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Published: November 10th 2014
The Crossing
An algae filled pool at the base of the cliff as I head out from the sand dunes to the sea. My feet coiled in the sun-slathered, ebony sand of Karekare Beach (pronounced carrie-carrie). Sand in general is torturous after a day of resting under the sun, but black sand - it is like walking on coals. I tried to play it off for the first few steps and then gracelessly did the hot sand dance the last four feet until my toes met the moist shoreline. I calmly recovered as I watched the waves break 50 feet out and then slide into the glittering shore before me.
I feel most connected to the world when my feet are being consumed by the oncoming waves of the sea. It's as though my body subconsciously knows that the water in this place is connected to all of the other seas and oceans my feet have stepped in. The surge of cool white foam reaches for my feet in greeting as if it were an old friend.
The day before, I left the car-park in Karekare with my backpack. I walked over the one lane bridge and headed towards the beach, but instead of taking the beach path via the Hillary Trail, I decided to take the Mount Zion Track
Look Out
The first look out on the Mount Zion Track which headed south and then eventually met the Hillary Trail and looped back up north to the Tunnel Campsite on the beach where I would be staying the night.
I started my hike (or "tramp" as the Kiwis call it) through the the forest which was full of tree ferns, palms, and other trees that looked more like odd caterpillars growing out of the ground. The dirt trail was calm and the floor around me was alive with brush I had never seen before. As the path climbed in elevation, the sky peeked through the palm branches. The Tasman Sea below was emerald in contrast to the black, sand of the beach. Panatahai Island floated effortless offshore, while a neighboring cliff jolted out to meet the sea beyond the Karekare stream to the north, just beyond the car-park.
I climbed the trail upwards as it traced the shore below. Occasionally I would go deeper into the brush, cross a stream, and then find myself back on the edge of the cliffside. At 850 feet, Mount Zion descended back into the side of the lush cliffside. Views of the wetlands spread out below, kissing the
sand dunes and then spilling into the sea.
The foreign environment was baffling. I couldn't name a single plant or tree. Stranger still, I was completely fearless. I did not have to worry about encountering grizzlies, a pack of wolves, or angry moose as I did in Alaska. I didn't have to fret about running into rattlesnakes, scorpions, or black bears as I did in the Smoky Mountains. In fact, unlike Australia, there is nothing in New Zealand that can kill you. There is only one poisonous spider in the entire country which was unintentionally imported from Australia. However, few New Zealanders have ever seen one, muchness been bit by one. Hiking alone had never felt so safe!
The base of the Mount Zion Track brought me to the Hillary Trail. Mountainsides towered on either side of me as I walked through the wetlands. Grass grew up through the water making the ground seem almost solid. Under my feet, however, I was literally walking on water. A path was constructed to create a firm net-like boardwalk, water lingering in the crevices benieth my boots. The path soon met a trail that ran over sand
Tunnel Campsite
Our tents set up amidst the dunes at the base of the cliffs. dunes and alongside a big black sand hill. Climbing upward at any degree in the sand was difficult with my pack on. Each step was small and included a slight slip backwards thanks to the weight of both my body and my pack. The way the park ranger and other locals talked about it, it was highly likely that my car would get broken into. As to not leave any valuables in the car, I had my passport and other paperwork, my laptop, and cellular devices in tow. This accompanied by a tent and a sleeping bag not intended for the backcountry made my load a little heavier than usual.
With my pack, I weaved in and out of the tall grasses and over dunes occasionally glimpsing the shore hundreds of feet to the west. After about 30 minutes on the Hillary Trail I saw a large hill rising out of the dunes. The trail slithered around the front of this grassy knoll and brought me right into the campsite, facing the entrance to the tunnel. The site itself was neither directly on the beach nor in the bush as I had read online, but was stunning none the
less.
At the site I met three Dutch boys, Robert, Joris, and Bas. They were the first people I had seen since I started tromping on the Mount Zion Track almost three hours prior. Their tents were colorfully huddled together in the site as they sat relaxing at the picnic table. They offered me a coffee and I joined them. They had only arrived in New Zealand two days before and were backpacking through the country for a month.
Just feet from the picnic table where we sat, the marshy ground opened up into a pond. A duck and her ducklings played hide and seek in the tall grasses that sprouted from the water. The still center mirrored the 850 ft cliff that stood like a large wall to the east of the site.
The tunnel was cut through the hill and at one point served a tram track. There was a steep rooty path that climbed over the hill. I grabbed onto the rocks and roots and pulled myself up. The top was grassy and windswept and had another unmarked trail that continued to the top of a small peak, overlooking the
ocean and marshes. Just before sunset, the four of us took the steep trail to the top and wound around to find a small perch on the cliffside. We sat there for an hour waiting and watching the sun shift through the clouds as it lowered, spouting off rays across the sea and shooting off ripples of orange light across the sand dunes below.
Later we sat at the picnic table in the stillness of dusk. The temperature dropped quickly as the light faded. There were no campfire allowed so we kept each other warm with conversation. Stars slowly began to peak through the darkening sky. The silver glow of the moon could be slightly seen breaching the peak of cliffside as the sea swallowed the remaining glow of the sun. As the stars created their web above us, we were mesmerized by the shapes of the southern hemisphere.
It wasn't until I sat there looking at this foreign sky that it hit me just how far from home I was. As I traced the sparkling specs of light through the darkness, not a single shape was familiar. My mind searched the stars placing
them together like puzzle pieces wondering what the names of these unfamiliar constellations could be and my heart raced with a childlike wonder and excitement.
That night my tent was just as warm and cozy as it was the night before, when I slept at the McCreadies campsite near the ranger station. The previous night, the moon was full and ominously glowed through a hazy stream of clouds. It shown right through the trees and into the opening of my tent. Being only a few yards from my car, I had the luxury of using my air mattress and two pillows. I celebrated my first night out of the city with a glass of New Zealand wine, a Braeburn apple and my favorite German chocolate candy, Kinder Buenos. With a box transformed into a small table and a battery powered LED Christmas light strand wrapped across the canopy, the tent was transformed into a mystical realm my childhood-self would have thought to be a fairy kingdom. Backpacking out to sleep under the fresh new stars with the roar of the ocean to lull me to sleep, however, was even more majestic.
That next morning
I had coffee with the Dutch guys and then we packed up our tents. They were headed through the Mount Zion Track, and I was headed down the Hillary Trail to the beach path. After I left the site, I continued alongside of the cliffside, through brush and over more dunes. The path opened up into the shore where a pool of green algea lay at the base of the Mount Zion cliffside.
I crossed the black sandy beach to the sea. The sand is heavily made up of iron, giving it its black color and magnetic quality. It is actually even mined in New Zealand to make steel. On this beach however the sand looks light and delicate as the wind leaves ripples across its untouched surfaces and the sun awakens a billions of specs of glitter. I followed the shore until I was across from Panatahai Island, where I took off my back and shoes and headed towards the sea. The foam cooled my burning feet as I looked out at the surfers in the distance. The emerald water crashed into white waves at the base of the rocky island ahead and the smell of
the sea was mild and comforting as it filled my lungs.
When I am near the sea, I feel solid. Like all of my journeys and travels through cities and states, over mountains, through forests, and on goat farms are only that - the journey. When my feet are being covered by the incoming salt-filled water and swallowed deeper by the sand with each receding wave, I feel I have reached my destination; I feel whole. The roar of the sea is the sound of an overwhelming celebration, welcoming home its once lost prodigal son. Despite the fact that I am half the world away from everyone that I love and everything that is familiar, I already feel like this place is my home.
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Robbie Freestate
non-member comment
Goldie says that she wishes you would have taken her with you. She likes everything that you so beautifully described. I say, whether journey or destination, keep on being the wonderful person you are.