To The End of New Zealand and Beyond!

I’ve got a confession, so I’ll go ahead and get it out of the way. This last week I have slept with more people than I have in my entire life. Yep, it’s true. And most of them, I didn’t even know their names. I imagine what you’re thinking. Get that foolish woman a plane ticket back to the US. And an std test. Stat! Hah. Gotcha. Yes, I did sleep with dozens of folks but I wasn’t bed-hopping; I was hut-hopping some of New Zealand’s Great Walks.

Hut-hopping? Appalachian Trail shelter rats and upscale Swiss Alps travelers are familiar with what I’m referring to. After a long day, you (finally) get to a rustic, primitive shelter, cabin, or hut. No electricity, hot water, linens, and in most places, no toilet paper. You meet the 25 or so other hikers who’ve walked the same route. Dump your pack. Unwind. Socialize. Cook dinner and bed down. Sleep on plastic mattresses shoulder to shoulder, nine abreast on a double stacked wooden platform. Wakeup in the middle of the night. Climb over bodies to make your way to the toilet/privy/long drop. Stumble outside to the chill and beauty of a dark, starry night. Do your business. Find the hut again, and climb back over the bodies, most having been awakened by your fumbling around. Snuggle back into your warm sleeping bag. Close your eyes and join in the chorus of snoring, exhausted hikers. Strangers no more. 

But before all that sleeping with strangers, I had other business to take care of: make it to the southern terminus of Te Araroa. Back on October 22, 2024, I stood under the marker at Cape Reinga on top of the North Island and began my journey south. On January 26, 2025, I walked the mile or so from my Airbnb in Bluff, to the historical landmark at Stirling Point, on the very bottom of the South Island. I grabbed the pole and just like that, completed my goal to travel the length of New Zealand. I didn’t hike it. I’m not sure exactly how many of the 1,864 TA miles I hiked and who cares anyway. I’d just spent the last three months backpacking, biking, canoeing, walking, wading, hitchhiking, bussing, shuttling and skipping my way through the most beautiful country in the world. 

Not done yet

At the end of the TA, near the lighthouse on a hill that drops back into the sea, is an interesting sculpture. It’s a large anchor chain that symbolizes the connection between NZ’s main two islands with the much smaller, but significant, third one, Steward Island. There’s another similar sculpture installed there, an hour ferry ride across Foveaux Strait. My next adventure. Most hikers, or even native NZers, don’t go over to Steward Island. I was excited to make the trip. 

Steward Island is also known by its Māori name, Rakiura. It’s 674 square miles with a resident population of 460. Most of the island is densely forested and it is a sanctuary for birds because of the lack of predators. The Department of Conservation, DOC, works really hard to protect the large population of Kiwi birds and other native species. When I was traveling there, I met a DOC worker, who was one of dozens on a special assignment to track and trap a single rat. She laughed when I told her the mission reminded me of James Cagney in an old movie trying to sniff out, capture and kill a “dirty rat.” I’m not sure she knew who Cagney was, but she assured me it was serious business. 

I got on trail about 11 am. The ferry ride that morning wasn’t too bad. The temperature was cool. The skies party cloudy. My short five mile hike would take me through beautiful forests and beaches on the Rakiura Track, my third Great Walk. When I got to Port William Hut, I met wonderful women from Nelson who taught me how to play Kings in the Corner. We traded stories while playing cards and made plans to hike together the next day. 

North Arm Hut was similar to the one last night except someone had left behind a deck of UNO cards. I kept forgetting to say “UNO!” had to draw an extra card, and we laughed and joked until it was time to start cooking dinner. Today, only one person saw a Kiwi. This track is known for THE prime spot in NZ to see one in the wild. I was pretty disappointed that it was not in the cards for me. Damnit. Cards have never been my game.

Hold on tightly 

The ferry ride back to the mainland was an experience. Now I know why most people fly.  The winds were blowing and the waves were cresting. Luckily I had seasickness medicine left over from earlier and was smart enough to take it a couple hours before I boarded the 72’ express catamaran. The skipper warned us to sit as far back as possible and to hold on. He urged us to take off all warm layers of clothing. Keeping your body cool and chilled wards off the nausea associated with seasickness, he said. If you can imagine being trapped in a spinning, front-loading commercial washing machine bouncing on a trampoline for an hour, well that’s about how it was. I kept my eyes closed and imagined seeing the horizon. Tossing side to side, then rocking way back and Bam! the double hulled boat slamming into the sea. Halfway across, people started to dry heave and vomit. The crew distributed puke bags and damp paper towels to wrap around our necks. They assured us this was not all that bad. Only a 6 or 7 out of 10. The scared lady behind me said she couldn’t swim. I turned around, held her hand, and told her we’d be okay.

It took me four hours after we disembarked on terra firma to even think about eating something. But thankfully my head cleared and my stomach settled. I had about 10 hours to rest and get ready to get on a plane and head back north to revisit a track I’d earlier fallen in love with on a day hike, and was now going back to backpack the whole thing. I’ve always been a fearful flier, but after the turbulent and violent ride I had today, hell, I can survive anything!