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.
No comments:
Post a Comment