Day 70 – Pelorus River to Havelock

I was lazy last night, and I paid for it.  In my exhaustion I convinced myself that the rain promised by the clouds would not come.  But as they say, hope is not a strategy, and when the rain did come, I was in no mood to raise my hammock.  So I pulled the rainfly atop my sleeping bag, inadequately.  I then spent the remainder of the night fitfully sleeping and adjusting the fly as various parts of my body were exposed each time I rolled over.  Unfortunately this wasn’t apparent until after the rain had fully soaked through my sleeping bag.

I woke when a van from Outward Bound rolled up outside my little pine grove and disgorged a load of twelve youngsters.  So much for my supposedly “stealth” campsite – by now I had seen more people than I did in the entire Richmond Range.  It was first light, and I figured this was as good a time as any to pack up my soggy mess of a sleeping bag.  Once again I was extremely thankful to have bought a synthetic bag, since I was warm all night despite the wet.

By now the rain had reduced itself to intermittent showers, and I made quick work of the nine remaining kilometers to Pelorus Bridge.  Pelorus Bridge, the town, seems mostly to be a symptom of the cartographer’s mandate to fill the map with dots.  The reality on the ground is a bridge, a campsite and, praise heaven, that rumored cafe.  The food was surprisingly good (though surprisingly expensive too), and they let me charge my phone for a dollar.  The proprietress somehow managed to seem harried despite having two adult staff and her two young daughters working, to serve a morning crowd that never exceeded five people.

From Havelock to Anakiwa is forty miles of road walking, which I originally planned to hitch.  But I’m so close to the end now that I felt reluctant to shortchange myself.  The first bit of highway could actually be bypassed on an unmetalled farm road, so I cut across a short nature trail to get there.

The farmer had recently moved his cows – the evidence of it was thick on the ground.  The rain had combined with this evidence to form an even-textured mud that completely covered the road.  There was no safe place to walk, only shallower and deeper ruts.  Normally this would not be a big deal.  Subsequent walking would soon transfer any excess mud from my boots onto the undergrowth.  Today, though, I planned to get invited into a stranger’s car as soon as this road met the highway, and I wanted to make sure that such a stranger would not regret the invitation. So I reduced my pace to a slow high step, careful not to splash or kick anything, and proceded so for a few hundred meters before the road cleared up and I could see gravel again.

Back at the highway after seven kilometers, I started walking with my thumb out. Perhaps the drivers detected my ambivalence about accepting a ride, because I walked most of the way to Canvastown without anyone stopping. It was probably a good thing. Today for the first time since Colac Bay I would be reaching the ocean, and to arrive in a car would feel cheap.

I stopped in at the Canvastown Pub, where I enjoyed a pint next to a roaring fire alongside a handful of locals. I got to witness some colorful dishing about a local character, seventy years old, and his fifty-year-old wife. “They have those huge dogs, Leonburgers, and they just have no control over them.” “I know, one tried to have a go at me through the fence so I smacked him with a chainsaw.” “And they have all those stags on their property that just roam from paddock to paddock, no effort to keep them in one place.” “I think they’re both nudists, that’s why he’s always wearing those blue overalls when he comes to the door, they’re easier to put on in a rush.” “I figure we’ll just stop hearing from him one day, and when they go up looking for him, all they’ll find are a few bones – his dogs will have eaten him.” “Naw, I think one of those big stags will run him through.”

After I drained my beer, the next 10 kilometers to Havelock were a bit wobbly, but mostly uneventful. I enjoyed another “wow, I’m really finishing the South Island” moment as the Pelorus River opened onto Pelorus Sound. I had reached salt water, and by some measure I could be said to have finished an island traverse. But the Te Araroa trail continues on to Ship Cove, and I planned to complete that last section of track.

Havelock is a cute, pleasant town. I stayed at the very friendly and nice Blue Moon Backpackers.