Heaphy Track

After a couple of days spent in the pleasant city of Nelson, I am ready for my first New Zealand tramp. I am planning to walk the Heaphy Track, which is the longest of New Zealand’s ‘great walks’ at 79km. It crosses Kahurangi National Park in the north-west corner of the south island. I will be walking for 5 days and staying in national park huts for 4 nights, so I have to carry a sleeping bag and all my food. I’m not used to that – where are the porters and mules!

Day 1

I get picked up from my hostel by minibus in the early morning of Christmas Eve to make the journey to the west end of the track. On a straight line on the map the distance is about 120km in a north-westerly direction from Nelson; but there is a big national park in the way which is full of mountains and minus roads, so we have to drive about 150km south-west to a little place on the coast called Westport and then another 120km north along the coast. The journey takes 6 hours, with a couple of pit stops along the way. The only other passengers are a nice New Zealand couple called Jim and Karen, who are on holiday from the north island and who are also going to walk the same route as me. Jim and Tom, the driver, keep up a gentle conversation along the way about such manly pursuits as hunting, fishing and motorbikes. Every time we are close to water they speculate on the fishing possibilities, such as, ‘Good for flounder, I’d say, eh?’ with the New Zealand, ‘eh?’ at the end of each statement, to encourage affirmation.

The road along the coast north from Westport is a dead end, or ‘no exit’ road, as they are called here. The 120km dead end leads to a small settlement called Karamea, with a population of 620 and then along a dirt track to Kohaihai, which is the start of the tramp. We have hardly passed another vehicle since Westport. We pull into the car park and a small collection of tired and grubby trampers are resting in the shade of a tree. They have just finished the tramp from the opposite end and are waiting for Tom to pick them up.

So after some initial boot and pack adjusting and with my flashing Santa, which was sent to me by Megan and Elliot, attached to my pack, I am ready to set off.  

Me at the start of the Heaphy Track

The first day’s walking is 5 hours along the coast from one beautiful white sand beach to another and another and another…..The path is mainly along a track at the back of the beach, shaded by nikau palm trees, but with some occasional sections along the beach itself, which makes for hot and hard-going walking on the sand. I find I have to stop and rest more often than usual, because of the weight of my pack, but it doesn’t get dark until 9.30pm, so I have plenty of time.

View of Scott’s Beach

Track through the palms

Another beautiful beach

Occasionally the path crosses small streams which run down to the sea from the high ground to the right. Some of them just require a bit of clambering over boulders, but others are crossed with swing bridges, which bounce and sway as you cross.

Swing bridge

In the early evening I am very grateful to see an encouraging sign which says, ‘Hut 1km’ and then I come out of the bush onto an area of mown grass with the Heaphy Hut nestled back from where the Heaphy river meets the sea.

Heaphy Hut

Driftwood sculpture on the beach

There are already some people at the hut. A couple of women have walked out earlier in the day and brought their Christmas with them – Christmas dinner, crackers, small tree. They are intending to stay here for 2 nights and then return the way they came. In the end there are 12 of us altogether: these two women, a couple of English women, Herb from San Francisco, a couple from Germany, a couple from Finland, myself and Karen and Jim. We sit up around the table in the hut until after it gets dark, swapping tales in the light of my flashing Santa.

Day 2

I wake up and celebrate the day with a morning dip in the river. It could be described as invigorating, or bloody freezing. When I return to the hut and the others ask me how it was, I choose the second version.

Christmas morning swim in the Heaphy River

At home I really enjoy Christmas, as a cultural celebration; but here without the usual ingredients that make it Christmas for me, it is just a beautiful day on the trail. Here there are no dark cold starry nights, no Christmas lights, no preparations, no family to share it with, no tree, no presents – everything is so totally different from what I am used to at home. I have thought about my family and friends enjoying their Christmas at home and I feel a little sad not to be sharing it with them; but I don’t miss Christmas here, because it isn’t recognisable as Christmas. I guess for a religious person the presence or not of those external trappings would make no difference; it would still Jesus’ birthday, but without that underlying religious significance, when the constituent parts are removed and substituted with warm sunshine, a solitary tramp through beautiful scenery and camaraderie with strangers, then it just isn’t Christmas. It nonetheless it is an enjoyable time.

Today’s walk initially goes inland along the banks of the river for 2 ½ hours. A long swing bridge takes me across the river to where the next hut is sighted.

Swing bridge

Picnic spot

I rest here for a while and have something to eat, but don’t want to stay long as the sand flies are ferocious.  A bird called a weka waddles out from the bush and shares my Pringles. These birds are flightless and notoriously inquisitive. They will steal anything they can carry and take it off into the bush to investigate. 

Weka

The next part of the walk takes my gradually uphill and through the bush for 4 hours, climbing 700m. The path is beautiful and cut into the side of the hill, but the dense bush means that there are very few views, so it is hard to get any sense of the progress I am making. It begins to feel as if I am on a treadmill, with the same scenery is going past me continuously. Every time the bush looks like it is about to thin out and I think I am going to burst out onto open ground, the track makes a sharp turn and buries itself back among the trees and ferns.

Uphill track

Tree ferns

Rare view of the river

I don’t see a soul all afternoon and just when I feel I am never going to get to the next hut and I’ll just have to collapse on the track and no-one will find me until tomorrow, the vegetation turns more scrubby and I see the lovely, ‘Hut 1km’ sign. This 2^nd hut is the James Mackay Hut and is sited just above the bush line, with a fantastic view from the veranda all the way back to the mouth of the Heaphy river, where I can just see the waves breaking on the shore. This is where I started my walk earlier today and sudddenly today's walk all seems worth it.

James Mackay Hut

View back to the Heaphy River mouth

This hut is quieter than last night’s and I share it with the same two English ladies, plus a couple from the Netherlands and a French Canadian family of mother, father and two boys of 9 and 10, who are all walking in the opposite direction. There are also a couple of French boys camping outside. Not far from the hut there is a small creek and a wash in its cold water is most reviving and great for the aches and pains.

Day 3

Thankfully I have a shorter day today, with only 4 hours of walking, so I am in no hurry to set off. I say goodbye to the other trampers and I have the hut to myself for an hour and sit reading on the veranda in the morning sun. The path today is through very different scenery, with more open views. Initially it crosses sandy scrubland and then marshy swamps with duckboards crossing the wettest patches. After heavy rain parts of this track become impassable.

Sandy track

Duckboards

The sun is pretty fierce across this open ground, so today I am quite glad of the shade when it goes back into the bush.

Me on the path

I arrive at the next hut in the early afternoon. This is Saxon Hut, which is situated very atmospherically on tussocky moor land, with distant views of the mountains.

Saxon Hut

A small family group is resting here before continuing their walk today. They are a couple from Germany, with their 3 ½  year old son. One of the adults carries a backpack for the boy to sit in, when he is too tired to walk and the other adult carries a backpack with everything the 3 of them need for 5 days. I can’t really see how this is much fun for any of them! After they set off again I have the place to myself and go and find the nearby stream for a wash, Asian-style. Later I am joined by a kiwi couple and a boy from France. Two Swedish lads are camping outside. They have walked 30kms today and they are pretty shattered. They have also forgotten to bring any insect repellent with them and their legs are covered in sand fly bites.

Day 4

The path starts off across open moorland, with shallow rivers and streams. The whole area is quite reminiscent of parts of Dartmoor.

View from the track

River

Then the path climbs into a small enchanted forest, where the moss and lichen hang down from the tree branches and there are surely fairies and pixies hiding just out of sight.

Enchanted forest

After this a 'shoe tree' marks the return to open ground. This is a dead tree trunk decorated with abandoned footwear. There are old walking boots, with their soles hanging off, but also flip flops and the occasional high heel. If I had known about it, it would surely have been worth carrying 1 ridiculous shoe to add to the display.

Shoe tree

As the path climbs again there are stunning views back across the moorland. The path begins to get relatively busy this afternoon and about 40 people pass me going in the opposite direction. These are people who started the walk from the opposite end from me on Boxing Day.

Moorland view

4 ½ hours after leaving Saxon Hut, I arrive at my final and highest hut of the walk. This is Perry Saddle Hut, situated at 850m and all 22 beds, plus the camping ground will be full tonight. The stream water here is too cold for me to get right in and even with much gasping I can only manage to wash parts of me at a time.

Perry Saddle Hut

Inside Perry Saddle Hut

Karen and Jim arrive here tonight too, so we swap stories about our experiences on the walk - the highs, the lows and the people we have met.

Karen and Jim

Day 5

Karen, Jim and I are going to be picked up by the bus at 11.30 and it’s 5 hours of walking, so we make an early start and walk together. Fortunately everyone else at the hut has the same idea, so breakfast time is a hive of activity as everyone packs up to head off, with most people going in the opposite direction from us. The path is in the bush again and goes gradually downhill the whole way, with occasional views to more open country.

View back to Perry Saddle

Panoramic view

Taking a rest

Although it is not steeply downhill, the gradient puts pressure on sore feet and toes and we are all rather foot-sore. The final part of the track winds through beautiful meadow land as we near the Brown River and our final destination.

Meadow land

The end of the Heaphy Track

I am tired, with aching feet and shoulders, but I feel proud to have completed my first New Zealand tramp and lucky to have experienced such a beautiful environment in perfect weather.

The bus arrives and disgorges another 22 people to start the tramp before taking us back to the civilisation that is Nelson in 3 hours. These guys will not be so lucky - the waether is set to change to heavy rain tomorrow. When I’m back in the hostel I prioritise washing myself, washing my clothes, having a proper meal, Skyping Kate and sleeping. I intend to take it easy over the next few days until the New Year. That gives me plenty of time to plan my next challenge. I wonder what that will be?

Gili Islands to New Zealand

Aji, the boy who works for the family who own the bungalows and restaurant, has become a good friend while I have been staying here. He is from Lombok and goes back to visit his family there occasionally. He is working hard to improve his English and hopes someday to go to university and become an English teacher. In the evenings we sit on my veranda, drinking Bintang beer, chatting and listening to the geckos croaking.  I try and help him with his English and he tells me strange tales of Lombok. He tells me about men who can become crocodiles; how boys have to kidnap their bride before they are allowed to marry her; about people who can turn into animals like dogs and cats during the night, and scare people in the dark; a magic belt which protects the wearer from injury from spears or bullets and an oil that men drink and put on their forehead and then try to stab themselves.

He works here every day, sweeping the ground, cleaning the bungalows and generally looking after the guests. I ask him where he lives while he is working here and he says, ‘Somewhere here’, waving with his arm generally around the bungalow area, ‘I make sure the place is safe at night. Sometimes I sleep here,’ he says, pointing to the raised platforms by the beach, ‘or here,’ pointing to the outside bar. ‘Or if there are too many mosquitoes, sometimes in the kitchen.’

Here he is, wearing a T shirt on his head, ‘island-style’.

Aji

I have my last breakfast on Gili Air, sitting as usual on one of the little roofed platform just behind the beach and Aji and the boy from the bungalows nest door come and join me. We sit quietly and they say they are sad that I am leaving. I feel a little sad too.

We watch two fishermen wading in the shallow water, casting a net and splashing with their hands and by throwing coral to scare small barracuda-type fish to swim into the net. They collect the fish from the net and bring them onto the beach in a bag. The woman from my accommodation goes down and buys half a dozen. ‘Every meal is fish,’ says Aji with a small sigh.

Fishermen

Selling fish on the beach

Then my journey begins and one of the horse carts comes to pick me up and take me to the harbour to catch the boat back to Amed. After that it is 3 hour car journey to the airport on Bali. My flight is not until 10 o’clock and I am too early by several hours to check in. This airport is not the best for a long wait. There are very few chairs to sit in the check-in hall and even in departures. Then security come at the entrance to all the gates, so there are long queues there and people sit on the floor looking tired and fed up.  

It is a 5 and half hour flight to Sydney. As we approach the airport I get a great view out of the aeroplane window of the harbour, with the bridge and opera house.

Sydney Harbour

In Sydney airport it is suddenly Christmas and one of the first people I see is Santa walking around, ringing a bell and ho-ho-ho-ing. I have landed a world away from Asia.

My second flight is only 2 and a half hours and as we fly across the south island from west to east towards Christchurch, we cross the Southern Alps, with snow on the highest peaks. From the airport it is a short minibus journey into the city and on the way I chat to the driver about the aftermath of the earthquake. He explains that the whole of the inner city centre is fenced off while safety assessments, insurance claims, demolition and re-building take place. There is terrible damage in some suburbs and other are relatively unscathed. Some people are still living in broken houses, while others are living with friends or relatives and those who have other options have moved away, perhaps to second homes elsewhere or even relocated to Australia. Some residents have had decisions made about the safety and insurance situation of their property and others are still waiting for decisions.

Almost exactly 24 hours from leaving Gili, I am in my hostel. I will only be in Christchurch for one night, as I will be catching the bus to Nelson in the north of the south island tomorrow morning, so after I have claimed my bed space and had a shower, I am ready to explore. It is a distinctly chilly 16 degrees. I am back in a part of the world where it is easy and safe to walk about. Traffic lights go red and low and behold, traffic stops so you can cross the road and the pavements are wide and flat - except not always here in Christchurch. Parts of the pavement are buckled, or even have holes which are fenced and coned off.

Hole in the road

About half a square mile of the main city centre is fenced off and the buildings still standing are totally empty. It is eerily quiet, with very few people around, just some cranes and bull-dozers working behind the fence. Signs are attached to the fence saying where businesses have relocated. One sign says,’ Chistchurch’s buildings may be broken, but its heart is still beating.’

Christchurch city centre

Just outside the fenced-off city centre a temporary shopping mall, called ‘Re:Start’ has been constructed from brightly-painted containers and is doing its best to keep city shopping alive.

Temporary shopping mall

Other individual buildings are empty and boarded or propped up, or there are just empty spaces where demolition has already gone on. There is an old bridge crossing the River Avon, which is built as a war memorial, but for now the bridge entrance is closed off and leads nowhere, making a memorial to a more recent tragedy.

Memorial Bridge

The next day I catch an inter-city coach up to Nelson, which is at the top of the south island. I check into a cosy backpackers hostel and this is where I will be over the Christmas and New Year period. Nelson apparently has the most sunshine in New Zealand and the city is small and tidy - all-in-all a nice place to be.

Nelson



Here I am in sitting on my bed writing my blog!



Gili Air

So it’s my last 4 days in Asia and I choose to spend them on the Gili Islands – 3 little islands close to Lombok. It is an hour’s fast boat trip from Amed. The Lonely Planet guide book describes them like this, ‘Picture three miniscule desert islands, fringed by white-sand beaches and coconut palms, sitting in a tranquil turquoise sea’. There is no motorised transport on all 3 islands; only bicycles and small horse-and-carts. Trawangan is the biggest of the three and has a renowned party scene; then there is Gili Air, which the guide book says has ‘the strongest local character and a mellow atmosphere’ and lastly Gili Meno, which is the smallest. I decide to base myself on the Goldilocks island - not too big, not too mall, but just right.

Leaving Amed

The boat stops first at Trewangan to drop off some passengers and then we wait to pick up some others and then make the short crossing to Gili Air.

Boats on Gili Trawangan

I walk along the coast from the harbour via the sandy track that goes between beach front bars (advertising happy hours, cocktails and magic mushrooms!) to choose where I will stay. The path has hoof-print down the middle from the mall horses that pull the carts.

Path between the beach bars

Horse and cart

The island instantly has a different vibe about it from Bali – because it is Muslim, rather than Hindu there are no 'offerings' going on. Within an hour I have found a cheap bungalow, just back from the beach; been offered the opportunity to smoke dope on the beach twice and sex once! Yes, apparently even an old bird like me can get laid here. The local men are not averse to getting in on with an older tourist – maybe they think of it as charity work; or perhaps a possible investment in a better future, gigolo-style. Anyway I politely decline, ‘No thanks, I’m not looking for a man’. ‘She say that before,’ he says moodily, ‘but then in two days I see her kissing with my friend.’ Some of the Indonesian men are very cute, with smooth dark skin, dark eyes and beautiful white smiling teeth; but this one has unfortunately bad dentures!

My bungalow is very rustic, with a creaking plank floor and a hammock on the veranda.

My room

The island has a very intermittent electricity supply and it’s salt water in the shower, which is a rather unsatisfying experience, as you come out almost as sticky as you went in. While it rains gently I sit under-cover by the beach and read some more of ‘Eat, Pray, Love’. I’ve got as far as the third part and it seems appropriate to finish it, while I am still in Indonesia. I’m enjoying it very much and occasionally I laugh out loud. If you haven’t read it, I recommend it to you.

Once the rain stops I take a walk around the island, which only takes an hour to get all the way round. You set off, saying hello to other tourists walking the circuit in the other direction and before you know it you meet them again, ‘Oh, hello again, didn’t I just see you before?’ It’s a sandy track all the way, or you can walk directly on the beach. There are views across to Lombok and then later to Gili Trawangan.

Sandy track

Walking on the beach

Looking towards Lombok

Some parts of the beach are covered in drifts of dead coral, looking eerily like skulls and bones, which crack under your feet as you walk.

Driftwood and coral sculpture

I decide that I will have a go at diving while I am here. It seems a good opportunity while I have 3 spare days and a beautiful warm clear ocean. This is a challenge for me, as I have always had a fear of not being able to breathe under water, even though I am a good swimmer and love being in the water. I find myself inadvertently holding my breath and gasping for air when I watch something on the television or a film with a scene under water. I think ‘Journey to the bottom of the sea’ did it for me when I was a child – that old television series about a submarine and then I was never comfortable watching Jacques Cousteau – all that sound of breathing air in and bubbles coming out. Anyway, I overcame my fear of heights by learning to climb, so maybe it’s time to face this fear too. Also I have just met two separate people in the last few days who have just learned to dive here and raved about this being their new best thing. There are several dive schools on the island, so I go along and have a chat and before I know it I’ve signed up for an introductory session tomorrow and if I like it I can continue with a full course. My tutor is a little Mexican guy called Yanil. He is very reassuring.  I come back to my bungalow clutching a manual to read for homework.

The next day I go along and to begin with a have to watch 2 videos and complete some written question and answers. It’s quite complicated about pressure and equipment. Then it’s time to go into the pool. He shows me the equipment for real and how to attach this gauge to this pipe and check the air cylinder etc. Then the whole thing goes on my back and it’s incredibly heavy – even heavier than my fully-loaded rucksack. We get into the shallow end of the pool and I practice breathing underwater. It’s very strange to hear your breathing in your head; but it works! I have to do various exercises like take the regulator out of my mouth and replace it, how to clear my mask of water and how we can share air in an emergency.  Then we go down to the deep end of the pool and practice equalising the pressure in my ears and letting air in and out of my jacket to be able to swim under the water at the right depth. It is all very strange to only be able to communicate with signs, but he shows me what to do and I copy.

Then I take off my air tank and a girl called Charlie, from Tunbridge Wells teaches me some skin diving and snorkelling skills – how to duck dive and then clear my snorkel of water and how to breathe past some water in the snorkel.

After a lunch break it is time to go out into the ocean. Several other experienced divers join the group to do their own dive and we take a short boat ride out to the dive site.

Yanil my diving instructor

Boat trip to the dive site

Then I have to get into the water with all my kit on by doing that falling-backwards-off-the-boat thing that divers do. Yanil and Charlie are with me and we snorkel over to a buoy – the depth of the water is scary, it’s like a fear of heights, although we are only going to about 10m. We descend on a rope and spend about 20 minutes swimming around. The fish and coral are amazing, but I can’t really appreciate them because I am concentrating so hard on what I am doing. I’m quite glad when it’s time to resurface and the dive is over.

Me as a diver!

Yanil asks me if I enjoyed it. I reply that I don’t think I did, but I do feel a sense of achievement. Back on land I feel quite emotional and strangely disorientated. As I walk back along the track to my bungalow, I don’t quite recognise things, although I’m sure I have been to a place a bit like this before. While I have been underwater someone has dismantled Gili Air, lost the original plan and rebuilt it from memory, so that not everything is in quite the right place or order. I’m quite glad to get back to my room and find it is still there, but inside looks different too, even my own things don’t look quite as I left them. I take a rest in the hammock on the veranda and gradually everything normalises, as if things are coming back into focus. I don’t think I’m ready to do the full open water course yet; I need time to assimilate the experience. Maybe I’ll come back to it another time. Just now I need food and beer.