Adv 223 Yumpu

Inserts: Map of our walk, my trusty Keen boots, meal preparation / Main: A beautiful spot to camp out for the night
"We eventually settled in for the night to the sound of a couple
of Moreporks trying to outdo each other... We could still hear
the distant roaring of the Tasman Sea but here in the valley
there was no wind, making the stillness eerie."
This is another reason why we go
tramping. Five centuries ago, this
valley was used by Te Kawerau a
Maki people to grow kumera which
were stored in pits protected by the
steep faces of hills to the south of
Whatipu. Right now, it felt like we had
stepped into something only recently
discovered. I imagined how even
more magnificent it would have looked
before the logging of the massive
Totara, Kauri and Rimu began in
1880’s.
Although the thick kikuyu made it
reasonably heavy going, there were
numerous faint tracks, and it was clear
from the number of baits set that a few
people made the trip here. At the time
I didn’t really think too much about
the several tracks that seemed to be
disappearing into thickets of kanuka.
Every small rise we walked over led
to a different scene and we soon
reached the large pond fed by the
Taranaki Stream. The pond itself was
glassy calm, with a couple of paradise
shelducks calmly moving to the other
side as we approached. It looked so
amazingly peaceful.
It was becoming difficult to find a single
track that headed north. They all crisscrossed
the thickly matted kikuyu and
we often found ourselves in bog if we
ventured too far from the base of the
cliffs. After having to backtrack several
times around clumps of gorse or
kanuka and climbing over pohutukawa
branches at the base of the cliffs, we
eventually reached Ohaka Head. Then
it became difficult. The inland route
was very steep and getting steeper the
further we north we ventured. Below
the bluff was a waist high pond with a
floor of thick mud. If we were going to
make it to Karekare in time we had to
head to the beach, over a kilometre
away.
We backtracked yet again until we
seemed to be clear of most of the
bogs, stopped for a snack and quick
coffee (shout-out to those Jet Boil
folk) and headed out across the
marshlands.
It was then that I came across a large
patch of flattened grass and it became
clear who was making the many tracks
through the grass and into thickets. I
am no highly experienced pig-hunter
but is obvious that many trotting swine
have free reign in this place.
It was slow, heavy going as we
would our way around thick kanuka
and impenetrable clumps of gorse.
Knee-high grass was interlaced with
blackberry - how I missed those full
gaiters. It was well over an hour later
before we emerged scratched, bruised,
hot and hungry onto the black sand of
the beach.
We knew we had run out of time. Time
to show that respect and head home.
Even so, we were in high spirits as we
headed back along the beach to a night
at the Whatipu Lodge camping ground,
a fresh cold shower, followed by some
spaghetti bolognaise (love those Go
Native chefs) and a well-deserved
glass or two of red wine.
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#MOVEYOURWORLD
26//WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#223