Holdsworth Creek - A First Descent

Photo: Dave Leppard.

It's been a good few years since I first read an account of a tramping trip in to see a large waterfall, high on the flanks of Mt Holdsworth in the mighty Tararua Range. Hidden away in the headwaters of Holdsworth Creek, is a sheer wall of greywacke where the crystal flow tumbles to the valley floor. These falls are referred to, in the few records that can be found, as Channel Falls or McGregor Falls. Teams going in from the bottom had been thwarted from accessing the base of these falls by a narrow canyon with a series of cascades which guard the approach, having to sidle high to the true right of the creek to view them. While trampers going in from the top have peered over the lofty edge, unable to glimpse the bottom. 

     McGregor/Channel Falls, centre map

Knowing that there are very few parts of this range that haven't been explored by Maori or subsequently Europeans, the idea of descending into this inaccessible section has long fascinated me and been tucked away at the back of my mind, waiting for the right set of circumstances. With a promising weather system in early autumn 2022 and three good keen mates, these circumstances conspired to make it happen. 

Friday after work, Dave Leppard, Lee Den Haan, Kyle Malone, and myself jumped into a car loaded with a ton of rope, webbing and neoprene. A chilly night spent fly camping at the Holdsworth campsite and an early alarm had us up on the tops around sunrise. The weather could only be described as stunning, with a very gentle breeze and not a cloud in the sky. The sleepy Wairarapa plains lay under a blanket of fog far below us and delicate tendrils of mist hung in the valleys.

      Daybreak over Wairarapa

Sidling down through the wet tussock into the upper Holdsworth catchment, with a bush bash through a narrow band of leatherwood and a pretty section of mossy goblin forest, put us into the creek a few hundred metres above the falls. We boulder hopped our way down and soon the roar of water rose, until we rounded a bend to find an impressive horizon line, as the flow disappeared into the abyss.

                         Dropping in

Various accounts from trampers had estimated the drop at anything from 30 to 45 metres, so having found a solid tree to anchor us, Lee tossed over 50m of rope. A wee clamber out to the left shoulder gave me a view to the bottom section of the falls, showing that the rope reached to where the face disappeared over a final overhang. Whether the rope made it the final 5 or so metres to the bottom pool was anyone's guess. 

It was decided that Dave was to be our guinea pig (thanks Dave!) and I'd keep "eyes on" so that when he got to the last overhang he could sight whether the rope reached the pool and signal up to me if he required more to be payed out. Kudos must go to our rope technician Lee now, as the length was bang on, a testament to his experience. 

                                  Lee mid-rappel, McGregor/Channel Falls

It was a glorious, lofty rappel, with a short drop into a water-hollowed bowl to negotiate at the top, and then into a near vertical moss covered face, with a chute worn smooth by centuries of water. It was surreal to think that no-one had ever seen it up close like this and the privilege was not taken for granted. Landing in the pool at the bottom, in the warm morning sun, under a shower of mountain filtered water and surrounded by a lush basin of native plants, the sense of elation was immense. There were hugs all around when we were all safely down, the grins said it all. 

After retrieving our rope, a short scramble down stream revealed why no-one had made it into the base of the falls. With the solid rock walls closing in on us from either side we found ourselves locked into a canyon and a series of four compulsory rappels were necessary to continue our downwards journey through this rugged wonderland. Here the moss grew thick as no sun penetrated the deep walls of the gorge and we worked to stay warm with the stop, start of rigging anchors and getting the team down each rope. The last abseil was my favorite, negotiating a broad rock face, covered in moss, into an intermediate pool and then down into the boulder strewn creek, all in a giant green amphitheater.  

                          Final abseil

From here the ropes were bagged and shouldered, a comment from Lee, permanent grin on face, sticking with me… "You can see it trying really hard to be a canyon still, but all the rock is falling apart into boulders." And he was bang on the money, as while the travel was still very rough, this was as far as the tramping parties of the past had made it before being forced into a high sidle. We were back onto travelled ground.

                         Confluence of the upper branches

The next kilometer took close to an hour but we dropped elevation quickly. It was gnarly terrain with an endless array of slippery boulders and ancient logs, a fun challenge with the weight of wet ropes hanging from our packs. The terrain then started to open up and we could hop up onto the river terraces, following intermittent game trails through the lush bush, occasionally crossing the creek as bluffs dictated. Finally, after a scramble up onto a spur to the true left, we met our first track for hours, and followed the East Holdsworth Track down to its termination at the gentle gravel of the Atiwhakatu Track. 

                         Creek bashing

It was a crackup walking out in our wetsuits, helmets and harnesses, to meet family groups walking into the hut. The odd looks were deserved, and priceless. Closing the loop at the carpark was a special moment. Gear strewn everywhere, four mates, warm embraces, memories made, priceless.

                                    Job done

Quite often, when you have thought about an adventure for a long, long time, the reality doesn't quite live up to the dream. This was not the case with Holdsworth Creek. What we thought might just be a one hit wonder was anything but and certainly over delivered. I've spent a lot of time in these beautiful mountains and have always been aware of their rich history and other feet leading before me. It's nice to think that ours might have been the first, in this little pocket of the range…

Tim Sutton March 2022