(1800 - 2000km) I'm on a plane

Out of Queen Charlotte track. Sun rising fast in the bays. Cormoran nesting close to the water. Pukeko on the meadows. No clouds, no shade. Umbrella saves me until Havelock. Resupply, WiFi, siesta. Owards alone. Easy gravel road to Pelorus Bridge. Walk into the sunset, camp in the dark forest.

Middy Creek Hut. Gravel, gravel - barefoot devil. Into the forest before it's too hot. Tramping track. Wash&bath in the river. Shady beech forest, cold streams. Sweat anyway. Goats around the hut.

Hacket Hut. Wake up at 5am. Full moon guides me until sun takes over. Easy climb in the cold morning. Rocks hut: Martin the Australian - still in his sleeping bag - is quite surprised, when I enter at 7:30 am. Breakfast together. Trees, no trees, trees. Rest at a little creek.

Old Man Hut. Alone. Across the river, along the river. Rough big boulders. Starveal peak. Spear grass is spiky. Epic view of awesomeness: Tasman Bay, woods and mountains and mountains and woods. 14 hours of sunlight - I only walk nine. Five days food in my bag - I only keep three. More lines to write. I stop here and enjoy the view.

Mid Wairoa Hut. Breakfast on Mt. Rintoul. Marvelous views, 360°, absolutely breathtaking. Silhouette of a charmois. Moon and the rising sun. Loose rocks slipping away. Hands on rock. Partly dangerous. Meet two nobos = people walking the trail northbound. Ask them everything. Steep path down to Wairoa stream. Majestic old beech trees. Bath in the cold river. All in. Reset to manufacturers mode. French book in the hut. Not my language - read it anyway.

Hunters Hut. Poles out, shoes off: river-crossings. Climbing along steep walls. NZ-sting-nettle. Lots of green stone. Above the treeline. Orange rocks, orange poles, orange dead vegetation. Path is invisible. Piles of rock guide the way. Looks like my imagination of Mexico. Daily dosis of flawles views. Lonely day. Earthquake.

Red Hills Hut. Silvereyes busy in the bush. Rocks, rocks, rocks. From orange to red and back to orange. Sometimes like Australia, sometimes like Mars. Landslides. Path on loose pebbles - less than two meters next to a cliff. Slipping means falling. Inside the hut: Strong wind blows potatoflakes out of my pot onto the floor.

St. Arnaud: Red sky at dawn. Mossy beeches. Mountain bike track, two-wheeled road, state highway. Truck driver dressed as Santa Claus. Collect the food parcel that I send ahead. Friendly guys also donate me a whole jackpot of food. More than I can carry. Feels like Christmas!

Upper Travers Hut. Rain's back. Pack the wet tent. Along lake Rotoiti. Landscape turned into Scottland. Mountains covered in misty fog, mysterious and primeval. Gras high as my shoulder. Fast streams, suspension bridges. All the way up the valley. Shoes now have improved ventilation. Skin colour matched the dirt. Ready to rock another section!

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