Queen Charlotte Track

Shortly before the end of the year I took the ferry from Wellington to Picton on the South Island. The rough sea at the beginning gave me a hard time. My stomach is not the most robust one when it comes to swaying ground. Fortunately, the wrath of Cook Straight calmed down to a tolerable level for me when we entered Queen Charlotte Sound. From here on I could enjoy the view of the mountains sinking into the sea, stretching out like fingers. We meandered along with the barge packed with cars, buses and trains, as well as people, all the way to our destination port deep in the neck of the Sound.

Once there, I stayed another night in a pretty crazy hostel. Outside it was storming when I entered the Atlantis. I found myself in a cabinet of curiosities, a maze of all sorts of colorfully decorated rooms that took me a while to find my way around. As always, it’s interesting to meet “normal” travelers, away from the hardcore wanderers. Interesting in that I struggle to have a normal conversation that doesn’t revolve around the trail. My world is the trails, theirs hostels and the roads they travel on. Two seemingly completely different ways to discover the islands.

The morning after my arrival and a sumptuous meal, cooked in a real kitchen without having to watch gas consumption, another ferry took me, within an hour and a half to the beginning of the Queen Charlotte Track. A route designed for tourists that can be hiked comfortably in four days. I did it in two days.

Arriving at the quay, I was happy to see two long unseen faces. René had had so much bad luck over the last 1000 km that no single person should have. First he had problems with his shins for weeks, which forced him to take long breaks, then the bad weather got in his way and last but not least he lost his cell phone, with all his pictures, on the Whanganui River. I feel so sorry for the poor guy. Despite all this, it’s nice to see that he doesn’t just let it get him down. René seems a bit rough on the outside, but he is a warm man who is a nurse by profession. In chess, he pulls me off with ease, without batting an eye.

Over the next two weeks, I had to really push myself to arrive on time at the meeting place agreed upon with Logan. On New Year’s Eve, I had set my sights on 47 km to meet up with Noor and Josie to celebrate the new year. The two of them had already started a day earlier. This was my longest day so far, at least in terms of distance covered. I had to distract myself with audiobooks and fast music to push me through the day. The Sebastian Bergmann series is currently my go-to pastime. I only had a half hour lunch break and two smaller breaks to catch my breath to get there in under 10 hours.

Arriving, I was greeted with cheers from a welcome committee. I quickly concocted a delicious end-of-year meal consisting of rice and vegetable soup before we toasted the New Year at 8:15pm for the hiker’s Midnight, with two piccolo bottles of sparkling wine. With many and extensive breaks, long distances suddenly seem much shorter, but equally hit the bones. Already after the second day on the South Island and over 80 kilometers covered, I felt a pulling at the base of the calf muscle, and a pain in the shin, a kind of hardening of the tendons. Even the morning after, both still hurt when I walked. However, the pain subsided over the course of the day. Instead, at the end of the third day, a pulling sensation, a sign of overload in the thigh, joined in.

After arriving at the camp right next to a river, I first allowed myself a refreshing jump into the cool water and massaged the affected areas in the cool water until the pain was largely gone. A little stretching then did the rest. My legs felt better with each passing day.

Havelock

The Richmonds are really fantastic and the most varied section on the whole trail so far. After Havelock, a small tourist town, we walked along the state highway for a while and later on a gravel road to Pelorus Bridge, where we saw civilized people for the last time.

From here we continued the following day along a gravel road that ended in the actual trail into the mountains. We hiked along the turquoise river, through a forest that smelled so pleasantly of conifers. At our breaks we allowed ourselves to jump into the crystal clear water, joy and refreshment at the same time. Unfortunately, you can not stay here comfortably in one place, otherwise you will be eaten alive by the sand flies. Apparently they need the blood to be able to reproduce. Of course, I try to counteract this by any means possible. A long top and pants keep them away as far as possible. However, they bite through my socks. I seem to be more susceptible to the itchy bites than the others, who are comfortably out in the open while I hole up in one of the many huts scattered along the way. I get really small swellings.

Still in Wellington I thought I could still wear my shoes until I meet up with Logan and he brings me my new pair, but unfortunately the sole on the ball of both shoes is now dissolving into good graces. The rest of the sole, however, is still quite stable profiled. Up to our meeting still 300 km lie before me. I had already thought about reinforcing the place with a piece of plastic or something similar from the inside. The solution was finally to cut the sole of my flip flops to the right size and glue inside under my insole.

Time

Time is very relative on the trail, especially in terms of perception and the speed of individual hikers. For my part, I distinguish between three different times that allow for variation within themselves. First, the times that DOC (Department of Conservation) posts in front of each trail on specially erected signs in yellow lettering on a green background. I prefer to call them tourist times, as they are easy for experienced hikers, or trampers as they say here, to beat or even cut in half. None of us really take them seriously. You might be able to approximate them by hopping the trail on one leg. Within the DOC times, there is some variation depending on who put them in place.

The second times can be found in the comments from huts in the FarOut app. This is where other TA hikers post their times with comments about trail conditions and weather. Often paired with notes on what the huts have to offer, how many places to sleep and the possibility of camping, water quality, sand fly count, and how well you can swim in adjacent rivers or lakes. These times can often be attributed more credibility. Experts are at work here, often having been hiking for months or even having hiked through another country before.

The last time is my own. As a rule, I beat both other times. I often make it my personal goal to be faster. It feels good to push myself to high performance, a rush where I march through fully focused. I focus equally on my legs and on my breath, each breath deep through my nose. Even during difficult passages I avoid my mouth, if that doesn’t work I’m obviously going too fast. So I regulate myself a little bit, so to speak. In this way, I establish a rhythm that I can maintain for many hours. Now and then interrupted by pulls on my water bladder or to admire the surroundings. Sometimes you get a completely different perspective on the route you have just covered, when you stop, turn around and reflect again on what you have already left behind. If I find a place particularly beautiful I make a photo or even set up my tripod to be captured in the snapshot.

Richmond Range

The Richmonds are known to be particularly tough. From the beginning we are driven into its dense forests of birch and fir like trees. Our path stretches on and on along the turquoise waters that indispensably carry themselves down the rock-strewn riverbed, towards us on the way up. The water is at the same time a delight for the eyes, as for the palate. A feast that I let flow down my throat unfiltered. This is a nature reserve, free of livestock that could upset my stomach. The occasional stop at natural pools that have formed in the stream over millennia is a good opportunity to refresh myself and so clean body and clothes, which would otherwise end in quickly stinking company for the others for lack of showers.

A special highlight are the paths that go directly through the riverbed, not only for crossing, but in particular up the middle of the river, over rocks that pave it narrowly and thus escort me up dry feet.

Within 6 days we face a towering 8000 meters of altitude difference, in both directions, up and down. The individual meters are not evenly distributed over the 150 km distance, but slay one again and again in batches with full force, sometimes with 1000 m on 3 km.

Full hut

Our third day was very rainy and therefore did not contribute much to the view over adjacent mountain ranges. So far, we only know third-hand reports of how beautiful it is supposed to be. We hiked practically the whole day in a cloud that didn’t allow us to see further than 50 meters. Sometimes we even had a hard time making out where the next trail marker or even the whole trail had disappeared to. Soaking wet from the constant precipitation, we allowed ourselves only short breaks to stave off hunger in a hut with a small snack, a granola bar or a wrap. The wet , cold clothing reminds us then but quickly again to move on. In movement one becomes then also immediately again warm.

A pack of hikers from Auckland let us know where they plan to spend the night. Since the huts here offer only place for up to six persons, we decided to stop one hut earlier than planned and to go thus further rain and lack of beds from the way. I was traveling in a group of seven that day, which had thrown together at Pelorus Bridge, at the head of the Richmonds. Even we alone were already overcrowding a hut. Josie and I in the lead, half an hour ahead of the others, were the vanguard, already getting a fire going.

As almost to be expected, the hut was not completely empty. When I opened the door, a very familiar, but long unseen backpack looked out at me. I let my eyes roam over the beds to confirm my suspicions. Connor finds himself in one of the bunks. In true delight at seeing me again, he promptly jumps out and greets me with a hug. He quickly gets the already extinguished fire going again.

After everyone else had also arrived, we made arrangements with the beds and made more sleeping camps on the floor with our own mats. Earlier, together through confessed adventures were exchanged, new firewood was searched for and chopped to keep the stove on its toes, which dried our clothes and gave us warmth. Since we had already finished the day around 3pm, we had plenty of time left to unwind in the hammock and engage in mental distraction. Everyone filled their diaries and read a few lines in their own books. In the evening, we pass the time together with a guessing game, before we go horizontal just before the eclipse.

The reason we discovered Connor and Brandon in Slaty Hut was that they were sitting out the bad weather before attempting the traverse of Mount Rintoul, which was supposed to be quite technical. The weather was not ideal, as described earlier, but at least the wind was weak enough that we had nothing to worry about in our attempt the next day. As on Tongariro, nothing of the supposed danger was visible. So we could only guess where a crash might have ended.

None of us really felt that it was an impossible task if we held on tightly and felt our way carefully, step by step. The top of the mountain was completely above the tree line, which is also why strong winds make the traverse difficult. That done, we quickly went back down into the forest, which again surprised us with its various hues. On the way to our destination hut, we again met the Aucklanders having lunch. Two of us got stuck there. Good thing, since our 5-man hut had just enough room for the remaining members.

Tarn Hut was located on a small lake that cleared the forest out of nowhere and shone an even magical light down on us. The clearing of the sky gave us courage for the coming days, which we didn’t have to spend in pouring rain. A few of us decided to take it easy and split up. In the end it was Connor and I who pushed on through the Red Hills to St. Arnaud for the next two days. Two long days that had heralded a change of scenery at every hut we passed.

Between Mid Wairoa and Top Wairoa Hut we hiked the whole time along a river with very narrow trails and some crossings. Masses of wasps had taken up residence on the scorched looking trees along the river, ready to attack at the slightest disturbance. Almost all of us were stung and Branden even had to go to the doctor because the venom had spread like an ulcer on his arm.

The Red Hills truly live up to their name, creating another change in the landscape. However, long days eventually take their toll. I had been on the road non-stop for 9 days without really taking a breath. So on the last day I realized that I would take the easier, 10 km shorter route out of the forest.

Arrived in St. Arnaud I am after a good meal, a hot shower and a little rest, then also quickly regained my strength. A rest day was then also on the program, before it then went to the next stage. I picked up my supply box and bought some odds and ends that wouldn’t last long. Connor had to get provisions from a nearby town on his break day and was so nice to bring me fresh vegetables.

So armed we can start again. The actual trail goes through a valley. Connor and I have decided to take a route that is of the actual trail, which leads over an adjacent mountain to a lake, which is 1800 meters above sea level. We don’t want to make it too easy again. This will be a half day for us, which we can then use to relax.

Video impressions of the trail