Wild New Zealand is perfect for tramping (that’s Kiwi for “hiking”)

I drop my pack, heavy with water, down on the path with a thud. A moment later, my body lands beside it. My knees throb, my back aches and my breath is ragged.

Through the flowering red Pōhutukawa trees, boats bob in the turquoise bays below, their riders blissfully unaware that high above, a hiker drenched in sweat is questioning her life decisions.

Perhaps the unrelenting 16.5-kilometre Cape Brett Track in New Zealand’s Northland region wasn’t the best choice for my first solo overnight hike. But it’s too late to turn around now.

I blink back tears. There’s no one else to get me through this. There’s just me.

When I first moved from Toronto to New Zealand in late 2018 on a working holiday visa, completing an overnight “tramp” (Kiwi for “hike”) quickly became one of my goals. With a population of only around five million, the country is renowned for its vast wilderness spaces, with rainforests, seaside coves and snow-capped mountains to explore. At trailheads, I’d gaze longingly at the spots marked on the maps, far beyond where I could reach in an afternoon.

The problem? My partner isn’t the most enthusiastic of hikers, and I’m not the most enthusiastic about listening to someone complain for eight hours straight.

That wasn’t the only issue. Although I’ve done supported multi-day treks before, I’m still, in many respects, a beginner outdoorswoman. People assume that Canadians are campers by birthright — emerging from the womb holding a canoe paddle in one hand and bear spray in the other — but barriers exist for many groups, including new Canadians and people of colour.

For women, it’s often less about accessibility and more about perception, which is part of what held me back. The assumption that women are only interested in lower-risk soft adventure persists: According to a 2017 survey of more than 2,010 American women conducted by retailer REI, about 60 per cent believed that men’s interests in the outdoors were taken more seriously than women’s.

I didn’t really start outdoor adventuring until I was in my 30s, and most of my skills — including what to pack, how to light a fire and the perfect angle for peeing outdoors — are self-taught. New Zealand was my chance to level up, in part thanks to its extensive network of backcountry huts.

Similar shelters can be found in Canada — including along B.C.’s 180-kilometre Sunshine Coast Trail, the country’s longest hut-to-hut hiking trail — but New Zealand’s system is the largest in the world. First built in the 19th century to shelter sheep musterers, hunters and miners from storms, today there are 1,400 huts scattered across the country. Of those, 950 are managed by the Department of Conservation (DOC), a government body somewhat akin to Parks Canada.

Deeply ingrained in Kiwi culture, the buildings range from two-person riverside bunks to 80-person lodges tucked among the high-alpine tussocks. Serviced huts typically feature gas burners, bunks with mattresses, running water, toilets, and sometimes even an on-site warden.

For novice hikers and visitors to the country, the huts make it possible to spend multiple days on the trail without needing to invest in a tent or other expensive gear. The majority cost $5 to $15 per night, while the most primitive huts — basic bunkies that offer little in the way of amenities — are free.

For my first solo overnighter, I chose the Cape Brett Track partially due to the history of its hut. Originally built in 1908, it was once a lighthouse keeper’s cottage. For 800 years before that, Rākaumangamanga (the peninsula’s Māori name) had been used as a beacon by Polynesian explorers.

But while huts make accessing the backcountry easier, hiking here is no walk in the park — even when you’re in a literal park. Sure, New Zealand doesn’t have any bears, but it does have something arguably worse: wind.

Sitting along the “Roaring Forties” — strong westerly currents found between the latitudes of 40 and 50 degrees — the small country is notorious for its extreme winds, particularly in high-alpine environments. On one terrifying tramp on the West Coast, I had to cling to tussocks to avoid getting swept off a mountainside.

Snow and rain are equally problematic. Areas like Fiordland National Park, which is home to the famed Milford Track, receive up to seven metres of rainfall every year. In 2020, my coveted booking on that track was cancelled after a storm caused “slips” (a polite Kiwi-ism that translates roughly to “catastrophic landslides”).

Today, though, the weather is on my side. As my breathing slows, I watch the sunlight filter through the bush. Nearby, endemic tuis swoop through the manuka trees, their calls encouraging me to continue.

Standing up, I strap my pack back on. I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk tomorrow, but I am confident that at the trail’s end there’s a bunk with my name on it. 　

3 overnight tramps to suit any skill level

Whether you’re an experienced adventurer or first-time hiker, New Zealand’s extensive huts system makes the outdoors readily accessible.

Best for adrenalin seekers: Kauaeranga Kauri Trail

In the summer, Aucklanders make a mass exodus to their “baches” (cottages) on the Coromandel Peninsula. It’s also where you’ll find the Kauaeranga Kauri Trail, a historic pack horse route used by bushmen in the 1920s. Although the eight-hour tramp can be done in a day, most hikers opt to spend the night at the 80-bunk hut, so they can watch sunrise from atop the 759-metre-high Pinnacles. The final ascent involves steep rungs and ladders bolted into the rocks, which isn’t kind to those with a fear of heights.

Best for nature lovers: The Paparoa Track

With well-formed tracks and serviced huts, New Zealand’s 10 Great Walks can be tackled by anyone with a reasonable fitness level. The most famous is the Milford Track, but the newest is the Paparoa Track. Built for both mountain bikers and hikers, the 55-kilometre path traces the gorges of the Pororari River and the ridgelines of the Paparoa mountains, where the rare great spotted kiwis live.

Best for history buffs: Waiuta

You’ll need a good pair of hiking boots or a boat to access most of NZ’s huts, but there are a few exceptions to the rule, including the drive-up hut at Waiuta. Once a thriving gold mining community, this town was abandoned virtually overnight when a mine shaft collapsed in the 1950s. Today, you can sleep overnight where the hospital once stood and spend your days wandering among the ruins.

The Star understands the restrictions on travel during the coronavirus pandemic. But like you, we dream of travelling again, and we’re publishing this story with future trips in mind.