tramping new zealand

Drizzle.

Not the start I’d hoped for. Maybe I should check the weather forecast more often.

Enough blue sky to the east to give hope, despite the weather coming from the southwest. The ridges were stacked up, with those in the distance more silvery.

Not quite what you’d expect, with only two weeks until the summer solstice.

The idea was to head to Lake Daniell, make my way to the head of the lake, and then to the Thompson Flat Hut, an old, unmodified New Zealand Forest Service hut.

I was away at 8 30 am, on the heavily manicured and benched track up to the second version of the Manson Nicholls Hut, now so popular it needs to be pre-booked. A profusion of bird song and a variety of tasty vegetation that wouldn’t have been seen in the 1980s. Obviously deer, possums, and rats are in much lower numbers these days, or at least keeping their distance from a busy track.

I had the track to myself, maybe because of the early hour, but the reason became apparent when a close file of twenty 15-year-olds marched past. They were followed shortly thereafter by three adult chaperones. They were silent, making haste to get back to their screens perhaps, or just suffering from their hijinks the night before.

Didn’t take long to be back to just bird noises in the distance and the thump of my own feet.

The sun was out when I reached the hut, but rather than stopping for long, I followed the well-marked track around the lake. It was easy walking, in fact, a stroll in the forest.

At the end of the DOC-marked track, new markers appeared with a similarly easy track up over a very flat saddle, almost unnoticeable.

Soon, the hut was spotted over a large sloping paddock, but it took a while to work my way across the 150 m wide swamp that had been pugged up by long-gone cattle.

Looking at my watch, it was 1 pm, so time for some lunch.

Not much point in hanging around for long, and I noted that I’d already plodded 19 K steps and still had to go back.

I just beat the first of the new school party to the hut, but I wasn’t staying and noted the exuberance of the first adventurers dwindled, with the latecomers more nervous about a night without electricity and the familiar contents of home. One guy was standing by himself, talking to a robin, and we chatted about various birds he had seen.

I guess I recognised a similar daydreamer.

It was 6 30 pm by the time my campsite was reached. It didn’t take long before I slithered into my sleeping bag.

I’ve been testing that Achilles tendon, and it seems to be holding up okay.

I discovered that this was my fifth-longest day in seven years of measuring my steps, with a big 41,000 of them, or 28 km.

No wonder it was lights out before it was even dark.