In Search of 2024
Fiordland NP ● 28 Mar – 2 Apr 2024
A week in the central Darrans tring to reach the mighty Point 2024. This trip was sponsored by an FMC Youth Scholarship. The following report is an extended version the write up published in the FMC Backcountry magazine.
The Project
In January 2022 I was looking for a tramp to kickstart the year. The usual source of inspiration was Danilo Hegg’s Southern Alps Photography site. This time I found a trip report for Jane peak in the Eyre mountains. Eyeing the topo I noticed it was 2022m tall, which made for a fun objective. I didn’t look any further, and we had an awesome mission, camping by a beautiful tarn, and bagging point 2022 as my first peak of 2022.
As 2023 came around I inevitably found myself scouring maps, and a few 2023m tall peaks had identified themselves. By this time I had talked to fellow WTMC friend Emily about these “annual peaks’’ and she had caught the bug – identifying and bagging one in the Ben Ōhau Range which I had missed. With just 10 days left in the year I also managed to get myself up to this point 2023.
For 2024 I was a bit more prepared. Early on I had noticed a point in the Darrans, but had just as quickly discounted it as clearly unreachable – just look at those contours! Rather than spend my evenings pouring over maps to find alternatives, I instead wrote a bit of code to identify the 2024m spot points in the LINZ database. However, as time went on I kept coming back to the Darrans. Reading trip reports from the area, and slowly developing my own rope skills, it began to seem possible. When pitching the plan I originally described it as involving some exposed sections on the tops, probably requiring a rope in parts, but otherwise being “straightforward tramping”. Emily suggested there was probably no such thing as straightforward tramping in the Darrans. Over time a plan was formed, and in March 2024 we headed to Fiordland to make our attempt on 2024.
Moraine Creek
Like all good Fiordland adventures this one began with a swarm of sandflies at the road end – always good motivation to get a few contours under your belt. We were parked at the start of the Hollyford track with the intention of following a route up Moraine Creek, past Rainbow Lake, over Te Puoho Glacier, summiting the mighty point 2024, and exiting via Lake Turner and Cleft Creek. If everything goes well we might reach point 2024 tomorrow I over-enthusiastically thought with anticipation as we walked up the road and crossed a swingbridge to join the Moraine creek track.
We had spent the morning driving through heavy rain from Dunedin, but it had materialised into a bluebird afternoon, with a pristine dusting of snow on the tops. We crossed Moraine creek using a three wire bridge, and somehow proceeded to immediately lose the track. It wasn’t hard to get back on route, but provided a good taster of what we had in store. We turned off the track at the fourth side stream marked on the topo and enjoyed some easy boulder hopping. As we progressed the stream got steeper, the boulders got bigger, and we got slower.
For me the biggest adventure of the day occurred where the stream forks, around the 700m contour. The true right branch was blocked by a waterfall. So was the true left branch, but it was a smaller waterfall so we went that way. I confidently went ahead, scrambling up the mossy bank beside the stream, and eventually climbing the top section of the waterfall. Just as I felt like I had made it, my handhold gave way and I fell. This was one of my more terrifying tramping experiences. In the few seconds of falling I had time to wonder if I would break a leg on impact, or if I was going to continue falling past the ledge I was about to land on – perhaps another three metres. On reflection, my subjective experience may have exaggerated the stakes: Emily described the fall as amusing to watch as I gobbled down some sugary snacks to stop my legs from shaking.
I hope he doesn't fall... (credit: Emily)
Opting not to tackle that route again, we somewhat reluctantly headed up the spur between the two branches. This was covered in steep, dense bush, resulting in a two hour push to make it 50 metres. Two hours of pack hauling, pull ups, and freezing our hands off holding on to scrub. We were both happy to have been doing a lot of rock climbing recently because this was significantly more of an upper body workout that you’d expect from tramping.
Unconventional ice axe usage on the steep spur
By the time we were through the steepest section it was 7pm. A bit of scoping indicated this was as flat a campsite we could hope for, so we pitched the tent. My trip notes simply state not flat, surprisingly comfortable. The good news was that from this vantage point we could see the stream we had tried to follow was impassable, so the upper body workout had been necessary. As we rehydrated that night’s meal we looked out at the Humboldt range, their snowy tops catching the setting sun.
First campsite, with the Humboldt range behind
The next morning we initially tried to continue following the spur but realised it was only going to take us into exposed terrain, so we backtracked a little to find a spot where we could navigate back down into the stream. I enjoyed this section – the easiest route tended to involve walking across branches sticking perpendicular from the slope, pretending not to notice the significant drop below us.
Negotiating dense bush while dropping back into the stream from the spur we camped on
Soon, a good route at the base of the bluffs opened up and we made good progress, popping out onto a boulder field. We boosted up this section until it funnelled us into a gully and we met our first crux for the day: a mossy slab which fortunately had a fixed line we could use to haul ourselves up.
Hauling packs up the fixed line (credit: Emily)
Not far ahead we found a second crux: a short section which required climbing, but which neither of us was willing to solo up with heavy packs on. As luck had it, there was a rusty piton at the top, and an even rustier #3 wire beside it. Good enough to put our full trust in. We had a rope with us for the glacier travel ahead, so after talking through the logistics involved if we needed to bail out this way, I climbed up and used the rope to haul the packs and belay Emily up. There was exceedingly little space here, so one of us was forced to stand on the pile of packs, which made it tricky when it came to putting them back on. It was around here that I began to feel the phrase straightforward tramping coming back to bite me. At least we were past the tricky section.
Except good things always come in threes. What felt like mere minutes later we were facing the third crux. The gully turned into a chimney, and a sole bolt indicated a route up the rockface to our right. A bolt which turned out to be useless as we weren’t comfortable climbing above it given the slippery moss. Our convoluted solution had me climb up the chimney without a pack, edge across a patch of loose gravel, and scramble up to some scrub well above the bolt. From here I judged we could pull our way up the scrub to the ridge, which looked tantalisingly close. I abseiled off a large rock sticking out of the bank, and we belayed each other up with packs on. Once we were both there my previous confidence in the scrub began to wane. Emily bravely climbed above the rock, which put us in a precarious position as she was essentially off belay but still attached to me. Not the most sensible situation to find yourself in. “Do you feel secure?” I asked, and my heartrate spiked with the immediate reply “No”. “Do you feel like you can down climb?” Fortunately she could.
We abseiled back down into the gully, then a sequence of abseiling, lowering, and down climbing took us back to the boulder field.
Mathew abseiling back into the gully, immediately after we decided to turn around (credit: Emily)
Emily about to abseil off the bolt – much faster than walking / down climbing down the gully
By torchlight we identified a large boulder which would provide a flat area with exactly the footprint of a Minaret. We set up camp less than 300m from last night, having travelled a grand total of one kilometer in over 10 hours. Sometimes turning around can be a difficult decision, but in this case it was easy because it was the blindingly obvious thing to do. As we rehydrated dinner on the side of a bluff we reflected that we weren’t even disappointed: we had made the right decision for us, both felt like we had just had one of the most adventurous days of our lives, and even had back up plans for reaching point 2024.
Second campsite
The next morning we headed back up past the fixed line to make a couple of attempts on more direct routes to the ridgeline, none of which we found to be agreeable. All I really got from the experience was a reminder of how much scarier down climbing can be than going up. Within three hours we were back at the previous night’s camp, continuing on back to the carpark. The steep section we had struggled up two days previously required us to lower packs with the rope, but it was otherwise, dare I say, straightforward tramping.
Cleft Creek
Our alternative plan was simply to take our intended exit route in reverse – follow Cleft Creek to its eponymous cleft, then take the steep spur on the true right to gain the slabs to access Lake Turner, and up Lindsays Ledges to 2024. I was confident in this route; it is described in a 2008 alpine journal as “probably the easiest way in to Lake Turner”. During our planning I had even told Emily “I foresee no issues with the Cleft Creek route”. Words I surely wouldn’t come to regret.
A brief stop at the car to drop some superfluous gear and food, then we were on our way down the Hollyford at an unprecedented speed. We forded the Hollyford just upstream from where it meets the track and camped a short distance up Chasm creek.
Fording the Hollyford
The next morning we cut across country to Cleft creek. The GPX file I recorded shows a completely straight line – a testament to Emily’s ability to follow a bearing. It didn’t take much boulder hopping up the Cleft before we had to resign ourselves to bush bashing up the true left. On any other day 500m an hour would have felt slow, but everything is relative. We caught sections of a trodden route, but always lost it. At times we found ourselves amongst gigantic boulders, which made it feel like navigating a three dimensional maze. On multiple occasions I stepped through what I thought was the ground only to discover I was metres above it.
Cleft Creek
At the 400m contour there is a spur to climb. While it looks fairly innocuous on the map, you are forced to ascend 300m before the bluffs on either side give way to something passable. I actually loved this section of travel – all foot traffic gets directed onto the one spur, resulting in an amazingly walkable track. We breezed up beautiful moss terraces, then skirted the 700m contour before dropping into the upper Cleft, somehow managing to identify a route through the healthiest bush lawyer I have ever seen. At one point Emily slipped over, and when she got up the bottom two thirds of her walking pole had snapped off. Despite a concerted search it did not reappear.
The upper Cleft has a bit of everything: boggy grass flats, crystal clear river travel, technical boulder negotiation, a cold, cold swimming hole, and even (believe it or not) a little bit of bush bashing if you feel like it. All of that surrounded by some gloriously vertical mountains.
The upper Cleft valley. The spur in the middle was our intended route to Lake Turner
We spent that night in a rock bivvy at the 660m contour, smack bang between “Cleft” and “Creek” on the topo map. On arrival we met two others. We weren’t completely surprised by this as we had seen signs of recent people further down the valley, but they certainly hadn’t been expecting anyone else. They kindly made us a brew, shared lots of good stories, and had absolutely zero beta to provide for the next day’s mission. As dusk approached we could look out at our intended route. On one hand it seemed like the obvious way up – a grassy spur amongst vertical rock walls. On the other hand it still looked intimidating. And then it clagged in.
A closer view of the “cleft”, our intended spur on the left
We left the rock biv at 8am, shortly after the others had said goodbye and headed down valley. As we approached the cleft, features appeared on the spur. I could almost imagine a line we could follow. But as we got closer still I began to realise how large some of those features were. To cut a short story short, we did not make it up. Not even close. As we reached the bottom it became clear that the first 10 metres or so would involve rock climbing up a granite slab. We tried to devise various convoluted schemes, but nothing solved the issue of climbing that section with no protection to place.
Trying to find a way up the creek in order to gain the spur (credit: Emily)
With a slightly heavy heart this time we turned around. Point 2024 was to remain elusive. As a consolation prize we continued up the valley to swim at the bottom of Turner Falls – purportedly Aotearoa’s “second or third best waterfall” according to worldwaterfalldatabase.com. A big claim I feel it lives up to. The ensuing brain freeze was a sufficient distraction from any disappointment I might have been feeling. That said, as we headed back down the valley I did suggest we check out the Opportunity Spur route into Lake Turner – first travelled by Mark Watson and Tom Riley in 2022 – knowing full well that we had run out of time to do so.
Trying to get close to Turner Falls (credit: Emily)
Going for a swim beneath Turner Falls (credit: Emily)
Continuing down the Cleft instead, we decided to see if we could avoid climbing back to the 700m contour by finding a shortcut directly onto the spur instead. Lo and behold we did find a very specific route through the bluffs, which brought us to the spur around the 540m contour. I think it would be very difficult to find this from above, so wouldn’t necessarily suggest it to anyone heading up the Cleft. But it is there! We finished our day at a perfect camp spot at the base of the spur. Of course, this meant that the next day began with a somewhat tedious bush bash the remainder of the way back to the Hollyford – although we did manage to find and stay on a somewhat well worn route for a decent portion of the Cleft Creek section.
Boulders providing a brief respite from bush bashing back down the Cleft
Reflections
So there we were, walking back up the Hollyford track having twice failed to reach our objective, but having spent the better part of a week in an absolutely inspiring part of the country. Over the weeks following this trip I did find myself feeling disappointed at times, especially going back to read other accounts of the routes we had attempted (although none of them mention point 2024 for some reason). But ultimately those feelings fade quickly and I am just stoked that this arbitrary framing device gave us the motivation to explore somewhere I otherwise wouldn’t have gone. I know I’ll be back in the Darrans soon, and hope to get to Lake Turner at some point. If it does happen, I doubt the fact that I won’t also be summiting some arbitrary spot height will detract from the experience. All I can hope for is that points 2025, 2026, and so on provide me with reasons to visit other parts of the country I haven’t explored yet.
That said, it also helped to talk to a friend who had taken the Cleft creek route in 1973, who confirmed that at that time it was trivial to gain the spur. Knowing that the terrain has since been washed out helps me deal with the fact that we couldn’t make it up “probably the easiest route in to Lake Turner”.
I should also admit at this point that it really didn’t matter that we didn’t make it to the spot point – prior to this trip we had already summited a separate point 2024 as part of a WTMC trip to the Nelson Lakes National Park. While I am happy to philosophise on my motivations and preach the joy of discovering new places… I still need to keep up the streak!