Captains of Us 12/11/18 Captains of Us 12/11/18

Logistics of the Northland

After Ratea, the Northland opens up. The logistics up here can be daunting, but they have their upsides, too...

After Ratea, the Northland opens up. The north is covered in pastures with sheep and dairy cows, small towns dot the landscape, and forestry is a major industry. We've been told by locals that only a tiny percentage of the native bush remains intact, and it shows.

We often cross through several different ecosystems in one day: wake up in a pasture, hike down a gravel road, ascend into a few kilometers of native bush, then descend onto a beach before walking into a town and camping in a grassy park.

The view of the day to come. A long beach walk followed by a steep climb up a mountain in the bush.photo/ Jonathan — The view of the day to come. A long beach walk followed by a steep climb up a mountain in the bush.
photo/ Jonathan

The terrain changes can be disorienting; by afternoon, the morning's campsite feels like the distant past, and it's tough to get into a rhythm with our hiking. The sections of true "track" (trail) feel far too short -- and the sections of roadwalking along state highways seem far too long.

And yet the wild sections are startlingly deep and dense. Sometimes, dropping off of a road, the lights go out in the dense undergrowth, the world turns green, and of course, you squelch instantly into ankle deep mud.

Dense native bush is sure to have spider webs across the trail first thing in the morning. The best defense against a spider to the face is letting someone else go first, but if you're on your own, a second pole will do. photo/ Jonathan — Dense native bush is sure to have spider webs across the trail first thing in the morning. The best defense against a spider to the face is letting someone else go first, but if you're on your own, a second pole will do.
photo/ Jonathan

Private land is a big deal here, too, and the trail runs through (or around) a lot of industrial terrain. We keep a sharp eye out for electric fences as we traverse through muddy pastures, dodging sheep, cows, and all they bring with them (I wrote a note to myself for this post that just read "Mud. Mud. More mud. Mud with poo."). We also walk along logging roads, past orchards, and through people's backyards. We're in and out of towns nearly every day.

Dairy is a huge industry on the North Island, which means cows, cows, and more cows. photo/ Jonathan — Dairy is a huge industry on the North Island, which means cows, cows, and more cows.
photo/ Jonathan

Paradoxically, this makes the trail both far more convenient and far more complicated than hiking through true wilderness.

Because of all of the private land, there and heaps of rules about where you can and cannot (mostly cannot) camp. Free camping (or freedom camping, as they call it here), is nearly impossible in many sections and we've had to pay for camping far more than we'd like. There are Holiday Parks (campgrounds) all over the place, but it's awkward to time your days around specific stopping points, rather than just hiking until you're tired and setting up camp. Coming from a trail like the PCT, it's also frustratingly expensive.

The better roadwalks are on dirt or gravel through pastures and forests. These rolling hills are pretty characteristic of the Northland.photo/ Jonathan — The better roadwalks are on dirt or gravel through pastures and forests. These rolling hills are pretty characteristic of the Northland.
photo/ Jonathan

Another unusual logistical hurdle here: the ocean. Much of the trail follows along the east coast, which makes for some exceptionally beautiful views, but has caused us a few headaches, too. At several points the trail crosses rivers, estuaries, and even large harbors that require transport by boat.

We've been able to do several smaller crossings on foot, but they've required us to plan around the tide. Even at low tide, a couple of crossings have been chest deep for me and I've had to loft my pack overhead to keep it dry.

River crossings get pretty legit around these parts. photo/ Jonathan — River crossings get pretty legit around these parts.
photo/ Jonathan

Several of the beachwalks also require that you pass at low tide. When you're moving 3 miles per hour, it takes a fair bit of planning to hit a tight time window. We use an app that gives us low and high tide times, and we'll sometimes plan several days in advance to make sure that we hit all of the water sections at the right times of day.

The rivers that are too big to cross are another story. Sometimes, we have a phone number in our notes and just hope someone answers. Once, we got a name and phone number for a guy who smuggled us across a harbor like stolen goods. Another time, we got to a river with no way to cross and a friendly local flagged us down to offer us a ride. Phew! (Especially because we were on a time crunch for the next low tide...).

While the trail logistics here can make my head spin, being near towns all of the time does have it's upsides. One day, Jonathan and I stopped in two different towns to get fish and chips for both lunch AND dinner while still knocking out 30+km. Another day, we hiked 20km, got coffee and breakfast, enjoyed some cider and ice cream in a park, caught a boat, and then hiked another 10km to camp.

When you go through town this often, sometimes you stop for a midday cider.  photo/ Jonathan — When you go through town this often, sometimes you stop for a midday cider.
photo/ Jonathan

We have barely carried more than 2 days of food at a time, and the snack opportunities have been ample. It's hard to resist hot food once the hiker hunger starts setting in.

Another unique asset on this trail is New Zealand's total obsession with public toilets. They're everywhere! Every beach and small town has one and they're sprinkled through the cities like Starbucks through Seattle.

I love a good poop in the woods as much as the next guy when it's sunny and the view is right. But when you've been soaked all day, a dry privvy is pretty game changing.

Paihia was super into the public bathroom. Note the toilet sconce on the wall and toilet planters on the roof.photo/ Molly — Paihia was super into the public bathroom. Note the toilet sconce on the wall and toilet planters on the roof.
photo/ Molly

The Northland had its own kind of chaos, but there were some phenomenal highlights, too. Look for another post coming soon with some of our favorite sections.

Cheers,

Molly

Captains of Us 12/6/18 Captains of Us 12/6/18

Into the Bush

Let's get muddy.

As soon as we started out from Cape Reinga, we started hearing about Ratea Forest. We heard horror stories of broken trekking poles and shoes lost in thigh deep mud.

After miles and miles of flat terrain on roads and beaches, though, we felt the relief of using new muscles as we began to climb toward the beginning of the forest.

Climbing up the road, we get a quick preview of the thick, wet forest that lies ahead.photo/ Molly — Climbing up the road, we get a quick preview of the thick, wet forest that lies ahead.
photo/ Molly

And then we were in it. The mud in Ratea sets in immediately. The trails are steep -- not a switchback in sight -- and the only way to climb the mud slide is to find purchase on the roots that hold puddles of thick water. Sometimes, you can tow yourself up on the trees and vines. We last maybe a kilometer of hopping from root to root before we plunge into a knee deep mud well.

It's a bit like a game at first, staying out of the deepest mud. "Well, you wanted an adventure trail!" Jonathan shouts back cheerily.

Heading up and into the muck. photo/ Jonathan — Heading up and into the muck.
photo/ Jonathan

So much mud!photo/ Jonathan — So much mud!
photo/ Jonathan

The forest is as beautiful as it is rugged. Everything is green and growing, and the undergrowth is thick with ferns and tangles of vines. The trees themselves house not only lichens and mosses but other full trees and tussocks of grass that grow along the branches and in every elbow. The meadows above us keep our own path cool and dark, and we hardly feel the rain, although we can hear it on the canopy overhead.

We don't see any wildlife on the ground here, and the forest floor seems eerily empty. But we are kept company by the birds, whose chirps and songs follow us through the mud. The Tui sound almost mechanized until they give a sort of honk or snort when they miss a note. Others peep mercilessly and some let loose sudden screams and shrieks.

Our pace through Ratea is almost painfully slow, and it's better not to check how far we've come. The final climb up to Ratea Summit seems to drag on for hours.

When we finally arrive at the top, we look with horror at the mud pit -- is this our campsite?! Exploring a short side trail though, we see the forest open up and we leap with joy onto a flat, grassy patch perched improbably amidst the ferns.

Two other tents are already set up, and the sun breaks through the clouds for a moment, giving us a glimpse of the farmland and rolling hills outside of the bush.

We introduce ourselves and put up the tent, then stand there staring at it, soaked and filthy. One of the other campers emerges to bathe in the tiny patch of sunlight. The other gives a muffled greeting and says "Nice to meet you, but sorry, I'm never coming out."

We use our wet socks to scrub the mud off of our legs, then wait for them to dry a bit so that we can scrape off the larger chunks of grass and dirt before putting on our sleep pants (which are sacred and not to be gotten wet). We finally climb into the tent and can barely stay awake to cook our ramen.

Disrobing the filthy, muddy socks as we settle into camp for the night.photo/ Molly — Disrobing the filthy, muddy socks as we settle into camp for the night.
photo/ Molly

The next morning we wake up early, pull on our wet, mud-filled socks, say goodbye to our neighbors' tents and begin our long, slippery slide down from the summit. We're in for another long day of mud, but we know there's a burger waiting for us at the Mangamucka Dairy when we finally reach the road.

Climbing down the treachorously steep and slippery slopes out of Ratea.photo/ Jonathan — Climbing down the treachorously steep and slippery slopes out of Ratea.
photo/ Jonathan

When we reach the forest's boundary the sun is shining and it's shockingly bright under the open sky. We blink and stand dazed for a few minutes before heading down through soft, grassy pastures to the gravel road below.

It's not until dinnertime, as we're cooking up our ramen and peanut butter feast that we realize it's Thanksgiving.

Getting a glimpse of sunshine as we exit the depths of the forest. photo/ Molly — Getting a glimpse of sunshine as we exit the depths of the forest.
photo/ Molly

Captains of Us 12/1/18 Captains of Us 12/1/18

Long Walks on the Beach

So, when you say you like long walks on the beach... exactly how long were you thinking?

Jonathan and I had an absolutely stunning start to Te Araroa. It was sunny and warm with a cool breeze. The perfect day for a walk on the beach.

Perched above it all, we got a good look at where we would be spending the first three days of our hike. photo/ Jonathan — Perched above it all, we got a good look at where we would be spending the first three days of our hike.
photo/ Jonathan

Camping along the beach here is incredibly restricted, which lead to a bit of a dilemma: walk 14km (~8 miles) and sit around in camp all afternoon, or push for 40km (~25 miles) and potentially arrive after dark. We arrived at the start close to 11am, but, excited to get moving, we opted to push for a long first day.

And our first day was pretty glorious.

We frolicked barefoot in the surf, applied and reapplied (and reapplied) sunscreen, and generally rejoiced in our new life on the trail.

Even in the sunshine, though, the beach is hard on your body. Somewhere around mile 20, the sand started feeling like concrete. We limped into camp around 9:30pm.

Luckily, the next day was all sunshine and rainbows...

Except that rainbows come from rain. And on Day 2, things got rainy.

And then not rainy...

And then rainy again... about every hour.

Once you hit 90 Mile Beach, there are no breaks from the sand. You try to walk as close to the water as possible so that you don't just slide around with every step, but the hard sand is brutal on your body and there's no protection from the elements.

With the frequent rainstorms came constant wind. When things were dry enough for us to sit down for a break, the sand would blow into our eyes and our food. As anyone who has spent time in the desert can attest, sand is the glitter of the natural world. It just. Gets. Everywhere.

Maybe 3 miles from the end, we also got hailed on. And not tiny, wimpy hail, either. Big, chunky hail that was blowing sideways at our bare legs (and came on so fast we didn't even have time to put on the rain kilts). Let's just say that the storm ended with us crouched in the fetal position for several minutes as we waited for it to pass.

So, when you say you like long walks on the beach... exactly how long were you thinking?

Captains of Us 11/24/18 Captains of Us 11/24/18

The Sabre of Destiny

Basically we had a choice: wait another day in Auckland or hitchhike 6 hours north.

Planning details is not, shall we say, one of my strengths. Nor is it one of Jonathan's. So, I suppose it shouldn't have been surprising that we forgot to buy bus tickets in advance.

We arrived in Auckland at 5am with a lovely place to land, a friend who gave us a bed to sleep in and an ample supply of coffee to revive us from our flight. We had intended to wake up refreshed the next morning to start our journey to Cape Reinga and the start of the trail. But of course, when we got online to buy tickets everything was sold out.

Basically we had a choice: wait another day (2 actually) in Auckland or hitchhike the 6 hours north to Cape Reinga at the tip of the north island. And since we're responsible, cautious travelers... we naturally decided to hitch.

36 hours, 2 bus rides, and 11 hitches later, we found ourselves at the start of Te Araroa. These are just a few of our first impressions of New Zealand.

The first hitch -- when you haven't done it in a while -- always feels a bit ridiculous. Standing on the side of the road with a stupid grin and a thumbs up. But after the first ride you get into the spirit and feel (slightly) less silly.

Holding out the Sabre of Destinyphoto/ Jonathan — Holding out the Sabre of Destiny
photo/ Jonathan

One of the best parts of hitching is getting to meet a huge array of people. We got rides in trucks chock full of dirty work gear, a rental hybrid, and even, wait for it... a police car. (No mom, I didn't get arrested).

We found a giant "pineapple" after being dropped off by the police officer. photo/ Molly — We found a giant "pineapple" after being dropped off by the police officer.
photo/ Molly

Not only did we learn that NZ police generally don't carry guns, but when a cop car rolled up on us hitching, we most certainly assumed we would get some sort of talking to. But hitching is legal here and the cop, Simon, asked where we we're headed and gave us a ride to the next town. Imagine that!

We also noticed right away that there are tons of people here from abroad. We ran into a guy from Pakistan, a woman from Ireland, a South African, and a German in addition to getting rides from several Kiwis.

An RV hitch we got on day three of the hike. RV hitches are a coveted and high class hitch. photo/ Jonathan — An RV hitch we got on day three of the hike. RV hitches are a coveted and high class hitch.
photo/ Jonathan

And there were definitely some patterns in our conversations. Kiwis, born here or not, *love* their country. Not in an in-your-face way, like Americans, but in a rather endearing, quiet way. All of our drivers told us about what an amazing time we'd have in their country and how friendly the people here are. Funnily enough though, every single one of them warned us that "You might meet some bad folks, so [insert advice for how we should protect ourselves]."

I don't think an American has ever said this me. I think Americans just assume that we're all assholes, so we don't generally warn against the one bad dude someone might meet.

The funniest repeat conversation was that two drivers told us that we were near the town that won the "best toilet in New Zealand" award and were assured that this was a real thing. And sure enough, the NZ Herald reported that Wairoru won "Best Loo" and "flushed away the competiton."

Nearly everyone also proudly pointed out sections of native bush (forest). It's pretty rare for Americans to have any idea of what's native to their area or not, but Kiwis are incredibly aware of this due to massive problems with habitat loss and invasive species. I'll write another post about this issue specifically. Meanwhile, look for another post coming soon about 90 mile beach and our first foray in the native bush in Ratea forest.

Cheers,

Molly

Jonathan 4/24/14 Jonathan 4/24/14

A few trail photos

Quinoa jamming out with Dan at a trail angel spot on day 7

Quinoa napping at a trail angel's house.

the beauty I witness each day is breathtaking

Cheers,

Jonathan

Jonathan 4/18/14 Jonathan 4/18/14

Day 2 and day 1 reflections

I was overly eager and have an ego. I thought I could haul ass and make great time on day one. In fact I did, but at great expense. My whole body was completely shot and I had blisters. I told Dan it wasn't day one I was worried about, it was day two.

It turns out that after ibuprofen, a crapload of protein and a good night's sleep I was recharged and ready to rock. Even still, I didn't know what I would be able to handle after that first day, but day two proved to be the most glorious of days. We upped the mileage to 22, didn't have to fight thought a scorching sun and walked through three different ecosystems. What a blissful day. To top it off, we have adopted two hikers into our merry gang.

As our day came to a close, or so we thought, we got kicked out of our campsite by a park manager or something and were forced to commence our first night hike. While it wasn't something I was terribly excited about, it wasn't bad at all, minus my aching feet. A clearing for four presented itself and it was decided that tents were not needed tonight. What a day, what a day.