tramping new zealand

I was totally tired out by the day before’s efforts, for sure. Has to be the case when you don’t bother with dinner.

But soon enough, I was cranking up my steel-cut oats and sipping my coffee. I can’t say I’m a fan of porridge, but it’s light and easy to make. Just a challenge to force it down. After 20 minutes of thinking of other things and swilling coffee, I seem to get through it. Requiring 40 chews per mouthful may be part of the problem.

The hunters didn’t ping at any deer because they stayed in their sleeping bags.

We talked about how many deer there were around. I’d seen five in my travels, but they didn’t see any in their two-night stay.

Later in the day, a couple of hunters cruised past me on a quad bike, with parts of a deer discernible in a bag on the front of their bike. They camped not far from the hut and had spotted three deer on the flat’s northern side. At 5 am, one had got up, seen them again, and had to wait 15 minutes for it to be light enough to spot them through their scope before knocking one over. He was back in a sleeping bag by 5 30 am.

A bit earlier on, I mucked around, and the others left before me. They didn’t offer me a ride even though one was available on the huge Polaris side-by-side. I didn’t ask because who doesn’t love that walk out from Downie?

It was just a lengthy plod. It didn’t help that I couldn’t get my headphones to work, so I opted for listening to the birds and the rush of the river.

No rush for me, it was more of a semi-painful hobble. My pack was much lighter with that folder, the cleaning fluid, and eight nights of food all gone, but the rigours of the last few days had taken their toll.

I had lunch before the halfway mark and thought for a quick second about how much further there was to go. Just march on, with plenty of blue sky on display, and the southerly blast, which lost its enthusiasm, much like me.

The last half was just cruel, but the track gets past the swamp hole section and flattens out.

The successful hunters went past on a quad bike, but also couldn’t offer a ride, which, as a joke, I’d ask for.

They told me they’d seen about 30 deer during their 36-hour trip and could confirm there were many around.

They also said the farm’s milking shed, which used to exist, couldn’t be connected to sufficient electrical power for their big milking operation, so they built a hydroelectric plant in Watsons Creek. A flume with an intake around 900 mm in diameter dropped more than 400 m and drove a turbine after narrowing to around 150 mm. The pressure was apparently enough to power Murchison, but while the power couldn’t be obtained over the lines, it couldn’t be got out either. Apparently, someone was using it for data mining instead.

Less than a kilometre from the car, I stopped in the shade and lay down for five minutes. Then, cautious about losing my cabin I’d pre-booked, the last bit was eked out.

This sounds overly dramatic, but let’s say that finally taking my pack off and spending 10 minutes looking for my keys, well, it was good to finally open the car doors and throw my pack in.

Note to self. Please find a way to take less next time.