Then woke at 7...but didn't manage to haul myself out of bed til 7:45.
I had a leisurely breakfast, but Sven didn't seem in any hurry either, and we finally set off at 9:30.
Yesterday we traversed the highest point on the QCT, but today seemed harder as it involved not one but two not insignificant and fairly steep climbs and then descents to saddles. The first if these was a 2hr walk up and over through farmland scrub to the saddle above Cowshed Bay we we emerged onto the road next to a WWII monument. We chatted to two ladies from the Netherlands and snacked as it threatened to drizzle. Busting for the loo I scarpered off down the 200m descent to the campsite in the bay and back to use the facilities, only to come upon a vault loo scarcely fifty metres up the next hill. Dammit. They could gave marked it! 'Oh well, I got to use one that flushes AND had soap and hot water to wash my hands', I thought doggedly.
Though it had threatened to rain, by the time we made it to the top of the climb it was clearing. There's a number of benches but they were already occupied so Sven and I sat on the ground and chatted to the Dutch pair a little more (they had beaten us up there). After a while a departing couple left a bench free and Sven and I quickly moved in to claim it as our lunch spot. We had a nice view eastward over the sound, although the cloud cover meant the blue of the water and green of the hills was not as vibrant as it had been on our first day.
Over lunch I phoned my Uncle Stewart. I've been promising to visit him for months and now I'll be walking within 45minures drive of him and want to see if he's free and able to have me come and stay for a day once I finish the track. We'd previously planned this loosely, but now it looks like I'll be finished earlier than planned so thought I better check that was OK. Happily it is, and even better, Uncle Stewart should be able to come and pick me up from Havelock tomorrow which will save me having to hitch. Phew! One less elevated heart rate journey for the trip.
I also tried to book accommodation in Anakiwa for tonight but there was nothing available. Hmmm, ok, so I'll just stay at DOCs Davies Bay Campsite instead. It's cheaper and only adds on an extra 3km to tomorrow's walk to Havelock.
After lunch Sven and I set off again, along the ridge and down. Passing a side track to a lookout Sven headed up and I sat to wait (he'd waited for me afterall) and spent the time catching up on my journal. I'd barely finished one entry when he was back, saying the view was worth it, but similar to others along the ridge.
Twenty minutes later we passed a side trail to Mistletoe Bay and went our separate ways. Sven is camping there tonight and walking out to catch the water taxi from Anakiwa tomorrow. With nine more kilometres to go I still had some walking to do. Wishing him all the best with his remaining time in New Zealand and plans to train as an electrical engineer in Germany thereafter I said farewell. Something tells me he won't miss my company. I think I start to get on people's nerves after two or three days...sorry world, I guess.
I continued on down the main track to a saddle and back up and round the headland on the other side. It's a steady but gentle climb all the way up and round and down again. I stopped for a break on a large flat-topped boulder and was drawn to a nearby sign indicating potable water. I eyed the rusty tap doubtfully and sure enough no water was to be had. No matter, I had some left from Black Rocks still and fortunately it seemed to be devoid of obvious organisms.
From Puroa Point I spotted a three-masted square-rigger in the bay that looked familiar. I hazarded a guess that it was the Spirit of New Zealand and spent the next few kilometres reminiscing about my own 10-day stint aboard the vessel when I was in high school (the trip was awesome but being scared of heights and not able to support my own weight at the time I slipped from the rigging during a climb to the top of the mast and back and was left dangling in my harness several metres above the deck. I was the only student unfortunate enough to do this that trip and I'm sure it's what led to me being awarded the Jeweler's Award for Personal Growth at the end of the trip...and if it wasn't the fall it was probably the constant stream of profanity I let loose as I climbed back up to my anchor point and then back down to the deck. Who knew you could get a certificate for muttering "You bastard! I can't believe you beat me you complete bastard!", over and over again?!).
I saw no other walkers that afternoon apart from one young couple on a late ramble up from Anakiwa to the lookout at the point. From the point the track descends down into bush, leaves the farmland behind and is a lovely walk as you pass beneath various tall native trees, catching glimpses of the water below growing slowly but surely nearer. Soon you can make out ripples on it's surface, and before too long the track flattens out and your on the edge of a small bay. The sounds of boats are strangely magnified in the sound so that someone boating way off shore sounds like they're coming in to moor in the bay. It's a phenomenon that extends inland to the Davies Bay Campsite where, even a hundred metres up a short side trail I more than once thought I was about to get company. But I never did. I had the campsite to myself...well, me and the 40 million wasps that also call it home. Honestly the ground was alive with them buzzing amongst the grass every couple of feet. Signs indicated Fibronil poison had gone up in bait stations that very week but it didn't appear to have had much of an effect yet.
Leaving the wasps to settle at dusk I went to the toilet block to have a sponge bath in the sink. The women's sink was a little blocked so I used the men's, which also gave me a bit more cover should anyone happen along the path. Clean, and in my fresher non-walking clothes I returned to the half-hexagon shaped shelter to make dinner, pitching my tent in an alcove under some trees while I waited for the pasta to soak (saves gas). (There's something about pitching out on the open grass in a deserted campground that doesn't really appeal to me. It does however gavecthe advantage of not allowing a possum to sit on a branch right above you cackling, as I would later discover...).
Tonight would have been a good night to do some blogging but I didn't feel like it. Instead I settled down early to go to sleep. This was only interrupted twice: once by the affore mentioned possum in the tree above, and later a by an astonishingly noisy encounter between this and another possum somewhere on the other side of the campground. One could grow to loathe possums...if you didn't merely dislike them on principle already!
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