19Jun08
GBI, Kaiaraara Tramp
It's our last morning in Manuka lodge and we are sad. The weather is still regularly rainy, and neither of us are particularly thrilled at the idea of spending our nights huddled in a cold van while rain drips in the back hatch and wind shakes us like a reluctant bottle of ketchup.
We get up, eat cereal, eggs, the rest of the bacon, then repack the van and say goodbye to our hosts. (Editor's note - ie. Christina's addition: Before we leave Barbara gives me a tour of her pottery studio and we have a nice chat about her work. She also gives me a tiny teapot shaped trinket as a gift!)
It's after 10am and once again obviously going to be a day of rain and clouds at best leavened by occasional glimpses of the sun. We decide to go ahead with the hike, pending a reasonable weather forecast. We also decide to try again to contact some of the WWOOF hosts on the island to see if anyone has an opening, since we are still considering spending some more time on the Barrier after our tramp.
At a pay phone in Tryphena, we attempt to ring some WWOOF hosts. Unfortunately, both of our first two choices are a washout. The listed cell phone for our first choice is no longer in service and our second choice already has all the WWOOFers they need for the forseeable future. We agree to postpone further action until after our tramp.
We drive north under cloudy skies, zipping through Medlands and into Claris. The i-Site is still closed, thwarting any hopes of getting an official weather forecast. Stopping in Claris we get the same vague: "Supposed to clear off today and tomorrow and be worse on Sunday" bit we have been hearing the last few days. We decide to go ahead with the tramp, suspecting that this is the best we can hope for during our remaining time on the island. The drizzle follows us all the way to our starting point at Windy Canyon.
It's about 11:30am when we pull over at the Windy Canyon parking area, a lightly-graveled patch of clay roadside high above the coast and slightly inland. Packing goes more quickly than for Cape Reinga; we're carrying much the same equipment and supplies, with the notable exception of tent and sleeping pads. We also pack less food since it's only a 2-day hike, and Christina elects to only carry her smaller camera. The end result is packs that don't drag nearly as hard at our shoulders as on the Cape Reinga tramp.
Since it's noon, we wolf down a couple of PBJs and mosey out on Palmer's Track. While we are eating, a middle-aged couple heads out on the track. By the time we leave the van, it's 12:30pm. We have a 5-hour hike ahead of us. It's also nearly the winter solstice, and the trail is quite wet from a week's worth of rain. Still, we hurry on, hoping to make better-than-average time and reach the hut before dark.
Windy Canyon is striking. A short walk along a manicured path and up some wooden stairs, and we are threading our way through narrow passages between tall granite outcrops. The glistening green leaves of bushes and ferns hang from cracks in the rocks where they have established colonies. The occasional tree fern rears up beside the wooden boardwalk and arches overhead like some verdant parasol against the gloomy sky. For a short distance it reminds me of the near-vertical hills you see painted in Chinese scrolls.
A few minutes of walking and we are out of Windy Canyon, past the boardwalks, and walking along the tops of hills. Up and down - more gently than at Cape Reinga - we tramp steadily towards the interior of the Great Barrier Island. To our north the hills are dark green in the gray light, and the floodplain at Whangaroa fronts the beach. At the top of hills we can see the ocean both to our left and to our right.
Before us lies the regenerating forest of the interior and the highest point on GBI - Mount Hobson.
Though the sky is gray and we are occasionally subjected to drizzle, it's a very pretty hike. The early part of the trail is quite easy, but as we climb towards Mount Hobson our work begins in earnest. The track here is quite muddy and we gain 100 feet only to lose 50. As we climb higher and higher through the peaks surrounding Mount Hobson, the regenerating forest becomes denser and the light filtering through the foliage, dimmer. Finally we are dragging ourselves up muddy, slopes and over huge tree roots. Deep in the forest here, the drizzle is almost continuous. At this point we start to notice all the pink plastic strip markers tied to trees, and before long we start running into bundles of lumber and other supplies. Moments later we come to the current bottom edge of the boardwalk leading up to Mount Hobson. It's still under construction, though no one is working on it that day. A helpful sign on the boarded-off end of the walk tells us "BOARDWALK UNDER CONSTRUCTION: DO NOT ENTER". These words have been halfway marked through, and handwritten notes above and below offer such pertinent advice as: "Ask a builder to guide you through." and "Do not walk on unfinished construction." A smiley face in permanent marker completes the effect.
We climb up and around the boarded-off end and head upwards on the boardwalk. It's perfectly safe and complete, despite the dubious-looking signs. Given the fact we can climb the last few hundred feet on stairs rather than over tree-roots and water-drenched stone, we are both grateful for its existence. Everywhere around us are more bundles of airdropped supplies. Broken tree limbs and random dispersement of bundles make it abundantly obvious that the lumber and other bits were not somehow carried up. Halfway up the boardwalk, an airdropped green silo outhouse completes the effect, pink plastic strips fluttering from its spinning air vents.
The air is so thick with moisture we are now walking through fog whenever it is not outright raining. Trees vanish in the distance. Any brush with leaf or branch results in you being drenched from condensation or unshed drizzle. Towards the end of our climb, new boardwalk gives way to old. The old construction has much narrower stairs, perhaps all of a foot in width. Without the rectangular plastic webbing nailed to the stairs, we would have already fallen, since in this environment of constant damp, pervasive mildewy slime coats all wooden surfaces. I discover that the underside of the handrails is drier and offers considerably more purchase than the top. In this region there are still a few decent-size kauri trees, apparently too inaccessible for logging.
A few minutes from the top, the trail branches. A spur leads up to the highest point on GBI; the right-hand path leads forward on Kaiaraara track. Even though we are now in solid fog, we climb the remaining feet to the top of Mount Hobson. At the top we meet the couple who started the trail before us. We exchange a couple of bad jokes about the magnificent view, then they head back down the steps while we inspect the trig (a survey marker), sign the guidebook, and munch a cookie.
It's time to move on. We still have quite a ways to go, and the day is passing more swiftly than we like. Back down the spur and forward on the Kaiaraara track we go. The boardwalk continues on this side of Mount Hobson. Our guidebook helpfully informs us that there is an entire kilometer of boardwalk on this part of the trail. The boardwalking is in place to protect the breeding grounds of a very rare petrel. Just below the peak, the track branches, with a spur leading away south on the South Fork. It is from that direction we hope to return on the morrow, making a loop and avoiding the need to completely retrace our path.
Forward down the endless steps we go. They wind and twist in segments a foot wide and 30 feet long, steeply down the side of Mount Hobson. Periodically there are small landings, presumably spots to allow groups of people to pass each other without backtracking.
The forest is bright with occasional sunshine and a few bird chirps keep us company as we descend across several rushing streams.
Once the stairs end, the path becomes considerably more rough. Around a bend we come upon the top of what turns out to be by far the worst section of the trail. Here water has worn at the dirt until the track is nothing more than an eroded ditch twisting and turning steeply down the face of exposed, smooth rock. The rock itself ripples and plunges downward with hardly a rough spot to brace feet on. Its grain is parallel to the direction of the path and therefore no natural ledges or handholds have formed. It looks much as if a waterfall had frozen and turned to stone.
This surface is wet and slimy, and we lower ourselves slowly down it, bit by bit, holding onto the small shrubs fringing the track, hoping that their roots are more solidly anchored than appearance suggests. It's a miserable, slow descent, and we are both glad when it is over and frustrated by how much further we are behind schedule.
Past this, the path is wet and muddy, but never as poor. The afternoon sun has now cast the world in a hazy glow, and green leaves glitter gold against the hillsides. We tramp on, passing a few boards still wired together, remnants of an old kauri dam, but continue without taking much time to examine them, as we know a better-preserved example lies further below.
Down and down and down we wind, crossing a swing bridge, feet bouncing as steel cables flex and sway.
The daylight is beginning to wane and we push on as rapidly as we can. The track is fine most places, although here and there we find ourselves slogging through heavy mud. Finally we come to the turnoff spot for the overlook on the big kauri dam, and trot down to see it. It's an immense piece of work, and almost unbelievable that it should still be here, 70 years later.
We try for a few pictures, read about the history of kauri and logging on GBI, then head back to the main track and forward through the nikau/tree fern forest. The light is really going, and all is half-colored shadow as we hurry through. This area is obviously one of great beauty, and we wish that we had made it here earlier in the day, but at this point all we want to do is reach the hut before too late.
On and on we go. We manage the first of our 5 stream fords before light totally fails. It's just as well that we do, since it's probably the most awkward. Dusk comes. Darkness falls. We pull out our flashlight and head lamp and stumble forward over rocks and tree roots. In their faint light, the ferns are ghostly shadows above us. The night birds begin to call. It's slow going.
Our remaining 4 stream crossings take increasing amounts of work. It's not that they're physically difficult. The problem is that the streams are wide enough that the trail is not always obvious on the other side of the stream, and we walk up and down, waving our tiny maglite back and forth, trying to figure out exactly where we are supposed to cross. By this point Christina is wearing her chacos full-time, but I am stubbornly wading across barefoot and shifting back into my hiking boots, since I do not feel very footsure in the sandals.
It's completely dark. The stars are out in the blue-black sky above us, and when we are not completely overshadowed by trees, it's a beautiful night. We are both really tired. The last couple of crossings prove to be rather confusing. The trail forks to multiple crossing points without signs. Eventually we get it right and wade through what we think is the 5th crossing. According to the map, Kaiaraara Hut should be just up a trail that forks off to the right. Immediately after the ford is what looks possibly like a junction, but, unsure, we continue down the trail. The trail at this point looks like some sort of jeep track. The map makes it appear that we have now gone too far, as our trail is supposed to deadend on Old Forest Road, and that we should backtrack and take the right branch we noticed a minute ago.
We slog back through the mud and head the way indicated. There are no signs whatsoever, just an intersection of tracks. Perhaps 100 feet up this branch we hit another trail. It's a pristine gravel path! Surely Kaiaraara Hut is just up this track a few feet! We try both directions on the gravel path for perhaps 5-10 minutes each way. The trail winds back and forth around the hills and over new-looking wooden foot bridges with nary a sign of hut and nary a sign of sign. The trail we are on does not appear to be marked on any of our official maps. Our feet are dragging with tiredness. We speculate on the reason for the path and contemplate bedding down on the trail for the night if we fail to find the hut, thinking unpleasantly about the inevitable nightly rain.
Finally we convince ourselves that we had not gone far enough on the original trail and head back to it. A few hundred meters further than we had gone before and we hear the sound of rushing water again. We slog through one more water crossing and there it is! Looming out of the darkness of the trail, a sign announces that we have reached Old Forest Road. A few meters up the road to the right and we see the signs for Kaiaraara Hut. We turn up the trail to the hut, and our noses announce the presence of camp latrines. Still, the hut is quite a welcome sight at 7:30pm. There are tiny, weak, flourescent lights in each room running from the day's solar energy, 2 empty bunkrooms, and a kitchen with running (albeit non-potable) water and a monster of a woodstove. Christina boils some water and makes tea while I fiddle with the stove. I eventually manage to get chunks of bark burning, but the damp wood logs light then smolder out. We eat more instant noodles and crawl into bed.
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