To Hell’s Gate, looking forward and back

Press, 24 April 1987, Page 18

To Hell’s Gate, looking forward and back

DERRICK ROONEY

writes his third article in a series about a

trip to the Wairau Mountains with a D.S.I.R. botanical survey party.

Hell’s Gate — a more imaginative and appropriate name for one of New Zealand’s amazing places would be hard to find. , . Hell’s Gate is a short length of the gorge of the Wairau River, marking.the Marlborough-Nelson •boundaiy, where near-perpendic-ular mountain sides come so close together as to confine the river to tumble over massive boulders jammed between rock faces which seem little further apart than the walls of a living room.

On the Nelson side, the rock -wall of the Turk Ridge rises for thousands of feet; on the Marlborough side, the Mangerton Ridge soars to the top of the Raglan Range. It was here, on the latter site, that we hoped to find the Marlborough edelweiss.

■ We had failed to find the elusive plant across the river, but if my companions were right in their assessment it should reach its western limit here, between the treeline and the huge rock bluffs of Mangerton Ridge. r A short distance from Hell’s Gate, where the valley floor Widened a little and there was joom to park off the road, a ridge offered access to the rocky lops, above the treeline. A steep scramble, especially for the last Jew hundred feet, it was made ■easier by frequent botanising Stops. In this rocky terrain the trees Soon were replaced by tussock and scrub, and as we neared the high bluffs the long-awaited plant appeared between clumps of snowgrass — sprawled carelessly over a boulder, but very attractive with its silvery foliage. Though the flowers had faded, the flannelly white bracts surrounding them remained showy. Of its identity there was no doubt: here was a distinctive Marlborough plant, growing in a

unique association with whipcord daisies and snowgrass. Just above it, the ridge, with sharp, crumbling outcrops from which precipitous screes descended, really did look like a portal of Hell’s Gate; but on top was a lovely, flat, grassy knoll which afforded sumptuous views, when the clouds broke, of ranges stretching into the distance. There was hardly any wind,

and as we lunched, sitting on the prickly carpet grass, the sun came out, lighting up the lateflowering gentians in the herbfield. These, too, belonged to an unnamed Marlborough species, as did the craspedias in seed among them. Close inspection revealed an interesting relationship between these plants and the carpet grass; they did not actually grow in soil,

but in the decaying, peaty debris left by the spent foliage just underneath the green sward. Just ahead of us, the ridge narrowed again, and there were nervous moments while we scrambled across the outcrops, with spectacular rocky guts tumbling away beneath us. Some distance on, fortunately, the ridge flattened again and we came on an expanse of gently

sloping scree, dotted with snowgrass in the stabilising areas and with scree plants elsewhere — cotulas, vegetable sheep, and other high fliers including a most remarkable celery-like plant named Lignocarpa divaricata. This, and a closely related species which grows in Canterbury, must rank among the curiosities of the flora. Fleshyleaved, with massive roots hidden beneath the scree and an over-all ashen cast, they are superbly camouflaged and could be, and often are, overlooked. Behind their modest demeanour lurks considerable architectural beauty. Just beyond the ridge crest, the gentle scree gave way to steep talus which plunged twothirds of the way to the valley floor, until interrupted by thickets of kanuka. A headlong plunge, bounding and leaping in patches of shifting grit, took us down 1000 feet in a few minutes; after a struggle through the thick ■ kanuka we emerged on the road, Several kilometres from the vehicle. Then it was away, in late afternoon, to Connors Creek, in .Rainbow State Forest, where a hut, set on the edge of the beech forest, provided cosy quarters for the night Next day, we told ourselves, would be mercifully easier; no climbing involved, just a pleasant drive up the road to the Rainbow ski-field on Mt St Arnaud. Alas, it was not to be; the gate, at the start of the road, was closed by two padlocks — one belonging to the ski company and the other to the Forest Service. Our key, supplied by the Forest Service, did not fit either.

So we walked up the Bkm road, and it turned out to be quite a pleasant experience. Near the top a marked track through stunted,, picturesque mountain beech was a short,

sharp scramble, but cut , about a kilometre off the distance, and emerged on a pretty, tussocky ridge with scattered mountain daisies and small shrubs, including whipcord hebes. Thick mist clouds blocked the tops from view and occasionally descended to cover us, as well. Just above us, the road disappeared around another ridge, and as we reached the corner the ski complex, set in a big cirque basin, came into view. After lunch, the cloud cleared briefly to allow a glimpse of the whole, dry basin, a beautiful sight. We followed up the ski tow, initially staying close together in the mist. As the cloud rose to cover only the highest ridges, I crossed a hummock and was stopped in my tracks by a most extraordinary sight: a large and quite beautiful tarn, its perfectly unruffled surface reflecting images of cloud and tussock slope.

Behind me, on the dry ridges, the vegetation was sparse and starved, but at the edge of the tarn, where moisture seeped down the slope, there were extensive cushion bogs, full of species of tiny, interesting plants: miniature daisies, sundews, gentians, craspedias, kingcup, astelias, cushion plant, wispy little sedges, snowberries, carpeting coprosmas covered with orange and rosy pink fruit, snowberries, eyebrights, mountain foxgloves, whipcord hebes ... Just after I photographed the tarn the clouds came down again, and this time brought rain. Heads down, and preoccupied with the desire for shelter, we missed the start of the bush track, and slipped and scrambled among the mossy boulders until we picked up a marker. By the time we re-emerged on the road, the rain was pouring down, but

no matter — we were headed for a night of luxury, in the Forest Service hut at Dip Flat, where there were bunks enough for 10 people, a gas cooker, a wood stove to heat water, an open fire by which to dry our soaked clothes and, to cap all, electric light provided by a generator.

Such elegance! And it was a case of catch it while you can, because next day we were headed for less comfortable quarters, the Lee Creek bivvy, a tiny hut, with barely room to stand, in which the three of us were to spend a cramped night.