22 October 2026
Maunganui Bluff Campsite to Hukatere Lodge Campground
18.7 mi/31km
We’re some of the first to wake up and some of the last to leave. Ain’t that just the way. It’s not super cold this morning, and I’m not as sore as I expected, but I’m still just moving so slowly. Mash makes coffee again, and I make us bagel sandwiches with hummus, cheese, and salami. Not a bad way to start the day. It’s made even better by the sight of three wild horses chilling by the side of the hut. By the time we get moving, there’s maybe two or three tents left, and it’s about 8:00. At least we got a little bit of an earlier start than yesterday?
The first few steps of the day onto the beach are a little wobbly and painful, but it sorts itself out in a little bit. Mash and I walk together all morning until lunch. At one point a car drives towards us and then stops. It’s Keith, with my charger plug! He hands me that, then gets us some oranges out of the back and asks how the hike has been so far. First trail magic of Te Araroa!
Moving again, we start cruising at a nice cool three-plus miles an hour and by the time we stop for lunch, we only have six and a half miles left for the day. But the problem is that I am very much in pain. Feet screaming. Hips ablaze. It feels incredible to sit down, and to eat lunch—which is exactly the same as breakfast, with the last of the bagels.
When I get packed up and stand up again, I can immediately tell I have a blister on the pad of my right foot, just below the second toe. I just know. Before lunch, it was just sore, but now it’s a blister. I sigh, take off my gaiter, socks, and shoe, and set to exorcising the demon blister. Irritating. I typically get very few blisters, if any. I find them incredibly annoying, but I’m not going to lie, I also find it satisfying to pop them. Stabby stabby. Juicy juicy. Then a Paw Patrol bandaid because this is the bandaid of Mash’s choosing, followed by the New Zealand equivalent of Leukotape. And then I’m semi-okay to go.
Mash and I walk separately for the rest of the day. I know he’s slowing down a lot to hike with me and with this blister I will be really slow going. He rockets off southward and I stumble back onto the good sand that’s not too soft (closer to the dunes) and not too soggy (closer to the water) but that money zone in between. The Goldilocks sand.
I have my headphones plugged into my phone, but when I go to play my downloaded music on Tidal (yes, Tidal. Spotify is evil and doesn’t have any King Gizz on it anymore), it doesn’t work. It gives me an error message, then it tells me I’m in offline mode. Of course I’m in offline mode, dummy! I’m on airplane mode and I saved these albums for this literal purpose?? I wage war with the app, opening it and closing it, cursing whatever spirit I’ve offended who has made it so I have to rawdog this horrible endless beach, until I figure out the trick: for whatever reason, the app doesn’t like it when my headphones are plugged in and I press play. So I press play on whatever song I want, then plug the headphones in, and we’re good to go. Crisis averted.
I listen to the soundtrack to Over the Garden Wall first. In New Zealand it’s spring, and I’m walking on a beach in bright 70-something-degree sunshine, but back home, it is full on autumn, and this animated series owns my soul. It’s weird to listen to this extremely spooky season music while I’m in this environment, but it’s also nice. I’ve downloaded all the episodes for Mash and me to watch on trail, too, and so far he’s a fan. (One of us. One of us.) I switch to King Gizzard’s newest album, Alien Metal, after that. I still don’t really know how I feel about it overall, but it has some good beats. Then I move to Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms, and Lava. And I start absolutely belting “Mycelium.” Two guys on bikes pass me and wave. I wave back, but I keep singing.
At some point, three guys in what I later learn are called BloKarts pass. They’re three-wheeled buggies with a sail attached, which allows them to zoom down the flat, compacted sand. I’d seen them earlier in the day too, and now they’re going south. I start to fantasize about how great it would be to just be pulled along the sand by the power of the wind. Surely that wouldn’t be cheating, right? It doesn’t involve a motor. A few cars pass too, wave. Damn, cars move so fast. So efficiently. Not like me with my wounded little legs struggling down this horrible beach.
Soon there are no more distractions for a while. I try as hard as I can to resist the temptation to check FarOut, knowing that I haven’t gone as far as I wanted to. I can now feel a blister on the other foot, a definitely-blister that probably covers the entire ball of my left foot. My left hip hurts for a while, and then the right one. I cannot stop. I cannot drain the blister, I cannot stretch my legs, because if I stop, I will never start again. I have to keep moving.
I’m back on some really pretty sand again. Psychedelic wave sand. I start to zone out looking at it, seeing shapes like you see in clouds. That one’s a snake. That one’s a sand dune. Oh no, please god, no more sand dunes.
Another album goes by and finally, between checking the map on FarOut and eyeing the dunes looking for a break, I finally arrive at the turn-off for camp. But I misjudge the entrance to the road and end up in the sand, with plants all around me. Definitely not the road, but there is no way that I am going back to that damn beach. I find a path, or a semblance of one, and I fumble my way through the sand until I join the road. A sign says that the holiday park is 200 meters up the road. At this point, it could be 200 kilometers. Walking a couple of meters is agony. Now the popped blister’s bandaid and tape are rubbing terribly on my right foot and the left one feels like I’m walking on a water balloon.
I finally reach the gate for Hukatere and turn right. There’s a metal latch on the side to keep the gate closed. I reach for it, but it won’t give. I try a couple configurations, move the gate closer, and still can’t get it open. “Oh come on,” I say out loud, to an unknown audience. “This has got to be some sick joke.” Finally, it gives, and I walk down the gravel road towards the park.
Mash comes up the road to meet me, bouncing along like he’s never even heard of the concept of pain. He’s smiling. “Hi!” I don’t give a response, which I know is bitchy, but all I can think about is sitting down.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says.
I perk up. “Is it beer?”
“No.” He holds out a Coke and a Sprite. I reach for the Coke. I do appreciate it, but it takes a few moments of sulking first. I hate it when I get like this. Cranky like the whole world is against me even though this is my choice, and I’m out here in a beautiful place with great people doing the thing I love most. But my feet hurt, so I’m a grump.
At camp, I lay out my sleep pad and wrestle with my shoes, socks, and gaiters until my red, heat-rashed feet finally see the sunlight. There is definitely a blister on my left foot, though not the size my mind made me imagine, and the right one still looks popped. So it just hurts then. I do not have blisters for feet. Excellent news.
I ask Mash if anything is wrong with him, and he says no. I ask if he’s ever gotten blisters, and he says not really, not badly. This mystifies me.
“Well, if you think about it,” he replies by way of explanation, “for the last two years I’ve been on my feet: kitchen, Florida Trail, kitchen.” He worked two seasons at The Hungry Gull Café on the Isle of Skye in Scotland, where he also walked to and from work every day.
“Oh. I see. I just have lil babby angel feet,” I say.
“Yeah. Maybe that’s what it is. I’ve got blue collar feet, and you’ve got white collar feet.”
After a little while longer of moaning and feeling sorry for myself, I realize how I must sound to everyone in the vicinity.
“I need to stop being so negative, don’t I?” I muse.
“Yes,” Mash says, with no hesitation.
Alright then. Negativity over. I stab, drain, and bandage my blister, then waddle up the hill to the main reception building. There’s also two toilets, a nice big deck, and a kitchen with a huge wood table around which everyone is sitting. Izzy is talking about how she asked the BloKart drivers for a hitch and they refused. “I told them I’d give them five bucks,” she said, “But then they said it wouldn’t work.”
I have a cup of tea and then go to organize the tent, and then walk (read, once again: waddle) over to the shower building for what will probably go down as one of the best showers of my life. The water is not merely warm but fully hot, and the water pressure is strong the way I like it, which is one level below being able to strip the paint off a car. I’m not really that gross yet since this hike hasn’t yet involved walking on any surface that isn’t sandy, but I still feel sweaty, hot, and both sunburnt and slathered in sunscreen at the same time.
After showering I meet Mash in the kitchen, where he is cooking our noodles with Japanese curry. Lots of the other folks are in the kitchen as well, and we get to eat our dinner having a nice pleasant conversation. So this is what it took for everyone to talk: a hard day and a great table. There’s the vibe I was hoping for! We talk about our plans for the next section—whether we’re doing 15 or 30 km—and how we’re going to handle the muddy forests with the rain in the forecast. We chat food, gear, and travels. We chat challenges and blisters.
Hannah shows up at some point in the evening, just as we’re starting to wonder where she is—she started at 9, stopped for breaks, and gave herself pep talks. She’s still positive and smiling as she steps into the kitchen. Inspiring.
I stay there at the table talking with Hannah, Mash, and Julia, from Germany, for a long time, until darkness falls and people start leaving to go to bed. And that’s where I am now, here, writing at this lovely wooden table. It’s one more long day of beach tomorrow, essentially the same as today, and then the scenery changes. It’s hard to see the beauty in a repetitive landscape, even when that landscape is objectively gorgeous. But that’s what I’m going to try to do tomorrow. Think positive. See the wonder. Even if I get new blisters.
