3 Weeks in 30 Litres (and a daypack) (sometimes) (part 1)

For those who are less familiar with backpack sizes, the title of this post is referring to the 30 litre pack that I've been living out of for the past three weeks, while solo-hitchhiking the South Island of New Zealand. 

For those who are familiar with backpack sizes, you know that 30L is relatively tiny. Especially for a three week trip.

Here she is -- my closet, my pantry, and my best friend:

 

(Before I go any further, let me give a hell of a shout out to my brilliant roommate back in the US for letting me borrow her adventuring backpack for the year when I couldn't afford my own.)

The Packing List:

From top left: Sunglasses, Kathmandu Active Hooded Top, Nike track shorts, lightweight cotton leggings for less active days,

NZ-made 100% wool socks, phone chargers and convertor, Harry Potter playing cards, first aid kit, world's shittiest sleeping bag, "Fish Like a Drink" by Joe Bennett, watch, 3-in-1 eating utensil, zip-lock bags containing matches, bobby pins, maps, lighter, pocket knife, travel toothpaste, and lip balm with sunblock.

Not pictured: North Face rain jacket and down coat, hiking boots, long running leggings, changes of socks, insulated folding lunch bag, 
hat, mittens, warm scarf, fleece, 3L hydration bladder, a lot of granola bars, a crap-ton of zip lock and plastic bags.

The Route:

 

The Plan:

Lol what plan?

Just kidding. 

Sort of. 

The plan, originally, was to take my time hitchhiking down to Dunedin, before heading west to meet friends in Te Anau for a four day backpacking trip. Two days before the start of break, I run into Jon who invites me to go north with some other friends in their car. I wasn't married to the idea of heading south first; it had just seemed easiest, and I didn't have anywhere to be for nearly a week. Heading north it is!

Part 1, Chapter 1: Christchurch to Farewell Spit

After pulling an all-nighter to pack and finish an essay that isn't due, inconveniently, until the middle of break, I hoist my bag on my back, grab my daypack, and head down to the car park to meet Jon, Ross, Zach, and their beauty of a vehicle to kick off our three-week break. 

We shove the last of our gear in the back, check to make sure the ice chest (or "chilly bin," as it's called in NZ) is strapped on securely, and stand back to admire our work. 

We let our proud driver, Ross, pose for a few pictures, then it's time to hit the road.

Winding our way north to Nelson, it's all darts, LoBro, and good vibes. A few hours in we start scouting out spots to camp for the night. The sites we pull into seem absurdly expensive; no $10 flat fee like you might find in the States. These sites are $18. Per person. We keep driving, following rumors of a $6 site up the coast.

With sunset views like the one above, we don't mind the idea of setting up camp in the dark. 

Moontower, our trusty steed (or Subaru, but "steed" seems more appropriate), leads us to the perfect spot. For only $6 each, we set up camp at McKee Memorial Scenic Reserve and cook up a few burgers to the sound of waves lapping and a legal (!!) driftwood fire popping. (Why am I so stoked about this fire? I'm stoked because, in New Zealand, it's pretty rare to find areas in which fires are allowed. If you're near Mapua or Tasman and looking to camp/park for the night, go to McKee.) 

 

After the best burger I've have had, I glance up at the full moon that lit our meal and notice something strange: a sliver of the once-full moon was now dark. I point it out to the guys, one of whom remembers that a partial lunar eclipse had been predicted, though it wasn't supposed to be visible from our location in New Zealand. We stay up, craning our necks until nearly the entire moon is gone, leaving only a slim bright sliver remaining.

Morning greets us with views the night before hid; we stretch our damp rainflys in the sun to dry in the sun before loading Moontower up to continue even further north.

Without plans or an agenda, we see where Moontower leads us. Mid-morning, we stop for a bathroom break and I stumble upon the biggest community garden (and cutest toilet) I've ever seen.

        

Still without an agenda, we press on up the coast, scouting out a spot to break for lunch. As we drive, I realize something. Something I find myself learning over and over about this little country is that, actually, it isn't so little. (See?)

These islands are jam-packed with trails, national parks, amazing views, and tiny towns. Way too much, I'm devastated to realize, to see in just one semester. It's clear from the sheer number of forested roads that branch off the highways that there's more than I'll ever have the chance to explore on this island. But I suppose that's one of the reasons I chose New Zealand; I wanted to study in a place I could really dive into and get to know -- however lofty a goal that may be. 

 

Above: A sign welcoming visitors to Te Waikoropupu in Te Reo Māori, one of New Zealand's official languages.

Unable to pass another road or sign for a tempting place to stop, we decide to follow signs a few kilometers beyond Takaka to Te Waikoropupu, the clearest freshwater in the world. After a few sandwiches, we wander to explore the largest freshwater springs in New Zealand.

(Note: The guys are a lot more impressed than this picture makes it seem.)

One thing this break taught me is that, unfortunately, New Zealand is best traveled by car. The bus coverage is pretty comprehensive and can be reasonable, especially if you go with a cheaper option like Naked Bus, but a car really gives you the freedom to explore this country as it should be explored: via the back roads and with as little an agenda as possible.

How else would we have explored a community garden, a holy Maori site, and this beach all in one day?

 

Our post-lunch drive led us to the northern-most point of the South Island of New Zealand: Farewell Spit.

 

After walking along the spit and lounging around for a while, we get curious to see what lies across the brush bordering the beach. We carefully step through the razor-sharp grass, enduring the sharp pokes and painful obstacles to check it out. 

We're greeted with the strangest, most other-worldly sight I've ever seen. Sand dunes as far as the eye can see.

 

It wouldn't have been so shocking if we had known they were there; this deserted stretch beyond the protective grass was completely hidden from the popular beach we had been sitting on moments before.

 

We walk a few more minutes and we lose sight of the beach we just left. 

A few more minutes and the crashing waves can no longer be heard. We are surrounded, entirely, by sand.

 

Zach doesn't mind at all.

We continue on and the dunes give way to something almost as amazing as this surprise Sahara: the other coast.

I guess you could technically say that we accidentally walked from the east to the west coast then, ay?
After a quick swim in the surf we head back to the car, this time on a road through a forest that looks like it came straight out of a horror movie.

New Zealand really does have it all, I suppose.
With that, we pile back into the car and start the search for a place to crash for the night. (Can you believe this was only our second day on the road? I can't either.)
Again, we bypass expensive campsites in search of something that fits our budget a little better. Again, we find an amazing spot, set up camp, and cook an amazing dinner in the dark.

Again, Moontower has led us to an amazing display by the moon:

 

And again, daylight reveals where it is we actually set up camp.

 

I have a travel motto that I developed pretty recently. It's pretty simple. Basically: Do whatever doesn't make you cranky. 

I'm all about following instincts and impulses while traveling (if you hadn't noticed). My impulses usually include drinking coffee -- also something you've probably noticed. The morning of our third day is gray and we all fell a bit lazy from the fast pace we had been keeping up. 

On our way back through Takaka -- a really quirky town that sits on the bay between Abel Tasman National Park and Kahurangi National Park -- we stop for a coffee and a bite to eat at a cute place called The Wholemeal Cafe. 

          

Art all over the walls and a million nooks that kept winding further and further back.

Great spot to stop and recharge for an hour or so!

          

After a flat white (or two), we were ready to see what else this unexplored territory of the South Island had in store for us.

We decide to follow whatever road would get us into Kahurangi, the huge national park close by. 

As we drive in through the winding one-lane roads, we cheer when we're greeted with a groovy hand-painted sign reading "Festival." How lucky could we get? 

As it turns out, we could have been luckier; we roll in as the festival is rolling out. We ask around to find out that the live music had just finished for the weekend. A scrappy guy who stops to chat for a moment before swinging his thumb out and hopping into a passing Volkswagen tells us, however, that a few of the hardcore festival-goers were still camping that night. 

Or, as he put it, "Don't worry. There are still some real loose hippies up the road." 

So we go up the road.

And we keep going. Looking out over the scattered, muddy tents, we all agree that there are few things more depressing than the last day of a music festival. 

Passing the camp of "real loose hippies," we drive on in search of a place to set up for the night. 

And boy do we find one. 

Without a path from the road, stray rubbish, footprints, or any other evidence humans have ever explored this little sandy beach along the Takaka River, we all agree with a single look that this was the spot. (I'm not naive enough to think no one else had ever actually been here. It's simply amazing to come across a spot with no signs posted, no amenities, no signs of human life. Haven't found too many places like that in the States.)

Anyway, the first thing we do after pitching our tents, naturally, is jump in the river.

After swimming in the ocean the day before, a little freshwater shower feels amazing. 

          

We warm up with a mug of tea. "Just makes you feel human," as Zach says.

After we warm up a bit, we move on to something a little stronger than tea.

          

And now it's time to explore the river. 

          

Back at home base, I annoy the guys by taking a million pictures of them.

Want to know how you pay for a free campsite?

With sandfly bites. That's how.

Don't know what a sandfly is? Try imagining swarms of tiny, angry, poisonous, vengeful mosquitoes. On steroids. I'm not sure that covers it, but it's close. Don't worry; I won't post pictures. 

My friend Luc, who you'll meet in a later blog post, actually told me of an old Maori legend about sandflies. He said that when the gods realized they created a place as beautiful as New Zealand, they had to come up with a way to protect it so humans wouldn't stay too long and ruin the beauty. So they put sandflies there.

I believe it.

Unfortunately, this was the day I was saying goodbye to the guys and starting the hitchhiking portion of my travels. I had to get from the northernmost part of the Island to Fiordland, nearly all the way down south. In two days.

I'll tell you about that next time but, until then, here's a rain-soaked selfie of the crew right before they dropped me off to start hitching:

Cheers!