tramping new zealand

It was clear that if I was going to spend a night in a hut and had a decent drive, then I’d better have my act together.

I checked the leftovers of food from the Heaphy and, in the morning, remembered to throw in my charger and cables. I was wearing my raincoat as Reefton was offering an early morning shower.

I’d gone through three possibilities for the next night. I found one possibility had an easement and would take 3–4 hours, and a closer hut needed permission to use and cross the land. But why not ring and ask for permission for a change, so I did. He mentioned there were pig hunters up there, so that meant it should be reasonably accessible. I’d go there for a night and head to another hut the following night. Then I could hightail it to Methven for a cheap bed.

Sounded like a plan for the next few days.

I made it to the Porters Pass car park (down at the bottom, across from the old Roadman‘s hut) by 1 pm. A party of seven kids and parents turned up with the same intent but decided against joining me when I told them about the hunters, who turned out to be phantom, or at least that day.

You start on an easy four-wheel-drive track, but when that terminates less than halfway to the hut, you drop into the gravelly creek bed and bash up that for the rest of the way, crossing as required, which numbered about seven.

Of course, once your feet are wet, it doesn’t really matter much.

I kept an eye out for pigs and their hunters, but neither materialised.

You see the hut from a distance, a few hundred metres, and just as I opened the door to the hut, it started to pour. Lucky for me.

No one had been there for a while, so I cleaned up the rat poo and disposed of it.

The rain stopped, the sun came out, and all was right with the world.