Te Araroa
Invercargill to Riverton

17th November, 2025

After a strong start yesterday, I felt good. But jetlag was still affecting me a little, and I was definitely carrying the fatigue from the long previous day. I got everything I needed, gas canister, Personal Locator Beacon (PLB), and started my walk around 11 AM. It was going to be a long 32 km (about 9 hrs) day with two river crossings that were tide dependent. High tide was at 12:15 PM, and I planned to cross the bigger of the two, the Waimataku River at mid tide. It was about 4.5 hrs away, so the timing looked right. I was prepared to walk late into the evening to reach Riverton.

The first 9 km was going to be road walking, nice and flat. But today was also my first day carrying a full backpack, the heaviest it was going to be on the trail. I had 14 days of food and enough water to get me through a long and exposed beach stretch where fresh water would be nonexistent.

But just 3 km later, I started struggling. With every step, the pack felt heavier, and my pace slowed. Less than an hour in, I was already wondering how I would make it to Riverton. Camping on that exposed beach is not something I wanted to do but at that point even reaching the beach turn-off felt like a challenge. I tried to push through, but my body wasn’t having it. I checked my phone and saw there was a holiday park at Otatara, about 4 km ahead. It was the only nearby option, so I decided to head up there and reassess.

A kilometer before the holiday park, I came across a cafe. By then, I was completely drained, and I could not resist stopping. Putting the bag down itself felt like a huge relief. A good coffee and a margarita pizza felt like a warm hug, just what I needed in that moment.

By the time I made it to the holiday park at around 2 PM, I was done. They had free spots and discounts for TA walkers, so I pitched my tent. I had plans to read and write, but instead I passed out almost immediately. Even the chaos of about 50 school kids arriving for a sports event didn’t affect me. I woke up around 8 PM, cooked my dinner, and crashed again. Rest and reset for the body was just what I needed.

That evening made me understand that this trail was not about pushing through at all costs. Sometimes the best way forward is to stop, listen to what your body needs, and then start again with a clearer mind – a lesson that came in very handy later in my journey.

The next morning, I felt like a completely different person, rested, lighter, and ready to hit the trail again. The power of that rest was undeniable.

18th November, 2025

I woke up feeling fresh and excited. A 25 km long exposed walk lay ahead. Overnight rain had dropped the temperature and it was a cold, cloudy and windy morning. I lost a bit of time drying my wet tent, but I was still on track to reach the Waimataku River around 10 AM, about two hours before high tide. The beach stretched out vast and beautiful, even under dark and gloomy clouds. Not long after stepping onto the sand, I passed a woman, and then a man in a car with a horse and they would be the last people I saw for the next eleven hours, until I finally reached Riverton.

Ahead of me, the beach seemed endless. I had to walk almost to the very end of it, and slowly I settled back into the rhythm of walking, one kilometer at a time. The wind made it harder to walk straight, pushing me sideways. I knew I had to keep my mind occupied. This kind of terrain can get monotonous, and that’s when the mental fatigue creeps in. Spotify to the rescue!

Around 10:15 AM, the beach suddenly started narrowing. Within a couple of minutes, I found myself scrambling up on one side. I could not take another step forward without going into the river. I tried moving around, looking for a way through, but there was nothing. That is when I realised that this was the Waimataku!

I had imagined it to be more like a stream like you see in the mountains. But this was different. A quiet, steady flow of water into the sea. It didn’t look like much at first. I put on my shoe covers and stepped in. Within a couple of steps, the river revealed just how deceptive its calm appearance was. The water was already over my knee. A few steps more and it was mid-thigh. I planted my hiking pole ahead to check the depth, it only seemed to get deeper. The current was way stronger than it looked, and I was not comfortable anymore. I retreated back.

This was my first river crossing on the trail. The first one ever completely on my own. And I got scared. I even tried from a couple of different spots, but it all looked the same in that moment.

I had asked about this in our WhatsApp group. A couple of people who crossed last week said it was around knee deep about an hour before high tide. What I didn’t factor in was their height. They were definitely of taller builds, and I realised this when I actually met them. For them it was just knee deep. For me, it clearly wasn’t.

I scrambled up a sand dune, thinking there might be a way across from the top. I spotted a few “paths,” but each one faded away after a few minutes, leading nowhere. One lookout, though, gave me a clear view of the landscape split between a river on one side and the beach on the other like a fork, with no passage through.

At that point, I knew I had no option but to wait for the tide to recede and cross the river. That meant at least four hours – two hours to high tide, and another two for the water to fall back. Realistically, closer to five. I needed the level to drop far more than this.

It had also started getting colder and windier, and there was no shelter. I settled onto a dune, cooked lunch, called home, and then curled up in whatever little respite some grass could offer me on one side. Five hours are too many hours to spend like that. Doubt crept in quickly. Had I chosen the wrong crossing point? Should I have just gone for it earlier? Was I even capable of doing this? Calling home and drifting into a nap helped steady me. I watched the water rise almost to the edge of the beach, and then, slowly, begin to recede again.

Around 2:45 PM, I decided it was time to get down from the dune and make an attempt. Almost immediately after stepping into water, I realized there was a small hole in my shoe cover and water came rushing into my waterproof shoes. That is the thing about such shoes, once they are wet, they cannot dry for hours. I switched into my floaters and stepped into the water and tried again only to turn back.

I walked around and tried two more spots that looked more promising, but neither worked. Eventually, I found a log and sat down. I needed to wait another hour. Finally, around 3:45 PM, I made an attempt right at the river’s mouth, where it opened into the sea. It was a much, much wider crossing, and this time, I made it through.

That day taught me a thing or two about crossings like these. I had assumed a shorter crossing meant an easier one, but I was wrong. The wider crossings, though longer, were easier. I still wonder, if I had made my first attempt at the river’s mouth, would I have crossed five hours earlier? There were still 15 kilometers to go, and as I kept walking, the skies had slowly begun to open. The view turned dramatic, expansive, and impossibly beautiful.

Four hours later, as I neared Riverton, I missed the turnoff into town and walked a couple hundred meters too far before circling back. Just as I was approaching, a lady shouted, “Hi! Are you a trailie?”

“Yes!” I replied.

She came running toward me, laughing, and said she had spotted me from afar and told her husband, “There’s a trailie! The early NOBOs are here!” After the kind of day I’d had, it just felt so good to talk to someone in person! For reasons I can’t fully explain, that moment lifted me more than I expected.

With barely 500 meters left to my accommodation (Riverton Lodge) a woman pulled over and asked, “Are you heading to the Lodge?” I said yes. “Oh, I’m the one you spoke to earlier on the phone to book.” she said. “The owners are waiting for you. Hop in! It’s not far, but I’ll give you a lift.” A tired me could not refuse.

The stay was in a simple but beautiful lodge, run by an incredible couple who had thought of everything a Te Araroa walker could need. It was also my first real glimpse into the trail community. I met Aaron, who had arrived just before me and Vlad who had come a day before but was resting it out. We would go separate ways but our paths would continue to cross in meaningful ways later.

By the time I reached Riverton, it felt like I had started to ease into the realities of the trail. These couple of days had already shown me that things would not always go to plan, and that flexibility would matter just as much as endurance. It was only the beginning, but I could already sense that this journey would shape me in so many ways. And there was still so much more ahead!