Our secret valley
Date: 18 Nov 2003, The Press, Christchurch, page B5
Caption(s): Cold light of day: overnight, Pat Barrett and his daughter Anna-Marie's verdant spot by the lake (below right) became a snow-laden campsite (above right).

Promising his little daughter a springtime journey to a `secret' location, PAT BARRETT takes Anna-Marie deep into mountainous West Coast bush.

FACT FILE Duffy Creek and track are approximately 5km west of the Rahu Saddle on SH7 between Springs Junction and Reefton. The track (signposted) starts at the western end of the Tobins Bridge over Duffy Creek and is easy to miss in the dense forest. Space for one car is available beside the bridge, but it is better to leave your car at a hidden side road about 200m further west, on the left. An unmarked route exists beyond the lake through the bush to the saddle at the valley head and open tops. This is for experienced parties only. Time: Clearing from road: 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Return: 1 1/2 hours. Grading: easy to moderate. Map: L31.

I had been talking about the "secret valley" to my daughter Anna-Marie, aged five, for weeks.

This is not its real name, but it is a special hidden valley I knew which I'd renamed to gain her interest in visiting. It worked. She wouldn't stop asking when we would go to the "secret valley", what we would take, and what we would find there. The stage was set; all we needed was a free weekend and fine weather.

It was early spring when we set out, walking hand-in-hand along the road that cuts down through mature red beech forest beside the Inangahua River on SH7. We had arranged a free weekend for dad and daughter but the weather, well, that was another story altogether. Spring storms were predicted in eastern areas, but I hoped we might avoid these as we were far to the west.

Entering the deep-green corridor that climbs slowly toward our "secret valley", I indicate to Anna-Marie the fresh snow to the tops sparkling under the wan sunlight.

"Gee, let's go, Dad," she says, pretending to shiver under her parka and warm hat.

I am not so sure the weather will hold, so we push on through the dense forest and its understorey of broad-leaf shrubs and grasses.

Ascending steadily over swampy sections and bouldery steps beside the river, where it cascades over rock and windfall, we reach a dry watercourse and pause to consider our progress. Anna-Marie finds the travel wearying. I am concerned about the time and my underestimation of how tough a West Coast track - even a short one - can be on little bodies.

Yet, we are both still smiling, and the thought of a snug camp in the upper valley beside its small lake draws us on.

Huge rocks, festooned with ferns, supporting quite large beech trees lie scattered along the upper end of the track, and we carefully negotiate the track which passes around and over them to gain the final easy trail to the lakeside clearing.

The sun is out when we arrive and we spend a few enjoyable moments resting, photographing our achievement, and searching for a campsite. The backdrop to our camp is striking. The narrowing valley head climbs in a series of short bush and tussock steps to a bare ridgetop above sheer vegetated walls, reminiscent of Fiordland - the "secret valley" at last.

As evening drifts into the canyon, southerly squalls, which have been skimming the distant valleys, swoop into our retreat amid a dramatic display of cloud, and rattle the tent with rain and hail. We hunker down inside, feeling rather vulnerable beside the open lake as darkness falls and the haunting call of paradise ducks rings out across the water.

I am woken during the night by the intense cold, and tuck Anna-Marie well down into her bag, guessing that her wish for snow has become a reality.

Morning reveals a thin covering of white over mountain, bush, and tent, and a glassy lake where the paradise ducks call in the stillness. We have time to relax, enjoy the beauty around us, to breakfast, read, and reflect on our adventure as we await the sun.

Our secret valley is a timeless place where kaka and parakeet call from the forest trees and the world beyond is distant.

The warmth of mid-morning sunshine coaxes us from the tent and we pack and laugh at the rigours of the cold night, now almost forgotten under the banner of blue sky and cotton clouds.

On the outward journey there is time to stop and observe the array of ferns, mosses, and lichen covering every available surface, much of it dripping wet from the night's rain.

As I carry Anna-Marie over the last few swampy sections the swoosh of cars intrudes from the nearby highway and we leave the embrace of the forest for the road.

Anna-Marie is elated and skips along beside me as we walk back to the car, her tiredness forgotten as we chat on the wonder, togetherness, and seclusion of our "secret valley".