New Zealand Travels (March 30th, 2003) Abel Tasman Walk

Groggily awoke after a hot and sticky night below decks. Surrounded on all sides by young foreign women (mainly Swiss and German) so it wasn’t all bad. However, apart from the excitement of finding phosphorescent plankton the night before, there was little else to amuse. So we sorted out breakfast, made sandwiches and were ferried ashore to start our walk.

Once again we were impressed with a sense of urgency – you must be here by 3:15 or you will die a slow and horrible death. Or that sort of sentiment anyway. However, according to the “Map of Doom” we were already destined for a headhunters cauldron because we had started 30 minutes late. But once more we prevailed by using our feet in the usual manner. NZ really overestimate the time taken to get places - I’m sure they are geared to 60 year old American tourists in flip flops. But I digress. We trundled off down the track in continuous heavy rain. We made rapid progress and soon reached Cleopatras Pool. Unfortunately getting across to the pool proved tricky for the less sure-footed members of the party. Amanda and Amy put their foot in the water which meant that they were walking on wet feet for the rest of the day. Amanda blamed Chris for letting go at a crucial moment, Amy just wrung out her sock and soldiered on (go girl!). So we put on a bit of a pace and before long we had reached Torrent Bay. Checking the clock we were on schedule, but only just. We chatted briefly to some Germans, Sandra and Jurgen (who had some of the best walking gear I’ve ever seen) and then continued on up a long uphill blow until we reached our next big landmark: the suspension bridge.

This is the bridge that appears in virtually every tourist brochure about walking in Abel Tasman. So it was photo time. Chris “David Bailey” Horton went off first with a few cameras to get the best viewpoint. The rest of us monopolised the bridge mercilessly until we had enough shots to be satisfied and then we carried on. It was 5 minutes before the appointed deadline when we reached the critical landmark of Barks Bay. By the time we were ready to continue we were 20 minutes into “Headhunter Time”. We faced a decision: do we attempt to complete the walk risking missing the Sea Taxi, or do we wait here instead?

Chris and I opted for completing the walk, Amy and Amanda chose to go with us for an hour then return to Barks Bay. Svenke and Krystel decided to stay and chill out. It wasn’t long before Amy and Amanda reassessed their choice leaving Chris and I to turn up the pace. The clock was ticking. Fearing that we would be forced to turn back I put a hell of a pace on: at least 6mph – sustained up one enormous hill. I should mention that as we tackled the huge uphill we were going flat out and it nearly wiped us out. My heart was pounding and it was will power that was keeping the pace up. Chris was a bit worried that I was trying to kill him. Fortunately we had about the same fitness level when it came to walking. Shortly we crested the hill and met up with some other walkers coming the other way. By this time our clock was pounding as loud as our hearts – we only had 2 hours to complete the 3 hour journey ahead of us. I asked the hikers how long it was to the next beach, our destination. “Oh, that’s about 30 minutes away.” At their pace. By pushing up that hill we had made up over 2 hours of time.

And then Sandra turned up in shorts, trainers and T-shirt. She had caught up with us! Was she some kind of ultra-fit German fell runner? We had last seen her at Barks Bay and she was a good 30 minutes behind us. Not wanting to appear old and unfit I started off down the path at a fair old clip chatting away to Sandra while trying not to sound too out of breath. Then we encountered another long uphill and I was forced to concentrate to keep the pace up when I noticed Sandra was finding the pace hard too. Then it dawned on me: she thought Chris and I were some kind of ultra-fit English fell runners. Immediately the pace slowed to a sort of saunter and we found out how she had been able to catch us up. “I ran most of the way, except for that big hill – I had to walk up that.” So we bimbled on chatting about this and that until we arrived at the appointed beach well ahead of schedule.

The Tasman Sea was gently rolling in and we decided that the best way to relax after a hard stomp in the woods was a pleasant swim in the water. And so it was that we all spent the next hour splashing out in the Tasman Sea, in the rain, thoroughly enjoying ourselves. After we had dried off the Sea Taxi came to take us home which was an adventure in itself.

Two 250hp outboard motors with a driver who had a typical Kiwi attitude is a dangerous mix. Pow! We flew off the top of a wave. Slap! We hit the next one and powered straight through it. The driver was in a hurry and he meant business. Life-jackets anyone? We don’ need no steenking life-jackets, man, but maybe a will writing service would be in order. Two French guys came on board later in the trip and were forced to stand up all the way. Poor bastards. One of them had a good handhold, the other wasn’t so lucky. I must have seen 2 feet of clear air under feet a dozen times. By the end of it he was looking pretty green.

So we returned to the hostel in Nelson and had the lovely experience of warming our cold, wet bodies in the hot bubbly spa. Life can be sweet sometimes. It was there that we met Andy (soon to be Maximus) another member of Posse 2. All too soon we had to leave, but at least our bellies were full and our clothes clean and dry. Next stop: Greymouth…