Aoraki/Mount Cook National Park

We made the call to take a couple of days off walking and hitch to Aoraki/Mt Cook National Park, as neither of us had been there before.

On arrival we set up our tent at the DOC campsite at the entrance of the Hooker Valley track and made our way up to Hooker Lake. This was an easy 3 hour return trip and the views were simply amazing.

That night we fell asleep listening to the sound of avalanches as they rumbled down Mt Sefton.

In the morning we were greeted by the now familiar sound of Kea flying overhead. They landed in the carpark and proceeded to playfully attack an unlucky traveller's van roof.

Lake Ohau to Lake Hawea

"Whittakers or Cadbury?" Abby asked. We were in the Foursquare at Twizel shopping for five days worth of food. Abby was all about Cadbury and I was all about Whittakers. We compromised and got one of each. If there was one thing we had learnt about life on the trail, it was that we able to eat anything and everything. We were burning calories fast so our diet consisted of high energy foods such as chocolate, noodles, lollies, peanut butter and a small variety of fresh fruit to keep up us from getting scurvy.

We made it to Lake Ohau that evening. We set up our tent on the lake edge and were surprised to find that we had the lake to ourselves, a nice change from the crowded streets of Tekapo.

The next morning we climbed up to Ahuriri Valley. It was a hard slog up to the saddle and we found ourselves stopping regularly to catch our breath and have a drink. As we sat just below the bush line with our bottles in hand and bums on our pack, we heard footsteps coming from down the hill. We looked up to see a middle aged man. Looking at him we instantly knew he was another thru-hiker. The walking poles, running shoes and the small pack gave it away. As he approached us he gave us a warm smile and introduced himself. His name was Rhodes from the United States of America and he had just got back on the Te Araroa trail after a couple of weeks break traveling New Zealand with his wife and daughter. After a couple of minutes of friendly chat he said farewell and continued up the hill.

After a fairly uneventful day walking through the valley, we finally made it to a small campsite by a stream. We discovered that we weren't alone, as a small one person tent had been pitched under a big willow tree. Rhodes popped his head out the door and greeted us.

In the last week of walking we had realised we had become lazy in our routine. We no longer got up at the crack of dawn but instead rolled ourselves out of bed whenever we felt like it. Time had little meaning because there was never anything to be late for. However, the days somehow felt longer if we started walking later. Agreeing this had to change, we set our alarm clock for six am.

The alarm went off and like planned, we got up and prepared ourselves for the day ahead. It was still dark when I got out of the tent. Hearing a slight rustling noise, I turned my headlight on a stoat which was sitting in a clearing not far from the tent. It hissed at me and disappeared into the bush before I could find something to throw at it. It was another reminder of how bad the pest problem is in New Zealand.

We planned on camping that night but after checking out Top Timaru Hut we knew we weren't going any further. The DOC hut was near new and in great condition. We joined two kiwi section hikers, a german lady on the TA and a kiwi tramper. We joked that for the first time on the trip, the kiwis outnumbered the internationals.

Liking how early we got to Top Timaru Hut, we made another early start the next day. The track started with a gentle drop down to Timaru river before it climbed up, then down, up, down. An hour in and we were calling for a break. I pulled out the map and studied it carefully. It looked possible to walk down the river. With our boots already soaked from the numerous river crossings anyway, I put the idea to Abby. She agreed. Just as we were about to ditch the track, Rhodes popped out from behind us and said excitingly "oh, are you guys going down the river? I may as well join you". I thought of explaining that we didn't really know if the route down the river was doable but decided to just bite my lip and go with the flow.

An hour later and we were still making our way down the river. It was slow going, in some places we had to clamber over rocks and wade through knee deep water. I turned back to see Abby looking pretty dark about the whole situation. Rhodes had pulled out in front of us and I would catch the back of him every now and then. Looking at the phone to see how much progress we had made was always disappointing as we were always only another hundred or so metres from the last checkpoint. Finally, we connected with the track again and we both let out a sigh of relief. With Rhodes nowhere in sight, we figured he was just ahead of us. A little way into the hellish clamber (1000 vertical metres) up to Breast Hill, we bumped into a couple of hunters. We greeted them and asked if they'd seen Rhodes, expecting them to be like "yeah nah he's waiting up at the hut for you slowpokes". They turned to look at each and pondered before turning to us and saying "nah, no American". Continuing up the hill we thought up all the worst case scenarios. He'd been washed away downstream. He'd taken the wrong turn and had become lost. He had been attacked by a Yeti. All were possible but we somehow felt like we could have simply past him while he was taking a toilet break and missed his bag on the track.

Passing Stodys Hut, we continued to climb on an old 4WD track. The higher we went, the stronger the wind got. By the time we reached the ridge line the wind was blowing a gale. With dark grey clouds rolling in from over the Alps, we stepped up the pace.

Pakituhi Hut was a sight for sore eyes. After a long day, we were pleased to arrive at another near new hut. We cooked up our noodles, discussed where the heck Rhodes had got to and fell asleep listening to the wind whistling overhead.

The next morning we descended down towards Lake Hawea. The wind was still blowing a gale but as we dropped, so did the wind. The descent was sharp and we couldn't have been more pleased that we were going down not up. We met a French guy near the bottom and he looked shattered at hearing he was only a quarter of the way up.

We arrived in Lake Hawea at midday. We made for the local fish and chip shop/dairy. We heard a voice yell our names and turned to see a familiar face. It was Rhodes. A cigarette hung out of his mouth and a half empty beer mug sat comfortably in his hand. We walked up to him and he greeted us like old friends. "Where did you disappear to yesterday? And how did you beat us to Lake Hawea?" we asked, still shaking our heads in disbelief. It turns out Rhodes missed the turnoff to Breast Hill and ended up battling thick bush before realising he had gone the wrong way. Still unsure of how Rhodes managed to get ahead of us, we sat down to reflect on the past few days over a cold jug of beer.

Motatapu & Macetown

After arriving in Lake Hawea we went and stayed with Carla, a friend of a friend. Carla kindly had us for a couple of days while we rested and resupplied. We planned on staying with her in Wanaka for at least 3 days but with the weather forecast predicting heavy rain later on in the week, we decided to leave earlier and carry extra food to sit out any rainy days.

Canadian country singer Shania Twain purchased the lease to over 20,000 hectares of land between Queenstown and Wānaka in 2004. In March 2008, fulfilling some of the lease terms, Twain opened the Motatapu track to the public. The track runs across station land from Motatapu valley above Glendhu Bay to Macetown, upriver from Arrowtown.

The Motatapu trail is really the last true mountainous terrain of the Te Araroa trail. With that in mind, we pushed on hard and made light work of steep terrain that would of had us in tears at the start of our journey.

Tucked away in a large valley, we arrived at Highland Creek Hut around mid afternoon. On arrival we were greeted by two cheery trampers. After a few introductions we found out there names were Renee and Dani and they were spending some time off tramping in the South Island. We instantly liked the duo, they were funny, down to earth and terrible at Monopoly Deal.

The morning came around and we parted ways with our new friends. They were heading back to Wanaka and we were to continue to Roses Hut. The air outside was ice cold and as the clouds parted we could see fresh snow on the peaks above. Up the valley we could hear stags roaring furiously at one another.

We arrived at Roses Hut in the mid afternoon and enjoyed the free time by eating up countless packets of noodles and flicking through the comments in the hut book. A couple of hours later the hut door swung open and there stood Rhodes. Abby and I both failed to hide our delight in seeing him.

Our original plan was to wait out the rain at Roses Hut. It was a plan Abby in particular had grown fond of and I could understand why. In the last couple of weeks we had done some pretty big days. This was an opportunity to relax and rest the feet. However, the weather forecast looked to be turning in our favour, so I pitched the new plan to Abby. I explained that we'd be better off to keep moving if the weather was good and that we were only a day away from Arrowtown. There was little resistance from Abby as I watched the idea of Arrowtown take its effect on her.

As we walked the next morning we talked about all the food we wanted to eat when we got into town. We hardly noticed the large hill we had just climbed up and were surprised when we reached the saddle.

We arrived in Arrowtown to discover that somehow Rhodes had again managed to slip past us without us seeing him. He greeted us at the Arrowtown Holiday Park and cheerfully said "I'm off to find myself a beer". Abby and I were on a high after ticking off another section and had dinner at the local Indian restaurant to celebrate. This mood continued through to the morning when we visited another restaurant for breakfast. The food was so good that we strongly considered staying for lunch. We really enjoyed Arrowtown. Although it was still bustling with life, it felt a lot more relaxed than Wanaka had. I think we could of easily spent a couple more days in Arrowtown, soaking up all the sights and eating out for every meal. However, after hearing that our friends Devon and Marina were only a few kilometres away in Queenstown, we decided to head off.

Glenorchy to Te Anau

We arrived in Queenstown at midday and found a supermarket to resupply at. The TA trail notes suggested that the next section would take 3-4 days, however, we planned on adding the Greenstone/Caples walkway to our itinerary which would add an extra day. Renee and Dani, the two trampers we met at Highland Creek Hut had suggested this route to us.

We finally caught up with Devon and Marina in Queenstown. The last time we had seen them was in Nelson Lakes when they parted ways to visit Abel Tasman. We'd stayed in close contact since then and always seemed to just miss catching up with each other. We agreed to head out to Glenorchy that afternoon and stay at the local campground.

It was great to catch up on Devon and Marina's adventures. As we sat around a table at Mrs Woolly's campground, they explained that their adventure was digressing more and more from the marked Te Araroa trail. Abby and I nodded in agreement. There is common phrase that is used amongst thru-hikers and that is "hike your own hike", sometimes abbreviated "HYOH". Essentially it means that there is no single correct way to hike a trail. It’s every hiker's prerogative to do whatever they choose to do in order to make their hiking experience everything they want it to be, regardless of anyone else’s opinion. From the stories Devon and Marina told, it was apparent that they had made their Te Araroa hike their own.

Later in the evening Devon and Marina broke the news that they planned to get through to Te Anau via the Routeburn track. It sounded like a great idea and had us wondering why we didn't think of that route ourselves. After some deliberation with Abby we made the call to stick to our original plan and hope that we could catch up with our Maine friends before Bluff.

The next morning we said farewell to Devon and Marina and made for the edge of town, hoping that we could hitch a ride out to the start of the Greenstone/Caples track. After half an hour of smiling and giving the thumbs up to every car that drove past, we called it quits. Heading back to town we met up with Devon and Marina again and decided that the best course of action was to book a shuttle and grab a big breakfast from the local pub while we wait for it.

A short way into the Greenstone track Abby turned to me with a glum expression on her face. "What's wrong?" I asked. "It's mostly just farmland with small patches of forest" she said in a disappointed tone. I had to agree with her, the last two days weren't very exciting. The huts were a cut above what we were used to but everything else about the walk was a bit mundane. Maybe it's because we had spent months walking through lush forest and across impressive high country so now our standards were set particularly high. Nether the less, we could now say that we had walked the Greenstone/Caples track.

We returned to the Te Araroa trail at Greenstone Hut and continued south towards Mavora Lakes. It was nearly dark when we got to Taipo Hut and we found a young Filipino lady settling down for the evening. She told us she was on a mission to get to Queenstown the next day to meet a friend at the airport. Impressively, she had walked from Mavora Lakes, 25kms south of Taipo Hut, in just one day. She quickly collapsed onto her mattress and fell into a deep sleep.

The wind and rain starting to set in as we arrived at Lake Mavora campsite the next evening. We quickly pitched our tent. As we were low on supplies, we hitched a ride to Te Anau with a group of Australian hunters the following morning.

With the weather only getting worse and a cyclone moving down the country, we decided it would be best to hunker down in Te Anau for an extra day. This gave us time to catch up with friends and family and to plan for the final push to Bluff.

The Road to Bluff

Dressed head to toe to protect ourselves from the sandflies, we stood on the outskirts of Te Anau. We had a somewhat ambitious plan to try hitch a ride down to Longwood Forest. With a cyclone causing damage in the North Island and moving south, it was a race against time to get through the forest sections before the heavy rain was expected. After an hour of waiting we got lucky and were picked up by a local pilot who took us a few kilometres down the road. Long story short, four rides and some dodgy driving later we arrived at the road leading to Longwood Forest.

Our tent site that night wasn't ideal. We had walked to the road end/start of the Longwood forest track following information stating there was possible camping in the area. Upon arrival, we searched for the campsite only to find a small, lumpy, sloped patch of very sodden grass. With light fading and rain beginning to fall we agreed that it would have to do.

The next morning we packed up and started our muddy climb up the Longwood Forest track. The rain had subsided and on Bald Hill we got our first glimpse of the southern seas. Although hazy, we could make out the distant landmarks of Bluff. It was at this moment that I was hit with an overwhelming sense of achievement. I had walked just over 2800kms of New Zealand and the reality of being so close to Bluff and the end of my journey was finally kicking in.

The weather turned again and upon reaching the highest point of Longwood Forest we were greeted by thick white cloud. We made our way along the boggy track and dropped down to Martin's Hut, a basic four-bunk hut built in 1905 during the gold-mining era. We bumped into Aiden, an Australian trail walker who also went by the name - Adingo. We spent a little time chatting to him about his Te Araroa adventure. He informed us that four other walkers were close behind him so we decided that we'd camp further down the track, leaving them to fight over the bunks. We wished him luck for the remaining days of his trip and parted ways.

We spent a night in Riverton and then walked the coastline to Invercargill, knowing that with every step we took we grew closer to the end of the Te Araroa trail.

40kms. That's all that stood between me and the bottom of New Zealand. In the early hours of the morning we packed up our tent for the final time. We walked quickly and quietly through the streets of Otatara before arriving in Invercargill. Abby decided that 40km was a little too much for one day and booked a shuttle from Invercargill to Bluff, joining me for the last 3kms. I parted ways with her and headed south.

The walk to Bluff wasn't glamorous. The track follows the coast before cutting inland past a sewage treatment plant, eventually joining State Highway 1. The road was surprisingly busy and I spent most of my time scrambling along the road edge trying to stay out of the way of traffic. With less than 12kms to go, two young guys pulled over and asked if I wanted a ride. I replied with thanks but no thanks, I was walking the length of the country and was almost there.

As I approached Bluff I saw Abby in the distance, waiting patiently for me at the Bluff sign. Upon arrival, I gave her a hug and kiss and told her how miserable the walk from Invercargill had been. We took a couple of photos by the sign and made our way to Stirling Point.

On April 18th, 2017 at 2pm we made it to Stirling Point in Bluff. After 126 days spent walking (rest days excluded), 3000+kms covered and an extraordinary amount of chocolate consumed, my mission was complete. Abby had also accomplished an amazing feat, walking the final 1000kms with me.

Stewart Island

Bluff was the end of the Te Araroa trail but not the end of the Lost Zealand journey. Over the last month Abby and I had discussed the possibility of catching a flight to Stewart Island. Since we were so close, it only made sense.

A day after arriving in Bluff we were on a 10 person plane bound for Oban, the only settlement on Stewart Island. As we started approaching the island we got our first real glimpse at what we were in for. We could make out the small settlement of Oban with its scattered homes nestled amongst the trees and coastline. Beyond the township the terrain was wild. Forest covered every surface of land that we could see.

Once in Oban we headed for the DOC visitor centre to see if we could find someone to talk to about the 125km North West circuit (NWC). We had some clues on what to expect as my dad had walked the NWC a couple of years prior and had filled us in over the phone. As Abby and I studied a large map of the island on the wall, a DOC staff member approached us and asked if we needed a hand. I told her of our intentions and she replied "Ooooh it's very muddy at the moment". This seemed to be the general consensus of the track. Mud, mud, mud and more mud.

After a night in Oban we woke up early and made our way to Golden Bay to wait for our water taxi. Although we were used to the weight of our packs, the presence of eight days worth of food was definitely noticed.

The plan was to bypass the section from Oban to Freshwater and make our way to Mason Bay. Matt from Rakiura Water Taxi took us deep into the Patterson Inlet and upriver to Freshwater Hut where we were to begin the NWC.

Our first day on the NWC was relatively easy going. Leaving the water taxi we followed a boarded track for a couple of hours to Mason Bay Hut. Looking over the maps we knew we were going to have tougher days ahead and enjoyed the afternoon relaxing down by the beach.

On the second day we waited until low tide before walking along Mason Bay. Even with the tide near it's lowest we found ourselves scrambling around rock faces to avoid waves from sweeping us out to sea (according to Abby). The wind which had battered us all morning on the coastline was particularly strong once we made it up onto the ridge line and we were pleased to arrive at Big Hellfire Hut. A cheerful American and French duo greeted us and they gave us some insight for what was to come (more mud, surprise surprise). Nearly everyone we met talked about how good the fishing was on Stewart Island. The American explained that he had caught a Blue Cod within seconds of throwing his line in the water. This news went down well with Abby who was desperate to catch a fish with our fishing reel that we'd brought along.

We really enjoyed the western side of the island. The weather had somewhat settled down and the track offered scenic views out towards the Tasman sea. We hit a bit of strife when Abby tripped and landed headfirst onto a boulder. She gained a deep cut on her knee and a bruise on her head, yet she was a trooper and carried on as nothing had happened.

We attempted to catch Blue Cod off the rocks but kept on pulling in some sort of rock cod that proved to be pretty tasteless. None the less, we were stoked that we were catching some form of fish. As well as fish we also saw a variety of wildlife on land including Kaka, Fantails, Tui, Kereru, white tail deer, possums and a Kiwi!. On our way to Long Harry Hut out of the corner of my eye I caught something moving under some ferns. I turned to see the backside of a kiwi moving slowly through some scrub. Abby and I both cracked massive grins, it was our first encounter with a wild Kiwi.

Our final night was spent at Bungaree Hut. It couldn't have been a more epic end to our adventure on Stewart Island. The hut was located right on the edge of the beach and we had it all to ourselves. We started a fire, ate our final block of chocolate and played Monopoly deal. We summed up our days on the island and concluded that this was some of the best walking we had done in the last couple of months. The wildlife that we seen, the people that we had met and the wild/untouched beauty of the island would have a lasting impression.

On the last day we linked up with the Rakiura track, one New Zealand's Great Walks and enjoyed walking on the well maintained path. Once on the road a friendly local picked us up. We told him about the fish we had caught and he laughed and said he wouldn't even give those fish to his neighbours. He kindly gave us a couple of Paua that he had on the back of his truck and we cooked them up an hour later. Yum!

We were both sad to leave Stewart island. It was so unique to the rest of New Zealand and we still felt like we had so much more to see. We vowed that we would return and joked that we might actually catch a real Blue Cod next time. As our plane flew towards Invercargill I worked out we had less than a week left in the South Island. It wasn't a lot of time but it was enough to tick off one of the most iconic walks in New Zealand, the Routeburn.

South Island Part Two