SOUL FOOD
TORRENTIAL RAIN, boot-sucking mud, voracious sandflies; a perfect storm of nasties that breathe life into the legend of tramping around Rakiura / Stewart Island. It’s so isolated that one is entirely on nature’s terms, removed from the comforts of urbanised society and a world away from the usual safety nets. Evocative names like Hellfire Pass, Ruggedy Range and Christmas Village fire the imagination. It is at the bottom of Aotearoa and was at the bottom of my bucket list, waiting for an opportunity that never seemed to come.
In the autumn, my friend Malcolm and I flew to Invercargill, boarded a bus to Bluff and then sailed across Foveaux Strait on a ferry to Oban, a compact village where there are more kiwi than Kiwis. The numerous small boats anchored in Halfmoon Bay reflected the primary industry on Rakiura: fishing for blue cod and cray. Locals joke that they live in a drinking town with a fishing problem.
WE WONDERED HOW MUCH HUNTING THEY WOULD DO, CONSIDERING HOW MUCH BEER THEY WERE CARRYING. PERHAPS THIS WAS A DRINKING HUT WITH A HUNTING PROBLEM?
Next morning, we shouldered packs full of food for 11 days and set off from Lee Bay on the Rakiura Track Great
