Unwelcome tramp

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

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



The Hump Ridge – our own style


Day 1 – Sunday, October 26th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We are RIGHT HERE, you ignorant human.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Day 2 – Monday, October 27th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Day 3 – Tuesday, October 28th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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