In contrast the journey from Christchurch to Picton had been nowhere near as magical but still fairly eventful. The weather was constantly shifting between a cold cloudy day and a moderately warm sunny day. Looking at the outside temperature on the dashboard display, I saw 8 degrees Celsius at one stage, the coldest I believe I’ve seen it at since my arrival to New Zealand.

The road between Picton and Christchurch is becoming quite familiar, this being the third time we’ve travelled on it, although admittedly it was the first time I stayed awake for the entire journey. It’s a long drive for Diarmuid but he handles it fine once he takes a break to stretch his legs every hour or so.

At an early stop we turned off the main road and went down a secondary road for a short bit. About 40 feet from where I stood, there was a crossroad, where a secondary road parallel to the main road and the road we were on joined. It struck me as odd that there was a secondary road running parallel to the main State Highway 1. It was so quiet and looking straight ahead, the road stretched on for miles. Not 50 feet in the other direction was SH1 with lorries and cars racing by but with my back too all that, all I saw and heard was the long empty road ahead.

Just past Kaikoura, which was perhaps our longest bottleneck due to road works, we made another stop. This time beside the sea. Diarmuid spotted a seal among the rocks and while he went looking for his camera, I started to climb over the rocks, getting a better view of the seal. Then I noticed another seal, it appeared that he was the male and the other the female. I pointed him out to Diarmuid and watched as the intrepid photographer crept closer. He didn’t escape the notice of the bull who was eyeing him before yawning, making a few warning grunts and lying back down again. Diarmuid continued on, for the most part ignoring the seal which continued to complain in a lazy fashion. Having got close enough, Diarmuid got his photo and we left.

As we were getting into our car, a police squad car raced past with sirens blaring. Our first guess was that he pulling over a car for speed and then when he kept on going that a high speed chase was in progress. However, after an ambulance, another police car, and two trucks from the fire brigade: one a rescue truck and the other a full blown engine, it was more than clear that an accident had occurred. With this many vehicles I expected something major but when we did reach the site, it wasn’t as serious as feared. It looked like two cars had been involved and that one had gone off the road. Nobody seemed to be seriously hurt thankfully, though I suspect a tree may have suffered the most.

Back on the ferry, the thought struck me that this was the first time I had been in a truly large city with skyscrapers and lots of light pollution since my last visit to Wellington. It came as a bit of a shock at the time, since that was almost three months. Once off the ferry, we checked into Nomads Capital. While it is not my favourite hostel in New Zealand, I find it cold and clinical, I had not serious objections to it. A quick dinner in Burger King, the only place at midnight and afterwards a visit to iPlay, the internet café we frequented on our last visit to Wellington. Diarmuid settled in to play computer games. After eventually remembering my password, I use the remainder of my credit to check my email before heading back to the hostel.

There I notice a sign that ensures we’ll only be in Wellington for two nights. Nomads is fully booked on Saturday night. The following day, when I get talking to Diarmuid, he tells me that it’s because wrestling is coming to town, so everywhere is booked up. For most backpackers, it means they’re frantically looking for a place to sleep. For us, this means we don’t have the flexibility to extend our stay. It didn’t really matter to me as I only had a short list of things to do.

First, I had emails to write, so I sat down in iPlay and for the first time in quite a while I managed to reply to those awaiting emails and even sending off a much overdue group email.

Next, I wanted to go to Te Papa Museum as Diarmuid had really enjoyed his visit there in December. Perhaps it was due to the fact that I wasn’t quite in the mood for museums or the fact that the exhibition Diarmuid had been enthusing about was closed, but I found myself mostly bored in Te Papa.

There were two notable exceptions and they were both art exhibitions. The first was a sequence of paintings from Cézanne to Picasso. The other was a truly entertaining display of commercial art by a New Zealander, Bernard Roundhill. It was colourful, exciting and fun. As I think back on it, it possibly interested me due to a similarity of technique used in comic book art. Mostly however I liked it as it was that kind of advertisement from the 30s, 40s and 50s which just don’t get made any more. There was one particular piece depicting a city in the year 2500 or thereabouts, that I would have love to get a copy of. George Jetson would have felt at home in it.

I also went to, after my previous visit, my favourite cinema in the world. In the afternoon, I saw the entertaining and light “Casanova” and then “Syriana” that evening with Diarmuid who had been waiting for it to be released. A complex and interesting film. It will require another viewing.

I believe the most important thing that happened though was a shot innocent email from a friend of mine where he suggested we make a short film when I get back. Having read his email, it was like the world clicked into place for me. I could feel something coming in Oamaru, a slight change in the wind, I began to think about writing again. Then in Christchurch, the feeling of having come full circle and how much had changed for me and had happened since I had last been in Christchurch. Here then was the culmination and I found myself on a road. Unsure of where it will lead me or how I will progress, the instant of that click brought a tremendous amount of relief. I now knew what I had always known I wanted to do, but more than that I had subconciously made the decision and commitment to be a writer. This was followed by a flurry of emails between my friend and I and we both promised to send our thoughts on what we could do for the short film.

Forced out of Wellington by wrestling fans, myself and Diarmuid hit the road for our long since planned destination of Whakapapa, gateway for Tongariro. My thoughts however were on a different road and the beginnings of an idea were forming. I felt that a turning point and just occurred and that I’ve entered the third phase of my journey.

Rosemere Backpackers was the second hostel we had checked out since we’d arrived in Wellington, we weren’t impressed with the first place so had decided to check out Rosemere. Diarmuid was going to find some parking for the car, since we couldn’t leave it outside the hostel while I checked ourselves in. When I asked if they had any rooms, the girl at the counter asked “Have you booked?” Not all that worried, I replied in the negative. It hadn’t been a problem anywhere else we’d gone. She smiled at me in a bemused way. “Sorry, we’re fully booked. You really need to have booked, especially for the weekend.” She suggested a few other places and pointed them on a map. I grabbed it and then headed out the back to where the car was. Diarmuid was just pulling away, hence my uphill race.

We started to look for Nomad Capital, as we tackled the one-way system of Wellington. Unfortunately we couldn’t find it, so we pulled over and parked to go look for it. Having paid for the parking, I took two steps to cross the road when I saw that Nomad was right across the road from us. Diarmuid wanted to stay in a Dorm to save some money, and in truth, anything else in Nomad’s was far too expensive for us. I didn’t particularily like the Dorm experience, I prefer my own space, and sharing a room with 9 other people doesn’t quite provide that possibility. Add to that the fact that 9 people go to bed at different times ranging from 22:00 to 06:00 can provide for a disturbed sleeping pattern. Nomad’s itself was a very clean and nice place, obviously recently renovated from being an old hotel into a hostel, but it’s quite cold in style and not extremely welcoming, too modern and the facilities weren’t excellent, particularily the kitchen which felt cramped. I didn’t bother to use it the few days we stayed there.

Once we’d checked in and sorted out the car, parking it in a nearyby carpack and getting what little gear we needed, myself and Diarmuid then started to explore the streets of Wellington. We quickly found what we were looking for, an internet cafe. It had a familiar name to us, iPlay. While it function in much the same way as the iPlay in Auckland, they are in fact two seperate companies. Diarmuid was suffering from computer game withdrawal symptoms and quickly got himself hooked up with Battlefield 2. He stopped for a while to move the car and eat some food, but ended up playing to 05:30!

While I left Diarmuid in iPlay, I went off to try and find Courtenay Place, where the main cinema is and I had heard was a popular spot at nighttime. I spent the next two hours wandering around Wellington, not quite lost, but at the same time, never sure where I was and I didn’t find Courtenay place. It was fun though to just wander through the dark streets. Street lights don’t seem to be a big thing in a lot of Wellington. Over the next two days this happened to me several times, there was something that just confused me about Wellington. Although I did eventually figure where most places of interest to me where, this didn’t always guarantee that I could make my way there without first heading in the wrong direction.

On Courtenay Place itself is Reading Cinemas Courtenay Central cineplex. This has got to be the most luxurious cinema I have ever been in. I went to see King Kong on the Saturday and was delighted when I walked into the theatre. It was huge and I had managed to get a really good seat in the center of a row, that while I would have thought was too close to the front back home, was perfect. Each seat is in fact an armchair with enough legroom to stretch my legs out. The guy sitting beside me started chatting, and we discussed the King Kong premiere which had taken place a few days beforehand, and of course where I was from and what I was doing in New Zealand. As it got closer to the movie, I started to get worried that he’d be one of those persons who talked throughout the movie, but he soon quieted down. By the by, I thought King Kong was an excellent movie, though perhaps the T-Rex fight went on a little too long. I also went to see The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe again. The sound hadn’t been brilliant in Napier so I wanted to see it in what for me was now the best cinema I’d ever been too. I enjoyed it just as much as the first time I saw it.

As the kitchen didn’t encourage me to do any cooking, I ended up for the most part returning to Burger King. I don’t fully understand this, since I would never go to Burger King but here I’ve been to it on a fairly regular basis, especially in Auckland and Wellington. I guess it’s because it’s cheap and quick. I don’t know if free refills is typical everywhere outside Ireland, but it’s something I wouldn’t mind seeing making it back home. Not that I normally go for a refill, but it’s good to know the option is there.

On a much more tastier and better note is Crepes A Go Go, which is a small shop on Manners St. which serves real crepes made by a French woman trained in Brittany. She also serves Galettes, savoury pancakes which are a Breton speciality. I managed to have a small conversation in French with her, but I really need to practise speaking. Understanding French is not a problem, but I’m quite slow at times when speaking. Two of my breakfasts were provided by Crepes A Go Go and I still remember with watering mouth the one I got on Sunday overflowing with cream and raspberries.

The last day in Wellington was eventful. We were booked on the ferry that evening, but my day started a lot earlier than that. Parking was a bit of a problem in Wellington, though Diarmuid did find a carpark where we could leave it for the weekend and it was comparatively inexpensive compared to the other options. There was however a catch, as there always is, which meant that the ticket needed to be renewed at 05:30 in the morning everyday. For the first two days, Diarmuid had done the needful and in part was why he had stayed up so late that first night playing computer games. It was my turn that morning, the only problem I had no idea where the carpark was, Diarmuid provided some concise directions the night before but based on my previous experiences in Wellington, I was far from confident. 05:15 arrived with the blaring of my alarm from my mobile phone. Groaning I quickly switched it off and got up. I’d only gone to bed around midnight and it had taken me my usual half hour or so before I’d drifted off. Completely on autodrive and nowhere near awake I headed out the door and out into the morning light.

The next 45 minutes were spent wandering once more around Wellington, this time close to the docks. Diarmuid had said it was only a short walk away opposite a petrol station, so anytime I saw a car park, and especially when it was close to anything that looked in anyway like a petrol station, I checked it out, but none of them proved to be the right one. Still half asleep and much discouraged I headed back to the hostel and woke Diarmuid up. “I can’t find this place.” He groaned and in an annoyed tone gave me the exact same directions. Myself now quite annoyed, headed out once more and decided to keep on walking until I found this damn carpark. I laughed when I did see the petrol station, if I had taken ten extra steps instead of turning back I would have seen it. With my duty fufilled I headed to iPlay, it being still too early for breakfast.

Just after 09:00 I headed back to the hostel to finish checking out when I found that I’d lost my keycard for the room. Thankfully I’d already taken all my gear out of the room and left it at the car, but I’d now lose the $10 deposit. So really disheartened and by now very hungry, I made my way back to the car again, retracing my steps and looking for the little rectangle of white plastic. I didn’t find it. So I explained myself at the counter and checked myself out. Starving by now I went in search of food.

By this time it was 10:00 and I needed something substantial. I wanted a fry! A nice plate filled with sausages, rashers, beans, white and black pudding, toast, grilled tomatoes and if I was lucky some mushrooms and hash browns. I popped into the cafe next door to the hostel since they seemed to provide cooked breakfasts and I figured in my, by now, near delirious state, that they must provide some kind of fry. Having sat down and looked at the menu, I realised that they didn’t in fact serve anything that I wanted in their breakfast menu. The side orders however, had most of the ingredients I needed. “You don’t exactly have what I want, but your side orders have everything I need.” I then listed off what I wanted. I think the waitress was amused, but I didn’t care, I was starving.

My coffee arrived quickly and having drunk some of that I felt a little better but the actualy food was a while in coming. When it did arrive, I couldn’t help but smile. I was obviously in the wrong kind of place. The sausages were fairly narrow, almost dainty in size, the tomato was really only heated, not properly grilled but what really made me laugh was the toast. It was two small slices of ciabatta. It was actually quite nice and I wolfed it down but it just wasn’t right. I thought that it wasn’t their fault, they’d done their best, they just had no idea of what a proper fry was.

There’s something special about Napier, something different from any other city that I’ve visited in New Zealand. It’s not just the Art Deco architecture that dominates the inner city though it plays a part. Nor is it the bright colours that are frequent bathed in the bright sunshine. It is both of these mixed with an overriding sense of ease and relaxation that permeates the air. During many of the days while I was there, it was overcast with occasional drizzle but some of the nights were clear with the stars blazing overhead and the roar of the waves drifting into me through the open window of my bedroom.

The ride to Napier was pretty much non-stop since Diarmuid didn’t want to stop the engine until we arrived at a garage where we could leave it. Of course before we could do that, we needed to unpack the car. Once we’d checked in to Wally’s Backpackers (which was a while as there’s nobody in the office from 13:00 to 16:00 and we’d arrived at 15:10), we ran up and down from our room emptying the boot and cars while the fumes from the exhaust continued to sputter into the air. With that done Diarmuid went in search of the garage recommended by the girl in the office. It wasn’t open but he left it outside for the mechanic to park the next day. We couldn’t leave Napier until it was fixed so I settled myself in for a few days.

The following day Diarmuid took me down to a market that was on down by the beach. There wasn’t much that really grabbed my attention, but it was fun just to walk around the stalls and look at the varied goods from vegetables, books, clothes and jewellery to general bric-a-brac. Walking back into the main city I was struck by how pleasant Napier is.

The shops in Napier all seem to have their own niche, particularily in the city centre where you can find almost any kind of product in their own shop. One that stuck in my mind is Plastic-Plus which sells plastic containers of all kinds from small plastic jars to gigantic laundry baskets.

Just around the corner from the hostel is an antique store which contains all kind of stuff but specialising in the Art Deco period of the 1930s. There were some fantastic old books including huge tomes on medicine and animals and a Household Manual by Dr. John Harvey Kellogg of Corn Flakes fame. Another display case contained old match boxes, lighters, cutthroat razors, pipes and false teeth.

I spent most of my time over the few days, hanging around the hosetl, occasionally making a trip to the local PAK’nSAVE. On one trip I picked up a bottle of wine but was asked at the checkout for some ID. “Huh!” I said, astounded at being asked, but seemingly it’s the policy in the supermarkets that if you look under 25, you’re asked for ID. Selling alcohol in supermarkets is only a new thing and a lot of kids have been going into them to get their alcohol. I also believe my scraggly beard didn’t help.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was released while we were there, so myself and Diarmuid made our way to the local cinema. It reminded me a lot of the old Adelphi Cinema in Dundalk, the seats had as little legroom as it did. After the film we were in the lobby when Ben strode over to us. He told us that himself and Jenn were in a nearby fruit farm picking boisonberries for around seven hours a day. Jenny then walked up and we updated each other on what we had been doing. Not for the first time, nor the last would Diarmuid remark that New Zealand is a really small place.

Since the internet was free in the hostel, I spent a fair amount of time adding photos to the gallery. Diarmuid added some photos of his walk round Lake Waikaremoana but for some reason the software didn’t agree with him and he pretty much killed the machine. I also organised my USB drive so I can more easily get my email. For anybody going travelling and like myself has a need to keep connected to the internet, an excellent website is PortableApps.com which has customised programs to run off USB flash drives so you too can leave home but take your web and email setups with you.

There must be something contagious about fault starter motors. Four German girls who were staying at the hostel had to cancel their plans to do the Tongariro crossing as their car’s starter motor also wasn’t working. Our car meanwhile was fixed, so we packed up the morning after we got it back and set off for the capital of New Zealand, Wellington.

Eventually we reached the gravel stage of the road and Diarmuid greatly reduced his speed to around 50kmph. SH38 winds through Te Urewera National Park and the deep valleys are quite spectacular. Unfortunately, it was quite a miserable day in the high places of the park but the clouds added their own mystique to the views. The road was a new experience for me as I’ve never been on a gravel road that continued for such a length of time, add to that the constant winding nature of it and the frequent hair pin bends with steep gorges just outside my window.
It was a lot of fun. Diarmuid didn’t find it as much fun but then he was driving and had to dodge the locals who though infrequent would come tearing round these hairpin corners at close to 80kmph possibly some of them pushing higher speeds. If cars were stuck behind us, Diarmuid would pull in and let them pass when he could and I’d watch in amusement as they tore ahead of us. New Zealand drivers are very interesting (read as dangerous) at times. Though I jibed Diarmuid at how slow and cautious he was driving, in truth I think he did an excellent job.

Shortly before we arrived at the Lake Waikaremoana Motor Camp we stopped at the Aniwaniwa Visitor Centre, a DOC visitor centre for Te Urewera National Park. Diarmuid wanted to get as much information as possible about the walk and also had to confirm his booking for the Great Walk. While I was waiting I took a look around the place and there was a small display on the Maori who lived in the area during the 18th, 19th and early 20th centuries. The dominant theme of the display was their conversion to Christianity and the subsequent rising of one of the Maori from the area who claimed to be Jesus Christ come again. It was reallly quite an interesting exhibition with a few museum pieces and colourful displays about the history, geology and plants of Te Urewera. Seemingly Lake Waikaremoana is just above a fault line. I pointed this out to Diarmuid who is very hopeful that he’ll experience an earthquake while we’re here.

We checked in to the Motor Camp and picked a site. After taking a closer look at it, I suggested we move to another site. This is when we found that the car wouldn’t start. It had a problem in Rotorua and it had now reoccurred. Diarmuid still believed that the battery was to blame, I wasn’t sure. The battery seemed fine to me and it had been fully charged in Rotorua. I pushed the car most of the way to the new site I’d picked before it got stuck and I couldn’t push it any further. With Diarmuid’s help, we got it parked on a reasonably good site. We set up our tent and Diarmuid then took a look at the car. He wasn’t so sure about the battery anymore, he thought it was fine as well, though we still hoped a jumpstart would fix it when we needed to leave like it had in Rotorua. We were miles away from the nearest town and I didn’t fancy getting stuck at the lake.

The car was forgotten about for the time being as Diarmuid was heading on a four day hike the next day and he had to get his bag packed. A few hours later, he was eventually happy that he had everything he needed and that he had cut the weight of his bag down as much as possible. The next morning he got up early to catch his taxi to the starting point, I wished him luck as he left and then rolled back round in my sleeping bag and went back to sleep. I spent the next three days and three nights while Diarmuid was away, having a very pleasant time just resting up in my tent, reading a few books and occasionally doing some other things such as cooking.

For the first time on this trip I cooked some proper dinners. It was nice to be able to eat a simple dinner of some meat, potatoes and another vegetable. I had to be a little creative in the kitchen though as no cooking utensils were provided and I wasn’t bothered enough to go round to the office and hire out some pots and things. It worked out very well though, I would bake the potatoes in the oven and cook the meat under the grill and boil the carrot or brocolli in my steel mug on a hotplate. As an added bonus, it saved on the washing up.

Camping can be very restful, since it tends to be quiet and you don’t have to go rushing around doing anything. Unfortunately the silence of the lake was disturbed by two school groups on a trip, as its the time of year for school trips here in New Zealand. Indeed, Diarmuid when he came back complained about the number of school kids on the walk. All in all, they weren’t too bad, indeed compared to some scout camps I’ve been on they were exceptionally quiet. Mealtimes were a bit awkward though, since they tended to take over the kitchen and one night I didn’t get eating my dinner until 10 o’clock. For the most part, they were away on canoe trips or fishing. I meanwhile was quite content in my tent listening to the rain tapping on the canvas above my head. There is something very soothing and enjoyable about listening to rain falling on a canvas tent. When the tent was dry the first wave of drops would create patterns on the canvas that the sun would then shine through.

My appetite for books was voracious, I finished “Oliver Twist” on the first night and the next day I finished reading the third part of “Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell.” Next I read “The Princess Bride” in 24 hours and started to read “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” which I finished on the third day that Diarmuid had been away on the walk. I would occasionally grin evilly to myself as I thought of him out in the rain, while I was dry and warm in my tent.

As Lake Waikaremoana is in the middle of nowhere with no major urban centres for many miles around, light pollution is non-existent and one night in particular when there were no clouds in the night sky, the stars and moon were very visible and it was easy to pick out Mars and Venus in the evening sky. I also got one of my clearest views of the moon that I’ve ever had and the craters were extremely crisp with the aid of a pair of binoculars I bought in Auckland.

One morning I was eating my breakfast and there was a German couple sitting fairly close near by. As I was walking back into the kitchen I noticed that the man was videoing the man and I stopped, muttering “Entschuldigung.” He waved me on saying it was OK and I thought nothing of it. A few minutes later we were all in the kitchen, they were doing their washing up and I went over to the water boiler which was right above their sink and got some water for my mug of coffee. There were talking to each other in German when next thing I see the guy’s hand waving in front of my face and I suddenly realise that they’re actually talking to me. I then explain in English that I’m actually Irish and not German. The woman then says…”But, outside” and I finished the sentence for her, “Yes, outside I said Entschuldigung” and then explain that I know a little German from studying it about seven years ago. It’s fairly easy to be mistaken for English, Scottish, American or even Australian here but the fact that a German had mistaken me for a German really made my day.

I also went on some of the short walks in the vicinity of the motor camp. One evening I made up way up the Hinau walk to Whaitiri Point and the site where the Lake house Hotel used to be situated. It was a very pleasant walk along a light dappled track and some fascinating trees, including some mighty northern rata and many silver beech trees. I started up the Ngamoko track just acoss the road from where the Hinau walk ends and got some very good views of the lake from clearings in the trees.

The next day I made my way along the Black Beech walk which takes you to the Aniwaniwa Visitor Centre. The Black Beech walk follows the old road which was replaced when the lake was lowered 5 metres in 1946. It was really clear that it was an old road and you could easily imagine a horse drawn cart coming round one of the many corners. The walk provided some more spectacular views of the lake and there were one or two points when I wished I hadn’t given my camera to Diarmuid for his walk.

When I reached the centre I followed the Hinerau Walk and the Aniwaniwa Falls Track which take you close to the three different waterfalls in the area which are collectively known as Aniwaniwa falls. I was able to climb down from the Hinerau walk to the rocks at the edge of the river and I scrambled over these huge boulders to get a better look at the roaring falls. The Aniwaniwa river was clearly deep and very fast flowing and it was exhilirating to clamber around and jump from rock to rock. I noticed a small beach on the other side of the river and I tried to figure out how I would get down to it. After clambering back up the slope to the track grabbing on to convenient roots and rocks I returned back to the track and then the centre. The Aniwaniwa Falls Track gives some better views from the actual viewpoints but was more difficult to climb down. I did find my way down to the beach and there was even an overhanging cliff face at the edge of the beech. I considered whether it would be suitable for camping and I think it might though DOC might frown upon that. I found a stick lying on the ground and used that to see how deep the water was, it would have reached well up to my waist and that was more than enough to keep me from even considering taking one step out in a more shallow part. Using the stick to help me back up the slippy slope I finished the walk where it reached a dead end beside the river bank. It was truly a sight to behold this huge winding river, I thought it would be fantastic for canoeing and possibly fishing if wasn’t too deep. Unfortunately, when I tested the depth right at the edge of the riverbank, it couldn’t reach the bottom and hence would at least have been up to my chest.

Speaking of fishing, I did try my hand again a couple of times but no luck, indeed I only saw one fish jump in my time at the lake and maybe one or two other rises. It was infuriating to see the hatches of flies but not a single fish was rising for them. From talking to another fisherman there, it just seemed that there was nothing happening with dry fly but that spinning out on the lake in a boat was worthwhile. This was proven to me when I saw a man come back from a day’s fishing on the lake with two fine trout in his hand. I saw him put the fish into a plastic bag in a freezer and when he actually left for home a day later, he collected two large plastic bags full of frozen fish that he’d caught.

Diarmuid back from his walk on the 9th and he had somewhere found Marcus along the way. It turns out that they’d met at the start of the track and Marcus and walked round the lake with Diarmuid. After having settled himself, Diarmuid then turned to business as he always does and got cracking on the car. He got talking to a man who worked round the motor camp and tried to jump start the car with the use of his tractor. This didn’t do a think like we had half hoped since it had worked in Rotorua, a few more attempts at trying to figure out the problem but to no avail. He told us about a local mechanic and Diarmuid rang him up. He promised to come by the next morning with a specialist electrician who happened to be visiting. Sure enough the next day around noon, the mechanic turned up with this electrician in tow. I was just about to head back to the waterfalls to take some photos when they arrived and decided to stick around. Within two minutes and about 30 seconds work, the electrician had got the motor running with a quick short tap at some part of the engine. It turned out that the brushes in the starter motor were worn and needed replacing. With the engine started, Diarmuid didn’t want to turn it off, so we quickly broke camp, packed our stuff away. (All of which had been taken out of the boot as Diarmuid wanted it empty in case the mechanics had to take the car away.) Within half an hour we were on the road and I never did get to take those photos.

We left Auckland a day later than planned, last Thursday, as I found that I needed one extra day in Auckland to get a few things done, primarily sorting out the photos that were left on my camera and packing and organising my gear. Diarmuid was a little annoyed, seeing as I had been very eager to leave Auckland, but in the end I was surprised at how quickly we were ready to leave. On the Monday that he bought the car I had been thinking that it was likely that we’d be staying for another week, but in the end it was very quick.

On Thursday we set off for Rotorua. It was a glorious day, the sun was pouring rays of heat down upon us as we travelled along the motorway and roads, listening to music. Halfway through I switched to The Beach Boys and that lasted us for most of the rest of the journey. Having got some information with regard to accomodation and activities, we stocked up on some food from the local PAK’n'SAVE and headed to Kuirau Park to have our lunch. I then started to walk around and take some pictures, but unfortunately the battery ran out after only a few pictures and I cursed myself for not having charged it in Auckland before we left as I continued to walk around the impressive steaming pools and the pits of bubbling mud. Which brings me to perhaps the most noticeable thing about Rotorua which is the smell. Depending on how close you are to the geothermal areas you get the constant stench of sulphur and other foul smelling chemicals. Admittedly it is quite bearable most of the time but occasionally a strong whiff of rotton eggs is carried by the wind and I find myself gagging when this happens. Diarmuid claims that it smells no worse than Dublin, I beg to disagree.

Having walked around and enjoyed the sights of Kairau park, we left for the Waiteti Trout Stream Holiday Park whose brochure had grabbed my attention with a trout prominent in its logo. We soon settled in and I quickly did a reconnaissance of the river after talking to the owner who said that several trout had been caught and that a particularily large one had been seen. I didn’t catch a glimpse of a fish, but I did get the feeling that there was plenty of fish in the river and there were plenty of places for them to hide. The river leads down to Lake Rotorua and I sat there for a while. On the way down we had passed a group of local children who were playing and jumping in the river and their whoops and the splashes as they jumped into the river could be heard clearly. All in all, the place struck me as a very pleasant sort of area to live.

Back to the site and a quick lookover of the facilities and then we proceeded to put up our tent. I went for another walk along the river and read some of “All Creatures Great and Small” down by the lake. As I was sitting there a small rowboat with the couple who were camping beside us went by and out on to the lake. They had a few fishing rods with them. I returned to the campsite again and got my own rod out to try casting. My first few attempts were woeful but I quickly improved to at least something passable as a cast. I didn’t see anything let alone catch something. The couple arrived back a little after I did, but their trip had been much more profitable, they had caught two fish. The husband had caught a small trout, which at home would have been a reasonable result of a days fishing but his wife had caught a monster of a trout, as big as a salmon. Talking to them, it turned out that they were from Dublin and Wicklow respectively. The husband, Ben was a keen fisherman back home and was sorely missing his fishing rod which he’d been unable to take with him on his travels so far but was hoping to get at least his fishing vest taken over for him by a friend at Christmas.

After I’d finished my dinner, I had a chat with Ben about fishing as he was filleting the small trout, the big one was already being smoked. With such trout obviously being around I went for another walk down the river, but still not a sign. I knew they were there but just couldn’t see them and they were no rises. I turned back a little downhearted when I heard a plop. I stopped and looked back trying to find the telltale rings. I couldn’t so I turned to leave, “Plop,” I heard it again and turned around, then again “Plop.” I had caught that one but couldn’t believe my eyes, it was one of the smallest fish I’d ever seen jump. I wasn’t even sure if it was a fish, but again and again the little fish jumped and fell back again into the river. I crouched, gazing in wonder at it for about five minutes and then turned back to the site. Diarmuid met me on the way and as we had just reached the boundary of the campsite, I heard what sounded like a rise and Diarmuid had seen it. I heard another rise to my right and then another to my left. That was enough, I went back to the campsite and got my rod and spent a few minutes casting a nymph, but the fish didn’t show any more interest and I didn’t hear or see another thing.

I made my way to the kitchen where I met Ben and his wife Jenny again. They invited me to sit down and try some of the smoked trout which was just about ready. With a glass of wine, a slice of tomato, I ate some small pieces of the trout. It was delicious, the smoking had added a rich taste to the fish which was quite unlike anything else I’ve eaten. Diarmuid joined us at the table and he too tried some of the fish. We spent the next couple of hours talking about fishing, films, home and travelling. Midnight wasn’t long in coming and by that stage Ben and myself had both comitted ourselves to getting up at 05:30 the next morning to do some fishing. Ben had been invited by the handyman on the campsite to come do some fishing with him and I was welcome to join them, but figured I’d be better just having a go on the river.

I eventually went to sleep, but woke a couple of times most noticeably at 04:30 when I heard an unearthly scream from some animal or bird. I fell asleep again only to be wakened by my alarm at 05:30. I quickly turned it off and considered my options, whether to get up and go fishing or just go back to sleep. I almost went back to sleep but forced myself out of the tent. Ben was up a minute or two later and then his guide arrived. He set Ben’s rod up and added a large fly, followed by a smaller fly below that one. The larger one looked big. Then then went off in the handyman’s car and I started down the river looking for any scene of a rising trout. There were none. When I made it to the mouth of the river, I met another fisherman who appeared to be a local. There had been no activity for him either and though he had floated a fly twice over the same trout, he said it hadn’t moved, that it was in a coma. “It’s too cold but when it warms up, it should send the trout in from the lake.” I thanked him for his advice as he left for home to get a mug of coffee. I returned back to my tent and went back to sleep, an hour had been enough for me and I was very tired.

A couple of hours later, I got back home. Ben had arrived back and though he’d seen plenty of trout, he hadn’t caught anything. They left that morning and I occasionally kept an eye on the river but the only thing breaking the water’s surface were the many ducks entering and leaving the water. At first at each sound, I would raise my head, but I soon realised that it was only the ducks.

I spent the rest of the day reading “All Creatures Great and Small,” which I finished yesterday and then proceeded to continue with “Oliver Twist. ” Fly fishing is a bit doubtful at the moment on the river and dry flies seem hopeless as the trout don’t appear to be feeding at the surface which is infuriating as there’s plenty of flies around. Still the weather has been very good with the sun beating down. My arms got burned the day before yesterday but that should hopefully even out the colour on my hands. Tomorrow (ie. Monday), we’re leaving here and heading for Lake Waikaremoana where Diarmuid is going on a four day hike. I’m going to go fishing and hopefully even catch something. Right now, things appear to be going well and the start of this new plan has been quite enjoyable for me.

When we left Te Paki stream and in Paihia, I thought Diarmuid was of the same opinion and that he was quite happy to forget the plan and continue with something else. As far as I knew, he’d had just as hard a time on the walk as I had, and indeed his recuperation in Paihia seemed more needed, his legs were quite unwilling to cooperate when we walked into the town to get some food. My only problem was the few blisters on my feet, which caused me to limp slightly. I’ve since found out, how mad Diarmuid truly is. Even at Te Paki stream, he was watching the two distant dots of our neighbours from the night before and he wanted to follow them, he wanted to continue on to Ahipara. Madness! I wanted off that beach and into somewhere with food, water and shade.

We’ve now agreed to buy a car and instead of walk New Zealand, to drive from place to place and do various things at these places. Camping is still high on the agenda, (although I believe our opinions on what camping is, vastly differs). As far as I’m concerned the walking was only a means to an end first and something I wanted to do second. I have many other things that I want to do in New Zealand, so the changes to the plan don’t affect my reasons for going on this trip as much as they do for Diarmuid. Diarmuid came on the trip to complete the challenge of walking New Zealand from North to South and that’s really it. This leaves me in the uncomfortable place in which I feel that I’ve let Diarmuid down.

Still, I have no intention of returning to the original plan. It’s funny, but I have been reconsidering it in the recent days because you forget. You forget how bad it really was. As I think back to those two days, I don’t really remember any clear details. The second day especially feels like it was a dream and my memories are hazy at best. I don’t remember any pain, and in fact I don’t think I suffered from any pain on the walk from Cape Reinga. I remember pain on Great Barrier Island; there was a lot of pain on Great Barrier but there was nothing on Cape Reinga, except the thirst and a complete lack of energy. In part I think this has to do with the fact that I was prepared for pain, this was something I expected, I knew my feet would be sore, I assumed my back would twinge and my muscles would ache, but it didn’t really happen. My feet has some blisters but they were small fry compared to others I’ve had to walk with. I wasn’t prepared to be completely without one iota of energy nor was I in anyway prepared for the thirst I experienced, wich came as a complete shock to the system. As I reflected back on the two days, it occurred to me that my lack of energy was also probably due to not having eaten enough over those two days and even the night before we left I hadn’t eaten a whole lot. The only substanial thing I ate over those 24 hours was the sandwich provided by the tour company.

So I find myself in the one place I had no intention of returning to, Auckland. Auckland is fine as cities go, but it’s still another city and I find little to interest me and do. Knowing I would be returning I quickly came up with a survival plan of going to the cinema everyday and reading books. To this I’ve now added the idea of taking German back up. It’s been seven years since I last studied the language, so I plan on starting from scratch. I’ve almost seen everything that’s out in the cinema here, so that part of the plan will soon finish, unless I go see movies for a second time round. I’ve bought five books in the past week, finished one, about to finish another and will probably finish the rest in the next two weeks. In truth, I’m getting frustrated waiting for Diarmuid to find a car that he’s willing to buy, I want to get out of Auckland and go somewhere new, preferably some out of the way forest with a nice river full of trout running through it.

I headed back to the tent where Diarmuid had started to pack up his gear. I let him get on with it and when he had most of his stuff put away, he said right we’ll drop the tent now. I looked at him. All his stuff was still inside and I hadn’t even put anything of mine away. “You haven’t finished packing your gear away?” “I’ve done as much as I can until the tent comes down. We’ll take it down and then carry it over to the side.” “Ok,” I said, too tired to argue, “just let me put some of my stuff away first, give me a few minutes.” I went in and stuffed my sleeping bag away followed by most of the rest of my gear which I then proceeded to pull outside. Once I had all my equipment out, we took the tent down and I started to try and roll it up so it would fit nicely into my bag again. Diarmuid finished packing his bag. The tent didn’t fit into my pack like it had before! It’s a guaranteed rule that no matter how well you pack your bag before the trip, it’ll never pack the same way when you’re on the trail. Frustrated as I knew it was going to happen, I unrolled the tent and tried again. It still wasn’t as snug as it had been and was a little higher than I wanted it to be. It would have to do as I tried pushing it further down the pack.

By now our two neighbours were also up and about and were packing their own things away. Their lightweight tent was proving much more amenable, just being stuffed into a bag. I eyed it with dislike. I’m not a huge fan of modern tents, with one or two exceptions. I like old style tents, Icelandics, Baker tents, real tents made out of canvas. In MoskoselkÃ¥tan’s Tapp Varrie, I had found the perfect melding of modern tent design and old traditions. I love my tent, but that morning, I would have given anything to have been able to have just stuffed a lightweight flysheet into my bag instead of the canvas monster that I now had to carry.

Once our bags were packed we set off. Our two neighbours would soon be following us, but I hoped to try and get some distance ahead of them before they would inevitably over take us. I was thirsty. I’d had a mouthful of water for breakfast, knowing that I would have to ration the little water I had left strictly. All my hope was bent on the fact that one of the blue lines on the map would prove true and we would find some water on Scott point. I was doubtful but I needed the hope. The first five minutes were very tough as the muscles in my legs woke up to the fact that they would be doing more walking today, they started to scream at me and I thought I would have to stop. That scared the hell out of me, but I pushed off and they soon settled down. The landscape however didn’t, it would continue to rise and fall as we crossed Scott point. We had barely gotten to the top of the rise, in front of which we had camped, when I could see that the two camels (I still can’t understand how they got by with so little water) were coming up behind us, fast. As he passed me, one of them said “Incredible heat in the sun and it’s only up!” I could only pant, “Yeah.” Then they were gone. They went over the rise and were soon far ahead of us.

The sweat was dripping off me and I would every now and then take a mouthful of water, this would normally happen just after we’d reached the top of a steep slope. It was like that, steep slope upwards, followed by slightly less steep slope downwards. Up and down. Up and down. I was constantly looking for water but saw none. I took it one slope at a time, saying to myself, you just have to get to the top of this one, then you can take a rest and after that you can tackle the next one.

About half an hour or 45 minutes into the walk, we came across mud along the side of the track, I figured that this was probably one of the blue lines marked on the map. Diarmuid turned around a minute later and said exactly what I’d been thinking. By now I’d lost hope for any water on top of Scott point, it was now focused on the start of 90 mile beach, where I had always been slightly more hopeful that a stream would be. But really, I was pretty sure that Te Paki stream was our only real hope for water and I was worried that even there, we might it dried up. Diarmuid by now was convinced that we wouldn’t find water until Te Paki stream.

My water was gone. I’d drunk it all. In little mouthfuls, my water was gone and I’d stopped sweating. I’d noticed this phenomenon, when I’d still had a little water. I’d be sweating profusely, drops rolling down my eyebrows and into my eyes, then it’d stop. I’d have a mouthful of water and it would start again for a short while. This wasn’t good. Then my mouth started to really dry out and I could feel my lips starting to cake. My tongue was still ok, dry and sticking to the top of my mouth but not as dry as my lips. As I smacked my lips, I could taste salt. I presumed it was from my sweat. As we continued on and I became thirstier and thirstier I considered drinking some of my sweat but figured that wouldn’t be a good idea. The idea of a perpetual cycle of me sweating, then drinking my sweat, then sweating it out again and continuing came to my mind. I continued on. I realised that I had truly never known thirst before. Never! I started to understood those scenes in the movies where you see people trudging along, dying of thirst, smacing their lips. I was doing the exact same thing. At the same time, I thought that I hadn’t really reached the level of thirst that you could reach, that I was only entering the realms of thirst and it scared me. All I thought about was water. I thought of “Ice-Cold in Alex” and promised myself that if I got out of this alive, I’d get myself to a pub that night and order a nice cold beer. I figured that in between that time I’d have time to hydrate myself with water before I had the beer.

We trudged on, every so often we’d take a break. I’d normally drop my bag and just sit, trying to keep out of the sun and not get burnt. I looked around me and saw the scenery, thinking it was really beautiful but not really caring. When I saw greenery, I’d just think, there must be water there, how could it be so green unless there was water there. How can I get at the water that must be there. By now I’d even given up trying to suck any moisture out of my long empty platypus. I did find some relief by sucking cool air into my mouth, but it was shortlived. Diarmuid’s water was starting to run out by now, he was getting air bubbles in his platypus, a sure sign that he was on his last dregs. We didn’t talk much, we just walked and I dreamt of water.

I thought my platypus probably wasn’t completly empty, that there was proabably a few drops of water left in it, but I resolutely refused to open my bag and drink them. I knew that if there was no stream at the beach, I would be able to reward myself with them there. That was my major motivation to get to the beach, so I could open my bag and taste those few drops of water from my long empty platypus. I was still carrying the empty plastic bottle of water from the day before. I may be thirsty beyond belief but I wasn’t going to leave any rubbish behind. I could see the water vapour around the edge of the inside of the bottle and thought that if I put the bottle in the sea, it would cool down and form some water droplets which I could drink. Water! Water! Constantly thinking of water and how I was going to continue until I could get some.

Eventually we came to the steps leading down to the beach. They were steep and we were both lagging. I took the lead for a change and started down the steps, in the distance on the beach I saw the two camels walking off. I hadn’t the heart to curse them, but I did wish they’d offered me half a litre before they left. I knew it was ridiculous of me to think that they should have because it would endanger their own plans, but I entertained the idea that if our fortunes had been reversed I would have offered some water. I never once even dreamt of asking them for some purely because I didn’t want to endanger their plans, this was my own fault that I was without water and I would have to deal with.

We reached the bottom of the steps and we crossed a boardwalk over swamp. Through the boards I saw the blue line from the map, it was mud. “There’s the stream” I said to Diarmuid. “Where?” “Between the boards.” I continued on, not stopping to see if Diarmuid understood what I was saying. As we got to the beach, we dropped our bags. I walked down to the water and walked back looking everywhere for some sign of a stream or anything coming down from the ridges around us. There was nothing. Diarmuid went to cool his feet in the sea. He came back and said he was going to wear his sandals. I wasn’t convinced it was a good idea. I mentioned sunburn to him but he said that’s what sunscreen was for. I left him to it, figured he knew what was best for him. As far as I was concerned the best protection was staying covered and I had put sunscreen on the parts that I couldn’t cover, mainly my hands. The day before, my right hand had gotten very burnt. It looked really bad but wasn’t painful, but I didn’t want it getting any worse. The funny thing about it was that half my hand had been covered by the cuff of my shirt so only half of the back of my hand had been burned. The hairs on that part of the skin had also been completely bleached of colour. As I look at my hand now, the colour has returned to the hairs and half of my hand has quite a good tan.

I threw my bag on my back and turned to see Diarmuid wasn’t ready. I decided I’d continue on. He said he had to figure out what he was going to do with his bags but I could go on if I wanted. I said, that “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.” I started off on my own. The tide was on its way out and the hardness of the sand depended on how long it had had to dry out in the sun. I stuck to the most concrete like sand that I could. I struggled on, my eyes peeled for any sign of a stream. I felt better on my own, just trudging along. I don’t know why, it just felt good to keep on walking. I continued on this way for a while, at one stage looking back to see if Diarmuid had started. He was quite small in the distance but had started. I kept on walking.

Then suddenly, I saw a darkness in the sand ahead. It was wet sand and was too far away from the tideline to be a remnant of high tide. Hope grew. It was only wet sand, but were there was wet sand like that, there had to be a stream. As I got closer, I could see that it was shaped like a stream. I eyed a spot where I could drop my bag close by. As I stepped closer and closer though I started to see that there was no bubbling stream hidden from view. I dropped my bag at the spot and walked along the stretch of wet sand and saw no source of it, the sand dried up and became part of the sand bank running along the stretch of the beach, huge sand dunes behind the bank.

Still, this was the first possible source of water that I’d seen since that morning and at this stage I didn’t give two damns about anything that might be in the water or how small a trickle it was. All I cared about was that these few puddles had water that I could drink. Tentatively I dipped my index and third finger of my right hand into one of the bigger puddles and put them to my lips. It was sweet! Or at least I thought so. I was afraid that in my hope and desire to find water that it was truly saltwater and that I hadn’t really found water I could drink. I tried again, this time scooping up a little. It was sweet!! I cupped my hands and scooped some water out and drank it. Instant relief! But I couldn’t really get that much water in this way. I quickly thought of my hankerchief and dipped it into the water, sucking it, not caring about the few grains of sand. My mouth was quickly quenched as the dryness was banished. I needed more, but the hankerchief was picking up more sand. I thought that if I soaked one side, I could suck the water but not the sand from the other side. A brilliant idea. I was instantly able to get much more water out of the piece of cloth. As I did this for the third time, Diarmuid arrived.

As soon as he arrived, I thought of the shovel in his bang. “Hand me the shovel in your bag, please!” I explained that if I dug a hole the water would fill up the hole. All those bits and pieces from Ray Mears books and TV programmes was paying off! He started to dig a hole. I quickly took it from him and scooped out several loads until I had a nice hole, I had dug down to where the sand was runny and it was starting to pour back in out itself. I ran to my bag to get my cup and bowl. I felt alive! I felt excited and overjoyed! I felt in my element! I came back with cup and bowl to find the hole as expected was filling up with most beautiful water I had ever seen. I filled the bowl and gave it to Diarmuid then filled my cup and drank it. It was beautiful, it was pure (apart from the sand which gritted against my teeth), it was without doubt the best water I had ever drunk! I drank another cup! My morale had been instantly lifted. I knew I’d get to Te Paki stream. I had been fading fast before I found this underground stream and wasn’t sure if I’d reach Te Paki with the bag on my back but now I knew I’d get there!

To help filter out the sand, I laid my hankerchief in the hole that looked like a pothole in the sand and scooped the water out with the bowl and mug. It worked reasonably well and Diarmuid had some more. I had lots! We took a little break and I filled my water bottle. Diarmuid didn’t want any, but I wasn’t going anywhere unless I had a litre of water with me. We continued on again. I hoped Te Paki wasn’t too far away, but didn’t really mind. I’d found water! I wasn’t going to expire or be unable to get Te Paki! I had found water!

We walked on, the sun still beating down on us. I was no longer thirsty and I’d started to sweat again, but I was feeling tired. I just wanted to get to Te Paki stream so I could drop my bag and wait for the buses and get a lift out of there! Up ahead we saw two dots and thought it was our two friends from the night before but couldn’t understand how they were so close. Maybe they’d stopped at Te Paki stream I reasoned but as they got bigger I realised they must be other walkers. Diarmuid came to the same conclusion and said to me, “I think a little friendly warning is in order.” I nodded. Honestly, I didn’t think a warning was warranted, for starters because I didn’t want to demoralise anybody with the idea that the way ahead was tough and that they better have water. Secondly, I thought that they probably didn’t need the warning and probably had plenty of water. It was a man and a woman, I can’t remember if I recognised their accents but I could see from the get up that they’d be fine. I think they were from North America. Both had reasonably sized packs and a pair of walking sticks. Diarmuid gave them his friendly warning, they smiled and said they’d be fine and had some water. They weren’t very conversational and soon walked on. They were less than 20ft away when I remembered that I had wanted to ask them how far it was to Te Paki stream. “Hey.” I shouted. “Hey!” They either didn’t hear me or weren’t going to turn round, I gave them the benefit of the doubt and gave up. It was probably better I didn’t know how far away it was I reasoned.

We continued on and while it wasn’t as bad as earlier in the day, there was no inclines to worry about and I had water, I was getting more tired and could feel myself lagging, but I kept the pace and kept going. Eventually I saw a glimmer up ahead and after the many false hopes that I’d had over the previous twenty minutes, I saw Te Paki stream up ahead. When we eventually reached it, I rejoiced in the fact that it was a stream! An honest to God stream! You had to walk across it, you couldn’t just step across it, you didn’t have to dig for it, it was just there, bubbling by with actual currents and eddies! A real stream! I dropped my bag at what I figured was a reasonable spot, beside the stream, the bank of sand providing some shelter from the sun and a good view if any buses should pass by. I filled my cup with water and drank it. It felt great! I’d pushed on further than I’d thought possible at times and reached Te Paki stream. We’d be fine now.

Diarmuid walked upstream a little and came back. He said he’d found where the buses came onto the beach, it was about 50ft away and he wanted to move over to there. I said “Fine, go ahead, but I’m not moving now.” He got his bag and walked over to the spot he’d picked. I thought I’d go over in a few minutes, talking my gear over in two trips. I didn’t like where he’d picked though, it provided no shelter and I had no intention of sitting there. He came back over and asked for the camera, he went off and took some pictures. I took my fishing rod and other loose gear over to his bag, where he was standing. In the distance two more people were coming. He said, he’d give them the same warning he’d given the other two walkers. Again, I didn’t care. There was no real harm in it I supposed. I went back to get my bag. As I was making my way across, Diarmuid met the two women. They didn’t have any packs with them I noticed.

I walked over and let Diarmuid do all the talking. Diarmuid had explained our story to them and what our plans were, they offered to give us a lift. Diarmuid asked if they were going as far as Kaitaia. “Yeah, we’re going further south.” I instantly picked up on that, but left it alone for the time being. I remember Diarmuid saying a few times “I think we might just take you up on that offer.” I didn’t want to do any more walking, they explained that their car was back at a carpark about 40 minutes away. I presumed the car park was at the end of the road further upstream. On the otherhand I realised that it’d be foolish of us not to take them up on their offer. So we grabbed our bags and started off. I went back for my bag and started ahead of Diarmuid, by not moving I had a little headstart over Diarmuid. The two women continued on to the beach where they were going to spend a few minutes before heading back. Knowing that we would be slow, we made the most of the headstart that they gave us.

Again I was walking, I couldn’t believe it. I was sure I’d been finished at Te Paki stream but I was still going on. Te Paki stream was interesting, the riverbed was often red and the water appeared to becoming from swampland at times and there was stains of what looked like iron at times. I took all this in, but didn’t care, when I needed a drink, I’d scoop some out of the stream and drink it down. We continued on, as I went round each bend, I hoped it would be the last but it wasn’t. Again I was in the lead with Diarmuid a little way behind me. Shortly before the end, the two women had caught up with us and over took us as we took a breather. One of them shouted over at us, that maybe it was a long 40 minutes and the other said they’d wait for us. We got up and trudged on. Occasionally I’d look up at our two rescuers up ahead. At last one of them turned round and shouted, “It’s just here” making a hand gesture in the direction of the car park. I threw my bag down beside their “old” Toyota Corolla. We had made it.

It was around 14:00, only 24 hours earlier we had set off on what I had thought would be at least a four days journey and had expected it to be adventurous. I’d had an adventure alright and I’d had enough adventure for the time being. I had gone further than I thought possible, pushing through barrier after barrier! I’d found water where others would have found none! I had experienced the most difficult walk that I’d ever been on. But what I really took from our two days walking from Cape Reinga to Te Paki stream was a lesson in humility. I understood the importance of water, something that had never occurred to me before. I understood the power of the sun and how merciless it could be. I had been humbled by nature and I vowed never to forget the lesson!

Cape Reinga was a beginning, not an ending for me though. It was to be the beginning of a 1500 mile journey on foot from this, the northernmost point of New Zealand to Bluff in the South Island, possibly taking in Stewart Island. In truth at this stage, given recent events on Great Barrier Island, I wasn’t too sure that it was feasible, but I was determined to make it as far as Ahipara, which was approximately 75 miles away. Having completed that phase, I would reevaluate the situation and see if I wanted to continue on.

Back on the bus, Diarmuid and myself grabbed our gear, stuffed behind the last seat and I thanked the driver, Kingy Thomas, for the lunches kindly provided by the tour company. It was a glorious day with barely a wisp of cloud in the sky, its perfect azure joining with the deep blues of the Tasman Sea on my left and the great Pacific on my right. We sat down and started to eat the lunches not having eaten for a few hours. Almost finished my sandwich, I remembered the sign. Quickly I explained to Diarmuid about the notice, finished my sandwich and left the muffin for later. Diarmuid then went off to the lighthouse to take some photos while I finished writing some postcards. By the time I was finished Diarmuid had returned and after posting the postcards in the nearby postbox, it was time to be starting.

Diarmuid wanted to start from the carpark down the track, but I said if we were going to do this, we’d better do it right and start from the lighthouse. So we made our way down to the lighthouse and got the obligatory photos taken. At 13:55 we set off. On our way back up from the lighthouse, Diarmuid thought he had lost his watch so went back to were we had been sitting. He found it in his wallet. His wallet being in his pocket. We started down the track to Werahi beach.

The track was well laid out with a well defined and well trodden path down to Werahi beach. Going up and down through bush with the odd thick stemmed flower going across the path which Diarmuid wouldn’t warn me about as he pushed through it to come flying back into my face. We made it down to Werahi beach in good time where we took a short break, I went and washed my hands in the sea and tested out the sand. Thankfully it was good and firm so would be easier to walk in with the packs.

We continued on to the other end of the beach occasionally seeing some other walkers on their way back from their short walk from Cape Reinga. There is a strong stream at the end of Werahi beach where the next headland begins. After I tasted the water to make sure it wasn’t salty, I filled up my 750ml bottle which I’d emptied in the course of the day. After this short rest we continued on. I was eyeing the coming sand dune with doubt and intrepedation. Dunes are something that I’ve never really encountered before though I had heard that they were quite difficult to climb as the sand sinks beneath your feet. In short it looked big and difficult. We made our way into this alien terrain with its red stone that reminded me more of Mars than anything else. The sun continued to beat down on us, adding to the sensation of being on a foreign planet.

Around this time as I stopped for a breather, Diarmuid met Marcus (from Germany) who was coming behind us. He had left his car in Cape Reinga and planned to walk to Twilight beach and then from there back via the road to his car. He had loaded himself up with about six litres of water as he figured it was better to be safe than sorry. He was carrying about a 15kg pack and was a little aghast when I told him that I was probably carrying something in the region of 25kg.

He joined our little group and we continued on, soon leaving the sand dunes behind us and entering into scrubland once more. The track continued to go up and down in a most disheartening way and as the sweat continued to pour from me under the gaze of the glaring sun, I continued to drink from my water bottle and when that had emptied from my platypus. At one of our restpoints, two more trampers reached us. They were planning to go to Twilight beach and probably onwards, depending on water. I took out the map and pointed out several thin blue lines saying that they should be alright. Water was beginning to enter my mind as well, though I figured it would be fine. There were all those blue lines and the water would only need boiling to be safe. Around 17:00 we reached the start of Twilight beach and shook hands with Marcus who headed towards the road.

By this time, I would have been very happy to have stopped for the day and made camp but that required a water supply. The map said there was a stream at each end of Twilight beach, so I looking. I found it, just about. It was a trickle and awkward to get at. A quick taste of it didn’t greatly enhance my opinion of it and I said to Diarmuid that we should continue on to the other end of the beach and try our luck there. On we went, trudging through the sand. Water was now seriously on my mind and my eyes were constantly peeled for a glimpse of any stream. I was also beginning to tire and towards the end when Diarmuid was talking about continuing on to Te Paki Stream that evening, I knew that that was madness as far as I was concerned. I had done enough walking for the day and come what may, I was going no further.

As it turns out there was two streams at the end of the beach. Unfortunately, they were barely even a trickle and didn’t look as good as the stream at the other end of the beach in the distance. We then met the two guys who had passed us earlier and had disappeared out of view a few minutes beforehand. They had made camp behind a small ridge of sand and scrub and after quickly surveying the area, we agreed that it was a better area than what we had been previously considering. We discussed the problem of water with them, they had taken three litres with them each, one litre per day. I had already consumed almost two litres that day and wondered how they could get by with so little, especially since they were cooking noodles for dinner. Between them and Diarmuid going on about the stream not being safe, I decided not to boil it and then drink it. That I would have to do with what water I had left, a little under 300ml I guessed and make it to Te Paki stream the next day. I hoped fervently that we would come across another water supply before then and there were a couple of blue lines which I still had high hopes for. Diarmuid didn’t believe in the lines at all by now.

We put the tent and Diarmuid made himself comfortable. Dinner was next on the agenda. It was a cold affair of cheese, crackers and some gelatine sweets for me, thought Diarmuid ate some of the salami as well. A quick glance of the ingredients, the second greatest one of which was salt put me off eating any, for fear it would make me any more thirsty. The gelatine sweets helped a little though.

After dinner, I went outside to have a look around. I was struck by lonely a place it was. There was only the four of us, for miles around. It was a bleak but beautiful place. A faint mist was forming over the waves hitting the rocks of Cape Maria van Dieman. I noticed the tide was coming in and wondered how far up the beach it would reach. I returned to the tent, tired, thirsty and realising that Ahipara was a bridge too far, that I would only be going as far as Te Paki stream.

I lay on my sleeping bag thinking over this and thinking that maybe we could reach Ahipara, that perhaps it wasn’t too far. I didn’t want the journey to end so soon. The facts of our situation couldn’t be denied though. Our water had almost run out, I had a little under 300ml and Diarmuid had maybe half a litre. We hadn’t made a lot of headway and our pace had been quite slow for a first day. I knew that we wouldn’t be making Ahipara in the three or four days that I had originally estimated. We would be too slow, perhaps taking five or six days I thought at the time. Water would be a continuous problem and I knew that there wasn’t that many good water supplies past Te Paki stream all the way to Ahipara. We would have to take the exit at Te Paki stream and catch a ride with one of the many tour buses that drive down 90-mile beach. I wasn’t encouraged by the fact that we didn’t have any method of contacting anybody if anything went wrong or to try and get in touch with the bus company beforehand. I finally realised how badly organised we were in some ways and that I wouldn’t be seeing Ahipara. If I didn’t get to Ahipara, I knew Te Araroa would be over for me.

Feeling quite down, I turned on my MP3 player and listened to The Goon Show which cheered me up before I went to sleep listening to the roaring of the waves on the beach.

I did not feel like going to Rangitoto Island, I only wanted to go back to bed and in a half awake talk with Diarmuid, he seemed amenable to the idea and I returned to my bed to try and get some more slumber. I was surprised when Diarmuid then proceeded to get up and have breakfast. Imagine my dismay when he then informed me that we were still catching the 09:15 ferry. “What? I thought we had decided to get a later ferry.” “No, that was just me talking before I got up.” I groaned and then got out of my bed, dressed and threw together a couple of sandwiches and filled my water bottles. Ready to go, I was waiting for Diarmuid to finish getting ready before we set off for the dock.

Thankfully, we made the ferry and I proceeded to get a breakfast of a good healthy sea wind. The ferry took around twenty minutes to make it’s way to the island. We disembarked from the rocking boat along with several other tourists including, one German man, two German women and a group of German teenagers. There were others, but the majority were definitely German.

There are several tracks on Rangitoto, but I had planned to follow the summit track to the crater with a sidetrip to some lava caves and then taking a road and coastal track back to the dock, all in all about 4-5 hours walking. We set off on the summit track ahead and quickly stopped as I put on my gaiters and organised my camera. Diarmuid soon uttered what he would repeat many, many times that day. “Take a photo of that.” I glanced at the expanse of lava rocks that he was pointing at. I couldn’t help thinking that there’d be plenty of other opportunities but figured that he was right, it was a fairly long lava flow that stretched into the distance. The camera made it’s clicks and whirrs and I put it away in it’s pouch hanging across my shoulder.

We continued along the track, overtaking people who had just overtaken us, this would happen at multiple times along the track. We then came to a display stand that was just off the track on a boardway. This explained about the various volcanic features of the island, how it was formed and if it was dead or dormant. By the by, the island’s volcano is considered dead but it is thought that Auckland has not seen its last volcano and that at some stage in the future, lava will flow and pumice and ash will fly.

The forest is quite thick on the island, surprising considering it started as a large lump of lava. The display also explained how the plantlife first started with moss and lichen before later clumps of trees began to grow which eventually joined up with each other to create the forest. The forest is of course different from our own forests in Ireland. The first thing that struck me was that it smelled differently, the trees are of course different but not so strange from our own, but the smell in the air instantly struck me as alien. We would later see palms further in the island and birdsong and chittering that sounded more like it belonged in a rainforest, but then again, I suppose most of the forests in this country are bordering on rainforests and I know that in the South Island there are some rainforests.

We eventually came to a glade where the summit track joined with the track to the lava caves. Diarmuid, who was carrying more or less his full pack for weight training, was anxious to reach the summit so we could return to get the 12:45 ferry. This hadn’t been my plan at all, something I thought he’d realised, surely he’d read the route description from the “Tramping in New Zealand” book? It would appear he had not. I said that we were going to the lava caves and started to walk off in that direction. When he’d caught up, I told him what the route that I’d planned was, that we’d go up to the summit, making the sidetrip to the caves and then making our way along the coastal track and that I didn’t think we’d be catching the 12:45 ferry.

Ten minutes later we had reached the lava caves, the German arriving just before us. We dropped our bags and I got my torch out. Taking my hat off and putting the torch on, I went into what looked like the bigger cave just after the German. Looks are deceiving, the cave only went in around 15ft before rapidly getting too small and then finishing. “Definitely too small to continue” I said to the German. He smiled in agreement. I left, a little disappointed, this isn’t exactly what I’d imagined. Back outside Diarmuid was waiting. I looked at the second cave to the left of the first one. It looked smaller, darker and distinctly wet. Ok, let’s go.

In I went and it was indeed small, dank and dark. But it didn’t look like it was going to instantly end and it was fun. I could feel a little claustrophobia but pressed on and to face it and see what it was like I turned off my torch. It was pitch black, but not really sinister. I couldn’t help but think of Bilbo lost in the goblin caves below the Misty Mountains. I turned my torch back on and continued, the cave now quickly got bigger and I could stand up and walk. This was fun! There were roots or lichen hanging from the ceiling and the walls were wet. The ground was muddy with slimy bits of twigs and a larger branch left by a previous explorer. I continued on a little bit and could see a light in the ceiling up ahead. I climbed up through the opening and found myself in a place not far from the track. We had in fact passed the track on our way to the other entrance.

I rushed back to the start of the cave, exhilarated. I told Diarmuid about the cave and grabbed a drink of water. I tapped the German on the shoulder and told him pointing to the cave, “That’s the one to go into!” Again he smiled. “You can even stand up in it.” “Oh,” he replied and proceeded to go into it. I asked Diarmuid if he was coming this time. He said yes and got his own torch. I grabbed my camera and went back in. I took some photos and then left before some other people arrived just behind us. The German was outside, he’d lent his torch to the German women who were coming just behind us.

Making our way back to our bags we explained to the group of German teenagers that the second cave was worth going into. They caught on and entered as well. The two women meanwhile arrived and we struck up a conversation. One asked Diarmuid if he was camping on the island. I explained, “No, weight training.” Diarmuid then proceeded to explain that we were going to walk the length of the two islands. How long would that take us? “Around seven months.” “Seven months! And my colleagues thought four weeks for a holiday was long.” They left returning to the summit track. I wanted to see where the track to the right took us, so I continued on, followed by a doubtful Diarmuid. “Let’s see how it works out.”

It worked out well. After a few minutes, I could see another cave ahead of us. It looked much bigger. I was reminded of the cave from “Prince Caspian.” There must have been something in the air because Diarmuid mentioned Narnia a minute or two later just before we went in. This cave was much bigger and we could walk in with our bags on our backs, even Diarmuid’s huge pack. There was a light up ahead that you could see from the start, but I soon realised it wasn’t the end. The cave continued on but got smaller at the end, meaning that we would have to crouch or crawl to get through. I offered to take Diarmuid’s pack from the other side but he said he could crawl through. He did and I took a picture though it didn’t come out all that great. The cave was dark after all.

We had reached the end of the lava caves track so we returned to the summit track and then made our way to the crater, just before the summit. Diarmuid was getting a bit breathless by this stage. Diarmuid read aloud the information about the crater while I watched a single-engine plane fly over it. After a few obligatory photos, we continued to the summit up the last few steps. The day was very clear and we could see for miles. I asked Diarmuid whether he wanted to continue on or try and catch the 12:45 ferry, it was now around 11:45. He suggested that we catch the ferry as we had plenty to do back in Auckland and we’d soon be going on a much longer walk. I was happy to catch the ferry, since I was tired and still hadn’t eaten. We then fast tracked it down the steps and back along the track. Again Diarmuid occasionally saying, “Take a photo of that.”

We reached the bottom of the track within 50 minutes or so and proceeded to sit down and eat some food. I sat on a wall in the shade of the tree while Diarmuid sat in the sun on a chair. A duck in the almost empty sea-water swimming pool climbed up the ramp towards me and I threw him a scrap of bread. Some smaller birds were too quick though and swiped it before the duck could reach it. I threw him a second piece and he reached it just in time. I took some photos of the duck and other curious birds. The ferry was arriving so we made our way to the jetty. After the new arrivals had gotten off, we made our way to the woman who was checking for tickets. As I was trying to find my ticket, my hat flew out of my hands and heart in my mouth I dove for it. Unfortunately the ticket collecter had also reached down to try and grab it from being blown into the sea and I collided with here. Thankfully though I had grabbed it, I apologised to her and continued to try and find my ticket. Eventually I remembered I had it in my coat pocket and handed it to her. Diarmuid was already on the top deck and I joined him, sitting in the front row just ahead of him where on the journey back I would get blasted by the sea wind combined with the speed of the boat. After a few blows from the horn the ferry set off and I got my last shot of Rangitoto Island.