Kosci Kosci Kosci, Oi Oi Oi

Crossing that bridge to the unknown.

To say that the past two years didn’t take its toll, would be a lie. I thought I was reasonably okay with everything that surrounded the COVID-19 pandemic, but on hindsight, I did feel down and uninterested in most things. Especially with regards to running, training, events, and everything running related, but also going groceries shopping or even just out for coffee. The constant reminder via masks, the tracer app, QR codes, and the resistance-inducing smell of sanitiser, was all a bit overwhelming and distressing, and it was almost as if social distancing became attractive and comfortable – not needing to interact with others. It was promoted everywhere – keep your distance, stay two metres away from others, and so on completely the opposite of normal human behaviour, wants and needs.

During the very first month-long lockdown, Gerry and I trained heaps – 465.5km in one month to be precise. I loved everything about it, apart from the fact that the virus was new and unknown, and just a little bit scary. I loved that we could run, and still get lots done around the house. It was also the first time ever we ran more than a hundred kilometres in 24 hours outside of an event. 

At the time I thought we were well set up for an ultra in the near future, but for some reason we just about stopped short the moment everything went online and all events were cancelled. I can’t explain why or what exactly happened, but before I knew it we hadn’t run for months, and we were back to square one. It always amazes me how quickly that happens, and how being sedentary creeps up on you so easily. Laziness seems to be the default mode.

The fact that events were cancelled left, right and centre, didn’t help. With the lure and prospect of an upcoming event off the table, keeping going didn’t feel important enough. I know it is and one should never stop moving – move it or lose it – but it always helps if there’s an event on the horizon.

Finally, after two years of not feeling interested in events in the least bit, I found one that got me a little bit excited: the inaugural Ultra-trail Kosciuszko by UTMB, in Australia. It is a sister event of the UTA and TUM. There are four distances to chose from (27k, 50k, 100k, and 100 miles), allowing 450 participants in each distance. 

Since we did our first marathon and ultra in South Africa, and our first 100k in New Zealand, I’ve always had it in the back of my mind that our first 100 mile event should be in Australia – a tri-nations of our running endeavours if you will. The event seems to be not super technical and might be the perfect introduction to a 100 miler. Only problem is, we’re almost starting from nothing and have to be ready by the end of the year. 

To kick things off, we decided to do a 15k for 15 days base-building stint, finishing our last 15k at a slow trot. Almost every outing was a run-1-walk-1 kilometre to help build a base without breaking ourselves by trying to run everything. Occasionally we walked the whole 15k, as often these outings took place after work and partially in the dark, and sometimes one just don’t feel up to running anything. There will be lots of walking involved in a 100 mile event (for a normal person), so training the walking muscles is a no brainer. Having to do this after work meant that we also already started using headlamps – another good thing to get used to.

On the eve of our last base-builder, we hauled out some big sheets of paper and coloured pens and started drawing up a training plan. Even though we plan to build up to reasonable weekly mileage, we will still be walking about half. Time on feet is after all what we need. Unfortunately, time is the one thing we battle with on a full-time job for Gerry, including 30 weeks of night and weekend classes for the year. To juggle everything around to get enough training, especially during the winter months, will be the biggest challenge.

On the up side, I haven’t been this excited about an event in a very long time. Now just to keep to our schedule, and not get sick or injured. Of course maintenance will have to come into play also – foam rolling, stretching and strengthening. 

The prospect of being signed up for a 100 mile event is very exciting, but at the same time I am scared senseless. A hundred miles is a very long way, and staying awake for 35-40 hours will be super challenging, let along trying to move for all that time. But scary challenges are always a good thing – something that will get one out the door and doing the homework.

The big question now is, what is further, a 100 miles or 161 kilometres?

To Herepai peak and back

Date: 23 October
Distance: 12.7k
Time: 4:22

Just when I think we are back on track, running regularly, slowly building up the kms, something happens (in my head, I guess) and the enthusiasm dwindles. Perhaps the knowledge that my body is out of alignment, causing all sorts of semipermanent issues, is resting heavily in the back of my mind. The surgeon’s words keep repeating in my head; ‘better find yourself another sport’ and ‘forget about running’. A small part of me still thinks it is fixable, but that would involve a knowledgeable person/s (in terms of bone, muscle and fascia) who can work with me to iron out the wrinkles: lateral pelvic tilt, hip dysplasia, femoroacetabular impingement, weakness and knee pain, fused vertebrae, mild scoliosis, and the list goes on. None of it is life-threatening or so bad that normal life has to come to a halt. Pelvic instability is probably a fair name for my ailments. But I firmly believe that with the right help in terms of strength and flexibility in the right places, the ball of my femur will stay put and not fumble about in the socket causing pain. I do not see FAI as a death sentence or nearly as bad as surgeons make it out to be. When you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail. Surgeons want to cut – that is their bread and butter.

The times that I have put in the effort – spending a lot of time on foam rollers, balls and other tools that can release some fascia adhesions, and also doing a bit of strength training around the pelvis area – things were definitely better. But it is very complex and I simply don’t have all the knowledge about the multitude of muscles, as well as the nerves, fascia and bones that are involved in the hip joint and pelvis, to know what to release and what to strengthen. I might sometimes release fascia that don’t need to be released (potentially causing problems), or find it impossible to reach other places that are in dire need of some attention. Doing strength exercises the wrong way can also cause issues. Maybe I’m overthinking everything.

That said, I stubbornly still think I’m indestructible and can go galavant in the mountains, and run hundreds of kilometres. When a friend invited us along on a short quick outing in the mountain that we have been planning to do for ages (we even drove there a while ago, but turned around in the carpark due to inclement weather) we decided to go.

I knew that after more than a month of hit and misses on the running front (only covering around 20k per week) I would be slow. And even though I was out of breath often on the uphill, it was the realisasion that I’ve lost a heap of strength the past two years and aren’t as agile as I used to be that broke my spirit. Lack of agility and strength, of course, makes running downhill very dangerous as I keep on picturing myself getting a foot stuck in a root that would sent me flying down the hill. When one is strong enough, there is room for error and you can correct for a slip or trip. I fear that I don’t have that anymore and some serious effort to gain strength, flexibility and agility is the only solution to my predicament.

We started a bit before ten on a windless, overcast, cool day. The first kilometre follows a stream (Ruapae?) on the true right which is reasonably flat. Shortly after a swing bridge crossing the stream the incline became more steep. The forest seems typical (to my untrained eye) of all NZ indigenous forests, with the usual mud and tree roots surface underfoot. The gradual incline for the first couple of kilometres, gains momentum and gets steeper nearer the hut. At 3.5k a T-joint in the track leads to either Roaring Stag Hut to the left (3.8k) or Herepai Hut to the right (1.5k). Taking the turn towards Herepai, I was huffing and puffing up the mountain.

Arriving at the hut, there were seven other trampers and a dog having a rest and a bite to eat. The guy with the dog had a gun and was probably a hunter or trapper. The other six (three boys and three girls) were on their way to Dundas Hut.

We set off on the final kilometre and a bit to reach the peak. This section was particularly streep – gaining 350 metre elevation per km. The first couple of hundred metres we were still below the tree line with only the forest in all directions to see, but finally we peaked out above the trees and could see what the world looked like around us. It was a beautiful day; partially overcast and almost no wind. Not even really cold. Lower down in the forest was a bit cooler than at the tops, where I regretted not bringing gloves.

Once at the top (1125m) and at the cross for Stan Evens, we stopped to admire the view while having a sandwich and an apple. We could see more trampers on the ridge up ahead making their way to Dundas, and others heading our way. I was almost sorry we weren’t one of them as the weather could not have been more perfect for the ridges. It is often rather windy and feels like one will be blown off of the mountain.

I could have stayed there all day, but it was time to head back down and I was glad for the few days prior without rain. The track was still very muddy and a couple of bum slides ensued, but overall it could have been far worse. With my disappearing muscle strength, I was a bit overcautious going down, but it still went a bit quicker than the uphill.

Back at the car we were muddy and wet up to our knees. I’ve gained a few more bruises and was well aware of my muscles. Glad to have done this little bit of the Tararua Range we drove back home where a warm shower awaited.

Barefoot and zero drop

This is neither a shoe review, nor expert advice. Just an observation.

There are so many theories out there about barefoot running and zero drop shoes, that it gets tangled up and one can easily just lump it all together as one concept. However, this is not the case, as I was sorely reminded of this week.

But first let me backtrack a bit. For the past five or so years, I’ve run in Altra. Since I always walk around barefoot in the house, going zero-drop was a no-brainer. No fuss, not frills, no getting used to it or gradually phasing it in. To be honest, I don’t think interchanging between zero-drop and six to eight or even ten millimetre is something that will really affect the average runner (if a blind test was done). But according to the experts, this is not the case and one shouldn’t just jump into zero-drop shoes.

In my arsenal I have Torin for on-road, TIMP for more cushioned off-road, and my trusty go-to trail shoe, the Lone Peak. Heck, I even have a pair of less cushioned Superiors in the mix for shorter trails, which I absolutely also love.

Our daily 8k run is fairly hilly, with an elevation of around 125m. I guess some stronger and fitter runners may call it undulating. But some of the hills I am yet to jog all the way to the top.

So this week I took a pair of Altra Delilah (gifted to me by my friend, Nina) for this daily 8k hilly on-road run. A (discontinued) women specific (mens equivalent is the Samson) minimalist performance shoe with a razor-siped sole grip, suited to road, track, trail and anything between. It is zero-drop (obviously) and has no cushioning worth mentioning, just a thin rubber sole to protect your feet from stones and the like. It is pretty much as close to running barefoot while still wearing shoes as one can get, and is meant to help you improve posture and running technique.

It should therefore come as no surprise that I immediately could feel a difference in my running style: not landing as hard as with a more cushioned shoe, and ‘trotting’ more, for lack of a better word. I felt silly, self-conscious, and was glad to be in the country where not a lot of people could see me. I tried my best to run as normal as possible, and thought I managed okay apart from the downhill sections.

And clearly the shoes did ‘improve my running technique’ as my calves were terribly sore the next day – muscles I probably don’t use on a daily short trot. I realise that with a plonking-style of running one doesn’t use your muscles as much, perhaps relying more on shoe ergonomics, and your own joints to propel you forward? But there was no escaping the fact that these shoes will not help propel or soften the blow on landing. I was forced to use more muscle in order to save my joints. Which I think is a good thing. Trouble is, I would obviously have to ease into this, and perhaps change my initial plan of running in them twice a week, to just once a week for starters. Of course this all looks nice on paper and I’m sure these shoes will improve my running style and activate muscles that I don’t normally use, but will I stick to this plan? Only time will tell.

Footnote:
While we’re talking Altra – if you buy the TIMP 2, go for half a size bigger. It was designed to be ‘snug’, but it is snug to the extend that the size changed. They fit okay and I will no doubt pile on the mileage, but on technical terrain there is no room to manoeuvre, which is very tiresome to feet if you’re constantly rubbing and bumping against the sides and front. But then again, I like my shoes loose fitting.

Mukamuka Munter

Date: 15 August 2021

Distance: 32k (we measured 31.7k)

Time: 5:48

Since our eight months hiatus last year, we have been running reasonably consistently from the beginning of this year, working on a decent base. It has been tough, and slow going. We’ve had some setbacks, some no-running weeks, and times where the weather just made getting out of bed a challenge, let alone trying to be active. As the event date drew nearer I realised that I wasn’t nearly ready, which seems to be a recurring phenomenon. And then I made the mistake of ‘not caring’ about it anymore either. The Mukamuka Munter would be our first event in two years, but for the past couple of years, I am feeling somewhat over events. Not sure why that happened. 


The final six weeks before the event were a serious hit and miss. After three 70k-per-week weeks, we hit a bit of a slump for three weeks. The first of those was a work week away, and with terrible working hours comes terrible training runs. Despite that, we still managed a 42.5k week. The one thereafter I want to blame on the weather (only covered 37k), and the last one, well, I’m sure it was also the weather, coupled with general lethargy and lack of event enthusiasm (only managed a 6k walk). So we were well and truly tapered, rested even. Definitely not over-trained, which, I consoled myself with, is always better than toeing the line on tired legs. 


On the Thursday, three days out from the event, we made a trip into town to check out an exhibition at Zimmerman Art Gallery. On the way there, we thought of having a quick nosy at the COVID-19 vaccination centre to see how things worked. We were not in the age category to register yet, but called in none the less. The friendly usher in the carpark gave us a number to call to see if they might have openings, and what do you know. Twenty minutes later we waltzed in and got our first Pfizer/BioNTech jab. After the 20-minute waiting period, our planned walk was quickly swopped for a celebratory treat of coffee and cake at the Square Edge’s Cafe Royale. We contemplated the idea that it might not be the best thing to get vaccinated so shortly before the event, but while my arm was pretty damn sore, neither of us had any other significant adverse symptoms. (I was rather disappointed afterwards that my 5G and Bill Gates chip didn’t want to connect with the kettle.)


On the Saturday, Gerry had to work. I started gathering our running gear; hydration vests we haven’t used in more than two years, remembering that the last time we cleaned the bladders the connector/nozzle of the tube broke off in the socket of the bladder and needed fixing, sorting the compulsory gear, and figuring out what food/fuel will keep us going for a day. 


With a list of items, we dashed into town after work to remedy some of the missing parts. Bivouac Outdoor was closed already, Torpedo 7 was too expensive for my liking, so in the end we used an El Cheapo bladder that came with an El Cheapo hydration vest from AliExpress. Some of the soft flasks that go in the front pockets of our hydration vests also started leaking, and since I do not like them anyway, I bought some flavoured water just for the 500ml bottles. 


Packing our packs with all the compulsory gear, including maps and compass, my pack weighed a tonne and was super uncomfortable. Of course I wasn’t used to wearing it, but it felt like I had a fire-extinguisher on my spine, strapped over my shoulders. The vest is a bit too small to house all the compulsory gear, turning it into a solid-packed bulging tube. And that is excluding the additional layers I usually take (a super light base layer, and wee down jacket – weighing 272g in total). I know myself and I know that if I were to break a leg somewhere out in the sticks and have to wait around for hours, in shock, to be winched out, I will die of exposure.


After some pasta, mince, and salad, we went to bed later than we hoped, but still managed almost five hours sleep.


For the drive down to the south Wairarapa coast, we got up at 3am, picked up Nina and Suzanne at 4:45 in Glen Oroua, and were treated to a much needed brew for the road. It was cold, but at least the rain and wind subsided during the previous evening. With all the roadworks between Palmy and Wainuiomata, I thought it would take three plus hours to get there, but we arrive after 2:30 hours, bright and early at 7:15am. Registration and gear check went quickly as there wasn’t much of a queue, and we could see off Tim and Michael who did the 50k event (which sounded brutal, by the way), and started an hour earlier than us.


Unfortunately, this is one of those events where participants have to sort their own transport between the start and finish (this is not a loop race). And anyone who knows me will know that I absolutely despise this. It is one thing to take responsibility for yourself out on the trail in terms of your health and safety, but quite another when you have to pester someone else to give you a ride somewhere.


Gerry drove Tim and Michael to the 50k start, and came back just in time for our race briefing, before driving us to the start at Turakirae Head. While he was away, we chatted to one of the regulars who had done this event before. She told us that the first 12k is easy and all runnable, then there’s the technical 10k in the middle where you just have to get over the mountain one way or the other, and then comes the last 10k homestretch which is all downhill and easy running to the finish.


When we got out the car at the start on the coast, the wind was quite strong, we were freezing, and I needed to pee. We were still cracking jokes and giving some running commentary when next thing people started running. On a video afterwards, I saw there was actually some talking and counting down in the front. Perhaps the wind can be blamed for not being able to hear anything at the back?


The first 12k is run around the coast, and fairly easy going, as the runner mentioned. It is a hard-packed 4WD-track for the most part. It allowed us an opportunity to ease into things, and it wasn’t long before I knew the too heavy hydration pack will make its mark. When we rounded the first corner, we ran into the easterly. The sun was out and the weather was otherwise perfect. The hard-packed track gradually started to change into something more challenging: some parts were rocky, others sandy, with a few stream crossings thrown in in the later parts. We could keep our feet dry for the bulk of this first stretch, but eventually had to give up and just barge through. 


We started near the back with only a handful of runners behind us. In the last few kilometres of this stretch to the bottom of the Mukamuka Valley at 12.5k, everyone passed us so that we were right at the back with the tail-end Charlie where the first marshals where ticking off runners. It took us 1:34 to get to that point, which I thought wasn’t terrible going. But taking into account that the course record is 2:31, I guess it is rather lame.


The next two kilometres into the vast valley were on a gradual incline with a good few stream crossings. The hard-packed grassy patch at the bottom quickly turned into rock, sand, and gravel. It is beautiful, canyon-like, and I was quite happy for the change of scenery and terrain underfoot, from our usual swamp city mud and claustrophobic indigenous forest. It reminded me somewhat of the Stony River in the Naki, but more so, the Fish River Canyon which we did multiple times over the years. After a few times, you start to know the best route to take, which side of the river might be the better option, and often the shorter route was not necessarily the better/easier route.


At 14.5k we reached a fork in the road (in 1:55) with huge tributaries to both left and right, but with a marshal there, everyone was sure to go up the middle valley. After a quick pee stop – finally – we could start the most challenging part of the course. The route became more narrow, steep and very technical as we made our way up the mountain. As the valley narrowed, so the incline increased. Clambering over rocks, negotiating sand, debris, windfall, and crossing the Mukamuka stream a million times, made the going quite tough. Following the stream, you are in the water for big parts of the ascent, and in the shaded spots my feet were numb from the icy water.


On this part of the course, we passed five or six people. Maybe technical terrain is more my thing after all. Haha. At some point not halfway up the hill, my calves and thighs started to cramp. Most of our training runs were on the flat, and often onroad. I realise this is not the way to go about it – specificity is the name of the game – but, even road running was far better than no running.


At the ridge – south saddle of Mt Matthews – and shortly before we reached the highest point (587m) on the course at 18.7k (in 3:09), a group of marshals were cheering us on and taking down race numbers. Was good to quickly catch up with Liz again, whom we last saw on the flight to UTA. Their spot was quite exposed, but thankfully it wasn’t raining and the wind wasn’t extreme. The easterly was a bit chilly and after many hours of being exposed, I can imagine they would have been rather cold. That actually goes for all the marshals, and I’m grateful that they all went to the trouble to make our outing a bit more safe. It is thanks to marshals at these key points, that we never had to use our map.


As we started making our way down the mountain on the Mt Matthews Track, I knew that my legs were shot. One of our slowest kilometres was on the downhill stretch. Even though it was not in a valley and in a stream, but rather on a ridge, it was just as steep, and a little bit scary in places. We passed another runner on the way down. 


Once back down the mountain, we crossed the Mt Matthews River before making our way to the Orongorongo Valley floor at about 21k (3:55). The Orongorongo River, that could have changed things to plan B should it be impassable due to the water level and flow speed from the rain the week prior, was about thigh deep at the far side. The clamber out on the other side was straight up to my head height with no footing (after a 100+ people scrambled out there) and nothing to hold onto aside from a tiny short patch of grass, which thankfully proved to be enough.


Wet and cold to my bum, I was thoroughly looking forward to the ‘downhill and easily runnable’ last 10k. This, of course, turned out to not quite be the case. Never before had I cussed and cursed at some stranger this much. 


After the river-crossing, we followed the Big Bend Track. There was mud. Lost of mud. And tree roots everywhere. The whole way was undulating at best with little ups and downs all the way. On tired legs even a well-trodden trail, that might be totally runnable otherwise, becomes rather challenging where tripping over a tree root or stone is a real concern. Which is exactly what happened to one of the other participants shortly after she passed us. (One of the runners we passed on the technical stretch on the way up the mountain, caught up and passed us again on the trails in the last five or six kilometres.) She was a little bit up ahead so we didn’t see her fall, but she was still on all fours when we got to her. Luckily, she was fine and went on to beat me to the age category third place position.


At 25k (4:44) the start of another hill (elevation 82m) dragged on for a kilometre (4:56). Shortly after, a split in the road had two signs – one read 4.6k to the carpark and the other 7.5k to the carpark. The longer distance seemed like the correct distance according to our calculations, and therefore the one we should be taking. Gerry had the GPX file on his watch navigating the course and according to that it seemed like the shorter distance was the correct one. Little did we know that the carpark on the signage was not the carpark at the finish. As the kilometres ticked by, the GPX file was off course and all over the place for the most part, only occasionally linking up with the route. This had us worried that we might be on the wrong route, or taking an accidental shortcut. Not sure what went wrong, whether the file got corrupted or just the result of a plain and simple lack of satellite connectivity.


At some point Gerry saw a little rabbit in the road up ahead, but the ears quickly turned into just another tree root. I find it fascinating how one’s mind, once it decided on what it is seeing, finds it hard to see the actual thing, unless one adjust one’s position and viewpoint. And I had to wonder if people with a strong sense of pareidolia aren’t perhaps more prone to hallucinations on ultras? That can bode interesting for Gerry on ultras.


Another fork in the road indicated that it was 800m in both directions to the carpark. Yay, I thought, we’re nearly there. We opted to take the one on the right. Two other participants must have followed suit, as when we reached a picnic area and carpark at about 29.7k (5:33) the two others were hot on our hills. A few course markings might have helped to take away all the humming and hawing at turn-offs, forks on the tracks, and especially at this first carpark, where the four of us were going off in different directions trying to find the way. We were of course all brand-spankingly new to this area, and things would have made a lot more sense even just driving around in the park. Huge was my disappointment when I realised it was not the finish, and we had another 2k on the road back to the finish line (which also had a couple of short inclines). I should have tried to remember the course description a bit better, or checked the map. But who does that back in civilisation and on a sealed road when you can almost smell the finish line?


After going backwards and forwards in all directions trying to figure out which way to go, we eventually just took off in the general direction of where we thought we should be heading. My legs were totally shot and even though the sealed road made for easy going, it felt super hard. 


We finally reached the finish area, and happy to be done with it, I quickly changed into dry clothes. The bottoms of my feet were white, looked like prunes, and a few hotspots and blisters added to the gory sight. Luckily nothing too serious. We were treated to soup, and Gerry also had a hotdog and beer. About an hour after we finished, Gerry could finally get a lift back to our car thanks to the runner we passed on the downhill. 


Arriving back home just before 7pm, I was exhausted. It is a very long day out if you make the trip from Palmy. Despite my reservations in the weeks leading up to the event, I’m glad we ended up doing it. For as long as we have been in NZ, this event was on the to-do list.


The race is categorised as a ‘wilderness’ run, but it is really only the eight to nine kilometres in the middle to get over the mountain that are ‘wilderness’ – still on a DOC track. The first 12k can be reached with a 4WD, and the last 10k are on walking tracks. We saw lots of day walkers and families on this last stretch as well as some of the 50k runners coming from the front. The weather gods were very kind to us, as the weeks before saw heaps of rain and strong wind, and the day after the event the terrible weather returned in full force. Even causing a huge slip, closing SH1 down to Wellington and a train to derail.


Not being used to the hydration pack, my shoulders were sore and collar bones bruised. But the worst part was my spine that was so hammered from the pack that I couldn’t sit against the back of the car seat or a chair for two days. That also goes for my legs. If I hope to do anything longer or hillier, I really need to train more specific: hills, technical terrain, hydration pack, and everything that goes with ultras.

Two days later the whole of NZ went into Level 4 lockdown again due to the Delta COVID-19 strain finding its way through the border. Fingers crossed it can be contained and not spread too much through the country. We have been super fortunate to be able to live a ‘normal’ life since last year’s initial lockdown. Here’s to the trails, tracks, pathways, and roads, and freedom to run them all again soon.

Hacket Track, Whispering falls, and Chromite Mine loop

Date: 24 February
Distance: 11.6km
Time: 2:22

A few weeks back Wouna found a notice about an upcoming textile art exhibition and competition (the Changing Threads National Contemporary Textile Fibre Art Awards) that was open for entries, so she decided to give it a go and entered a couple of her large patchwork-style fabric portraits. Initial digital entries were submitted, from which one of her pieces made it through to the shortlist for the exhibition. This required couriering the artwork down to Nelson’s Refinery ArtSpace, where the exhibition was held. And then came the nail biting wait to hear if she made the finals.

When we got the news that her “Jacinda #1” made it through, we jumped into action (after some suitable celebrations) and before long we had an Airbnb and ferry-tickets booked, and our bags packed for a 4-day mini-holiday (plus two days travel) in the upper South Island to attend the opening of the exhibition. And of course, being in such a beautiful region, we were hoping to explore some local tracks and trails.

Our accommodation was on a farm just outside Richmond, and after our first breakfast I started scouring the internet for trail running opportunities in the area. As is often the case, the Wild Things Trail Directory proved a solid source of information. We found there were a range of interesting-looking routes (loops and out-and-back options) heading out from the DOC Hacket car park, which happened to be just a few kms down the road from where we were staying.

It was a rather dreary looking morning, with MetService promising rain from around midday, but luckily the Hacket trails offered many distance options, so we decided to head out and adjust our explorations to the weather as we went.

The track to Whispering Falls looked a no-brainer – a short-ish out and back with a beautiful waterfall at the furthest point, that should see us back at our car before the rains came. It proved a lovely run across varied but mostly runable terrain and the dainty waterfall was really pretty. About 1km before the falls, you have to cross the river where the path has been washed away. This will likely be a problem when the river is high, but luckily we got out and back before much rain had fallen so we could rock-hop without getting our feet wet.

Heading back, shortly after the stream hopping, a signposted turn-off to the left leads to Hacket Hut, some 3.5 km further out. We didn’t want to head quite that high up, but also on offer was another enticing option, the Chromite Mine loop, which starts on the Hacket Hut Track and then turns off to the right to wind its way back to the car park some 6.5km on.

While a 6.5km loop isn’t a big deal distance-wise, the day had gotten progressively darker with a light drizzle starting to fall. And as is always the case when it gets dark and overcast, unknown trails look just that little more remote and scary. So we hemmed and hawed for a bit about whether we should do the loop or just head straight back to the car. Eventually the realisation that we probably wouldn’t return to this area soon (we were hoping to rather continue exploring other areas during the rest of our stay) swayed our decision towards doing the loop, so up the hill we went.

The Chromite Mine loop starts at an incline, and for a couple of kilometres the uphill didn’t let up. We walked most of this, except for one stretch where we could hear some tree-felling activity quite close by so we decided to get through that section as fast as possible to limit the risk of a massive pine tree coming down on our heads. I’m sure that would not have happened as the tree fellers will be well aware of the track just beneath them, but one never knows. Accidents do happen. Once past the old mining area (which has warning signs to not explore), the track contours its way around a couple of hills on a good quality, very runnable old road that must have been built to service the mines or the forestry activities. After another kilometre or so, the track leaves this road and starts a rapid descent back to the river. This downhill went straight down and felt never ending – hard to believe the gradual uphill we did earlier took us this high into the mountain. We were relieved we did the loop in the direction suggested on the Wild Things site – going the other way would have given us a climb to rival the Rain Gauge track between Atiwhakatu and Jumbo huts in the Tararua Range.

After lots of downwards scrambling we eventually rejoined the track we took earlier heading out to the falls. From here it was less than 3km on a gentle downhill back to the car park – a perfect finish to a most enjoyable outing. While it’s a pity we didn’t get so far as to bag any huts on our morning’s outing, we were glad we ended up doing both the waterfall and the Chromite Mine loop – this is a beautiful and varied trail which I have no doubt would have become a regular part of our training regime had we lived in the area.