Day 41: Huntly to Ngaruawahia (20km; 781km)

Ok, sorry to keep starting blogs with things like "slept badly" but it's so often so true and makes getting started so very much harder...and today was no exception. The ground at the campground, though grass, is hard...and so I had a terrible night's sleep. I finally hauled myself out if my tent bleary eyed sometime after 7. Sophia was already up and breakfasting and by the time I returned from a shower in a vain attempt to make myself look and feel a little less like death warned over, she was packed up and heading out. John was also up and about, but taking time over breakfast as he planned to have a rest day today--though the lack if nearby shops seems to have him teetering on the point of packing up and walking as well.

I skipped the porridge as I was keen to get away; I planned to stop on the way back through town to get an extra pasta snack and more chocolate. I bid John farewell, trying to be amused by his jest of "have you got your flashlight?" as I left; we'd discussed the night before that a 20km day over steep terrain might see me walking into the night...

Oh yes...and it was still raining, after raining all night, and it was forecast to rain all day. My outlook on the day was bleak--which just goes to show you can't judge a day by it's start as it turned out to be one of my more enjoyable days thus far!

But I was to know that as I trudged through town, stopped at the superette for supplies and then at a cafe for breakfast: going with what the body craves I had a sausage roll, chicken karage salad and a hot chocolate. Such things we feel like eating at 8:30am on the trail...

Back across the bridge and a few kilometres down the road and up a side street you come to a small carpark and the start of the Hakarimata Walkway. Surprisingly there was a loo (long drop but still, a tangible toilet--you learn not to pass up such opportunities when you intend to spend the day in the bush...). Ready to go I set off up the long slog to first the lower and then the upper lookouts. A gaggle of kids under the watchful eye of an older brother and folks passed me going up one of the stairways. The older boy told the younger ones they should be running up like him as they passed so I smiled and said "that's right! Only people with heavy packs like me are allowed to walk up here, everyone else has to run". A blond boy of about seven stopped to look at me and after a beat determinedly said simply "No". Ahhh kids these days, they know so much. There's no fooling them.

Sweating out of my skin I stopped to take off my raincoat and a couple walking back down stopped to ask why on earth I was carrying a huge pack up the hill. I explained about the trail and they were really interested. As we went our separate ways I overheard the female party say "we should do that!"...I didn't hear the male party's answer but I don't think he was convinced.

The route is steep, but it's no Bream Head and the bush is nice. Near the top I passed a runner coming down who had passed me going up. She also stopped to chat and was intrigued I was not going back down but up, over, along and out the other side. She warned me that the track deteriorates beyond the upper lookout, that it gets muddy and instead of stairs "the tree roots are your stairs!". Sounds like a standard NZ bush track then.

I got to the top just as the family gaggle were coming back down. They seemed surprised to see me and even more surprised to gear I was heading to Ngaruawahia today. It seemed like such a long way away to the kids, which made me laugh...and I laughed again when it occurred to me that at the start of all this 20km seemed like a long way to me too!

I sat at the top lookout and munched a museli bar. After a brief break in the rain it started again as I sat there. Donning pack I set off along the narrow track through the bushes leading away from the broad, gravelled luxury trail I had taken to get up here.

And the track is pretty much what you'd expect: a nice undulating ridge track through native bush. Yes it has a few muddy patches and yes there's a few root scrambles, but nothing too horrendous. It rained all day but in actual fact that was part of what made the walk for me. Being under the trees you were out if the wind so even though I was soaked to the skin I wasn't cold (I hadn't put my raincoat back on...after sweating my shirt through there didn't seem much point). Everything was quiet up there in the forest, like everything was waiting out the rain. There were times when wisps of the low cloud could be seen wafting through the trees, an eerie but pleasant scene that made you feel like you'd been transported to some other ancient world. The only real sound beside your own heavy tread was the consistent pattering of rain through the leaves of the trees, a peaceful sound that kind of lulls you into a semi zen-like state, especially where the track terrain enables you to keep a rhythm to your stride. The only noise that interfered with the serenity of the walk at any point was the intermittent sound of one determined jet boat doing what sounded like circuits and bumps down on the unseen river below. I only saw one other person on the track and that was very early on before the rain had properly settled in. He seemed quite surprised to see me and had a vaguely possessive air about the track we were on; apparently he's never met someone else on this part of the track when he's done his drive to Ngaruawahia, cycle to Huntly, run to Ngaruawahia and drive back to collect his bike circuit before. TA is getting ever more popular so I'm sure I won't be the last hiker he encounters up here.

At the far end of the ridge walk the track emerges onto a helipad next to a tall wooden lookout tower. Half a dozen young people were up the tower dressed in trackies and taking selfies in the mist. As I sheltered under the platform for a minute they climbed down and took off down the once more well maintained track (read: semi-continuous stairway) down the ridge. None of them gave me a second look. They were the largest of several groups of joggers and walkers is encounter on my way down. Most were in pairs or by themselves. One pair of teenage Maori girls climbed up with a portable stereo blaring rap music from a small backpack. Another pair of lithely built girls passed me first on their way up and then on their way down. They remarked that they thought I was nuts to be walking up and here with such a heavy backpack. Funny...I thought they were nuts to be running up and down the damn stairs!

At the bottom the pathway flattens out and after a short steep descent past a couple of nice water falls follows a stream out to Ngaruawahia. Now to find the motel. I had called ahead from Huntly and they were happy for me to pitch a tent for $20. Not really looking forward to the prospect of camping in the increasingly heavy rain (but unwilling to shell out $75 for a room) I set off along the trail route through the town. It pretty much follows the river, going through a park where some young boys were hanging out under the shelter of a band rotunda. I suspect they were playing truth or date as inexplicably one of them stripped down to his birthday suit and then there were suddenly gails of laughter      (and trousers quickly re-hoisted) when the group spotted the sudden hiker making their way through the park in the rain (but, having seen the boys before they saw me, strategically diverting away from the rotunda).

Out of the forest it was not only wet but windy and cold and I was near shivering byvthectime I arrived at the motel. The motel has recently changed hands and is now owned by a local Maori family who were wonderfully hospitable. Seeing the state I was in Harry, who was manning the front desk at the time, hastily directed me to the camper shower. Unfortunately the hot water heater for this block hadn't been turned on and I stood perplexedly waiting for the water to hear up for five minutes before returning to the front desk to make enquiries. There I also met Rongo who rapidly whisked me into one if the motel units to use the shower there....Ahhh hot water. I stood in the shower until the feeling had returned to all of my skin. Getting out I dutifully returned the unit's towels and bathroom condiments to their proper place, having removed them out of splash-range beforehand.

Warm and dry and much happier for it Harry helped me put on a wash and Rongo kindly made me a cup of tea and invited me through to sit on the on-site house verandah to drink it. We sat and sipped, looking out over Turangawaewae Marae on the far river bank, home of the Maori King. Rongo told me about it, pointed out the little whare guarding the fresh water spring, and told me all about Prince Charles' recent visit to the place. Apparently they opened the marae up to the whole community for the day and Charles, to his credit, apparently ignored his minders when they tried to hurry him along to another engagement, and instead made the most if his visit there.

Before long Kouri and Miki, relatives and the motel's new owners came home. They recommended the Indian restaurant in the high street for dinner so after putting my washing in the drier and pitching my tent I set off. I put on my rain coat, debated and decided not to put on my over trousers. Very. Bad. Call. By the time I'd walked to the restaurant only two blocks away I was drenched from the waist down.

Determined to eat in, at a table, I sat and dripped a little while first ordering and then shortly thereafter demolishing a tandoori chicken pizza (what seemed the most bang for the least buck on the menu). The waitress was very friendly and chatty, and obviously a bit conscious of it as she seemed to stop herself from talking or asking questions several times. In the down time between taking orders and serving dishes to me and the one other occupied table she contented herself with watching some dreadfully cliche looking Indian soap opera on television behind the counter. With little else to do I couldn't help but watch as well, trying to figure out what on earth was going on. A woman seemed to be being held semi against her will, while some guy seemed to order a hit on a couple of people, who in the very next shot were shown to be seated, heads tilted to the side (and therefore presumably dead?) in a car. The drama was not enough to hold my interest however so when I had finished my pizza I paid and strode back out into the rain toward home, determined to get warm and dry...again.

I got back to the motel to find Kouri had made up a bed for me in one of the many spare rooms of the house. She was just not having me out in my tent in the rain. I felt bad because if idler that strongly about it I should have shelled out the money for a room, but I think after a day walking in the rain I was in a 'brave all the elements and face nature head on' kind of mood...plus my tent is designed to cope with such weather. That said, I am not one to turn down a cosy bed when it is offered, plus I felt it would be terribly rude to decline such a gesture. So I struck my tent--no sense leaving it up unnecessarily when it might get damaged (the large sunshade umbrella in the yard had already blown over perilously close to it)--changed into my last lot of dry clothes (basically my long johns) and sat in the couch to watch TV with another lovely family. Honestly, the people you meet doing this sort of thing and the kindness try show you continues to blow me away!

After my previously rubbish night's sleep and day's borderline aquatic adventures I didn't last long on the couch and was soon off to bed. I lay there, cosy and warm, listening to the gale and rain outside...immensely grateful to be indoors.

Reflections: Auckland Region

So as of Mercer I officially passed out of the Auckland Region and into the Waikato. Awesome to be into region #3--progress! Also, admittedly, it's nice to be out of greater Auckland...

Entering the Auckland region was exciting as it felt like the first really significant landmark south of Cape Reinga where you could say "wow, I've actually walked some way". In and around Matakana and Warkworth were nice because I got to meet and stay with some awesome family friends, but also the trail was still rural and 'bushy'. Once you hit Orewa the going got mentally quite tough (but thankfully was still being relieved by catching up and staying with friends!). The problem is you are hiking through civilisation...which just feels wrong. If I had the money to spring for some fresh walking clothes it would be so bad, but the realty is you're slogging through the hot sunshine (if you're fortunate to have good weather!) in clothes that will never be properly clean again (no matter how hard you try), wearing enormous boots and carrying an enormous pack, and walking past loads of people cheerfully walking their dog, swimming, or worst of all: just sitting or lying in the sunshine relaxing on the beach. Of course you want nothing more than to do the same! But you've got 15km left to do today and really shouldn't take anything more than a short break...and there's beach after beach of this as you was down the North Shore. And when it's not beach is increasingly more affluent suburbs where people ogle you from their mercedes as they drive past and wonder why there's someone tramping down their street (in fairness to them the trail has ony recently become popular, and lots of hikers skip the city sections, so residents may not yet even be aware of the trail running past their house). Also in fairness to people, the ones I stopped and talked to or who stopped and talked to me were lovely and friendly 'city-folk'. And the North Shore Coastal Walk is beautiful...I just wish I could have done it in sneakers in nice summery clothes, sporting only togs and a towel if anything at all.

Once you catch the ferry and hit the CBD the trail takes you through packs and the odd cricket ground, but there's still a lot of road walking. Personally I find it the easiest to get lost in towns. Out in the bush there's typically only one or two tracks that might lead you astray. In towns every intersection is a potential wrong turn and unless well signposted you have to pay close attention to the trail notes to ensure you stay on the right track. The upside to all this is (hopefully) if you get fed up and/or want to stop for lunch there's always the chance of stumbling across a nice cafe for a snack, lunch or just a cool drink and a rest on a proper chair.

Heading into South Auckland things get more suburban. There's a brief reprieve in Ambury Park but beyond that the trail surroundings feel distinctly industrial. Eventually you get through the Botanic Gardens (which on the whole I was a little underwhelmed by, but I didn't see it all...and it wa raining), and finally make it out of the built up area--only to be greeted be several kilometres of road-walking along roads that have a lot of heavy traffic in the form of trucks going to and from the quarry up ahead. Finally turning aside there's a short knackering farm and bush walk before you emerge in Clevedon, and it's really ony after this that you get back into proper bush. I found this quite jarring, torn between being back where a hiker lugging all their kit belongs, and lamenting the loss of cafe's en route offering fresh juice and iced chocolates.

Just as you start getting into it again, thinking sitting on an old stump to eat a museli bar is pretty comfortable (at least it's a seat), you reach the Waikato river and start walking through farmland for several days (but technically this is part of Waikato so enough about this here). So i guess all in all I found the constant transition from one thing to another and innumerable distractions that are part of 'life in the city' quite disjointed and mentally rather than physically exhausting. Constantly being around people who are not hikers and who are just going about their lives as usual and doing usual city stuff is, for me, quite tiring. If I was up for the weekend with a trundle suitcase and some half decent clothes and time to loll about in cafés or on the beach I might feel like I fit in, but as I am on this trip I couldn't help but look forward to getting further south and back into proper multi-day bush walks again.

In addition to (and probably largely because of) the somewhat sudden onslaught of all things metropolitan and civilised the Auckland region is environmentally quite different to Northland. As you head further south and the overall climate gets cooler (apparently!) some of the more colourful, larger leaved and glossy subtropical trees and shrubs disappear from the fields and hedgerows. Walking through the forests on approach to Auckland the numbers of birds noticeably lessens. There is no more kiwi habitats to walk through. Tui and fantail are still there but seemingly not as abundant. Also it seemed that the tui songs grew (in general) less tuneful and complex. I joked with myself that urban tui seemed to have a smaller vocabulary/repertoire than their rural relatives, but after listening to a tui who persistently sang the same short set of harsh tones for hours I wondered if the bird's song had adapted to a region where there was (presumably) more noise pollution from people and their activities. Are the bird songs shorter and less complex so that vital components are less likely to be lost amongst surrounding noises? Do harsher tones carry better in areas where they have to compete with the sounds of engines and machinery? Who knows...but I'm sure there's a research project in that too.

The one exception to the less birds rule is South African minors. These first appear north of Auckland and along with the usual assortment of blackbirds and thrushes seem to be the dominant bird species.

And that's what had stayed with me as I leave Auckland (and so far only have Northland to compare it to). The two regions are drastically different due to the increasing latitude and human population density, and so they cannot really be fairly compared. The Auckland region still has some lovely forest and beach walks, but for my part I preferred the more remote and bird-rich forests and people-free beaches in the north. I did however enjoy the higher probability of finding an iced chocolate or fresh orange juice while passing through Auckland! (Did someone say spoilt?).

Random Aside: Thru-Hiking--A Licence to Eat!

So I mentioned having lost a few kgs in an earlier post (see heading to Huntly). While writing I went off on a bit of an extended tangent about trail diet and consequently decided to cut all that out of the daily update and make a separate post: voila!

So I left off with some comments about it not being possible to overeat while thru-hiking. This appears to be absolutely true, with the possible exception of eating too much in one go (see post heading up to Apple Dam). Obviously eating for thru-hiking you want to eat as much calorie-rich food as possible (things like peanut butter have the most calories per unit weight = more calories for less to carry! That said, I haven't yet invested in a jar...though I've been tempted by Nutella). Consequently there's a lot of junk food on any trail resupply list; I am going through a bag of cookies, a king size block of chocolate and three boxes of museli bars per week. But don't freak out (Mum), I'm still trying to get a somewhat balanced diet.

Nathalie says thru-hiking makes you become very attuned to your body's needs, and it's true. It lets you know when it wants a rest, but it also lets you know when it needs something in particular ingested. Eating so much dehydrated food you're likely to not get enough Vitamin C, and this seems to tie into the fact that most days I crave fruit juice and oranges (if none of these are to hand I pop a Vit C tablet). I find I cannot eat as much 'heavy' food as I used to and so heading into towns you'll find me making a b-line for unusual choices (for me) like salad, though really anything fresh will do. Porridge is my staple for breakfast and pasta snacks for dinner while 'out bush' but in town I tend to have toast and eggs for brekky (I miss toast!) and whatever I feel like at the time for dinner. I generally walk past the shops and see what takes my fancy, whether that be steak, pizza, salad or sushi (it's never yet been pasta). Though admittedly, often it's the shop that involves the least amount of additional walking that gets my custom.

Lunch on the trail is where I change things up. Some days it's just museli bars, but if I'm well prepared (both to shop and to carry the significant extra weight) I'll have tortilla wraps with meat (salami or beer sticks), cheese (a standard block of tasty lasts ok if you keep it in a cool part of your pack--not the sunny front pocket!) and vege (red capsicums are my favourite as they are light and if you choose carefully they stay crunchy for days, but cucumber and avocado have also been savoured). I also carry sachets of flavoured tuna on longer stints between resupply--they offer tasty variety and protein for when the salami has run out.

That's another thing: I normally don't like things like salami. Given the option back in the 'real world' I probably wouldn't eat it. But on the trail I love it, for lunch, or chopped into a pasta snack for dinner. I guess it's just another example of your body knowing what it needs: if the food has something you need in it then it's probably going to taste good. And while thru-hiking, pretty much everything has something in it you need, so pretty much everything looks, sounds and smells good to eat. Except maybe celery. Normally I like celery, but it's not something I'd be running to find 'out here'. Is this my body being clever and knowing it takes more energy to digest than it provides? Who knows! (There's probably a research project in that for some keen food scientist...).

So that's the low down on my experiences of trail diet thus far. Stay tuned for other random posts as I think of them (and find time to type them up). Alternatively ask me a question; I may come up with such a long rant of an answer it will be worth a separate post!

Day 40: Rangiriri to Huntly (16km; 761km total)

Mmm...electric blanket, sheets and pillows work wonders. I woke up at 3:45am thinking it was time (and feeling ready) to get up. Went back to sleep and woke again at 7:45. I dressed and wandered down the hall to find John and Sophia having breakfast. A bowl of cornflakes, four slices of toast and two cups of tea later I was ready to think about packing up and hitting the trail. Sophia set off ahead of us and after the world's quickest pack to catch up I set out with John.

First obstacle for the day: navigating the construction site to get up and onto the Rangiriri Bridge. We knew we could get up there by backtracking a couple of kilometres of yesterday's walk and using the on-ramp the traffic was currently being directed to. Not willing to walk that far out of our way unless forced we skirted the construction site and asked a couple of surveyors if we could get up there from this end of town. They said they thought we could if we crossed the highway and skirted the construction on the far side, so off we went. It soon became clear we couldn't get up there from this end without going up an as yet unfinished on-ramp (read: shaped pile of gravel) which although not currently being worked on was clearly within the zone of 'construction'. This put me on edge as I'm used to having to have all kinds of high vis gear and safety inductions before being somewhere like this, but John was unphased, and determined (some might say bull-headed American) and forged on ahead. No one came hollering for us to get out so I skittered up behind him, overtook him and with an enormous sigh of relief jumped down onto the bridge and set off across it, walking along the tall curb on one side. I suspect someone was watching and held the lights directing the one-lane traffic across the bridge as no cars came past as we crossed, then lights at the far end turned green almost as soon as we stepped off.

A short distance along the road we diverted into a paddock and began the long stop bank walk to Huntly. It wasn't so bad at first; the bank was smoother underfoot than yesterday's. We went through paddocks variously housing bulls and cows who thankfully seemed content to ignore us. A few hours in it started raining so we stopped to don coats and, in John's case, a cuben fibre rain skirt ( looks like a plastic netball skirt) to keep his shorts dry. (Almost everything John has is cuben fibre: extremely lightweight (and therefore expensive) waterproof material).

The rain didn't last long but it still threatened to rain again. We headed through an open gate from one paddock into another and mid-conversation I became aware of a low rumbling bellow coming from a cow--strike that--a bull, down by the riverbank. The bull was striding determinedly toward us, all puffed up and drooling. It suddenly occurred to me I was striding through a paddock full of bulls in a bright red raincoat. As the bull came on I glanced around and made the quick decision to divert to the nearest gate, fortuitously on the opposite side of the stop bank from the bull. I called out to John as I made the diversion; he didn't seem as concerned as I was until the bull got closer and began to do the whole stomp and snort thing. He then went to head back through the gate we had just come in by, but seeing a crowd of bulls now coming up from behind (apparently attracted by the bellowing of upset bull #1) turned aside and followed me through the side gate. Out of sight behind the stop bank we rapidly disappeared into a small plot of pine trees and the bull gave up on us, but continued to bellow as we made off through the long grass between the pines (which, incidentally, gets you more wet than the rain!). On the far side of the plot we climbed a fence into a crop paddock, skirted this and scaled a locked and overgrown gate back into a paddock containing the trail--having put a paddock, a good distance and a hedge between us and the bulls. The fun wasn't quite over however...at the end of this paddock John went to open the gate to the next one, only to find out the hard way that whoever had closed it last had put the latch hook onto an electrified wire. Consequently the entire metal gate was now electrified and John got zapped the second he touched it. Happily there was a stile nearby--technically we're supposed to be using these not the gates anyway, but as both of us have sore legs and want to save our knees (yep, I at 29 am having as much knee trouble as a 62 year old...Oy) whenever a stile has been next to an easily opened gate we've opted for the gate (and of course adhere to the principal of 'leave it as you find it').

Over the stile and a couple more paddocks in things became a game of dodge the enormous and almost ubiquitous piles of cow shit. Honestly there must have been more poo than grass. And that was it. John had long since said he would have hitched this entire section if he hadn't have had someone to walk with. I won't hitch along the trail, but when there's a road paralleling a route that's this much trouble for very little gain I am not above bailing and opting for the road--which is exactly what we did. A couple more paddocks on an opportunity presented itself in the form of a farm track. It turned out the track used a cow shit-plastered underpass to go under the road, but emerged next to it where there was only 20m, an electric fence and a gate between us and the relative freedom of the road. I had no trouble in my sturdy leather boots, but John's trail runners--already slick with you-know-what--fair slid him down under the underpass. (Thank goodness he didn't fall over!).

As we de-rain coated and brushed ourselves off shortly after closing the last gate between us and the trial of the stop banks a farmer pulled up on a motorbike. I assumed he'd come to tell us off for crossing his land without permission but when I answered his initial "How are ya?" with the bull story he merely laughed and no reprimand was forthcoming.

We set off again, dodging a bit of traffic but nothing too major, and made much better time than we had been doing along the stop bank. Consequently we looked over to the river at one point to find we had overtaken Sophia, who was still diligently striding through paddocks. Not much further along we stopped for a snack break where the trail itself emerges  onto the road and Sophia caught us up. After a short break the three of us set off in file along the shoulder of the road. John and Sophia led and chatted while I followed along behind in tired silence, happy just to wander along in their wake, trying to keep my mind off my sore feet.

Coming into Huntly you go past the power station before the trail veers off through a small sculpture park on the riverbank (the only sculpture we saw was a large wooden Maori carving of many eels that was nice but a bit weathered). Back out on the road we passed a dairy and opted for a boots-off break and ice cream. We sat on the front stoop of the shop and a couple of kids on bikes were intrigued by the odd trio of hikers with huge packs collected outside their local lolly supplier.

Feeling much better for having massaged my stinky feet back to life I followed behind the others again as we headed into Huntly proper and went over the bridge. The eastern side of Huntly is more developed than the west, giving the town a distinct 'other side of the tracks' feel about it. Now off-trail we began the 2km walk back downstream to the campground. Being off-trail and we (and I mean 'I' according to my own rules) could gave hitched but none of us were inclined to raise a thumb and no one offered us a lift. Sophia led and after a brief stop at the public loos beside a charming little lake we were but a shirt walk and a footbridge away from the campground at last.

While I sat on a bench by the lake and waited for the others a gaggle of sub-adult dark grey signets and their jet black father or mother came swimming over along with a couple of ducks. No doubt they were looking for tidbits but the fowl clearly don't know hikers: any food we have we've either eaten already or intend to eat, it all, ourselves, plus any other food we might happen to get our hands on. I might have said this before but being a...ahem...somewhat overweight person, who's been aware of (if not strictly counting) calories/kilo joules since, well, forever, this thru-hiking lark is an absolutely wonderful excuse to eat ANYTHING and/or EVERYTHING. Carrying all your own food there's just no way you can carry more calories than you are burning so unless you have a quick succession of towns where you can overindulge there's no way you'll be able to eat more than you burn. John said there's a saying (a little un-PC) that thru-hiking turns women into Serena Williams and men into Auschwitz victims, as women trim down and tone up and men basically just starve. Last I checked I'd lost 6kg so far on this trip and I definitely have some muscle definition where I've never had it before. Pro-tennis skills aside, all I can say is: long may it continue! Note: in case you're worrying (Mum) I'm not just gorging on chocolate but am getting (I think...) a fairly balanced diet. More on this in another post.

Anyway, we made it to the campground shortly after 2pm, kind of hoping we'd be able to split a cosy wee cabin three ways. But there were no cabins to be had as they 'd been booked out by the students of a commercial diving course taking place at a lake down the road. Oh well, tents it is...and we got them up just before it started raining again.

The campground had nice facilities, including showers that are hot and which you don't have to pay extra for (yes!). Housed, clean, warm and dry our thoughts naturally turned to food. Sophia was happy to cook some of her own food but John is more like me in that he sees a town as a chance to eat something you don't have to rehydrate. Unfortunately the Huntly campground is miles from the shops (ok, two kilometres, but we'd walked that already!). After walking all say the last thing you want to do is walk more...especially not in the rain. Enter CJ to the rescue. He's a diving student who overheard me on the phone asking the local pizza place if they deliver (FYI no take-out places in Huntly deliver) and offered to give us a lift to get some dinner. CJ has ginger hair and beard, which he was a little self conscious about as he has apparently only just got the handle-bar beard cut in after losing a bet. I thought it kind of suited him...but hey, what do I know?

CJ recommended the local kebab house for quick food so that's where we headed. We offered to get him some as a thank you but he would have nothing. Back at the campground and one enormous combination kebab with hot chili and mint sauces, as well as a piece if baklava John shared with Sophia and I, I was feeling very content. After watching the news (OMG Paris! And Jonah Lomu!) I dashed out into the rain and performed the quick fly unzip, flick and strategic dive into my tent to get inside whilst trying to bring as little water in as possible. Unfortunately it's supposed to rain all day tomorrow...Oy.

Day 39: Mercer to Rangiriri (26km; 745km total)

As feared, the three blokes stayed up carousing for a long time after we tired hikers went to bed. I heard angry shouting at one point but it died down and when Sandra was finally able to usher the three of them out, two of them sat outside talking for another age. The third one must have spent half an hour trying to get into his room before Podge came out and told him the reason his key wasn't working was because he was trying to get into the wrong room. Podge dutifully directed him to the right one. Silence never quite prevailed unfortunately as our proximity to the highway meant there was traffic noise all night...then the town siren went off at 1am.

All in all it didn't make for a great night's sleep, so perhaps I can be forgiven for having a slow start this morning. I went and had a shower in an attempt to wake myself up, and came out to find John putting on a clothes wash. What the hell...at the rate I was going by the time I'd had breakfast and packed up the wash would be done and probably half the dryer cycle as well, so I took up John's offer and chucked my walking clothes in on top. The two of us then ducked over the road to McDonalds for breakfast. Reaching there however we discovered a much nicer cafe alternative was open next door and so opted for that. John ordered the 'big breakfast' while I went with eggs benedict, and then we both sat on the couches closest to a power outlet and set our phones charging. I downed an orange juice and then sipped hot chocolate in a stupor; I have absolutely no idea what we talked about. The only thing I clearly remember in my semi-conscious state was the look of food envy on John's face when my delicious looking eggs benedict came out (english muffins topped with spinach and two neat poached eggs with a generous dollop of hollandaise sauce in each) alongside his rather lack-luster and (I would say) undercooked assortment of baked beans, bacon, scrambled eggs, hash brown and toast. Feeling the best thing to say was nothing at all I dug in.

At some point John saw Sophia set off. I missed her, as I would most things today. We hung around in the cafe waiting for the washing to dry before returning to the motel to pack up our gear. Sandra arrived with a car full of supplies and I helped her carry them inside on the way to top up out water bottles behind the bar. I was astonished to find I was ready to go before John was, but since waiting for him involved sitting down doing nothing--which was exactly what I wanted to do--I told him to take his time. We finally set off just before 11.

On the way up to the overbridge across the highway we passed a fully laden loquat tree. I introduced John to the fruit; he did the thru-hiker thing of eating a handful right there and then (you get to eat it without carrying the extra--though arguably minimal--weight), but it was too soon after breakfast for me so I picked four and stuffed them into my trouser pocket. I just had to remember not to bang into anything on that side and squash them!

John and I both made the mistake if thinking today's walk would be an easy wander along the river bank. Not so. The first 2.5km is an up-down-up-down route through farmland, scrub and swamp which I can only guess from the description in the notes is meant to give hikers an idea what the area was like before Europeans concerned almost everything to pasture. Neither my tired legs or my blisters were happy about the terrain.

Shortly after passing Whangamarino Redoubt the track crosses the highway and becomes the promised river-bank walk...skirting paddocks and following the narrow strip of land between fence and water that is highly overgrown with long grass. I sought consolation in the fact that at least the odd patches of tall yellow irises were pretty.

The Waikato is an impressively large, deep and gently broiling river that reminds me of the Clutha back home. It's well known to have a serious pollution problem thanks to the extensive dairy farming along its banks, but I hadn't realised it is also home to a healthy population of large koi carp. At one point where our dude of the river had a broad shallow shoulder there were about a dozen of them, slowly moving about and then snapping at the surface with a splash whenever something tasty caught their eye. Things don't look good for any native fish in the Waikato!

And so the riverside walk continued throughout the rest of the day. John, a thru-hiking veteran used to laying down 30+ miles a day was astonished a mere 26km took us so long. I felt bad at one point near the end when I was having a turn leading and followed the trodden grass track right into a bog, only to spot the boardwalk across it just a few meters away. Unfortunately John had followed close behind and soaked his trail runners and freshly-changed socks before I could  alert him to the slight diversion from the proper trail. Our only consolation was that from the tracks in the grass we'd followed it seemed that no one had managed to find the overgrown start of the boardwalk and all ended up walking through the ankle deep mud of the swamp before scrambling up and out onto the boardwalk.

Finally, with night coming on we reached the final road walk into Rangiriri. The area between the town and the river is currently a huge construction site as the highway and on-ramps to the bridge are reconfigured. We made it out to the highway only to find we had to walk along it to find a road into Rangiriri township then zig zag back to reach the hotel--our destination for the night. We reached it just on dusk at around 8pm. Sophia was sitting in the bar having just ordered a meal. We said hello before sussinf out our own accommodation. Camping us apparently any option across the road, but the ladies behind the bar weren't sure of the costs and entitlements (like, are we allowed to use the shower?). All the single rooms at the hotel were booked so John and I settled for an overpriced shared twin room ($45 each, when a single room to yourself is only $50!). We ordered dinner while we were at it, then went to settle in. The rooms are upstairs above the bar. The building was obviously once quite grand in it day (epically tall ceilings!) but is now old, dated and minimalistically maintained. The floor slopes in idd directions as you walking down the corridor to your room, and once inside the lady showing us where to go tried to close a blind and it broke...which meant we had the bright street light outside glaring in at us all night. The only upside to the room apart from the fact that it did in fact have a bed each with pillow and sheets, was that the beds had electric blankets. (I only discovered this later when John went to bed and almost fried himself alive on his blanket, which had been left on high. I would turn mine on low and let the heat gently soothe my tired muscles). In the meantime I dumped my stuff and headed for the showers. Trip's fastest shower later I was dressed and down in the bar, waiting for dinner. John soon appeared and happily he and Sophia were able to maintain conversation as it was a bit beyond my capabilities this evening. I contented myself with being perched on a stool and not very subtly rubbing my feet under the table. John kindly shouted me a ginger beer, and tried one himself, but don't think he liked it.

When dinner finally appeared (a surprisingly tasty crumbed chicken with Cajun sauce, salad and chips) I wolfed it down before making my excuses and disappearing off to bed. I was still awake when John came in and settled down for the night. He expressed concern that the mattress was way too soft and that he might not sleep very well, but I'll be damned if he isn't one of those lucky people who lies down to sleep and does so almost immediately. Within minutes his breathing changed depth and tempo and I knew he was out like a light. Oh how I wish I was one of those people...

Day 38: Repeater Rd to Mercer (33km; 719km total)

Urgh...slow start this morning. Not ideal given that I wanted to get to Mercer today, over 30km away. But I just couldn't get going. I left my tent up while I had breakfast, hoping the morning sun would help dry out some of the condensation and dew.

I finally got underway around 9:30 and was not 1km down the road before striking my first obstacle for the day: a T junction where the sign says Te Araroa can go both ways. This was ok as the notes say there are two alternatives but  unfortunately the notes then go on to describe a principal route that does not match that shown on the map. Wanting to follow the shorter map route I turned right, but did not come across a bush track on the left as soon as expected. As the notes are out of date, describing a previous route following the gravel roads, there was no indication where the turn off to the bush track would be. Not wanting to waste more time I backtracked to the intersection and took the left hand route as described in the notes and marched down the road, determined to make up the time the longer route would take.

The Mangatawhiri Forest south of the Mangatawhiri Dam is criss-crossed with roads and mountain bike tracks. Fortunately I was able to follow the notes without taking another wrong turn (some key turns don't have TA markers) and found my way to the Lower Mangatawhiri Campsite. I had a quick boots-off break at a picnic table a short distance from a group of not very talkative guys who had been motor biking the trails that morning. After a quick snack I set off again, following the now marked trail into the Hunua Ranges.

Not far along there's a short bridge that bore a sign saying "no access" due to forestry operations. Someone before me had torn down tape blocking the bridge and apparently blazed on ahead, ignoring the sign. I decided to do the same, mainly because the only other way of getting out was a huge walk around, but also because the TA, though it walks along the boundary of a forestry block, never actually crosses into it (according to the map). So off I went.

Despite the ominous trail notes saying you need good tramping skills to do it the first kilometre of track is well maintained with a boardwalk in places, presumably to minimise the chances of people damaging the roots of Kauri trees in the area. Beyond that a sign warns the track deteriorates and that sturdy footwear and water are required (previous signs have already warned that a 1080 pellet drop means you shouldn't drink from streams in the area). Forging on I began to experience the "jungle" Nathalie had warned me of in a txt. There's patches of vines in places that at first there seems to be no way through, but then you see some have been cut and you can weave your way through. Then the track starts going up and I stopped to break out the hiking poles to help haul/push myself up the steeper banks.

Happily once you're up on the ridge the trail is easy to follow; despite the notes saying you must play close attention to the markers not to go astray they are common and easy to spot for the most part. Some way along I came upon another hiker: an older guy sporting a North American accent. Turns out his name is John, he's from Seattle, he's 62 and since retiring from his job as an environmental scientist for government seems to have spent his life thru-hiking (he's done the PCT twice, most recently last year). Happily John is a chatty and intelligent guy--he's got a lot to talk about and it's worth listening to. So I led on, picking out the trail, while John told me all about the PCT, a bit about his job, his travels and discussed various things such as Te Araroa and American politics (was relieved when his opinions of this appeared to closely match my own; I'm not sure how I'd handle conversation with an ardent gun-toting republican...).

Eventually we emerged from the Hunuas and crossed the swing bridge into forest bordering farmland. We stopped for a boots-off break and something to eat. John got eaten alive by sand flies so I offered him a razene. He might have a nice and light 10-12kg pack but I've got the antihistamines!

Far from a nice wander along the contour out to the road the track is up and down, skirts around a cattle paddock, then up and down some more before popping out on the road in front of a school. John was out of water (he topped up at a stream but it tasted funny and after I told him about the 1080 he dumped it) so we headed up to the school to find something drinkable. A woman driving by directed us to the caretaker's office and he happily let us in to top up at his sink. It turns out the school, which looks very posh, is a private school for underprivileged kids to attend on scholarship. Awesome idea...it's just a pity the terms of the will responsible for the trust that funds the school mean it's only available to boys.

Fully hydrated we set off on the long walk to Mercer. At the junction with SH2 a woman pulled over and came to chat. Her name was Judith and it turns out she and John knew each other as they had met when she section-hiked part of the trail a couple of weeks ago. She kindly gave us a museli bar each and let us know where to find the route under the highway and out into the stop bank. After a while we said goodbye and set off.

Walking a stop bank is not as easy at it sounds (or looks on a map!). Far from being nice flat grass they're chocked up by cattle and half the time the grass is so long you can't see where you're putting your feet. All that aside I put my head down and strode it out, knackered but determined. Four kilometres out from Mercer I ran out of steam. Fortunately John was also tired and so the two of us walked slowly out to the road. The sun had set and by the time we reached the highway it was starting to get dark so we hitched the last kilometre into Mercer.

Mercer is a small town servicing the highway. The pub, Podge's Place, and neighbouring motel run by the same couple Sandra and Podge, lets TA hikers camp on their back lawn for free. John and I pitched our tents and went for showers before meeting up with another hiker, Sophia, in the bar. It was nearly 9pm but John ordered a pizza and I got wedges; a late dinner is better than no dinner! Plus Sandra is über accommodating--she loves hikers!

Even after a shower I could barely walk so I sat at the table with a ginger beer, hanging out for wedges, but wishing I could just go to bed. Sophia, John and I chatted. Sophia is a Kiwi mother of two who's left her two teenage boys at home with their Dad to have guy-time while she hikes TA. Apparently one of her sons is acutely embarrassed his mum is thru-hiking...which begs the question: why? Who knows...must be some weird teenage boy thing.

Finally the pizza and wedges arrived. I drowned the wedges in sweet chili sauce and scoffed them. Was thinking about heading to bed when the three rowdy locals who had been in the pub all night came to chat. John had already commented that they couldn't say three words without saying "f@$&", to which one of them replied (in a strong Irish accent) "when I was little we were taught if you don't say f@$& at least twice in a sentence you're doing it wrong". Hmmm.

They were friendly blokes, but obviously on the way to being well oiled. Shortly into a conversation about the Waikato River the most red faced one of the three made a highly racist and offensive joke. The other two roared with laughter. Sophia chose that moment to make a quick exit. I was torn between wanting to say that kind if thing is not ok and not wanting to cause trouble. I decided to wait it out and had a brief chat to bloke #3 about Stewart Island before a lull in conversation gave John and I the chance to make our excuses and head out. Settling into our respective tents John commented that back home they call guys like that rednecks. I reflected that people here would probably say the same, but that rough (but otherwise friendly) types brimming with ignorant racism were likely to be found in every rural pub throughout New Zealand. 

Day 37: Clevedon to Repeater Rd (25km; 686km total)

Spoiled again. After marmite on toast and tea for breakfast poor Paulene helped me dry my stinky boots! She'd put them in the hot water cupboard overnight but unfortunately it hadn't been warm enough (must have a great energy rating!) and they merely had pools of water in them this morning. Before I could say "let me do it!" Paulene had stuffed them with newspaper. One entire paper later we had a pile of damp newsprint and two noticeably drier boots. As an extra barrier to try and keep my socks dry just a little bit longer I also tried the old plastic-bags-over-your-socks trick. I packed up the rest of my kit (which had been laid out on the large undercover wrap-around deck overnight to air/dry) and thanking Paulene so very much for her and her family's hospitality, set off just before 9am. (I had declined Paulene's offer of a packed lunch, but did take one of her batch of homemade banana muffins for morning tea, secreted away carefully in my pack where it wouldn't get squashed--a precious alternative to museli bars!).

The first 8km today were a road walk along a mercifully quiet road. Then it was 4km of easy walking track along the banks of the Wairoa River. It was a charming little walk that I would later wish I'd not dawdled through.

Emerging on the gravel road at the other end I sat on the grass shoulder and had an early lunch before setting off in search if the start of the next track a mere 700m up the road. A little too eager I completely over shot the track as the start is not obvious; I saw the orange market in the nearby power pole, but searching around the pole could see no track entrance and carried on. Twenty minutes later when I had walked too far, realised, and walked back, I saw a low wooden sign hidden in the shadow of the trees a few meters back from the marked pole, indicating the start of the track. Muttering a few curses I set off into the trees.

The first part of the track is a well formed gravel path. A couple of kilometres in I came to a junction where three people were having a chat. Turns out they belonged to a special search and rescue branch of St John and were awaiting the arrival of potential recruits who were due down the track I was about to head up after completing a four-day bush exercise. Hard core. They showed a cursory interest in the fact that I was walking Te Araroa but their most pressing question was--as you might expect--whether or not I was carrying a beacon. Happily I was able to categorically say "yes!", but even then the only guy and most serious looking among the three still didn't seem to think someone (a woman?) heading off into the bush alone was a very good idea. (I wonder what he would have said if I hadn't had a beacon...).

The intersection was a little confusing as, apart from the standard "help prevent the spread of Kauri die back disease" signs and boot wash station, there were Te Araroa markers pointing in all three directions. It turns out the third option goes out to Hunua Falls and a carpark where there is drinking water and toilets. I headed off down to the falls for a look and to make use of the facilities before returning to take the third path which it transpires leads straight up the hill.

One knackering climb later the gradient of the track becomes easier as you reach the shoulder of the ridge. One guy passed me going fine the hill; he was unusual in that he was dressed in a hoody and trackpants, had no gear and was smoking casually as he walked. That plus the fact that he was a bit shifty looking had me musing on how far up the track someone with a keen eye might spot an unmarked track leading off into the bush and to a small pot plantation. I decided if that proved to be the case to keep my keen eyes to myself.

After about forty minutes St John S&R recruits started passing me, going in the opposite direction. The first two were cheerful, striding along seemingly nearly as fresh as daisies. Others in varying states of hiking exuberance (or lack thereof) appeared intermittently and about forty minutes after the first pair a guy who turned out to be the last came along who was obviously struggling under the weight of his pack. He alone wanted to know how far it was to the falls. I don't know how many spots the ten or so potential recruits were vying for but I felt sorry for Tail-End-Charlie; his chances of recruitment didn't look good. I felt bad for previously whinging about the weight of my pack--these guys needed to carry everything they needed for themselves (like me), plus all the S&R medical kit and equipment including, apparently, a wetsuit. Two final guys passed, carrying minimal kit but looking like they were the rear guard for the recruits; they had that confident and slightly amused look outdoor education types have when putting students through their paces.

I had the track to myself for the rest if the day, possibly because TA veers off onto a rougher bush track that is clearly not as well used as the graded trail up from the falls. The track follows a ridge east before swinging south to follow the ridge down the western side of the Wairoa Reservoir. 

The bush is nice but apparently not memorable (maybe because I was rapidly getting tired), but my overall impression of it is: tree ferns.

Shortly after 5pm I reached the lower lookout over the Wairoa Dam and soon thereafter descended out of the trees out into the picnic area next to the dam, causing about a dozen rabbits to scatter in all directions. Tired, I had a boots-off break at one of the picnic tables, and while hunting for a snack rediscovered Paulene's banana muffin. I had forgotten all about it! With the pleasant surprise giving me the mental and energy boost I needed I rebooted and headed on over the dam and up the track that would lead to the repeater perched on the hill above. 

The track was mercifully well graded and not too steep, and eventually emerges at the repeater where a gravel road leads on along the ridge behind. After a few slow kilometres along the road and a short 150m diversion up the challenge track I arrived at the Repeater Campsite. It's simple enough but comfortable with a mown patch of grass and a shelter complete with picnic table and four bunks (no mattresses). There's also a rainwater tank and a composting toilet. Everything you need really! I pitched my tent as with my thin foam mattress the bunks wouldn't be very comfortable. Then I sat in the shelter to cook pasta and read the graffiti on the rafters: a mixture of 'such-and-such was here' with a date, inspirational quotes, homourous short poems, and one or two comments criticising the graffiti (though seemingly aware they too are classed as graffiti).

A pair of swallows are nesting in the shelter, in a niche in the rafters in one corner of the door. While at first they were a bit flustered by having a hiker in their midst, as long as I am sitting down they seem content to let me share the shelter and get on with their flitting out and back to feed with only the odd cautious tweet or swoop in my direction. Outside a tui is sitting in a tree making the most of the last of the daylight. He's singing his head off, but appears to have a somewhat limited vocabulary of only a a couple of sharp long notes. This...I hesitate to call it a song...quickly became like a broken record, one that played long after the sun had set and I had gone to bed.

Day 36: Manukau to Clevedon (21km; 661km total)

Poor sleep...again. Shortly after I went to bed it started raining, tap-tap-tap on the tent. Planes on approach to landing passed overhead intermittently, people were coming and going long into the night and some guys stayed up past midnight playing house music, which would have been fine except they kept getting halfway through a song and skipping to the next one, the sudden silence and transition to a new song snapping me out of my stupor every time. Also, at some point (presumably during a break in the tapping rain) I became aware of the repetitive squeak of an air bed from a car-camper's tent nearby. The squeak gained tempo before coming to an abrupt halt...which I can only assume made everyone happy.

Eventually I must have slept as I rolled over and woke up just before 7...but didn't get up til after 9. It was still raining and I lay for as long as I could semi-dozing and secretly hoping the rain would stop, which of course, it didn't.

Finally I hauled myself out of bed, took advantage of the shower facilities, packed up and was mentally preparing to head out into the rain when Symi and Hanosch invited me to share their plentiful breakfast; they had both shopped and raided the free food bin at the holiday park so were flush with four different kinds of cereal plus real milk. The news that there was suddenly a lot of fare in the free food bin prompted me to check it out and I came away with fresh capsicums, a tomato and corn on the cob. Since the corn needed to be cooked and wouldn't fit in my pot I cooked it then and there in the kitchen microwave...and so had cocoa pops and corn for breakfast.

Symi and Janosch are having a zero day today, so after thanking them very much, I wished them well and finally set off around 11am. Despite the rain and lack of sleep I was in good spirits: today I finally get out of Auckland. Not that it's been that bad, but it just doesn't feel right tramping through civilisation for days on end.

The trail out of Auckland finishes the Puhinui River Walk and detours through the Auckland Botanical Gardens. I must have missed a marker as I took an alternative route through the gardens, past some nice beds including an interesting display that looks like an entrant for the Ellerslie Flower Show, entitled "Underground Bunker".

Exiting the gardens the trail sets off on a long road walk out of the city toward Clevedon. The roads were busy and it rained all day. I took cover in a bus shelter to have lunch, much to the distress of the resident pair of swallows. There were two dead chicks on the floor at one end of the shelter and I mused on the fact that one bird's tomb is one human's haven. I can only assume that at least one live chick was left concealed in the nest, or that the parents we're trying again, as they never gave up swooping the door and chirping the entire time I was there.

I set off again ironically with "Oh What A Beautiful Morning" stuck in my head. Since the original lyrics hardly seemed appropriate I came up with my own:

'Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day!

I've got a sneaky wee feeling...that it's going to piss down all day.

I have to walk down this ro-oad, and the volume of traffic is high;

That car that drove by wet me up to the thigh,

And when there's a truck I get splashed in the eye!

Oh what a beautiful afternoon, oh what a beautiful day!

I really would like to be there soon, but I still have a long wa-ay...

Oh what a beautiful day!'

Mid-afternoon I stopped for a rest under a bush by the side of the road (bus shelters had long since been left behind). Moving on and after dodging numerous trucks coming to and from the large quarry at the end of the road I took the turn off up a quiet gravel road and came to the stile at the start of Kimptons Track. The first part of the "track" is a route through a paddock and steep scramble up a grassy hill. Though I was wet already, I got soaked anew wading through the long grass, so much so that the water dripping down my trouser legs resulted in my feet swimming in my boots as much as if I'd waded through a river. At the top of the hill the trail passes through a small pine plantation before following a narrow and overgrown path through native bush and emerging on a rather better quality loop track. This it follows past a lookout (where the trees have grown too high to be able to see anything) and down a series of steps to the valley below, exiting at the Clevedon Scout Hall.

I had intended to camp here but a day of trail magic meant I didn't have to. During the long road walk of the day three different women pulled over their cars to talk to me. The first, Jill, offered me a place to stay, but her house was nowhere near where I planned to get to today and I wasn't keen to back track so far. The second lady, Paulene, offered me a place to stay as well, and when it transpired her house was not more than a block from the scout hall I gladly and gratefully accepted. (The third lady stopped to ask why there were so many hikers recently and to offer me a lift. I enlightened her with respect to the trail, but declined the lift...rain or no rain I set out to walk this beast!).

Sopping wet and beginning to get cold I stumped up the steps of Paulene's house. She heard me and met me at the door. After briefly being introduced to her partner Paul, daughter Paige, and Joey the cat, I was ushered into her other daughter Jess' room (she's away tonight) and shown all the necessary facilities. After a shower I showed them my maps and told them about the trail. Paulene first heard about it from two German girls she met on the road last week, but she had no idea it went right past her driveway.

The family wouldn't let me lift a finger which was at the same time lovely and a little uncomfortable as I always feel lazy or as if I'm taking advantage of people's hospitality if I don't help out with anything. But they were adamant and further treated me to a dinner if Thai chicken curry, salad and leftover fresh home kill steak. Omg, hiker heaven!

After dinner we supped tea and milo and watched a recorded episode of 'Call The Midwife' (fortuitously the very next one after the episode I watched with Ron and Betty). Joey the cat sat on my lap the entire time, as generous with his drool and fur as he was with his affectionate cuddles. Paulene and Paul were appalled by Joey but I wasn't bothered, just happy to have a cat on my lap again. It was almost like being at home...almost.

As the credits rolled it was time for bed. There's nothing quite like going to bed in a real bed after a fresh hot meal and quiet evening watching television when only a few hours before you'd been anticipating wolfing down a pasta snack sitting in a tent in the rain!

Day 35: Ambury Park to Manukau (25km; 640km total)

I was exactly up with the larks but I still managed a good start and was packed up and underway by 8:30. I skipped on porridge as I couldn't be bothered cooking and instead just had a museli bar for breakfast, planning to snack more on the trail to make up for this.

As I was finishing packing two hikers left ahead of me, stopping to chat as they passed. They're a German couple, Symi and Janosch, and came in last night after  I'd already gone to bed. They had the same trouble I did in Auckland with all the accommodation being booked so caught a bus to Mangere; they're pressing on south today so will skip the walk I did yesterday.

Not long after they set off I followed, waving good by to the expat-UK families as I left. I exited the campsite the same way I entered: through a little side gate leading through the "insect garden" to the paddock and then gravel road beyond. I stopped to read a signpost map and soon Symi and Janosch appeared; having not done the walk round the point yesterday they were a bit disoriented and had taken the wrong road. We set off to walk together, carrying on from the brief 'getting to know you' questions we'd exchanged earlier. They both are recent graduates, Symi in industrial engineering and Janosch in psychology, and are going the TA before looking for jobs. They want to work in NZ but haven't yet looked into the necessary visas etc. They asked me a bit about NZ and I shared the little of what I know about some of our history as well as Maori culture (including pronunciation of things such as 'Mangere' as "maa-nge-re" instead of "maan-jair").

The south of Mangere continues to sidle round the coast, past the sewage treatment plant--I was astonished to discover that the sterile liquids from this are discharged into the harbour on a low tide at a rate that qualifies the outpouring as Auckland's largest river! I stopped for a snack at this point, because my stomach was growling and because I didn't want to force my company on Symi and Janosch. Letting them go on ahead I sat by the water's edge and munched in the misting rain before carrying on along the trail as it passes through the Stonefields, where there are relict piles of volcanic rocks accumulated and used by historic Maori people to capture and retain heat to help their kumara grow. Several of the original piles were later rearranged into dry stone walls by colonial settlers and remnants of these too, remain.

Coming out of the fields I caught up with Symi and Janosch again as they had stopped to take advantage of some free pick-yourself avocados. Unfortunately lots of hungry hikers (and probably numerous locals) must have got there before them because they came out of the gate to the field empty handed.

We walked on together as the trail took us round the back of the airport and the bustling airport shopping center. They went to resupply while I made a B-line for a cafe. I wanted something quick and hot, so settled for a sausage roll, but on the way to the counter a container of fresh fruit salad also caught my eye. When confronted with drink choice after walking I'm always torn between wanting fruit juice and fizzy drink and usually end up buying both; on this occasion apple juice and ginger beer. Again, on the way to the counter mojito flavoured iced tea caught my eye. After a longer than expected wait in a short queue I went and sat outside with my off assortment of foodstuffs. After virtually inhaling the sausage roll and the fruit juice, and drinking the ginger beer at the rather more measured pace demanded by carbonated drinks I was full, so stuffed the fruit salad and iced tea in my pack for later.

Further along the line of shops I stopped at the Warehouse to pick up a new gas cannister (I'm still on my first 230g one but it's running low). I left my pack at the customer service desk as I was worried I might knock stuff off shelves if I left it on. Further along I also stopped in at Countdown where I restricted myself to buying only the strictly necessary: one box of museli bars, two pasta snacks and the smallest box of Dilmah tea available.

There was no sign of the others so after I had stripped the food of unnecessary packaging I saddled up and headed out, off down the long road walk toward Manukau. Fortunately the road shoulders are mostly quite wide, though it was a mission to get across the main road at one point--even on a Sunday airport traffic is busy! I crossed not far along from a people-mover-housed speed camera; I could see the shadow of a person sitting in the back and wondered what a traffic cop made of a burdened hiker having to wait for several minutes before it was even remotely safe to cross the street without things deteriorating into a game of chicken in the traffic.

As well as the incessant traffic on the road there was also incessant traffic in the air as planes of all shapes and sizes came in to land on my right. I was a little surprised to pass a carpark that led no where but which was chock full of cars, then I realised that all the cars had people in them and they were all parked up watching the planes.

Some way along the road I could feel faint rubbing in my boots turning into blister-making chaffing so I stopped by some trees on an extra broard sweep of shoulder for a boots-off break to apply the necessary cotton wool and plaster to my heels. A large double-trailered courier van was pulled off the road nearby; I can only assume the driver was having a rest break as sometime before I packed up to leave he moved off into traffic again. Symi and Janosch passed as I doctored my feet (surprising; I had thought they were ahead). We agreed to meet up at the holiday park and share a tent site to keep costs down if that was an option. I had ring the park and we were all relieved, after our experiences in Aucklsnd, to hear they had plenty of space.

Carrying on the trail finally veers off the busy road onto Prices Rd where you can stand right underneath the planes as fly low overhead on their approach to land. Three Emirates A380s came in in quick succession; they're something to watch as they are so big that up that close they seem to lumber through the sky and it seems impossible that they manage to stay airborne at all.

At the end of the road the trail enters a reserve, cuts across a corner of it (through a paddock) and then follows a gravel track along the bank of the Puhinui River. The river follows a meandering channel through a similarly meandering gully that is jam-packed with vegetation and bordered on the trail-side by industrial estate. Eventually the trail is forced to divert on a road walk through the estate, past truck dealerships etc, and along the road into Manukau. Traffic was eerily absent a lot if the way, bug then I remembered it was a Sunday.

Well and truely back in the city the trail picks up the now smaller Puhinui River again as it meanders through suburbs, minus the vegetation and instead flanked by broad swaths of grass forming an elongate park network bordered by the tumble-down wooden fences of the houses on either side. The faint smell of pot smoke wafted out across the footpath at one point. This is South Auckland, of which we all hear stories, but I have to say I was impressed at how clean and tidy the walkway and parkland is.

Coming to a short road walk again was the signal to divert approx. 500m to the Manukau Holiday Park, where $20 secured my own patch of grass for the night and use of the kitchen and showers . The Germans had arrived shortly before I did and we sat together in the grass, swapping cookies and stories about other hikers we had met before pitching our tents. Someone was BBQing steak do I figured I'd leave cooking my pasta snack dinner until later and have a shower and catch up on my diary first. Symi, Janosch and I sat and had dinner together but it wasn't long before I was ready to hit the hay.

As I lay down to sleep the first spots of the promised rain tapped down on my tent, and soon it was pattering away semi-continuously. It's supposed to rain all day tomorrow...I can't really justify a rest day so it might just have to be a rain coat and pack cover mission through the rain if it does!

Day 34: Devonport to Ambury Park (21km; 615km total)

Slept well. Was a little chilly so opened out sleeping bag and used it as an extra duvet. Got up to find Karin had laid out weetbix, yoghurt, fruit, spreads and three different kinds of bread and toast (including German rye bread). I ate everything except the weetbix.

I must have left a positive impression as Karin is keen to get more hikers to come and stay. I gave her the contact details of the Trust and agreed to email them as well, recommending she get included in the trail notes (the pricier motel is in there already after all). Karin and Hanna insisted on taking photos of me outside the front gate before I headed off down the street, bound for the ferry.

$6.10 gets you a one-way ticket to Queens Wharf on the Fullers Ferry. I sat and waited the ten minutes or so til the ferry came scouting out the crowd to see if any other hikers were present; some young teenager/twenty something's should up with backpacks but I guessed from their oversized sleeping bags try weren't TA walkers...then a guy cam along at the end with two enormous fold-up mattresses, one slung over each shoulder. Definitely not doing the TA.

Shortly the ferry arrived: a my metrical catamaran that apparently drives front ways and back ways without needing to turn around. I boarded and went straight out to the front deck to take in Auckland as it drifted closer and closer. In ten minutes or so we had docked, completely dwarfed by the enormous cruiseship two berths over. I disembarked and headed out into the morning sunshine. While I was making a few adjustments to my packing an Australian couple struck up conversation with me. They were going to visit friends in Waihi. I explained about the trail (like most people they assumed I was backpacking round NZ, which I guess I sort of am...just in a straight line). Ready to go, I bid them safe travels and headed off along the trail through Auckland.

The TA skirts the CBD and passes through a small park before diverting through the Auckland University Campus.  On through the Auckland Domain and the odd cricket ground you end up climbing Mt Eden/Maungawhau before heading down the eastern side and heading south to One Tree Hill/Maungakiekie. There are great views over Auckland from the top of both hills, and happily the climbs aren't as arduous as they look! (Or you can just drive).

I ended up walking up Mt Eden with a Chinese guy here on holiday with his parents. He was keen to get my take on all the best places to see in NZ--always a difficult question to answer especially when tourists are on a tight schedule. Up One Tree Hill a pair of American woofers asked me where I was backpacking; they were intrigued by the trail but more interested in the Great Walks.

Heading south to Onehunga I discovered that the new footbridge over the motorway had newly opened--today! Until now TA hikers had to take a detour around the highway, reconnecting with the trail as it crosses Mangere Bridge. I set off through the new waterside parkland and up over the decorative wood and steel bridge. One guy stopped and asked me about carrying the big pack across--apparently I'm the first person to take a big pack across the new bridge. If that's true I'm the first ever TA hiker to walk this section of trail! I can't help but feel a little bit special :)

Over the Onehunga footbridge and around the point you come to Mangere bridge, an old vehicle bridge now pedestrians and cyclists only, and a popular fishing spot (complete with boat ramp). Heading west the trails then snakes around the coastline along a footpath popular with joggers, dog walkers and families cycling (someone needs to tell the cyclists to use bells like they do in Australia, to warn walkers you are coming up behind them!).

The trail then passes into Ambury Regional Park, a scant few hundred meters from the entrance to the camping ground, but I first diligently walked the track around the coast to complete the track and enter the campground from the other side. It's fairy simple: drinking water and long drop loos, but that all you need. There were a bunch of car campers and one tent already pitched (weirdly, hard up against a bushy fence...). An expat-UK guy walking with a tot picked I was doing the TA and we chatted about hiking and long walk options in the UK. He was part of a group of two families from Auckland overnight camping in the park/farm (which is more like a giant petting zoo)--a huge adventure for their gaggle of young kids. They invited me to hang out with then and even offered me a wine, but by the time I'd had dinner I was ready for bed and politely declined. It was sleepy time for this tired hiker!

Day 33: Red Cliff to Devonport (13km; 594km total)

Today was an exercise in how best laid plans don't always work out...at least not the way you think.

After crawling into my sleeping bag last night I went to sleep listening to the rain on the tent. Just before 12 I was startled awake by someone letting off fireworks, right next door to the campground; literally just over the fence. I had a moments panic--I'm in a freaking flammable tent!--before deciding there was nothing I could do about it. None of the first half dozen fireworks seemed to have landed anywhere nearby so I just lay and hoped they continued to aim them away from the camp.

Happily things only got better from there. I woke up at 6:30 to azure blue sky and blazing sunshine. To make up for the night before I took my time getting ready and had a lovely long shower. I left my tent up and arrayed various damp things on a handy picnic table and by the time I was ready to go at around 9:30am they were dry (including my walking shirt that I only rinsed out that morning...gotta love quick-dry fabrics!).

I headed up the street to the nearest bus stop. There was a bus to Takapuna, but not til 10:30. What a shame. I guessed I'd just have to sit outside the cafe two doors down from the bus stop and nurse an iced chocolate until then. And that's exactly what I did. I also caught up on a blog entry, stopping occasionally to smile at a grey-haired gentleman sitting legs crossed at a nearby table who every now and then had to quiet the fluffy golden-white Pomeranian nestled in his lap when it took exception to people walking passed on the footpath. Evebtually the man asked me if I was backpacking and so I explained about the trail. I never heard what question number two was as just then I saw a bus coming up the street so I made my apologies, grabbed my gear and made a dash for the bus stop. Happily the driver saw me and stopped. Unhappily it was the wrong bus!

Appologising profusely I jumped back off the bus and lent my pack against the bus stop sign. The man with the Pomeranian had watched the whole thing; it was now his turn to smile.

Five minutes later the right bus came along. Unfortunately I didn't know the route and the driver didn't know the bay I wanted to get off at. Finally after looking at my map we worked out that at least this bus would get me somewhere close so I paid my $2.50 and found a seat. I tracked our progress on Google Maps just to make sure I didn't end up in the wrong place. The route was quicker than yesterday and within 20 minutes I was back on the trail.

The north shore coastal walk continues along the coast as it had previously, through beaches, walkways and road-walks through suburbs. Parts of it are just beautiful and I was glad I had skipped out yesterday and could now walk at least some of the route in fine weather. There were quite a few other walkers (though none with backpacks), particularly along a part of the shore where the track follows a beaten path over exposed lava flows just above the hide tide mark. It's a mostly narrow route with the sea on one side and fences, bushes or lawns backed by very posh modern houses (for the most part) on the other. Ever the geologist I got quite excited and stop to take photo when I spotted a collapsed entrance to a lava cave. At one point the path also passed a large vertical hole (covered by a grate to stop people falling in) that I later discovered from reading a information board is the cast of a kauri tree trunk that was engulfed by the lava (tens of thousands of years ago). Pretty cool history for what otherwise looks like a random hole in the ground.

After a couple of hours I walked passed the Takapuna Holiday Park, just a stone's throw from where I'd camped. I kept walking but stopped for a break on the benches at the southern end of Takapuna Beach. A oldish man with a cane sat down just before I got there; I 'd steadily been gaining on him as we both walked up the beach. He was an extremely chatty guy, one if those people you can carry an entire conversation with little input from others. He told me all about his arthritis and how he walks the beach once a day but has to let his leg rest, and I told him a bit about the trail. I mentioned Jonty running it and that prompted the man to reminisce about the movie 'Forest Gump' and how "life is like a box of chocolates". I had my snack bag out at the time so it seemed appropriate then to break out my chocolate and offer him some. We mused on that for a little while before I packed up and set off again, wishing the man a good day (this has become my default sign off...except I use "have a good walk" with hikers).

I'd had a late start and maybe I was dawdling but I did not reach Devonport until 2:30, taking my time and enjoying the last part of the walk around the rocky headland, past the remnants of WWII gun emplacements, before arriving at a carpark and a cafe. I went in, eager for a late lunch, only to find the kitchen had just closed. Nothing in the cabinets tempted my taste buds so I contented myself with a juice and sat catching up on anothe blog entry. I only wanted to get as far as the Auckland CBD today, and after a short ferry ride that would only be another 4-6 km depending on which backpackers I stayed at. I did a ring around to try and find a bed for the night...nothing. Every single backpackers was fully booked! Well, except for one well out of the way that only had a bed in a make dorm (for $45!). Madness. If that's how much a backpackers costs there's no way I can afford a hotel so I didn't bother working my way up the accommodation chain--a quick look on booking.com confirmed there was nothing but $145+ accommodation available. Ditto all accommodation options in Devonport (they don't even have a backpackers, and the motel listed in the trail notes starts at $160). What to do?

I packed up and walked along the waterfront to the wharf, mulling it over and growing more than a little anxious. I eyed a patch of grass behind some bushes and public loos at the yacht club, but I hadn't yet grown quite that desperate. At the wharf I went to suss out the ferry timetable and had half a mind to board...but I didn't want to end up roaming the streets of Auckland at night with nowhere to stay! The next campground was not til Mangere and it didn't occur to me to catch the bus way out there and back in the morning. Finally I decided to have one last oh at finding somewhere in Devonport; my gut was telling me not to get on the ferry. I google mapped "accomodation near Devonport" on my phone and sign orign hotels etc began looking at B&Bs. Karin's B&B caught my eye...it might be a lot if nonsense but I think the chances of a B&B being run by someone friendly and accommodating rather than someone just trying to make money are better if they have their own name in the name if the place--at least it's not likely to be a business that's been sold to someone wanting to try their luck in the accomodation sector. So I rang Karin. She answered and I explained my situation and enquired about a room. She must have sensed the desperation in my voice as though she agreed that I was not likely to find anywhere to stay in Devonport for under $160 (including her place at it's usual rate) she'd let me stay for $85. With recent expenses still ringing in my wallet it was more than I wanted to spend, but I had to appreciate the heavily discounted rate and decided that on this occasion money would buy comfort but also piece of mind ...I would have a bed, in a room to myself plus breakfast, and it was only a few block's walk away (and all for less than double what a stuffy bunk in a dormitory across the harbour would have cost if I could have got it).

So, abandoning the ferry terminal until the morning I set off to Karins. She proved to be an older German lady who's been running B&Bs for over twenty years.  Over a cup of tea and biscuits she asked me all about what I was doing as she had never heard of Te Araroa before. She also made me an offer. She has back problems so finds it hard to stand up for long periods and consequently things like cooking are difficult. If I was willing to cook dinner for us both I could have free reign I the kitchen and she'd pay for anything I needed that wasn't already in the fridge or pantry. Deal! Her only request was that I use lots of potatoes, and also some smoked salmon that was about to reach its best before date. Oh the hardship. We invited Karin's other guest, a Finnish lady named Hanna, to dinner as well; they left me to it and I said come back at 7:30.

I ran a little late but by 7:45 I'd managed to put together baked jacket potatoes stuffed with smoke salmon, soft cheese and capers, plus a packet mix of stir fry veges with honey soy sauce, bulked out with some extra spinach. I also noticed Katin had two overripe bananas so while everything else was baking I threw together a quick banana cake (thankfully the pantry was also well stocked with the necessary baking ingredients). Though perhaps not my best work happily dinner went down a treat, and Karin and Hanna spent most if it quizzing me about the trail. Thru-hiking, especially solo is not something they'd ever imagined let alone contemplated. It's funny seeing Te Araroa  from that perspective again. I've gotten so used to the idea it no longer seems strange or unusual, but you forget that to lots of (most?) other people it's something completely out there and crazy!

Day 32: Millwater to Red Cliff (30km; 581km total)

Whoa, slept badly last night. Definitely stayed up too late blogging; my stupid brain just wouldn't shut down! Nearly tripped over Penny's big black cat Bigs on the way to the bathroom as she was sleeping in the floor outside the toilet door; weird cat. In lieu of standing on her I picked her up for a cuddle. Penny's smaller black cat Small was nowhere to be seen (or stood on). At 6am I woke up to the sound of raking carpet: Socks had appeared and jumped up for a cuddle. I can't get over how tiny she is! With an enormously long spider monkey tail!

Anyway, finally up and at 'em, we managed to remember to take a few quick photos of everyone together before the girls headed off to school. I enjoyed possibly my last slices of toast and marmite for a while before taking on the daunting but exciting task of packing everything into my new pack for the first time. I was quite surprised when it only took two goes. Everything already seemed to have its place; I really like the pocket design of the new pack.

Finally, just before 9:30 I was ready. Bridget kindly dropped me the short distance to the trail (after I'd made her very, very late for coffee with another friend at the cafe on the corner--sorry Bridget!). She insisted on taking some photos of me under the small TA trail sign at the intersection, which drew some odd looks from passing motorists.

At length we said our goodbyes and I headed off up the road and down the trail. About a kilometre in it was clear some weight redistribution was needed so I stopped to make some adjustments. Carrying on I followed the TA through Silverdale and then out through semi-rural land blocks to Stillwater. One woman stopped to offer me a lift. 

At Stillwater I stopped to have lunch, sitting on the grass beside the Stillwater Boating Club carpark, overlooking the Weiti River estuary. Moving on again I followed the walking track at the end of the road as it headed down to the coast. Four teenagers pulled up and set off on a day walk at the same time as I got there. We played leapfrog as they would go on ahead then stop to look at something, then pass me again, then stop to look at something else. Call me cynical but I was quietly impressed at the interest they were taking...and how excited they got over a tiny skink that clambered up one of the boy's arms (and how carefully they took it off him, taking care it wouldn't drop it's tail).

At the coast we all set off over the sandbar and rocky platform to circle the headland, walking past historic Dacre Cottage on the other side. I was half inclined to take a closer look as the teenagers had done, but I had a low tide to catch.

Turning away from the shore I marched out across the exposed sand bars of the Okura Estuary. You're supposed to be able to wade the channel at dead on low tide, which coincidentally it just happened to be when I got there. At first I thought there was no deeper main channel but about a kilometre out from the shore I discovered the line of posts I had seen in the distance marked the channels course (duh!). If you don't wade the estuary there's a diversion out to the road bridge, but that's extra time and kilometres and well, I'm lazy!

I walked along the bank of the channel for a while until I found a place that looked like the shallowest to cross. Even at dead low tide the channel is supposed to be waist deep so you want to choose your spot carefully if you don't want to get all your gear wet.

And that was the next problem. You may remember that I don't have too many changes of clothes on this trip. The idea of getting my walking pants wet and caked with salt for the rest of the afternoon was not really appealing. I have shorts, but have become quite used to sleeping in these and wasn't really inspired to take them for a dip in saltwater either. The obvious solution soon occurred to me.

After making sure all electrics and paperwork etc we're properly back in their appropriate dry bags, taking off boots and socks and tying the laces so they could be slung around my neck (argh, the smell!), I had one last look around to check no one was about, before whipping of my pants, stuffing them into the top of my pack, slinging it onto my shoulders and wading in.

The water proved to be waist height alright--and I'm high waisted. I lent forward as much as I dared trying to keep my pack out of the water (and so soaking my shirt up to the chest in the process). Happily the level held and I soon splashed out onto the other side. The immediate problem then became finding a non-sandy spot to dry off and dress again. I made a b-line for the rocky headland, trying not to slip over on the muddy rocks in between (and conscious of my wet shirt tail flapping in the breeze over my bare butt!).

Making it to the rocks with only a few close-call slides I broke out my new towel, quickly dried off and restored my pants to their proper place. Feeling much better I then went in search of a rock pool to rinse my feet in, to get the muddy sand off without having to overly soil my towel. Just as I was putting on my first sock a guy came walking round the point chattering into a cellphone. We acknowledged each other as he went on chatting and walking. Struth, if he'd been five minutes earlier he might have encountered a scene that may have caused a brief interruption in the dialogue...

Feet clean and boots on I retrieved my pack. Turns out it did receive a baptism if not a dunking: the bottom inch or so of the pack was wet, but everything inside was still dry. I drizzled a little drinking water over the wet patch to try and rinse some if the salt before slinging it in again. My shirt was still wet and salty but I figured I could rinse it out if ever I made it to the Takapuna Holiday Park this evening.

Round the point it was a combination of boulder hop and beach walk for quite a way before civilisation is approached once again and the trail begins the North Shore Coastal Walk. As I came round one of the last headlands I slipped on a rock and grazed my knee. I guy sitting on the beach saw and when I eventually drew level asked if I was alright. He was sitting on a rock, knees wide, absolutely starkers (maybe walking-talking guy wouldn't have been so shocked at finding me bare-assed after all??). The trail notes warn that there's a nudist beach around here somewhere...I guess this was it! Just to make the point and I suppose, change up the view, the guy stood up to wish me a good day. I did what I do when I'm not really sure what to do: carried on as normal. I called out a friendly "you too!", without breaking stride. I'm all for people hanging out naked on a designated beach if they want to, but bare-butting it across an estuary out of practicality is as far down that road as I am willing to go.

The North Shore Coastal Walk is a mixture of beaches, cliff top walkways and road walks through steadily more affluent suburbs. It's a nice walk but as the afternoon wore on the skies clouded over and as afternoon turned toward evening perks of thunder rang out overhead. It was 6pm and I still had about 6km to go to get to Takapuna Holiday Park...the only place along the entire northshore you can pitch a tent and therefore stay overnight for less than about $160.

My feet were killing me, I was tired abc therefore my pace was slow. I didn't think I'd get there before 8pm, by which time I felt sure it would be raining. I passed plenty of people on the trail, jogging, or walking themselves or their dogs. Several  stopped to chat, most commenting on my tenacity walking with such a big pack whilst also making comments about the imminent rain. A few enquired how far I still had to go and looked genuinely concerned when I told them. All agreed Takapuna was the only place I could stay. So there was no trail magic to be had by me on the North Shore, and I now understand the difference between friendliness or niceness...and hospitality. Everyone I spoke to was perfectly friendly and nice, but not one of them offered to help me out of my predicament. Not that I expected them to, but I was struggling to finish the walk and secretly hoped some nice person would say "hey, my house is just around the corner, why don't you pitch your tent on my lawn before it starts raining?".  In a smaller town it might have happened but of course it never did.

Finally, on a road walk section I passed a bus stop; the bus to Takapuna was due in five minutes. Fine. I'd catch the bus to try and beat the rain, then bus back to pick up the trail again in the morning.

Turns out the bus took a round about route so, in addition to walking the last few blocks to the campground, I probably only got there half an hour before I would have otherwise. The guy at reception was nice and chatty, but didn't seen to appreciate that I was trying to pitch a tent before it rained. As I stepped out of the office the first large fat drops began to fall from the sky. It was all beginning to feel like a cliche story book.

I hurried off (read: walked at the same pace because by that stage I just couldn't go any faster) to the grass set aside for tents and out up my new tent for the first time, in the rain. Happily it wasn't particularly heavy rain but it was enough to get me thoroughly wet in the process. I thanked my lucky stars for two things: 1. We had put the tent up in the shop so I already had a rough idea of how the poles were supposed to go, and 2. I'd bought the tent footprint, meaning I could erect the tent fly first and keep the interior tent dry.

Tent up I stashed my pack in the vestibule, did that strip-off-as-you-enter thing to keep my wet clothes outside (but still under cover), put on dry clothes and readied my sleeping bag. Andy had txt me to see how I was going; he had struck trail magic gold in Clevedon where a kind lady had taken him in from the rain and put him up for the night. In addition to a bed and a hot shower, he apparently scored a spa! (I txt back saying he had a mean streak to be telling me such a thing at a time like this). Trying not to begrudge Andy his good fortune I snuggled into my sleeping bag. There would be no shower and no dinner for me tonight. I was content to be warm and dry (and off my feet). Everything else was tomorrow's problem.