I have so enjoyed my first week in New Zealand (Aotearoa). I walked 138miles of the trail in my first 6 days, all the way to Kerikeri on the east side of the North Island.

My first day in Aotearoa was made special when I encountered a man named Rick on the puddle jumper plane from Auckland to Kaitaia. He and his wife Ang offered to give me a ride into Kaitaia from the airport, and then offered to have me stay the night at their home in Te Kao, just 40km from Cape Reinga.

Their generosity knew no bounds and I’m so grateful for their hospitality. They taught me a brief history of the Northlands and about their Iwis as they related to the land (Iwis are the largest form of social units in Māori culture). The also fed me a ton of delicious food and generally made me feel incredibly welcome.

Day 1 (12/10/2023): 28mi, +1421ft // 47km, +433m

Cape Reinga to Maunganui Bluff Campsite

Ang and I spent the morning talking over a delicious breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. We covered every topic imaginable—Hollywood, racism, U.S. politics, sexism, old age, Māori history and culture, what life is like for Ang as an indigenous person of New Zealand—giving me plenty to ruminate on once I began walking.

When we parted ways at the Cape, she told me with genuine feeling, “I’ve just loved talking with you!”

I feel so grateful for my chance encounter with Rick on the plane to Kaitaia, so grateful that he and Ang and their black lab Gunny took me in for a night and showed me a bit of their world in Te Kao.

I waved my goodbye and turned in the direction of the Cape Reinga lighthouse. Ang told me the area is sacred, that people shouldn’t eat while spending time here, so I refrained from having a snack. Once I reached the lighthouse, I gazed around awkwardly. It’s always a little awkward to start something as huge as a 3000km adventure in a brand new place.

I asked a girl to take my photo by the sign post with its distance markers to places like London, the South Pole, Los Angeles and Bluff, where I was ultimately headed. Once she had snapped a few and I’d had a chance to look out at the ocean, I walked back the way I came, beginning my adventure at noon on a Sunday.

The first 15km of the beach track was still closed, all the way to Te Paki Stream. So I walked on the highway for about 9mi (you’ll notice from here on out I’ll be switching between miles & kms fluidly) until my turn came up. The paved road cut through rugged, forested hills and farmland alternately, all of it beautiful. And the gravel road I turned onto next, leading to the stream was also quite nice—except for the dead sheep in the drainage ditch which stunk to high-heaven.

Suddenly my road ended amid the giant sand dunes I’d been glimpsing from back on the highway, in its place was a sandy stream. I checked my gps and I was on track, so into the stream I went. About 2 miles later, the stream dumped out onto 90 Mile beach.

My shoes were soggy and full of sand, but I’d arrived. I was officially “on trail”. And with that, I started marching down the beach towards a beautiful, arched rock formation I would later learn from Ang is called Matapia. Apparently it’s great fishing and surrounded by sharks.

I hiked nearly 12 more miles on the beach that night, until the sun had set completely. I arrived to camp around 9PM with aching feet, set up my tent hurriedly, boiled water for dinner, and felt asleep quickly. In the morning I knew I’d need to tape my feet before walking another step.

Day 2 (12/11/2023): 30mi, +479ft // 50km, +146m

Maunganui Bluff to Waipapakauri Holiday Park

My second day of walking will be defined by sunburn and wind-burn, blistered feet, and the entertainment of shore birds.

All day I walked the beach. I felt like Ken from the Barbie movie when he arrived in the real world and was looking for a job. “What experience do you have?” A prospective employer asked. “Beach!” Ken says. “What do you mean, like a lifeguard or…” confusion “No, I do ‘beach’, just beach”.

That’s me. Just beach. I had met Five Star and Shane that morning, from Texas and Auckland respectively, they too, were just doing beach. I parted with them at mile 18 when they reached their accommodations; I had 12 yet to go.

The tide was finally out, making the beach as wide as a football field. Cars whipped by occasionally, some doing donuts; a giant tour bus even rolled by. My feet were screaming so I plopped down in the middle of the sandy expanse and just watched the shore birds. Seagulls pulled Pipis out of the wet sand—little clams—and flew high into the air, dropping them on the hard packed sand. Other, aquatic birds dove in the surf or stood at the edge of the tide with wings spread, airing them out.

The backs of my legs were fried from yesterday, and stung painfully underneath my rain pants; the wind battered me and chapped my lips. I was happy though, I felt at home even though home was thousands of miles and an ocean away.

When I finally reached the ramp off the beach that would lead me to the holiday park I’d booked for the night, I was relieved. The Waipapakauri (Ngapae) park exceeded my expectations with a hot shower and communal kitchen space. I threw up my tent in the yard, set about doing chores, and quickly called it a night.

Day 3 (12/12/2023): 18.5mi, +660ft // 30km, +201m

Waipapakauri to Beachcomber Backpacker Hostel, Kaitaia

I took a slow morning, making oatmeal and coffee in the kitchen, chatting with a German bikepacker and a man who had worked at the holiday park for 4 years—his last day was yesterday—when I asked him, “What’s next?” He said, “Anything.” I liked that.

For all the conversation I had, I forgot to pack my spoon and peanut butter. The first (and hopefully only) casualties of the trip.

Ten more miles of beach and then I exited onto a sandy ramp and out of the brutal headwind for the last time. I’d arrived in Ahipara. I called Logan first, then got a burger at North Drift Cafe.

As I walked out of town along a paved road (which proved rather busy), I called my parents. The scenery was gorgeous, I felt like I was in the Shire; swaying grasses, dancing flowers, green hills and dark forests, healthy looking cows—I smiled as I dodged cars on the shoulder-less road.

I had one close call pressed against a guardrail, which butted up to dense forest, its bushes and vines pouring over onto the road, obscuring me from oncoming traffic. I was stuck against the metal rail waiting for a break in traffic, when a massive truck flew by with an overly wide bed. My teeth rattled in my skull as the fencing on the flatbed ripped by, inches from my body.

I was thoroughly shaken, and trudged a bit faster. Eager to finish the road walk into Kaitaia.

When I reached the turn off for town, I headed straight for the backpackers motel and requested a bunk. The place was rather chaotic and dirty, but it was affordable and got the job done, all I needed was a place to sleep for the night.

I showered, and then walked about a mile each way to the Pak n’ Save, to do my resupply. I’d come full circle, having arrived back in Kaitaia just 3 days after I’d landed here in that tiny plane.

Day 4 (12/13/2023): 19mi, +3760ft // 32km, +1146m

Kaitaia to km 145, Raetea Forest

I retaped a few of my toes in the morning, while I ate breakfast. My blisters hadn’t changed much; the ones I’d popped hadn’t refilled, thankfully, because today I would begin the Mangamuka Forest track through the muddy Raetea Forest.

I did a brief stint on the highway, but the walking was no more harrowing than the day before, and then turned onto a pretty gravel road.

I met George and Mano, who worked for Fulton and Hogan co., they were sitting on the tailgate of their truck when they offered me an ear of corn and an apple cucumber (a delicious garden staple).

We chatted long enough for Mano to tell me that the weather was so unpredictable because people didn’t treat each other right (I don’t disagree). He also told me the world would be better if more people walked (again, 100% on the same page), but that he and George prefer to sit and eat and let other people do the walking. We all laughed.

I am continually struck by the openness and generosity of the people I have met here. It’s just so nice to feel so welcome.

When I reached the fork in the road for the Mangamuka Forest track, I bore right up a steep 4X4 track into the woods. I climbed and climbed to a final stream crossing, gathered 3L of water since I planned to camp in the forest, and continued on. I braced myself for a challenge and that’s just what I got.

You hear about this forest from everyone who knows the trail—mud up to your thighs! They say—and so I was nervous.

The trail proved to be incredibly steep, straight up and down a roller coaster of ridges, reminding me of the Benton MacKaye Trail in parts, and the mud did swallow my feet, threatening to suck my shoes off more than once, but I never sunk deeper than my ankles (the track has dried out a bit since spring).

When I reached km145, a freedom camping site, I called it a day. I was moving about 1.5mph and feeling pretty exhausted.

Sleeping in the forest was lovely that night. I listened to the trees sway and leaves rustle in the wind, to the birds sing until darkness fell. I noticed that I did not feel lonely, or even bored, I felt… satisfied. Like, this existence was enough—my life, as it was, with this simple goal of walking, was enough.

Day 5 (12/14/2023): 21mi, +2749ft // 35km, +838m

Raetea Forest to Blackbridge Road Campsite

When I woke, I noted that my sleeping pad was rather flat. A slow leak, perhaps? I pushed the thought aside, packed up and made oatmeal. I had a liter of water left and about 5 miles to go before I’d reach a stream, it would suffice.

I hiked the remainder of the muddy track, climbing up and down punchy rollers until the trail leveled out. My first stile! I made a mental exclamation. I’d encounter many more of these fence-climbing-apparatuses in the weeks to come as I traversed more and more farmland. Basically they are just steps you climb to clear a fence, but having climbed my fair share of rickety, steep ones on the Appalachian Trail, the ones here in New Zealand seem much more thoughtfully designed.

The track dumped me out onto a hillside, into the bright light of day. I was surrounded by pink foxgloves (non-native, still rather beautiful) and the trail promptly disappeared. I figured rightly that there was only one way to go—down—and started walking.

Eventually I saw an orange trail marker, then another; I startled a herd of cows horribly, before making it down to a gravel driveway.

The homeowner was supposedly okay with walkers coming through according the TA app, and there he was, a tall man throwing large bones into a fire pit, his working dogs chained all around the driveway, barking like mad. One dog rushed at me, snarling, I ignored it and walked confidently towards the man. I smiled and waved, doing my best to keep nausea at bay as I was assaulted by the heavy smell of burning fat. The man waved back and I hurried on past.

I felt a bit sorry for having traipsed through his yard, despite him supposedly not minding. I imagine it would be hard to have people passing through at all hours, riling up the dogs. But he seemed unperturbed by my presence, he just kept burning those bones.

The rest of the day was one long road walk, first pavement, then gravel. The scenery was pretty, but it was hot. I stopped at a dairy (convenience store) and got a toasty (grilled cheese) and chips (fries). There was another hiker at the picnic table in front of the store, John, aka Stellar, he was just hitting the trail again but was headed to the same camp as I was.

I ate my food as three children sprinted madly around me, screaming and laughing, occasionally stopping to pet the two dogs who were expertly begging at my knees. I couldn’t help but laugh, they were all sweet, the kids and the dogs.

When I arrived to camp, John was there already, sitting in the shade of the 3 walled shelter; the table in the center was covered in possum paw prints. We chatted a little while eating dinner and then I headed for my tent.

The day didn’t end there, though. At dusk came the possums. Their screams were unearthly, gollum-like shrieks, echoing from the edges of the forest.

They ran at my tent, head-butting the mesh and terrifying the living soul out of me. I was so overcome with paranoia that I would wake in the morning with a pair of those demonic, saucer eyes staring at me inside my tent, that I pretty much refrained from sleeping.

They didn’t seem to bother John, though, as I could hear his steady, thunderous snores from across the meadow.

Day 6 (12/15/2023): 30mi, +3619ft // 50km, +1103m

Blackbridge to Hone Heke Flashpackers Lodge, Kerikeri

I thought I’d wake up exhausted, but I felt surprisingly fine; my thermarest air mattress was not fine, however. The slow leak was not my imagination.

John woke up and packed up when I did, so I guessed that meant we were leaving Blackbridge Road together.

We scrubbed our shoes with the provided brushes and sprays at the start of the Ōmahuta-Puketī Forest Track to prevent the spread of Kauri dieback disease, which was killing these ancient giants with devastating quickness, and then walked down to the creek.

The first part of the track involved hiking in the creek for a couple of miles until we reached the Waipapa River crossing. The creek walk was lovely. It felt really remote and special to be so deep in the forest.

After the crossing of the Waipapa river, I knew I wanted to hike alone. John seemed to be keeping pace, but he’d stopped to knock rocks out of his shoe, so I let him know I was going to keep going. With that, I turned and dashed into the forest on the other side of the gravel bar.

The next chunk of track was rigorous. It careened up and down steeply on the riverbank, full of roots and washed out sections. I was moving, too. Trying to create some distance for myself.

When I reached the next and last river crossing, I breathed a sigh of relief. I am a fast hiker and a good uphill climber, not many people can catch me in this type of terrain, so I knew I could relax.

This adventure is still so new and I am not ready to be flexible about it for the sake of someone I don’t know. I am just enjoying being alone, too. I happily climbed the rest of the way out of the Canyon with just my thoughts and the birds for company.

The rest of the day was roads and farms and farms and roads. And it was hot. I opted to go all the way into Kerikeri, because the only place to camp before then was just 12 miles into my day—I’d gotten there by noon—so I trudged on.

**On the North Island, freedom camping isn’t legal, I can only camp in designated sites (usually for a fee) or in specific places the TA app notes that freedom camping is acceptable—remote, forest areas only.

The roads were hot and the farm walk was full of pretty views and itchy, tall grass. My legs were covered in hives by the time I hobbled into town.

The final walk of the day along the Kerikeri river track was cool and shady, with stunning views and a HUGE waterfall, maybe the biggest I’ve ever seen. I passed a lot of people who were all very friendly, and became worried about my salty, sour body odor. I’d sweat profusely most days and hadn’t done any laundry since arriving in New Zealand.

My plan was to stay a night at the Hone Heke Lodge, which received rave reviews from other hikers, do laundry, shower, resupply etc. and then hit the trail the next day.

Well, on arrival David and Victoria handed me mango popsicle (otherworldly) and asked if I’d rather stay for 2 nights, take a day off, and get a discount on my room for doing so. I knew 100%, that yes, a day off was needed, my feet told me so.

The single room was $40NZD/night, laundry was just $4. And the place is immaculate. So clean and beautiful and relaxing, the perfect place for a zero day. If you ever find yourself tramping through Kerikeri, have a break here! You won’t regret it.

Day 7 (12/16/2023): zero day in Kerikeri

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https://www.strava.com/athletes/ivey_smith