THE RED HILLS PRECIOUS WILDERNESS

Forest and Bird, Issue 250, 1 November 1988, Unnumbered Page

THE RED HILLS

PRECIOUS WILDERNESS

Miners have always dreamed of possible fortunes to be made from the fabled Red Hills, though the fortunes are no more tangible than the dreams. Mike Harding here describes some more lasting values found in the Red Hills than minerals.

| n West Otago, south of Haast, further than roads have been pushed, is a place called the Red Hills: a mysterious sounding place that many people talk about but where few have been; a place where the mountains are in fact red, and devoid of vegetation; a place where miners and prospectors have delved and dreamed of indescribable wealth; and a place so remote, so rugged and so battered by cold, wet westerly storms that successful trips to it are legendary. Gradually, | accumulated information: an account of A.J. Barrington’s epic journey in 1864; tramping club trip reports; DSIR botanical surveys; and a resources report produced in the last year of the Lands and

Survey Department's existence, as part of the long-running debate over the future of the area. But, perhaps not surprisingly, general information on the plants and animals, access, routes and travelling times was lacking. The Red Hills became even more fascinating. Here was a place that seemed to be largely undiscovered or unexplored. My thoughts turned into a personal challenge: to tramp through this country and discover for myself the mysteries of this bizarre, barren landscape. It would be a journey of several day's duration through broken mountain ranges, untracked forest and involve crossing large, swift rivers. There would be no facilities: no tracks or even described routes.

Finally, in April our small party of three, laden with 12 day's food, ventured up the Cascade Valley. Filled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, and with only a map and compass to guide us, we picked our way through the fertile lowland forest of the Cascade. We forded the deep, cold river when forced to and gradually gained the upper valley. Only faint traces of a 100-year-old prospecting track reminded us that people had come before us. Watching the weather carefully, we gained the open tussock tops of the northern Red Hills Range. To the east the gnarled beech timberline of the Cascade straggled against the basins and plateaux of the range, and to the west a band of weatherbeaten subalpine shrubs clung to the abrupt scarp of the Alpine Fault. The ochre glow of the Red Mountain massif tempted us onward south along the range. An overwhelming feeling of solitude overcame us, at the same time as one of freedom to wander at will across this striking landscape, with no tracks or footprints to distract us from our selected route.

By moonlight we gazed from the shattered rock across valleys and ranges, east to Mt Aspiring baring a flank seen only by those who journey this far; and closer the sheer ramparts of the Barrier Range and Olivine Ice Plateau, glaciated peaks unknown and unnamed, resisting the invasion of civilisation. My thoughts turned to Barrington and his companions retreating tired, cold, hungry

and disillusioned, from the lower Cascade, after months of fruitless prospecting from their starting point in Queenstown. Separated crossing Red Mountain and trapped by early winter snows, they were lucky to survive and reach the relative comfort of their base camp at Lake Alabaster. Then this wilderness took weeks to cross, not days, and help was too far away to be useful.

As we descended to the Pyke River and the broad sweep of Big Bay, I thought of the naturalist Dick Jackson, lost here last summer, and what the solitude of that last camp would have meant to one so fascinated by nature and its mysteries. And together we wondered as we scrambled over the bouidery beaches on the long days back up the coast how the bulldozer driver felt when he scarred this pristine beach with his machine a few years ago. Nature would mostly recover from this temporary intrusion, the Tasman Sea battering the sculpted rocks on the one side and windswept forest carpeting the flank of the Malcolm Range on the other. And | still wonder, as I reflect from the tracked and travelled mountains of Arthur's Pass, what the future of the Red Hills will be. Will others after us have the opportunity to experience the power and grandeur of nature free from the trappings of modern society? Will others have the opportunity to experience the challenge that is provided only by those very few areas that remain as wilderness? The future of the Red Hills as wilderness is in our hands. The challenge is ours to counter the arguments for mining, logging, roading or other tourist development. For myself, I may never return there, but it will always be important to me that it is there as wilderness, just as it is to many others who may never travel there. It is important that there are places where ecological processes continue free from the direct influence of humans, and it is important to future generations that there are still places like the Red Hills when it is their turn to live on this beautiful planet. We cannot recreate wilderness, so let us be sure to save what we have. The National Parks and Reserves Authority has recommended that the Red Hills be added to Mt Aspiring National Park. The Minister of Conservation, Helen Clark, must now decide whether to formally accept that recommendation. Mike Harding is a ranger at Arthur's Pass National Park.