My Most Challenging Hikes (when I was just beginning): Three Passes & the Moonlight–Croesus Track

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  Swingbridge on Three Passes

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  Ces Clarke Hut

Every tramper has a story—or two—that leave a mark. The kinds of trips that challenge you deeply, humble you, and transform you. For me, those hikes are the Moonlight–Croesus Track and the legendary Three Passes Route. These aren’t just hard walks; they are defining chapters in my tramping journey. They taught me the skills, the resilience, and the self-reliance that I carry with me on every track today.

Below is the story of how both of these routes pushed me to my limits, and the lessons they left imprinted on me forever.

🌿 Moonlight & Croesus Track

Where it all began… and nearly came undone.

Before the Paparoa Track was even a concept, the area was known for the rugged and historic Moonlight and Croesus Track, winding its way through goldmining relics, narrow valleys, and the famous Ces Clarke Hut.

I had just moved to Ashburton and joined the Methven and Districts (MAD) Tramping Club. This would be my first overnight trip with them—still new to tramping, and even greener when it came to South Island backcountry. I barely knew the group, and everything about the trip felt new and a bit intimidating.

A rustic beginning

We left Ashburton on a Friday afternoon, heading to Blackball for the night. Staying at the “Formerly Blackball Hilton” was an experience in itself—a quirky, rustic pub with shared facilities upstairs. It was unlike anything I had stayed in before, but dinner and banter that night helped me get to know the others.

Into the valley

The next morning, after some confusion finding the track start (including driving down a farm driveway to ask for directions), we were off. Our driver headed separately to Smoke-ho car park to walk up to Ces Clarke Hut, where we’d meet him that night.

The Moonlight Track was rich in history with relics scattered along the valley floor. The track climbed gradually until Nelson Creek, where the valley narrowed and the true ascent began. We climbed toward the Meikles Hut site, then zig-zagged up toward the tussock tops.

Lost in the mist

By now, the weather had fully clagged in. The tops were swallowed by low cloud, the ground trail faded, and marker poles were spaced uncomfortably far apart. Soon we were wandering off-course, unable to see more than a few metres ahead.

That sinking feeling—Are we lost? Are we going to have to spend the night out here?—settled into my chest. We had no tents, no emergency shelters. I was inexperienced and deeply unprepared for this scenario. The thought of being stuck on the tops, exposed and cold, terrified me.

At a rocky outcrop, a couple of the experienced club members pulled out paper maps and an old-school GPS (back when phones didn’t have topo apps). Luckily, waypoints had been entered beforehand. After some tense navigation, they determined we only needed to drop off the rocks and walk another 10–20 metres—and suddenly we were standing on the Croesus Track heading directly for Ces Clarke Hut.

I’ve never felt more relief than I did in that moment.

We reached the hut around 9pm—cold, wet, mentally drained, and grateful to be standing inside four solid walls.

Why it was one of my toughest hikes

• I had zero preparation for emergencies

• I had done no research or map study

• I relied completely on the group, rather than myself

• I was an inexperienced, novice tramper thrown into a genuine situation

This trip taught me that safety in the mountains is everyone’s responsibility. Since then, I’ve completed the Paparoa Track twice—and each time I’ve looked over those same tussock ridges, remembering how easily things can turn.

The Moonlight Track still exists, though overshadowed now by its Great Walk sibling. But its lessons have never left me.

⛰️ Three Passes Route

A rite of passage for South Island trampers—and a turning point for me.

This was one of my first true multi-day trips with the tramping club, attempted just after Christmas. The route spans from the Waimakariri Valley to the Styx, crossing Harman Pass, Whitehorn Pass, and Browning Pass—three significant alpine passes that demand fitness, skill, and grit.

We dropped vehicles at the West Coast end before Christmas. After the holiday break, another club member dropped us off at Bealey Bridge to begin the east–west traverse.

Into the Waimakariri

The walk to Carrington Hut was familiar and easy enough, but from there the real adventure began. We crossed the White River—a relief, since I had almost no river crossing skills—and continued up the narrowing Tipoiti Stream toward Harman Pass.

A near miss

About halfway up the gorge, a slip had to be negotiated. One of our party climbed it directly, dislodging huge boulders that crashed down, hitting a pack and striking someone’s leg. It was a terrifying moment—a stark reminder of how quickly things can go wrong.

We camped near Harman Pass that night, exhausted.

Whitehorn Pass—first time on ice

The next day was my introduction to ice axes, instep crampons, and step-cutting. The buckle on my instep crampons kept slipping loose, frustrating me with every step. The climb was tiring, but the descent into Cronin Stream was even more challenging—route finding through sparse markers and faint ground trails.

By Park Morpeth Hut I was spent. The hut was full, and rather than squeeze in a remaining bunk, I pitched the tent in the rain—grateful for some quiet.

The hardest day: Browning Pass

The next morning delivered drizzle, low cloud, and the steepest climb of the whole trip.

The zig-zag up the tussock was manageable enough, but above that the old pack track turned into an almost vertical slope of loose, wet scree. I’d never been on terrain like that before. Everyone passed me, and suddenly I was alone—terrified of slipping. I cried as I climbed, dragging myself upward.

Seeing that orange triangle at the top felt like salvation.

But the day wasn’t done. The descent was slick and treacherous. I slipped on a wet rock and tore open my knee. Blood ran down my leg; we patched it quickly and continued, because we had no choice.

Pushing well past empty

We crossed the infamous ladder-and-swingbridge section toward Styx Saddle, then dropped to Grassy Flat Hut. It was 1pm and I was completely done. My knee throbbed, my energy was gone, and mentally I had shut down.

But the group wanted to continue—so on we went.

Those final hours down the Styx broke me in a way I didn’t realise until much later. Track washouts, slippery roots, multiple falls, and finally a deep, fast river crossing with no support.

When I reached the car, it felt like collapsing after a marathon I wasn’t trained for.

Why this was one of my toughest hikes

• My first genuinely remote, multi-day alpine route

• My introduction to real route-finding

• My worst hiking injury to date (a torn patellar, later requiring surgery)

• The mental and physical exhaustion was overwhelming

• I felt abandoned and unsupported by my companions

But this was also the trip that forged my resilience. It taught me self-reliance, navigation, boundaries, and respect for my own limits. And despite everything—I would do it again, with the right weather and far better companions.

Final Thoughts

Both the Moonlight–Croesus Track and the Three Passes challenged me in ways I didn’t expect. They humbled me, scared me, and taught me invaluable lessons about preparation, navigation, communication, and inner strength.

These trips are etched into my tramping story not because they were perfect—but because they weren’t. They showed me who I was as a tramper then, and who I could become.

And that’s the beauty of the backcountry: it teaches, it tests, and it transforms.

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