one year ago today...

...New Zealand was an open book of adventures and new possibilities. A year long trip that had only just begun by the mere fact that we had stepped onto that first plane.

Maybe that's why I've had this strange hurt inside today. A deep longing.

I have been so busy living in a very un-adjusted situation for the past month and a half, planning and preparing myself for what is to come. New job. New apartment (the hunt for which took longer then expected). Starting up my NPO. Re-visiting the life I left behind a year ago. Simply trying to catch up and then keep up.

I haven't had the time to really sit and think about the trip. I have found myself feeling as though the trip never happened - an entire year felt like a dream.

Until today. And now I have this feeling inside my gut that seems so hollow and sad. I looked at a familiar photograph, and my heart sank...wishing I was there, in the heart of that beautiful landscape, surrounded by mountains all around me.

I miss being there.

But it's because of how wonderful the country was. How beautiful and perfect the hiking was. The adventures and the memories. The people we met along the way. The new friends and family we made.


New Zealand is but a dream. A dream I very much miss.

A change of season

In 14 hours we embark on a Cathay Pacific plane destined for Hong Kong.

That means we have a 4.30am date with the 24hr international airport of Auckland.


We leave behind New Zealand.

A dream I have had for over a decade.

A country thoroughly travelled. A back country greatly enjoyed.

When I see a picture of the south island mountain chains, my heart still leaps. Clearly my tramping days are not over. I long to be back in the huts at night admiring the remarkable landscapes of untouched beauty under a clear night's sky filled with the southern hemisphere's constellations. Sparkling. Quiet. The night belongs to the Rurus who call out to one another.

This trip was amazing.

There was so much that we wanted to say before leaving Auckland, but time quickly escaped us as we hastely planned the next stages of our trip. So, it will have to wait until we get home.

Hong Kong.

A polar opposite world both in population and pace. Vibrant colours, created more so by the culture and the neon lights doning chinese characters along the building sides. The beautiful bustling world of Hong Kong.


To have the opportunity to travel throughout the world is a wonderful gift. The world was created for us to discover. We are so blessed to have been able to spend such a dedicated amount of time exploring New Zealand.

This trip is only the beginning of a lifetime of discovery.


Kia Ora New Zealand. It's been fun.

That was fun

Nine days from now, we embark on a new adventure. Hong Kong. Which is an entirely different adventure from the hiking in New Zealand.

Unfortunately, for those who actually do follow this blog, I'm about five months behind in blogging. That's due to a lack of a laptop or internet access at a steady interval. That's where my wonderful journal steps in and captures parts of my thoughts. When we return, that's when I'll actually have time to recap our hiking adventures in New Zealand from January to the end. It was amazing, and if I was asked to say only one thing about New Zealand, it would be how fantastic their hiking is. The system put into place by the DOC is superb and something I wish we had back home in Canada.

A bonus about being at home while blogging will be that I can actually post pictures at the same time! :)


Anyway. So we're in Auckland now. Completely unplanned. We should actually be enjoying life on a beautiful sheep farm in the Waikato district. Unfortunately, on the way out of Rotorua yesterday, Sgt. McClaughwd had a heart attack. I guess that might be the best way to put it for a car. On the busiest street through Rotorua, right smack dab in the fast lane in the middle of traffic.

Kaput.

Since we were blocking traffic when we placed the AA call, it was marked as an urgent callout. Luckily, a kind gentleman pulled over to help us push the car out of the way. The side of the road...where we spent almost six hours that day.

The first AA representative was a mechanic who was sent out to assess the situation.

Two words we didn't want to ever hear again.

CAM BELT

You've got to be joking me. It felt like we were about to relive the entire Owaka garage experience all over again. Our cam belt had seized.

Having bought the 'extension' package with AA (we have AA plus), we were allowed a few key perks. One of which being that we could be towed anywhere in NZ as long as it wasn't further then towing it to your home address in NZ. Our home address in NZ is in New Plymouth, which was 299km from our breakdown. The car's medical condition meant that plans were changing, so we requested to be towed to Auckland to deal with the car and I guess just get ready to fly home. Auckland = 235kms away. Bingo!

Despite AA trying to save themselves some money by trying to talk us out of our plans, we were allowed our long distance tow, as stated in our agreement.

And so began our long wait for the tow truck driver to arrive from Auckland. This gave us the perfect opportunity to clean out the car and sort ourselves out. But then came the biggest decision we would have to face...the decision to save Sgt. McClaughwd or to let him go.

So close to the end of the trip. Is he worth saving at this point? A solid little car with, albeit surprisingly, a lot of life left in him. But is he worth the cost to us?

Decisions we had to discuss once we arrived in the city.

Feeling closer to home then ever before, we sit and ponder the current situation and the changes we are now facing.


Sadly, this setback means no more farms, and no more sheepies.

My heart is broken.

Minute hiccup

Lack of internet access.

The result: A slight delay in stories on our blog.

We've had a very busy month tramping up the West Coast of the South Island, and are currently basing ourselves out of Nelson for our last bit of tramping in the south island and some freedom kayaking. Also, we're excitedly awaiting a reunion with our friend Anton from back home, who has been in Australia for a month and now NZ for the last week. A taste of home.

Hope everyone who reads this blog is enjoying winter in the northern hemisphere or summer in the southern hemisphere, wherever you may be.

We'll be back, as soon as we can, with tales of river trudging, getting lost on a hike in Arthur's Pass, risking our lives on old cableways, climbing up waterfalls unwillingly, being trapped at a hut due to heavy rain and flooded rivers, and even more brushes with rat infestation.

The joys of travelling.

Loving every minute of it, but feeling the pangs of seperation as we start to leave the Alps behind. *sigh*

Who knows what lies ahead. Seeing how our trip is going so far, I'm sure there are many more adventures to come.

We just wouldn't have it any other way. :)

Sweet Home Otekura!

I remember the second time. It was only two days since the last incident.

I was standing by the window folding laundry when Gordon ran through the living room to open the back door. He had heard sirens once again. With the back door open wide we could hear the vehicles approaching, their sirens ringing over the hills. We stood there silently trying to piece together where the emergency vehicles were traveling from.

Something felt different this time.

Two days ago, a fleet of emergency vehicles had been down this quiet gravel road. Traveling almost independent from one another, and possibly from three different township areas, three fire engines, three ambulances and three police cars all made their way down the gravel road to turn just before the McLay farm at the Cannibal Bay road turn off.

Gordon and Reuben took the quad bike to investigate the situation which would bring these emergency personnel along their paddocks. The kids were noticeably alert from all the excitement. This never happens out here. Coming from a metropolitan city, you tend to forget what it’s like without a siren echoing through the skies every 10-15 minutes. My curiosity is always peaked when I hear a siren or pull over for an emergency services vehicle, but I usually spend my time praying that no one is severely injured or dead. You almost forget that it’s happening all around you all the time in a place like Toronto. In the farm country, a land owner may be the first to respond to an accident scene. Most emergency response teams are volunteers in the country, so it takes time to respond to any situation.

Out here, in the quiet hills of Otekura, you notice something like a fleet of emergency vehicles.

Two days ago, it was a van rollover. A 12 seater van had slipped off the gravel road and began to roll down a very steep embankment. Luckily, a tree stopped their plummet, and they only rolled onto their roof. It was a van carrying elderly people who were out on a day trip in the area. Thankfully, nobody was seriously injured. All passengers were rescued from the vehicle and checked at a nearby hospital before being released.

But their fate could have been much worse. The hillside they were about to plummet down is steep and very deep. The original call to the volunteer emergency personnel was that people were trapped in the vehicle. This lead to the deployment of two helicopters from the Dunedin hospital, fearing the worst. They were eventually turned back when the situation was reassessed and there was confirmation of no serious injuries or deaths.

There was a hustle and bustle in the air. You wanted to see it due to curiosity, but you didn’t want to interfere nor be disrespectful to those directly affected.

The second time was different. The sirens came and everyone was a little more sullen this time around. This time the car accident was further down the road, closer to the beach. This time a tree did not stop the single vehicle from rolling down the hill. This time, the driver (sole occupant) passed away from his injuries.

The road would be closed off for a good part of the day.

These narrow, windy, gravel roads. Roads with only 1 ½ lanes, barely wide enough for two vehicles. Roads traveled on by large transport trucks (stock trucks especially), inexperienced camper van drivers, tourists, young drivers who think they are invincible, and locals. A deadly mix, especially when you see some sections of these roads. Speed, inexperience, tiredness, apathy, the roads. I’m surprised I haven’t heard of more accidents since arriving in NZ.

Watching the fire engines with their lights flashing, traveling down the gravel road, kicking up the dust behind them. A moment that is embedded in my mind.


Everything Happens for a Reason

When I was four, I wanted to live on a farm. To be precise, I wanted to live in a barn. I remember this book my parents bought me for my fourth birthday. I think it was called “I Am Four”. It’s about this little girl and it follows her as she says all the things she can do now that she’s four. At one point, she is sitting on a big comfy chair and it says underneath “Now, let’s talk about farms.”(or something to the thought). I remember my mother telling me that it was one of the reasons they had bought me the book. Growing up on the Earlton Airport, I had a lot of friends who lived on farms. The stories they would tell me would build the basis of my farm fascination. Then there was this barren land on the other side of the road from the airport and it had a run down barn on it. I don’t know where the owner of the property was, but I remember being told that there were bear traps all over the property, so I was scared of ever hopping the fence to explore. So I stood, on the other side of the fence dreaming and wondering about what life would be like if I lived on a farm.

Then I came to New Zealand, and following a series of events, Brent and I found FHINZ, which led us to the McLay family, who we then left, and through a stalled series of new events found us traveling back to the McLays – for a quick hello, which turned into a month long farming adventure.

I might never have moved into that one barn that I dreamt of during my childhood, but I was blessed with an incredible farm experience that changes every day.


It’s been almost a month since our return to the farm. Detained by car troubles, we’ve been blessed with every moment shared with this family. We sincerely love this family and are so grateful for their generosity and hospitality.

How do you capture every laugh, every inside joke, every dinner table conversation, every game of “I Spy”, every time we are spoken to in “Canadian”, every tear, every morning story read, every evening Milo, every towel whipping adventure – which always ends in injury, every sheep symphony, every piece of lolly cake, every special moment. You can’t. Not with pictures, not in blogs. And we can’t remember every moment while we sit here thinking back on the last month of our lives. The stories will come out when different adventures spark the memories. Forever embedded in our thoughts will be this family and everything that we’ve shared.


Where do we begin?


Being back on the farm. That has been mint.

Sudoku competitions. Especially the one time where three of us got car sick while solving a Sudoku puzzle while en route to Milton for a meeting. I will miss the younger ones learning to play and how they always wanted to help with the five star puzzles (the hardest ones in the Otago Daily Times). I’ll miss Reuben, Brent and myself helping each other out, or messing each other up trying to solve those uncrackable 4 & 5 star challenges.

The hand slapping game – I have never lost so quickly at a game in my life. Every joke the kids would come up with. Reuben’s camp antics brought home. Chinese whispers. Our elaborate games of charades, some of which were videotaped. Pictionary. Monopoly Junior. NZ Monopoly. Cadoo – especially those combo cards.

I still love the lambs more then anything. Now with a greater affinity to those lambs going through puberty, meh’ng with their raspy changing voices. I just want to hug them. Or Lambchop, one of the 7 pet lambs remaining in the small paddock, and one of the pet lambs that was brought to the hay shed on our first trip to the farm. Soon enough, half of them will end up at the Freezing Works, which is a part of raising lambs. Just listening to them calling out for milk and attention in the mornings. Yup, never going to get over loving the lambies.

Working with the sheep and lambs in the sheep shed. Brent had an experience at the killing shed. He also had an opportunity to drench some lambs (you have a pink medicine-like mixture strapped to your back a-la-ghostbuster, and you feed a tube into their mouths and squirt out an exact measurement of the medicine to keep the lambies healthy). Dagging sheep (which is a nice way of saying shearing off the poo from their bums – this is done before they are shorn). Using sheep shakers to round up the flock into the pens. Watching the drafting of the animals.

Working on the farm and around the front section of the house. Pulling nails out of the boards, cleaning the spouting, gardening, and picking red currants and gooseberries.

If people think that farming is inhumane, they have never met Mr. McLay. Watching him work with his cows, calves, sheep and lambs is a wonderful experience. He genuinely cares about the welfare of these animals and gives them greater attention when he works with them, then I see a lot of people give to other human beings they work with. He is passionate about his work, and it’s a real pleasure to what him do his work. I love hearing him speak to the stock, calling the animals ‘mother’. We spent an evening trying to shift a cow that had been in labour for an extended period of time. We walked it all the way down a gravel road with a dead calf hanging out of her backside. He had to bring her to the cow yards to assist her in extracting the calf. We couldn’t save the baby, but could save the mother. Watching him work with her and try to calm her was wonderful.

Sitting on the back of the quad bike, looking through the shepherd’s crook attached to the front of the bike, I sit and think about how things used to be in the land of Israel with the shepherds working in the fields and living amongst their flocks. The art of shepherding is almost lost in the modern world. Almost all but forgotten.

The animals.

Shadow tag on the beach at Cannibal Bay.

Eating outside in the summer months.

Attending the Conference in Green Island on the 1st of January. The MAF meeting in Milton.

The smell of ammonia under the wool shed. On the first morning of shearing that Brent and I were on the farm, Isabel and I were underneath the wool shed chasing out the sheep that were placed in this area overnight. You basically had to walk around like a crab as it was only tall enough for a sheep to stand beneath, and crawling on your hands and knees would mean slushing through a whole lot of fresh sheep droppings. So we slowly got them out. Slowly. Man, the fumes down below were my first experience with what I would call “strong sheep odor”. I can’t describe it, except that it was so potent, I felt like I couldn’t escape the smell from my nose for at least an hour.

The two days we helped with shearing. On the first day, Brent was in the sheep yards penning up with Reuben, while I was in the wool shed working as a rousy in training, along with Isabel and Esther. The rousy’s job is to sort out of the wool after the sheep has been shorn. I stood alongside one of the two rousys and followed her instructions as much as possible, as well as her actions, pulling the wool out from under the sheep at specific times for the one shearer I worked below. It was a pretty neat experience. Separating the wool, hoping you’re doing it properly, and then sweeping off the platform with a flat plastic brush. Then comes the part where you carry the blanket of wool (that has been shorn off the sheep) to the wool press area and you become covered in the sheep’s oil. Yum. When I looked down at my shirt and arms, I felt like I was experiencing something similar to being tarred and feathered. Sheep oil, followed by wool fibers, followed by more sheep oil, then more wool fibers. You became a white wooly human. Funny.

The shearers are a part of a shearing gang. It’s just what they are called. It’s the group that travels together and work at the different farms. There are ‘x’ number of shearers and ‘x’ number of rousys and sometimes a wool presser (I think). After the second day of shearing, where I spent my time on the farm penning up the sheep, we decided we would form a penning up gang. Brent, Reuben, Isabel, Josiah and I were working in the back shooing the sheep and lambs into the pens and counting down the numbers as the shearers worked away. It was the ‘behind the scenes’ of shearing. Another unique experience.

I’ll tell you something you’ll never forget. What it feels like to have a sheep or a lamb stomp on your foot when you try to shift them into the race or a different pen. The pain rippling through your gumboot. We found some pretty interesting bruises on our bodies following the drafting and shearing days. Then there are moments like when Susan banged a sheep shaker on the back of a lamb and the lamb got its revenge. It bucked against her foot before moving away.

When the lambs start bucking as they hop towards freedom. When you open up a gate and let a mob go, it’s almost like watching a series of victory mid air kicks. So strange. I still don’t know why they do that.

The red fleet shifting a herd of cattle. Brent and I were returning from Balclutha when we came over one of the last hills before the McLay farm and found ourselves facing stock on the road. From the side road, out popped Mr. McLay on his red quad bike and Reuben on his red dirt bike. Then there was us in our red Sgt. McClaughwd. Three in a row, we slowly moved along behind the stock as they made their way to a new paddock to feed. A red army marching behind the animals. It was perfect timing, and amusing.

Making my first Christmas turkey with Susan & Isabel just after five in the morning. The screams we squealed when washing out the turkey with water and taking out the innards of the dead bird. My first time handling raw meat without gloves on. Yuck. But we survived. Trying to figure out temperature conversions after finding out that the NZ ovens are set in Celsius, and realizing that we cook in Fahrenheit back home in Canada. Stuffing the turkey. Ms. McLay saving the turkey from being dried out.

Eating the turkey. : )

Brent learning to drive the quad bike. We were on the farm alone one afternoon trying to get some stuff done around the front section of the house for the family. Mr. McLay gave Brent a lesson before they left for a church picnic. When we were alone, we loaded the trailer and then Brent would drive us to our drop off location to offload everything. It felt like we were farmers when we would ride around the paddock just beside the wool shed. Mind you we would be farmers who might not run a very successful farm. We were passing off an appearance today, but don’t really know what we are doing. If we actually owned a farm, Brent and I could share the work load, but I’d probably just end up petting lambs all day while Brent would be out enjoying his newfound interest in motorized farm vehicles. But we’d both be smiling.

Camping out in the tents. Every night for a wee while a few of the younger ones would hop out in the evening to sleep in the tents. They wouldn’t all last through the night. It all depended on who was outside with them. One night I slept in the grey tent with Susan, while Isabel and Naomi slept in the orange tent right beside us. Ladies giggling and enjoying the outdoors. Susan, not letting me live down an early slumber. The rubber ducky. The two girls who slept in the orange tent, whose walls do not connect with the ground sheet; Harold the cat crawling into their tent at night.

The Christmas Play – The Son of God rode on my back. The behind the scenes preparations. The arts & crafts. The rehearsals. The wardrobe. The special effects and sound effects. The curtain call. The fun. Little donkey. The laughs. The bows.

Christmas in New Zealand. What a blessing it was to be with a family and experience a true NZ Christmas. We met so many people on the McLay family tree. Christmas dinner (lunch) was a wonderful feast! Followed by a Christmas barbecue for tea with more family. A Rugby game (what else could you ask for?). A play featuring the McLay kids and foreigners (us). A game of NZ Monopoly. We’re so kiwi! But simply sitting outside for an evening barbecue on Christmas day, knowing that back home there were reports of “Stormegeddon”. Calling home and finding out about my brother’s adventures in trying to make it home for Christmas. Looking over grassy hills and remembering what would be waiting for us back home during the winter months.

A green Christmas. Very strange. You really do miss the snow. But we wouldn’t have asked for a better Christmas away from home. Being around six children on Christmas morning, it was so wonderful to be around such excitement!

The two Christmas trees that Mr. McLay brought home on Christmas Eve. The decorations the kids had painted to decorate the tree with. Snowmen decorations, in a land with no Christmas snow. We loved that!

Hearing that the NZ Public Health department has sent a questionnaire back home to Canada for us to complete regarding our Cryptosporidium episode. Oh well. Can’t do much about that now until we get home.

Our car breaking down 5 minutes from the house, while we were on the way to the Owaka museum with Esther, Naomi and Josiah. Meeting the Leslie family while we waited to hear back from AA about our callout. Inadvertently, spending the afternoon with the Leslie family – which was so much fun.

Running into serious problems with a garage in the area that did heaps of unauthorized work on our car. Paying off a bill that was double the price of the car, even though it was a “cheap and quick fix”. In the end spending close to $1500 to fix a $500 car. It’s just as expensive to be sick in this country when you’re a foreigner as well!!

Car troubles and the people we met through the ordeal. Thanks to Gordon and Coralie who were able to point us to the right people. Paul Goatley. Balclutha motors. People who listened and treated us like customers.

Failing our WOF. Just the timing of it was all wrong – during the holiday, everyone in New Zealand shuts down. We were at a stand still for a good amount of time. Luckily, Paul knows people – so he had the ability to truly help us out and get our car up to standard to pass the WOF.

Finally passing the WOF. Our dear car is good to go until the 7th of July. So, he’ll be WOF ready for selling at the end of June. Doing a servicing and NOT hearing about any further repairs required. Phew.

The puppies at the Goatley house!!! We spent a few hours at Paul’s house, even having lunch with his family, while he worked out the kinks in our car. Their puppy Teka had given birth to four pups one week earlier. They were so precious.

Veggie tales and the songs that get stuck in your head after you watch a video. I ain’t got no belly button. You are my cheeseburger.

Sunday evening, December 21st. Helping Mr. McLay shift a few cows. On a part of the farm that I had never visited before. High atop a hill near the hay barn. Just remembering the amazing views. And lamenting the fact that I did not have my camera (which is unusual for me). That perfect sunset with a glowing sky, God rays pouring through the clouds. Sitting on the back of a four wheeler atop that high hill, overlooking the wonderful hilly terrain that is the McLay farm. Trying to take it all in. Gorgeous!

My amazement over how the goats don’t even bat an eye when the quad bike drives near them through a paddock. They take no notice to the vehicle, while sheep on the other hand make a mad dash for their lives.

Spittle bugs in the field. Walking through a paddock, Gordon sometimes stops to show us something new on the farm. These WEE little green skink like bugs were so cute, living in a cocoon of spit bubbles. Being in a cow paddock, I would have simply assumed the bubbles of white stuff were cow dribble, and I never would have explored it any further.

Hopping off the quad bike and being left alone in amongst a herd of cattle. Completely surrounded by large creatures who have been riled up by the motor bike bopping around. Gulp. We still don’t trust cattle.

Drafting the sheep and lambs to prepare them for shearing. Sheep shaking them into the race. Listening to the symphony begin as the sheep and lambs are separated for the evening before shearing. Watching those special few who freak out and barge into the fences and gates. Having a lamb charge at you and almost kick you in the face as it leaps for freedom.

The Gore mystery bus trip. Susan, Isabel, Esther, Naomi and Josiah (Reuben was away at camp). The drive into Gore with the kids singing in the van. The entire day, spent with over 70 other children. That dreadful steep hike down the hillside that was the ‘shortcut’ to the lunch site. Collecting tired and children on the way down the hill. The boot camp like activities. The view from the farm’s hills. The music at the end of the day that quieted down the rambunctious group of kids in the front of the bus. “Whoa, what you do to me…” The day spent with the McLay kids on the bus trip. Mystery tea at KFC. Ice cream treats in Clinton. Playing in the park. Playing games in the car together on the way home.

Sitting on the back of the quad bike. Gumboots dangling off the side, kicking through the long grass.

While we were shifting cattle, I almost put long grass in my mouth. Thinking twice about my fate. Crypto was too recent for slip ups around any stock.

The greenest of green hills, the bluest of blue skies, and that black & white cow who popped his head into my view over the side of the hill.

Tire tracks from the bike left behind in the long grass. Looking at the tracks left behind by the cows, and the body prints that they make when compressing the long grass in the paddocks.

That cow paddock’s terrain. Rough and steep.

Shifting cattle – you can’t always trust that they won’t charge you. Or at least Brent and I don’t.

The classic bull with the gold ring in his nose. Seeing breath being blown through a cow’s nose, like in a cartoon.

Brent losing his gumboot in the mud and gunk in the cow paddock. Trying to rescue the boot, fighting against the suction without sacrificing his sock or foot to a momentary loss of balance.

The retro rusty tin can rattler – I love this one. Making new milk jug sheep shakers for Gordon for Christmas. Chasing sheep up ramps and into pens. The crazy ones that jump the fence and break their legs.

Brent busting his knee on the motor bike. Susan brought him out to learn how to ride the motor bike one day in the paddock behind the hay shed. He fell off the bike on his first time, which those of us watching could confirm occurred due to the fact that he didn’t bring up his feet once the bike started to go. His feet precariously hung out both sides, bouncing off the ground periodically as he tried to preserve his balance. Then, bam. He met the paddock. After a new lesson from Susan, he got back on and tried again. Success. Unfortunately, the first fall banged up his knee a little bit. A good bruise. I reckon he looks more comfortable on a quad bike.

Reuben flinging sheep feces at Naomi. Naomi's response: “It’s just poo”.

Day trips to Balclutha, Milton, Mosgiel and other places.

Oral tests of the NZ Road Code with the kids. You know it’s a NZ road code book when you read questions relating to what you would do if sheep/stock were on the road.

The food – simply cannot be topped.

A day in Dunedin. We love Dunedin.

Walking in the paddocks. Lying in a field of grass and embracing the quiet solitude this environment can offer.

Jem. Ty. Kate.

Treasure in an Oatmeal box. Kevin didn’t have to die. : (

Meeting so many new people.

The semi-permanent sleep over with Susan and Isabel. Every morning, being joined by Naomi, Esther and Josiah in the bedroom. And again, Susan who will never let me live down falling asleep on her one night. ONE night.

Living in our gumboots again. Ahhh such a nice change.

The open arms that invited us to stay when our car broke down, and again when we failed our WOF and were slightly stranded.

Washing dishes. Their water is significantly hotter then we’ve ever experienced.

New Year’s Eve with the McLays. Watching the Sound of Music with the family on television. Brent, Reuben, and I staying up to ring in the New Year, only Brent and I were fast asleep on the couch. Brent fell asleep on the couch at half past eleven, and I followed soon after near quarter to twelve. Just after midnight I think Reuben said something to us, which woke both of us up, prompting me to look at my watch, wish Reuben a quick Happy New Year, and fall right back asleep. So, Reuben sort of rang in the New Year alone. Outlasted by a teenager…must be getting old.

The 6 POP campervans that arrived through our time on the farm. We were excited to see even just one.

Tiki tourist day on our last Saturday with the family. We spent the day driving around and being tourists by visiting amazing locations throughout the Catlins. FINDING A LIVE CRAB!!! Thanks to Naomi’s sharp eyes in murky water. He was too big to scoop up without a net. This was a wonderful way to end our trip on the farm and in the area.

Harold the cat’s victory kills – which he doesn’t eat. The mice, the rats, the birds. The one mouse I caught for Harold by stepping on his tail. I guess that isn’t as much fun, so Harold lost interest in him as soon as I stopped him from moving.

Visiting the Owaka museum on our last day in the Catlins. That museum has so much information, and it’s amazing to see photographs of distant relatives of the McLays in the early 1900s.

Spending two nights alone with Reuben, Esther, Naomi and Josiah. The fun we had together playing games, watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, creating kitchen adventures, working around the farm and in the house, the septic tank mishap. You were all gems.


Gordon, Coralie. Susan, Reuben, Isabel, Esther, Naomi, Josiah.

To Gordon. Your love and passion for the farm and the work that you do are incredible. You are a great man, and we have been so very blessed to spend time under your roof and in your paddocks. We have loved every bit of information you have shared with us and all the things you have taught us while working with you. Like searching for a pregnant cow, yet learning about spittle bugs. Or walking in the bush and finding out about all the different trees and flowers. Thank you for all the extras that you put in to make our stay so memorable.

To Coralie. What can we say? You have been such a blessing in our lives. You have opened the doors to your home and welcomed us with no questions through all the problems we had during our ‘short’ visit to see you all once again. Thank you for everything, for every word, for every laugh, for every tear, for every moment. We cannot thank you enough for loving us. You are an incredible woman and mother, and we wish nothing but true blessings to you throughout your life.

To Susan. My wee little sister. The eldest of six. Oh the laughs we have shared. The one who just couldn’t get enough of leaving us behind. : ) Why do we have to say goodbye more than once? Thank you for being our wee sister and for everything that you shared with us. Including cleaning the race out in the sheep shed. : ) For our talks, for our giggles, for our fun and games. You are a very special person, and we very much look forward to seeing where your life path will lead you. Good luck and be safe!

To Reuben. Our little instigator. You have a sneaky smile about you, and we’ll miss it. You always made us laugh, whether motivated by you or something you missed out on. Your sharp wit and sense of humour will be missed. You are going to do great things in life. You are smart, determined and have so much potential. We look forward to hearing about your future on the farm. Reuben’s so cool, he’s mint.

To Isabel. Thank you for reading to us in the mornings, however, I would choose a more uplifting book next time! For all the time we spent with you in the sheep yards and the wool shed, thank you. I would also like to thank you for always trying to include me on your farm excursions; you always made me feel very welcome. It’s been fun spending more time with you on this second trip of ours. Thank you for all the good times we shared and for the adventures you created. We look forward to watching you grow up (via photos and emails) and are excited to see what lies ahead of you. Bless you.

To Esther. The inquisitive one. You are very bright. We’ll miss your inquisitive nature. We’ll miss your helpful hand around the kitchen and the house. For the times you shared with us while feeding the animals. For all the jokes you would tell. For my super horse mask for the play. That rocked! For your smile and that twinkle in your eye. In Canada…we’ll miss you.

To Naomi. I will miss your infectious laugh. Your joix de vivre. Your musical cucumbers. Especially the songs you would play on my knees. No, I won’t actually miss those. : ) But we’ll miss you. You were an excellent pictionary partner and crumble maker. Thank you for letting me sit on your knee. Don’t worry Breeeeennnt will miss you too!

To Josiah. Our little pup. Thank you for being a super helper whenever we asked. We very much appreciated that. Both inside and outside the house and during the shearing days. Sorry we won’t be around anymore to sit beside, thankfully you have 5 other siblings to love around the table as well as two parents. Be careful as you grow bigger, don’t get stuck in the hay traps when hunting for the hen’s eggs. Thank you for the games of snakes & ladders and for the fun in the playgrounds we shared. Be good while we’re gone. ; ) We’ll miss you.


In the end, everything happens for a reason. Even though we were delayed in our travel, we leave now with our car fixed. We’ll probably be avoiding the Rees-Dart track, which would have been in flood had we arrived on time in late December. They have had torrential rain fall in that area, with the rivers and streams all flowing at 10x the normal levels (as reported by DOC). There is still a search on for a female tramper who is presumed drowned, after possibly negotiating a swollen river on her own near the Dart Hut, a hut found on the Rees-Dart track. And more recently, there has been two deaths at the Fox Glacier after an unstable ice shelf fell on two Australian brothers. The two individuals crossed a “DO NOT CROSS” barrier to get a closer look at the phenomenon, and in doing so risked their lives and eventually led to their untimely deaths. These two situations mentioned above have taken place in two areas where we would have been tramping/touring at the same time as the mentioned incidents if we had not stayed at the farm. That would have been freaky. Everything happens for a reason.


Canadian words vs New Zealand words – the never ending saga…

Facecloth = Flannel
Hallway = Passage
Tumayto = Tomaado
Think outside the box = think outside the square
Counter = bench
Cool = Coo
School = Schoo
Garage = Gahridge
Bathroom = Toilet
Pants = Trousers
Sweater = Jersey
Rubber Boot = Gum Boot
Flip Flop = Jandal

There’s heaps more, but they escape me at this time…(kids you can add to this list...)


Our time is coming to an end. Driving back to the farm from the Owaka museum felt sad yesterday. Seeing the sights one last time. The rolling green hills of the Catlins. The multitude of sheep farms. Pulling onto the McLay’s road one last time. Tomorrow we leave a family who took us in and made us feel like one of their own.

It’s hard to say goodbye. It was wonderful to come back to visit. Returning to the kids and the smiles. Enjoying our time with Gordon and Coralie, and watching the kids being kids. They are a riot! I can’t wait to see these kids grow up - mind you it will be through pictures, but I’m excited to see where each of their lives will lead them. They are truly like six younger siblings. We only want the very best for them. To our friends and family, which we have found under this roof.


Thank you for the memories.


Love your shepherd and shepherdess in training


Rahdy rahdy rah.

Approaching the muddy finish line – NWC (part 3 of 3)

Twelve days of hiking. Sounds like a long time. Then again, we’ve met a lot of people who have hiked much longer then that, and carried much heavier packs. That one Bavarian guy from the Routeburn; he was a true hiker!

While on the NWC, Brent would often let me know how proud he was of me. Not because I was doing anything extraordinary, but to remind me that despite feeling discouraged from the back pain and how I’ve been feeling guilty for holding us back (ie: our hiking times not coming to par on this track), there are a lot of people who wouldn’t be out here continuing to live their dream if they had suffered the same injury.

I remember that first day hiking in South Auckland, when we both felt utterly discouraged that this concept of hiking the entire country wasn’t going to be feasible, but we still tried. The trip was altered quite a bit, but we didn’t stop. We feel happiest in the mountains, on the tracks, in the huts. This is what we came here to do. When we realized that this injury was worse then originally thought, a similar discouraging feeling came over me. But I am blessed every day to be reminded by someone who loves me that the effort we are putting forth is the most important demonstration of determination. I’m determined to finish this trip and get on all the tracks. Without trying, we would have missed out on the beauty that is hidden in these hills, preserved from the townships and the cities. The hidden treasures of New Zealand. It can take 11 hours to reach a clearing, and a millisecond to forget everything you just went through. That beautiful moment makes it all worth while.

Thank you Brent.

And from afar, I can feel my parents’ love as they encourage me from North Bay. I am a very determined person, and would probably continue this hiking trip despite the pain, however, their love and support helps me through every day. I’m very thankful for you guys. And for my brother, who I know thinks about me and is excited about this opportunity.

Every day, we write a new page in the story of our lives. Every day we wake up in a hut, a new adventure begins.



Evolving landscapes – the Stewart Island experience

A photograph cannot capture the verite of an environment you experience. Experience is sensing your surroundings. Smelling the trees, feeling the mud, the weight of a pack on your back, the uphills, the down hills, the taste of your sweat, the blisters on your feet, the sandfly bites on your hands, the war wounds. The triumphs and the tears. The life is never in the pictures you take. The sound is lost. Its how every step you take shifts the perspective and exposes a different shade or aspect of an unseen world. The evolving beauty of a special place.


DAY NINE – Thursday, December 11th – to Freshwater Landing Hut

Today’s hike was not a good reflection of what the North West Circuit entails. I’ll be perfectly honest, it was flat and boring. Quite frankly, we were shocked. And this is a stretch that a lot of people hike, flying into Mason’s Bay and only hiking out to Freshwater Landing hut before being picked up by a jet boat. They must think the hikers rounding the circuit are full of baloney when they talk about all the ups and downs and the MUD.

Today was a break from the undulating world of the island, but after eight days of it, you begin to miss it rather quickly. The ups and downs are a real challenge, and the effort is always rewarded. Whether it be a hot meal at the end of the day, a kiwi sighting along the way or simply a warm hut and sleeping bag to climb into at night. Today, I felt as though I didn’t deserve a reward.

There was no challenge. It was almost entirely boardwalked, and since there hadn’t been any rain in the last few days, the water levels were reasonable, so we weren’t negotiating any difficult flood areas. (The area is prone to flooding, which is understandable considering the type of soil – even just the mud takes a long time to absorb any water.) Apparently the water (which stood 3-4 feet below us today) can rise to levels leaving hikers on the boardwalks to trudge through waist deep water. I don’t know how it can get that bad, since the land is so flat and it’s a very, very wide valley, but maybe it’s possible. That would have been hilarious to walk through. Can you imagine the pictures?

The most exciting thing today was seeing a bird chase a moth and eat it mid air. He swooped right over our heads, and as we tried to figure out what he was doing, he perched himself upon a branch just in time for us to see a moth fluttering nearby. In one swift swoop, the bird flung itself off the branch and snatched his snack. It was quite fascinating.

I can’t explain how much we missed the physical challenge today. It almost became a huge psychological challenge, trying to encourage your body to keep on going, despite everything looking the same everywhere we turned. Long corridors of trees draped over a wide cleared path. You could see a good kilometer down the track in both directions, and it looked like a mirrored image. You were moving forward with every step, but you felt motionless. Every step was rewarded with a repetitive perspective.

At one point we were atop a high boardwalk, surrounded by tall grasses and low water levels. This was in a clearing surrounded by small hills. That was nice. The muddy parts made the walking interesting, and I laughed thinking about those who might not be expecting (nor come prepared for) this type of terrain on such an easy walk. Along the river, there were eroded parts slipping into the waterway, which were the first signs of slips we noticed on the island. Maybe we should walk along the edge, slipping into the river would be funny.

Another highlight of the day was spotting a skink in the bush near Mason Bay hut earlier. I went for a walk alone to look for kiwi, and after stopping to listen to a nearby bush rustling, I noticed a motionless skink. He almost looked like a snake, but they don’t have those in NZ. As I stood still, I noticed his feet slowly start to crawl around. It was wonderful. No kiwis today, but there are still a few more days left to spot another one. I did spot a few more footprints in the sand, but they were all empty leads. No treasure.

The track was a fluctuating combination of a flat root system, mud, flat and compact dry land, boardwalks, and puddles. You walk through the repetitive patterns of the track counting down the minutes. We spent our time playing I Spy and the country alphabet game. Oh, how we spend our time wisely. The hike was simply too much of a cake walk. Suddenly, we came upon the hut. It was like it appeared out of thin air. One minute we’re trudging along, the next minute there is a swing bridge just around the corner and suddenly the entire landscape changes. That might be why it felt so sudden. The vegetation and feel of the area shifted abruptly. The feeling of change could also be attributed to the presence of a defined river, since we had been walking through a wetland area for the last few hours.

Boy, did I ever want to jump off the jetty when we got to the hut. It was a warm day, and that water looked so refreshing.

We met up with Grace Tiao today, an American hiker who we’ve been following in the hut books over the last 8 nights. She works for a scientific organization in Antarctica and had two weeks to kill before her next deployment, so she decided to hike the NWC. She was really interesting to meet. An English and science major from Harvard University. We exchanged tramping stories and memories from back home. A bonus when we meet anyone from North America.

That night we hung out with Grace and the group of four from Auckland, who we shared a hut with the night before, but hadn’t really met until tonight. There are some nights where you don’t want to be social, sometimes it’s you, and sometimes it’s the other party. Then there are some nights when everyone just clicks so well. And FWL is probably the best hut to discover if you click, cause it is a wee little hut. There are bunks for 16 people, but the kitchen area and table could only sit 7-8 people max (comfortably). We all sat around and laughed the evening away.

Today’s hike was probably a nice break for our bodies, after two long hiking days, four hours was a blessing (we might have taken five hours due to our prolonged breaks – the track was simply too monotonous to hike through in one go). I had done some foot repair work with Duoderm (what a BLESSING!!!) to cushion my toes and my steps. Man, did that ever help!

With day nine coming to an end, we celebrate the NWC, as it is now the longest hike we have been on in NZ (however, Hollyford will always be the longest consecutive hike with no rest days – sitting at 8 days total). Tomorrow we will stay at this hut once more, taking in a side trip in the morning. Only two more hiking days to go after that!!

The reality of the hike coming to an end really started to sink in; especially since we started to hear the planes and boats once again today. That snapped us out of our wilderness isolation very quickly.


DAY TEN – Friday, December 12th - side trip to Rocky Mountain //another night at Freshwater Landing Hut

Late at night, I couldn’t get to sleep very well. So, I pulled out my iPod and started to listen to some music in the dark when an untitled song came on that caught my attention. It was one of the songs my brother had composed and passed along to me before I left Canada back in July. I loved everything about the instrumental song. The style of music and the instruments he used matched my mood so well. It hit me today how much I was going to miss being at home for Christmas. How much I miss people. Not enough to rush home or cry about it, but experiencing that feeling where you can’t wait to be around these people again to share in your smiles and each other’s company. To hear their voices and see their faces. How much I would miss snow. We still didn’t know what we were going to do for Christmas yet.

Listening to the music in the dark, I was thinking about how amazing this experience has been. Carefree travel. I can’t imagine that we’ll have a similar experience ever again. There’s so much to see and discover on this planet. I know that Brent and I both feel that we want to spend a lot more time exploring the world that was created for us to experience. I feel a great sense of wanderlust when I am back at home. Exploration is such a great blessing. If it’s meant to be, we will be doing this again.

Day ten was a day of rest. We woke up when we wanted to and organized breakfast (finishing off some porridge we didn’t really enjoy) before setting off for our side trip. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful morning, with a storm front moving in later on, so we hurried out of the hut to catch the sunshine. Since we missed out on good weather for the Mt. Anglem hike, we thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to see a mountain view of the island. We had already been so fortunate with some of the views we experienced on this track already, but were excited to spend some extra time (without a pack on our backs) and enjoy the scenery.

We hiked up to Rocky Mountain today. The view was nice, but not as spectacular as our previous experiences had been. (That one view a few days ago over the sand dunes was mint.) From the mountain peak we could watch the clouds and weather patterns moving around the island. It began to rain a little as the wind swept up with a mighty strength. The weather encouraged us to seek tree cover once again, as we quickly hiked back towards the tree line. A rather quick side trip sitting only at a 3 hour return time. Not a hike that will leave a tramper bored. It was an undulating and muddy track with a lot of climbing up and down tree roots and slick pockets. A welcome return of a challenging hike – oodles better then yesterday’s tramp. The outcome was as expected, a rocky mountain. : )

As we slowly made our way back to the hut once again, I noticed a rustling in the bush to my right. I thought it was one of those small green birds (that were flying around us) simply taking off from a branch. In my eye line was the area where the supposed bird flew away from. As I hiked down a few more steps staring at a tree trunk near the rustled branch, I noticed a shift in the trunk’s position.

Trees don’t move.

I had been staring at this trunk for a few moments, and then it moved along the track. That truly took me by surprise. Before us was a mighty large kiwi bird, like really big. We enjoyed this last moment with a live kiwi in close proximity. Noticing the little things about the way they sniff their nose, about their size and their feet and their beak, about the way they move through the thicket. About everything beautiful that makes them unique.

We returned to the hut in time to see the Auckland group off in their water taxi. At almost the exact same time, two older kiwi trampers made their way across the bridge to the hut. It almost looked like they took the water taxi in to the hut; however they had actually finished walking part of the southern circuit (a four to six day hike).

Tony and Paul, they put us to shame. Two Christchurch trampers well into their sixties. Two hikers who love being on the trail. Still hiking as often as they can in their later years in life. Both of them still hiking the trails in less time then the DOC times suggest. Yet they talk about hanging up their boots and retiring from the sport.

Maybe we should retire! These two gentlemen show no reason to hang up their boots. They are as fit as anything and love being in the huts and outdoors. And they are funny as. It was like sharing a hut with a comedy show, the type of humour that can only come from people who have known each other for as long as they have. Retiring. Please! I mean, we’re happy leaving the huts later then everyone else, in order to eliminate being bypassed by others. Otherwise we feel rushed. These two could run laps around us almost. It’s quite sad.

The evening was enjoyed with a Roast Chicken dinner, a few card games and puzzles. Tomorrow we hike to our last hut of the circuit.


DAY ELEVEN – Saturday, December 13th – to North Arm Hut

There was a great quote in the hut book the other day, written by a girl from Toronto. It went along the lines of “leaving your country and traveling makes you appreciate what you’ve got, does not apply to cities”. I understand where she was coming from. When you wake up in these huts to some of the most incredible views, you often wonder if you’ll be able to return home. Canada is fantastic and I love it there. I just wish they had a hut system like NZ is able to offer. That would be amazing! But leaving this world to return to Toronto will be challenging. You can breathe out here, you can move freely in the country. It will be difficult to say goodbye to the rolling hills of New Zealand.

Today was a longish leg from Freshwater Landing Hut. The two older gentlemen said they did it in less than 5 ½ hours. It definitely took us longer. Bummer.

Nothing too special to report. The day was undulating, steep and muddy as expected. Typical gullies awaited our arrival with mud to jump into. One unfortunate part of today’s hike is that for a portion of the track you are hiking alongside the North Arm water inlet, then suddenly you deviate onto this long detour hike uphill to the Rakiura track. The problem being that the hut you are hiking towards is around the bay/inlet that you were just hiking alongside, and suddenly you wander through the bush to meet the Rakiura track inland before turning back towards the waterway. It just doesn’t make sense.

Strange reasons that we will probably never know, nor understand.

We are tired and it’s beginning to show. We have reached a point where we just want to be done hiking. Could be related to our time prior to this hike and being sick for two weeks. We did hop onto this track immediately after the symptoms of our crypto faded. We were probably in need of a bit more time and rest before setting off on this type of journey. Our bodies are becoming a little sore from the hiking, which might be slowing us down a tad.

One more hiking day to go. : )

Had our first up close and personal experience with a possum at the hut today. Just after 10pm. Well, technically we did see one on the Forgotten Highway that one night in our head lights, but we didn’t know that their possums looked like cuddly mini teddy bears with furry tails. Very different from an opossum from NA. Anyway, our little possum friend was just down the steps from the hut’s porch. I decided that he looked like he would be soft to pet, so I chased him down the pathway to the beach, asking him to wait for me and explaining that I simply wanted to pet his soft fur. Didn’t work this time, but I’m sure I’ll have another opportunity.

No kiwis today, and we think that our chances of spotting one are officially behind us. We have hiked through the thicket of NWC kiwi presence, and were really lucky to enjoy the moments we did spend with live kiwis.

The last forty-five minutes of the track today was boardwalked, almost making it harder to hike, as the area presented a lot of stairways. It’s almost more comfortable to walk up and down the soft soil on the incline then use the hard stairs. The end of the day was a definite preview of what will be our last day on the Rakiura track tomorrow.

The hut was pretty empty. Four parties of two people each. Since we arrived a bit later then others, we were the only ones cooking once we arrived, so it was nice. We spent some time with Tony & Paul, who made the hut in under 6 hours (DOC predicts it will take 6-7 / we took somewhere between 8 or 10) – and they stopped for a 30minute cuppa AND an hour lunch. Oy. Why retire? They are certainly out-hiking us.

The North Arm hut was our first Great Walk hut, and no warden was there to check our ticket. Thus far, we’ve never been asked by anyone to see our annual hut pass. We were really hoping for a warden. Maybe one day.

Tonight is our last night on Stewart Island. Tomorrow, we cross the finish line and earn that certificate!


DAY TWELVE – Sunday, December 14th – the end of the NWC, return to HMB

We departed from the hut early in the morning. I think we left around 6.30am. The goal was six in the morning, but when others are sleeping in close proximity, we take extra care in being as quiet as possible. We wanted to get back to HMB as early as possible to try and get onto one of the standby flights back to Invercargill. We had the extra motivation of trying to avoid being bypassed by any of the other hiking pairs. When you are bypassed and you finally make it to the hut HOURS after that person, there are usually a lot of questions that make an appearance in the evening’s conversation. Sometimes I don’t want to have to explain that I was injured. I already have to live with the outcome, and I feel silly saying that I fell down a set of stairs twice. That seems so ridiculous. To avoid the big question and answer periods that might arise, we simply leave as early as possible or last in the day.

Today was not a day to be last. We had a plane to catch.

The great walk trail. A book ending hike. We started our first day on the first part of the Rakiura track, and we spend our last day on the last leg of the Rakiura track. A good portion of the trail was boardwalked, which was welcomed today. We were prepared for it mentally. Lots of bridges and stairs. It’s like a completely different hike. Today, the sound of the planes and boats were more predominant, drowning out a lot of the lovely melodies coming from the natural creatures of the forest. We were ready to be done. You were no longer one with nature. Everything felt different today.

The day was spent trying to find a rare kiwi so close to town (no dice) and trying to figure out how the DOC signs worked today. They were plagued with mismatched timing information. We simply just carried on, ending with a road walk back to Half Moon Bay, a road that led us straight to the DOC office.

Our time spent at the DOC office was a riot. There were two men who greeted us at the desk and it felt like they knew us from the moment we exchanged words. “You survived! How was it?”, one of them asked almost immediately. We had never met them, nor did we know if they knew we were on the NWC, but it almost felt as though they were old friends. I received the best compliment from one of the guys at the desk too. He said he couldn’t recognize our Canadian accents, and told me that I could be a kiwi. I mean, I probably couldn’t be – but he saw potential in me. : ) That made me excited. After spending some time chatting with the fine folk, we were on our way, laminated certificates in hand, off to the Stewart Island Flight centre to see about getting back to the mainland.

Well, there was a wedding on the island last night. And that meant that people wanted to fly back to the mainland today. Brent and I lined up at the office to speak to someone, only to find out that there was only ONE seat available to fly back to Invercargill today. A thought and possibility we hadn’t actually taken into account. What if we don’t fly back home today?

The gentleman informed us that we could see if anyone would cancel their flight today – which we were informed doesn’t happen often – and return to the office later in the day to see about any new openings.

We did just that, leaving our packs (thank goodness) at the flight center and hiking through town in our muddy Goretex attire. We stuck out like sore thumbs around the locals. Funny.

We had a ‘feast’ at the local fish & chip cart, with one order of chips, one battered blue cod and one cheeseburger – to split between us. It was an unfortunate disappointment. We had such a wonderful order of fish & chips from the local pub on our last night prior to commencing the NWC, yet this cart was supposed to be the best on the island. We just felt that the value was terrible and the food was mediocre. Oh well. We decided to have an ice cream to make ourselves feel better. : ) It worked!

We spent a good amount of time sitting on a picnic bench just outside the town’s Four Square. It was a cold and windy day, but we really had nowhere else to go. As the day progressed, we started to feel like locals. We actually bumped into two of the four Auckland people we had shared two huts with a few nights back. They were heading to the Four Square to pick up some items and came by to say hello. That was nice. We felt like we were from HMB once again when we bumped into Tony just outside the same store, after he finished the tramp. It was a funny feeling.

We did have an amazing offer today. Shortly after leaving our spot on our picnic bench outside the local market, we were called back by one of the members of the Auckland party we had hiked alongside. She wanted to catch up with us to let us know that if we didn’t make it out on the afternoon flight today, that we could join them at the house they had all rented. They had planned this trip a while back and rented out the house as part of a holiday in Half Moon Bay. She threw in a few selling points, including an offer of a hot shower. We were blown away. We were still strangers at this point in time, despite spending an evening chatting with the group. We were so grateful over their kindness and generosity. When she noticed how blown away we were, she humbly said: “You are visitors to our country; it’s the least we can do for you.” Those words really make me want to re-evaluate how we lead our own lives and hospitality back home. The kindness of strangers is incredible. We have been blessed with meeting a lot of amazing people in this country. These four people are amazing examples of kindness.

It was settled. If we were meant to stay in HMB tonight, staying with kiwis would prove to be a great experience. We settled on meeting at the local pub for quiz night should we miss out on the last flight.

For the rest of the afternoon, we did everything we could to kill time. Unfortunately, we had no more interest in walking around, so we read all the free local newspapers and simply sat and enjoyed the small harbour of the town.

We entered the Four Square once again and started to look around when we bumped into the gentleman from the flight centre. He came up to us and let us know that there might be an opening coming up on the afternoon flight. He couldn’t make any promises, but wanted us to know that there was hope. Again, we achieved the feeling of being a local.

Tired of killing time, we eventually made our way to the flight center once again to see about the potential cancellations. Getting on a flight tomorrow will be easy, but it would be best if we could duck out today. Low and behold, a few booked seats are suddenly available as those who attended the big island party the night before are no longer well enough to fly today. : ) Bad news for them, good news for us.

The only catch is that we would be on separate 1630 flights – both of which would be taking off around the same time, and Brent’s flight would have both our bags. We had our bags weighed (and ourselves – I think this is to evenly distribute people’s weight or something) before checking in. I believe my bag had come in at approx. 16kg. We unfortunately don’t remember Brent’s pack weight, but it might have been somewhere between 19-20kg. We both boarded our separate vans and were loaded onto our separate planes.

My return flight would put me on another six-seater (incl. Pilot) plane. My fellow passengers were two Philippino women and their hungry baby, an older woman and a young boy, and the pilot. We had quite a rough ride in our plane. Could be the clouds around the island or simply just a very strong headwind. None the less, I found great entertainment with the older woman sitting beside me in the middle row. She was holding on for dear life, clinging to the handles above the window, as the plane teetered around in the air. If I wasn’t used to smaller planes, I probably would have been freaked out as well, but I grew up around planes this size and smaller. The view today was fantastic. Once we were airborne, we could see the entire island behind us. Stewart Island is so much bigger then you expect it to be. HMB is the only settled community, the rest is pure wilderness. Rugged and without equal in its own regard. The clear view from over Stewart Island was an excellent way to end the trip.

Brent on the other hand was placed in a ten-seater plane. The wings sit above the plane instead of below. He somehow managed to have a smooth flight. Could have been the bigger plane.

After hunting down our backpacks (they offload your bags near an easy access garage outside the building), I walked over to Sgt to say hello and bring him back to the airport’s entrance to round up our stuff (the flight centre had stored all of our extra gear to keep it safe from our vehicle over the last two weeks). The goal was to make it to the i-Site in time to find out about accommodation specials in the city.

Now, I was expecting the car to be a wee bit funny, because every time we leave it alone for an extended period of time, it tends to hiccup a bit when it starts. But it’s usually a simple hiccup. Today, it was a ‘hic’ and then a pffffffffft. Followed by a ‘click, click, click, click’. ‘Click, click, click, click’. I tried one last time before popping the hood open. Looking under the ‘bonnet’ of the car, I couldn’t imagine what could be wrong with the car. It’s a foreign world under there. Lots of connections and car parts that I understand, but can’t repair. I only prayed it was a simple fix.

Our wonderful car decided he was a little bit upset about us leaving him for two whole weeks, and he pulled the best hissy fit a car can have. A weakening grind, followed by a complete halt.

I met back up with Brent at the airport terminal’s entrance, grabbed the mobile and rung AA. This would be our first callout! They let us know that they would be arriving within the next 40-60 minutes. Our only problem is that we had already paid for parking and only had 20 minutes to exit the lot (you have to pay before heading back to your car so that you can exit via the automated gate). And the airport was shutting down. When I went inside to seek help, all of the counters were dim and vacant. I headed over to the canteen/coffee shop and spoke to the only people I could find. We were blessed to find them as they provided us with an ‘all access’ limitless parking ticket, in exchange for our $20 ticket. This meant that we could leave the airport at any time. Thank you!!

AA didn’t take long to arrive. Better yet, it didn’t take long to fix our dear car. Dead battery. Good times. We were instructed to let it run for at least 20 minutes to get the juices flowing again. So we set out on all of our errands, leaving our car running the entire time. Picking up our ubber cheap dinner at Domino’s ($4.90 Hawaiian pizzas), did a long drive around while waiting for the pizzas to be ready, swung by the Kelvin Hotel once again and booked a room for the night. They remembered us. That was nice. We were able to get a special rate. That was even nicer. Full tummies and a hot shower later, we were set to retire for the night, falling asleep to the films playing in the background on Sky Movies.


The next day, Monday December 15th, we were heading out to the Catlins once again to visit the McLay family who we missed dearly. Only Bluff, free hotel laundry, city errands, and one last trip to the hospital were left to do before setting off. We needed a written document with our diagnosis for Cryptosporidium to complete our insurance paperwork. Simply saying that we got a phone call wouldn’t have been enough. Besides, being sick cost us over $1,500.00 NZ. Being sick while traveling is NOT cheap!!!


In the end, we can reflect on the beautiful trip we were able to have on Stewart Island. A magical place. The North West Circuit is worth the incredible challenge. A hike that will be impossible to surpass in terms of diversity and texture. We ran a gamut on the island and on that track. It was worth every mud puddle. It was worth every uphill. It was worth every slip down hill.

It was captivating.

We’ll miss the birds, the soundtrack of the environment, and the ever changing faces of the terrain. We’ll always have the memories, the pictures, and of course, our certificates. : )

There’s mud…then there’s Stewart Island Mud – NWC (part 2 of 3)

The thud was hollow. Memorable. Thinking about it now, I can remember everything so clearly.

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?

- TO BE CONTINUED -