Natural breaks

Days 102-108, Methven to Takapō

Kia ora e tāngata mā,

As one would expect, I’m learning a lot about a lot of things through walking the length of Aptearoa. This last section, however, has felt like a particularly steep learning curve for me. I’m taking in more of both the wonderful energy of nature and the things my body is teaching me about pain and rest. In the last week, I’ve learnt not to underestimate the power of a rest day and the time it takes for bodies to heal and grow.

I’m also understanding how the systems within our natural environment work together: the wind, the snow, the rivers, the land. I’m learning about the ways we humans attempt to fit in to these landscapes which we are inherently part of, yet at the same time rarely wait for us or our needs. Best of all, I love that I’m not learning about this through a book or theory. I’m learning through watching and experiencing.

In the spirit of learning, I’ll share with you my favourite fact I’ve learnt (which I admittedly did read about): Takapō/Lake Tekapo’s milky blue colour comes from the silt, or ‘glacial flour’ as its sometimes called, trapped in the water from when it formed 17,000 years ago during the ice age.

DAY 102 - Methven to Comyns Hut (15km)

The natural world is tumultuous, isn’t it. This morning we learnt of the earthquakes by the Kermadec Islands and tsunami warnings. My aroha goes out everyone who was affected by the shakes and evacuations - that must have been a stressful time on top of all that’s going on. It is a strange dynamic, emerging from my little bubble of remoteness and disconnect to this type of news. It could happen anywhere in the country.

Like the day before, today was another funny day time-wise. Our walking day was relatively short (I realise how strange it is to say that 15km is short) so there was no rush to start. I was getting a ride to the trailhead with Esther’s friend which left me with the morning to explore Methven’s lively cafe scene. Methven has a decent selection of cafes—including the Topp Twins’ cafe, Topp Country—so I was spoilt for choice.

After dropping my bag at the iSite (so I didn’t knock everyone over on the street), I went to a cafe called Alpine Grind for both breakfast and lunch, sandwiched between Primo Cafe for a second coffee. Both had more than one token vegan option which I was pleased about, considering small towns are sometimes stereotyped as not being vegan-friendly. Maybe two coffees was a mistake - I hadn’t been that buzzy in months, and hoped it wouldn’t keep me up all night.

With my snack bag stocked up, I met Esther and her friend who drove us to the trail head, along the milky braids of the Rakaia river. On the way, I heard Esther and her friend talking about trans health; it turns out her friend is a researcher in trans health who’s part of a study about trans people’s mental health! Esther remarked how ‘classic New Zealand’ this was, the minimal degrees of separation.

The trail followed an old 4WD track through parched farmland and wound gently up to Turton’s Saddle via a rare zigzagging switchback track. The impressive views behind us were tainted by the gloomy wild weather clouds creeping closere; it was only a matter of time before the night rain would set in. In the meantime, the only slight challenge nature immediately threw at us was the gale force winds which whipped my raincoat at my face. Because of the wind’s direction, going up the switchback brought either a brutal headwind or helpful tailwind. You can’t win, can you.

The track was so smooth, so runnable that I even tried running some of the track downhill with my bumbling pack on. It sort of failed. As I approached the first hut, the dot I spotted in the distance soon became intelligible as a hunter and his dog. He was having a chat to a northbound walker who had been having a rest day in the neat A-frame hut, which sadly wasn’t our destination for the day. The hunter continued onwards to Comyns Hut, the tin shack we’d also be staying in. I had a brief chat to the NOBO walker, exchanged tips for our next sections, and then followed the hunter’s footsteps down to the valley floor where the hut lay, exposed to the roaring westerlies that were picking up.

As we descended to the hut, the rain clouds finally began to catch us up. It’s hard to escape the elements out here. There were a few hairy moments when the gusts picked me up mid-step and placed me onto the other side of the trail. That, and the horizontal rain, made getting to the hut even more of an achievement and relief.

Comyns Hut is rustic, dim, and the interior is decked out with copious amounts of chicken wire and metal framing. Two bunks were already taken when I got there: one by the hunter, and one by his timid but sweet dog, Jock (don’t tell DOC). The hunter’s name was Garry, and he was spending a few weeks walking in the hills with his pup and living off the meat they could catch. Though it’s still jarring for a sheltered little vegan like me, I’m slowly getting used to the presence of a gun in the backcountry.

I would come to question my selfless gesture of sleeping on the top bunk (to accommodate Jock’s comfort) many times during the night as the relentless rain and wind pelted against the wall against which I lay. I felt like a sleep-deprived baked bean rattling around in a tin can.

DAY 103 - Comyns Hut to Mānuka Hut (22km)

I don’t think I’ve ever felt as much dread waking up before as this morning. The rain had not subsided after doing an all-nighter, and today was the Looming Day of River Crossings, Part 2. In fact, word had it on the trail that we’d be crossing the West Branch of the Ashburton River, then Round Hill Creek, approximately 54 times. I would have considered having a rest day if it weren’t for three key things: 1. We had a deadline for our shuttle around the Rangitata River in the coming days, 2. More rain was forecast for the next day, and 3. Staying an extra day or two in this hut was not the most appealing thought.

Once the clouds eventually cleared, I was amazed—but not surprised—to see that snow had settled on the peaks above the hut. Esther and I decided to stick together for the morning to support each other on the river crossings, should they be crossable. We followed the first two markers over the hill, down to the river bed. From here, we couldn’t see any more markers but had read in the notes that this section was unmarked. The river was flowing fast and we could just make out the rocky bottom. Holding on to each other with poles in hand, we steadied ourselves and made it across the icy water.

As well as that our feet were now ice boxes, something else didn’t feel quite right. From memory we were supposed to be going upstream, but we were currently following the river downwards. It turns out we were following the wrong branch of the river. Lucky we started early! So back we went, up to the hut, to re-set and start the day again.

The rough energy of the river bounced off the walls of the shady river valley, as we crossed whenever we couldn’t sidle the bank any longer. Getting into a rhythm of crossing was easy, but there was no room to be complacent in the company of these mighty awa: we assessed our safest path, clanked arms, then talked through our steps out loud as an act of resssurance. Apart from a couple of slippery moments where we almost lost our footing, we survived the crossings together. Together is the main word: this would have been too dangerous to do alone.

Just as the route left the river, we noticed the running water had became clearer and slower. The climb up to Clent Hill Saddle was steady but didn’t take long. From the top, a new chapter of the walk unfolded: the vast Canterbury Plains. To get down, all we needed to do was sidle three scree fields, make sure we didn’t get lost on a track which looked like a track but wasn’t one (that happened a few times when I lead the way... oops), then power on to the hut before the rain cloud behind us caught up. All in a day’s walk.

As we approached Mānuka hut, we noticed a hive of activity outside and a few tents pitched. Uh oh, we thought, as we realised it was Saturday and families would likely be staying at this accessible hut. Sure enough, a few families had just arrived but they had kindly left the beds for smaller parties. After a less-than-ideal sleep and big day, I was knackered, though still had enough energy to eat chocolate. Always. Perched on my top bunk, I watched the hut dynamics lay out below. A couple of the kids caught some mice from inside the fireplace and released them into the wild.

I appreciated having Esther’s company for the whole day. We definitely boosted each other’s morale during the harder patches of the day, like when we were frozen from the river crossings. We took the river crossings in our stride, and will certainly remember this day.

Wouldn’t be Canterbury without some scree sidling

DAY 104 - Mānuka Hut to Potts Carpark/Geraldine (33km)

Esther and I had an actual deadline to walk towards today: Wayne, our shuttle driver, would be picking us up at 5pm to drop us off at Geraldine for the night—then on to the trail head south of Rangitata the next day. Though the distance was long, it was almost exclusively along flat 4WD track, a common terrain in these necks of the woods (jokes I haven’t seen a tree in days, I miss forests).

Out of habit, I left at my usual time of 7.30am. Esther was already a distant dot ahead of me—she’s great at leaving the huts promptly. Though nippy, it wasn’t long before my beanie and gloves were no longer needed. The morning sun was glowing on some of the more prominent peaks in the Southern Alps. Some of the fresh snow had lingered on the hilltops from the day before, but it would slide into the rivers in the form of snow melt soon enough. When the wind isn’t raging around here, the Canterbury Plains are serene. I love the vastness of this land.

It wasn’t hard to spot the turn-offs for the trail, marked with AA-style road signs reading ‘TE ARAROA’. Love the clarity! There have been way fewer official TA route markers on Te Waipoinamu than on Te Ika-a-Māui because the route follows established tramping tracks down here, rather than weaving through towns and streets. I listened to a fascinating podcast about Edward Gibbon Wakefield, the man responsible for the systematic colonisation of Aotearoa. He lived a warped life and had some serious personal issues he should have really worked through. I’d recommend listening to RNZ’s podcast Black Sheep if you’re interested in learning more about some interesting characters in Aotearoa history!

I was hungrier than usual today (which is saying something) so I couldn’t wait to get down to Lake Clearwater to have lunch. A small grid of neatly arranged baches popped up below me as I came over the fold of the hill. Two walkers who passed me as I ate my peanut butter wraps told us all the houses were off-grid, and the settlement had one public phone everyone could use.

The wind picked up in the afternoon, and the last few undulating kilometres of the day gave our legs something to do. The much-anticipated Potts River was little more than a dribble of a steam by the time I crossed it, so our fears about getting stuck on the other side were quickly washed away with the small current there was.
We arrived at the carpark two hours early. To pass the time Esther and I talked about trans health stuff and her work as a psychologist, but our conversation was put on hold by Wayne, our shuttle driver, who’d conveniently arrived an hour early. I almost lost one of my socks in the rush to the van, but realised just in time to go back and retrieve it from the rock upon which it was drying. Close call! An hour and two free apples later, Wayne gave us a mini tour of Geraldine and dropped us off at the backpackers.

DAY 105 - Geraldine to Royal Hut (23km)

As Esther had to stay in Geraldine for a few days, I was back on the trail by myself. With a bit of time to spare before Wayne picked me up, I replenished my chocolate supplies at the very well-stocked supermarket and got coffee from The Running Duck, one of the many eateries in Geraldine. Their customer toilet has disco lights and 80s music, with topo maps of Te Waipounamu plastered on the wall. It’s the most colourful bathroom I’ve ever been in, but beats a long drop any day.

I suspected that the river coming up, Bush Stream, would still be high from the snow melt (calling it a stream makes it sound small—quite the opposite). I’d read about an alternative route to the official TA track called Forest Creek, which involved a way steeper climb but fewer river crossings. Forest Creek sounded right up my valley. On the way to the trail head, Wayne told me all I needed to know about the track. This would be my second intentional detour of the well-beaten trail, and I was excited to put my navigational skills to the test in the hills.

As all good trails do, this one started with a climb over a barbed wire fence into a sheep paddock, over a bank, then onto the widest river bank I’d yet encountered. The marker poles were few and far between, but it was more of a pick-your-own-path kind of route anyway.

After three hours of zig-zagging my way up the valley and meeting some cows chilling on a small patch of vegetation, I made it to the turn-off. It would be quite hard to spot if you weren’t looking out for the Felt Stream tributary, but luckily my basic map-reading skills came in handy for this one. Though the DOC sign was barely visible, I could see a few pole markers dotting up into the small patch of beech forest clearly enough to know this would be a climb and a half.

The next section turned out to be one of the steepest on the trail so far. After scaling a few near-vertical forest floors, I emerged into the tussocks again, sidling around until the next pole appeared in the very distance. There were moments when I was hanging on to the bunches of tussocks to stop myself from falling off the steep hillside, which 9 out of 10 times were successful. Occasionally, to my hand’s detriment, a sneaky speargrass bush would pop out and sting me.

After that eventful climb (I think I gained 350m elevation over the distance of 1km), and with the river bed a distant memory, I joined onto a 4WD track. It was a mistake to think that this would somehow be easier than the previous section: this was one steeeep road. I inched up the track managing one tiny footstep at a time, until the final stretch to Bullock Bow Saddle lay ahead.

Two beautiful tahr (mountain goats) kept me company on the saddle as I took in the calm of that moment. The hills below looked as if they had been gently crumpled, a stark contrast to the jagged peaks bordering the sky. It was all downhill from here until the junction which led me up to Royal Hut. Rumour has it that Prince Charles and Princess Anne once stayed here on a visit to Aotearoa. I think the true story of that they flew over it in a helicopter, so only a slight bending of the truth there. It was one of the finer rustic huts I’ve stayed in, with its wooden charm and broken alarm clock on the shelf.

I recognised a pair of shoes outside as Kaz’s, one of the walkers we had walked the Richmond Ranges with and who I knew was a day in front of me. Could I have caught up to them? I had indeed! It was lovely to see them again as they emerged from one of the hut’s dark corners. They’d managed to do 8km of the Bush Stream track the day before as the river had been in flood. We had a few weeks to catch up on, so the evening sped by.

An attempt to capture the steepness of the 4WD track… it was steep haha

DAY 106 - Royal Hut to Lilibank Road (34km)

It was utterly freezing as I left the hut alone this morning. The many stream crossings didn’t help keep my warm, either, however my body thawed as I climbed the 600m up to Stag Saddle. This was one of the moments I’d been anticipating as it is both the highest point of Te Araroa, and marks the halfway point on Te Waipounamu: 650km down, 650km to go. Tākapo/Lake Tekapo stretched out ahead.

There, I met Henry who had left the hut at 5.30am to watch the sunrise from the Saddle. He’d just finished brewing his morning cup of tea and was heading off via the ridge line track, another slight detour from the TA trail. Pretty much everyone walks the ridge in good weather because the views of Aoraki are incredible.

The ridge walk was a gentle meander paste parallel to the valley, with remarkable views of Takapō, Aoraki and the alps. I wished the ridge went on forever, but a sign shortly directed us down to the valley to Camp Stream Hut. I’d planned on staying the night there, but it was only 12pm when I arrived, so I pushed on to wherever and whenever I felt like stopping to set up camp for the night.

Once past Camp Stream and another short, steep and sweet climb over a hill, the track became hot and dry in the mid-afternoon sun. The mountains to my right dipped in and out of view. Occasionally I turned around to see Stag Saddle which with each step diminished in the distance.

I was getting thirsty. The water sources marked on the map turned out to be dry, which put me in a bit of a sticky situation. I ended up walking further than I’d planned to make sure I had enough water for the night, all the way down to Boundary Stream (lesson learnt: always check on the map of there’s a cliff next to the river. That makes things less accessible). This stream served as the boundary between where freedom camp was and wasn’t allowed. Exhausted and parched, I pitched my tent in a hurry on the flattest spot I found. The ground was dusty, loose and rocky—the perfect storm, I’d soon learn, for a terrible pitch. I should have seen the night‘s misadventures coming.

The tent didn’t stop shaking all night. Everything, including inside my tent, was covered in a fine layer of dust which had blown in from under the fly. I lay in my sleeping bag, calculating the earliest I could get out of here and start walking. I figured if I left at 4.30am I could get to the cafe by 7.30am. That would do. In the meantime, I used up my data to catch up on the world’s events. It looked like the trending story was Oprah’s tell-all interview with Meghan and Harry. Despite the gales, the tent held up really well. I just had to get up at one point to secure it down with rocks.

As my friend Maike pointed out, I was the world’s highest TA walker at this moment

DAY 107 - Boundary Stream to Takapō (16km)

Nature’s natural alarm clock, the rain, woke me at 4.30am on the dot as I’d planned. I’ve never been more relieved to start the day, even if it was in a dark storm. Luckily, the 16km road walk was straight forward and didn’t need much navigation. With my headlamp on full beam and a badly packed pack on my back, I set off on the gravel ridge. Walking in the dark is a lonely experience, but the three sets of beady stoat eyes I saw scuttling across the road reminded me that I was being kept unwelcome company.

The sky slowly changed from nothing to a foreboding grey. The rain sprinkled on and off, but I managed to outrun the main cloud creeping behind me from the Main Divide. I arrived at the bright and busy cafe rather drenched, but the forgiving staff there were lovely and didn’t judge (they must be used to wet Te Araroa walkers turning up). I ordered what I’d been dreaming of for the last three hours: mushroom and avocado on toast, and a flat white. There, I caught up with my sister Anna, who can attest that there was some pretty loud disco music playing in the background.

The effects of sleep deprivation hung around in every fibre of my body for the rest of the day. I couldn’t make decisions very well and I felt nauseous. On a positive note, the Takapō YHA is the flashest hostel I’ve been to; it’s relatively new and boasts incredible views of the lake from the big lounge. It’s clean and the perfect base to have 1.5 rest days. I began on the typical rest day life admin such as laundry, resupply, buying my 6th pair of sunglasses, and napping. Having left so early in the day, it felt as if I hadn’t done anything that day. My body was telling me otherwise: it was time to do some serious resting.

It looks still and calm… don’t be deceived

DAY 108 - rest day in Takapō (0km)

It occurred to me this was the first full rest day since St Arnaud, which was almost three weeks ago. It suddenly made sense why I was so tired! Never underestimate the power of the rest day.

After 11 hours of deep sleep, I was feeling a little more myself than usual. I won’t bore you with the details, but in short the trail admin continued, I got some new shoes (by far the day’s highlight), and ate lots of the food left in the free food box. In fact, I’m going to challenge muskeg tonight to make dinner from what’s in the free for box (accompanied by my own kai to meet there energy requirements if needed).

To make the most of the sunny day, I broke in my shoes by jogging up to Mt John. I hadn’t run in months, so I loved the sensation of moving in that way again, even if for a couple of kilometres. I’m not that good at the whole rest thing, but you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve been lying on a couch in the same position for about an hour now.

Tomorrow I’ll continue on to Twizel to meet my friend Charlotte there, this time on two wheels! It’s common for TA walkers to cycle the next section because of the long road distances and few accommodation options. It’s hard to believe Dad is joining me in three weeks’ time, wherever I end up then. Now, more than ever, I’m realising the importance of not rushing this adventure and learning to work around nature’s beautiful, unforgiving agenda.