Stewart Island: Rakiura Track Day 1
Halfmoon Bay to Port William Hut, 12 km, 4 hr - 5 hr
Holy shit. I have never in all my life been subjected to a morning cacophony quite like that. I mean, waking up to birdsong is quite nice, but being woken up by what sounded like a fight between normal birds and giant, angry, murderous squawking avians is quite another thing. [Ed. note: That would be the Stewart Island Kaka] I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, ate a good breakfast, packed up and headed to the DOC office. A very nice older woman was there to greet me and gave me all the information I would need. I paid for my huts, got my track guide and even got a storage locker for excess weight I wouldn’t need (tent, pad, etc., etc.) Even signed an intention form, which is the form that says where you’re going and when to send out search and rescue. I made a typo though, actually a mathematical error, thinking because it was a three day tramp that meant that in three days I’d be done, forgetting that today is a day. Yeah sometimes I’m dumb like that. She said not to worry, to leave it as it is, and I saw no problem with that. Not like I’ll be needing rescuing anyway. I signed it before I asked about the weather, because as I said, I’m dumb sometimes. She handed me a slip of paper and told me not to get too discouraged. I read it. Rain, turning to thundershowers, sleet, fog turning into heavy rain overnight. I see.
I started walking towards Halfmoon Bay, and it started to rain. So gentle, like a tender and soggy embrace. Thanks to my Tilley Hat, I have no real problems though, and since its more of a heavy mist, I’m all good. It’s only really at the entrance to the park that I really find its raining now, gone is the gentle caress. I’m starting to get wet, in a hurry, so I turn off the road and change into my waterproof pants, put on the ol’ gaiters and my World Skills jacket. Wow, did it get hot all of a sudden or is it just these completely-non-breathable clothes? Tramp tramp tramp, and then I’m at the entrance and its all good. A cool looking chain entranceway awaits me - part of the mythology of Stewart Island, which to the Maori represents the anchor of the great canoe (south island) wherein a god is landing a giant fish (north island). Some cool quotes on the walkway towards the park, including my favourite: “I shall have to get over to New Zealand sometime. -Stewart Islander”
The track starts off in a no-holds-barred dense canopy of forest and then you head along the coast, towards Little River and the first bridge crossing. On the way there I was musing to myself as I often tend to do. I was thinking about how Stewart Island is one of the last places you can actually spot Kiwi in the wild, and how wouldn’t it be neat if somehow a couple Moa managed to survive out in the wilderness here too and remained unseen - or maybe the Department of Conservation knew about them but didn’t tell anyone so that they could get a stable population base. As I’m thinking this, suddenly I hear a very large rustle in the woods to my right. “Oh, come on,” I think as the noise comes closer and it is quite clear its not possible for it to be a regular-sized bird. After a few anxious seconds a white-tailed deer bursts through the track ahead of me and somehow makes a clean departure into the thick bush. I laugh to myself and wipe the sweat from my brow and remind myself not to let my imagination get too far ahead of myself.
After what felt like a long time, I finally got to Maori beach, and it was neat to walk along some sandy shoreline for a change of scenery. The rain didn’t stop, but that’s okay cause I was already soaken - from the sweat of my waterproof prison moreso than anything else. I trudged over some neat swingbridges. Within a few hours I made my way down to another beach, which with some relief turned out to be the site of the first hut. I hadn’t met anyone so far on the tramp, and the hut was empty. Hmm, Stewart Island is a lot more remote than I thought! Soon after though a young couple from the States arrived, and within an hour an older couple from (drumroll) New Brunswick (/shudder) showed up. They were very odd - he was from NB, but not I think originally, and she was Australian. They were quite strange, had problems with their stove and had to borrow mine (I was terrified I’d run out or something, which is hilarious in retrospect) for supper. I cooked a meal, read a chapter I had forgotten I had skipped over on my Polynesian book and settled into the rather grubby hut. Of course I was in for a let down - I had stayed in the swankiest of the swanky on the Banks Peninsula! In any event, after some conversation and a quick, half-hearted trip outside to look/listen for Kiwi (I had no real idea what the hell they even sounded like) I went to bed.