Rakiura Rugged — The Scroggin Chronicles

Walking the Northwest Circuit with my sister on Rakiura / Stewart Island

On the 3rd of September 2022, my sister Helen and I escaped down to Rakiura / Stewart Island, the third largest island of Aotearoa, where we walked the Northwest Circuit anti-clockwise.

The 125km loop trail starts and ends in Oban, the main town in Rakiura, and sticks closely to the coast of the northern half of the island. Dipping up and over headlands, it eventually crosses the middle of the island.

The eastern coast of Rakiura is the introverted cousin of the expansive west coast. The northern coast that joins the two is their harsher mediator, evidently ruffled by the northerly winds yet tranquil in its own way. Over the 10 days, we experienced a solitude that’s hard to come by in everyday life and on Mainland New Zealand. There was time and space to process, think, question, and listen to Papatūānuku.

Here is how it went from my perspective. I hope you enjoy my ramblings and that they inspire you to walk it some day, too.

Day 1: Oban to Port William hut, 12.5km (4 hours)

As with all good trips, this one started off with Mum dropping us off at the airport at 6am. With our walking poles, 10 days’ worth of calorific rations and the rest impossibly stuffed into our packs, we boarded the first in a string of three flights getting to Rakiura, the third largest island of Aotearoa. Our flight to Ōtautahi/Christchurch was smooth, bar the routine Wellington turbulence. We dipped down into the airport, with enough time for Helen to buy an overpriced cheese roll at the airport and me a muesli bites for breakfast, before hopping onto our next flight to Waihopai/Invercargill. This one was slightly more turbulent, and a man in the route opposite provided us with some secondary entertainment through the conversation he struck up with the stranger next to him about his farming escapades. His chat about the temperament of his bulls on the farm confirmed that we were indeed on the right plane to Southland. I got lucky with the window seat and enjoyed views of Ka Tiritiri o te Moana, trying to trace Te Araroa in the etched landscapes far below.

As we landed in Invercargill we watched a tiny pipsqueak plane take off, barely managing to stay stable in the southerly blast. Helen asked if that was the type of plane we’d be catching to Rakiura. Probably. We had a few hours to spare in the airport before our final flight. The seats in the Stewart Island Air plane were covered in sheepskin, a cosy touch to an otherwise metal aircraft. Any doubt caused by the water leaking in from the window was outweighed by the friendliness and reassurance of the pilots. The ride was a bit bumpy, but short enough and, by far, smoother than the ferry ride over Foveaux Strait. From the air we could see patches of moving weather, each occupying a small section of the island, and the northern coast which we would be exploring on foot, just a few days later. The airstrip suddenly appeared as we got closer to the groups, nestled in the green, and we landed with minimal trouble.

The shuttle dropped us off at Oban and we re-packed, bought some gas, and checked into the DOC visitor centre. There, a man enthusiastically wished us luck, sharing that his friend had “threatened” him to walk the circuit again and “at least there’s less mud on the northwest curcuit than in the southern circuit”. That put great confidence in our minds. It was pouring with biting rain we started along Horseshoe Bay Road, leading out of Oban, but true to Rakiura fashion, the sun made a cameo shortly after. Then rain, then sun again, and on it went. The road was quiet and already we were awed by the birdsong and ngahere. Helen and I made bets about how many people we’d meet walking the track over the next 10 days. She guessed 7, I guessed 9.

The Northwest Circuit shares the same start point as the 3-day Rakiura Great Walk, and is marked by large chain sculpture identical to one in Bluff, a symbol of Rakiura being the anchor Maui used to land his canoe, Te Waipounamu. The track beneath our feet was luxuriously gradual and gravelly, as most Great Walks are. The bush was at once familiar and new: some plants that grow here don’t grow in the mainland, or grow at different altitudes. A rock not far from the start protruded from the shoreline, and on it grew one dracophyllum bush — a plant usually grows in subalpine conditions. I recognised the common leatherwood plant, one we don’t have in Wellington. I guess it’s the cousin of the rangiora.vWe dodged most of the hail in the afternoon thanks to the shelter of the trees. This was the first time I’d heard hail in the forest before — it sounded like someone was shaking a rain stick above us. The forest on Rakiura has a dark, grunty quality to it, beautiful in its own rugged and understated way.

It didn’t take long for us to realise that the rat population was booming due the the mast season the year before. Rats periodically scuttled across our path, definitely more than we were used to when tramping. We later learnt from talking to someone in the hut that the locals on Rakiura have conflicting views to DOC on predator control, which has meant that efforts for widespread eradication have been stalled. A dead rat greeted us on the steps of the hut as we arrived, symbolic of the resistance. The Rakiura huts have become infamous in recent seasons because of a bed bug infestation. There was a sign on the bunk room wall asking us to keep our belongings outside in a big plastic bag. The only thing was, if we’d left our packs outside, they’d be hailed in all night and eaten by the rats.

We shared the hut with a group of 5 people from Invercargill, who knew each other from work. They’d been snorkelling and Paua diving and cooked up their catch later that night. They assured us that there were no bed bugs, to our relief. That night, I started reading the first draft of my Dad’s novel, a historical musical fiction. Every night after that, I’d read a few more pages and enjoy being immersed in totally different worlds of 19th century German composers.

Total kilometres walked: 12.5km

People seen today: 5

Kiwi seen today: 0

The 24-bunk Port William Hut, with 0 bed bugs

Day 2: Port William hut to Bungaree hut, 6km (3 hours)

The hail slashing on the hut woke us up from an otherwise peaceful sleep. I did not regret bringing fleece pants. We soon realised that waiting for a sunny gap in the weather to leave was a futile activity, and after giving the hut a good sweep we left onwards to Bungaree hut. We had changed our initial plan to walk all the way to Christmas Village hut today, as not to overload our bodies. That made today’s distance a deceivingly short 6km, taking 3-4 hours. Pretty slow-going, we thought, and the mud puddles we encountered on the start of the track soon told us why.

My relationship with mud is an ever-evolving one. At first I try avoiding it, but here always comes a point though that I give up trying to dance around it. Once I’ve made peace with the fact I’ll have wet feet for the rest of the tramp, I embrace it and wade straight on through, and mud becomes a fun game. My favourite thing about mud is that it looks like big gooey chocolate cake batter. Helen said it helped to pretend it was hot chocolate. Pulling each footstep out of the gunk does take a bit of work though, and so after the first slog we were delighted to be met by a beach, waiting to give us respite. It’s amazing how fast the scenery can change, from brooding bogs to scenes of paradise.

Chocolate cake or hot chocolate? You decide

The rest of the track was much tamer, though a bit footy and slippery in places. There was even a rickety boardwalk in place for most of today’s track. I enjoyed the company of the rimu, whose weeping branches protected us from most of the hail today. As much as I love tahai/beech forest, it was great to be in rimu-dominant forest for a change. We got used to the rhythms of the weather here, and they are a lesson in embracing impermanence. But DOC really wasn’t kidding about these slow walking times.

We eventually headed up and over the final headland of the day, and landed down onto Big Bungaree Beach — one of many fantastical names on the NWC. The hut was idyllically located at the northern end of the beach, and low tide made it possible for us to walk along the sand. A paradise duck showed us the way. Unsurprisingly, we were the only people there, and that stayed that way for the rest of the evening. It’s quite amazing, how far away this place feels from it all.

The afternoon was spent trying to start a fire. Given the odds against us with damp wood, Helen did really well to keep a small flame burning for most of the afternoon. I attempted to saw some branches from the wood shed, but with little luck. Leg stretches, a podcast and a few rounds of Wipeout (our ritual card game) later, it was time for dinner. I was pleased with how our first batch of home-dehydrated meal turned out. There was a resident possum and rat hanging around the hut. No kiwi yet, but we have been looking out.

Total kilometres walked: 18.5km

People seen today: 0

Kiwi seen today: 0

Day 3: Bungaree hut to Christmas Village hut, 11.5km (6 hours)

Today would be a slightly longer walk than yesterday, but still not too intense, so we enjoyed a sleep-in. The sun beamed from the trees as we rose and the blue sky, even if brief, made us very happy. Helen got started on the porridge. I was reminded of the joy of putting on wet muddy socks. We left at a leisurely 9am initially heading inland. It didn’t start off as muddy as yesterday, and before we knew it, a delicate falling of snow began from the heavens above! Being a North Islander city slicker, I had never been in a forest in Aotearoa when it was snowing before and it definitely added magic to the day. It’s funny because snow is just slushy rain, but if it were raining I would have been quite miserable about it.

The snow continued on and off just as the hail did yesterday. Helen and I took regular breaks, meditating on the plants and attempting to spot kiwi. Still no luck. The halfway point of today’s walk was marked by a hunter‘s heart on the north end of Murray Beach. The beach itself was an experience of two halves. We sat, eating our morning tea in the beaming sun, while we watched an ominous cloud pass over us. It was yet another snow flurry and it passed quickly enough. The best thing about the beach, close to the hut, where Kiwi footprints in the sand. They were the closest we’ve gotten so far to spotting one.

Once past the hut, we walked along a flat section that followed an old tram line. We imagined that this land had once been cleared for farming — the tram line reminded us of the Europeans’ failed attempts to build lives on various corners of the island. It’s quite amazing how quickly you forget your walking close to the coast as the bush draws you in. Occasionally, we got glimpses of the sea. The mud never got too intense today, but that’s not to say our feet were permanently wet.

We ate lunch in the bush, and even helped ourselves to some freshly fallen snow that had collected in each of the shuttlecock-shaped ferns that covered the forest bed. The stepp stretches of the trail never lasted too long, which kept things interesting for us. I noticed the birdlife getting more diverse and noticeable as the track went followed northwards. At the same time, the number of decapitated rats that have found an unfortunate ending to their lives on the track was quite alarming. The kākāriki keep laughing at us, and we never far away from the squeaky thud thud thud of kererū.

We think we may know now why Christmas Village was christened with this name: because it always snows here? There was also a resident deer that lunched on the lawn outside. I think their name was Rudolf, but I could have been mistaken. Helen and I had our nearest to successful attempt at starting the fire. We unashamedly used some middle pages of a romance novel left here by a tramper as kindling. Still, it was pretty hard to get going, and we ended up being a bit colder than we would have liked to be for the rest of the evening. I won two rounds of Wipeout, so Helen and I are now on an even playing field. Still no kiwi, and no fellow trampers. We had been keeping an eye out on the movements of Vincent, the man also from Wellington who was one day ahead of us according to the hut intentions books. Vincent always left the firewood organised according to size, a kind gesture, or else he had nothing better to do alone in the huts.

Total kilometres walked: 30km

People seen today: 0

Kiwi seen today: 0

Day 4: Christmas Village hut to Yankee River hut, 12km (5 hours)

Being alone with less social noise tunes me in to the sounds of nature. This morning we enjoyed the lowkey crackle of the rocks made by the water of outgoing waves finding their way back into the ocean. Today’s walk started with me almost tripping over in awe of sighting five species of manu in one patch of forest: a kakariki, tūī, piwakawaka, kereru and tomtit. Such is the bird life of Rakiura, though (can you guess what I’m about to say) no kiwi spotted yet! To be fair, neither Helen or I have tried super hard to find one.

Due to the weather and general vibes of the morning, we decided not to go up to Mt Anglem/Hananui, not being too sad we weren’t heading up there. The day started, as usual, with a climb inland, and then plateaued and gently undulated for a while. We scrambled, slid and marched mostly in silence, with the occasional check in, joke or comment.

Having turned the northeast corner of Rakiura’s coast, we noticed the vegetation changing from tall rimu-dominated forest to Northerly-stunted, jungly tangles of mānuka and supplejack. We ate lunch on Lucky Beach with our backs to the fresh breeze, trying to dodge the army of sandflies investigating us as potential food sources. It’s incredible how varied the beaches are on this island, alternating between rocky and sandy. After rock-hopping back into the bush, we scrambled up an uncharacteristically dark mossy patch of forest filled with supplejacks trapping our every move. It wasn’t the most pleasant environment to walk through, but we made it out and into some greener trails.

Yankee River hut was, as you might have guessed, situated along a river. A river mouth, to be exact, occupied by a pair of paradise ducks who kept a watchful eye on us. I later learnt, speaking to the woman at the Rakiura Museum, that Yankee was the nickname of a man who had settled in that area for a while. It was a peaceful sheltered spot, and we were pleased to see a container full of dry-ish wood by the wood burner. Immediately we got to work, me starting to build a little tent of sticks in the fire and Helen bringing in some more wood from the shed. After a few false starts, we got it cranking and it soon warmed the hut up. Our first legit fire of the tramp.

We ate dinner at our usual time of 6pm, splashing out on the rice we had left over, followed by chocolate and a few rounds of Wipeout. The rain started falling more consistently, and would do so for the rest of the evening.

Total kilometres walked: 42km

People seen today: 0

Kiwi seen today: 0

Day 5: Yankee River Hut to Long Harry Hut, 8.5km (4 hours)

It seemed to rain the whole night, but that was probably just me waking up every time it started. The patches of rain became predictable and continued as we packed up for the day, making sure everything in our packs was stowed away in our dry bags. The chief resident rat, who had a cool new spikey hair-do from all the rain, was eating breakfast on the lawn outside the hut. We made a small detour to the beach before we left, to check out the bay that Yankee river flowed into. It was small, rocky and the overcast weather added to the sombre atmosphere.

Today we headed inland again before dipping down to the next bay, a pattern becoming familiar to us by this point. We soon started to miss the hail and snow, trudging up our biggest climb of the trail thus far at a modest 280m. None of the climbs in the NWC are big per se, but it’s the ups and downs in between that all add up. There was no mucking around on this climb, which meant the plateau came faster than expected. Around us we saw glimpses of the base of Hananui and a few patches of settled snow, but the rainy haze obscured most of the view. Eventually, the sun made its daily cameo and we were overjoyed.

The change in vegetation to mānuka was a sure sign we were getting close to the coast. The view down to Smokey Beach lay ahead, with a rainbow awaiting us, just for a moment. When we got down to the sand dunes, we stood in awe at the rolling shapeshifters that lay ahead. There was one set of human footprints (among hoof prints) that we followed diligently between each white pole marking the way. It must have been Vincent from the day before. The white poles led us down to the beach and we walked parallel to the milky waves cheekily licking their way up the shore.

Once at the northern end of the beach, we were confident enough in the weather to sit outside of the hunters’ hut for lunch. A swarm of sandflies also thought it a fitting moment to have lunch,too, but found barely anything as both of us had converted up from head to toe in our sandfly protection gear, outfits we have gotten excellent at putting on. Sandflies seem to like the west side of this island a bit more.

The rest of our day’s walking was lovely - undulating as always, but the sun kept shining and soon we found ourselves back in dense forest. This stretch had interesting rock formations planted amongst the trees, a foreshadowing of the next rocky bay we’d soon arrive at. Back on the coast, a tall wall of rock jutting out of the ocean greeted us. Below, an energetic blue foreshore lay, the tide not yet at its peak. Down by the base of the tall rock wall, I dropped my pack and explored the caves that were accessible to us at low tide. One of the caves was a perfectly rectangular tunnel that led to the other side. I ventured through the eerie echoes of the rock tunnel, and turned back just before the threat of a wave crashing through the other side became too close for comfort.

Long Harry hut was nestled a bit up from the shoreline, overlooking the ocean and million-dollar views out to Te Waipounamu. The sun was drenching the north-facing shelter as we arrived, instantly our favourite hut so far. We unpacked, our usual routine of making a cup of tea, and then spent the afternoon lazing and stretching like cats. Helen checked (for better or worse) if we had reception here - sure enough, we did. Three bars of 4G. As soon as we switched off airplane mode, we regretted breaking the illusion of total isolation and revisited any temptation to make contact with the rest of the world (though we did check the weather and tide times for the rest of the trip).

In the evening we heard kiwi calling - the first, a high-pitched whistle-y sound (the papa), followed by the second, a throaty, raspy call (the mama). This heteronormative calling pattern repeated a couple of times and raised our hopes of seeing some that night. I spent a few minutes trying to spot one in the bushes after dark, but with no success. I went to bed, still hopeful that our kiwi moment would come.

Total kilometres walked: 50.5 km

People seen today: 0

Kiwi seen today: 0

Forgot to take a photo of Long Harry Hut, so here’s an interior one instead

Day 6: Long Harry Hut to East Ruggedy Hut, 9.5km (5 hours)

To day we officially earned bragging rights to telling the hut intentions book readers about our kiwi success. I saw the first kiwi in the morning as I came down from the long drop. After hearing her call from a distinct area, I followed the track down. A large kiwi burst out of the bush and came running straight towards me. I’m not sure if she clocked my presence, but I got the sense she would have easily bowled me over given the chance. She darted into the bush across the path, into a little bed of soft tussock that was clearly pre-made. I ran in to the hut to whisper-yell Helen of the excitement, but by the time we were out the kiwi had retreated into the bush. The next two kiwi we saw thanks to Helen’s astute spotting skills - both were alone, rummaging for a feed of the finest grubs. Kiwi are such taonga.

Today’s walk started with a walk along some coastal terraces, never far from the coast but far enough for the track to be sloggy and slow-going. Just like that, we were turning another corner of the island, and the hints of the wild west soon became apparent. We dipped down to the bay before heading towards Ruggedy Beach, a bay strewn with grippy rocks which had fun rock hopping along for 45 minutes. To our right in the distant horizon, we could make out a line of snowy Fiordland maunga. We had lunch under a shady mānuka that did not protect us from the sandflies.

The Northern coast approaching Ruggedy Beach - if you squint hard enough you can see Fiordland on the horizon.

The next part was an overgrown track, not high on our list of top trail conditions, in fact not on our list at all — to make matters muddier, it was slow and slippery, but the views of the rugged islands and Whenua Hou (famously home to 75 kākāpō) kept the morale high. The lookout afforded sweeping views of the island to our left, and the dunes and east Ruggedy beach below. In the distance, the Ruggedy ranges stood, sweeping up from the flat inland of Rakiura. Views from heights are rare in the island because of the low elevation profile, but once you get them, they’re keepers.

The descent led us down through mānuka to a soft sandy beach, through the most chaotic sand dunes: semi-exposed roots snaked up and over the sand mounds of the tussocks and multicolour escape grass sprouted out, reminiscent of Dr Seussian landscapes. Kānuka berries and many kiwi footprints charmed us along the way. The path from the dunes to the hut kept us guessing, at first weaving through the manuka undergrowth and soon back over the occasional sand dunes.

The East Ruggedy ‘Ritz’ is nestled in beautiful forest. I had this sudden domestic urge to clean the long drop and cut the firewood, but the fire was not to be this evening (the wood was way too sappy - easy to blame the wood!) We had an early night for tramping standards, in bed at 7.30pm.

Total kilometres walked: 60 km

People seen today: 0

Kiwi seen today: 3

Day 7: East Ruggedy Hut to Big Hellfire Hut, 14km (7 hours)

Our destination today was Big Hellfire Hut. The drama of it all! The trail began with a gentle climb up though mānuka groves up to the most impressive range of sand dunes bordering West Ruggedy Beach. They were so tempting to run down, that I dropped my pack and bounded down the dunes for a bit. There’s something liberating and reassuring about the softness of sand dunes. Once down the beach we headed towards the Ruggedy Range, the jagged teeth jutting upward from their spine of the range. It was clear where the name came from.

The length of beach sections on this tramp vary greatly, and this one wasn’t too long. We were soon making our way back into the mānuka, up to the main event of the day: heading over Hellfire Pass, through the thick of the ranges. The climb was muddy and unpredictable, but at its best it was beautiful. At the saddle, the forest temporarily morphed into the lush bush we had come to know on the east coast. An unofficial lookout presented views out to Whenua Hou, seeing it change dimension as we moved south. Out behind Kākāpō HQ, the constant ribbon of Fiordland’s finest snowy peaks stayed with us.

Another dip down, this time to Waituna Bay, and it was much of the same, though we noticed the increasing presence of two things we could definitely have lived without at that stage: mud and sandflies. We couldn’t stop for long on the beaches before a haze of black dots surrounded us. Back up, over another headland, so the pattern goes. Being on an island, you’re never far from the sand dunes. This is true, even at 200m above sea level, where Big Hellfire Hut lay in secluded bush next to a patch of well-sized dunes. As usual, the kiwi footprints led the way over the dunes to the hut.

Just as we’d washed the mud off our legs and gaiters, and as we were settling in for a pre-dinner rest, I heard Helen introduce herself to someone outside. We’d been alone for 6 days that the thought that someone else would use the hut was a distant one. The tramper’s name was Mark and he was a local on the island. Mark had a slick silver mullet and matching beard and was full of laughs and opinions. He insprignly had tramped in in his trank pants and gumboots. He pulled a tin foil parcel from his pack, in it wrapped a live lobster which he’d found tangled up in bull kelp on the beach and decided it would make good dinner.

The young lobster sat on the table, occasionally moving a leg, as we chatted about veganism, what Rakiura locals thought about predator control, and Covid. Helen disclosed she was a doctor, which prompted Mark to share a few of his opinions on orthodox medicine, though we stopped short of discussing vaccinations. We learnt how to start an epic fire from Mark, something which we’ll be grateful for on tramps to come.

Total kilometres walked: 74 km

People seen today: 0

Kiwi seen today: 0

Day 8: Big Hellfire Hut to Mason Bay hut, 15km (7 hours)

After a very light sleep and more vivid dreams II’m beginning to think I can lucid dream), it was pleasing to wake up to a sunrise over the front deck. The sky was clear, and I popped up to the sand dunes and watched the sun peek over the east.

The ridge top heading up to the highest point on the track (399m) was a gentle breeze: nothing steep or too muddy, and with the Ruggedy Ranges trailling away behind us, we felt for the first time in a while that we were making actual progress. Anything faster than 2km per hour was good news at this stage. The easy walking was short-lived as we began our descent down to Big Hellfire’s cousin, Little Hellfire Beach. I wondered if we’d see the stag do hunting party that Mark mentioned had stayed at the campsite there, but the only sign of them were a collection of very large footprints in the sand.

Having so much sand around is (in a strange way) a marker of time, when you can literally see who walked here before you, and how recently they’d been there (pending the tide hadn’t washed them away). Little Hellfire was one of those beautiful beaches with broad layers of waves sweeping in to lap the shore. We tried sitting down for lunch, knowing all too well it would be a matter of 7 seconds before the local sandfly gang would be in our case. Sure enough, the cloud of black things got too much for us and Found a less scenic (but sandfly-free) patch of grass to eat out peanut butter wraps. It was the next up-and-over, Mason ahead, that really got us. The going up was okay, and we even chilled at the top while waiting for the tide to start going out. Someone had kindly left a crate at the high point, as if waiting for the tide to lower was all given experience.

The descent down was steep and muddy. I slipped going down and twisted my body in a strange way, which was disconcerting but no harm done. By the time we got down to Mason Bay, we were pleased to discover that the tide was low enough for us to walk straight down to the beach, and not have to take the high tide route, which from what we could see you looked rather precarious.

Little Hellfire, once affectionately known as the “boiling porridge pot” of the island

Walking four kilometres down the beach was an easy task in theory, and to be fair, it did go quickly. However, The gang of sandflies seemed to have got the memo that we had arrived on Mason Beach and tried to entertain us by flying around our bodies for half the beach walk. We were not amused, but the beautiful weather, with the sun now on our backs, soon became the focus.

Cool sand rock formations lining Mason Bay

The exit point from the beach, if you’re not looking out for it, is very easy to miss. A creek crossing and short scramble up a vertical sand face led us to the path towards Mason hut. The final few hundred metres turned into a grassy flat four-wheel-drive track lined with dark, eerie Manuka forests. It was yet again another example of the way that the Touraine could suddenly change on this island without you expecting it.

We thought that, being on the southern circuit as well, there would be other people at Mason Bay hut. But alas, we had the hut to ourselves got yet another night. As we ate our double dinner for our big day the next day, we were greeted by the bright moon rising over the hill south from the hut, aptly named big sandhill, The direction we would be taking off to tomorrow. Throughout the night, a rat enjoyed nibbling the inside of the ceiling of our bank room. We told them to be quiet through shoving our walking poles up into the ceiling.

Total kilometres walked: 89 km

People seen today: 0

Kiwi seen today: 0

Day 9: Mason Bay hut to North Arm hut, 26km (10 hours)

Today was the big day, a day of two very different halves, at least in the sense of the terrain and elevation involved. We got up with the sun, none of this sleeping in luxury we’d been afforded on most of our days so far. The crisp frost told us it was going to be another sunny stunner, and sure enough, it was. We left Mason Bay hut, well and truly walking inland across the middle of Rakiura.

The golden sunlight illuminated the literal hundreds of spider webs woven in the tussock lining the track, waiting to catch breakfast. We soon passed old homestead, what was formerly the southernmost sheep station in Aotearoa. It all suddenly made sense why there was lots of grass around, but alas, the days of actual sheep living here were long gone.

We zipped along the first 15km of the track, mostly walking in a straight line along flooded boardwalks. I thought this section would be dull and monotonous; it certainly wasn’t the most stimulating part of the circuit, but it wasn’t as boring as I thought it would be. With the help of some podcasts’ distraction, we were soon at Freshwater hut at mid-morning. It was an average hut, but we were glad we made the decision to stay at Mason Bay instead.

That we were closer to the start of the track than we’d been in a while, was evident through the return of the rimu-dominated forest. The shades of green and similar birdsong truly bookended this track. The mud also made a comeback thick and fast. More mini undulations, river crossings, and then a solid climb straight up — our favourite. Before the climb, we ate lunch in a delightfully sunny spot.

Some rimu for your pleasure and nourishment

The ridge at the top involved navigating a tricky obstacle course of roots, mossy rock-hopping and squelching. In the parts where it was sunny though, it was hot, and for the first time in the whole trip I stripped down to one top layer. As I’d technically been living in the same clothes for the whole circuit, having bare arms for the first time in 9 days felt weirdly liberating. The climb down was the steepest bit yet, but it was short-lived and the mud soon subsided. A piwakawaka joined us for a bit, squeaking away, their form of encouragement and thanks for uprooting some bugs on the ground no doubt.

We were a bit over it, in all senses of the phrase, by the time we got to the ‘flat’ again by Paterson Inlet (more mini undulations). Having planned to stay at the Great Walk hut at late notice, we had not have a chance to book it. The final 30 minutes was wondering what might happen if North Arm hut was full, which was an illogical thought based on the number of people we’d seen so far. Helen spotted the hut first, overlooking the inlet, then we smelt he woodfire smoke: we would have company tonight. We ended up sharing the hut with three wonderfully friendly women, two of whom were sisters. Rachel shared some salt and vinegar pea snacks, and we enjoyed a few rounds of cards, expanding our game repertoire to two games: Wipeout (of course) ,and Presidents and A**holes.

Total kilometres walked: 114 km

People saw today: 3

Kiwi seen today: 0

North Arm Hut, where many good times were had

Day 10: North Arm hut to Oban, 12km (3.5 hours)

Carrying on in their generous spirit, Sarah offered us their leftover porridge — running on our last food, we gladly accepted. The trio left before us, and Helen and I got off to a leisurely start. The quality of the track was starkly different: gravel and wide tracks. Today wouldn’t take long. I saw my fourth kiwi on the trip, snuffling round as they do. Helen was on such a mission ahead of me that I failed to call out to her down the track without scaring off the kiwi.

The track wound around the rest of the inlet’s arms. The ups were gentle and the downs even more so. It was a very chill walking day, a sort of warm-down from the intensity of previous days. and the last few kilometres were on an old cart track (Helen suspected). Soon, the sign to Halfmoon Bay 50 minutes appeared, but it only took us 30 along the back streets of Oban. There was a long drop at the end of the track, which Helen proclaimed was “the cleanest long drop ever”. What a way to end an adventure. We had made it. We rehearsed the order of errands we needed to run when back in town.

Our first stop was at the DOC visitor centre, the place where we started this thing 10 days ago, to confess our sin of staying in a Great Walk hut without booking. The staff kindly waived our penalty fee, and we paid retrospectively. Then, off to the backpackers to check in. A good feed was in order at the South Seas Pub, who kindly made up an off-menu vegan salad for me. That’s what I call Southern Hospitality. And coffee! Coffee had only crossed my mind once on the whole trip, when I mistakenly thought someone had left instant coffee granules behind in the hut. We caught up with the outside world, then headed to grab some kai at the Four Square. Later, we indulged in a shower.

Total kilometres walked: 126 km

People saw today: 0 (well, there were people in Oban)

Kiwi seen today: 1

Finished! Featuring the cleanest long drop ever

Epilogue

Rakiura, the third largest island in Aotearoa, is a place of great contrast and flux. The NWC was more diverse than I imagined it would be, with varying bush and beaches of all shapes. The birds made great company, the sandflies less so, and Helen the best. It’s the ideal place if you want to get away from the noise for a bit. I can’t wait to return and walk the Southern Circuit, and maybe climb Hananui on a good day. The island has stolen my heart a bit. Ka kite anō, Rakiura, I’ll be back soon.