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.
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