Hidden Places

The Te Mahanga Stream meets the Kaiwharawhara

While there are lots of interesting places on the hills of Wellington, there are also fascinating places tucked down between the valleys. When the winds are creating havoc, down is often the best place to go and sometimes you can even go under.
I chose to go down into Ngaio Gorge, sheltered from the blustering southerly. I was joined by little silvereyes  who also know this is a good spot to be out of the wind. I wondered if they had been feeding on the bright round orange berries of of the supplejack vine which are very visible at present in bush not being browsed by                                                                            possums.

Berries of the supplejack vine, or kareao

I turned down the track to the fish ladder, placing my feet carefully as after rain the steep path down was quite greasy. I have never figured out exactly where the fish ladder is. I looked across the river to where the stream from Zealandia poured out of a tunnel to join the Kaiwharawhara. You would have to be a pretty agile fish or eel to leap up there to make your way back to the place of your parents. Ten or twenty metres above the tunnel I could see glimpses of where the Johnsonville train tracks were. Beside the stream was a little concrete footpath also heading into the tunnel.

The mouth of the tunnel

I carefully crossed the stream, keeping my boots dry. Looking back I saw the entrance to another tunnel which normally has a grille across it. Today it was open. I have ventured down the steps a little way in the past but no further as it seems to be a dead end.

Looking out of the mouth to the tunnel opposite

Not much down here

Scrambling up the other side of the bank and over a tree recently felled by the recent flood I got myself to the edge of the tunnel. It had not rained for the last week so the flow pouring out was of a normal volume.
I had brought a torch and turning it on I headed along the narrow path that ran above the stream.Quickly I lost sight of the entrance and was enshrouded by gloom, my little torch affording only a thin gleam. As the tunnel was oval shaped, the roof curved close above me and I had to walk on an angle and slightly crouched. Taller people would struggle I thought, as well as those who had balance issues. No bugs though, so no problem for people leery of things that go bump in the night. The sound of the water rushing below me was amplified as the river rushed its way to meet up with the waters from other catchments.
I made my way carefully so as not to catch my head. Finally after another following the gentle curve upwards I saw the gleam of light indicating the the end of the tunnel was close.

Head room was a lot less at the other end. Note fallen trees which could easily impede water flow.

Into the hidden valley

I popped out into bottom of a steep valley. This is a continuation I think, of the Wellington fault line. It was a little lost world down here. As I stared up I could see no signs of the houses and road I knew were up above me. Sewer pipes ran alongside the river, old and rusted. There was no path to follow here so keeping my boots dry was no longer an option. My way was often blocked by trees that had come down and I contemplated how easy it would be for the tunnel access to be blocked, causing a rapid rise of the river.
I poked about under stones but found no freshwater life.

Sewer pipe to the left, cliff to the right, so into the water I went.

Here the water moved slowly and I was surrounded by an intense but gratifying silence. No birds, no nothing down here. I followed the river towards its source crisscrossing to find the shallowest route. At times I had to scramble over tree branches partially blocking my way. Once there was no way through other than getting wet to my thighs. The winter waters were toe numbingly chill and no sun penetrated into the depths of the valley, but as I gradually climbed with the stream the vista slowly opened and widened.

I could see a scramble coming up ahead

Then, there ahead of me was the end. The river came forth out of a wider tunnel and above was the road blocking my access to Otari Wilton Bush on the other side. People had been clearing and planting  on the slope leading up to the road.
I clambered up and made my way home, leaving the rest of my exploration for another day.

A trip through this tunnel through to Otari Wilton beckons next

Not much head room, but the air is fresh and the valley on the other side is worth a look.