River dunking etched in tramper’s memory

We gripped onto each other and kicked for our lives

It’s more than a decade ago now, but my legs seem to have retained a vivid memory of what they did immediately after they were swept off a submerged boulder in a swift Rakaia River.

They kicked furiously for the far bank as my brother Michael and I, packs on our backs and arms linked, bobbed off downstream at speed in the slightly swollen river.

We were headed for Hokitika via Whitcombe Pass. It was a beautiful, clear summer’s morning in the Canterbury high country, but it was cold. Showers had fallen overnight as a front passed through and there was a sprinkle of snow on the peaks.

The Whitcombe Pass trip is mostly straightforward, if rather strenuous. Fording the upper Rakaia is the tricky bit. And we certainly didn’t want entirely to follow the footsteps of the first Europeans to cross the pass, surveyor Henry Whitcombe and goldminer Jakob Lauper, in 1863.

In an epic journey, they struggled down the dense rainforest of the Whitcombe Valley, only for Whitcombe to be drowned while crossing the Taramakau River on their way back to Canterbury.

But it was the upper Rakaia on my mind. The stony riverbed carrying several streams is more than a kilometre wide and relatively flat, but the river is fed by two substantial glaciers, the Ramsay and the Lyell.

Michael and I, after our first night, spent in Reischek Hut on the upper Rakaia’s south bank, kitted up and began nervously scouting the main stream for a crossing point. Up and down we paced, hunting for the least-onerous option available to us.

We settled on a relatively calm-looking stretch, still swift, but no white water and about 100m upstream of rapids. And it was only about 20m wide. No sweat.

We linked adjoining arms through our packs’ shoulder straps, looked at the far bank and shuffled into the water. After a couple or three metres, the rushing water was up to our thighs and we encountered a wide, unseen boulder. To step over it we had to abandon shuffle mode and lost boot contact with the riverbed. We were sunk.

Off we went, floating rapidly downstream, aware of the looming rapids. We gripped onto each other and kicked for our lives. Our packs held us semi-upright and as we realised the kicking was propelling us diagonally across, we tried even harder.

Suddenly we were across and scrambling up the rocky bank. I thought of my partner and said to Michael: “Don’t tell Kaz.” Soaked and shivering, we paused to scoff chocolate and put on dry clothes with the wrung-out wet ones. Thankfully the day stayed fine, although cold, and we warmed up as we ascended beside Lauper Stream to Whitcombe Pass, to begin the three-day descent beside the Whitcombe and Hokitika Rivers.

Some years later, when offered a shortcut by fording the Hokitika River with two tramping companions, I declined. It looked 70m wide and as I saw the water rise to form a wave around their waists, I was glad of my decision to add 30 minutes by choosing the bridge downstream. They got across safely though, and made it without a swim.