Day 56 – Boyle Flats Hut to Christopher Hut

The tempature was quite low overnight, and this morning there were needles of frost on everything.  I set out to chop some wood to replace what we burned last night, but the metal handle on the axe quickly sucked heat from my hands, even through my gloves.  So I brought it inside and set it atop the fireplace for a bit.  Voila!  Heated axe handle, what luxury.

I warmed up quickly as I walked, and the sun melted frost in the valley as it rose.  I watched the shadows of the hills progress down the valley and across the flats as I walked.  On one side there would be golden grass in the sun, free of ice.  Then a sunlit transition zone where the ice had not yet melted, but drops of water sent up glints of color, and then the shadowed east of the valley was still completely white with frost, looking dull now by contrast with the sunny parts.  I encountered a fair number of cattle today, as the track crosses what used to be St. James Station.  It was sold to the government for $40 million about a year ago, and there are many hut book entries on what an outrageous price this was – but also how glad they are that this piece of land belongs to the people again.  It also completes a strip of DoC land that is continuous from East coast to West coast, a nice accomplishment.  However, the agreement allows the farmer some time to gradually de-stock the land, and evidently the horses will be allowed to continue to graze out their natural lives here.

I stayed at Christopher Hut tonight.  It was a little distance off my main route, but not too far, and it was at just about the right distance to have a good day’s hike.  I also have to admit that it was a good excuse not to ford the Ada River tonight, since I had been savoring my dry boots for a few days, and putting on wet ones tomorrow morning would be very unpleasant.

Day 55 – Lewis Pass to Boyle Flats Hut

I had an easy hitch back to the trail this morning, with a really interesting guy who sells agricultural equipment all over New Zealand.  Arrived at the southern trailhead of the St. James track, which is a loop touching the highway in two places.  There’s a facility here called the Boyle Outdoor Education Center, which evidently has beds for $25 and showers for $5.  If I had known about it, I probably would have had my package mailed here and saved myself a hitch.

The St. James is one of New Zealand’s Great Walks, a designation DoC gives to its most scenic and best maintained trails.  I did the Routeburn, another Great Walk, as a side trip, but it doesn’t connect up with Te Araroa at all.  This is the first one I’m doing as part of my official route, and I’ve been pretty excited about it.  The track did not disappoint – it was beautiful and clear walking all day.

I reached the Boyle Flats Hut by early afternoon and was trying to decide whether to head on to Rokeby Hut (which I had heard was “dreadful”), or camp, or stay here. The forecast was for a very cold night and Boyle Flats was rather nice, so I stuck around.  I was joined by a couple of older women from Motueka, one of them a DoC worker on holiday.  She seemed personally offended at some of the complaints in the hut book.  Often reading these books I find that somebody has made a complaint, and everybody else jumps on them for daring to criticize the wonderful huts and trails.  I’ve always thought this was a bit silly – the hut books are intended for feedback on a paid service, after all, and DoC must be fairly thick-skinned about it.  So I was surprised to see an actual DoC worker get annoyed by some perfectly valid complaints.

I learned some more from these ladies about the tramper who went missing recently.  They were at the Christopher Hut when a search and rescue helicopter stopped in to check the hut books.  His name was Ed Reinolds, he was an American about my age, and he hadn’t left any intentions.  When his parents last heard from him in February, he was planning to go over the Waiau Pass.

I was already a bit nervous about the Waiau crossing, as I read Eric Martinot’s blog post on it, which made it sound quite difficult and dangerous, and at 1870 meters, it is the highest point reached on the trail.  Hearing about this tramper who was so like me who may have disappeared on the crossing made me even more concerned, in a funny similarity-voodoo way.  The main way in which we differed, of course, was that I had left my intentions with Roxane so if things went off the rails, I would be found sooner.  I also knew that the weather was meant to be very good for the day I was planning to cross, which gave me confidence.

There was loads of cut wood at this hut, and though it was a bit of a challenge getting the fire started, once it was going, we had a nice warm night.

Day 54 – Hope Kiwi Lodge to Lewis Pass

From the lodge it was more easy tramping to get to Windy Point and the Lewis Pass highway.  I got drizzled on a little bit in the morning, but it cleared up soon.

While I sat by the highway thumbing a ride into Springs Junction for my resupply package, an official looking pickup truck zipped by in the wrong direction.  Moments later it was coming back my way, orange light flashing on top.  I couldn’t figure out what they were up to – hitchhiking is legal, and an orange light doesn’t mean police anyhow.

The truck pulled up, four men in orange construction vests inside.  “You okay?” asked one.

“Yeah, just trying to hitch a ride into Springs Junction.  Are you, um, going that way?”

“Sorry, nope.  There’s a tramper who went missing in this area and matches your description: beard and glasses.”  And, I later found out, American.  “We thought you might be him.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

I arrived in Springs Junction pondering that odd encounter.  The “town” is much smaller than I anticipated, the only amenities being an inn, a cafe, and a gas station.  I paid a lot more for a room than I would have at a backpackers, but for the shower alone it was worth every penny.  There was no laundry so I washed my clothes in the sink.  There’s nothing like seeing your washing water after scrubbing all your tramping clothes to make you realize just what a filthy animal you are.  Opening my food box was a real treat.  I haven’t done many mail drops on this trip, and I’d forgotten how much opening a package can feel like opening a present, even if you know everything that’s in it and in fact packed the box yourself* and the food inside is the same stuff you’ve been eating for weeks.  But there was extra good stuff here: new maps for the upcoming section, toilet paper, and a new treat for these last few sections: candles!  It’s been getting darker earlier, and doing my evening activities by candlelight in the huts has been much more pleasant than by flashlight.

*Well, actually I packed a box when I was in Wellington, but it was full to overflowing when I was done.  Big thanks to Roxane for buying a new box and repacking everything!

Day 53 – Hurunui Hot Pool to Hope Kiwi Lodge

Soaked again this morning and set out feeling quite refreshed. It was another easy day down the Hurunui River valley. There are so many things to like about being on a popular, well-established track: there are frequent markers, windthrow is cut away or routed around, there are nice huts. But the thing I like best is: they avoid unnecessary river crossings. When the river cuts into an embankment, the trail cuts a path into bush allowing a tramper to stay on the same side. When it becomes necessary to cross a river, there is typically a swingbridge. All of this means dry boots, and there is no higher luxury for a tramper.

Towards afternoon the trail began to climb to the Kiwi Saddle, then down a beautiful broad valley and over to the Hope Kiwi Lodge, a very nice hut with twenty bunks. I had the whole thing to myself and had a nice quiet candlelit evening.

I’ve been keeping an ear out for kiwis (note the lowercase k). The flightless birds have been doing rather well in Arthur’s Pass National Park and in particular the Hurunui River valley, which is being managed as a “Mainland Island.” Much of New Zealand’s bird conservation has been focussed on some of the offshore islands, which can generally be kept predator-free. The idea of a mainland island is to combine natural barriers like water and mountains with predator-proof fences, trapping, and poisoning to create a place where birds can thrive with their eggs unmolested by stoats, ferrets, weasels, and possums. There’s also a kiwi egg snatching operation currently being run by DoC. DoC tags kiwis with radio collars so they can tell when a bird is nesting, then they go in, steal the eggs, then hatch and raise the chicks until they are large enough to fend for themselves. This has worked quite well and boosts chick survival rates quite dramatically.

So I was listening keenly for kiwis, and I thought I heard a call, but every time I opened a window to listen better, the sound seemed to be coming from the other direction. At first I thought the bird saw me and stopped calling, but after walking around the hut a bit trying to figure out from which direction it was coming, I concluded that it must have been a squeaky wind spinner atop the chimney, which sat atop a logburner exactly in the center of the hut.

Day 52 – Locke Hut to Hurunui Hot Pool

From Locke Hut to the top of Harper’s Pass was quite difficult. There’s loads of windthrow on the track, and though it’s been there long enough that a de facto alternate track has formed around most of it, the constant detours and crouching under fallen trees makes things hard.

As I reached the top, things became easier, and I cruised on down to the Harper’s Pass Bivouac. Bivs are tiny huts or lesser shelters that are often placed in high country as emergency shelter.  Generally they have two bunks.  This one was especially adorable because the whole thing was painted blaze orange!

The trail was easy, and I hustled right along.  My goal was to reach the hot pools before dark and camp nearby so I could enjoy both an evening soak and a morning soak.  It was a bit tight, but I arrived with just enough light to set up my hammock and cook dinner.

Someone has done a good bit of rock moving to create a pool that will hold water, which is otherwise cascading down a steep rock face.  It is big enough to hold two people, though evidently it could hold more before a recent rockfall. By the time I got in for my soak it was full dark and I was able to peer at the stars, though my glasses kept fogging up.  I was quite glad of the opportunity to warm up my core before going to bed, because it was a cold night.  But I carried a good amount of heat into my sleeping bag with me and was comfy through till morning.

Day 51 – Aicken’s Corner to Locke Hut

Today I embarked on the Taramakau River, one of the more important Maori pounamu tracks in this area.  Maori traders would make the trip from the West Coast, where pounamu (aka greenstone aka jade) was available, to the East Coast, where they could trade it for other valuable commodities - mostly food.  Greenstone was greatly prized for both stone toolmaking and jewelry, because it is extremely durable as well as beautiful.  The route up the Taramakau and over what is now known as Arthur’s Pass was the only one of these pounamu trails that was easy enough that whole families could be brought along.  Further south the passes are more treacherous and only men would make the trip.

Today the Harper’s Pass is a fairly popular track, a moderate four or five days connecting the Arthur’s Pass highway with the Lewis Pass one.  I had great weather starting out, which allowed me to spread out my gear at lunchtime to dry in the sun. It was an easy day spent on river flats.

When I reached Locke Hut for the evening, I saw there was some gear in one of the bunkrooms, and a note left by a visitor for the other inhabitants.  I figured they were out on a day walk, and set about cooking my dinner.  As night fell I began to get worried.  When it was full dark, I was wondering where these other folks were, and what I should do if they never showed up.  Go looking for them?  Hike out and report them missing?

Of course it turned out they were hunters, and evening is the best time for hunters.  They’ll generally get set up in a good position right around sunset and watch for deer as twilight falls, then hike back by the light of a headlamp.  These two showed up about an hour after full dark.

New Zealand doesn’t have a hunting season as such; you can go into the woods and shoot a deer any time of year, with a minimum of regulation. But inasmuch as there is a hunting season, it is “the roar.”  This is when the stags are in rut and roar to announce their presence to mates and stake out territory.  This is great for hunters as it is a good way to pinpoint a trophy animal.  Sometimes they can also bring a stag to them by using a horn to fake a roar.  If they’re lucky, the angry stag will come looking for a competitor to drive off his property.  One of the hunters said “I was watching you on that last approach to the hut, and saw you stop and have a slash.  I thought about giving you a good scare with the horn, but thought ‘he might be armed!’”

Day 50 – Goat Pass to Aicken’s Corner

I woke to rain.  This was unfortunate as my day ahead included much rock scrambling and river crossing.  Fortunately it wasn’t heavy rain, and the Deception isn’t so long that it floods easily.  Still, the track was rough all day, and rain compounded my low morale.  It was also quite cold, so that I was wearing all my warm layers and hat underneath my rain gear.  This protected me fairly well, though when it came time for lunch I was inordinately grump that my tortillas were getting soggy.

By late afternoon I had reached the bottom of the Deception River, where it meets up with the Taramakau River, my next destination.  It also happens to meet up with a bend in the highway called Aicken’s Corner.  I decided to try and hitchhike into Arthur’s Pass township, hire a bunk, do laundry and dry out indoors.  However, just as I was making my last river crossing of the day, an easy one, I slipped and fell in, completely soaking my entire bottom half and part of my backpack.  My important gear was inside my pack liner, but I later discovered that a small hole in the pack liner allowed water to intrude upon my sleeping bag.  Oh woe is me!  But at least I would have a warm bed…

A sympathetic driver on his way to a tramp of his own soon picked me up and whisked me into Arthur’s Pass.  The backpackers was full.  So was the other backpackers, as well as the motel, the lodge, and the bed and breakfast.  Seems I wasn’t the only one with the bright idea to find shelter from the rain - just the slowest one!

Fortunately there was a fallback: DoC runs a campground near town, so for a mere $6 I could stay there.  First, though, I visited the Wobbly Kea and indulged in a massive, delicious meal.  I was extremely grateful for the Kiwi custom of not hurrying along restaurant patrons when they’ve done eating.  I sat for a long time enjoying the afterglow of my meal, warming up and drying off.

When I got to the campsite, I just couldn’t bring myself to set up my hammock in the rain, now much heavier than it was.  So I paid my fees and slept illegitimately but inconspicuously in the campground’s day shelter.  Apologies DoC!  I was glad that my sleeping bag was filled with a synthetic material, because down would have been rendered useless by the water that came in when I fell.  Synthetic fills don’t have this problem, and I was still kept reasonably warm by my damp bag.

Day 49 – Arthur’s Pass to Goat Pass

Today’s trail took me up the Mingha River, and made me deeply appreciate the system of national parks.  There was more vegetation, more birdlife, and better track than on any single day of my entire tramp previously.  I believe this is actually the first time my route has taken me through a national park.  The weather was beautiful too, which added to the enjoyment.

I was about halfway through the day when I came up opposite a massive waterfall, hundreds of meters tall.  I sat leaning against my pack and watched it fall, dozing in the sun.  Pretty soon I fell asleep properly and had a little afternoon nap.  No problem, because progress was easy today – I’d have no trouble reaching the hut.

This track is used by part of the Speight’s Coast to Coast race, a multisport adventure across the South Island.  Because of this the hut books are full of entries like “Training for coast to coast,” “Counting coast to coast runners,” and so on.

I crested Goat Pass, and for the first time on my Te Araroa tramp I was crossing the Main Divide.  Like America’s Continental Divide, this is a set of ridges and passes which split all rainfall in New Zealand into that which drains to the Pacific and that which drains to the Tasman Sea.

Immediately on the other side of the pass, the track standard took a turn for the worse, turning into a steep downhill scramble over boulders.  I was hopping repeatedly back and forth across increasingly large river pools as the infant Deception River found its legs.  I was often glad there was no rain, because slippery rocks would have made this much more challenging.  I was very surprised that the trail was not of a consistent standard with the Mingha Valley trail, considering that both are used by the Coast to Coast race.

I stayed at Upper Deception Hut, an older hut with a real fireplace instead of a log burner.  I still had daylight and was reading down by the river, when I was surprised to see a skinny tattooed Kiwi picking his way up the river, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.  By now I have become so used to staying in huts alone that it seems a bit unusual to have company.  But news from down the trail is always welcome, and my new companion had just come over Harper’s Pass, the route I was beginning.  He told me the Deception tomorrow would be hard, but the rest should be fine.  Most importantly he informed me of a natural hot spring about halfway through my trek.  I looked forward greatly to having a warm soak.

Day 48 – Christchurch to Arthur’s Pass

I flew back to Christchurch and stayed again at The Jailhouse hostel.  In the morning I expected to catch a city bus to the edge of town and start hitching, but it turned out I needed even a bit more walking to get into a good hitching spot.

Eventually I was picked up by a young German named Niklas, taking a gap year between high school and college.  We had an enjoyable time chatting about jobs and school.  Too enjoyable, perhaps, because as we passed through a town, a police officer passing the other direction flipped on his lights and pulled us over for speeding.

The officer did not seem inclined to be friendly or forgiving, and had an inordinate amount of trouble with Niklas’ German accent.

“What’s your home address?”

“26 Rotzeestrasse.”

“Spell that please.”

“Arr oh tee set…”

“Set?  What’s set?”

“A letter, the last letter of the alphabet.”

“Set?  There’s no such letter.”

Of course he was saying “zed,” and I felt like the officer was being purposely obtuse.  Still, when he came back from writing up the ticket he was surprisingly kind.  He explained that if Niklas didn’t plan on returning to New Zealand, he could simply disregard the ticket, but if he returned the ticket would be waiting, with fines tacked on.  Then he said “If you’ve got room, there are a couple of very nice young ladies up the road with their thumbs out, you may want to pick them up.”

This was hilarious to me, since hitchhiking is illegal in most of the States, so to receive advice on hitching from an officer seemed very unusual. At any rate, down the road we picked up Hilary and Raissa, a lovely pair on their way to pick apples in Alexandra after a brief tour of the West Coast.

The road over Arthur’s Pass is exceedingly beautiful, and following a river valley and twisting between mountains and lakes.  One of the most remarkable sights is Castle Hill, a jumble of weathered limestone rocks that calls to mind a ruined castle or walled city.  Raissa mentioned as we drew close that the Dalai Lama had called this place a “Spiritual Center of the Universe,” so naturally we pulled over and had a picnic.  As cool as it appears from the road, the front rocks of this formation hide an even more fantastic garden of shapes behind it.  This is a bouldering paradise, with all sorts of interesting shapes to climb on and crawl across.

It was evening before I reached the beginning of the trail, but it was a day well spent.  I had a short roadwalk that just used up the last of the light.  I stopped at a roadside shelter intending to camp, when a huge bird circled low over my head.  At first I thought it was a hawk, but after it circled twice, it landed gracelessly on the ground and I recognized its bright green plumage as that of a kea.  It hopped sideways around me to get a look from all angles while a companion arrived and sat on the shelter behind me.  The birds were the size of a large cat, beautiful, and completely unafraid.  One of them came within arm’s reach of me.  They say keas are extremely intelligent (like most other parrots), and watching them watch me I certainly felt their intelligence.  I sat and watched them hop around the shelter picking at crumbs left there during the day.

I would have enjoyed communing with the keas all night, but they are also known for their destructiveness.  They are so inquisitive that they frequently rip apart backpacker’s gear out of pure curiosity, generally in the middle of the night.  These birds clearly felt that this shelter was their territory, so I moved on – there was another shelter only a few kilometers up the road.

At the next shelter I cooked dinner alongside a quartet of French girls.  Their English was rudimentary so we only exchanged a few words, and they mostly talked French among themselves.  I have no French, so to my hearing their conversation went “blah blah blah blah shitty shit!”  I couldn’t suppress a giggle at the creative swearing. Then the girls realized the first word I had understood all night was a cuss, and everyone burst out laughing.  I should have asked what the Academie Française would have thought of their using an English loanword.

Wellington Intermission

From Christchurch I flew up to Wellington for the weekend, where Roxane and I spent a nice relaxing weekend walking around, eating, and meeting the friends she’s made up there.

I went for a run in Wellington’s botanical gardens, which are lovely.  For the first time I actually saw some tuis.  I’ve heard them constantly throughout my hike, but they aren’t “friendly” like the fantail or black robin, so they’re always just out of sight in the foliage.

We went to Te Papa, the national museum of New Zealand.  It had a lot of great natural history exhibits.  There was a cool multiuser interactive display called “The Wall” that Roxane and Sarah and I spent a while playing with.  And there was a great exhibit on Maori culture, and on the Waitangi Treaty, which is generally considered New Zealand’s founding document.

Roxane was again dismayed at the amount of weight I’ve lost, but the pace has slowed.  I think with all the eating I did in town I put at least a few of those pounds back on, though.