I started tramping in the Tararuas in my teens, the mid-1980s, 35-plus years ago now. Back then, good winter days on the tops with deep snow or hard ice were common. I recall many trips floundering through heavy snow, falling into leatherwood shrubs, or delicately learning to crampon across sastrugi ice, always with a deep smile on my face.
Nowadays such days are few and far between, so when the opportunity arises we’re quick to pack gear and organise ourselves. This time it was to be a micro-adventure: a quick jaunt up East Holdsworth, across to the summit, and back to the road-end via Powell Hut. An easy day circuit.
A 40-minute stroll in the dark had us at the East Holdsworth Track as daylight broke, ready for the 800m vertical climb to the open tops. The rising sun soon hit our ridge, confirming the great day ahead.
Traversing the ridge, Nicola managed to fall flat on her face, which required a stop for repairs. For the rest of the day she wasn’t going to be the photography model I’d hoped for.
Nicola at the Holdsworth-Jumbo Ridge showing bark damage to her nose.
The climb to the bush edge took around two hours, at which point crampons went on for the last 200m vertical to the Holdsworth-Jumbo ridge. With no wind and a lovely day, we stopped here for a snack and a few photographs, taking in the view over the main Tararua range to the west and Jumbo / Angle Knob to the north.
Ice dog Charlie.
Holdsworth-Jumbo ridge travel.
Looking north toward Angle Knob.
View north from East Holdsworth.
Before long we were climbing over firm snow to the Holdsworth summit for another photograph, before turning south for Powell Hut. A quick stop to remove crampons, grab a bite of lunch and chat with a couple of old friends, and we were into the bush heading for home.
Just below Holdsworth summit.
Mt Holdsworth trig.
All in all, a beaut Tararua outing. Looking back on my youth, though, the pattern’s been clear for decades now: less snow, sitting higher up the range, gone again within a shorter winter window each year. We were lucky to have known the old pattern. A real pity for the younger outdoors people coming through the ranks today, who won’t.
Our route.
North of the Saddle 
Leave a comment