Captain Creek Hut - Browning Hut

Today was a day of crossing over. Over swooping swing bridges, into wilder terrain and a rougher headspace. The trail was beautiful, but unforgiving on city legs. We started out together in a sunny morning, but the trail soon demanded complete zooming-in on the immediate. For hours I climbed up through the dense beech forest. Short stop at Middy Creek Hut to use the facilities. The Richmond Ranges have frequent huts, very handy at sudden onsets of bad weather. But it’s not a section you can race through, pretty much everyone takes a week or more to complete it.

My legs were killing me on the last climb up to Rocks Hut, a big airy hut on the very fringe of the treeline. Lined by fragrant manuka bushes, it remains the nicest hut we sadly didn’t stay at. I was a sweaty mess of cramps and exhaustion. I confess that post-John Muir Trail I was pretty sure I could take on anything. But in the US there are switchbacks. Kiwis don’t have time for that nonsense, and lay their trails straight up if necessary. I had to stop every few steps and shake out the lactic acid in my legs. The trail was so badly maintained, completely overgrown. Luckily we had a good long lunch. I lost the battle with my first peanut butter and Nutella tortilla, and Toby happily wolfed down the last piece. Those things must be 1000 calories. (Note: after 900+ km, the narrative went more like “gimme two of those! Three!”.

A more forgiving white trail let me stretch my legs a bit coming away from Rocks Hut. Mistake. A small but gnarly root hooked onto the front of my boot, pierced it and catapulted me forward. I managed to twist onto my side as I fell, nearly splintering my shin. Holy shit! That nasty little bugger had completely penetrated my Gore Tex mountain boots, leaving a modest but gaping hole. Well well. The wild bites back, apparently.

Not long after, I came to an area I can only describe as a bomb-site. Huge trees were uprooted and seemingly tossed in a haphazard heap I was somehow meant to navigate. It took over 20 minutes to crawl over the huge trunks, backpack and body catching on everything. Sweaty mess take two. Over 600 km later I would learn that this site is famously known as The Apocalypse. The trail had climbed high, and I could see looming green mountains ahead. A few kilometres further on, I was treated to a proper view when the trees thinned out. Toby sat waiting for me on the sunny golden hillside. We could see the mountains petering out into small hills towards the coast. There, far below lay the town of Richmond, where people drove cars and sat in air-conditioned rooms. How much they were missing out on!

“This is what I came for” Toby sighed as we sat admiring the view and had a snack. Indeed, the North Island seems rather hellish with its 800 km of road walking and limited altitude. We would trace the crest of the eastern Southern Alps until we were passed Queenstown towards the last leg of our journey. A world away from this scorched hillside…