tramping new zealand

A day of strangely different parts.

It started with an early morning conversation with a woman who stated she was off on the South Coast track, except there wasn’t any hut, so she might do the Hump Ridge Great Walk.

I told her that there were, in fact, four huts, and the first two were easily accessible on foot. I also mentioned that the Hump Ridge was still a private track and that it cost $300 for two nights accommodation that you needed to book. Someone else had investigated the situation the previous day and confirmed the status. She was in disbelief and wanted to argue, but I had to pack up and go and fit a new tyre.

When the car was on the hoist the day before, it became apparent that I needed one new tire quite urgently, and when I had one fitted, I found that I needed a second. Better to be safe.

I then went to get a bandage to cover the hole in my exhaust pipe, which would at least get me back to Nelson without being pinged for excessive noise. The engine sounded pretty throaty, but the hole also seemed to limit power. If I patched the hole, that would allow me to drive through towns once again without upsetting the residents.

Now it was time for breakfast at my favourite Invercargill cafe.

“The best omelette in the South Island,” I said, having found that despite many cafes these days claiming they’d prepare your choice of eggs for breakfast, I’d previously found not one that’d do an omelette on this South Island tour.

Delicious.

A ‘Bring Back the Omelette’ campaign may be in order.

I’ve decided it was a good time to finally visit the Catlins.

However, after all the mucking around with tyres and eating, it was 3 30 pm by the time I made it to the McLean Falls walk. I was surprised to find about 20 cars in the car park.

I busied myself and sorted out my gear for the next few days, and sat around until 5 pm. Time flies when you’re tired from the day before.

I donned a surprisingly heavy pack for an overnight stay in a hut and was quite surprised to find a DOC sign stating that it was a four-hour walk to the hut. That would take until 9 pm.

Yikes! That couldn’t be right.

It wasn’t. It only took around two hours, even with a bit of sitting down. A few windfalls needed to be negotiated, but I could always see the way around and pick up the track again on the other side.

It was a lovely walk with some immense rata trees and some other species succulent to possums, such as native fuchsia, abounding.

The track was damp in some places, but not as bad as it had been the day before.

So there I was, sitting in a Permalat Southland-maintained hut. A bunch of bellbirds were having a Friday night bird convention when I arrived, and I realised how different it was from the start of my day.

I was the first to stay there for more than a week, despite the number of cars and the people in the car park.

I had the hut to myself once again, which I didn’t mind one little bit.