Cream buns, kiwis & mud - Stewart Island, where I left my heart!

Cream buns, kiwis & mud – Stewart Island, where I left my heart!

Day 1: Geared up in shorts to immediately hit the track we (Paul Carter, Grant Newton & I, Lee-Ann Mitchell) boarded an airplane in Invercargill (ever-chillable) for a fantastic scenic flight to Stewart Island. Co-piloting the plane was sinch until the pilot wanted to do a tight turn to land into Oban. My petite tramping boot had become firmly lodged under the dual pedals almost causing the trip to be directed to Antarctica.

We hit the track that afternoon walking at a surprisingly fast pace for 10 day packs weighing in at close to 30 kgs. We were not going to resort to the tactics of other WTMC parties who have taxied out to the start and we sped along 5 km of tarmac to the start of our the journey from Maori Bay to Port William Hut.

Either NZ is a small place, or Ronnie and Naomi of WTMC get around. They were doing a non WTMC girls tour of South Island and I am sure their escapades will not be written up in any trip report - that is if their hut book entry is anything to go by. Why else do you show your English origins and neglect any affiliation to WTMC (good thinking girls!) and were doing 3 days on the Island. A lovely large hut but with too many great walk walkers with too many luxuries to covet (like real cheese and heavy food).

The ultimate aim in a Stewart Island trip is to spot a kiwi and feel the mud. So where best to start but on Lee-Ann wanders along the stunning Smokey Beach Grant Newton Tramping & Mountaineering 2003 Lee-Ann Mitchell your first night. The resident Port William Kiwi was not to be seen and had called upon a nice clump of grass to be its understudy. I note I was the only member of our group who was adamant it wasn’t a kiwi we were watching for at least 5 minutes.

Day 2: The morning began early as we had a long day ahead. Personally, I was looking forward to a hot shower already…day 1, 9 to go. After day 3 I was praying for hot showers, but not for me, but for the lads..as you would when wedged between them each night.

The 3 day great walk walkers were in awe of us as we lugged our 10 day packs onto our backs, and paid attention to grunt and groan a little more for effect. Grunting and groaning that would become a little more real as we left the great walk track and hit the North West Circuit and its UNDULATING terrain.

Being the smallest and the slowest on the uphill’s I had to deploy a strategy to divert the lads attention and slow them down so I could pass them. I knew they saw the cream buns in the Oban store as we stocked up on fuel. With men’s weakness being food, especially cream buns – I had my strategy!

Whenever I got a little despondent about the weight on my back I talked about cream buns, watching the lads starting to think about large creamy, jammy cream buns. At that point I would start off or pass them, leaving them in sugar carbo lala land until they caught me up again.

Bungaree hut was in view and Paul was ahead. Grant was looming behind taking yet another roll of film. It was strategy deployment time so I could get a scroggin stop. I scrawled into the sand, “Hot showers and cream buns 300 metres” with a large arrow pointing in my direction. I raced ahead 100 metres and wrote another message “Bugger, all out of water…but 2 buns left”. Racing ahead again I scribbled the last message….”Sorry only 1 bun and it’s all mine!” and raced off ahead to sit under the hut verandah with a cheeky grin, waiting and watching for Grant to read each message.

After the first message, his face showed excitement and a hopefulness that maybe I had sneaked some cream buns in my pack from Oban as a motivational treat on day 2 (bugger wish I had).

By the second message he was practically running to the hut, only to find out it was cruel joke! Well he had the last laugh as the hut was all out of water and my drink bladder was empty.

The Island had endured large visitor numbers and it Paul Carter enjoys an afternoon amble on East Ruggedy Beach Grant Newton Tramping & Mountaineering 2003 had been a dry season. Bungaree hut is an idyllic bay that cries out for a fishing line. A late morning tea without any water or tea (or cream buns) was had before continuing off to reach Christmas village before night fall.

A hunter biv at Murray beach (one of many at river mouths) was inhabited by great examples keen Southern men. Where tramping is about bare necessities, their folklore is about “don’t leave home without it”. The Biv was a large house-like 10 X 10 metre tarp equipped with cooking utensils, food galore, enough Speights for a girl to bathe in and topped off nicely with a framed landscape picture hanging on a tree. As bad weather had prevented them from fishing and hunting they were practising their drinking and pancake making skills. I observed Grant glancing longingly at these as he made conversation. I recognised that glint - once upon a time he used to look at me like that. No longer was I the affection of his eye but relegated behind a more heavenly smelling pancake. I could see the saliva building as if someone mentioned the word “kiwifruit”. Worse still, I felt the many pairs of Southern men eyes upon me (who had not had fair game for some time) and with the threat looming of being sold for the price of a pancake, I exited stage right.

Christmas Village appeared just on dusk. The name conjured up images of a quaint little hut, Christmas pud and baked ham, …none of which was to grace our presence.

Day 4: This was to be our rest day with a day trip up Mount Angelm, but with snotty weather we were only going to see the inside of a cloud. We decided not to stay in the hut and pass time by ironing our tshirts with a hot billy, but kept walking to keep ahead of the crowd expected to be walking in for the Easter holiday. Our sea views and beach wanderings were to be missed as we started to trek inland. The problem with Stewart Island is that it is so undulating. You spend all your while scrambling up muddy tracks to the top, only to steeply descend down muddy tracks and gullies on the other side. It’s a never ending vicious cycle.

The tracks were muddy, but averaged only mid calf to knee deep. Only once did I sink thigh deep to acquire slightly muddy knickers, something you don’t want when following the boys rules of “2 pairs of knickers for 10 days“. We were amazed at the condition of the track given the numbers that had been through, all assisted by a fairly dry season.

Yankee river hut is a gorgeous hut set alongside a tidal river mouth. This is where I found and lost my heart. I am a bit of a stone collector and have acquired stones from most places. It was at Yankee River that I found the perfect Stewart Island pink granite heart shaped rock the size of a small bagel. Paul thought it looked grand. I thought it looked grand, Grant didn’t think it looked grand knowing it would probably find its way into his pack well before day 10. After many hours of reflection, I ended up tossing the rock knowing I had 8 days to go. Not even the motivation from imaginary cream buns would keep me going with any extra weight. This was a decision I was to regret (and still regret as I now look at my rock collection). (So if you are ever back that way….it about 10cm big…..grid ref S53 401 322… I’ll shout you a cream bun for it!). This spot provided the 3 musketeers with another stunning sunset and evening to dwell upon how we could get to work and live in such a place.

Day 5: The next day was to be a highlight – not because it was only 4 days to go to cream buns, or that tonight we would stay in a new hut without the American students who had shared the huts over the past 2 nights…but because we were to hit a stunning coastal track and were entering Kiwi spotting terrain.

Smokey beach was a stunning 2km of golden sand with so many wet stones glittering like gems..all too many to pick from!

A few km’s short of the new Long Harry hut we came across conical shaped holes in some rich soil. A sudden movement in the ferns beside me suggested that a kiwi was still within sight. With a quick walk around the ferns I had seen my first Kiwi. Grant was too slow behind the ferns and didn’t see it. Kiwi spotting - Paul 0, Lee-Ann 1, Grant 0.

The 2 month old Long Harry hut is absolutely positively gorgeous - light and airy and with its two large Maori platform bunks and open kitchen area, it felt like the Hilton. It also had a great pot belly Tramping & Mountaineering 2003 (unlike us which had been devoid of cream buns for some time). Large cliffs, blue seas, flax laden hills and weather beaten mutton scrub bushes made this a lovely spot I didn’t want to leave. The hut was nearly dry of water and Grant lugged a 20 litre water container from a stream up a tricky slope. After the 10th trip he was guaranteed of tiring himself to sleep and it was hot splashes all around!

Day 6: The next morning we got off to a slow start as we spent some time watching a young white tail deer lying and grazing on the track. We were spoilt with views to the Ruggedy islands all the way to East Ruggedy Beach. Here our hut was a half hour walk inland plonked on top of a sand dune in the middle of nowhere.

Someone (hunters? Non tramping club trampers? Or perhaps the North shore tramping club who had just left it that day) had left their food scraps, rubbish, canisters, and enough dirt throughout the place to plant a crop of spuds in. Lunch could not be eaten until the place was cleaned and rubbish burnt. She was a tired old hut even without the mess! Some “new virgin” trampers arrived late that night and foolishly thought going light meant forgoing any sweet treats or hot drink rations. I considered asking them to pick up my left behind heart for a few pieces of choccy. However the odds of them wanting to pick up an inedible rock for a piece of chocolate they considered too heavy to carry in the first place crushed that fleeting thought. Being men they wouldn’t have understood the sentimentality of the rock. I ate my chocolate bar in front of them with much gusto.

Hellfire pass was the next day’s destination. Such a name conjured up images of burning legs, a walk where you wished you’d gone to hell instead. But I was Xena that day with a lighter pack and a chocolate ration inside from the night before. A new routed track for an hour or so made walking fast until we rejoined the old track. Waituna bay provided a haven from the wind for lunch and is where we spotted another kiwi on the track. Due to the windy conditions (or maybe the kiwi may have had a hearing and vibration impediment) the kiwi didn’t notice Grant’s voice or footsteps and he saw his first kiwi. Paul 3 Lee-Ann 3 and finally Grant 1.

As Paul had got to Hellfire pass hut first, (and in keeping with its name) he had made a hell of a fire to warm the old Forest Service hut tucked in a cold shady forested area on top of the pass (220 metres). Another night with a hut uninhabited!

Day 7 was from Hellfire pass to Masons Bay. We had all been looking forward to this stretch as we had each read about it. However, all the writers must have flown in on a sunny day as I can’t remember reading about the memorable moment you can experience as the wind picks up the sand and hits the back of your legs on the 5 km’s of beach that you can’t escape. It was like being

Hanging out with the locals Grant Newton flicked by a thousand rubber bands a second, (even with gaiters) or using an epi-lady hair plucking machine on the most delicate of body places.

What the guide book did say was that during stormy conditions or high tide the beach is impassable. Paul (who must eat performance enhancing drugs for breakfast) was an hour ahead and had passed just before high tide. Grant and I had to fall into camel like gaits to get across, running humpetyhump on the soft sand with heavy packs.

The grand mown grass entrance to Mason Bay hut led us to find that the 24 bunk hut was already occupied by 4 private parties and 16 Christchurch Tramping Club members had and were straggling in. Small hut, too many people, pissing with rain….say no more.

Day 8: With the hustle and bustle of 28 people equalling Lambton Quay in a lunch hour, I was keen to hit the track the next morning and get to Fresh water landing ahead of the CHCH crew. Long boardwalks and magnificent manuka tunnels protect the environment that is only 40 metres above sea level where Kiwi’s can be seen foraging in the manuka scrub. Paul 4 Lee-Ann 5 Grant still 1.

The distance for this day was as long as any other but unlike 6-7 or even 9 hours, it took less than 3.

Day 9: It wasn’t so much that the FreshWater Landing hut was crowded, it was just that the CHCH lot (16) decided to dry their 8 day old sodden Tramping & Mountaineering 2003 socks around the fire making it more hazardous than cooker fuel asphyxiation. The CHCH lot were a bit wary about the state of the track to walk out and were not keen to walk to the North Arm and wanted to boat out…(don’t know about wet socks but I think someone said they had soft socks).

I was keen to do a hell day and fuelled myself up on mashed spud for the long day. Paul and I thought we had an agreement that if we got to Freshwater hut in good time we would continue to walk out and do a 9 hour day. We were greeted by North Shore trampers at the hut (jury is still out if it was their mess at Ruggedy beach). Despite them being Aucklanders, Grant was keen to stay. However with the whiff of clean sheets and fresh cod in the air and 2 votes to 1 we were walking out to Oban. The backpackers were booked solid apparently - but I didn’t care. Miraculously, as if in compensation for my left behind heart shaped rock, we walked into a backpacker owner who was highly frustrated as she had just had an inconsiderate cancellation of 3 people. Inconsiderate indeed!

Blue cod for dinner, dessert and breakfast! The visitor season had been so good that the infamous Kai-Kart had to close down as it had run out of chips, and dare I say it, cream buns!

Stewart Island….world famous for kiwis, cod, cream buns and mud. It’s remote tramping captures the hearts and minds of many a tramper, and has for now, kept my heart (that one heart shaped granite rock) until I return for more!