THURSDAY JANUARY 6TH - NEW YEAR, OLD ME!
 
Well it's a new year but it’s still the same old me. A slightly more gluttonous, alcoholic and walk motivated me all the same. I started the year twirling fire around my head and once I sobered up the flames quickly morphed into a smoldering desire to get back on the road and get some serious miles under my feet. Due to the silly weight of my pack hampering the start of my journey I have decided to shed my video camera (and trademark yellow bag!) and with it the video diary I was planning to produce. I hadn’t been enjoying the filming so far, especially the talking into the camera part, and I felt burdened always thinking about what to film along the way. All those who were looking forward to seeing me snivel into the lense will sadly be disappointed and will just have to make do with my slurs onto the page to satisfy your pain lust.
 
Not knowing when the next chance to stock up would arise I stuffed three days supplies into the slightly shrunken monster that is my pack. Even without the camera it’s still quite a weight (about 20kg) but it is now within my carrying threshold and fresh from my festive break I carried the load with a spring in my step onto the Opua car ferry. Thanks to more of David’s kind hospitality I was well rested and fed and on David’s recommendation I had booked myself into a renowned hostel for the coming evening. I though I had a fairly easy day ahead as I only had about 16km to cover but as I am beginning to realize there is no such think as an easy days walking in New Zealand!
 
I decided to hitch to the start of the gravel road leading to the bush track I was heading for as I was all lateral. In fact I was hitching further North so it needs no justification but I still feel like I need to. After steaming up a huge hill the thumb worked its magic and I found myself with my pack crushing me into the back seat of some boy racers car next to an aspiring Alicia Keys! I soon found out why the pack wouldn’t fit in the boot when the tunes got cranked up and the bass propelled us forward at breakneck speed. Any possible nerves were quickly vibrated away by the in-car shiatsu massage I was getting through the back seat. It was a head bobbing car not a talking one so I gave my neck a little pre-walk warm up before I got bounced out at my turn off. Big car stereos, neon lights, fat exhausts, alloy wheels and any other possible phallic auto extensions are big business over here with a boy racer on every corner. Every straight road in every town is bound to have been used as a drag strip at some point or other and Bro’s cruise around endlessly in their souped up and customized creations. At some of the purpose built drag strips here the boy racers get one night a week to legally strut their rubber down the tarmac; competing for local infamy without the threat of fines or the revoking of their licenses. I didn’t expect to find such a car loving culture in a country I had imagined to be green and environmentally aware. A little naivety on my part I think.
 
“Sweet as Bro”, I yelled over the killer hertz din. You gotta get with the local lingo after all! Freshly massaged I slid on my shades as the sun was ‘a’ shining and the day was turning into a real beauty. After the worst December on record up in the North of the country any peek of sun was a blessing. The gravel road I was walking along snaked steeply up into a deep forest and along the way to the track entrance I passed several Kauri groves just next to the road. On of these groves harbored the biggest Kauri I have seen yet, the twin trunked beast soaring up over the forests canopy its green topped fingers caressing the photosynthesizing rays high above. Its trunk must have been about 10ft across and not even my awe could reach all the way around.
 
After a few weeks without any walking practice I was sweaty and knackered when I reached the Tutaematai track and I had another four hard hours ahead. Forging on for another hour before lunch I attacked the steep root strewn inclines with what vigor I could muster. After about an hour it had clouded over and the rain had started to patter onto the leaves above. Although the foliage offers a good rain shield for a while I was soon drenched and hungry so as soon as the deluge eased I cowered under a tree for my cheese and cracker lunch. Revitalized I fought my way up through the thorny gorse to the top of what mush have been the highest peak around. I got a lovely 360 degree view from the top of the wooden trip structure and I snapped a few for prosperity before diving back into the forest for the last stretch. From the top I was surrounded by swirling cloud and I was reminded of New Zealand’s Maori name, Aotearoa, literally meaning the land of the long white cloud. Maybe land of the long black cloud would be more appropriate after the shocking weather we have been getting!
 
It was extremely muggy after the rain and I sweated my way on pausing only to shake the overlying fern fronds for brief cool shower breaks. After a few hours I broke the tree cover and had a rest while wringing the brown water from my socks. A bit less squelchy I sidled down to the main road and found the hostel. It’s another lovely homely place but I promised myself not to get too attached as I was planning to leave early for another days walking. The momentum can’t be broken now.

Monster Kauri		It was this big honest!

SATURDAY 8TH JANUARY - FROM HELL TO HEAVEN
Well the momantum was broken but only for one rainy day. I said I would stay if it was raining in the morning and it was. In fact it rained all day so I was very glad I had taken Mike, the farm owner, up on his offer of a days work to pay for my stay. When Mike dropped me off the my start point the next morning he even gave me back what I had paid for the previous night and when I tried to refuse he said,"its my part for the cause." One rarely meets such genuinely nice people as Mike and Ellen and their warmth and kindness will always be remembered. If anyone is ever near the bay of Islands check out www.thefarm.co.nz

Ellen had shown me a short cut through a neighbours land and I was soon plodding back into the bush over the water logged track. When I reached the top of the ridge the track split and I took what seemed to be the fork heading in the right direction. It wasn't long before I was forcing my way through thick spikey gorse but as Wally, the farmer who's land it was, had said the track was a bit overgrown I forged on. I was getting slashed left and right despite my two poled gorse bashing strategy and the further I got the less I wanted to turn back. I kept thinking the bushes would part leaving a thron free track straight to the coast but my positive thinking did little to stop the needle onslaught. I eventually reached an inpenetrable wall of thorns and decided to turn back. I had come about half a km so I had the extra fun of retracing my steps back through the accupuncture hell hole but I eventually made it back to the fork. Both my arms were covered in thorn pricks and my neck had some nice slash marks but I was, on the whole, unharmed.

Although it had rained earlier the sun was now out and the muggy bush microclimate had me dripping with sweat. A few wrong turns later I hit the coast and was greeted by the stunning sight of a pristine and deserted shoreline that wouldent have looked out of place in a sunscreen shoot. I stripped off, leaving my sodden clothes to dry, and dived into the cool turqoise waters. It always suprisesd me how cold the water is here considering the tropical feel of the beaches but on this occasion I was extremely glad of the cold bath to zap my heat exhaustion far away. I drip dried in the hot sun and had my lunch under a knarled pohutakawa that hed struck out onto the sands. It seemed unaware that salt water isnt very tasty as it reached towards the lapping waters.

This part of the coast was the epitome of paradise and I was elated to be trudging the white sand and rock hopping my way around it. The easy walking left me to soak up the beauty of it all with the sun adding an extra sparkle to the crystal clear waters. When I got to civilisation the NZ holiday contingent were out in force, taking full advantage of the, up till now, elusive sunny days. I spotted a cafe and stopped to down a few cans of coke while watching the waterskiing and sunbathing masses on Oakura beach.

It was only about 3pm so I continued around the coast, planning to camp near the Maori village of Mokau. A couple of beaches around my onward path was cut off and after a precipitous rock climb attempt (rock climing and heavy packs dont mix!) I begrudgingly turned back knowing I had an indirect road section instead. I stopped for another beautifully refreshing swim before taking the road and as I walked through Mokau some kids on their bikes stopped to ask why I had ski poles. I am so glad to have them no matter how many, "they are for the snow eh?" comments I get. Better looking silly tham
having two gammy legs fof the rest of my days.

With a bit of minor climing I followed the coast looking for a good place to camp. A few bays round I got to an absolutely idylic beach with a bit of gress at the back to pitch up on. It was a deserted heaven with steep hummocked hills and the gleaming ocean seperated by some large scattered pohutukawas and a small stream. This is what its all about I said to myself as the dipping sun turned the wispy clouds into a pink floyd backdrop to my perfect campspot.

Damn Gorse		Lunch Spot
Pefect Camp Spot		Tree Meditation

SUNDAY 9th JANUARY - THANK GOD FOR BEER!
I was hoping for a majical sunrise but when I poked my head out at dawn the clouds were obscuring the rising sun. It was still pretty special waking up in such a lovely spot and I happily busied myself with packing up my chores while nibbling by dried apple breakfast (Thank you Lucas for the apples! They will be appreciated all the way to Wellington!). Once packed up and fed I set out up the steep hill behind me as the coast ahead looked impassable. After very carefully negotiating the electric fences I hit the summit and could see the farm by the beach below. Not wanting to right by it in case my tresspassing wasnt appreciated I took a path through a pine forest in the hope I could cut across more of the headland. It was wet going throught he long dewy grass and I soon found myself half sliding down a near vertical slope trying to follow some animal tracks. In the end I came out right next to the farm anyway so I should have just gone down the nicely manicured track. I really need to work on my tramping intuition to avoid these tricky interludes but I suppose I wouldent have the stories to tell.

I took the road around the coast and soon came across a sight I been longing to see since arriving here, an unflattened possoum. I could see it from a distance as it was in the middle of the road and as I approached it I though it was a cat as it wasnt running away but at about 20m it was clearly a possoum. Possoums are New Zealand's biggest pest as once they found their way over from Australia they started their reign of nuisance and sin, eating farmers crops, peoples gardens and most regretably gobbling kiwi and other soon to be endangered, species eggs. They quickly earned themselves pest status and were soon top of recreational hunters kill lists. Despite being NZ's most wanted, possoums ravinous breeding and feeding habits will ensure they remain a permanent resident here; with shooting and mass culling programmes only acting, at best, to control their population. This particular possoum, although in one 3 dimentional piece, was living its last day as it looked to have taken a blow from a car, with blood coming from its mouth. It was still on its feet and we regarded eachother pityingly, me with my huge cumbersome pack and the possoum with its large fearful eyes. They had been described to me as looking like little devils but they are actually quite cute looking in possoum! (sorry couldn't resist) Their thick soft fur, long tails and big eyes make them more resemble a cuddly toy not a beast of the night. Their fur im told is now at the top of the bigItalian fashion house's fabric lists and funnily enough I was currently sproting a pair of possoum and marino hiking socks given to me as a birthday present by my saviour Deborah.

I didnt have the heart to put it out of its mysery and its sharp claws could have easily done some damage if I got too close so I headed off. It was a perfect photo opportunity but im afraid you will just have to use your imaginations. After a few correct turns I was soon snaking my way up into the hills just inland praising the film of cloud that was taming the suns rays. I was trying to bypass a large peninsular and consulting the map I took a right, but in reality a wrong, turn and dripped my way several more kms. Hot and sweaty I shook my pack off my back and regained my composure. No cars had passed as I really was in the back of beyond but lo and behold after a few minutes I heard the chug of an engine approaching. A flower farmer and his young son greeted me and we soon worked out my error. Kindly his son offered to give me a lift back to the turn off and I gratiously
accepted. He had just returned from a nights possoum hunting and we chatted about tramping while bumping along the small windey gravel road. Back on track I waved him off hearing my stomachs calls for lunch.

Before I found a lunch spot I enlisted some water filling services from an English couple and their kids in a camper van. Thay had been recommended this particular beach by friends who had just written 'perfect beach' on their map and once I got over the small dunes I could see what they means. Okupe beach was several large arcs of white sand split in two by a rocky and mussell covered outcrop. Its main charm was is remoteness, being miles down dirt tracks from the nearest small town. There was some small surf rising from the seductive blue waters and I longed to be riding the waves as I left my footprints along the shore.

After lunch sitting watching the sea I picked my way towards the end of the beach. There was a few Maori families collecting mussels from the rocks and I lamented over how great it was to be able to pick your own dinner from the shore. Its what Maori's and a lot of other Kiwi's are proud about and they all seem to fully appreciate natures abundance here. From pepe's (small shell fish) to pigs, there is no shortage of thing to catch for the supper pot.

At the end of the beach I followed a track to another stretch of idylic sand. It was clear I was in a Maori settlement as there were lots of Maori families with not another pakeha (white) face in sight. Behind the beach were several ramshackle wooden houses and grafitied caravens nestled by the hills and I stopped to ask the way from a woman mending her fence. She pointed me along a track but said it was private property. I took my chances and headed in that direction. I really felt like I was in the Maori heartland and imagining no cars or other modern convieniences it could have been thousands of years before. Little has changes in some aspects of Maori life sice then; still raising their families and living off what the land and sea provided. I felt honoured to have had a glimpse of this little spot of paradise and I was struck by an inate sense of happiness in the realisation that ancient Maori culture was still alive and well with no danger of being spoilt, at least not here anyway.

I stuck to the track and over a couple of hills found myself walking through more beautiful bays but this time studded by luxury batches with pristine lawns and tennis courts. It was if I had stumbled through a time warp from an ancient to a modern utopia. I asked some walkers how far it was to Whananaki and it was only 8km away but disasterously there was no pub to get an icy cold bevvies at the end of a hard day! One of the walkers said he would drop one off to me but I didnt think anymore of it as I strolled on. I needed another dip and to some bemused looks I flopped into the water. There is nothing like a cold dip to recharge tramped out betteries and my mind was taken back to the summer in the UK where I had chatted to a fellow walker while wallowing in the sea along the Pembrokeshire coastal path. He was in his sixties and had walked over 20 miles that day. While I praised how nice the sea was he told me he had had over ten dips that day alone. It was a proven tramping trick again confirmed by my post dip spritely pace.

It was even better surf here and I was desperate to get in it but annoyingly in NZ there is no surf hire, not that I have seen anyway. Several more gravel paved kms and I was in Whenenaki, a mainly holiday batch town hugging an estuary. I pitched up at the school where they took in campers in the holidays to supplement the coffers. While pegging down only a few metres from the waters edge my neighbour, a chatty 74yr oldcalled Laurie, came over and introduced himself. He invited me into his caravan for a cuppa where I met his wife, daughter and son in-law. By the time I left for bed I had arranged a morning game of tennis with Laurie as I wasnt planning a full days walking after two heavy days. I have learnt my lesson after 90 mile beach. As I neared my tent there was a gleaming, condensation dripping beer illuminating the entrance and I thanked the lord for all the kind charitable
people in this world. The walker I had met earlier had sneaked in and left me a can of amber nector just as he said he would. I didnt even get a chance to thank him but as I necked each orgasmic gulp I eminated telepathic thanks to all those that cared to tune in. Thank god for beer!

The Story Continues... click for the next page!