THE HOLY GRAIL OF PACKRAFTING

THE HOLLYFORD-PYKE CIRCUIT

- Derek Cheng

The pack-raft wasn’t built for two.

It was sturdy, exceedingly buoyant, and had lots of room - for one person. But a slit had been cut in Eva’s raft after she’d floated down a section of river with hidden knives just under the surface.

With only a short stretch to the next hut, she simply jumped onto the front of my raft, the most shatterproof of the bunch.

There was blessed little drama for a while. Eva sat facing upstream, gazing at the serenity of Fiordland as I navigated the river. It didn’t need much navigating beyond avoiding logjams, a consequence of the extreme weather that has shaped the most rugged part of New Zealand.

Then, the hairpin rapid. Just beyond it was a tree so gargantuan it could be classified as a unique species all its own. It was half submerged and on its side, creating a maze of spindly branches just above the surface.

I had naively come to believe in my abilities to control the raft through sheer willpower. This didn’t work very well. We pretty much drifted straight into the massive wooden maw.

The end of one of the spindles took aim at my eye, forcing me to drop the paddle and intercept it. The maze immediately closed in, trapping us, as the rapid pinned the paddle to the side of the raft. Attempts to rescue it were futile against the might of a huge volume of water travelling at pace.

It was more than slightly unnerving to be subjected to such powerful forces, yet remain stationary. With alarm bells ringing ever-louder, I joined Eva in grabbing any part of the tree we could to disrupt the rapid’s grip. Somehow, the raft came free. As it did, the paddle - pointing skywards as if levitating - dropped benevolently into my lap, as if rewarding our efforts.

Are you guys alright? Fellow rafters Sam and Jess had started paddling towards us to help. We were fine. No idea how.