Ankle Breaker (Herekino) Forest

Can you find the orange trail marker? Trust me, it’s in there.

The start of the Herekino forest.

The view from the highest point in the Herekino forest.

This was my reward after emerging from the bush.

When I first started this hike, I naively thought I was going to be a purist and hike every step of the trail. After hiking for three and a half days straight, that delusion was happily left in the sand. And having arranged a ride from the hostel in Ahipara to the start of the Herekino Forest, to avoid the 5 miles of walking on the road shoulder, I find myself waiting in the hostel’s reception area.

I run into Kate and Becca again, this time clad in dresses for their zero day (a rest day in which zero miles/kilometers are hiked). We chat for a while and compare the weigth of our packs. I offer them a partially used canister of stove fuel since I still have a completely new one in my pack. I also attempt to pawn off some extra trail mix since I have way too much of it in a bulging one gallon freezer bag. They are happy to accept since they liked it when I gave them a some at Twilight camp.

“We call this scroggin here,” Becca informs me.

“That sounds like some kind of scrotal disease, not very appetizing,” I joke. “I’ve been trying to pass off as much of this stuff to fellow hikers to lighten my pack.” In my best Oprah impression, “You get some scroggin , and you get some scroggin, everyone gets some scrotal disease!” We all have a good laugh. I nonchalantlty add, “I hope that doesn’t become my trail name or something. There’s the guy that’s always pushing trail mix on everyone,”  I say switching into an impression of a generic hiker.

Kate’s eyes light up, “Oh my god, that’s your trail name now!”

“SCROGGIN!” Kate and Becca say with more enthusiasm than I would prefer.

Why can’t I shut up? I guess it sounds kind of cool. It could be the name of some kind of Scottish pirate. I try to imagine Captain Scroggin sailing the seven seas and conquering Te Araroa! Maybe I can learn to embrace it? Be the Scroggin!

Sandy, the owner of the hostel, comes out of his office around 11 a.m. and says he can give me that ride to the trail head. Waving good bye to the ladies, I make my exit, load my pack into the trunk of his Range Rover, and climb into the supple leather of the freshley cleaned, luxury SUV. It would seem that owning a hostel is quite lucrative. At the trail head I give Sandy a couple of dollars for gas, but find myself reluctant to slide my way out of the slice of mobile luxury. I decide to trade the climate controlled, leather clad environment for the forest trail head which looks a little like a ditch in the middle of nowhere.

After a very quick dip, I am faced with a well groomed track that begins with some stairs. While ascending the stairs, I find myself surrounded with ferns, palm, and pine trees. The ground to either side of the trail is littered with leaves and deadfall. It’s an interesting mix of subtropical and pine forests. The trail flattens for a brief period and I proceed forward while I try to catch my breath. Eventually, at about the hour and a half mark, I come to the first and only reliable stream in the forest. A quick 10 minute break on the stoney bank and some scroggin refreshes me. Hopping from dry rock to dry rock, I plant my feet on the otherside and see a muddy, almost vertical ascent devoid of stairs or switchbacks.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

I look around to make sure this is the actual trail. Through the branches and thick leaves an orange, triangular trail marker can be spotted. It would seem this is it. I suck it up and look for a route. While spotting my path and identifying footholds on exposed tree roots I also notice the clear indcation of hikers struggling to get up the muddy slope. Their footprints and hand marks dot the torn, muddy ground. All of the elongated prints clearly indicate where someone has slipped or where they desperately clawed at the ground to find a way up. Finding my first foothold and grabbing vines and branches I carefully make my way up. A root here, a deeply planted rock there, and the occasional tree base make for stable footholds. Coming to a gap in my selected route, I do my best to plant my foot in the one secure foothold I have and plant my trekking poles into the mud. I place my boot into the mud and shift my weight on to it but the mud gives way and I quickly slide backwards. In a split second I throw my arms out to try and grab a branch, vine, tree trunk, anything. The back of my arm catches the trunk of a palm tree and the teeth of the bark dig into my tricep, but I’m able to stop my fall before I completely tumble down the slope. With blood running down my arm I reset myself and complete the verticle climb. The trail finally runs perpendicular to the slope, and I can walk again.

Deadfall becomes more common near the summit and the trail is looking a little rough. Coming to a large tree that has recently fallen across the trail and uprooted the surrounding ground I look for a way around. Thick, thorny, vegetation and steep slopes cut off the possibility of easy paths around. Fuck it. I decide to briefly leave the trail and bushwhack up the slope. Meandering through the ferns and various types of plants that are armed with thorns and spikes I find myself on the other side of the fallen tree without the sign of the trail. I spend a while looking around for a marker but come up empty handed. I pull out the gps app on my phone and hope to God it works. Bingo! On the app I can see my relation to the trail. Apparently the trail switchbacks at some point and I am on the wrong side of the giant fallen tree again. Pushing my way through dense vegetation once again I eventually rejoin the trail.

At the summit the trail dries out, the canopy thins, and I am embraced by a cool breeze. The landscape stretches for miles in every direction revealing mountains blanketed with lush forests, and to the North I can even glimpse 90 Mile Beach.

The dry and gently undulating ridge line eventually joins an old disused logging road. The rutted logging road begins the subtle descent and gets wetter the lower I go. The ruts pool the water and create sucking mud. I do my best to stay on the high point of the track to avoid the mud but inevatibly I come to a large pool of mud that stretches across the entire track. I concede to the fact that I’m going to get muddy and just plow through the mud. The track gets muddier as I continue, and I scrunch my face up in disgust as I listen to the sucking and slurping sound of the mud as it attempts to rip my boots off.

The forestry road eventually narrows to a thin muddy trail again with a precipitous drop. The forestry road I just walked only descended about 30% of the total elevation. Approximately, the next 2 miles makes the other 60% of the descent straight down a torn up and muddy slip-and-slide. It’s one thing to make a steep climb but descending it is a bit harder, especially on a 40 degree incline. Taking note of the multitude of exposed roots that threaten to break an ankle, I plan my route. Daylight is fading fast and I calculate that I have about an hour and a half descent which will bring me to the edge of twilight. I do my best to take my time since rushing is a guaranteed way to fall down the mountain. Each footstep is planned and I ensure that I always have at least three points of contact. A trekking pole is always planted, a vine held, and a foot kicked into a root well before taking each step. The sound of my breathing is pierced by the persistent chirp of a tiny, energetic bird. Looking up, I’m greeted by an over eager bird the size of a small lime perched on a vine less than 6 feet from me. It seems interested in me, so I pause to stare back.

“chirp, chirp, chirp” hop, hop. “chirp, chirp, chirp” hop, hop

The tiny bird quickly hops about in a circle before me unafraid of my presence. Mildly amused I keep moving and make slow but steady progress.

My progress is halted when I find myself caught in a precarious spot. My feet are on small roots, each barely able to fit a heel. With a vine gripped tightly in one hand and the other leaning on a trekking pole to fight the force of gravity I search for a safe path down. To my left another tiny bird, or perhaps the same one, chirps at me to grab my attention. This one goes the extra mile and dances for me. With its tail fanned out, like a peacock, it displays its white tail streaked with two black feathers in the center. It hops in quick succession, twitters, and shakes its little rump for me.

“Ahhh, you’re awfully cute buddy, but I’m not event the right species.” I tell it thinking it wants to mate with me.

Ignoring my logic the little dancer continues its spectacle. Who am I to refuse a free show? Teetering on some roots I decide to play along and make techno sounds with my mouth.

“Oooonsa, oonsa, oonsa. Shake it little buddy. Shake it!”

Eventually the little bird tires and leaves me on the face of the mountain. Alone again, I come to realize that despite the steep slopes and mud in this section, I have yet to fall, and I’m proud of myself and my relatively clean pants.

Declaring triumphantly to the hill side, “I am a fucking mountain goa… whoooaaa!!” My hubris gets the better of me and I flat out slip completely losing my feet from under me. For a split second I think, shit this is where I tumble down the mountain and hit every tree on the way down breaking every bone in my body! No one would find me for days. But my preternatural instincts kick in and some how I tighten my grip on the vine, and despite my heavy pack I contort my body around to face the slope. Luckily both feet find the ground and I am literally rappelling down the next 15 feet of nearly vertical slope using the vine like a rope. Oh man, Bear Grylls would be proud. At the end of my rope, well vine really, I swing over to a piece of ground that I can stand on. I give myself a once over to make sure everything is where it should be. Apparently uninjured I take a deep breath to calm down and revel in my still untarnished pants.

The next part of my path requires me to traverse sideways to some footholds. Gingerly, I attempt to cross the slope but my feet slip yet again. This time there is no vine to save me. My butt hits the ground hard, and my left foot is caught underneath me pinning my knee to my chest. Uncontrollably I slide into the ferns at the bottom and end up in a small flattened area where other hikers have clearly been deposited before. My left hip flexor seizes and cramps while I roll in the mud in pain. So much for clean pants, but at least I’m further down the slope.

When I recover I find that I need to traverse the path sideways again to get back to the trail. My second attempt is slower, but I slip anyway. This time I go to my hands and one knee while sliding down the trail. Covered in mud I stand up and am relieved to find that the slope has flattened out and I only have a few hundred feet to go. It turns out falling down the mountain is the fastest way to get to the bottom.

Emerging from the forest on to a farm track, wet and covered in mud, I dump my pack and try to calm down from the adrenaline rush of sliding down a mountain. Knowing that there are 3 more days of hilly forest ahead of me I seriously doubt my ability to do this. Perhaps if I was with someone I would be at ease knowing that they could fetch help if I get hurt, but alone this is stupid. Looking ahead, a hilly, emerald, pasture bathed in the warm light of the setting sun sprawls out before me and helps me recenter myself. It looks like I found the Shire!

I use the last 20 minutes of light to set up camp right on the farm track and count my lucky stars that I didn’t break something. I strip off my muddy clothes, skip dinner, and crawl into my tent. I’m so tired that when I roll over and find one of my biggest fears, a tick, crawling around I just scoop it out of my tent, no hyperbolic reaction just borderline indifference. Ignoring the feral hogs rooting around in the bush next to me, I decide to sleep on whether or not I will hike the rest of the forest.

Miles covered this section: 9.3

Beard status: Freshly sprouted