Day 24: Waipu to Mangawai Heads (29km; 449km total)

So on this trip I always thought any bed was better than no bed, but having such a soft bed after a run of nice firm mattresses and the odd night in the tent...? I couldn't sleep! Maybe my huge dinner was playing havoc with my metabolism (was my brain thinking 'why eat so much food if you didn't need me to stay awake?' ). Or perhaps I was just restless. Whatever the reason I tossed and turned (ramming my knee into the wall at least twice) and didn't get to sleep until after 2am...and then was up at 6:30. 4 1/2 hours is not a good start to a long day of hiking...

Andy and Nathalie were soon up. Nathalie had spent the night in her tent, but unfortunately it had rained a little and it was damp. It was clear when we got up so she hung the tent up on the clothesline, but the drizzle soon returned and she was forced to wet pack her tent. I was glad I'd opted for the indoor option, despite the soft bed.

I went out to resupply at the 4-square as soon as it opened at 7, and also got a pie from the bakery for breakfast. I headed back to the hostel to pack. Andy was ready first and headed off, planning to stop at the cafe for breakfast. I set off second, and also stopped for a hot chocolate. Nathalie wasn't far behind but stopped only to bid us good walk before striding off down the road through the drizzling rain.

The first part of the trail today was a 7km asphalt road walk. I walked with Andy to the turnoff into a side road leading up into the hills, at which point I told him to go on ahead. I had been struggling to keep up with him the whole way and reached the turnoff feeling very tired...not a good omen for the day ahead.

Andy set off up the hill and was soon out of sight around a bend. The sun had come out so I ditched my raincoat and slathered on some sunscreen before continuing in a slow trudge up the hill, past houses and lifestyle blocks. On a long shoulder ridge I stopped by a farm gate, tired and craving sustenance (remind me not to have a pie for breakfast again). I had some cordial and all three museli bars I normally stagger throughout an entire day. After about fifteen minutes I felt much better and moved on again.

A stiff wind was gusting from time to time, bringing with it more rainy mini-squalls punctuated by intermittent sunshine. The wind made incredibly eerie noises as it whistled in low tones through the power lines flanking the road. Most rainy patches were only drizzly and I judged them not worth getting my coat out for (raincoat use must be carefully judged as to whether or not you'll get wetter from the rain or from sweating under the coat. It has pit zips for ventilation, but these aren't always enough, particularly when slogging uphill). Wending around bends on a low saddle however the wind-rain combo was such that I began to get cold, so out came the coat again.

The road became gravel and led on into forestry land. I passed a group of loggers working; they all appeared to be on break, sheltering inside a shopping container-come-lunch room, so I walked past without anyone noticing. Around a further bend a guy was working an excavator to bench the hillside next to the road. Glad to be wearing a bright red raincoat I stopped and soon caught his attention. He lowered the excavator bucket to the ground and waved me through. We shouted a greeting to each other and I yelled "thanks!" but not much more could be heard over the machine's engine.

Beyond the forestry block the road plunges into native bush. It passes a couple if houses, including one, with a truely impressive vege garden, belonging to a older UK expat who stopped to chat.  We discussed the weather which led to comments about climate change; I smiled when the man categorically stated that anyone who doesn't "believe" in climate change is a fool. He's spent twenty years living here and apparently in that time his weather patterns have changed a lot. With it looking like another shower was coming through he kindly invited me in for tea or coffee to wait it out. Turns out Nathalie had done just that not too long ago. While a hot tea was very tempting, with such a slow start to the morning and now feeling better I was keen to at least try to get to Mangawai Heads and feared that if I stopped for too long at any point I wouldn't make it.

I set off again along the track which became more of an old quad bike track through the bush. It had several steep ups and downs and some nice person had cut crude steps into the slippery clay in several places. There was a random wooden seat at one point where there was a partial view out over the green paddocked valley below, so I stopped and had my bakery-bought sandwich for lunch. Moving on, along a short stretch between steep sections a French Canadian pair passed me going in the opposite direction. The girl cheerfully told me to keep going and that I was doing well; clearly they had already encountered Nathalie who must have told then there was another hiker lagging behind.

The trail continues on through bush, passing several "Stage 2" lots, cleared patches if grass that are part of a huge, widely spaced development know as Paradise Heights within the Langsview Reserve. The plots get closer and closer together and the track broadens back into 4WD track near the summit where there are spectacular views all around. By the time I headed down the hill toward the road the sun had come out and I stopped to have afternoon tea on one of the sunnier lots. It was 2:30 and I was only 12km out from Mangawai Heads so I phoned the backpackers to book a bed.

Setting off again the trail diverts away from the main entrance to the development, following a well graded path through the bush in a random loop to emerge on the road separately. A short distance down this road the trail diverts up a gravel road into farmland. At the top of the hill I passed a farmer working in his shed. I'd seem him tide up the road ahead if me on a quad bike with two dogs on board; the two dogs lumbered over to investigate me, tails wagging. The farmer too came to say hello. He was interested to know my reasons for doing the trail. My default quick response now has become "to get some exercise". Unlike most other people he did not laugh but instead sized me up and seemed to decide that was a fair statement. Thanks mate. He was a nice bloke, though he didn't think 20-25kg for a pack was especially heavy, and assured me it would take a full month for me to get my fitness up. Duly noted. He helped point out the route the trail took across his farm, describing where it went beyond the next hill where the trail markers were out of sight. I thanked him very much for his help, but soon regretted not thanking him for allowing the trail to cross his property.

Over a stile the trail crosses a sheep paddock, follows a fenceline down to a small causeway over a swampy gully, steeply follows the fenceline up again and then turns off through a gate and into a graded grass track, recently mowed, that winds down and then back up through a lovely patch of native bush and grove of young kauri trees. Emerging at the top the trail comes out of a gravel road running along the clifftop on the coast, close to a wooden platform and picnic table affording a wonderful view if the sea. It was pretty windy up there do I didn't linger, and soon followed the Mangawai Coastal Walkway as it wends it's way around the steep hillside above the cliffy headlands and bays. Around one headland I can across a tui sat in a tree that seemed to be growing out into nothingness in the steep hillside. There have been loads of tui along the trail ever since the Herekino Forest, but this one stood out in my mind for having chins such an exposed and somewhat lonely place to sit and sing his heart out.

The track stays at roughly the same height until it nears Mangawai Beach, where it descends in stairs and switchbacks down the hillside to a carpark, affording views over one or two very posh and modern seaside houses that appear to be mere holiday homes, judging by their apparent state of unoccupation.

As I came down the track I could see people walking the beach, but by the time I got there and set out at my 'beach pace' down the 2km stretch of sand every man and his dog seemed to have turned in. It was gone 5pm and the shadows from the cliffs were getting long.

At the far end I hiked up the path through the dunes by the surf club, past a woman  heading down for an evening beach walk. She was very excited to see someone walking Te Araroa, so much so she doubled back to congratulate me for taking it on and wishing me all the best. "You must be having a fantastic experience". Yes, I am, but right then and there I was absolutely knackered. My fatigued of the morning had redoubled and I just wanted to get to the backpackers.

The last 1.5km or do into town seemed to take forever and I got caught out in a new mini downpour just for good measure. Finally I staggered down the road and up into the front stoop of the Coastal Cow, where Andy met me at the door. It was just him, Nathalie and I again, this time all in the same dorm room. I carried my stuff through and collapsed face down on my bunk, apparently looking so comical Nathalie had to take photo (which will hopefully never see the light of day!). Andy and Nathalie were kind enough to congratulate me on making it. I like these guys. They're fun to hang out with. I only hope I can keep up with them...but already I'm beginning to feel my body crying out for a rest day.

While I was in the shower Tania the hostel caretaker came to collect our payments and bring us carrot cake-muffins...mmmm nom nom. She also kindly gave us a lift half a K down the road to the shops where we could get dinner. The pub/restaurant was just taking orders from a table of 12 so we opted for the quicker meal offered by the chippy across the road. I wasn't all that inspired but settled on homemade wontons and wedges.

We all decided to walk back and eat at the hostel, stopping at the liquor store just as it shut to get a bottle of beer each (or in my case: cider). It then started to drizzle so Nathalie, in a down jacket, ran on ahead. Having no hope if running I hobbled along behind, and soon got caught up by Andy who had gone to pick up some supplies from the service station.

Back at the hostel we dispersed plates and tucked into dinner. This time all three if us discussed house prices in NZ and strategic approaches to buying houses and selling them at a profit a few to several years later. We also (inevitably) discussed pack weight and ways I specifically could shave off extra kilos. Andy proffered an example by producing a truely tiny stove, which is functionally almost equivalent to mine but is half the size. I weighed their suggestions in my mind, as I have done all others before now, but I have come to the conclusion that I'm just not a big enough risk taker to change up my kit purely based on what other people tell me. The reason I have all my heavy gear is that I've used it before and I trust it to work. I didn't want to set out on a long, unknown trail with untested kit I was not familiar with. Happily both Nathalie and Andy seemed to think this was very sensible, Andy commenting that your own trial and error is the best way to find out what works for you. I'm glad they weren't offended that I didn't immediately latch on to all their advice.

All this said, walking the trail is rapidly becoming a habit. I've settled into it now to the point where I only have to glance at the next few days' worth of track to work out if there's a resupply point, and only read the very next day's trail notes in any great detail. This is in contrast to when I set out where I had the next several days mentally prepped in my mind. I've relaxed into the routine that is walking the trail now, and down the track this comfort and confidence may enable me to risk swapping out some gear...though no doubt saving kilos will have a dramatically opposite effect on my bank account!

Oh well, no need to make any decisions yet; there won't be a chance to buy any really serious new kit until I get to Auckland. So I have several more days yet to ponder and consider my options :)

Quick Update

Hi everyone! There's been a bit of confusion since my blog isn't up to date. Rest assured I've been taking notes and will be trying to get it up to date in due course (but at the moment it's about a week behind). The news is that I've reached Auckland (or very nearly...just passed Orewa and the 551km mark), I have a new pack and new tent (saving 3.5kg!) and so should be steaming along from here on out. I'm trying to update posts as I go but I'm so slow at writing (I type fast, but producing coherent writing is slooowww) that each each entry takes more time than I'm usually energetically able to spend after a long day. Will make an effort to get up-to-date while I'm spending the next few days passing through civilisation and have regular opportunities to charge my phone! I hope you are all well! Much love, Jen.

Day 23: Mcleod's Bay to Waipu (21km; 420km total)

Best sleep yet! Turns out the bed in Marcus and Tam's cabin is very similar to my own, so much so that there was a moment when I was waking up when I thought I was back at home. I was a little sad not to be able to give Bard and Mum a cuddle, but I was excited to still be on the trail--and looking forward to a boat ride this morning!

I dressed and went up to the house to thank Marcus for taking me in before he headed off to work at 7. Tam and I then sat and had a chat over a cup of tea and breakfast.  Fresh fruit and yoghurt...mmmm. We weren't sure what time David would come to collect me; he had said between 10am and 11, but it turns out he is also the fire truck driver and the immensely loud siren from the fire station across the street had gone off at 3am (also similar to home but much closer and therefore much, MUCH louder), and we supposed he hadn't got back home until well past 4. But David is apparently a man who keeps to a schedule and just before 11 he came to get me.  I quickly packed up my gear, thanked Tam so very much for taking me in, and then David and I headed off in his truck to the boat ramp in the next bay over.

David expertly backed down the boat ramp (he'd certainly done this before) and then I kicked off my boots and waded out to hold the boat while he parked. We then jumped in the shiny new aluminium dinghy and within a few moments the outboard was roaring and off we went, out across the bay, passing a pair of little blue penguins that were dabbling at the surface. Once we got out into the main channel David kicked it up a notch and off we shot, bouncing across the slight chop of the water. I sat on my pack and hung onto the side of the boat to cushion the blows, remembering a time when Dad had a boat and we'd do the same as we went out to fish in Otago Harbour.

Within a few minutes we entered the channel entrance to Marsden Point Marina, and slowed right down, putting into shore.  David nosed toward the beach next to the marina entrance and once the water was too shallow for the outboard I jumped out. I thanked David very much, gave him a koha and wished him all the best with the new boat before donning pack, grabbing my boots and wading ashore.  David took off to explore the harbour and no doubt put his new craft through its paces.

An elderly chap was walking his dog on the beach and sat down to watch me wade ashore like some failed auditionee for Castaway. I said hello and sat on the berm nearby to dry and de-sand my feet before putting on my socks and boots once more.  The man and I had a good chat about technological advances and the related rise and fall of civilisations. He was of the opinion that there was no way the ancients managed to accomplish such great feats without help...what kind of help he didn't specify but seemed to hint that it was of an extraterrestrial nature. We speculated on why people like the Romans had such things as indoor plumbing whilst medieval Britons literally returned to the dark ages. I ventured that it had less to do with divine or extraterrestrial intervention and more to do with politics, but I don't think my companion was convinced. His aging jack russell didn't seem to care either way and was just content to lean heavily on my leg, budge my hand for pats, and shed generously all over my trousers.

As I readied to go the man bid me good walk and headed back over the street behind the beach to his house, and I set off up the road toward the oil refinery. The track supposedly goes around the coastal side of the refinery, but I could see no sign of a route past the logging wharf that preceded it. Knowing the road would get me where I wanted to go in about equivalent kilometers I followed it, passed the up-and-coming coastal property developments and on past high-security fencing surrounding the refinery and related facilities. One of the workers pulled over in a van to talk to me, asking about the trail and musing on the possibility of one day doing it himself. Turns out there is a public walking trail around the coastal side of the refinery but it goes under the wharf; no wonder I hadn't been able to see it from the beach.

Before long I reached the beach south of the refinery, heading down onto the sand at the same time as a young guy and his too dogs: a fat black lab and an energetic Sydney silky.  We all kept pace with one another for a time and so chatted for a bit, about pets, about the trail, about boating on the harbour (my friend was not a fan, apparently getting seasick even on a flat calm). I was chuffed when he commented that I was keeping a good pace despite my pack.  After a couple of kilometers he and the dogs turned around and I had the beach to myself.

Despite its proximity to the oil refinery the beach south of Marsden Point is lovely. In the afternoon sunshine the sea was a bright tropical blue and the beach itself is fine white sand and positively littered with an assortment of large marginal subtropical species of shell, several of them in tact. I was hard not to fill my pockets with shells of all different shapes and sizes and pretty colours. I finally settled on one perfect little scallop shell, slipping it into my trouser pocket along with a large native snail shell I had found on the bank of the Waipapa River (I must remember to post these home before they get broken!).

Of course several of the shells are broken and in some places their fragments are concentrated so that the gentle waves lapping the shore cause them to rattle in a soft and prolonged clatter that is extremely peaceful to listen to. In places there are obviously many shellfish burrowed into the sand and where a wave would come up the beach and the water would drain into their burrows, the beach would bubble furiously for several seconds, sounding like a cauldron on a rolling boil.

At one point I thought I saw a spout out at sea, but looking again saw a large white bird emerge from the water and recognised it as a gannet. The fishing can't have been too good however as it didn't plummet into the water and send up the splash of water I had seen again, but flew on up the coast. Every now and then another loan gannet would come cruising up the beach, riding the air currents that rise up off the sand dunes.

Upon reaching the Ruakaka River I walked upstream a short distance, diverting around a pair of nesting oyster catchers, to meet a man named Simon. He lives on the river at Ruakaka and helps hikers cross by coming to fetch them in his tandem kayak (the alternative is to walk a ways upstream and cross via the road bridge). I'd txt Simon earlier in the day to see if he was free. Happily he was and came to meet me. Donning life jacket I hopped in the back of the kayak (being the heavier of us two) and wedged my pack between my knees and the back of Simon's seat. We pushed off and a short paddle later saw us beach in front of the campground on the south side of the river. I offered Simon a koha for his help, but he refused, saying he just enjoys taking the kayak out and meeting the hikers. I was heading to the dairy to get a cold drink before setting off again and when I offered to shout him the same he accepted.  We hauled the kayak out of the water and then set off over the short grass walkway into Ruakaka town. Not far along we came to the dairy and I emerged with a fresh up and a diet coke for me, and a cheap bottle of white wine for Simon (at his request). I was a little concerned at first, but glad when he didn't open it and drink it right there and then. I downed my juice and coke (I couldn't decide which I wanted more so just bought both) and then decided rather than resupply here and waste more time to press on to Waipu. Andy had txt me that both he and Nathalie were there and that they had the backpackers to themselves.  Keen to catch them up I bid Simon farewell (he made me promise to come back and visit again) and then set off down the beach.

There weren't so many shells on this section of beach and I passed a few more walkers as well as a fisherman and his son, sitting on deck chairs with rods cast out into the waves and a portable radio going at their feet. Having not walked all that far today I still felt fresh and set a good pace, topping 4km/hr (yeah okay, this is still slow, but its a good pace for me!). When there wasn't any other people around I sang. You'll be pleased to know I've exhausted my Disney and stage musical repertoire for now. I started out with traditional walking songs such as "It's a Long Way to Tipperary" (and my own personal version "It's a Long Way to Skara Brae"--devised during an unexpected walk to the prehistoric village due to a lack of other transport options) and "Pack Up Your Troubles" (and my own personal version "Pack Up Your Biscuits", coined on the same trip). I then switched to Maori waiata songs I learned back in my Kapahaka days at high school. I first started singing these on the walk from Waikare, possibly inspired by having walked on a Maori road, and was pleasantly surprised then at how much I remembered. Now, walking down the beach, I remembered even more songs...so much so that a sing through of the full set plus a couple of repeats of my favourites (including a rather commanding women's haka--minus the actions...I have a pack after all) saw me reach the Tip Rd entrance to the beach and my cue to head inland. It had taken me an hour and twenty minutes to walk 6km down the beach; I'd budgeted an hour and a half so I used the spare ten minutes to have a boots off break, sit on a rock in the carpark and enjoy some cordial and cookies.  It quickly grew too hot out of the breeze so I sun-blocked up and set off again along the road, determined to pound out the final 4km into Waipu in record time. I half thought that if I got to the backpackers by 6pm the others and I might all go out for dinner together.

My plan sort of worked...I got to Waipu bang on 6 and was at the backpackers within ten minutes. Waipu is a nice little town with a clear dose of civic and historical pride, particularly to its community members who served in WWI and WWII. I spied a busy-looking pub, a chippy, a Chinese takeaway, a bakery and a 4-Square on my way past and made plans to have dinner at one of the former three alternatives, possibly breakfast at the bakery and to resupply at the 4-square when it opened in the morning (it was still open then, but I had a backpackers to get to).

I got to the Waipu Wanderers hostel just after six to find Andy sitting in a deck chair outside and Nathalie relaxing on the couch. Apparently Steve, the owner, had gone out. I had phoned ahead so I was expected and Steve had given Andy instructions to show me the ropes, and also anyone else should show up if he liked the look of them, or tell them they were full if he did not. My kind of hostel keeper.

I had a quick shower and threw all the clothes but the ones I was newly dressed in into wash (complimentary washing powder--yes!). Andy was keen to seek out some dinner, but Nathalie, ever prepared and fully food-stocked was content to cook in. Andy and I first tried a pizza place that Steve had recommended but it wasn't open tonight. We next tried the pub but weren't entirely inspired (Andy said afterward that it had felt a bit too 'local'). We settled on the Chinese takeaway and were initially inspired by the roast dinners they had on the menu...but they don't have those tonight either. I instead opted for sweet and sour fish on fried rice. The portion when it came in a plastic tub was enormous. I first looked at it thinking it would do for at least two, possibly three, meals...but within half an hour of sitting on the bench outside and chatting with Andy I'd polished off the lot, and he his own tub of food.

We wandered back to the backpackers to find my load of washing only just finishing even though we'd been gone for over and hour; I must have accidentally put it on the epically long cycle. It was threatening drizzle outside and there was no drier, but the others said they didn't mind if I hung my stuff up round the living room. Faced with the potential of hanging stuff on every chair I suddenly remembered I had packed 6m of rope and went to fetch it, as Andy commented "Why am I not surprised you have 6m of rope?!". Andy's opinion of my unnecessarily heavy backpack has lead to many discussions about gear and weight-saving options, all of them meant and received in a very helpful and positive way. Happily he seemed to think the tiny bundle of 6m of fine paracord that I produced was not actually that excessive, and when I rattled off the things I'd had and might yet use it for I rather think he and Nathalie had the impression that bringing it along hadn't been a bad idea (so far I've used it to lash my sleeping bag to a railing so it could air without blowing away in a strong wind, and now I've used it to hang washing, but it may also yet see use as quick-fixes for broken pack straps and replacement shoe laces.  Call me Sam Gamgee, but I always like to pack a length of rope!).

The three of us hung out for a bit, discussing the next section of trail. I found out from Nathalie that the reason Jo and Scott have taken such a long break in Whangarei is that Jo fell somewhere along the roadwalk leaving Ngunguru, jarring her ankle and breaking her thumb! Poor Jo! I got her mobile number off Nathalie and will txt her at a more reasonable hour (by the time I found out it was pushing 10pm).  I find myself counting my lucky stars that I've had no serious injuries to delay my trip...yet (touch wood!).

Anyway off to bed...tomorrow we're all bound for Mangawai Heads! It's going to be nearly 30km so I'm not sure I'll make it, but we shall see. Distances seem easier since that epic 33km day with Andy.  Now is my chance to see if I can do it all by myself!

Day 22: Ocean Beach to Mcleods Bay (16km; 399km total)

Best sleep in the tent yet! Must have had something to do with the springy grass, soft ground, or something but I think I only woke up once all night--unheard of!

Despite my initial misgivings I've decided this is a happy little campsite. I didn't see the friendly chicks again today but the calves came over to investigate as soon as I started making breakfast. First the black calf--the odd one out amongst his orange and white paddock mates--came to the fence to watch silently as I stirred my porridge. Noticing this the noisy calf from yesterday (distinguishable by his patterning, which made him rather an ugly duckling amongst the others, at least to my mind...) began mooing and immediately came over, closely followed by the other calves. They lost interest as I began packing up and wandered off to begin a hard day of munching grass.

I in turn prepared for my own hard day ahead: tackling Bream Head. I'd risen early and dawdled a bit to try and give the sun a chance to dry the condensation that had accumulated on the underside of my tent fly. My plan was foiled however as it turns out the track of the sun as it rose almost exactly followed the curve of the hill behind the carpark meaning it was only dappled sunshine that ever made it through the forested hillside to suing on my damp tent. Keen to get underway I split struck and then went off in search of water.

I had hoped there would be a water fountain but no. Then I went to investigate the surf club. While they had an rusty outdoor shower affixed to one wall of their boat house, there was no sign of a tap anywhere. Not sure where else to try I turned in the shower and a trickle of water came out of the shower head. It was fresh enough so I filled up 3L and dropped in three treatment tablets. Saddling up I dropped back down to the beach before beginning the big ascent.

The first part of the track climbs steeply through lush grass on the lower slopes of the headland. A crude wash station consisting of crate, scrubbing brush and spray bottle is placed next to a notice board, asking trampers to disinfect their boots to help prevent the spread of kauri dieback disease (the first of many such stations I would encounter on this trip).

Onward and upward, into forest that is apparently the most diverse native broad leaf forest in Northland. It certainly is a lovely array of different trees, and home to an assortment of birds including tui , fantail, native pigeon, varioussnall parrots, and the elusive kiwi. An extensive trapping campaign means the forest is almost possum-free (and presumably other pests as well), but I did notice  a handful of European wasps during my walk. I know these cause problems in the beech forests down south, but I don't know about here.

Not far into the tree line you pass the ruins of a WWII radar station and a short loop track provides a stunning view out over the glittering ocean and miscellaneous islands (complete with a bench seat dedicated to the DOC archeologist who presumably worked on the ruins). Back on the main track a shaft if sunlight lit up a small concrete bunker-type thing that is now covered in miss and has ferns growing out of the top. While it was probably part of a hideous concrete edifice in its day, just then and there it looked nostalgic and beautiful.

Onward and upward...and upward...and upward. The track gets steeper nearer the summit, with only a few false tops to give your lungs and legs a rest. A lot of the track has been upgraded with stairs, but there's still a fair bit of root walking and the odd rock scramble. I had to take several short breaks.

Finally, utterly exhausted I reached the top of the main track and walked the short distance to the lookout. The shirt track along a narrow ridge emerges at the base of a giant rock standing upright and tall on top of the peak, beneath which the ground just falls away in a forested slope some 400m down the the seashore below. From the base you gave wonderful views north and south. I sat there trying to take it in but feeling more than a little uncomfortable with the height and my proximity to the edge. It rounder have been so bad if I hadn't of been so tired but as it was I took a few pictures and then returned to the relative comfort of the ridge line track. I passed a pair of day walkers, recommending that they take the short diversion to the lookout. I found out when they passed me later that it is actually possible to climb up to the too if the summit rock to get a full 360 degree view...but I don't think I'd have made it up there, tired or not.

Moving on along the ridge it was quite a steep, knee-jarring decent to a saddle, where the track unexpectedly emerges onto a well formed gravel footpath coming up from a carpark at the bottom if the saddle. The footpath continues until it turns off down toward Dove Cove, but Te Araroa follows a tramping track as it climbs back up and over the top of Mount Lion. There are several minor ridge tops on the way up, one with a handy seat-sized rock where I decided to have lunch.

I passed two more sets of day walkers during the day. One group, which I guess was a father, daughter and young granddaughter trio, we're intrigued to learn the route was part of Te Araroa as they had plans to walk the Cape Reinga to Whangarei Heads section later this summer. Another pair, strode past me while I was having lunch, heading back the way I had come. They must have come up from the Smuggler's Cove end of the track for which I was bound...rumoured to be a prolonged steep section of track composed almost entirely of stairs.

The rumours are true, though no doubt stairs are a vast improvement on whatever kind of dirt path/mudslide was there previously. After climbing up over successive shoulders of ridge you unceremoniously arrive at the narrow tree-clad summit of Mt Lion before immediately beginning the comparatively short descent back down to sea level. And there are LOTS if stairs. Nice to have such well defined, easy to traverse trail, but the successive jarring on my knees on the way down (compounded by the fatigue of the climb) meant I strode out of the trees and into the reserve-come-cattle-paddock at the bottom, legs shaking. There's a small rickety wooden bench at a crossroads between different walking tracks where I sat and let my jelly legs dangle for a bit while scarfing down some over-concentrated black currant cordial. The dangling feet wasn't helping the situation so I found a patch of manure-free grass over two low rises and lay down with head on one rise and legs elevated on another. That helped a lot so I lay in the sunshine for a bit, letting my brain and body readjust to being back on relatively level ground again.

Legs no longer shaking I packed up ready to walk around the bays. Two women came along as I was nearly ready to go and stopped to chat. Their nanes were Olivia and Rachel, and Olivia very kindly offered to put me up in her house in Urqharts Bay if I needed a place to sleep that night. I hoped to get several kilometres further round than that today, but I thanked her very much and we exchanged numbers so I could let her know where I got to and if I found a place to stay nearer the end of the track. I had a half-hearted hope of getting a lift across the harbour...although where one would camp in the vicinity of Marsden Point I had no idea.

Bidding Olivia and Rachel a good walk I set off down to Urqharts Bay and followed the road/footpath round the bays. This side of the harbour is housed and forested. Across the blue-green water is the Marsden Point oil refinery, a huge complex of towers and pipes the generates a constant hum that can be heard all around the harbour. I stopped to chat to a retiree walking along one of the beaches in one of the bays. Turns out he was house sitting in the bay and I was the first hiker he'd encountered. Like most who have not heard of Te Araroa he was suitably impressed by both the existence if the trail and the fact that people actually walk the whole thing in ine go. He had a few misgivings about me doing it by myself, but wished me well.

In the next bay over I was gaining ground on a woman walking her dog. The dog was so intrigued by this person coming up behind it kept looking behind and dragging back on the lead. I did my best to catch up as quickly as I could to save the woman tripping over the dog or it's lead, but there's only so fast I can go with my pack. In the end the woman stopped and let me catch up to save herself being dragged back down the footpath by her dog. Curiously enough once I caught up the dog decided it didn't like me and started barking it's head off. So we set off walking again and the dog amused itself with smells on the footpath while his owner and I chatted for a bit before she turned round to head home again.

It was late afternoon when I got to the Reotahi coastal walk around a small headland and reached the jetty at the 399km mark that is the end of the trail on this side of Whangarei Harbour. Turns out you don't need to walk all this way to McLeod's Bay and are advised to try and catch a boat across at any point along the route. There's no official way to get across the harbour; if you can't score a lift with a local fisherman you have to hitch in to Whangarei and then back out to Marsden Point to pick up Te Araroa again.

On the Reotahi Track I'd met a guy jogging, which was fortuitous as it both confirmed I was on the right path (at that point it looked suspiciously like a private driveway) and because, seeing I was a hiker, he stopped to chat. He knew all about the trail, and knowing it stopped at the water on this side asked what my plan was. My answer: eat, sleep and get across the harbour, but not necessarily in that order. The guy, Marcus, laughed and kindly offered to put me up in a cabin out the back of his house for the night. His house was in Mcleod's Bay, just beyond the end of the trail. He gave me his address and we agreed that if I couldn't get a lift across the harbour tonight I could just drop by. Then off he ran and off I walked.

By the time I got to the jetty boat traffic was zilch, the only thing out in the water being a tandem kayak with two guys fishing. Even if I could have got across tonight that would have left me with the issue if finding another place to stay so I decided to take up Marcus' offer and headed up to the main road through the town. I had meant to go to the cafe to get some dinner first, but I passed Marcus' house on the way--and he jogged up just as I got there. I waited outside while Marcus checked that it was okay with his partner Tam that they take in a random hiker for the night. Turns out she's nine months pregnant...with the baby due TOMORROW, but she wasn't phased at all--apparently their first child was nine days late and Tam was sure baby #2 would be similarly tardy.

They showed me to the cabin they had built in their backyard to house family members and their kids when then came to stay.  A roof, a bed, sheets and pillows! It's only been a night since I last had them, but as a hiker who never really knows where I'm going to end up sleeping next it's always a very welcome sight. While Marcus and Tam got their young son Otto off to bed I let Mum know I'd settled for the night, and also Olivia, who had said she'd grow concerned if she hadn't heard from me by nightfall.

I made friends with Marcus and Tam's cat before having a shower, and emerged to find myself invited to dinner: home made spaghetti and meatballs....and a glass of red wine, ah!  Turns out Marcus, who is originally from Germany, is a marine biologist, and both he and Tam, a Kiwi, work for the local council. I told them about life on the trail (Tam was especially amused at how being a hiker meant you ended up following some strange sweaty man home--not something you do everyday!) and they told be a bit about their work. They also showed me a website called Backyard Kiwi, where kiwi movement in the area can be tracked online.  Apparently its not uncommon for people to get a kiwi visiting their backyards here at night; we checked Backyard Kiwi but none of the transmitter-fitted birds were anywhere near our bay tonight. I'm glad to hear people diligently lock up their cats and dogs here at night!

Marcus and Tam also kindly offered to help me find a boat to give me a lift across the harbour in the morning. Marcus posted a request on the community Facebook group and within five minutes the neighbour across the road rang up and offered to take me, since he'd just bought a new boat and was keen to get it in the water. Fantastic!

Thanking them very much for their wonderful hospitality--and agreeing to lend a hand if it was required if Tam went into labour in the night (it had come up in conversation that I did six months volunteer work with the Tasmanian ambulance service...although I missed the pregnancy & birth training session!)--I headed to bed, once again overwhelmed at the good fortune and generosity I've encountered on this trip. Amazing.

Day 21: Taiharuru Estuary to Ocean Beach (13km; 383km total)

5am and Jonty's alarm went off. He was getting up to watch the final of the rugby World Cup with Hugh. I half wanted to join them but I'd has a broken night due to aches and pains (both walking and non-walking induced) and so stayed in bed to get as much rest as I possibly could. It didn't help that the bed was quite possibly the most comfortable bed on the planet--Jonty and I agreed later that we each wanted to strap one of the beds to our packs and take it with us.

I listened to the sounds of the game coming from the TV downstairs, just conscious enough to gauge that things were going our way despite some tense moments in the middle. I soon heard Ros's excited voice join the others and eventually I hauled myself out of bed and stumbled downstairs to see scenes of Kiwi elation and Aussie despair on the TV.  The All Blacks had done it. They'd won the World Cup. Thank God...I can't stand how our country goes into mourning when they lose! (I once lost a patriotic slagging match with an Aussie friend when he asked if it was true if the NZ stock market went down by measurable percentage points when the ABs lose a big match...).

We had an enormous but hurried breakfast of cereal, fruit, yoghurt, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes and toast as Jonty and Andy were keen to wade across the estuary before the turning tide rose too high (Ros went with them to guide them across the shallowest place and lent them rubber booties to keep their shows clean). I opted for a more sedate start to the day, taking up Hugh's offer of a lift across in the dinghy at high tide. I was teetering on the edge of taking a zero day and asking to stay another night (I'd have been quite happy to go off back to bed!) but after a couple of hours found myself feeling better and resolved to press on.

So at 11:30 I packed up my gear and wandered down through the garden and out along a boardwalk through the mangroves to the jetty, where Hugh was readying the dinghy. Donning life jacket I jumped in with my pack and we set off on the short trip across the estuary. It's amazing the difference between high and low tide, and how quickly the water rises (and presumably falls) once the tide turns. I was faintly reminded of the tidal river we lived on when I was a kid, where at low tide the neighbours grandson and I would go out in our wellies and wade through the mud, hunting for crabs and any interesting flotsam the previous tide had brought in, and then at high tide we would be confined to the rickety jetty out over the water, from which we could fish or feed the eels that swam by.

I thanked Hugh very much for the lift, saying I hoped it hadn't been an inconvenience. He assured me it hadn't as any trip out in the boat have him an excuse to go fishing...and sure enough once I had de-life jacketed, donned pack and headed off up the hill, following the fenceline that demarks this section of trail, I turned back to see Hugh jetting off down the estuary, in search if snapper, but also keeping an eye out for any hikers who may have been caught by the tide and needed help with the crossing.

At the top of the hill the trail emerges onto a farm driveway and heads out to a road. Along this short stretch a man who appeared to be a contractor working on the farm I had just crossed offered me a lift, assuming I was headed for Whangarei. I replied with my by now standard reply to such offers: "thanks, but that would be cheating!". Besides in this case the trail does not go to Whangarei but after a short distance turns off onto a gravel road which it follows as it winds its way up Kauri Mountain. This is a bit if a slog in places, but the views as you climb up are spectacular. At the topmost house the road becomes a driveway, and then just before the reaching the house the trail veers off into a walking track up through a bushy paddock until it emerges at the trig station at the very top of the hill. There's a large wooden bench to sit on so I sat and snacked on museli bars as I looked back out over the Taiharuru Estuary in one direction, and out over Ocean Beach in the other, and the craggy hills of Whangarei Heads beyond. Natalie, Andy, Jonty (and presumably Paul) were all planning to attempt that climb as well today, however my intention was only to get as far as the settlement of Ocean Beach and leave the Bream Head Track (that Barry and Colleen of Helena Bay had described as "brutal") to be faced tomorrow. So I took my time enjoying the view from the top of Kauri Mountain. Presently I was joined by a Brutish couple who walked up from the southern side. They're recent immigrants to NZ, having moved to Whangarei in April, and by the sounds of it they couldn't wish their new life on our shores to be any sweeter. It always makes me happy when foreigners love New Zealand; I just wish more Kiwis could see it through their eyes sometimes. I'm sure in doing this trip my own perceptions of it will change.

I followed the couple down the steep track descending through native bush in the southern side if a Kauri Mountain, bidding them farewell when we reached the car park near the bottom. From here the trail follows a gravel road through farmland to the coast. From here I could see cattle on the road below so I stopped  to break out my hiking poles, which I figure would serve as makeshift cattle prods should the animals prove too inquisitive. (Incidentally, the poles proved invaluable during the first week if this walk, helping me steady my weight and keep my footing as I got used to the weight of my pack. I use them less now, but they still come in handy on boggy ground and steep slopes, where they help you steady yourself and take a lot of the weight off your knees).

Moving on I came round a corner to find the cattle had scarpered and that there was an increasingly loud buzzing noise reverberating up the track. On the left stood a number of beehives, and above these was a swirling cloud of thousands of swarming bees. I stopped and took stock; had one of the cattle kicked one of the hives?! There wasn't any obvious signs of damage, but for whatever reason the bees were in uproar, the vast majority buzzing away in the main swarm while a few hundred others were flying randomly around and across the road or crawling through the grass growing on either side. Not sure what else to do I very slowly and carefully walked on along the shoulder if the road farthest from the hives and the swarm, taking extreme care not to step on any of the bees furiously crawling all over the grass at my feet. The last thing I wanted to do was for one to send out distress pheromones and bring the whole swarm down upon me!

Within several meters I had passed the swarm and picked up the pace as the ground became bee-free. One stray bee was determined to buzz in my face for a few extra meters before going on his way and allowing me to go on mine in peace.

Relieved and pleased to have cleared that hurdle I then noticed that the fenceline running along the road was in a state of extreme disrepair. The cattle I had seen now grazed in the paddock beyond, having obviously made their way through one if the many large gaps in the loosely ganging wire. Down the road a bit further there was no wire at all, only a lonely line of empty fence posts. I started hoping that I wouldn't come round the corner to find a whole herd blocking the road...

A few corners on I found not a herd but an enormous bull, two enormous bulls to be exact, standing idly just to one side of the road, with nothing but a stray fencing wire to restrain them. I looked at them and they looked at me. They seemed faintly interested but not really perturbed by my presence so I moved slowly and cautiously closer, walking as far to one side (the far side!) of the road as I could, whilst being careful not to look them in the eye (though my peripheral vision never let them out of my sight). I have no idea if this was warranted since I know next to nothing about cattle, but it seemed the thing to do at the time and I was able to go on my way without either animal raising a single cloven hoof. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for the groups of young steers I met around the next bend.

Most of these more active animals seemed content to keep grazing and one even cleared off the road as I approached, but a feisty black and white one to one side did the while snort and stomp think. He was half the size of the bulls I'd just passed, but still he was no calf and I had no desire to instigate any kind of head on collision. Private property be damned, if the farmer isn't going to maintain a proper fence I reserve the right to divert across his paddock to avoid his livestock...which is exactly what I did, looping back to the road once I was well shot of the stubborn animal. Once I had passed, the beast lay down where he had stood and presumsbly spent a merry afternoon chewing the cud and musing on the effectiveness of his intimidation tactics on wary solo hikers.

Shortly after this encounter the road mercifully reached the coast. Passing by a random parked ute that had a grey, black and dark green fern-cammo paint job, it was a short rock hop down to the beach. Not far along was a knee-deep stream crossing which I boldly waded through, only thinking afterwards that it might have been an idea to take off my boots and socks first. Undetered I squelched off a few hundred meters down the beach, passed a flock of dotterels(?), before flopping down on the sand to have a late lunch. Ramming my hiking poles into the sand I stuck my boots over the handles and hung my wrung out socks from the laces, hoping the light breeze might do something to dry them in the overcast weather...which it did, maybe a little...or at least gravity got rid if several drips.

I hadn't been there long when I thought I might get some company as a family appeared, walking along the beach. However they baulked at the stream crossing and turned back so I was left to myself on the beach with the birds.

Fishing out a pair of dry socks, rebooted and set off, watching the steep slope of Bream Head draw slowly and steadily nearer. I reached Ocean Beach around 5pm, and debated trying to get at least some of the climb done before making camp for the night. But you're not strictly supposed to camp on the Bream Head track, and I needed water, so I walked up the beach in search of the car park and public loos I had been told would be there. I came out at the wrong spot at first, but after reading the memorial to the only ship lost to mines in NZ waters during WWII which I found there, went back to the beach and found the right path to the car park. I then had a wander through the town, what little there is. I was nervous about camping here all by myself and txt Joanne and Scott to see if they were anywhere nearby, but they didn't answer right away and so I decided to head back down to the carpark where a large grassy area signposted "overflow parking" looked like an ok place to camp. A man and woman were chatting in the yard if one if the houses so I asked then if it was ok and safe to camp there. They made enquiries about was I walking the trail and commented on the number of walkers they'd seen that week, and said that it should be alright to camp in the overflow carpark, especially since  I dingy have a car to get broken into (it was partially the big "lock it or lose it " sign that had promoted me to ask in the first place). No other advice or offers were proffered so I thanked them and bud then goid evening before heading nervously back to the carpark.

The flattest grass was just on the other side of a small mound right by the road, but this felt a bit exposed, so I went right to the back and decided to pitch close to the farm fence separating me from half a dozen calves grazing in the paddock beyond. I'll admit I dithered a little, which drew some odd looks from a group of car-campers who appeared to have parked up for the night in the main carpark.

Without any better alternatives I finally threw down my pack and set about pitching my tent. I was putting in the stakes when a gaggle of young chickens came dashing out of the yard of a house bounding one side of the overflow carpark, closely followed by two rather more weary mother hens. The semi-feathered chicks fell all over my feet and my gear and dashed to peck at the ground as I rammed each tent peg home by hand. Clearly they thought I had food, but didn't seem to mind that I didn't, not did they mind being picked up and gently put aside (and tickled a little) so I could reach for things out of my pack. Soon the tent was erect and the chickens departed...meanwhile the calves had found the whole performance fascinating and stood by the fence gazing, and one in particular mooing fairly frequently. They too departed when a guy drove up in a van and dumped a sack of what I can only assume was some kind of calf food into the paddock. He gave me am odd look but did not say hello before driving off again.

I sat on the grass and made dinner, feeling a bit safer as the beach activity quietened down. The sounds of laughter rang out from a pair of people playing foosball in the garage of the house that was apparently the home of the chickens. I was glad of the inquisitive animals for company--except maybe the mooey calf. I only hoped he'd also quieten down as the sun set and I snuggled into bed. I'd need my sleep to take on brutal Bream Head tomorrow!

Day 20: Ngunguru to Taiharuru Estuary (33km; 370km total)

Ahh a queen-sized bed and a pillow is a recipe for a good night's sleep, even if you're still in a sleeping bag. I got up around 7 and shortly thereafter James and Jonty were stirring. I packed up my gear and went into the kitchen to find James making poached eggs on toast. He also cut up the last of Jonty's tomatoes which I'd given him the day before and I felt bad that I still had mine secreted away in my bag...still it tasted great with the eggs. Incidentally I was intrigued with James toaster: it looks like a large, squat grater that you sit over a gas element and lean bread against the four sides, turning them over when the undersides are done. James couldn't believe I was a Kiwi and had never seen one before.

Shortly after 8 am we headed off, thanking James very much. I promised to let him know what the next section of track was like as he is considering proposing an alternative route to the TA Trust that would cross the estuary and the next river beyond (where he would provide assistance with the crossings, presumably for koha/donation).

Jonty and I walked and talked for an hour before he kicked it up a gear and ran on. Farewell Joggerman! We both had half an idea to try and get to a place called Tidesong B&B on the Taiharuru Estuary. Jonty's problem was he might get there too early and therefore consider running on a bit further. My problem was it was 29 km away and I might not get there at all!

But of course, the only answer is to just keep walking and so I did, off up Ngunguru Ford Rd...mistakenly thinking the track turned off at an intersection. I should have looked at the map a bit more closely.

As planned the traffic on this road wasn't very heavy (although one pair of boy racers did come careening round a corner just as I reached it causing me to momentarily pray they didn't lose traction and take me out). After some time the houses became more closely spaced and the gravel road became asphalt, which was odd, but I walked on. If only I'd looked back over my shoulder I'd have seen the TA sign marking the trail on a side track at that point. But I didn't. I kept walking...until I met Andy coming in the other direction and immediately got that sinking feeling that I'd gone astray (Andy has a confident stride that suggests he's a man who know's where he's going).

Andy had been told by the people at the B&B to walk until the road became gravel and the trail turns off at that point. Infuriated with myself I realised that was the point I'd been at 2km back, and now I'd have to walk another 2km to get there again. With the prospect of a 29km now being a 33km day my hopes of reaching Tidesong faded into obscurity...maybe I could make it to Pataua? Or just freecamp wherever I ended up? Still, I was gutted as Tidesong has a reputation on the trail as being a great place to stay. Propelled by annoyance I was able to keep up with Andy as we marched the 2km to the trail turn off onto the Mackerel Track. We stopped for a quick boots off break before carrying on; I asked Andy if he minded if I walked with him for a bit, assuring him he should just take off if I started lagging.

So we set off through harvested pine plantation and mixture of bush-come farmland, at a pace that was faster than my own but which I suspect is a little bit slower than Andy's usual pace. He was also planning to get to Tidesong today. The last 3 km or so are a walk up the estuary and require a low tide, which wasn't due until around 5 pm, so lucky for me Andy was in no particular hurry. I thought there was an outside chance that if I could keep up with him I might still make it, despite my unfortunate extra 4 km.

The Mackerel Track involves two river crossings, which the trail notes indicate can be hazardous if the water is high. Happily the water was low for both, however while the first was an easy hop, skip and a jump across the gentle flow, the second, though still shallow, was fast flowing and required a bit more care (and a wring out of my socks on the far side).

The Mackerel Track is short, with only one moderately steep climb (that I managed without stopping for more than a few seconds, though I was puffing like a bellows). From then on it's a road walk along asphalt all the way to the Taiharuru Estuary. Andy and I chatted the whole way, sharing past experiences of walks and the like. The talk was both interesting and effective at keeping my mind off my aching feet. Andy's definitely at the lighter traveller end of the spectrum and doesn't carry anything he doesn't need to...but I think he appreciated the heavy but tasty orange I shared with him over lunch. Despite the faster pace and fewer breaks I was able to keep up ok, only requesting an extra boots-off break toward the end of the day.

 Almost before I knew it we were walking over the footbridge into Pataua, and I knew Tidesong was within range. At 4:45 we reached the start of the estuary walk so after one final rest break we set off, past a pool of fish trapped by the outgoing tide, and out onto the sand flats. The estuary is lined with mangroves and it pays not to get too close as there the sand is typically muddy and boggy. Even then we struck some boggy sections which made the going difficult at times. After a couple of Ks we rounded a point and began looking out for the jetty that would signal we'd reached our desired exit point...but there was no jetty in sight. Andy rang the people at Tidesong but it was a bad connection. The lady on the other end asked us to wave so she could see if she could spot us. Quite something we must have looked, two hikers standing in the middle of a muddy estuary, furiously waving our arms in no particular direction.

It turns out we hadn't quite gone far enough, but a neighbouring farmer, Larry, had also spotted us and let us trudge out of the estuary and cut through his paddocks (and kindly turned off the electric fences for us!). We followed his directions and met Hugh from Tidesong who had come down to meet us. We followed him up to the house, a lovely fabled building nestled in native bush about halfway up a hill, overlooking a broad sweep of the estuary below.

I recognised a pack leaning against the front wall as Jonty's and soon went inside to find him sitting at the dining room table, beside a large tray of fresh baked scones, courtesy of our hosts Hugh and Ros. Yum!

It turns out Ros and Hugh did Te Araroa last year, Ros walking & biking and Hugh driving the support vehicle. They did it after Ros donated a kidney to Hugh and used the expedition to help publicise live organ donation. I had a flick through their scrapbook and was glad to see they got so much positive publicity. Great stuff guys!

We sat around the table for a bit, with tea and scones, reminiscing about our experiences on the trail. Turns out Jonty had had quite the adventure that day: reaching the estuary well before low tide he had tried to cross and nearly ended up swimming before turning back. He'd then tried to hitch around it and pick up the trail on the far side, but his lift had taken him far too far, meaning he'd skipped a whole section if the trail, so he'd jogged back along it and crossed the estuary again to end up at Tidesong. Poor guy. I could sense and shared his frustration, after all I'd done four unnecessary kilometres that day (through no one's fault but my own). The upside if this is I ended up walking the same distance I would have had I not taken the over-the-estuary alternative route. 33km. A new PB! But I couldn't have done it without Andy...and boy I was paying for it now.

My feet were so sore I could barely walk and in the end I had to excuse myself from the table conversation to go and shower and try and use the soothing power of hot water to bring my feet back to life. Happily it helped and I was able to emerge from the bathroom on foot without wincing...but rather quickly assumed a seated position on a chair in the living room.

While Ros and Hugh prepared dinner, Andy, Jonty and I chatted. We wondered whether Scott and Joanne might turn up, but doubted it as Andy and I hadn't arrived until 6:30. We suspected Nathalie had gone past already, along with a 4-time TA thru-hiker named Paul; we could see their tents erected on the far bank across the estuary. (We weren't sure how Nathalie had got ahead as she had been behind Andy that morning...but it turns out they'd hitched a short section of the road walk in order to make the low tide...passing Andy and I in the process).

Andy was in the middle of explaining his tracker to me (it sends a ping with his coordinates out every hour along with other preconfigured messages to his friends and family back home in the UK so they know where he is and when he's stopped for the night etc...yes Mum, I know, you'll want me to get one), when the found of shattering glass came from the kitchen. Apparently a glass tumbler had exploded as it was taken from the dishwasher. Luckily no one was hurt.

A short broken-glass-induced delay later we all sat down to dinner: casserole, roast kumara and potatoes, and salad. I did that thing where you're accidentally the first one to pick up a fork and go to eat when Hugh quickly but politely intervened to say grace. Whoops...I shall have to mind I don't blasphem in this house! (If I'd been less tired I would have noticed the inspirational Christian quotes on various items about the house and put two and two together...but as it was I hadn't and I'm my father's daughter: he always used to say to never let hot food get cold and so I'd automatically gone to tuck in!). Still, gaff averted I said "Amen!" with as much enthusiasm as everyone at the table, heartily grateful for the food (just privately ambiguous about to whom...).

I didn't last long after dinner. Andy had booked ahead and so got the official guest quarters. Jonty and I had the option of staying in the garden cabin for free, or in the house for koha. We opted for the house due to the added rbefit of warmth plus beds with sheets and pillows, and so occupied the two single beds in a spare room upstairs. The chimney from the living room fire goes through our room so it's toasty and warm and the bed is definitely the most comfortable on this trip yet. Looking forward to a great sleep tonight! After a 33km day, I hope I've earned it.

Day 19: Matapouri to Ngunguru (13.5km; 335km total)

I definitely chose the wrong couch to sleep on.  It was a bit too short and no matter which way I turned I just could not get comfortable and so was up until past 1am tossing and turning, every now and then looking longingly at the much longer, firmer couch by the door.  Finally restlessness got the better of me and I stumped grumpily over to the bigger couch.  I gazed wearily out into the gloom for a second before lying down, finally able to stretch out to my full length...and fell asleep.

I woke up at 6:30, made tea and porridge and then packed up.  I set off at 8:15 (I'm a slow mover in the mornings as I'm sure you have gathered), and noticed a couple of guys that looked like ultralight hikers outside the shop.  It was a little out of my what I thought was my way so I didn't stop to say hi and set off up the road. I got several hundred meters along the road, coming to a nice view over an estuary before it suddenly clicked that I had gone the wrong way. Feeling the fool for having misread the map (not for the first time and I daresay not for the last either) I turned around and headed back...past the shop and so this time stopped to say hi to the two rather bemused hikers who had now seen me and my somewhat weightier and weather-beaten kit for the second time in fifteen minutes. Turns out the athletic pair were a German guy and a guy from Buffalo, USA, walking Te Araroa.  Turns out they'd already come through from Woolley's Bay that morning and were shortly to set off again. They didn't seem to keen to chat so I wished them "good walk" and set off...this time in the right direction, and trying to guess whether I'd reach the trail head before they over took me or not.

The first part of the walk today is a road walk up the gravel Clements Rd. Shortly before a small bridge a lady passed me riding a horse.  I said hello and made a passing remark that I "should get myself one of those".  She didn't seem to appreciate my brand of humour and road on.  Maybe I'm just not meant to talk to other people today?

Crossing the bridge I noticed half a dozen little brown duck-like birds paddling away from me and suddenly realised these were the rare and protected brown teal or pateke that featured on several signs both this morning and on previous sections of trail.  Very cool. Unfortunately I wasn't quick enough with my camera to get a very good photo.

Presently the road comes to the start of the track which heads off over private farmland. I made the mental transition from 'road mode' into 'bush track' mode and off I set...coming to an abrupt halt after a mere 20 m as a very large brindle cattle beast was standing in the middle of the track gazing at me and not seeming the least bit inclined to move.  I'm a bit weary of cattle, and given the animal's large size and my inability to see whether I was dealing with a Bessy or a Bruce I approached as close as I felt I could without pushing my luck before diverting as far off to one side as possible and slowly inching past. I breathed a small sigh of relief when from the side I learned that I was dealing with a Bessy, and an even bigger sigh when I had cleared her without her doing more than turn her head to watch me pass. With that particular hurdle dealt with I headed on up the Matapouri Bush Track.

The first part of the trail climbs up through farmland and pasture before crossing a stile and going on through pine forest. It was at this stile that German and USA guy caught me up and passed me. I took the opportunity to ask them if they'd considered the kayak option from Ngunguru (it's something I'd like to do, but the company won't take solo hikers, only groups). They weren't interested and were just as unforthcoming as before so I wished them good day and off they went at a rather quicker pace than my own (I was a bit shocked it took them so long to catch me up actually...they must have dawdled at the shop). I found out later from other hikers that their names were Connor and Daniel, and rather got the impression that they had given them the same not-very-friendly treatment as well. Also they're hitching the road sections...pfft.

Once you're out of the pine it's into native bush and kiwi habitat, with the necessary signs warning absolutely "no dogs allowed". The track is a well formed bush walking track, and well maintained, with stairs cut into the steeper banks. Down one of these at a small stream crossing I came across and American couple, Kate and Geoff (a.k.a. Sandman) who are also hiking Te Araroa. We had a friendly chat for a bit and lamented the fact that unlike in the USA, NZ long distance walkers don't utilise trail names--nicknames that they go by, so much so that very often you never actually learn anybody's real name. They're making good time so I don't expect to catch up with them again. I took a short break to let them go on ahead and then followed on through the bush behind them.

And the bush is lovely, initially consisting of manuka and tree ferns, with an incoming tree like a small-leafed version of the celery top pine I got to know in Tasmania, then rimu and ground ferns, and totara, then into a large stand of kauri with a tree fern understorey. Toward the end of the native bush section track you walk through a small flat-bottomed gully with a little incised stream meandering through it and which is home to lovely grove of palm trees.

Once you emerge from the bush the track borders young pine plantation for a while and my timing was perfect: emerging out in the open just as it started to rain.  I took shelter under one of the larger pine trees and hauled out my coat. I waited out the worst of the shower before pressing on along the now broad 4WD forestry track as it plunged back into native bush, passing by Tane Moana--the third largest kauri tree in Northland. He's quite a short and squat for a kauri, but his trunk is enormous, and his boughs are covered with large baskets of long blade-leafed epiphytic plants that look like a cross between grass and a bromeliad. It's intriguing how the bark of the kauri changes. When they're very young they have a banded pattern and lots of small lateral branches all the way up their trunks. Adolescent trees seem to keep the banding pattern but start dropping their lower lateral branches to have tall smooth trunks, and once they're mature the bark takes on a scallop-like pattern and pieces of it seem to fall away in large palm-sized flakes. I have no idea if this is an accurate description and precisely to do with age, but it seems to be whats happening from what I've been able to observe thus far.

Back into pine plantation proper the track descends down to the road and in a couple of kilometers you reach the coast and the small township of Ngunguru. I arrived just after 1pm, stopped at the dairy, and emerged to see Jonty jogging into town not five minutes behind me. We each bought snacks and drinks and then went to sit on a park bench by the water to refuel and discuss what to do next.  Jonty has come through from Whanaki today so he has made excellent time, and was debating whether or not to press on.  The next section of trail is a 13km roadwalk, and maybe it was the time of day but the road was pretty busy.  An alternative route, new to the trail this year, is to get a dinghy ride across the estuary and walk along a much quieter road on the other side (the route is also a couple of kilometers shorter).  Always up for a boat ride I rang the dinghy guy, James, and was able to arrange a crossing, for 4pm intially, but which James rescheduled for 6pm. Being that late it made sense to then camp at James' Nikau Bay Eco Sanctuary--an eco-friendly campground just across the bay.  Jonty was keen and so the two of us decided to make the most of an afternoon relaxing in the now semi-persistent sunshine.

I laid out my coat to dry and lay down on the grass while Jonty went to phone his family. Presently a woman pulled over to speak to me; her name was Mila and she  is the Mila of Mila's Backpacker Ranch here in town. I'm not surprised I caught her attention; a rucksack, bedroll and discarded boots alongside a person lying randomly on the grass is as good as a neon sign saying "knackered hiker" or and therefore "backpacker fodder". Mila was very nice, and wanted to know if we'd seen her signs on the way out of the track; obviously she was hoping we'd be staying at her place tonight. I explained that yes we'd seen her very colourful signs but that we'd already made arrangements to stay across the bay.  There was some confusion about where we were to walk to from there--apparently there's been some trouble with hikers inadvertently crossing private land without permission.  I assured her we only intended to walk out on the established Ngunguru Ford Rd.

With time to kill Jonty and I headed back over the road to the Salt Air Cafe and camped out for the afternoon on one of their outdoor picnic tables.  I indulged in my second pie for the day: curried pork and kumara--much tastier than the pre-packaged steak and cheese one I'd previously got at the shop next door!  After a hot chocolate I did a quick resupply back at the shop, leaving the shopkeepers--a trio of cheerful Indian guys--a note to give to "a blonde hiker named Nathalie" when she arrived. I already had Scott's mobile number to txt and let him know mine and Jonty's plan to see if they were keen to join us, but neither of us had Nathalie's number.

Within an hour or two Nathalie arrived, along with a guy from the UK named Andy, then shortly after them came Scott and Joanne.  Yay! Our mobile hiker community was assembling again!  Andy already had a booking at a B&B and Scott, Joanne and Nathalie were planning to free-camp on the lawn down by the library (next to the handily placed public loo). So it was just Jonty and I for the estuary crossing...though we very nearly changed our minds and decided to camp with the others instead.  But in my gut I thought the estuary crossing and Nikau Bay Camp might be fun, so I decided to stick with the original plan and in the end so did Jonty. So the two of us bid the others happy camping and set off down the road to meet our boat. We found ourselves discussing how short and precious life is and how lucky we are to be doing Te Araroa as we sat down at the water's edge to wait.

Just after 6 pm a man and a dog appeared on the far bank and soon puttered over in a small dinghy. The tide was out so we trudged over the mercifully firm sand to meet them: James and Rusty the blue heeler.  A short boat ride back and we were at Nikau Bay Eco Sanctuary, a small but nicely situated campsite on the shore of the estuary, surrounded by native bush, including of course, several nikau palms.  It turns out that although the website is up and running, the campsite is actually still under construction.  James is undertaking all the work himself and thought not quite finished I'm sure it will be a great facility when complete, providing basic but comfortable and tastefully finished amenities that all run on solar power. He plans to have it completed by Christmas, and in the meantime, since things weren't quite ready (turns out we're the first hikers to take up this new to 2015 option) and there was only the two of us, James put us up in his house for the night for $25 each.

After hot showers and a chat we each pitched in a little bit toward a meal and sat down to a dinner of pasta, curry, smoked sausages, asparagus and salad, while discussing modern technology and politics and everything in between. We sat by the fire and watched the rain, Jonty and I both feeling like the others were missing out, and quite glad to be indoors and not having to face packing up wet gear in the morning. I did the dishes and had a hot milo before hitting the hay, but the fellas stayed up talking into the night.

Day 18: Whananaki to Matapouri (12km; 321km total)

I awoke to the sound of promised rain on the roof and lay there listening to it get heavier. Scott, Joanne and Jobty are all having a rest day in Whananaki today...maybe they were onto something?

Turns out I didn't wake up until 8:30am. I struggled to get to sleep last night; my legs were achy and I was restless and thirsty. So I got up at midnight and downed some water before making a hot chocolate at the little kitchenette in the corner if the room (that had this magical thing called a kettle: you put cold water in and a few minutes later you pour hot water out, no gas, no pots...amazing!).

I finally got up, dressed and took a porridge sachet, my tube of condensed milk, my bag of milk powder and a tea bag over to the kitchen. Mary and Tony's tent was gone and I figured they'd already been walking a good 2 hrs or so by now. Joanne came over as I was stirring my porridge and we chatted over tea. Jonty soon joined us and later Scott. It was nice sitting chatting to everyone...was i still keen to walk today?

I found out poor Jonty had spent the night out in his leaky bivvy! Had I known I'd have told Tracey to chuck him in the bunk room with me. Turns out he'll be moving in there just as soon as I get my gear out so I went to do that.

I had packed up and was putting tape on my blisters when a school group arrived. They're having a walking plus outdoor activity day around the estuary and beach. They sure picked the day for it! I looked at the kids, most in hoodies with no sign of a rain coat...I just hoped the brief break in the rain woukd hold for the rest of the day for them!

Donning my rather more weather proof jacket I finally saddled up and left around 10:30, wishing the others a good rest day. I had planned to hoof it to Ngunguru from here, but with the late start and lousy weather I had decided to settle for Matapouri, a mere 12km and coastal walk away. At least I was walking a bit today, if not very far.

So off I went, down to the bank of the estuary and along a path that I thought would lead me to the bridge. Turns out it stops about 10m shy of the bridge, which at low tide wouldn't be a problem but at the current high tide meant a knee deep wade...and I wasn't overly keen on getting my feet wet this soon! Plus, there was the bridge so there must be a path to it!

Fortunately just at that moment a trio of kayakers appeared round the corner and came over. I helped the first two, foreign woofers, get out if their boats on the nearby stairs, despite the local guy in the boat behind them telling me not to, or rather, to let go of the boat just as each girl stood up to get out. He was kind enough to direct me to the right path to the bridge and soon enough I was on my way over the longest footbridge in the Southern Hemisphere. It's an old wooden structure that's sturdy enough but does away a bit in the middle where it's higher so small craft can more easily get underneath it at high tide.

At the other end I had to take the road detour to the beach as the high tide made walking round the point impossible. Along a beach track a loose yearling steer took flight ahead of me, searching for a way back through the fence to the rest of the herd grazing docilely in the paddock beyond. Realising I'd drive home all the way along the track if I kept to it, I moved over as far as I could on the broad shoulder of grass, hoping I'd be far enough over that the animal would not flee further but allow me to walk past and then go back the way he'd come. I slowly inched past, not looking directly at him. Eventually he got the idea and we then each returned to the track and headed off in separate directions.

The coastal walk snakes along the coastline, through grassy farmland for the most part as the many small headlands and bays would be difficult to traverse but are also for the most part private property. I don't want to know how much some of those houses are worth, nestled amongst the hills, looking out over their own private beaches and bays. Even in the overcast and sometimes rainy weather it is a beautiful coastline.

I'm happy to say my new raincoat is waterproof (as it should be, given what I paid for), but even making use of the put zips I sweated so much walking some if the up hills that I got soaked on the inside anyway. That's the thing about Northland, even when it's wet it's relatively warm, so any physical exertion means you sweat like a pig. For this reason if it was only very light rain (misty rain) I left my jacket off, figuring that on balance the heat I was generating probably would help keep my shirt relatively drier than if I was sweating under my coat with significantly less ventilation. It's cold when you stop though, especially in the wind, so I kept the jacket on hand.

The track comes out onto the road into Matapouri. Walking down the hill you come to Wooleys Bay where you can walk along the beach, then it's back to the road and up over a small headland before the trail veers off into the Morrison Reserve track through the bush and emerges in Matapouri. A few short blocks away I found the main road and the shop. Gladly unloading my pack and other paraphernalia I headed inside and soon emerged with a cup if tea and a pie. Mmm warm.

Now that I'd stopped I really was damp and cold. It was 2:30 and I eyed the part if the map leading to Ngunguru via the Matapouri Bush Track. I decided I probably couldn't complete that walk before dark, and being already wet and cold I decided to stay put. I asked Craig and 'catastrophe' Kate at the shop where  coming was allowed in Matapouri and they directed me over the road to one if the two previously operating campgrounds which are now closed...but it turns out this one still operates unofficially.

So off I popped, over the road to knock on the door of a man named Des. He's a cheerful guy, despite having recently lost his wife. It was she that used to run the campground and I surmised that it closed when she passed away, but the facilities are still there and Des took me for the grand tour to see if I was happy to stay in the place. While Des' house sits in the middle of a wide grassy space, round the back is a large quadruple-garage that has been fitted out as a kitchen and dining area, and next to it is a shipping container converted into a toilet and shower block. $10 bought me a campsite and use of the facilities...but since I was the only one there Des let me sleep inside on one of the couches in the dining area. A Russian father and daughter pair stopped by in their caravan to use the shower but other than that I had the place to myself all afternoon, so I sat quietly and updated my trip diary and had a whatsapp conversation with a few friends. I popped back across the road to get a curry roll and chips for dinner (mmm chicken salt...), did the crossword and sudoku in the Advocate Des had given me to read, and then settled down to bed, quite happy in this random little place, all by myself...though a little creeped out by the lack of curtains and view out to the road, so I chose to sleep on the couch out of sight of the sliding glass door. Turns out this was a bad call...

Day 17: Helena Bay to Whananaki (20km; 309km)

Woke up at 6:30 shortly before there was a loud clatter and caper in the hallway--Squeaky had caught a skink and brought it in through the cat flap. I rescues the slightly worse for wear but still living skink and took it back outside where it scuttles to safety under a wooden planter. Barry and Colleen were up by 7:30 so after packing up I went out to see if I could make myself useful...only to find Barry making poached eggs on toast in the kitchen. Yum!

We had a nice chat over breakfast, swapping stories about past pets and their antics. I helped Barry download plane tickets he and Collen had just bought using their air points (sorry I couldn't get the printer working guys!), before doing the dishes, packing up the last of my gear and hitting the trail. We managed to catch Pinky for a family photo and I left them my details should Barry and Colleen ever find their way down to my neck of the woods, so that I might one day return the wonderful kindness they've shown me.

The first part of the trail is a road walk that quickly turns into a gravel road that winds up through farmland for a few kilometres. The road is called Webb Rd, after the Webb family who have farmed the area for over 100 years. A farmer (who may have been one of the seen brothers?) drove past in a paddock at one point with two dogs running along beside him. He was driving a dark green land rover and watching it travelling along the lush green countryside between the trees it brought to mind a scene from "The Queen"...only the dogs were sheep dogs not corgis! I met up with the farmer as he came out of a gate further down and we had a chat about hikers passing through and the trail. Friendly chap (I never caught his name) as were Amy and Ringo the dogs, who were all wet from splashing through the stream.

Moving on I glimpsed a pair of hikers on the road above me and assumed they were Scott and Joanne, but they were a good 4km ahead so I had no chance of catching them. I headed on up the hill in low but continuous gear, actually quite enjoying the walk.

At the top of a ridge the trail branches off the road to follow an old 4WD now quad bike track as it rambles over low forested ridges. I felt a bit lightheaded walking up one of them, not sure why, but I sat I the shade for a wee bit and had a drink and a muesli bar and felt much better.

After a while the track diverts into the Onekainga Walking Track, which goes up, and then down, and then up, and then down again. It's quite steep in sections which is hard on the knees going down and on the legs in general (and lungs) going up. There's a bit in the trail notes where the DOC lands are described as "falling away to the south"...this is not overstating; the ground literally does fall away from the trail in places--the steepest I've seen since Raetea ridge walk. Looking down you suddenly realise there's nothing but a few trees between you and oblivion.

There's nice bush along the track. Talk manuka with a tree fern under storey at the start, with incoming totara, palms making an appearance in places, and a stand of young kauri toward the end. There's a stream crossing in between a steep 174m down and up where you cross four little incised streams, each flowing in different directions in the same valley; I never worked out if they were different streams converging, braids of the same stream or a single massively meandering channel...

The last two 2km of track drop steeply through farmland to the road. I stopped and had a boots-off-break at the last stile, just to bring my feet back to life enough to get the last few kms into Whananaki. Taking your boots off feels wonderful for your feet...so wonderful it compensates for the aweful smell! After two and a half weeks of walking, getting wet and never quite drying my boots positively reek...as do my socks.

I was sitting there, legs stretched out on the grass, feet upright when a bee did a low fly-by. Just as it buzzed over my toes it suddenly dropped out of the air and struggled to gain purchase on a blade of grass nearby, forcing me to wonder if my socks really smell so bad that they're making bees drop out of the sky...?!

After about fifteen minutes I packed up and rebooted and made off...careful not to tread in the unfortunate bee who for whatever reason had not quite recovered.

I missed the turn off to the Whananaki Estuary walk and consequently arrived at the Whananki Holiday Park via the road. The wonderfully friendly and accommodating lady there, Tracey, set me up with a bed (with a pillow, yay!) in a room to myself, plus a towel, for a mere $25 (as the room had not been fully serviced). Fantastic! With the prospect of heavy rain coming I was very happy to be indoors.

In the kitchen I met Mary and Tony; they're a couple from the UK who have come to do Te Araroa. There was no sign of Scott and Joanne so it must have been these two I saw on Webb Rd. We chatted for a little before I set off to shower and see to my extremely sore feet (so sore I got out of the shower and had to sit down for a good ten minutes before I trusted them to be stood on again). Happily massage and foot balm did the trick and I was able to hobble back out to the common area beside the kitchen (a series of outdoor picnic tables under cover). I put on water for tea in the kitchen and was chatting to Mary and Tony when who should arrive but Jogger Man! His real name is Jonty and he's a fellow Kiwi, from Nelson. He's been having trouble with his ankle (apparently it was the size of a grapefruit a couple of days ago) so has been taking it slowly for the past few days. An hour or so later Scott and Joanne arrived as well. It turns out they had been behind me at the Russell Firest Shelter, not arriving there until 1pm. There they had met Nary and Tony, who must have overtaken me early this morning before I set out (they start walking by 6:30am each day!). It's funny how thru-hiking you become this little mobile community which every now and then clusters in the same spot at the same time. Here we are in Whananki, the six of us forming quite the hiker family!

The shop was shut by the time I arrived (apparently the shop lady is a bit gruff too) so it was pasta snack for dinner, supplemented with fresh spinach and silverbeet from Tracey's vege patch. Then I settled down to sleep in a comfy bed, awaiting the bad weather that's supposed to be coming tomorrow...