The ultimate quad-cruncher

Days 115-120, Wānaka to Queenstown

Kia ora, e hoa mā,

It’s been a time and a half, hasn’t it. After a long streak of having substandard reception, I’ve finally had the chance to catch up on connecting and chronicling. Thanks for your patience!

The last section between Wānaka and Queenstown has been one I’ve looked forward to for some time, and it sure provided—not without feeling it through every muscle fibre, however. No wonder it was bookended with rest days.

On with the trail tales…

DAY 115 - Rest day in Wānaka

I slightly regretted going for a walk on my last rest day in Takapō, so I made an exerted effort not to exert myself too much today. The only walking I did was between shops, the library, and the backpackers. I completed my trail admin like laundry and resupply (how good was it to shop at a big New World supermarket!) and used the library’s computer to send an email about income tax to IRD because non-trail life goes on, I guess.

The day was bookended with calls to my sister Anna in the morning, and my friend Maike in the evening. I also fulfilled my craving of binge-watching a TV show. My show of choice was It’s A Sin, a drama about the AIDS epidemic in the 80s. It’s a sobering watch and I managed to save the last 1.5 episodes for my next rest day in Queenstown.

Though I had the first night in the dorm to myself, I was joined by a British guy who, when I told him I was walking the length of the country, responded with some expletives I shall not repeat here. Walking the length of the country is not everyone’s cup of tea, I guess. To me and most people who I meet along the way, Te Araroa has become so normalised that you forget it’s actually quite a big undertaking.

DAY 116 - Wānaka to Fern Burn Hut (24km)

With lots of time to spare before the backpackers reception opened to get my key deposit, I went to two cafes for coffee. Buzzing from the unnecessary caffeine hit, I bounced off along the trail leading out of Wānaka heading round to Glendhu Bay. This walking and cycling trail, which passes that oft-photographed and recently vandalised tree in the lake, is well-used by locals. I was overtaken by runners and packs of cyclists also soaking in the wonderful views of the lake.

There’s a community garden initiative along the trail which invites passers-by to water the baby indigenous plants. Another of my favourite parts of this track was the giant apple tree. I filled my pockets with juicy fruit. Just after passing the 2600km mark, I turned the corner to see the shiny campervans parked in Glendhu Bay Campground in the distance. Just as I plopped my bag down to use the toilet, my hip suddenly began to hurt. I’ve never had that before, so I’m hoping it’s not a serious issue. If I’ve learnt anything from my previous bodily niggles on the trail, it’s not to stress about them. I’ve become attuned to what pain is passing, and what’s here to stay.

Lunch was a welcome break as the day became hotter. This area was familiar to me because Dad and I had walked part of the Motatapu track a couple of years ago. It was pretty drizzly when we did it, though, so the sun set a different mood today. I imagined Dad walking beside me as I meandered up the gravel road, then up to the brief patch of tawhai forest via farmland.

Most days I love climbing up hills and don’t usually find it too physically taxing. Maybe it was because I was feeling anxious about my hip, but for some reason today’s hills took a bit more effort to get up. My little sufferfest called for the treat I’d been holding out for: an emergency nectarine I’d been heaving around for moments like these. It was so huge that I decided to walk and eat at the same time. With a slippery pip in one hand and poles in the other, I continued precariously up the narrow track sidling the hill.

The climbs became easier with renewed energy levels, and soon Fern Burn Hut appeared—but not without a steep descent first. Flat is at a premium in this neck of the tussock plains. As I approached the hut, I couldn’t seen any sign of hut co-users from the outside. Upon closer inspection, however, two bags lay on the bunks inside. It’s always fun guessing who people are simply by their gear. I didn’t get far on guessing before the two pack owners arrived at the hut.

The two women had just been up to Jack Halls Saddle, where I’d be heading the next day. They assured me it wasn’t too steep up there, and I decided to take their word for it to ease my mind about the three consecutive climbs coming up the next day. One of the women sounded uncannily like my aunty who lives in the US which was a nice reminder of her. Like many non-TA trampers I meet, the women were interested in what I was doing and asked lots of questions about the walk.

It was just us three in the hut that night. I was in bed by the grand time of 7.30pm. The women played cards while I read, but it didn’t take long before I was entirely out for the count. Usually the quality of my hut sleeps is compromised, but I slept so soundly that night. I must have been tired.

DAY 117 - Fern Burn Hut to Roses Hut (17km)

The first image in my mind’s eye as I woke this morning was the elevation profile I’d memorised for the day’s walk. It depicted three not-so-insignificant peaks awaiting me outside my cosy sleeping bag. I could have stayed there just a little longer, but the trail notes warned of long hours and arduous climbs ahead. I left at the crack of dawn to seize the day.

Given the clear sky the night before, I was disappointed to see some fog hanging around the hills. It was cold as I climbed up to the first saddle, and it was muddy underfoot. The higher I got, the thicker the fog became until I couldn’t see beyond the next marker. On the one hand I convinced myself this was a good thing, as I’d heard there were some pretty steep drop-offs on the the side of the track. An element of mystery is always fun (in safety and moderation).

The saddle came way faster than I’d expected. On the way down, I met a TA walker called Brendan who I’d met in Takapō. He was dealing with some bad shin splints so had decided to head back to Wānaka to rest up before heading on to Bluff. I really hope he can make it this season.

After a quick morning tea and foot-drying stop at Highland Creek Hut, I started on what the notes describe as a ‘memorable climb’. Was this because of the views, or the difficulty?

The fog hadn’t cleared by this point, so I couldn’t answer the view part. As for the terrain, however, memorable would be an apt description. At first I couldn’t see where the trail went, but then I noticed the poles tracking straight up the steep hillside, no corners cut. My favourite kind of climb.

It was a bit of déjà vu from the previous climb, to be honest. As I descended, I spotted a few distant figures trudging down the hill, too. It was assuring to know I wasn’t alone in the quad pain department. I soon caught up to two sets of trampers, who I introduced myself to and continued on the third and final climb (for today, at least).

By the final climb, the fog had cleared and it was as hot as the day before. The descent down to the hut, though well formed and marked, was long and slow. Below me I could see the Arrow River snaking down the vast valley. Roses Hut sat nestled in the hills, and it was a relief for my body more than anything to reach the valley floor.

Someone had commented that there was a dead sheep in one of the streams before the hut. I got into Look Out For Dead Sheep mode to make the impact of seeing it less harsh (sheep have become my new favourite animal since walking Te Araroa). For those of you who don’t know, or couldn’t guess, I have a fear of dead animals. Sure enough, I soon encountered a heap of dirty white wool on the ground. I almost slipped into the river when trying to go around the poor animal. Rest In Peace, sheep.

At the hut I met a woman called Aya, who was walking the Motatapu track. She was lying in the sun on a mattress, stretching. I got inspired and did the same while talking to her. The other trampers I’d met in the trail joined shortly after. One of the trampers, Lyndel from Arrowtown, kindly invited me and Aya to stay the night at her house when we arrived. We gratefully took up the offer. Lyndel wrote a sweet note for us to give to her husband asking him to ‘make them welcome’, in case we arrived before her. It would be rather strange for two strangers to rock up seemingly uninvited.

DAY 118 - Roses Hut to Arrowtown (23km)

Three climbs down, two to go. I was certainly feeling the last few hills in my quads, but still had enough juice for the final two—in fact, these were the last two significant alpine climbs of Te Araroa. With this in mind, I began the day with gratitude for the hills. I rose above the bed of mist crawling slowly over the hills’ folds, careful not to step on the sleepy skinks scuttling around under my feet.

The sun hadn’t quite hit the hill yet, so the frost on Roses Saddle made for rather wet feet. It didn’t matter too much, because there were a few river crossings coming up (wet feet every day are hard to escape). As I got down to the river bed, I had to choose whether to take a low water or a high water route. Lyndel had recommended the low water route, so with that in mind I began my trek across the river bed. It was cold and still shady in the valley, but the water was certainly low.

A short while in, I found myself looking longingly up at the bank above the river where the sun shone on high water route. That’s it, I thought, I’m climbing the bank. Re-tracing my steps, I started on the other route which naturally started with a vertical scramble and continued in that manner. At least someone had recently cut the grass on either side of the track.

Along the track I came across what I initially thought was a human body, but luckily turned it to be a pair of discarded gumboots and overalls. Then, turning the corner, I almost tripped over a semi-feral cat and her four kittens! I’d not seen a cat in the wilderness before. They were as startled as I was.

The rest of the track didn’t throw any more surprises, but was a bit of an obstacle course to navigate with creeks hidden in the long grass and sporadic markers. I popped out in Macetown, a historic mining town with a ‘population of zero’, as the trail notes informed me of. This area was once home to a few hundred people in the 19th century working in the gold mines. Some of the original stone buildings still stood, and if you let your imagination run wild enough, you would imagine what it must have been like back in the days.

I welcomed the short section of flat 4WD before embarking on the final climb up to the saddle of the descriptively named Big Hill. I’d been warned that the first section was terribly maintained—though it was overgrown, it was not as bad as some of the tracks I’ve encountered thus far. On the way up I listened to an RNZ podcast called Black Sheep, about some of Aotearoa’s most notorious criminals. It’s a side of our history we don’t often hear about.

At the top of the saddle, I drank what was left of my water and made contact with the outside world. Knowing the first glimpse of Arrowtown was just around the corner, I pushed on in the afternoon heat. Sure enough, the views of Lake Hayes unfolded as I walked down the comparatively well-maintained track. A beautiful patch of beech forest soon relieved me of the sun as the track became more populated with local Otagoians (Otagonites?) enjoying their anniversary holiday. They’re so lucky to have these tracks in their back doorstep. I think Wellington has some competition!

The seasons show themselves through the trees much stronger down here than in Wellington. Autumn in Arrowtown was in full swing with the shades of yellows, oranges and reds in the leaves of the trees around town. As I sat down to eat my dried peaches, a boy no older than four approached me, asking what I was eating. He ran back to his family, announcing that I was eating peaches. He went on to tell me his name (Felix), address (he’s from Cromwell) and that he had recently watched the Wiggles live. I told him I, too, saw the Wiggles when I was his age. It was a delightful encounter.

I eventually headed over to Lyndel’s house which lay directly on the trail. She wasn’t home yet but Aya had just arrived and her husband David welcomed us. We hung around in the garden until Lyndel arrived not much later. She showed us around, set up our bed in David’s art studio. The entrance to our bedroom for the night was through David’s gallery—I was careful not to knock over any of his paintings with my bag.

Lyndel kindly cooked us a vegan stir fry and told us to take as many apples picked straight from their tree. It had been a while since I’d experienced the generosity of a stranger.

The Motatapu Valley - one of my favourite sections

DAY 119 - Arrowtown to Queenstown (28km)

Lyndel was serving up French toast to Aya as I limped into the kitchen with my burning quads. Could she go out of her way for us any more? Apparently she could—after breakfast she showed me how to use their washing machine. As my washing dried, I talked to the family about their lives in Arrowtown. After an intensive stretch, it was good to indulge in a bit of a slow morning. Lyndel made me not one, but two, espressos.

The stretch to Arrowtown was far from intrepid. As I left Lyndel’s house, I began following the Wakatipu cycle/walking trail. It felt wrong to walk through the newish Millbrook resort slash golf course, but it certainly gave me a taste of how the other half live. I personally don’t understand the appeal of living in a pseudo-Spanish villa, in a gated community, in the middle of a golf course. Also, quick question: why do golfers wear tucked-in polo shirts? Is there a function to their fashion, or is it simply aesthetic? I just hope that people who but property in here are also posting something forward to help sooner the housing crisis.

Once out of Golfer’s Paradise, the trail continued along some more down-to-earth rural blocks of land. There was one point at which I got mixed messages from the signs of the trail I was following, and the map. Thinking I’d taken the wrong turn, I continued on only to find a TA marker telling me I was on the trail. Good thing I’m not a purist, otherwise I’d have had to re-trace my steps a bit.

Walking through Frankton in the outskirts of Queenstown itself was quite uneventful; it was more it less footpath walking along the busy road in and out of Queenstown itself. The place was bustling, though, and I got excited to see the first Pak’n Save I’ve seen in the South Island. As I got closer to Queenstown central things became more familiar to me. The highlight was passing the largest crack willow tree in central Otago! Wow. It wasn’t that big, but maybe they just don’t grow that big in general. Who am I to judge.

I entered the Bog Smoke of Qtown itself through the autumnal botanic gardens. It didn’t take long to notice how relatively quiet the town was compared to pre-COVID years. Maybe it was the lack of buskers, or the myriad of VACANCY signs on the accommodation places. While crossing the road on the way to the backpackers, I bumped into Marianne who I’d last seen in St Arnaud. It’s become quite a theme to bump into Marianne in various parts of the country! She had gotten a stress fracture in her foot and sadly had to stop walking, but she’d found a job in Queenstown and was setting up her post-trail life there.

I checked in to my backpackers and met my dorm mate, Carmen, who’s from Hamburg. We had dinner together at Caribe, a Latin American kitchen I’ve been to every time I’ve been in Queenstown. Afterwards, I headed to the cinema to watch Cousins, a beautiful adaptation of Patricia Grace’s novel.

They have their own sign! That’s commitment

DAY 120 - Rest day in Queenstown (0km)

Today involved eating, resting, and checking out the Queenstown library. I bumped into Esther who was getting an ice cream. It seems like Queenstown is the place to be!

The hardest decision of the day was deciding where to go for dinner that night. Pizza had been on my mind for a while, but out of tradition I want to save that for when I finish the trail. This is because I had pizza as my celebratory meal when I finished Te Ika-a-Māui. I’ll suspend that craving a little longer.