We had found ourselves in overgrown vegetation once again, no more then 15 minutes from the hut. The rain had delayed us a bit, but I believe there was a reason for it. I spun around to check to see if Brent was okay. The thud echoing in my head, I thought he had fallen.
My head was down, paying close attention to my trecking poles parting the long grass away from my footsteps.
“Did you fall?”
“No”, Brent replied.
I thought for a moment. I couldn’t have imagined the noise.
Trying not to spend too much time thinking about it, I started to lift my head to take my next step. My movement sparked a jostle 2 meters ahead of me.
I froze.
Awkward beauties
The sounds of this undisturbed world and the smells of the forest. The richness of the environment after the rain. The birds’ calls. The lush colours. The mud…everywhere. The clearings that reveal unspoiled and protected land. These are the moments that make the challenges worth while. The moments that make it easy to explain why it is that we do this hiking. The moments that erase the idea of pain from my mind.
DAY FIVE – Sunday, December 7th – to Long Harry Hut
The last 20 minutes of the hike today was classic. Two tired and worn out hikers arrive at a clearing as they ascend above the tree line and get a spectacular view of the rocky cliffs overhanging the ocean. Beautiful. The sun is starting to fall on the horizon. The breeze is beating against our sweat stained foreheads. The air is so crisp and the weather is wonderful.
And across a deep ravine is Long Harry Hut. Only, the trail doesn’t take you directly to the hut. You skirt around. As you start to follow the track, you quickly realize that you are approaching a descent and also that the track is beginning to veer towards the ocean, the complete opposite direction of the actual hut. A tease at the end of the day. You hike in a massive detour fashion to descend to the water’s level, only to shoot straight back up a steep and overgrown grassy patch. There lies the hut, perched atop a wonderful cliff, with a panoramic view of rolling grass gullies and the sound of the water beating against the rocks below. In the distance we could catch a glimpse of the mountains from the mainland, as well as the periodic beam of light from the Bluff lighthouse shining bright across the ocean. Tonight, we sleep alone. I will never grow tired of being in a hut alone, listening to the roaring ocean and taking in the incredible vistas that surround us. A personal paradise. Undisturbed by other trampers, the soundtrack of the world around us comes alive. Long Harry probably became my favorite hut on this track. Newly built, small and cozy. The atmosphere couldn’t be surpassed at that moment; the location was memorable, overlooking the rocky beaches below. Dinner tonight (satay rice & tuna), came with a view.
Then again, we were really tired.
We are as south as it gets in New Zealand. Summer has only begun, and already it doesn’t get dark until after 10pm. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to be trudging through the bush past 8.30 at night, I reckon it’s pretty dark under the canopy past then. Nonetheless, the longer days provide a great way to end the day. Knowing that you will probably not run out of daylight hours, and encouraged that even if you don’t make the hut until eight or later, you still have plenty of time before the sun goes down to relax and enjoy the scenery.
Memories of today:
There was a mysterious rumbling in the distance at the beginning of the day. We were on a major ascent and the noise started. Neither of us figures it was a plane. The thought that it was an earthquake did come to mind. It was a loud noise that lasted a wee while. To this day, we have no confirmation as to what it was.
A new tree. The grass tree (our name for it). It literally looks like a tree with grass tuffs growing out of the branches.
Experiencing sand dunes for the first time. The kiwi we met in Yankee River hut told us about this wonderful and long beach walk we had to do today. He neglected to mention the sand dune portion of that hike. The sand rolls right into the forest floor, not allowing much transition from mud to soft and sinking sand below your feet. Not only that, but you find yourself immediately put to the test with a sand dune uphill climb. And if you’ve ever hiked up a rather steep sand dune, you might understand what we were facing. With every step you take, you risk slipping back at least two. Sliding down the dune might not have been the worst thing, but some of the times we hiked horizontally we were faced with pretty steep drops that surely would have wounded even the most prepared sand hiker. Interesting change in traction. A reminder that this hike would never be anything less than challenging.
Once we were surrounded by the sand dunes, we discovered our first evidence of a kiwi bird. Massive footprints along the ridges of the dunes. They are so much bigger then you would expect; something we learned from Janine in New Plymouth. Some were partially eroded by the wind. I couldn’t tell you how old they were, but they had to have been created sometime within the last three days. Wonderful. A short-lived moment of hope; shattered by the presence of feral cat prints in the sand, keeping on track with the kiwis’ own.
By the ocean front, after our battle in the dunes, we found ourselves following a clean and barren sandy beach for a good distance. I spent my time popping what I would call ‘sea balls’. They are fragments of sea life (either seaweed or something similar to it). Bulbs or balls that have been washed up from the ocean. The colours range from white to dark brown, depending on how long they have been drying on the beach. Once you jostle them, the wind can shift them for miles down the beach, leaving you behind, helplessly watching them roll away. They are free agents. I spent my time walking past undisturbed balls and trying to peg them with my trecking poles. They make the most incredible popping sound. It became a game for me.
Watching seagulls, who are standing on the beach and slowly walking towards the ocean, suddenly make a 180 and start running away from the tide. That was quite entertaining.
The sound a sand layer makes when it falls into a beach river.
Not crossing at the mouth of the river, and then being sent on a major back track to the only available shallow location.
The memories of the thick vegetation, overgrown and taking over the track. The footsteps of previous trampers lost below the intertwined blades of long grass and fern leafs. Tripping hazards galore. The NWC is in need of a good vegetation clearing. The thick vegetation hides the mud below your feet, leaving you with no choice but to slip and slop around. Squish, squish, squish. The thick and sticky Stewart Island mud. The memories of yet another bad mud day. Mud is a part of life on the NWC. Boots caked in multiple layers of dried mud over several days, also a part of life.
Always the birds. I will truly never grow tired of talking about the birds. Their songs are so glorious. Every day it feels like we are experiencing new species and new songs. It’s so wonderful. The soundtrack to our hiking is orchestrated by these creatures who follow us as we tramp through the wilderness.
Once we arrived at the hut, I spent some time searching for Mr. NB, ON Canada. Low and behold, a hiker from North Bay, Ontario was on the North West Circuit not more then eight months ago. I just thought it was hilarious, as I sign all my hut intention entries with my hometown of North Bay, ON instead of Toronto. I figure I’m not really from Toronto; and North Bay needs some representation in New Zealand. Then on this hike I find someone from Powassan, and now an actual person from North Bay!! A guy named Josh Plant. I don’t know him, but thought it was amazing. Investigation complete, hypothesis has been confirmed. We continue to flick through the pages to find out about other Canadians who have traveled the circuit, as well as keep up with the progress of those hikers just ahead of us who are walking the circuit at the same time as us. One girl from the US (her name is Grace), is someone we predict we will bump into at some point in our travels as our due out days are only one day apart.
Tomorrow will be our half way mark. Such an exciting moment in this long hike.
Motto of the day: A dead sandfly, is a good sandfly.
We’ve become addicted to a new trip snack. A small fruit snack called “Marine Mix”. It’s actually quite a terrible rip off. Each box contains eight packets, which each have a mere four pieces in them. Delicious fruit snacks in the shapes of a shark, dolphin, fish and crab. You get one sample of each shape, and one sample of each of the four flavours.
Claude is now traveling in a Ziploc freezer bag at the moment. Despite his snazzy yellow rain hat, the rolling rain showers on this island do not bode well for our dear beanie baby friend.
Descending our final ridge of the day before arriving at the hut, we entered a dark canopy and barren-like forest section of the track; I took special notice of the different types of trees that surrounded us. Not only did it feel as though the mud didn’t have as much of a presence on the trail, it also felt as though we had entered a forest rich in brown tones that felt especially unique, yet familiar.
We had seen pictures of this type of forest before.
I noticed a rustling in a nearby bush; which stopped me dead in my tracks. I had been waiting for moments like this all day. I whispered to Brent to be still and quiet.
I let out a quiet and excited gasp. “A kiwi!”
You really don’t know what your reaction will be until it happens. My reaction to seeing my first kiwi was probably similar to some people’s reaction to seeing a new baby. I was surprised and in awe. Feeling excited about having the opportunity to see this endangered bird in the wild. Although, the kiwi is not as endangered as let’s say the Kakapo is (we figure, unless you’re a scientist studying these birds, the chances of you seeing one of the approx. 90 Kakapos remaining in the world (they might only exist in NZ) is pretty slim). While we were walking, we were trying to understand the appeal of this awkward looking creature. Is it because the people of NZ are named after them? Is it because there is such a widespread conservation project through the country trying to protect them? Or is it simply because they too are curious and amazing creatures?
There he was. Trotting through the bush on his two feet; a creature so difficult to spot as it perfectly blends in with the forest floor.
People told us that you can hear kiwi birds when they are near, stating that they sniff really loudly. But this bird was silent, releasing not even the closest semblance of a sound as he pecked away at the forest floor.
I couldn’t get my camera out fast enough for this moment. I slowly rolled the Velcro off my pouch to retrieve my camera, but the sound must have startled the bird. It took off running into the forest. Like a bad little tourist, I followed him through the trees, periodically stopping to listen for his movements. Don’t worry – I kept a safe distance (for the bird’s sake) – but knowing better now, I would never chase another kiwi again.
There was more then one kiwi near us at the time. As I rustled my way through the bush, two kiwis ran away from me in opposite directions. One of the kiwis ran across the track to hop onto the other side of the trail. Brent was able to get a good look at that one as he entered the clearing. I wasn’t having as much luck with them. I ended up in thick bushy areas immobilized, trying to locate where they had run to. They are smart birds. They run into a thicket and simply stop moving, creating a protection from people like me.
At one point I managed to hop onto a fallen tree log, simply to stay out of their feeding areas. There I stood for a moment or two before one of the kiwi birds popped its head out from underneath the log I was standing on. I didn’t even want to breathe. He was assessing the situation before making a move. He was so beautiful to watch.
Taking pictures proved to be a challenge. Under the dark canopy, the exposure time was longer, which leaves a lot of room for blurring error – especially with a moving subject. They also blend in so much with their surroundings, creating a natural camouflage. Needless to say, we have some blurry photos as well as many kiwi bum pictures. Those are all the pictures of the kiwis running away from us.
Their features appear to be so awkward. They have such a long beak and huge feet in relation to their body. It’s something you need to see to understand. It’s truly incredible. They are quite timid creatures. Awkward looking as they run around on the ground, unable to fly. Kiwis are incredibly beautiful in their own way, a unique creature that lives its life in the shade and darkness.
I left the poor birds alone, in the end seeing the one kiwi (Brent saw two different ones we think) and hearing the two others. If God wanted me to see the kiwi up close and personal, He would make it happen.
I really hope to see more kiwis. : )
End of day five: Success. One kiwi spotted. More sought.
DAY SIX – Monday, December 8th – to East Ruggedy Hut
We woke up this morning to a dismal state of affairs. The sky was slate grey. Sheets of rain were pouring down onto the hut as gale force winds tried to move through it. The world around us…blanketed, lost behind the miserable weather. I didn’t want to get out of my sleeping bag for the life of me. I was too cozy.
Our original goal was to leave at seven in the morning, but we were fortunate enough to have the opportunity to wait out the weather. With the hiking track ahead of us, this is the worst weather to have to contend with. We had a lot of steep climbing through overgrown vegetation in quasi-exposed areas, as well as steep mud ascents and descents and slick rocky boulder beaches to cross today.
Today is estimated to be a six hour hike, but we have to prepare for a minimum of eight to nine hours. Add to that, my desire to stop with every bush rustling I hear in the near distance. I’m working on my kiwi tracking skills.
Everything happens for a reason.
Around eight in the morning, the rain was still heavy but the winds had started to die down. We slowly started to gather our items to pack up. We left the hut near ten in the morning, when the weather suddenly started to clear just enough. The storm rolled over, leaving us with a predominantly overcast sky. The uphill climb led us through familiar overgrown vegetation and dark canopy. It felt damp and dark. A draining way to start the day.
Thud.
I replayed this thud-like sound over and over again in my head.
Looking behind me, I could confirm that Brent was still upright. He didn’t make the sound.
And then I saw him.
This precious little kiwi bird trotting on the forest floor only a few feet ahead of me. He hopped off the track and into a darker canopy area to our right. I contemplated not even trying to grab my camera this time, wanting to enjoy the moment more then anything.
And then our little kiwi friend did something rather peculiar. After spending a moment hiding beside a nearby tree trunk, this most curious kiwi returned in our direction and began to sniff as he approached me.
My camera couldn’t have come out any quicker I would say. I began to videotape this kiwi’s actions as he approached my feet more confidently with every step. When I would look down at my feet, shifting my camera to see how close he was getting to my feet, he would scurry away and make a bit of a half circle detour. But then, he would quickly return and start sniffing out in my direction once again.
I will never know how close he would have come to my feet (fearful that he might plant his beak into my shoe). His beak was quite daunting, and if it could pierce my boot, I didn’t want to become a statistic. Canadian tourist attacked by kiwi. Although, that would be an amazing story to tell.
Three times the kiwi approached me. Three times getting closer and closer to my feet as he approached me head on. Each time getting closer then the last. It felt as though I was holding my breath the entire time. I didn’t want to make even the slightest sound. This moment was so precious. This curious little kiwi was incredible. I fell in love with him as he awkwardly approached me pecking at the ground as he sniffed ever so quietly.
Magical.
After about 10 or 15 minutes of time together, the little kiwi continued on his journey to find food, disappearing among the long grass on the marked track behind us. And then, he was gone.
I didn’t want to move. I was speechless. This incredible moment from God. This precious gift of wonder. It was so beautiful. I didn’t want it to end. I knew we would never meet another kiwi as curious as that one was. He was a special bird. That was a special moment.
Parts of which were captured in video files and digital photos.
Memories from today:
The route marker saga revisited. If you don’t pay close enough attention to the route markers, you can easily go astray on this track. Either you start to follow another person’s footprints in the mud and end up in the wrong direction, or you simply hit a dead end and suddenly find yourself backtracking until you DO find a route marker, which are sometimes few and far between. Other times you hit a triple fork in the road with three obvious possible branches. Only one is correct, yet your next route marker isn’t for another 5 minutes down the track. Good luck.
This is quickly becoming a medically tainted trip. Our hip and knee injuries (between the two of us, there are far too many) are all starting to come out, my back is starting to fade more every day, Brent has developed a new medical concern, and we’re monitoring my new ‘heart’ condition.
Bush bashing. The track is so overgrown, there are no other options.
The rainforests of New Zealand. Being under a fern canopy in the rain is great for shelter, but also to watch the life of the NZ rainforests take the front stage. Lush, green, scented, glistening.
Avoiding the mud traps of Stewart Island. Which basically means avoiding the whole track. Squeezing through trees on the side of the track, away from the mud. You find yourself holding onto the tree trunks and swinging through the closely knit forest, as long as your bag fits between the branches, vines and various trunks. Sometimes even swinging like a monkey around the treacherous mud. Grasping tightly onto the branches while swinging and leaping across massive mud puddles. Eventually, coming to terms with your reality, that this mud is never going to end, and embracing the mud. I mean, we aren’t like kiwis. We don’t like wet & muddy boots (except on the outside), but we’re getting there.
The different kinds of mud. There’s the mud puddles that just get wet, so it’s usually sloshy and liquidy mud. Not fun to get into, as it moves like water. Gaiters can’t protect you. Muddy water goes up and into your boot. It’s quick and dangerous. Then there is the quasi mud. This is a mix between the thick Stewart Island mud and a lot of water. The mud is so thick that water takes a long time to sink into the ground, leaving a good amount of water sitting atop the sticky and thick mud. Dangerous combination. Then there is thick and sticky Stewart Island mud. The famous mud. This is the mud we actually PREFER!! With this type of mud, you know that sinking through the surface might be a tad slow. You can take more chances walking through this type of mud as you find a bit more protection in your step. That being said, your boots tend to get stuck a bit more often in this type of mud. This leaves the hiker to shrug away at the now trapped extension of his foot. A few puddles later, and your boot laces have started to loosen from the constant pressure of the tugging and boot extractions.
No two muds are created equal. Thick & sticky mud is very different from the wet mud. And sometimes, it just plain old sucks!!
Watching the mist lifting from the hillside in the mornings.
The slick tree roots we’ve been climbing up and down over the last few days. This of course leading to some interesting slips and falls throughout the trip. Today was particularly frustrating for Brent who could not get a break from the roots and mud. I was the first to succumb to our fate today. I slid down a tree root right after one of our snacks. Right into the mud. I began rolling down a hill, but a fern stropped my demise. I felt like a turtle or a crab. I was on my back and unable to move, because the weight of my pack was below me (similar to having a shell, being flipped over and being unable to shift). My head was in the direction of the downward slant I was facing in my situation. I had to remove my pack before trying to get back up on my feet.
Then Brent had a few goes on the slick track. He originally fell uphill (due to an evil tree root) and then later fell down a mud slip. No awkward landings for Brent though. Just some extra mud running up his already gummed up rain pants. In the end, we figure it might have been the muddiest day yet, which adds to the complications with moving around injury free.
Failing gear. What looks too good to be true when you first buy it, can sometimes lead to disappointments. It’s been interesting to see what is lasting and what is failing miserably. MEC will be receiving a heap of online reviews when we return.
Finding egg shells on the forest floor (from bird nests). Sadly, on the first day, I spotted a dead little chick in the middle of the track.
Watching the kelp and seaweed flowing with the tide, as the water rolls in over the rocks and shore. It almost looks like hair blowing in a slow and rhythmic fashion.
Realizing that sometimes, our aversion to DEET has proven to be detrimental. The coastal sandflies here are TERRIBLE and hungry. They swarm you in the hundreds & thousands, keeping up with your pace, finding any opening to attack, even up your nostrils. On some of the most picturesque beaches, you wouldn’t even dare contemplate the idea of stopping to take a picture. You’d be eaten alive. Although I sometimes test my fate when stopping for a quick picture, and I usually walk away unscathed. Brent, on the other hand, did succumb to an onslaught of sandfly bites this one day, leaving his hands swollen from the multiple bites’ inflammation. The swelling went away after a few days. He has taken my advice and is now wearing gloves during the day, leaving less skin exposed to possible attacks.
Boulder hopping along a boulder beach. Watching the one sea lion that was perched along the water. Inspecting sea scraps brought in by the tide that resemble dead octopi. A poorly marked beach that left us trudging through thick and tall vegetation as we struggled to stay on path.
Fighting with a slanted track. As you carefully walk along the ledge of a cliff on this askew pathway of mud, you find yourself continuously fighting to stay upright. The slick mud, angled footing, overgrown vegetation up to your chest, tripping you as you slide further off the edge of the track. There’s no winning here.
Splashing in mud puddles. Realizing that it’s almost easier on your knees to hop into a thicket of mud at the bottom of a drop then it is to try to climb down it. There’s cushioning in the mud pile.
Brent bent his pole today.
Marveling at the vegetation growing in the sand dunes. You walk through a forest until you come upon a clearing that leads you to a beach hidden behind a sea of sand dunes. The dunes are covered in grasses and shrubs. It’s almost as perplexing as the plant life that can grown along sheer rock cliffs. As you finish your beach walk, you slowly transition to more sand dunes that gradually blend into lush green rolling hills. The ground beneath your feet shifting from loose sand to the eventual mud of the hills.
More kiwi footprints in the sand.
The daunting river crossing today. There was no mention of a detour leading to a footbridge or three wire bridge or swing bridge today. From atop a ridge we could see the river in the distance among the sand dunes on the beach below. It was massive. The widest I have ever had to contemplate crossing. Better yet, there is soft sand/quick sand on the river bed and along the banks. This could be interesting.
As we approached the water crossing, I could feel panic coming through me. Brent didn’t want to cross at the mouth of the river (where it meets the ocean) as it was a bit of a detour. I wasn’t keen at the vision in front of us, a river that spanned easily 15-20meters. So I did the logical thing, sent Brent out first. This was to see how deep the water became. The water was brown and it was hard to see the bottom, but it appeared to be shallow enough. And by shallow enough, I mean at least it was below our thighs. Oh, and I sent him out first cause he can swim. : )
The river crossing was well above our gaiters, so needless to say, once the water took over your boot, it was quite cold and wet. The chills slowly faded as our feet adjusted to the new boot environment (puddles in your boots) and the merino socks’ warming ability kicked in. Then came the quick sand. Slowly my boots started to sink as I took my time with each step, ensuring that I was following Brent’s original path (so I would know how deep the water was). That was scary. Brent didn’t seem to be having the same problem with the riverbed as I was. Then my feet started to get stuck in the sand beneath me as I tried to pick up the pace. We were told about this quick sand (not knowing we had to trudge through it) by the DOC staff prior to our NWC departure. They mentioned that it could sink you past your knee. If that could happen, that would put the river water level mid chest or higher – and create a mean challenge for escaping. I didn’t waste anymore time, almost running across the river to escape a sinking fate.
The still water behind us, I walked away with a souvenir. Squishy boots. Listening to the sound within my boots for the remainder of our hike, which wasn’t too long since the hut was within a half hour’s walk from the crossing. The pamphlet said 15minutes, but that was definitely a lie (and was confirmed by other hikers who also took 30minutes to get to the hut from the crossing).
We couldn’t get the fire hot enough to dry out our boots that night (it took several nights). Again, the GORTEX keeps the water out (yay!), but also keeps it in as well, taking forever to dry. We would hike for two more days with noticeably wet boots, which then lead to a gamut of foot problems.
We met a Bavarian in the hut at night – his name was David. We would spend two more nights with him.
I sat in the hut by the fire thinking about the day. About our most precious moment with our curious kiwi friend. Thinking about how gloomy it was after the rain started to go away, but how the showers probably made it easier to get bugs from the ground. This is probably why we were blessed with this wonderful encounter. I have a new love for this awkward and peculiar little bird. The experience only made me want to find more kiwis, understanding full well that we might not ever have a similar encounter again. But the prospect of seeing another kiwi is there. So precious.
As I watch the daylight falling behind the tree line I revel in the fact that it is so late in the day. The sky will still be bright for an hour yet. The longer hours of daylight are so important right now. When the clocks change back and we begin to approach fall, this could have a serious impact on our tramping choices. We will have to be more choosey when it comes to which tracks to hike. I don’t know how much longer I can do this for.
My spirit is broken. My body feels tired. This has several factors, with the heavy pack and such a long hike, and the terrain of the island (up and down), and the state of my body. I’m not even carrying food anymore. That’s a changeable weight, but I could no longer bear that extra load. As we started to eat food, and clear room in Brent’s pack, we were able to shift some of my contents to his bag. I was taking on all the pressure of not meeting the DOC times, which was self induced pressure, but I was beginning to be quite discouraged. Could this truly be the end of our hiking? I felt so broken. There was nothing I could do to change what happened to my back, but learn to embrace its new future. Simply imagining what that meant was so difficult. This back injury which seemed so simple at the beginning has slowed us down. Once the days start to lose hours of daylight, we will be close to hanging up our boots and succumbing to my new reality. This could spell the end of this trip that I’ve imagined for so long. And even now, we don’t know how bad it really is. The codeine has been almost a blessing, disguising the pain for the duration of the hike. But what effect will it have when I go back home.
The things that plague my mind during the day.
We’re half way there. Tonight is our sixth night on the trail.
End of day six: Our wonderful kiwi friend.
DAY SEVEN – Tuesday, December 9th – to Big Hellfire Hut
The most memorable finish line. A massive stretch of winding uphill and treacherous downhills, through the thickest mud patches you can imagine. No hope of skirting around the path. Succumbing to the mud. Becoming one with the mud. Your fate, your immediate reality.
I didn’t sleep well last night. It was quite a broken slumber. Brent was finding it difficult to sleep due to all of his sandfly bites. I coaxed him to try some ‘afterbite’ ointment in the middle of the night to help him fall asleep. His hands were so hot and swollen. We didn’t know if it was all from the sandfly bites or if there was a plant we were climbing through yesterday that also contributed to his hands’ fate. I spent my night waking up to Brent’s tossing on the mattress beside me, worried about him. I was also startled awake by loud screaming and intense crying in the middle of the night. The Bavarian was experiencing extreme night terrors. I have never been around anyone who has done this before in my life. Lying in my sleeping bag with my eyes open only to the darkness of night, I was terrified myself. What in the world was going on? It carried on for over 20 minutes. I couldn’t fall asleep again after that. The critters crawling around just outside the hut kept me company as I thought about the day. I wish I could have known what was nestling in the pile of branches just outside my window. I listened to our ‘car alarm’ bird once again (this one bird literally sounded like some sort of car alarm whistling out this song in the evening we spent at Long Harry Hut) as well as another bird that I believe might have been a kiwi bird. : ) Without knowing their actual sound, I have nothing to base my theories on.
Looks like an overcast day ahead, but a dry one. These are the memories that stood out the most on this seventh day.
Watching the waves rolling into each other. We were on the most beautiful beach today with rocky cliffs surrounding us. It was deserted and free of anyone’s footsteps outside of our own and the marks left by the birds. The water was so blue and the waves were just perfect. It felt so quiet. You could lull yourself to sleep with the sound of the waves if you let yourself. The tide would pick up from two different sides of a wave, and we watched as the tops would curl over and then slowly roll into each other as the wave would approach the shoreline. It was calming.
Listening to the sound our boots made while walking on the sand. Like running our boots over corrugated plastic (might be the best description). A distinct whooshing sound.
Walking along side washed up kelp and sea weed, watching the beach bugs hopping around the plant carcasses like they were pieces of popcorn popping ecstatically.
Just follow the track. How hard could that be? Thinking about what we would do if we truly got lost in the woods here on Stewart Island. The Canadian girl we met on our first night on Stewart Island told us about these big search and rescue stories from LSAR people in NZ. Some people really go astray while hiking the Stewart Island tracks and never seem to find their way back to the marked path. I can see how that is possible. Following a track is easy, but a lot of these sections are so overgrown that you would miss it if you blinked. And with the route markers sometimes being a little scarce, it becomes like a guessing game. Areas appear to have more then one track option. Those simple little orange triangles are as good as gold out here. That and a PLB. Something you could use if you were desperately lost and your life depended on it.
Brent burnt his finger on a branch last night while stoking the fire. It has left this branch whip scar on the side of his finger. A kiss was applied to ease the pain.
Remembering the frothy covered water crossings from the day. Hiking through some waterways and then shaking off foamy bubbles from your boots.
The long hauls uphill with the cool breeze welcoming us with great relief. I will never grow tired of expressing my gratefulness for these breezes. When you’re hiking with Gortex on, it’s a welcome relief to be blessed with a breeze that passes through the zipper openings below your arms and allows the wind to travel through your body. Ahhhhh!
Again with the mud. You try hiking in it for 10+ hours a day, then you will understand why you will read about it more then once in these entries. How does one describe Stewart Island mud? Several kilometer stretches presenting a mix of wet and sticky mud. Sometimes thick; other times slushy. Always waiting for its next victim. Like a trap, it entices its prey to take a leap of faith. Chameleon mud. Sometimes, you find spots where grass is growing on top. You don’t want to be deceived, but you are. Trusting that you will find a more solid step, you stretch out your leg, and plunge into the knee-deep pit. A mask pulled off to reveal its true identity. Tricky little thing. Trapped logs in the mud are also traps, enticing you to want to use them, but they are only surface logs and quickly buckle under your weight, sinking you into the sloshy mud once again. They aren’t always able to keep you afloat. Then you spend some time trying to skirt around the mud, successfully enjoying your ability until the ground beneath you gives way, sending you crashing into the mud.
That hike to Big Hellfire Hut was just that…hell. The final stretch was winding, undulating and mud. ALL mud on mud on mud. Stupid mud. I can’t even start to explain how evil this mud is. You reach a point where you really can’t take it anymore. You’re trudging through the mud (forget even trying to think about skirting it), desperate to make the hut, and then you face a 3-4 km stretch of winding, hilly mud piles. You lose all your strength and ability to walk through it, your legs become tired of digging themselves out of the thick mud traps. Your laces loosen under the strain of pulling out your boots. You spend an hour hiking through hell to reach Hellfire hut. How fitting. But thank goodness for gaiters. They save your boot heaps during mud hikes.
Our boots. Still very wet from the river crossing the day before. And this is where we start to run into issues with foot blisters.
The last little bit of the hike to the hut brought our mud covered selves (cause that stuff travels up and down your legs as you walk) onto what felt like random sand dunes (much higher altitude then the beach) momentarily before crossing back to the tree canopied muddy track once again. It is in this moment where we were blessed with the most incredible view of the center of the NW part of Stewart Island. That perfect moment where the sun was sitting at just the right place in the sky, not too long before sunset. This wonderful clearing pulled aside the curtains to this breathtaking island, allowing us a snapshot of the world we’ve been hiking around. Suddenly the last hour didn’t seem so bad. One of those moments that you wish you could live forever.
To the hut. A late arrival, so we decided to only eat and filter water. Dishes will have to wait until tomorrow morning.
DAY EIGHT – Wednesday, December 10th – to Mason’s Bay
I’ve never experienced insomnia before. When I’m at home, I don’t sleep much, but I can putter around and do other things late at night or work out early in the morning. So I’m never just sitting in a dark room bored. I’m finding that sleeping in the huts can be challenging sometimes. Once my body is done sleeping, it wakes up too much. I don’t think I had this much trouble sleeping when there were more hours of night at the beginning of our NZ adventures. No matter what the cause is, I can’t sleep through the nights for some reason. I wake up to a pitch black hut. Tonight, there were no nightly critters to keep me company. Silence. Luckily, our fellow bunk mate didn’t suffer from any night terrors to scare the crap out of me during his slumber.
Slowly but surely, the sun started to make an appearance, although slightly masked. The day is a bit overcast at the moment, but bright as. It could be a good day for hiking.
Yesterday was a long hiking day. We are preparing for another long day, as this hike is also supposed to take 7 hours (same as yesterday’s hike). Knowing full well that a seven hour hike in DOC time could easily translate into a 10-11 hour hike in Alison & Brent time, we have to prepare our minds for this task. Our bodies are super soar from the pack, the path, and the activity. Something that isn’t helping is the lack of drying action from our boots. Walking in wet socks (we decided to shed our dry socks for the soaked pair in order to preserve our dry socks – not enough plastic bags for our feet) and boots for 11 hours straight sucks. It really does a number on your feet in the comfort and odor departments. Drying and cracking. My feet have never looked so battered.
The memorable moments of today:
Once again, knee deep mud. Camouflaged underneath a grassy layer. Tricky. Embracing the suspension capabilities of the mud and jumping through puddles as I hop down a hillside.
The ridge we traversed that overlooked the inland part of the NW section of Stewart Island, little Hellfire beach and Mason’s Bay. Being able to see the finish line, even though we had only begun the hike for today. The ridge was so open and clear right up to the descent. It was an enjoyable part of the day.
Observing strange bugs in the forest. Listening to (and freezing for) kiwis rustling in the bush. The increased weight of our muddy gaiters. Soon after leaving the hut, enjoying the ever loose boots syndrome (due to the mud’s stickiness). Brent’s still swollen hands from the cluster of sandfly bites. We’re still not able to determine if the swelling is solely due to the bites or if stingy needles might be involved. Blisters on my hands caused by the way I hold my trecking poles. I put strain on the bottom of my thumbs and the outside of my hands. Strange blisters have been welling up to protect me.
Today, we had good cheese for our crackers and cheese lunch. Since arriving on Stewart Island and starting the NWC, it has become a hit or miss situation with our lunches. Home Brand has failed us. We have decided to no longer purchase their crackers and cheese snacks for our hiking lunches. Somewhere along the way, they have decided to change the formula to their cheese. The consistency is very strange now, and it is pretty much devoid of any taste. We are quite sad about this since we have grown to enjoy them so much (especially the smoky bacon flavour). For their size and taste, they were tops for our lunch options. We have now decided to switch to the “Le Snak” brand, which offers three round crackers and velvety cheeses. They are a bit dearer in terms of cost, but at least we’ll be eating the cheese again and getting the ever important protein we need midday.
Wondering why certain pockets of the forest are covered in a thick layer of black moss. Is it from salt spray? Is it a tree infection? You walk through different types of forests as you follow the track on this island; sometimes it becomes very dark when you are surrounded by the black moss trees. The moss stretches along the entire tree trunk and extends through the branches.
The walk along the ridge seemed so quick, but we were significantly slowed down once we started our initial descent. It took several hours to cross over the bush saddle separating the main ridge from the Mason’s Bay area. Once the trees started to clear, we finally got a glimpse of the rocky passage we had just climbed. This island is so incredibly diverse and beautiful. Breathtaking. Every turn opens a new world, providing us with beautiful new scenery, colours, textures and sounds.
Mason’s bay was a long hike. The beach’s landscape fluctuated between sand and rock. At the beginning, it felt like the rocky beach was never going to end. The rocks weren’t big enough to hop from one the other. They were, however, small enough to teeter with every step you took, creating a big challenge for two tired trampers. Mind you, the break from the mud was nice.
Being close to the ocean was a nice change as well. This circuit has provided a good balance between bush walking and beach hiking. Listening to the waves crashing next to our feet as we negotiate the rocky shoreline. Taking note of the sound the water makes on the rocks as it pulls away, rolling back into the ocean once again. The sound reminds me of some of my favourite fireworks. The white ones that explode with the most brilliant glistening display, followed by the tails that start to shoot off in opposite directions making a sort of ‘screaming’ sound. The screamers. I could hear them popping in the sky as I listened to the water slowly scraping across the rocks.
Observing the sand layers that are ever present beside us. Sandy cliffs tower over the beach, displaying the most prominent layering system. The colours shifting from white to various shades of brown.
Walking through the seashell graveyards. Areas on the beach with thousands of marooned seashells all in one location, all empty. The mass graveyards spanning large areas of land that are impossible to walk around. Remembering the glassy sound that the shells make when you walk on them, slowly breaking their outsides, the material collapsing into their hollow centers.
Knowing how fortunate we are to still be without any major ankle or foot injury. It is so easy to injure yourself on this track. Not only due to the slippery mud, but also due to the slippery roots as well. It’s quite easy to lose your footing and slip down an embankment. Along the rocky beaches the danger is ever present. I think about it as I’m walking it. Brent and I roll our ankles quite a lot back home, and are so lucky that our boots are protecting us so much. We have the occasional semi-ankle roll, with no major outcome. Yesterday was quite an injury packed day. I semi-rolled my left foot (it was tender for the day), my right knee blew out, my back was acting up and Brent semi-rolled his left ankle and has been having problems with his knees as well. Despite our minor body annoyances, we’ve been without any major setbacks. We hike through some pain, but manage it with a day’s hike’s payoff – the view! Without our boots, our ankles would probably be wrecked though, and we acknowledge that.
Pointing out all the kiwi footprints we can find in the sand, trying to assess how long ago they were placed there. I’ve never sought out an animal so much in my life. It was a goal on this circuit to find just one. After spending some time watching the marvelous creature hopping around, you want to watch them more. They are so peculiar and interesting to observe. Back home, I usually hike hoping and praying that I don’t run into the wrong type of wildlife on the trail. Bears might be cute at a zoo, but 10 feet ahead of you is not what I would call an ideal situation in a bush setting. Kiwis…they are a challenge to spot and so wonderful. Mind you, I still don’t know if he would have dug his beak into my boot or not that one time. My fascination with them is growing, and I hope we do have an opportunity to see them in the wild outside of this island. They are much more scarce and harder to find throughout the rest of the country, but they are out there.
As the sand dunes roll into lush green hills once again, we find ourselves hopping across a river before our final stretch to the hut. Through the sand dunes, we follow kiwi footprints to our destination. We traveled with the river to our left the entire time, and we were waiting for it to branch off so that we could turn towards the hut. Funny enough, it never did, and the track crossed the river once again. This time it was really deep and there was no DOC bridge to aid the crossing. We couldn’t figure out why we had to cross the river initially to only have to cross it once again at a dangerous depth. It was probably almost over my head. It wasn’t moving very fast at all, but the depth alone didn’t encourage me to jump right in. We had crossed the river at the mouth where it meets the ocean, enabling us to have the shallowest option. Thank goodness someone took a plank of wood and tossed it across the waterway. It was definitely someone who independently decided to create a footpath, since it barely fit and wasn’t anchored in any way. We hobbled across to the other side, thankful and DRY!
We hiked through a massive corridor of canopy trees, which would be ideal for kiwi spotting. This area is a hot spot for kiwi experiences, and when you walk through it, you can see why. There is a large population of kiwis around here and a lot of good canopy for them to feed under. The darker canopies allow hikers to see the kiwis during the day, as it creates a good shade for them to hunt for bugs. It saddens me to read in the hut books about some people hiking the NWC who don’t ever spot a kiwi. They might hear them at night, but seeing them in the day is ideal. A lot of people come to Mason’s Bay (via plane) and do night time hikes to spot kiwis. However, you’re not really going to see them much, as they would scurry the moment you blast them with a torch (which you’re not supposed to do anyway). They might run circles around you though. They are fun little creatures.
The hut was busy. When we arrived, we circled the hut looking for the outside tap, as we were being observed by other trampers sitting in the kitchen area. A gentleman from one group popped open the window overlooking the outdoor sink to let us know that there was plenty of room in the bunks. We thought that was nice, he was concerned that we were going to skip the hut perhaps because it looked full. We were just looking to get cleaned up.
We unpacked our bags in the bunk rooms after dusting off the sandiest mattresses we have ever encountered. What in the world do people do with these mats? Sleep on them or sand surf? We packed plenty of snacks, dinner and our water filtration equipment and sink, and hobbled our way back into the kitchen area (separate room) to feed our hungry bodies.
Our poor feet. Today was a day for blistering. We started the day with dry socks and liners, but damp boots. They are starting to dry out, but we still had one more day with a bit of moisture (this is drying them alongside a solid fire last night as well). After walking in wet boots and socks the day before (thus, wet feet), our feet became super dry and sensitive today. We had a 10.5 hour hike yesterday (only 3.5 hours longer then expected), and then another 11 hours today (4 hours longer then expected). Our feet are now throbbing as we hobble around on the outside step of our feet and our heels. The underside of both my big toes were inflamed and in need of some repair. Time to pull out the first aid kit and start building up some protection.
In the kitchen area, we barely said a word, even to each other. We were exhausted. We simply followed our routine and looked through the hut book and studied the map for tomorrow’s hike. We met up with David once again, who decided to hike with another German gentleman and take the jet boat out the next day. He was running out of food; probably a wise choice to bail out now.
The night time hikes to the long drop toilet proved to be exciting. You walk alone down this long path to an isolated toilet. Famous horror movie scenes play through your head as you make your way further from the comfort of the crowded hut. At night, all the animals come out to play. You walk along and a rustling bush grabs your attention as an unseen animal scurries away. Could be a skink, a cat, a kiwi, or a possum. Could be anything really. No matter what, that rustle in the dark is startling.
Two long hiking days has certainly done a number on our bodies, but we won’t have a rest day until we arrive at Freshwater Landing hut. Tomorrow should be easy. A lot of people who actually come to Mason’s Bay to do kiwi spotting fly onto the beach and only hike in a few minutes to the hut. They spend one or two nights at Mason’s Bay hut, after which they hike to Freshwater Landing Hut (a flat terrain that is almost entirely boardwalked) where they meet a jet boat who will take them back to Oban. That or they boat in to FWL hut and do the easy 3-4 hour hike to Mason’s bay, then hike back out to meet the boat once again.
Pshhh. That’s taking the easy way out.
Tomorrow’s hike sounds like it will be a real treat. How can you go wrong with a three hour hike through flat terrain?
Once again, knee deep mud. Camouflaged underneath a grassy layer. Tricky. Embracing the suspension capabilities of the mud and jumping through puddles as I hop down a hillside.
The ridge we traversed that overlooked the inland part of the NW section of Stewart Island, little Hellfire beach and Mason’s Bay. Being able to see the finish line, even though we had only begun the hike for today. The ridge was so open and clear right up to the descent. It was an enjoyable part of the day.
Observing strange bugs in the forest. Listening to (and freezing for) kiwis rustling in the bush. The increased weight of our muddy gaiters. Soon after leaving the hut, enjoying the ever loose boots syndrome (due to the mud’s stickiness). Brent’s still swollen hands from the cluster of sandfly bites. We’re still not able to determine if the swelling is solely due to the bites or if stingy needles might be involved. Blisters on my hands caused by the way I hold my trecking poles. I put strain on the bottom of my thumbs and the outside of my hands. Strange blisters have been welling up to protect me.
Today, we had good cheese for our crackers and cheese lunch. Since arriving on Stewart Island and starting the NWC, it has become a hit or miss situation with our lunches. Home Brand has failed us. We have decided to no longer purchase their crackers and cheese snacks for our hiking lunches. Somewhere along the way, they have decided to change the formula to their cheese. The consistency is very strange now, and it is pretty much devoid of any taste. We are quite sad about this since we have grown to enjoy them so much (especially the smoky bacon flavour). For their size and taste, they were tops for our lunch options. We have now decided to switch to the “Le Snak” brand, which offers three round crackers and velvety cheeses. They are a bit dearer in terms of cost, but at least we’ll be eating the cheese again and getting the ever important protein we need midday.
Wondering why certain pockets of the forest are covered in a thick layer of black moss. Is it from salt spray? Is it a tree infection? You walk through different types of forests as you follow the track on this island; sometimes it becomes very dark when you are surrounded by the black moss trees. The moss stretches along the entire tree trunk and extends through the branches.
The walk along the ridge seemed so quick, but we were significantly slowed down once we started our initial descent. It took several hours to cross over the bush saddle separating the main ridge from the Mason’s Bay area. Once the trees started to clear, we finally got a glimpse of the rocky passage we had just climbed. This island is so incredibly diverse and beautiful. Breathtaking. Every turn opens a new world, providing us with beautiful new scenery, colours, textures and sounds.
Mason’s bay was a long hike. The beach’s landscape fluctuated between sand and rock. At the beginning, it felt like the rocky beach was never going to end. The rocks weren’t big enough to hop from one the other. They were, however, small enough to teeter with every step you took, creating a big challenge for two tired trampers. Mind you, the break from the mud was nice.
Being close to the ocean was a nice change as well. This circuit has provided a good balance between bush walking and beach hiking. Listening to the waves crashing next to our feet as we negotiate the rocky shoreline. Taking note of the sound the water makes on the rocks as it pulls away, rolling back into the ocean once again. The sound reminds me of some of my favourite fireworks. The white ones that explode with the most brilliant glistening display, followed by the tails that start to shoot off in opposite directions making a sort of ‘screaming’ sound. The screamers. I could hear them popping in the sky as I listened to the water slowly scraping across the rocks.
Observing the sand layers that are ever present beside us. Sandy cliffs tower over the beach, displaying the most prominent layering system. The colours shifting from white to various shades of brown.
Walking through the seashell graveyards. Areas on the beach with thousands of marooned seashells all in one location, all empty. The mass graveyards spanning large areas of land that are impossible to walk around. Remembering the glassy sound that the shells make when you walk on them, slowly breaking their outsides, the material collapsing into their hollow centers.
Knowing how fortunate we are to still be without any major ankle or foot injury. It is so easy to injure yourself on this track. Not only due to the slippery mud, but also due to the slippery roots as well. It’s quite easy to lose your footing and slip down an embankment. Along the rocky beaches the danger is ever present. I think about it as I’m walking it. Brent and I roll our ankles quite a lot back home, and are so lucky that our boots are protecting us so much. We have the occasional semi-ankle roll, with no major outcome. Yesterday was quite an injury packed day. I semi-rolled my left foot (it was tender for the day), my right knee blew out, my back was acting up and Brent semi-rolled his left ankle and has been having problems with his knees as well. Despite our minor body annoyances, we’ve been without any major setbacks. We hike through some pain, but manage it with a day’s hike’s payoff – the view! Without our boots, our ankles would probably be wrecked though, and we acknowledge that.
Pointing out all the kiwi footprints we can find in the sand, trying to assess how long ago they were placed there. I’ve never sought out an animal so much in my life. It was a goal on this circuit to find just one. After spending some time watching the marvelous creature hopping around, you want to watch them more. They are so peculiar and interesting to observe. Back home, I usually hike hoping and praying that I don’t run into the wrong type of wildlife on the trail. Bears might be cute at a zoo, but 10 feet ahead of you is not what I would call an ideal situation in a bush setting. Kiwis…they are a challenge to spot and so wonderful. Mind you, I still don’t know if he would have dug his beak into my boot or not that one time. My fascination with them is growing, and I hope we do have an opportunity to see them in the wild outside of this island. They are much more scarce and harder to find throughout the rest of the country, but they are out there.
As the sand dunes roll into lush green hills once again, we find ourselves hopping across a river before our final stretch to the hut. Through the sand dunes, we follow kiwi footprints to our destination. We traveled with the river to our left the entire time, and we were waiting for it to branch off so that we could turn towards the hut. Funny enough, it never did, and the track crossed the river once again. This time it was really deep and there was no DOC bridge to aid the crossing. We couldn’t figure out why we had to cross the river initially to only have to cross it once again at a dangerous depth. It was probably almost over my head. It wasn’t moving very fast at all, but the depth alone didn’t encourage me to jump right in. We had crossed the river at the mouth where it meets the ocean, enabling us to have the shallowest option. Thank goodness someone took a plank of wood and tossed it across the waterway. It was definitely someone who independently decided to create a footpath, since it barely fit and wasn’t anchored in any way. We hobbled across to the other side, thankful and DRY!
We hiked through a massive corridor of canopy trees, which would be ideal for kiwi spotting. This area is a hot spot for kiwi experiences, and when you walk through it, you can see why. There is a large population of kiwis around here and a lot of good canopy for them to feed under. The darker canopies allow hikers to see the kiwis during the day, as it creates a good shade for them to hunt for bugs. It saddens me to read in the hut books about some people hiking the NWC who don’t ever spot a kiwi. They might hear them at night, but seeing them in the day is ideal. A lot of people come to Mason’s Bay (via plane) and do night time hikes to spot kiwis. However, you’re not really going to see them much, as they would scurry the moment you blast them with a torch (which you’re not supposed to do anyway). They might run circles around you though. They are fun little creatures.
The hut was busy. When we arrived, we circled the hut looking for the outside tap, as we were being observed by other trampers sitting in the kitchen area. A gentleman from one group popped open the window overlooking the outdoor sink to let us know that there was plenty of room in the bunks. We thought that was nice, he was concerned that we were going to skip the hut perhaps because it looked full. We were just looking to get cleaned up.
We unpacked our bags in the bunk rooms after dusting off the sandiest mattresses we have ever encountered. What in the world do people do with these mats? Sleep on them or sand surf? We packed plenty of snacks, dinner and our water filtration equipment and sink, and hobbled our way back into the kitchen area (separate room) to feed our hungry bodies.
Our poor feet. Today was a day for blistering. We started the day with dry socks and liners, but damp boots. They are starting to dry out, but we still had one more day with a bit of moisture (this is drying them alongside a solid fire last night as well). After walking in wet boots and socks the day before (thus, wet feet), our feet became super dry and sensitive today. We had a 10.5 hour hike yesterday (only 3.5 hours longer then expected), and then another 11 hours today (4 hours longer then expected). Our feet are now throbbing as we hobble around on the outside step of our feet and our heels. The underside of both my big toes were inflamed and in need of some repair. Time to pull out the first aid kit and start building up some protection.
In the kitchen area, we barely said a word, even to each other. We were exhausted. We simply followed our routine and looked through the hut book and studied the map for tomorrow’s hike. We met up with David once again, who decided to hike with another German gentleman and take the jet boat out the next day. He was running out of food; probably a wise choice to bail out now.
The night time hikes to the long drop toilet proved to be exciting. You walk alone down this long path to an isolated toilet. Famous horror movie scenes play through your head as you make your way further from the comfort of the crowded hut. At night, all the animals come out to play. You walk along and a rustling bush grabs your attention as an unseen animal scurries away. Could be a skink, a cat, a kiwi, or a possum. Could be anything really. No matter what, that rustle in the dark is startling.
Two long hiking days has certainly done a number on our bodies, but we won’t have a rest day until we arrive at Freshwater Landing hut. Tomorrow should be easy. A lot of people who actually come to Mason’s Bay to do kiwi spotting fly onto the beach and only hike in a few minutes to the hut. They spend one or two nights at Mason’s Bay hut, after which they hike to Freshwater Landing Hut (a flat terrain that is almost entirely boardwalked) where they meet a jet boat who will take them back to Oban. That or they boat in to FWL hut and do the easy 3-4 hour hike to Mason’s bay, then hike back out to meet the boat once again.
Pshhh. That’s taking the easy way out.
Tomorrow’s hike sounds like it will be a real treat. How can you go wrong with a three hour hike through flat terrain?
- TO BE CONTINUED -
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