Ship Cove - Miner’s Camp

Writing these words is the greatest privilege of my life. Because it means that I made it.

How can I possibly put the momentousness of the occasion into words? Birthdays, tv-performances and graduations paled in comparison to the feeling of my boot-clad foot stepping onto the wooden jetty at Ship Cove. The excruciatingly slow water taxi ride from Picton to the inlet had been torture – I was aching to begin the greatest adventure of my life. I’d spent three days in Wellington shopping for country-specific gear and sending off my resupplies to various locations on the South Island. Accommodations were booked, emergency locator beacon was calibrated. Now the only thing left to do was to actually walk the 1400 km from Ship Cove to Bluff. At this point I was skinny as a post after a stomach bug I’d picked up in Sydney. Not ideal, but at least there was no extra weight to hustle around.

The Marlborough sounds are tropical. For hours I walked under a thick canopy of palms and ferns, listening to the constant hiss of cicadas. The Queen Charlotte track undulated around pretty inlets, up and down ridges tracing the coastline. Occasional holiday houses and boats dotted the coves below, the white sands and turquoise water could easily pass for the Caribbean. I’d never been to this part of New Zealand on my previous trips, and I drank in the lush landscape while splashes of sunlight warmed me over the saddles. This first day was a soft start of only 15 km, and so I allowed myself plenty of snack breaks and lounges at small, secluded beaches.

I was the first hiker of the day to reach Miner’s camp at 14.00. I pitched my Duplex (firstcampfirstcamp!) in the orchard beneath a massive tree to prevent condensation… and waited. This first camp lay in a nook of Endeavour Inlet, in a garden-like space complete with a small house for cooking and a nearby beach. Future hikers, do not be fooled – the water in NZ is pretty darn cold. Being all by myself in a place built for so many people suddenly made me feel a bit lonely. At the time when I’d first decided to hike the TA, I was desperate to get away from other people. Now I was at a completely different point in my life, and craved company to share my first night on the trail.

Ah, the good land provides. That evening yielded no less than seven camp mates, four of which were TA hikers. The very polite Tobias from Canada treated me to a strawberry tea, he had done the North Island and seemed super eager to embark on the more scenic South. Eric was in his 50s, speedy as a gazelle with minimal gear. Patrick and Etienne, two 20 year-olds from Switzerland became the objects of countless jokes because of their humongous spaceship of a tent. From the side it looked like a stranded whale, it weighed surely half of my total pack weight. Snuggled in my liner, I could hear Etienne tossing and turning, but I lay still in complete bliss. The evening was warm, an orange hue dusted the sky. One day down, somewhere between 60 and 80 to go. I am on the Te Araroa trail. At last.

Miner’s Camp - Black Rock Campsite 

Today’s stretch was almost waterless, and I had to lug a heavy 3L up the undulating trail. This put my pack weight out of my comfort zone, and I was melting under the dizzying sun. There’s a hole in the ozone layer above New Zealand, which is why you’ll never see sunscreen less than 30 SPF for sale. In other words, not the place you want to experiment with how much you can tan on day two. Today’s original destination was the campsite at Bay of Many Coves, but when I reached it at 12.00 it seemed ridiculous to stop. A couple of weka birds (hen sized, incredibly cheeky, will look very tasty after a week or two on trail) plucked around while I sought out some shade to enjoy my lunch in. How much hotter could it get? There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and fine clouds of dust rose from my boots kicking up the sand.

I traced the line of a stunning ridge through a grove of fragrant manuka trees. The bright turquoise sounds shone in splendid contrast to the green baby mountains growing bigger towards the south. There was no room for all the happiness in me. Finally I was walking in the land I’d loved so long and so hard, and missed so greatly every moment I wasn’t here for the past 7 years. Every breath my lungs drew in, I wanted to capture and save somehow. The long road ahead, all 1385 km of it, didn’t seem intimidating at all. Rather, it drew me in, promising to fill the emptiness in me that had led to me seeking it out in the first place. With every step I took, I felt the faint echo of that emptiness, washed away by love for this sunny world – maybe sorta like the love parents feel for children that haven’t yet been born.

 Black Rock Campsite - Davies Bay

Phew, post-gastro body had some catching up to do today. Throughout the night sounds of tossing and turning came from the Swiss beached whale tent, and I was pretty tired after 28 km yesterday. My calves were sore and unaccustomed to walking beneath the weight of my pack, and the bruises on my hips kept getting bigger. I set off by myself before 07 to an already sweltering morning.

Thick brush lined the trail as it spooned me in, up steep banks and over scorched grass. I kicked up clumps of earth and battled tiredness while dripping sweat as usual. Day 3 of 60+, and I was already cheating my energy levels by snacking constantly on little energy bites and nuts. Hell no that I shall ever repeat stage 2 of the John Muir Trail, the days of starvation are over – pack weight be damned.

Cruising by myself felt comfortingly familiar. I passed by Toby and another German woman named Anja regularly. Anja’s reason for being out here differed from the standard adventure-seeking thru-hiker tales. She was unemployed, couldn’t afford to keep her flat and had no idea what her life would look like once she stepped off the trail. She seemed unfulfilled and regretful about her career choices, she struggled to feel passionate about life and dreaded returning to her uncertain future. For her the trail really was an escape. Listening to her narrative made me grateful for being young and having a sense of direction. I had a part-time job at an international environmental NGO to return to, various semi-political engagements, and somewhere along the line I’d get my master’s degree from a good university. I didn’t have anything to fear, not even financially. My only concern was placing one foot in front of the other on the broad, white trail framed by tall ferns and luscious vines.

Toby and I shared a Backcountry Cuisine dinner of spaghetti Bolognese – a pleasant surprise – before creeping into our already condensed tents at dusk. The meadow was swarming with sandflies, and the camp toilets were so full that their contents were stacked in a pile almost high enough to make sitting on the seat a perilous venture. Stuff like that gives you an idea of why some people don’t like camping. Walking the QCT hadn’t taken as long as I’d thought, I was now learning to be more ambitious about my daily itineraries. Tomorrow we would reach the end of the track, pass the tiny village of Anakiwa and walk on to Havelock. I’m very meticulous about my rest days, and I planned to load up in Havelock for a day before embarking on the next stretch of the TA - which would be the hardest of them all.

Davies Bay - Havelock via Anakiwa

The last day of section 1 already, will you believe it! Our day began unceremoniously, packing up condensation-soaked gear in the grey hue of dawn. I still felt stoked getting out of camp, threw in an energy bar, plugged in some appropriately motivational tunes from Outlander and stalked into another day in New Zealand (just thinking those words still gives me butterflies). A shy sun invited itself to the pale morning, growing more confident, spilling prisms of light on the ground after filtering through the trees.

 Zero day in Havelock

The TA thru-hikers colonised the tiny town of Havelock. With nothing to do but eat, that’s what we spent most time doing. We frequented the small 4 Square supermarket, emptying its stacks of cheesecake, yoghurt, fruit and bacon. Always bacon.

The hostel owners had a pet possum. Now, I know they’re considered pests by the locals. But LOOK AT THIS FLUFFY BABY! Its tail had a little finger-like tip which curled around my wrist so sweetly and omg it was so cute. It never sat still for a second, but I just wanted to squeeze it the way furry animals must be squeezed. Patrick and Etienne finally owed up to their heavy packs, and Toby and I gave them a good gear shakedown. Non-hikers think it’s crazy to chop off the handle of your toothbrush, or wear your underwear inside out every other day. But when you’re lugging a backpack for 1000+ km, you want to shave off every possible gram. Going lightweight doesn’t have to be crazy expensive, you can make your own gear, use multi-purpose items and sacrifice small comforts. I ditched my rainpants in Havelock and haven’t carried any since.

That evening, one of the hostel employees took us out into the forest. Aidan promised us there were glowworms only a short hike away from town. If you don’t know what they are, google “Waitomo caves”. It was pitch black, only our headlamps illuminated the immediate trail ahead. We climbed up an almost invisible trail until it ended, and Aidan told us to kill our lights. Two seconds of outer space darkness as our eyes adjusted. Then we could only gasp. We were standing in the middle of a galaxy of twinkling lights, close enough to touch but looking like real stars. Thousands of glowworms blinked in pale blue, green and white, like tiny fireflies of Northern Lights above our heads and beneath our feet. We could have been floating in the Milky Way. It was so beautiful I almost cried. We stood there in stunned silence, not daring to speak or move for a long time. If New Zealand is not a place of magic, nothing is.