Tramping New Zealand

My hiking socks were melting. The quick-drying blend of wool and space-age fibers smoldered on the grate by the fire, forgotten as I fixed breakfast. The parlor of Flea Bay Hut filled with acrid smoke. John Evans, a late-rising Kiwi, wrinkled his nose as he bumped into the kitchen. “What’s that awful smell?”

“The Yank’s socks,” replied his mate, Don Reilly, stirring his porridge.

“Hey, Yank,” John said. “You should try washing them.” Laughter filled the hut and lifted a bit of the fog that promised to cling through our second day of backpacking on the Banks Peninsula Track. John and Don -- stand-up and straight man, respectively -- provided comic relief, as they had all along the scenic coastal trail, with Kiwi idioms, tall tales and wry humor. As usual, the greater part of New Zealand’s charm was in the breezy grace of its residents.

Backpacking, or “tramping,” to use the Kiwi term for one of their favorite pastimes, can reward and frustrate visitors to New Zealand. The South Pacific nation boasts scores of backpacking trails that traverse terrains ranging from flat beaches to alpine ridges. But the popularity of certain trails can detract from the experience of hiking them.

More than 20,000 trekked the Coastal Track at Abel Tasman National Park last year. The Milford Track, considered by many to be the finest walk in the world, is so crowded that hikers need reservations six months in advance. Huts along some routes are full by midafternoon, and latecomers are forced to camp or hike to another hut. Treks can turn into a race to claim the next hut’s bunks, and poor company can spoil a good walk.

But the Banks Peninsula, or “BP Track,” on the South Island is different. It is New Zealand’s first private hiking trail, owned and operated by farmers and landowners, who have earmarked a part of the proceeds from fees of $59 to $88 to preserve native vegetation and wildlife along it. The trail is limited to 16 backpackers a day. The track’s four huts are spaced no more than six hours apart, and because hikers don’t have to fight for a bunk each night, they can find their own pace, explore side trails or linger at lookouts. Hikers can also get to know the quirks of those on the trail with them. If they are lucky, as I was, most of their companions will be Kiwis. In my group of 10, eight were Kiwis. Another solo hiker and I took the remaining slots.

I had encountered the Kiwis’ fun-loving nature on my first trip to New Zealand, a four-month bicycle tour of the North and South islands about a dozen years ago. I returned in October, springtime here, to explore on foot parts of the country I couldn’t see from the saddle of a touring bicycle. In Christchurch I heard about the BP Track from travelers who talked enthusiastically about its varied scenery and easy pace. I called the BP Track on a whim and grabbed the only opening available for four days on the trail.

The 22-mile loop begins and ends near Akaroa, a fishing town on a fiord-like harbor about a 90-minute drive southeast from Christchurch. Classified as an easy tramp, the track can be tackled in two days, but most hikers choose to take four, a more leisurely pace suitable for almost any adult or teenager.

The French influence

The village of Akaroa proved a pleasant start to my hike. The town of 750 now relies more on tourism than fishing. Founded by French settlers in 1840 on the site of a Maori village, Akaroa still has touches of “la belle” France, a standout in Anglican New Zealand. Some of the town’s streets are called rue and have Parisian-style street lamps. A few buildings sport wrought-iron balcony railings. Many cafes and restaurants embrace their French connection, serving Gallic cuisine.

I spent my first night on the track at the Trampers’ Hut at the Onuku Farm Hostel just outside town. Bedding was a step up from the squeaky vinyl mattresses common to many New Zealand back-country huts, but they were bunk beds nonetheless: one up, one down, in rooms of four or six bunks at Onuku, Flea Bay and Otanerito. But we spent little time inside. Instead everyone gathered on the porch for the sunset over Akaroa Harbor.

The next morning I started up the track, climbing the steep inner slope of an ancient volcano. It was a relentless introduction to Banks Peninsula topography, mostly the eroded remains of several extinct volcanoes and hills 2,100 to 2,600 feet high. From the trail head at Onuku Hostel, at about 650 feet, I climbed to a 2,300-foot pass on a trail that, for the most part, was a straight run so steep I could barely place my foot down flat. The first stretch crossed open meadows, one of the few places in New Zealand where hikers have to share trails with sheep. The only shade in the initial climb was about halfway up, where a few trees guarded the tumbled remains of an abandoned farm.

Overheated and panting beneath a pack stuffed with four days’ worth of food, a change of clothes and a sleeping bag, I struggled to keep pace with long-legged Don and seemingly inexhaustible John. But the first stretch was by far the roughest, and the reward for the climb was on a side trail that scrambled to a vantage of Akaroa Harbor. On a clear day, I was told, it’s possible to glimpse 12,349-foot Mt. Cook, New Zealand’s highest peak, 150 miles southwest. But there was no prizewinning view for me because it was hazy.

The track then loops down to beaches, bays and headlands, finally returning over the crest to Akaroa. The dramatic coast is the major draw, with arches and sea stacks, blowholes and beaches, and the realization that the next landfall is Antarctica.

At one point the trail sloped into a wooded gully carved by a chilly, spring-fed stream and dotted with small ponds. Near one waterfall I came upon John and Don by a pool.

“Fancy a swim, Yank?” John asked. “The water sure looks refreshing.”

“Don’t let him tempt you, mate.” Don pointed to a corner of the pool where a lamb had tumbled in and drowned, polluting all water downstream. Both Kiwis disappeared down the trail, John grumbling that Don had spoiled his fun.

Later that day I joined the pair for a bracing ocean swim, though the cold water chased me out early. John later stomped back to the Flea Bay Hut, claiming that after I had left, he had waltzed with a sea lion. Don translated: “We saw a sea lion while swimming.”

“You were near enough,” John said. “But you were too shy to cut in.”

The track passes sites important to the Banks Peninsula’s tangled history, beginning at the French settlement of Akaroa and passing Maori fortifications and battle sites that predate the arrival of the Europeans here, as well as whaling outposts, seal skinners’ huts and sheep ranches. Plant species native only to New Zealand, some marked with placards, are also found along the track: red and silver beech; mamuku, or tree ferns, which resemble green parasols; and the odd totara, a pine-like tree cloaked in soft, fine needles.

The BP Track is no wilderness venture. Three huts have electricity, while a fourth is blissfully off the grid. The parlor of the Flea Bay Hut, an old farmhouse at the end of the first’s day’s hike, had a piano, easy chairs, a sofa and National Geographics going back decades.

After rummaging in the bookshelves, Don uncovered a large roll of butcher paper on which was written the lyrics to at least three dozen songs. After supper, our group -- strangers 24 hours earlier -- began singing the tunes we knew and making up music for those we didn’t. The songfest turned into a game of charades. At evening’s end, Don summed up our sentiment by writing in the guest book, “Good company.”

Spying fur seals

On Days 2 and 3, I climbed headlands and descended into coves along the Pacific shoreline. The grade was gentle, though, and the route stayed well back from cliffs that dropped sharply into the ocean. I saw a large colony of New Zealand fur seals, hunted nearly to extinction, on a sheltered beach. They were wary of human approach, but by keeping head down and mouth shut, I was able to creep close -- until a large bull noticed me and roared, its red mouth rimmed with sharp teeth.

At the end of the second day I settled in at Stony Bay, more a compound than a hut. Stony Bay looks like a 12-year-old’s idea of what a campground should be, with resourceful use of recycled materials and close attention to details.

Don and John wielded walking sticks for cues to clack balls into paint-can pockets at an outdoor pool table, which used burlap for felt and recycled inner tubes for railings. The shower, built partly on and partly from a tree stump, had towel hooks fashioned from driftwood and deer antlers. An enormous whalebone framed the door of one hut.

The campground had a small shop, operated on the honor system, that was stocked with dehydrated food and other backpacker necessities, plus a few unheard-of luxuries for hikers: cheese, steaks, even stream-cooled beer and wine. But Stony Bay’s biggest attraction was the Kiwi-style hot tub. Behind some bushes was a claw-foot bathtub squatting over a firebox. I filled the tub, started a fire and returned in an hour for a relaxing outdoor bath, with Stony Bay Creek gurgling to one side.

Stony Bay’s whimsical atmosphere brought out a collective sense of fun among our group. Ian Hamilton repaid one prank by swiping John’s clothes as he soaked in the hot tub and hanging them from bushes on the far side of camp. After supper, in the hut’s warm lantern glow, our group resumed our songfest, charades and the New Zealand version of Trivial Pursuit. One by one and, yes, two by two, we traipsed out to the hot tub to soak, the last ones to find that the clouds had lifted, the night sky sprawled with Southern Hemisphere stars down to the horizon.

Day 3’s hike was a breezy stroll along the ocean. I dawdled at Sleepy Bay, which has a sylvan though unused campsite, with a waterfall on one side and booming surf on the other. Sleepy Bay was once the site of a bloody battle among Maori tribes.

Day 4 was strenuous. As on the first day, the trail climbed to the crest of the ancient volcano, this time up the gentler outer slope. I crossed the meadows of the Otanerito Valley, dotted with slender kahikatea trees, then entered a stand of native kanuka trees. When their branches bumped together, they gave out a hollow, clunking sound, and it seemed as if I were strolling through a forest of bamboo wind chimes.

Next was the private Hinewai Reserve, the botanical highlight of the track. The Hinewai keeps nonnative plants and animals at bay. An ongoing project, partly funded by fees paid by BP Track hikers, uproots gorse, a prickly shrub that in springtime practically glows with yellow-orange blossoms. Gorse, brought to New Zealand in the 1800s as ground cover and sheep fodder, quickly crowds out native species.

The high point of my fourth day, a 1,935-foot pass called Purple Peak Saddle, wasn’t lofty enough for me, so I shrugged off my pack and scaled stony Taraterehu. At 2,644 feet, Taraterehu is one of the tallest peaks on the peninsula. At its summit, I peered down into Akaroa, which seemed to lie at my feet, and away to the southwest, I glimpsed a sight that haze had denied me three days before: the pinnacle of Mt. Cook.

It was a fine walk, improved by the good company of Kiwis.

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On foot in New Zealand

GETTING THERE:

From LAX, Air New Zealand flies nonstop to Christchurch. Qantas and Air Pacific have connecting service (change of plane). Restricted round-trip fares begin at $1,595. Akaroa is 51 miles, about 90 minutes’ drive, southeast of Christchurch on Highway 75.

Shuttles run round trip from Christchurch Visitors Centre to Akaroa. Akaroa Shuttle, P.O. Box 8238, Christchurch, 011-64-3-348-5547, www.akaroashuttle.co.nz. Cost $9.75 per person round trip.

Akaroa French Connection Shuttle, P.O. Box 10088, Christchurch; 011-64-3-366-4556. Cost is $9.75 round trip.

TELEPHONES:

To call the numbers below from the U.S., dial 011 (the international dialing code), 64 (country code for New Zealand) and the local number.

WHERE TO HIKE:

Banks Peninsula Track, P.O. Box 50, Akaroa; 3-304-7612, fax 3-304-7738, www.bankstrack.co.nz. Lodging is provided for all four nights on the Banks Peninsula Track, but bedding is not, so take a sleeping bag. The track encourages reservations, although solo hikers may be able to find an open slot on short notice. Cost: four days $88 per person, two days $59, which includes transportation from Akaroa to the Onuka Farm Hostel, the first night’s hut on the track.

WHERE TO STAY:

Lodging in Akaroa ranges from backpacker hostels to posh bed-and-breakfasts in historic buildings.

Oinako Lodge, 99 Beach Road, telephone/fax 3-304-8787, www.oinako.co.nz, was built as the magistrate’s residence in 1865. Doubles $80-$107.

Lavaud House, 83 Rue Lavaud, 3-304-7121, fax 3-304-7125, www.nzhomestay.co.nz/pages/Canterbury/HO126.html, overlooks Akaroa Harbour and is an easy walk to town. Doubles $59-$75.

Windermere Bed & Breakfast, 17 Rue Lavaud, telephone/fax 3-304-7797, has doubles at $41 per night and is right on the main street.

Bon Accord Backpackers, 57 Rue Lavaud, 3-304-7782, fax 3-304-7576, www.bon-accord.co.nz, charges $9.75 for a bed in a dorm room, $12 for a double or twin.

WHERE TO EAT:

The French Farm Winery and Restaurant, Valley Road RD2, French Farm, 3-304-5784, fax 3-304-5785, www.frenchfarm.co.nz, about nine miles outside Akaroa, is the cream of the local crop, nearly everyone agrees. Provencal-style entrees $11-$13.

C’est la Vie Bistro, 33 Rue Lavaud, 3-304-7314. French cuisine and seafood are specialties. Entrees from about $8.

TO LEARN MORE:

Tourism New Zealand, 501 Santa Monica Blvd., Suite 300, Santa Monica, CA 90401; (866) 639-9325, fax (310) 395-5453, www.purenz.com.

Akaroa.com has links to lodging, dining and activities in Akaroa and on the Banks Peninsula.