tramping new zealand

It was the end of an era, and I kind of realised that.

The four-wheel-drive tracks, tussock, and empty musterers’ huts were coming to a conclusion.

Not to say I was finishing my tramping summer just yet, but soon I’d be back to orange triangular DOC markers, SF70 DOC huts, and familiar beech trees.

For the second time, I headed back up the track, but unlike the day before, this time it wasn’t an aborted trip to Potts Hut.

It was back to a short episode on Te Araroa.

Maybe there would be a few people along the way, as the Nobos would be let out at the Potts Bridge, as they don’t cross the Rangitata River, instead having a night in Methven to resupply.

From the low saddle, I could see Lake Clearwater, and also see a bunch of Nobos. Two had stopped to chat with two Sobos down on the plain, way in the distance.

When they finally disengaged, it took a while to pass, but they looked at their shoes and avoided contact. Admittedly, I was on a short cross-country making my own way, but I was only about 10 m away as they scuttled past.

It’s normal to acknowledge others when meeting in the middle of nowhere, but this courtesy is losing popularity. It seems.

I soon turned off Te Araroa and made my way around Lake Clearwater. That seemed to get the experience out of my hair.

I was heading to Christchurch for a couple of nights.

Just enough time to pop up to Rod Donald Hut, which I missed out on my last Christchurch visit.