Waka & Waewae Day 30: Whakapapa to (nearly) National Park
Smash, dash and wasp sting rash. More tales from my packraft traverse of Aotearoa-NZ
At dinner the previous night, Laura's dad Ian had offered me a ride to National Park. I had accepted and was all in, until the adventure bug overwhelmed me during breakfast. Heading back to Auckland for a mate's wedding and to catch up with others visiting from overseas, I was due on the 1:30pm bus from Nat P. I was also about to take more than a week's leave of duty on the adventure and that was bothering me.
At 8:10am, after one round of banana and walnut loaf, with preserves, I made the decision to turn down the lift. I was going to hike those 21 kilometres. Around 15 on track, the final six on State Highway. I had no idea how long the off-road section would take, but I was going to give it a go!
I checked out of the Skotel, shortly before 9am, and briskly marched through the village. I long-legged it past a food wagon, not even tempted to look (okay, I was), and found the entrance to the Lower Silica Rapids Track. Well formed and gravelled, I sped through the bush, beside the gold-toned stream, soon joining Whakapapaiti Valley Track. Almost immediately, I began meeting trampers who'd spent the night in the Whakapapaiti Hut. A pair of older women were first, my speed on the trail startling them slightly. A man and a woman came by next, stopping for a quick chat, until they found out I needed to be in National Park for 1pm. "Oh, we better let you go," said the guy, implying I still had a lot on my plate. I gulped. Did I?
I hurried on, the track crossing multiple gullies and stream beds, before a long boardwalk revealed the finest view of Ruapehu yet. Its chance of an eruption recently upgraded, the maunga sat under the crisp blue sky, like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey.
I reached the final junction, ready to jump onto Mangahuia Track, but my heart sank: "2 hr 45 min" claimed the sign. And that was just to the State Highway! There was easily another hour after that to National Park. It was 10:25. I lingered by the sign, and took a swig of water from my bottle. I filtered some more from the nearby stream. There was only one option: go faster!
Now somewhat concerned, I upped the tempo again, but the early part of this track followed the drainage channel through boggy marsh, making it quite slippery. My trekking poles held their own as I broke into a new pace. Reaching a point where the track turns right ninety degrees, I found an worn down wooden sign promising ‘the Hauhungatahi Wilderness’, with ’no marked tracks in this region’ beyond it. Meanwhile, those of us turning right are informed that ’Mahuia Camp’ is 3 1/4 miles away. “3 1/4 miles, what’s that in kilometres?” I began calculating out loud. “Well, one mile is 1.6km, so that’s 4.8km plus 400m. 5.2km to go!” I proclaimed out loud.
Knowing that could feasibly only take an hour, I began galloping again, soon reaching the Mangahuia Stream, which required a crossing. Fortunately, recent rainfall had been low, so I simply hopped across a couple of rocks, using my poles for stability.
The track was now in thick bush, which I was able to run through for several kilometres, aided by the very gentle downhill slope. Low plants slapped against my ankles, many set in motion by the disturbance of my trekking poles. This disturbance must have also upset the inhabitants, as a wasp suddenly stung me on the back of my left calf. "No! Get off! Not now!" I yelled at the long disappeared creature. I danced about in despair for a moment, before remembering that isn't how you treat stings. And that I had a bus to catch.
My leg was burning, but I pushed on. If anything, it had only made me more determined to make this darn bus. I emerged from the cellphone blackspot and my phone pinged: I had a message from the bus company. The driver was running ahead of schedule and we were asked to be at the stop 20 minutes earlier. I cursed. The bush was being treated to a real intimate vocab recital from me.
Fortunately, very little else went wrong, aside from my pack straps still repeatedly slipping and working loose. A gravity-reducing “jump” and pull on the straps was the fix, each one lasting for around three minutes, before I had to repeat my little jig. What is the solution to slipping pack straps?
The terrain changed again and the track emerged from the bush into scrub. Cars on the State Highway were visible in the distance. I checked my watch: 11:40am. Still over 90 minutes until bus time. I was in with a shot here.
Long and straight, with minimal gradient, the final section of Mangahuia Track into camp is an unchallenging tramp. Running with a packraft, slipping pack and wasp stung leg is considerably more challenging. 15 minutes later, I was on the State Highway, eyeing up the road walk that lay before me. I had this. I wouldn't have time for lunch, but I was going to make it!
A slew of cars passed by on the other side of the road, in the National Park direction. The final one, a silver SUV, stopped. I stomped my way up the road, just as the male passenger got out and ran round the back. ”Do you want a ride?” he called. It was one of my tramping buddies heading down from the hut earlier.
I weighed up the offer for about two seconds. It would guarantee making the bus and I would have time for lunch. I would also be nice and close to a campground when I bussed back in a week to continue the journey. It was only 6km I would only need to re-cover. “Go on then, yes please!” I called back. My pack and I squeezed in amongst their gear in the back and I enjoyed roughly three minutes chatting to my new pals Kate and Rick. “Hope this has taken the sting out of your journey,” said Rick. It most definitely had.
It also afforded me a good hour to peruse the multiple aisles of goodness on offer in the National Park Four Square. This is a store of legend. I’m still mind-blown by the items on offer, ranging from bicycle spares to hiking and camping gear, along with a better than usual food range.
Lunch eaten, I made my way to the train (imagine!) station to get on the bus. A pang of sadness hit me as the bus sped up the highway towards Taumarunui, Hamilton and Auckland, ending the current chapter of this adventure. Since leaving Port Chev four weeks earlier, I felt I’d really hit my stride. I’d walked some serious long days with the boat on my back. Equally, I’d paddled some seriously long and mentally challenging waters. Now, I was going to do one of the riskiest things in adventuring: stop, pause and break.
Kia ora and thanks for keeping up with this adventure! The Waka & Waewae Journey is raising money for the Mental Health Foundation, Cancer Society and UNICEF's Ukraine appeal. I'd appreciate it if you're able to donate or simply share my Givealittle fundraiser with your circles. Ngā mihi nui!