one day and the river was still crazy wild.
Our guides told us that the river had crested finally and we were only at 4.5 meters (rather than 5) above flood stage. With guides, the DOC would let us on the river. Our guides looked at our group and abilities and decided we could do it if we “rafted.”
Only once have I white water rafted. It was a blast and a guide was there to keep us safe. Rafting with canoes means tying two canoes together in a catamaran-esque fashion to add stability as we faced our raging river. The guides tried to convince us that having a high river would make the rapids less dangerous as the water was now covering the rocks. Yeah, but the water was now flowing at twice the speed and there were still wayward branches…and there were still rapids.
We are finally released from our campsite. Note the canoes being “rafted.”
Nick and I got lucky and were “rafted” with one of the guides and another very capable woman from the Yukon who guided dog sled tours during the winter when she wasn’t a prosecuting attorney for the Yukon territory. And she was roughly my age.
Loading the last before facing the river for a very long day and 55 kilometers. Note the audience on the hill behind Nick.
The word quickly got around camp that we were heading out. The entire camp showed up as an audience to watch us set up the rafts and eventually launch. By then we felt like a family and they cheered as we launched. A bottle of champagne on the bow would have been a nice touch to start our voyage, but we opted to paddle like hell.
One of the few times on the last day that I stopped paddling long enough to take the photo. Nick and Wilson kept us going.
The rapids were just as rough as before, but the stability of two boats made all the difference. Because the water was running so fast, we made the 55 kilometers in record time, covering three days of paddling in one day. The wild ride, wild cliffs, wild goats, wild deer, wild bouncing pumice rocks, wild puffy clouds, wild spirits of us all got us down the river and safely, without a capsize, to our pick up point on the river. According to Canoe Safari, the river that we faced at flood stage was a Class 2 river. Oh my!
We made it! Relief tinged with a little sadness that our adventure is over. Another where’s Nick?
At the Airbnb that night, I let the hot shower run on my face far too long…then laughed, considering how, only 24 hours earlier, I had longed to be dry.
Another New Zealand adventure.
~Wendy and Nick
PS The photos don’t do the trip justice. It is hard to stop paddling without risking an upset. But these photos will give you a feel for it. Note the difference in water color from the first day to the last!