Waka & Waewae Day 31: Mangahuia to Kaitieke Monument
Food fisticuffs and Fishers Track
Returning to Mangahuia, where the Department of Conservation campsite rests, had gone without incident. I'd caught the bus from Auckland back to National Park, munched a vegan curry and sipped a pint at Schnapps Bar. I had then visited that Four Square for dinner supplies, before walking the simple six kilometres down the road to make camp.
It was ten days since I paused and returned to the city, so darkness fell even earlier than before I left. I gathered round one of the concrete-topped picnic tables at the campsite and emptied my loot onto it. Stove set up, I reached for the can of chilli beans that were to make the night's protein.
"Ohhh, you putz!" I scolded myself, realising I hadn't bought a ring-pull tin. For weight-minimising reasons, I wasn't carrying a can opener. Strictly, I wasn't even meant to be eating out of cans, but I'd allowed myself this 'treat' since the supermarket was so close to camp. Hungry and annoyed with myself, adrenalin took over the problem solving. Inside the camp cooking shelter, I found a shallow dish and a pair of sturdy stainless steel forks. Brandishing one of the forks, I began to bash the lid of the can, striking it with the tip of the handle. After five minutes of this repeated 'woodpeckering', I rolled back part of the lid and poured my nosh into my pot. It wasn't pretty, but it had worked.
The beans consumed with a carby staple of flatbread, I fell into my sleeping bag for the night and slept like a baby, enjoying the comforting sounds of the Mangahuia Stream. The night was a mild one, considering the elevation is around 900 metres.
Morning came and I packed up, before following the exact same State Highway back to National Park. Heading the opposite way were a couple of Te Araroa trampers, Eliza and Vaughan. Congregated briefly on the roadside, they told me how they had a place in town and that was enabling them to have a few sections with just a day pack. My monster creaked behind me as they spoke: lucky things.

Of course, at National Park, I visited my favourite Four Square for some final supplies. I had two days walking, then up to seven days on the Whanganui River ahead, so I had to cram in all I could. To escape town, the plan was to take Fishers Track, then walk the road to Kaitieke Monument. I planned to stay the night with Sharon and Roger, Te Araroa 'Trail Angels' who allow camping on their property.
I love the sensation of leaving a town to head into a wild place. It's particularly thrilling if this is the first time you've ever taken a particular route or trail. My sense of adventure lights up like a fairground ride. Heading into the unknown is part of the thrill, imagining what scenes I may witness just adds to the excitement. Knowing I am as prepared as I'll ever be for what lies ahead bolsters the confidence, confirming that those steps down that next path are the right way to go.
To its west, National Park is bordered by the North Island Main Trunk railway line. Even crossing that (not for the first time!) and peering up the ridge containing the Erua Forest was enthralling. My imagination ran wild up the tiny gravel road, envisaging how it - at some point - turns into just a track.
I dashed up the hill, pausing briefly for a bite on a small mound that felt like 'the top'. As I finished lunch, my phone rang. It was Sharon, from the place by the Kaitieke Monument. Full of friendliness, she talked me through the options, ending with "and will you be needing food?". I was befuddled. I didn't know the right answer! I mean, of course I would be needing food; I always need (want) food, even not after a hike. At the same time, however, my pack was crammed to the brim with goodies for the next nine days. I wasn't sure I needed to go through the cost of a vegan meal with Sharon. So, I politely left it.
Just moments from my little mound, road veered left and a small gap revealed what I had suspected: we were over the pass and downhill awaited. Vast views to the west opened up. Whanganui National Park and beyond was in sight.
The favourable gradient continued, my laden pack pushed me down the gravel hill. A couple of kilometres later, we passed through a gate large enough for a quad bike, but no more. The road had certainly become a track. Grass surrounded the slender pathway, the gravel was gone. Said to be deer farming country, a lot of the gates and fences I saw backed this, though there was a startling lack of deer.
At a junction, a large sign ensured "public road" users continued downwards and didn't stray up to the farmhouse. I had no intention of heading up. The vast views to my right and the promise of a continued downward tramp were far too appealing. There were also some quite special rocks to be seen. 600 metres or so above sea level, yet the rocks had shells in them!
The track spat me out onto a gravel road by a series of flashy country homes. I followed the road down to a bridge over the Tupapakurua Stream, where I purified some much-needed water. Back on the road I met Dan, my second Te Araroa meeting of the day.
With a smiling face, Dan calmly asked questions about my trip and gear. "You're a young bugger," he offered, when I explained things. He was older than me, but didn't appear grave-bound. He was walking Te Araroa! He was fitter than he liked to pretend. I had one question for him: "where are you heading tonight?" He wasn't going to make National Park before dark! "Oh, I'll just throw my gear down in about 30 minutes," he replied. We bid each other farewell and I continued down the road, my mind full of visions of him throwing his tent up by the stream.
There were just under two hours until sunset and I had around 10km still to walk, so I got my stride on. The long and winding gravel road sticks to the banks of the Retaruke River. I peered down at the water, of which there was not enough to float the raft and I down on. I wished that there was. The extra meal weight in my pack was really weighing me down. Add to that the fact I was breaking in a new pair of hiking shoes (Salomon XA Pro 3D V8s) and I was beginning to hit the wall.
A rest stop every 3-4 kilometres got me through and I trudged on up the road. The sun fell and I made it about two kilometres to go. Sharon's parting words from our phone call earlier rang around inside my head: "If you're not here by dark, then I'll come looking for you!" And she did. The SUV slowed up as it approached and I raised a hand to wave. The lady driver poked her head out the open window and said "are you my missing tramper?". I guessed that I was, even if I didn't feel particularly missing. It was nice to see her stick to her promise, though. Not in the business of accepting lifts, I opted to walk the finale, despite the actual agony I was in. My legs ached and my shoulders had had enough. But I was there.
Sharon had left their shed open, lights on and instructed me to sleep in their campervan inside, since it was going to rain heavily overnight. I settled in to the brightly-lit warehouse and began to sift through my dinner options. Oh, what luxury to have dinner options! This wouldn't be the case at the other end of the river.
A quick scan through the guestbook revealed the pair had been putting up Te Araroans for many years, Roger had strong generational ties to the Retaruke/Kaitieke area and there were plans to expand their camping initiative in the works. Just then, Roger turned up and I enjoyed a chat with him personally about his family history in the area.
Dinner consumed, I switched off the bright lights of the shed and settled into their 1985 Ford Courier camper for the night. Next morning I woke from a wholesome sleep, but soon realised something was wrong: my right wrist had an unusual ache in it!
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!