Banks Peninsula Track

Saturday, April 09, 2011
Akaroa, South Island, New Zealand
Between Flea Bay and Stony Bay, while I was hugging the shrubbery and trying to prevent my toque from blowing off, a sheep flew by above me, looking down at me in the impassive way of all sheep. But then I may have been momentarily disoriented in my efforts to avoid tumbling like a tumbleweed up against the restraining fence -- maybe the sheep was below, looking up the near-vertical slope. All afternoon the swirling wind kept giving us the old one-two, a jab from the left to stagger you, followed instantaneously by a body-blow from the right, catching the backpack like a sail and sending you sprawling. Most of the sheep seemed to handle it well. (Four legs good, two legs bad).

"At least it's not raining," I said, and then a sheet of water descended, like in a movie . Better not talk about the weather. We've been moving up for twenty minutes (except half the time we've been sitting down) and the sea spray off the rocks far below is still swirling up over us in a fine mist. I'm wearing rain pants, but Frances is mud all over. "I'll never go for a walk again," she says. She's not joking but she's not serious either. (Two days later, on a beautiful morning, we walked up 600 metres above Akaroa to Purple Peak Pass).

To be fair, the Banks Peninsula Track (near Christchurch) is a brilliant walk: "Four nights, four days, four beaches, four bays."  This was day two, a section that would take just a couple of hours in good weather. Day one should have been harder, 11 km consisting of a 500-metre climb followed by a descent along a stream with several small waterfalls, but we handled it well. A little rusty-breasted brown bird, that had obviously been taking flying lessons from a butterfly, followed us down the track for twenty minutes, perching repeatedly within arm's length . We looked it up in a book at the hut, and at first we thought it was a yellow-breasted tit ("so redundant one," says Frances), but it turned out to be a fantail.

The huts are all different, and all memorable. The third night, at Stony Bay, is the only one without electricity, but it's the most charming. It has candles, gas, a fireplace with lots of wood provided, an open-air bath, even its own museum and shop, all without locks. You write down what you bought and take your own change from the till. At some seasons there are penguins living under the huts (true). Five minutes walk away, we stood above the rocky beach and watched seals frolicking in the surf and flopping on shore.

The four-day walk, mostly on private land, was organized by the landowners as a way to supplement their income, as sheep farming becomes less viable. You pay for the package before you start. There is a limit of about 16 walkers per day, but Frances and I had all the huts to ourselves, felt like stars . All the huts have equipped kitchens, beds and mattresses, but you bring your own sleeping bag (available for hire).

Day three dawned clear and we waited until noon for the wind to ease. This was to be another short segment, starting through a treed valley, but as soon as we left the trees the wind knocked us both over. We had both lost our nerve by this time, and we agreed to turn back. There had been a moment near the end of the previous day, approaching a stile, when we could see only a few metres of ground sloping away from us on the other side, and hear the wild sea far below. I'm sure it wouldn't have been as dangerous as it looked, because the track was well designed with barriers where necessary, but at that point we couldn't face it, so we left the prescribed route to make a detour. We weren't ready for another day of that.

Luckily Sonia Armstrong was about to drive into Akaroa (she said she only goes once a week) and she gave us a lift. So we did three nights, two days, three beaches, three bays, and we didn't feel cheated. Then today, as I mentioned, we walked back up to the highest point of the fourth segment, at Purple Peak Pass.

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