Thump thump thump
the approaching helicopter made its notable
entrance, arcing through the amazing New Zealand backdrop of dense
jungle and snow-caped peaks.
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| Sophia Mulder, with a solid boof to finish a rather sieve infested rapid |
Helicopter
shuttles are way more challenging than I would have imagined. Each
helicopter has its own load capacity, think about it like running
shuttle with either a Geo Metro, a single cab pickup, or a minivan; all
of the vehicles can make the shuttle happen but they all have wildly
different limitations. The helicopter we had at our disposal was a
McDonnell Douglas 500 D, it seats 5 including the pilot, and has a
payload of roughly 1,500 pounds. To get boats and other necessary gear
to the top, a sling (glorified cargo net) is used. Packing the gear into
the sling is a bit of an art form. The theory is to load the gear in a
tight aerodynamic shape and weave the net snugly to minimize wind drag
and the chance of the entire payload spinning below the helicopter.
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| wrangling the massive sling load, notice the snow capped peaks, and the jet fuel tanker in the back ground |
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| the gorgeous, glacial, Perth valley |
On our Perth shuttle Mark and I drew the short straws
and rode up with the sling load. Checking the numbers a second time
makes me a little nervous. We had ten
kayaks
500+ pounds, Mark the pilot and I another 500+ pounds. Obviously
helicopters run on fuel, hopefully the fuel gauge was no where near full
as it can hold up to 400 pounds of jet fuel. We then added
overnight gear,
paddles,
helmets,
life jackets,
cameras, and beer. Totaling up the gear, fuel and us the payload was
quickly reaching our 1,500 pound weight limit. Looking out of the
bubbled helicopter windows, towards the massive sling load, a red sign
caught my eye. The sign stated something about being extremely flammable
and was attached to a large shiny tanker truck that was containing jet
fuel. This massive potential energy source was just underneath the
circumference of the main rotor, and was easily within swinging distance
of the overburdened sling. As the helicopter slowly gained elevation I
released a clenched breath.
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| Phil Palzer, on day one |
The wind was gusting, the sling load was swaying, and
we were undulating, bouncing, and oscillating our way up the Perth
Valley. The helicopter pilot controls the rear rotor with two opposing
foot pedals, his movements were almost mesmerizing as he tap danced the
helicopter up the canyon. As we rose over a steep ridge, a blast of wind
slammed the machine and it swung 50 feet off course and swayed 30° off
vertical. The pilot looked over his shoulder towards me "IT'S PRETTY
WINDY UP HERE!" I put on my helmet.
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| the crew prepping to put in |
The Upper Perth is a true classic and has three
distinctly different sections. The first pitch allows no warm up and the
rapids are formidable with lots of missing water (siphons) and arduous
scouting. Thankfully the crew was on point and were quick to be out of
their boats, scouting, setting safety, and collecting media. The few
truly ugly rapids offered relatively quick portages and allowed the
group to make steady downstream progress.
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| Mark Basso, enjoying the emerald blue water |
Of the eight paddlers (Jess Matheson, Rata
Lovell-Smith, Phil Palzer, Sophia Mulder, Daan Jimmink, Dag Sandvik,
Mark Basso, and myself) that flew to the upper put in, three were
ladies, a relatively high percentage for class 5 creeking. Paddling with
ladies always has a slightly different feel. The male machismo
disappears and everyone seems to smile more. "It's simple, we're all
here to share a beautiful experience." Paddle twirls, high fives, and
giggles ensued.
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| Jess Matheson, leading a charge of ladies |
The first day of whitewater came to a quick
culmination as we reached a large tributary and the Department of
Conservation cabin that we would call home for the evening. New Zealand
has numerous remote cabins strewn throughout the back-country that are
maintained by the Department of Conservation. These cabins are set up
with bunks and a wood burning stove. They allow long distance hikers,
hunters, and kayakers to stay deep in the bush without the need of
tents, sleeping pads, and most cooking equipment.
The evening allowed everyone time to share stories, jokes, and dinner.
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| breakfast time in the DOC hut |
The morning sun reignited the crew's energy, and the
cabin was quickly buzzing with kayakers gathering gear, drinking coffee
and making breakfast.
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| another complicated, multiple route rapid on the Upper Perth |
The rapids on the second day started in the same
style as the first. Hard lines and a multitude of options awaited at
every horizon line. The difficulty continued through lunch time and then
quickly the gradient dissipated and the rapids waned to big boulder
class 3.
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| Daan Jimmink, putting together an acceptable line in the sieve laden Upper Perth |
A few kilometers of cruising brought us to a
distinctively different section. Tall striated granite walls splashed
with vibrant green moss concealed the sun and revealed emerald blue
water. The air temperature dropped and the horizon lines started to look
imposing. Awkward scouting was possible at most of the rapids and our
crew made quick work of the eerily beautiful canyon.
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| Dag Sandvik, checking out the peaks, or maybe getting some wheelie action? |
The third different section of the trip is due to a
massive convergence. The Perth and Whataroa combine and keep the
Whataroa name; the run changes to big volume wave trains for an hour
back to the helipad. This last pitch was enjoyed during a torrential
downpour. Salutations at the take out were brisk due to the
precipitation; but the entire crew knew that the driving rain meant our
new-found friends would reunite soon to romp in our liquid playground.
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| adventure brought to you by Chris Baer |
