Heaphy Day 4: 10 Feb 2018

I roused myself for a proper early start today, mostly to prove I could. Up and breakfasted, on the track by 7:45am. The route now finally descends towards the Heaphy River, offering a last glimpse of its dauntingly distant mouth (todays destination) as I leave the hut.

First glimpse of the Heaphy River

This morning Kate and Ginny are ahead of me, and we cross paths a couple of times in the beech forest as each of us pauses for a breather. About 2 hours down the line I spot them ahead of me and assume they have stopped for a rest – powerhouses of speed that they are. However the scene I walk into is slightly different from expected. Kate has tripped and fallen, with a gash above her right eyebrow (she found the only rock on the path to headbutt) and a very sore hand. She insists she feels fine and, unable to fix much on the track, we relent and press on to Lewis Hut, blessedly only 20 minutes on. Here I get to employ much of my first aid kit – cleaning a deep triangular laceration (sterile saline that I included with a laugh), apllying betadine, and a wholly inadequate plaster to hold the skin flap in place. I also bandaged my hand as best I can – uncertain if it is sprained or possibly fractured. Again Kate insists she feels okay, Ginny forces her to take some ibuprofen and paracetamol, and on they go towards Heaphy Hut.

Keeping my bargain of swimming at every hut I scout out the depth of the river, while the others all arrive at Lewis with plans for an early lunch. Laurel and Sam both join me for a quick dip in the Lewis River, very deeply tanniny near its confluence with the Heaphy.

Immediately over the swing bridge the feeling of the forest changes. Nikau palms become more numerous and giant, ancient rata exert their presence over all. I was truly awed by these magnificent trees, estimated to be well over 400 years old, that in places arched right over the track.

The last hut is situated near the Heaphy River mouth, and the roar of the wild west-coast shore in constant. Most spectacular are the cliffs and bluffs glimpsed upriver. With the arrival of Sue, a trauma nurse from the Australian group, Kate found herself the centre of attention again as my slipshod first-aid is replaced with some more professional handiwork – already an impressive black eye is forming. Sue reiterates what I have already said – rest and elevate, and yes get it properly cleaned/stitched/xrayed as soon as possible. A makeshift clinic then forms as first Paul, then myself queue up for blister treatment, and then I braved a quick run, inhaling sandflies, to the river beach to tick of a swim at Heaphy Hut.

This evening I brought out my final secret – a litre bottle of Old Mout Scrumpy – safely transported over 60km in the bottom of my pack. This was brought along primarily as a “test weight” to trial carrying the added weight of my tent, a Christmas present in preparation for my travels next year. I presented the cider with a flourish, much to the disbelief of my fellow travellers, who gratefully shared in the bounty. I took the last out to Case and Sven, and then accompanied them down to the main beach to take in the sunset. Unfortunately my feeling of zen was ruined by the call of nature (I blame the cider) and I missed the end of the sunset. Back on the beach I lingered as the others headed in – I could feel my journey coming to an end already. This would be my last evening spent in such vast isolation, so far from the trappings of civilisation. This would be my last night among my new “track friends”, many of whom I would be unlikely to ever meet again. I sat on a driftwood log, on a desolate West Coast beach, and shed just a few tears as the long-expected rain finally began.