Dusky Days
Out the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Euan. And heard him, too. He was toppling over in a mess of tree roots, and there was an accompanying mumbled grunt of pain. We’d been soaking wet, cold and exhausted for hours, and it had finally caught up with us. A fair case could be made that we had mild hypothermia. And our bodies ached after wading through freezing rivers, clambering over fallen trees and negotiating deep mud for four days.
Among the ferns, mud and tree roots, Euan lay grabbing his ankle, tentatively taking his ripped and soggy boot off a heavily-taped and bruised foot. “You good?” I called out. It was a phrase that was becoming all too familiar as we each took turns falling and slipping on the track.
“I think it snapped the tape in half,” he said, looking down at a bloodied foot. “But I can probably walk.”
In the hope that camp was close, we stumbled down the path—if you could quite call it that—with a limp in our step.
We were on the Dusky Track. It’s an epic eight-to-ten-day trek through New Zealand’s Fiordland National Park, deep in the South Island’s remote southwest. Revered by hikers—at least by those who want true adventure—it’s often described as New Zealand’s hardest walk. Fewer than 500 hikers attempt the Dusky each year, the hordes put off by its reputation for being wet, muddy and merciless. With an average annual rainfall of seven metres (most
