Back to the Northlands

We drove through beautiful pastoral land on our way from Christchurch up towards Kaikoura where we planned to spend the night. The purple light lengthened the shadows of the world around us and I daydreamed while Iain drove. It was long past dark when we pulled into Kaikoura. We both had the itch to keep driving, so after a quick dinner at Subway we hit the highway again looking for a free rest area to camp for the night.

The road was full of curves and sharp bends, one side was a rock wall and the other the pounding ocean surf. Huge semi-trucks with double and triple trailers would scream past our little van like banshees in the night. I was very relieved when we pulled off the highway into a semi sheltered picnic area beside the beach.

The night was pitch black, pierced occasionally by the headlights of a passing motorist. What we couldn't see we could hear; the screaming of a gull colony on the rocks, the rhythmic pounding of the surf and the occasional grunt and splash of a nearby fur seal. I stepped outside the van to brush my teeth and could swear there was a fur seal grunting in the sea grass next to us...I didn't leave the van again that night! We fell asleep enjoying the tranquility of a remote beach side bed.

We started the next day slowly, feeling no need to rush as our ferry wasn't until 10pm the next day. We drank our coffee sitting behind the van, soaking up the view of what we had only heard the previous night. The coastline was jagged with huge shards of rocks emerging from the sea, frothy white waves smashing them over and over again. Stone that was below the water line was smooth, worn down over time by the relentless sea. There was abundant sea life, oystercatchers, shags, herons and a variety of gulls perched on exposed rocks or bobbed on the waves while sea lions lolled on the rocks soaking up the sunshine. With all the wave action, beach combing absorbed me for at least an hour, finding paua shells, periwinkles and a myriad of others.

Eventually we repacked the van and headed on towards Picton, our departure point for the Interislander ferry to Wellington. It was drizzly and grey as we navigated the corkscrew road which made it more difficult for Iain but didn't diminish the scenery watching for me. What a stunning coastline! We passed fur seal colonies and rocky beaches, surf spots and scenic view points.

We arrived in Picton and split up to do some shopping, there were a number of cute little tourist shops with unique items and I enjoyed poking around for a few hours. Iain rented us a room in a downtown hotel and we spent the remainder of the day relaxing and exploring the tiny town. We found a wonderful Irish pub where we enjoyed a few pints before dinner then called it a night.

Our last day in Picton was beautifully sunny but dreadfully windy. The wind howled into town off the water all day making sitting outside to enjoy the sunshine almost impossible. We did a little more shopping but I spent the remainder of our time reading in the van while Iain went to a movie in the grand Picton Theater. It was nice to get on the ferry that night.

We once again experienced a night sailing - one day I would like to see the crossing between the North and South Islands, but the dark of night fit our budget. We got on and quickly snagged the cushioned bench seats beating the other inexperienced van-folk! The crossing was rough, very, very rough as the wind and waves pounded us for 3 hours. We each managed to get a little sleep enroute but I was looking forward to parking that night.

When we finally docked in Wellington it was with great relief that we disembarked. We headed back to our old home in Balena Bay in the suburbs outside Wellington but the wind was howling so badly that the van was rocking, the windows shuddering and every crack in the vehicle was emitting a discordant whistle. I asked Iain if we could find somewhere else and we managed to find a quieter spot along the road into town. We gratefully sank into bed and slept like the dead.

Christchurch and baby Téa

We enjoyed a few days in Christchurch before we headed north to Picton to catch the ferry back to the North Island. After a restful sleep in Sumner we headed to the library next to Sheena and Joel's to catch up on some email, while I worked on the blog Iain went next door to meet the new addition to their family - Téa.

Téa had been born ten days previously while Iain and I were on Stewart Island. We had hoped to meet her before we left New Zealand and we weren't disappointed, she is beautiful! We were invited to stay for dinner that night and to be honest neither Iain nor I wanted to let Téa go. We each had a chance to hold her, she was so tiny, barely a handful in Iain's arms. The new parents were radiant and exhausted but the family looked beautiful together.

We parked the van in the driveway for a few nights and enjoyed the hospitality of the Nordman clan while we did some touristy things in Christchurch. We headed to the weekend market in Cathedral Square where Iain picked up a few souvenirs then we wandered past the river Avon to poke around in the artisans market. We checked out some sheepskin stores and focused our time on finding souvenirs and visiting.

Our last day in Christchurch Sheena and Joel took us to an outdoor climbing wall on the edge of the city, a place we had visited before. Sheena had Téa all bundled up on her chest as we made the short hike into the wall and I imagined the many adventures in store for her in the future. Sheena's mom accompanied us to give climbing a try and proved to be an excellent beginner! Iain, Joel and I each climbed two routes, and while I am very rusty I truly enjoyed the challenge.

Leaving Sheena, Joel and Téa was very difficult for Iain and I. Their home had been opened up to us and had become our home in New Zealand. We knew it was the end of our time on the South Island which had been utterly magical for the both of us. It was a mixture of excitement and sadness that filled my heart as we hugged Sheena and Joel goodbye. Excitement because we were off to explore unseen territory and sadness because it may be years before we see each other in person again.

We drove out of Christchurch towards Picton for the last time in 2010 on a warm but cloudy afternoon. There was still so much to see!

The rest of the South Island

The next few days passed in a blur of driving. When we left Luggate Iain had been having problems with one of his eyes but he didn’t realize how bad it was until we were on the road. He had apparently walked into a tree with his eyes open during the night and we figured he’d scratched his cornea. We wanted to make it to the coast but when we found a hotel in Haast we had to pull over. The mindless TV (all FOUR channels!) was exactly what we needed, Iain doctored his eye and I slurped back ginger tea for the rest of the evening.

The next day Iain’s eye was much better so we moved on up the coast and made a short stop at Fox Glacier. Fox Glacier is one of two world renowned glaciers in New Zealand; the other is Franz Joseph Glacier. On the drive up to the ice fields there were signs indicating the year the ice was at that exact point. In the 1940’s the ice had been almost at the highway, it appears to have receded a dramatic distance. The parking lot was full of buses and camper vans and throngs of people taking the short hike to see the ice. The river bed was almost a kilometer across and right next to the parking lot. It was full of rounded gravel and debris from the glacier. We could see the effect of the ice on the sheer rock cliffs on the far side of the river bed. Iain was itching to climb them, but the piles of shattered rock at the base of the cliff put me off.

We followed the well worn path along the river bed and up to the viewing point. I’ll confess I was more interested in the rock fragments along the path than the piles of ice at our destination. After spending years watching mini glaciers form and recede at Diavik and in the canyons in Norman Wells I was under-whelmed by the ice. It was a unique experience to be so close to a mammoth glacier, to hear the ice calving as it melted and to see the river rushing out from its belly. But I found it less amazing than the break-up of the Mackenzie River. We took a few photos, laughed at the hazard signs and watched a guy hike off the ice and back to the trail head where we were. I was amazed that someone could wander around so blithely in an area where tourists are killed every year by falling ice. I was more astounded when I realized he had been out there with his headphones on. Shaking my head, I headed back to the van. We decided not to do the long drive up to Franz Joseph and pushed on up the coast.

Our destination was the small town of Hokitika. Hokitika is geared entirely towards selling pounamu (New Zealand jade). There are at least ten stores selling jade jewelry and sculpture and many of them had work shops where we could watch the pounamu craftsman at work. I was on a mission to find a unique necklace to take home as a souvenir and I dragged Iain through every store to find the perfect stone. Iain had a better eye than me; he found me a beautiful pendant of deep green pounamu that was unlike anything else we had seen. It was perfect.

We didn’t spend too long in Hokitika, we wanted to find a cheap campsite for the night. The highway took us inland and up towards Arthur’s Pass. Iain was adamant that I see the pass, it was our last chance to see Kea parrots and the highway through the mountains was an exceptional sight.
The drive reminded me of heading into Banff from Calgary. Rugged mountains, sandy grey scree slopes, coarse yellowed grasses and stunted trees, a dusting of snow near the peaks. The afternoon light gave everything a steel-blue tone in the shadows of the mountains. I watched the scenery pass by outside the windows expecting to be spit out into the praries at any moment. Iain and I hadn’t had to use the heater very often but I was grateful for the warmth on my feet as we climbed higher and higher towards the pass.

We were finally driving above the tree line, up a causeway that crossed the pass itself. We pulled off the highway to a lookout point, where we could see back down the valley we had so recently climbed up. As we pulled into the parking area there was a Kea pulling sentry duty on the welcoming sign. This was the bird I had waited so long to see!

When I was very young a friend of my aunts had brought my brother and I each a book from New Zealand. Adam’s book was about the yellow crested penguins and mine was all about the Cheeky Kea parrots. I’ve never forgotten the book or my desire to see one of the birds up close. I was thrilled to see one so quickly upon our arrival in Arthurs Pass! As soon as we stopped the van two of the bold birds fluttered up to the guardrails where we had parked. They eyed us up for a few minutes then launched their sneaky attack on our poor vehicle! They work in teams of two or three, while one bird is entertaining you the other one or two will be sneaking around back to rip and tear at anything made of rubber or plastic. Our mirrors, tires, rubber window seals, antenna were all fair game! One of them noticed a shoelace dangling down from the sliding door and spent a good ten minutes wrestling with it!

Kea are alpine parrots, they are quite large with iridescent sage green plumage. They have intelligent eyes and sharp, hooked beaks that wreak havoc with camping gear and vehicles alike. We only spent a half hour watching three parrots entertain the travelers in the parking area, then the howling winds became too cold and we had to head off. The Kea lived up to ever expectation I had of them and while I would have loved to watch them for days I’m sure amusement would quickly turn to exasperation when the van was chewed to shreds!

We drove down through the town of Arthur’s Pass and out of the park until we came to a DOC campsite at Lake Pearson. The site was beautiful, situated on a large lake that was home to multitudes of ducks, geese, swans and other migratory birds. We arrived at dusk and found a quiet grassy corner to watch the stars come out. It was cold when we arrived and the night continued to get colder. I wrapped myself up in our two sleeping bags while we were cooking dinner and we pulled out all our wool and fleece clothing to wear to bed. We could see our breath in the van that night and it seemed to take hours to warm up. I was very, very grateful for all the Mont Bell gear Andrew had given us, without it we would’ve been two popsicles the next morning.

The day dawned overcast but warm and we lay around in bed reading until it started to drizzle. We thought about spending another night at Lake Pearson but after the cold night before and the dreary weather we headed down the road again. We were also tired of being accosted by silly stalking ducks. All morning they would slowly waddle towards Iain and when they reached him they would start quacking away, begging like puppies. We would shoo them back to the water, but within the hour they would be back. Obviously they were used to getting scraps.

On the way out of the mountains we pulled in at a ‘point of interest’ Cave Stream park. The area was mostly limestone and the rock was riddled with caves. Cave Stream was just what the name implies – a box cave with a stream running through it. During the dry season it is possible to walk upstream through the cave, all you need is a flashlight and a desire to explore.

It was spitting with rain and cool outside when we pulled into the parking lot. I was really wishy-washy about going through the cave system, but Iain had done it a few years previously and really enjoyed it. After taking a short walk around we decided to grab our flashlights, put on some wetsuit gear and give it a try. We saw a youth group heading down in spelunking gear so I figured if it was safe enough for kids it would be safe enough for us!

The water was nearly waist deep when we entered the cave; we could hear the laughter and catcalls from the boys ahead of us as we splashed through the cold water. The mouth of the cave was fairly wide with smooth undulating sides worn away by the rushing water. Soon enough we were in complete darkness with the cold humidity surrounding us and the water sucking at our feet. The cave was quite narrow in sections and we frequently had to climb up between rounded boulders, against the current, gaining elevation in the heart of the hillside. About halfway through the hike I realized I was more claustrophobic than I thought. We had passed the school group and the only thing I could hear was the splashing water and our footsteps. At times the current seemed to speed up and my imagination ran rampant. When we finally came to the exit I was quite happy to see the sunlight and while I was glad I had gone through the cave I was not eager to do any spelunking in the future.

We dried off, and drove off, deciding to head all the way to Christchurch for a burger (they have GLUTEN FREE burgers in this country!!!) and some time at our favorite free camping spot. We made one more quick stop at Castle Rock to check out the funky rock formations but it was too late in the day to do any climbing.

Burgers, beer and sleeping with the waves crashing behind us on Sumner beach brought us full circle. It felt like we had come home.

Ludicrous Luggate

The drive from the fiordlands to Queenstown was a blur to me. I remember eating a lot of ginger candies and staring blindly at passing fields. Iain reminded me that we stopped for a snack at a café/art gallery at a highway junction in the middle of sheep fields. My first view of Queenstown was from across the Lake Wakatipu. Queenstown is the ‘adventure capital’ of New Zealand and a favorite location for backpacker and travelers. The town is the hub for all kinds of water, land and air adventures and looking over at it I could understand why.

The country surrounding Queensland was very reminiscent of Osoyoos and Kelowna, with dry scrubby terrain, huge rock walls of beautiful gneiss and schist formations and long, clear blue lakes. We could see jet boats and windsurfers on the water and the large rock outcrops where there was world-class climbing.

We drove into town, past all the resort hotels and luxury condo’s on the waterfront and into the small downtown. We took one look at the excess of neon lights, the throngs of 20-somethings and turned the van around to head back out of town. We tried a few hotels on our way out but everything was expensive and grotesquely tacky. It took us less than ten seconds to decide to push on to Wanaka.

Wanaka is a beautiful town on the end of Lake Wanaka, it is also an adventure destination popular with backpackers but it has a distinctly mellower vibe than Queenstown. It was dark by the time we crossed the town limits and we were ready to spend the night at the first hotel we came across. Unfortunately we had poorly timed our arrival and every single hotel was booked up. It turns out there was a huge agricultural fair in Wanaka that weekend and we were out of luck for the next two days. Sigh. We knew we wanted to stay in the area so pushing on seemed silly. I remembered we had seen a hotel on the highway before the town limits so we turned around to find it.

We pulled up in front of the Luggate Hotel and Iain ran in to find out about a room. He came out shaking his head and looking bemused. It turns out the Luggate Hotel hasn’t been a hotel for 40 years, but since it has been called the Luggate Hotel since the 1800’s the fact they don’t have accommodation seemed insignificant. The bar manager was very friendly about it (apparently she gets asked about accommodation all the time) and recommended we pull in next door at the cricket pitch. We were too tired to ask about the wisdom of sleeping on a cricket pitch so we headed in, found a spot by the fence, pulled out the tent and set up our bed in a mouse-free environment.

We woke up to blue skies and hot sunshine and an odd caravan park set up on the edges of the Luggate cricket pitch. There were toilets, hot showers, laundry and lots of green grass all for $5 per person per night up to a maximum of $25 per week. I was a little disturbed by the number of families vacationing at the spot but I guess the price was right and it was an easy distance to Wanaka or Queenstown. Since we had been blessed with good weather we emptied the van and cleaned every box, bag, nook and cranny of the van. We found lots of proof that we’d had a rodent living with us but saw no sign it was still around. Iain figured we’d left our stow-away in Milford Sound and I hoped their trapping program was better than ours.

Chilling out in the sunshine in Luggate for one day turned into three days thanks to the law of inertia. We were definitely objects at rest! We caught up on our reading, rested our legs, did some more laundry and generally imitated sloths. We did venture into Wanaka to look around the town and we spent one afternoon in the AMAZING, STUPENDOUS, MIND BENDING, WORLD FAMOUS PUZZLING WORLD!

Yeah.

Iain had wanted to visit it the first time he’d been in Wanaka but had missed it, so we decided to explore it together. It had an interesting history; it was the first, largest non-hedge hedge maze in the world. The maze was constructed from wooden fencing and there were kilometers of dead ends, four towers, two bridges…I never finished it. The indoor center, which was built years after the maze, was dedicated to optical illusions. There was a room of holograms that moved, a room of three dimensional faces that seemed to follow you and a myriad of images on the walls to bend your mind. The crowning glory was the slanted room where water seemed to flow up hill and you could sit in a chair that gravity moved towards the ceiling. Just a cautionary note, optical illusions are very, very bad for people experiencing vertigo. I enjoyed the experience but never want to do it again!

Our only other excitement in Luggate was an evening at the Luggate Hotel. We headed over on our second night for one pint after dinner. The pub was less than five minutes walk from the cricket pitch which turned out to be very important later in the night. We headed over, grabbed a pint and sat outside in the soft evening light. The pub was beautiful with original hardwood floors and fieldstone hearth. The bar was well stocked with high quality spirits and wines as well as local and imported beers. Outside the patio wrapped around the building with cozy tables set up under heat lamps. We joined the bar manager at her table and chatted with her about the local area and the misnamed hotel.

As the hours went by one pint became rounds of pitchers and our cozy table of three became a party of eight as the bar shutdown and the rest of the waitstaff joined our table. We met a hilarious group of the local colorful characters and swapped stories about the trials of tourists, working in the hospitality industry and why ‘Ice Road Truckers’ is the worst thing to come out of Canada.

It was only midnight when the bar-maid (a fellow Canadian from Ontario) kicked everyone out and locked the doors. I was sure the stars shouldn’t be spinning quite so fast, but Iain assured me it was the road that was spinning – the stars were being still. I can only imagine the racket we made as we staggered across the cricket pitch to our van. Earlier in the evening a large hedgehog had gone snuffling past our chairs and we had managed to get up close to it and even pet it. We spotted the poor thing again when we stumbled to our camp and Iain decided it was time to become good friends with it. I couldn’t focus on the poor animal so I crawled into bed and promptly passed out. I only found out how close Iain had come to it when I looked at the photos the next day.

I woke up the next morning sure the mouse in the van had crawled into my mouth and had a fiesta while I was passed out. I reached over to see how Iain was but found empty space next to me. At first I was anxious, sure he had gone wandering during the night, then I spotted him curled up in the tent. Poor Iain had slept under a tarp on the hard ground. Neither of us moved far from the van that day and neither of us visited the pub again!

We left Luggate on the afternoon of day four. The rain had finally arrived and we felt the need to push on. We didn’t get to do the climbing we had hoped to try in Wanaka but we figured we’d have other opportunities.

Another World - Fiordland National Park

We left Invercargill with sunshine behind us and thunderclouds in front of us. The weather was boiling overhead and we were treated to pelting hail, howling wind gusts and lashing rain interspersed with weak sunlight peaking through the clouds. We wanted to cover a lot of ground but the van was being pushed all over the highway as we curved along the coast line. We stopped at a lookout point and watched the waves roaring towards us. Iain braved the elements outside the van and walked to the edge of the bluff, the wind was so strong he kept being buffeted back towards me. We took off just before the next squall hammered our van and thanked our decision to leave Stuart Island when we did. It would have been a very wet trail had we stayed.

We turned inland, heading north into the Fiordland and slowly the scenery changed around us. The pastures and farmland along the coast transitioned to rolling hills, then mountains with jagged peaks and impenetrable green forests. We didn’t stop driving until we reached the tourist town of Te Anau. The town was picturesque but definitely a hub for tour busses, it reminded me of Saltspring Island in July. We asked about accommodation at the I-site and spent an hour at the DOC office looking into hikes in the surrounding area then headed out of town to the Henry Creek campground on Lake Te Anau.

The camp ground was a long narrow stretch of forest on the edge of a vast freshwater lake with a flat pebble beach. We snagged a private campsite that backed right onto the lake shore. We had a spectacular view of the purple mountains across the blue-black water and enjoyed a bottle of champagne in the salmon pink evening light. The clouds had cleared off enough for us to enjoy a dramatic pink and gold sunset and we cooked our dinner under the brilliance of the stars as they emerged in the dusky light.

We thankfully crawled into our van that night having missed our cozy home while on the trail. Falling asleep that night wasn’t a problem, but we were both woken up during the night to the sounds of scratching under our heads. Iain heard the noise first, it was very quiet, but soon enough I heard the scratch, scratch, scratch as well. It appeared we had picked up a hitchhiker on our travels…we were not impressed! We couldn’t do anything about it in the middle of the night so we tried to get back to sleep, but we spent a restless night imagining a mouse living in our stuff.

The next morning we were up early and debating what to do. The day was overcast and threatening rain so pulling our gear out of the van to search for a rogue rodent didn’t seem wise. Since we would have to backtrack into town to find a hotel room we decided to do a daytrip to Milford Sound first and find a place to fumigate the van that night.

The drive up to Milford was one of the most magnificent trips I have ever taken. The highway was narrow, winding through steep mountains carved by the relentless progression of glaciers. The sheer, vertical walls of rock loomed overhead at dizzying heights. It was virtually impossible to get perspective in the bends and twists between chasm and cliff. The low clouds added to the mysterious and foreboding ambiance of the drive, keeping the mountain peaks out of view or laced with a grey and white miasma. We stopped to catch our breaths just before the entrance to the Homer Tunnel. There are supposed to be Kia parrots hanging around in the scree sloped valley, but they were absent that day. We did see the remnants of seasonal glaciers carved by narrow waterfalls that tumbled hundreds of feet to the piles of rocks below.

Homer Tunnel is a single lane tunnel that was blasted through the virgin rock between Mt. Belle and Mt. Talbot. The walls of the tunnel are bare rock with none of the modern stabilization techniques in evidence – no bolts, shotcrete, mesh or steel along the entire length. Having worked underground I found the experience of driving through the tunnel unnerving, but it was another aspect of the remarkable drive I wouldn’t give up.

We passed through the tunnel unscathed and continued through the ever steeper mountains. The drive was slow, filled with hair-pin curves and narrow views. The rock walls around us showed signs of weathering by wind and water and most sported veils of dripping green lichen. In the chasms below the native forest was lush and dense. The mist above us continued to rise and fall, looming like a living creature. When we finally arrived in the town of Milford Sound I found it anti-climactic, but still harshly beautiful.

My vertigo had been bothering me again so we only walked around the actual town for a short while. We spent a little time looking out into the sound from the harbour and I wished we could kayak out to St. Anne Point through Milford Sound itself. Unfortunately I didn’t think getting into a tiny boat when I had trouble walking would be a good idea! Soon after we arrived in the town we turned around to head back. I wasn’t upset because the drive was arguably the most spectacular part of visiting Milford.

On our way back out of town we stopped at a place called ‘The Chasm’. It was a short walk to a bend in a river where the water had worn through the softer sedimentary rock and created a smooth sided chasm. They had built a bridge over the powerful waterfall so people could see the remarkable sudden drop where the water seemed to disappear through the stone. The river edge was littered with enormous boulders and tree trunks that had been torn down during past flooding. The water whirled, churned and pounded through the rock creating swirls, pockets and tunnels through solid stone. It was mind bending to look at, the whole shape of the rock seemed to shift and change before our eyes. We got lost in the visual magic of the water, enjoying the rushing, elemental sounds from below and the forest all around us. We headed back to the van with regret; it was a wonderful place to get lost in.

Our return trip along highway 94 was no less magical than the drive in. I could enjoy the scenery as it passed, picking out certain mountains to focus on rather than attempting to see everything at once. The warm afternoon had lifted the clouds away from the peaks which somehow made the mountains smaller and less mysterious but no less fiercely beautiful. We emerged into the lowlands with increased speed and a feeling of lightness as if the majesty of the landscape had weighed on us physically.

We breezed through Te Anau without looking for a place to stay- we knew the prices would be sky high. We decided to use the rest of the daylight to push on to Queenstown where we hoped prices would be cheaper.

The Fastest Indian

Iain and I made it off the ferry into our van and into Invercargill in time to get a bed in a downtown hostel a few blocks from a much dreamed of Irish pub. We had almost been locked in the parking lot in Bluff when we couldn’t find our voucher, but the woman who was locking up took pity on us and for the price of 9 days parking set us free. We also lucked out at the hostel, the woman at the desk had just locked the door but we must have looked truly pitiful because she opened her door to give us a bed and a discount.

We hobbled the two blocks to the pub and were greeted by live music and a very lively after work crowd. We found a corner table and stared vacantly into space as we waited for a waitress to bring our beer. Iain’s first sip of the rich, dark Guinness transported him to a happier place for a few moments. Then we dug into our lamb dinners and relished every bite of fresh food. I was overcome by exhaustion as deep as my hunger had been and pulled Iain away from the pub after two pints. He was ready to party and all I wanted to do was sleep for days! I crashed and he went out for pizza but eventually sleep caught up with him too.

We were sore the next morning; my legs felt every step of the 23kms I’d walked the previous day. We wanted to hit the road fairly quickly so we were checked out and had the van repacked by 10am. Before we could leave though we had to go back to the local hardware store and see the Fastest Indian.

When Iain had first mentioned that he had seen the fastest Indian I thought he was making a very politically incorrect joke. I soon found out that the Fastest Indian was a motorcycle built by Burt Monro, a New Zealander. I may be the only person in this country who hasn’t seen the movie based on the story of the legendary bike! The original Indian and various other prototypes built by Burt Monro had been bought by the hardware store owner and placed around his store for display. It was an unusual combination of specialty museum and old fashioned D-I-Y hardware store. The owners, E. Hayes and Sons had branched out over the years; they started with the Fastest Indian and other antique motorcycles and incorporated antique chainsaws and lawnmowers. It was a fascinating place to waste time and we spent an hour reading up on the various bikes before we hit the road.

Stewart Island - The conclusion

We spent a restless night in Freshwater hut. Both of us were nervous about oversleeping and consequently not having enough time to hike the full distance to Halfmoon Bay. We were up early, but didn’t get on the trail until 8:30am which was 2 hours later than we had hoped. The DOC estimated 13 hours hiking time from Freshwater to Halfmoon Bay and we needed to be at the DOC office before they closed at 5pm. We had left a clean change of clothes, our cell phone and wallets in a locker at the DOC office but if we were late getting off the trail we would have to wait until 8am to get our gear. Between the prospect of a hot shower and hot food and the 5pm deadline we were very motivated to finish the hike.

The DOC told all prospective hikers that the hardest leg of the trip was the section between Freshwater hut and North Arm hut. The elevation gain was the same as all the previous hills but it was a long climb with a fairly steep descent. The section was also hiked by twice as many people as the rest of the circuit so the mud was deeper and the bad sections were longer and wider. When we hit the trail we noticed the mud got worse very quickly. DOC had put boardwalk in certain areas (a sure sign the trail was hiked by less experienced people more frequently) but they were made slippery and dangerous by the lichen, moss and muddy slime. Neither of us found the trail to be more difficult than previous sections; however we could understand why they would caution people. Day-trippers with little or no trail experience or low levels of physical fitness would find it overwhelming. As before, the root systems crossing the trail were treacherous; like eager fingers waiting to twist our ankles. Hidden hazards lay at the bottom of every muddy segment; our hiking poles were a God-send. The most difficult aspect of the trail that day was the speed we were hiking. We stopped just short of jogging, but blazed along as fast as our eyes could identify danger and our feet could dance over the terrain.

The hike from Freshwater to North Arm hut was 11kms and took us five hours. The scenery had been dull compared to the sweeping vistas we had enjoyed for the past 6 days. We had moved inland away from the coast and were now hiking around the North Arm of Paterson Inlet. The water was brownish grey, full of the red soil and yellow sand prevalent in the area. The forest was dense and primordial with moss coated limbs dripping towards the water. We rarely stopped to take in the scenery, but we were under-whelmed when we did. The one point of interest was a small waterfall trickling down a series of flat rock slabs. We stopped to refill our water bottles and catch our breaths and it was the one time I stopped to look past the end of my toes.

About one kilometer before we reached the North Arm hut we reached the end of the Northern Circuit trek and moved onto the Rakiura Track, one of the Great Walks. The change in trails was marked by a small sign and the appearance of almost constant boardwalk. We were climbing wooden stairs instead of root ladders and walking over the worst of the mud instead of through it. We figured Iain would have a much better chance of making it to town before 5pm than I would as his stride is longer, so I kept going at my top speed and watched him disappear down the track ahead.

The next few hours passed in a blur. I remember seeing signs appear telling me how many kilometers I had left to hike and I remember my knees and feet being painful then numb and then painful again. I passed three different couples as I rushed along, each pair looking clean and cheerful, one woman with makeup on, hair done and perfume lingering in the forest. Each time I passed people I became aware of my own unwashed body and the odor trailing along behind me. I would grin at the people and they would smile and move as far out of my way as the boardwalk allowed.

I had no idea how much time had passed since Iain and I split up on the trail. I was sure I was moving quickly but I couldn’t see the sun and had no watch. I kept myself motivated with the thought of clean clothes and potato chips. I decided that the boardwalk was much more boring than the flat section between Mason’s Bay and Freshwater. I’m sure it had its own appeal, but compared to the raw, rugged terrain we had seen in the more remote areas, it was plain and dreary. The forest had been logged within the last 50 years so the trees were small and there was either no underbrush or it was so dense there was nothing to see except a wall of dirty brown shrubs. We had moved further inland away from North Arm so there were no water views to look forward to and even the birdlife which had sustained me during harder sections was absent in the higher traffic area.

Eventually I stumbled upon the trail entrance, just two kilometers from the town center. I spotted a small creek where I stopped for a few precious minutes to wipe some mud off my lower body. Within minutes of hitting the chip-seal road I was wishing I was back in the bush again…locals must be used to seeing hikers come off the trail but they still gave me odd side-long glances as I poled my muddy bulk past their houses. All of the businesses were still open when I made it to the town center, and I spotted Iain sitting on a bench on the waterfront drinking a beer. I staggered up to him dropping my bag in the grass and using some very foul language expressed how happy I was to be done the trail. It turned out that Iain had covered the last 12kms in 2 hours and I had finished them in 2hours 50minutes, it was just 3:50pm! We were very proud of ourselves and very, very, very tired.

We sat in the sunshine for 20 minutes or so, enjoying a drink and the feeling of being in civilization again. We decided to head back to the van in Bluff that night as we had made it to Halfmoon Bay so early. We staggered our jelly-like limbs the 200m to the wharf, purchased our tickets, dumped our backpacks and headed back into town to find somewhere to have a shower. We were told the Backpacker’s would sell shower time to hikers, so we crossed our fingers and limped over. The manager of the hostel was an interesting character; a German posing as a Maori channeling Seinfeld and after regaling us with his ‘humor’ gave us towels and hot showers for $5.00 each. The shower was worth every cent; I would have paid $50 for the pleasure of clean hair and shaved armpits! Once we were clean we decided we needed food, we didn’t think we would leave the pub if we went in so we got a delicious and nutritious lunch of potato chips, ginger beer and fresh juice from the grocery store. We sat by the water and hoovered back two bags of chips while we waited for the ferry, we didn’t say much, we were enjoying the success of completing the Northern Circuit.

Our ferry ride back to Bluff was much less dramatic than our first crossing. The sky was clear with brilliant golden sunshine glinting off the whitecaps. The swell was still massive, but the waves were regular, rhythmic and enjoyable. I could actually see the birds soaring over the breakers; the giant albatross would dip and wheel between the wave troughs skimming up and over the crests with consummate grace. The smaller Mutton Birds would make shorter, darting motions between the larger birds in a chaotic ballet a hand-span above the waves. I relaxed back into my seat, letting my body unwind and resting the muscles in my legs and feet. The ferry was a peaceful transition from the calm regimen of the trail to the hustle and bustle of traveling.