Relearning to hike in New Zealand's Kahurangi national park

It’s hot on the Heaphy Track. 

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The longest of the Great Walks in New Zealand, the Heaphy Track stretches for almost 80 kilometres through Kahurangi National Park, from Brown Hut in Golden Bay to the Kōhaihai river mouth on the West Coast of the South Island.

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The first day is the longest, about 700 metres of elevation gain over 17.5 kilometres – a gentle climb that, even with a pack stuffed with seven days’ worth of food, I’m finding extremely chill.

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Only a week earlier I was scrambling up unmarked trails and trying not to fall off razor-sharp cliffs in an attempt to cross the Dragons Teeth. Located within the same national park – and in fact just over 10 kilometres apart from the starting point  – Dragons Teeth is not a hike for the faint-hearted.

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Even on an easier mission on the Heaphy, though, the sun is hitting us hard, forcing us to take breaks in the shade and splash our sweaty faces with cold stream water at every opportunity.

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Everyone seems to be in good spirits. Our friend Andrew organised this hike after we spent New Year’s together in Collingwood, Golden Bay, and only a few hours in we’re already talking about making a tradition out of this: booking a batch for New Year’s, and doing a Great Walk straight after.

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It’s twelve of us, at different levels of fitness and expertise, and even though I feel like this hike is going to be a piece of cake for me, I still have to remind myself that, no matter how much I’ve hiked in the past, I’ve never done it for six days straight. This is going to be the longest hike I’ve ever done.

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My main struggle is going to be the fact that I could easily do this hike in three days – and I’d much rather do that.

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The Heaphy Track is mostly downhill or flat. Once you’ve reached Perry Saddle hut on the first day, which sits at 880 metres above sea level, you’re pretty much done climbing for the next few days, all the way to Karamea.

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To me, this is indeed a Great Walk – not a hike at all.

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Over Christmas just a week earlier, my partner Luke, our friend Alex and I spent some time in this very same national park, the beautiful Kahurangi, following dubious craigs along steep and scruffy ridges, and finding our way through fields of thick tussocks taller than us, along the Douglas Range towards the infamous Dragon Teeth.

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I don’t consider myself a hardcore hiker: I’ve done it for years, but I only started doing overnights in the fairly recent past, and I’m still pretty useless at navigation. There are very few things, however, that I love more than being in nature in my trusty boots, carrying everything I need on my back.

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Every time I plan a new hike, I try to push myself a little bit harder than my previous one. So walking the Heaphy in six days when I knew I could do it in half the time sounds like a step backwards to me.

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It takes me a minute to adjust. The first day is good. I feel tired by the time we get to the hut, and like I’ve been working towards my well-deserved freeze-dried meal.

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On the morning of the second day, me and four other people venture on a brief side mission and climb up Mount Perry right after breakfast, before everyone else is ready to start walking for the day.

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On day four, when someone forgets their water bottle at the hut, I volunteer to run back and recover it. I am antsy to move my body.

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It’s not until the end of day five, another long one from James Mackay hut to Heaphy hut, that I finally get it. This is not about smashing a new personal best. It’s not about covering as many kilometres as possible as fast as I can, it’s not something I wanted to tick off my list so I could move on to the next adventure.

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This is a big group of us going for a walk together.

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I walk the last three-ish kilometres with my friends Conagh and Sabrina, and it takes us almost two hours. They are the ones who help me slow down.

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The landscape has gotten so different by then – more coastal, beachy, such a different world from the one we encountered at the beginning of the walk. We stop every few steps and point at birds, leaves, rocks. I start looking – really looking – at the vines scrambling up tree trunks, the pink Nikau flowers that look like alien tentacles reaching out for you, the limestone formations that would be a shame not to climb.

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We talk about epiphytes and munch on supplejack. We recognise bird calls and shush weka away. We squeeze our bodies in a crack between two boulders and climb up, observing the track from a different viewpoint. We find a Rātā that defies gravity, its gnarled, twisted trunk growing horizontally and enveloping whatever it finds on its way.

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By the time we get to Heaphy hut, where we’re spending two nights to allow ourselves a rest day, I am fulfilled and content. I tell Conagh and Sabrina that I’m grateful to have learned with them that it’s ok to take it easy. 

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The funny thing is, I always thought I was taking it easy. I’m always saying that I could never – and would never want to be – one of those people who run the trails. 

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I know people who’ve completed the S-K in 48 hours, who are competitive ultra runners, who have walked the Te Araroa in two months. On our last day coming back from the Dragons Teeth, we met a couple who was leaving the hut at 8am to make it home for lunch. We didn’t even make it home for dinner.

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I’m not one of these people, but I’m also not a lingerer. When I hike, I don’t stop very much. I like to come back from a hike and brag about how quickly I’ve completed it. I’d rather smash a twelve-hour day than walk for three hours and spend the rest of the day dawdling around a fire.

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On the Dragons Teeth, we advanced slowly because the terrain was tricky and we had to make sure we weren’t getting lost. (The day you cross the actual Dragons Teeth – which, unfortunately, we didn’t get to do – is only five kilometres, but it takes people ten to twelve hours to complete because it’s so hard to find your way.)

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On the Heaphy, we simply were not in a rush. We stopped to marvel at takahē, to visit caves, to braid each other’s hair. We taught each other how to tell Mānuka and Kānuka apart, and the difference between a Rimu and a Tōtara. We pressed our hands in thick, wet moss, and we swam in every river we found.

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On our rest day at the Heaphy hut, I wake up sick. I had planned to go on a run and venture on some side missions. Instead, I end up resting all day. I slather myself in sunscreen and bug spray, and lie in the sun for a good portion of the day. I nap and read and hang out.

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On our last day, a flat four-ish hour walk out, I am so sick and sleep deprived that I fall three times and roll both of my ankles. My entire body hurts and I silently cry when no one’s watching. I drag myself out thinking how funny it is that I came out from Dragons Teeth – the hardest hike I’ve ever done – virtually unharmed (if you don’t count the million scratches and bug bites on my legs), and finished the Heaphy – the easiest hike I’ve ever done – with two rolled ankles, sore knees, and in tears.

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On the plane back, we fly over the Dragons Teeth. Seen from above, they just look like big hills, far less menacing than when we first got a glimpse of them from Mount Douglas saddle.

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In less than 30 minutes, we are back where we started six days earlier. 

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As we say our goodbyes, I’m already thinking about how hard it would be to readjust to regular life. But I’m also thinking that maybe it will be easier to slow down.

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Four months later, I’m making this my seasonal intention. Just as autumn starts, and the days are getting colder and shorter, I make the conscious choice of slowing down. I’m coming out of a glorious but hectic summer, and only three months in I’m finally getting a chance to sit down and reflect on the year to come. And my goal is to rest, reset and reconsider. 

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The Heaphy has taught me that there’s no rush. That it’s ok to let go of some things to cherish some others.

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It’s ok to take your time. It’s ok to stop and look at the trees.

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