Helz Adventures

The hut/s sits at about 920 metres , just below Big Ben high point which is at 1115 metres. This is Bivvy-like building with two slabs with mattresses, new fireplace, sink, taps, running water.

The water is hooked up to a spring in the hill, seems to have solar panel plus batteries, wiring all through, didn’t use, not sure on working order, cali-phant hooked up, again unsure if it works. The living area is a risen area up from the cooker and bench , floor needing some attention and piles showing their wear and tear but all adds to the character of the place .Another building boasts two bunk beds, sleeping an additional four people, helipad directly in front of the hut, the toilet is a flush toilet ! Yes you read that right .There is an outdoor sink which is also plumbed, a meat safe, works but is in its last legs. This place has been well used

Monday, the hustle.

Monday morning started in the dark, with a looming deadline of 3.30pm to make the heli-hangar in Taupō.

We spend no time hustling the kids to school here at home in Whangārei. The ute is packed with the usual apparel and goodies in order to fully enjoy four days in the bush.

The summer craziness is digging its claws in as we drive away from responsibility and the hustle of life, in search of the simple solitude of a hut in the wilderness. With cooler mornings, the feijoas on the trees, there’s an exciting nostalgia that comes with the promise of autumn.

Change.

With the promise of a new season upon us, yes, but a different kind of change.

We know that this could be the last opportunity to head again into the Kaweka, and it could be for some time. Change of a different kind is approaching us.

Today I am 28 weeks pregnant and very much feeling all that comes with that.

I am in the last trimester and pushing the boundaries of what I’m capable of at this point, but nonetheless taking my fat ass into the hills to chase that feeling one last time before life levels up.

Arriving at 3pm sharp, we don’t relax just yet. Noticing an already chocker car park, we think, This can’t be all hunters?

This early and on a Monday?

Sure enough, it seems that in the last week of February, antlers are already being chased.

A little early for what would be called the roar, but the thought of getting in early to acquire the trophies and/or meat brings in the numbers. Understandably, a great weather window tempts most nature lovers as well.

Catching up with the guys at the hangar, we share stories of the characters Chris and I have had the pleasure of sitting down with over the past month — hearing the stories and histories, the facts, the myths, and always some great humour coming through in the banter from those who frequented these hills before us.

We waste no time loading the Hughes 500. This time I am shotgun!

A day like today — a bluebird sky — who couldn’t enjoy a heli flight in? Knowing it will be our last for some time, I am making the most of the short flight into Big Ben Block.

We land right in front of the hut, on a small clearing below. Always a treat.

Waving goodbye to Dan, our pilot, all of a sudden there’s that silence that wraps around you, like nature giving you one big hug.

Welcome back.

Each hut is so very different, and Big Ben has its own personality. An odd design, but functional and quirky. Plumbed taps inside and outside. A flush toilet — well, I never.

That is a nice change from the expected long drop.

An additional cabin sleeps four more, while the main quarters are more like a bivvy with two beds, a new fireplace and what seems like a solar system — unsure if it works.

Old pictures on the wall suggest that this place has been loved and looked after. Old snowfalls, the old hut, funny backcountry pictures and quotes make this hut feel inviting and special.

A tidy wee place with all the things you could expect in a private hut.

For Chris and me, this is luxurious.

A book dating back to 2004 provides great reading material on the families who used this place until 2023. Reading through it confirms this has been a haven for animals past and present.

Some well-cut tracks beg us to explore the land, so an afternoon stalk is a must. We head out for three hours until we lose our shooting light.

It wasn’t all unsuccessful.

South-west of the hut, tracks lead through some low-lying grassy scrub, fern and some unfriendly gorse. Plenty of sign — fresh too — which is a good start.

Planting ourselves on a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley of clearings, the hot February sun beats down on us.

It was a relief when it finally dipped behind the surrounding rock formations, like giants keeping a watchful eye.

As dusk was fast approaching, Chris spots a hind and fawn transitioning between cover — an omen.

The start of a great trip.

Tuesday, 24 February

The light stirs us through the clear-light ceiling after a comfy sleep in the sleeping bag, which can be hit or miss in these huts.

The thought of coffee has us up and, of course, bacon and eggs. We are out the door at eight o’clock, summit-bound for Big Ben, with hunting during the ascent.

The day is promising another hot one. A light breeze lures you into a false sense that it could be cold.

That was definitely not the case.

We follow an obvious track cut south-west, then in a northern direction behind the hut.

It slowly becomes less obvious and, at times, tedious, but following our noses up to the tops presents some neat clearings and sneak-peek views of the expansive hills.

As we come to a clearing full of tussock, Chris spots a bird.

“Look at the size of that,” he says.

On closer inspection, I think, Is that a peacock?

It can’t be.

But it is a massive bird, almost child-sized, and then the giant bird spreads its wings. They seem as big as an albatross!

We confirm it’s most definitely some kind of hawk breed or hawk-like bird, but we’re unsure exactly what it is.

We look at each other.

Maybe the Haast does live on.

It isn’t long before we spook a stag who squeals at us from the thick scrub. There wasn’t a chance we were going to sneak up on him, but it’s still good to have an animal encounter.

There is plenty of sign up here.

After what seems like an age following animal tracks, clawing our way through and picking off the nettle that seems to be everywhere in this block — I mean everywhere — the bush lawyer is prevalent too.

We make it to the top of Big Ben’s high point at 1,115 metres, and this does not disappoint.

Stunning views of the tops, valleys and ridges below.

Today, the tops of Ruapehu and Ngāuruhoe can be seen, as well as Kaweka J and the wind turbines you see as you enter Hawke’s Bay on State Highway 5, the Napier–Taupō Road.

The familiar blocks of Mangaroa, Earnies, Footyfield and Te Matai seem like distant relatives, casting their familiar outlines towards us.

Deciding it’s too hot to stop at the top, we descend over the north-east side in search of beech forest and shade.

Here, we are relieved to find an obvious route down, which has us thinking that maybe this is the preferred route.

Just as we are thinking that, the track disappears.

It doesn’t matter to us because we have entered a beautiful beech forest — open, easy walking and much, much cooler.

We fall into hunting mode, as if we both feel the change in opportunity.

We descend for quite some time, slow as we go. The forest floor is so dry that the dead beech leaves crunch underneath our feet like cornflakes.

So loud underfoot.

We aren’t hopeful. If there are deer nearby, they will certainly hear us.

Something catches my eye below the ridge we are on.

Was it a bird?

No. Something bigger.

It flickers into my eyesight again.

Hmm, strange. Was it a rabbit with floppy ears?

“Odd,” I whisper.

Not likely to be a rabbit out here.

I whisper to Chris, “Come back to me ever so slowly.”

Totally unsure of what I am seeing, Chris confirms with elation in his voice:

“It’s an animal. It’s a big bloody animal.”

Looking through the binos confirms a huge sika deer.

A spiker is bedded down, enjoying the sun and chewing its cud, not at all bothered by us, only 42 metres away.

The wind is easterly and very much in our favour.

We watch this young animal, with his red back, black line and white spots, for about 10 minutes before he gets up slowly and walks away.

How cool was that?!

Leaving him feels right. He could grow into an amazing animal, and hopefully good karma will find us on a later expedition.

It was so cool to watch this beautiful animal in his natural habitat.

We continue walking down the ridge, with the goal of eventually turning west in order to make a loop back to the hut.

As we come down into a catchment area, so does that spiker, who seems to have walked in the same direction.

Only 10 feet away, Chris and the spiker surprise each other.

The spiker squeals and hightails it out of there.

I let out a mew and move to sit, to see if we can entice him back out to play.

Would you believe it — to our surprise, a stag responds.

I let out another mew.

Again, the stag responds.

This goes on for about five minutes, and we’re expecting the spiker to reappear.

Instead, a good-looking six-pointer Jap steps out from across the catchment, some 30 yards away, with a hind by his side.

We can’t quite believe it.

We had called in a stag by accident.

Chris lines up a shot and, as I mew one last time, the stag — obviously still in velvet — steps out.

Bang!

But it is not the stag that drops.

The hind is dead on her feet and falls slowly into the catchment.

Mr Six Points is gone like the wind.

Meat on the deck, and only 1pm.

We are stoked.

That’s hunting!

I’m on lunch.

Jetboil. A pack of Real Meals, rehydrated.

Chris makes quick work of the animal in an awkward area but processes as much meat as he can.

Heart and lungs in the nearby shrub to thank the land and pay respect to the animal.

Packed up, and we’re away again.

The day is now at its warmest.

Approaching a lovely 23 degrees, but at this altitude and with no wind, it feels more like 28.

It’s now, as we hike back up these steep ridges, trying to avoid the thick, uninviting scrub line, that I feel the day’s effort.

Currently at seven hours on my feet, I’m reminded by the baby girl kicking away that I’m lugging around more than just myself.

We eventually make a loop back, hitting a formed track, which took some savvy navigating.

It could be easy to follow the wrong ridge here, or bluff or gully yourself as well.

As we descend onto the hut, we spook yet another animal.

Trying the same trick as last time, my mew isn’t going to fool this hind, who barks at Chris in plain sight and disappears.

4.30pm.

We reach the hut.

What an adventure we just had.

The satisfaction of the day and the backcountry tops — our cups are full.

I wake at 5.30pm.

Yes, I fell asleep as soon as we returned.

Chris is readying himself for an evening look off that rocky outcrop from yesterday. He is eager for the awesome day not to end.

I enjoy the novelty of lighting the fire and making dinner.

A good cup of tea, and pen goes to paper.

Chris returns just after dark with a mix of emotions — elation and excitement, but also a tone of disappointment, like a missed opportunity.

“Babe! I saw the biggest animal I’ve seen out here in the wild. At least six points! Massive head. Huge sika stag. Unreal, babe, but… but,” he says, “it’s in full velvet.”

Chris proceeds to tell me how magnificent this animal was, and all he could do was admire him, dreaming of a time when they could meet again.

Wednesday, 25 February

The husband heads out for an early look as I am on breakfast duty. The body is feeling the big days, but I’m still eager to get out for another look today. We enjoy leftover venison mince from the previous hunt on toast and a good brew is not a bad way to start the day. On later inspection, I notice I have singed a hole in my hunting shirt! Well, actually, it is the husband’s because I can’t fit anything else. I burnt this hole because my belly was sticking out over the stove burner! Haha — what a problem to have.

A slower start to the day. A recce to find an old track proves frustrating. Overgrown with thick scrub, gorse and nettle. We change our route choice and head back up into the tops, into the lovely beech forest.

Today is a stark contrast compared with yesterday. Not in the weather — we have another cracker of a day. In fact, it is probably hotter — but there is a major lack of animal activity. Not one spook. No squeals. Nothing. Up and down ridges, sneaking as quietly as one can. Some awesome country you could imagine would be deer heaven, but not a lot of sign. We return to the preferred route to Big Ben, marked by the little pink tape. I lie down under the trees. 2.30pm sees me almost asleep.

We decide, after almost five hours and a tonne of climbing, that we’ll head back for a late lunch and wait until dusk. At 6pm, we head out to Noose’s Rock (I’ve named it after the husband’s nickname because he loves the outlook across the valley)The sun is again beating down and almost unbearable. We sit and glass the valley and, to Chris’s delight, out pops this huge animal, his coat is unmissable against the contrasting green.

Chris was not wrong. This is an impressive stag!. His antlers are not yet fully hardened.

We count six points, but it’s hard to tell exactly under the velvet. They are wide, and one could only imagine what they could grow to be if he makes it through the next hunting season. Fat and happy, this guy grazes across the face only 160 metres away. Every now and then, he scratches himself on the gorse. We watch him over the next hour or so, hoping he might have some mates with him. Again, the sun dips behind the rock boulders.The relief of the cooler temperature is nice, but the chances of acquiring an animal — a hardened stag — are slipping away by the minute.

Back at base, we reflect on an awesome trip.We read through the old hunting mags dating back to the late ’70s, as well as finding a Big Ben book dating back to the ’80s.

How bloody special.

There’s that familiar sadness that visits about this time every trip. Departure tomorrow. Back to the real world. For now, sleep.

Thursday, 26 February

The alarm goes at 6am. Still dark outside. Chris heads off in search of one last hurrah.

I enjoy a coffee and some writing from my sleeping bag. Boil enough water to do the dishes. Boil the jaw to see if that makes cleaning it easier. The sun is rising on what looks like yet another stunning day. The trip went too fast. I guess planning the next one is the only way to keep the spirits up.

We are so grateful for the heli flights in and the folk we’ve come to meet through the passion of learning about these lands.

How does the next chapter look?

Well, we aren’t sure.

What I can tell you is that the adventure doesn’t end here.

Big Ben Block.

Named “The Hilton” by the people who made this place. You’ve been great.

We know you have more secrets than we managed to uncover this trip.