Keeled Over

We're off. Tomorrow. We can't take this hostel anymore, so we're checking into a hotel. If we're going to be cooped up indoors a day longer, we really needed a new environment.

At the rate we're "healing", we don't know if we'll be off to Stewart Island before Monday.

After a frustrating experience at a terrible pharmacy in town today, we consulted with the hospital to find a suitable pharmacist to provide us with our prescription medications for our ailments. Fizzy anti-sickness drugs (some sort of wafers) and stomach calming drugs. When Brent walked inside to pick them up, the pharmacist asked what we had to eat.

This hostel has run its course. We are next to a room they are renovating, so have been dealing with terrible paint thinning fumes, burnt wool carpet fumes, early morning drilling and hammering - none of the above helping with our sensitive tummies or noses, nor our headaches (which are probably motivated by dehydration amongst other things). We're packing up, and heading out. One night in 'luxury' - which really just means spending a day in a different bed, sleeping away the illness.

To cheer us up, we waltzed over to the Post Shoppe to see if the package my parents and I coordinated had arrived. We were pushing our luck seeing if it would be here - they only sent it last Monday. It was our last time to be able to coordinate a package exchange with them, knowing that we would be housed in this area for at least a few weeks with the island trip and some farm work. They were sending us some much needed supplies that we couldn't replenish here (there's an explanation for this) - and some items we had sent home out of desperation to downsize our packs at the beginning of our trip.

Low and behold, the package arrived in 8 days - 6 business.

It was like Christmas.

So a big thank you to my mom & dad for all the wonderful supplies; for Claude's one and only item that I could never find before I left home - a rain jacket so he could be protected; MY DOWN PILLOW - which Brent made me part ways with out of desperation for weight loss; Pop Tarts for Brent (after meeting our friends Dave & Christine, this is the one thing he asked for from home - and JUST in time for Stewart Island!!); all the extra fixings; just everything, I couldn't name them all - but everything is much needed, appreciated, and we laughed at some of the things we sent home and got back today. Our spare shoelaces - why would we have ever sent them home, why would that have ever saved us any weight, I don't know. Pure desperation - and I remember that day in South Auckland like it was yesterday. First day of an impossible journey, dying with the weight of our packs, bruised and bleeding from the pressure, and sitting in a bus shelter, crying on Brent's shoulder, feeling like a complete and utter failure. Four months later, a new type of adventure.

It was a box full of supplies, which would probably bore the average person, but it was like a hug from home. The moment the woman walked around the corner with the box and I could see my mom's handwritting on the brown paper, it was like I was back in North Bay watching her prepare all her Christmas shipping boxes.

Thank you for this. I love you guys so much. xo


Despite all the pain we're feeling today, we had our moments of sunshine.

After tomorrow night, we might just tent it somewhere in Bluff until we feel better. We're tired of being sitting ducks.

Isolation

Unfamiliar sounds resonating beyond our door.

Beeps.

Thuds.

Your mind wanders.

What's going on in the room just beside us?

Alone, for two hours. Periodic visits from different people, all doning gowns and gloves. All in timely intervals to check up on us.

Bored.

What are we doing here anyway?



Not an hour after posting my last blog entry, did I not succumb to the same fate as Brent. And there we were, for 48 hours, lying down, helpless and terribly ill. Stricken by sharp and strong stomach pains and unable to keep any food or fluids in our system. No fevers, so it couldn't have been the flu.

Food poisoning was our best guess. But after spending the last 48 hours in a vertical position, we were determined to find out more.

After another fabulous phone encounter with our insurance company - which I must say, is always a frustrating experience - we hobbled our way to the Southland Hospital for further investigation. I had only had about 500mL of liquid in the last three days, we were beginning to grow concerned over possible dehydration. Brent's been able to keep more liquids down, but is still consuming much less then is normal for him.

Immediately, we are ushered into an Isolation room - over concerns that we could have the Noro Virus, a virus that has shut down other hospitals in New Zealand over the last few months.

A doctor looks us over and gives us instant disolving tablets for 'anti-sickness' and two pills to take in 20minute intervals, which should calm the stabbing pain in our abdomens. A pitcher of water each, and two hours of observation.

That's what the NZ doctors prescribed.

In the end, we found ourselves to just be bored, and more then ever hungry. A good sign, I guess, as we really haven't eaten anything in at least 24 hours except for a few Ritz crackers. Everything else was definitely rejected by our bodies prior to that.

A stomach bug. That's their best guess.

But why isolation for 2 hours then?

We felt a bit better leaving the hospital. Probably because the pills we had taken were masking our real pain.

We jetted out to get some much needed food. We were so hungry.

And tired of just sitting here in Invercargill waiting to get better.

It didn't take long for the mask to wear off, and the illness to come creeping back into the picture. Not long after our triumphant small lunch, did we not both keel over with stronger stomach pangs and dizzy spells. Fuzzy heads. Angry tummies.

Back to bed we go, for another day and night is wasted in this country.

Four days into the ordeal, and a $405 hospital bill later - we're really not better off. Still battling nausea and fuzzy head syndrome, now fully equipped with cabin fever, we sit and continue to wait for our bodies to recover from our 'stomach bug' and find strength and a will to eat again.

One cup of soup at a time.

Hoping that it will just stay down this time.

Four months into our trip. Our third medical visit. Our second bout of illness.

Currently too weak to depart on our 2 week tramp through Stewart Island.


Boo.

There's something about this city...

...that doesn't quite agree with us.

And I blame the city of Invercargill.

Brent is in bed sick today.

Poor thing. Showing signs of nausea and a congested head. No fever, which is good. But he's pretty put out right now.

The last time we were in Invercargill, my original coughing cold turned for the worst and I started my downward spiral to complete nausea, chills and sweats, high fever and the lovely sport of upchucking.

So I've deduced that we were never meant to be here.

We were going to be on the 1pm flight to Stewart Island today, but I postponed it until further notice due to Brent's illness. I think we'll spend another two nights here to make sure he's 100% before we set out for Stewart Island. It's a long hike, and we're going to be carrying the heaviest packs to date - and we need to be feeling our best.

In the meantime, I'll just be sorting through the massive collection of paperwork we have collected along the way and maybe even going in for my lumbar xray. And McClaughwd needs an updated registration, so I might deal with that.

This definitely isn't our favourite city, so its a bummer to be detained here.

On the bright side of things, this city does link us to the wonderful Island down south. :)

Got Drench?

You could feel their eyes staring at you. Nobody was brave enough to say anything to our face. They just watched us as we walked by, peeling off our work gloves. Then came the whispers, all around us. And you know they were talking about us.


“Who are they?”, a young boy whispered to another classmate as he stood almost stunned by our presence.

“I think they’re the Canadians.”, the other replied.

“Ohhhhh.”



Lanteglos ~ A new FHINZ experience.

We left Te Anau en route for the Waituna Lagoon to spend a week with the Hall family; Martin & Jane and their two daughters Catherine and Nicola. The week flew by and we leave later on today to start preparation for our two week trip to Stewart Island. It’s early Sunday morning, November 16th.

We had another wonderful FHINZ experience and are saddened to be leaving this wonderful farm. I could spend my life living on a sheep farm. I don’t think I can get enough of these half brained animals. As dumb as they can be, they are so wonderful at the same time. At one point I was in a pen full of sheep and became surrounded by the herd as they pushed around trying to avoid the race on one side and two of the dogs on the other side. They pushed me around quite a bit, but I just pet them on their heads as they bumped around.

Moments that I’ll remember on this farm.

The medley of sheep calling out to their young. At any point when you move sheep and lamb around from paddock to paddock or into a sheep shed, they all just run in one giant mob. This inevitably leads to mother-child separations. What you get in the end is a colossal symphony of the sheep. All the moms calling out to their lambs; shifting their heads around sharply as they try to listen for their young. The lambs trembling from being out of breath and slightly frightened by the separation from their mothers; calling out to find comfort. I was watching over the gate to a paddock yesterday and just couldn’t help but enjoy this moment as a hundred or so sheep and lambs fought over each other’s cries to locate their offspring. These white speckles shifting in endless green fields.

Oyster catchers running in the paddocks.

The bloody lamb that probably bashed his head into a fence while he was being shifted. He started marking the sheep with fresh blood as it trickled out from the corner of his mouth.

The stupid lambs that decide that the open gate is not a feasible exit point, so they start ramming into the fences and either barely squeezing through an opening or getting stuck altogether. I had one lamb that couldn’t comprehend that he had to walk around the gate to get into the other paddock with his mom. He was the only lamb that didn’t cross over into the other paddock, cause he kept cornering himself behind the gate that closed onto the fence. When I went to shoo him around the corner, he bashed into the fence and got his head and one leg stuck in one of the fence openings. I had to yank him out to free him, and he still didn’t go into the other paddock until the dog came around.

The four dogs that the Hall family has – Bess (the top dog), Jake, Meg and Kate. They herd sheep with their barking, which was different from the McLay’s dog that used its eyes. These dogs quite often would come alongside me to get some love when they weren’t working.

I found a sheep that was cast and helped it back up. They can kick pretty hard, but I’ll never know which bruise that one painted me with.

After moving a medium-sized herd of sheep into the sheep shed, we went inside for morning tea. When we returned to the paddocks, we shifted one more herd to the shed for drenching. After sorting out the sheep, we noticed that it was really quiet inside the shed. One look inside and you could see why. Our original herd disappeared. Apparently they pushed open a wooden gate and started to make their way down the road. Martin had to go down the road to retrieve the silly animals.

The drenching of the lambs. You line up the animals into the race (which Brent and I had recently cleaned out), and Martin walks through with his Ghostbusters-style pack to feed the lambs their share of the medicinal fluids (to keep them healthy and fight off bugs). Their mouths were lined with bright neon blue moustaches and dribbles. After being drenched, the lambs could be seen smacking their lips together as if they were enjoying the flavour and smiling just a little. When I asked Martin if he knew any farmer who had tasted the drenching fluids before to see if it tasted good, he let me know that he personally hadn’t tasted it before, but that it didn’t taste awful. He mixes the fluid with other things, and has found a formula that the lambs will at least swallow. Before, they used to spit it out.

Riding on the back of the four-wheeler. Competing for space with Bess. Enjoying the wind blowing in your face, and enduring the dust and grit. This farm is on a flatter part of the country, and is a very fast ride.

Moving two cows and their calves. One calf which was 4 days old and so awkward on his feet. His two front legs seemed shorter then his hind legs. A common trait for calves; slightly disproportionate at the beginning of life. But they really are adorable creatures. There are a lot of dairy farmers out here and you find a good amount of paddocks with just calves – who are taken off their mothers almost straight away.

Tailing and earmarking the lambs. Martin has this great trailer contraption that holds a portable pen that you bring out into the paddocks to corner off sheep in their environment (instead of shifting them into a shed). We round up the sheep into one corner and slowly close the gates in onto their group. From there, Martin separates the ewes (who are freed into the paddock) and the lambs (who enter a separate gated area). Needless to say, you get a lot of screaming mothers and children for a good amount of time. One by one, Brent would hoist a lamb onto this cradle contraption that would hold the lambs still while they were being tailed. Then I was supposed to ear mark them, which is basically clipping their ear (think of it as ear piercing – it’s not cruel) to identify them as boy or girl. When I couldn’t find the right spot and just felt horrible for even trying and possibly hurting a poor lamb, I was demoted to ‘earmark tool holder’ and I also managed the counter by clicking it every time we did a lamb. I think I was also promoted to ‘lamb calmer’ as I would pet the lambs who would start to buck around in the cradle. They buck out of frustration with the unfamiliar (again – they are not in any pain). Most of them would calm down the moment I laid my hand on them. How precious. I could stare into their sweet little faces all day long.

Spending part of an afternoon sprinkling weed killer in the family’s second land property, where they have 17 cows grazing in one paddock and 2 heifers in another. The cows were going nuts. At first, I think they thought we were there to shift them into a new paddock. They came right up to the fence and the gateway to the new paddock. A few of them started to huff and make loud sounds, almost donkey like, which may have been mating related, but we’re not sure. They were literally galloping towards us all at the same time. Even with several electrified wires in the fence, we weren’t convinced that they wouldn’t get through. We don’t trust cows after that one white one charged at us.

Working on fences. Digging a trench to bury a new electric wire, only to fill the trench back up again. Scooping lamb droppings and wool in the race. Loading fire wood. Pruning a rose bush. Tidying up around the house.

Living in a hut in the Hall’s backyard.

The beautiful garden Jane has created. She didn’t have a view – due to the flat nature of this part of the country – so she created a view with her garden. There is a different perspective and collection of plant life from every window in the house.

Our afternoon trip to Riverton with Jane. She is the principal of her school and was researching an upcoming field trip. A nice quiet town. A yummy cafe.

Deep South Ice Cream.

Home baked food. So delicious.

Spending two days helping out at Woodlands Full Primary School. We did a bit of grounds work tidying up around the place. I gotta tell you, when you spend hours sweeping outside a school, to then just have the kids spend their break running around the place and dumping their rubbish literally around the rubbish bin and kicking all the rocks and soot you just removed right back onto the pavement, it makes you want to cry. We were the ‘Canadians’ who most were afraid to even say hello to. If you said hi to a school kid, they might recoil and run in the opposite direction. Amusing. We spent the second day cleaning out their sports shed – which is my type of nerdiness. I love organizing; and this shed was in desperate need. The school was enjoyable; so small and intimate. The kids run around without shoes most of the time, a trend we have seen throughout New Zealand – kids walking around in bare feet, even in the heart of the bigger cities. We were mentioned in the school’s weekly newsletter and we even triggered a frantic phone call to the principal (Jane) from a concerned parent who thought we were detentionees from a prison/detention centre working on the school grounds. I guess one of the children told their parents an embellished story of our arrival at their school. Caused a bit of a stir, but you’ll always get at least one parent like that.

Building a Wasgij with the girls.

Sitting alone in the home on a few occasions where Martin was out of town and Jane was in town working late. Being trusted with their home, even though we are still strangers to them. I even drove Jane’s car home from her school on Friday, when the family had to head over to a farm they were looking at an hour and a half away. Trust.

The incredible moonlight that lights up the yard like a streetlight.

The paddock of sheep right outside our hut.

Just being back on a farm. I don’t think I could ever grow tired of being on these sheep farms.


A big thank you to the Hall family for their incredible hospitality and warm environment. We had an incredible time and will treasure our memories from your farm for years to come. We wish the family all the best as they will be moving away from their farm mid-December. We hope you find the perfect farm to call home, if not right away, then in the near future.


Good bye once again lambies. Thank you for all the smiles you bring to me. :)

Waning Wonderland

Fiordland National Park.

A substantial protected land area that hosts some of the most spectacular vegetation and landscapes I have ever seen. A large national park that covers the south west corner of New Zealand’s South Island. Uninhabitable untouched wonderland. Just add water, and it will all come to life in a way no other land could. An alluring beauty. Sheer cliffs that have an incredible dwarfing effect, something unable to be captured with a lens or with words. Even experiencing it is hard to believe.

I am but a peon on this planet next to this land. I feel so small here. I can get lost.

I feel like I can breathe again.

Then I went to Milford Sound. Suddenly, I felt like I was suffocating.


The night before we made it out to Milford Sound, Brent and I went out for dinner with Rosie, Alistar and their eldest son Ben. We enjoyed a lovely meal at La Toscana, a small restaurant in their home town. The meal was delicious. The company was like family. Our time in Te Anau was coming to an end. It’s hard to believe we have been here since the 29th of September. We leave this town on the 9th of November. Our longest leg of this trip is almost over. Conquering the massive National Park and enjoying this precious little town surrounded by the mountains. There is a feeling you get when you arrive in Te Anau. I could have stayed longer.

Our final mission: driving the entire Milford Highway and enjoying some time in the small town.

A random snow storm held us back an additional day. It snowed through the night before we were originally going to set out to Milford Sound. We woke up to a fresh blanket of snow on the ground in the town, while the mountains donned new colours and character in the distance. Snow in Te Anau was a concern further up the highway. The Milford road was shut down the night before, bracing for a great deal of snow on the highway overnight. Luckily, not a lot fell in or around Milford. However, chains were required for all vehicles heading in that direction.

So, we waited. What’s the rush? We wanted to enjoy the drive up the highway, and I probably would be pretty nervous if I had to squeeze our car’s tires into chains to enable it to drive any further up a roadway.

We woke up early two days later and headed out for our adventure. Scraping off our car’s windows with anything we could find. They don’t have snow scrapers in New Zealand. When I inquired about their existence in NZ, I was asked why they would need them. They simply pour water over their windshields to get rid of the frost. Back home, that wouldn’t be your best option considering it would probably freeze over pretty quickly.

Morning frost. Empty highway. We set out just before 7am. We decided to book a boat cruise in the town that would take us around the fiord over the course of 2.25 hours. We opted out of kayaking this time, we’ll probably try it in the north island again or in Vanuatu. Our cruise left around 10am, check in at 9.40am, and it took roughly two hours to drive the 120km stretch from Te Anau to Milford. Mostly because of the scenery, but also because of the terrain. Once you pass the Divide, that road changes into something very special.

The start was magical. The early morning sun glistening over the fresh frost on the grassy tussock. A single tree sitting alone in a clearing, atop a frosted mound, created a stark colour contrast against the white peaks surrounding it. We drove through the familiar. The tree coverings draping over the road with the sun shining through the trunks, with moments offering a sliver of a view of the freshly snow capped rock faces. As we climbed higher, I noticed a cloud sitting just above the road, over a lake to our right. You forget how high you really are sometimes.

We drove straight through to the town without stopping in this direction. We would spend more time exploring the area on the way back. But living it even in the confines of your vehicle was something else. The rock cliffs come right up to the road. Massive mountains, sheer rock faces, towering over you as you drive through the winding and narrow road, sometimes narrowing down to only one lane. You experience a significant dwarfing effect from the sheer magnitude of this land. And you’re surrounded.

Magical.

Driving through the homer tunnel was something else. It was darker then I thought it would be, despite having my high beams on. This tunnel was blasted through a mountain to gain access to this area. It sits approx 1.2km long. When you exit the tunnel, you are brought into a different world. You can’t imagine how the mountains could get closer to the road, but they do. And they’re bigger and more beautiful than the last. You enter a new rock valley as you continue your journey and begin your massive decent to the town. It’s all downhill from here.

We passed by the major landslip area that occurred just before our arrival in Te Anau. To see a slip up close is incredible. I have taken many pictures of landslips from afar, but to see the claybed and rock face wiped clean was incredible. It was virtually spotless. The slip; tearing into every piece of vegetation that clung on for dear life along the sheer cliff. Immense.

Immeasurable.

That is a good word to describe this area. Immeasurable. Colossal. Incalculable. Endless.

Captivating.

Without warning we were in the town. A town that I could barely agree is actually a town at all. There was a hotel, a cafe, a very large parking lot, and a walk to the very stylized and ‘airport terminal feeling’ visitor centre at the start of the dock down the road. I imagine there is a town hidden somewhere around here, since there are a lot of workers in Milford, and the next closest town is Te Anau. Not an ideal commute.

And here begins our realization of the waning wonderland that is Milford Sound.

Our initial impression was similar to what we felt in Lake Tekapo at the church of the Good Shepherd. Kind of like when you go to an overhyped movie and end up being very disappointed with the screening.

This is it?

The murky and drab water front of Milford Sound was still. The cruises weren’t up and running as of yet. Only the overnight cruise ship was bustling as the crew started their big clean up. Slowly the realization that this is it! This is what people come here to do. Park their car and walk to the dock to get on a boat and see the sound before leaving once again.

The drive is an adventure in itself. The rock cliffs on the highway pulled on my heart strings. I felt saddened to be staring at Mitre Peak in the water and not being bowled over. It’s beautiful, in its own way, and quite frankly you can’t take away the beauty that is Fiordland, but I was expecting so much more.

This is a tourist hot spot. And in my opinion, has robbed this part of the national park from some of its beauty. Doubtful Sound feels untouched. It sits in peace away from the everyday tourist in their campervan. Milford is overrun. The boat cruise companies are everywhere – I believe there are 4-5 main ones who work out of the visitor centre – and some have more then one boat and cruise option. There are boats all around you when you get out on the water. The helicopters are flapping above you, as are the smaller aircrafts. Different ways to experience this land. In the end, it’s all just noise pollution, and visual pollution. I couldn’t imagine competing for water space in a kayak. You’d be thrust around in the wake of the other boats.

The cruise was nice. We had prime standing places at the front of the boat on the upper deck. It was a small boat, so it moved slowly allowing you to have a lot of time to enjoy the views. The size of the vessel was also a bonus when approaching the shores and rocky cliffs to take sneak peeks at different wildlife.

Clearest day at the start. Blue skies. No rain in sight. Which also means that the cliffs of Milford did not come to life. They were dry as a bone. Only the permanent waterfalls lathered the rock faces on our cruise. Almost an unfortunate situation. You want to be in Milford immediately following a massive rain storm. The water would be rushing off the mountains in every possible way, bringing to life the sheer rock cliffs as the water starts to gush in every direction using any trail possible.

The grandeur of the Sound is still impressive, even without its signature rain. One of the only places on Earth where rainfall is calculated in metres, not millimetres or centimetres.

We cruised alongside the cliffs in a way where even looking straight up, you couldn’t imagine the height of these enormous mountains. Solid rock. Vegetation struggled a little bit more to grow in this part of the National Park. The terrain offered a different challenge.

We were fortunate to see a small pod of dolphins today. Three of them swam towards us and dove underneath our boat, only to follow in our wake for a short distance before drifting away. I couldn’t capture these creatures. They are so wonderful. I have been looking forward to seeing them all day. I spent a good part of the Doubtful Sound cruise trying to see dolphins in the water, and never once came across any. It was wonderful to catch a glimpse of a few of these precious creatures today.

We also had a lot of seal and penguin spottings throughout the cruise. At one point, I indicated to Brent that there was a penguin swimming just under the water alongside the boat. He couldn’t see the darn thing, which left me puzzled. Everyone was shouting how adorable the penguins on the rocks were, yet here was this single penguin so close to our vessel and nobody took notice to him.

It was only until later on that Brent made the connection. I was wearing my polarizing sunglasses, and could see deeper into the water, as the sunlight’s reflection on the top of the water is filtered out with my lenses. When I was watching the pod of dolphins swim underneath the boat, there is a chance that I might have been one of the only people able to see the event take place.

By the time we docked, the storm clouds had moved in. It was for us on the entire cruise. With the wind so strong and the rain coming, the early afternoon cruises may be interesting.

We set off for our leisurely trip back down the highway. Spending time to pull over when we could to take a moment to enjoy the environment. Soak it in. Unfortunately, most of the earlier pull over locations didn’t offer much for views. It was once we were driving that the mountains appeared more clearly from the tree line. There is a large area along the highway where you are not supposed to stop your car due to avalanche concerns, so a good deal of the sheer rock cliff area is a no-stop zone. I figure the passengers are alright, but the driver misses out. Boo.

Approaching the Homer Tunnel we came to a stop. At first we thought the driver two cars up simply stopped and got out of her car. In the end, it was a traffic signal that stopped us. Between 9am-6pm only one direction of traffic travels through the tunnel at one time. Although it is wide enough for two vehicles, I guess due to the dim lighting and other factors, they find it safer to work on traffic light intervals. Preventing more accidents between foreigners. Each traffic light lasts up to 15minutes. Coming from Milford, you approach the tunnel on a steep and winding uphill climb. We had to stop on the uphill. While on the other side of the tunnel, there is a car park you can turn into, which offers a flat terrain to park your car.

Once we drove through the tunnel, we turned off to enjoy the view on the other side. There was a 15minute nature walk that you could do, but there was also a great number of Keas surrounding the area. These birds were being fed by stupid tourists who would then get upset when the Keas wouldn’t leave their cars alone as they tried to drive away; usually leading the birds to begin snacking on their vehicles. And since we were blessed with two really dumb tourists feeding these birds some bread right beside our car, it was best not to take the 15minute walk while the Keas have a feed on our car. They eat rubber and really just pull the darn things apart. And they have powerful beaks. If you were outside your car, you could shoo them away from your vehicle. But once you drove up or returned to your car, these birds would swarm you. Sitting on your side mirrors or walking up your hood. A few of them would land on your roof and start to walk along the top of your car as their claws tapped on the metal; from time to time they would peek their heads over the top of the car and look into your windshield to keep a watch on you.

We drove along the highway and enjoyed little pockets of views and interesting history and facts. Interacting mostly with Kea birds along the way.

One last stop at my favourite spot on this highway, a grassy tussock valley set against snow capped mountains. I loved this one spot from the moment I first saw it. It just looks like a field where you can run and get lost in. Every step taking you deeper into the wilderness, and further from the highway and the general public. A place where you just wanted to jump around and do cartwheels.

Milford Sound is a beautiful place, but a good part of the magic was missing for us. So we didn’t enjoy it the way we expected to. But the drive up the highway was quite magical.

You can’t take away the magnificence of the natural beauty that exists in this part of the country. You can mask it, and maybe that was the impression we had of Milford Sound. There is a haze over the place in our eyes. Something is lost when you can’t find a quiet moment to breathe and take in your surroundings.

Maybe in the middle of the night in a row boat, one could experience the fiord by moonlight and get lost in the sounds of their surroundings.

Silence is what's missing.

And birds suddenly appear...

I saw a clearing through the trees and veered off the trail. Time wasn’t a factor today, so I let my heart do what it wanted to. At that moment in time, I needed to find freedom from the track, from the world, from this life. I led us to an isolated tree in the clearing which provided shade for us as I put down my backpack staking this land as our lunch site.

I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to enjoy the reality of the situation. This earthly Eden. Sitting in a valley surrounded by a deep forest and mountains. The river can be heard in the distance. A clearing, to clear my own mind.

It’s sad to think that one day this trip will end, and we’ll be back to our “real lives”. Back to living in the big city, back to work, back to a different kind of routine. On the overnight cruise, the nature guide made a comment to all of the occupants about the ‘real world’. Asking us how we could leave such an oasis to live amongst the skyscrapers, as if they are naturally occurring things, while the mountains are a mystery and a treat.

Why do we? It’s almost like we’ve lost touch with reality. This reality. Nature. Natural. Separated from the world that we know back home, yet it’s never that far away in your mind. We’re only three months into the trip at this point, but you can still feel the time ticking away. The minutes, the hours, the days – they just fly by when I’m out here on the trails. The concept of time goes out the window, but the consequences of its disappearance stings. I stand before this beautiful land; no amount of time allows me to truly soak it in. I want to be saturated. When I’m off the trails, I dream of those moments where the valleys opened up to the world around me. The heights, the colours, the smells and the sounds.

I veered off track to soak in the moment a little bit more.

You spend so much time looking down while you’re hiking that you can miss out on the world around you. But the world around me is why I am here. A spectacular display of life. A world painted for those adventurous enough to take to the trail.



The Greenstone/Caples – The valley hike that Hollyford should have been


Day 1 – Friday, October 31st

It was a cold day today. The kind of cold that makes you want to take out your winter woollies all over again.

We started out our day at the DOC office to hand in our intentions. The peak season is upon us, and this office is at a point where it is always super busy. Worse, the team now grills you over every move you make on the trails. They ask you about everything. Do you have survival beacons/mountain radios – why not? Do you have waterproofs – and they ask you this as you stand before them in full gortex. Do you have a cooker? Do you have food? “You know that food is not available for purchase at the huts, correct?” SERIOUSLY? Who thinks that you buy food at the hut? Do you have a sleeping bag? Do you have a change of clothes? Then they grill you on water crossing safety, and hypothermia, and getting lost, and so on and so forth. It’s our fifth hike in this park, and if we had spoken to any other DOC staff member, they would have let us just walk – cause they are starting to know us there. But this woman was new. We don’t mind the questions and we understand why they ask a majority of them, but some things they ask are just ridiculous. Today, it took about 20-25 minutes to complete the grill session. And this is why it was annoying. I know that they bump into some uber inexperienced and just plain dumb people, but come on. That’s a long time to go at one group setting out on the trails.

Soon after, we were on our way back to the Divide, where we had started our Routeburn adventure a few weeks ago. The Greenstone/Caples circuit is really two hikes that you can do together to create a loop track. Most people start on the Caples side of the hike because of the big climb on the first day, which people say is really steep and that they would prefer to go up it then climb down, while the other direction provides you with a flatter valley walk. We chose to start on the Greenstone side because it was a shorter first day hike in this direction then it would have been to the Caples’ first hut, and the drive to the Divide is long enough. If you don’t set out super early, you risk ending the hike in the dark. On top of that, the weather wasn’t all that nice today, and the Caples’ hike brings you at the highest point and crossing a saddle. We wanted to have better weather for that crossing. It would be nice to see the valley from above after spending so many days walking through it.

Now that the tramping season has started, the first part of the track was much busier then the last time we hiked the first hour and a half to Lake Howden Hut. This part of the track is shared between the Greenstone/Caples hikers and the Routeburn (a great walk) trampers. With the season upon us, there are now hut wardens about – clearing and maintaining the track, and just a great deal more people doing day hiking in the area and spending the nights in supervised huts. Unlike the $45/night you would pay at Hump Ridge for a possible lack of service, the $45/night you put forth for a DOC hut is understandable. The cost helps to keep the tracks clear for the great walk hikers, covering maintenance, paying for the hut wardens who live at each hut along the great walks, pays for wood and coal – which is fully stocked up during the peak season, FLUSH toilets (a luxury that are only used due to the amount of people who use the tracks – too busy for a long drop), a guaranteed bed, gas provided for the gas stoves. You are given things so that all you have to bring are the bare essentials. “Easier” tramping. You’re taken care of.

We have walked this first part of the track twice before, once to the hut, and once back to the divide. This direction was all uphill. Our track starts at a junction found just outside the first Routeburn hut.

The rain came and went all day long. A misty fog sat in the valley, setting the mood. It was beautiful in the clearings, but wet. We walked up and down some hilly ridges as we skirted around two separate lakes and walked through a flooded tussock clearing before reaching McKellar Hut. Creaky McKellar hut.

We started a fire, and got it nice and hot. A good coal fire. These huts are used by hunters in the area, who leave their marks all around – including shooting out junction signs near the hut, and this depletes the coal and fire wood supplies. The DOC has clearly dropped a recent load of coal at the hut, cause there were so many bags at the hut. A lot of people said there wouldn’t be any, but I gather that this track’s proximity to the Routeburn may have helped in recent coal deliveries.

Exploring the area, you will also find meat safes. You can tell these huts were made with hunters in mind. Today, no hunters. Just us and our creaky hut. Sitting quietly in the hut, we fine dined on our Chicken Satay Wraps – so delicious.

Signing into the hut intentions book, we found yet another tramping club sticker posted alongside the names of the members who hiked the track. We find these through a lot of different intention books. This has since sparked the idea that WE should have a tramping club name for the two of us. We were thinking we could make stickers and start posting them after our names each time we get to a hut.

Now all we need is a tramping club name. And if you have any suggestions, we’re open. : )

The winds picked up in the evening and the rain moved in even harder. Lots of rain all night. Strong wind all night. The hut whining with every blow.


Day 2 – Saturday, November 1st

An interesting day. A spectacular hike. This truly is the valley hike we thought the Hollyford would be. The Hollyford track takes you through a valley for four days until you open up to the ocean’s coast. Yet, the views are shielded by the trees and you’re never in a valley, you’re really only skirting along mountain ridges. Which in its own regard is beautiful. But the Greenstone/Caples walk is proving in its second day just how much we were expecting the last valley walk to be just that, a valley walk.

We waited out the heavier part of the rain this morning. But the rain brings out wonderful moods of the environment. The forests were gorgeous, with what would have to be my two favourite trees in New Zealand. The uber mossy moody trees that are stark and rigid, sharp and full of character and life. A classic ‘scary movie’ type of tree. The angles are rigid and the colours are haunting. And the Jurassic park trees. Like a curtain, these trees hang over you and hide your surroundings as moss dangles by your side and creates its own spectacular world, only to pull back and reveal a tussock valley floor and gorgeous mountain views. Wetlands all around you, as you walk through the valley; every turn, new vegetation, new life. We took our time to enjoy this hike. It was spectacular and ever changing.

Walking through the first clearing, we finally understood this one comment that appeared in the intentions book at the first hut. “No one told me I needed a boat!” Strange comment. Until you realize you are going to be walking through wetland areas that have been flooded, especially after rainfall. Long grass hid the few poles marking the trail as well as the water wonderland under your feet. Skirting around deeper bogs that sink your feet as you try to pass through. A very wet track all around.

The fishermen were out on the trails as well. Testing their luck in the rivers (the Greenstone and the Caples rivers are apparently world renown for their fishing – especially fly fishing). Today was the first day of the season.

Also making an appearance today, was the didymo. Rock snot. An algae that is in North America, but isn’t a problem the way it is out here. Something to do with the temperature of the rivers and freshwater which doesn’t allow the didymo to cycle through. It’s just rampant. This stuff is nasty to look at. It’s like brownish slime that clings to life on the rocks in the water. When you enter a didymo area in NZ, you have to be diligent in removing it from your gear (especially fishermen) before stepping foot in fresh water in another park. The weed like algae was brought to NZ by some people fishing in the US who didn’t wash their gear properly. So the story goes.

Paradise ducks called out around us, flying in pairs as they scurried away. Throughout the day, bunnies’ ears popped up among the tussock grass before the animal rapidly made their escape. They were much better off in the tussock where they were hidden. Instead they chose to run up hills that were devoid of any vegetation or safe hiding spots. And we may have spotted one deer. A black deer. A small fellow deer. So many people went on and on about how many deer there were in the area, and how we’ll just see them left, right and centre. But that’s not completely accurate. There may be deer in the park, but they don’t just live in the valley out in the open. One deer, from really far away, that was our contact with the ‘heaps’ of deer. We’ve seen more deer presence on other tracks like the Hollyford, where their tracks walked in and out of the forest area to access the lake water and to simply use the track to facilitate movement. Why bush bash when there is a cut out trail? The deer even think that way.

The walk was ever changing. The forests, the valleys, the rocky gorges. It smelled so fresh. It was so wonderful to spin around in the open areas to take it all in. Every turn would alter the perspective, and it was much enjoyable.

We arrived at the Greenstone hut mid afternoon. Two people’s equipment was left in one of the two rooms just off the main area. That all belonged to two kiwis who were out in the rivers fishing today. They joined us in the hut while we were eating dinner. Today, two minute noodles (we had the fancy stuff the day before) and this time we added instant mashed potatoes to the menu. Way too many starchy carbs, but it was good. This company Maggi makes flavoured mashed potatoes. Today we ate the vegetable infused option. This stuff is like a balloon with its ability to rehydrate. It soaks up water mad fast. The best part of NZ food, at least for now, is that there are NO GMOs!! Such a change from back home.

Our gear is starting to show its true colours as we get further into this trip. We are going to be doing some mighty reviewing on the MEC website one day. Some of the items are crap. Our wind gloves are garbage. Tiny holes have been appearing in the strangest places, discounting any ties with the idea of ‘wear & tear’, and they just keep growing...tearing through all the layers. Not so wind proof anymore. And our crank lantern, sadly is poo. It’s a great concept, but its life span isn’t as great as we thought it would be. At the lowest setting, you have to hand crank the lantern over 300 times for it to last even 15-20minutes. At the lowest setting you are using no power. 300 cranks will not get you 5 minutes at the highest setting. This a significant drop in the time from when we first started to use it. We used to crank it 100 times each (200 total) and at the lowest setting it would last at least an hour. Its true colours are shining through, yet its ability is fading fast. Thank goodness we have the wind up flashlight my brother bought me for Christmas. Life saver. It lasts, and that’s what you need!

Later in the evening, one of the two kiwis decided to start a fire to warm up the hut. He set up a good amount of firewood and kindling in the stove and then used some fuel to light up his concoction. A fiery start to the night. As he stepped aside to collect more wood suitable for this stove, I noticed something fall. A loud thud. Staring into the fire, I couldn’t understand what had just happened as the wood hadn’t toppled over. But there was a mass just in front of us.

Suddenly, it started to fly. A bird that had started to nest in the chimney dropped down into the stove after he lit the fire. That bird is so lucky that the stove’s door was open, otherwise he would have been toast. Now we have a black bird going berserk flying into windows and walls in a dark hut, lit only by the two kiwis’ headlamps and our wind up lantern. It was a mission to get this thing safely out of the hut. Traumatized already, this bird wasn’t leaving without a fight. After a few minutes and multiple attempts of guiding the bird into the many open escape routes, and his endless attempts at breaking through the solid wall structure, one of the guys managed to get the bird into his hands. Squawking for dear life, the guy escaped being pierced by the bird’s beak and tossed him out the door.

Never a dull moment.


Day 3 – Sunday, November 2nd

We didn’t see deer in the clearing this morning, like the kiwis had the day before. One of them was actually woken up in the middle of the night by a deer chewing on a bush just outside his window. We slept on the wrong side. That would have been amazing.

We set out for Mid Caples hut today, a hike which would see the conclusion of the Greenstone track and lead us back towards the Divide. Today’s hike was just as diverse as the previous day. The tussock valley floor opening up the views to the mountain chains surrounding us. The crisp blue river swiftly travelling in its rocky bed, being fed by the creeks and streams flowing through the valley and the marshes. Rocky patches on the track opening up the mountain side to interesting views of strange vegetation. Valley tussocks, followed by subalpine scrub, then trees sitting further up the mountain. A reverse of what you would normally see. Rocky gorges with no water meant to be flowing through. Staccato rocks along the hillside overshadowed by the sheer rock faces that make up the peaks. Picturesque waterfalls roaring down bouldery drops into pools of crisp water.

When we stopped for lunch, I started to whistle to a little grey bird (which may have been a NZ robin) who took a mutual interest in me. He approached me as a small worm dangled from his mouth. I guess we were both dining at that point. He continued to approach me as I whistled but eventually flew away. I sat down on the ground to keep eating my crackers & cheese. After a short rest I was about to get back up, when suddenly my little grey friend flew towards me and landed just at my feet. I started to whistle at him once again and he approached me without caution. It was interesting. He was beautiful. Brent tried to shoo him away, but he kept coming back. I don’t necessarily trust birds, because I have heard of people enduring impromptu bird attacks. They are quite agile and able to hop around pretty quickly. But there was something special with this bird. It even got the attention of other passing day hikers, who couldn’t believe he was perched so close to our gear and interacting with us.

We crossed paths with more day hikers and fishermen today. None of which were spending the nights. Apparently this track is usually packed solid during this first weekend of fishing, but we didn’t experience the rush. It was pretty quiet out on the rivers this weekend.

Through a fence we walked to find we were in a ‘wild’ farm. Sheep and cows that live in the private lands around the park who are unsupervised and live wild in the area. No farmers live here, and the animals are only mustered 2-3 times a year. Freshly shorn sheep were running around, rushing by us on the track, not wanting to be caught between the river and us. Skittish little creatures, more so then ones you would find on a farm. After circling a few herds of sheep, we came upon the cows. The cows that parked themselves alongside our foot path. Cows that make us feel a little more hesitant since being chased by that white bull near the McLay farm. I just don’t trust cows. They have the ability to harm people. Sheep can’t win that fight. They don’t scare me. But cows are difficult to trust.

If the cows pacing along the track weren’t enough, we also had a herd of about 12 or more cows walking the track with us. Only, once they discovered they were sharing it with humans, they didn’t make following it very easy. They would stop and stare us down at several points, which led us to put our poles in the air and blow a giant “WHOOSH” from our mouths. Just like when we were moving cows at the McLay’s farm. We had to herd them from their paddock and walk them down the road. Sometimes these cattle beast stop and stare you down. Give them a little movement and loud noise, and they’re off running once again. You either keep them moving or endure lengthy staring competitions.

The track led us through the farm land and over a giant gorge, before climbing up a short hill to the hut. Mid Caples hut. One we would share with a fisherman and another hiker. A hut with a gorgeous elevated view that looked over the Caples’ river and the valley. A hut with a bench to sit on and enjoy the view. And one that was not overcome by sandflies.

A sheep meanders by the hut to snack on the grass sitting below the single bench. A true New Zealand moment. Tramping meets farm life.


Day 4 – Monday, November 3rd

Another fine day is upon us. And sadly, a very short hike. Today’s lesson is not to just push through to huts that are under two hours away from another one. We wanted to spend one night at each of the four huts, but the Mid Caples and Upper Caples huts are too close together. We took two hours to complete the journey, and that was being lackadaisical about things.

I found joy in the simple things today. Trying to infiltrate a small herd of sheep in the valley. As I called out to the sheep in my best ‘meh’, I found that they didn’t immediately run away. Probably confused as I could sound like them, but definitely didn’t look like them. The wildlife came out to play today. I saw a pair of fellow deer running in a rocky clearing on the river bed. They fled before Brent could spot them. Mind you, he almost unknowingly walked off a ledge to see them. The birds were flying all around us. NZ has the cutest little green birds that are so small, they can’t help but be adorable.

The track markings were pretty poor on this trail. We came across larger wooden signs that literally said “TRACK” and arrows pointing in both directions in the most obvious areas. And the route markers were terrible. You were in open forest with what appeared to be several path options. Areas where you depended on a little bit of guidance were devoid of any track indications. Suddenly you hit a patch where 5 or 6 markers were all visible all from one standing point; sometimes, within 2-3 trees of one another. On our last day, we hit a ‘dead end’ with no indication of which way to scale down the cliff. I literally walked down an additional five minutes on my own to see if I was following the trail before I hit another route marker. You could walk in any direction, and without a clearing to place yourself on the map, you have no good way of tracking your progress. We deviated from the track several times before realizing we had gone astray.

Resting in a valley clearing was the most enjoyable moment of the day. And I must confess; my backpack is comfiest thing in the world on a break. The back is padded and makes a great pillow. Enjoying the world around me, while musical tracks loop in my head; songs that are lost in my thoughts.

Short hikes are no good. If there was a side trip you could take, that would be amazing. But today was pretty straight forward. It’s difficult. We arrived at the hut around half past one. I spent some time exploring the river bank on my own, trying to capture the little views that were supplied in this clearing. The clouds started to roll in as the day progressed. A clear sign that the following day would be just as rainy as when we first started out.

The sandflies were really aggressive and plentiful near Upper Caples hut, which make it difficult to stay outside and enjoy nature. You can only really do it in short spurts to avoid being eaten alive. We are now beginning to understand the woes of the sandfly attacks. To flee, we hide in the hut and play cards to pass the time. Today’s treat, time with our iPods. But it was much too early to be off the trails. We kept going out to see the river, walking up and down the riverbank a few times before calling it quits and staying inside. My arms couldn’t take any more bug bite attempts.

From the hut, we could watch the rabbits coming into the clearing to hop around and enjoy freedom. And just as predicted, a deer finally made an appearance in the clearing around the hut in the evening. Brent was disappointed that he missed the deer along the river, but I told him that we would probably see one later in the evening. Right on schedule. I tried to get closer to the deer to take a picture, which meant tip toeing along the veranda and freezing any time the deer looked up. I got pretty far along the veranda before the sandflies preformed a full on assault and I couldn’t take it anymore. As I started to slowly back away, the deer took notice and made a mad dash for cover.

The rain rolled in during the night.


Day 5 – Tuesday, November 4th

Last day. The long hike back to the car. According to the DOC, it should take us up to 10 hours to complete. And we’re ready with an early start. Leaving behind the last hut on a track that posted bed bug notices in all of its huts. Ew. With the plastic covering over the mats, I thought problems like that disappeared. Apparently not though.

We’re officially 18 hours ahead of our family and friends back home, as they hit their daylight savings on the 2nd. We’re really living in the future now. As we get back down to 16 hours, we’ll know our time in NZ is coming to an end.

So far, Brent and I have escaped serious blister problems on this trip. I owe it all to sock liners – thinner socks that you wear under your wool socks. They shield your feet from the rubbing that causes blisters. My heels look worn down, but nothing has officially become blister like. However, our big toes are starting to show a bit of wear and tear. Brent has built up a callus on his one tow, while the other is starting to show a mix between callus and blister...as are my poor toes. It’s just strange that nothing would have become more significant as of yet.

As we quickly approach the summer months and we continue to travel further south, we are really enjoying long periods of daylight. Evening twilight sits in the sky until long after 9pm. And we’re not even at the peak yet. We’ll be further north in the south island by the time the peak summer hours hit, but rumour has it that the south of the south island can be lightish beyond 11pm with twilight sitting for longer periods of time. Also with the arrival of summer, comes the increasing UV index. We’re already sitting at days of 9+ UV warnings. I live in my Buff which spans over my entire scalp, cause I burn really easily on my head, which just leads to a lengthy shedding period. Brent wears his Buff like a Pirate would wear his bandana. The sun is very hot here, and sitting under a hole in the Ozone layer doesn’t help. Sunscreen is a must even on overcast rainy days. Yet, most kiwis we know just don’t wear it. They are more used to their sun, but skin cancer must be a HUGE problem down here. 11+ is the highest indication on the UV scale down here...and it sits in the 11+ zone almost all summer long!

The hike back to the car was nice. We spent the first part of the day walking around a forest, following the smaller parts of the Caples river, before starting to scale the rocky boulders that were overrun by moss and lichens. Moss covered tree hollows were like traps spread across the forest floor. One second your poles are nose diving into an abyss, while another second your body sinks through a moss covered root that is hiding a deep crevice. Tree hollows which would be like condos for the animals that live here. There are so many all around one another. Complex shallow tree root systems extend across the forest floor. Creating challenging yet convenient steps for the track.

The vegetation was once again ever changing and truly enchanting. I know nothing of mosses and lichens, and really would never have given it a second thought back home. But here, I just want to stop every two seconds to capture this life growing all around. The colours are spectacular and the diversity is breathtaking. After a climb to the top, we followed boardwalks that snaked around the saddle, built to protect this fragile vegetation. Glowing in the fresh rain. The clouds covered any view we might have had on a clear day. Exposed and damp, this was a very cold part of the trip. Not the best day to not have worn your fleece under your rain coat.

A long steepish descent was upon us, as we hopped down tree roots and boulders, fortunate that they were not slicker from the rain. Thank goodness for good boots, or we would have rolled our ankles a few times. Rocky, rooty, and the never coming clearing. We could see our destination through the trees from pretty high up. As we slowly approached the lake and the valley floor, we were being teased with opportunities to cross over. I was officially dubbed as accident prone on this day, as I made a hobby out of bashing my knees and cracking my ankles. You roll them with our boots it seems, but you can still put some pressure on them. Only temporary pain thankfully. Meanwhile, Brent spent the day with a rock in the arch of his foot. Quite the pair.

We deviated from the track several times today, due to the lack of markers. The worst part was when we finally crossed over to the clearing, which we had been travelling alongside for a good 20minutes at this point. The DOC trail passes right through the deepest swamp you could imagine. Here we are skirting around smaller puddles, and they choose this location to make you cross. A location very much worthy of a boardwalk.

We chose to hobble over a fallen tree trunk that was barely sitting over the water’s top. With both poles taking favour to a side along the tree trunk, I watched as Brent’s poles found themselves almost fully submerged in the swamp. If you fall off this narrow trunk, you are going for a full fledged swim. So I took my time with every step, guiding my poles along the trunk with me. I could picture the fall into the water, but couldn’t bear to think of how cold I would be if that was realized. Deep pool of water. I wish I had a hammer with me, I could shift the track just a wee bit and let others avoid this situation.

We quickly made our way across the long grass clearing and back onto the hilly ridge. A quick snack stop at Lake Howden Hut preceded our final stretch to the Divide – 15mins uphill followed by 45mins downhill. Not a bad deal in this direction.

We ran into two women on the track further down, who had asked us how long it was to Key Summit, a popular day walk on the Routeburn track. It isn’t until you walk away that you realize that they were North American. When you meet people with North American accents, you don’t necessarily notice right away, because that’s a normal accent for us. If it’s been a while since we’ve been around kiwis, we tend to return to our ‘normal’ state, I guess; meaning that we don’t notice accents until a bit later. Hostels aren’t always run by native New Zealanders, which means you have a mix of accents all around you...and you barely ever meet kiwis in a hostel. Same thing at the campsites too, they could be run by foreigners. In Te Anau, most people we know are kiwis with wonderful accents. I’ll still notice their accents though. It’s not normal to me yet, if that makes sense. It’s still flagged in my mind. Whereas speaking to a Canadian or American, most of the time it’s a wash; takes me a moment to take notice.

Bookend weather for this hike. Rain, fine, fine, fine, rain.

At the Divide shelter, there were two Keas being fed by tourists. They truly are very beautiful birds, and they sound endearing with their cawing. But they are cheeky and work in pairs. We high tailed it to our poor car to see if they had eaten him. Keas are known for ripping apart vehicles. We had never seen them at the Divide before, but now that there are more tourists around, I think they have started to flock to the public areas once again. Luckily, the Sergeant is unscathed. We pack up and head back to Te Anau.

The last hike for us in Fiordland National Park – and most of it wasn’t even in this NP. We veered off into the Greenstone Conservation Area.

A wonderful way to end our time in this part of the country. A spectacular hike with an abundance of stunning views and an extensive display of native vegetation and varied landscape. The valley walk which put you right where you wanted to be.

In the heart of the world around you.

Unwelcome tramp

It’s like we were never meant to do this track. Everything was working against the feasible realization of completing the circuit. Actually, we never even set out to complete the circuit. Thanks to the Hump Ridge trust’s new rules. With a winter storm moving in the night before, it was unknown if we would even be able to set out the next day. In the end, I almost wish it was too snowy to leave Te Anau that day.

A bitter taste was left in our mouths after this tramp. How people could be like this is beyond me.



The Hump Ridge – our own style


Day 1 – Sunday, October 26th

It was Saturday when we found out that the Hump Ridge trust was under new management. The Hump Ridge track was built by a private group of individuals over very beautiful and difficult to manage land. It starts alongside the DOC’s south coast track, then loops over a ridge before joining up with the south coast track once again to finish as a circuit. The fact that it loops with the DOC track means that there are DOC huts along the way that trampers may wise to use as accommodation.

Problem is that the Hump Ridge trust also built two lodges. One at the top of the ridge and one near the DOC’s Port Craig Hut. And these lodges cost a penny to spend the night. $45 per person to be exact. The price of a great walk hut for one night. It took me a while to want to pay for this particular track, because at that rate, you have to be choosey as to which tracks are most worth it. That nightly cost is more money than we would ever spend for a night at a hostel in town. And we have to pick the right ‘great walks’ to do with a cost of $90/night for the two of us.

The change that occurred once the new management took over is that it is now mandatory for hikers to pay for both lodges, even if they want to spend their second night at the DOC’s hut in Port Craig. Therefore turning what could have been a $45 night + a DOC annual hut pass night into a $90 night + $90 night. In the short term, yes, not too pricey. In the long run of things, when tramping is ALL you are trying to do in a country, that $180 is a lot of money. When we found out that the trust would no longer allow hikers to only spend the one night, we decided to do the tramp our way; following the south coast track until the first hut, then spending the second day doing a day hike up to the ridge, and return to that same hut for the night before returning home.

Some people who have done the walk and loved it tried to convince us that paying for it would be worth it, but again, in the long run, it’s difficult to justify every costly hike. We hike for free everywhere we go. A start up of $90 for the pass and then cost of food for every day on the track, and petrol to get to the track. The selling points for the lodges are that they are much spiffier then the DOC huts, and apparently you can shower and get free porridge in the morning for breakfast. Well, Brent and I agree, after one day of hiking, we aren’t going to rush for that shower like its gold. We have done much longer with no shower. It’s part of the deal on the trails. And porridge is not a selling point for me. Can’t say I’m much of a fan. For $45, I would love a cooked breakfast...yum.

So we left for Tuatapere in the morning. A fresh coat of snow rolling across the hills in the area. The mountains are whiter than normal after last night’s southern storm. It’s roughly an hour and a half from Te Anau through farmlands and along the Southern Scenic Highway. It was a crisp morning and the sheep were full of life in the paddocks. Welcoming the sun that is starting to shine through the clouds. We started to climb up the elevated part of the road to find a lot more snow had fallen to this point. I couldn’t tell you how high we were at this point; I didn’t have an altimeter with us in the car. The road was frosty and some parts even slushy. But mild compared to what you would encounter back home. And only on the highest point.

After a short run down a few gravel roads (which the Sergeant survived this time), we found ourselves at a makeshift parking lot near a white bait beach. It’s Labour day weekend in New Zealand, and this beach is packed. Many people fish for white bait – a delicacy here, but tiny as. You need a lot of these fish to make a patty, but they are apparently simply delicious. The beach was busy. Unfortunately, this was not where we should be parking for the south coast trail, but the road that takes you to the official parking spot has been washed out by a storm. Go figure. A mound of sand and rocks stops any vehicle that isn’t a 4x4 truck from crossing.

Luckily, "Uncle" Jeff came to save the day. A farmer and his blue tractor. It was his birthday today, and he drove to the car park in his tractor to pick up his family who had driven in from Invercargill for a celebratory bonfire at his house. Perfect timing. He offered us a ride to the head of trail which is literally at the bottom of his driveway. No complaining could be heard from us. We thanked him for the offer and hopped into the trailer that was attached to his tractor. We were joined by his brother-in-law and adorable niece.

Road washout was an understatement. There was nothing there. A washout would make me believe that there was even a little semblance of some sort of road. There was the mound of dirt and rocks inhibiting vehicles from crossing and then the road just drops and disappears completely. It was a drive over the rocky beach all the way to the farm. Sergeant would have died on the beach somewhere, and if we had left him, he probably would have been pulled out to sea at high tide. A ‘road’ that could only be conquered with an off road vehicle. And it’s been like this for months apparently. There are enough people who live out in this direction and who depend on this road, or lack thereof. Worse – this isn’t the first time this road has been washed out. The municipality is building a new road that will climb up the hillside instead of along the ocean, a move to take out the washout factor. This one should last much longer.

We hopped out as the farmer and his family tooted their horn and waved good bye. And here, we start the South Coast track to Port Craig.

This track was flat for a while and winding through the forest. Rosie taught us what a Rimu tree looked like, so we started pointing them out as we walked by. We walk these forests a great deal, but have no idea what any of the vegetation is properly called. Needless to say, we were excited with our identifying talents on this day. After a easy ridge walk, it was all downhill to the beach through deep mud and water puddles. The weather was clear today, however it rained a great deal the night before. So freshly soaked mud. Add to that a busy weekend with a lot of people trudging around in their 4x4 vehicles and ATVs. Our dear track followed an old logging road for a good amount of time. The entire road was submerged 50% of the time. Not nice puddles like in the forest, but oil stained and gas globs throughout the dirty mud piles.

And the water on this trail – brown. I actually felt like I was back home in North Bay walking in the Ducheney Falls area. Apparently they are from the tannins. I guess it’s like a brown moss or lichen. I know it’s not bad for you – but I don’t see these advocates for “drinking straight out of the creek” dipping their cups into these waters. It just looks dirty. Maybe North Bay’s water colour is due to tannins as well. Hmmmm.

Once we parted ways with the first long beach hike and the 4x4 road, we found ourselves climbing up and down hills with intervals of short beach walks in between. The parts were so interesting. They presented really poignant rock formations along the coast and further out into the ocean, with the waves crashing in against the black bodies. It was a nice contrast to the forest walks.

The zig zagging was repetitive after a while. It was a climb up, before you follow a ridge to the right, a strong descent, cross over a footbridge that brings you over a waterfall (a brown waterfall), then you curve to the left before climbing up once again and following the ridge. There was an alternate option of taking the beach all the way around, but should only be tempted before low tide. You need a good amount of time to cross this area even at low tide. And even better, you still have to scuttle and jump across the rock formations between waves. The rip is really strong in this part of New Zealand, and there are warnings everywhere. Since we don’t know the tide tables here, and they change every day and everywhere you go, we opted for the forest walk.

Our evening oasis was the Port Craig hut. An old school house from the area, from a time when there was a lumber yard and I guess you would call it a timber community. The only original standing structure of the village. The DOC converted the one room school house into a hut for the walk. A charming little hut indeed.

We walked into the room to find 8 other kiwi trampers had already settled in for the night. Thinking the evening would be entertaining, we started to scan the room where a tri-levelled bunk bed towered to our one side. Interesting.

“There’s a much nicer hut about an hour down the track. You could spend the night there if you’d like. It should be empty.”

The first words spoken to us when we entered the hut.

“Um, thanks, but we were planning on spending the night here.”

“It even has hot showers. You would have so much more room.”

Thanks asshole.

This hut did feel crammed, even though it was at less then half of its capacity. But it was the tone that stood out most to me. This guy wasn’t joking. He was being dead serious. He didn’t want us here. And all his little hiking buddies said nothing to stop him.

“No thanks. It’s our first day out hiking, we really don’t need a shower.”

All these guys dramatically started smelling their armpits and laughing amongst themselves saying that they would want one. If you can’t live one night without showering on the trails, you shouldn’t be hiking.

“Brent”, I replied loud enough so that this group could hear me, “I’m getting the feeling that we’re not really welcome here.”

I quickly followed up my statement with the unclipping of my last buckle and placing my bag firmly on the ground.

The nerve. That’s all I could think. How is that the first thing you would say to someone, EVER? And to know it was coming from a tramper, was a worse feeling.

We slowly made our way around the tables in the middle of the room and pretty much concluded on our own that this night was not going to be very fun, and decided it might be best to keep to ourselves.

The hut was taken over by six members of the Southland Tramping Club and two other kiwis hiking for the long weekend. We sat down and chatted with the one couple, and that was fine, but it was this one group who literally ruined this track for us. Rude and obnoxious humans, doing things that just blew my mind. Some members were showing a complete lack of ability to interact properly with human beings. All older adults. Mind boggling.

We just kept to ourselves as we ate dinner in a small area on the table. They were pretty spread out, and nobody appeared to be in a hurry to make room for others. Whatever. We ate and then decided to just filter a bit of water before wasting away the evening by playing cards between us.

This is when the finger pointing and whispering started. I can’t really paint the picture as well as I would like. This room is pretty small. Picture a tri-bunk bed made for 18 people (6 across), a small space before your leg hits a bench to sit on right in front of a table, followed by another bench on the opposite side, enough room to open a door and then two bunk beds placed along the wall opposite from the tri-bunks. That’s the east to west perspective. On the south side of the room was a small kitchen which only had a few counters and a sink, and then the fireplace before the wall curves to the edge of the bunk beds. On the north side is the door and the table’s edge is butted up against the wall. Tiny room with 10 people. We are taking up about 2% of the room, while the club is taking up about 90%. No counter space for others, no room near the fire (not that you needed one, it was a nice day outside), the tables and benches and walkways were full of gear. An old schoolhouse made of wood that echoes and creeks with a life of its own. Wonderful place, terrible company.

So here we have the visual of the room. Then you have the sole female component of this tramping club’s posse. An woman in her 50s or whatnot. Staring at us. No, no...gawking at us. I was noticing her in my peripheral on several occasions. We were keeping to ourselves trying to get through filtering two water bottles full of water. That’s all we wanted to do, and doing it in peace would have been amazing!

She turned her back to us and faced two guys in her group and started to whisper loud enough that we could hear, and point in our direction, trying to poke fun at the fact that we were filtering our water. Now, I don’t like people like this. I actually despise ignorance. I do think that people who have no ability to behave like a proper human beings in public settings should really stay at home. And this was like living grade 5 all over again.

Pssst psst pssssst pssssst psssst, they’re filtering water, psssst psssssst psssst psssssst psssst pssst who does that?

I looked towards the group who were now staring at us over her shoulder.

“Yes, we are filtering water over here, is there a problem with that?”, I called out to the group of ignorant trampers. It was like we were foreign or something. We couldn’t believe it. But I also wouldn’t stand for that. If you have a question or a problem, be ‘man’ enough to confront the person. If not, then bite your tongue.

The woman didn’t respond to us at all, but two of the guys came to sit by us and started to question why it was that we were filtering our water. These questions, we are used to. The blatant rudeness, we are not. If you want to know about it – just ask. We hear the same thing everywhere we go. We know we can drink the water. We just choose not to take risks. Giardia is present in NZ, and quite frankly, I don’t want to be sick and lose any more time on the trails. Not all huts are used frequently, and some do have stagnant water and can run into problems with bugs in the water. If you’re not used to certain water, you can also get sick from it. And besides, we actually like the way the water tastes after we treat it. It’s delicious and so super crisp. We pump it through our MSR filter and then stir it for about a minute with our UV pen light. No chemicals. No bad taste. Just pure water. Filtering water is normal in Canada. If you go into the backcountry, you just know to filter your water.

And besides, does it really matter what other people do. It wasn’t the conversation that bothered us, it was the way this woman was spying on us and at times eavesdropping on our conversations and making comments to the others about what we were doing and saying.

We are RIGHT HERE, you ignorant human.

That’s all we wanted to scream at her. How could you be so blatantly rude to someone? In front of their face!!!

The guys asked us about the filtration system and the woman was listening in, from afar, heaven forbid she tried to communicate to our faces. When we said we wouldn’t be dipping our cups into the brown water she started shouting that they were tannins. The water is brown because of the tannins.

SO WHAT??? I really don’t see anyone else drinking it either – so why harass us?

Out came our wind up lantern and flashlight when night started to fall. We needed a bit more light for our card playing, and once again, right in front of us, but not even remotely at us, comments about our methods were swirling out of this woman’s mouth.

I just wanted to go to bed, wake up and leave these people. It was too small a hut to be dealing with people like this. Worse, the guy who was super rude to us when we stepped inside the hut sat across from us and tried to ‘bond’ with us later in the evening. Starting off the bonding session with asking us why we didn’t continue to the next hut. We informed him that we were aware that the next DOC hut was 5 hours away. He followed that up with a classic comment, stating that the hut an hour away wasn’t the DOC’s hut. It was private. I didn’t understand why he would even suggest it then, but he asked us why it should matter who owns the hut. Nobody would see us.

Who are you? And why are you bothering us?? Cause you are really socially awkward and not assisting the situation with us by trying to speak to us. He really didn’t seem to want us around. And then again, I wondered why he was trying to talk to us. We were doing all we could to stay out of their way and keep to ourselves. Never have we ever had to share a hut with such rude people. It truly left a bitter taste in our mouths.

The DOC huts all contain a ‘code of conduct’ for hut users, which explains how everyone should share the hut amicably. This tramping club was failing with flying colours. Worrisome. If they did this to someone who was sleeping in a hut for the very first time, they could thwart their opinion of DOC tramps altogether.

This guy who was trying to ‘bond’ with us, who kept on and on about how he was ‘mates’ with Anthony Hopkins because he was an extra in the film ‘The Fastest Indian’, parts of which were filmed in Invercargill, informed us that their tramping club would be going to Stewart Island mid-November and told us their itinerary.

And so we push our trip to Stewart Island. Factored by my back recovery (it needs a longer break from tramping before doing that 10-12 day hike – and one day in between hikes just isn’t cutting it) and just not wanting to run into these people again – and we figured it out, we would have bumped into them and would have to spend three nights with them – we decided during this hike to postpone our cross over to the small island and spend another week on a FHINZ farm before travelling back to Invercargill.


Day 2 – Monday, October 27th

Big hike up to the top, or as close to it as we can.

We spent the first two hours following old train tracks. It was pretty neat. The wooden slates were under a layer of mud and water, but affected your every step. At points you were walking through areas where you can imagine they did some blasting to build the tracks. Blown out hills surrounded you as the trees grew in alongside and started to drape the track. You could almost imagine the trains still travelling here.

The tracks led to three old viaducts that have since been through rigorous maintenance work to preserve them. Giant train bridges that cross over massive gorges with trickling rivers down below. Very impressive engineering.

After the third viaduct we arrived at the Hump Ridge junction. We followed the track up the mountain ridge, a good part of which was board walked to preserve the vegetation around and also to make certain tricky areas feasible to walk through. Beautiful forest, but no views of the ridge or the ocean. We walked for a long time up and down the ridge, with splinter glimpses of the surrounding area. You have to clear the forest and enter the sub alpine area to see anything. But today I just couldn’t do it. Even though we took everything out of our bags for this tramp, my back just wasn’t strong enough today. It’s the uphill that does me in. And really, my entire body is misaligned now, so everything shifts and feels funny and works improperly, which is leading to increasing problems. Not even arriving at luncheon rock, we decided it was best to turn around. We’ve seen great views on other hikes, and even though today would be magical, it wasn’t worth the pain.

I am disappointed with myself, because I don’t like giving up, but there is nothing I can do anymore. And this is why the mood is different on our hikes. It’s a lot harder for my body at this point, and a lot of times we have to look into the future. This back injury may be a reoccurring problem for me, and the more damage I do to it now, the more I will be paying for it later.

Back down the track we go to the hut once more.

We bumped into a few trampers who are on the last leg of their hump ridge adventure and found out some interesting things. The lodges, that you pay $45/night for, which provide cooking facilities and nice lounging areas and porridge in the morning for breakfast – well, they didn’t live up to their end of the bargain. This group, who we would have been hiking with if we had done the circuit, arrived to the lodge and the gas had been shut off (so no cooking facilities), the lodge warden had left (so no access to other rooms or showers, just bedroom and kitchen tables) and there was no breakfast. So what did their $45/night cover? I would have been so peeved if all the things you were paying for were NOT available.

Another reason not to regret our choice for avoiding the official Hump Ridge walk. And besides, I clearly wasn’t going to be able to make that climb. The first day is 3-4 hours straight up. Oooph.

We returned to the Port Craig hut for a second night (as planned). Not a soul to share it with this time, and I must say, it was much nicer the second time around. We spent the evening walking around the village site and to the beach, learning more about the history of the area. Fine dining on two minute noodles and flavoured tuna (flavours which did NOT pass the test – blech). Cards, of course. And nightfall. The old schoolhouse, rickety in the wind, howled through the night as the winds grew stronger.


Day 3 – Tuesday, October 28th

Our return to Sergeant McClaughwd. A nice day, but the clouds are moving in. But it sure is hot outside. First hike where we actually did not wear our gortex jackets. We omit the fleece when the weather warms up, but usually walk around with our jackets protecting us. It rains without warning in NZ, so it’s best to just stay dry.

Along the beach, I spent my time avoiding an uber aggressive bread of sandflies and trying to find live crabs (a goal I hope to one day achieve). I was super excited when I saw a fully intact crab on the sand. Unfortunately, he was dead. I took one quick picture after I flipped him right side up, and before I could grab the close up picture that I wanted, a wave swept him away. The rest of the day we found pieces of crabs, upper shells, legs, pinchers. We didn’t let Claude know about our findings. Although, I would like to take a picture of Claude with a live crab. First things first – finding that live crab.

This was also the first time we found pink seaweed. All along the beach, varying shades of pink vegetation from the water was washed up. All at varying stages of drying. Some were hot pink, while others supported a duller magenta hue.

The beach along the logging road was barren this time around. The long weekend behind us, everyone had long since packed up and left the area. It was nice and quiet. You could enjoy the sound of the tide roaring in, and rippling over the rocky beach as it fell back onto itself. Like seashells rolling over each other. Such a wonderful sound.

We finished the hike to a rain storm that had finally made a stronger appearance. It was spitting on and off on the trail, but it was refreshing. We now had a few additional kilometres to get to the car, that road wash out area. There was a group of five women who had completed the track around the same time as us who had a 4x4 truck parked near the end of the track. They offered to drive our packs to our car, but we declined. Surprisingly, they never offered us the same ride (the one our bags would have taken) in the back of their truck. That was strange.

One guy drove past us shouting out his window “have a nice walk”, followed by a loud enough chuckling fit. That’s nice.

It was the final stretch. We weren’t too concerned.

Suddenly a white van pulled up to us and a guy rolled down his window. Even though his accent was a little harder to understand, we knew that he had offered us a ride. I couldn’t help but notice his massive black eye. After letting us into the back of the van I asked him what had happened. A fight broke out and someone decked him. Brutal. He had a beautiful dog with him, his name was Storm. He would pace around the vehicle switching from the passenger seat to the back, to come play with us in the cargo section. It was a very rough drive back out to the river’s mouth. His vehicle was not a supped up 4x4 van, and often gets stuck on the beach. It’s a rough beach with giant rocks and stones. You also have to avoid the tide when it comes up over the sandy patches or you could sink your tires in deeper. Fun times. But he was a life saver, shaving off at least an hour and a half from our final haul.

We returned to Te Anau, via Manapouri, dreaming about the next day when we would be starting our Doubtful Sound cruise. Tonight, we did not eat burgers & chips, but opted for a simple vegetable stir-fry which we cooked up at Rosie’s; followed by some delicious Hocus Pocus ice cream, garnished with a biscuit provided by the wonderful hostess herself. Can’t have ice cream any other way! We feel spoiled at this hostel. Fresh baking every time we return from a tramp. It feels like we’re coming home when we return to Rosie’s after a tramp. Somewhere familiar; a place that we have enjoyed over the last month.

Hump Ridge done-ish. No regrets on this one. We were just never meant to do it. We finish our time in Fiordland National Park with the Greenstone-Caples circuit after the overnight cruise. Shouldn’t be difficult to top this experience.

I just hope that our future fellow hut mates are a bit more enjoyable next time around.

under 1/2"

As I stood half way across my situation, slowly lifting my left foot over the cross wire and firmly planting it back on this so called bridge, I wondered how many people before me perished in this situation. Has anyone ever thought of that? I bet if they had found themselves in our situation, that thought would be running through their head.

What if I slip?

It isn't even a viable option. The outcome, which I am staring down at, was not a positive one.


Factors. Things that can add favour to or work against you in a situation.

Weather. Height. Speed. Distance. Support. Ground level obstructions. Tripping hazards.

Could I bear the weight of myself and my pack should my feet fail me? Or would I simply dislocate my shoulders on the way down, impeding any chance I had at surviving in the water?


Each step mattered.

Focus mattered.

Motivation to complete the task mattered.

Releasing your mind from the situation.

Your ability to complete this crossing depends on your sheer will and balance. In the type of situation where you dream 'don't look down' would apply, your only hope is focus as you stare down at raging rivers and rocky drops below you. All at varying heights.

What monster invented this contraption? What joy did they find when others found out this was their fate?

Do you trust less than 1/2" of steel?

The only thing standing between you and that water.

Gliding across a slick cable. One foot bearing your whole weight as your other one spins from behind to find the wire as quickly as possible in front of the other. A slow journey. A calculated fate. Your trekking poles dangling from your wrists, also fighting for survival as they get caught in the crossbars, inadvertently becoming tripping hazards and adding to your dire situation. But don't think about them, cause that could spell disaster.

Every turn, a new one. A bigger one. A longer one. A taller one. Just when you think you mastered the situation, BAM!


The Hollyford Track - Our longest hike which will only be topped by the North West Circuit on Stewart Island


Day 1 - Friday October 17th - The journey starts here

We packed for this trip in the early morning hours. We weren't in a huge rush today as we had only a short 2 hour hike ahead of us. A few errands around town including picking up our rented PLB - a 50$ insurance plan for this trip (so costly!) and setting up our intentions at the DOC office, started the day off. Still burdened by a never ending sore throat that started to worsen, I decided to pick up some throat medication from the pharmacy as well. My treat I would say. Brent had to buy a merino shirt the other day, and I was blessed with medication. :) Not the type of treat that wins your heart usually, but a necessary purchase.

Another drive down the Milford Highway. Today we would go a little further then the Divide, to meet up with Lower Hollyford Road, a long gravel road that takes you 20some kms to the start of the Hollyford Track.

The day started out with a bit of a concern. I was sucking on one of these lozenges, a Difflam, raspberry flavour. Suddenly, my throat started to feel funny, almost like it was sealing up. It was similar to an allergic reaction. As I was driving, I reached into the back seat to find the lozenges' packaging and asked Brent to find any ingredients it might have that I am not familiar with. We ended up pulling over in Te Anau Downs (a 20mins drive from town). I started guzzling water to try to figure out if it was a numbing effect from a medicinal ingredient or if we would need to turn around to seek medical attention. It was really scary. It was like discovering I was allergic to Basil all over again. Having your throat seal up on you is never a fun thing.

We waited for a while and when it stopped getting worse, I figured we'd be good to go. Worse case, I have an epi-pen. Thank goodness.

The drive was just as wonderful today. Winding in and out of the tree covered areas. Once we passed the Divide car park, we were in new territory. The road literally changes from that moment as the sheer cliffs come right up to the highway and you begin climbing at a steeper incline and winding around corners with sharper turns. Oh the drive to Milford Sound is going to be interesting.

A long gravel road brings you to the car park at the end where we pulled out all our gear and tried to enjoy a pre-hike snack of a carrot and some cheese. Your enjoyment depends on how well you can evade the pesky sand flies. You spend your time walking in circles to avoid them landing on you. If you stand still, you're toast. We were right beside a large river. They live around moving waterways. Better yet, they are attracted to sweat we found out from someone. That's how they track down hikers. Great!

Just before setting off with our packs on, we noticed a little gift that we would have to deal with upon our return to the car. Poor Sgt. McClaughwd has flattened one of his tires. Poo. What can we do now? I have physio on the 24th - our due out date, which means it will be an early morning start so that we can deal with this situation and make it back to town in time. Fun times had by all.

Our Tilley hats made their hiking debut today. And possibly, for myself at least, maybe their last hiking day appearance. Brent's Tilley lost its shape and didn't affect him in the same way, but my long brim was blocking any vision that I had in front of me. I could see the ground beneath me, but nothing in front of me. When you're pack is full to the brim, you can barely lean your head back all the way. So I couldn't cock my head enough to see in front of me. I had to flip up the front end to make it to the hut safely. From here on, I live with just the buff, which is a UV buff for a reason. The Tilley will get to hang out on my scalp after the hikes are done and I find time to leisurely stroll around the huts and side tracks.

The walk to the hut was quick and quite simple. Up and down some river beds as you bounce up and down the hilly parts, then a flattish final stretch to the hut's junction before a 10 minute turn off to a hidden valley. But the water... so blue. Some of the bluest we've seen yet. The river was beaming. It almost looked like the kool-aid mix we make. This surreal blue. Some of the cleanest water in New Zealand was zipping by us down in the river. And the water was everywhere, in typical Fiordland fashion, cascading down the sheer cliffs and across the track in front of us at points.

Once we reached our last swing bridge, we were able to get a rough glimpse of the base of Hidden Falls. A side track must be followed to actually see this powerhouse, but you could hear it roaring from far away. A pounding waterfall, falling into the deepest blue cove.

Hidden Falls hut was the type of hut we like to stay in. 12 bunks. Small space. 6 people can sleep on the bottom, and 6 on the top bunk. All confined to one room with the fireplace, cooking area and table & benches. We like the smaller huts, especially when we're alone. We don't like these huge spaces when its just the two of us. It really can be quite creepy at night. A massive hut built to accomodate 30-40 people with only two tennants. Too big. So we enjoy these smaller huts. And tonight we did find ourselves alone at this particular hut, just like old times in the winter months.

The hut sits in a huge valley. The river can be heard in the distance across some tussock like grass. Surrounded by mountains. Giant snow capped peaks with their own waterfalls created by the snow melt. The clouds started to roll into the valley floor. A light drizzle began before strengthening through the night. Back inside we go to enjoy some spaghetti with meatballs, a Mountain House dinner from back home. So delicious.

A quick look through the visitor's log in the hut and we found AK1662 & AK1663. The two trampers who bought their annual hut pass directly before we did in Auckland. AK = Auckland. And Brent and I are AK1165 & AK1664. Something that pretty much will only matter to us. But worthy of being remembered. :)

Today was a 'bad back day'. With the extra long hike (8 days, so pack for 9-10), we were carrying a lot more food weight. Post dinner exercise time is always fun.

We sat and played cards as we listened to the pitter patter of the rain on the hut's roof and the veranda's cover. It was nice to be inside and dry, and it was a warm evening even without the fire. The weather is starting to turn for the better.


Day 2 - Saturday, October 18th

The clouds roll in from all around you. Sneaking into the valley covering. Climbing over the mountains' peaks and dropping into the valley floor. Hiding the lush green rolling rainforest that covers the lower part of the mountains. You understand why they call this place shadowland. The mountains in the distance fade in their own shades of gray. The clouds clinging onto the valley walls as they dance around, changing shape and storm.

I love the valley huts the most. Surrounded by the mountains. These rocky beauties, with their own scars and ever changing face. Above the tree lines, the rock faces pierce the clouds, yet with snow coverage, they blend in just as much. There is still so much snow left on some of these peaks. The snow element changes the way the mountains look. It gives them a certain depth that is lost when they are devoid of the white stuff.

The intensity you feel while looking up at these mountains sends shivers through your spine.

Quiet. Sheltered from the outside world. Spinning around to find you are completely surrounded. I could stare at these peaks for hours on end and never get bored. They change every second. With the clouds, with the snow, with the sunlight, and as darkness falls.

My vocabulary does not do this trip justice. I guess I didn't read enough as a young adult (my own fault). I feel that I can never find the right words to describe the scenery around us. This park is beyond words, but if I had the talent, I imagine poetry may do it justice.

I should also apologize to our blog followers for the repetitive nature of these blog posts. Since the trip is all about hiking, there's a lot of walking that happens, and some days pass by without any special happenings, which could be a good thing for us - cause at the beginning the drama was never ending. :) In the end, a lot of the posts end up being about the zig zagging trails, the ups & downs, the river crossings, the waterfalls, the bridges and so on. Every hike brings something different to our lives. I just hope every new adventure will be of interest to our friends & family back home.

Today was a long hike. We completed two days worth of hiking in one. From Hidden Falls Hut to Demon Trail hut, bypassing Alabaster Hut. We set out early to compensate for what was to come, however it felt like a never ending battle with the DOC trail times being off all day. It could be due to the fact that we are carrying more weight then normal, and we're trailing behind a bit, but we're not quite sure.

This is the type of hike where you're in bush 95% of the time with only brief glimpses of the mountains against the blue sky popping up here and there. Being a valley walk, we weren't expecting this. It was a like a curtain of trees were teasing you with every turn. You could see an opening and think 'when I just turn this corner, I'll be able to see over this ridge', only to be blocked by another obstacle. You want to clear cut the trees in front of you just to see what it is they are hiding.

But the bush was nice too. The birds were chirping all around us from the moment we set foot outside the hut so early in the morning. Happily making music for us throughout the day. And the butterflies are starting to make an appearance with spring, floating in the air around us, landing nearby and dancing in the morning light. I spent a good part of the day just enjoying the flora. I love the fern trees and seeing how they grow. Pushing up from the centre, the adult sporophytes roll out draping the old leaves that slowly lower themselves against their trunk before they die off letting the new branches and leaves to blossom and beam bright green while new sporophytes start to grow from the center once again. Beautiful.

Shortly after the Lake Alabaster Hut junction, you cross a long swing bridge. A DOC warning sign is found at the foot of the bridge, warning trampers that the track beyond the bridge is not maintained to the same level as the parts already hiked. How bad could it be?

It was like night and day. Smooth, wide, gravel trail turned into steep, slick, rocky obstacle track, followed by a maze of mud and water. You could only laugh at how different the track was, and wondered if the next few days to the coast would be like this. Stark differences. Climbing up and down giant boulders, teetering on the edge of a cliff's ridge like walking a tight rope along the river's bank, only you're anywhere from the a rocky beach up to hundreds of meters above the water, with very little supporting you below. In fact you can see the turquoise green water beating on the rocks directly below you. Not a good place to slip.

After about an hour of this, we arrived at a patch of relatively flat land.

A muddy kind of flat land. We skirted around a good amount of muddy bogs through the day, sometimes only to land in a massive puddle running up your boot & gaiter. Wet feet. A part of tramping for a kiwi - and something that the NZ tramping magazines make fun of North Americans about. We don't like wet feet. But for those who live and tramp here, it's part of the trip. But Gortex, really doesn't dry out nicely at all. It's just too good at its job. Keeps the wet out, but once water gets in, it keeps the wetness in as good as it was keeping it out before. Bugger.

But today, no soakers.

Just dancing and jumping in and out of deep puddles. All part of the fun. This is where tramping poles become useful. Once you start to lose sight of your pole in the water/mud, beware!

This continued until we hit the beginnings of the famous Demon Trail. This was a preview of what was to come during tomorrow's hike. Steep climbs up slippery, moss covered rocks, quickly followed by a mirrored descent on the same terrain. It was challenging. This being over 9 hours into our hiking day, we were starting to wonder when the hut would appear in the horizon.

At last, a junction. McKerrow Island hut - 30 mins / Demon Trail Hut - 1 hr 30 mins. Odly enough, we continued on this roller coaster trail to the Demon Trail Hut. The Island hut is only accessible if the flood channel has a low water level. We figured we would lose an hour on the trail if the water was too high to cross, and at this point in time, the sun had already set behind the mountains. The light was slowly melting away on the tree covered track.

Oh, and we later found out that the island hut IS currently inaccessible, except by boat. Cause that flood channel that once was there, is now a full fledged river at least 12 feet deep. Thank goodness we didn't even try.

Light fading. Tired bodies. Challenging day walk. Last trail snack of the day consumed, and already thinking about dinner. You would think that things would be peachy keen all the way to the hut.

You would think that if you hadn't met our next friend. The questionable 3 wire bridge.

Three wires.

All less then 1/2" thick.

All dangling over rapid water ways.

All questionable. All absurd.

And unfortunately, our only option.

Unless giant boulders are your friends and would promise to support your body as you paddle through white frothing water that is ripping down at high speeds, peeling away minuscule layers of rock on your boulder friends, making them an even bigger challenge to hang on to, all the while quite possibly providing enough of a water pooling effect to dip you into pockets of ice cold water just over your head.

Three wire bridges. Not three, wire bridges. But, three-wire bridges.

The wires held together by a small collection of V shaped crossbars. The wires spun around trunks of trees on either side. Trees that I really can't trust, because I've seen enough of them in this country easily thrown to their sides with the rapid change of water levels and the fact that these trees are shallow rooted and clinging to life on clay, limestone or rock surfaces, supported only by the mosses and lichens that allow life to actually grow on inhospitable terrain.

Trust the trees. The trees that are constantly rejected from the ground they grow on. Because technically, they should never have been allowed to grow there in the first place.

Give me a wire to cross 6 inches above the ground, over a nice patch of grass in my backyard back home. No problem. Consider it done. Maybe on a windy day, I'll have to give it a few goes, who knows. But realistically, what could go wrong? I trip and get a grass stain on my pants? I'll make sure to wear a scruffy outfit that day.

Add to that a 35 lbs backpack; two trekking poles; a very real fear of heights; a raging river below that provides not only a sound distraction, but a visual one as well; significant height between the water and the level of the lowest wire; and a major swaying effect that is heightened by even the lightest wind - and you'll get a new dreadful bridge situation. Swing bridges are no longer something to be bothered by. They have been usurped tenfold.

If you slip, your arms will not be able to hold your weight and that of your bag. A thought that runs through your head as you perilously take that first step, followed by an even more uncertain second step. This is so not worth the mental image of a surely limb-crushing fall. We reckon that should your arms be able to comprehend the fact that you may slip and fall and even try for a moment to stop the unfortunate situation, the pressure would snap against your limbs so hard that you would dislocate one or both of your shoulders, causing you to complete your fall into the waterway below. Then you would be left helpless as you would no longer have your arms to assist you in keeping afloat. You think about the potential of a fall.

It's a pretty nasty fall.

This is not my own vision, but one that was shared by many people (who we met on this track) I asked about the evil 3-wire bridges.

Just when you think the trail will never end, an oasis in the evening light. The hut. Late into the evening, but there at last. We were greeted by six other kiwis, two tramping parties, all wanting to share their day's experience and hear about the others. A nice evening that came and went so quickly, as we rushed through our evening routine of water filtration, dinner and setting out our bunks.


Day 3 - Sunday, October 19th

One of the points of interest on this track has to the history behind the trail. In every hut a snapshot of the area's history is captured with information for trampers to read about, both in books and on large scale posters on the hut walls. The story of the trail and the settlement, original tramping adventures from the early 1900s. They were incredible to read about.

Another thing to note about this country is how litter-free the tracks are. It's quite impressive. I think I saw my first thing of litter on the trails today - a candy bar wrapper. Mind you I couldn't pick it up, as it was below a 3-wire bridge over a river bank.

Ah the three-wire bridges, trust me, they just kept getting better and better with every passing day. I wish I could actually take a picture of where my feet are teetering when I am on these things. But you couldn't pay me to remove either of my hands from the upper wires even for a second, nor would I risk my digital camera. It would surely be a gonner, and I wouldn't be holding a rescue mission for it.

To mask the sound of the rushing water, and ultimately try to forget the fact that I'm also staring down at it as I focus on every step my feet are taking on this dinky wire, I start to sing out loud whatever song that's in my head at the time of the crossing. The most random music. Half the time the lyrics make me laugh because of the irony they create with my situation. Then I start to lose focus and realize that maybe singing won't be of much help.

To avoid tackling more slick rock problems on the trail, we opted to cross one river while straddling a giant log that had fallen across the gorge. Unfortunately I bummed my knee on this treefall. What a day. All the uphills were straining my back. All the downhills were straining my knee. I am 80 years old!!

The Demon Trail. Demon cause of its reputation, the terrain and I would add due to it being devoid of any view. You can't really imagine how they used to walk farm stock up and down this trail. Over the slick rock path all day long.

We only bought a general Fiordland National Park map to save on money - leaving us with the horrible scale of 1:250 000. This provides you with zilch information. So needless to say, we never really knew how far from the huts we were. At one point, we were passed by two kiwis we spent the night with at the last hut and they showed us their 1:40 000 map and figured we were about an hour from the hut. I looked at David and asked why we couldn't be more optimistic and pointed to the last water crossing hoping that we were at that location, which would only be another 15mins to the hut.

Funny enough, that's exactly where we were. But we didn't know it at the time, so we had stopped to have a snack on the trail, while the other two continued on their way. Once they got to the hut, Christine was going to send David back down the trail to tell us we were almost there. But we were eventually on our way, to join them shortly after.

Hokuri Hut. Another small 12 bunk hut. Tonight, with great company. Dave & Christine from Auckland and an Austrian guy who they had met on another trail weeks before.

Today also marked the introduction of real fruit bars to our food intake on the trails. And a fabulous addition it was. We packed a lot of extra food on this track, due to our constant cravings. We each brought a dried fruit of our liking (apricots pour moi, bananas for Brent) and these bars. We wanted to up our fruit intake on the trails.

And for those who ever question why we filter water - today's flavour of the hut is the perfect example as to why we will not stop. Due to some technical glitch of the chimney at this hut, the smoke has a tendancy to fall into the rain gutters, which is where the water supply to the hut comes from (rain water), flavouring the liquid just a tad with what some would call a smokey flavour. Others call it bacon water.

Inviting. Can I have another glass of bacon water?

Great company. Good conversation. Great laughs. Good night.


Day 4 - Monday, October 20th

The final stretch to Martin's Bay, where ocean and a new kind of wilderness await us. An interesting mix of trail. The tail end of the Demon Trail, followed by a few hours of walking on rocky beach, then into a forest for a flat trail, topped up with a climb to the finish line through both sand and bush.

A light morning rain storm started the day. Thank goodness we had completed the demon trail the day before. That track does need the assistance of water to be a challenge.

But what could be better then starting off the day with a 3-wire bridge. Are you beginning to see a pattern with this track?

This is by far my favourite 3-wire bridge moment.

Half an hour into today's hike, we encounter the emergency bridge junction. Should the Hokuri river be too high to cross, it is advised to take a 20minute detour. Even though it was raining, we decided to go check out the river's mouth down the track, following the start of the beach walk, before making a judgement call of the crossing. It's about a 15 minute walk further down before you reach the mouth of the river. Probably a safe place to cross a river, considering the worst that will happen to you is that you will be pushed down into the shallow end of the lake. Not a bad turn out - one of the factors you have to look at when crossing a river - where will you end up? Colour, depth and speed are other key factors to determine if you should tempt a crossing or not. General rule of thumb, toss a stick into the river and walk along side it. If you can walk faster then the stick, you're probably good to combat the current. But if that stick is kicking your ass as you walk alongside the river's bank, don't be stepping foot into that river unless its like ankle deep. Not worth it.

We arrived at the river's mouth which was rapid and wide and deep. But clear as day. The water here really puts waterways in Ontario that I'm used to seeing (exception - water at Tobermory) to shame. But it's also quite deceiving. The water is so clear, you don't always have the right concept of its depth. Most people look down at the rocks at the base of the waterway and judge a good 2-3 feet too shallow. Suddenly you step in and that 'thigh deep water' is under your arms. A factor you need to take into account.

None the less, the mouth of the river wasn't looking too sharp for us today. Further up the bank, the river found its way around obstacles and at certain points had split up to four times, making crossings more likely, yet today still very deep. And at the start of a rainy day, neither of us wants to assist our bodies in getting any wetter. That could just make the day miserable.

So, logically, we decided to pull back and opt for the "20 minute detour" instead of trudging through thigh/waist deep fast moving, swirling water. I mean, we were three-wire experts at this point in time, and we figured that's probably what the emergency bridge would turn out to be. How bad could it be?

Best advice: when those five magical words ever pop into your mind or out of your mouth, may I suggest spending a moment to re-assess the situation before setting on a new course of action? Those famous last words usually precede something bad.

Today, bad came in the form of probably the longest three-wire bridge I will ever step foot onto. 150-200 meters long. Not only that, but quite substantially higher above the large rapidly moving river then other bridges we had taken. Oh, and on top of that, it was still raining when I started my crossing. Oh, and it was windyish. Oh, and you also had to climb up a LADDER (that was weaved through the lowest wire) to get onto the wire.

A ladder.

Getting onto these bridges can be just as dangerous as crossing them. We have had to do some aweful climbing earlier on this track. From ground level, the wire might be up to your neck, or even over your head. One of the bridges didn't have any assistance to hop onto the wire, yet it sat at my shoulders when I was standing beside it. Again, hop onto these things without a pack - no problem. Become back & top heavy, and you can't get your foot anywhere. Some of the bridges you had to climb over giant boulders and then sort of slide down onto the lowest wire and hope you landed right on target. Other ones only had one support wire as you walked the first bit, so your balance was off. And then others started off being taped off by electrical tape-like black covering. Add a spritz of water to that and your foot is flying off that thing. I remember trying to hoist myself onto one of the bridges on a previous day and slipping straight off when my foot connected with this black stuff. Great bode of confidence right there.

Cause that makes me want to cross. Eep.

But today, this was our everest. These bridges just keep getting better and better every day. And the best part, knowing that we have to repeat every one of them on our way back out of this track. Ugh.

The crossing. I couldn't even muster up a song. This giant bridge was too long and I didn't want to lose focus. Literally, it took 10-15minutes each to cross. It was massive. And that's moving at a reasonably fast-ish pace.

What in the world do people do if someone in their party freezes up and just stops in the middle of the bridge? Cause I can see that happening once you're half way out there. Especially on this bridge. You just count the crossbars that you have to cross over to get to the end. But this one was never ending. It just felt like the bank was growing further and further away from you. And you can only cross one person at a time. Mind you, once you get out to these big bridges, there is no way you would WANT anyone else to step foot on this thing with you. It sways far too much on its own to warrant a bouncing buddy.

They just sway so much.

At one point I really started to get dizzy on the bridge. You have to stop and refocus your energy on the walking and not the spinning. I was concerned that I would fall into a spell of vertigo. That would just add to the challenge of the crossing. Brent also suffered from a dizzy spell on this bridge. It might be the fact that you're focusing on a solid object that is so small, while the world under your feet is speeding by you. I could actually imagine that some people could get motion sickness from these types of crossings.

Another perk to these bridges are your new friends. The sandflies. You are just a sitting duck for them on these bridges. You are walking at a slower pace then you would on the track. Usually, you could out walk them. But here, you are sitting over their territory. Water. And you are just a slow moving target. Worst, if they do bite you, what are you going to do? You can't just start swatting them away, you would set off your balance and fall off the bridge. Jerks. They know you can't do anything.

Usually, you're pretty okay with these things. At least with some of the species (I think there are like 7 or more types of sandflies). They swarm you, yes, but usually they suss you out before they start to bite. So you have a bit of time to react and get out of a situation before it gets too bad.

Not on these bridges.

Following the first swing bridge, was a shorter one just down the track. All of this followed by a good long hike through the bush, back up and down tree roots and steep rocky drops, before re-joining the beach track.

20 minute detour. What they really should write at that junction is: maybe 20minutes to the emergency walkwire, followed by a very lengthy crossing, and another half hour at least through bush before joining the track JUST on the other side of the river.

All we had to do at the river's mouth was get across to start the bulk of the beach walk. This was a good 1.5 hour detour, maybe more. To emerge literally on the other side of the river's mouth was quite a blow. We lost so much time.

When we first turned back from the river crossing, we crossed paths with Dave & Christine who have been keen trampers for years. They decided to look at the river themselves before taking the detour. They definitely crossed the river, or else we would have seen them at that ridiculous 3-wire bridge. And they kicked our butts with travel time to the hut that night.

The long beach walk led us right into the arms of a group of hikers doing a guided walk of the area. I don't know why people would pay thousands of dollars to be guided on this track, but they do. They fly into a certain point, have their packs carried for them, jet boat around when there is water, and only walk two very small parts of the actual trail. This is almost something that is expected of you on the tracks in this country. If its not a circuit, you are expected to either bus from one side to the other, or fly into one side and walk out, or hire a boat to get to the start of a track. When people hear that we are walking into a dead-end track and then turning around and walking back out, they are dumbfounded.

Why would you do that, they ask.

Financially, this option agrees with me. If we spent all our money on getting to and from our car, we wouldn't last very long in this country. These bus rides are NOT cheap. Multiply that by the number of times we are tramping on incomplete loops. We are broke after a limited amount of tracks.

After a gentleman sent off his group of hikers on their fancy jet boat ride across the lake (the one we would spend 2 hours or so skirting around), he found some time to try to sell us on their jet boat. Its one thing to have a friendly chat, its another thing to stall hikers to try to sell them on things.

He stopped us straight away to ask us about our trip and find out what we were doing once we reached Martin's Bay. "Oh, we're walking back out starting tomorrow.", we replied to his querie. Puzzled, he didn't understand why we wouldn't be flying out, or why we had started on our end in the first place. Why do this track twice was really what his face and 'pitch' were saying. We explained that we were in the country to tramp, and found that if we decided to take the easy way out on all the trails, we wouldn't be able to financially fund our trip the way we wanted to. It just wasn't the direction we wanted to be focusing all our money. We like to hike. This back and forth doesn't bother us. There might be some days that you wish you didn't have to repeat, but you deal. Besides, more days on the trail means you are saving more money because our DOC pass covers our accomodation. All you have to do is deal with carrying that much more food weight. Then again, as the days go by, your pack gets lighter.

Go in. Go out. Or pay mega bucks. The life of the non-circuit tramps. But we have a lot of time to do the tracks that we want, so we can't be bothered by this unnecessary cost.

Obviously, not really paying much attention to our actual story, this guy started to try to sell us on a jet boat ride. "Well, tomorrow, on your way back, you should stop in at the lodge. We could run you down the river for a really good price. $110 per person. That's a really good price deal right now. You know, with petrol and all."

Brent and I just looked at each other and tried to get away from this guy. Clearly, he didn't quite get our reasoning. I mean, I know the tourism industry is hurting, but after someone explains to you why they have to be choosey about what tracks they spend money on return transportation for, you really shouldn't try to be 'selling' a ridiculously expensive 'ride'. And besides, we knew that this 'really great deal' would only save us a day of walking. They don't bring you down the trail very far.

And we were being eaten alive by the sandflies at this point, cause he wouldn't let us go. Sitting ducks. All the while, he's caked in DEET.

We continued our walk and found our way around the lake, through the bush and over sand dunes and steep sandy cliffs that led into even more bush. All to reveal beautiful Martin's Bay. I reckon this is what Stewart Island will be like. A hut overlooking the ocean. The sound of the roaring tide moving in and out. The wildlife coming to life as we shift into the evening light. The wildlife is so rich and wonderful out here. The shags, the seals, the penguins. All basking on the rocks as the ocean roars around them.

We dropped off our packs in the hut before enjoying some fine dining. Two minute noodles, fruit sticks, scroggin' and another new food addition: a can of tuna. A Brent test. He claims he didn't like tuna before, but I'm beginning to wonder if he ever gave it a chance. Cause he really like it today. We have been on a quest to incorporate more food into our hiking, especially protein. I could just eat crackers and cheese all day on the trails, purely because of the cheese. Even though the silly thing is processed, it's exactly what I need in the hiking day. That protein. So we thought we would test out some tuna on this track. And thank goodness, it was a winner. I have been craving tuna for a while now. As we pass it in the supermarket, I can't help but ask for its incorporation every time. Its so easy and portable. And yummy.

We set out further down the track to explore the wilderness in the area. We cut through some tall grass to come upon what we suspect is a seal nursery. There was a large number of young seal pups and only one larger one. Suspecting that it might have been one of the mums who I guess could be babysitting while the others are out hunting. They were everywhere. We tried our best to keep our distance, but there were moments where you would turn around to find yourself face to face with another seal pup.

I climbed on a few rocks in the opposite direction from the big group of seals and heard a noise. Looking back at Brent, I thought it might have been him grunting or something. Then a loud slapping water sound. As I peared over a giant boulder I noticed a lot of water moving down below. I thought that it might just be from the tide coming in. Just as I was about to hop up onto this last boulder, a seal pup comes splashing out from underneath me. I jumped back so quickly to try to keep away from him. He was so small. I just didn't need a bigger seal thinking I was getting too close to their young. These things are a heck of a lot faster on these slick boulders then we could ever be. And they can be quite ferocious if alarm bells are raised.

They were just everywhere. In typical seal fashion, they blended in with the rocks perfectly. You had to survey an area before approaching, cause you needed to know where they were lounging.

Further down the path you crossed a penguin trail. As the Fiordland crested penguins returned from the a day of hunting in the ocean, they slowly hop their way into the bush line. Not expecting too much straight away, we were quite surprised to see a penguin right in the path around a bend just a short walk from the hut. Trying not to make a sound, I grabbed for my camera, but it was too late, this penguin already caught a glimpse of me. These penguins will scoot right back into the water if they see people. It doesn't matter how far away the water is.

Our goal wasn't to scare the poor things. A strong evening storm rolled in as we stood at the front of the penguin zone. A heavy yet quick downpour. Enough to keep us from moving forward as we contemplated a return to the hut. But the storm moved out just as quickly as it appeared. Leaving us with a beautiful and clear evening sky.

We spent some time photographing a few penguins that we found hopping around on some boulders. And just enjoying the view. The peaceful and beautiful view. Devoid of people. The ocean tide pulling back, but still crashing in strong against the rocks, as the freshwater from the lakes and rivers roll out to the salt water. An interesting mix.

Back at the hut, we all tested our luck with the ferocious and man hungry coastal sandflies, as we tried to snap pictures of the gorgeous sunset we were blessed with on this night. The stars started to shine, and soon after started to take over the night sky. This was our fourth day of hiking, and so far only had rain the first night, this morning for a short bit, and that freak rain storm in the evening. Other times, it was clear and sunny. Beautiful.

Tonight would be our last night with the Pop Tart loving couple Dave & Christine. We have been with them since the Demon Trail Hut. They were amazing to share time with. They have so much experience on trails, as they have travelled around the world to do hiking. Amazing people to share a hut with. It's been a lot of fun, and the conversations and laughs have been great.

Tomorrow, we begin our return.


Day 5 - Tuesday, October 21st

Happy Birthday Father!! : ) Our blog’s biggest fan. Was thinking about you!

Tonight, our record will be broken. Spending five nights out will be the longest hike we have yet to do. We will spend a total of 7 nights and 8 days on this track. Only to be usurped by our two week stay on Stewart Island.

Our return. A leisurely pace today. We know what to expect with every part. And we once again, are blessed with a mighty fine weather day. We said our good byes to Dave & Christine, and also to the seals in the nursery. This alarmed one of the sleeping pups, who literally tapped his buddy on the shoulder to alert him of our presence. The second seal pup looked up at us and just went back to lounging. He didn't care.

We made our way back through the sandy dunes and bush before coming up to the airstrip once again. Part of the track is actually a grassy air strip in the middle. One runs north/south and a second one runs east/west. A single windsock sits at the intersection of the two runways. Today there was more activity as we walked through the area, with planes taking off and landing down the southern strip.

Now there are these trees. Couldn't tell you their real name even if I wanted to. But I can tell you that we call them the Jurassic Park trees. They just really look like they are from the movie. These giant trunks towering over the tree line with this bushy top that pierces the sky. You have to see them to understand what I mean. None the less, there was a lot of them that were visible over the trees near the airstrip. You can't help but start singing the Jurassic Park theme song, accapella style of course. A moment that has repeated itself several times throughout this country.

We have since decided to rename all their trees as we are inspired.

Greenstone is present in the area, but our beach walk turned up nothing. My head was down in the rocks the whole time. Mind you, I have no idea what unpolished greenstone looks like.

A joy of being the first in the day to walk part of a track would be the natural delicacy of spiderwebs. Every day. You are just eating spiderwebs as you walk around. You turn a corner, whap. Yum. Not talking is sometimes a good idea. Or, if you're lucky, the cobweb is over your head or taken out by your lower body.

Jerusalem creek was hilarious. This is our second time crossing this waterway, or lack there of. We really want to know what it looks like when there is water running through it. It's a long and wide rocky bed. Yesterday there was a trickle at the end, today there was nothing. A sign warns people who might cross the river of certain dangers. The first note, as you stand on the bank: if your shoes are wet, it may be too deep to cross. A sign post then marks all the different water levels and what water activities could be undertaken should the water be that high. From the doggy paddle, to kayaking, to jet boating, to the ark.

It's quite funny.

But Jerusalem creek was not the concern today. Once again, we would come face to face with Hokuri river. And today, we aren't going to be taking the emergency walkwire. Not only do we not want to waste our time on the crossing and detour, but we don't have a particular desire to relive that 3-wire bridge.

So we decide we will cross the river. Dave & Christine said it was only thigh deep, and with the dry evening, we figure it might have since dropped. But we were prepared to get wet none the less.

We got to the waterway only to find it was no longer raging at the mouth. Could a river recede this much? I figured it was a permanent river and wasn't greatly affected by rain levels. None the less, we were face to face with a small challenge, that meant nothing more then getting your boots into the water. We scooted along a rocky trail that topped a rapid area. It was quick and we were dry. We celebrated with smiles.

The celebration didn't last long as I turned to Brent and said that I didn't think that was the river. We had crossed two bridges the day before, and that must have been the small river that was crossed by the short bridge after that super long bridge. Which meant that we still had the Hokuri river to cross. I don't think Brent wanted to believe me. It didn't take long for the sound of the river to appear. We stood atop a bank, completely discouraged. We were misled.

This river was just as swift and just as deep today. But we were on a mission to avoid that one bridge and really to avoid wasting our time, as that detour was a sham. So, we took out our keen sandals, took off our boots and socks (bad idea - always keep your wooly socks on!!!) and hiked up our long johns. It was time to dip our feet into the river.

We took our time sussing out where best to cross each section. We followed the river up stream for a while to where it splits into four distinct sections. Choosing the right spot to cross was a challenge. We couldn't cross too close to the rocks. There were never enough to get all the way across, and the rocks created traps, holes with fast moving water. The current was too strong to risk. My frame is a concern for the current we were crossing. It's best to find slower moving areas that are deeper, then to risk falling prey to these water holes.

Brent crossed first each time, so that I could find out how deep the water really was. Again, the water is so clear its deceiving. You would think it might only be knee deep, but turns out to be waist deep.

The moment your foot steps into the water, you start to lose your fight to cross. Open toed keen sandals. Feet without the safety of our merino wool socks. Ice cold water from snow melt and just classic NZ cold. Their rivers and lakes never really warm up through the year.

Ice cold.

Every step was hard work. It didn't take long for your feet to stop working properly. But the crossings were quick enough. They were short distances. Once your feet were out of the water, you were golden. They warmed up so quickly. But that third crossing almost did me in. It was the longest period of time that our feet would be in the water for. I was literally trying to convince my feet to keep moving forward once we hit the half way mark. The cold just shuts down your system. Even though the rest of my body was fine, it was hard to muster up the lower body strength I needed to keep my feet moving. Remember, we're in deep water with a strong current. Your focus is on maintaining balance and moving forward without stepping in any deeper. When you lose full control of your feet, that sucks.

Anything to avoid crossing that giant bridge again. No regrets.

Especially once I put my socks back on. That felt great!

We found our way back to Hokuri Hut, this time without our fellow hut mates (Dave, Christine & the Austrian). Fine dining on Back Country’s Cooked Breakfast meal. Decent. The baked beans didn’t hydrate properly...er...at all. But the egg, hash brown and beef bacon scramble was edible and filling. The food is really good, the only problem with these dehydrated meals is the emulsifiers and sulphates that are used as preservatives. You can smell that there is something off in the food right after cooking it (ie. Adding boiling hot water).

I miss my kitchen.

As always, we’re snacky. Always hungry – which is a result of the hiking. It’s the fact that we’re missing key things. If I’m craving something and just snack on other things, I could binge on food until I get it right. It’s the protein that we’re missing. Once we figure out the right foods to bring on the longer hikes, the better we’ll be. My weight has actually stayed pretty consistent since arriving in New Zealand, which is a good thing (I hope). Then again, lately, I haven’t been eating the best. We’ve become bingers. When we’re off the trail, we just want to eat everything. We give ourselves allowances for eating a bit more then we probably should. To make up for the calories lost on the track. I think it’s having an adverse effect on us. Brent on the other hand, has lost a good amount of weight since arriving in New Zealand. Mind you, a great deal of the weight loss is muscle loss. When you’re used to working out every day in a gym, pumping iron, and then turn around to not lifting weights in the same way or consistently, your body will start to change shape.

Don’t worry, he’s healthy.

During the evening, we enjoyed a quiet time with a nice view and the company of a bold little fantail that kept perching on the veranda nearby.


Day 6 - Wednesday, October 22nd

Happy Birthday in Canada dad! : )

Our first time reaching six consecutive days on the trail. I think Brent was pretty proud of this moment.

Today, we hike back to the memorable Demon Trail hut. Actually the hut isn’t very memorable. And really, the track isn’t fantastic in the least. And it’s not the worst thing in the world we’ve ever done. It’s just slick. I actually enjoy the up and down. It makes me feel like I’m actually doing something. A lot more interesting then the flat hikes we end up doing on some days.

Demon Trail take 2. To truly appreciate this part of the track, you must hike it in both directions. Those who only do it once have no grounds to complain.

We once again decided to take a bridge detour on this day. This was a decision made to avoid a pretty steep climb up and down a valley gorge we had done two days prior. Nothing terrible, but really something that you don’t want to do more than once. Once you crossed this one river, you literally hit a wall. And you had to scale this tree root wall. An amazing physical challenge if I was sporting a day pack. But tossing your poles vertically and hoping they remain on the upper ledge as you try your luck at this natural vertical madness...not really something I want to try to jump off of. And that would have been today’s direction. Down.

Alternate bridges come at a price. But when you don’t know what to expect, anything seems possible. When you know what you are avoiding, a solution is welcome.

The alternate route. Not a detour, as both directions took about the same amount of time. One climbs up, crosses and drops down. The other drops down, scales over and winds upward. And today, we found ourselves about to cross the highest 3-wire bridge yet. Not as long as the last one (thank goodness), but definitely the highest. Best sign of that was the double support wire system. So you have your initial “V” structure. Base wire is where your feet go. The upper wires are where your hands glide across. Today’s bridge had a second run of wires between the hand wires and the foot wire. So I guess, if you fell, you might only become tangled in a mess of pack, pole and wire. A bit of assurance I guess.

But it was a clear sign. These things were ever changing.

Most people we have met on this track think these bridges are madness. These things are completely nuts. What is their purpose? Do they need to really be dangling this high above the ground? Do they really save money by not adding a second foot cable and running mesh in between? You have to get passed the idea that the sand flies OWN you when you’re crossing and you also have to get passed this ever wobbling effect that always pulls you to one side of the bridge. You would think you could fight your way to keep this thing stable and straight. In your dreams. Most times, it sways harder to one side and you are left crossing it while on an angle. Fun times!

They clear the Hollyford track once a year. A big spring cleaning you could say. Around the end of September or early October a team hikes through the track and cuts down the tree fall over the track. This just means that they come in with their chainsaws and try to hack away at the trees that are trying to hide the marked track. I figure that if a major storm struck the area and the DOC received a great amount of complaints about large tree falls, they might just go back out a second or third time to do some investigating and track maintenance. That means this track is not due until September 2009. I would hate to be on this track in August right before they have cleared the darn thing out.

Well, we had recently found out that the DOC had been on the Hollyford not too long ago. Brent met a DOC track worker at my physiotherapy clinic and got some inside information. Since that clearing however, many wind storms had swept through the area. The results were a good amount of large tree falls on the freshly groomed track.

The end result of a tree fall depends on a few things. How big is the debris? Is it one tree or a mass of vegetation? How wide is the tree fall? Is the track passable on either side or do you need to scale the mass?

We found ourselves face to face with a lot of tree falls. Some which we had to crawl underneath (this is why you wear rain pants – they are the better mud pants), others we had to straddle over, some we just scooted around, while others forced us into “bush bash” mode. Bush bashing was required when several trees had fallen in the same area, along with a lot of other vegetation, where climbing around the darn mess was possible, and climbing over it was not. This one pile was so high, and would have meant hiking up and down massive tree trunks and avoiding black holes in between.

The black holes. The giant gaps. Discovered when you are walking over a tree fall area and suddenly your weight snaps a dead tree branch below you, sending your leg into an abyss. You find yourself proportionally challenged as one leg has plummeted into a dark hole up to your thigh. All the while, your trekking poles (which are looped around your wrists), are lodged in smaller holes pulling your arms in cockeyed directions. You’re stuck. Today, in a very awkward state.

The hut. Once again. We sit, eat, play cards, and enjoy the view. Later in the evening two Irish girls joined us in the hut. One of them went to bed early while the other joined us for some card games. We taught her how to play crazy 8s, and she taught us how to play shithead. Now, I remember this latter card game from high school, but it was called something different. None the less, it was a new card game to add to our much needed game sampling. We cycle through only 2-3 games regularly. New additions were always welcome.

Through the night, we listened to the morepork owls calling in the night (people say that the owl sounds like its actually saying ‘more pork’...and I guess you could imagine how it could be those two words that it’s shouting out. It’s definitely more than a hoot), and the possums running around.


Day 7 - Thursday, October 23rd

Our repeat performance of the long treck from the first day. Just a long haul kind of day.

The water was truly wonderful to look at through the day. It’s kind of hard to miss when you’re on the edge of the rocky cliff and the river is the sheer drop to your side. But the water is incredible. Fluctuating in hues from turquoise green to light sapphire blue. So crisp. So clean. So varying.

A nice change from the dry creek beds we were hoping over throughout the day. A good amount of dry weather was a blessing for this hike. Although the Hollyford track is the one people recommend when the weather outlook is not so good. Kind of strange knowing how challenging some of the river and creek crossings would be when they are in flood.

You can rest assured however. The waterways may be nonexistent, but you can always count on those mud patches to be well hydrated and slick, slimy, thick and sticky. I can’t believe how many times I lost sight of my feet and shins. The poles were sinking in everywhere, so there wasn’t always an alternative option. At one point, Brent and I got lost in a maze of mud bogs, and missed our route marker (which by the way, were few and far between in this direction for some reason). We were lucky to spend an additional 20 minutes hopping around these sinking sand pits of muck as we found our way again.

Only three 3-wire bridges today. Out of a possible 18 bridge crossings (9 each way), we crossed 15 times. Each bridge was completed at least one time. The uber long and uber tall were never repeated. For good reason.

The forest was blooming today. The moss covered trees were spectacular as always. The draping mosses looming over the track and glistening in the sunlight. The wind howling through the forest as the birds competed for a moment to sing. The views over the homer saddle were still lost behind a wall of trees, but there were moments where the snowy peaks made brief appearances. Still so impressive. Wonderful to imagine, as I paint the missing pieces in my mind.

On today’s walk, we were supposed to get a view of the tallest mountain in Fiordland National Park, Mt. Tutoko. I wouldn’t be able to point it out to you if I was standing on the track. I blame perspective for that. Where I stand in relation to the other mountains in these giant chains can sometimes dwarf the giants in my eyes. Judging heights is not my specialty. I probably captured it with my camera however.

My pictures can sometimes be quite amusing. How many mountains can one capture in a digital world? You keep trying to get that one amazing photo, so I never delete them. One of them will be just right; while the others will all closely resemble it. But the moments that they represent, those are forever engraved in my heart and mind.

After a long traverse over hilly terrain, we cross the long swing bridge to the Alabaster junction and find ourselves on a groomed track, that I would call a cake walk compared to the world on the other side of that bridge.

At the hut, after a long hike, a well deserved back stretch and our boots earned a nice bath. Complete with sand fly infestation. Hidden Falls hut. Our last night on the track. Flying solo in the hut once again. By far my favourite hut on this track, and definitely in the top three for NZ thus far. It’s all about the view. Sitting deep within the valley walls, surrounded by the most surreal landscape. I can hear the waterfalls trickling down the rock faces. I can smell the fresh air. I can see the colours merging together on the horizon. I can feel the dry tussock grass and the wind against my face. You feel life in a different way. So much freedom. You’re alone with nature in a way that I have only ever dreamed was possible.


Day 8 - Friday, October 24th

Good bye Hollyford.

I leave you with a new appreciation for swing bridges. I move much faster on them now, feeling more secure in the perma-meshed fenced in bridge. I can even overlook the rusty patches of wire that are starting to wear down on the sides of the mesh, or the parts that are detaching themselves altogether, the boards separating from one another and clapping up and down as you walk across the structure. I can surprisingly love you now.

I’ll even forgive you for the bad route markings in this second direction of the track. The lack thereof which left us walking over the land slip danger area that one day. Nothing more than an inch or less of decaying soil beneath our boots. A rapidly moving waterway batting against the soil beyond our steps. A healthy drop of 6 feet or so. It was like walking on thin ice, only we didn’t know about it until we reached the other side.

A quick side trip to visit the Hidden Falls before high-tailing it out of that track to go deal with our flattened and defunct vehicle.

Forever grateful for our boots, without whom we would surely have rolled our ankles several times on this track. A necessary item to survive hiking in any country. We leave with a true appreciation of this track, having seen it in both directions, in different lights.

Remembering the hidden gems on this trail; even though we could not capture a clear picture of the mountains at times, the still water would reveal wonderful and poignant mirror images of the majestic land.

Eight days of good weather. To have such consistently good weather, especially in Fiordland, is pretty remarkable.

We arrived at the Sergeant to perform minor surgery. The culprit for the decrepit tire, a screw drilled into the rubber from the gravel road. The first time I’ve ever participated in the changing of a tire. Cool as.

An adventurous and speedy ride home. Dealing with pretentious twits who don’t know how to drive on a gravel road, unable to move their cars to their respective side and almost sending us into the forest. Stupid drivers. Learn to share the road.

Surprisingly, driving on the left is normal, and has been for some time now.

Twenty minutes late for physio. We never fell into mobile reception until we hit Te Anau’s town border. Thank goodness for a forgiving doctor who understood it was our due out date.

Physio never felt so good!