Ruahine Ranges
Renfrew Rd - Rangiwahia Hut - Pourangaki Hut - Renfrew Rd
July 2023
After tramping in the Ruahines on my lonesome in 2020 I very much wanted to show the place off to anyone I could drag along. Fortunately my birthday coincided with a marginal weather forecast, so my obliging friends and I eagerly shot off for the Manawatū. Armed with good company, 3 years of enhanced plant ID skills, and an excess of redundant food and mountaineering gear, we began our evening march for Rangiwahia hut. As the western base of the Ruahine Range sits at a hefty 600 m above sea level, the beech turns to leatherwood, then to tussock at a delightful pace. We beat the setting sun and fell asleep hoping to wake to a blanket of snow.
No snow and no clouds but instead an unobstructed view from the front door to Ruapehu 80 kilometres Northwest. We followed the track to the ridge and spied many small patches of ice on the mountainside. Leaving the track, we then traversed along the eastern side of the ridge to avoid the views of farmland and pines in favour of greywacke, tussock, and beech. Near the top of Maungamahue, our party startled an unhealthy number of red deer sent racing off below tree line. Before dismounting the hills ourselves, the weather forecast warned a storm was inbound. Down into the valley Pourangaki hut greeted us, aciphylla scrapes and all. Home for the next 36 hours.
Our third day was spent exploring the valley’s rivers and reading, sheltering under a thick blanket of cloud obscuring the mountain peaks. Tarn burned an unholy number of pages from the bushman’s bible for warmth and possibly for fun. I was surprised to find that despite a three-year absence, my previous entry was only four pages away in the hut book.
After a day of rest, we retraced our steps up to the tops. Just below the tree line the divaricating Coprosmas, Pittosporums, and Mysines were thick with fresh snow. For a tropical Aucklander it was all very exciting. Even the mountain cedars had a light dusting, highlighted by the morning sun. The wind was still harsh but we could tell by the frozen tarns and icicles clinging to each waratah, that a rest day had been a sensible decision. Blades of tussock snapped with each step as we trudged the 15 or so kilometres past Rangawahia hut, down through the Jurassic Cordylines, over the bridge, and out to the corolla.
