The Two Mile Hut Hike Near Queenstown is Tougher Than It Looks

Explorer Lachlan ventured into the New Zealand backcountry to uncover Two Mile Hut, a secluded stone retreat overlooking Lake Wakatipu. Hidden amongst towering peaks, reaching the hut involved a wild, Tolkien-esque adventure, just a stone’s throw from Queenstown.

High above the waters of Lake Wakatipu sits the most captivating backcountry hut in New Zealand. This humble stone hut sits high in the Remarkables Conservation Area, perched in an alpine basin beneath towering 2000ers and razor-edged ridgelines. It stands as a gateway to The Remarkables and the Hector Mountains; a manifestation of the rugged and wild soul of the New Zealand backcountry, not even 15 minutes from Queenstown.

When I first heard of Two Mile Hut, I was instantly intrigued.

Information was scarce; I could find a total of eight images online, there were no marked tracks to the hut, and its ‘About’ section on the Department of Conservation website boasted a mighty nine words.

Albeit, it showed on every map.

1460m above sea level and surrounded by a ring of dense contour lines.

I was on the hunt for my first 2000ers in the most scenic, immersive, and badass way possible. And Two Mile Hut looked perfect: immersed in the mountains, close yet isolated, and pulled straight from The Lord of the Rings. I could hike up, explore, bag some summits, and hike down.

With that intricate plan now in place, it was time to pursue my peaks. Eight summits, three days, two nights.

It wasn’t a small undertaking by any means

No Car No Problem

In possession of no transport better than my own two feet, the trailhead was a bus trip followed by an 8km road hike. So when the day came, I was off before dawn.

In a few hours, the hike to the hike was defeated and I was off.

Could all hikes start this beautifully? Thanks

Luxuries Upon Luxuries

Ascending through the ever-thinning thickets, I now encountered my first issue.

This issue concerns the usefulness of a fireplace that’s half a kilometre above the nearest tree. So, ‘How does one make a fire?’ you ask:

‘Don’t?’

Not a fan.

‘Burn the tussocks?’

If desperate, or to get it started.

‘Bring some firewood?’

Unfortunately, bingo.

As close to the treeline as possible, I collected wood and strapped it to my pack. Now with a centre of gravity high enough for a two-knot breeze to topple me and as loaded as a workhorse, I continued.

Why am I doing this to myself?

In situations like this – heavily-laden, legs and lungs abused – I often find myself enveloped in one question: why am I doing this to myself?

After 1200m of ascent over 6km, this question would be answered the moment I laid eyes on Two Mile Hut…

Which only came after a moment of panic.

Where on Earth is it?

Entering the basin, I failed to see the hut. I saw the path of the creek and the boulders scattered to its sides, but no hut.

After eons of anxious surveying, I spotted one barely distinguishable, iron-roofed rock…

Two Mile Hut!

Blended into the boulders, it sat comfortably into its surroundings, unexpectedly camouflaged.

If I told you to imagine a mountain hut, this is what you would conjure. It sat by a gentle stream, the rims of the basin circling overhead, specked with soaring summits.

The walls were made of stone from the mountain, topped with a rusted corrugated-iron roof that barely evaded the tall tussocks. The face of the hut bore a wooden door nearly big enough for a person and with a creak fit for a horror film.

But I’d arrived! Stage one complete

Stepping inside was stepping into the past, channelling Shackleton in the most ornate way possible. Rusted cans and dusty liquor bottles lined the ledge beside the fireplace, the walls and wooden beams riddled with antlers.

In all senses it was fancifully wild and rugged; unlike anything I’d ever encountered.

I happily unburdened myself of my firewood

After setting up at the hut, it was time…

My first 2000er.

New Milestones

If I headed south, I could ascend the ridge to a camel-humped peak, with summits at 2,035m and 2,098m – a 5km round-trip that could bring my next milestone. And it went just so – the ascents were constant, but my pace progressively soared as the tussocks thinned.

One hour and 500m of ascent later, I was standing on the summit of my first 2000er. Despite a face undoubtedly the colour of the approaching sunset, I felt elated and energised.

Was I rewarded with a view?

Not one bit – I was shrouded by cloud, yet still intensely proud.

Although no monumental feat, my past attempts had been foiled by flooding, storms, and blizzards, but had all now culminated into this present moment and the joy I felt.

The point is, I got there

Soon enough though, my eyes were already seeking the higher peaks tomorrow would bring.

As I descended the visibility grew, revealing beams of sunset and clouds snaking through the cols. Sheep roamed far below, contrasting the grey slopes with flocks of white dots. The scale of it was profound.

Back at the hut, I treated myself to cheese and half-crushed crackers, a hearty fire, and an early bed to prepare for tomorrow.

Plans and Improv

The plan was this: ascend the basin to a saddle in the north, bag a 1,846m summit to the west and return to the saddle, follow the ridge east and ascend the basin capturing its high points, then separate northeast until swinging south to attack Ben Nevis (2,234m) and company.

I would tick off six summits and five over 2000m.

It would be a fight against the clock, and within-character, I would find myself off to the worst start imaginable. After an accidental sleep-in (likely from my dusk-to-dawn war with the local rodent), I set off far behind schedule.

Nine hours of usable daylight remained. Operating by my 60-40 rule (60% of time given to ascent and 40% to descent), I had to turn back by 3pm to avoid descending in the dark.

I set alarms on my watch; one for 3pm and one as a 30-minute warning before.

Now time-bound, I discarded the first summit (Pt 1846) and ascended the eastern highpoints of the basin (Pt 2075 and Pt 2098). These came easily. The summits offered looming views of the valley and Two Mile Hut, but I had to refuse any more than a moment of respite and push on northeast.

From the ridgeline, hundreds of peaks presented a horizon-to-horizon spectacle – no trees or grasses; just grey scree slopes and snow-scattered promontories piercing the sky, dotted with bright blue tarns.

It was like being on another planet, I assume

However, my eyes spent their time fastened to my feet. Although the ridges were broad and relatively safe, the scree was precarious and would give with each step. Cautiously, I continued.

Lunch was by a frozen tarn with a clear view of my next two targets, the aptly named Pt 2127 and behind it, Ben Nevis.

These would be my two biggest peaks.

Pt 2127 was straightforward, and after a moment to look at the fresh views to the north and to celebrate my new highest summit, my watch vibrated.

Well, Shit

30 minutes until I needed to turn around, and the summit scramble was easily double that. The ridgeline was thin and undulating; climbing up and over one point only to drop steeply and impassably before the next. To either side was steep scree. Climbing solo, it was a risk I couldn’t justify.

The best alternative would be to backtrack to Pt 2127, descend north to steady ground, and then sidle, bypassing the ridge and ascending Ben Nevis from the other side. But this would take even longer than the direct route.

This is where discipline had to kick in.

It could be done, but hours from now I’d be clambering along the earlier terrain with only a headlamp to help – a sure recipe for regret.

Forced to choose between Ben Nevis or a safe descent, it was non-negotiable.

So, I sat on Pt 2127, admiring the view and pondering the destructiveness of sleep-ins until my watch vibrated once more.

It’d definitely take longer than 30 minutes

I retraced my steps and watched the sun sink and turn crimson as I once again laid eyes on Two Mile Hut. I couldn’t be disappointed in myself when I’d climbed six of the eight summits I’d intended. Notably, all above 2,000m – something which the day prior had only lived in my imagination.

Every ounce of this effort made fire and bed that night even more rewarding.

Leaving Two Mile Hut

The following day, the relaxed return trip came full circle with the road hike and bus to finish. Glancing out of the bus window at The Remarkables, I could see the camel-humped peak hanging high in the background; my first 2,000ers. It would continue to be a focal point for me and a reminder of an exceptional trip to one of the most exceptional huts in New Zealand.

I have a feeling I’ll be back someday

It was an ode to the area’s history and the stories of pioneers from times past. Physically and mentally challenging but subsequently liberating and elating – every second of warmth from the firewood was worth ten-fold the pain of carrying it; and every rush of reaching the summit worth ten-fold the flush of adrenaline and heart rate.

Discipline, fortitude, and hard-earned reward – it highlighted the qualities quintessential to hiking. And for this reason, Two Mile Hut remains to be a pure embodiment of the soul of the New Zealand backcountry in the most fancifully wild, rugged, and Tolkien-esque way imaginable.

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