Trekking off the Beaten Path: Tararua Forest Park

Challenges and triumphs navigating New Zealand's trails

Used to the UK’s extensive network of public rights of way, the distance between hiking trails in New Zealand has been a shock. Unless you are near one of the Department of Conservation tracks or willing and able to drive some distance, there are often few options. It doesn’t help that there is no definitive list or map you can refer to to find trails. The Department of Conservation website has information about their tracks but does not include tracks off their land. Maps have all sorts of tracks marked but do not distinguish between those you are allowed to walk and those you are not. There is a network of ‘paper roads’ with a public right of way but no definitive map of these, either. If you are planning to hike in New Zealand, I recommend that you buy a walking guidebook and check transport options if you won’t have a vehicle with you.

We saw signs for the Tararua Forest Park just a couple of miles from where we were staying. As we had use of a car and there were no trails we could safely walk to, we thought we’d take a look. Our maps showed a series of paths from the end of a track, so we were hopeful that we could get a good walk along the ridge of the hills overlooking the area.

We drove along the track to the gate at the end, where there was just space to park. Through the gate, we continued uphill on foot. The track narrowed. Eventually, it petered out altogether and became a path just wide enough to walk along. We had hoped to complete a circular route, but the return path marked on the map had been reclaimed by the bush at the point it should have rejoined this one.

‘Maybe we’ll just do a ‘there and back’ route to the ridge, with a short walk along it.’ I said, optimistic that it was just the one marked trail that didn’t exist on the ground.

Mike walking across a small meadow full of British plants - evidence of earlier human occupation

The path took us into woodland that was slowly regenerating, having been cleared at some point in the past. It was cooler under the trees – very welcome in the oppressive heat.

The path continued to narrow as it climbed diagonally up the steep-sided hill. It was once a road that led to a mill, no longer accessible by any vehicle. Lower down the slope, we had followed the tracks of a motorbike. Here, there was just an occasional footprint in the mud.

Suddenly, the path narrowed further. There had been a landslip ahead – a common occurrence here in New Zealand – and the route was diverted up the hill. Straight up, with a rope to aid ascent.

Mike heading uphill through dense bush

At the top, the path continued along its original trajectory, twenty or so metres higher. Of course, the route needed to rejoin the original track at some point, so another rope was provided to aid the clamber back down. By now, my heart was beating faster than normal, and it remained like this as we continued along what was now a narrow path with occasional small washouts and a steep drop to one side.

Eventually, we reached a riverbed. Two rivers met at a boulder-strewn beach, where the sun warmed the rocks. We would need to ford the larger river to reach the ridge. We could not see a path on the far side, but the water was way too deep and fast-flowing to sensibly ford it anyway.

The confluence of the two fast-flowing rivers

As we sat on the rocks enjoying the sunshine, I checked the maps.

‘There’s a route marked here to a historic mill site, and it only crosses the smaller river,’ I offered. ‘Let’s see whether we can ford that one.’

As we started to look properly, Mike noticed a straight length of concrete on our side of the river, with a matching one on the far side, adorned with two orange triangles.

‘I’ve found the fording point, Julia!’

The water was rushing by but didn’t seem to be dangerously deep. I had never forded a river while hiking, but it looked doable. However, the water would reach our thighs, so we made some preparations before crossing; trousers off, camera and phones in a drybag just in case, and backpacks tightly strapped on with nothing dangling.

Mike went first. ‘Take small steps, and you’ll be fine.’ He was right; as soon as I tried to take a longer step, the force of the water pushed my leg downstream – not a good idea when walking barefoot across uneven boulders.¹

A new mantra sprang to mind: ‘Be calm, confident and careful.’ It would be easy to talk myself into falling in. ‘Be calm, confident and careful.’ The water was cooling but not icy as it had been in the Lower Kaimais. I did not lose feeling in my feet (always a possibility, as I suffer from Reynaud’s), and slowly, slowly, I inched across the flow.

Back in the shallows, I spotted the perfect rock to sit on and dry off. Made it!

As we started walking again, Mike commented, ‘Aren’t your feet refreshed?’ Yes, they were deliciously cool.

For another half an hour or so, we persisted along the path. This was clearly meant to be a trail still; occasionally, we spotted the orange arrows. But it became less and less easy to follow and eventually led directly up the slope.

I looked up at the slippery, near-vertical route. I turned my head and looked down at the slippery, near-vertical drop to the rocky river below. Falling would be easy. Stopping would not.

Sometimes, the sensible decision is not to tough something out. One wrong move would likely result in a ride in a rescue helicopter.

We had not reached the mill, but it was time to turn around and retrace our steps – over the river, along the slowly disintegrating path, up and down the slopes with ropes, dodging the muddy patches, and then on the track back out into the sunshine.

Fording the river was another first for me – one of many on this trip, including experiencing a Hundertwasser building, climbing a scoria-covered mountain and gliding under a galaxy of glowworms.

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Feeling rather unsatisfied with this hike, we headed south to Otaki Gorge, where we had seen other trails on the Department of Conservation website. By the time we arrived, we only had enough light for a quick look – enough to tell us that this ‘edge of the Shire’ area was worth further exploration.

A suspension bridge spans Otaki Gorge

But before we did that, we had another couple of ‘firsts’ to experience, just a little further north…

1. Since posting this, I have received some feedback from hikers more experienced with river crossings. If you are planning to ford a river for the first time, please do read up on the best way to do it. The nature of the river we were crossing means that we were not in significant danger of anything more than a dunking.