Sunday, 29th Jan 2006. Brown Hut
Yesterday was a long day, Tess dropped me off at the ferry at 8.15 am, and I arrived at the Brown's hut, at the start of the track, at 7.0pm.
Glorious day though. New ferry impressive, sat in the stern observation deck, like a large conservatory. No newspaper to be had, so apart from scenery watching in the Tory Channel. I struggled instead with the Times crossword, cut out from previous day's paper. (I did complete it the next day) Young man with iPod sat by the same table for a while, then a Swedish couple, and we chatted about the sort of route they might take with their car for mine days in the South Island. 
Told them to go on deck to watch the entrance to Tory Channel. This looked particularly splendid, as the hills rose steeply and the tops disappeared into fluffy white cloud. We must have been at half ebb-tide, for I have not seen the tide so strongly rip out of the entrance. As we got into Picton, we could see the new developments along the waterfront. What ugly, out of scale, out of character buildings. One replaced a fine old wooden hotel. What is the matter with architects, developers and town planners that all their taste buds seem to reside in the collective back-sides?
Quickly found the K-Bus. Dutch lassy sat beside me on journey to Nelson. She was going to go fruit picking - nine months in New Zealand. Then on to Motueka, over Takaka hill, and a change of drivers there to a chatty lady, divorced, with three sons, telling us about the potters, the transients and the sights. She was saying that the population of Golden Bay had stayed about 5,000 for a while now, whilst their was a regular influx of newcomers, for the alternative life-style, after a few years most would get disillusioned and move away. There is a local community of German life-style refugees, whilst the Kiwis would like to see them adopt a Kiwi life style, she says they seem keen that the locals adopt a more Germanic one!
The pictures are of Collingwood and the Aorere river mouth there, and of my driver, dropping me off at the Brown hut and the commencement of the Heaphy track.
Four folk at the hut, from Hamilton. Janet and John, Gerard and Jenny. Hut basic, bunks hardly worth the name, just a platform for a number of mattresses, and the same above, accessed by a ladder. Running water, no gas, flush toilet. Quite expensive at $20 per night.
Now writing this up in the early morning. Thick cloud of sandflies in perpetual orbit around my face and legs, and some drowned in my tea. Almost cloudless sky, no wind. Rushing water next to cabin. Did drawing of the Brown Hut, each of which take about an hour, and got away at 8.40. Companions an hour earlier.
The pictures show the Brown River, which flows alongside the Brown hut, and a view over the Aorere river to the mountains of Kahurangi National Park, and Mt Olympus rising to the right. My drawings are, first - the Brown river, which I drew shortly after arriving in the evening, and second - the Brown hut, which I drew in the morning before starting my walk.
12.30pm, Aorere Shelter
The people who built this path must have been craftsmen, geniuses. A beautifully benched and graded track gradually rising through the contours. Amost never level, never downhill and never steep. Just a steady 1:15 gradient. Although you realise that you are slowly rising through the forest, it is almost imperceptable. Having said that, by the time I got to Aorere shelter, it was good to get the pack off - the legs and back were a bit tired.
Now scorching hot, and I'm sitting on a bench under a cool verandah. I've had a lunch of scroggin, crackers, cheese and salami, which will be my lunch for the next five days. Though I am nominally a vegetarian, I have to admit to the sheer functionality of salami as a tramping food. Vegetarianism isn't a religion, just a code for living by, and depending on circumstances, adjusted as the need arises.
I was sitting by the trestle table when I heard a loud, coarse, grating cry in the air. I heard it approaching, and I was pretty sure I had not heard this previously. Then I saw above me a New Zealand falcon (Falco novaseelandiae). A second or two later, I heard another, and then the pair of Falcons were wheeling around the sky above me, screeching and diving about a minute, before they parted company and went their respective ways. Fantastic, I haven't definitely seen a NZ Falcon for at least thirty years, so to see and hear two for a whole minute was a wonderful show.
I return to my sketch book to record the view over to Golden Bay. The track is very peaceful, no people at all, the sun hot, no wind, the sound of cicadas in the bush. In my concentration I don't realise the clock has turned an hour. Sketch finished, I pack the book, the pencils, rubber and crayons safely away (at least I thought I had), I take a swig from my water bottle (I am carrying two one litre bottles, there is a nice pocket for each in the side of my pack) and my pack, heavy with all the food for five days, is swung onto my back, the belt tightened and the chest strap fixed and adjusted, and off I go for the hour or two to the Perry Saddle. The path continues its one in fifteen gradient through the shady beach forest, and I am left alone to the rhythm of my steps and to my thoughts.
7.15 pm The Perry Saddle Hut
Towards the end of a truly great day. The sun has continued to shine from a cloudless sky, and even now is uncomfortably hot on my back where I am sitted next to a trestle table. There are a few different nationalities here tonight, including two Germans, and an Austrian girl, Walli. Unseen, in the tussocks behind me are a couple of weka, their grunting gives them away, they know it's teatime. 
Just behind a low canopy of teatree in front of me, if I stand up I can see the distant and splendidly craggy ridge of the Dragons Teeth on the skyline, part of the Douglas range of mountains, about 1500 metres, or nearlyl 5,000 ft, high. I got a good view of this range when I took a short detour to a viewpoint off the track, the ruggedness, remoteness and the scope of the country certainly made an impression.
The Perry Saddle is situated in a grassy, tussocky area, abutting a low forest of manuka. I wonder if at one time, some optimist has attempted to farm here. The hut is rather nicer than the Brown hut, with two separate dorms, and some proper bunks. There are two four burner gas rings, and pots, so no problem with tea or soup or hot meals.
I managed to find a nice spot to sketch from, a natural rockery and shrubbery about 50 metres from the hut, with a view over to the Dragon's teeth, rising on the horizon. There is the merest whisper of a breeze, so despite being nearly 3000 ft up, it is extremely pleasant sketching and sitting down to write these notes. There was a moment of consternation though, as I seem to have lost my rubber (eraser for those sniggering Americans!) - there was a hole in my plastic bag, and it must have dropped out. Still my sketch turned out reasonably well without making any major corrections, so if I am reasonably careful, the absence of the rubber shouldn't be a issue. If necessary, I can always tear out the page and start again.
And now the sun is slipping behind the shoulder of hill behind the hut, and the air quickly cools. My "companions" have had a good day, they seem to be well seasoned travellors. Gerard and Jenny in particular seem to have been tramping all over the world. Last year they went on a very busy overseas trip to both Americas, but starting in Ireland! They walked the Inca trail. Gerard showed me some of his photos, which he still hasn't downloaded from his camera. I was particularly intrigued to hear that four years ago they had walked the St James pilgrimage to Santiago del Compostella, from the French side of the Pyrrenees. They stayed in the refugios, and they soon learned to get up and leave early, so as to be assured of a bed each night, as it was first come, first served. However, late comers don't entirely miss out or have a cold night in the open, the villagers in each destination are happy to take pilgrims. 
It took them about a month, with a cheat of about 100 km accross the hot, dry, dusty and tedious Spanish mesa, travelling by bus instead. However they made up for this by completing the pilgrimage to Capo Finisterre, which was the tradition in mediaeval times. They had a great adventure, and despite going later in the season, in September, it was quite busy. The charge was just 3 euros per night, food, bed and as much Spanish red wine as one needed to quench one's thirst. I should say that my interest was piqued because it has been an ambition of mine to do this trip, but starting in Le Puy, in the Auvergne, to do this pilgrimage. I am not religious, but the pilgrimage would be a personal one.
A near ten minute and rather steep path took me down to the local creek and a lovely small, but deep, swimming hole. The guide says it can be very cold, it was, but once in, skin tingling, it was most enjoyable. The bush, the solitude, the sparking water, the deep shadows, the clear sky, the pleasurable sensation of the cold water all combined for a blissful fifteen minutes.
Night-time saw me camped out on the verandah - cool breeze, less noise, stars to keep me company. My Austrian compatriot also decided to sleep under the verandah, she is from Vienna, and tall and athletic. She seems to exist entirely on a diet of instant noodles. We had a chat earlier, and she told me about her travels. She had made friends with a NZ girl, who's parents live in Collingwood, and the dad is going to pick her up from the Browns hut end of the track.
Shortly she is going to Australia, and there to be joined by her boy-friend. It sounded as if she had something of an on and off again relationship. They have been together, and apart, for fourteen years. She had been made redundant in her secretarial job in Vienna, and has used her redundancy money to finance her round the world trip. She says how expensive the huts here were. In Austria, according to her, the huts are cheaper and provide much better accommodation.
