The Tramping Triple Crown: Kepler, Milford, Routeburn (Retrospective, December 2021)

 Lipah, Bali

Cormorant at Whites Bay

It's been seven months since Terri and I made it to the South Island and began what was for me the most beautiful and most consistently awe-inspiring part of our entire seven months in New Zealand: the Kepler, Milford and Routeburn Tracks, the three Great Walks which are located close to the small town of Te Anau, in the deep south of the South Island. Thirty years previously, my friend Hans and I were backpacking around New Zealand and found ourselves in nearby Queenstown, where we seriously considered hiking the Routeburn; we changed our mind when we met other trekkers who had just come off those tracks and reported unseasonable blizzards and deep snowdrifts. Since then, these hikes have been on my mental radar. Terri, as a New Zealander keen on trekking, had been aware of these treks for her entire adult life, but was put off walking along them by the difficulty of getting reservations for them. The ten Great Walks of New Zealand have become insanely popular among tourists from all over the world, and these three have the greatest demand. The Milford Track, in particular, has a reputation for selling out within minutes of reservations being opened, months before the trekking season even begins. Covid-19, by bringing international arrivals into New Zealand to a crashing halt, provided us with an unmissable opportunity to be able to get reservations for these tracks, as we were competing for spaces with a much smaller pool of applicants than usual. In late November, while we were in the south of the North Island, we went online and were able to book the Milford Track, followed in short order by the Kepler and the Routeburn. All three are pretty expensive (particularly the Milford), but we figured that it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity not to be missed. Reservations in hand, we structured our time in the South Island around these trips and started to get excited.

Whites Bay

Whites Bay

We took a middle-of-the-night ferry to the South Island on the night of November 29-30 and headed straight to a Department of Conservation (DOC) campsite at nearby Whites Bay where we caught up on missed sleep, did a short hike and collected an abundance of mussels from the nearby rocks for a seafood feast.

We spent four days driving south towards Te Anau, via Kaikoura and its coastal loveliness (sadly we didn't spot any of the incredibly rare Hutton's shearwaters that feed just offshore), Wooded Gully (a pretty DOC campsite not far from Christchurch), lovely Lake Tekapo, Twizel (where we camped at pretty Lake Wardell), Queenstown (where we stayed with my friend Natalya's parents, international teachers and world travellers Brian and Marion), Glenorchy and finally Te Anau. It was a whistle-stop tour, although we were confident that we would return to spend more time in some of these places after our Te Anau treks.

Kaikoura

Terri in a field of lupins, Lake Tekapo

New Zealand scaup family, Lake Wardell

New Zealand scaup, Lake Wardell

Mossy native bush along the Kepler Track

We had a couple of nights in Te Anau before we set off on the Kepler Track; we spent them camped behind the Parklands Motel which would become our home base between treks. On December 5th it rained incessantly all afternoon. We had to go out to the DOC office to sign in for our trek, to the supermarket to stock up on trekking food and then to a fish and chips joint for dinner. By the time we got back to the van, Terri was almost hypothermic; the temperature was down around 6 degrees and very un-summerlike. Luckily the fish and chips and wrapping herself in her sleeping bag got her functional again by the time bedtime rolled around.

December 6th found us sleeping in, feeling a bit groggy and slow to get moving. By 10 o'clock we were ready, and we parked our van at the motel, shouldered our packs and started walking. The nice thing about the Kepler Track (unlike the Routeburn and the Milford) is that it's accessible on foot right out of the town of Te Anau. We walked along the shore of Lake Te Anau for an hour to the official entrance to the track at the exit gates controlling the level of the lake, and then another hour further along the lakeshore to Brod Bay. The walk was through a lush, moss-clad beech forest, full of birdsong (although bereft of any visible birds). 

Limestone cliffs on the climb up to Luxmore Hut

From Brod Bay the track began to ascend at a gentle, steady angle. Being a Great Walk, the track was luxuriously broad, smooth and well-maintained. As we gained elevation from the lake (210 metres above sea level), we passed first through more mossy beech forest, then past a set of limestone cliffs and then out onto tussocky open moorland. The sky was overcast, lending an even more Scottish feel to the landscape, but luckily it didn't rain. The track wove gently up the slope, and we arrived at Luxmore Hut (1070 m) by 2:45 pm, meaning we had been walking for about 4:45. It seemed like a much easier first day than we had anticipated, but we were still glad to doff our backpacks, claim a bed and settle into the comfortable confines of the hut.

We broke out our trusty MSR camping stove and lightweight aluminum frying pan and produced some grilled cheese sandwiches for a late lunch. There are some caves a few minutes' walk from the hut, and we set off for a post-prandial constitutional to see them. The caves were small and steeply sloping, but attractive, and we pottered around inside contentedly for a few minutes. Sadly we didn't spot either of New Zealand's two surviving native mammal species (the short-tailed and long-tailed bats), although there had been reports of hikers seeing them near the caves. We ambled back downhill to the hut, did some stretching (we had barely trekked with heavy packs on for over a year) and watched the afternoon light colouring the Murchison Mountains, across an arm of Lake Te Anau. The Murchisons are the last stronghold of the takahe, a highly endangered native bird thought to be extinct until it was rediscovered in the remote bush of these remote mountains in the 1940s by Geoffrey Orbell, a doctor and keen outdoorsman obsessed with the idea that the takahe had survived in the middle of nowhere. We had seen a couple of the 200 or so surviving takahe in a secure enclosure at the Te Anau Wildlife Sanctuary a few days before, but we were keen to see them in the wild. (Sadly, this wouldn't happen; they're very reclusive, secretive birds, rarely seen in the wild.)

Takahe at the Te Anau Wildlife Sanctuary

There was a jolly atmosphere in the hut that evening as a few dozen keen trampers (mostly New Zealanders, with a smattering of other nationalities, mostly resident in the country) whipped up food to replenish the calories burned in a day of walking. We struck up a number of conversations with our fellow trampers, sharing stories of the day and tips about other treks around New Zealand. As is the custom along the Great Walks, the hutkeeper came out to give a talk about the history, botany and birdlife of the area after dinner, as well as checking our hut bookings. This particular warden had done his Master's degree testing kea parrots for intelligence and problem-solving ability, and had a number of amusing stories to relate about the pitfalls of trying to outsmart the world's smartest bird. We were all in bed and asleep relatively early.

Wildflowers near Luxmore Hut

View across the tussocks to Lake Te Anau

Lovely wildflower up on the moorland near Luxmore Hut

Yours truly near Luxmore Hut

Mountain daisy and cool insects

Early morning views from the Luxmore Hut

I awoke with the dawn the next morning and slipped out of the hut to see what sunrise would look like. The previous day's clouds had dissipated and the view from Luxmore Hut was fabulous, with range after range of distant snow-capped peaks rising out of a sea of low-level cloud. It was cold (only a few degrees above freezing), but the clarity and colour more than made up for the chill. As I was returning to the hut, I saw a trail runner appear, trotting up the trail we had followed the day before. The Kepler Track is a classic trail run in New Zealand, and this guy hoped to complete the 60-km route in about 8 hours, rather than the 3 days we hikers were planning on.

Early-morning panorama of the Murchison Range

Terri on day two of the Kepler Track

Lovely ridge walk leaving the summit of Mt. Luxmore

After a hearty feed of oatmeal to see us through a long day of hiking, we packed up and hit the trail by 7:30, the first party of the day (not counting the runner). It was a perfect day for walking, with every corner bringing new sweeping vistas of mountain peaks. As we ascended towards Luxmore Peak there was more and more snow on the ground, the remnants of what had fallen two days earlier (the rain we had in Te Anau fell as snow higher up). At the junction point where the side trip to the summit of Luxmore branches off the main Kepler Track, there were a couple of keas, keen to harass us and perhaps steal some food from our packs. We kept a wary eye on the pair, took some photos and then strolled up to the peak. When we returned, we found the next set of trekkers trying to protect their packs from the inquisitive, mischeavous parrots. Keas are relatively rare nowadays, with somewhere between 3000 and 5000 found throughout the South Island. Sadly some 160,000 keas were shot and poisoned throughout the mid-20th century, allegedly to protect sheep; New Zealand's history of how it has dealt with its native flora and fauna is a long litany of human-made disasters.

Striking scenery to walk through

Wildflowers

Across the valley

We spent the next few hours undulating along tussock-clad ridges. The views down to various arms of Lake Te Anau and across to the Murchison Range were ever-changing and never dull, and kept our minds off the amount of climbing and descending that we were doing. We passed Forest Burn and Hanging Valley shelters, both perched in dramatic spots and featuring resident delinquent keas. Eventually, just as we were starting to wonder if our maps were correct, the path finally began a long, steep descent back into the forest. It was a long trudge and our legs, unused to descending so steeply with packs on our backs, were protesting by the time the path debouched into the flat bottom of Iris Burn valley. The forest was once again enchanting, something out of a fantasy novel, with everything wreathed in dense veils of moss. 

More wildflower colour

One of the arms of convoluted Lake Te Anau

Fabulous foliage

Stunning open moorland on day two

Pretty pleased with the weather and scenery

Terri facing down a cheeky kea

We got to Iris Burn Hut by mid-afternoon, made more grilled-cheese sandwiches and then headed out for a swim to rinse off the grime of a long day of trekking. The water was cold and the air was thick with sandflies, so we didn't linger, but instead walked up to a nearby waterfall. We returned to the hut and set about preparing dinner (sweet potatoes slathered in cheese and pasta sauce). Our hut warden, a veteran Swiss-born woman, told us that we were in a hot spot for kiwis and bats, so after our hut talk, we walked out in search of both these rarely-seen animals. We could definitely hear kiwis calling, but we had no luck at all seeing them. When we returned to the hut, defeated, we learned that another group had spotted a kiwi about one minute after we'd passed them in the forest. There were no bat sightings, and we sank into bed and fell asleep immediately, much later than usual.

A kea, perhaps the most intelligent and mischievous bird on Earth

Descending into the lowlands again

Waterfall

Very pretty wildflower

Our final day of hiking was long but easy. Many hikers split the trek into 4 sections, but we decided to save money on hut fees by having a long final day (22 km), and shaving 9 kilometres off the walk by hopping onto a shuttle bus from Rainbow Reach bridge back to Te Anau. The walk was downhill all the way, so that our legs, which were pretty tired from the long, steep descent to the hut, wouldn't suffer too much. We were underway by 7:40, walking through an amazing enchanted forest, full of birdlife, including numerous bellbirds and some personable and confiding South Island robins. We took a brief lunch break at Moturau Hut, on the shore of Lake Manapouri, but we were besieged by persistent sandflies, so we didn't linger. The last stretch of the track leading into Rainbow Reach along the pretty Waiau River was supposed to be a good place to spot New Zealand falcons, a bird that we had yet to enounter, but we had as little luck with them as with kiwis. By 1:40, leg-weary but exultant, we emerged at Rainbow Reach having completed 51 km over three days. We relaxed on the grass, chatting with other trekkers as they filtered in. At 3:00 the shuttle bus appeared and we hopped aboard for the final stretch into Te Anau. We could probably have walked, but we were pretty tired and the last stretch didn't look unmissable. By 4:00 we were back at the Parklands, setting up our camp again and getting a bucket shower. I wandered out to get Indian takeout which we devoured before turning in early for a well-earned rest.

Waterfall near Iris Burn Hut

South Island robin

More wildflower loveliness

Fungal funkiness

On the long trudge out of the Kepler

Very pretty beech forest

Mushroom multiplicity

Lake Manapouri

The Waiau River

We had two days off before our booking on the Milford Track. The first day was spent in utter sloth at the Parklands under grey skies. On the second day we packed, bought groceries and then went for a bicycle ride along the Waiau River, getting a view of the section of the Kepler Track which we had skipped. 

A life-long dream come true!

December 11th dawned grey and drizzly. Our (extremely expensive) bus and boat trip to the start of the Milford Track didn't leave until early afternoon, so we had a leisurely getaway. We packed up our backpacks and our van, did a workout on our gymnastic rings (slung over a children's swing set in the motel grounds), then wandered over to the DOC office to check in. We were glad to discover that since I had gotten a New Zealand driver's license back in October, I was now regarded as enough of a New Zealand resident to be given resident's rates for park fees and hut fees, saving me the better part of NZ$ 100, while we both qualified for further discounts for being members of the New Zealand Motorhome and Caravan Association (NZMCA). Soon enough a bus appeared to whisk us, along with a score of other hikers, north up the shore of Lake Te Anau to the boat dock at Te Anau Downs. We got aboard a reassuringly large and solid boat for the ride across and up the lake to Glade Wharf. 

Tomtit near the start of the Milford Track

Terri was keen to leap ashore and race ahead of the wave of trekkers exiting the boat, but first we had to stop for a photo celebrating the fact that after a lifetime of dreaming of it, Terri was finally about to start the iconic Milford Track. We walked for an hour along a level, easy track through (once again) dense, atmospheric forest to reach Clinton Hut. There was still low cloud cover, so we didn't see much of the peaks surrounding us, although we had an impression of bulk and steepness. The Clinton River had vivid postcard colours in its waters and pebbled beaches, while the forest was alive with robins, bellbirds, tomtits and (to judge by the birdsong we heard) possibly the very hard-to-spot mohua, or yellowhead. We kept up our tradition by concocting grilled cheese sandwiches for a mid-afternoon snack before wandering out to look at the wetlands around the hut, hoping forlornly that we might see the always-elusive kotata (fernbird). We returned to cook up a superb dinner of steak, sweet potatoes and broccoli, washed down with a bottle of wine.

On the way to Mintaro Hut

December 12th was a red-letter day, the highlight of the Milford Track. We were up betimes (Terri had been kept up for much of the night by a persistent snorer), made a quick breakfast of porridge and were the second walkers onto the track at 6:45. The weather was slightly overcast, but it cleared as we walked upstream along the West Branch of the Clinton River. The path led through dense forest, with long stretches along the crystalline waters of the river. There was a great deal of birdsong, along with sightings of tomtits, wekas with babies, bellbirds and even a kaka (a cousin of the kea) singing lustily in the treetops. The river was patrolled by scaups and paradise shelducks, while Terri was lucky to spot a South Island saddleback as it flew across the track. One species we didn't see was the whio (blue duck), a rare endemic said to inhabit the waters of the Clinton. After a short snack stop at Prairie Shelter (it was shortened by persistently annoying sandflies), we climbed on past avalanche debris, gaining altitude as we approached Mintaro Hut under cloudless blue skies, arriving at the stroke of noon.

Some lovely scenery along the Clinton River

Kaka calling loudly near Mintaro Hut

More pretty wildflowers

A troublesome kea about to be caught and banded

Fortified by another grilled cheese sandwich, we claimed our beds, left our heavy packs and set off uphill towards MacKinnon Pass. We would follow this route the next morning, but the weather forecast for the morrow was dire, so we felt impelled to see the scenic highlight of the entire track while the weather was good. Unencumbered, we made good time uphill along switchbacks carved into the steep hillside. We were on top of the pass by 2:00, absorbing epic views of precipitous glacially carved peaks and a plethora of waterfalls cascading down cliffs. In the foreground a wealth of alpine wildflowers provided bright splashes of colour, while in the distance we tried to descry the following day's descent. Near the top a team of volunteers was trying to capture and band keas. We watched as a curious kea was lured forward by a colourful rag doll to step into a lasso loop lying on the ground; a quick tug and the bird was captured. Despite its reputation for fierceness, the kea was surprisingly docile as the volunteers weighed and banded the bird. We left the scientists to their work and continued onwards to the MacKinnon Shelter for a different angle on the mountains, looking back towards the Clinton Valley we had walked along that morning across a series of tiny picturesque tarns. After snapping too many photos, we turned and trotted back downhill towards the hut, trying to encourage stragglers who were labouring uphill. We leapt into a swimming hole to freshen up after a long, sweaty day, then cooked up a feast of pasta carbonara and bacon). We socialized over mugs of whisky, listened to a highly entertaining hut talk, and then retired tired but content to our sleeping bags.

Don't step in the lasso loop!

MacKinnon Pass

Near the top of McKinnon Pass

A very happy Terri atop McKinnon Pass

More stupendous wildflowers

McKinnon Pass redux, this time in the rain and clouds

We slept in to the late hour of 6:40 (the encircling ridges kept out the morning light, and it was an overcast day), gobbled some oatmeal and were walking by 7:30. The leaden skies soon turned to rain, and it kept up all day. We trudged uphill wearing our rain jacket and rain pants, our packs sheathed in rain covers. We went over the top of MacKinnon Pass unable to see 10 metres in front of us, glad that we'd come up the previous afternoon. We recharged with snacks at the Pass Shelter, then descended steeply into the Arthur River Valley. There were sections of track which had been raked by avalanche debris during the previous winter and spring, then a dramatic descent beside an impressive river which was an endless series of torrents and pools. Two and a quarter hours saw us emerge at Quintin Shelter, where we left our packs and enjoyed a cup of tea before heading uphill towards Sutherland Falls, the highest waterfall in Australasia. 

Ephemeral waterfalls 

Looking down on the upper Arthur River

Whio (blue duck) showing off

We didn't see much of the falls as they were so high that their upper half was lost in the low clouds, but the sidetrip was worth it for an encounter with a whio. As we crossed a suspension bridge near Quintin Shelter, we spotted a male whio standing on a rock preening himself. Unlike most of his species, this duck wasn't at all afraid of humans, and stood there serenely as I snapped photos furiously. We didn't walk all the way to the base of the falls, turning back at another bridge that offered us as much view as we were going to get. It was pouring harder than ever as we shouldered our packs and trudged downstream to Dumpling Hut, arriving by 2:00 pm. We got a fire going in the common room and started to dry some of our sodden clothing and gear while Terri whipped up some pancakes and an instant cheesecake to replace the calories we had burned. We lounged about, reading and writing in diaries until it was time to cook up curried lentils for supper. We were in bed shortly after the obligatory hut talk and a snifter of whisky.

Beech forest in the Arthur Valley

Lunch of champions 

Lower Arthur River

Once again sleep was interrupted by snoring; the offender was sleeping directly above Terri, who kept poking his bed with her hiking pole to wake him up when his snoring got too loud before finally decamping to the common room to try to catch some uninterrupted shuteye. We were off by 6:40, barrelling down the path, worried about making our boat connection at 12:30. As it turned out, we were in plenty of time, and we had splendid views all morning of waterfalls, pools in the river, and abundant birdlife. We swam at Giants Gate and then made it to Sandfly Point by 11:15 (it failed to live up to its monicker, to our great delight). We had completed 54 km over three days (and an hour on the first day), and we felt pretty good about it. We lounged on the dock, resting our feet and watching scaups and passing fishermen in sea kayaks, until a speedboat appeared to whisk us to the "town" of Milford Sound. 

We had gotten a cruise of Milford Sound included in the price of our package of transfers, and it was a glorious day for it. There were hardly any tourists around other than us, and the big cruise boat we were on only had a dozen or so other punters aboard. We were hoping to spot Fiordland crested penguins, but we struck out (they had been spotted that morning, but were out at sea fishing when we sailed past). There were, however, plentiful bottlenosed dolphins and a handful of seals, along with no end of spectacular waterfalls, hanging valleys and snow-capped peaks. We returned to the ferry terminal, went for a brief stroll around to get some more views of the sound, then caught our bus and snoozed our way back to Te Anau and the familiar confines of the Parkland, where we broke with routine by opting for Thai takeaway (since the Indian restaurant was closed due to a lack of customers).

So close to the goal!

Old man's beard

Almost there!

Another perfect waterfall

Your humble correspondent, Milford Sound

Yet another spectacular Milford Sound waterfall

Pod of dolphins, Milford Sound

Bottlenose dolphins, Milford Sound

Feeling mighty pleased with ourselves

One of the numerous waterfalls lining Milford Sound

Milford Sound

We had a very, very lazy day off the next day in Te Anau. We were weary after back-to-back treks, and were not terribly productive with our time. We did manage to get out to restock on provisions, but mostly we lounged about on the back lawn of the Parklands Motel, sleepy. As we headed to bed, my right eyelid suddenly swelled to alarming proportions.

Earland Falls

The next morning I ran around the corner to a doctor's office to see if my eye was a serious problem. The doctor confessed himself puzzled as to the cause of the infection, but prescribed some antibiotics, and for good measure diagnosed a strange lump on my forehad as a harmless but unsightly seborrheic keratoma. We rolled out of town around 11:30, headed towards the Divide, most of the way back to Milford Sound. This is one end of the Routeburn Track, and we had decided to avoid expensive transfers by doing the Routeburn as an out-and-back hike, skipping the far end and staying two nights at the MacKenzie Lake hut. This would save some 380 kilometres of driving around the mountains from the far end of the track back to the Divide. We parked our van in the carpark, donned our backpacks and set off uphill around 1:15 from a starting elevation of 530 metres above sea level. It was a steady, moderate climb uphill to Key Summit (a possible sidetrip that we took a pass on), followed by a downhill to the Lake Howden junction at an elevation of 683 m, where the Caples and Greenstone Tracks branch off from the Routeburn. From there we had a very gentle climb past pretty Earland Falls, through some scenic forest (noticeably less mossy and wet than the Milford forests) up to an elevation of 1020 m before a short, steep drop down to Lake MacKenzie (891 m) and the welcome sight of our hut by 4:50 pm. We had set out under cloudy skies and passed through some patches of drizzle, but it had stopped again by the time we got to the hut.

Enchanted forest above Lake MacKenzie Hut

Lake MacKenzie

We celebrated with our customary grilled cheese sandwiches (fortified with chunks of ham) before heading out for a swim. The water was less bracing than we had anticipated, and it was actually pleasant to swim around for a few minutes before clambering out to towel off. We fried up pork steaks and sweet potatoes for dinner before an entertaining but slightly long-winded hut talk by Murray, a Cockney immigrant to NZ who is a bit of a legendary figure in the world of DOC huts. He talked about the revival of bird life along the Routeburn since the start of a program of intensive trapping of invasive predators nearly 20 years ago. The Routeburn is one of the few places in the South Island where the mohua (yellowhead) is still seen in the wild, and their numbers have increased manyfold since the trapping began. It was pouring rain by now, and we were glad to be under a solid roof for the night.

High up above Lake MacKenzie

Heading out for a long daytrip

Unlike almost everyone else at the hut, the next morning Terri and I were able to leave our packs and set off with only light daypacks, as we would be staying a second night at Lake MacKenzie. We awoke to clear skies after the night's downpours, and we were the first walkers out of the hut. It was a steep climb up and around the lake to a point where we could look along the Hollyford Valley from high above. The air was preternaturally clear and we could see along the Hollyford to the waters of Lake McKerrow and even to the ocean beyond near Martins Bay. Through our binoculars we could clearly make out individual white-capped waves breaking just offshore, even though we were nearly 40 km away as the crow flies. We were thinking about hiking along the Hollyford Track next, so we spent a bit of time scouting it out from our elevated vantage point before continuing along our own track. The Darran Mountains soared above us on the opposite side of the Hollyford, looking steep and forbidding (this was where Edmund Hillary came to test his skills and his equipment in some winter climbs before setting off for Everest).

Some glorious sunshine on the second morning

Some snow and ice in the Darran Mountains

Our route contoured along at about 1000 metres above sea level, high above the Hollyford River beneath us. After a couple of hours of walking, we gained elevation and popped over Harris Saddle to a shelter overlooking the blue waters of Lake Harris. This is the high point of the Routeburn, but we had time and weren't carrying any weight, so we decided to continue onwards around the lake after fortifying ourselves with lunch at the shelter. The views around the lake and upwards towards various Southern Alps peaks were stunning, and the path itself was dramatic, perched high above the lake on a ledge carved out of steep rock. We eventually dropped down into a broad plateau beside the Routeburn River and meandered along until we reached a vantage point just above Routeburn Falls Hut. This was our turnaround point, so we gobbled down the rest of our trail snacks and set off back the way we had come. It had taken us 4 hours to reach this point, with plenty of stops for photography, food and sightseeing.

Terri on the narrow ledge around Lake Harris

Our return journey took 3 hours and 20 minutes as we knew the route and spent less time sightseeing, particularly as the skies were clouding over and we were concerned that it might rain on us. We made it back dry and also quite pleased as we spotted a rock wren, a hard-to-see and rather reclusive native bird, building a nest right beside the track. He sat there posing obligingly for the camera for several minutes before resuming his construction activities. That evening we cooked up bacon and added it to a macaroni and cheese packaged dinner, giving our hungry bodies plenty of calories, fat and protein. We were excused from listening to a second successive hut talk that evening, but we had a number of interesting conversations with our fellow trekkers.

Another unknown beauty

Lake Wilson, I think

A rock wren, an elusive native species

Something a bit like an edelweiss

Our final morning of the Routeburn Track saw us cook up a hearty pancake breakfast before packing up and retracing our steps back to the Divide, past Earnshaw Falls and Lake Howden and the Key Summit junction. We were back at the car in only 3 hours and 20 minutes, chatting along the way with Jo, an interesting teacher from Christchurch and admiring the profusion of tiny riflemen flitting about in the bush. Once back at the car we headed out to scout the Hollyford road (completely rebuilt and repaired after gargantuan floods in 2020), hiking out to pretty Humboldt Falls before driving partway back to Te Anau to stay at Cascade Creek DOC campsite. In ordinary years, this campsite is packed, with some 130 numbered campsites; that night we were one of only 4 vehicles there. We spent time chatting with a friendly DOC worker who came to check our DOC camping pass; he told us that a huge storm was headed in the following day and that the hikers on the Routeburn might be evacuated. We spotted a giant eel lurking in the pristine waters of the river running through the campsite, along with a number of small freshwater crayfish. There were white-breasted terns beating their way along the river, while kakas and keas called and flitted through the forest canopy. It was an idyllic spot to relax after three consecutive treks, although it looked as though our planned several days of lounging were going to be curtailed by the weather.

More floral finery

We awoke to grey skies and a confirmation that trekkers were being evacuated that day from the Routeburn, so we packed up and headed back to Te Anau where we splurged on an indoor room at the Parklands to avoid being cooped up in our awning tent and van for what promised to be a two-day storm. It was nice to have a bit of everyday luxury to recover after what had been an intense two weeks!

All three of these treks were fabulous, and provided some tremendous views, good exercise and a fun atmosphere with other trekkers in the huts. My favourite might well have been the Kepler since it involved the least transport and had so many dramatic views all the way around the circuit. The Milford is by far the most famous of the three and lived up to its billing as one of the most beautiful treks in the world, although it was also by far the most expensive because of the obligatory transport connections at both ends. The Routeburn had very pretty scenery and expansive views of the Darran and parts of the Southern Alps, but it's much shorter and has far more annoying transport connections unless you do what we did. Another option, done by several groups we met, is to walk the Routeburn one way, and then return to near your starting point by following the Greenstone or the Caples Track back. This makes it a 6 or 7-day expedition and you still have an annoying 25-km gap to fill in by hitchhiking, stashing a second car (or a bicycle) ahead of time or taking a local shuttle. 

Overall I think all three tracks are worth walking, although I actually found the Rees-Dart Track, which we walked a few weeks later, to be an even more dramatic and fun walk. If I had to choose one track to walk, I would take the Milford if I could get a reservation, but otherwise the Kepler. We were both really glad that we were able to extract at least one positive thing from the Covid-19 pandemic and travel restrictions by doing these hikes that are often impossible to arrange at such short notice and so close to each other in time. 

I should note in closing that we did eventually return to the Routeburn a few weeks later for a quick day hike from the eastern end up to Routeburn Falls Hut, allowing us to fill in the blank on the map that we had left by our choice of hiking route earlier. It felt good, providing closure to our Routeburn adventure!

Almost back at the Divide

Ambling Through New Zealand's North Island (September-November 2021)

 

A coastal hike near Opotiki

Greymouth, New Zealand

It’s a prodigiously rainy and windy day, as a huge rainstorm batters the west coast of New Zealand’s South Island. Terri and I are huddling indoors at a welcome refuge at Duke's Hostel, a venerable backpacker's joint in Greymouth.  It’s a good day to write a blog post, and a good day to be under a solid roof.

One of the maps that Terri created for my new book during MIQ

It’s time to catch up on our travels. When last I wrote, I reported on our fun three-week jaunt through Turkey back in August, 2021. We then flew to Auckland, via lots of covid-related restrictions and hoops; there was an anxious ten-minute wait in Istanbul airport while Singapore Airlines check-in staff had a telephone conversation with New Zealand Immigration to make sure that I was eligible to fly into the country. We arrived late on the evening of September 4^th into a ghostly, almost-deserted airport, got processed and sorted onto our bus, and taken to the Rydges Hotel, our home for the next two weeks of Managed Isolation and Quarantine (MIQ).

Some of Terri's grandkids

Those two weeks passed surprisingly pleasantly. We had a room on the eighth floor, with a view towards Auckland’s Sky Tower, two enormous king-sized beds and three delicious meals a day delivered to the room. We were confined indoors except for occasional “exercise” sessions on a rooftop terrace or along the ramp leading to the underground parking garage; we weren’t allowed to do anything that might result in us breathing heavily, so the word “exercise” didn’t seem to have its usual meaning. The weather was relentlessly cold and rainy, so we weren’t itching to be outdoors, and we amused ourselves by watching US Open tennis, reading and (in the case of Terri) working on the hand-drawn maps for my next book, about my Silk Road cycling ride.

After two weeks, we were certified as disease-free and ready to be released into the community. While we were in Turkey, New Zealand had had its first serious covid outbreak in over a year, and so Auckland, the epicentre, was under a partial lockdown. As a result the North Island was cut in two, and travel from north to south through Auckland was impossible. We had planned to wait out the chilly months of September and October somewhere in the north, but instead we picked up Edmund the Elgrand (our third camping vehicle, after our beloved Stanley and much-used Douglas) at Terri’s daughter’s farm on the northern outskirts of Auckland, spent a hurried couple of hours visiting, and then fled south to the liberty of Hamilton. We spent a week there at the house of Terri’s good friends Ross and Debbie, taking care of administrative steps like getting the van’s Warrant of Fitness renewed, getting our first shots of the Pfizer vaccine (we had not been eligible for vaccinations in Indonesia), buying me a second-hand bicycle, and obtaining a solar panel and second-hand storage battery to run our fridge/freezer.

Indiana with the first physical copy of my book that I'd held 

Another delicious dinner with Lilian and John

Terri with her cousin Phillipa and her family

We might have lingered longer in Hamilton, but covid began to leak out of the Auckland cordon into the Hamilton area, so we fled further to the Tauranga area where we holed up for almost two weeks with Lilian and John, inveterate globetrotting friends who had visited us in Tbilisi. They had a guest apartment where we hid out from more cold and rain, explored the fabulous variety of fruit trees that filled their property (we left laden with avocadoes and lemons) and worked on fitting out Edmund for the road. We bought a roof rack and a luggage box to go on it, had the 175-watt solar panel attached onto the rack, mounted an awning and tent to hang off the side of the vehicle, and I even put my physics degree to practical use as I wired up the battery, the solar controller unit, the solar panel and the interior electrical outlets. (My initial wiring wasn’t really up to snuff, and I ended up having to redo it a couple of weeks later, but since then it’s functioned perfectly, which pleases me immensely.) We also rode our bicycles around, hiked up Mount Maunganui, did pullup bar workouts in playgrounds (keeping up the routines we had established in Bali) and had late-afternoon beers and dinners with Lilian and John, recounting stories from the road. (They are some of the few travellers I’ve met who have been to far more countries than I have, and their stories of travels in the 1970s were epic.) Importantly for further travel, we were also able to get vaccinated (something that we had not been able to do in Indonesia) with our first dose of Pfizer. We also dropped in on more of Terri's friends and family living in and around Tauranga.

Terri and her cousin Pepper

Eventually the van was ready to hit the road, and we started our stately progress down the east coast of the North Island. We started with a few nights in Ohope, just to the east of Papamoa. It was my first experience of “freedom camping”, in which towns designate certain areas for self-contained vehicles (ones with a toilet and a grey-water container) to stay for free. The Ohope freedom camps were nothing to write home about, with lots of vehicles crammed into small spaces, but it was a chance for us to test out our set-up. We discovered soon that my wiring job wasn’t up to snuff, as I hadn’t quite gotten the connectors from the solar panels to the roof to complete the circuit; we discovered this when the car battery stopped working and I started crawling around the circuit with a voltmeter. Once I had the panel working, we were back in business. We also discovered that rain is a constant accompaniment to camping in New Zealand!

Morgan, steak chef extraordinaire

From there we drove to Kutarere, a tiny community between Ohope and Opotiki. There we were lucky to stay with Terri’s cousin Pepper. We were very glad to have a solid roof over our heads when a torrential downpour hammered down for two days and flooded Opotoki’s rivers. Pepper was an amazing host and she and her friend Mason kept us well fed and entertained. We tried our hands at gathering oysters near Opotiki, and were successful enough to have two massive oyster feasts. We also received in the post a new solar controller (I had mangled the previous one in my electrical incompetence) and this time I was much more careful in connecting everything neatly, with a crimping tool and lots of tiny ferrules to keep the wire ends neat.) Finally everything was hunky dory on the roof, and the electrics have remained trouble free ever since. The new controller also has a Bluetooth connection to our telephones, so we can check the status of the battery, the solars and the load circuit in real time, which is an addictive thing!

Eventually we tore ourselves away, via a night at the oyster beds (which proved to be a very noisy place to camp!) and our second dose of covid vaccine in Opotiki. We also had an auto electrician install a circuit to allow us to charge our storage battery from the car engine when it’s running, something which has been an invaluable boost to the battery on days when the sun hasn’t shone enough.

An oyster feast

Majestic horse near East Cape

From Opotiki we started driving towards the East Cape, the big and somewhat remote protrusion in the northeast corner of the North Island. We stopped in at Omaio, at a freedom camp that we had been told about, and stayed for almost a week. The campsite is a huge field up above the beach, and at times we had it almost entirely to ourselves. Even when there were a few other campers, we all had lots of space to ourselves. It was a lovely spot, with oysters to be had from the rocky shoreline and great cycling along the coastal highway. Terri was feeling a bit under the weather from her second vaccine shot, and this was a perfect spot to rest and recuperate. Most of our camping neighbours were keen fishermen, and we were given some delicious snapper as a welcome addition to our food supply. The energetic lady who ran the local shop kept us entertained with stories, and warned us that we were only welcome if we’d been vaccinated. She had been vaccinated, and was glad to report that although she’d been infested with nanobots and turned magnetic as a result, she’d used Epsom salts to wash them away. We nodded wisely and tried not to giggle.

From Omaio we made our way further out along the Cape to lovely Maraehako, a commercial campground with a lovely location in a secluded cove. We rented kayaks and explored the shoreline, deeply pitted with caves. That evening, as we were sitting in our tent, we heard the call of a little blue penguin and went to the shoreline to see one walking along the shore between brief swims in the sea. It was our first sighting of blue penguins this trip (although we’d seen them several times on our 2018 trip), and it was wonderful to see this endearing creature again in the flesh.

Edmund on the road back from East Cape

East Cape lighthouse

We made it to Te Araroa next, a small community just west of the East Cape. We drove out to the East Cape itself and climbed up the hill to the lighthouse that marks the easternmost point in mainland New Zealand, a beautiful if windswept spot. We liked it so much that the next day we jumped on our bicycles and rode most of the way back to East Cape, revelling in the fabulous coastal scenery, although we got caught in rain on the way back to Te Araroa. From there we drove inland to Te Puia Hot Springs (which were, sadly, closed) and then south to Tokomaru Bay, the first of a series of coastal towns that stretch north from Terri’s birthplace of Gisborne. We spent a couple of days in Tokomaru Bay eating delicious fish and chips, doing workouts at the local rugby field (the goalposts made a great bar to hang our gymnastic rings from) and lazing beside the shore. The beach was pretty, although it had a thick covering of driftwood resulting from the extensive logging operations on commercial timber plantations all along the East Cape.

Baby paradise shelducks at Cook's Cove

Male paradise shelduck looking protective of his brood

Lovely Tokomaru Bay

We moved on to Tolaga Bay, almost a twin of Tokomaru Bay, where we hiked out to Cook’s Cove (where James Cook anchored back in 1769), cycled, worked out and ate more fish and chips. It was an idyllic spot, but we could see bad weather appearing on our weather forecasts, so we fled to Gisborne to shelter under the roof of Terri’s childhood neighbour Helen. We ended up spending nearly a week there as the rain just continued to fall, breaking local precipitation records and flooding low-lying areas of Gisborne. It was a relief to be indoors, and we had a wonderful time catching up with Helen, her sister Vicky and their mother Bessie, who told us all sorts of stories from her childhood, her family history and the childhood of Vicky, Helen and Terri in the suburbs of Gisborne. Gisborne (which we had visited in 2018) reminds me a lot of my hometown of Thunder Bay. It has an industrial air to it, a commercial port, a feeling of isolation (a lot less in the case of Gisborne, but psychologically it feels remote from the rest of the North Island) and a sense that the economic and property boom engulfing the North Island is leaving Gisborne behind a bit.

Peaceful Mahia campsite

Cycling on the Mahia Peninsula

We almost didn’t leave Gisborne, not because we didn’t want to but because our van refused to start. We managed to get it going in the end and drove to the lovely Mahia Peninsula, where we camped on a fabulous beach after having to tow the van the final few hundred metres from the corner store where we had unwisely stopped the engine. The next day we finally got the car to start after many attempts, contacted a mechanic in nearby Wairoa and drove to camp nearby. We had a pretty place to stay, although the next morning we encountered one of the few instances of genuinely unfriendly behaviour of the trip from a local woman who let her dogs run free; when they tried to ransack our food supplies we asked her to control her dogs, whereupon she exploded in a foul-mouthed tirade. Still shaking our heads, we drove to Terry the mechanic’s place, had the problem diagnosed (our starter motor needed new carbon brushes) and camped in his backyard. The next day a courier delivered the necessary part, and by mid-afternoon we were driving away, back to the Mahia Peninsula to resume our interrupted idyll by the sea.

Neat rock patterns on the Mahia Peninsula

We spent a few days on the Mahia Peninsula, site of many happy childhood memories for Terri, whose father and mother used to bring the children there to the beach. It’s a spectacular spot, with a sheltered beach on one side and a wild coastline open to the ocean on the other side. We hiked, cycled, collected shellfish and chatted with our neighbours, an eclectic mix of travellers from all over the country. At the southern tip of the peninsula a company called Rocket Lab has a launch facility for commercial satellites; there was a launch scheduled while we were there, and lots of campers showed up to watch, but it was cancelled due to high winds so we weren’t able to see the spectacle.

Refreshed by the Mahia Peninsula, we drove south towards Napier, staying at a Department of Conservation (DOC) campsite at Lake Tutira. It was a beautiful spot, but we were raked by gale-force winds that stirred up the tiny lake’s surface into a roiling mass of whitecaps. We found a place to camp that was sheltered by a belt of tall trees, but in the middle of the night we were awoken by a thunderous crack that shook the car. I got up to find that a massive branch had broken off one of the trees, narrowly missing our neighbours who were sleeping in a small tent. As I got up, I saw them frantically packing up and throwing their gear into their car before driving off; had that branch fallen two metres to one side, they would have been crushed to death under it. It was a sobering night!

An angry and malevolent swan, Lake Tutira

In the morning we awoke to find the wind still strafing us, but we went for a lovely hike anyway high into the hills. It was a mixture of lovely native bush, mature pine plantations which creaked ominously in the gusts, and cutover slash piles from plantations that had been felled recently. Forestry is never a lovely sight to behold, but in New Zealand, where the native forests were often felled and burned a century and a half ago, these stands of alien-looking exotic trees planted in neat rows on land that was sheep paddocks not long ago, it’s particularly jarring.

Samson family reunion near Napier

Rock album cover shot

Cliffs along the way to Cape Kidnappers

Having survived Lake Tutira, we made our way to Napier via a few short walks in the hills, in tiny pockets of surviving native forest. At Haumoana freedom camp we rendezvoused with Terri’s sister Karen and her husband Joshua. We had a great get-together and a feast of grilled chicken before retiring early in anticipation of the next day. We awoke and made an earlier start than usual as our schedule was determined by the tide tables. We spent the day walking along the beach out to Cape Kidnappers, along the sand left behind by retreating tides, underneath impressive vertical cliffs. It took about three hours to get to our destination, a huge colony of Australasian gannets who nest atop the cliffs. We saw them a few years ago west of Auckland, but this was made more special by the effort required to get there. With a wary eye on the incoming tides, we retreated the way we had come, marching back past a smaller gannet colony as well as cormorants, gulls and terns. It was an exhilarating walk, and we got back to the start long before the tide cut the track. I went off for a short bike ride once we were back in camp, glad to get in lots of outdoor activity on the warmest, sunniest day we had experienced yet.

Yours truly on the way to Cape Kidnappers

A loud dispute in the gannet colony

A male gannet bringing a seaweed garland for his mate

Terri and a few of her gannet pals

The view from the top of Cape Kidnappers

The sheltering mossy forest on Holdsworth

From Haumoana, we drove south for several hours through agricultural land until we reached the foot of the Tararua Range and Mt. Holdsworth DOC campground. We set up our tent and awning and went for an exploratory ramble along the river. Back at the car we arranged accommodation for the following night in a DOC alpine hut up atop the mountains, grilled pork chops, packed our backpacks and got ready for our first overnight hike of the trip.

It dawned bright but windy the next day, and we sweated uphill through the dense forest, our bodies unused to our heavy backpacks. The higher we got, the more the wind howled, until by the treeline it was blowing a full gale, almost knocking us off our feet and turning our backpacks into sails. We persevered to Powell Hut, at about 1050 metres above sea level, where we sheltered indoors for several hours, unwilling to face the ferocious winds, lingering over lunch and endless cups of tea. Finally, around 2:30, it became less blustery and we were able to wander, carrying only a camera bag and some warm clothes, up towards the summit of Mt. Holdsworth. It felt like a homecoming to be up above the treeline in the tussock grass of the alpine zone, walking through a dramatic mountain landscape dissected by deep gorges. We made it to the top of Mt. Holdsworth and partway to the next peak, Jumbo, before turning back to trot downhill to the warmth of the hut. It was a full hut that evening, with a diverse group of trampers sharing stories and experiences. The Tararuas are not too far from Wellington, and a lot of the hikers came from there, either university students or government employees out for their first big hike of the year. It was a fun atmosphere, and Terri and I feasted on pasta carbonara padded out with a few rashers of bacon. The full moon rose as we headed to bed and lit up our hut room with its pale silvery glow.

Atop a breezy Mt. Holdsworth

Descending from Mt.Holdsworth

Castle Rock and its sketchy-looking summit walk

The sunrise the next morning was spectacular, setting the sky alight from first light. The winds had returned with a vengeance, and we were glad to get down into the shelter of the trees as rain clouds gathered overhead. We threw our packs into the car and drove to Castlepoint, a pretty seaside village that’s been gentrified with lots of expensive new baches (summer/weekend cottages). We hiked along the dramatic seashore and up to Castle Rock, a peak that seemed to loom perfectly vertically above the shoreline. The path proved to be less alarming than it looked from below, and the views were sensational. We descended carefully and set up camp in a little freedom camp on the edge of the dunes.

The vista from atop Castle Rock

A chilly Terri at Castle Point

Lazy sea lion near Cape Palliser

From Castlepoint we retreated to Masterton, the regional hub, sorted out Department of Conservation campsite passes (a steal at NZ $100 a year, given that one night in a campground costs $15 per person) and then headed south towards the southern tip of the North Island. It was a dramatic drive along a rugged, remote coastline to Cape Palliser and the 254 wooden steps leading up to its lighthouse, from where we hiked for an hour along the coast to an abandoned 19^th century Maori village. We swam in the rather frigid river, returned to the car, visited a nearby colony of sea lions and then drove back a few kilometres to camp at a DOC campsite at the foot of the Putangirua Pinnacles.

Sea lion pup, Cape Palliser

Putangirua Pinnacles

We explored the Pinnacles on foot the next day. They are very picturesque eroded conglomerate, rather like the Badlands of South Dakota, or the houdous of the French Alps near Guillestre which we visited last year. It was a decent-sized hike, almost four hours, and got us salivating about the longer treks we were hoping to do in the South Island. Our campground neighbours gave us some paua (abalone) which they had gathered, which tasted absolutely delicious. The fresh seafood and fish from New Zealand’s oceans really are some of the culinary highlights of travel in this country!

Putangirua Pinnacles

Wildflower, Pinnacles Track

Lovely butterfly

The next day was devoted to trying to find one of New Zealand’s most elusive and cryptic native birds, the matata or fernbird. We drove to Boggy Pond, one of the few places where they are reliably seen. Although it was a lovely spot, full of black swans, paradise shelducks, cormorants and tiny baby pied stilts, we had no luck with the fernbirds. We retreated for the last time to Masterton to have lunch in a city park with Terri’s old army friend Vivienne, and then headed out to cycle part of the Remutaka Rail Trail. It was steep for a train line (this section had its own specialized hill-climbing engines in the 19^th century) but made for a spectacular ride. It felt good to be cycling in nature rather than along the side of a highway for once! 

A baby pied stilt

Tuatara, Zealandia

We coasted downhill from the summit tunnel and then rashly followed Google Maps’ directions towards a freedom camp. The program saved a few hundred metres of distance by sending us along a dirt road with a small ford in it. We discovered that Edmund the Elgrand doesn’t really like fords when we lodged it firmly in the pebbly riverbed, partially tearing off the rear bumper in the process. We took off the bicycles from their bike rack at the back and Terri managed to coax the vehicle up the opposite bank. After all that, we didn’t even end up staying at the freedom camp since it was apparently abandoned and lived in by a collection of people who seemed to have substance abuse and anger management issues. Instead we drove to an idyllic DOC camp a few kilometres away and spent a peaceful night.

Red-fronted parakeet (kakariki), Zealandia

The next day was our last day of real exploration on the North Island. We tried to hike along a path marked on our map app, but the trail soon petered out, apparently abandoned and overgrown. Instead we drove to the other side of the Remutaka Rail Trail, pulled out the bicycles and pedalled up the other side of the previous day’s incline. The grade was far gentler on this side (1% rather than 5%) and almost imperceptible at times. The scenery was magnificent, and it was a fun morning’s activity. On our way towards Karen’s house at the Kapiti Coast, we stopped off at another birdwatching spot, Pauatahanui, again looking for matatas, and again striking out, although three biology students we met had seen one just ten minutes earlier. We admitted defeat eventually and drove on to Karen and Joshua’s house, where we spent our last days on the North Island eating, drinking and making merry. We did sally forth one sunny day to explore Zealandia, the amazing predator-free bird sanctuary in the very heart of Wellington (we had been there in 2018 as well), but aside from that, we stayed close to home. Joshua fixed up our mangled bumper, and we visited a couple of Terri’s nieces and nephews who live nearby. Once again we were lucky to enjoy such warm hospitality, always a wonderful feeling after weeks of living out of our campervan.

In the early hours of November 30^th we embarked on a ferry to take us across the Cook Strait to the South Island, but that story will have to wait for the next blog post. We spent a total of almost three months on the North Island, moving at a very leisurely pace and waiting (mostly in vain) for the cold, blustery spring weather to change into warm summer. It was pleasant, but we were both keen to get to the big wide-open spaces of the South Island and some larger-scale outdoor adventures.

Majestic kaka, Zealandia