Heading east from Martins Bay
So on day 4 Rick and I set off together on the track to Martins Bay, which marks the end of the Hollyford Track. The track was pretty lovely, walking along the beach on northern Lake McKerrow before ducking into more bush and arriving at the Lodge, where we asked for the weather report. It said it would be fine for at least a couple of days – no Fiordland weather report can be relied upon beyond a couple of days – so we were committed (and should have been committed, frankly); the Pyke Loop it was. We pushed on to the Martins Bay Hut, along a glorious beach, and stopped for lunch there, at the end of the Hollyford. Suddenly Martins Bay had changed from the end of the track to the beginning of the Hard Part... and the butterflies were there in my stomach. Without a doubt we were entering dangerous territory where people had died, territory where you can't afford to give up, because if you give up, you get stranded, and if you get stranded, you either get rescued, or you get discovered weeks later. We'd both told DOC of our intentions, as one always should, but they wouldn't be searching until a day or so after we were supposed to return, and then they'd still have to find us. It was a sobering thought.
Wild and beautiful Big Bay
We pushed through to Big Bay that afternoon, crossing the top of the Y. It was instantly obvious that the type of walking had changed; there were no more lovely tracks, just little worn routes with the odd marker. The walk, though, instantly became much more interesting; the path from Martins Bay to Big Bay was mainly along the coast, passing a truly stinking seal colony, amazing rock sculptures, and always ahead of us, these huge mountains such as Mt McKenzie, with snowy tops and large barren areas, where nothing grows at all. Big Bay itself lived up to its name, and the long slog along the beach was painful after such a distance, but with views like this, it's amazing how you forget your aching feet and straining shoulders. The hut, right at the northern end of the bay, wasn't one of the most delightful I've ever seen, but we didn't care and, apart from one other person (who turned out to be a boring sod from Te Anau1 so we left him to his own devices) we were totally alone in one of the most isolated spots in New Zealand. It was quite wonderful.
Big Bay might have been isolated, but there was one surprise in store. People tend to leave their excess food in huts, just in case a needy traveller turns up, and among the bags of milk powder and sugar was a packet of blackcurrant Vitafresh, a cordial powder that makes dodgy creek water taste palatable. And there, emblazoned across the packet that dated back to 1995, was a competition; 'Win an Acorn Home Computer' it proclaimed, along with the logo and a picture of an ancient Acorn machine. Of all the places to find a bit of advertising from the company who were effectively paying my way round New Zealand...
1 Southlanders – people who live in Southland, which includes places like Invercargill and Te Anau, but not Dunedin – have a weird accent. The area was settled by the Scottish, and as a result the locals have a very distinctive 'r' sound, derived from the rolling r's of the Scots. These days it makes Southlanders sound like people from Devon, but they tend to speak very slowly and have an odd habit of repeating themselves. All this tends to make Southlanders sound incredibly simple, which is a shame, as they're actually the salt of the earth. What a pity we had to be stuck in a hut with the only one who lived up to his accent...
