The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
At last my life-changing adventure was beginning...
Liv Bolton was close to burn-out until she ditched the London grind for New Zealand’s Queen Charlotte Track
‘We were led to hidden beaches, under the branches of majestic rimu trees, and over hills into another bay’
Heaving my backpack off one shoulder, then the other, I dropped its weight with a thud. We had finally reached the top of the seemingly unending hill, and I was sweaty, exhausted and sore everywhere. I stretched and twisted, then tentatively ambled towards the edge of the ridge. Peeking through the tropical forest palms, the view was staggering: New Zealand’s Queen Charlotte Sound, a shimmering ocean inlet with bays and forest-lined beach coves set against a dazzling, cloudless sky. I had to admit, my usual Monday mornings had nothing on this.
It was back in the pre-pandemic days. I had lived in London for nearly a decade, my life revolving around my work as a journalist. Swallowed by the office for 12 hours at a time, answering emails from 5 in the morning until 11 at night, I was always on-call and found it impossible to relax. My identity was defined by my job, and my worth was inextricably linked to how far up the career ladder I could climb. I was exhausted, mostly grumpy and tearful, and my relationship had recently ended. Sleep was difficult: on hearing a siren at night, I would jump out of bed full of adrenaline, convinced it was a breaking story I’d need to rush into the office for. Resentment of work built up. I was burning out.
I had stumbled to the end of my twenties and, taking stock, realised what a state I was in. There were other nagging thoughts, too. My wonderful uncle had recently died, making me acutely aware that life was short. I’d always wanted to go on an adventure, the kind I could one day tell my grandchildren about and watch as it dawned on them that Granny was once cool. But I couldn’t keep putting it off. For too long I had been saying: “When I’m older.” Now I was older.
I was also a walking cliché: about to turn 30 and questioning where my life was going. I needed some space to reassess, so when my friend Ali – whom I have known since she was a curly-haired 10 year-old – suggested we take a sabbatical to hike in New Zealand, I knew the time had come.
Months of planning later, and our first day of walking the Queen Charlotte Track between Queen Charlotte and Kenepuru Sounds had arrived. At last, my life-changing adventure was beginning. The trek would take four days, snaking 45 miles (72km) from Ship Cove to Anakiwa at the top of New Zealand’s South Island – a challenging hike I wasn’t at all sure I could manage. It is also the first part of the 810-mile South Island section of the Te Araroa trail, which stretches 1,860 miles from the top of the country to the bottom, and if we got through these initial days (which seemed inconceivable), the plan was to attempt the remaining 765 miles.
After an hour’s journey by boat, we had been dropped onto a small wooden jetty that cut straight into the lush forest at Ship Cove, a small bay at the northern tip of the South Island. As the boat motored away, we were left surrounded by nothingness: no roads, houses or shops, our 17kg backpacks loaded with camping gear, clothes and enough food for five days. The plan was to cover at least 12 miles per day, but after struggling up the first hill, wheezing and aching, I was already starting to wonder if I had bitten off more than I could chew.
At least the scenery was idyllic. Sheltered by the forest and scattered with beech and manuka leaves, the sandy track wove around the coastline. We were led to hidden beaches, under the branches of majestic rimu trees, and over hills into another bay. Fantails flew alongside us and the fluting call of bellbirds and lapping of water seemed to be the only sounds. The silence was spellbinding. My life had been a cocktail of noise comprising constant busyness, self-doubt, to-do lists, meetings, emails, and messages. Now, alone in the wilderness with no phone signal, it was quiet. I felt I was able to breathe again – slowly in, slowly out. How had I let those stresses dominate my life for so long?
We staggered into the campsite at Endeavour Inlet in the late afternoon and pitched our tent under an apple tree. I lay on the ground, my body aching and my mind whirring, wondering how we were going to do it all again tomorrow. After an unsuccessful attempt at dinner (resulting in both burnt pasta and stove), we wriggled into our sleeping bags at 7.30pm and read until it was dark. So far we had covered just 9 miles, but life had already taken on a new pace and I knew I needed to savour it.
There was a gloriously different rhythm the next morning. No need for make-up. No more squashing onto the Tube in rush hour. No work email or breaking news alerts to check on my phone. Instead, we woke up when it got light, changed into our only other set of clothes, cooked porridge, packed up our tent, and started walking. I’d slept deeply, and many of my worries about the distance we would need to cover in the next three days had evaporated.
The section from Endeavour Inlet to Camp Bay was fairly flat, giving Ali and I the lung capacity to chat for hours. With no looming appointments or last trains to limit our time, we recalled our 20s and discussed what we wanted from our 30s; we talked about how lucky we had been in life – having loving families, supportive friends and good educations – and how we needed to let this realisation seep deep and put things in perspective when we got home.
From Camp Bay, the incline stepped up, promptly ending conversation. We struggled up the hill in the midday sun, heaving for breath. After two painful hours, we reached the ridge and were rewarded with astounding panoramic views of the Queen Charlotte and Kenepuru Sounds. Further along we found our campsite – a grassy opening with views over the water. We cooked our noodles (successfully, this time), massaged our sore feet, and read as the setting sun drenched the hills with golden light.
Clouds and rain followed us for the next two days of the trek, pulling our attention from the views – now obscured – to the trees, plants and wildlife as they came into their own. We lifted our faces to feel the rain drip from the ferns hanging above us in the forest, inhaled the scent of the manuka bushes lining the route, and watched with amusement as weka – flightless birds about the size of hens – stalked our sandwiches. My senses were heightened and I could feel the fog of stress lifting.
Packing up our tent in the rain at Cowshed Bay and wearing sodden clothes pushed our patience, and our bodies were now a patchwork of bruises and scrapes, but being in nature was a remarkable tonic. I had not appreciated its powerful influence on mental health before: the trees, wildlife and views quieted all worries; the beauty, sounds and colours stirred curiosity and joy. Perhaps a regular dose of the outdoors was what I had been missing.
The miles began to tick by without as much fanfare. We reached 30 miles, then suddenly 37. Our bodies were proving we were strong enough to carry our backpacks and tackle the exhausting distances. As the end neared and our confidence grew, so did my newfound clarity. I knew I wasn’t going to return to my old life when I got home: I was going to address my stress and anxiety and bring the outdoors into more of my everyday. Career was no longer going to be the be-all and end-all. Things were going to change.
We started to pass day walkers, signalling that we were nearing the end of the track. The forest petered out to reveal the coastal village of Anakiwa. Wild agapanthus lined the waterfront. We dropped our backpacks and inhaled their perfume. We had done it.
It’s been two years since I walked the Queen Charlotte Track, which turned out to be just the start of our 800-mile Te Araroa hike. We managed to walk for a further 64 days over mountain ranges and beautiful countryside, wading through more than 200 rivers and streams. It was quite the adventure.
Back in the UK, I set up a walking club and now go hiking with friends each month. I no longer chase promotions, I’m enjoying my work, and I’ve met someone who loves the mountains as much as I do.
We spend so much time thinking about experiences we want to have, but never making them happen. I’m so thankful the Queen Charlotte Track won’t be something I just wish I had experienced – and one day I think my grandchildren will be, too.