Day 61: Burtton’s Track to Makahika Outdoor Pursuits Center
Distance Covered: 30 km
New Zealand is putting on a master class for developing rock solid determination in the face of constant physical and psychological pressure. Somehow, though, it knows when to give just a little encouragement.
The morning started out cool and windy. It rained in the early morning, making everything wet. We would have liked to have stayed in bed until the sun came up higher, but the knowledge of how big a storm was coming motivated us to get going. We rolled out of bed and were soon on the trail.
As soon as we crossed the stile onto the trail, the old forest tricks started. Deeply muddy, steep, roots everywhere, and dense trees. Okay, we’ve seen worse… come on, let’s go. So stomping through the mud we went, often feeling cold water and warmish mud come over our ankles and down into our shoes. Splish, splash, splosh. We reached a river crossing a couple of km later, topped up our bottles with clean water finally, and then moved on. Surprisingly, the trail became nicer from that point.
The trail followed another river for a little ways having us cross at various points until coming to an informative sign about the eponymous track. Jim Burtton settled in the area long ago to farm. He hurt himself falling from a swing bridge he built. He crawled home to feed his dogs and then crawled for hours more to try to get help. He made it to the hospital, but died of his injuries. Sad and brave at the same time.
The track continued on with rain threatening. We faced a number of technical challenges such as downed trees, minor landslides taking out trail, creek crossings, missing markers, and so on. In many ways, this trail was a mini set of the entire Te Araroa. It threw just a little bit of everything at us, but in a way we could use our hard won knowledge to easily overcome with barely stopping. It was kind of fun blazing through it, our eyes on the prize.
Near the end of this trail, the rain finally started in earnest. Just as we came up the end of it, we found a hiker putting on his rain gear. We were surprised to see him and were motivated to keep moving, so we didn’t talk too much. We did mention the big storm coming and that caught him off guard. A short time later, we found an old barn of some sort that was falling apart. We decided to eat lunch in it between the holes in the roof where we could be relatively dry. The hiker we passed walked by, noticed us, and we invited him to eat with us. He warmly accepted.
We found out during lunch that he is French, he likes to hike barefoot, he started the trail in Auckland, and tends to wander on and off the trail. We also heard that he’s the guy we’ve heard about before that doesn’t have a sleeping bag; he uses a loud, crinkly emergency blanket. He’s an enthusiastic guy who was very happy to share time with us as he’s been feeling isolated out here on his own.
We explained more about the coming storm and how we just have a tiny window of good weather to squeeze through before the mountains shut down for 3 or 4 days. But we have to push ourselves and things have to go just right. He thought about it and asked if he could join us… he offered to put on his sneakers to walk faster to keep up. We like to meet people so this sounded good to us. The rain was falling steadily outside and was forecasted to do so for at least a few hours so it was time to get out there.
The next track was the Mangahao-Makahika trail. Lots of locals had heard about the Burtton’s trail and liked it. No one knew about the next one. Warning bells. A short road walk around a mountain reservoir later, we found a tiny sign pointing off the road. Warning bells. These out of the way trails in the forest tend to be… rugged.
And it was! The deep mud started almost right away. Alright… here we go… just start stomping through it, splashing and slorping as fast as we can to just get through it. The dense forest protected us from most of the wind and broke up the rain a little bit, so that was a silver lining. The rain did start collecting above the mud pools so that you couldn’t quite see the mud or how deep it was going to be. But you got a pant and shoe cleaning when you first stepped in the pool, then got dirty in the ankle deep (or deeper) mud, and then got a cleaning as you pulled your foot up and out. It kind of evened out…
Emily and I have done these never ending mud treks so many times now that we hardly question them anymore. We just kind of roll our eyes, steel our resolve, say something like “OK, let’s get on with it” and start marching. Not so for our French friend. He could not believe how we were just blindly and quickly walking right through the middle of it all. He asked if we were getting mud in our shoes. Yes, we replied, our shoes and socks and the spaces between our toes are filled with mud. He was incredulous that we were just blasting through these conditions so quickly. Practice makes perfect, we said.
The track was about 21 km and climbed up, over, and down a steep ridge line. The tropical rain storm never wavered. There were some nice lookouts along the way, which was much appreciated. So many times these mud slogs are just green tunnels. Being able to look out once or twice makes a big difference.
We ripped through the track and popped out on farmland just as the rain finally stopped. A hunter going the other way said the road was just up ahead. Our goal from this point was to get to the Outdoor Adventure Center a few km away. The trail notes made it sound like a really great place to stay. We were hoping we could pay for a taxi into town to shop so we wouldn’t have to road walk the 7.5 km each way. If we could get the ride then there was a chance we could still make the weather window. Without the ride, there was no way.
The Adventure Center is run by John and Sally. It’s a camp for troubled youth and something akin to Boy Scouts. It’s their life mission to help the kids be better able to cope with their issues. They warmly welcome hikers and invite them to stay in the free cabin and eat dinner with them. We showed up just before 7 PM, cold and wet and tired.
John saw us as we approached the gate and enthusiastically waved us in. He took us to meet Sally to get setup. It turns out, they said, that they were leaving for a long vacation in Australia at 3 AM so this was the last night they’d be open for a while. Also, they didn’t have enough food for dinner for us and the other four hikers already there so we would miss out. No problem, we said! We were just grateful to have a warm place to stay tonight.
But then Sally snapped her fingers and told us to wait. She came back a minute later loaded with things. She cleaned out her fridge and gave us an entire leg of lamb, eggs, bacon, a bottle of wine, snap peas, strawberries, spaghetti and sauce, and an entire Toblerone chocolate bar. Whoa!
We asked about ride options into town and which service to call. They said they had already been there for the other two, but then paused and John offered to take us into town at 8:30, after eating dinner with the others. Then they apologized that their Internet was down so they couldn’t help us with that.
So once again, we found ourselves deeply indebted to total strangers. We walked down their property to the cabin and found that Emily and I would get our own private room. We started eating right away. The lamb was delicious. Probably the best thing I’ve had in New Zealand. The spaghetti was great. The strawberries tasted like somehow sugar had been implanted in them they were so sweet. We don't drink wine, so that got passed on to the French hiker, who much appreciated it.
After such an arduous, mud filled day in the rain, we were so grateful for their hospitality. We decided to make a koha, or donation, to their program. John was pleasantly surprised, but money doesn’t cover the thankful feeling we had.
On the way into town, John regaled us with stories of his adventures with the boys, his military pilot days, and the area. A quick shopping trip later, we were back to swapping stories in the car. The gist of the problems they see is that Maori culture is deeply tribal and that structure barely exists nowadays with suburbs. Further, the strongly hierarchical leadership doesn’t always seem to have the youth’s interests as their highest priority and fractured homes further create leadership vacuums. Drugs are used to mute their feelings and then it’s a downward spiral. John and Sally have helped hundreds of young men and they say that, although it can take weeks to break the chemical dependencies, that they love seeing the boys realize what it means to be truly happy again. It was an interesting conversation. The intersection of Anglo and Maori culture has deep history here and friction still seems to be grinding away under the surface.
Back at their home, John walked us through the route tomorrow. The Te Araroa, he said, somehow decided to take the longest, muddiest, least scenic trail to the ridgeline. Emily and I looked at each other and grimaced knowingly. He said there was a steeper trail right next to it that would be a little more work, but would shave off an hour or two, give us really great views, and hopefully save us from most of the mud. Although all the rain today means mud is inevitable. Sold!, we said.
So now we are in bed. It’s late, very late, but now we have hope that we can get through these mountains before the storm. (John and Sally said the storm was very serious in their experience.) We are both feeling grateful for their support and once again see that pushing ourselves hard has created opportunities for the trail to bridge the gap to the things we need.