Wednesday the 12th of March: Fly to Invercargill
Rowena drops Max and I to Christchurch airport, stopping for a last minute shop en-route. We board a plane and fly to Invercargill, arriving a little after midday. Watched 10'000BC, bought cooker fuel and spent night at Tuatara backpackers.

Thursday the 13th of March: Arrival: Christmas Village hut
We take a shuttle bus to Bluff (the southern-most town on the South Island) and a ferry across foveaux strait to the Oban township on Stewart Island, arriving at 9:30am. It was a beautiful day, but apparently this isn't a regular event. "If you can see Stewart Island [from the mainland], it's going to rain. If you can't, it's already raining." I was impressed with the crystal clarity of the water in the harbour and the constant sound of native birds around the town.
Max and I are still discussing which track we should do to make the best use of our time. The northern circuit takes 9 days. The southern circuit is shorter, but muddier and less spectacular. There are various options of taking shortcuts using water taxis or flying in and out from various points on the track. Walking tracks run the perimeter of the northern half of Stewart Island and apart from an abandoned settlement in Pegasus bay, the southern half of the island is completely untouched. One of the last remaining pristine places on earth. Several of the outlying islands have been cleansed of pests and are wildlife reserves. While mice, cats, deer, possums and other pests have been introduced to Stewart Island, it's one place you can still see Kiwi birds in the wild. There's even talk of blowing NZ$500M on making the entire island pest free. Good on them if they try, but even with $500M it's a pretty big place. Good luck, I say.
We eventually decide to do the northern circuit taking a water taxi in to Christmas Village hut and out again at Freshwater hut, allowing for one 'hut day'. We head to the information centre to book and... the next water taxi goes at 6pm. Bugger.
So we have cappuccinos and carrot cake at the Just Cafe, fish and chips at the quaint little fish and chip shop, and explore the township.
Oban is an old fishing town and has around 300 people, nestled into the northeast corner of Stewart Island. The two main sources of income are fishing and tourism, though the fishing is now cut back because of the quota system brought in to prevent over-fishing. I found Oban charming and friendly, however my discussions with locals discovered that socially, it's sadly not such a pleasant place to live. There are three main camps in Oban: fishers, tourists and DOC workers. The camps are separate, distinct and do not mingle. Worse, those engaged in tourism compete fiercely with each other, and do not mingle amongst themselves. Particularly the water taxis, apparently. Well I don't know whether it's really like that but it's a sad, isolated way to live I think.

Oban Township	Fish 'n Chip shop

Well 6pm eventually rolls around and we taxi up to Christmas Village hut. There's an American couple (Chris and Tiff) tenting and a Canadian couple (Jason and Chris) sharing the hut with us. We settle in, eat and sleep.

Christmas Village hut	Sunrise at Christmas Village

Friday the 14th of March: Yankee River hut
We rise early, eat a cold breakfast and go. It was threatening to rain, but didn't. We get our first taste of wilderness walking past lush rain forest and ferns. The air rings with singing birds. The track conditions are pretty decent though my Achilles tendon is still playing up a bit, but isn't too bad.
There are a family of hunters from Balclutha staying in Yankee River hut. They share around some Paua and Blue Cod which was nice of them. I've lost more of my Kiwi accent than I'd realised, and enjoyed hearing good old Kiwi banter again. Chris and Tiff (the American couple) keep walking to the next hut and we don't see them again.

When tracks go wild	Ferns & Fauna

Lucky Beach	So lush

Canopy	Don't Remember Where

Saturday the 15th of March: Long Harry hut
More walking, more bush, just as incredible. We meet more hunters bivouacked out at Lucky Beach. Rather than sharing a DOC hut, they set up their tents and tarpaulins around an existing fireplace/chimney and camp out there. It looked cozy.
Long Harry hut was amazing, out on a small peninsula with incredible views into the bay and across the ocean. There weren't any hunters, and the peace was noticeable. I went exploring along the beach and discovered this awesome cave which tunnels right through this huge rock face and emerges on the other side. I clambered around on the rocks and took photos.

Our Heroes	Smoky Beach

View from Long Harry	The Cave

That's one BFT	Find Long Harry hut

Sunday the 16th of March: East Ruggedy hut
Again, beautiful scenery and views. Consistently awesome. The next bay has a beach where aeroplanes can land, which makes the hut very accessible to hunters. The hut is full.
When first mentioned to me I didn't understand why, but it's slowly becoming clear to me why hunters and trampers are often so incompatible. It's all about perspectives. I think that most trampers bring minimal gear, live and eat simply with few 'luxuries', carry everything in and out on their backs, and enjoy the peace and tranquility. Many hunters bring in lots of gear, live and eat normally with many 'luxuries', and have their gear and rubbish shipped in and out with minimal carrying. (Note that by 'luxuries' I mean things a tramper would call luxurious, such as beer, steak, gas bottles etc.) Hunters tend to move in to a hut for several days, where trampers use the hut overnight and move on. The hunters have a lot of gear too, and spread out. It's hard to explain without sounding whiny, but I experienced it at East Ruggedy hut and understand it.

Monday the 17th of March: Big Hellfire hut
Mud was the theme of the day. Glorious mud. Actually, there was a really nice walk along the beach at the start of the day, but the memory was slowly swallowed by the mud. Plus it rained, which had the dual effect of dampening our spirits and creating more mud. I saw a Kiwi beside the track though. He was just chilling out and looking for worms and ignored us completely. I got up pretty close and took some photos, but the Kiwi cunningly hid his head behind a fern in each picture. How did he do that?
We arrived at Big Hellfire hut after a long muddy tramp through mud, into mud, up mud, down mud, and out of mud, and we were exhausted. I admit I was really happy there were no hunters. We cleaned up, got the fire going, gathered firewood, chopped it up, and settled down comfortably.

Surf this	Glorious Mud

Tuesday the 18th of March: Masons Bay
The walk consisted of two main parts: an arduous muddy slog up and over a hill; and a 5km long or so walk along the beach at Masons Bay. Interestingly enough, we learned that our map had the wrong lat/long coordinates printed on it, which lead to a certain amount of confusion before trusting our gut and going the correct way. Masons Bay hut is near a small river inlet.

Sunrise at Big Hellfire	We gotta go over that

That would be me	Masons Bay

The beach makes a great airstrip, and the water taxi get within a few hours walking distance at high tide. It's also one of the best places on Stewart Island to go Kiwi spotting. Thus, the hut was overflowing not with trampers, but tourists. Heaps of them. There weren't enough bunks so some people had to share. Our Canadian friends arrived a bit after us and missed out on bunks, sharing a mattress in the kitchen instead.
Max and I went to the beach, collected some wood and started a fire. After a bit Jason and Chris joined us. We made tea on the fire and sat there chatting until it got dark. It was a perfect end to a great little adventure.

Wednesday the 19th of March: Back to the backpackers
Awoke in Masons Bay after a lousy nights sleep. The bunk room was quite humid and the mattress was sort of adhesive. Yuck. Plus the midnight choir was performing at full volume, though I am told I occasionally do the odd solo.
We walked inland to Freshwater. It was crazy. These board-walks stretch for miles across deep slushy swamp and bog. I guess there was no track before the board-walks were built. You'dve had to have swum. It was certainly a nice change.
We arrived at Freshwater and hailed a water taxi to Oban, drank a coffee, ferried to Bluff, shuttled to Invercargill and checked back into the Tuatara backpackers.
As a tramper, you have really no idea how badly you stink. We dropped our bags in the dorm room and went off for an oh-so-necessary shower. As we returned, someone was walking around in the hallway asking 'who was staying in that room?'. The clothes in our bags had stunk the room out. It was horrible. By then the reception had closed, so we took our clothes upstairs and left them in soak for the evening. By the next morning the water had turned tea-coloured. Wow.

Thursday the 20th of March: Hanging around
Washed clothes, went shopping, read. Watched Bucket List at the cinema. Saw Jason and Chris again. They'd just checked into the Tuatara and were going to the same movie. Crazy.

Friday the 21st of March: Fly to Chch, repack
Rise, pack, breakfast. Farewell Jason and Chris for probably the fifth time. Walk to airport, catch plane, meet Rowena, drive to Bergli. Unpack. Make gear list for Abel Tasman trip. Send list. Print out maps, tickets, etc. Pack. Tidy room. Sleep.

Saturday the 22nd of March: Drive to Marehau
Up and go, leaving Bergli at 7:30am. Drive to Marissas, then to Bev's, then north to Marehau. The drive is decent, taking 7 hours from Christchurch. We organise tickets, pitch the tent, make friends with an English guy called Neil, and get drunk on beer, scrumpy and kava. Excellent.

Sunday the 23rd of March: Kayaking: Anchorage hut
Los! Los! Los! Get up, eat, shave, pack the bags, clear the campsite, park the car. We assemble in a fashionably late fashion at the kayaking office, go through the safety briefing, and get onto the water. I'm feeling bright as a spark, but apparently Bev and Marissa are hungover. We find the nearest beach and they loll around like zombies. A swim freshens them up, and we continue. We check out Adelle Island, then cut back to the mainland and hug the mainland until we get to Anchorage.
I used to sail to Anchorage bay quite a lot with Max when I was a kid, and it's as gorgeous and golden as I remember. We explore the estuary at low tide, then return to cook dinner on an open fire in the evening. Tea, stargazing, bed.

Appletree Bay	Anchorage Beach

Monday the 24th of March: Awaroa hut
We wake early to catch the low tide. As we are stumbling around in the pre-dawn darkness, we realise that we've forgotten the cooker. Oh, shit. Some sweet talking gets the loan of of a cooker and our wonderful hot breakfast goes ahead unhindered.
The estuary by sunrise was beautiful, but that was just the beginning. The track rises above the bay and along the shore, giving idyllic views to river inlets, estuaries, bays, and beaches along the Abel Tasman coastline. We stop at Bark Bay for a swim, by which time I am thoroughly sun burnt.

Estuary behind Anchorage	Inlet. Somewhere.

Dunno.	Something native. Not Rata.

As we drop down into Awaroa, we come upon a fork in the path. You can take the high road, or the low road. The low road is tide-dependent, but it goes past a cafe. Ha! A cafe? This'll be funny. Well it's almost low tide, so we go for a gander.

Bark Bay

I find myself standing on a tiled street. A yellow clayish wall runs along to our right, and cafe-style music drifts from beyond. An outside fire is burning, and a large building stands before me. I see sun umbrellas in the courtyard, waiting staff and little 'reserved' signs. Eh? Another sign says 'Please wait to be seated'. A waitress emerges and welcomes us. She is clean, tidy and mildly attractive. Quite unlike myself. I deshoulder my rucksack and notice Bev and Marissa are there too. We sit down on a couch and order three Monteiths Radlers which they have on tap. The music changes to Cafe del Mar. The beers arrive in cool glasses. It is cold and refreshing. I order a second, this time Monteiths Black, which is also on tap. Man, this is the coolest delusion I've ever had. The figments of my imagination representing Bev and Marissa agree. After a while we check the time (as if such a thing exists in this place) and realise that the tide will be on the rise soon. So, sensing that it must be time to wake up, we graciously say our goodbyes, shoulder our burdens, and continue.

Awaroa Lodge	Dream come true

Suddenly I am back on a dusty trail, miles away from anywhere remotely civilised. The sun seems to have dropped since I blacked out. I must have been out for some time. I consider telling Bev and Marissa about my dream... Nah. They'd just think I'm crazy. I am quite parched, however and suggest we rip into that wine bladder I bought with me. Smashing idea! Out comes the wine, and the good times roll. By the time we get to the Awaroa estuary I'm so drunk I don't even remember which side the hut is on. We cross it, read the sign which says 'The hut is on the other side, you drunken morons!', and find the hut. We borrow another cooker and make dinner. Man, what a crazy day this has been.

You're going...	the wrong way!

Tuesday the 25th of March: Walk/Boat/Drive, return to Chch
Another sparrow-fart awakening, eating and packing. We cross the Awaroa estuary for the third and final time, and arrive on Totaranui beach a few short hours later. Rather than lounging around the whole day, we opt to take the next available water taxi out and make an early start on our return journey. Bev has to drive to Dunedin, so making sleep an option for him would probably be appreciated.
And so, we catch the water taxi at a bit past ten, and drive to Christchurch. We pick up an international water rafting/kayaking guide extraordinaire called Gordon, and convince an Austrian pedestrian named Pia that she's in fact a hitch hiker despite not actually having her thumb out, and take her part of her way. Marissa takes over the driving and I snooze for a while. We arrive in Chch and head to Marissa's. She shows us the dvd called Wonder Showzen she's been raving about. It's some messed up stuff, with kids drinking blood and sesame-street-style puppets having sex and giving birth on camera. Kind of like an extreme monty python kids show. I drop Bev off and return to Bergli. Shower, spa, sleep.

Wednesday the 26th of March: Loose ends/Blogging
That would be today. I've sucked the photos onto my laptop and sat in bed all day blogging and drinking tea, with regular pauses to pet the cat, play the guitar, and use the bathroom. Called Paullo and tidied up a bit too. I almost went up the hill with Max, but that would have required leaving the house. I think tomorrow I'll be out and about again.
Oh, and I'll put the photos on when I get to Paullo's place. Perhaps tomorrow. It's kind of a pain in the ass to upload stuff on an unreliable 42K dial-up connection.

Tomorrow and thereafter: The Future
The next step of my journey involves hanging around Christchurch, shopping, visiting friends, a week or so in Australia visiting relatives, and then a flight to Zürich where jet lag, bills, work and bureaucracy await me. Needless to say I do not anticipate anything really blog-worthy happening. The main adventure is now over, and it's time to tie up the loose ends.

Over and out,
-Marco