Day 58: 42nd Traverse to Tongariro Holiday Park (30km; 1111km total)

Considering I was sleeping on  a slope and kept sliding into the tent wall I slept remarkably well! Unfortunately it was very cold so although I was toasty in my sleeping bag with bandanas wrapped around my head, a lack of light wind/ventilation meant there was loads of condensation in the tent this morning. I got up as carefully as I could to try and avoid dislodging small showers of drips onto my sleeping bag.

Having skipped dinner last night I thought I'd wake up starving.  I woke up busting to pee, but my appetite still had not engaged. Walking a day on no breakfast would not work, but I reasoned that if I packed up and got moving I would warm up and feel a bit more like eating. I also might be able to find a sunny spot to sit in. So that's what I did. I packed down and was underway by 8am.

I walked for an hour before my stomach started making familiar grumbly noises, so I stopped by the road side and sat on a grassy bank in the fading sun (it was clouding over) to have breakfast...or rather lunch. I wasn't keen to break out the pot and stove and cook up porridge, and museli bars for breakfast don't last very long (I get hungry too quickly again afterwards).  So there I sat at 9am making up a cheese, salami and red capsicum wrap and devouring it. I think I may have stuffed down a couple of cookies as well (such things you can have for breakfast on trail).

Moving on again I continued to follow the 4WD track.  It's old and well established so the forest has had plenty of time to close in either side, and the weeds to grow tall along the verges. Also while the road follows an easy gradient, the terrain to either side of it is mostly steep and so there is very little to actually see much of the way and you can pass several hundred meters of forest without really getting a feel for what kind of forest it is (unless of course you have to divert off the main track into the trees to use the bush loo). There are a few spots along the way however, particularly toward the middle of the route and once you're higher up where you get a good view out over the valley below you. At such spots its clear that there are a lot of punga in this forest, their large, radial star-shaped and bright green leaves are the most eye-catching component of the undulating mixed-greens of the forest canopy covering the hillsides.

A view from the 42nd Traverse

Around 10:30 I heard an engine coming up behind me and soon a hunter came round the corner on a quadbike, his occupation suggested by the camo fleece he was wearing and put beyond doubt by the large rifle equipped with camo-silencer slung down his back. He pulled over for a chat. Within a few short sentences it became clear he doesn't think much of DOC. He doesn't hate them he said, but refuses to help them out, such as by taking out goats if he's out in pursuit of deer. His main problem with DOC turned out to be their use of 1080 poison to kill possums, which as we all know is a highly controversial practice. I know very little about 1080 myself but this guy claims that in addition to the fact that we are the only country in the world still using it, its proper use guidelines state that all poisoned carcasses need to be collected and disposed of (which clearly doesn't happen). What concerned me most was that this guy was adamant that, contrary to publicised information, 1080 has killed off most of the kiwi in the area. There are signs at the start of the track indicating that the 42nd Traverse goes through kiwi habitat, and this man told me that there used to be loads of kiwi up here, and that he saw them all the time around a hut he uses when hunting.  Then DOC did an aerial 1080 drop and he reckons six months after that he no longer saw any kiwi around his hut. It's a sad anecdote which I have no way to verify, and there's no knowing if other factors didn't play a role in the disappearance of the kiwi from the area (did stoats move in?), but having recently walked through an area where signs warned users not to take water from the streams due to a 1080 drop possibly contaminating the water, you have to wonder, how the hell does it not end up in the wider food chain and poison other animals besides the desired possums?? I began to wonder if someone in the government hasn't just been crunching numbers and decided that the possums pose a bigger threat to the forest (the destruction of which would I suppose ultimately lead to the loss of habitat of the kiwi) and decided that the loss of some kiwi is acceptable collateral damage for getting the possum problem under control in this area...? Surely not...?

I agreed with the hunter that it would be good for DOC not to have to use 1080, but reasoned that they probably cannot afford to launch trapping campaigns on the scale of that which has nearly eradicated possums from places such as Bream Head. His response was that DOC had twenty years supply of 1080 stockpiled and they were only using it because it was there. Again, I hope that's not the case.

Incidentally I imagine trapping is also quite controversial--it is among hikers at any rate. Much of TA follows tracks lined with various DOC traps and there is no way those traps are cleared regularly. All of us walkers have come across half-mummified possums, stoats or other unidentifiable pest carcasses dangling from traps or rotting nearby. It's one of the few things I really don't like about the trail, but each time I pass a carcass (or more often smell one...a lot of the trail smells like road kill) I find myself hoping that its the body of a pest I can smell (and not something the pest has caught and eaten) and that its one less animal wreaking havoc amongst our native species. One can only hope...and hold one's breath until you get a few paces upwind!

After quite an extended chat the hunter motored on ahead. Turns out he's an escapee from the hustle and bustle of Auckland, having moved to the considerable peace and quiet of Taumarunui, and he's out after deer today as his freezer stock is running low. I wished him good hunt.  I'd learned from him that there were four of five hikers not far behind me. Moving on again at my sedate pace I didn't think it would be long before they caught up.

Turns out it was longer than expected. A few kilometers further on I came upon the Waione Stream crossing just as a mountain biker appeared on the opposite side, coming the other way. We said hello, but struggled to hear each other over the water so he waded across so we could talk without shouting (I had commenced the removal of boots and socks and rolling up of pant legs, but he was much quicker at kicking off his shoes and powering in...though was more than a little shocked at how cold the water was. Something to look forward to, I thought). TA turns off the 42nd Traverse not far from the Waione Stream crossing so I asked the biker if he knew where that might be. There's so many turn offs from the main track along the route and the TA trail notes warn that the right one is not sign posted (I and all the other hikers I've spoken to wonder why...all they need is one post or one sign!), so there's a good chance of missing it. This isn't disastrous as you can follow the 42nd Traverse the whole way out, but it's significantly longer than the official TA route and would probably take me an extra day (I've budgeted three days to do this section of trail, but have decided to try and do it in two so I have a rest day up my sleeve if needed after doing the Tongariro Alpine Crossing). The biker and I compared maps but his wasn't any more useful that the ones I already had. We had a bit of a chat and I offered him some aeroplane lollies. Turns out he is also an Auckland escapee, though only for the weekend, here to do some mountain biking. I mentioned the hunter I'd met this morning to which his response was an immediate "did you shoot him?!".  This shocked me a little bit; obviously this guy had some strong opinions bordering on vehemence against hunters. I felt like asking if he ate meat but restrained myself. Everyone is entitled to their opinion after all. Personally I feel that if I can't kill it I shouldn't eat it, which currently makes me a hypocrite as I've never been hunting in my life (although I do fish).  Consequently I am resolved to go hunting one day, as my only other alternative would be to become a vegetarian (noooo!).

The biker and I soon wished each other good day and went our separate ways.  I donned pack and sandals and slung my boots around my neck (argh the smell!) before stepping out into the stream.  River crossings are much easier with hiking poles as you have four points of contact and so its much easier not to slip over...but poles do nothing about the cold and the stream was freezing! My feet were numb by half way across, and had gone beyond numb to painful by the time I made it out on the other side only a handful of meters away.  Happily they got over the shock pretty quick and transitioned back to full sensation minus the pain (and actually felt quite refreshed) pretty quickly.

Waione Stream Crossing (track continues on in the background)

I was toweling off and putting my socks and boots back on when I looked up to see another hiker had appeared on the far side.  He shortly had his shoes and socks off and waded across and we cheerfully introduced ourselves. His name was Sean and he's from Canada.  He's hiking with three other guys, Arno, from Germany, and two Israeli brothers, and while we talked sure enough first one, then two, then three other hikers had appeared on the far bank.  Soon we were all assembled and drying off on the near side of the river.  After introductions (I haven't a hope of spelling the other's names properly sorry, and I felt silly asking right away!) we chatted for quite a bit about our experiences of the trail. The fellas admired my two hiking poles still in working order; apparently they've all broken at least one each. They don't strike me as the types to be taking things slowly like me though so I'm not really surprised that their gear is taking a beating. Remembering my excess food-laden pack I dug out the trail mix and shared it round. It's something called "superboost" Aevryl bought at New World and its delicious!  I'll have to get some more next resupply, though instead of rather than as well as other food!

Soon enough we all decided to get underway again. I let the guys go on ahead as I hadn't a hope of keeping up with them anyway. I'd asked them about the trail leading off the main track but they were even less aware of where the turn off was than me (I'd investigated what looked like it might have been a walking track right there on the river bank but it was nothing). So we all set off, determined to keep our eyes peeled for a possible turn of on the left, me a couple of minutes behind the others.

Just up and around the first bend a clear quadbike track led off to the left.  I could hear the others talking up ahead, along the main track, but decided to try the quadbike track. Going a few hundred meters along it and checking the GPS should tell me if it was the right path or not. Sean appeared behind me; the four of them had gone on to investigate other options further along the trail. We agreed that if I wasn't back in ten minutes they should take it as a sign that this was the right route and would follow.

The fellas trying not to get their feet wet...

It was the right track,, completely unmarked as promised. Within twenty minutes the four of them had caught me up and I walked with them a little ways. They're all in trail runners rather than boots and so understandably are doing their best to avoid puddles (though I was always taught not to skirt puddles as that only makes them bigger and causes the track to do more damage to the surrounding bush; another point for wearing boots!). While the quadbike track (called Waione-Cokers Track in the notes) was not really muddy, there are some very large puddles where quadbikes have warn the track down. Myself, in boots, find that walking straight down the middle between the troughs where the wheels go, usually finds quite firm and shallow footing (though it always pays to test with a hiking pole first!). Consequently I was briefly the fastest of the group every time we cam across a large puddle: while the others bushwacked round I mowed straight on through. At one large puddle, fed up with the dense bush on one side and seeing a path beaten by other dry-feet-conscious hikers on the other side of the track, Sean tried to leap across mid-puddle. Arno and I watched as Sean did an elaborate, vocally-accompanied leap (Sean is vocal guy, particularly in comparison to the other three), firmly landing his front foot on dry ground...and his back foot in the puddle. Without a moment's hesitation Arno said, face completely deadpan, "You're a special kind of stupid aren't you". I literally doubled over with laughter (something you have to be careful doing with 20kg strapped to your back). Clearly these guys have been hiking together a while and know each other fairly well. They're a fun group.

I let them go on ahead again and after a while stopped for a museli bar, sitting on a log in the renewed sunshine (time to reapply the sunscreen!). Shortly thereafter the track drops down to cross the Mangatepopo Stream.  Several other smaller streams all appear to flow into it at this point and it's not immediately obvious where you're supposed to cross until you emerge at the main stream-edge and see the track carry on up the bank on the other side (at that time obscured by four hikers putting their socks and shoes back on). Once more off with the boots and on with the sandals I set out across the stream that was deeper and wider than the Waione, and just as cold. I got out on the other side and sat down in the spot Arno had just vacated to dry my feet and put my boots back on for the second time. It would have been cool to try and keep up with them and chat for a bit, but I didn't have the energy.  I just accepted the fact that any time there was any kind of water hazard I was likely to catch up with this amusing quartet.

From the Mangatepopo Stream crossing the track climbs up behind a small conical hill and then begins the slow ascent up what I can only assume are ancient lava flows onto the volcanic plateau. The ground is bush clad, the bush quickly changes character from the punga-dominated and denser forest behind to cabbage-tree rich scrub for much of the rest of the walk. There are occasional views en route that I'm sure would have afforded my first look of the Tongariro and Ngaruhoe volcanoes if lingering cloud hadn't obscured the sky ahead.

Incised track anyone?

As mentioned above I'd been taught not to skirt puddles and muddy patches in tracks, and I have been trying to avoid doing this (but am guilty of doing it a bit).  Turns out the Waione-Cokers track quadbikers have done it too, and much of the rest of the track beyond the stream crossing has had all the really boggy sections diverted around.  There is one deeply incised climb up through a clay trench early on that even the quadbikes can't avoid however. Someone has thrown down pieces of tile-rubber matting to try and give them (and probably unintentionally also us walkers) better purchase while trying to negotiate our way up or down the track at this point, but it's still a bit of a slippery slide where hiking poles again prove their usefulness.

I was growing tired and it was not before time when I emerged from the end of the track onto a broader track (curiously littered with deer feet; hunters, clean up after yourselves!) which in a short distance emerged onto asphalt road. Here I found the quartet taking a break.  It wasn't long since I'd had one however to I said hi again briefly but kept going, trying to get into road pace.  The road leads past the Hilary Outdoor Education Center and a car pulling out stopped, the driver saying he'd offer me a lift but that he knew I wasn't allowed. I agreed, but thanked him anyway. (I found out later Taylor stopped at the Center to try and get some drinking water but that he wasn't well received; with kids around they're obviously conscious of random people entering the site, but it seems a bit rough that they didn't let him have any water and would only direct him to the office to sign in).

Emerging from the Waione-Cokers Track

A short distance down the road the maps indicate the TA branches off, again on an unmarked track. The second track on the left is the right one, and initially follows power lines off into gorse-rich scrub. Consequently it doesn't look very inviting and several hikers apparently opt to follow the road out to the highway.  I followed the track however; happily some effort has been made to clear much of the gorse growing on the track itself (if not hanging over it from the sides). Off I went and got a bit of a rhythm going, so much so that I missed a turn and ended up following the track off to the left...until it petered out into low knee-high scrub leaving me nowhere to go. Backtracking I saw one of the Israeli brothers (Avnul?) coming up behind me. The look on his face as he saw me coming back toward me was comical in its disappointment. "Don't look at me like that!" I hollered, happily having spotted the turning I missed and the track branching off, not thirty meters ahead of him--at least he didn't have to back track. He called out in Hebrew to his brother behind him, hidden by scrub and soon all five of us were strung out along the track toward Te Porere Redoubt. We all caught up with each other at the surprisingly well preserved site of an old fort, and all climbed up onto the little wooden platform to have a look. After taking in the redoubt for precious few minutes (maybe only seconds on their part) we got to chatting a bit more about the trail, joking about our different experiences. I was shocked at one point when one of the jokes referenced the holocaust (maybe I was still a bit on edge after my experience with actual racism the day before), but Sean pointed out that with a German and two Jews in the group, stuff like that was bound to happen. Apparently several "Jew in the oven" jokes have come out during nights the group have stayed in the huts. I was still shocked and can't help feeling it's all in rather poor taste, but the brothers assured me they didn't mind and that it was all in fun. I guess if they're not offended I have no business being offended on their behalf, but I'm personally wary of making light of something so awful.

Te Porere Redoubt

We all set off again and I fell behind briefly, only to catch up with them all again as they dithered at the carpark, not knowing which way to go (the map only has one road out, but actually a gravel road goes right past, continuing in both directions). I was amused when they looked to me to decide which way the trail goes. I felt sure it went the one way, but was conscious of the fact the the road leading in the other direction was heading ultimately where we wanted to go and might be a short cut. I should have remember that short cuts make long delays but I was feeling a little adventurous and set off in the non-trail direction. It turns out the guys laid down some kind of bet the result of which was that two of them when in the direction I'd said the trail went and two of them followed me. The two that followed me soon had to back track with me as the road we chose led into pine forest, didn't go where we wanted, and due to being completely lined with a high wall of brambles offered no real possibility of bush-wacking the short 500 m or so it was to the highway (where the trail would have led). So the three of us backtracked and finally made it out to the highway as the sun began to get low. I fell way behind in the last 1.5 km stretch, growing rapidly tired. A few horses tethered to graze along the wide and elevated grassy shoulder of the road peered first at the two guys strolling cheerfully along in front of me, not looking at all like they'd walked nearly 40 km that day (they'd started from the campsite by the river I'd passed yesterday afternoon), before turning their attention to the solo hiker stumbling along like she'd done 50 km, when really she was only just maxing out at 30.  Had I not been so knackered I might have stopped to say hello to one or more of them, but as it was I was intent only on getting to the  holiday park at the highway junction not far ahead.

I caught up with the fellas at the holiday park which, happily, is the first thing you come to. They're avid stealth campers however and were keen to lay down a few more kilometers before dark so I left them to it and checked in. $22 for a camp spot is a bit steep, but we are in tourist town.  I pitched my tent and left it to dry as much as possible in the fading light, also putting my sleeping bag on the line while I had a shower (before I heard about the drying room and moved it in there; there's no heater but at least it could de-damp without fear of it being coated in fresh dew while I was away in the kitchen making dinner).

I maneuvered slowly and stiffly around the kitchen as I made tea and pasta snack fortified with cheese and salami.  This gained odd looks from a few other campers, all who seem to be car-camping or caravaning. Most of them probably did the Crossing today and can't understand why the walk has taken so much out of me. I'm a little worried about how much it will take out of me tomorrow...

I spoke briefly to a UK couple who are woofing at the holiday park (and who think 2hrs is a long walk) before packing my stuff away, recovering my sleeping bag, and crashing into bed. Tomorrow will be a 34 km walk from holiday park to holiday park (the huts are all booked out and I'm not keen to stealth camp if I can avoid it). Oh yes and it goes up and over Mt Tongariro (gaining and then losing approximately 1000 m of elevation. Consequently it's going to be a big day and I anticipate it taking potentially several more hours than my usual 9 hr or so of daily walking. Consequently I'm keen to make the most of any and all daylight and so I've set my alarm for 5 am. If I can get an early start I hope to get on the mountain before the streaming crowds, and also have plenty of time to nurse myself along as required in order to get to Whakapapa Village by nightfall.  The weather is supposed to be good, and as much as I am apprehensive about the length and strenuousness of the walk (I've done the main 19 km section before and so have a rough idea of what to expect, though this time I'll be walking in the opposite direction)...I cannot wait to get up that mountain!

Day 57: Taumarunui to 42 Traverse (25km; 1081km total

I'd set my alarm for 7:30am. I'd taken Taylor's external battery pack to charge overnight in my room and he was going to pick it up on his way through at 8. I showered and dressed and managed to make it into the kitchen by ten past. Apparently I still don't move fast in the mornings, even after a rest day.

Taylor, Matt and Anneli were already there, looking far more alert than I felt, despite a shower. But there was no reason to rush. My sister and brother-in-law are going to be passing through along the highway on their way back from Taupo today so we've arranged to meet up in Owhango for a late lunch. They're leaving Taupo around 12 so I don't need to be in Owhango until around 2 and can afford to dawdle a bit.

I toasted my last ciabatta bun and Matt kindly let me have some of his marmite (Mmm...marmite on toast...how I've missed you!). Anneli asked, slightly incredulous, if that was all I was eating before a walking day, but I then went on to make up a sachet of porridge as well, and a cup of tea, and a hot chocolate. Never fear Anneli, a Stein never starves.

Before long Taylor set out on the trail and Anneli headed into town to the post office. I wished them good walk. Taylor and I have arranged to meet up in National Park in a few days time and I might see Anneli again; if I get ahead of her today she'll overtake me soon enough.

Matt is dawdling this morning too, trying to dry his tent before he packs everything onto his bike and sets off. He's heading to National Park today. It seems everyone is trying to get in place to do the Tongariro Alpine Crossing on Wednesday as that's supposed to be good weather. That means I've got two days to get there. I've budgeted three to do the 42nd Traverse that lies between here and there, but depending on the track I might be able to do it in two and therefore have a day up my sleeve (which I suspect will be needed as a rest day after the crossing).

Matt and I both packed up and headed out around the same time at 10 o'clock, wishing each other all the best and safe travels. I returned Phil's towel along with a pair of pliers he'd lent me (my Christmas decoration proved too big so I cut it down to size), and thanked him very much for the stay. Then there was nothing for it but to set out along the highway to Owhango.

The road to Owhango

I'd only been going an hour or so when I got a txt from my sister: they were on the road and already at Turangi. We modified the plan for them to meet me somewhere along SH4 as they headed south. I told them to keep a weather eye out for a hiker in navy trousers with two walking poles, a green pack, blue bedroll...and a miniature Christmas wreath.

TV anyone?

At the small settlement of Piriaka I initially stopped at the shop (long closed but with a dishevelled picnic table to the side), but thinking I had time to find a nicer spot kept walking. Another K up the road I came to the Piriaka Lookout at the top of a hill, complete with two picnic tables, one of which had a large TV sitting on top, looking as if all you needed to do was pull up a chair and flick over to whatever channel took your fancy. It had clearly been dumped, along with an oil heater and an assortment of other stuff piled in a corner. I stopped somewhere visible and had just lent against the fence when the newly purchased grey van closely followed by a white Mazda pulled in and out jumped Kenny and Averyl, respectively. Hugs all round! It's been over a year since we've seen each other and it's great to see them again; they're a very cheerful pair and Kenny especially has a wicked sense of humour.

'Bringing something from the bakery' turned out to be a small mountain of food including apricot slice, fruit mince pies, pate and crackers, raspberry and white chocolate muffin, savoury scones and fruit juice. In addition they'd also bought me a bag if aeroplane lollies and a bag of superboost scroggin. Over the next two hours we are and chatted; both if them were very keen to here about life in the trail. Apparently it suits me: they both commented that I'm looking really well. Come to think of it Lulu said the same. Maybe people just expect you to look completely exhausted and so when you're not you must look comparatively fit and healthy? Come and see me at the end of a long day guys, then I'll show you exhausted.

It was a wonderful little roadside picnic at which I pretty much are myself to a standstill, which was a good thing as Averyl packed up the leftovers for me to take with me, so in making a guts of myself I ultimately had less to carry. Having just resupplied my pack was already almost full, but I managed to squeeze everything in (including the precious fruit juice !), much to Kenny and Averyl's amusement. I think they actually cringed when I hefted the pack onto my back, Kenny commenting that my pack was creaking like a ship in a storm. Good pack...you can creak all you like, just don't give way!

The exercise was shortly to be repeated as I had forgotten to put on more sunscreen and had to take the pack off again to get it (this happens a lot).

We had a chat to a council worker who came to collect the dumped items just as we were packing up. Apparently this is a problem spot for dumping. As he and Kenny man handheld the big TV into the back of his ute I told him that if he wanted a second one there was another one down the bank (I'd spotted it when having visiting the bushes). The guy looked at me in grave amusement before saying "there's no way I'm looking down that bank!". I couldn't blame him. Seriously people, why can't you take your stuff to the tip like everyone else? That way all the rubbish is at least contained in one place and not scattered across the countryside. Plus Kenny and the council guy made the point that the money they spend on petrol driving to illegal dumping sites would probably cover the cost of the drop-off fee at the local refuse collectors!

Finally I was sun-blocked up and ready to set off. A couple of huge hugs later Aevryl and Kenny drove off, and I followed, rather more slowly, on foot (they'd offered me a lift to get me ahead--but that would be cheating!).

So green!

So cute! (the foal barely topped my knee)

It was a quick 8 km road-walk, with one short stop, to the outskirts of the small town of Owhango. I passed paddocks of miniature horses and called out a friendly hello to a woman leading two of the tiny horses (NOT ponies, apparently) toward the gate. In a minute the friendly woman had kindly invited me in to meet them. Unfortunately the act of taking off my pack frightened the two she had just tethered to the fence, one of whom is still learning to tether; I only hope I didn't scar the poor beast for life!  In amongst the horses I met two adorable little foals (literally the size of a medium-large dog), their mothers, and a heavily pregnant mare named Posh who was a sucker for a neck scratch, and due to drop a foal in the next few days.

While we were admiring the horses we were joined by a bloke who was a cheerful enough guy and who obviously thinks I'm bonkers to be walking the length of the country and doing it with a pack like mine.  Unfortunately he also turned out to be one of the most racist people I've ever had the misfortune to meet.  I'm not willing to repeat in print the things he said (however they are firmly imprinted in my mind) but after beginning with some fairly harsh comments in reference to local Maori he then moved on to Chinese immigrants, making light of the recent death by drowning of a Chinese student in such a way that it was clear that he regards Chinese immigrants as second-class human beings (forget second-class citizens--honestly, the stuff he said wouldn't have been out of place in the Nazi script of a film about the holocaust). I felt like I had been physically slapped in the face. Maybe I have led a charmed life and am fortunate enough to be able to surround myself with mostly tolerant, open-minded folks who have a decent sense of humanity, but it came as a great shock to me to come face to face with such blatant, ignorant racism, on full display with absolutely no filter, in front of me, a perfect stranger. I didn't even see why the topic of different races needed even to have been raised; we were in a horse paddock discussing horses and my walk for crying out loud!

I was so shocked I didn't know what to say, and only thought later I should have looked him hard in the eye and said something along the lines of "my Grandmother was Maori and my best friend is Chinese", which of course isn't true (my grandparents were English and Scotch), but I should have felt justified in a white lie for being able to put this redneck in his place. Unfortunately at the time I could think of nothing at all to say, so horrified was I at what I was hearing, and could only think to bring the conversation to a rapid close, thank Lynn for her time and introduction to the horses, then quickly don pack and set off at a rapid, anger-fueled pace down the road. How...how in this day and age can people think, let alone speak, like that and it be okay?  I guess now I have an inkling of the problems facing the world in terms of racial and religious tolerance. If such awful things can be said (and meant) by someone with no obvious political leanings, motive or agenda, how much deeper and more awful are the views held by those attending demonstrations and race riots around the world? It baffles me...how can anyone look at another person and not see them as anything other than another human being, with a life, a family, a need for food, shelter and other basic necessities, and the understandable desire to make the most of opportunities for them and their loved ones...not to mention the right to pursue those things as much as you or I or anyone else!

What I heard that afternoon sickened me and left a bitter taste in my mouth all the way through the small town.  The cafe was shut and I was not done walking for the day so I bypassed the motel/campground and set off toward the 42nd Traverse. I met a local guy out for a walk on the road down to the bridge over the Whakapapa River and was relieved when our short conversation didn't lead to further racial slurs. I found myself irrationally suspecting Owhango of being a hotbed of racist intolerance, and as nice as the town probably is, I wanted nothing more than to put as many mile between it and myself as possible. It's sad but true that unpleasant experiences poison other experiences afterward until you've had a chance to drain the venom. I would just have to walk for a bit before I could make like Frozen and 'Let It Go'. 

Crossing the 39th parallel south at Owhango

On the way to the bridge a walking trail leads off which, confusingly, has a small orange triangle on it.  Off I set, until I saw the road turn away below, but the path kept on going (through a rather lovely patch of native bush). By this stage I was getting a bit tired and lazy. Backtracking a little I could see the road through the trees below and so cut down the steep slope of the hill, expecting to be able to pop out on the road at the bottom. Not so.  I got to the bottom of the forested slope to find a ground-fern covered drop off that was a near vertical 20-something foot drop to the road, which I nearly slid over. No go. Cursing my "short cut having made a long delay" I scrambled back up to the path, backtracked to the road, and followed it down to the bridge at last.
There's a large flat patch of grass, a picnic table bench and a vault toilet just before the bridge that would have made a great place to camp. There was a small unofficial-looking sign saying surveillance cameras were operating in the area and I tried to decide if this made me feel safer camping there or not (what goes on here that necessitates the installation of surveillance cameras anyway?).  I used the facilities but decided against staying, and instead set off across the picturesque Whakapapa River and began the long slow climb up the hill on the other side.  I hesitated part way up, thinking it might be difficult to find a decent camping spot on the hill, but pushed on regardless.

Crossing the Whakapapa River

There were fresh shoe prints visible in the softer sections of the old 4WD track that is the 42nd Traverse; they looked about the right size and tread pattern to be Taylor's and I wondered vaguely if I kept walking late if I'd come across him camped by the road side in one of the occasionally flat and sometimes grassy pull-ins.  These got smaller as the track got higher and far from anticipating coming across someone else's campsite I began to worry about finding one of my own. Knowing the track is regularly used by bikers of all types (mountain, motor and quad) I didn't feel particularly safe camping alone beside the track...but as it approached 7:30 I began getting more desperate. I had peered into the forest at a few flat-ish spots, but nothing really screamed "camp here!".

Home for the night

Scoping out a small flat grassy shoulder, a flattened brushy patch turned out to be the concealed entrance to a quad-bike track leading off into the bush. In comparison to the main track it was a little overgrown and did not look regularly or recently used. Better still, within several tens of meters it crossed a stream--water source! I determined to camp somewhere here and soon found a doable spot in the brush to one side. The ground wasn't flat but it was at least mostly clear, and five minutes work with my pocket knife managed to clear sufficient brambles, ferns and the odd cutty grass leaf to be able to pitch my tent (it was then I noticed my spare 750mL drink bottle was missing; it must have fallen out during my scramble back up the slope from my unfortunate off-track diversion down to the bridge). I had been hungry while walking, but now I was just tired, dog tired. I skipped cooking dinner, telling myself I'd have a wrap once I got changed and into my sleeping bag, but by the time I'd done that I couldn't be bothered making a wrap either.  Instead I lay down to sleep, trying my best not to slide downhill and put undue strain on the downhill tent wall. There was a tense moment as I heard the sound of a motor bike coming up the main track, pass the point where my hidden track turned off, carry on a short way, stop, then turn around and come back...but it kept going all the way back down and I heard no more traffic after that.

It was not the best camp spot after not the best afternoon, but it was enough. I told my legs they weren't allowed to be restless tonight and went to sleep (honestly, I think my restless legs are all in my head!).

Merry Christmas!

Hi everyone! Sorry the blog has got so far behind but I've been having some adventures...and been out of mobile range for nine days.  I will try and get the blog up to date as soon as I can but until then, suffice to say I've conquered the Tongariro Alpine Crossing and made my way down to Whanganui, I've made new hiking friends and even caught up with an old one from the Northland section...oh yeah, and I've written off a canoe! (More on that in subsequent posts).

For now though I am putting my Te Araroa journey on hold while I go home to spend Christmas with my family and help with the final preparations for Alyse & Pete's wedding. I'll be picking up the trail again in February from where I've left off in Whanganui so watch this space! And in the meantime I have the past couple of weeks' adventures to fill you all in on...

Merry Christmas to you all and best wishes for 2016! XO Jen

Day 56: Zero Day 6

When I checked in yesterday Helene had proudly mentioned how new and comfy the beds were. This sprang to mind when I lay down last night, rolled over onto my side and felt what I thought was a large round rock in the mattress. Of course that made no sense at all, the mattress was perfectly comfortable. Further inspection revealed the 'rock' to be a fist-sized lump on right hip joint/buttock, presumably the result of my fall on the tree roots (and hiking pole) yesterday. And yes, there's a decent sized bruise too, plus another one on my arm (these are notable only because they are larger and darker than the assortment of small bruises I've gained and had fade along the way). Oh well, at least it's only sore when I lie or sit on it!

I got up this morning, slightly stiff but not nearly as bad as I had feared. Long parts of my thigh and calf muscles I've never previously been aware of are a bit tight, most noticeably when walking on flat surfaces. I guess that's what comes from 36km of walking along roads when you're not used to it.

Despite my sore bits I slept well--and could happily have slept more! Once up I still hadn't decided whether it not to walk today or not. In case I did decide to walk the first thing I went to sort out was laundry. Unfortunately despite the sign saying it was supposed to be open by now the office was still locked up tight. A German guy in pyjamas holding his young baby son was standing in the yard, looking at a loss as what to do. He was after some eggs (they have hens here and you can buy fresh eggs), and like me couldn't really get on with his planned morning activities until the office opened.

Neither of us were game enough to hammer on the door so we wandered back to the campground, he to his campervan and me to the kitchen. Fortunately I didn't need eggs for my breakfast so I went and polished off the last of the ciabatta, cream cheese and salmon.

Taylor was already up and about, and all but ready to head into town, short of charging his phone. We began discussing options for the canoe trip.

Around 9am German Dad appeared, eggs in hand--he'd gone and woken up Phil and Helene. I dashed off to get change and powder for the washing machine and put every item of clothing I have except for my puffer jacket into the wash (the puffer jacket I would wear in the meantime, along with the loner beach towel--thank goodness it was a big one!).

Back to planning, we first spent a bit of time researching the different operators and what they offer (what did we do before mobile data?). Finding out costs and options is about the only thing I prefer to do by phone so in the end I rang a couple of outfits to get the required info.

While the official TA route has you walk into Mangapurua Landing, getting canoes delivered here requires them to be brought in by jet boat, making the exercise considerably more expensive. By comparison, entering the river further up the track at Whakahoro means the canoes can be brought in by road. For $250 Yeti tours would bring in canoes to Whakahoro and we can paddle them all the way to Whanganui. Also, if we could get to Ohakune befirehabd we could shop for luxuriously heavy food for the trip at the New World, and drop it off to them to bring in with the canoes. Sounded good to us. We hashed out a rough schedule for the next sections of walk in order to determine what day we should start down the river from Whakahoro. I erred on the side of caution as there are a couple of big days coming up and I'd like a day or two up my sleeve for rest or weather delay. Taylor didn't seem to mind this so we've settled on the 16th as a start date.

He soon set off into town to resupply and I agreed to meet him at the I-Site to confirm details and book the trip once I had slightly more than a puffer jacket and beach towel to wear.

While waiting on my laundry (it took two wash cycles; Phil took pity on me and didn't charge me for the soap powder) and hung out in the kitchen chatting to a guy named Matt. He's an Aussie (from Perth) out here cycling around New Zealand after having spent six months doing the same around Canada. Epic. He's taking a cruisy day today, having just done the Timber Trail that partly coincides with TA. He sat hand-making some presents for his family who, thanks to a flight shouted by a friend, he's going home to surprise for Christmas. He showed me some of his 'finds' from his travels, including a couple of things he's literally found along the side of the highway: an amethyst pendant on what looks like a silver chain, and a huge (and no doubt expensive) G-Shock wrist watch. Insane! Who drops this stuff?!

Matt's a guy with an obvious socio-environmental conscious; he's a near-vegetarian on the grounds that global meat production is unsustainable and a gross misuse of resources (we discussed the issue of grain-fed cattle). He also has a rather cool pair of sandals he calls his 'Jesus sandals' (and that's exactly what they look like) woven from fibre derived from recycled plastic bags. The upside of this is that when they wear somewhere you just put a lighter to them and melt them whole again (of course this will only go so far, but still).

Matt also needs to head into town to suss out some travel matters so after my laundry was finally washed and dried (ah! Clean clothes!) and I was able to dress more appropriately, we caught a lift into town with a friend of Phil's who was on his way back that way. On the road we passed a truck that had tried to go under the bridge and not quite met the 3.30m clearance criteria...ooch.

At the I-Site we caught up with Taylor who cheerfully proffered a list of how many days the canoe journey would take and all the overnight stops we should make along the way, including the number of kilometres between each one. Anyone would think the I-Site people had organised this trip before :)

It all looked good to me (and really, what do I know anyway?) so we went up to the desk and booked the trip, including the first three nights' accommodation as, although a water leg, the upper section of the Whanganui River is classified as a 'great walk'. All booked, Taylor got me to scribble on a map where I intended to be roughly each day between now and the trip in order to get to Whakahoro by the night of the 15th, so he could see what he needed to keep up with (not that I think 'keeping up' is going to be his problem. I rather fear he's going to have a day or two spare to burn...).

I suggested we all go out for lunch. The guys were keen but Matt had run into problems with a train he needed to book (there was no more room for bicycles) so Taylor and I went on ahead to scope out a likely spot to eat. We stopped at a couple of variety stores on the way as I need to get a new notebook for journal notes (I'm surprised the one has lasted this long given my, um, verbosity). I couldn't find a small light-weight notebook but did come away with a small Christmas decoration to affix to my pack; 'tis the season afterall.

Matt caught up with us outside a cafe but the boys weren't inspired by the menu. In the end we settled on a Thai place where it transpired I was the only one who actually ordered Thai food! The guys settled on a toasted sandwich and a bowl of wedges, respectively. Boys! I'll never understand them.

I happily hoed into a massive plate of a chicken and ginger noodle dish I had no idea how to pronounce but which tasted great as the guys discussed the legalisation of marijuana. Taylor's from the US where several states have already legalised it (we noticed as Mum's online subscriptions to gardening news feeds suddenly became awash with "how to grow your own marijuana") and Matt has spent loads of time in Canada where apparently recreational use is still illegal pretty much in name only, and pot can be readily acquired from dispensaries without prescription. Having never tried it myself (although I've probably second handed a couple of times) I had little to contribute other than my observation that it seems to polarise people into either the exceedingly chilled out (to the point of uselessness) category, or alternatively the  exceedingly paranoid (and therefore slightly dangerous) category. The guys agreed that some people can't really handle it, but praised it's de-stressing properties. Matt's stance in particular is that marijuana has invaluable medicinal uses (his phrase "I stand by the plant" caught in my mind), and I had to concede that since things like morphine are legally prescribed for medical purposes I couldn't see why marijuana shouldn't be either. That said, I'm still against it becoming legal recreationally; personally I think this country has a big enough problem with alcohol abuse without throwing pot into the mix. And besides, with everyone getting legally high, the vast majority of people would never get anything done!

After lunch we headed over the road to New World where I managed to find a standard 3B1 notebook, got another ciabatta roll for dinner...and an orange chocolate muffin (I'm thru-hiking, I'm allowed!).

Everyone having organised or bought everything we needed we headed back through town and split up to try and hitch back out to the campground. Understandably Taylor didn't want to walk any further than necessary with his big pack so he stayed put whilst Matt and I kept walking. Once out of the main retail area Matt started putting his thumb out for passing cars. He assures me hitch-hiking is easy but I've never done it before and I watched his technique as I expect to have to do it myself before this trip is over (but for now I was happy to bludge off Matt's talent for it).

Whilst some might say all you have to do is stick your thumb out, I strongly suspect that how you present yourself in terms of body language dramatically influences your chances of catching a lift and by what type of people. If you look dishevelled and grumpy I suspect only a small number of open minded people would want to have you as a travelling companion (and then probably only because they take pity on you). By contrast, the upright and cheerful figure Matt presents as he flicks a thumb looks much more like someone who might be an interesting person to chat to to help break up the monotony of the next several kilometres of driving. He also looks people dead in the eye as they drive past, making him much more difficult to ignore, but his friendly face prevents the gaze from being threatening. Obviously I was watching a seasoned hitch-hiker in action and I'm not ashamed to say I took mental notes. Frankly I'm terrified of hitching, but if and when it comes to it, I definitely want to maximise my odds of a lift.

About a K or so out of town a young tourist couple pulled over and gave us a lift the last couple of Ks to the campground. Phew, my first piggy-back hitch-hike was a success!

Back at the campground we walked in to find Marie and Eddie seated at the picnic tables outside the kitchen; happy hellos all round, and introductions to those not previously acquainted. Anneli is also staying on as she needs to wait for the post office to open tomorrow in order to receive a parcel containing greatly needed new shoes. Lots of people in trail runners seem to be wearing their first pair out about now; Anneli, Taylor, and Andy had worn his out by Hamilton. I'm quietly stoked that my boots have developed nothing more than a few cracks as yet. I know it won't take much for cracks to become holes, but I live in hope that there's a lot of life in the old boots yet.

A couple of hours later Taylor showed up...Phil had passed him in town and given him a lift back to camp. I felt a bit guilty for having got back so quickly when he's waited so long, but Taylor felt guilty because he actually had no intention of staying at the campground tonight. He's instead going to stealth camp somewhere across the river. Most hikers I've met seem to chose stealth camping over campgrounds and hostels--it is after all free. Personally I like the peace of mind that comes with staying somewhere official, plus you most often have access to shower and kitchen facilities, plus there's the added bonus of finding interesting people to talk to. It's good for the mind and the body...but yes,  bad for the bank balance (very bad!).

The campground filled up and by dinner time the kitchen was full with Matt, the four of us TA'ers, another French couple car camping and hiking around NZ, a German girl doing the same, and a retired guy from the UK, also car camping (he made the comment that while it is a good way to see NZ, you're not part of a community like you are if you're hiking or motorcycling, and I can see what he means. Sensing he was finding it a bit lonely I told him to nick a pair of boots and be an honorary hiker).

$1 bought me three fresh eggs which, scrambled and served on toasted ciabatta along with some spinach freshly picked from the garden and blanched, and a dash of salt and pepper sourced from the free food bin, made for a fresh and tasty dinner. After that I went to bed early but unintentionally stayed up late doing a blog entry...then lost it when my battery died...Grrr.

Day 55: Hauhungaroa Hut to Taumarunui (42km; 1056km total)

I had set my alarm for 6am. The deal I had done with myself yesterday was that I could have one more night in a hut in the forest if I got up early and still made it to Taumarunui the next day. If I succeeded I would crack the 40km ceiling and have a new PB (and get to have a hot shower and something to eat other than my last pasta snack).

I'd slept in the top bunk this time, mainly because, though the hut is nice, there is a little but of mould growing on the wall along the bottom bunks. Plus the top bunk had a stop-Jen-rolling-out-of-bed rail so I figured I'd be fine. I slept like a log.

I rose quickly when my alarm went off, made porridge for breakfast (two sachets; it was going to be a big day) and then packed up. The fire had burnt itself out, leaving only a small stump of a log for the next person to use starting it again.

Though I felt I moved fairly efficiently it was 7:30 by the time I had boots on and set off back to the trail. It seems that no matter how hard I try, my morning routine takes 1.5hrs to complete. Certainly I'm no seasoned thru-hiker yet (I remember Cloudwalker went from wake-up to walking in under half an hour).

It's 6km down and out to the road end, followed by a 32km road walk to town, and, unfortunately, a further 4km to get to the campground at the far end of town. The first 6km down through the bush is supposed to take 2hrs...within twenty minutes I was laughing bitterly at the prospect. 2hrs meant an average pace of 3km/hr; I was going as fast as I could whilst not risking a sprained ankle and still I would barely have been averaging 2km/hr through some of it. The track is muddy in places and there are a couple of root-scrambles, one of which I took a little too quickly and slipped, landing hard on my right side on roots and one of my hiking poles. Fortunately the pole didn't break! Struggling to my feet I carried on at a rather slower pace, resigning myself to the fact that today's walk would take as long as it takes.

As today was about 'getting there' I took rather less heed of the forest than I had over the previous two days. The first section along the ridge is cloud forest as before (which guarantees two things: i. It will be pretty, and ii. you will get wet), but the mossy blankets slowly shrink and disappear as you descend down the ridge. The forest becomes more scrubby, and grass starts to appear in patches and along the side of the track--usually a sign you are nearing the trailhead.

The last couple of kilometres are broad and mostly easily traversed quadbike track and I was able to make up some time, miraculously passing the sign marking the start of the trail almost exactly 2hrs after I set out. Who knows how DOC come up with these trail times. Yesterday I'd dawdled and done a 7hr track in approximately 6hrs and today I'd gone as fast as I reasonably could and only just completed the section within the 2hr suggested time period. Makes no sense.

I sat on the raised edge of the road (still scarcely more than a quadbike track at this point) and had a museli bar whilst psyching myself up for the epic road walk ahead. There was no Andy or Taylor to help me this time. This time I had to burn some boot leather all by myself. My strategy was to break the walk into 10km sections, if I could go that long between breaks, whilst trying to maintain a good pace and not drop into slow-gear. The terrain should be fairly easy, so the main problem was going to be, I assumed, sore feet from constantly pounding the hard flat surface of the road.

Getting up I donned pack and checked my watch. 9:40am and I was at the 1020km mark. I wanted to get to the 1030km mark by 12 if I could. I set off.

Following the quadbike track out (it really wasn't a road yet) it gradually improves and eventually becomes a gravelled farm track that passes out through a tall farm gate made of railway girders. The gate was locked so the choices were up and over or to squeeze through the gap between the gate and the post where the long chain securing the gate meant someone my size might just make it through. I passed my hiking poles through the gate then took off my pack and pushed it through, giving it a good shove so that there'd be room for me on the other side too. Bobbing down I squeezed delicately through, no doubt getting covered in rust, but trying not to tear my clothes on any bits of pokey out metal on the way through. Just as I eased out the other side there was a disturbing tearing sound from the vicinity of my backside and I straightened to see a torn piece of thick wire cable poking up out of the ground. I did that whole ineffective twist thing to try and see where i'd torn my pants, but had to settle for feeling with my hands. Fortunately all pant material and Sean's seemed in tact and I decided the sound had been the sharp cable ends brushing against my trousers whist not actually tearing them. Good news!

Donning pack once again I set off at a good pace down the road, which winds gently down the hillside to the valley below. I met a car coming up and the driver, the local farm owner, stopped to chat. He was a nice Maori guy who asked about the water at the hut (he'd heard there's been problems and it seems he's one of the people that helps maintain the hut) and also wanted to know if I'd see any fresh pig-root along the track. True there is a lot of pig-root along the track, particularly between Bog Inn and Hauhungaroa, but there was nothing I'd seem that looked less than a few weeks old. The guy then commented on the number if hikers that had come through and mentioned that he'd given one of them a lift into town. I wasn't sure if he expected me to ask him to do the same for me or not, but I of course I didn't and he didn't strictly offer. We wished each other good day and set off on our different errands.

It was with satisfaction I got to the intersection marking the 6km point, and with relief that I got to the next one, fortuitously just passed the 10km mark from my starting point. I flopped down on the grassy bank beside the road and immediately took my boots and socks off. I had been starting to tire, but was stoked I'd made it, and even more stoked when I checked my watch and saw I'd done it in almost exactly 2hrs. 5km/hr...I think that's a new PB as well.

A couple of cars drove passed while I was there, seemingly amused at the hiker by the highway, massaging her feet with boots and socks strewn on the grass nearby. Leaving my feet to air I dug out my food bags and made a tuna wrap for lunch, washing it down with some cordial. Got to keep the internal fires burning today!

After half an hour I put on fresh socks and re-booted and set off again, mentally saying nothing more than: "annnnnd...repeat!". One hour and fifty minutes later I'd done another 10km, had a new PB for the second time in four hours and had earned another break--this time taking it on a pile of road metal rock chips left in a cleared area just before a bridge. Something must have been caught in my sock above my big toe as it had rubbed and was now bleeding. I strapped the offending socks to the outside of my pack and, after another half hour break, put on my third and last (almost dry) pair. Take me to Taumarunui socks!

Not far up the road I can to a junction where the road sign indicated I was halfway between Auckland and Wellington, which were 330km either way...by road. Unfortunately TA has a lot more than 330km to do before it reaches the capital.

I carried on down the road. The entire day I would be walking through farmland and small settlements until things became a bit more populated closer to town. A few kilometres out of Taumarunui, near the airfield, I came back into mobile reception and stopped to txt Mum and let her know all was well. I tried to ring the campground but couldn't get through. Moving on I made it to the outskirts of town, and at the 9km mark from my last stop passed by a school with big flat tree stumps (aka: hiker seats) in the driveway, so I stopped there for break #3. It was about 4:30 and I was only 3kms from town--I was stoked! Tired, but stoked. Unfortunately I was still 7kms from the end of the day's journey, but still, I was going to make it!

I aired my feet and socks and scarfed down some chcolate and cordial before moving on. About a K down the road I suddenly became aware that my back and bum were wet...really wet! I had thought it was just sweat, but I'd just had a break and hadn't been sweating. Uh-oh. Dropping my pack and extracting the contents I fished out my hydration bladder which had, as I suspected, sprung a leak. It wasn't bad--I couldn't even see it--but there was a continuous drip...drip...drip that must have been going for a while now and had soaked the lower half of me pack, and me. I was not pleased.

Downing the last of the cordial from my drink bottle I tranferred the remaining water from the bladder into the bottle and drank the excess. Fishing out my travel towel I towelled off my pack and the contents of the lower compartment--fortunately my sleeping bag was in a dry sack!

The only other things that were wet were my tent and rain gear, so that wasn't so bad. The episode did put a dampener on my day however (no pun intended) and I suddenly felt very tired. It was a slow final couple of kilometres into town. Happily one if the first things you come across are a gas station and a New World. I hadn't been going to resupply on the way through, but figured I might as well, and then I could head off straightaway tomorrow.

Unfortunately the gas station had sold out of gas canisters (damn hikers!). It was gone 5pm so any other shops that might sell them would be closed, and tomorrow is Sunday so half of them wouldn't be open tomorrow, and definitely not early. Damn. I'm almost out of gas (as you might expect, Warehouse gas canisters are way less efficient than ones from proper outdoor stores, at least in my experience. This one had lasted barely two weeks whilst the first one I had lasted all the way to a Auckland!).

Moving on to the New World I chucked my pack and poles into a trolley and pushed them in, feeling a little like a cross between a mother with a baby-seat in her trolley and a bag lady. Unfortunately I was aware I smelled rather more like the latter so during the course of a cursory inspection of the isles 'tested' one of the deodorant fragrances. Feeling slightly less self conscious about sharing narrow isles with other shoppers I set about sticking up for the next section of trail. Whilst there are towns en route they have a reputation as being expensive resupply points so I decided my now standard 6-day resupply list would suffice (6 days is easy as most things--museli bars, wraps etc--come in packets of six).  I also got some Greek salad, ciabatta, cream cheese and salmon for dinner...mmmm.

Happily everything fit into two shopping bags so I was able to pack down my poles and strap them to my pack before shouldering pack and setting off down the street with a bag in each hand. Curiously I got some odd looks from the locals. Surely they'd seen enough hikers passing through by now to no longer take a second look? Or maybe, in addition to smell, my appearance is rather more startling than what is generally considered normal...? Bring on that shower!

Unfortunately 'that shower' was still a 4km walk away. Off I went, not feeling very enthusiastic by that stage, particularly not about trudging down the busy highway. I stopped to take a picture if a rather cool driftwood Moa on the way through town, and then again at a Mobil I passed which, mercifully, was both open and still well stocked with gas canisters. Right, I had fully resupplied. Though I had half a mind to take a rest day tomorrow, I now no longer needed to and could push on if I felt so inclined.

Coming to a weird spilt in the road where the highway seems to both go over and bridge over the railway line and not go over the bridge over the railway line, I was about to follow it when some local kids called out to me, wanting to know where I was going. From them I ascertained that the smaller side road leading off at this point also goes to the same bridge over the river as the highway, and it has a pedestrian footpath the whole way. TA, why do you get us to walk down the shoulder of a highway when there's a perfectly safe footpath? Maybe they don't want to piss off local residents with too many hikers traipsing by, but I figured one knackered hiker burdened with shopping would be okay and set off. The road passes a couple of small paddocks and a park, but houses for the most part, and bends round toward the highway at the end where it encounters the Whanganui River. I stupidly tried to take a short cut across the railway line at this point, only to be foiled by a steep ditch full of brambles. Returning the road and following it under the railway line I found a footpath up to the road bridge across the river and at last caught sight of the campground on the other side.

The sun was starting to get low as I trudged across the bridge and then the extra 100m up the road to the driveway, and 100m back down the driveway to the campground by the river. A lady, Helene, came to greet me with a "here you are at last!" kind of air. When I couldn't get through to them I'd left a message saying I was about an hour out of town. That was at 4:30. It was now nearly 7. Oh well, I'd nailed a 42km day and resupplied. I'm knackered, but I'll take the win.

I shelled out for a private room ($50), deposited my gear and shopping an went for a shower. I looked forlornly at my travel towel, already wet from drying off my gear, and went back to the office to ask (beg) to borrow a towel. Helene's partner Phil was exceedingly obliging and soon tossed me an enormous beach towel--yes!

And the shower was everything I'd dreamed and hoped it would be: hot, high pressure, and no stupid timer!

Clean, warm and dry I considered doing laundry but decided it could wait until morning; it was only going to be a short day if I did walk anyway. Instead I opted for dinner. In the kitchen I met Anneli, an Estonian woman also doing TA. We had a chat and I found out there was another hiker staying here too, an American...I thought I'd recognised that blue shirt on the washing line! I stuck my head into the computer room to say hi to Taylor. He was surprised to see me. Apparently he'd only gotten here at lunchtime himself, having camped outside of town last night and walking in this morning. He sounds like he's had a rough couple of days; apparently overdosing on vitamin C on an empty stomach makes you vomit. Duly noted. He's looking and sounding a lot less fluey though which is good. Sadly the experience means he really didn't enjoy the forest, which for me has been one of the highlights of the trip so far.

Back in the kitchen Anneli was busy planning the next legs of the trip, specifically the canoe leg down the Whanganui River. She's solo hiking like me and needs to find someone to go with. We briefly considered each other but she's going to get there way before I do as she pulls bigger days (ok, I just did 42km, but she pulls consistently bigger days). This got me thinking about the canoe trip though. I hadn't been going to organise this until reaching National Park. I'd vaguely planned on seeing who's about there and booking something then, but maybe I should be doing that here, now...?

Apparently the same thought had occured to Taylor. He hadn't been going to do the canoe trip since he's solo-hiking (there is a walk around), but as the two of us discussed options the obvious solution presented itself. Only problem is we'd need to coordinate when we could both reach the river in order to book a start date for the canoe. Also there's a load of different operators to choose from, plus there's are range of different start and finish points...Oh well, there's probably going to be a rest day in the offing tomorrow, and even if there isn't I'll need to do a wash first, so there'll be time to look into things then. Right now there are more important things, like sleeeepppppp...

Day 54: Waihaha Hut to Hauhungaroa Hut (11km; 1114km)

Slept like the dead. Woke up at 6:15 and thought 'nope, too early, lie in for another fifteen minutes...', rolled over...and woke up at 8:30. Whoops. But the sleep in was goooood, and I felt refreshed.

No one had come along at some ungodly hour of the night and I still had the place to myself. The immediate advantage of this was that after breakfast, while packing up, I could wander around rather more underdressed than I would otherwise. Some hikers have no quarms about wandering around populated huts in their underwear but I'm not one of them. However, if no one else is about and I can pack up my camp clothes but not put my still-cold-and-wet-from-the-day-before walking clothes on til the very last minute then that's exactly what I'll do. There's always that cringe moment when you pull on your walking trousers and shirt when they haven't been washed for a few days. I'd sloshed mine about in the river yesterday so although not all gross and sweaty like they are lost mornings, they certainly hadn't dried over night and when I finally was ready to leave it was a little like putting a loose fit in pair of yesterday's togs.

Keen not to get cold after that I quickly donned pack and set off. It's a short day today kilometre-wise but the sign for the track says 7hrs and the trail notes say 10--what kind of horrendous track will I be encountering today?!

The answer: no kind! It's a beautiful walk along mostly good track (though some f the sharper corners could do with a bit more marking so you do just plough off between the trees). The first half of the walk follows the Waihaha River upstream along a lovely easy track through two-storey forest with towering rimu trees. There are some short uphill sections as Te track divers up and around a huge landslide on a steep bank of the river. Nearby someone has built a small lean-to bush shelter out of fern fronds and I wondered if they had built it for fun or if they had been forced to spend the night under it in the rain.

If you have a tent with you there are several nice spots to camp along the river along the way, including several broad green open areas, that look grassy at first glance but are dominated by other kinds of low ground plants. In one of them I saw a bright red and black moth-like butterfly(?) that I'd glimpsed once before on the way to Te Kuiti but otherwise had never seen before.

The Waihaha River flanking the track is crystal clear with a grey-green sand and rounded boulder base; in places black streaks of concentrated heavy mineral or light organics (couldn't tell which) have been streaked out by the current forming cool patterns on the river bed.

Kaka could be heard calling from across the valley at regular intervals along the route, as well as bellbirds. Then at one point in the track through the I realised I could hear a parrot, but that it sounded far to high pitched to be a kaka. It sounded like the agitate alarm call of a large budgie and it was coming from a tree just above me. Screeching to a halt I peered eagerly up through the branches and yes! There, sitting on a branch and clearly not very happy with some big ground dweller walking under its tree was   a small green parrot with the characteristic red and yellow cap--a kakariki. I had seen one! I got very excited and didn't a quiet little celebration as I watched the bird hop about on it's branch for a bit chirping, before deciding enough was enough and flying as way to a tree further off the trail. I left him or her to it and moved on, grinning from ear to ear for the second time in two days.

Now I knew what to listen for I kept my ears open, and before the day was out I'd seen another kakariki and heard at least two more, along with a myriad of bellbirds, grey warblers, kaka, tomtit, a few other birds I couldn't identify, and the odd tui and fantail, and what I think was a robin.

I had planned to walk out to the road end today, in order to make the long road walk out to Taumarunui tomorrow a bit easier, but as I walked I found myself wanting to stay in this forest a little longer.  I decided to get to the hut and make my decision then.

After crossing a stream track diverts away from the river and heads up a ridge.  It climbs the ridge in three steepish sections separated by gentler shoulders that are an easy walk and a welcome break in between the more strenuous climbs. Heading up the ridge the forest slowly changes. Leaving the two-storey forest of the valley floor behind the rimu get smaller and the forest more open. Not far up you enter this surreal garden-like patch of forest where the undulating ground between the silver-grey trunks of the trees is carpeted in a strange little ground-dwelling plant with upright green leaves that are faintly shovel-shaped, distinctly veined, and bright green when young but darkening with age. Though it was nothing like Lothlorien I wouldn't have been at all surprised if Haldir had suddenly appeared and observed that the noise of my breathing was making me an easy bow target.

But there were no Elven arrows in sight and I traversed up the ridge alone in a little forest wonderland. The spell was briefly broken when I went astray in a low section on a shoulder between two ridges, but finding the trail again I headed on up. As the forest became denser and mossier the clouds closed in and it started to rain. Back in cloud forest I put my was down and switched my focus to getting to the hut.

I was already wet so there was no point putting on my raincoat, but I was starting to get cold. I hadn't had lunch as I seemed to be making good time, despite dawdling along admiring the birds and river and trees. My plan was to get to the hut and have a late hot lunch there. Just like anything you anticipate covering the last kilometre or so to get to the hut seemed to taken forever, but finally I came to a junction an a sign indicating the hut was 75m down a side trail. Off I went and in moments was stands on the small porch of a small hut perched just below the too of a ridge, looking out over a forest-clad valley...or what I assume was a forest-clad valley from the odd glimpses I got through gaps in the passing wet clouds.

No one was about so I stripped off my wet clothes outside and hung them up before taking the rest of my gear inside and putting on lovely warm dry thermals. First things first--I was starving! So out came the pot and the stove and on went the gas. Though eager to preserve the warmth I diligently cracked the door a little to let any carbon monoxide fumes escape (there are sins in all the huts warning you to do this if cooking inside).

It was only 3:30...I could have had loch and pushed on, but it kept raining intermittently and I was cosy and dry inside, and besides I wasn't yet ready to leave this nice forest.

Maybe it was the altitude or maybe it was the weather but there weren't many birds about to watch. I seemed to have long left the kaka and other birds behind down in the valley and only a determined little grey warbler was intent on singing out the weather up here on the ridge.

Though the setting may not have been so nice, the hut was much more my size, with only 6 bunks, a small corner table, stainless steel sink bench and a fireplace. I found myself hoping no one else would show up again so that I could reign happily for one more night in my own private cabin in the woods.

I checked the log; Taylor had made it the night before, and presumably was hot footing it to Taumarunui as I stirred the last of the salami and cheese into my pasta. I recognised a number of other names as well, as I had done in the logs in the other huts. Symi, Janosch and Celestino seemed to still be hiking together and were some if the few who, like me, had stayed a night in each hut along the way. Billy had gone through, seemingly on the same day, or a day ahead of Sophia, as he left a passing comment saying "Come on Sophia!" in the notes. John had been through, as well as Nathalie, and several days back Andy, and before him Niko. There were several other names I recognised from discussions about other hikers, but whom I had not met, and still more (though surprisingly few) names of hikers I hadn't met or heard of. The Waihaha Hut log had had the names of several people who were not TA hikers: tramping groups, weekenders and hunters were common, likely reflecting the huts position at the junction of two trails. But Hauhungaroa, near the end of a single track, seems to be the domain of TA hikers, and even then, only those not quite ready to leave the forest and hasten back to civilisation.

Seeing comments in the log dated approximately a week ago saying there was no water at the hut I made a quick trip outside to test the flow from the water tank. It was clear and strong. Relieved, I went back inside to finish my perusale of the log and eat lunch. Someone has written in white marker on the wall about how to get the water tank running if it blocks up. They've signed off "Trek 3000". Taylor's trail name is Trek so I wondered if it was him that fixed it; I must remember to ask him if I see him again.

There was one lone book on the table, 'the Autograph Man', plus a handful of magazines. I read the first couple of paws of the book, but then decided there was no way I'd finish it and time would be better spent catching up on diary and blogs.

I had at first decided not I waste wood by lightin a fire solely or myself, but then considered that if anyone else showed up they might like to come in from the rain to a nice warm hut. Also there wasn't much dry wood (though plenty of wet) so I reasoned that if I could get the fire going I might be able to help dry more wood for the next lot of hut users. Plus there's just something cosy about a fire. So I set about it.

I am ashamed to say that even with a ready supply of cardboard, matches, wood and even a hunk of rubber and a box full of coal...it took me about an hour to get the fire going. At first I tried the generic pile of starting fuel and kindle, but it all burnt out without even getting enough heat up to sustain itself and achieving nothing more than smoking out the hut. (Note to concerned hut users: after the first failed attempts I switched to using my own matches to preserve the hut supply! Also I was trying to use as little of the cardboard as possible since there wasn't a great deal). Finally I gave up and set about lighting a fire 'my way' (which I should have done from the start). 

How to light a fire--Jen's way:

Get two equivalent sized small logs and lay them down each side of the fireplace (with a large gap between them). The ones I used were damp but that didn't matter--they're only the props. Next tare and scrunch up cardboard and put it in the gap, along with a few small bits of coal and a good handful of the smallest and driest sticks you can find in the wood bin outside. Next stack the absolutely driest finger-width sticks you can find, arraying them on top of the 'props' like a tower game of Jenga. Finally on top of the tower rest the driest large log Yiu can find: in my case this was a half-burned stump left over from whoever had a fire in here last. Mentally crossing my fingers I struck a match and lit the three accessible sides of the kindling pile before quickly pushing the door to (I'd quickly learnt that having the door open rapidly helped put the fire out). Peeking through the gap in the door I was geaifise to see tongues of flame licking up the inside and outside of the tower as the fire began to softly crackle and purr. The purr  grew into a roar and I peeked again to see my tower engulfed in flames. Opening the door quickly I stuck a handful of large lumps of coal into the inferno and shut the door. The roar settled into the ongoing rumble and crackle of a happy fire...which made for a happy Jen. Inevitably the tower burned through and collapsed but by then there were enough burning embers to keep the bigger log burning and put a fresh log in on top before returning to my blogging.

The weather cleared a little as I typed and I got a brief view of the valley as the sun set, tingin the clouds with red. I got my camera out ready to take a photo once the view properly cleared, but the clouds closed in again into a dull grey twighlight.

No one else came. I was alone for a second night in my own little private cabin in the woods, but this time with a cheerful crackling fire to take the edge off the silence. It was perfect, and I reflected that this was where I felt most peaceful and happy, and strangely at home in this space that, just for a night, I could call my own.

Day 53: Bog Inn Hut to Waihaha Hut (18km; 1003km total)

Today is an exciting day. Today we pass the 1000km point that marks 1/3 completion of TA...but that wouldn't happen until later in the day. First I had to get out of bed, which proved difficult.

I'd slept well, eventually--no doubt better than poor Taylor who'd had to prop himself up on his pack all night to keep his sinuses clear so that he could breathe. But there he was up and about and packing up at 6:30 when I hadn't yet risen from my bunk. When I did I wished I hadn't. Yeah, I'm not a morning person, even on good days and, unnecessary biological details aside, today was not starting out as good day.

I finally managed to get up, get myself sorted and was making breakfast as Taylor set the final straps on his pack. His plan is to mission through to the second hut on from here, Hauhungaroa, so that he might make it out to Taumaranui in two days. It's no fun being sick in the bush and his food is rapidly running out (or maybe he sensed a bad dose of PMS in his hiking companion and had the good sense to flee...?!). I plan only to go as far as Waihaha Hut and consequently have a much shorter day ahead of me (although the walk time is supposed to be 7hrs and consequently I don't think I'd have a hope of getting to Hauhungaroa in a day even if I wanted to).

I wished Taylor good walk and to get well soon and he set off; we might catch up again down the trail. After he left it was strangely quiet. It was a damp, overcast morning but not raining, one of those ones the birds seem to be waiting out to see if it's worth getting active for the day or not. Feeling like some isolated semi-living thing I stumbled groggily around, slowly getting organised, and talking to myself a good deal. I do that on groggy mornings, or any time when I'm by myself really (and some times, rather embarrassingly, when I'm not by myself...).

A good hour or so after Taylor had left I shut up the hut, shouldered my pack and set off back up the track to the turnoff. Thid time going straight ahead I headed off through the forest in the direction of Waihaha Hut.

I wasn't really sure what to expect from the track today but it turned out to be a mostly easy, and extremely nice walk. The first several kilometres take you through sub-alpine cloud forest; the trees are not very tall and every square inch of them is covered in thick green moss. Everything is green, one of a hundred different shades of green!

I stopped for a morning tea break when I came across a large empty green container that was just big enough to sit on. As I munched on a museli bar I looked up at the great, thickly moss-clad radiating boughs of the totara(?) trees above my head. They look quite surreal, so much so that I wouldn't have been surprised if little translucent forest spirits had started appearing along the branches and peering down at me inquisitively, like something out of a Hiyao Miyazaki film.

Moving on the track climbs easily to the summit of Mt Weraroa where a makeshift helipad and low scrub may have afforded a good view had the summit not been completely enveloped in thick, damp cloud. Going down the back of Weraroa the track is steeper. As you descend the forest becomes less mossy, more open and the trees get taller. Passing by a bog I was startled by the sudden sound of frogs, there surprisingly deep voices quite jarring in the otherwise cloudy silence. In my stupidity I thought "oh, let's get a photo of the bog" and within two steps off the trail had sunk into up to my knee...and sinking. Happily my other foot was still on solid ground and with my hiker poles I was able to haul myself out and back onto the track. The mud I brought up on my trouser leg didn't smell real good.

Beyond the big the trail crosses a few small streams (where I washed said trouser leg) and then has an easy climb up to a ridge walk. Guessing I must be nearing the 1000km mark I flicked on the GPS and used the 'find marker' function to tell me when I reached it. There was an orange trail marker not more than 10m away so I got out my permanent marker and wrote "2015 1000km 1/3 of the way to Bluff!" on it before taking a selfie. It occured to me my graffiti might be forgiven as others might like to celebrate the milestone (but only occured to me later that I should have put "TA" on there too, after all, not everyone walking this track is doing TA!).

I sat on a log nearby for a museli bar break and was treated to a family of kaka playing in the trees above my head. I must gave sat and watched them for a good half an hour, trying in vain to get one recognisable photograph of any one of the birds, before giving it up as a lost cause with such a small camera and deciding instead just to sit and enjoy the company. Parrots are entertaining to watch and kaka are no exception. They're also fun to listen to, with their mix of parrot-like squawks and short but musical catch-phrases (I use the term because the same short musical set of notes seems to get repeated a lot, but never quite constitutes a song).

Eventually the kaka flew on to neighbouring trees and I too set off again,  grinning from ear to ear and feeling very lucky to have been able to see so many of the birds and watch them for so long (at least five altogether at that time).

It's a steep climb down from the ridge walk, before a small river crossing (that warranted boots off and sandals on to wade across), and then a steep climb back up onto the next ridge, past some truely enormous rimu trees along the way. It was a very slow kilometre or so, with two or three 'tree root ladders' to scale, both up and down. From the ridge it's a slow descent down to the Waihaha River and the hut which bears its name.

The Waihaha Hut is a much more modern building than Bog Inn, and also much larger, housing ten bunks, a large table, fireplace and a sink and bench top. It's nestled in a large clearing surrounded by forest that seems to exist in two levels: a lower mixed canopy pierced by the trunks of rimu trees towering high above with their characteristically shaggy tendril-leaved branches. Kaka could be heard throughout the valley and fairly often one or two would pass overhead, heralded by their loud squawk before coming into view, their laborious flap making flying look like rather hard work.

It was still mid-afternoon and no one else was around so I made a b-line for the river, keen to wash away sweat, mud and  a general feeling of ickiness I had despite the surprisingly pleasant day's walk. My 'wash' was little more than a quick splash and a shriek at the water was icy cold.

Dry and in relatively clean clothes I went back to the hut and set about making a cup of tea and dinner at the outdoor table, listening to the kaka, and bellbirds! I first saw one yesterday. We have loads at home so in themselves they're not new to me but are remarkable in that this forest is the first place I've seen or heard bellbirds all trip. Everywhere else has been completely dominated by tui. I have seen one or two tui here, but definitely many more bellbirds. As I watched two of the birds in question erupted from the trees on one side of the clearing, shot across and into the trees on the other side, bellbird in the lead with a tui in hot pursuit. I wondered who had been the bully to instigate such a chase. I suspected the tui; I've seen them chasing or being chased by several different types of birds over the course of my journey. While they sing beautifully (for the most part, with a notable exception being the broken record tui at the Repeater Campsite!), they do appear to be trouble makers (gosh, are tui divas?).

I sat and munched my pasta, thoroughly enjoying the birds, but feeling a little lonely. I realised it's been almost a week since I've actually been alone for a night. Funny how you get used to having people around, and how weird it feels when there's suddenly no other human beings to talk to. There was always the chance someone else would show up at the hut of course, but as the time passed I got rapidly used to the isolation and quietly hoped no one would come by and that I'd have this lovely little patch of forest to myself for the night.

As it turned out I did. As the light faded I moved indoors, got a small fire going for a few minutes just to take the chill off the room (the wood was a little bit drier than at Bog Inn but not much), and sat and updated my diary by candle light. By 9pm I figured I was alone for the night and hung up my gear around the bunks to air/dry before going to bed, feeling happy and content in my own private, though significantly over-sized cabin in the woods.