Further Tramping Tales: The Heaphy Track
Arriving in Takaka following my tramp on the Abel Tasman Coast Track, I figured I deserved a bit of rest before starting out on the Heaphy, a longer and (reputedly) slightly harder track.
My rest took the form of two and a half days exploring the town and resting, reading and writing at Annie’s Nirvana Lodge (the hostel I was staying at.) The first afternoon I fell asleep very early after a bit of reading (you may recall that I got up just after 05:00 for my last day on the Abel Tasman.)
The morning of the second day was spent wandering around the (small) town. Takaka is a nice little town, populated by an interesting mix of rich retired farmers, aging hippies, foreign chefs, masseuses, and all manner of other interesting characters. This being the case, it has things you wouldn’t necessarily expect of a town of 1300, such as an organic food store, yoga studio and so on. All in all, Takaka was a lovely place to spend a few days.
The afternoon and evening of day 2 were spent inside reading since it had begun to rain. In the evening, I sat outside enjoying a couple of well deserved beers and got chatting with Sabina and Caleb, a couple from Austin, Texas. Around midnight, they were getting tired of being inside (having spent the whole day there) and since they had a car we headed out to the nearest beach. Our trip to the seaside ended abruptly when the rain switched modes from heavy drizzle to torrential downpour and we headed back to the hostel and bed.
The next morning brought still more rain. Despite this, I was feeling well rested enough to want to start out on my next walk. Caleb and Sabina had a few days with no plans before heading back to Picton and the North Island, and had offered to drive me to the trailhead. Only one thing could stand in our way: more water.
There are three (uaually) small streams that must be forded on the road to the trailhead, and unfortunately after a day and a half of rain they weren’t in their usual small state. We approached the first ford, and things weren’t looking good. I got out and took off my boots so that I could wade into the stream and see exactly how deep it was. I got less than 1/3 of the way across before it had reached knee level. It MIGHT have been possible to cross this ford in a nice big four wheel drive vehicle with good ground clearance. In a rented Toyota Corolla? No.
Thus it was that we turned around and headed back to Takaka, where Caleb and Sabina dropped me back at our hostel before departing themselves for Nelson. I ended up spending the rest of the rain soaked day reading and hoping that the weather forecast, which called for fine weather the following day would be right for once.
As it turned out, the forecast WAS correct. Not only that, but two others from the hostel were headed for the start of the Heaphy track, thus saving me from paying a double fare for the bus trip out there (many infrequently used routes require a minimum number of passengers, or at least a minimum number of fares paid before the bus will run.)
After a lovely drive through the Golden Bay region countryside, which included some lovely views of the mountains I’d soon be climbing, we arrived at the start of the track.
The Heaphy, like the Abel Tasman is one of New Zealand’s nine Great Walks. It is a total of 82km long, and runs from near Collingwood in the northeast to Karamea in the southwest. It’s possible to walk the track in anything from three to six days, and I planned to do it in a nice slow five.
One main determining factor in how long it takes to walk the track is the number of huts available. Most well used tracks in New Zealand have some form of enclosed, often heated shelter on the path, eliminating the necessity of carrying a tent. The Heaphy is no exception (most of its huts even boast gas cookers) with the distance between the huts ranging from 8 to 17.5km.
Perhaps the track’s greatest claim to fame is that it has the widest vairety of scenery of any of the Great Walks (or perhaps of any of the walks period) in New Zealand, winding it’s way through four completely different ecosystems.
With all this in my head, I looked forward to getting started. Accompanying me on at least the first bit of the walk would be Deb and Owen, a forty-ish couple from Christchurch who had shared the bus with me on the way in.
The first day on the track is perhaps the most difficult, a 17.5km walk from the start to the Perry Saddle Hut. Almost all of this walk is uphill, though thankfully most of the track has a gentle grade.
After a short pause to take some ceremonial photos at the start of the track, we were off. The climb to Perry Saddle winds up the granite mountains through stands of native beech forest (the New Zealand beeches are only VERY distant relatives of those found elsewhere) which have a ground cover of moss, ferns and lichen. Especially after the recent rains, small waterfalls and shallow little streams running across the track were a common sight.
Deb, Owen and I spent a very pleasant morning walking, chatting and enjoying the scenery, before stopping for lunch at the Arore shelter where we enjoyed a lunch with a spectacular view of the road we’d driven in on, as well as the rest of the Golden Bay region. After lunch we continued upwards until finally we reached Flanagan’s Corner, the highest point on the track at 910m. A short side trail led a bit further up to a lookout that provided wonderful panoramic views of the snow capped peaks surrounding us.
After Flanagan’s Corner, the trail descended a bit to Perry Saddle and the hut of the same name. We arrived at about 15:00, allowing time for Owen, myself and an Englishman named Tom who arrived shortly after to climb up to the summit of nearby Mount Perry. The walk to the top took us through the first of the tussock covered downs we’d see on the trip, as well as scrubby forest full of alpine cabbage trees and other large shrubs. As we approached the top, the vegetation thinned out leaving only low growing shrubs and, in some spots, nothing at all growing on the loose rock slopes.
The walk up was tougher than the main track, given that it was unmaintianed and poorly marked, but the views from the top were well worth it. In one direction was a lovely view of the green valley we’d entered the park through. In another the red and gold colour of the downs through spread off into the distance and in one more were lofty peaks still higher than Mount Perry whose summits were still covered in snow. Although our resting spot at the summit wasn’t the highest around, it still had enough altitude to allow a few small flakes of snow to fall as we sat resting and admiring the view.
We returned from the peak to find a warm fire going and the hut rather more full than when we’d left. I spent this evening cooking supper and meeting the group who (as it turned out) would be my walking partners for the rest of the trip.
The next morning dawned early, but not bright. For once the New Zealand weather forecasters had got it right. It was miserable and rainy. I’d originally planned on a short walk to the Saxon Hut that day, and the weather looked as though it was consipiring to ensure I followed through. Despite this, I’d so enjoyed my walk with Deb and Owen the day before that I decided to follow them to the McKay hut, 24km away, which would make this the longest walk of the trip.
The start of the day took us out into the rain and into the first of the tussock and speargrass covered Gouland Downs. At first sight, the downs look very flat but they are criscrossed by numerous streams and rivers that cut deep into the ground and must have made finding the original path through this area difficult.
The morning also brought us to the first of the track’s swing bridges. These are small suspension bridges made up of steel cable and a few flat bars to act as separators/footrests. After crossing this bridge we made it to one of the Heaphy Track’s better known and odder spots: the boot pole. Over the years, hikers have tied their old, well loved (or perhaps loathed) pairs of hiking boots to this 3m tall pole, some 20km away from the nearest roadway. While hiking boots still predominate, the collection has expanded to include running shoes, the odd dress shoe, and even a roller blade.
Shortly after the boot pole, we found ourselves at the Gouland Downs Hut where we took shelter from the rain and enjoyed our morning tea. After this we headed back into the downs and the wet, making for the Saxon Hut where we planned a stop for lunch.
If there was ever a day where a hot lunch was required, this was it. Thankfully the Saxon Hut had gas cookers, so I was able to enjoy my instant noodles cooked rather than dry. By the end of our lunch, pretty much all of my hut-mates from the previous evening were crammed into the smallish Saxon Hut. One by one, they started disappearing back out onto the track, hoping that perhaps the afternoon would bring some respite from the rain.
Sadly, these hopes were in vain. Indeed, far from stopping, the rain worsened after lunch. What was once a hard drizzle turned into a genuine deluge. With this in mind I gave up on any pleasant ideas of walking with a group and took off into the rain at top speed, intent on warming up my chilly self (the stop for lunch, while pleasant, did have its downside) and on finishing the day’s walk and getting indoors as soon as possible.
After a short trip through a small section of beech forest the trail emerged into yet more tussock covered downs, this time the MacKay Downs. This area, normally a damp to wet-land, had certainly felt the full impact of the rain. Small trickles that were ordinarily a quick hop across had turned into wide creeks with no way around that didn’t lead to wet feet, areas of the pathway, usually just muddy had turned into small streams, small streams had turned into raging torrents. In several spots it became necessary to wade through the risen water. I’d just reached one of these when Em and Gertrud (two kiwis from the Perry Saddle Hut) caught up with me. Gertrud kindly offered to take a picture of me standing on the bridge over Monument Creek. While not perfectly clear, the fact that I’m standing on a bridge and am STILL almost knee deep in water, was well as the sogginess of the photo generally, give some idea of how miserable a day this was for walking.
By now my rain pants, rain coat and pack cover had more or less given up on trying to keep me dry, which was actually rather liberating. Freed from trying to keep from being completely soaked, I was able to thoroughly enjoy wading across waist deep streams, stepping on drainage boxes (which normally carried the full volume of flow) halfway across so that the water didn’t get up above my pack, tromping through muddy, sludgy sections of track and just generally playing in the rain.
I’d originally rationalized my impoliteness at running off ahead of the others by saying to myself that I could arrive early at the hut and get the fire going for them and boil up some water for hot drinks. To my pleasure it turned out I wasn’t the first one there and it was ME who was greeted with these delights. Throughout the afternoon the others showed up and space at ceiling height slowly filled up with clothing and packs as people tried to dry out their sodden gear.
Despite the continuing misery outside, everyone managed to pass a fairly cheerful evening comiserating, chatting and cooking dinner. Their cheeriness, or at least amusement was aided by watching me cook. My meals on the track were invariably simple and not for fans of fine cuisine. Breakfast was two packets of instant oatmeal with a chopped apple and nuts; lunch, some trail mix (or scroggin as the kiwis call it,) instant noodles (sometimes cooked, sometimes dry;) supper was barley, lentil and split pea soup (this required that I start soaking the ingredients as soon as we arrived at the hut, and they were still usually a bit crunchy come suppertime,) with bread. All of this was, of course, supplemented with large quantities of water and chocolate.
After supper, everyone headed off to bed, praying for better weather the following day.
To our surprise, these prayers were answered. The next morning dawned bright and clear. While it was still a bit windy and cool, there was hardly a cloud in the sky.
On such a lovely day as this, there was no need to run off ahead of everyone, and the nine of us that had spent the past couple of nights together headed out onto the track as a group. Our morning’s walk took us through the third of the Heaphy’s ecosystems, a native podocarp (vaguely pine-like trees native to NZ) forest. The trail wound its way through the trees, past moss and fern covered forest floor, over tannin stained streams until finally we arrived at the Lewis Hut on the shore of the confluence of the Lewis and Heaphy rivers.
After a quick lunch, I crossed over the Lewis and the Heaphy, by ford and swing bridge respectively. Throughout the afternoon (and indeed for the whole rest of the trip) Gertrud continually produced a wide variety of snacks from her pack, kindly insisting that everyone in the party partake. Her walking partner, Em, served as something of a tour guide, answering any questions we might have on the flora and geology of our surroundings.
In addition to the company, the scenery of the afternoon’s walk was lovely, having changed almost entirely after the crossing of the Heaphy. The followed along the banks of the Heaphy, winding its way through forest dominated by Nikau palms, crossing still more beautiful tannin stained creeks and giving occaiasional lovely views out over the river as it wandered its way to the sea.
Eventually we did arrive at the Heaphy Hut, sitting at the mouth of the river, and were greeted by the incredible power of the Tasman Sea smashing its way onto land. Waves crashed over the wide, sandy beach almost continuously roaring and foaming as they did. Such was the power of the surf that waves pushed their way well past the mouth up into the Heaphy River itself. The upper reaches of the beach were covered in driftwood, some logs being almost a metre in diameter that had been tossed up by the even more powerful waves generated during the areas frequent storms. Also fascinating was the large quantity of sea foam that built up along the high water mark. For those who are interested (I was) sea foam develops in areas where the water has a high concentration of organics to provide viscosity and powerful surf to create the foaming effect.
After a walk along the beach to admire all of these, and a pause to enjoy the sunset, I spent a pleasant evening playing a bridge-like card game with Deb, Owen and Ruth. Throughout the evening I also pondered my course of action for the coming day. While I had paid for one more night on the track, and could probably spend one more night at the Heaphy Hut, enjoying the coastline during the day, I’d been so enjoying walking with the same people for the past few days that I was considering finishing the track with them in the morning. Eventually I resolved to do nothing, and come to a decision upon waking.
The next morning, before I’d even thought about it, I’d already jammed my sleeping bag into its compression sack. I took this to be a subconscious vote for carrying on with the walk.
Before heading out onto the trail one last time, we all paused for a group photo. (From Left to Right. Back Row: Tom, York, England; Gertrud, Nelson, NZ; Me, Toronto, Canada; Owen, Christchurch, NZ; Ruth, York, England; Anna, Cologne, Germany; Em, Nelson, NZ; Elanor, Brandon (MB), Canada; Deb, Christchurch, NZ)
The scenery on this last day of the walk had changed again. This time the main attraction was the pounding Tasman surf, and its associated beaches, rocks and bluffs.
The fury of the waves even on this, a fine day with low wind, was incredible. The air was never without the constant roar of the breakers as they smashed into the beaches and the rocks. Huge expanses of shore and shallow water were covered with vast and ever changing white water.
Another particularly memorable moment from the morning was the sight of a New Zealand fur seal just offshore. The seal was bobbing about in a mixture of foaming sea and craggy rock that no human would have survived thirty seconds in, but here was this little animal swimming, popping in and out of the water, diving, and just generally playing in the crashing waves. You can just make out its head as it pokes above the roiling white water here.
Throughout the morning, various portions of the group had walked along the beaches, while others stayed to the main track. Thus it was that I found myself alone, headed on to a section of coastline strewn with large rocks and boulders. I’d figured it wouldn’t be long until I reached the next beach where it would be possible to rejoin the track and the rest of the group. Unfortunately, I’d picked an inopportune section to try the coastal route. I ended up scrambling over the rocks (which were of just the right size to be very hard on the feet) for about an hour. My walk also included crossing a sizeable river, whose boulder-strewn mouth allowed me to hop my way across.
Eventually I did reach another beach and headed up onto the main track, certain that my slow progress over the rocks had left me well behind the rest of the group. I took off down the trail, even running in some spots, intent on catching up with them. It was only after an hour or so of this frantic pace, having seen no signs of them in the mud, and having met two pairs of hikers going the opposite direction who hadn’t seen them, that I realized I might well be ahead of THEM.
As it turned out, I was correct. They’d paused morning tea and to wait for me at the swing bridge upstream of that boulder strewn section of river, thinking that there was no other way across and that I was bound to meet them there.
After forty minutes sitting at the side of the trail, eating lunch, reading and enjoying still more of the spectacular coastline, I was eventually rejoined by the rest of the party.
As it turned out, this was just in time for the final climb up and over the Kohaihai bluffs to the trail’s end at the Kohaihai river.
As each member of our party arrived at the track’s end, he or she took great pleasure in setting their pack down and taking off their boots, knowing that no more serious walking remained. We all sat on the lawn at the Kohaihai campground to enjoy one final lunch together before heading off our separate ways.
I really couldn’t have asked for more from the Heaphy Track. It provided wonderful, ever changing scenery, a challenging (mostly due to the second day) but still fun walk, and, just as important as either of these, wonderful company.
But despite being done the walk, I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I still had to find my way back from the trail’s end to at least the nearby town of Karamea. While all of my tramping partners with cars at this end of the track were already full up with passangers, I still managed to get a ride into Karamea with Ruth and Tom, who were spending one night there before heading out on the Wangapeka track. I’d originally planned on staying with them at the Karamea Holiday Park, but as we rode into town I realized that it was still fairly early and the weather was nice, and my chances of hitching a ride down to Wesport probably weren’t going to get much better.
Much to my surprise, shortly after setting out looking for a ride, I was picked up by Em, Getrud and Anna. They’d just dropped off Owen and Deb at the Karamea airport for a flight back to Takaka, and all of a sudden had room for another passenger.
The ride to Westport was lovely, with lots of twists, turns, mountain scenery and glimpses of beautiful coastline. Throughout the trip Em continued (at my prompting) with her tour guiding. Before hitting Westport, we stopped for a coffee break which Gertrud thankfully paid for (since I had no cash at this point) in the tiny town of Granity.
Finally we arrived, and I bid farewell once more to the last of my tramping partners. At this point I found myself in Westport with a few hours to kill before bedtime. Since my two default activities on were walking and brewery tours and I’d done a lot of walking recently, it was only natural that I headed to the Miner’s Brewery. The fellow working there was wonderfully friendly and showed my around their (small) facility, and gave me a taste of each of their five beers. I even picked up a two litre bottle of their Baracuda Pilsner to enjoy with dinner.
Dinner turned out to be a steak burger and a HUGE plate of chips from a local fish ‘n chips shop, which left me barely able to move. Nonetheless, I did manage to head down to Bailie’s Pub (it was Saturday night after all, and I had just finished a good hard walk) with an Irsh couple Clive and Ruth. We spent the evening drinking, talking and watching the members of the local rugby club get into fights with one another.
The following morning was another beautiful one, and no sooner had I arrived at the edge of town and stuck out my thumb than I was picked up by Vic, a fellow civil engineer on his way to Greymouth (the main city on the west coast 100km south of Westport.)
I spent the better part of the day in Paparoa National Park. The majority of my time there was spent on a lovely daywalk (yes, more walking. It was actually a great relief, and very pleasant to go walking with no pack on and safe in the knowledge that I’d be done within a few hours.)
The walk went up the Pororari River gorge, past some spectacular limestone cliffs, then over a ridge to the Punakaiki river, also situated in a beautiful valley with pretty, but less imposing cliffs on either side. The trail over the ridge between the rivers passed through some lovely light and airy beech forest. Ironically, despite having just walked the much longer Heaphy track in pouring rain, the toughest river crossing i had was of the Punakaiki near the end of this quiet day walk. A bit unprepared, I actually had to strip down to my underwear to avoid all my clothes being soaked in the waist deep, fast running water. So fast was the current that even without a pack, it still took some real effort to stay upright on the way across.
After returning to the visitors’ centre, I headed across the road to the highlight of Paparoa Park, the pancake rocks and blowholes.
The pancake rocks are located on a prominent headland and consist of a series of layered limestone pillars, arches and islets. Despite all the wodnerful coastal scenery I’ve seen in NZ, this was probably the most spectacular, at least from close up.
While it was high tide, the blowholes (limestone caves where waves enter, forcing air and water spray up through holes in the rock above) weren’t performing at their best since the sea was so calm. Nonetheless, the various surge pools and crashing waves were still an impressive sight. In addition, while at the pancake rocks, I was entertained by some of the stupidest animals the world has ever produced.
After the short walk to the blowholes, I sat down for a late lunch and debated my options for the rest of the day. While I’d hoped to explore some small glowworm caves nearby, I eventually concluded that I ought to start looking for a ride if I hoped to make it to Greymouth by sundown.
Thankfully I was picked up almost as soon as I set down my pack, this time by a Westport woman named Shannon with her two sons, Bill (perhaps three years old,) and Stan (still a baby) with whom I shared the back seat.
The drive to Greymouth produced even more wonderful scenery for me to admire, and a chance for Stan to grab, twist, pull, drool on, and othwerise play with my hand.
Which leaves me here, in Greymouth. Tomorrow I plan on seeing a few of the town’s sights, then heading further down the west coast.
Thanks are due once again, this time to all of my tramping companions on the Heaphy, as well as those who gave me rides on my way south, and of course, to you all for continuing to read.
Talk to you again soon!
Tags: New Zealand
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