tramping new zealand

Sometimes you have no idea where you will end up for the night, and on this occasion, I was dependent on others to help me on my way.

I first needed to get out to Skippers Bridge under my own power, but after that, I’d love some assistance in locomotion to get the 30 km back to my car.

I had been contemplating heading to Mavora Lakes for a few days in the western Eyre Mountains, but after looking at the map the previous night, I realised the eastern area might be more accessible and at least offers a loop track with a day walk option.

I could cope with that.

I still didn’t know where exactly those other two people from yesterday ended up, but it wasn’t at Bullendale Hut, so I had the accommodation to myself. Once again, I had the sound of a flowing creek some distance below, which lulled me to sleep.

I didn’t mind returning on the same track, because I feel it’s usually a different aspect. You are pointed in a different direction, and invariably it seems shorter.

Still the 21 creek crossings on the way back to the junction, and I counted 33 more before I lifted my weary limbs up the last climb to the old Otago Hotel ruins near Skippers Township.

The sun was beating down and it really felt like summer.

To be honest, it was a real surprise to come across the old dam so quickly and once there, it wasn’t so far to the Skippers’ cemetery. This time I didn’t peel off to the schoolhouse.

I wanted to catch any stray cars, now I was out on the road.

However, once again, the first four-wheel-drive vehicle that came along picked me up, but it took almost two hours for that to happen.

Actually, I crossed the bridge and plodded up the climb to Blue Slip, the biggest obstacle to less adventurous drivers. I could see a Hiace van up there, a surfboard strapped to the roof, and I made haste.

I could see that the driver got out and pissed over the cliff as I raced up the 500 m separating us.

Just as I was getting within shouting distance, he climbed back in and drove off. Well, now only a 25 km walk back up to the car.

Eventually, once I reach the big summit at Maori Point, a guy who had been weed spraying said to throw my pack in the back of his ute and hop in. It was 1 pm and I was feeling it after five hours on the move.

All of a sudden, there was a flood of vehicles heading into the township, of little use to me, but I suppose one would have come out.

I was pleased to have a local driver on this perilous section, but he confessed it was only his second time in and a great test of his driving skills as we met four rafting trailers on the one-way road.

I was on the cliffside and noted his wheels were about 150 mm from going over the drop as one trailer went by.

Up at the saddle, I found that my car was okay, although it was covered in thick dust. It started immediately, and I was off.

One thing, I realised my body needed a break from pack carrying, and instigating dirty clothes washing and fresh food intake. I decided to head to familiar cheap accommodation at Tuatapere.

Some recovery time was in order.