Action and relaxation on the Rangitīkei
Ignore the warning “Expect to capsize’ and give Class II rapids in a canoe a crack,
With the roar of the water nearly drowning out his voice, our guide explains that we have two options. We can walk our boat through the rapid, safely avoiding the jagged rocks. Or we can paddle through it — a challenge that carries with it a high likelihood of submersion in the icy water or, worse, head injury.
We’re on the shores of the Rangit¯ıkei, somewhere between Taihape and Mangaweka. The river is perhaps best known for its fishing, but we’re here because it’s one of the only places in the country where you can white-water canoe.
Yes, you read that correctly. We aren’t travelling in a soft bouncy raft or even a nimble kayak. Our watercraft of choice for this adventure is a rigid-sided Canadian canoe, packed to the gunwales with supplies for our multi-day trip.
The sport of white-water canoeing is well established in places like North America (there, it’s just called canoeing), but it’s still relatively new in New Zealand. White-water rafting and kayaking tend to get all the glory, while canoes are perceived as best for beginners on flat water. Nothing could be further from the truth. Yet, no paddling school in the country teaches the sport and there’s only one tour operator offering guided¯white-water canoe trips on the Rangit¯ıkei: Ohakune-based outfitter Canoe Safaris.
I first came across Canoe Safaris while planning a two-day trip down the Whanganui. It didn’t take long before my original plans were sidelined in favour of the Rangit¯ıkei’s more challenging rapids. But when my partner and I check into Canoe Safari’s lodge the night before our trip, I begin to wonder what we’ve got ourselves into.
“Expect to capsize,” co-owner Phil Collins tells us, before sending us off to pack our dry bags and barrels for the journey.
His words are heavy on my mind when we set out early the next morning. At our put-in spot just south of Taihape, mist hangs low over the road. It’s going to be a blue-sky day, but right now the temperature is barely creeping into the double digits. With the river still cloaked in shade, my level of interest in capsizing has hit an all-time low.
I’m trying to work some warmth into my fingers when Collins introduces our first challenge — a technical Class II rapid right out of the gate. Dependent on river levels, paddlers on the Whanganui don’t encounter a rapid this difficult until their final five kilometres, giving them days to prepare. We, however, only have about 20 minutes and 25 metres. “The goal is to make sure the river isn’t pushing you around,” says Collins. Along with guide Canon Larsen, he coaches us on basic strokes, balance and the importance of teamwork.
“Canoeing is symbiotic,” he says. “You have to work well together, and one person has to give up some control.”
Rapids approaching
Then, it’s time. Helmets on and barrels loaded, we climb aboard. Sitting at the front, I’m the motor of the boat, propelling us onwards with a classic forward stroke. At the stern, my partner, Keilie, acts as our rudder. She doesn’t lift her paddle from the water and instead uses it to ferry us through the river’s currents.
This technique will be key if we’re going to make it through this first rapid. Kayakers can be reactive at the last minute, but canoeists need to chart their course well in advance. For this reason, Collins likens canoes to cruise ships. But this isn’t a pleasure cruise. After successfully navigating through the first rapids, we barely have a moment to relax before approaching the next set.
Over the next half hour, we splash through a non-stop series of Class II rapids, each requiring a different approach to avoid impact with rocks, submerged trees and ledges. Collins scouts out the “Goldilocks“routes — pathways through the white water that feel just right.
By late morning, we’re starting to feel confident when we come around a bend and hear a rush of water, unlike anything we’ve encountered yet. It’s a Class III. This grade of rapid, according to Paddling.com, is “best left to canoeists with expert skills“.
We’re far from experts, but Collins and Larsen determine it can be done with some degree of accuracy and caution. To get through safely, we’ll have to enter at a side angle, quickly straighten out to get around a large jutting rock, then cut back across in the opposite direction to avoid a collision with a low overhanging rock bank. One misplaced stroke, and we’ll go overboard.
That’s when Collins gives us the option of walking our canoe. We nearly take it, until I remember why we chose the Rangit¯ıkei in the first place.
We decide to give it a crack.
I get down on my knees for balance as Keilie steers us into position. As the nose of our boat plunges into the rushing water, I lean back. It’s like riding a horse that’s bucking its way down a steep incline. We tip to the left, taking on water. This is it. We’re going to capsize.
Yet, against all odds, we manage to right ourselves. Keilie has to duck to avoid hitting her head on the embankment, but we arrive at the riverbank relatively unscathed; granted, with about half a foot
It’s like riding a horse that’s bucking its way down a steep incline. We tip to the left, taking on water. This is it. We’re going
to capsize.