Abel Tasman

The finale of my New Zealand trekking adventures was meant to be a meandering coastal walk through Abel Tasman National Park, situated on the northern tip of the South Island. Meandering would insinuate “easy.”

Not so.

Combining a couple 30km days with far more climbs than one would expect from a trail that runs along the beach turned out to possibly be the most challenging hike of the whole trip. Wet feet make for blistery (and stinky) feet, and warm temperatures make for a significantly more draining experience than the previous hikes.

Moaning aside, the 3-day hike was a distinct contrast to the Alpine crossings I’d grown accustomed to. Dense forests, hidden beaches, waves crashing, tidal crossings, and star-filled skies added yet another element to New Zealand’s repertoire. The trek took some significant planning as well, due to the tidal changes of over 15 feet. Entire bays, bone dry at low tide, become impassible later on in the day, filled with water. It was really quite striking to cross nearly a kilometer across shell-filled terrain in the afternoon, only to see your path completely covered the next day, save for trail markers floating in the water across the bay. On one afternoon, a quick swim and clothes washing was in order as we waited for the tide to roll-out, like a giant drain plug was pulled somewhere off the coast.

We passed kayakers making their way from bay to bay, sunbathers soaking up the sun, and new golden sands around every (steep) hill. I think my body somehow got a hold of my brain and found out that my New Zealand hiking time was just about over, because it began to ache, bark, and give out the closer I got to the end. The final kilometer from the end of the trail to our car had to have been the hardest of my entire month on the trails!

And so, it is finished. After nearly 200 miles’ worth of trails, 5 Great Walks, countless bags of tuna and trail mix, and significantly looser pants, my New Zealand trekking is complete.

Easy as.

The Kepler Track

Since two treks weren’t quite enough, it was time to tackle my 3rd Great Walk in the Fiordland region. This time, a fellow hiker/co-worker/friend from California was along for the ride. The Kepler Track is relatively new compared to the Milford and Routeburn, but no less impressive. Unlike the others, much of the trek is spent high above the tree line, making for some incredible panoramas for the better part of a long day of hiking. Thankfully the weather was decent enough, as getting stuck exposed to the elements for 7 or 8 miles would not have been fun. It was adventure enough surviving the 50 mph gusts throughout the day! And the sleet. And the rain. A side track to a deep network of caves added to the smattering of mint green mosses, lake views, peak summits, and half a dozen rainbows.

At this point, I think I’ve reached the point of being sufficiently overwhelmed. The scenery just continues to impress incessantly. Trekking along the ridges, with the trail in sight a mile ahead of me, snaking along the next ridge ahead, I was almost giddy. Never mind the sore feet and 10th straight lunch of tuna and pita I’d just eaten, I would not have chosen to be anywhere else in the world at that moment. An excellent reminder that at this point in time I am right where I need to be.

More peaks. More views. More valleys. More forests. More waterfalls. More crazy Alpine Parrots. Throw in some friends to share it all with, and you’re left with nothing but smiles and smelly clothes.

What more could you ask for?

The Milford Track

Touted as “The Finest Walk in the World,” the Milford Track in another of New Zealand’s Great Walks, the most famous of all. I booked my reservation 6 months ago, just as this trip became a remote possibility in my head. Perhaps famous for famous’ sake, the Milford Track requires very advanced booking, as people from all over the world have the walk on their individual bucket lists. Going in, I did my best to leave my measuring stick in the hostel, as comparisons and superlatives typically provide nothing but unrealized expectations and unsolicited opinions.

Getting to the track is an adventure in itself. A one-hour boat ride from a remote dock on the edge of Lake Te Anau brings you to the trailhead, as a backdrop of mountainside layers is silhouetted by the morning rainclouds. The first day is a short one, just over 3 miles across some precarious swing bridges through forest similar to that of the Routeburn Track. The 2nd day, as per usual, was a wet one. The rain came incessantly from morning until evening. This time, however, I embraced it. The waterfall faucets I’d watched turn on along the Routeburn Track paled in comparison to what I would witness on the Milford. Making my way through the steep valley, I was surrounded my cascading waterfalls. With every few hundred feet, more came into view, one cluster more dramatic than the next. From every nook and cranny of the mountainside came the water, crashing down into either a lake below or what seemed like newly formed streams. I pushed on through the deluge, stopping only when I couldn’t help but be in awe that every sound I heard was a product of the water falling down on me.

The spattering of the rain on my pack.

The splash of my foot into a puddle.

The crashing of the waterfalls from the cliffs.

The rush of the ever-rising creeks.

Wet days gave way to warm nights surrounded by 40 other fortunate adventures, all from different walks of life, all with different stories as to how and why they got to the Milford Track. Staying in the huts was obligatory on the Track, and while I was initially disappointed I wouldn’t be able to camp, eating dinner under some shelter while my clothes dried next to the fire wasn’t something I was willing to complain about.

As if I was being rewarded for being somewhat of a good sport during my not-so-nice weather experience on the Routeburn, day 3 brought with it the most beautiful weather a hiker could ask for, and with it, the highlight of the track. Climbing Mackinnon pass in the morning hours, it was as though I was walking out to presents on Christmas morning. I had no idea what I was about to receive, but I knew it was going to be good. As I reached the pass, with the sun beginning to come up through two peaks, I stood transfixed by the setting in which I had somehow found myself. Flanked by two glacier carved valleys, draped in peaks both near and far, the morning dew glistening in the morning sun, I was standing in a novel. The type of scene you see on those famous Instagram accounts I’m trying to one day have, or a movie that you know must be CGI’d. I was on top of the world, and yet again, I felt so small. I relished the moment while I could before the rest of the hikers made it to the top. Making my way down the pass, I was nothing short of elated, singing to myself with the birds and the breeze. The day ended with a side trip to supposedly the 5th highest waterfall in the world, and a freezing cold dip in the river, just as I’d drawn it up.

The final day of the trek was once again through deep forests, with panoramas scattered along the way upon arrival at a clearing or previous rock slide. It was a relaxing denouement to the action from the day before, and bittersweet upon arrival at the signpost signaling I’d just completed the famed Milford Track.

A boat ride to the start of Milford Sound, with more towering peaks, this time emerging straight from the water, was a startling conclusion to what had already been an incredible trip, as if the country was reminding me that I shouldn’t dare relax and think I’d seen it all yet. That’s New Zealand for you I guess, with the end of one adventure comes another beautiful sight to behold.   

The Finest Walk in the World? Maybe, but does it really matter?

The Routeburn Track

With tent and sleeping bag in hand, I packed my bags full of tuna fish, pita bread, and chocolate, my diet for the next few days out on the trail. The Routeburn Track is one of New Zealand’s Great Walks, multi-day trails serviced with both sleeping huts and campsites, allowing access to even more of this beautiful country, where the famous roads can’t quite take an adventurer.

I started the track in the middle of a nice rainstorm, which thankfully didn’t pose as much of a discomfort as expected due to the 1st hour and a half of walking through thick beech forest. Expecting more alpine trees, I felt as though I was in some sort of rainforest, with ferns lining the trail, mountain parrots barking at me in the distance, and deep shades of green on top, below, and around the trees. The rain slowed just long enough for me to set up my tent in some flatlands below a jagged peak that seemed to rise from the nothingness surrounding it like a piece of Toblerone on a Christmas cookie. The rain continued through the afternoon, though when the low-hanging clouds would clear, I’d catch a glimpse of the source of the constant thundering in the distance. In the Fiordland area, with rain comes waterfalls, and a lot of them. Gushing down the sides of the mountain, as if a faucet is turned on and off with each passing cloud.

Day 2 provided clearing skies in the morning, as I made my way up and over the pass to Harris Saddle. Climbing around then over a beautiful Alpine lake encircled in peaks, looking down on my campsite from the night before, I felt as though a new part of my adventure had begun. Rather than viewing New Zealand from the side of the road, I was deep into the heart of the backcountry. The lure of meeting people from around the world, the joys of sharing travel experiences, all this disappeared. The mountains were my companions, the trail my lone source of wanderlust. Upon crossing the saddle, the weather turned, not nasty, but downright cruel. There wasn’t much rain to speak of, but the fog blanketed the mountainside, and with it, the valley below and ranges in the distance. For 2.5 hours, I saw nothing but the trail a couple dozen meters in front of me and the sharp cliffs to my right. There was an air of mystery to the whole experience, as I’d distanced myself from the other hikers. If I were to fall, I doubted there’d be anyone to hear, let along see me as I tumbled down. The rain came, and, for the first time on this trip, I admittedly became discouraged. I don’t mind the rain, but when it’s served with blinding fog, one begins to question the timing of the whole operation.

Should I have maybe checked the weather?

What all was I missing out on?

Thankfully, just after reaching my low point mentally in the demanding 16-mile day, the sun began to come out. Blue skies were never more beautiful as I trekked past 500ft tall waterfalls and peaceful lakes that I could actually see across. The long and wearing day made for a good night’s sleep, and I awoke to more beautiful weather as I finished the track with a backdrop of snow covered peaks.

As I reflect on the trek, I could have used some more cooperative weather, but an afternoon of fog and rain couldn’t remotely offset the exhilaration of crossing over and under the jagged peaks, dense forests, and thundering waterfalls that aptly characterize the Routeburn Track.

A Great Walk indeed.