Of three-wire bridges and shepherding

Days 94-101, Boyle River to Lake Coleridge/Methven

Kia ora e te whānau!

As I head into the second third of Te Waipounamu (which in itself feels funny to write), being surrounded by glorious mountains is now a constant reality of the trail. I’m leaving behind the ancient tawhai / beech forests (for now) and entering Canterbury high country, having escaped the wild weather around the Main Divide above Arthur’s Pass.

So our golden streak of weather has finally broken, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Mist and rain adds real character to the trail (and tests out the grip of one’s shoes). So far the river crossings have been manageable, and dare I say it sometimes even fun! There will be more of those to come. My body is feeling strong and I can tell it craves the climbs and movement.

Me and Helen walking Te Araroa (thanks Boyle Outdoor Education Centre for your services!)

DAY 94 - Boyle outdoor education centre to Hope Kiwi Lodge (26.5km)

The most difficult part of the day was leaving our warm snuggly beds and real pillows. The prospect of a slice of slightly stale toast with margarine for breakfast, however, motivated us to start the day (I also had a bowl of couscous scavenged from the free food box).

We were relieved that it wasn’t raining as we left at 7.30am, but were still cautious of how high the Boyle River would be as it had rained overnight. Because we couldn’t see the river from the road, we opted to walk along quiet State Highway 7 which gave us great views of the river terrace from above.

I’m glad we took the road, because we found an apple tree along the roadside with the juiciest apples hanging from the branches. Helen described eating one as ‘a little kiss’—they were indeed delightful. We soon re-joined the official TA route via Windy Point on the Hope-Kiwi track. Helen and I debated whether it was pronounced windy as in the weather wind, or windy as in a windy road. The name of the track is quirky, too - Hope is the name of the the main river, and there is a sizeable kiwi population in Lake Sumner Forest Park. This track would soon link up to Harper Pass, a more well-known trail and historic pounamu collection route.

Within the first hour we met about nine groups of young people walking towards us, each carrying impressively massive packs and wearing the same t-shirts. Their hats had tape with their last names written on them. ‘Walker!’ The first person would shout down the line as we approached them. Many of the young people greeted us and wished us a good tramp. After a few brief conversations, we learnt that they were part of a 6-week Limited Service Volunteer training programme. I have so much respect for them all to be challenged through their experience of the course.

The trail gently undulated through tawhai / beech forest and the rain held off for most of the day. With our tummies rumbling, we reached Halfway Hut which, to our surprise, was full of a group of ex-military personnel, who were in the middle of a social backcountry expedition. They were a respectful and friendly bunch and offered us a hot cup of tea and gingernuts as we ate our lunch. I think I’ve learnt more about the military today than I have in my entire life.

A while later, the group were joined by some hunter friends. Apparently one of them had just found a stag head in the forest, which made me want to not go outside again (luckily I did not see the head, wherever they put it). With the small hut getting full, we moved on to make room for the others. The sandflies were absolutely vicious around here, so putting on our shoes while avoiding the swarms was a bit of a mission.

With only 2 hours to our destination, we powered on through and arrived at Hope-Kiwi Lodge mid-afternoon. We’d heard that the hut was more of a house than a usual backcountry biv. We marvelled at the size of it! It was a lockwood building with two separate sleeping quarters and a little hallway, and some fun red lino. We timed it well with the weather: the moment we stepped inside, it began to rain. Not heavily, but steadily. The rain brought on an unspoken air of uncertainty in the hut about the river levels, but it’s one of those things we’ve just got to wait and make the right decisions about.

At the hut we met Leo, a Brazilian Kiwi who is aiming to get to Arthur’s Pass by Sunday to watch his home town football team play in the live finale. Also, Joey has brought sushi rice, nori, wasabi and soy sauce on this stretch to make sushi for dinner. What a great idea.

DAY 95 - Hope Kiwi Lodge to Hurunui no. 3 Hut (29km)

I had almost forgotten that mist existed until I looked outside the window this morning. At least we could see our first pole marker on the trail. Helen and I left the hut at a record time of 7.04am. This must mean we’re getting quicker at packing up! This would also be Helen’s longest day distance-wise, with 29km of walking planned for the day.

The mist didn’t linger for too long and was eventually replaced by smatterings of sunlight through the trees. The first 18km of the day went by quickly - I was following Helen’s lead and she was boosting it. The trail skirted around the northwestern border of Lake Sumner. The lookout we went up to was a slight disappointment as we couldn’t actually see much of the lake. However, some clouds still hung between the dramatic peaks across the lake and made for a dramatic morning vista. I ate one of the energy bars my sister Anna gave to me from Germany. It was delicious and reminded me of her. I like food that has an extra layer of meaning to it.

Tawhai forests are a staple along Te Araroa, but none have been so magnificently ancient as the ones we walked through today. Moss-laden stumps dotted the trail as we walked through the tall green corridors. The forests ran adjacent to some paddocks, so cows’ calls/mooing/groans provided an unexpected soundscape for our walk. Towards the middle of the day, before we entered the cow paddock, the forest opened wide and became darker. The sandflies, a common theme of Te Waipounamu, pounced on us as we raced through the field trying not to stop long enough for them to latch on to our bodies. As we made it to the swing bridge, the red roof of Hurunui Hut peeked through on the other side of the river, awaiting our hungry bodies.

The best part of lunch was remembering I had one small apple from the other day still in my pack. A couple of walkers were debating whether to take the detour to the famous hot pool in the next section of the trail, which is listed on the trail notes as a ‘TA highlight’. Esther, who had been there before, said it was small and wasn’t worth it. We’d see how we felt when we got there.

With a few hours’ walking left to go for the day, we continued on optimistic that the trail would largely stay the same. It did, apart from a few sketchy, less maintained sections sidling along a precarious bank above the river. This triggered not-so-fun memories of the Richmond Ranges...

We could smell and feel the hot pool approaching from the sulphuric steam arising out of a waterfall nearby. It would have taken anyone who didn’t know there was a hot pool here by surprise - after the previous icy river crossings, this steaming cascade of deliciously warm water was a total anomaly. Helen and I weren’t interested enough to take the detour to the pool itself so we trucked on sticking podcasts in our ears for the final bit. We later learnt from the other walkers that the hot pool was a rather anti-climactic experience.

Hurunui no. 3 Hut, as another walker put it, gave off ‘cosy barnyard vibes’. It’s the first hut I have encountered with a three-storey bunk! Great use of space, though it would get hot up there. There was an eclectically built DOC research hut located nearby, which looked like it was built by a frazzled scientist.

Our feet were wonderfully wrinkly and feeling the almost 30,000 steps they’d taken today. I hope they’re getting used to the dampness, because there will be plenty more wet feet days to come! The weather held up well and I’m hopeful the rain keeps holding off for our intrepid river crossings that are yet to come. It will be a big next few days, but I’m looking forward to the new challenges this trail constantly provides.

DAY 96 - Hurunui no. 3 to Hut to Kiwi Hut (23km)

There’s a first for everything. Today’s first, for both Helen and me, was crossing a three-wire bridge this morning over a (pretty low, admittedly) river. It was a thrilling way to start the day, and I’m now excited to use a word I learnt earlier on this month to describe ourselves: we were funambulists (tightrope walkers). Do you know who are also natural acrobats? Spiders who weave their webs across wide paths! I don’t know how they do it, but kudos to them. Helen got a bit sick of copping all the webs in her face, so she let me go ahead for a bit. That’s what you get when you’re first ones out of the hut...

We had laughed at the fact that people once had a (short-lived) ambition to make the Harper Pass as popular as the Milford Track. Don’t get me wrong — walking through this landscape is lovely, but it’s got nothing on Milford’s scenery. As we started climbing up to Harper Pass, the vegetation and mood of the track changed significantly. It was wet and overgrown, but the Dr Suessian plants and giant maunga cradling us on either side were a welcome change from the previous days’ valley walking, which had become rather monotonous.

Helen loves variety, so the change in scenery gave both of us energy. The climb back down to the valley was pretty slippery and reminded me that my shoes are slowly losing grip. Only 450km until the next shoe shop, Wānaka here we come! There’s something special about a forest after rain, though. Papatūānuku needs the water, and so do we.

The swing bridge over the Taramakau River came soon enough. The trail notes indicated it was another 1.5 hours to the next hut, so we decided to have lunch behind a boulder by the roaring river. The sandflies took a record 20 minutes before they realised they, too, could have a lunch of human blood by the river.

Getting back on the trail wasn’t without complications, however. The orange flashes we had diligently been following took us abruptly to a cliff where the path had presumably been washed out. I’m not a huge fan of rock-hopping along rivers, so it was a relief to find the forest track again. We powered on to Locke Stream Hut, which I was glad we weren’t staying in because it smelt like dead something in there (Esther later told us she had to remove two dead rats in various states of decay from the bunk rooms- that explains everything).

Our afternoon was spent zig-zagging along the Taramakau River, all in good preparation for the following day’s river expedition. For some reason I found this day mentally tough, so daydreaming about random childhood memories and thinking about eating something other than peanut butter wraps for lunch kept me motivated. Helen was in awe of the ngahere today — it was cool to witness her connection to the places we were walking through. I’m sad to only have two more days on the trail with her.

The turnoff sign for Kiwi Hut, our home for the night, stood boldly in a field. We keenly headed up the muddy track to the rustic red hut. The wooden sign read ‘KIWI HUT’ with a little engraved Kiwi on it. The shelter was originally built in 1967. I’d say it’s had a modest makeover since then, but it’s still maintained its wonderful backcountry hut feel, mouldy mattresses and all— and best of all, not a dead rodent in sight or smell. A kind soul had left puzzles on the table from the Greymouth local newspaper. As we had a a big day ahead of us tomorrow, I polished off my scroggin and had an extra wrap for dessert.

DAY 97 - Kiwi Hut to Upper Deception Hut (26km)

The Imminent Day of Many River Crossings Part 1 had arrived. Today we’d be walking and rock-hopping along three river valleys for most of the day (Taramakau, Otira, Deception), which is my least favourite terrain to walk on (does anyone like it though?) I focussed on being grateful that it hadn’t rained in a while, and was curious about what more I could learn about rivers following on from our Whanganui river journey. These dynamic bodies of energy and water deserve all our respect.

There was a notice in the hut cautioning us that some of the track had been washed out in a recent storm, so we’d need to stay on the true right of the Taramakau river for a while. Not having a red line to follow proved to be an excellent exercise in navigation and map-reading skills. Though Helen enjoyed the thrill of going off-trail, I was secretly looking forward to re-joining the track so we could lazily follow the orange markers again (it was an early morning and I wasn’t getting into the river bed walking).

The braided Taramakau river, our first challenge of the day, was pretty low and easy to cross. This instilled confidence in us that the others would be okay, too. River crossings require lots of decision-making, but our worst decision of the day was to unnecessarily take the flood route around the Otira River. It turned out to be a messy scramble which clearly few walkers take, so we got back down to the river as soon as we could when we realised there was more risk of us falling off the cliff than being swept away by the river. The Otira River had a mighty energy, and I found that playing some Stan Walker out loud helped me steady my footing over the more powerful channels.

Morrison’s Footbridge marked both lunchtime and the start of the Deception-Mingha track, climbing over Goat Pass down to Arthur’s Pass. This section is the running component of the famous Coast to Coast adventure race, which competitors ran just two weeks prior. We ate lunch in a cloud of sandflies, but decked out in our sandfly prevention gear: rain pants and rain coats wrapped around every inch of our body. The track sign warned potential walkers of this track ‘IF IN DOUBT, STAY OUT’. It must be some serious terrain. Helen and I verbalised to each other that we did not doubt the weather nor our ability to walk this track, and so off we went into the heating valley for an afternoon of river fun.

The trail was marked with the occasional cairns and orange triangles of various sizes and degrees of visibility. Overall it was marked more than I thought it would be, and there were fewer river crossings than I’d expected. The beautiful yet changing terrain kept us on our toes: every few hundred metres, the track would change from a well-formed path to a free-for-all river bed, to a dense jungle scramble, to rock climbing up a waterfall. I’m surprised I didn’t slip because there were many opportunities for that.

The rotating sun, cloud, and occasional wind kept our temperature well regulated as we wound up the valley. It’s hard not to feel fragile and small when you’re amongst dramatic mountains and a formidable river. At the same time, walking through this environment, you momentarily become part of it. This is what I appreciate about the magnitude of these landscapes in Te Waipounamu.

I was pleasantly surprised when I checked where we were and found we were 1.3km to the hut. It was the slowest 1.3km ever — a true country mile. We plodded up and down muddy bush sidling the river and eventually emerged by the river again. A super tall cairn, the height of a road cone, welcomed us on the other side of the river, indicating where the hut lay. Sure enough, I spied a human-made object through the trees. After 10 hours of walking (and not much of a break in between) we had made it.

It was bittersweet because it’s my last night with Helen before she heads off and I adjust back to solo trail life. Helen drunk her much-awaited hot chocolate, and I ate my last three rows of chocolate dipped in peanut butter. We had the hut to ourselves — it was one of those time portal huts whose bunk bed graffiti from took us back to 1987. The matresses were less mouldy than in Kiwi Hut and not a sandfly to be swatted away!

The late evening light in the Deception Valley

DAY 98 - Upper Deception Hut to Bealey Hotel (17km)

The rain started at 3am, waking me from an otherwise peaceful sleep. I started to catastrophise about staying an extra night in the hut, wondering if we’d have enough food to survive if the river got too high to pass (I concluded that we would have been fine with our secure room supply, though a little low on chocolate). I put in my ear plugs and shut the pitter-patter out; it did the trick.

In the morning it wasn’t raining any more. The river hadn’t risen much, but the sky was still deciding whether it would turn on the waterworks later that morning. The clothes we’d hung on the line inside the hut (in the hope that they’d dry out) were damper than when we put them up. Luckily, the hut didn’t dampen our spirits. Helen and I left for the final section of climbing up to Goat Pass Hut, which involved more boulder-hopping and waterfall-climbing, only a bit slipperier. We said good morning to a whio who was paddling hard against the rapid water. I couldn’t tell if they were trying to get somewhere or just paddling like that for fun.

Until now we’d had it too good: the trail wouldn’t let Helen get away without experiencing a bit of rugged weather. As the drizzle gradually became heavier, so too did our doubts about the fast-changing weather. Thankfully, the two groups of trampers we met coming towards us appeased our worries when they told us it would get easier from here. Departing from the Deception River, we turned up to the final steep climb to Goat Pass Hut, a neat 20-bunker which would have been much cosier than our accommodation the previous night. We stopped off for a quick respite from the cold and wet.

My favourite part of each walking day, especially in Te Waipounamu, is watching the next mountain range unfold as we climb up over a saddle or ridge. It’s like beginning the next chapter of a page-turner. The mist added atmosphere to the next chapter of our day as we started our traverse along the broad ridge looking down on to The Mingha River valley. The trampers we conversed with earlier were right about things getting easier: we were treated to boardwalks galore! I imagined the Coast to Coast athletes flying down this section after the gruelling climb up. Though flying would be an overstatement, we did get down to the tawhai / beech forest pretty fast.

The Deception and Mingha Rivers have contrasting energies. I felt much more relaxed waking alongside the comparatively gentle flow of the Mingha River. It was fun meeting a few NOBO walkers along the way. One walker spoke highly of the cheesecake at the Bealey Hotel where we’d be staying that night. It’s funny what information you pick up on the trail, especially among TA walkers.

Powerlines and passing cars soon came into view as we drifted towards the end of the track. While having lunch at Greyney’s Shelter, we got word from another walker that we were back in alert level 2. In theory I knew the level changes would be a reality this summer, but it was still disconcerting to hear this news. It also made me realise how little COVID has been on our radars while tramping through remote country.

We began the last 5km to the hotel on the road, but the drivers did not give us much space. We found a gap in the bush to scramble down, back onto the official TA trail. Actually, I’m not sure you can call the next section of the trail a ‘trail’, or even a route. I appreciate the trail builders’ intentions to take walkers off the road, but some poles or markers would have really helped. We were left to fend for ourselves across the wide river bed in which the Bealey and Waimakariri rivers met. It was our guess where we were headed, but we chose to aim for the powerlines which plotted a route in the direction of the trail. For Helen, this seemed to be a funny way to end her four weeks on the trail - with a rocky fizzle.

The Waimakariri river was flowing a little too fast for us to cross individually. Helen and I were happy about this because it meant we could try out the mutual support river crossing technique for the first time! With bodies linked, we marched in sync through the not-so-makariri waters. For a land-lubber, I’ve come to enjoy the thrill river crossings.

Helen was much more considerate about looking presentable as we rocked up, sodden, to the hotel. Being Helen’s last night on the trail, we splashed out on a flash room with our own bathroom, Netflix, and free tea and coffee. It was quite the contrast to our previous night in the damp hut. Christmas came early again as I picked up our third and final resupply box. There’s nothing like a bit of home-mixed scroggin to get the walking motivation going again! As usual, getting into reception entails catching up on life and trail admin. However, we managed to make the most of blobbing in front of the TV and enjoyed a vegan burger at the restaurant. I also bought an apple for $2. Vitamins are at a premium on this trail.

It was a bittersweet day marking the end of a journey Helen and I will remember for the rest of our lives. I’ll be sad to continue on without her, but am excited for future adventures on the trails together. Helen, if you’re reading this, I’m immensely proud of what we have achieved together! Thank you for being patient with and unconditionally supportive of me. We have seen Aotearoa’s finest together — that’s irreplaceable.

DAY 99 - Bealey Hotel to Hamiton Hut aka Hamilton Hotel (19.5km)

I savoured the moment of waking up in an actual bed. Helen and I took our time waking up, drinking coffee while watching John Campbell complimenting all his interview guests on Breakfast. Once I’d finally adjusted my refilled pack (way too much food yet again), I said bye to Helen and wandered off down West Coast Road, each step taking me closer to Bluff. I’d see Helen in a couple of days’ time, when she’d transform into a mobile trail angel and pick me and Esther up to got to Methven.

Once again, I found myself back on the trail re-adjusting to solo walking. The silence I found in finding my rhythm again was familiar to me, having experienced departing from Dad twice in the North Island. Though I’m physically alone again, Dad and Helen’s spirit will never leave me on the trail. Also, Dad has booked his tickets to Invercargill to join me for the last week of the trail, which will be something to look forward to. As I headed towards the edge of Craigieburn Forest Park I looked back to see a rainbow glowing behind me, its foot at the gloomy Mingha valley from which we walked the day before. Ahead of me the sun’s rays beamed down, creating a marvelling display of every type of weather at once.

The climb up to Lagoon Saddle was steady but fun and well-groomed. As Esther put it, it felt as though the trail was chauffeuring us and making sure we didn’t get lost. I enjoyed the huts along the Cass-Lagoon track including the Lagoon Shelter, a miniature A-frame hut with one bed and just enough room to stand in. I stopped for lunch at possibly the most interesting hut on the TA so far, West Harper Hut. Built in 1957 for deer hunters, the hut has kept its original dirt floor and canvas bunks. It’s likely home to a few rats and I can imagine people opt to camp outside, but it’s good that its heritage status keeps its rustic charm alive.

My body felt capable as I flowed down the track, much like the Harper River the track ran adjacent to. It was 2pm as I arrived at Hamilton Hut, or as it’s sometimes known on the trail, the Hamilton Hilton. I can see why—I t’s a super well-maintained hut with beautiful wooden rafters and a majestic stone fireplace at its heart. I spent the first hour in my sandfly protection gear as the residents scoped me out. I must have smelt extra delicious. Soon, a few more walkers joined me in the hut and gave the flies something else to investigate.

I enjoyed getting to know one of the walkers, Dane, who was walking NOBO and had spent four months walking Te Waipounamu. He is Ngā Puhi, so for him it was important to finish his haerenga at Te Rerenga Wairua / Cape Reinga. He showed a deep appreciation for the trail I hadn’t encountered in many walkers. Unlike most walkers, too, he is taking his time walking up the country. It was a good reminder for me not to rush this journey.

DAY 100 - Hamilton Hut to Harper Village Campsite (18km)

It’s occurred of me today that I’ve had the privilege of spending the last 100 days growing out my beard, eating one square meals on the daily, and tasked with the mere aim of walking to wherever the day’s destination lies. It’s been a wild way to spend the summer. But, as my Dad paraphrases from someone whose name I can’t remember, ‘it ain’t’ over till it’s over’ and I’ve still got 800km of this journey to drink up.

I celebrated the triple-digit day by sleeping in until 7am, which felt really great. The destination for the day was a free campsite with no shelter, so Esther and I decided to take the morning really easy, have double breakfasts/coffee, and watch the rain fall outside from the comfort of our cosy sleeping bags. We were made less comfortable knowing that we, too, would soon be out there braving the (hopefully not too high) rivers.

The time came to leave the Hamilton Hilton. I had an early lunch (because soggy peanut butter wraps aren’t much fun), said bye to Dane and Esther, and headed out the door. My socks and shoes, which had dried the day before for the first time in a while, did not stay in that state for long. The rain sparked something in me which switched on my ‘I’m on a mission, let’s get this over and done with’ mode and powered down the old 4WD track which zig-zagged along the semi-swollen Harper River. Luckily, each crossing was passable but any more rain would have made the day more challenging.

Now and again, the gloomy clouds would allow patches of blue sky to peek through. Each time this happened I held out hope that the blue would become the majority. Sure enough, I eventually felt rays of sun on my back, energising me forward. I smeared sunscreen on, as if to tempt the sun to stay a while. She did, and for the next few hours I paced down the track.

The tyre tracks I’d been following suddenly veered off and became hard to follow. So too did the footsteps. Knowing roughly where I was heading, I bush-bashed a bit to find my way back to the GPS line on my map, almost falling into some hidden creeks along the way. Lesson learnt: don’t trust the GPS line. I managed to (probably not ideally) jump an electric fence to get back onto the track, a maintained gravel road which looked like it was on private farmland but was also marked as the TA route on the topo map. Love some confusing navigation.

As I descended along the straight farm road, the wind hit pretty hard. I passed (and scared off) flock of rogue sheep who were munching at something they probably shouldn’t have been. Usually farm roads can be tedious, but the surrounding mountains provided a constant point of reference and attraction.

Though the sun had hung around for most of the afternoon, the foreboding peaks ahead warned that unfavourable weather was approaching. It became a race against time to get to the campsite and pitch my tent. Though I knew it was a losing battle, I picked up the pace and shortly caught up with Joey, who’d stayed at West Harper Hut the night before. He verified there were no rats there. Drenched, I whipped out my tent (which I hadn’t used in a while) and pitched it in record time. Minutes after I’d done so, the sky cleared and it was sunny again. The erratic sun/rain pattern continued throughout the evening, but I didn’t mind as I was cocooned in my tent, eating scroggin and extra chocolate.

I’m finding this section strange because of the two hazard zones, and consequently the breaks in the trail. Tomorrow I’m heading to Methven (thanks mobile trail angel Helen!), and then I’ll have another three days of walking before heading off to Geraldine, to then be dropped off on the other side of the Rangitata River. It’s all a bit of a logistical kerfuffle, but I’ve just got to trust it will work out.

Passing mountains of many shapes and sizes

DAY 101 - Harper Village campsite to Methven camping ground (28km)

I woke up at 5.30am to a dry tent. That’s always a pleasant way to start the day: no extra water weight o carry on my back. The reason am for my early start was to get to Lake Coleridge in time to meet my Helen, who had got a rental car and would drop me and Esther off at Methven for the night.

I left off down the road with my head torch on for only the second time on the whole trail (the first was in the Tararua ranges). I didn’t need it for long; the sunrise soon performed a spectacle above me, projecting hot pink, then highlighter orange, then golden peach onto the clouds. Anticlimactically, the sky was grey by the time the sun had finished its drama, but I was grateful it wasn’t raining.

The day’s walk was straightforward: 22km down a flat gravel road. I passed two official road signs warning motorists that Te Araroa trail users would be using the road, too. Though long, it wasn’t the most boring stretch of road I’d walked along. A man stopped and asked if I wanted a lift (I politely declined) and I passed a few notable lakes all with names like Ida and Evelyn and Georgina (the wives of colonists?)

My day was made, however, by getting stuck behind a shepherd guiding his flock of sheep down the gravel road. It was amazing to watch the sheep dogs in action, eyeing up the straying sheep and telling them to hurry up, move to the side, stop drinking from the lake. I briefly chatted to the shepherd as I approached. He told me why the sheep were being moved, and if I’m honest I didn’t understand half of the farming jargon he used. I told him I was from Wellington, a classic city slicker, who knew nothing about this stuff. I sick around the lakeside to pass the flock, scaring a few sheep up the hill along the way.

The road section flew by because it was easy to gain momentum. By the time I arrived at the edge of Lake Coleridge at mid-morning, the wind had really picked up. I caught a glimpse of a maunga which was covered in the most show I’d seen so far, which reminded me that we were moving into southern alps territory. Note to self: move beanie and gloves to the top of my bag for easy access.

The next few kilometres were amusing. It followed a Te Araroa-specific path called Lake Hill Track. The track sidled the lake and boasted amazing views of the hazy mountains and indeed involved some hill climbing, and it traversed private land. Because of this, walkers were reminded at every marked signpost to stick strictly to the marked route. The only thing was, the track was confusing at the best of times. At one point, it took me over a rickety plank-bridge to avoid falling into a bog, and then straight up a narrow dirt hill. The most tantalising part of that section was the fact that it ran parallel a perfectly formed 4WD track which, surely, we could have just used instead of trampling their farmland. I’m grateful for the land owners to let us use their land, it was just a funny maze to get through.

Once out the other side, another road awaited my tiring legs. I stopped for lunch (no sandflies!) and then continued down a steep drive to be welcomed to Lake Coleridge Village, which lies just north of the braided Rakaia river. The village was built in the early 20th century to service the power station workers, and is home to one of the biggest conifer (pine tree) collections in the Southern Hemisphere.

With some time to spare before Helen arrived, I wandered around the small settlement and marvelled at the meticulously mown lawns and giant trees. I found a perfect shady spot to plonk down and read my book. Esther arrived shortly after and did the same. Half an hour later, I heard a car horn: it was Helen! I was relieved she was able to find us so easily in this bustling metropolis.

Helen greeted me with a few pieces of fresh fruit (what a true trail angel) as we loaded up the car. She had new shoes on and looked well rested after our four weeks of walking, although she clearly can’t get enough of it as she’d just been camping for a night at Rakaia Gorge. It felt rather odd to be travelling at such a fast pace in the car that I began to feel car sick. I haven’t felt car sick in 15 years or so — I might stick to walking pace for now.

We were amazed at the size of Methven as we drive in to its streets. They had two supermarkets and a cinema. I’d heard good things about some of their cafes, too. Helen dropped us off at the camping ground, where Darren the manager welcomed us and recognised instantly where we’d come from. We said bye and thanks x 1000 to Helen, checked in to our cabins, and decompressed. In some ways, it felt like I hadn’t walked that far today because the walking was done by midday. My body was stoked to rest, though.

The morning mood — It’s great they’ve invested in road signs to keep us walkers safe!

Total distance walked/cycled/canoed/kayaked: 2240km

And now, I’ll leave you with a photo of the vegan burger I inhaled at the Bealey Hotel, to prove it’s not all self-deprivation and scroggin for every meal: