26 October 2026

Blackbridge Road Campsite to Puketī Forest Hut 

13.5 mi/21.9km

Possums in North America are very cool. Possums in New Zealand are not. They are introduced, loud, vicious, and incredibly destructive to the environment. They’re also mean little thieves. For example: Ben left a granola bar tucked under the tent so that he could be ready for the early morning, and in the middle of the night a possum found it, stared through the mesh as it reached for it, snatched it, ran away, and sat happily munching on it on a rock. All in a matter of seconds. Possum, one. Hikers, zero. 

Even if there weren’t possums about, I still probably would have slept like shit. I’m still getting used to using a folding mat again after using an inflatable one for the past few years. I don’t really sleep well on the inflatable ones either, to be fair, because I’m constantly falling off the edge. The thought with the folding mat is that it’s lighter, tougher, and can double as a sit pad. But it’s still taking some adjustment. I have to sleep in all sorts of weird contortions and I wake up with various extremities asleep. The experiment continues. Maybe I just need to hike harder so I’m tired enough to sleep for eight straight hours on a rock.

Regardless, morning comes. Early morning. Dark, just before the rain, and we’re all rustling and packing and getting ready for the day. Izzy and Jack are ready first, then Mash and I follow just behind them in the almost-light of the nearly-dawn. The trail, which is actually trail for once, goes straight down to Mangapukahukahu Stream, which we will walk through for the next two or so miles before crossing the Waipapa River. Like Raetea, this part of Puketī Forest is an infamous part of the Northland section of Te Araroa. Love it or hate it, it’s an adventure. At least we’ve made it before the rain starts in earnest.

A few minutes after we arrive, Sibylle, Thijs, Hannah, and our new friend Sam appear. We’re a mega-group! One by one, we step fully into the creek and begin following it. The water is cool and refreshing, and I’m not mad about having wet feet because, between this walk and knowing about the rain, I’ve already adjusted my mindset to accept that I won’t be dry until the hut tonight. 

Accordingly, I am in a very good mood as we make our way down the river. It’s gorgeous, maybe even more so in the moody, spitting-rain weather. Sometimes there’s track to follow on the side, and sometimes you just have to go right through. It never gets deeper than thigh deep on me, and when it is that deep, the sensation of cold is amazing on my leg. It feels like we’re on a jungle adventure. Lush green leaves hang over the side of the water. Tree ferns, palms, trees I still don’t know yet. It feels less like New Zealand and more like Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, Thailand, something warm and tropical. Though it’s definitely not warm here.

Eventually we see an orange arrow pointing to the right through the woods. It’s a steep up and a steep down to the river crossing at the T junction, and my knee does not like it. Up until this point it was feeling fine, but now I’m struck with a sinking feeling that it’s going to hurt for the rest of the day. The river crossing is chill, shin deep, not very fast flowing. It’s easy to see how it would be dangerous with a higher water level, but we timed it right and are here before the worst of the rain.

We cross and enter the Lower Waipapa River Track, and, though it is beautiful, it is where I start to physically and mentally break down for the day. There are deeply carved dirt ruts with moss on either side snaking through trees, and there are side-slipping muddy tracks that put exactly the wrong kind of pressure on my already sore leg. Steep up, steep down, roots, mud, everything slippery as it starts raining harder. I slow to a crawl. 

Every once in a while there is a beautiful boardwalk, installed, I suppose, where the slip was too steep and there was no other way to keep the trail going. These sections are nice. But then there will be one of those steep, slippy, scary parts. On one of them, I fall, twisting my hurt leg a weird direction, and I just lose it. Crying, screaming, crashing out. Mash walks back to me and puts his arms around me while I wail into his shoulder that I’m too old, too out of shape, I can’t do this anymore, I can’t thru hike anymore, I cannot do this stupid trail if the rest of it is like this. 

But of course, eventually I pull myself together and keep moving. There’s no other choice. You gotta walk. A little while later, we run into the group. Izzy sees my face and offers me an extra strength Advil, one of those 600mg slow-release ones that’s meant to work for 12 hours. It does take the edge off a little bit, but the next section is still unbelievably painful. 

We do the final creek crossing and filter water since there may not be any more sources today until camp. Then it’s uphill for a very long time. This is objectively a very nice uphill because there are well maintained gravel sections and so many stairs. One FarOut comment says that this section would put the Amicalola Falls stairs at the start of the AT to shame, and that’s pretty accurate. I am aware of the beauty of these stairs at the same time that I am in agony because going uphill, it turns out, is just as painful as going down. I get into a nice little rhythm where I count out about 25 stairs, cry a little, do 25 more, cry a little more, and repeat. Things get juicy towards the top of one of the first parts when the stairs and gravel give way to more jungly rooty muddy bits. Then it’s not merely a little cry but a genuine grade-A second menty bee. Then a third when I catch up with Mash again. At this rate, we’ll get to camp well after dinner time. Did I mention it’s now full-on raining as well?

But eventually, as is the way of all things, the climb ends, the trail evens out, and we are at the 4X4 track that we’ll follow all the way to Puketī Hut. We haven’t eaten lunch yet, so we do that, standing around because, again, it’s raining hard now and there is no shelter. It’s grim, standing at the edge of the road with all of my weight on my good leg, head bowed as rain pours off of me, shoving a salami and cheese wrap into my face, but thru hiking just requires suffering sometimes. 

Things go much more quickly once we’re on the road. The rain abates slightly and I don’t have to focus so much on where I’m putting my feet. My leg is still screaming, but it’s more like one knife twisting through my flesh now instead of three. A couple of miles from camp, we return to cell signal, and we use it to book a motel in Kerikeri for tomorrow night and the following night. The thought of being in a building, clean, and not walking is the best thing I can imagine right now. Thru hiking is really fun, I promise!! You should do it if you hate yourself a little bit! Ha ha.

Puketī Hut arises like a long-awaited oasis just after the road curves through a gorgeous stretch of tall pines. Te Araroa, you gaslighting little shit. All day you push me through side-sloping muddy jungle and then at the end you act like you did nothing wrong. Look at the beauty you heap on me now: this pine-needle covered path and a clearing sky, the end in sight, a warm indoor place to sleep for the night. Like, “Are you still mad at me?” How could I be? 

Puketī Hut is literally heaven. It has running water, electricity, and a wood stove. There are some contract forest workers sharing the space with us, and their friendliness immediately sweeps us in. We find two spots on the bottom row of bunks, change out of our hiking clothes, and lay our shoes and socks, along with many others, in front of the stove to dry. 

Within an hour of our arrival the rain has stopped, the sky is blue, and the sun is shining again. We set all of our gear out in the yard, and it dries by the time we go to bed. Mash cooks dinner: miso soup for an appetizer, followed by two blocks of noodles with cheese and salami slices. I have cup after cup of peppermint tea just because there’s an electric kettle on the counter inside and an endless water supply. I feel warm amongst the happy chatter, the clink of plates, sizzling meat cooking in a pan, fire crackling in the woodstove. By the time we settle in for sleep, the world’s gone dark and all the people in the hut have gone quiet. 

No, but you really should thru hike. If you love yourself.