I'm not a fan of cooking in the tent in the rain, plus it takes more time than a scratch meal, so I had my lunch time wrap for breakfast instead. It stopped raining just as I dropped the tent; well really, it had rained just enough to get the damn thing wet. Oh well, at least I could finish my pack up without everything else getting wet as well.
I set off up the track through the manuka scrub and mixed bush. It proved to be an old 4WD track, long disused, and as feared, a bit muddy. The track crosses a few small streams and it was crossing about the third one of these that it suddenly occurred to me that I might want to top up my water again. The last stream before the Raetea Track sprang to mind and oh how I wish I'd topped up there! Sure enough I was already down to a litre of water...and it proved to be the last stream I would come across for several hours.
The track gently snakes up through the bush-clad hills with rare breaks in the vegetation affording you a view out over the valley below. It was approaching one of these that I heard the sound of a quad bike and dogs barking. From the break in the trees I saw a farmer astride the quad bike in the grassy ridge opposite. He had four dogs in two and was whistling to then to round up the sheep scattered across the hillside below. I stopped I watch the dogs work; I've always enjoyed watching sheep dogs, and on this steep hillside they ran down and up like energiser bunnies, while the large flock of sheep made cool patterns as they ran where they were herded, baa-ing their heads off. Within a few minutes the show was over and I moved on.
The track passes through some cave-like cutting a that look like they've been dug long ago by hand, before emerging into farmland. Before long a renewed chorus of baa-ing told me I was about to come across the herded sheep, and indeed, over the next hill the trail goes past stock yards where two guys were drenching the freshly rounded up sheep. The farmer has put in a new fence just here and must have removed the stile as I soon found myself on the wrong side of the fence, with a farm track (and the TA) on the other side. I didn't want to try and climb the fence with the farmer watching but seeing me dithering he called out to me to just jump the fence. I hollered "ok, thanks!" and went along a little further to where there was some sturdier wooden panels I might climb rather than out dents in the newly strung wires (I also figured that here I was also less likely to fall or otherwise embarrass myself whilst in full view of the farmer).
Following the track past the promised woolshed it becomes a gravel road which the trail follows before diverting through another farm. TA follows a fenceline as it goes down and up, and down and up...and down and up (you get the idea) before passing a very obvious rural airstrip then heading over a high hill with what I can only assume is a weather station on top of it. At a spot out of he wind I took a break and hauled out my phone--yes! There was reception. I turns on my data and caught up with. Few things in the digital world before calling Mum for a chat while my feet (as socks!) aired. As I sat a small plane flew past in the valley below; guess I must be pretty high up then huh?
After my break I followed the trail down and along a ridge. There's a farm track that leads all the way down the ridge, but the TA follows a mostly rough-cut route through low scrub that has been severely worked over by pigs. I was more than a little frustrated when I got to Te end I the ridge a few kilometres away to find the farm track still there, paralleling the route! Why not just follow the farm track I hear you ask? Apparently the one farmer on the track-side of the fence doesn't want hikers traipsing through his property. Happily his neighbour doesn't mind...but he doesn't have a track along this ridge.
Beyond the knarly scrub track the trail is described as, and happily proves to be, a 'pleasant forest walk'. The walk isn't too long however before it turns into an old quad bike track. This is good news in itself as quadbike tracks are usually easy to follow (they never get too steep...usually), but this one has a clay-base made greasy by recent rain, and so was a bit slippery in places. Happily the rain wasn't enough to soak in and turn the clay into a sticky ankle trap.
The track leads all the way down to Moakurarua Stream. The stream is about 8m wide and knee deep (when in flood you're advised to camp up the track a bit and wait for the water level to drop). Happily the water was its usual self today so I rolled up my pant legs, switched out my boots and socks for my sandals, slung my boots around my neck by the laces (pee-eww!) and waded over to the grassy bank and resumed quadbike track on the other side. Ramming my hiker poles into the sand I stuffed a sock on each on to let it air, left my boots and sandals to dry in the sun and flopped down on the grass to have lunch. Large flattened patches if grass indicated other hikers had recently done the same and I hazarded a guess that it was the Germans sometime this morning.
I made the mistake of having a tuna wrap, cookies and chocolate for lunch...major indigestion carrying along the quadbike track (past a fishing rod someone had stashed in a bush by the stream, and further along a dead goat someone had shot and left right beside the track. When I walked past it it was looking fair ready to explode...).
The rest of the trail out to the road follows the quadbike track, which us a little overgrown in places, but steadily opens out as it nears civilisation and sees more use. TA follows occasional walking track diversions that offer easier, flatter and leaf-strewn alternatives to the up and down clay quadbike track as it follows undulations in the ridge line.
Everything was going wonderfully and I was making great time until I tripped on a stick, stepped to catch myself and thereby tripped on one of my hiking poles, stepped a third time and tripped over my hiker-pole tripped foot. This all happened in very quick succession with the end result that I tipped forward like a felled tree. I had just enough sense to turn sideways as I fell so that I landed on my left side and didn't face plant in the dirt (or I probably would have broken my nose). As it was I landed with a crash and hit my head with a good sideways smack on the mercifully dry and relatively soft clay (if it had been rock I'm fair certain I'd have knocked myself out). I lay there stunned for a moment before unclipping myself out of my pack harness, gingerly rolling onto my knees and staggering to my feet. I was fairly upbeat about the whole episode (or I'd knocked myself a bit silly) as once I was up I couldn't help singing the classic song line "another one bites the dust". It seemed appropriate as my entire left side was now orange with clay dust. Fortunately it was dry clay dust and I was able to brush most of it off, my trousers, shirt, pack and probably my face as well, all remained a lingering shade of orange.
Determined to be a bit more careful with my footing and a bit gutted to have had my first proper fall of the trip (though proud it took someone as clumsy as myself this long to have one), I settled my pack harness back on my back and carried on--destination Waitomo.
After emerging on a gravel road I followed it until it became asphalt, and then followed it some more until at long last it led me to Waitomo Village. The visitors centre was shut bed unfortunately the YHA is another 1.6km out of town, so I tried the holiday park. They had no rooms/cabins left, only tent sites, so I pushed on to the YHA. I'd phoned them at lunh time and they'd still had a private room available. Though I don't strictly believe in fate I do rather curiously go in for that "if it's meant to be" attitude some times; I'd not made a booking and decided to see if the room was still available when I got there. If so, I'd take the opportunity as a sign I was meant tonsleep in a cosy bed tonight. If not, well then is take it as a sign that I was supposed to save my money and just spend the $10 it costs to pitch a tent instead.
Feeling a bit tired and steadily more grim (walking unnecessary non-trail kms does that to a thru-hiker extraordinarily quickly) I followed the road out to Juno Hall, a privately owned hostel that is affiliated with both YHA and BBH. Happily there was a footpath the whole way so I didn't need to dodge the evening tourist traffic.
The current manager of the hostel is a cheerful kiwi of about my age who is lightly built, tattooed, and has dreadlocks in a high ponytail with shaved back and sides. Her name is Stephanie and she's wonderful. The room was no longer available so I opted for the tent, and when I inquired about laundry she explained that there wasn't time to do it tonight but if input my stuff in the machine she'd set it going first thing in the morning when she opened up at 7:30. Deal. I've decided to take a day off in Waitomo to go see the glow worms anyway. When I asked about that Stephanie ran me through the different tour options; there's loads, but three particularly adventurous ones are offered by the company that is happily located right across the road. I picked the mid-tier adventurous option and Stephanie rang up and booked it for me then and there. 9am tomorrow I have a date to go abseiling into a cave! But for now I contented myself with a hot shower and a pasta snack--plus two eggs a girl named Sarah was kind enough to give me. She's doing an outdoor education course and is working at the caving outfit across the road for a bit. She's a fellow kiwi in a hostel full of European tourists (no sign of any hikers but apparently John stopped in at lunchtime on his way through to Te Kuiti). We sat and talked about tramping for a bit before catching the middle of Fellowship of the Ring which was being watched by a group of people lounging on couches round the corner (it had made me smile to see all these tourist watching LOTR when I came in and I'd been listening to it and watching it in my head while I made dinner). All too soon however I was ready for bed, so I wished Sarah goodnight and went out into the renewed rain to find the small but cosy warm and dry sleeping space inside my tent.
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