Tramping with migraine in Aotearoa/New Zealand

Day 132 (Wed 31 March): Anne hut to Waiau hut 

Started 8.20am, finished 2.45pm, 26k.

Pain in the head status: No head pain. Also sleeping exceptionally well – the insomnia disappeared as mysteriously as it arrived.

Word of the day: Dubeity, doubtfulness.

There was definitely some improvement on the gastric front this morning with no aches and pains overnight, although I still needed to take anti-nausea tablets. At least I was able to think about food without revulsion. Fortunately it was another easy hike, mostly flat and following a 4WD track for two thirds of the way.

We soon diverged from the St James walkway onto a virgin track again, the Waiau Pass track. This way our boots have never trod, these vistas we’ve never seen, these sandflies we’ve never fed, this grass we’ve never watered. It was stunning, a fitting introduction to the beauties of Nelson Lakes National Park.

Once again, the weather we experienced cast dubeity onto the forecast, as it was supposed to rain but we had to crack open the sunscreen at lunchtime. We did get a shower just before dinner but by then we were safely ensconced in the 6-bunk very new (officially opened 2018) Waiau hut, undertaking an eradication of the sandflies inside so we could eat unharrassed.

I have to say that although the sandflies are annoying, I do seem to have become partially immune to them. When they bite, it might itch and burn for 10 minutes or so (or it might not bother me much at all) but then it fades away. I might be left with a small red dot on the skin but more often no mark at all. At the beginning of the trip, I would develop welty lumps after being bitten which would itch for days. I kind of thought sandfly immunity was a myth but I’m losing my scepticism. That doesn’t stop me squashing them at every opportunity though. There aren’t enough native birds to keep them in check so I have to do my part.

Note on Waiau hut: This was built due to a donation from retired Timaru farmer Robert Birks, who wanted to give something back after years of excellent hiking experiences in these parts. It cost $155,000 which seems like a bargain given its stellar location and million dollar views. I suppose the river crossings to get here might put some people off. And the sandflies. And the long drop. And the lack of Wi-Fi. No Netflix, no internet, only the hut book and an Ernest Hemingway novel to read. It’s awesome.

Day 133 (Thurs 1 April): Waiau hut to Blue Lake hut

Started 8.25am, finished 4.30pm, 15k.

Pain in the head status: Woke up around 6.30am with a stabbing pain in the neck. I thought it might be pillow related but then I suddenly remembered I had forgotten to take my hormone replacement pill last night- the pill that I take to prevent hormonal migraines. After kicking myself, I took the hormone pill then took a migraine pill, after twigging that the neck pain was a migraine. I’m not sure how this habit I’ve been keeping for months (taking a pill in the evening) suddenly drops out of mind one night. But fortunately, the pain disappeared by the time we started walking and the rest of the day was pain-free.

Word of the day: Pusillanimous, timid, cowardly or irresolute.

It was misty and overcast in the morning, but not raining, not windy and not too cold so we set off to tackle Waiau Pass (1870m). Waiau Pass has the reputation of being one of the hardest days of the trail – for us, 1000m up with rock scrambling and climbing to get to the top, then a steep drop down scree and boulders to Lake Constance. The weather forecast predicted the clouds would clear so we hoped this would hold true and not turn out to be an April fool day joke.

Happily, the forecast was spot on. We walked up the noisy boisterous Waiau river, wetting our feet in it far too many times, until we reached the upper forks of the river. This trip has severely diminished any pusillanimous attitudes towards river crossings.

We sidled up beside a waterfall and had lunch before tackling the steep climb. As we climbed, the clouds lifted and the sun appeared, fully illuminating the rugged toothy peaks in all directions. Waterfalls gushed off the slopes wherever we looked. The worst part of the climb was having feet frozen from the icy river crossings, so I couldn’t feel my toes. Otherwise, the rock climbing was kind of fun.

On the other side of the pass, we looked down on the green-blue jewel of Lake Constance, in a bowl of spectacular mountains. Then past this, the crystal clear Blue Lake, embraced by mountain beech forest. Blue Lake has some of the clearest water in the world, transparent to a depth of 70-80m, as if it had been distilled. The challenge is to keep it from being tainted by hikers who pretend to be unable to understand the signs asking people not to wash themselves or anything else in the water.

Blue Lake hut was quieter and pleasanter than the last time we had visited on a trip over Moss Pass. At that time, it had been raining and the hut was full to capacity, mostly with annoying ultralight SOBO TA walkers who were waiting at Blue Lake hut for the weather to improve, not having any wet weather gear to go over Waiau Pass because of their ultralight ethos. There were only three other hikers this time – two Kiwi TA section walkers and a French through hiker, none of them annoying or ultralight, happily. The hut warden that was supposed to be patrolling the hut apparently got airlifted out by a rescue helicopter this morning with her child so we had no new weather update. But we know what’s ahead- we’re back on a track we’ve done before so it feels safe and known.

Astronomical highlight: The night sky was so clear that before the moon rose i could see hundreds of stars. The last thing I saw before closing my eyes was Orion’s belt from the window beside my bunk. Priceless.

Day 124 (Tues 23 March): Morrison footbridge to Locke Stream hut

Started 8.30am, finished 4.10pm, 23k.

Pain in the head status: The migraine hiatus seems to have ended as I woke up feeling headachey and nauseous. I tried out a new anti-nausea pill (not ‘new’ as in a recent invention; an old one I haven’t used before) along with my standard anti-headache artillery and it worked – migraine resolved and migraine pill avoided. Migraine is like the rat problem we have in Aotearoa, you pull out all the stops to eradicate them but they just come back, more determined than ever to make their home with you.

Word of the day: Stipule, outgrowth on the base of a leaf stalk characteristic of coprosma.

In summary, today I was tired. Tired of river crossings and squelching along in wet boots, tired of rocks tripping me up and slipping underfoot, tired of unmarked routes and washed out tracks. The braided rivers in Aotearoa may be unique and special but they are a plague on trampers who just want a nice clear path that doesn’t change every time a storm comes through.

But after a rough morning, the track did improve, to an actual path along grassy flats, only occasionally throwing us back into the river or across a spit of gravel. The morning mist cleared and we could see mountains. I passed a plant and a botanical thought came to me – those leaves have domatia and the leaf stems have stipules, so it must be a coprosma. That’s as far as my plant identification went, but I was pleased to remember something from the plant books I lugged around the North Island.

As well as tired, I was sore. My shoulders ached – the front of the shoulder where the bicep tendon runs over the ball of the joint. It was discombobulating and almost funny how a new and unexplained pain could take up all my attention, diminishing the old familiar pains. Why had this suddenly developed? What did it mean? When would it go away? What should I do about it? How would I sleep tonight with two painful shoulders?

It was a relief to get to our home for the night, Locke Stream hut, rather pungent inside from a recent successful rat poisoning mission, but large and warm and of historic significance, built in 1940 from hand-hewn timber. It was almost a relief to find that something smelled worse than our boots, even if this was a mixture of dead rat and old rat’s nest. We were reunited with Duncan from Auckland, who had skipped the section between the Rangitata and Rakaia rivers and had caught up with us. He had stories to tell – buying a walking pole and losing it down a river, falling into another river, losing toenails, spending two extra days at Top Timaru hut because of bad weather. He was having a great time.

Disappointment of the day: The boot sole strap on one of my new gaiters broke, rendering it useless. My old gaiters never let me down like this. Now, not only is one tender leg exposed to the hazards of gorse and hook grass, my gaiter tan line will be more pronounced on one side than the other, looking doubly ridiculous.

Day 125 (Wed 24 March): Locke Stream hut to Hurunui No 3 hut

Started 8.30am, finished 3.15pm, 15k.

Pain in the head status: The first full-blown migraine I’ve had for a long time came on in the night. A migraine tablet was needed and again in the morning. But the tablets worked and by the time we were on the trail, the pain was mostly gone, leaving me a bit dopey and weak for an hour or so. Maybe yesterday’s tiredness was partly a migraine prodrome.

Word of the day: Piffle, talk, writing or action regarded as inconsequential or nonsensical.

Yesterday’s crises were passing fancies today – my shoulders felt inexplicably better and Tony, ever practical, suggested a remedy for my broken gaiter – remove the boot strap entirely. This worked so well I wondered why there was a boot strap at all.

We climbed over the Harper Pass/Taramakau saddle this morning. This route was upgraded and huts built along it in the 1930s, when it was proposed to be a popular hike in the vein of the Milford Track. It never succeeded, which is hardly surprising since it ends (or begins, depending on which way you walk it) on a river on the West Coast which is frequently impassable.

This western side of the track was a little rough – no namby pamby bulldozed ex-farm track or boardwalk to this saddle. It was in true TA style – a couple of slips, overgrown, a bit of windfall. But once on the other side, past the tiny but tidy Harper Pass Bivouac, the track improved significantly, mostly an easy stroll through forest and grass flats near the river.

There have been so many rivers in the last few days, I was having difficulty remembering which one I’m walking in, or beside, or over. Yesterday, we crossed the Otira to walk up the valley of the Taramakau river (and went through that one many times). This morning we passed over the headwaters of the Taramakau and picked up the Hurunui river on the other side. This afternoon, we slid across Cameron stream on our first three-wire bridge of the trip. So much fun.

We trod through some dried up cow pats and horse poo and I started thinking about all the research activities I could have done if I’d thought of them at the beginning of the trip. A bovine scatological survey could have been interesting, noting all the different textures, fluidity and content of cow pats throughout the country – I could have done an observational study of the sun safety habits of walkers. I have been horrified by the number of people with beet red burnt faces walking under a blazing sun with no hat on. But I’ve only now realised what an opportunity I’ve missed in not interviewing all the men we’ve come across to see if any would be a suitable husband for a friend in Wellington. All this piffle about me and my migraines when I could have been doing something useful for someone else. There’ll be slim pickings over the next few weeks – the number of walkers is declining.

False hope of the day: When I took my boots and gaiters off, I thought I saw calf muscle definition in my lower leg. I was just about to crow excitedly about it to Tony when I realised it was just the line left from the elastic in my sock, which I’d pulled up higher than usual today. So disappointing.

Day 117 (Tues 16 March): Double hut to Comyns hut

Started 8.25am, finished 3pm, 16k.

Pain in the head status: No pain.

Word of the day: Epigore, inferior imitation.

The day dawned fine and clear, the wind and rain having disappeared in the night. It was a steady climb for three hours, climbing up and over folds in the earth, with the usual thrashing about in tussock, ripping our way through matagouri and scanning the land for the next marker pole. The dead speargrass flowers sometimes fooled me – sticking straight up like a waratah, but a misleading epigore.

After crossing three easy scree slopes, we reached Clent Hills saddle (1480m). We could look back across to where we had come from and marvel at how long it takes to walk this country. Looking down to where we were headed, we could see the earth creating clouds – vats of steam rising from the river valleys, being sucked up into the air to form huge wafts of cumulus.

The cicadas were clacking loudly, as if applauding the sun, and the crickets were leaping wildly, celebrating the warmth. We sat in the sun on the saddle, until a chill wind drove us down the other side, to the Round hill creek, then the north branch of the Ashburton river. I’d read that there were over 40 river crossings in this section, with wet feet guaranteed. Our boot-gaiter defences kept our feet dry until the Ashburton river, then it was gumboot-slosh time, but the crossings were easy and it was a sweet beautiful wander down a gorge, sheer rocky outcrops fringed with greenery, mountain peaks peeking out through the clouds.

We arrived at Comyns hut, a tin can of a shelter, to find it already occupied by Dennis, a TA section walker from Auckland, who had the latest results from the America Cup, that neither of us cared about. We set about wringing out socks and boots and gaiters, ready to get wet again tomorrow.

Reflection of the day was on the marvel of skin; how it is completely waterproof, unlike my wet weather gear, how every time a scratch or bruise heals is a small miracle, how it quietly spits out thorns from under its surface. I also pondered why the skin on my legs was as dry and scaly as a shedding lizard whereas Tony’s legs were perfectly smooth as if he’s been following some secret moisturizing routine.

Day 118 (Wed 17 March): Comyns hut to Glenrock Stream carpark (Rakaia river) and Methven

Started 8.25am, finished 2.55pm, 16k.

Pain in the head status: No pain again.

Word of the day: Oneiric, of or pertaining to dreams.

A light frost on the ground this morning explained why it was so cold in the tin can overnight. It was the first time I’ve walked with my down jacket on for the first half hour or so, until my fingers and toes regained some feeling. We felt sorry for Dennis, starting out the day with 40+ frigid stream crossings, with no sun until at least 10am, then wet feet all day. This section is better walked NOBO – we only had wet feet for an hour yesterday. Points to us.

Once we warmed up, we had another nice rambly slow day, with lots of sitting down to enjoy our last muesli bars, wraps and plastic cheese. At A-Frame hut, we sat in the sun and read the hut book; at Turtons saddle, we watched the karearea soar across the hills, one of them sweeping down to eyeball us, so close we could see the flecked pattern of its feathers. The view down to the plaits of the milky pale blue Rakaia river and the alps was spectacular.

A huge pack of day walkers passed by, willing to give us a lift to Methven, but we had booked a pick up on the school bus at 4pm at the Glenrock stream carpark – hence the lazy  approach to the day. One of them even told us where she lived in case we needed a place to stay. People can be very generous.

Just before the car park, we passed another TA walking bus – seven SOBOs, five of whom we’d met in the North Island. After much mutual congratulations and discussion of the trail ahead, they began their trudge up the saddle and we ended our saunter down in the car park, where the wind was so fierce we huddled behind the DOC track sign, as the only shelter. It was pretty exciting to see some native trees though – kowhai and ti kouka/cabbage trees – the first native trees we’ve seen for days.

It was 4.30pm before the school bus disgorged its load of children and picked us up, and an hour to Methven, during which I dreamed of a hot shower and undehydrated food. The last few nights, my oneiric sleep has been dominated by random images of food – Boston buns with pink icing, slabs of chocolate, platters of cheese, lamb shanks (ew). As soon as we were clean, we beelined for the Indian restaurant for dinner (guaranteed to be highly calorific) and then the Four Square for breakfast supplies.  

Tramping lesson from this section: Water from streams with didymo taste disgusting, like dirt, even after filtering. Boo to didymo. I hope my insides don’t grow brown snot like these south island waterways.