Cora Lynn Carpark – Hamilton Hut

I felt like we had turned into backpacker tourists overnight. The Greymouth-Christchurch shuttle bus picked us up at our hostel, and I nestled cosily into the plush seat with my new book. For two hours I could enjoy a mode of transport that wasn’t my sandfly-bitten legs and watch lush fern forests flash by. I felt tired but rejuvenated. One zero wasn’t enough to rest us anymore, but this was our life now. A constant flow of forward motion southwards. By the time we reached Cora Lynn carpark – a strange place for a trailhead – the skies were dark and rainy again. We started up through pine forest, the first of its kind we’d seen in New Zealand. Its deep green needles absorbed almost all of what little light was left, and we walked soundlessly in the semi-darkness up, up, up and back into the wild.

Beautiful landscape might have been all around us, but everything beyond the immediate forest was covered in thick fog. Toby’s trail runners were starting to wear down, sending him slipping on all the wet roots - and we had loaded up our packs with wayyyyy too much food for the short hop to Lake Coleridge. All that irresistible goodness in Greymouth… The heavy packs and wet weather could have dampened my spirits, but… I was happy and going strong. My wonderful new boots were dry as can be, and we had both cookies and hummus-wraps for lunch in the creaky old West Harper Hut. Man, this was the most unappealing hut we’d set foot in thus far. It wasn’t even fit for a basic shelter, it was merely a ruin with a roof on top. Just standing inside in the dark to gobble down that wrap and 8 cookies (no shame) was spooky, and we were glad to be back out in the rain.

For once, the trail was perfectly maintained, and despite the days of rain, there were still enough rocks in the river to allow us to cross without getting soaked. It’s funny how little I remember of this day apart from its grey hue. Stony riverbeds, lots of forest, soft grass, and plenty of orange trail markers. Oceans of ferns covered the wet earth. As the day waned, it strangely got lighter. Our destination, Hamilton Hut, lay a couple of km off the trail, and we basically ran through the forest and over the long swing bridge leading to the hut. 

Dang, Hamilton Hut… No sooner had we stepped through the door before Toby declared his favourite hut (which he stuck to until the end). And I’ll hand it to him, Hamilton was l-o-v-e-l-y. It was huge, 20 beds in two separate bedrooms, a large living room with tables and a wood stove, complete with a charming horse wrangler from Montana – Patrick 2. Toby got a roaring fire going, and I dragged by mattress in front of the fireplace and snuggled down in my sleeping bag. Patrick 2 lay down on the floor with his head on my mattress while Toby gingerly observed from one of the tables. It was like… being at a cabin in the woods on a rainy day. Even going to the toilet bivvy across the lawn – and scaring away two possums – felt comfy and homey. The whole afternoon and evening passed in glorious luxury: wine gums, reading (I gifted Patrick 2 the book after I finished it) and good stories.

Tim and Roxelane wandered in unexpectedly at 22.00 when we were fast asleep. Take the bus from Greymouth, folks. That hitch is a bitch.