Ramble on the Routeburn uplifts
Stepping out of her comfort zone, Mary de Ruyter finds that a guided walk on the Routeburn, with its beautiful birds and alpine wonders, is the perfect path to lead her to greater heights.
The Routeburn Track hits you right between the eyes, right away. Cross the swing bridge from the Routeburn Shelter and you plunge into a world of intense, textured greens.
Dark, glossy beech leaves. Bright, bushy ferns. A benevolent lava flow of moss and lichen, covering almost every surface that isn’t able to be walked upon.
And all of it lit by the soft morning sun. It’s not quite 10am, and the day is shaping up very well indeed.
The Routeburn Track is one of New Zealand’s 10 Great Walks, winding through alpine territory in Mt Aspiring and Fiordland national parks for two to four days.
Though I’ve done a number of half-day and fullday walks elsewhere, I was intimidated by the idea of going higher into the mountains. These landscapes, full of vertiginous slopes and sudden weather changes, sounded scary and unpredictable, and I had no idea if I could even tackle the hills and distances required.
But so many people I knew seemed to be enjoying our Great Walks, and I didn’t want to miss out any longer.
A guided day walk was my way of testing the water.
Nomad Safaris offers half-day and full-day walks on the Routeburn, available year round.
Timaru-born Jono is the guide tasked with politely keeping me on track time-wise, which is no small matter when there’s a new delight to photograph every few minutes.
The air is deliciously cool, holding the promise of a hot day. We walk steadily up a winding path through a forest of red beech, talking about this and that.
The rifleman/titipounamu is New Zealand’s smallest endemic bird. Titipounamu are plump and fast-moving marvels, which are out in force.
If you’re lucky, you will also spot a mohua (yellowhead), one of our rarest birds.
Jono explains that we’re walking the path Ma¯ ori once took between seasonal settlements and in search of pounamu, later followed by goldminers and colonial tourists.
The Routeburn (burn is the Scots Gaelic word for ‘‘stream’’ or ‘‘fresh water’’) rushes merrily along nearby.
We stop at the river’s edge to fill bottles with clear, teeth-chilling water. Boulders sit squatly along the river, lumps of rock so hulking that it’s difficult to imagine how gargantuan the force was that propelled them from their previous homes or, equally, the imperceptible force of water when combined with time.
There’s an art to being a good guide, and it’s all about walking a line. Jono knows when to stop talking, walk ahead, and give me space to enjoy the quiet and majesty of the landscape. I learn something of the complex interplay between the many organisms that sustain this ecosystem, and what a beech tree does when it grows too large to feed itself.
Plus, firing questions at someone who knows their stuff is quicker than opening an app or searching for ‘‘amazing moss pointy ends really green’’ in the hope of an accurate answer.
We lunch in an alpine meadow, in front of Flats Hut. The valley floor is covered with golden grass. Steep, tree-clad slopes around us are bare at the top where snow sits in winter.
Already, I’m in territory I never thought I’d be fit enough, or brave enough, to see. It feels like we’re in another world, and it’s glorious.
Then comes the slog. Steeply up an arm of Emily Peak, overtaking multi-day hikers with large packs.
One section of the path was wiped out in January 1994, when a large slip roared down the slope after heavy rain. Vegetation is slowly growing back, but its absence is no bad thing: it reveals a view so dramatic and postcard-worthy that when I’m stopped in my tracks by it, my delight is mixed with disbelief.
At Falls Hut, just above the treeline, we rest on a rocky outcrop looking down the Routeburn Valley. A few streaks of snow remain high on the Humboldt Mountains and Emily Peak, shining in the strong afternoon sun. Many photos are taken. None of them capture the expansiveness, the bliss of a cool mountain breeze, the taste of chocolate well-earned, and nature in its majestic indifference.
As we retrace our steps, I envy the people only just making it to the hut with their hefty packs. They get to go further into this alpine world.
Now I know what walking 19.6km in a day feels like (spoiler alert: ouch), and that I can actually do it. I didn’t rush through the spectacular bits because someone else kept an eye on the time/ distance equation and did the driving on the way back into town.
Sometimes you just need a bit of help in a new territory, and in dismantling the barriers that exist inside your head. After that. . . oh, the places you’ll go.