Mozzies, Boaties, and Turning Custard

The Abel Tasman National Park occupies a northern coastline and interior of the South Island. It is still temperate land, and the coast itself is alternating golden beach, rocky shore, bay, hillside, cliff, and the “bush,” with its incredibly clear streams, waterfalls, and pools, its fern trees and other tropical vegetation. The Abel Tasman coastal track winds 51km across all this, up and down, to and fro, sometimes forest, sometimes beach, sometimes low-tide estuary. The trails--”tracks”-- all but paved and hand-railed, are the best we have ever seen, including the Khumbu in Nepal, where the trails support commerce as well as recreation. We parked the Bongo at the Abel Tasman Aqua Taxi's carpark at Marahau and walked into the park, unceremoniously starting the trek—Kiwis call them “tramps”--up and down, into the bush, down a cliff, onto the beach, and back again. No photograph can convey the richness and diversity of the scenery throughout. We had generally good weather throughout, mostly sunny, one cloudy threatening day (custard), one rainy night. The Abel Tasman sees some 30,000 visitors a year, huge by NZ standards, its largest park. (Compare Yellowstone at 3MM). In the 60 or more km we walked, I saw not one piece of trash (“rubbish”), not a cigarette filter, nothing. Yet there are plenty of people around, mostly “boaties,” people arriving or traveling on their own boats and kayaks, and day visitors arriving and tramping via water taxi. The water taxis run nearly the length of the park, stopping at the major bays. You can ride them to any point, hike a bit, then return from another point. Or you can simply ship your backpack to a given site and from there to another site. Very civilized. We wanted to carry our own packs, so we eschewed all this but for the return trip from Whariwharangi (actually Totarnui) back to Marahau. The number of backpackers, such as we were, is strictly regulated by the campground and hut system. The huts, four of them, hold about 24 persons each, the campgrounds about the same. Traveling north, as we did, one sees pretty much the same people from hut to hut, and forms acquaintances. For foreigners, this is invaluable and endearing. The hut trampers are mostly Kiwis, families, couples, a few Australians, and a sprinkling of Americans, and other nationalities. (We spent three nights in the company of Elizabeth, a civil engineer from Belmont, CA.) The Kiwis were marvelous in explaining their ways and their land and in welcoming visitors. As we marched northward, we stayed at the Anchorage, Bark Bay, Awarua, and Whariwharangi huts. All were spartan but quite comfortable, double-deck platform beds with mattresses, a common cooking/eating area, bathrooms with flush toilets, showers (cold), filtered water, and more. Even the campgrounds had running water and flush toilets. We spent New Year's eve at the Anchorage hut, the first of the four huts on the tramp. In the hut, we were all in bed and asleep by 10. No electricity. The fireworks and celebrations on the beach, a few yards away (the boaties and campers), awoke Vicki a few minutes past midnight, but not me. I slept in the New Year. Oh, mozzies are mosquitoes, of which we saw few, but rather more sand flies, and a few ankle bites.

A Fall and Pool in the Bush Oyster Catchers, Always Seen in Pairs, One Hunting, One Guarding...