Lake Hawea Village – Wanaka.

This entry is dedicated to Kasey Altman. We stayed in the same hostel in Wanaka and instantly hit it off. A young, vivacious girl with whom I would have been friends had our paths crossed for longer. Kasey died of Alveolar Rhabdomyosarcoma in 2022 at the age of 25.

Today was one of the days I’d been most excited about. Not for the trail itself, which was an odd combo of suburbia, road connections, lakeside walk, and native forest, but for our destination. Our first big town of the whole hike so far.

I squinted against the sun and felt the cold morning dew coat my boots as we strode across a golf course nestled between fancy-looking country estates. So these were the postcard properties people bought and never lived in. Golf course became tarmac, tarmac became hard-packed dirt track next to a shallow canal. The pleasant morning air would soon give way to another hot day. We felt like veterans striding along the walkway, shaded from the sun by thick pines.  This stretch felt a tad random in the way that thru-hikes so often do. No spectacular mountain wilderness, today we roamed a land where people lived. We passed houses that housed permanent residents, not just packs of stinky nomads like us.

Today was a taste of the connective tissue of thru-hikes, which - to its credit – the Te Araroa South Island does not have much of. This trail is so wild, so remote, that the gaps between the wonders served as a timely reminder that we were borrowing this land from the people who actually live here. On a thru-hike you are in the ultimate dreamland far beyond the reach of the everyday. Things like taxes, emails, traffic lights, bringing in the mail, stocking the fridge, washing the windows, feel non-existent. The boring side of the country you’re hiking in is mostly forgotten. You’re largely shielded from exposure to poverty, inequality, crime-affected neighbourhoods. It is a balmy escape that most hikers cite as a main perk of the experience. But I say it’s good to touch ground every once in a while. The hike to Wanaka was golden, beautiful, with families having picnics by the glittery river, no part of it was ever gritty or unpleasant. Yet it was a reminder of our borrowed time, that we are in the latter half of this journey – that there will be a time after this roaming life.

We crossed a huge swing bridge over the Clutha River on the outskirts of Albert Town and got ice cream at a gas station, the perks of civilisation. The trail was now a beautiful white track alongside the glittering river, which we followed all the way to its outlet from Lake Wanaka. Oh glory.

The water was milky blue, almost purple. The shallows stretched over 50 metres from the sandy shore (mildly inconvenient when you’re swimming continental style without a bikini top and trying to get away from the two other couples eyeing you). I gave up trying to cover myself and sank down on my knees in the pearly ripples. Surrounded by mountains and a cloudless blue sky, utter magic in itself that I was almost taking for granted at this point. I reckoned the next time I would be back in New Zealand would be a road trip gig, and I made a mental note to spend more time in the Wanaka area. This was pure South Island leisure, a beach and adventure holiday combined. Floating onto my back, sunlight burning through my eyelids, I laughed and wrote a mental note of love to this moment. This was the good life.

The trail traced the entire bay before it finally hit the bustling shores of Wanaka. For the first time ever, I’d chosen to carry my trekking poles folded up instead of using them. It had felt too odd to stake out a determined course in this civilised terrain, and the act of carrying them was about as novel a change as the thru-hiker life could afford. But yikes, it made me appreciate them in a whole new way! Without the poles, my arms hung down low. By noon, my fingers were so swollen I could hardly close my fist. I’ve never had spindly piano fingers, but now they felt like sausages – my skin so taught it actually felt quite uncomfortable. More power to poles! They really don’t get enough credit. If it were up to me, I would see them advertised on public transport: “Numerous health benefits! – David Beckham”, “My day doesn’t start until I’ve staked out some miles – Heidi Klum”.

The boys and I split ways to our respective hostels. Mine was one of those modern sleeping pod places complete with a funky-vibes backyard brimming with tan 20-something backpackers. I sat down at a table and instantly became engulfed in conversation with the crowds, mostly guys and a girl one year younger than me. Everyone asked about the trail. Kasey from the US was the first truly stimulating conversation I’d had in what felt like forever. It occurred to me how much I missed the company of women. Liberal feminists with enlightened worldviews and quick humour. The trail was my home for now, but that evening in Wanaka I felt at home in a community of people who smelled better - but were actually much more like me.