Te Wai Pounamu Waka & Waewae Journey
What does this multimodal raft and rambling adventure look like on the Mainland of New Zealand? Truth is, I don't really know. Do you?

Kia ora and welcome to you, if you’re new here. Many thanks for hitting that button! Today, I bring you an update on The Waka & Waewae Journey. Sort of. Please help!
2022 was a year of big, bold plans. They were built like dreams, except rather than sleeping through them, I was awake and making them happen. Taking my packraft on a journey the length of the country was my top goal. On the 8th January, some friends and I arrived at Te Rerenga Wairua/Cape Reinga, ready for the off. Knees buckling under the weight of my pack, I stumbled through to Spirits Bay. Then, I quit four days later.
It was only a temporary adjournment. Two months later I was back on the river path, voyaging south out of Auckland. Since I didn’t return to the Far North until later in the year, this became a convoluted section adventure. The thru-adventure dream was dead in the water.
Injury struck and postponed my lower North Island completion. I filled in the gap from Pukenui to Helensville, after a weird and wonderful winter harvesting avocados. The Whanganui River to Cape Palliser was the remaining slice. It turned out I couldn’t even do that without something getting in the way. Still, I got there in the end, so take that Adventure Gods! We even raised nearly $2,000 for my indecisive selection of charities.
After the North Island comes the South Island. It’s the way these things go. The only trouble is: I don’t wanna! Okay, that’s not exactly true. I do really want to, but a couple of unfortunate events, some hesitation and a few new experiences have made me hit the VHS pause button. Cue the wavy lines. What’s another 25 million seconds on the duration of this project, anyway?
I was somewhere in the lower North Island, between the Tararuas and Lake Ferry, when I began to question my affection for continuing straight on to Te Wai Pounamu. My left hip was fussing as I clambered out of the ranges to Masterton. I didn’t feel like the well-oiled machine that had motored from Point Chev to National Park in a matter of weeks. The pack felt humongous, despite no real change in gear. I cursed the track every time it forced me to detour up a near-vertical climb to avoid a fallen tree or slip. I wasn’t happy.
Arriving at Lake Ferry, the Wairarapa wind was howling and I was howling straight back at it. I actually was. Swears and other demands were hurled brazenly at the weather, as if it would help. Two days later, I was sick. I couldn’t eat and I couldn’t move. So close to Cape Palliser, yet the mission was paralysed. It was decided: recover, knock the North Island off, then take some time to really recover; holistically. It was clear I needed it.
What does Te Waipounamu Waka & Waewae Journey look like?
When I’m ready to go, I’ll know I’m ready to go. Pressing pause has been cathartic. Free of all the pressure to hit the isle running and paddle at break-wrist speed, I’ve been able to think a little. I’ve eyed up the island from new angles; considered a different route. I’m going to do this, but most importantly, I’m going to do this my way. So, I ask you, what is my way?
Lugging the boat and myself over the Tararua Range challenged me. Noted as the North Island’s toughest section of Te Araroa, it’s obvious that similar, more remote and tougher ranges lie ahead on the Mainland. As just a hike, sure, I’d give that a go. However, the raft and paddle and PFD and other bits that go with boating were beginning to weigh me down. Could I cope without effing and blinding at those poor hills?
The South Island is full of mountains and therefore rough, rapid-filled rivers. It’s whitewater or no water. It’s not the same as the jigsaw-piece-shaped, harbour-laden, gentle-flowing North Island. The southern isle feels less like a solo mission. I could easily see myself hiking for two days to reach a river, then just hiking back out as it’s too choppy and I’m on my Tod. Do I recruit a paddle buddy?
Although I try not to let it become a determining factor (life’s too short), the cost of running this adventure matters. Since leaving the orchard in October, the bank account has gradually depleted. It’s not empty, but the plughole is preparing its gurgle. Time to work a little, sprout some savings?
A prompt to pause and take stock came when a good ol’ besty of mine rang and said he was ill. Yes, the kind of ill that makes you stop and analyse life. It’s not my place to go into his journey and the free ‘mind f’kery’ that comes in that cereal box, but my immediate response was to plan to go and see him. With no blood family in this country, we pals are rallying round throughout treatment. You’d do the same, right?
I crossed to Te Waipounamu on the first day of 2023. Regardless of adventure status, it’s where I want to be right now. I spent some weeks in Central Ō, before travelling north, via the West Coast, to hang out with and assist my mate. Inspiration rained on this trip - ironic given the region’s reputation. The Coast, my favourite South Island region, got a somewhat raw deal in The Big Loop: the cycle was swift, as though I was trying to outrun a storm, and the book duly reflected that. In the years since, I’ve wondered how to make up for that. Fascinations have included the bush-bash from Kahurangi Point up Saxon Ridge to the Heaphy Track and the route over Māori saddle from the Blue Pools to the Ōkuru River. To me, both these represent unique and historical ways of entering the West Coast region. I’m also constantly intrigued by the Coast’s coast. The very beaches that give the region its name, yet are hardly brushed by State Highway 6 travellers. What lies out there? Well, in the case of Five Mile Beach, an almost-forgotten ghost town. Rivers blocked passage on the bike ride, but my raft is the perfect ferry. Could joining up these passions provide the path I’m looking for?

(I’ve also been cultivating an idea to run all the beaches of the West Coast, barefoot. I think I’d leave the raft behind and take a support campervan on that one. Apparently, the long-term sand abrasion gives you paw pads, like a cat!)
An early adventure sketch had me travelling southbound from Cape Farewell, past Abel Tasman, somehow over Arthur’s Pass, crossing all the lakes of Mackenzie Country, into Central Ōtākou, Greenstone to Te Anau and down to Bluff/Slope Point (whichever I had the energy for when I got there!). Now I’m wondering if I should follow my heart and make this about the Best Coast?