Long White Gypsy uses affiliate links and is a member of the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program. If you make a purchase using one of these links, I may receive a small commission at no extra cost to you. See my Privacy Policy for more information.
My experience on Te Araroa didn’t start when I took my first steps on the trail. It started long before, in those sleepless, nerve-wracking months, days and hours before I even left home. But with two hours of sleep, bus ticket in hand, and the indescribable weight of something far greater than my pack pressing down on me, I set off for a new adventure.
A beginning
It had already been a long 48 hours before my Te Araroa adventure even began.
For starters, South Africa had beaten England in the Rugby World Cup final. I’d timed my departure to avoid finding a last-minute spot to watch it in Kaitaia before starting the trail. As a result, I only managed to squeeze in a couple of hours’ sleep before I had to board my bus to Kaitaia.1
Despite this, I was ready to go. Nothing left to do but leave.
By the time 1:30 AM rolled around, I was in a daze.
I washed my face, grabbed my things, and loaded my pack and myself into the car. Mum held it together as she drove me to the bus station. The double-decker was already waiting, which meant we had only a few moments for our goodbyes.
A quick hug, a brave smile, and a final wave out the window as the bus pulled away.
It would be weeks before I saw her again.
I settled into my seat, trying to block out the sounds of the engine. The seat wouldn’t recline, and I realized too late that I’d left my earplugs in my backpack which was now stowed safely in the bus’s luggage compartment.
Four hours later, and barely an hour of sleep in the bag, I arrived in Auckland with a full bladder. It was still not quite 6.30AM.
Forgotten Breakfasts and Fellow Hikers
With nowhere else to go, I walked a couple of blocks to the Sky City hotel to try to find a bathroom.
In my rush to leave Taupō, I’d also forgotten to pack breakfast.
I’d noticed there was a small convenience store near the bus terminal, and by the time it opened I was desperate enough to make do with peanut M&Ms and plain Pringles.
Apparently, my rough trail diet was starting earlier than planned.
As I sat at the bus platform, another girl showed up with what looked like a hiking pack. Then two more hikers appeared. By the time the bus arrived, we were all eyeing each other, awkwardly wondering if it was time for introductions.
When I sat down, the person in front of me turned and asked, “Are you hiking Te Araroa?”
My stomach flipped. I’d only talked about the trail with close friends and family, but here was a stranger saying the words aloud. It felt real.
We spent the next hour swapping stories: Haley from Texas, fresh off the Appalachian Trail. Ed from the UK, like me, a first-time thru-hiker. And Joe from the US, who finished the Appalachian Trail in 2014.
The view from my seat on the second leg of the bus ride from Auckland to Kaitaia
As we rolled through towns like Orewa and Whangarei—places we’d later pass on foot—the domino effect was in full swing, with a whole host of us at the front of the bus swapping stories of our backgrounds and experiences, all with this shared goal in mind.
what am I doing here?
By the time the conversation quietened, I’d had plenty of time to think.
The reality of the situation was fast dawning on me. I was actually here, just 24 hours away from beginning the adventure of a lifetime. One I’d been planning and preparing for for the last 18 months.
My fascination with thru-hiking had started after reading Cheryl Strayed’s popular book Wild. Cheryl’s account of her journey on the PCT sparked a deep interest, and soon I was obsessed, spending endless hours bingeing YouTube videos and trying to imagine myself embarking on a similar adventure.
It wasn’t long before I’d decided to attempt the PCT myself.
With no hiking experience and no real knowledge of what thru-hiking entailed, I started looking for something closer to home to test the waters. When I Googled “long-distance trails near me” Te Araroa popped up.
At first, I was almost disappointed—I no longer had an easy excuse to back out.
But as time passed, I couldn’t get it out of my mind.
And now, I was on my way to the trailhead, unsure but determined.
Arriving in Paihia, one of the most visited tourist stops in Northland. I’d be passing back through here in just a couple of weeks.
Meeting ‘Einstein’
Shortly after reaching Kerikeri, we hopped onto our next bus to Kaitaia.
The heat and lack of air conditioning in the smaller, more claustrophobic bus, made the ride feel longer than it was, but I had good company.
I sat next to Michael from Washington D.C., trail name “Einstein.” He’d been hiking for years, having completed the Pacific Crest Trail in 2018 with Darwin, one of the YouTube hiking gurus who had been so pivotal to my journey thus far.2
I couldn’t believe it! Here I was, just one degree of separation from one of the people responsible for my decision to hike Te Araroa!
We talked for most of the ride. But it was one singular moment that stuck with me.
During an uneventful point in the conversation, as I gazed lazily at the changing landscape outside the window, Michael turned to me with a far-off look in his eyes and spoke softly.
“You’ll never start your first thru-hike again. Your life will never be the same.”
The calm before the storm
My arrival in Kaitaia felt like something from another world.
I was still getting used to being back in a town I’d last visited over 7 years ago when I turned around and realised Te Araroa fever had already taken over.
My new friends had scattered—some looking for accommodation, others trying to hitch a ride to Cape Reinga.3
I made a beeline for a white ute where a barefoot man in shorts and a button-up shirt waved me over. It was Pauly from Utea Park. He and his wife Tania had been welcoming Te Araroa hikers for years.
For $120, they offered a place to stay before the hike, a shuttle to the trailhead, and another night’s accommodation on the way back down the beach two days later.4
Pauly kindly stopped at the local Pak ’n Save supermarket (the last stop before the Cape) so that I could grab my supplies for the long walk down Ninety Mile Beach.
I wandered the aisles in a fog, unsure how much food I’d need for my first week of hiking the trail. I filled my basket with cheese, salami, and crackers—two of everything. I had no idea if it was enough.
40 minutes in Pauly’s car further up the road, and we arrived at Utea Park.
I was immediately struck by the sense of peace that surrounded the place. The sun was shining, and I felt lucky to be there. Pauly pointed me towards a hand-built cabin labelled “Kiwi.” The one next door had a matching sign, “Ruru.”
It was still early (not yet 3:00PM) so I tried my best to make myself at home in my little cabin, laying my gear out on the bed and willing my stomach to stop flipping.
Although I tried to catch up on some much-needed rest, I was semi-conscious always and woke up just as anxious as before.
My home for the night, the Kiwi cabin at Utea Park
first thru hikers
Giving up on any notion of sleep, I wandered out onto the small deck of my cabin, hearing the kerfuffle of a group of hikers who had arrived from the beach. I could see them putting up tents, heading for showers.
Although I felt green and nervous, they already looked like intrepid adventurers.
I stifled my nerves and wandered over to the kitchen area where I tucked myself into an old and threadbare sofa on the kitchen’s perimeter.
I stifled a pang of disgust at how unclean the sofa felt, but sat still, pretending not to listen and yet listening intently to every word uttered. What was the beach like? How awful was the wind? Did they get sandblasted? How did the tides work? How blistered are they?
They talked about the wind, the sand, the tides, and the blisters. I listened for the negatives—the reasons I could justify giving up—but they weren’t as different from me as I thought.
Two older Kiwi gentlemen, Scott and Nick, were part of the group. They’d been hiking together for years. Then there was Gary, a British-Kiwi police officer, and his younger companion Todd. Gary was hiking to raise money for a charity supporting at-risk youth. Todd was one of the young proteges, and whilst clearly struggling with the conditions he was pushing through with Gary’s encouragement.
Despite the camaraderie forming around me, I found it hard to join in. They had already bonded, and I felt distinctly like an outsider.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture myself in their position in just a few days’ time. I made my excuses and left the group to themselves, finding it difficult to connect with people that already seemed to have bonded so much.
It was abundantly clear that I was already preparing myself for failure.
Alone, but Ready
As night fell, I telephoned my parents. They were currently at two different ends of the country, and I had two very different conversations.
To Dad, my endless inspiration for adventure and living life to the fullest, I betrayed only the slightest sense of unease. Never taking weakness as an excuse, his strong-willed voice helped calm me in a sense.
But when I finally got through to Mum, I broke down.
I told her everything: the anxiety, the fear, the doubts. She listened, as she always does, offering words of comfort. Her final message of love echoed in my ears as we said goodbye.
I’d never felt so alone. In my mind a birds-eye view of New Zealand came into focus, my tiny figure standing at the very top, a tiny dot just a few kilometers from Cape Reinga.
Bluff seemed an impossibly long way away.
But a journey of three thousand kilometers, begins with a single step.
And I knew one thing—I was at least going to try.
After all, I’d promised myself that.
In the days before the trail, I thought I’d find comfort in being prepared, but the truth was, I was stepping into the unknown. I couldn’t control the weather, the terrain, or the aches and pains that would surely come. But I could control one thing—my decision to start.
Watch This Section on YouTube
Footnotes
- I used Intercity buses on multiple occasions as I walked Te Araroa to get me between different trailheads and to skip sections where necessary. Intercity is the only nationwide bus service in NZ, and most of my fares cost between NZD40 and NZD80 (depending on how far I was going). ↩︎
- Darwin’s YouTube channel is not only beautiful to watch but incredibly helpful if you’re looking to lighten up your pack. He has a full series on budget ultralight gear which is well worth a watch. ↩︎
- There are a handful of options for getting to Cape Reinga from either Auckland or places closer to it like Paihia, Kerikeri and Kaitaia. All are detailed in the Trail Notes. Most require a fair bit of advanced planning, minimum traveller numbers, and some can be quite expensive. Hitchhiking is therefore a reasonably popular cheap option, although the comparative lack of traffic on State Highway 1 north of Kaitaia can sometimes be a problem. ↩︎
- Utea Park’s last official season was the 2019/20 season. Due to ongoing issues with the local Council Pauly and Tania relocated off the beach, although I see that Pauly’s contact details are still included in the Trail Notes, indicating he is still offering shuttle services to Cape Reinga at the least. ↩︎
