Day 177 - The last day on trail.
The fear of it, the excitement of it.
Today’s the day. Well, it was, a year ago today.
18th May 2021. Day 177
We woke up in a backpackers in Invercargill with the heaters on, gear hung over the backs of chairs and all edges of the floor to dry out - a real treat. Putting on wet gear in the morning is so lame and we're out of gas for it.
Packs loaded for the last time. Just one day's worth of food for five to carry - not even dinner, so light. So good. Breakfast in a warm kitchen with other travellers, even a hiker mate who finished yesterday afternoon. He has nothing to get up for this morning, aimlessness creeping in.
It’s dark, raining and cold outside. 4 degrees but feels like -1 and she sure is blowing a gale - the barometer is falling. We thought about taking the day off to wait for better weather, bugger that. We all agree to get it done.
The forecast is for strong winds and heavy rain with a high of 9. We booked a taxi back to where we got to yesterday, somewhere on State Highway 1 to Bluff. The driver is a good guy. He loads us, our packs and hiking poles into his van and finds a spot to drop us off somewhere near Greenhills, magically skipping a few ks of the worst of the road walking. Local council are working on a footpath to remove the hazard that is walking in a small space along the edge of SH1, with plenty of trucks screaming past to the shipping port, but it's not completed yet (it may well be a year later). We join a section of it and are so thankful for the space to walk and the low but strong, cabled barrier between us and the fast traffic.
There's not much of a sunrise, hidden behind cloud. Still, there's comfort in the sky beginning to lighten, patches of blue and grey promising we'd soon see more of where we were. We find Bluff Harbour on our left, cars and trucks to our right, rain above and sideways and wind gusts that trip you up.
Gloved hands connected, squeezing each other's cold fingers to keep the blood flowing. Hold on tight. We start to keep watch for the big trucks and try to call out above the sound of the wind, rain and traffic so we can brace together and make a game of being blown sideways. Hilarity is our only option.
Roadworks up ahead where they're working on this walkway. Wet blokes and machinery and wind. We're off the footpath and back onto the roadside. Bummer. Shouldn't be for too long. A car pulls over next to us and we think they're going to tell us they don't like us walking on the road with the kids. It's dangerous; they're fearful. Instead, out jumps a kind woman with cups of hot chocolate. It's unbelievable. It's the most tremendous moment in trail history! It's absurd and oh so gracious. It's Vanessa and her toddler is in the back, staying out of the rain. Her husband is local counsellor and all-round good guy, Marcus Lush. He drove past us back there a few ks, must've felt both excited and sorry for the kids, called his wife and asked if she could drop off some hot chocolates. He also wrote on the community Facebook page, BLUFFYS;
'Family with very young children (look like under ten) appear to be finishing Te Araroa Trail! In this hail. Seem to be about six kms from Bluff (just past Marcus Jarvises) - make them feel welcome Bluff! Heroic effort!'
And did they ever make us feel welcome.
The next hour took us through a fair bit of hail, but thankfully, off the highway, past the big rusty BLUFF sign, up over a hill and onto the back streets, then back down to the main drag.
We tramp past boatyards, murals on concrete walls and signs for the Oyster Festival this weekend - the biggest event on the calendar. Town is booked out.
More hail, art deco homes, factories, more magnificent murals, quaint little shops and then one of us looks up and see’s a person on the street up ahead looking at us.
She’s standing in the rain outside the cafe, waving at us, inviting us in. 'Come in and have a hot drink, it's on us!'
Then while we’re in there, having a hot drink and thawing out, I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s my old mate, Sox, from Art School days. Says he saw us walking down the street so pulled a u-turn on the main street of Bluff to come in for a cuddle. What are the chances, it's been 20 odd years since we’ve seen each other.
Warmed with meeting several of the locals, good yarns, real coffee, marshmallows and official Trail medals around the kids' necks, we head back out into the day. The final leg.
Hail gathers in the gutters looking like perfect little snowball making piles and Golds wants to stop and play, just like we did in the Motutapu, scraping snowballs together to throw at each other - it was the best! Bummer for her, the others want to get it done. It’s ok Golds, hail doesn’t hold together like snow anyway, see?
One more hill to climb. Up Flagstaff Road (trail notes tell us the Foveaux Walkway is closed due to dangerous Bulls) and up the winding road to Bluff Hill/Motupōhue.
The view from the top is brief and wind tortured as more hail stings our cheeks. We find vague cover on the ground below some trees and quickly smush food into our mouths, cold fingers struggling to find the mark. Time to head straight into that South Westerly blowing in from Antarctica.
This final leg takes us back down toward the ocean - on a good day you’d get views across Foveaux Strait to Rakiura/Stewart Island. Today we see flax being belted by the wind, dark blue ocean, white caps, waves, patches of blue sky, clouds and a rainbow way out where we reckon the Island would be.
The noise of the wind makes it hard to talk, we find ourselves in our own worlds, marching to the end. Each of us with a different victory song brewing. Hail stings, wind blows, fingers frozen and smiles twitching at the edges of our mouths in a 'holy shit, have we really done it' kind of a way.
“Excitement tickles our hearts and the strangeness of not having to walk tomorrow approaches. ”
How often we'd talked of this moment, dreamed of this day. Would we make it? Six months ago when we started at the top of Aotearoa New Zealand, some 3000kms away, we couldn't have told you. We didn't know if we'd all agree to keep on going. We didn't know if we could climb those maunga/mountains. We didn't know if we could find awe in the endure of it all.
Feet squishing inside days old socks with remnant weeks of old sweat and grime - you just can't get it all out in the wash. The pace picks up. Juno can't stop laughing and Golds just has to run. Running through puddles, wet pack swinging, she's bouncing high and squealing as she spots the yellow sign posts.
It's like seeing the hut at the end of a twelve-hour day, times a hundred and seventy-seven. Open arms from Aunty Jules and Uncle Zane who just pulled up in their van, driving through snow from Christchurch to get here. To bring us champagne to cheers in paper cups, (grapetiser for the kids) and warmth and celebration. So we didn't have to finish and then walk back to town and call a cab. So someone could take a photo of us swinging from the sign all together. We'll never forget that ending. And it'll always remind us of the beginning.
The fear of it all, the excitement of it all. The wonder of it all.
SH1, Invercargill to Bluff. Day 177.
