The trail heads up on what appears to be a farm road, leaving me breathing heavily but nothing like the eroding scree or root-covered mud slip-n-slide I scrambled over recently. I pass a family out for a day, a glorious bluebird one, the air cool, but the wind down. 

When I reach the end, it puts me at the summit of Mount Kaukau, a large field dotted with yellow flowers and crowded with locals taking advantage of this perfect day. Windmills give way to bush which give way to houses, then buildings and finally a perfect little harbor surrounded by mountains looking down. It’s so idyllic, almost as if a child’s rendition in crayons. The actual trig – the black and white wooden structure than marks the highest point – is a football field away on the other side, its views looking back to where I’ve been. 

I dutifully climb on and hand my phone to the one other tourist who bothered walking over here, and hang off the edge, celebrating my having nearly completed an entire island looking a bit wobbly and uncertain. The real view, and the skyline trail that takes me down, is back on the other side, so I head over finding a bench for lunch. And along comes Rubin, a Te Araroa thru-hiker I met this morning camping in the dense fog. I smiles and say hello, but before he can answer, his young American girlfriend asks me, “How did you get ahead of us?” 

Ummm, is this a rhetorical question? I dunno. Not racing you. She has nothing else to say and it appears there’s not going to be any sharing in this amazing moment. So I get up and lumber on. 

I am just a few days away from finishing walking the North Island of New Zealand. Three months in, and I took a long, leisurely zero day – that’s thru-hiker lingo for resting and walking exactly zero miles. 

After a spontaneous sunrise climb of Mount Taranaki, my trail angel family Rob and George welcomed me back to Whanaganui. We laughed and talked and ate, they even gave me some Veet leftover by a French TA walker to cleanup my hairy thru-hiker legs. 

I slept for hours, but dreamed I was still walking, waking up over and over to ascertain where I was. I think the reason I have managed walking this far is that in my normal life, I walk every day. I walk to work and back in all weather and walk the neighborhood, to stores, yoga, the train. It doesn’t sound like much, but it adds up, and more important it helps me know my body really well. It might be why I don’t mind walking the entire trail, even the boring bits, because I do it all the time. Walking is quite literally, my life. 

But after a rest, they drive me back to Paekakariki where I left off, and I hoist myself up on the Escarpment Track, a sign warning of steep drop-offs, high wind and no water for at least three hours.

My pack is weighed down with food I’m too cheap to throw out. It’s funny how just a day away from walking coupled with the unknown, makes me wonder if I even remember how to walk.

I go up above the rail, the highway and the ocean, cicadas loudly sawing their bouncy melodies. I look for northern grass skinks, lizards that can live to forty years, and learn that New Zealand has more lizard species per land-mass than the entire world.

This trail rests upon a stuck piece of the Pacific plate, only mini-quakes move it, centimeters at a time. A good thing as the trail is steep and aerie on the cliff’s edge. The wind is up, fortunately blowing towards the mountain on this narrow guardrail-less track, but I watch my step. Sheep graze at the top, ignoring the breathtaking view.

I cross a suspension bridge bucking and bouncing in the wind. Many locals pass me and I finally meet two young Czech TA hikers wearing Granite Gear packs just like my Olive Oyl – made in Minnesota. They’re moving fast and I follow from a distance on the Ara Harakeke cycle path, a relief from the highway next to an extensive swamp that somehow missed getting drained and is filled with happy creatures.

The beach at Plimmertom is surrounded by an aqua ocean, a few wind surfers taking it in. At the Mana marina, the wind screams in the rigging, but I’m hot on the path. I cross a bridge warning ‘no diving’ as a young man leaps off the middle.

I pass Aotea College and come to Gear Homestead, an Italianate home from the 1850’s owned by a wealthy businessman named Gear. It’s an oasis, really, with an oddly juxtaposed "adrenaline forest" below of numerous high wire challenges in the sky. The bikeway along the main road exits by ramp straight into big box shopping hell, though many stores stand empty, dusty fingerprinted windows from a different era.

Past the malls is a trail into the bush, a kind of shortcut between roads. It lands me at Camp Elsdon filled with noisy caravans, and I catch the Czechs who guide me up behind cabins to a quieter section next to a forest filled with birds as I crawl in before the sun goes down.

An early to-bed, means an early rise and I’m up and out to catch the cool air. It’s steep stairs through bush and finally into open sky. I pass four overweight Maori, puffing heavily like me, and we comment that this better than any stair-master.

Colonial Knob is in mist, but I’m content to not be in the hot sun. At 1500 feet, it’s no small hill rising high above the ocean, but I can’t see anything as I come to some sort of building covered in graffiti with an empty bench next to it, presumably for the view. It’s here I stumble upon Rubin, a Dutch hiker who set his tent here, unconcerned by the wind and damp. I head down the switchbacks with him, flying through the forest and sharing harrowing stories of mud and rain. Here we meet his girlfriend, a beautiful brunette in short shorts who gives me a sidelong look. Is she jealous of me? I’m old enough to be, well maybe not her mother but at least her mother’s younger sister. 

They stop to gather water and I pass on into the pastoral Ohariu valley, nearly silent but for sheep and birds – and lots of horses. A little fluffy dog follows me down the road until I talk sternly to him that he really ought to go home now as up ahead, I see the last knob I need to climb before I drop into Wellington.

There’s something slow and peaceful in the act of walking up this ramp. I have so much extra food in my pack, most all of it what Julian and I purchased with the intention of doing a round-the-mountain at Taranaki until we ran out of steam. So I offer a few chocolate bars to a family I pass, obvious some of the younger kids are struggling. They thank me shyly after their mother encourages then then blurt out I look funny in my hat, looking confused when I explain I am walking the entire length of their country. 

I probably couldn’t have gotten a finer day on Mount Kaukau, the dry golden hills touched by sea fog reminding me of Northern California. From the Skyline Track, I realize the large mountains I see in the distance are on the South Island and my feet will soon be on them.

Rubin and his cute but seemingly unhappy girlfriend are behind me now as I exit the park and head directly into a street lined with Victorian cottages. I stop at a dairy in Ngaio for a couple of Mac’s sparkling sodas, giving "hokey pokey cola" a chance.

The walk takes me down to a stream in Trelissick Park, built by city elders and used now by many a dog walker. Then I’m finally spit out above at Wadstown, where I walk straight up a road until it’s no longer possible to and I need to take stairs into the Town Belt, a steep section of reclaimed land planted with native trees in the 1940s and acting like a giant lung for the city.

And it’s here that I realize I made a mistake in thinking climbing the mountain was the hardest part of the day only to discover that the trail wasn’t quite finished with me. I’m thirsty and out of power, but there’s not much further to go. 

Perhaps it’s because something momentous is happening in finishing the first island, but the magnitude of what I’ve completed coupled with the magnitude of what’s ahead is hard to comprehend and there’s a part of me that’s skeptical of my success, certain I was just lucky in making it all come together.

Maybe I need to remind myself that trail is walked one step at a time – and starting Monday, it will be in brand new La Sportivas and fresh pairs of socks. These are in my “bounce box,” a box I have mailed forward to friends-of-friends to hold for me as I walk through the country. I send things forward that might be difficult to find, like my shoes and other personal items. Raf and Laura in the hip neighborhood of Thorndon are holding them for me and invite me to stay a few days as I split slackpacking with being a tourist on one of the most gorgeous weekends of the year. 

Things do begin a bit lazy on another unusually sunny, warm day in Wellington with waffles and delicious yogurt, golden kiwis and blueberries before we all head to the market and buy a cart load of groceries for the three separate packages of resupply I have to send to manage the first month of hiking on the South Island.

We cram tuna packets, ramen noodles, muesli bars, dehydrated soup, salami, lollies, and more into boxex, our fingers crossed they arrive when and where I need them. 

They tell me later this summer they’ll tramp one of the Great Walks, the Kepler in the South Island, so Raf suits up and joins me for the final kilometers. We walk on the official bit of TA through the Botanic Gardens, then along the waterfront, passing parliament and the ‘bee hive’ where I run into Alexis from Tongariro, looking well and rested after a week off.

The water glows azure and so many are out walking amongst public art, a street musician plays 'Girl from Ipanema' and vendors sell goods made of possum fur. The wind is high – normal for this city – and it kicks up white caps, not large, but so numerous it looks like frothy white frosting.

I mention to Raf  that another friend of a friend lives at the end of the trail and might welcome me. He tenses as I tell him how surprised I am she is situated right at this juncture. He then tells me he has profound social anxiety and doesn’t manage well when situations are sprung on him suddenly.

I feel so bad, not intending at all to make him uncomfortable. I had no idea, though I did notice both of them are home bodies, though not shy in the least as we talk non-stop. He seems to be comfortable with himself accepting that this is just who he is. There are no hard feelings and I genuinely like Raf, he’s interesting and easy to talk to. To be honest, hanging at their loft and organizing for the South Island has been so relaxing, as though we’ve known each other for years.

I don’t suffer from social anxiety, though I’ve felt rejection and had my feelings hurt – even on this hike. Even so, I tend to go back for more, always friendly and a little naive sometimes. We talk about introverts and extroverts and I think more about how this trail has led to some incredibly lovely introductions, friends I’ll keep for life. The flip side being not so much disappointing but confusing that I can’t seem to bond with hikers. Case in point Rubin’s girlfriend – she never did give me her name – cold to me for no apparent reason. 

Author Jacquie McTaggart said, “We are partners by fate. We become friends by choice.” So true, we’re sharing the trail, but not all of us will share our friendship. 

As we climb up the hill to Mt. Victoria, Raf peels off feeling not quite in shape. I power on up and catch the stunning view for the second time before working my way down this fantastic urban trail towards Mt. Albert, beautiful homes clinging to the surrounding hills. Just as I cross the street I see a beautiful young woman with long blond hair. It’s Lydie! She’s the lovely young French woman who saved a beer for me after a hot hike in Northland. 

I laugh immediately at having become so maudlin and questioning about friendships. Lydie and I clicked right into an easy companionship regardless of the years that separated us. There was a respect and affection that was so natural. Sadly, she injured herself and will just enjoy New Zealand in small chunks, and likely stay on to work eventually.

I say goodbye and head down to the trail’s end on the south coast at Island Bay, swimmers and divers enjoying the relaxed surf, music cranked. I find the plaque marking the southern terminus at Shorland Park – 1,620 kilometers down, 1,430 to go – then share high fives and pictures with a local.

Then I work my way a bit further down the coast to a bistro and meet that friend of a friend I mentioned to Raf named Kedron, a musician, producer and artist from the US. We talk up a storm about living here and making public art, how New Zealand is ripe for the next great idea, and the rich variety of world music. She puts herself forward to be my producer should I return to perform. Always good to know people just in case.

We say goodbye and I take a look in the tide pools before catching bus number 1 back to Thorndon, nearly getting blown over when I walk across the bridge over the highway.

Dinner is served practically as I walk in the door and the three of us stay up late talking about every possible subject. I have no idea why I couldn’t connect with that one hiker and really why I am hiking all alone most of the time, but it would be silly to surmise that I’m not making friends. Just like in real life, we can be friendly to everyone, but not necessarily friends with them. 

It’s late when we all turn in, but Raf assures me he’ll get me to the ferry dock early in the morning before he needs to go to work, the ferry that will take me across the strait and onto a new part of this adventure.