 | I tried to arrange this essay in one mighty instalment but it didn't do the route justice, which is the whole point, really, so here's the first half. You don't hear much about the Charming Creek walk even in New Zealand. Most of us wouldn't have a single clue where or what it was and that's both a pity and a bloody relief given the pretty hellish congestion on all the 'big' South Island walks during the high season. R, Felix (it's a dog-friendly route) and I set off downhill from the Seddonville end at 5.30 in the morning. |
We had the thing to ourselves for the most part and only ran into about 5 other parties toward the more popular seaward end, even though it was the xmas break. That's still five too many in my book, but if you're the kind of person who's smile is turned upside down by the smell of sunscreen and spray deodorant coming at you through the trees after enjoying quality quietude, the Charming Creek track is probably for you.
The grade and geography are as easy as the DOC notes suggest and the whole thing could be walked by virtually anybody with half-decent footwear and no major physical challenges. We are fit and fast, spent a long time taking pictures and still knocked the 9kms/one way off in about 3 hours. That being said, it can be both sticky-hot and pretty cold depending on the month, and a day pack is a good idea since neither you nor your dog should drink the heavily mineralised water. Old, half-buried trolley tracks and broken/fallen rock form 90% of the trail, meaning it's disturbingly easy to complacently zone out and go arse over tit in the dim conditions. Vigilance and adequate eyesight are required.
The grade and geography are as easy as the DOC notes suggest and the whole thing could be walked by virtually anybody with half-decent footwear and no major physical challenges. We are fit and fast, spent a long time taking pictures and still knocked the 9kms/one way off in about 3 hours. That being said, it can be both sticky-hot and pretty cold depending on the month, and a day pack is a good idea since neither you nor your dog should drink the heavily mineralised water. Old, half-buried trolley tracks and broken/fallen rock form 90% of the trail, meaning it's disturbingly easy to complacently zone out and go arse over tit in the dim conditions. Vigilance and adequate eyesight are required.
  |  The walk follows the titular waterway from Manuka-dominated hill country into the heavier forest of the Ngakawau Gorge, emerging with the river beside the Tasman Sea. This upper section in particular is recovering from mining, forestry and farming and has that kind of disturbed, suspicious feel about it, as though it distrusts human encroachment. Can't blame it, really. Mornings in these hills have a slight chill all year round and smell of hard, dark water, crushed moss and that reedy, pale-green honey note exhaled by the flowering Manuka. The Seddonville end is the least popular with civilians, a fact confirmed by the number and variety of native birds, some of which we had never seen before. Most were so confiding that we could've pissed away hours gathering their portraits had the light not been so difficult. Photography note: Charming Creek is a dark, overgrown walk that may frustrate the casual snapper and vista-queen. It does however offer endless detail and intricate framing to the observant. Bring a monopod and your macro gear. We hand-held a D300 and a P+S and fluffed half our shots due to shutter speed issues. |
| > Petroica australis australis, the South Island Robin or toutowai; my first encounter with this strange little bird. They look oddly Narnian, standing too upright, staring fixedly at you from a low branch, then dropping down onto the ground as if to tell you to git or to force you to answer some sort of sinister riddle before turning you into a toadstool for being a dumbarse. Their petulant dialect supports this contention. |  |
Not a great pic; we were loathe to flash him and not just because of the possible toadstool curse scenario. Using flash on confiding wild animals is a dick move and can disrupt nearby nesting in the case of nervous birds.
 | < Just as exciting was our first glimpse of the Fernbird or mātātā, Bowdleria punctata. It is another furtive antipodean weirdo, looking a bit like a blackbird wearing a rail's skin with its droopy stripes and slightly awkward Spongebob demeanour. This one followed us for some time hoping to score the insects we disturbed. We were privileged to hear another Fernbird singing a surprisingly beautiful song almost at arm's length when we were up at the Millerton waterfall, although we can't find any reference to this mellifluousness in descriptions of the species. It sounded almost like doodling mimicry. Or a forgetful canary who'd been hitting the brown liquor. Which was alright with us. |
   It is both a psychological and visual relief to leave that rusting debris behind. |  Relics of industry at the abandoned mine site. Not sure what you'd have to pay either of us to grub coal underground in this quake-prone, unstable and thoroughly soggy geology, but it is safe to say there are a fuckload of noughts on the end of that figure.    |
As I've said previously, Charming Creek is a dark and winding road devoid of the sort of screamingly obvious money shots and grand montane views that dominate most peoples' idea of the New Zealand landscape. In that sense, it is far more representative of our native whole, which is a dense and sometimes opaque mélange of small-scale wonders; little rivers, diminutive animals, isolated remnants and modest distances between strikingly divergent places. I mean, a mountain is a mountain and a lake's a fucking lake pretty much wherever you go in the world, and a lot of peeps miss what makes a mass unique while they're frantically joining the obvious dots.
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Everything along the way is growing and expanding, from the underlying mountains which are still enjoying upward thrust to the podocarps pictured here, both stoutly hoary and daintily regenerate, with their damp, frilled shifts of lichen and plumy chartreuse club moss. Black water wanders at its own speed over and through the foundational stone, carving out the schist and disgorging glittering lodes of milky quartz and pyrite. There are kiwi here, apparently, although they tend to be crepuscular except in times of hardship so it's probably best to come at night in hope of hearing their eerie vibrato.
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Above right: the pendant branchlets of young rimu, Dacrydium cupressinum, a Gondawanan proto-pine whose masts have fed the local fauna for longer than bears or monkeys have been shitting in the woods. There aren't usually any bears in the woods here; you'll just have to go to a bar.
About a third of the way down the track the sneaky water begins to coalesce behind your back and before you know it you are walking alongside the Ngakawau river proper, just as it settles down into the gorge it is scouring for itself.
About a third of the way down the track the sneaky water begins to coalesce behind your back and before you know it you are walking alongside the Ngakawau river proper, just as it settles down into the gorge it is scouring for itself.
 |  The primeval atmosphere is concisely expressed in the crystalline white evil leaching from these sulphur springs, frosting the stones with its baneful glamour. Still thirsty? |
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Above right and below left; views of the nascent gorge from the first and smaller of the suspension bridges (heading downstream). R likes to pretend that shit like this doesn't give him any pause, strides either sassily or manfully- I can't decide which- across it and that's his cute little prerogative. Felix is my child in that he loves water but doesn't enjoy having to walk over it on dodgy-arse and alarmingly mobile contraptions like this one. My personal distrust of them was heightened somewhat by the recollection that exactly the same sort of bridge had shit itself under a fistful of German tourists a couple of weeks earlier; harrowing myself with the feel-alive flavour of the worst that could possibly happen in any situation is just one of the things that makes me such an agreeable companion.
The hapless NZ Department of Conservation is responsible for fully half the shit that ever happens outdoors here in this little land and our current regime has been busily stripping it of staff, morale and funding because what's left for conservative monetarist fucktards when stalking beneficiaries and bankrolling Saudi hobby farms begins to pall? Needless to say, they don't tell you any of this while they're stamping your visa. If you're coming to New Zealand to peruse the scenery, consider donating to DOC. The little they get is generally put to good practical use and they need every damn cent you can spare.
The hapless NZ Department of Conservation is responsible for fully half the shit that ever happens outdoors here in this little land and our current regime has been busily stripping it of staff, morale and funding because what's left for conservative monetarist fucktards when stalking beneficiaries and bankrolling Saudi hobby farms begins to pall? Needless to say, they don't tell you any of this while they're stamping your visa. If you're coming to New Zealand to peruse the scenery, consider donating to DOC. The little they get is generally put to good practical use and they need every damn cent you can spare.
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Next time: part II- the Ngakawau Gorge and Mangatini falls; aqueous excellence.
For expanded context, view the first bit of our holiday photoessay in the Buller region on the West Coast of NZ; enjoy all the benefits of no fucking selfies and jaded local commentary.
For expanded context, view the first bit of our holiday photoessay in the Buller region on the West Coast of NZ; enjoy all the benefits of no fucking selfies and jaded local commentary.
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