So what, you might be wondering, has kept me and my travel mate so busy?
A whole lotta beautiful chaos.
Leaving Queenstown roughly four hours behind schedule, Atown and myself headed out into the sunset thus officially beginning our road trip. We made a quick stop an hour away in Wanaka to pick up last minute gear before driving into the night to get as far as possible and eventually finding a place to sleep. Having been around the South Island of New Zealand long enough, I knew that the countryside Kiwi’s don’t appreciate “freedom campers”; I found a discreet spot next to a field to pull over for the night. Tired and ready to catch some Zzz’s, I was kept awake by a sandfly that had made its way into the van. For those of you who’ve never experienced sandflies, imagine a tiny gnat-sized bug that sucks blood and leaves a bite that itches bad and long enough to make mosquitos look like your best friend. After three hours of trying to swat the sandfly to death, I was too awake to fall asleep and decided I might as well be driving. By turning the headlights on, I illuminated the inside of the car enough to see DOZENS of sandflies buzzing all around. No wonder I couldn’t kill the dang thing! Freezing and out for vengeance, I rolled down the windows and drove 100K letting the wind rid me of my nighttime pests. But alas, if its not sandflies ruining your night, the opossums want in on the fun. Unlike North American opossums, these kiwi cousins are as cute and cuddly as a kitten. Unfortunately for them, they are nocturnal, overpopulated, and not bright enough to stay off the roads. Three hours and three roadkills later I had had enough bloodshed for the night and finally pulled over for some shuteye.
Waking up feeling refreshed despite very little sleep, Atown and I drove another 2k to the Fox Glacier. The glacier was massive, jutting out of the mountainside in mammoth sheets of blue ice and rock debris. At the base, a river gushed from the core with enough force to move bus sized icebergs and boulders. And all this ice was amidst a subtropical rainforest! Driving onward, we made our way through one tiny hick-town after another, surrounded by some of the most stunning mountain scenery I’ve ever witnessed. Stopping only long enough to see the crystal-clear reflection of Mt Cook in the picturesque waters of Lake Matheson, we made it to Greymouth just in time to catch a few high school boys doing an impromptu haka (traditional Maori dance) in front of the schoolyard. Stocking up on food, beverages, and more last-minute gear, we continued onward to see the pancake-shaped Pukanaki rocks and blowholes amongst a breathtaking oceanside drive.
A seaside dinner at a picnic site led to a fight with some local weka birds over who was taking home our recent purchases. Chasing down apples and grocery bags, Atown at one point was under a bush playing tug-a-war with a weka over our toilet paper. Coming out victorious, we packed up Pip (the van), took in a beautiful sunset on the beach, and drove on further north. Sleeping on the side of the road in some unknown town, we woke up early (and by “we” I mean that I woke up and drove while Atown continued sleeping for a few more hours) so we could get a decent start on our trek through Abel Tasman National Park.
Atown made new friends while I packed our rucksacks and soon we were off with Stephen, our newfound mate who happened to live 20 minutes away from where Atown grew up! The first leg of the hike was pretty, but slightly monotonous with a mostly uphill trek in and then steep decent onto the beach. Once at camp, Atown wandered while I set up the tent and then wandered some more while I made dinner. We then played gin rummy (I kicked Atown’s butt!) and at dusk settled in for a near sleepless night on the rock-hard freezing ground. I woke up to watch in awe as a couple from Alaska, using only the few items they carried in with them, created a breakfast worthy of any 5-star hotel! Atown and I thoroughly enjoyed our oatmeal (which I cooked) and spent the morning on the beach before heading out to our next campsite 8 hours away.
Accidentally missing low-tide, we made an attempt at crossing Torrent Bay before we realized we were literally going to be in over our heads and turned back for the high-tide route. Luckily this route brought us to a near-perfect creek that meandered through tropical forests before spilling into the teal blue waters of the Tasman sea. Onward we pushed past golden beaches and breathtaking lookouts until we came upon a second crossing. At first the fast-running receding tide was fun to traverse, but soon the water became more stagnant and our feet were sinking through nasty mud and onto the sharp points of millions of tiny shells. Yelping and laughing our way to shore, we put our shoes back on and continued through the subtropical forests of the park.
Having accidentally gotten both pairs of my shoes wet, I spent a few hours rotating footwear to avoid blisters before giving up and walking jesus-style (barefoot) until the path became too rocky for my already sore and now raw feet to handle. When I began to feel like the hike was becoming unbearably long, we came upon a group of merry trampers who, having hiked a few hours less than us, provided a much-needed pickup until we arrived at the campsite. The group, consisting of a hot Canadian guy (they do exist!), a hilariously outgoing girl from England, a Swedish girl who spoke with a pseudo American accent, and an adorably sweet girl from France who was constantly working on her English vocabulary.
Day three began at sunrise with yet another tidal crossing. We walked a quarter-mile across sand, thousands of shells, and tidal streams before trekking back into a tropical forest of ferns. Two more hours of beaches, hill climbs, and beautiful ocean scenery brought us to the end of our tramping journey and the beginning of a new adventure: getting back to the car that was parked 35 miles away.
At 10AM park rangers informed us that just getting to the main road involved walking 12K up a mountain. Undaunted, we decided to walk until we found a ride…we made it about a 2K up the road before fatigue set in and we threw ourselves on top of our bags to sit and wait. An hour (and several passing cars) later, we were still on the side of the road bathing in dust as each car passed us. Finally giving up, we began our walk back to the information center to hail an expensive water taxi back to the car. But before we got there, a van of two hippie Brits pulled over and offered to give us a ride almost all the way back to our car!
We hopped in, excited to finally be done walking…or so we thought. Before getting out of the mountainside, Paul and Izzy asked if we minded stopping to see a waterfall. Not wanting to be rude and slightly interested in seeing more nature (after 7 days straight of the stuff), we agreed. We spent 45 minutes walking up and down a path to what turned out to be a gorgeous waterfall; including crossing a petrifying swing bridge only wide and stable enough for one person to cross at a time.
Back on the road, we pulled over every few minutes to make some sort of mechanical repairs before continuing on. Heading up a massive hill, Atown slept as I made small chat until suddenly, the front of the van began filling with smoke. I thought, we should’ve paid for the water taxi, as Paul pulled over and began even more repairs. On a time-constraint to make our ferry to Wellington, we wished Paul and Izzy the best, grabbed our gear, and hitched out our thumbs. It wasn’t long before an equally substandard van pulled over to give us a lift. Inside, two young Mexican women and a VERY smelly German entertained me while Atown slept some more. Getting dropped off only a few miles from our final destination, I said “adios” to our southern sisters whilst Atown shouted an Italian “ciao!” at the girls.
It had been over five hours since completing our tramp, and we needed the luck of at least one more ride to make it back to the car. Luck came in the form of a multicolored polka-dotted Subaru with a Spaniard driving. I didn’t catch the guy’s name, but his car smelled of kettle-corn and he was headed to Takaka. Atown and I both exchanged knowing glances and stayed quiet about the fact that the poor guy (whilst driving us closer to our destination), was driving in the opposite direction of Takaka. Arriving at the trailhead of Abel Tasman, we both gave him a big thank-you for the lift, and another “ciao!” was added from Atown. We had finally made it back to my beloved Pip and alas; our epic and beautiful three-day tramp was over! We had enjoyed stunning scenery, some hilarious moments, the challenge of traversing the entire hike in three days, and most importantly- I had managed to keep Atown alive…barely!
