Start – Ratea Forest
Finish – State Highway 1 (Beyond Raetea Forest)
Daily Distance – 16km
TA Distance – 156km
Today was a pretty brutal march through the Raetea forest. With no water sources within the forest, the
going was hot and uncomfortably thirsty. Terrain wise it was very similar to Herakino, so was a
continuation of the controlled slithering and tarzan-esque acrobatics required to tame the mud. Welcome
and worrying in equal measure, I have began to feel at one with the mud. My trousers are caked in mud
up to mid thigh, so trying to circumnavigate the swamps has been ditched in favour of the “tally ho!”
method of wading in and hoping to reach the far side before gravity takes hold and I sink to the armpits.
This haste was inspired by the minor cock-up of my forgetting that it was Sunday and the dairy (small
shop) I really wanted to buy an iced cream from was closing at 15:00, rather than 17:00. Hence, this
episode will forever be remembered as “the race to the dairy”. Honestly, as tough as it was charging
through the jungle in an epic (in my mind) race against time, it was undeniably fun to see what could be
achieved and how much my fitness has improved in just 1 week on the trail. Unfortunately, owing to a
couple of navigation issues with fallen trees, mission dairy race was a close failure. With too much
ground to walk before closing time Martina and I decided to try for a hitch on the main road to quickly
cover the distance while the other dairy race participants, Swiss Chris and Elle, walked on. Unfortunately,
I again overlooked the fact that it was Sunday, so traffic, especially traffic willing to pick up two mud
caked (and exceptionally smelly, which would have been a pleasent surprise for anyone who stopped)
trampers was non-existent. With failure now assured we disconsolately turned from the road only to spy a
beautiful river running parallel to the road with a campsite sized grassy bank and small stoney beach on
the far side. With no pressing need to make any further distance we waded the river (first NZ river
crossing, woop!), pitched tents and set about making a campfire to sit by. Confession time; this endeavour
would have been made easier with a bigger knife to whittle kindling from larger logs. Having poo poo’d
the requirement for anything other than my trusty swiss army knife, I expect mockery from back home
will be received in due course. However, with a bit of persistence the fire duly sprang to life. With the
assistance of some mellow jazz and the occasional 4wd vehicle wallowing gracefully in the river, it added
a lovely ambience to the remainder of the evening (which was primarily spent fantasising about pizza and
wine). One of my favourite things about wild camping is that even a spot 20m from NZ’s main highway
can feel a million miles away.
