Heaphy-Track
We wake up around 9am. The missing doors in our shelter not only benefit sufficient air flow, but invite curious flies that bless us with their melodic humming. Having digested yesterday evening’s magnificent meal, I make my way into our private garden to enjoy nature’s greatest food - nuts. All hail the glorious nut mix! A plethora of salty protein bombs, crunchy and various in kind agrees kindly to being eaten, serving as nutritional foundation for our endeavours. Enraptured by this meal, I embrace the morning sun, pack my bags and pursue Peter to get up and on the road.
After 30 minutes we reach the Perry saddle and enjoy the breathtaking view at around 950m. Our tired legs remind us of yesterday’s arduous journey, but downhill lies ahead. We surpass the next hut deviously, aiming to avoid any wardens. While our bodies are pumping, my equipment wants to give into the circle of life. As one pannier bag nearly rips, I unleash a howl of frustration and Peter, already accompanied to my self-inflicted rancour, parks his bike and starts preparing lunch at the side of the road. 30 minutes later, various straps have fortified both my bike and my mental constitution and we are ready to go.
Our way takes us through marvellous terrain. Vibrant bush and imposing hills paint the scenery and I have to stop ever so often to comprehend that all of it is actually real.
Peter leads the way downhill. As there is only one direction, he is doing a magnificent job. While the way down incentivises speed, the rocks on the road do the contrary. One must find a balance between those things without loosing anything. A sleeping bag and shoes hanging in the bush demonstrate this delicacy and as I collect Peter’s belongings, I realise my shoe is missing too. I trail back 1km, but no sandal in sight, a Weka must’ve taken a liking into my footwear. On my way back, I ask some hikers to take my sandal back home - something they absolutely seem to love helping with - and find Peter shortly after.
We reach the Saxon hut and take a break. As we pull out the glorious Nut-Mix, a fellow disciple joins our circle. Captivated by the scent, the Weka seizes a moment of carelessness and bolts off with the holy bag. Having to choose between having dinner or becoming dinner, the Weka drops the goods and seeks cover back in the bush, waiting for another opportunity.
Aiming to reach the foot of the mountain by dawn, we make our way on another glorious 10km downhill. The track leads through tropical bush, green and humid, with small rivers and sharp corners. Sometimes, the edge falls off dramatically into the valley. I need to make sure not to die. Peter occasionally stops in the front, but some time has passed since. A small skid on the trail catches my attention, and before I can think of its possible origin, I see Peter hanging with his bike in the bushes. Being tired and cold he says to have lost control. Gladly, both bike and Peter are well, secured by a tree from death through falling. After briefly celebrating the gift of life, we get back on the bikes to finally check in to our home for the night.
Lewis shelter is equipped with mattresses and even a door. We feel like kings. Our day ends with full bellies and stargazing on the balcony.
