20 October 2026

Te Rerenga Wairua (Cape Reinga) to Twilight Campsite 

12 km/7.8 mi

I wake up and it is the morning at the start of a thru hike. At the hostel in Kaitaia, Northland, Aotearoa, New Zealand. The room is dark, I’m covered in three blankets, after a long and cozy night of sleep. It’s just gone 7. It both does and does not feel like the morning at the start of a thru hike. There are other hikers here, but there is an air of apprehension—for many of them, this is their first very long hike. There’s none of the easy, immediate camaraderie of the morning at the start of the PCT, but there’s none of the quietness of the start of the Camino, either. It’s an in between, but also something entirely different. I’m on the other side of the world. The birds are different. The trees are different. The morning is cool, and it’s spring, not fall. Everything upside down. Let’s give it a go. 

I set to repacking my bag (how is it already so full?) and Mash brings me a coffee. Bless him. He’s already learned that I’m useless in the morning before caffeinating. This is my first time starting a hike of this length with another person, let alone a partner—let alone a long-distance partner with whom I’ve never spent more than a week and a half in the same place. There are going to be lots of little things we learn about each other and our routines, at the same time as we learn the new country. I’m all about learning. 

(Mash’s real name is Ben, by the way, and I will probably accidentally intersperse the two as these posts go on. It doesn’t seem like trail names are a thing on the TA, but it feels in keeping with the tradition of this blog to use trail names here.)

I charge my phone, have another coffee, do some little tasks, eat breakfast, chat to the other hikers, and then we walk outside to load up in the car with Thijs, a hiker from the Netherlands, and Keith, our driver who will be taking the three of us to Cape Reinga. Keith is from Auckland originally but lives near Kaitaia now. As he drives us north, he tells us about fishing, the scourge of possums, and other hikers he’s driven along the TA. He also stops for coffee. Bless New Zealanders and their deep respect for good coffee. 

It’s a longer drive than I expected. Though theoretically I know that New Zealand is a rather long country, it’s weird to see just how much land there really is here, even in the far north, where the peninsula gets super skinny. It was seven hours in total on the bus from Auckland to Kaitaia yesterday, and now it’s well over an hour from Kaitaia to Cape Reinga. 

It’s a beautiful morning though. Perfect for a drive. Outside the window, Aotearoa is so green and bright. We pass avocado farms and fields with sheep grazing. And then the northernmost settlement in the country, and then the hilly, tree-covered land to the lighthouse.

Keith drops us off at the parking lot leading down to the cape. We get a photo all together, repack our bags, and get ready to go to the iconic start of Te Araroa. I realize around this time that I left my phone charger plug in the car. Oh. Mash sends a message to the owner of the shuttle company, and they locate it right away and say they can leave it in Kaitaia for when we come back through. Already losing things and we haven’t even started the hike properly yet. I have to get back into this.

Thijs, Mash, and I walk down the pathway leading to the lighthouse. There are informational signs along the way about the settlement history, Māori history and legends, and natural history. Oooh, I love a good fact. I do know already that Cape Reinga is traditionally believed by Māori to be the last place that souls touch before they leave this world and go to moana, the ocean. This is why you aren’t supposed to eat here. Eating is antithetical to the presence and energy here. So although my stomach is already grumbling at me, and although I have a muffin in a paper bag from Pakn’Save ready to go, I hold off on eating. If you know me, you know how much of a feat this is. Please clap.

The lighthouse pops into view around a corner. We walk down and down on the paved path until it is right there, in front of us, this landmark that I’ve seen in heaps of social media posts and all over the internet when doing research for this trail. White lighthouse next to a signpost with yellow markers demonstrating the distance to cities around the world. It strikes me again how odd it is to see something in person that you’ve only seen in photos before. It looks like you expect, but it also doesn’t. It is always, inevitably, a little different than you had pictured.

We take turns taking photos at the signpost. It’s hard not to think back to that morning at the start of the PCT. Different place completely, different side of the world, but the same anticipation. Another adventure about to begin. Who will I be by the end? How will we fare? What will we learn? Who will we meet?

And then, we walk. 

First, back up the paved path, and then downhill onto a grass and dirt trail that meanders downwards. The views are immediately unbelievable. The ocean is a stunning blue. There are waves crashing to shore far below us, but the water doesn’t seem all that violent, despite the wind. The sun is making everything glow. I could think of places to compare this to, but none of them would fit exactly right. 

We catch up to Thijs and walk with him for a bit, then when we hit the beach—and it is here that I think, I assume, that it is okay to eat again—I plop down on a rock and commence eating my muffin.

About halfway though, Mash says, “Uh oh. You’ve got a friend.” I look up and there’s a menacing looking seagull staring at me. He’s after my lunch. 

Because yeah, we do end up eating lunch at that spot as well. I realize that it’s past noon and I haven’t really had a proper meal yet today, so it’s time. A wrap with cheese (“tasty,” I have learned, is what they call cheddar here) and salami, with roasted pepper hummus (or, in New Zealand-ese, chargrilled capsicum hummus), and tzatziki flavored chips. It was interesting to do my resupply at Pakn’Save. I’ve never done this style of wilderness thru hike in another country, and I totally didn’t think about the resupply options being different. No tuna packets this time. It’ll be a lot of cheese and salami, I think. But also, Tim-Tams. And Griffin’s Toffee Pops. And Whittaker’s. Sweet, sweet Whittaker’s.

After lunch we both crack open our beers and get walking. It’s flat for a while on the beach, and the tide is at the perfect point. We’re just walking, talking, drinking our beers, listening to the waves crash on the shore and enjoying the sunshine. Does it get better? Is this real life?

A little way down the beach, we pass a couple of other hikers we’d seen at the hostel last night, say hi and exchange pleasantries, then carry on until we reach a little stream running through the sand and towards the ocean. Ah, well. We made it a whole two and a half miles before getting wet feet. At least this water is warm, and the sun is shining.

We start up the dunes, finish our drinks, and then I pull over to pee while Mash goes on. I’m alone for a few miles, and I very quickly lose sight of him as he charges up the hill and around the bend. I forgot how fast he can hike. Bye! 

But no, it’s fine—like I told him, I prefer to hike alone most of the day and then be social at camp, rather than talking lots while hiking. Within a few solitary steps my mind returns to that pleasantly fuzzy place that thru hiking opens up. I get songs and phrases stuck in my head in a loop. I think about random things and crack myself up. 

The ground is sandy for a bit, then it turns into this really nice springy kind of surface. It looks like rock, but it’s softer. It’s like compacted sand that hasn’t quite turned into proper rock. It is very nice walking. 

There is always the urge to compare. If I turned my head to the left and ignored the ocean (why on earth would I do that), I could almost believe that it’s the PCT, what with the electric blue sky and the sandy hills. But turn my back on the hills (why on earth would I do that either) and look at the ocean, it could almost be Cornwall. But not quite. Neither fits exactly. Then I pass the green and yellow DOC signs and am well and truly convinced that I am, in fact, in New Zealand. 

I crest another hill and look around. I can see, from here, that I am about to make a turn and start going south along the western coast. From this vantage, you can see back north to the lighthouse and watch the trail curve round to here. I love it when you can really visualize the geography of a place. We started on the northern point, and now are moving towards Ninety Mile Beach (it’s not really 90 miles) on the western edge. 

I keep walking. I’m noticing all the plants. I’ll have to do some research when I have service. There are these grasses growing in a row so that it looks like long arms of brittle stars. I wonder what they’re called in te reo Māori and how they were traditionally used. If at all. I wonder what they’re called in English.

I come around another bend and from here it is mostly downhill to the beach. It’s thicker vegetation here, sort of bushy, with some trees that look something like juniper. As I’m descending, across the valley, I spot Mash. He’s looking at me. I wave my poles and he waves his back.

A little while later I spot him and Thijs sitting in the shade having a snack. The trail has been so chill that, apart from lunch, I haven’t even really considered taking a break. But this is simply too good a break spot not to take one, so I plop down and enjoy the shade. We chat a bit, compare experiences so far, and agree that this is one of the most beautiful days of hiking we’ve ever experienced.

Mash and I carry on down the hill and then onto the beach, the final stretch of walking for the day. We get into a nice conversational roll about theories of pleasure. How many categories of pleasure are there? Are there things that fall into multiple categories? We keep coming up with more. Sex is the most obvious one. But then there is also eating, and creativity, and connection, and the pleasure of being outside in nature. There’s also the particular pleasure of exercise, particularly exercising outside, and then there is the slow-drip pleasure of being in the sun. Is there a philosophical theory of pleasure? If someone knows this, please let me know. I yearn to philosophize. 

We spot the steps leading up to our campsite just before 4. It seems so early, but this was the only option for the first day apart from doing a 30km day. Camp is called Twilight Campsite, and it is lovely. A huge, gently rolling grass hill with a few tents already set up, a hexagonal shelter with a table in the center for cooking, a rainwater tap, and not one but two privies. It’s just up from the water, and the sound of the waves carries up the hill. Oh, Te Araroa. You’ve already got me.

We get everything set up, I have a little nap in the sun, and then we walk over to the shelter to be social and cook. It’s lovely to chat with all the hikers there. We’re from everywhere, and with this crowd, it seems I’m the only American. There’s another English guy, at least two folks from New Zealand or Australia (I’m still shaky on the accent distinction), Izzy from Canada, who we met on the bus yesterday, Sibylle from Switzerland, who we met at the hostel, and Thijs from the Netherlands. There were a lot of international hikers on the PCT the year I hiked it, but this is a truly multinational crowd. This aspect, so far, feels very much like the Camino. I love it.

I have spicy noodles with peanut butter added in (I’m a genius) for dinner. We sit around the table eating and chatting, all marveling at the beauty of this day, this campsite, this place. Good vibes. Good vibes all around. 

The evening finishes with watching the sunset over the beach. Everyone in a group, admiring the light on the waves, wind picking at hair and grass. Collectively in awe at our good fortune to be in this place.