Every Mile Matters: The Godley

It was a surreal feeling, to be standing at the top of Godley Valley with the glacial lake lapping against my feet while my truck idling happily next to me. I couldn’t help but reflect on why I found myself here in the first place, a series of events that would forever change my life as I finally found harmony between my passions for Landscape Photography and Overlanding.

Back in late-2021, on my first big adventure in Caia, my not-so-trusty 1994 Toyota Landcruiser Prado (KZJ78), I found myself in some of New Zealand’s most picturesque locations through the Southern Alps and as I returned home to review my haul of unedited images, I became disheartened. It appeared that despite all my travels and the incredible places I’d been, I felt that I had very little to show for it in the way of puristic landscape images and as silly as it seems, this tainted the way I looked back on the trip for quite some time. You see, photography at the time was my everything, it was how I expressed myself, my creative outlet, my release from the harder norms of everyday life. Through that struggle however, there was one photo that stood out in my mind, an image from halfway up the Godley Valley, where, due to several trucks experiencing mechanical failure, we had to turn around. This image and that experience planted a seed, a seed that would see me endeavour to find that unison between my two passions that I so desperately craved.

Fast forward to March 2022, I’d come up with a plan. A plan to make my way back down to the alps, where, rather than finding that my home on wheels becoming a hinderance to my creative outlet, I would aim to use Caia to take me to places that were typically not within my reach so that I could capture images that would otherwise, for me, not be possible. The goal was to traverse up three glacial rivers, Godley, Havelock and Rakaia, to capture three images and document the journey along the way and I knew I couldn’t achieve this without the help of my friends. This is where I turned to Will Scown and Jack Laurent, Will had a lot of experience in the creative world and was looking at this project as his opportunity to delve into the realm of videography. Jack was a no-brainer; he has spent most of his adult life exploring the tracks and trails of New Zealand and was on the fateful trip into the mountains that sowed this seed. He would prove to be more instrumental to making this trip the incredible experience that it would turn out to be.

Now if you’re reading this thinking, this is going to be one of those stories where everything goes perfectly, you thought wrong. After months of planning, Will and I disembarked from Auckland and made tracks for the ferry with the idea of meeting with Jack and his partner Kayla Westall at the terminal in Wellington, Caia however had other plans. After making great time through a rainy Desert Road on State Highway 1, Caia began to develop what sounded like a light rubbing noise and after quick investigation, I thought I’d found the culprit but alas, it proved I was wrong. Continuing the journey south, we stopped in at a workshop in Taihape where a mechanic diagnosed that the noise was in-fact, coming from my transfer case. Dismayed by this news, I called Jack who coincidentally happened to have a spare lying around and said that if we made it to Wellington, we could change the part out once we’d made landfall in the south. This sparkle of hope didn’t last long/ Sadly, with a faint whistle and a pop, she lost all drive and came to a stop just south of Bulls and the trip had to be abandoned.

One key takeaway from that night while Will and I sat there waiting for the tow truck was when Will turned to me and said, “this may be the last thing you want to hear right now, but everything happens for a reason”. Hindsight would give me that reason when the Rakaia was hit with flash flooding after close to 500mm of water fell from the skies, causing significant destruction to the valley floor. Reviewing the itinerary, we were supposed to be camping up the valley that night, perhaps Will was right after all.

September came and with it, our second attempt of making the journey south. Caia now had a refurbished gearbox and transfer case; nothing would stop me from getting to the South Island this time around. After successfully making it South, we made tracks for Tekapo where we’d agreed to meet up with Jack, Kayla and their friends Logan and Jazz Squire. There is always a chance of clashing personalities on an adventure like this, however that was never going to be an issue with this crew, to this day I can’t think of a time where six people have clicked so effortlessly, it was friends who felt like family from day one. After exchanging niceties, we jumped back in our trucks, Will and I sat in Caia while Jack and Kayla sat in Caia’s bigger sister, an unnamed 1994 KZJ78 that was essentially Caia, but everything was bigger. Logan and Jazz sat pretty in Diesey, their 2021 Toyota Landcruiser, a Troop Carrier, affectionately known as a Troopy.

Immediately after getting off-piste, I felt quietly confident, the rivers already proved to be favourably lower than I recalled last time I’d ventured up the Godley. It felt like maybe nature was on our side. Quick smart, we made it up the heart of the valley and with little to no fuss, found ourselves parked at the same location that had seen us turn around back in 2021. With all three vehicles running at their best, the only thing that would stop us would be the trail or lack thereof. After the quick progress earlier in the day things slowed as tracks turned into boulder fields in which we’d slowly have to worm our way through via the path of least resistance. That said, one deep waterhole aside where Caia sound herself stuck on a 45 degree angle, the trip up the valley went with no real drama but, as we confidently travelled north we came to the realisation that the lake may simply be out of our reach as the boulders grew larger and evidence of those that had travelled here before us all but disappeared. Honestly, without the assistance of the girls, who were helping us spot and navigate through some of the tighter terrain, the journey wouldn’t have been possible.

I don’t know what moment hit me harder, coming over the rise that overlooked the lake and finding a clear path down to Maud Lake, or the feeling of touching the water. This was a very special achievement for all of us, arriving here as early as we did put us in a position to take the time to set up camp allowing for ample time to find the perfect landscape photo composition over the next two nights. Now, it was simply a matter of whether the conditions and mother nature would allow the image I’d painted into my mind to become a reality. As everyone else settled in by the campfire, I began to set up my camera, right in-front of Caia, her viewpoint looked over Maud Lake, and as the evening progressed the lake looked to settle, giving hope for a reflection under the clearing night sky. Rather than sit and wait, I decided to set it up as a timelapse, with my mind on another image in the morning.

Morning brought with it high winds and light that wasn’t conducive to excellent landscape photography, this appeared to be a blessing in disguise as it gave me an opportunity to not only review the photos of the previous night but also take the time to appreciate the enormity of what we’d achieved so early on. I spent my time slowly walking along the shoreline, soaking in the striking beauty of the place, after months of dreaming it felt so wild to actually be here, and it was surpassing all my expectations. Through the day, Logan and Jack decided to take the kayaks down to the lake front to go and explore the far reaches of the lake, something that has convinced me I’ll have to come back with a kayak. A day spent in the mountains with such company is a day to be savoured.

Day three meant it was time to pack up and head out, despite having the rare opportunity to sit still and embrace the place around us, I still felt like we were leaving too soon, given that I hadn’t really nailed a photograph in my time up the valley. However, the next destination was calling and given my lack of familiarity with the Havelock, I was excited to see something new. Upon departing, we took the time to line the trucks up with the view in the background and that’s when I saw it, gorgeous soft light making the snowcapped mountains glow, taking the time to pick my lens carefully I settled on the 400mm, a favourite of mine, bringing the scene closer and in the process, capturing my first image of the trip, a satisfying moment to say the least.

Funnily enough, leaving the Godley proved to be a bigger challenge than getting in, with Caia getting quick stuck in the silty river equivalent of quicksand, finding herself buried up to her chassis at the back, quickly sinking deeper, taking both trucks several attempts to break the suction, releasing me from the rivers grasp. Admittedly, the ease of travelling up the Godley gave us false confidence for the Havelock.

Reflecting over every mile traversed up the Godley as we made our way towards Mesopotamia Station, the gateway to the Havelock it became abundantly clear to me, that the real image worth capturing isn’t just the one through the lens, its the one you carry with you long after the shutter closes.

As seen in Issue 005 of the 4xJournal

Every Mile Matters: The Havelock

The Godley had tested us, humbled us, and ultimately rewarded us, but as we rolled out of the valley with the memory of Maud Lake fresh in our minds, the adventure was far from over. Ahead lay the Havelock and Rakaia rivers. I’d only ever heard stories about these rivers, they’re both renown for riverbeds with terrain that shifts with every season. With one image finally in the bag and a renewed sense of purpose, we pointed our trucks toward Mesopotamia Station, unaware that the next chapter would challenge us in ways the Godley never had. The journey south had already reshaped my understanding of what it meant to chase a photograph and now it was time to discover what the Havelock had in store.

The initial plan up the Havelock was to make it as far as Mistake Flats Hut, it was a location I’d airmarked after scouring through Topographical Maps as a location that could provide a great opportunity for photographs but there is nothing quite like being there to change your mind. Noting that the area was seeing little to no sunshine through the day, we’d decided to mix things up and continue to traverse up the valley, into the unknown. First, we travelled up the southern side of the river to Growler Hut, where we’d stop for an early lunch. From the hut we’d notice a drastic change in track condition as we found ourselves confronted with a slip that at first looked impassible, if it wasn’t for a pair of road cones, ironically in the middle of nowhere, leading the way, we’d have considered looking for a crossing elsewhere. It was slow-going but again with Jack Laurent and Logan Squire acting as spotters and track builders, we made it through relatively unscathed, or so we thought. As we approached the river for our first crossing, Jack was noticing some questionable noises coming from his front end, upon further investigation in appeared that his control arm bushes were shot and were going to make things a little more challenging and less comfortable for those aboard, thankfully this was far from a trip ender.

After our first crossing of the Havelock, we made good time along the North-Eastern side of the valley before taking the time to stop in at Curtis Memorial Hut, the hut is a must see for anyone in the area as it provides some top tier views across the Havelock River to the south and Forbes River to the east. The view enticed us to keep travelling towards the Havelock headwaters so with plenty of daylight hours in the day remaining, we continued onwards.

The next push reminded me of the bigger boulders up the Godley, going was slow and there were a lot of instances where you had to bite the bullet and drag our trucks across the riverbed. Safe to say, underbody protection would have been a nice addition. It was all beginning to feel a little dire as rounding each corner always seemed to present a new challenge until we came across a significant scree slip to the north that oddly enough, provided smoother and quicker travel across the terrain while lending an excellent view over the headwaters. It was from here that we saw it, a bright orange hut nestled amongst the forest and tarns, our home for the night, St. Winifred Hut. The traverse down the scree was seamless and aside from the deepest river crossing of the trip, we had little to no issue with the dash down. The hut provided sweet refuge from the weather which appeared to be packing in as rain began to fall. It was time for dinner and a good night’s sleep so we could explore in the morning, allowing me to find my next photo of the trip.

Let’s just say, if we had intended to get out in the morning, we were out of luck. Through the night it hadn’t stopped raining, what started as a fine mist quickly turned to torrential rain. Though we’d gone down to inspect the river, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that the river was simply impassible, in fact, several new rivers had formed in the night making the next question we asked ourselves, if not now, when will we get out. With plans made to frequently keep an eye on the water levels, Logan, Jack and Will Scown made tracks over to Eric Bivouac, placed on a knob in the heart of the headwaters in an attempt to see if there was any other path out of the valley. All the while I was on the hunt for my next photograph and with several notable mountain peaks in the area, alongside fresh rivers to use as a foreground element, I was in a happy hunting ground, hoping the clouds wouldn’t sink too low as the weather really closed in around us. After hunting through the rivers close to the hut, I found it, a river framed by the heart of the valley with a prominent peak to the right, the flow was fast enough that I could capture the flow of the river with a handheld exposure, the non- requirement of a tripod meant that I could be a lot more creative with my angles. Embracing the moment, I got my feet wet and squatted down over the river and captured an image that was not only a favourite from the trip but remains one to this day. Coming back to the hut to meet the returning hikers, we sat by the first waiting for the latest weather report from the Department of Conservation and it come with one word, snow. Snow down to 800m and with the hut sitting just shy of 900m, we knew we could be in for something wild.

I still remember being awoken around 2am by the complete silence that surrounded us. When all you’ve heard through the night is rain pitter pattering away on the tent all night, the comparative silence is almost deafening. It wasn’t until the morning however, that I realise that this is when it began to snow. Being my first snow camping experience, I didn’t know the telltale signs, the tent ceiling being in the way as I sat up in the morning was the dead giveaway, not only had there been snow through the night, we’d collected a good 30cm of the white stuff. It was truly a winter wonderland and for most of the morning we all found ourselves too excited by the snow to truly appreciate the gravity of what snow meant to us trying to leave. With the river levels still making their way up as the rain from yesterday continued to flow down to the river, the snowmelt as the morning progressed only made things worse.

Dwindling supplies and an angst towards making a decision on whether we’d stay or attempt to leave only compounded things as the signs of stress began to show, with the first cracks beginning to show between myself and my newly formed friends. I felt we had to check the rivers more regularly while the others felt that longer periods were adequate, I was feeling a sense of claustrophobia caused by being trapped here and wanted out and was admittedly too scared to admit that at the time. Level heads prevailed as Logan and Jack too control of the situation. Being the more experienced outdoorsman, the best thing I could do is trust them, their methodology and most of all, their decision.

It was after hours of pondering, Jack decided to walk the river, identifying hazards along the way. Jack and Logan explained, that if a person could walk it without losing their footing, it was a good indication that a truck could make it, but it wouldn’t come easily. The river was fast, long and deep. The trifecta. As light began to fade, the decision was made, we would send Logans truck, attached to the free spooling winch on Jack’s across the river knowing that it was going to have the best chance out of any under its own steam. The gravity of it didn’t hit home for me at this point but I could see Logan was nervous, not only for his truck but for the wellbeing of his partner Jazz and himself. It was tense, and after a in-depth safety briefing where we’d identified the jobs of everyone should a recovery be necessary, Logan embarked on what we agreed would be his only attempt. I watched on in anxiety as I went through the full spectrum of emotions, after initially making great progress, the Diesey began to float before reaching the riverbank on the other side, struggling for traction, the rear of the truck began to spin around, wanting to avoid disaster, Jack engaged the winch and pulled Logan safely back to our side of the river. Almost immediately, Logan jumped out, pumped full of adrenaline, saying that he was confident he could make it work on a second attempt, after closer assessment, he’d found his exit point and sure enough, after catching his breath he made the second attempt almost look easy as Diesey pulled itself up and out of the water and onto the other side. We whooped, hollered and cheered as a sense of relief flooded over us, but this is when I started to feel the nerves that had evaded me. It would be my turn should we successfully pull Jack and the camper trailer across the river and for me, it would be a one way trip or nothing with no resort to be pulled back but thankfully, with the other trucks across the river, I’d be assisted with the deeper section of the crossing.

For now, Jack still had to get across, so I had to focus on that first. We used all the recovery gear at our disposal to connect the front of Jack’s truck to the back of Logan’s, and with the added weight of the trailer, Jack didn’t seem to lose traction in the same way Logan had again, almost making it look to easy. Now it was my turn, parking up where Jack had once been, Will collected the recovery gear and attached the shackle to Caia. I was getting the sweats, I was feeling sick to my stomach in a way I never had before when it came to off-roading and honestly, after the fact, I realised I bloody loved it. I had full faith in the ability of those around me, the method we were using and knew that we had to get it done now before the next weather system came through. Jack gave the instruction to drive, guiding Logan to do the same ensuring we kept tension and after what felt like a lifetime of floating, I felt my wheels touch the ground, gain traction and with Logans help, Caia pulled herself from the depths of the river. Sweet, sweet relief. After that, I felt tired immediately, the tension of the day was exhausting however, we still had work ahead of us. With the impending weather, we wanted to get as much distance behind us as possible. The scree hill was kind to us again on the ascent and in what felt like no time at all we found ourselves arriving at Curtis Memorial Hut in the dark. Exhausted, relieved, happy, I took a moment by myself to reflect on what had been a few days I’ll never ever forget.

In the morning, two things became clear, Jack’s truck wasn’t fit to continue up another riverbed and the weather had ruled out attempting a traverse up the Rakaia, so with that in mind, I knew my third photo would have to wait as I postponed my date with the crowning jewel of this adventure. It was time to head home, for now.