Author: Dragon

On my way out of Hanmer Springs on Saturday morning, the hostel manager at Jack in the Green where I was staying was nice enough to offer me a ride down to the highway intersection that leads off towards Boyle Village, where the trail picks up.

From there, I stuck out my thumb and got a ride with an older fella and his dog who were headed to a little close knit music festival where he was going to play some banjo. The dog was adorable and had his head in my lap the whole 40km ride.

They dropped me off just outside of Boyle Village. We wished each other well, and went our separate ways. My route led 30km up the Boyle valley, over the Anne Saddle, and down another valley to the picturesque Anne Hut. I met up with my NOBO friend Nora there again, and pitched the tent outside since it was pretty crowded in the hut.

Oh yeah, and I lost my titanium spoon! Noooooo! We had been through so much together… it must have fallen out at some point when I took out my snack pack. Damn. This is why we do the idiot check every time we stop, Daniel! Well anyways, I borrowed Nora’s spoon, and used a stick to eat the next two nights. Haha.

The next day, I was the last to get up, and everyone had left when I went inside the hut for a morning coffee.

Then, the rest of the day was spent walking 30km up the Waiau valley to a campsite just below Waiau Pass, one of the steepest and most challenging alpine traverses of the whole Te Araroa.

Nora and I had a roaring fire going at the campsite, and she was sewing the shoulder strap back onto her pack while I ate my dinner with a nice stick I found. It was like the perfect poster image for the quote, “Life is Hard.”

Embrace the Brutality as we always said on the Continental Divide Trail.

The next day saw a steep 500 meter ascent over the Waiau pass, with gorgeous views of Lake Constance. It looked like rain early, but became a beautiful day afterwards. Beyond the pass, there was an equally steep descent down to the lake, and then a little hike up and around a large spire jutting out from the lakeside. Then, a cozy walk down to the sacred Blue Lake and its hut.

I stopped here for lunch, but didn’t take long since it was so stifling hot inside. From there, there was a pleasant walk down the headwaters of the Sabine River to West Sabine Hut, where everyone seemed to be excited for the New Year happening that evening (we got it here first in New Zealand).

I happened to run into my friend Ashton there too, whom I had met when he saw my backpack from outside the Wendy’s, way back in Auckland and asked if I was doing the TA. “It looks like a thru-hikers pack,” he said.

We had a great reunion and played lots of cards between the 4 of us. I learned his trail name was two spoons, and this was hilarious because I had no spoons! I told him I had been eating with a stick for a couple nights, and he was kind enough to give me his 2nd long-handle titanium spoon! What a stand up guy! “I hope it brings you much joy and benefit in your travels,” he said. Damn, Ashton. Thank you so much!

The next day, I parted ways with Nora–she was taking the official TA over Travers saddle, while I was keen to do the Robert Ridge Route and Angelus Hut, which I had heard about from the instagram of my friend TimeRider107 who flew down the trail a month ahead of me.

I set off down the Sabine river to Sabine hut, where I met a couple of older guys out for the new year. Then, a grueling climb around 2pm, up 1,400m on the Mt. Cedric Route. The track was okay enough, but it probably averaged 33-50% gradient, so it was a real ankle-buster, and had me stopping every 100m of ascent for a breather.

Finally, I reached the treeline and it all paid off. The views on this route were spectacular, and I was glad I didn’t give up. I was rewarded by an incredible panoramic ridge walk with views out over the Nelson lakes and back up the Sabine valley to Waiau pass.

There was an obvious storm brewing about 15 miles west of me, with rain visible near the horizon. I didn’t want to wait and see what it was going to do when it reached me. I made a swift pace up the ridgeline to a high point around 1,700m, and then descended to a couple of glacial tarns just west of Angelus hut. A few minutes later, and a storm began drizzling water all over my tent that I had pitched just in time. Visibility reduced to zero as a fog rolled in. I was worried I might miss the best views of the ridge walk, but i would find out tomorrow.

The next day, the sun hit my tent early, and I was up and at ’em in time to have a light breakfast at Angelus Hut by 8am.

Then, a cruisy 11km ridge walk along the Robert Ridge Walk, and finally, a 1,000m descent to the town of St. Arnaud. All in all, this was one of the most spectacular sections of the whole Te Araroa adventure, although it is an alternate, higher level route.

Now for some well deserved rest at the Alpine Lodge Backpackers, and grabbing my resupply box for the next 6 day stretch through the Richmond Ranges and on into Nelson! Good night!

Around 2.15pm on Friday, Dragon picked up the West Coast Shuttle to Arthur’s Pass, arriving around 5pm just as the shop and visitor center were closing. He would have to wait until tomorrow to collect the resupply package with 5 days of food waiting at the local DOC office. That was no problem, though, because Dragon was quite excited to reunite with Nora from Germany, another TA NOBO whom I joined in hiking the Kepler Track down in Te Anau! We had not seen each other since, and so had a month and a half of trail journeys to catch up on.

We had fun sharing our trail stories at the Sanctuary backpacker’s house in Arthur’s Pass, and then I went to the Wobbly Kea Cafe for a huge Hawaiian pizza and ice cream! Perfect way to start another 5 day leg of the trail.

Later, I camped out at the DOC Campground just across from the Visitor Center. It was pretty rainy, but I got up early, picked up my resupply package, and met Nora and her friend Mitch at the Arthur’s Pass Store for a delicious Chai Latte before we all set out towards Hanmer Springs.

After packing up all the 5 days of food I had shipped myself 2 months before, I took a short warmup hike to the Temple Basin. I had thought of trying to cross the Temple Col, a shorter higher route to the Goat Pass the TA leads to today, but the pass looked too steep, wet, and snowy to safely navigate by one lonesome hiker.

So I walked back to town, and again ran into this nice older fella (who offered me a place to stay the night before) at the post office. He offered me a ride the 6km down the highway to the official start of the TA up the Mingha River Valley, which I gladly accepted. He said he always offered to let hikers stay with him on his property when all the other stuff in town is booked up, which I thought was a mighty kind habit.

Once we drove down the highway, I thanked him as he dropped me off at the trailhead, and knocked out the 12km or so of trail for the day. It generally meandered up the Mingha River to Goat Pass at 970m.

We stayed at the Goat Hut just below the pass and before the Deception River traverse (Dragon, Nora, and Kaden, NOBOs, and Mitch, a SOBO doing this stretch down the river with us).

The next day was pretty tough, requiring a lot of scrambling over big boulders and crossing the Deception River some 20 times. It took about 5 hrs to do this 12km, although it was a really nice valley to walk through! I really enjoy all the river crossings too, it’s the perfect way to cool off and wash off some of the sweat on a hot day of hiking.

After a nice lunch at the Morrisson Footbridge, I continued on the official trail before deciding to just walk down the Oreti River since the trail was so awful. It required crossing the Oreti a couple times, but this was nothing considering the numerous other crossings of the day.

After this, and 8km up and across the Taramakau River, and I came to the lovely Kiwi Hut. It’s probably one of my favorite huts to stay at so far, as it just felt so much like home. Everything there was well maintained and thought out, and the location was just gorgeous.

The next day, the three adventurers (Dragon, Kaden, & Nora) set off early and arrived at the Loche Stream Hut, 8km up the Taramakau Valley, just after 9am. They had some snacks and then climbed up a very steep trail to Harper’s Pass at 960m, with beautiful views abound.

Then down the other side and across the headwaters of the Hurunui River to the Harper’s Pass Bivuac, a little 2 bunk hut where they stopped for lunch. Lastly, another 10km down the valley to the Hurunui No.3 Hut.

This hut was very modern, and the first I’ve seen with double wide sleeping pads! Luxury! It had a wood fired stove, which was very nice to warm up the abode. We played cards (Kaboom, Delicious BBQ, knock poker) by candlelight, and Kaden made a drink of warm wine with cloves and cinnamon and sugar that tasted precisely like Christmas. It was Christmas eve after all!

The next day, we slept in a bit and took a pretty short day, 9km to the next Hurunui Hut. Along the way, we stopped at a hot springs pool streaming down the side of the mountain and soaked for a good hour or more.

The Hurunui Hut was very spacious and there were only the three of us and another guy staying there, although it could sleep 16. Dragon chopped a lot of wood with the solid steel axe, to help the next people who needed a roaring inferno after a long cold slog.

The next day looked pretty bleak in the morning, with clouds nestling the peaks of the surrounding mountain ranges. I set off after Nora, and we had about 18km to the Kiwi Hope Lodge. The weather really cleared up by noon, and the trail was a fantastic mix of grassy meadow walking and old growth Beech forest.

The Kiwi Hope Lodge (Hut) was the nicest I’ve seen the entire trail — wood fired stove, sweeping views of meadows in all directions, and two bunk rooms, with separate bunks in the eating room for couches or sleeping for late comers. I took the bunk next to the bunk room door as the two rooms had five hikers each, and so I had the whole common area to my self for sleeping time.

The sixth day, the three of us hiked out early in the morning, 16km down the river valley, and together we got a couple of hitches into Hanmer Springs! Score! We made it in time for lunch, and all picked up some massive burgers from the local takeaway joint.

Dragon awoke at the Holly’s Backpacker hostel in Lake Tekapo, brimming over with excitement for what the next 5 days would bring. He had his rations all packed away, and had a wholesome breakfast (coffee, OJ, granola, blueberry muffins) before setting out on the next section of New Zealand’s Te Araroa trail.

Walking out of town, Dragon was again struck by the stark aquamarine waters of Tekapo Lake. It happened to be his favorite shade of the color blue (although that favoritism was pretty fluid depending on which lake he was currently looking at). He would have the better part of the day to admire the blue water and the vastness of the Mackenzie Valley surrounding him on all sides with mountains, near and distant, like the impenentrable walls of some giant’s stronghold.

For a couple hours, he followed a gravel road leading North along the edge of the lake. Then, there was a climb up the boundary stream to a nice ridge at the base of some steeper peaks, which went on for another 10 kilometers to the Bald Hill Ski Area. Although the day started off with fine weather, there was a respectable looking storm looming over Stag Saddle, dumping water and swelling all the nearby streams with the fresh rain.

Finally, around dinnertime, Dragon descended about 200 meters to the Coal River, and then crossed it at its confluence with the Camp Stream. There was a continuous drizzling mist in the air which caught the sun like a million pieces of gold dust. Dragon wrapped on his cloak and continued: another 3 kilometers or so, for a total of 34 km for the day, and Dragon came to the Camp Stream Hut. There were already a good number of people camping and staying in the hut, along with a flock of four goats. “There’s still a couple of bunks left in the hut. Ah, we saw you walking in on the road,” said an old man. “Were you with the guy about a kilometer behind you?”

Dragon responded by shrugging and thought he must have been thinking about one of the TA southbounders he had passed early on in the day. Armand from France was his name.

In any case, Dragon decided to leave this hut to the people that were already there, and went another 1km across the Camp Stream at the base of the tomorrow’s climb. Here he set his camp (doubletime because of the rain showering down) with the lovely white sound of the stream below to lull him off to dreams.

The next day, awakening by his usual method of being baked alive due to the radiance of the sun and the greenhouse-esque heat retention of the tent, Dragon was glad to see clear blue skies present for the traverse along the high ridge to Stag Saddle. It’s not the kind of route one would want to do in the rain, being highly exposed with no cover on any front.

After a couple hours of intensely scenic climbing, he came to eye level with the high mountain saddle, and cut a traverse across the scree-filled slope of the mountain on the Northern side of the pass. He made out a couple of other hikers up on the saddle just a kilometer up ahead, and felt excitement at the possibility that they could be NOBO TA hikers as well, the first he would’ve seen since he met up with his friend Taya way back in Wanaka!

So, speeding over the saddle, he caught up with the pair, and his guess was right! They were a couple of TA NOBOs like Dragon, headed to the same hut for the night. We spent some time reminiscing about all the fun parts of the trail, and it turns out that they had met Adeleine at Rose’s Hut, the place where I turned around due to the slippery snow on the side of the tussock covered mountains. Apparently she made it through that route despite me, and I was happy to hear of her welfare and learn that these two hikers, Maddie and Jackie, had met her.

In any case, now elated with this pleasant news and the meeting of some fellow thru-hikers, Dragon sped off down the other side of the pass past them, and arrived at the Royal Hut around 2pm. A short while later the two girls arrived, and the three of them hung out and told stories of the trail for a couple hours. It was really nice to talk to people who had been through all the same trials of the trail, and to discover someone to relate with on all the nuances of trail life.

Finally, at 4pm, Dragon left the hut and carried on another two hours to the Stone hut down Bush Creek, an infamous stream known for sweeping hikers off their feet and slapping them into big rocks, which he would have to cross 12 times on the way out of this valley and onto the Rangitata River. In any case, that would wait another 2 days. That evening, Dragon arrived at Stone Hut and had it all to himself for a few hours before a few hunters showed up. But by that point, he was already fast asleep, with a slight headache for whatever reason, and thus had no desire to socialize.

The next day, the hunters left before the sun came up, and Dragon woke up to the sound of two girls approaching the hut. He had partially carried onto this hut knowing that he would sleep in, and so was happy to start the day with them around 9am.

They started out first, with Dragon following half an hour later, down the valley of Bush Creek, and then into a side valley and over a couple of unnamed passes to the Crooked Spur Hut. This little detour from Bush Stream no doubt saved a quite a few tricky river crossings, as the river found itself through the narrow valley and down the gorge that it had carved through millions of years of its labor.

So after a nice lunch at the unnamed pass and a few listens to the LOTR theme, Dragon ran down the scree slope the last 2.5km to the hut below.

This hut was one of the best of the whole trail! The view off the front bow of the mountain down the razor sharp Bush valley and into the massive Rangitata valley in the distance was one of the best scenes of the whole TA thus far. Dragon and his new friends spend the rest of the day laying in the grass, soaking up the sun, telling stories and enjoying their newfound camaraderie.

Oh, and Dragon was able to Macguyver a new O-ring seal for his water filter where it screws onto the dirty water bottle, using a sharp knife and tracing/cutting the foam insert from the cap of a liquor bottle that some scoundrel had left behind at the hut. Well, I guess in this case the littering bastard actually left something that was useful to a future hiker, and in this case I suppose his judgment should be slightly less harsh.

Later in the evening, as Dragon and Co were enjoying dinner, they were joined by a couple of TA Sobos and general adventurers named Pierric and Alan! They had just crossed the Rangitata and come up the Bush Stream that afternoon, the way Dragon and the girls would be heading tomorrow morning.

“Yeah, the last crossing (of 12) was the worst–Pierric got knocked off his feet and went for a swim!” Said Alan.

We were very excited to share beta on the trail that each party had to look forward to–and at that moment, Dragon and Maddie and Jackie decided to partner up for the river crossings, to ensure that they all made it safely through this section of trail, that has gained an infamy for hurting hikers who try to cross alone. So it was settled, the three of them would wake up at 6am and set out together in the morning.

The next day, Dragon, who seldom got out of bed before 9am, awoke to the orange and red hues of the sunrise on the mountains outside the window of the hut. Everyone else was busy at work packing and cooking breakfast and such.

In a characteristic act of ditzyness, Jackie knocked over Dragon’s boiling water for coffee–although she immediately made reparations by giving him some boiling water from their own pot. Dragon couldn’t help but laugh at the events–he was going to be crossing a ferocious stream 12 times while tethered, through life or death, to this girl.

They set out from the hut as the sun was just scraping the ridge of the mountains out front of the hut. Quickly they descended the 250m trail to the first crossing, which the guys had said was the most tricky.

Indeed it was: the first time they tried to cross Bush Stream right where the trail comes out, with the three of them connected by their hands behind the center’s back and grabbing the other’s pack straps, they made it about 5 feet across the 30 ft stream before Jackie lost her balance and said “I’m falling, I can’t go forward or I will fall in.” Maddie said she needed to set down right there in the middle of this rushing stream. Dragon, fearing for his life and imagining the three of them hurdling down the white water rapids for a hundred meters slamming into multiple rocks along the way, pulled them back up, and together they retreated from that first crossing attempt.

Now they got serious–that cold, shadowy morning 7am water bath was their wake up call, and this was a do or die situation. They spent about 15 minutes doing reconnaissance up and down the banks of the stream, testing parts of it with a hiking pole for depth and speed, and finally, they came to the conclusion that the best crossing point was just above the point where they had tried to cross the first time, where the stream was divided into two smaller torrents. It required some climbing and scrambling to get there, but once in position, they linked up, shoulder to shoulder, grasping the others’ pack straps, and they made it across the rushing water, one slow and careful step at a time, with Dragon at the upstream end to break the current.

Once across the first half, the second half of the split stream was a breeze, probably a third as vigorous as the other. They all breathed a sigh of relief on the other side, in awe of the cool feat that they had just finished.

From there, they followed the trail up a steep spur of the mountains, and right back down to the river, a passage that probably saved them a few more river crossings on that rough, rapid stretch where all the water is falling a high distance to come out of the mountains, and down to the flatter area where the trail let them out.

From here, they spent the next 3 hours crossing Bush Stream another 8 times, as it slowly mustered more and more water from its tributaries to its aid– and finally, with the last ford behind them, they motored on to the Bush Stream car park, where they had to say their goodbyes.

For the girls were getting a ride from family to enjoy some Christmas festivities, and Dragon had to cross the Rangitata River and arrive to one of the biggest reasons he had decided to visit New Zealand–Mt. Sunday, the setting for Edoras, the capitol city of Rohan in the Lord of the Rings.

They traded contact information and said their goodbyes, thanking Dragon for partnering up with them for the tricky river crossings.

From here, Dragon walked up the Rangitata River on a gravel track, and then cut through some bush to the proper river. There it was, a massive accumulation of snow and glacier melt, mixed in with some recent rainwater, all making its eternal pilgrimage down to the sea.

It didn’t take long to get right into the middle of the river, as Dragon walked up and down the braided river to find the shallow parts that were more readily crossable. All in all, there were probably 30 different “braids” of this river, each with a respectable amount of water, that needed to be crossed before Dragon was out of the woods. But slowly and steadily, he made it across, and past the vast majority of the water’s confluence, to a big desert of rock and sand that probably became the river when it was in high flood. The very thought of standing here witnessing that event, made Dragon walk a little bit faster over the valley, not wanting to test fate and somehow end up as a witness to such a terrifying event.

The wind was howling and kicking up dust and sand and water from the valley, utterly blasting Dragon, although he was able to continue on as his hat was turned down as a shield on the windward side of his head, protecting his eyes at least from the enslaught.

After a short while, he passed from the sandy rocky riverbed to a greener, more brushy valley floor, and up in front, as the dust cleared, he was able to make out Mt. Sunday, just a couple kilometers distant, a beacon of beauty and adventurous sentiment that Dragon couldn’t quite put into words.

The rest of the day from the moment he stepped onto Mt. Sunday, life felt as a dream. Dragon felt the aimlessness and uncertainty that washes over you in the moment after you’ve accomplished something that you’ve spent your whole life looking forward to.

Should I hitch out?, he thought. No, it’s much too late to get anywhere in time and not feel stressed.

With this in mind, Dragon walked down the gravel road 5km away from the destination of his dreams, and found a beautiful campsite at the Pott’s River trailhead, where the TA picks back up after the Rangitata.

While filled with a flood of emotions, the most torrential of them all was the knowledge that everything would be alright–he would get a hitch to Christchurch the following day and make it in time to check into the hostel he had booked. He felt unease at the possibility that no one would pick him up, or, regardless of his doubt in the charity of strangers, the chance that nobody may even be out on this road in the middle of nowhere. This feeling too, soon washed away. The trail had provided for him up to this point, and it would provide what he needed once again.

The following day, Dragon awoke to the sound of rain showers on the tent roof–always a good sign for a day of hitchhiking. He packed up and decided to make some progress down the gravel road–the further downstream the road he got, the more potential cars would pass by, after all.

After just a kilometer or two, he saw a car pass going towards Mt. Sunday. He paid it no mind, but this was a good sign–at least one other human being was in this valley.

A few minutes later, Dragon heard the sound of tires on gravel rolling up behind him. Could this be the one? Nervously, he stuck out his thumb. It was the same car as before, with a kayak on the roof, and to his surprise, it stopped just in front of him.

“I’m headed to Christchurch to resupply,” Dragon said.

The driver was pretty curious of the whole affair, about where he had been, how long he had been hiking, and what he was doing in the middle of this lonesome valley. Dragon drew out the route with a finger on the guy’s map, and the driver looked back with amazement at what he was told. “You walked here.. from Tekapo?” He asked. “Yepp.”

His curiosity satisfied, the two of them took off down the gravel road at 100kph, a bit better than the 5kph Dragon could average on foot.

Later on, the man let Dragon drive the rest of the way into Christchurch, where he lived. What luck! To get a hitchhike all the way, 150km and 2.5 hours to his final destination, within a few minutes, in one of the most remote valleys in all of NZ.

“Have you ever driven a right-hand drive car?”

“Nope,” Dragon replied.

“Well,” said the man, “This should be fun.”

In any case, Dragon drove the rest of the way perfectly, as if he had been driving on the left side of the road all his life. He certainly didn’t want to get a ticket for driving without a license. All he had to do, was reverse every bit of driving knowledge he had. Easy.

They drove right up to the doors of the hostel Dragon had booked, and it was scarcely 2 in the afternoon. He really couldn’t have hoped for a better case scenario. He offered to pay for gas, but the man refused. “It’s alright, I was going this way anyways.”

Dragon thanked him from the bottom of his heart, and they parted. He checked in to the hostel and spent the next 3 days writing and doing as little as possible. On Friday, December 21st, he would get the bus up to Arthur’s Pass, grab his resupply box at the National Park office, and hike the next 6 days to Hanmer Springs, where he could look forward to a solid day at a hot springs park.

And you’d never believe who he met at the hostel that evening–the two TA SOBO guys from the Crooked Spur Hut, who had given Dragon the info on the Bush Stream crossings! It was a crazy coincidence that they both hitchhiked 3 hours from Tekapo to Christchurch that day after finishing their stretch of trail, and yet here they were. Make of it what you will.

That’s all for now, good night!

After a couple nights at the holiday park in Twizel, I hop on a shuttle to Mt. Cook on a Friday afternoon, around 3pm.

The ride to the Mt. Cook National Park takes about an hour, and is laden with scenery on all sides, especially the crystal clear waters of Lake Pukaki. The mountains making up the massif ahead grow larger and larger, until the shuttle driver finally drops me off on the path leading a couple kilometers to the campground. “Not the worst place for a road walk,” I said, and walked off from the bus down a trail next to the road.

However, when I got near to the campground, I decided it was too early to stop, and anyways, I was filled with wonder and energy at the sight of the massive snow covered peaks that now surround me. I take a shortcut trail and end up on the Hooker Valley Track, a well trodden path, jam packed with tourists of all shapes and sizes, passing two white glacial lakes. You might know about green lakes, and blue lakes, but white lakes are the pinnacle of water body baddassery. You know at the sight of one that you are entering into some seriously wild and untamed territory, which was exactly where I was headed.

After an hours walk up the trail, I see a sign pointing off to the left, “-> BALL PASS ROUTE” the sign says. That’s the route I was going to take, although I went into it knowing I may have to turn around due to the snow, with it still being early in the season and this being an expert level alpine “route” (read: not a trail).

In any case, I turn off the superhighway that is the Hooker Valley track, and immediately get lost in the bush just off the track. I though for sure that the route couldn’t have disappeared that quickly, and I was right. I had gone too far East, and so retraced my steps, found a good social trail depressed into the Earth and the grass, and followed it for the next few hours alongside Hooker Lake, at the foot of the Hooker Glacier streaming down off of the majestic Mt. Cook Massif, 3,750 meters up above.

I didn’t see another soul all day, and for good reason–this route was hard work, not only to follow the track itself, but also to dodge all the hazards of an unmaintained trail. It frequently dead ended into brush or into a massive crevasse where the mountainside rocks had given way due to the lack of structural support from the receding glacier, in which case you simply have to climb steeply up the scree moraine slope, cross around the top of the landslide, and then come back down the other side.

There was one slip like this that was particularly gutwrenching, in that it felt as of the earth beneath my feet could give way at any moment and send me barreling down a steep slope along with a few hundred tonnes of loose rocks into the glacial lake a few hundred meters below.

Finally, after a walk that seemed to take much longer than I would have thought, I make it to a flat area known as “the playground,” where the Ball Pass Route begins to climb a thousand meters (to 2,100m) up and over a pass in the Mt. Cook Range of mountains. I make camp here, knowing immediately that I will not be able to continue on the current way, as the steep ravine that I would have had to scramble up is still heavily laden with hard snowpack. Oh well, that’s a problem for tomorrow.

In any case, I pitch my tent here below the towering Massif of the largest mountain in New Zealand. All around, I can hear the sound of falling rocks on the moraine slopes, and of blankets of snow loosing and falling down steep glacial cliffs.

Later on, after I had fallen into sleep, I am awoken by heavy winds pressing in on my tent, nearly flattening it to the ground. It must have been nearly midnight when this came to pass, and the winds would last into the morning hours. The winds were strong enough to rip up the stakes holding my rainfly vestibule out, which then started flapping violently in the gusts.

So I had to get out of my warm sleeping bag and remedy the situation, although I never again found the two stakes that were flung out. I spent half an hour looking for them today. That makes three that I have lost–one in the hell storm while attempting to pitch above a refuge at the French Monts du Cantal region, and two here at the base of Mt. Cook.

I give up on the search and go back to bed, as the winds die down a little and I finally have a peaceful moment. Granted, I did pick a very exposed place to pitch in possibly the most badass area of all of New Zealand, so a little wind should have probably been expected.

The next day, I also find that my tent pole was bent when it was flattened to the ground by the wind. Ah well, it was an easy enough fix–I compared the bent poles to the unbent ones of the opposite side, and grabbed them firmly, bending them slowly back to normal over my thigh.

Having had enough of a beating for one day, I make my way back to the Hooker Valley Track, feeling much relieved at making back into sight of civilization, although as is usual, the relief is short lived. I head back down the track and pitch my tent at the White Horse Hill Campground for the night. I spend the rest of the afternoon and evening reading the Fellowship of the Rings, which is fitting, since I will be soon standing in the valley of the Rangitata River, where Rohan was portrayed in the films.

The next day, I walk 20km to the Ball Hut up the Tasman Valley, home of the largest glacier in all of Austral-asia.

The Ball Hut only has 3 beds and already 4 people have showed up to stay there, so I decide rather to camp out and avoid the high density of snoring and noise that no doubt filled the little 100 square foot hut all night.

I spend another night there mostly hanging around and gawking at the insanely beautiful and mesmerizing mountains and glaciers that seem to have besieged the hut on all fronts.

Finally, I head back to the White Horse Hill campground for one last night before the shuttle to Tekapo. The last day, I spend lurking around the visitor’s center and enjoying all the old displays of mountaineering gear and the stories of all the famous climbers who attempted or successfully climbed Mt. Cook. Spoiler alert: a lot of them ended up getting hurt and needing helicopter rescue. Never underestimate the mountains!

At last, I catch a ride to Lake Tekapo where the Te Araroa picks back up headed over Stag Saddle, the highest point of the whole trail. The lake is one of the prettiest blue colors I’ve ever seen in all of my travels, hopefully I’ll get a good view of it on the way out of town.

I spend the last night there walking up to the Mount John Observatory on a hill beside town. This area is a “dark sky conservation area,” meaning that they work hard to keep light pollution to a bare minimum, so the stars and the whole Milky Way really come out at night.

Tomorrow I’ll set out on the 4-5 day stretch with the end goal of crossing the Rangitata River and arriving at Mt. Sunday on the other side! If you don’t know the significance of that mountain, stay tuned; you shall soon find out how special it is! It has always been a major destination to me throughout all of these trials.

Okay, hope you enjoyed, goodnight!

I wake up early at the hostel, have a cup, and hit the road with a pack full of 7 days of supplies. My destination is Twizel, the gateway to Mt. Cook, the highest peak in all of New Zealand.

I set my pack down next to the highway leading out of Wanaka, stick out my thumb, and within 20 minutes, I’ve caught a ride to Lake Hawea with an older guy driving out to help with the tear-down of a community festival that he is a part of.

He drops me off just outside of Hawea, and the hike along the lakeside is to die for! The water is as clear and blue as any of the pristine lakes I saw up in the highest reaches of the Pyréneés or the Alps.

At the end of the lake, I find myself surrounded by wildflowers of orange and purple, vibrant and standing in stark contrast of the clouds covering the mountains ahead.

In a short time, I reach the Breast Hill track, which leads up very steeply on a 30% grade straight up the mountain side and up a sidle (side arm of a major mountain range), with some of the best views of the whole trail along the way.

I reach the pass, 1,000 meters above where I started, and find the Pakituhi hut just on the other side. There I decide to stay the night, and enjoy a pleasant evening of reading: 1.) the Silmarillion, 2.) a repair manual for a 1988 Toyota Truck, and 3.) working hard on my vocabulaire Francaise.

A couple of locals dropped into the hut for the night besides me, and we had a pleasant evening of tea and storytelling and all that good stuff.

The next day, the trail follows a ridge for about 13km to Stody’s Hut. By far the highlight of the day was the view from Breast Hill, towering 1,600m above Lake Hawea. I don’t stay too long, as the forecast called for thunderstorms, and I could already see them forming all around me, the sneaky buggars.

It takes about 2 hours of pleasant ridge walking to arrive at Stody’s Hut, a seemingly 100 year old hut that was used by “musterers,” apparently people who work together to herd sheep out of the hills and down into a group for collection.

The timing of arrival at the hut was ideal, as moments later, the skies burst and a deluge of rain slammed into the tin roof of the hut. At first I was thinking about continuing on, but that storm made me change my mind pretty quick. I have the whole 6 bunk hut to myself for the night, which always makes for a peaceful and relaxing nights sleep.

_______________________

I have been thinking at length about what computer scientists call “the singularity,” a point whence our progress of computer intelligence begets such a powerful network of processors that it would render the thought power of the human brain as little more than our consideration of the mental acuity of a bacterium.

Such an evolutionary leap of intelligence would deliver us from our hard, fleeting lives of ignorance and pain. No longer should we fear death, for the human spirit and all of our collective recorded histories will live on til the death throes of our Sun, 5 billion years hence, in the macro-cosmic system of information that we will create in the next few decades.

Think of all the ways our civilization and our tenure on Earth could be improved, all our fears reconciled, all our hopes and dreams achieved in due time, should we choose to back-up all of our intellect, every switch that makes up our mind, into a computational, digital form, rather than a biological one.

Computer Daniel does not require food or water–merely a simple source of electricity, a small solar cell perhaps. A small resource cost compared to the thousands of tonnes of resources he would consume during a typical anthropo-mammalian life on Earth.

He can traverse the stars at the speed of light without the weight of the human form to slow him, as a simple stream of information transmitted via Radio perhaps, or some other suitable EM frequency emanated from our Earthly sphere, downloaded by a receiver in another star system a few light years hence (after all, years are nothing to a computer-based life form with an indefinite lifespan and thus an unlimited amount of patience), and bam! Dan Morriss is there, orbiting that star, performing experiments and observations of its satellites and planets, on an extremely efficient space probe with no baggage needed, no food, no life support, no radiation shields, none of the encumbering hindrances of his Earthly body. Sending word of the findings back to his home planet. Maybe existing in both places simultaneously, as clones or simple copy/pastes of my intellectual “file” into various different processors.

Then there will be evolutionary branches of one’s own intelligence, as the AI version of oneself which she uploads at a specific moment, will have different experiences as the person herself, and so they will slowly drift and become uniquely different beings with different experience bases.

____________________________

The next day, I get to look forward to ten crossings of the Timaru River (more of a stream, but hey), as well as a trail that zig and zags up and down the mountain valley up the river, seemingly randomly, but also to avoid some of the very steep precipices of the canyon sometimes formed by the river below.

About 5 hours later, I arrive at the Top Timaru Hut, another of my favorite backcountry huts so far. The mountain scenery all around was divine.

I call it a day and kick my feet up with a good book, and a hot meal. It’s been nice carrying 7 days of food on this leg, as I really get to take my time and enjoy the scenery. It takes a little more effort at the start carrying all that weight, but by day 2 or 3, the load is diminished and it feels great to be hiking 12-15 hard fought miles, as well as ending up at a hut with plenty of time to do other things rather than hiking, such as studying another language and reading up on Middle Earth and house framing techniques.

The next day, I have a nice climb on an old gravel track, up and over Martha’s Pass at 1,680m. Then, a long walk down the next valley, to a small hut used by shepherds and opened for use by TA hikers as well.

When I went to open the outhouse, a bird flew out as I lifted up the toilet seat. What the heck! Poor guy! Who knows how long he was trapped in there…

The road continues on down the valley, then the track crosses the Avon Stream a few times, and finally comes out to a huge grassy meadow, the valley of the Ahuriri River, a true river which, you guessed it, I have to cross to proceed.

I make my way across the meadow and down a steep canyon, and come to the banks of the river. It’s about 20m wide in places, and varies between shallow but forceful rapids, and deep but gentle flows. I decide to go for the middle ground, crossing it in two stretches. The first part I crossed was easy, but the further on I got on the second part, the deeper and stronger was the current pushing against me. I turn back to the rocky sand bar dividing these two parts of the river, and walk downstream a bit to see how the flow changes. Not much different, but it does widen a little further, meaning the water is more spread out and less hitting you all at once. The going is good at first, but I am approaching where the river makes a turn to the right, meaning the deepest and strongest part of the river is at the end of this crossing. I get to a point where I can barely move my legs forward, and begin to risk a slip and fall and float down the river. I look back, but there’s no way I could turn around here without falling over–the river is up to just above my waist, and the current is strong. Just as I consider making a jump and swim for the shore just a few meters away, my foot finds it’s way forward, and then the next, and finally I break through the grips of the current and come out on the opposing shoreline.

I give a stark ROAR at the cool thing that I just completed, happy that I did not fall or give up and use the road bridge that would have been a 10km detour downstream. Slowly, I walk up the banks of the river, with respect for its power and beauty. I sit down in the sun and take off my sopping boots and socks, letting them dry out a bit now that all the wet parts are done.

Later, I decide to camp out just above the banks of the river, as I can’t imagine a more fair or satisfying view at the moment.

The next couple of days fly by, as I climb through a valley away from the Ahuriri, crossing a glacial tributary a few times on the way up, eventually coming to a pass, after which I can make out the stark, aqua blue waters of Lake Hawea down below.

I hurry down the other side of the hill, coming quickly to a forested valley besides a stream, and find a suitable place to rest for the night.

The next day, I come immediately out of the forest and down to Lake Hawea. I spend some time at the campground at Lake Middleton there before continuing along the lakeside trail, a nice wide track of gravel intended mostly for Alps to Ocean Trail cyclists.

This trail leads to the Ohau River, which I follow for another 10 kilometers to a other at its mouth. Along the way, the skies become darker and dreary, and slowly unleash an onslaught of cold rain upon me. I don a cloak over myself and my pack and carry on through the showers. Upon seeing a row of green trees, I decide to shelter under them for some time, waiting out the worst of the Springtime storm.

At last, the flies become so annoying that I get up and make another few kilometers down the gravel road. Then, the rain stops, and with only a few kilometers left to go until the town of Twizel, the end of this leg of trail, I follow a gently used 4×4 track out onto a peninsula jutting out parallel with the lake there, and find an ideal flat spot to spend the night, allowing for an early entry to the town tomorrow with no rush to secure food or lodging.

The next day, I easily make it into Twizel, a small town created to house the workers of the huge hydroelectric project in this area in the 50s, which explains all the huge canals and the large lakes. They claim to generate around 40% of New Zealand’s power from this area.

I grab lunch at the supermarket and then book a couple nights at the local holiday park, officially kicking my feet up after a respectable 7-day stint in the New Zealand bush.

Next, onto the coveted Mt. Cook National Park for some much needed rest and relaxation! But we both know I’m not capable of sitting still for long. You can count on another set of great adventures from there, and onwards NOBO on the Te Araroa trail! Still to come, the crossing of the Richmond Range and the Rangitata River, also known as the valley of Rohan from LOTR, a hitch (or three) into Christchurch, then Arthur’s Pass to Hanmer Hot Springs, across Waiau Pass and Angelus Hut of the Nelson Lakes National Park, into St. Arnaud, another few days to Nelson, and then the Abel Tasman beach trail! That’s the plan anywho! We’ll see how it all turns out! Stay tuned!

It’s snowing this morning in Queenstown! I wake up at the Flaming Kiwi Hostel and a soft white blanket covers everything in sight.

It melts quick enough, but I soon learn from my friend Loic who hiked out yesterday that the mountains and trail north of Queenstown are totally plastered with the stuff. He decides to come back to town and pursue other options as this spring weather passes.

After waiting at a hostel for another two days, I have to hike out in the nice blue sky window the weather provides. I hop the bus to Arrowtown to skip a bit of road walking and then pick up the trail up and over the Big Hill Pass.

Now, there was a bit of snow on the way up to Big Hill, but it was nothing compared to what I saw on the other side of the pass!

I have a pretty fun time running down from the pass in the knee deep snow, which easily stops me in my tracks after each step.

Eventually, I follow a little stream valley all the way down to the Arrow River, which I then follow another hour or so to the historically preserved 1860s gold-rush town known as Macetown!

I enjoy the old buildings and such that they have wonderfully conserved, and pitch camp as the initial settlers must have 150 years ago, down by the Arrow River.

The sandflies were horrible! So I end up staying in the tent until sleep takes me.

The next morning, I kind of dreaded the task for the day. I would have to cross the river and make my way up to Rose’s Saddle, way above the river at 1,200m.

I get a couple of KM down the Motatapu Track, which is basically the width of my shoe, and surrounded in every direction with wet, snowy tussock grass.

After reaching about 900m, I simply have to turn back. I ask myself if this is a smart idea to continue, and the fact that I am basically risking a slip and fall with every slippery step, gives me my answer.

So, I turn around and make the sad walk back to my initial camp. It would take a couple days before I could reconcile my feelings about this decision, although I knew it was the correct one to make at that moment.

Back down in Macetown, I met a girl named Adeleine, who was planning to go the same route I had just turned back on. We had a lovely lunch together inside the town’s old restored stone storehouse. I gave her the information I had of the route’s dangers I had just encountered, and bid her the best of luck.

On the way back to Arrowtown, I took the lower route through the gorge, which turned out to be a lot easier than the pass over which I had come, and a lot more scenic, although it involved some dicey flooded stream crossings.

Back in town, I hop back on the bus that takes me back to Queenstown by 7pm, book in one more night at the hostel, and finally, book a bus ticket to Wanaka, the destination which I had sought after and failed to reach on account of the snow.

I later learned from a DOC visitor center that they had to helicopter rescue two people from the Rose’s Hut that I was trying to reach that day, which certainly made me feel more validated in my decision to turn back.

The next day, I take an early morning bus and make it to Wanaka by 8:30AM.

I meet up with my friend Taya, who is as discouraged as I am with the current state of the weather and the track conditions.

Anyways, I stay a couple nights in Wanaka, trying to do as little as possible to heal my body and spirit.

Then, the 4th day there, I hitchhike into the Aspiring National Park. It took two hitchhikes, one from a German couple in a van to the Diamond Lake trailhead, and a second from an older German couple and a baby in their sprinter van camper! It was a seriously epic road into the Mt Aspiring park, with multiple stream fords and a long gravel road to get there, with each turn opening up yet another batch of idyllic mountain scenery.

They were lucky and were going to camp right there at the trailhead, as any self contained motorhome is allowed to do. I was mad jealous, as I have wanted a camper setup exactly similar to what they were road tripping with for the longest time. Maybe when I get back home, I can realize that dream.

I bid them thanks and adieu and picked up the 10km trail up the glacial valley to the picturesque Aspiring Hut.

This trip was really just what I needed to set my mind straight and reaffirm why I’m here, as I was certainly discouraged after having to turn back because of the snow. But that was a necessary and humbling setback, and I am half glad it happened, as I did get to see a gorgeous gorge that I would have otherwise missed. And I narrowly dodged needing a helicopter rescue like those other people. That would have been seriously bad!

The next day I hike up to the Liverpool Hut in hopes of gaining some glimpse of the 3,000m high Mount Aspiring massif.

If turning around before Rose’s Pass was the low point of the journey thus far, then Mt. Aspiring National Park was certainly the high point, both literally and figuratively.

Mt. Aspiring is by far the dominant mountain of this region, with the pyramidal massif coming in at a whopping 3,033 meters. It is surrounded by a family of other mountains of such grandeur and magnificence that the New Zealand government has dubbed these lands the gold crown of national park status.

The day starts out just as dreary and overcast as it has been for the last week or so. I think it was really starting to affect my mood– seasonal affective disorder is no joke, even if it’s just a week of cloudy weather! I need that vitamin DDDDDDDD!

There’s a pleasant traverse up the central valley from Aspiring Hut, crossing multiple swing bridges and mentally batheing in the crystalline cobalt blue waters of the Matukituki River.

Then, a sign:

<— 2HRS TO LIVERPOOL HUT

Although it only registers as a kilometer or two on the map, this sign is not misprinted! The trail to Liverpool Hut is one of the steepest I’ve ever had the endearing pleasure to crawl up! It requires the use of hands among half of its length, and any one undertaking it should have basic climbing-and-not-dying skills, paired with a love of exposed heights!

Once above treeline, the views only become more and more expansive. It’s not until I make it out of the trees that I realize the fog is starting to clear up as well! Maybe I will be lucky to gain some views of the namesake mountain of this park after all!

Finally, after a long roundabout up and over a ridge (the only safe way to this alpine hut) I arrive at the Liverpool, one of the dreamiest places I’ve ever set foot on this Earth.

The skies slowly clear up and reveal nothing but snow capped mountains in every direction. A mountain lover’s paradise.

I meet my friend from Chicago who was hot on my tracks this morning, she came in about 20 minutes after I arrive. This is her first overnight backpacking trip! What a way to start a hiking career! She really picked one of the best places to start walking.

I cannot understate just how fantastic Mt. Aspiring park is, but I’ll let the photos do the justice and you be the judge.

Definitely the highlight of the trip thus far.

Finally, unfortunately, I have to leave the hut and return to my camp at the aspiring hut.

The hike down was a breeze compared to climbing up, still requiring the use of hands but basically just controlled falling all the way back down to the Matukituki River (it took me 50 minutes to go down, 120 climbing up) and an hour back to the hut.

I am content. I got my sunlight vitamins today. I made up for having to turn around at Rose’s Pass. And it’s been a helluvan adventure so far.

Back at the hut, I meet some hikers who recognize my CDT patch and we talk for a bit about it. They just hiked the South Island Te Araroa in February, same as me but in a better time of year maybe? They said it was a lot more crowded then, while I’ve only met a handful of fellow hikers myself, this time of year. Many wait til January at least to start, when the Summer weather has stabilized and there is zero chance of freak snowstorms and flooded rivers totally messing up your plans!

After a pleasant nights sleep, I have some coffee in the hut with my friend from Chicago, who just came down from Liverpool Hut that morning. It was her first time backpacking, and she said she learned a lot of tricks and ideas to make life easier on her next excursion.

I walk the 2 hours back to the Aspiring Trailhead, change clothes, and stand out next to the road waiting for a hitch.

And boom! The first car that comes out of the parking lot snags me up. Lucky day! It’s a girl about my age and her mum out doing a day hike up to the Rob Roy Glacier Lookout.

I was super happy to arrive back in Wanaka. I offered them gas money but they refused, so I promised to pay their kindness forward. I’m gonna have to pick up a lot of hitchhikers when I get home, hahah…

I book a bed back at the Holly’s Hostel, grab a nice big burger at the local haunt, and then go relax at the hostel for a bit, doing laundry, buying a weeks worth of food for the next leg, and basking in the wonderful photos of Mt. Aspiring.

Hope you enjoy them as much as I do! Catch you on the next post!

DAY 17

In the morning, I pack up, soak up the last little bit of civil comforts at the hostel in Te Anau, and walk out of town around 10am.

Within 60 seconds of sticking my thumb out, I caught a ride 25km down the highway to Mavora Lakes road, where the Te Araroa trail picks back up. The kind guy that opted to pick up this hiker trash was a professional fisherman who guides people on fishing and hunting trips all over New Zealand.

He told me the interesting story of how they caught the initial deer to raise for venison farms (they jumped on them out of helicopters and tied up the deer, then carried them off to their domesticated fate).

It is interesting that all of the mammals on these islands were brought here by settlers — really, the only native populations of animals in this country were birds, bugs, and fish.

He drops me off at the road, I say thanks and we part ways. I spent most of the day walking 30km down this gravel road, but the final 5km I managed to cross a swing bridge to a real trail on the Mavora River, which was amazing! Especially compared to the dusty, exposed gravel road.

I love the way a good trail cushions your every step. I met a girl who was packing up from a rafting trip who said she had done the Te Araroa trail on the North Island last year! Sweet! It’s always good to meet part of the trail fam.

I spend an hour moseying through the tussock fields and beech forest and come to a stream crossing, deciding to call it a day. I’ll get my feet wet tomorrow. I make dinner and fall asleep to the gentle patter of rain specks on the tent roof.

DAY 18

The next morning, I sleep in til about 9am waiting for a cold rain shower to move out before packing up. I wear the camp shoes across the stream so I don’t get my boots wet first thing.

The trail winds through the forest along the river, coming first to the south Mavora lake, and then a couple hours later to the north lake, where I found a nice campsite with a table to have lunch.

A nice neighborly couple with an RV gave me some hot water to make coffee so I didn’t have to break out my cook system. They were off for 5 weeks RVing around the country, doing some hunting and fishing here and there.

I said thanks and bye and then found myself on a 4×4 track along the North Mavora lakeside for the next couple hours, enjoying the sun and some weak misty showers. It was windy enough that the rain would dry as soon as it hit. First I come to Carey’s Hut right on the lake, where I stop for snacks.

Then there’s an incredible 5km walk into a remote glacial valley, and for the first time on this hike I was truly amazed at the beauty of this place. Very LOTR-y. “The Leacons are Bit!”

Around 6pm, I make it to the Boundary Hut, a new 4-bunk hut with a sink and all the necessities. I decide to crash here for the night, if only for the respite from the pestering sandflies.

Having the whole place to myself, I spend the rest of the evening admiring the sunset from a nearby hill, serenading myself with some Elvis tunes (I know every word and nuance of his “An Afternoon in the Garden” 1972 Madison Square Garden show album), having a dance party and eating some good food.

Overnight I had dreams of witnessing a hurricane or tornadoes, and also of some Hobbit related things that I can’t recall now.

DAY 19

The next (pure sunny) day, I enjoy a stroll up the glacial valley, in and out of hills and marshes, to the lonely Taipo hut, where I stop for a few minutes to dry my feet and have lunch.

Then, on up the valley and over a saddle, where I get lost in the brushy marshy forest for a little while.

I manage to curse my way out of the temporary disarray and pick up the trail through the forest, 5km downhill to the Greenstone Hut, a 20 bunk shelter, and the nicest hut I’ve seen on the trail this far. My $60 / 6-month hut pass has already paid for itself, as far as I’m concerned.

I meet an older couple and a guy named Leo out with his friend, all of whom were finishing up the Greenstone-Caples loop trail tomorrow.

I was elated to learn that the trail up the Greenstone River (to the start of the legendary Routeburn Great Walk) was super cruisy, following a grassy glacial meadow up to a gentle saddle. It almost made me want to hike out that evening, but I figured some social contact would be good for me.

I also love staying at these huts because I get to keep my nice dry tent packed away in my backpack during the day. It makes for a much sleeker looking backpack, and the weight distribution is right on, compared to lashing it on the outside of the pack.

DAY 20

The next day, I cruise up the 20km Greenstone Valley in 4 hours to the McKeller hut, another very chic, modern refuge away from the elements.

We really need to bring this refuge idea back to the United States! We have so many beloved wilderness areas where people would gladly pay to spend a night with a roof and a wood stove. It surely reduces the impacts of camping at popular hiking destinations, and the social benefits of having everyone under one roof are really nice compared to the isolation of everyone being in their own tent. I highly recommend the NPS to debut refuges in the most touristed backpacking hotspots in the next few years, especially along the haunts of the big three hiking trails.

Arriving at McKeller hut around 2pm, I have plenty of time to practice French and catch up on journaling. You may have noticed that I’ve switched to this consolidated format of writing about each stretch of trail between towns in one post, as opposed to posting a daily journal. It allows me to better focus my writing / thoughts, and hopefully it makes the story flow better for you readers out there as well. It feels right to separate the posts based on the periods of different adventures rather than different days. Also, some days (especially town days) are dull and boring and do not truly deserve their own post, up here next to the best of the best of hiking days.

The weather will be a major factor in whether or not I can take on the Routeburn Track tomorrow. The pass, Harris Saddle, 1,250 meters of elevation, is notorious for its absurd winds, treacherous snow, and crazy weather. I’ll check with the ranger here in the morning for an update.

DAY 21

I slept in til about 9, got up, had a quick breakfast, and was thrilled to see some new words written on the hut’s whiteboard: “Thur: rain in evening.”

So I got a weather window after all. I take off, doubletime, down the trail to Lake Cowell hut, where I picked up the Routeburn Track.

Initially, the track leads up hill through dense, wet forest to the Mackenzie Lake / Hut.

I stuff some energy food and sports drink down my throat, and then continue powering up the trail, now coming above tree line and turning out onto a ridge overlooking the main glacial valley. It was truly a sight to behold. Certainly in the top 5 of most incredible valleys that I’ve ever seen, and been around a time or two.

The trail continues up and over Harris Saddle, with a gorgeous lake cradled in a spread of steep snowy mountains.

The rest of the trail was mostly downhill, passing numerous waterfalls and gorgeous vistas and ends up rolling alongside the Route Burn, a crystal aquamarine toned water way running through a grassy, forested valley.

On making it to the car park at the end of the trail, I overhear a girl and her dad talking about a shuttle arriving and that they have to go. The old fellow was nice enough to ask me “if I had a someone coming for me.”

I explained, half-heartedly, that I was thinking of camping here at the trailhead and hitchhiking out in the morning. He said, “well, why don’t you ask the shuttle guy if you can come?”

I thought this was a marvelous idea, and apparently, so did the shuttle driver. “Sure, hop in!” He didn’t even expect money, he was just being a genuinely uber-kind human being helping out this total stranger coming to him in need.

It turns out he had moved here from Maine, after falling in love during some river rafting expeditions a few years back. Now he spends 6 months working here during Maine’s winter, and 6 months back home. While here, he runs shuttle routes and LOTR tours in one of the most consistently jaw-dropping drives I’ve ever experienced. The setting surrounding Lake Wakatipu is out of this world. The mountain scenery inspires and evokes in me a feeling of witnessing a sight of the most grand majesty of Nature.

We arrive in Queenstown at 6:30pm on a Thursday, before a huge marathon taking place this weekend. As a result, almost everywhere was booked solid. I was lucky that one of the hostel receptionists I asked said, “I know for a fact that Pinewood Lodge has beds available.”

That was all I needed to hear. I mapped it, started walking, and had my bed booked online halfway through with the walk there. Thank China for smartphones. I checked in and ate my remaining trail food, and then crashed around 9pm, worn out from having power-hiked the whole 30km Routeburn track, a demanding hike even if you split it up into 2 or 3 days. I did it in a solid 8 hours, after oversleeping til 9am, and still managed to make it into town, somehow, before dinnertime. Damn. What a day!

Needless to say the impending thought of evening rain was what fueled the fire under my feet; however, the rain never came. In fact, it would not show its face until afternoon the following day. It was a perfect weather day to hike this marvelous track, and I felt like I had the whole Routeburn to myself, because of the combination of starting late and the weather forecast, I missed the notorious overcrowding that I’ve heard the Routeburn is famous for.

A spectacular day of tramping. Good night!

DAY 22, 23

I spend a couple of days hanging out in Queenstown. I manage to meet up with my friend Loic in town (I randomly ran into him on the escalator going up when I was going down, hah! I ran back up the down escalator like a crazy person to catch him. We hang out for a while, getting food and talking about the trail we just did and the future Te Araroa ahead.

I wanted to take an alternate route called the Cascade Saddle, but saddley, it is too dangerous. There is an extremely steep bit of trail involved at the pass itself, and the DOC office told me it’s still plastered in snow, and to try again in a month or so. Oh well! People only describe it as “possibly the most beautiful hike in NZ” haha. But there are plenty of hikes just as beautiful, I’m sure. I have to leave some things to do next time, anyways!

I’ll pack up a resupply box to send to Hanmer Springs on down the trail. 5 days of food, for when I hitch there from the Te Araroa intersection in about a month.

And a resupply package my family sent from the US should arrive in a week or so in Wanaka! Its only been held at customs for like A MONTH. Hah!

I’ll head on down the trail in a couple days, but for now, gratuitous amounts of food and Wifi. 🙂

Good night!

Te Anau is an amazing place to land after a trying period of adventure. I felt that way hitching in the first time, and I felt it again after coming back from walking the 60km Kepler Great Walk.

This place is a frontier town, about as far away from anything as you can get. They call it the “Gateway to the Fiordlands” because it is the last great bastion of civilization before a whole lot of wilderness in any given direction–Especially the massive Fiordlands National Park to the west.

It has charm, and everything else a hiker needs to be happy. A large, cheap grocery store, plenty of mountains in all directions, a humble hostel with the most amazing view, a national park on your doorstep, outdoor supply stores, and loads of young backpackers who flock here to take on the Kepler, Routeburn, and Milford Great Walks, and to experience the pristine wilderness of the New Zealand Fiordlands.

After four days in town, being the restless nomadic human that I am, I took off on the 60km Kepler Track. A couple of TA hikers had arranged to meet me and do this great walk togerher. They would start the TA NOBO in just a few days, and were taking this opportunity to stretch their legs after their long flights.

The first day involved a 6km lakeside trail to the trailhead, and then a 6km walk through the forests alongside Lake Te Anau to the Brod Bay Campsite. It was pretty wet all day, but my friend and I still managed to get a roaring fire going that evening by collecting some dry tinder off of a dead tree, and using my camp stove to give it a little nudge.

The next day was a spectacular hike along the ridgeline 1,000m above our camp with unreal views of the surrounding fiords. I’ll let the photos do the talking:

As Carl Sagan said, “We are the local embodiment of a Cosmos grown to self-awareness. We have begun to contemplate our origins: starstuff pondering the stars; organized assemblages of ten billion billion billion atoms considering the evolution of atoms; tracing the long journey by which, here at least, consciousness arose. Our loyalties are to the species and the planet. We speak for Earth. Our obligation to survive is owed not just to ourselves but also to that Cosmos, ancient and vast, from which we spring.”

Finally, we arrive at the second campsite down in the valley at Iris Burn (a “burn” is a waterway with constantly changing widths and depths). The sandflies were pretty brutal so we took refuge in our tents for most of the evening.

The next and last day involved a gentle 36km of hiking down the Iris Burn, through gorgeously lush forests, and finally arriving back at the hostel in Te Anau for one last night in civilization before returning to the trail.

I stocked up on 6 days of food at the grocery (even though my feet really didn’t want to do any more work) and my friend and I share a sunset beer on the lakeside, celebrating our completion of the Kepler track and our newfound friendship.

She goes tomorrow morning to Invercargill, the start of the trail. I’ll look forward to following her journey (and reliving the brutal Longwood Forest)!

In any case, I get back to the hostel, pack up all the food for the next wild week, and hit the hay.

Goodnight!

We woke up to a little bit of rain on the roof of the Merryvale Hut. We were planning to hitchhike out today, but we would have to wait until around 10 for a weather window to walk out to the road and flag a ride!

The first 30 minutes of trying, we didn’t have any luck. Then another big weather front rolled in and we ran back to the covered porch of the hut to wait it out. Nobody wants to pick up a wet hitchhiker!

10 minutes later and the sun was out again. A few cars passed with not much more than a lifted finger saying “I see you” or “good luck.”

Then, a man with a trailer stopped in front of us, and agreed to take us as far as Tuatapere! We gladly agreed. That would get us 30km closer to our destination, and that town has a supermarket and a campground, in case we can’t get a second hitch the 90km north to Te Anau.

The guy that picked us up was a hiker himself, having just done some climbs at Mt. Everest with his daughter, who was 25, same age as I am. He was heading into town having just bought an old police station. His plan was to build out the jail cells and turn it into an AirBnB for tourists! Awesome!

He let us out and we said our thanks and goodbyes. We walked to the edge of town where the highway to Te Anau begins and started looking for a second hitch to get us to our desired hiker hub. Many people passed us by making gestures that meant “I just live right down the road,” “what are you doing,” “hello,” and a few blank stares.

Finally, after an hour and a half, an old couple stopped and said they could take us halfway, about 40 minutes down the road. We happily agreed, as any progress is much welcome when you’re trying to hitchhike. We threw our bags in the back and hopped in. They turned out to be farmers who owned a plot of land about 30km down the road. That’s a full days walking distance, but being in a car, we knocked it out in about 20 minutes.

Upon arriving at their house in the middle of nowhere, they said this was as far as they could take us. They assured us we would have a better chance of finding someone going all the way to Te Anau from here. That made sense, as there was really nowhere else you could go from out here. Again, we said thanks and goodbye.

We walked a hundred meters to a nice stretch of road where we could be visible, and also that had a nice area to pull off in should someone decide to stop for us. An hour passed with not very much action, just a few farmers and commercial trucks.

Finally, after a long empty silent period of 15 minutes, a red van came barreling down the highways, creaking as if it were held together by duct tape.

They passed us and we assumed hope was lost, but then they slowly came to a stop halfway off the highway ahead of us. This was it! Glorious salvation!

A young couple greeted us–this was their camper van that they lived out of, as the guy worked a lot off shore on fishing boats and such with New Zealand’s Ministry for Primary Industries.

He cleared some junk out of the back bed of the van and beckoned us in. It was a tight fit, but we were glad to be on our third and final hitch to our destination, the hiking capital of Southland, the Gateway to the Fiordlands, the town of Te Anau.

They said they were only going to Manapouri, 20km south of Te Anau. After a little while, though, they agreed to take us all the way, as they needed to stock up on supplies at the main supermarket.

70 more kilometers down, and a few stops at scenic areas to snap pictures and enjoy the fresh air. I could hardly believe we had made it when we stepped out onto the main street at Te Anau (pronounced tay-ah-new).

“You guys are legends,” I said to them, and I made a vow to pay their kindness forward one day soon. Maybe when I go help out some PCT hikers in next year’s U.S. hiking season.

Loic and I immediately found the best ranchhouse burgers in town, ordered some pints, and laughed at how extraordinary of a day this was. Three hitch hikes! I’d never done more than one in a day. “I told you we’d be eating burgers in Te Anau by 6pm,” I said to my friend. It was 5:20pm and we were stuffing our faces.

Loic had so many doubts when we started hitchhiking that morning in the pouring rain, and I gotta say that I wasn’t sure we’d make it either, but I wasn’t gonna tell him that, haha! You gotta stay positive and have faith when you’re hitchhiking, and just trust that there are good people out there who will help you for no other reason than to meet and help total strangers in need, and keep the karmic spirit of hitching alive.

Finally, we found a nice hostel just on the lakeside and pitched our tents for about $15usd. This also included showers, lockers, laundry, and access to the common kitchen and living space/electricity, so it was worth every penny.

I ran to the supermarket and grabbed some beers to celebrate our victory. We finally passed out around 9, exhausted from receiving so much kindness from strangers. What a day.

Goodnight!

Both Loic and I slept in at our campsite, waiting for a break in the rain and heavy winds to take down the tents.

We had only 8km to hike down a gravel road today, so it was quite a simple task compared to the 50km slog through the Longwood forest which consumed the last couple days.

The weather, of course, did not cooperate. We had rain and wind slapping us repeatedly soon after picking up hiking.

But just as well–we make it to the Merryvale Hut, where you can pay $6 USD for a roof over your head and a porch to watch the weather roll through. This was a welcome respite, and soon after settling in, we were entertained by a massive cold front smashing past us, dropping the temperatures by 30° and bringing an onslaught of hail, rain, and driving wind, the worst I’ve seen yet on this journey.

Of course, an hour later, the sun came back out and all was well in our merry valley home.

Later on, we met the owners, who helped us with some beers and supplies they had up for sale. I got a dozen of their fresh eggs for the long trip tomorrow.

If the weather was right, Loic and I planned to hitch hike the 120km between here and Te Anau, a major Te Araroa trail stop with all the fixings. From there, I plan to do the Kepler Great Walk with some other TA NOBOs and then pick the trail up just down the road, headed towards the Mavora lakes, some alternate routes, and the real mountains.

All in all, today was a wonderful day of relaxation, and we were exceedingly glad to have a roof over our head as wave after wave of hot and cold, rain and shine, rolled past the home. I fell asleep, at last, to the sound of raindrops a’ fallin’ on the roof.

Goodnight!