Bradley Houghton the creator and editor of Trail Running NZ, Your weekly fix of NZ trail running news kindly shared our trip on his newsletter, you can signup for his free newsletter here Trail Running NZ
Mission Desk
This week on the Mission Desk we’ve got the ramblings of a hopeless Mountain Skag addict, Andy Carruthers.
He shares a mission with his good friend Marta Zanetti, two people I’ve got huge respect for.
Take it away, Andy.
Diary Of An Addict
“In August, I caught up with my friend Marta, who had just returned from Italy. We went for a run around our local hills — the kind of easy catch-up that inevitably drifts into talk about the next big adventure.”
“For me, winter always sparks the same thought: Could this be the year for a snowy Southern Crossing?”
“The Southern Crossing is a legendary route across the Tararua Range, and it also happens to be the course for the Tararua Mountain Race, which I now organise. I’ve had some incredible winter nights up there — climbing to Mount Hector by moonlight with Anthony and Mark, or running the whole crossing with the BSR crew on a freezing full-moon night. But I’d never quite scored the perfect conditions: deep snow, clear skies, and enough moonlight to travel without a headlamp.”
“This year, it looked like everything might finally align.”
Watching the Weather
“A big front was forecast to dump snow on the range, followed by several clear, cold days. Even better, Thursday night would bring a three-quarter moon — not quite full, but still enough light to make the snow glow.”
“Marta was in. We packed our gear, kept an eye on the forecast, and committed.”
“We took the train from Wellington to Maymorn, then a taxi to the road end. At 6 p.m., we started up Marchant Ridge into a fiery sunset over the Hutt Valley. The air was cold and still, the sky fading from orange to deep blue as we climbed.”
“Snow arrived earlier than expected — right from about 1,000 metres. In winter, snow on the track is a blessing: it reflects light, cushions each step, and keeps the mud at bay. By the time we reached Omega, it was full winter mode — firm snow underfoot, our microspikes biting into the firm surface.”
Into the Moonlight
“Above Alpha Hut, the last footprints disappeared. We pulled on extra layers, stepped above the bushline, and were greeted by firm, compact snow stretching across the ridges, icy wind chill, and moonlight.”
“And what a moonrise. A deep red disc lifted from the east, glowing through thin cloud before lighting the whole range in silver. The ridgeline of the Southern Crossing stood stark and steep in the lunar glow, making the mountains feel otherworldly.”
High Ridges and Hidden Wind
“The wind was biting as we reached Alpha Peak, swirling mist around us and briefly disorienting our route. But shelter could be found in the dips, and the snow’s firmness made travel fast. Over Aston, up onto the Beehives, the moon now sitting directly above the peaks, lighting cloud racing across the ridges — it felt like being inside our own alpine climbing film.”
“Snow softened near the Beehives which had us groveling in knee deep holes, and a steep, icy section had us glad for microspikes and Marta’s lightweight ice axe.”
The Frozen Cross
“Mount Hector is the high point of the crossing, marked by a memorial cross for trampers who died in the war. I’d seen photos of it encased in rime ice, the arms doubled in size by windblown frost. But seeing it in person was something else entirely — a pure white sculpture glowing in the moonlight.”
“We took a quick photo, then continued down, bracing for the last climb of the night up to Field Peak. My legs were tired, my body aching, but the snow was kind to us here, and soon we were at Kime Hut at 3 a.m., sipping Marta’s lemon-honey tea to wash down some pain killers and a caffeine pill.”
The Long Descent
“From Kime, we dropped into the bush, leaving the snow behind and re-entering the damp, dark forest. The only people we saw were two guys heading up for their own adventure. By the time we reached Otaki Forks, the first light of dawn was spilling over the horizon.”
“Our transport was waiting. A short ride to Waikanae Station, a sleepy train ride back to Wellington, and we were home.”
Why We Do It
“Every time I plan an adventure, there’s a point where doubt creeps in. Do I really want to do this? It will be cold, it will hurt, it will be easier to stay home with my family and my comfortable life.”
“But I go anyway.”
“Because there’s joy in the madness: standing on a mountain ridge in the middle of the night, miles from anywhere safe or familiar; seeing both sunset and sunrise in a single push; watching the moon rise and light up a snowbound world. These moments, and the memory of them, bring a kind of joy that nothing else matches.”
“And when you find yourself on a snowy Southern Crossing under a glowing moon, you remember exactly why you go on adventures.”
This report is beautifully written. I love that it’s just a before and after, with a single image from the high point of the mission. Everything else you have to picture for yourself.
That epic landscape, belonged only to the two of them. No one else will ever have it. It’s theirs alone to describe and retell.
5 responses to “Snow, Moonlight, and Madness: A Southern Crossing to Remember”
Me and Greg Thurlow were the two randoms – we were kicking ourselves that we’d not done the moonlight crossing as well! But heck, we got one hell of a weather window to make up for it. No wind. No clouds. Pretty hard snow. Lemme know if you want some pics of Hector in the sun.
You Guys had an amazing window. Did you do the crossing or an out and back? I would love to see your pics.
I did that in 1964 – other direction. Tnis from my memoir ‘The Book of Donald”
A very special Tararua Southern Crossing
One August Neville Salisbury and I set out for a ‘Winter Southern Crossing’ of the Tararuas. (A Southern Crossing traverses the spine, or main divide, of the North Island, staying exclusively on the ridges, and going up to about 5000 feet in the central section. It would usually require three days, though was often and easily enough be done in a weekend if you headed into the ranges to the first hut for a few hours in the dark on a Friday night).
This trip was during the week, and my father drove us, early in the morning, before going back for his day’s work in his office 60 miles south in Wellington, right up into the hills at Otaki Forks (what a sport!). The weather was calm and bright, and there had been lots of snow, which was lying fresh soft and thick to below the bushline (there is a photo somewhere, of me, leaning on my Ed Hillary-style ice-axe in sub-alpine scrub dripping with new-fallen snow; so, it must have been after 1963, when my mother gave me that axe for my 21st). We reached New Kime Hut, well above the bushline at over 4000 feet, in good time (maybe 4 hours or so?), and with the weather almost sinisterly still. Neville, older, more experienced, and bolder than me, began to suggest the possibility of doing a ‘moonlight winter Southern Crossing’, pretty much the blue riband of Tararua tramping. I can’t recall for sure, but I suspect I was a bit nervous about this idea, but it was clearly potentially on, and it was a very rare opportunity. We stood at the door of the hut as it grew dark, and I do remember the tiny drafts of air moving around us that showed how profoundly calm it actually was. So we ate a meal, perhaps got into our sleeping bags for a short rest, and by 10 o’clock or so I was persuaded that we should get up and do the crossing through the night.
Full moon, weather completely still, snow cover total; full winter gear, torches to hand but not needed, we headed out and up towards Mt Hector and round the Dress Circle. This was a high level ridge, no exposure, but sharply-defined. Snow was quite soft, I think, and we took quite a few hours making our way slowly, and mostly silently, across the top of the world. I wasn’t nervous, exactly, once we got going, but it was eery, without quite being scary. Perhaps we could hardly believe we were there, now, like this? Wonderfully, we could see down clearly to the lights of all the towns of the plains on both sides of the range – Levin to the west, Masterton and the other Wairarapa towns to the east where we were heading. And so still, so calm – did we even do the candle test? (It is meteorologically flat calm if a candle will stay burning undisturbed in the open air; perhaps that was another time, sleeping overnight on the Arete Bench during a summer Northern Crossing; see below). Soft snow, but not difficult going.
After Hector, and the Beehives (?), and Aston, staying on the ridge all the time, you begin to descend towards Alpha Hut, which is just inside the bushline, among trees that are chunky and for some reason heavy with moss. Today, there is also still lots of snow at this level, and as it begins to lighten (at perhaps 5 a.m. or so) we reach the hut. No one in, as there was no one at Kime (and we saw no one else the whole trip). We had some breakfast, tried to sleep for a bit as the sunlight kept on pouring in, but too excited. And I easily agreed with Neville when he said we should not just stay on in the ranges till next day merely because we had the time for it, and the weather, but we should head on out, complete the trip and go home, since nothing could be more thrilling than what we’d had already. He was quite right, and we packed up at about 10 a.m., and went on calmly down to Kaitoke, by Hell’s Gate and Omega, and down the famous Marchant Ridge, through the burn (i.e burnt trees), and out to the road. Can’t recall how we got back from there (taxi? hitching? call to friends for pick-up?). Transcendental, and definitely one of the ten greatest ever mountain trips.
[Neville Salisbury writes: “Of course you would remember how we got to Otaki Forks, and no, I have no idea how we got home. Most likely we walked out to the main road and hitched. I commend your memory of the details of the crossing. The greatest difference in our respective accounts must be that I think we (or myself anyway) were about as close as one would like to get to suffering from hypothermia and perishing there in the snow! I clearly remember the euphoria of the first half, ascending Hector and the view, but the snow got deeper and deeper as we progressed and we travelled slower and slower as fatigue took its toll. Those last few hours as were pretty grim, as I recall.”]
Thanks for sharing your adventure, sounds like an amazing night.
Written in Glasgow, where I live, for readership that knew little about the Tararuas, which were really the making of my lifelong happines at going high.