I had already overcome a lot of adversities on my various holidays. Whether it was running into a maneuver area where a maneuver was taking place, almost being driven out to sea in a rowing boat or falling. But this hike was the icing on the cake, because it almost came to an abrupt end.
I had driven to Nelson, a coastal town in the north of New Zealand’s South Island, with the intention of hiking the ‚Abel Tasman Coastal Hiking Trail‘.
However, when a slide show about this hiking trail was shown in my hostel in the evening and the joke was going around that there was a white line on it so that hikers walking in one direction didn’t collide with those coming in the other, I quickly changed my mind and decided to take a closer look at the ‚Nelson Lakes National Park‘.
I didn’t have to worry too much about transport from Nelson to the park, because John, the owner of the hostel, took care of that work for me.
Very happy with my decision, I lay down and slept like a log that night, because the journey to Nelson had been very exhausting, as I had travelled from the south of the island to here without a break.
In the morning, the equipment for the tour was put together and all the necessary purchases were made.
When everything was done, all that was left to do was wait for the bus. It was to take me and 8 other hikers to the park. At lunchtime, the time finally arrived and after all the things were stowed in the small bus, the journey began, which took around 1½ to 2 hours. There was a special reason why we took ’so long‘ for around 110 km, because the bus driver also worked as a postman and newspaper carrier.
After a short drive, the bus stopped in front of a small shop. Here everyone was able to fulfil their greatest wish one last time before we finally set off and disappeared into nature.
In glorious weather we reached ‚St. Arnaud‘, the starting point for this tour.
After a short visit to the ‚Visitor Office‘, where you sign up for a tour and then cancel afterwards, I set off full of energy. Time was also a bit pressing, as I intended to walk to the ‚Bushline Hut‘ today, which meant a 3-hour hike with 1000 metres of elevation to overcome. To make matters worse, it was completely dark at around 6.20 p.m.
The first part of the walk was easy, as I was able to use the footpaths around Lake Rotoiti at first and a road later. In this way I quickly overcame the first 300 metres of elevation.
The higher I got, the more beautiful the view down into the valley became. When the road ended, I continued on an excellent hiking trail. At around 6 p.m., just as the sun was setting, I reached the highest point of my day’s stage. Since I wasn’t quite sure how far it was to the hut, I increased my pace so as not to get caught in the dark.
I reached the hut shortly before dusk. I was looking forward to a nice warm fire in the stove, but as there was only coal, nothing came of it, as there was no wood in the hut that could have been used to make the coal burn. In the small adjacent forest there were no loose pieces of wood other than trees. I have never seen such a tidy forest.
A Danish hiking group arrived about 1½ hours after me. So it was a convivial evening. We played cards and chatted. This meant that it got later than I would have liked, as I needed my sleep for the hike the next day. It was actually 11 p.m. when I slipped into my sleeping bag.
This hike had started with dream weather, but during the night it changed dramatically. It really got very bad with rain and, above all, thick fog.
When I set out in the morning, my path led me through such thick fog that I could only see 5 to 10 meters ahead. It was also drizzling and a strong wind was pulling me back and forth.
According to my map, the path led over a ridge and only this knowledge helped me find it. There were markings every 200 to 300 meters or so.
In good weather this is not a problem, but with only 10 meters of visibility, walking became a guessing game.
As the path became more difficult, the fog fortunately lifted a little and I could see where the path led. This was extremely practical because the hiking trail mostly led over scree and with the increased visibility, walking was much easier.
The wind bothered me more than the scree, because it came with such strong gusts that they occasionally knocked me over and I found myself on the ground.
After about 3 hours of walking I reached the Angelus Hut. It was halfway along the route we had to cover today. However, as the fog was beginning to settle again and the wind was getting stronger, I decided to end the hike for today and think about what I would do later.
The Danish group and 2 New Zealanders arrived about 4 hours after me. I found out that the Danes had run into great difficulties in these weather conditions and it was only thanks to the New Zealanders that they reached this hut safely.
I spent the entire afternoon trying to come up with a different version of my hiking route, but because of my very tight time frame I didn’t come up with a usable result. After a hard struggle, I decided to abandon my hike and descend from this hut into the valley to walk back to St. Arnaud.
I was not happy about this decision, because up to that point I had had to abandon all hikes in New Zealand because of the weather.
After I had laid down for the night, I felt the hut being torn back and forth by the wind. That reconciled me somewhat about my decision to end the hike.
When I woke up in the morning and looked out the window at a wall of fog, I felt even more reassured in my decision. Moreover, the wind had not really let up, which would have increased the risk of continuing to walk.
At around 9:30 a.m. the great miracle happened, the wind died down completely and the fog rose.
Now I saw for the first time what a wonderful setting the hut was in. This miracle and the fabulously beautiful landscape suddenly changed my mind about the rest of my tour. I wanted to continue it – as planned.
My roommates were amazed when they saw me packing up and setting off.
It was 10:30 a.m. when I set off.
At first my path led me over scree again and the still sparse markings made walking a little more difficult on this day. Eventually the path led over a narrow ridge and the markings got better and better, so I was able to move forward faster and faster.
After about 2 hours I reached the highest point of the day. This was followed by a descent of about 1000 meters. The first 200 meters were easy and it was great fun to walk them.
Then the path went from the barren ridge into a meadow. But the path became so slippery that I kept slipping and found myself sitting on my bottom.
Eventually the path disappeared into the bush and I thought walking would get easier. But I was very wrong. From now on the path seemed to lead almost straight up the steep slope towards the valley and this over almost 700 meters in altitude. This really wore out my legs and the constant slipping and landing on my bottom really gave me a sore tailbone. I admit, I soon started cursing like a cab driver, but it didn’t help me keep from slipping.
When I reached the Sabine Hut, I noticed what my legs had done, because they hurt and were shaking incessantly.
It was now 2 p.m. and I realized with displeasure that I was running out of time. I still had about a 4-hour walk ahead of me, and it was starting to get dark at 5.30 p.m. Nevertheless, I allowed myself about a half-hour break before continuing.
In the hut I met an injured person. She had injured her leg on the hike and now friends were on their way to get help. This story sounded really scary.
Despite the tiredness in my legs, I kept up the pace for the rest of the hike. The fact that the path only led through a valley and didn’t have many ascents and descents made the walk easier. Only now and then did I have to balance along tree trunks, but even that didn’t slow my average pace much.
All my efforts to get to the hut in time before nightfall were in vain. Eventually dusk fell and I had to make an effort to see the path or find the markings in the fading light.
In the last light of day I spotted a sign that told me it was 10 minutes to the bridge. With the help of this bridge I should be able to cross the river that flowed through this valley to reach the huts.
For further information, it must be said that the two huts that were considered as my day’s destination were on the opposite side of the river and the announced bridge was located exactly between these huts. According to the map, the huts were about 400 meters apart.
As I continued on my way, I spotted the first lights on the other side of the river and I assumed that this was the first hut and therefore the bridge was not far away.
By now it had become so dark that I had to resort to my flashlight to even find my way around the bush. I worked my way through the undergrowth in this way and as time went by I had not found the crossing, I was really worried about finding it at all. To make matters worse, I ended up getting stuck in the undergrowth and couldn’t really move forward. The only option left for me was to retreat, which I used to continue looking for the bridge. But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t find it.
It was now so dark that only the beam of my flashlight illuminated the surroundings. This made me a little uneasy, and I also knew that the night would be rather cold and that spending the night in a hut would definitely be preferable.
So the idea came to me to give up looking for the bridge and try crossing the river. Since it didn’t seem that wild to me, I became increasingly more keen on this idea. I admit that I still felt a certain unease. So I went to the bank, spotted the lights of a hut on the other side of the river and it was clear to me that I would work my way through the river.
I knew that this would be a tricky undertaking and so I thought about everything I had read about crossing rivers and put all the good advice into practice. I admit that no book had ever said to cross a mountain river at night.
As soon as I took my first step into the river, I disappeared into the water up to half my thighs. Although I was still close to the bank, I felt the power of the current and had an inkling of what was to come.
I worked my way forward with tiny steps. I only had a reasonably good grip anyway because the inside of my right leg was pressed against a large stone.
And yet, out of the blue, the current ripped my legs away. My backpack immediately filled with water and pulled me incessantly to the bottom of the river. As I disappeared deeper and deeper into the current, I was pulled further by the force of the water and I was just a plaything of the elements.
As I was helplessly torn away by the ice-cold mountain river and desperately tried to get some air, I thought it was all over for me. I had never felt as close to death as I did at that moment. But instead of panicking, my thoughts became clearer and clearer. So I was finally able to concentrate on implementing what I had read about what to do in such a situation.
I had to free myself from my backpack, which was pulling me to the bottom of the river like a stone, and let it float away so I could concentrate on my rescue.
It took some effort to climb out of the harness, because I was still fighting for air and the current was playing with me mercilessly.
When I finally freed myself from the backpack, it was a matter of letting go of it and saving myself. But the backpack started to float, so I just held on to it and tried to get to the bank with it.
I don’t know how far I was drifted. I only remember that at some point I felt the bottom of the river beneath me and my head was still above the water. The bank was also within reach.
I sat there for a while and tried to sort out my thoughts and realize how close I had just escaped a catastrophe. But since this wasn’t the best place, I stood up. But that was more difficult than I thought, because all my pockets were full of water and every piece of clothing was soaked. Even though I was already struggling, the backpack made it even harder. It was so soaked that it now weighed many times its original weight. So I pulled it behind me and climbed over the embankment to safe ground.
I felt like a drowned poodle. A huge puddle of water formed around me, so much liquid was pouring out of my backpack and my bags.
Completely soaked, shaking and a little confused, I made my way to the hut, because luckily the river had released me on the side of the accommodation. I was relieved to see that the place to stay for the next night was not far away.
After reaching the accommodation, at least I had a place to sleep for the night. But unfortunately it was not to be a particularly pleasant night.
Because of my involuntary bath, everything, yes, really everything, was wet. From food to clothes to sleeping bag, not a single item was spared. So I was happy when I found a T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that were not quite as soaked as the rest.
I could have actually used this hut to dry everything, but that didn’t happen. The previous occupants of the hut had used up all the dry wood and had not chopped or dried any new wood. So I and the other occupants were unable to turn the hut into a warm home.
As far as my occupants in general were concerned, they did not really share my fate. I had to figure out how to feed myself that evening. So there was wet food, which I could not heat up because my stove had not been able to cope with the bath. And the night was also a wet experience thanks to the wet sleeping bag. It was of little consolation to me that a synthetic sleeping bag like mine still provides a certain amount of warmth even when it is wet, which should not be the case with a down sleeping bag. I was freezing and everything felt damp.
I admit that even if the sleeping bag had been dry and warm, I would have had trouble sleeping because my thoughts were constantly circling around my accident and sleep was hardly an option. At some point I must have fallen asleep.
When I woke up in the morning I was a little cold, although the inside of my sleeping bag was now dry. I immediately tried to make a fire again, but all my efforts were in vain, as the wood was just wet through and through.
I had originally thought about staying in this hut to dry my things, but as there was no prospect of getting a fire, I decided to head back.
This time I did not do this hike alone, but joined a Danish boy who wanted to do the same route as me.
After we set off, I was first concerned about the question of the bridge, which I had not found the previous evening. Finding it in daylight was not really a problem, but I wanted to find out why I had not found it before. The solution was so simple. The bridge was quite dark and only hovered briefly above the water surface. But the real problem was that the sign pointing to the bridge was hidden behind a bush and I had walked behind the bush and therefore couldn’t see the sign.
I briefly considered whether I should be angry with myself, but why? What happened happened and ultimately I was entirely to blame for the accident. So I accepted it as it was and simply continued on the hiking trail.
The way back was extremely unspectacular. Occasionally we stopped and admired the mountains. It was particularly beautiful as it had snowed during the night and the sun was shining.
We encouraged each other or helped each other as we climbed over the various streams and crossed streams, so that we reached our destination, the Sabine Hut, very quickly.
A group of Englishmen had arrived before us and had heated up the place properly, so I found myself in a cozy, warm place to stay. I immediately took advantage of the situation and unpacked all my things and started to dry everything. After a very short time, I was once again the owner of completely dry equipment. I was very happy about this, but was still a little annoyed that the thoughtlessness of hikers had denied me this luxury in the last hut.
The rest of the afternoon was peaceful. We cooked food, wrote in our diaries, and occasionally chopped wood. At around 7 p.m.
another group reached our hut. That was a little uncomfortable, because there weren’t many places to lie down here. Now we had to squeeze together.
While the others spread out, Peter (the Dane) and I puzzled over the possible way back to St. Arnaud. After some back and forth, we decided on the much longer route, but there weren’t too great differences in altitude to overcome.
The night was very restless and I was glad when it was morning and I could get up. Peter and I were the first to set off on this day, which seemed to be going to be very nice.
We took our time walking because we wanted to avoid sweating at all costs. We still had to climb up to 1100 meters and that was where the snow line was and it would be quite chilly.
The first part of our path was definitely steep, but the higher we got the flatter it became and the path was pleasant to walk on.
We only had minor problems when the path was paved with wooden planks, because a thin layer of ice had usually formed on the wood, which didn’t really make walking any easier. In addition to these inconveniences, the mud, in which we regularly sank, caused problems.
Nevertheless, we reached the Howard shelter much faster than expected. This made us decide not to just walk to the Speargrass Hut as planned, but to go straight to St. Arnaud. Even though this was a significant extension of our day’s stage, we wanted to do it this way and the amount of mud, snow, ice or cold didn’t stop us.
When we finally reached the Speargrass Hut, it was the right time to treat ourselves to a hearty meal and relax. During this time, the group of English people we had met in the last hut overtook us. They also wanted to reach St. Arnaud today.
They were in a much bigger hurry than we were and so there wasn’t really a chance for a little chat, but we were still looking forward to seeing each other again in the evening.
After we had immortalized ourselves in the hut book, we also set off on our way. This now led exclusively through a valley and followed the river flowing there. The walk was pure pleasure and I would classify it in the ‚pleasure route‘ category.
The path only required us to concentrate more in those places where the river had partially washed away the hiking trail, or where it no longer existed at all.
After a 10-hour hike, we reached our accommodation in St. Arnaud in good spirits.
We thought we would have no more problems, but unfortunately the manager of our accommodation turned out to be not very nice.
He rented us 2 beds for the night, but as we discovered, there was only one bed left. So one of us had to sleep on the floor.
All our efforts to get him to at least reduce the price were in vain. Instead, he offered us to leave the hostel, even though he knew full well that there was no other accommodation option.
So we had no choice but to bite the bullet, pay the full amount and make do with the floor.
The next day, before the bus left, I went to the tourist office and reported Peter and me back from the park. I was really glad that I was able to do this.
Before I could get on the bus for the journey back to Nelson, I had to have a little chat with the driver because I had lost my ticket. I was allowed to ride without any problems and without being asked to pay again. (This generous behavior was more typical of New Zealand and not the manager’s rip-off).
After an hour and a half’s drive we reached Nelson.
Despite all the adversities and my accident, I don’t have any unpleasant memories of this hike. It showed me all my shortcomings and will help me to be more careful in the future. Or so I hoped, because up to now I haven’t really missed every possible faux pas on my tours.