Helz Adventures

MANGAROA BLOCK

East Taupo Lands Trust                                                                                   13–17 August 2025

🏠 Mangaroa Hut

Heating • Metro fireplace — excellent burner • Plenty of dry wood available around the hut Sleeping • Two-level sleeper bunks on Upper level: 2 beds on Lower level: 3 beds • Good-quality mattresses throughout Kitchen & Cooking • Gas BBQ + 2-burner stove • Sink (no tap) • Full basic kitchenware provided Water Supply • 4 × 40-gallon drums • Likely to freeze in colder months ❄️ Facilities • Long drop toilet — basic, no door • Plastic table + 4 chairs • Fire extinguisher

HONEYMOON HUNT

Where do couples go on their honeymoon? For us, the answer was obvious — the backcountry.

Most would assume we’d pick a block we had been to before. Most hunters would. Knowing the topography, the travel, the habits, the season — all of that stacks the odds in your favour in the tricky game of Sika hunting but Chris and I hadn’t been into the hills since our ANZAC adventure at Gorge Tops back in April, and that roar was always going to be a hard one to beat. Another cheeky flight in with our friends at Helisika Poronui was calling our names.

This time the reception was very different — dead quiet. One vehicle in the carpark, one pilot, one chopper waiting for us on Wednesday afternoon. With Chris due for surgery on a torn meniscus, heli access was our only option. To be honest, we weren’t complaining — there are worse ways to get into the backcountry. Honeymoon, you say? Well… this trip was heavily snack-focused. Plenty of fancy cheeses, cured meats, and platter goodness. After an extremely busy eight months, we were desperate to reunite with a hut and soak up that quiet simplicity: the birds, the breeze, the Mohaka River and its feeder streams weaving through the block. Hunting was always in the back of our minds, but sleep-ins and decompressing were the true agenda. Still… add a rifle, camouflage, and two adventurous spirits, and it doesn’t take long before you want to explore every inch of new country.

DAY 1 — Wednesday 13 August 2025

 A smooth, scenic 10-minute flight carried us over the dated-but-obvious airstrip — kanuka, manuka and scrub merging into the straight line of open ground. We were greeted by the typical A-frame private hut tucked just beyond a short path in the foliage. Opening the hut door to trapped warmth from the skylights was a lovely surprise. The space was tidy, clearly respected by previous hunters. A dry woodpile — always a mood-setter — had been left behind. Cheers to whoever you are. With hours of daylight left, we headed northwest for a quick look around the block. Very little sign and not much feed — pumice and manuka as far as the eye could see. Not wanting to scent up the place on Day 1, we turned back before dark to light the fire and indulge in our antipasto dinner spread.

DAY 2 — Thursday 14 August 2025

A fresh morning — and a visit from some cheeky rats overnight — woke us early. Coffee on the stovetop and a quick fire to take the chill off, and we were off. This was our “recce day.” South of the hut we ventured… into what quickly became unproductive travel. No trails. Loud bush-bashing. Scrub thick enough to raise tempers, broken only by the occasional patch of scree and the kind of view that recharges you instantly. The weather was outstanding — sub-zero nights, single-digit days, and clear winter sunshine. After a couple of hours of wrestling the thick scrub, we tried to drop to the river, hoping for better sign and a loop back to the hut. But the country only got worse. Slow going. Two hours for a single kilometre. Progress became no progress. We surrendered to the terrain and retreated for a late lunch.

Afternoon Session — East to the Mohaka River. Fed and caffeinated, we headed east towards the river. Again, not much sign. Wrong place, wrong time — or simply a block where animals moved differently. The Mohaka River lifted the spirits. We watched Whio (native blue duck)weave through the cold, clear water and reminded ourselves that being out here — really out here — is the whole point. Back at the hut for another brew, hail started to fall while the sun lingered, painting the block in surreal colours. As it cleared, we laced up again and explored the track behind the hut — west. Private huts don’t have DOC intention books, and while that makes sense logistically, you do miss out on the intel left by previous wanderers. Instead, people leave carvings and etchings — paleo-style graffiti. The track climbed sharply. Old electrical tape markers clung to branches, faded with time. The instant reward was in the views — valleys opening beneath us, the airstrip and hut shrinking, sunset colours spilling over distant Poronui Station…..just then something big crashed through the thick scrub beside the narrow trail. We froze. There are deer here. And… yep, we just spooked one. Up here, there’s no way to hunt quietly — deer would hear you miles off. Darkness chased us back to the hut, this time with a spark of curiosity. There wereeee animals around.

DAY 3 — Friday 15 August 2025

We woke to ice and a jaw-dropping frost: –9°C. Winter perfection.

The clearest skies all week. Today was our big day — an adventure loop via Mangaroa Stream to the old biv at bush line, then up the ridge toward the high point of the block, eventually navigating back to the hut. Unsure if the circuit had ever really been done. For us, missions like this are nostalgic. More “adventure first, hunting second.” But hunting is a skill you only sharpen by doing. And today, we wanted both. Layered up Two pairs of pants, two sets of gloves, buffs, gaiters — the lot.

Gourmet lunch, snacks and the Jetboil in the pack. Excitement through the roof. The morning was stunning. The track followed above the stream and into the catchment, winding gently until the bush thickened. Hearing the soft trickle of water below us, we instinctively slipped into stalking mode. Fresh sign appeared. No wind. Everything was aligning. Then: the clearing. The “front lawn” of the old biv. The Bivvy Weathered. Open. Two bunks. A hut only the hardiest would choose to stay in — exactly the type of place with character stitched into its bones. We ate an early lunch in the sun, stripping off layers. From here, we were all-in on hunting mode. And it was clear why the bivvy was built where it was: grassy clearings, beech forest, open stream edges, big hills — a deer paradise. Then — crash! Splash! Something bolted along the river rocks right beside us. A sigh escaped both of us. Probably winded us. From then on, we were silent. Ghosts. For hours we moved like shadows, climbing steadily up the ridge, deeper into mature beech. We hit 1000m without realising — the day was so still and blue you couldn’t feel the altitude. Then a loud territorial call shattered the quiet — only 100m away. I hit the ground. Chris froze ahead of me. He later told me he’d seen the stag. The animal bolted but stopped to call again — seemingly talking to another stag. For 20 minutes they vocalised back and forth before disappearing. A very cool encounter — unusual for August. Less aggression than the roar, more like two deer trying to reunite. High Point Reward We continued on to our high point and were rewarded with an unbelievable afternoon tea spot — a clay outcrop with steep drop-offs on every side. Jetboil on. Silence, sun, views forever. It felt like we might be the only two humans ever to sit there. But the day wasn’t over. A big descent and climb remained. The downhill was hectic — wet, slippery, unseen by sun. Ferns, debris, steep terrain. Uphill was hand-over-hand, Fiordland-style grunt work. No trails. No animal tracks. Just the path of least resistance. Eventually, a faded strip of pink electrical tape appeared — a blessed sign of marked route. We knew this was the beginning of “home territory.” We fist-pumped — again. Circuit complete. Hut-bound, nearly dark, fire glowing. A day of highs, lows, and everything in between. These are the missions that stay with you.

DAY 4 — Saturday 16 August 2025

Only –4°C this morning. Low cloud settled into the valley. A slow start — yesterday’s mission had taken its toll. Two coffees and one of Noose’s (The husbands nickname) special bacon sandwiches later, we reluctantly committed to a “chilled walk.” Wrong. Our bodies protested as the climb began. We burnt layers faster than expected and soon reached yesterday’s intersection. One last attempt at spotting a deer — we stalked upwards, back into thick, unrelenting terrain. Breaking foliage, crawling on animal-sized tunnels, doing our best to maintain patience. The goal: lunch on the high point.

We reached a precarious rock formation — the outcrop that had caught our eye since Day 1 — scrambled up, and perched ourselves to feast. Smoked salmon, sheep’s cheese, crackers, coffee. Warm sun. A snoozy sort of peace. We earned this. Descending was a “just get it done” mission. Back at the hut, we enjoyed our first non–bush-bashing afternoon. We debated finishing the block by navigating another section home, but lack of supplies — and uncertainty — made the decision easy. I tucked into writing the story of our honeymoon hunt-turned-honeymoon adventure. Evening brought one last hikoi, just in case something would reveal itself. Sika 1 — Us 0. This time. Dinner was gourmet — steak, mash, salad, brie, and tomato-fig paste. Honestly? I could get used to this. No deer taken, but plenty gained: encounters, lessons, highs, lows, views, memories. If you head into Mangaroa Block — go straight to the biv. Park up there.

DAY 5 — Sunday 17 August 2025

Temperature: 10°C Weather: Rain Time: 12pm Chopper departure: 2 hours ago, three coffees, three games of Last Card, one game of chess, nail cutting, eyebrow plucking, and one Sudoku later… Here we are. Rain arrived at 9pm last night and hasn’t let up. Low cloud. Warmish temps. We’re held hostage for a fifth day at Mangaroa Hut. People crave this kind of forced pause… until it actually happens. Then it becomes a waiting game. A coiled spring. Ears pricked for anything that sounds remotely like a Hughes 500. We’re fully packed. The hut is cleaner than we found it. Hours pass, snug against the cold, flicking through hunting mags, and putting pen to paper. If this is the last line, it means we made it out

— farewelling Kaweka once again…

until the next adventure.