It was a two-hour drive to Cape Reinga for the start of #WalkNZ, my 3,000km solo walking adventure along the Te Araroa trail down the length of New Zealand.
Dad drove. Mum sat up front. I took the backseat, staring out the window as a diverse landscape whizzed past the car windows.
Thoughts also whizzed through my head.
Thoughts that asked me what I was doing, what I hoped to prove. Thoughts that questioned my sanity, my physical and mental ability.
Thoughts that probed to the depths of my soul about whether I was really ready and good enough to take on this epic trail all by myself, with no experience and extremely limited training.
I was scared. Petrified of failing and doubting everything.
And then the what ifs started – what if I got caught by the high tide and I got stranded and couldn’t get to the campsite tonight? What if I got lost? What if I couldn’t put my tent up by myself or it blew away? What if there was no water supply at the campsite? What if I couldn’t get my camp stove to work? What if I’m totally out of my depth? What if, what if, what if… Continue reading
I’d just returned to Auckland after being forced to push pause on my #WalkNZ adventure after injuring my knee at the 2,000km mark.
I was catching up with friends and family and one friend asked me: “So how’s the self-doubt? Do you think you’ve conquered it now that you’ve walked 2,000km down the length of New Zealand?” Continue reading
On the outside I look normal.
I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt – clothes I bought from a fashion, non-outdoors store. My body smells perfumed and clean; my hair, washed and shiny. Black pencil lines my eyes. There is red rouge on my cheeks.
My tan has faded while my muscles retreat behind a new cuddly layer of fat.
For all intents and purposes, I look like a regular run-of-the-mill person. Certainly not someone who has walked 2,000km of the 3,000km Te Araroa trail down the length of New Zealand.
But outside appearances can be deceiving.
Because inside me, long-distance trail walking oozes through my blood. My legs twitch. I dream of solitude and lonely mountains, the gurgling of streams, the feeling I get from walking uphill or busting out more than 4km an hour along a flat stretch of road.
The inside and outside are opposites of each other. I feel off kilter.
I’d been warned about “re-entry” to society after finishing the Te Araroa Trail. Like the rest of the trail, nothing can quite prepare you for it. Continue reading
I can’t quite believe it but I survived eight days in the remote New Zealand wilderness walking up and down a lot of steep, tall mountains through the Richmond Ranges.
This was classed as scary shit – the Richmond Ranges are dubbed the toughest section in the South Island on the Te Araroa trail.
Naturally, I was totally freaking out about them. Continue reading
Almost four months ago, I stood at the northern tip of the North Island of New Zealand.
The new pack on my back weighed just over 17kg. I carried five days worth of food and two litres of water; though anyone looking at me would have thought I was carrying the kitchen sink.
I stared at the point where the two oceans (the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean) met. Waves churned. According to Maori legend, the whirlpools where the currents collide represents the creation of life.
I thought that was apt.
Here I was about to start a 3,000km journey walking the Te Araroa trail down the length of New Zealand. Anything could happen; people told me it would be life changing.
Last week, part one of the #WalkNZ journey was completed – I reached the bottom of the North Island. 101 days. 1,688km walked. Continue reading
I stood and stared at the squelchy pool of brown mud in front of me, a mixed look of disbelief and annoyance probably etched across my face.
“Really! I mean really,” I said out loud, to no one in particular. “Not more mud,” I moaned. #WalkNZ was quickly becoming #WalkMuddyNZ.
Here I was on the Tararua mountain range section of the 3,000km Te Araroa hiking trail down the length of New Zealand and yet again I was looking at a vast heap of wet, boot and soul-destroying mud.
“I’m in the fricken mountains,” I thought. “There’s not supposed to be any mud.”
I guessed this was another memo about the trail I had missed. Continue reading
It took me 89 days to walk 1,500km and reach the halfway point on the Te Araroa trail down the length of New Zealand.
The spot itself wasn’t physically marked on the trail, but according to the GPS trail app it was at a quaint little point next to the pleasant Tokomaru River along Burtons Track in the Tararua mountain range. Continue reading
Whoever said paddling down the Whanganui River for six days was going to be easy was lying.
Either that or I missed the memo about what this New Zealand Great Walk canoeing journey from Whakahoro to Whanganui was really supposed to be like.
And for someone who is not only a novice but who has a slight fear about canoeing and kayaking, and who had to do a course prior to starting the 3,000 Te Araroa trail down the length of New Zealand, this fact is not exactly a minor detail. Continue reading
I had originally planned to do the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, part of the Te Araroa trail, on Monday.
But, you know how luck happens sometimes – the Mangatepopo campsite was full on Monday so Tuesday it had to be.
Which is how I found myself walking up the side of a rather tall volcano in pissing rain, while the crazy wind squalled around me. Continue reading
Forty-nine days of walking (up to my festive five-day rest break), 773.5km walked.
Here’s the highlights from the first quarter of the Te Araroa trail down the length of New Zealand. Continue reading