Te Araroa Trail Blog 2: Hacket Car Park to St Arnaud

A day-by-day summary of my journey through Aotearoa. 

Day 7: The Day I fell in the River

Hacket Car Park to Slaty Hut

All TA hikers must be prepared for the inevitable: you will get wet. It will rain. It will pour. The rivers will flood. Your socks will never dry. My initiation into soggy gear came when I fell in the Miner River—during my first river crossing. How great.

The day started beautifully. I woke up in a Trail Angel’s pear orchard to the idyllic chorus of birdsong. I packed up my damp tent, had breakfast, and walked 8 km back to the trail. My spirits were high, and I was excited to enter the alpine forests.

Then came the river. A tiny river. So small that I didn’t bother waterproofing my backpack or tucking my sleeping bag into its dry bag. The water barely reached my ankles. But as I stepped over a large rock, my shoe slipped on algae, and I went butt-first into the ice-cold water. My hiking poles went flying. My foam sleeping pad wedged between two rocks, flailing like a bug on its back as I tried to right myself. Meanwhile, a hiker I’d met three minutes earlier (who had already safely crossed to the other shore) turned around in half-amusement, half-horror. “Your poles!” he cried, pointing at my poles dramatically sweeping down the river.

My new friend sprang into action, dropping his pack and rushing back into the river. A few minutes later, he had recovered my poles and slowly made his way back upstream to where I was sitting sheepishly, having freed myself from the rocks. We shared a good laugh.

After that, my new friend and I ascended nearly 3,000 feet in five miles and officially entered the Richmond alpine zone. I stumbled into the first hut of the day, excited for the sweeping views. But instead, I was greeted by thick clouds. I ate lunch outside the hut with two other hikers, then continued on to Slaty Hut.

By the time I arrived at Slaty around 5 p.m., there were already about 10 other hikers there. All six beds in the hut were claimed, and a few others had set up tents outside. I settled for a rather lumpy patch of grass and laid out my gear to dry. I enjoyed a dinner of couscous and hot chocolate with the other hikers and snuggled into my sleeping bag early.

The dense forest of the Richmond Alpine Track

    

Day 8: The Day of Waiting

Slaty Hut to Old Man Hut

It was a dreary day—the type that teeters between dense fog and full-on rain. I woke up late and struggled to pack up my wet tent and gear. By the time I left camp around 8:30 a.m., another hiker half-heartedly joked that we were late starters, destined to never get beds in the huts. He was right.

Decked out in full rain gear, I made the slow climb from Slaty Hut to Old Man Hut. The trail was less than five miles, but it took me until 1 p.m. to complete. The path wound up and down a ridge line shrouded in fog. I picked my way slowly over sharp rocks. Every blade of grass seemed covered in thick drops of dew. At a few points, I had to chuck my poles over a boulder and then throw myself over it.

When I arrived at Old Man Hut, I was greeted by six other hikers who had already taken refuge there from the dreary weather. The next section of trail climbed Mount Rintoul and was full of scree. It wasn’t advisable to summit in bad weather, and the fog would obscure any view. After much deliberation, we decided to wait out the weather in the hut and summit the next morning. A few more hikers arrived later.

The 10 of us—all soaked to the bone—crowded into the small hut. One person lit a fire, and we passed around cups of warm water. Some hikers were low on food and sat in the corner trying not to feel hungry. To pass the time, we played card games. As night fell, five people slept in the bunks, two slept on the floor, and three tented outside. I had a spot on the floor and fell asleep to the deep breathing of my fellow hikers, praying that no mice would crawl over me in the middle of the night.

Hiking in my full rain gear on a foggy and rainy day

 

Day 9: The Day I almost Lost Everything

Old Man Hut to Tarn Hut

There comes a time in every hiker’s journey when they face near-disaster. Day 9 was that day for me.

I got an early start from Old Man Hut to summit Mount Rintoul. It was a steep but doable climb from the hut to the first peak—Little Mount Rintoul. Dense fog covered the first half of the ascent, but as I emerged from the beech forest, the sun suddenly burst through the clouds. I had an expansive view of the valley below as cascades of clouds drifted over the cliffs. It was nothing short of magical.

Between Little Mount Rintoul and Mount Rintoul, hikers must descend a steep saddle and reclimb to the next peak. The descent is plagued by scree and steep drops. Some hikers say this is the scariest part of the entire TA. I took it slow and near-crawled through some sections.

At one point, I came to a large boulder that I couldn’t step down from easily. It was about three feet high, with no way around. I decided to take off my pack, set it on the ground below, and then crawl over uninhibited.

That’s when disaster struck. As I dropped my bag, I expected it to plop easily onto what I thought was a flat piece of dirt. Instead, my bag teetered on its side, fell over, and rolled—nearly 20 feet downhill. It was tumbling toward a cliff. My pack contained everything—everything! I only had my headphones and a small notebook with me. I didn’t even have my emergency beacon. A wave of panic mixed with a strange sense of calm washed over me. I was about to lose all my earthly possessions, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Thankfully, a scrub bush saved the day. Right on the edge of the cliff, the bush snagged my sleeping mat, which was tied to the outside of my bag. My pack hesitated, rolled half forward, and then slumped back into the bush. My friend, who was about five minutes down the trail, looked up and nearly screamed. “You don’t know how lucky you are!” he shouted in wide-eyed horror. It wasn’t until I reunited with my pack and climbed down to where he was that I saw how dire the situation had been. The cliff was steep, falling sharply into a foggy valley. If my pack had fallen, I would’ve never been able to recover it. I felt incredibly lucky.

After my near-disaster, the rest of the day passed quickly. I climbed up to Mount Rintoul, soaked in the sunshine and expansive views. The descent was quick and steep, and I walked through several miles of dense beech forest before arriving at Tarn Hut. Several others were already there, and we sipped hot drinks and played cards until it was time for bed. Once again, I slept on the hut’s floor—but I was grateful for the warmth.

Beautiful views from near Purple Top on the Richmond Alpine Track

 

Day 10: The Day of Wet Feet

Tarn Hut to Mount Ellis

I had heard of the famed Wairoa River crossing before starting the TA. The river was fast, clear, and cold. TA hikers had to cross it eight times in a single morning. Moreover, the trail between crossings was described as a “goat’s bluff,” with sharp drop-offs and narrow paths.

My walk from Tarn Hut to the base of the Wairoa River was quick and uneventful—something I was grateful for after the excitement of the day before. When I came upon the Wairoa, I immediately wanted to swim. I stripped, hesitated, and then quickly plunged in before my body could react to the cold. The water felt incredibly refreshing.

Next came the hard part: climbing upstream. The sounds of the rushing river were peaceful, and the crystal-clear water highlighted the varying colors of the rocks on the riverbed. At times, I felt like I could see all the colors of the rainbow in the riverstones. I also passed several gushing waterfalls that spilled into green-blue swimming holes, which looked both inviting and terrifying. The trail itself was straightforward but intense. At one point, while trying to bypass a boulder I couldn’t easily climb with my pack, I got so tangled in the vines that I had to cut myself out. I felt like a monkey navigating through the jungle.

By the time I reached the top of the river—near Upper Wairoa Hut—my entire lower body was soaked. My shoes squished with every step up the scree-filled climb. I made a quick stop at Upper Wairoa Hut and then decided to push on. I jumped through tall red boulders that made me feel like I was on Mars. This section of trail was significantly drier, and the landscape shifted to jagged rocks and brown tussock. Eventually, I reached the saddle near Mount Ellis and watched in awe as sunbeams broke through the clouds, lighting the valley below. In true New Zealand fashion, however, the good views didn’t last. Within minutes, dense fog rolled in, obscuring everything. I walked past the saddle and found a small campsite in the forest. I set up my tent and climbed in just as the rain began.

 

One of the many beautiful waterfalls along the Wairoa river

 

Day 11: The Day of Rocks and Mud

Mount Ellis to Red Hills Hut

I thought crossing the Wairoa River eight times was bad, but somehow the day that followed felt even worse. Instead of walking through lush green forests, I found myself in grey, rocky valleys. It held its own sense of harsh beauty, with steep slopes and gushing rivers. I spent the morning rock hopping up and down small and large hills, bracing myself against sidling trails, and chugging endless bottles of water. I ate breakfast at Porters Hut, which had an expansive view of the valley—and many resident sandflies.

After several hours, I entered a manuka forest. The honey collected from bees that feed on manuka flowers is highly prized for its purported medicinal properties. The trees themselves were beautiful, standing relatively low to the ground and dotted with tiny white flowers. The manuka grove opened up onto a small meadow with a hut, where I ate a lunch of instant mashed potatoes and chocolate.

In the afternoon, I slowly made my way to the final hut in the Richmond section: Red Hill Hut. At one point, I scrambled up a muddy cliff face about 30 feet high, suddenly finding myself clinging to two tree roots, thinking, “I really hope these roots don’t snap.” That image of me dangling over a river, clutching the roots, seemed to epitomize my experience in the Richmonds: brazen, adventurous, and just a little too fun.

In the final mile to the hut, I crossed a dense bog that filled my shoes with sloppy, watery mud. I grumbled about just wanting to fall asleep with dry feet that night, but destiny had other plans. I set my soaking wet shoes out to dry and pitched my tent (all the beds in the hut were already taken). My shoes were still wet the next morning—just colder.

A look back at the trail from Porters Hut

Day 12: The Day of Town Delights

Red Hills Hut to St Arnaud 

Town day! Town day! Town day!

I always feel a little guilty rolling into town in my sweaty clothes and stinky backpack. But as I entered St Arnaud after an 8-mile hike that morning, I couldn’t have been more excited. The last stretch of trail into town was a road walk along a busy highway, so I caught a lift with a friendly Israeli couple. They dropped me off in front of the St Arnaud Alpine Lodge, where I eagerly went in to secure my bed for the night. After that, I treated myself to a large pizza and a beer—which I gobbled down way too quickly.

The remainder of the day was spent on town chores: laundry, food resupply, calling family, charging my devices, and planning out the next section. By the following morning, I was feeling refreshed and ready to go!

A glimpse of Nelson Lakes heading into St Arnaud

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Comments 2

  • Ellen R : Jan 24th

    Great photos! Sounds like a sloppy hike with all that rain and river crossings. Glad you were able to get to town and dry out. Thank you for sharing your journey.

    Reply
  • Jess : Jan 27th

    Oh buddy, almost losing your pack over the cliff had MY heart racing 😮‍💨 The thru-hiking gods had a funny sense of humor. “Oh, you want to set your pack down so you can safely descend this boulder? Think again!!!” LOL. Thanks for sharing!

    Reply

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