Day two was a dud, but I’m happy to report on that second night, I put in my headphones and passed out for a good seven hours—the best night’s sleep I got on the entire hike.
On my third day, my mental state immensely improved. I started to feel more optimistic despite how much my shoulders were killing me. I couldn’t focus on anything else. It’s like my mind could only focus on one issue at a time—how badly my shoulders hurt. Once I took my pack off, I would start to notice the state of the rest of my body. My toes were covered in blisters from the sand and a few of my toenails looked like they might not be there much longer. My lower back was still bruised and my ankles were covered in sandfly bites. The second I put my pack back on, all of those things went away and my upper back became my only focus.
My caffeine withdrawal headache started to get worse, exacerbated by the pain in my upper back and neck, and I remembered I brought Advil with me. I took two and low and behold the pain in my shoulders felt a bit more bearable as well. Now that the pain had subsided, I started craving junk food. Milkshakes, pizza, potato chips—I just wanted sugar and grease. I brought some muesli and granola bars with me, but I had eaten my share of the day early on and could not think about anything else than just how aggressively I did not want to eat dehydrated Spaghetti Bolognese. I think, for the most part, I just started craving it because I knew I couldn’t have it. Regardless, I knew once I made it back to civilization, a milkshake would be in order.
The view from the trail.
The bumblebees on the trail were enormous, but they mostly left me alone. Wasps swarmed everywhere, but they primarily stick to burrowing in the rocks and hovered close to the ground. Even the bugs are nicer in New Zealand.
The tides aren’t in my favor on this trip, meaning that I either have to wake up at 4:30 am or take the longer paths each day. Obviously, I opted for the longer paths, so today’s walk was about 13.5 km and 5 hours. The path had lots of ups and downs, winding into the hills, back down to walk across the beach, and then back up into the hills. Over and over and over. The climbs tended to be gradual and not too steep. I finally figured out how to pace myself and made it a point to stop and either eat lunch or nap on each beach I passed.
The walk from Bark Bay to Aowara had significantly fewer people than the previous few days. About an hour outside of the hut, I came across a sign for a cafe. I thought it was a mirage, an imaginary oasis. I had just walked several hours without running into another person, but I’m supposed to believe that somehow, someone managed to build a cafe out here.
I came to a literal fork in the road where I could continue down the pack and walk to my hut, or I could venture thirty minutes down the other path to check out the café and see what it had to offer. I stood there for ages considering it. I bet they have ice cream. Or coffee. Or potato chips. Then I realized if I went thirty minutes out of my way to go to this café and it ended up being closed that I might actually have a breakdown. Also, it feels very odd to have spent the last few days off the beaten track in the middle of nowhere and then stop at a café on the shore. It didn’t feel right—antithetical to the whole experience. So, despite my cravings, I kept on pushing forward to the next hut.
My lodgings for the night.
Shortly after I arrived, the Sydney couple and Kiwi cousins arrived. “We missed you at the café today!” they bragged. “We thought for sure you were going to stop by. We split a pizza and had ice cream and coffee for dessert.”
I’ve never been so jealous of anything in my life.
Around five in the afternoon, the kiwis set off, continuing to their next destination which was about two hours further down the trail of Tōtaranui. They got tired of waiting for low tide and decided along with a few others to wade through the water and head across. They walked for about ten minutes down the beach before the water was past waist deep, forcing them to carry their packs above their heads. It took them about a half-hour to wade through to the other side, the rest of us cheering them on as they pushed through the cold water.
Crossing the bay at low tide is the only way to get to the next hut. Lucky for me, I get to wake up at five in the morning to make the same trek.
I had another four hours of daylight to kill. It was chilly and overcast—not great weather for relaxing on the beach. At low tide, I discovered it’s possible to walk along the beach and reach the café in just under thirty minutes, which sounded much more appealing now that I didn’t have thirty pounds on my back. I thought about eating dehydrated Carbonara and my cravings got the better of me. I set out for the café hoping that my math was right and I’d be able to eat dinner and make it back before the tide came back in, which would lead to a dark hour-long walk back up the trail.
The walk to the café was confusing as there aren’t really any signposts or markings. I didn’t have service, but I turned my phone on (for the first time this trip) to check GPS and ensure I was headed in the right direction. I walked along the beach for about fifteen minutes, then up a grassy trail, past a sheep farm, an airfield, and through a small section of local gardens that must be used to provide food to the café.
My journey towards non-dehydrated food.
I arrived at the café and find out that they were no longer serving pizza, but their dinner menu would be starting shortly. It started raining lightly but I decided to hold out and wait for dinner. When it finally came, I couldn’t help but feel like the universe was rewarding me for sticking this hike out. I ordered a tall cider, sashimi, potato chips, and ice cream.
It was the best meal I’d ever eaten.
It felt very strange having a bougie café in the middle of the wilderness, but I’m so glad it was there.
It was around this point that I realized I had not showered or washed in any way since starting the hike. I felt…gross. But the showers only spit out cold water and the ocean would just make me feel salty and dried out. Even if I had hit my limit and felt like I needed to shower, it seemed like a monumental task—grabbing my clothes and soap, changing while dodging bugs and sand, and having to do it all during daylight before the sun sets. I opted for washing in the sink and loaded up on deodorant, but I felt bad for anyone in my close proximity for the next two days.
I left the café and miraculously found my way back without getting lost and before the tide came in.
Note to self: never live in a place where I have to worry about tides.