Friends, family and fungi: Redemption on Te Araroa trail
After learning he had stage four cancer, rookie tramper Martin van Beynen decided to tackle some long walks along Te Araroa trail. His first eight days were a disaster. Then he tried again.
After a fairly agonising first stage of Te Araroa trail, which I recounted for The Press a few weeks ago, some might have wondered if I would ever venture out the door again. Just to recap. On April 6, after a terminal cancer diagnosis, I set out to walk part of Te Araroa trail. The tumours on my lungs were growing slowly, so I had about six months before starting chemotherapy. Why not give my body a little punishment for being such a turncoat, I thought. Hence the trail.
My first leg, from Arthur’s Pass to Lewis Pass, did not go as smoothly as hoped due to a lack of fitness, mistakes and general cluelessness. After eight days (four of those in rain), and three days overdue, I arrived at Windy Point a little wiser and 5kg lighter.
Never again, I thought, but, a week later on April 20, with memories of the pain receding, I started an eight-day section between Lewis Pass and St Arnaud.
The first leg had exposed some shortcomings in my gear so another visit to the outdoor shops was required before I left. I mainly needed a much lighter sleeping bag, new boots to give my dodgy ankle some support and waterproof overtrousers to replace the ones I abandoned at Harper Pass on the previous leg.
After another sizeable cash injection into the Canterbury economy, which should show up in the next GDP figures, I was ready for anything. Despite presenting outdoor companies with a golden opportunity, no-one had accepted my invitation for endorsements, although I did get a discount at Further Faster.
The first good sign for a better walk was that my pack was so much lighter than the previous jaunt that I thought I must have forgotten something.
Another major change was that this time I had companions. My mate James Dixon was joining me for the first three days and then Mrs VB, whose failing knees have ended her tramping career, was driving over the Maling Pass (1308m) to spend a night at Waiau Hut and to drop off daughter Ella, who would finish the section with me.
Good friends Mike White and Nikki Macdonald from Wellington were going to walk in from St Arnaud to join us for the last couple of days.
After the misfortunes of the first leg, they all clearly thought that I would survive another leg only with tight supervision.
James and I set off from Boyle Village. I felt a bit sorry for James. He had been a fine athlete in his day and was usually very fit but the last year had seen more wining and dining than vigorous physical activity. The pain that I experienced in the first leg of the trail now lay ahead of him.
His pack also weighed more than mine and he was only on the trail for three days. What a rookie, I thought, until each night he produced an array of delicious predinner nibbles. What a mate!
That first day we slogged our way through the bush with the autumn sun shining unimpeded overhead and spent the night at Boyle Flat Hut.
Huts and their occupants can vary widely. A good hut is clean, has plenty of firewood and has wellmannered and entertaining fellow travellers. On all these fronts Boyle Flat was exceptional. When we went our separate ways the next day, we were such good friends we had hugs and a new WhatsApp chat group.
Karyn and Jamie, perhaps the fittest and best-equipped trampers in recent New Zealand history, were there when we arrived and later Trev and Jackie trudged in. Outdoor veteran Trev was 77 and despite several bypass operations and a current battle with prostate cancer was walking the St James Walkway with his partner Jackie, also in fine nick for her age.
Well after dark, Ollie and his teenage daughter Jessica piled in, having been delayed by Jessica’s feet, so blistered and patched they looked like she had stood on a mine.
James and I marvelled at Karyn and Jamie’s set-up. They carried a device that provided hot showers at the end of each sweaty day and each morning Jamie made Karyn an Americano (an espresso shot diluted with hot water).
Ollie was one of those salt-of-the-earth trampers who has everyone’s best interests at heart and the morning found him chopping a month’s supply of firewood for the hut. After the already mentioned hugs, James and I headed through the frost to Anne Hut, an eighthour walk away. It was another beautiful day and the track was manageable except for a grunt up the 1132m Anne Saddle, which surprised both of us.
Anne Hut was full of boisterous teenagers and their parents but they were welcoming and gave us two bunks, conveniently sited for the nightly bladder demands of old codgers.
Another clear sunrise the next day suggested the good weather would hold and we headed off bright and early to walk the 27km to Waiau Hut. We smashed the first 20km and waited for Mrs VB to come over the Maling Pass in the Toyota Surf.
Neither of us thought the rendezvous would actually happen but a glint of something through the trees turned into a blue Toyota Surf going strong. Thank goodness. Mrs VB was bringing dinner and hopefully a good bottle of shiraz.
About two hours later we were happily ensconced in Waiau Hut, a little charmer with six bunks and a mini log burner, which was soon crackling.
We had a lovely curry brought by Mrs VB but alas she had forgotten the dessert and hadn’t felt like lugging in a heavy bottle of wine. I think I hid my disappointment well.
James left the next day with Mrs VB, and Ella and I looked forward (with dread on my part) to a big effort that would take us over the Waiau Pass (1870m) and to Blue Lake Hut.
The walk took us through magnificent country and impressive waterfalls but all relentlessly uphill. The climb up Waiau Pass would challenge a wiry mountain goat and although Ella forged on, I stumbled and crawled my way up, always meeting the tramper’s curse – a further climb just when you think you have reached the top. Anyway I got there finally, only to confront a treacherous descent down a scree slope.
I was already beyond exhausted when we got to Lake Constance and my heart plunged when I realised we had two high bluffs to overcome before we got anywhere near the hut. We did the last bit through the bush with our head torches and at last arrived at Blue Lake Hut, a blessed vision from the night.
Buoyed by the thought of a rest day and a short walk (about 3.5 hours) to West Sabine Hut (about 800m), I felt a new man the next day. I had a lovely morning sitting in the sun, pottering around the hut and walking to Blue Lake, which lived up to its legendary status.
West Sabine Hut was pretty full and we met a young guy called Matt who was racing along Te Araroa at a pace that seemed inhuman. He was eating some powdery muck for dinner so we gave him a dehydrated beef teriyaki meal and some other goodies. He scoffed them straightaway like a starving man.
I had a nice chat with some Canadians, one of whom recently did the Camino trail, which starts in France and travels about 825km to Galacia in Spain. She talked about an Italian gentleman who walked the whole trail with an empty wheelchair, as a gesture to his ill mother, who was unable to make the trip. I could have done with the wheelchair on Waiau Pass.
Lucas was on a mission to find New Zealand’s best pie. Boy had he found the right guy. I made some recommendations and pointed him to the classic New Zealand pie video Crust to Crust.
Another day of hard yakka lay ahead going over Travers Saddle (1767m but about 1000m up from West Sabine Hut). High winds and rain were forecast for later in the day so we had to get a move on. The sign said six hours to Upper Travers Hut but didn’t say the first five hours would be a gut-busting uphill.
We got there through the rain and wind on schedule but not after I had drained whatever reserves I had. We took a selfie at the saddle and I look like the survivor of a terrible ordeal.
Relief was in store after we negotiated the descent to Upper Travers Hut, where Mike and Nikki were already in residence with the fire going and a cup of tea ready. They had brought enough supplies and treats to keep us going for several
months and had more waiting at the next hut on the way to Lake Rotoiti. Their packs must have weighed a tonne. What an effort! Terminal illnesses bring out the best in people.
Despite not having much appetite, I couldn’t resist the six different cheeses they had brought and the chocolate mint biscuits.
In the evening we saw two lights coming towards us and eventually Jackie and Merlin joined us. Both were super-fit, adventure-racing types and Jackie soon told us her life story, an incredible tale of survival and hardship overcome.
We bonded over fungi. Since the first tramp, I had become a fungi fancier (so was James by the way) or, more correctly, a major bore who likes taking photos of fungi in situ and then forcing others to look at them. With leaves and different plants as a backdrop, I think they look like nature’s ikebana but others can’t get nearly as excited.
Jackie was not one of them. She had a gallery of lovely fungi pics to show off. She loved mine too.
Snow greeted us in the morning and Ella, Mike and Nikki decided to walk up to the saddle to experience the weather. I wasn’t going anywhere near the place and stayed back at the hut just faffing around.
That was until I had to fill the wood box. Firewood is a real bone of contention with trampers. Some trampers seem to think there is some kind of firewood fairy who miraculously fills the wood box without them having to lift a finger.
Some dead trees behind the hut looked like fertile ground and I spotted one that someone had tried to chop down but had managed only a half-hearted nibble.
What they started I intended to finish. With the aid of a sharp handsaw and a blunt axe I set to work. My plan for a relaxed morning went out the window.
After a couple of hours the tree was still standing and worryingly presented a real danger. I imagined someone going to the toilet and being squashed by the tree I had left in a dangerous position. I had to keep going.
Finally and with a crash the others heard as they were coming back to the hut from the saddle, the tree, to my great relief, toppled.
It landed right next to the woodshed and yielded copious firewood.
In the afternoon we headed down to John Tait Hut in the snow. Mike and I took a long time. He indulged me as I took pics of all the impressive fungi and I had a sneaking suspicion he was ripe for conversion.
Unfortunately two were false alarms. I spotted what I thought was a splendid fungus on a bed of moss near a waterfall and took a picture. The grainy texture of the fungus puzzled me and when I handled it I realised someone had sicked up their porridge.
Another beautiful fungus with delicate white petals turned out to be a used tissue.
We had our last night at the John Tait, making a small dent in the truckload of supplies Mike and Nikki had brought.
We then walked the seven hours to St Arnaud along the shores of Lake Rotoiti. I forced myself to ignore fungi picture opportunities so we would get to St Arnaud before dark.
After eight days on the trail it was a happy tramper who emerged from the bush. Overall it had been tough but brilliant trip, very different to the previous eightday slog. I was fitter, the weather was better and I was a little less clueless.
But what really made this latest hike was family, friends, fellow trampers and, yes, fungi.