Abel Tasman

Those secretly pleased about our terrible fortune with the weather will be sorry to learn it changed just when we needed it to. The following tale of endurance, natural beauty and human spirit will sadly end abruptly in carnal debauchery. I'm sorry, but that's the way the story goes. For those readers with a sensitive disposition, please don't read the penultimate paragraph. Our latest ridiclous mission was to trek 56km in 3 and a half days with little more than a pot of hummous and a small chirizo. There might have been a few packets of noodles, a couple of apples and a sustantial supply of chocolate, but it remains that calories in were not equal to calories out. We could've brought more grub and a book would've been nice, but our tiny rucksacks were filled to capacity and were already too heavy. Normal people have the funds and the intelligence to buy a decent rucksack, but we were too tight and too dismal to persue this course of action. We would make do with what amounted to school satchels filled with boulders.



The Abel Tasman coastal walk, in the Nelson region, takes you through a wonderous National Park of beautiful bays and inlets, glorious alpine territory and a patch or too of rainforest type scenery. Abel Tasman was a Dutch explorer with funny hair who was here a long time ago. The area comprises the North Eastern tip of the South Island and you basically walk around the headland from the village of Marahou to Wainui Bay. A terribly busy day the day before mission launch left us knackered and less than excited about the forthcoming challenge. There was a lot of time spent in a post office (2 hours) in a christmas frenzy, which had all the old woman tutting about the fact we were taking up so much space. There followed an unfeasably late lunch of disasterous proportions (take one egg, some pineapple, cheese, beetroot, salad, 2 slabs of meat, squash into a bun and then have the audacity to serve with chips); a speedy drive (literally - we got done for doing 72km/hour in a 30km work zone - to be fair it really wasn't obvious to anyone except the copper with the speed-gun. Andy was told off like a naughty schoolboy and whacked a fine of $80, as opposed to the $500 which we really due) and a packing of rucksack trial-run (very stressful)..

That night wasn't a restful one. The van was rocked by a violent electric storm and heavy rainfall. Not a fortuitous sign for the forthcoming challenge. So the following morning, we set off with heavy hearts and even more weighty packs. 10 minutes in and our backs were in agony and we'd had a row. The thing about the Abel Tasman walk is that you have to plan your walking around the tide timetable. Go at the wrong time of day and you won't be able to cross the estuary for hours, if at all, to reach your hut for the night. There are two high tides and two low per day and you have a couple of hours either side of low-tide to cross, which will determine what time of day you need to start your journey. The possibility of being swept out to sea clutching a pouch of dehydrated space food seemed a distinct possibilty if we'd got the sums wrong. Once the first couple of hours were out of the way, we seemed to experience a renaissance and suddenly felt more positive about the whole affair. The weather was looking up, our backs had numbed to the pain, the scenery was gorgeous and we were a team once more!

The first day was to be the toughest. An experience similar to carrying Michelle Macmannus for 7 hours uphill ensued, until we reached the hut at Bark Bay where we were to spend the night. It was pretty flat for most of the way, but to get the best views you obviously have to gain some altitude. The path meandered around headlands, dipping down again to sea level enabling you to walk over desserted stretches of sand. Much of the first day involved walking through cavernous enclosures of jewel-bright ferns and fronds with occasional glimpses of the magnificent coastline below. Stopping to lunch on Observation Beach, it felt very 'survival' to be boiling up a pan of water on the sand. The only real annoyance was the prolific sand-fly population throughout the whole journey. They are particularly vicious and after my experiences on Tioman island, Thailand I was sure to cover myself in rank-smelling anti-creature potion. Reaching our destination at the end of the first day was a great relief... we laid down on the beach and fell asleep for a while before hauling ourselves the last few metres to the overnight hut.

The huts are lovely wooden buildings with newly-fitted outside flush loos (to cope with the poo-levels generated from such great activity) and a cold shower. The down side is they are without cooking facilities or lighting. So it's basically camping without the tent as you still need to bring a stove, pots and cutlery and a sleeping bag. As luck would have it, some posh people had left a free-for-all at one of the campsites the week before. Andy had merrily brought home everything we needed for the expedition including a lovely fake wolfskin throw to keep us toasty at night! I knew my beau was desperate to sample our dehydrated food, clearly still harbouring schoolboy fantasies about being a spaceman. First up was a delightful 'beef and pasta hotpot' to which you add some hot water and leave to work its futuristic magic. The end result was a disappointing khaki mush containing hard semi-reconstituted lumps of brown. The trouble with not bringing a book meant we had to go to bed very early and it took forever to get to sleep in a dorm full of 6 other people. At several points during the night, I was woken to the sound of the bloke underneath me (figuratively speaking) punching a plastic bag... as it turns out, it wasn't quite as I had imagined - he'd had a mouse scuttling around attacking his food supplies.

The following morning after breakfast, we set off on what we expected would be an easy day by comparison. There was certainly less walking involved, which meant we could spend a couple of hours on Onetahuti Beach, looking out to Tonga Island in the distance, a big seal colony home to hundreds of NZ fur seals. We didn't see any seals, but were lucky enough to spot a gorgeous Little Blue Penguin, or Fairy Penguin struggling to swim in the waves as they broke against the shore. He was very cute but was doing a worrying amount of tumbling around. He finally seemed to work out that he needed to swim out to sea and we waved him off as he headed for some treacherous-looking rocks.

After much lolling about, it was time to cross the estuary. The water was an unbelievable 15 degrees, and even though we were only knee-deep, it really took your breath away. Then followed a long walk crunching across clam-shells, trying to avoid the extra-soggy areas of what was certainly quick-sand (a terrifying way to go). There is quite an abundance of orange-beaked Oyster-Catchers along the coastline. These hilarious birds are currently in their nesting season but they lay their eggs on the ground, leaving them vulnerable to predation by other birds and people standing on their babies. If you go within 10 metres of their nest which is basically nothing more than a couple of bits of driftwood, they chase you away and squawk in a not very meanacing way. It's very funny to watch, but in all probability you shouldn't do this as it might affect their already dwindling numbers. Additionally, there are lots of shags to be seen (more about that later). These birds are also known as Cormorants, they fish by diving to catch their food and then pose on the beach to dry out their feathers. Throughout the track were traps set for predators introcudes by the Europeans many years ago when they settled on Kiwi soil. Alarmed that there were no indigenous animals present, they brought all sorts of trouble to the ecosystem, and totally upset the delicately balance environment. So not only did the Moa become extinct, but all sorts of things proliferated and destroyed the environment as it once was. Ah, the hand of man cocks it up again... In Oz, possums are cute and cuddly, but here they are enemy No.1 and there are traps set up trees which ensnare the poor creature by the neck, thus snapping it in two. Nice. This is why you find an array of possum fur goods in the shops, fashioned into lovely soft scarves, gloves and willy warmers.

Enforced sociability is not an enticing prospect after a hard days tramping. But since we had no books with us, we were left with no choice. Fortunately, the group staying with us at Awaroa Hut turned out to be an affable lot, and incorporated an eccentric Dutch family, with a very funny Dad. Andy always tells Dutch people we meet that I speak the lingo, which is embarrassing and kind of not really true anymore. Usually they look quite unimpressed, but not this bloke - at every opportunity, he'd launch into his native tongue, and ask me questions about my time in Holland. He said that his wife was also a nurse and worked on the 'vagina ward.' Then followed a hilarious debate about stem-cell research to which he added that he didn't agree with 'clooning.' Brilliant. Every time I said anything in shaky Dutch, he totally creased up.

Also in the gang were a notably amarous Dutch/ Kiwi couple. Newly affiliated with the school of love, they took every opportunity to kiss and touch each other up quite publically, often whilst you were in the middle of talking to them. Not very polite, I would say! I know Jamie thinks I hate everyone I meet, but this time I feel my attack is justified. She was one of those overbearing types, always boasting about how fit she was blah, blah, blah. The fact that they were walking at a slower pace than even us would suggest otherwise. They went off to bed quite early, which was quite fortunate as I was already struggling to get down my 'Nasi Goreng' spacefood. By this stage I'd been in a lot of trouble regarding our dwindling food supply, especially as we compared our measly dinner to everyone elses. Then followed an improved night of sleep, free of mice.

The following morning, we were forced to hang around until low tide at around midday. This involved being in the company of the snoggers for far longer than was desirable, but they had loads of food with them and I was able to glean a couple of dry crackers from them (possible we could've stolen quite an amount - they wouldn't have noticed). Eventually the time came and we set off, trying to loose them along the way. She had developed blisters, been attacked by sandflies to an alarming degree and both feet were swollen. But is was still sort of funny when a bee stung her as well. Much drama ensued, involving the bloke trying to suck out the poison (any excuse to have another nibble), a trick I would've thought particularly dangerous with bee venom. Not keen to get involved with the possibility of having to perform an emergency tracheotomy with a encrusted spoon, we pretended not to notice (caring attitude prevails).

It felt good to be making progress and day three had us stumble across a beach stacked full of mussels. Given our fantastic tea the other night, we were keen to add a spot of protein to the proceedings. Most of the National Park is a totally protected marine environment, meaning you can't take even a shell from the beach. Lucky for us, Goat Bay marks the end of the marine park! We foraged for a while, yanking a combination of blue and Green Lip Mussels from their sturdy positions on the rocks. But the incoming tide meant we got a bit wet in the process. Anxious to reach Whariwharangi hut before they all opened and died, we took a wrong turn at the point when we were feeling knackered. Now, I won't go on, but I said it was the other way. Granted it wasn't clear from the sign, but what we had actually done was take an additional side-trek over the headland, resulting in a very tough extra hour uphill. Nice one. Still, we reached the hut eventually and got dinner on the go.

One of the rangers met us as we fell into the hut. Their job, working for the Department of Conservation, is to keep the huts nice and protect the national park by murdering possums and other creatures with poisonous eggs. He said there was only two spaces left for us to sleep and as misfortune would have it, it was the room containing the snoggers. They had arrived just before us and so, despite "fitness always being a large part of her life" and they hadn't done that extra side trip. We managed to escape them by cooking up our spicy mussel and noodle soup - it was easily the best thing we'd eaten so far. Not only was it mighty tasty and fresh, but those anti-inflammatory properties worked a treat on my aching knee joints. We got chatting to a nice family who took pity on us and donated some marshmallows on sticks for us to toast in the campfire they had built. A dream come true.

As night fell at about 9pm, we headed off to bed, quite anxious about potential activities we could be walking in on in the bedroom. Within minutes, we could hear certain needs were being addressed and it didn't take a genious to work out what was going on just inches away from us. It was truly awful, and we still can't quite believe their cheek . They didn't even wait until we were asleep. You really don't want to listen, but it became quite clear which bit they were up to, torrid stage by torrid stage. I was too stunned to say anything but was very temped to put them off, but how does one go about such a plan? So many wonderful ideas have come to me since. Maybe they will have progressed to doing their tawdry act in car parks by now. So it's fair to say we witnessed more shags than anticipated during our Abel Tasman extravaganza.

The next morning, we legged it without saying farewell to the dirty gerties and made the 3 hour trip back to Totaranui. It was another beautiful day and we wandered through foxgloves towards the end of the epic journey. Bizarrely, we completed the mission relatively unscathed. A couple of blisters and a few sandfly bites was about the extent of it. We caught our water taxi from Totaranui beach back to Marahou, which took an hour and a half in the speedboat. We stopped at Tonga island to look at the seals where a group were braving the cold to swim with them! Apparently they aren't aggressive in the water, just on land where they feel vulnverable. After a fantastic few days we are now getting fat again on lamb chops!

Oyster Catchers Film

Film of the Century : March of the Penguins (beautiful, emotionally-charged Antarctic love story).

Currently listening to : Birds, by Bic Runga.