Travel - A Cascading Lunch

Feasting on French cheese and crusty white baguettes after abseiling down a 150-metre waterfall in New Caledonia. by Sue Farley
The idea of going canyoning had conjured up disturbing images of long rope drops over the side of huge caverns, water pouring from above in harsh torrents, and being immobilised by falling rocks. Reality had proven that the word was far more daunting than the deed.

Mt Koghi rises from the sub-tropical coastal plains on southern Grande Terre, New Caledonia’s largest island, and is a place where the peaks often lie shrouded in cloud and misty rain and the rainforest is lush and wet. The capital city, Noumea, was just a haze in the distance as we set off from the auberge, or lodge, high on the side of the mountain.

We headed out with Cyrille Huruguen who runs Cagou Trek, an adventure company operating from Mt Koghi, a half hour drive from the city ... and six guys from the French Foreign Legion, in New Caledonia for wilderness training. It was a 40-minute walk through thick forest to the highest point of the day – the top of the first cascade. The rest of the day would be spent sliding and bouncing down the five waterfalls below us, a combined height of 150 metres. And at some point we had to eat – but where?

Having gone over the edge of the first cascade there was no way out but down, so we learnt quickly. The principles of canyoning are the same as abseiling, except standard gear is a 5mm wetsuit, a hard hat, heavy shoes, and a very waterproof pack. Otherwise, it was lean back, brake hard, and don’t look down.

“The first cascade is an easy one,” Cyrille had said with a smile. Only 25 metres, not too slippery, with plenty of footholds.” From the top it looked a long way down, with a deep dark pool at the bottom, and a lot of hard, shiny rock and falling water in between. “One step at a time, that’s all it takes.” As I neared the bottom Cyrille shouted up, “Just a big push off the wall, let the rope go, and hold your breath when you hit the water!”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I thought, and blindly did it. Just a quick splash across the pool, my wetsuit keeping me buoyant, and I was there – child’s play really.

The next cascade was a lot higher, 40 metres, straight down, and slippery. To reach it, we abseiled down a rock face above the main waterfall. The adrenalin came hard and fast, but apart from a few slippery crashes against the rock wall, there were no problems coming down this one either.

With the intense concentration needed to come down these waterfalls, it was easy to forget how beautiful the surroundings were – dense, dripping rainforest towering over us, glossy ferns and lichens covering the rocks, tiny alpine plants clinging in steep clusters to the side of the mountain. It was raining all day, but that didn’t seem to matter as we were, after all, climbing down waterfalls.

And then there was lunch. Although New Caledonia is deep in the South Pacific, on a similar latitude to Brisbane and Rio de Janiero, there is still a strong French influence in its food and culture. Increasingly the native Kanak foods and people are featuring on a daily basis, but for us, climbing with a Frenchman (by heritage) the food was definitely French South Pacific style.

Having been wet now for several hours, a flat white and a hot croissant were high on my wish-list. And as we sat in the deep shade at the base of the third cascade, with water thundering around us and a fine spray filling the cavern, Cyrille produced a tiny gas cooker and went to work.

From deep in his pack (which had just dropped down 65 metres of rushing water) he brought out bread, cheese, and freshly ground coffee. Soon we were sipping hot fresh coffee, the steam rising in front of our faces and warming our cold noses. There was light, crusty French bread, cut from the long loaf, and thick slices of fine, white French cheese cut with a bush knife. We couldn’t have eaten better in a sidewalk café down at sea level in Noumea.

The next two cascades were steep, both with a gnarly start; but warmed and refreshed from lunch, we were ready to go. Straight over the edge here, with an overhang, so no footholds but plenty of water coming down on top. A couple of swings across on the rope to get footholds, a sharp bend to the right, lean back more (tricky bit here), and then the wall smoothed out and the rest of the drop was easier.

The experience had been a real crowd-pleaser. Excitement levels were through the roof, but danger levels were conveniently low. Ten of us had gone mad in the New Caledonian bush and come back without death or injury. We arrived at the lodge wet, hungry, and buzzing with the intimacy of shared experience. We sat around the open fire sipping more hot coffee and continuing the rope dangling conversations into the early evening.