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!
This is a terrific account of the trip