Hiking New Zealand’s Abel Tasman Coastal Track

Who says you can’t go back?

The seven fireys love me. They also hate me. Four men, three women and me. Volunteer firefighters from the Auckland region of New Zealand, this hike on the Abel Tasman Coastal Track is a reward, a reunion and a retreat for them. We keep leapfrogging each other on trail. They smile and joke as they pass me on the downhills. Huff and puff and grumble as I scoot past them on the ups. A little bit in front, but not out of earshot, I hear, “Ay, who’s this ole lady kickin r ass on the hills?”  I laugh and keep moving. 

I’ve been here before. Back on New Year’s Eve, I day hiked in this park. The Abel Tasman is NZ’s smallest national park, but the most visited. It is not really all that accessible. You can drive a long way to get here, but most folks hop on a water taxi and get dropped off at one of the many bays along the coastline.  When I was here a few months ago, I fell in love with the forests and beaches. I wanted to come back and I’m glad I did. The track, my fourth Great Walk, is 37 miles. I am very lucky to get bookings at the huts so I don’t have to carry my tent. Spaces in Great Walk huts are usually booked a year in advance. Thank you trail gods. And special thanks to whoever cancelled last minute!

It doesn’t get much better than this

I’d flown back to Nelson from Invercargill on Air New Zealand. Flying on prop airplanes over mountains and seas would usually have me digging for the Xanax. I’m generally a fearful flier, but the day was sunny and my nerves were calm. It was a wonderful trip. I stayed with Kath, who’d I’d found on Airbnb a month ago. When I got to her house, she welcomed me and explained the bare-bones condition of the interior of her home. She’d recently sold her house and was in the process of clearing out. Graciously, she left everything in the spare bedroom ready and equipped for my stay before, and after, I hiked the Abel Tasman. She also let me keep my extra gear in the closet, significantly reducing my pack weight on trail. 

Abel Janszoon Tasman was a Dutch explorer who was the first documented European to “discover” New Zealand. In 1642, his ship anchored off Wharewarangi Bay, (my destination on day three) but he never came on shore. Māori chased him away and it would be 120 years before Englishman James Cook came back to “settle” the country. 

Day one I rehike the seven miles I did back in December and arrive at Anchorage Hut early in the afternoon. Thank goodness I didn’t stop often or take long breaks, because an hour after I arrive, the skies open and the deluge begins. Day hikers, tenters and others crowd into the kitchen and under the eaves of the building to escape the driving rain. It continues for hours and I am so thankful to be high and dry. I sleep as well as can be expected and the next day, I am ready for more adventure. 

I am getting rather lazy as far as my mileage goals go. Instead of hiking the 16 miles to my next destination, Awaroa Hut, I hire a water taxi to shuttle me ahead seven trail miles. What the heck. It is cheaper than an Uber (not that there are any around) and a lot more fun.

I meet Angelique on trail right before the hut. We aren’t really hiking together but we both keep stopping and gawking at the Tasman Sea. After a short beach walk, the trail climbs high up on the hills allowing for fantastic views. By late afternoon we’re all at the campsite: me, the fireys, Angelique, the five University boys, and all the others. It’s another full house. Everyone but me, strips down and swims in the bay. I go in, but just up to my knees. The water feels cool and soothes the sting out of all the bug bites covering my itchy legs. 

We all crowd around both indoor and outdoor tables cooking and eating dinner. And talking. This is my favorite time. I really like getting to know people. Especially outdoorsy people. We don’t talk about how much we hate our jobs or brag about the fancy car we drive, or compare how much money we have, or don’t have. We are all relaxed and open, sharing interesting, authentic snapshots of our lives. And I ask a lot of questions. 

Angelique brings tears to my eyes when she tells me she traveled to NZ  from the Netherlands to reunite with a long lost childhood friend. One who left their country and their friendship 15 years ago on bad terms. Good terms now. The Uni boys all talk about what they’re studying. Some excitedly; some anxiously. I hear funny, fabulous stories from similar-aged Kiwi women about their quests to complete all 11 Great Walks. The firefighters mostly talk about the food and beer they’re going to consume when we get to the end of the trail in two days. They don ball caps with insignia of their firehouses and one guy wears a smart, flowery Hawaiian shirt. “I’m the classy one of the bunch,” he says after I compliment his style. I love these people. 

Beautiful weather, beautiful hiking

The next day, I get up early and am the first out of the hut. The moon’s gravity cycle is in our favor, allowing an early morning low tide crossing of the 3/4 mile Awaroa Inlet, which is right outside the hut’s doorstep. There is no high tide trail option. So you have to wait for low tide, even if it’s at a very inconvenient time. For those who aren’t familiar with tides, there are two low and two high tides every 24 hours. So if low tide is 4 am, high tide will be six hours later at 10ish am. Next low tide will be at 4ish pm, high tide at 10ish pm. Next day, low tide will be about 4:30ish am. And the cycle continues. Luckily, today low tide is 7:46 am. Perfect time to get going and hike the 11 miles to the next hut. The seabed is mostly smooth, but some sharp rocks and shells are hard to avoid. The water reaches my knees in some sections. Other areas, the mud tries to suck the jandals (Kiwi for sandals) right off my feet. I’m glad I’m holding my trekking poles, because several times I almost lose my balance and tumble over. 

The weather continues to cooperate and the views just keep coming. This day hike to Wharewarangi Hut turns out to be my favorite. The fireys catch me and pass mid morning. When I roll into Tōrtuanui Bay around lunch time, they are all sprawled out near the beach slurping down ice blocks (popsicles) and tell me the Very Berry flavor is the one to get. By the time I leave, I’ll have consumed all three flavors and confirm, that yes, the Very Berry beats out Banana Bunch and Tropical Sunshine. Hands down. Make that sticky hands down.

The rest of the day I am treated to amazing views of the water. This is the area where the Tasman Sea meets Golden Bay. I could stay a long time marveling at the views, but I continue, knowing that cresting the next hill or turning the next corner, will, most likely, reward me to even more stunning ones. 

Wharewarangi Hut is an old fishing and hunting cabin. I hear a day hiker remind her partner as they pass by that this is the place they almost got married at. It exudes tons of personality and charm, but I bet the two mile walk from the car park may have crossed it off the list. We all drop our packs and head to the beach. We’re on the ocean front now and the surf is rougher. Some people swim, I just dip my toes in. A couple guys head down the beach to investigate a large black blob several hundred yards away. They come back and tell me not to go down there. It’s a rotting, decaying and very stinky whale carcass. Later, the rangers explain the beaching last month when a dozen whales came ashore. This one didn’t make it back. Usually, they bury the carcass, but in this case, DOC management decided to let nature reclaim it. Not a project I needed to see.

The next day, everyone was glad to be heading back to their car, bus, or water taxi to town. Some hiked the couple miles to the car park where a long shuttle ride took them back to Nelson. Some, myself included, had to retrace a few miles back to meet a water taxi to ferry to the beach at the entrance of the park, and then catch the Better Bus. When we got back to Tōrtuanui, everyone jumped in the water to cool off. I even went in, gym shorts and sports bra. The fireys left on an early water taxi and I laid under the shade of some palm trees and took a nap. 

Later in the afternoon when I got on the bus, the driver checked off my name and was ready to go. “Wait,” I said, “my friends aren’t here.” 

“What’s their names?” he asked and handed me his clipboard to see if I saw them on the manifest. 

“I don’t know. We met on trail. They’re all firefighters. That’s all I really know.” 

“Well then, I’m sure they sorted their way back. Maybe on another bus.” 

We left the lot and headed towards the park exit. I felt sad and a let down that I hadn’t had a proper goodbye. But five minutes later, the bus slowed and turned off the main road to stop at a small honky tonk dive bar. And there they were, bellies full of burgers and beer. Laughing, joking, burping and belching as they threw their packs in the bottom storage compartment and climbed aboard. 

“Hey, bus driver, I’m not sure you should let these degenerates on!” I joked as they walked down the aisle and sat all around me. We exchanged high fives and congrats. They told me they used their early ferry extra time to hitch to the bar and start refueling. I told them about my restful nap back on the beach. A woman sitting in front turned and asked me what tour I was on, “You all seem like great friends.”

“No, I just met them hiking. I’m the ole lady and these are the fireys.”

Sometimes names aren’t necessary. You may forget people’s names. But you will never forget how they made you feel. I settle into the hard bench seat and slide the window open as much as I can to invite any breeze into the hot stuffy bus. Lean my head back, close my eyes, and think, “This is the hiking trip I’ll remember forever.”