For years, this little-known backcountry trail deep in the Southern Alps was a quiet favourite among hunters, climbers and seasoned trampers.
Now, it’s disappeared — not physically, but cartographically.
Without public notice or explanation, the trail has been quietly removed from all official DOC maps, online databases and tramping apps.
And in nearby towns, the whispers have started again. Because for those who live closest to the bushline, the disappearance of the track isn’t just bureaucratic — it’s something darker.
The track that no longer exists
Known informally as Rauhaka Pass Route, the track connected a steep alpine saddle between two valleys near the edge of Mount Aspiring National Park. Never part of the Great Walk network, it was unmarked but traceable — a tough but rewarding climb used mainly by experienced locals.
But sometime in late 2024, trampers noticed the route had vanished from DOC’s online track finder, from LINZ topographic maps, and even from third-party GPS apps like AllTrails.
The old cairns are still there, and faint trail signs remain if you know where to look — but officially, it no longer exists.
“We were told not to go back”
Locals in the nearby settlement of Makarora say the track has long had a reputation.
“We used to go in there as kids. Camp overnight. But it always felt wrong after dark,” says Rangi, who grew up in the region. “One time, something screamed from the trees. Not a bird. Not a deer. Something else.”
Over the years, there have been scattered reports of:
- Campers waking to find their gear moved — or stones placed around their tent
- Sudden, dense fog appearing without warning — even on clear days
- Unexplained footsteps around huts at night, always just outside torchlight range
- A growing number of hikers claiming to hear whispers near the saddle, especially when walking alone
While none of this ever made the official incident logs, local hut wardens began quietly warning trampers to avoid the pass altogether.
DOC’s response? Silence
Attempts to contact the Department of Conservation about the removal of the trail have been met with standard responses:
“That route is no longer maintained or recommended due to safety concerns.”
When asked for specifics — slips, flooding, erosion — DOC declined to comment further.
One internal source, speaking off the record, hinted there was “pressure from iwi and staff” to quietly phase out access to the area.
A place best left alone?
While some believe the trail was simply removed for safety and liability reasons, others say it’s part of a long-standing understanding:
This is a place you don’t talk about. You don’t promote it. And you don’t sleep there.
Local iwi have never issued a formal rāhui, but some kaumātua have acknowledged that the area is tapu — sacred, and possibly dangerous to outsiders.
Even seasoned climbers now avoid it.
“It’s not worth it,” one guide said. “There are other routes. Ones that don’t watch you back.”
Not everything should be mapped
In an era where every corner of Aotearoa is being geotagged, photographed, and turned into Instagram content, the quiet erasure of this track is a rare act of restraint.
No headlines. No closure signs. Just silence — and the slow return of the bush.
Because maybe this track was never meant to be walked in the first place.
