In my penultimate South Island trip of the summer, I decided to visit Abel Tasman National Park. After all, it would be a crime to live only 1 hour from the golden shores of Marahau without dipping my toes in the sand.
I jogged into the National park expecting beautiful beaches and sea-side relaxation – but once again, I succeeded in making the easiest of the ‘Great Walks’, into a rip-roaring adventure with uncertainty lying around each corner.
I started out with a couple from Wellington as they began their 3-day northern hike, but within twenty minutes, I was bored and my eyes were drawn away from the trail-highway, to the seductive coastline. I strode along a dozen beaches while hundreds of holiday-makers sailed, swam, and sand-castled. Meanwhile I revelled at being off the beaten track once again, boulder hopping around the rocky coastline and occasionally squeezing through tight caves.
After a leisurely trip north, I ducked my head into Anchorage hut – lifting my Hut Bagging total to over a half century. Though on most hot days of summer the hut would be the last place I’d want to stay, a sleeping bag on the beach would be all you need for a great night sleeping under the stars.
Dirt-crete: thousands of tourists pound and compress this trail into a fast, yet exceptionally hard running surface.
Seals and White-faced Heron were rampant along the coast, hissing and inhaling violently as I burst into their territory. Threatened, as I cut the line between them and their offspring, I sent the oily creatures flapping into the ocean … safety, for us both. Meanwhile, I managed to capture our mutual fear as we dodged and darted each other along the narrow strip of traversable terrain.