30 October 2026

Kerikeri to Russell 

~13 mi, plus 2 mile ferry/~21 km plus 3.2km ferry 

It’s always slow leaving town for me. I’m ready to get moving again but at the same time, inertia is a powerful thing. But I heave my newly heavy pack on and we get moving. A little while down the road we see Izzy, Thijs, and Sibylle. We walk together for a while until, out of nowhere, I’m suddenly on the ground and my left knee—not the one that was already injured, thankfully—is bleeding. 

“What happened?” Izzy asks, at the same time that Mash says, “Are you okay?” The two of them help haul me off the ground, then we pull over in a grassy spot. Thijs gives me some antibiotic ointment, which I slather on the new wound, and then I add a couple of bandaids. Well. Not even out of town yet and I’m already newly hurt. 

But it’s okay, and so is the bad knee. As the road walk goes on, the unbearable pain from Raetea day doesn’t return. Between the zero day, slathering on ibuprofen cream, the knee brace, and taking two ibuprofen this morning, the pain is completely gone. Let’s see how long that holds.

We make a turn onto a gravel logging road, and that road goes on for a very long time. Izzy, who works in forestry in British Columbia, is very entertained by the fact that it basically looks the same as some of the sites in Canada. “Can you take a picture of me?” she asks, standing on a stump with the cleared hills and dirt roads in the background. “It looks like I’m on a field trip!”

Mash goes ahead while Izzy, Thijs, Sibylle, and I have an early lunch in the shade of some pine trees on the side of the road. I only meant to eat half of my big sandwich that Mash made for me yesterday, but it’s so good and I’m already so hungry, so I end up eating the whole thing. Then we walk a couple more kilometers on a detour (still a logging road) until we reach a bike park where Mash, Julia, and Jack are sitting at a picnic table. We’re all going to Russell tonight, one of New Zealand’s oldest settlements and the site of the oldest pub in New Zealand, the Duke of Marlborough. This break at the bike park is not very long because the group is keen to get there for a pint.

But first, on the way down the hill, Sibylle and I make a detour to the Waitangi Treaty Grounds. It’s expensive at $78, so we are the only two who decide to go, but it was important to me to visit. The Treaty Grounds are the site of the signing of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, the Treaty of Waitangi, in 1840, which is essentially Aotearoa’s founding document that established relations between the British Crown and the Māori chiefs. There were vastly different understandings of the treaty between the two sides, but it’s still an important document to understand if you want to understand New Zealand’s history. Which, of course, I do.

We arrive just in time for a guided tour followed by a Māori cultural performance in Te Whare Rūnanga, the traditional carved meeting house. First we experience a pōwhiri, a ceremonial greeting, outside the meeting house. Then we follow our guide inside for the performance part, which involves traditional songs, poi, haka, and weapons demonstrations. Both the vocal performances and the short haka at the end send shivers straight down my spine. It’s beautiful, the sound and the power. I cannot believe I’m really here, that I really get to witness this. 

After the performance we visit the Waitangi Treaty Museum for more historical context and to see the original copies of the document. It’s a beautiful museum, though there’s a lot to take in. My head is swimming with the history, all this context, but not in a bad way. Soon it’s close to 5, they’re closing, and we realize we should probably get going if we’re going to make it to the pub for a drink. There’s just never enough time. But I’m grateful for the time I did have.

Sibylle and I walk south, across the bridge to Paihia. It’s incredibly windy by now, but the evening is glowing and gorgeous. The path continues along a sidewalk by the bay. A runner stops and asks us if we’re hiking Te Araroa, and he’s incredibly excited when we say that we are. The enthusiasm buoys us forward until we reach the pier, where Mash is waiting. The three of us take the ferry across to Russell. It’s even windier on the water. A few moments later we’re on the other side of the bay.

The Duke of Marlborough is somehow both posh and tacky. Parts of the walls are a Pepto Bismol pink and other parts are crammed with all kinds of photos and artwork. People seem to be here for some sort of fancy work event, and we get some weird looks as we walk in, place our packs in the entryway, and meet our giant group of friends sitting around a table. We each have a drink, feeling very out of place but enjoying the odd atmosphere nonetheless.

After the drink, we follow Hannah and Sam to the holiday park where we’re staying for the night. It worked out that it was cheaper for us to split two “cabins” (really more like dorm rooms) than to camp, so nine of us are shoved into the accommodation. It’s incredibly comfortable, actually, and the night is a bit chilly, so I’m glad for one more night of having a bed before returning to camping.

Mash and I go to the Four Square supermarket for dinners to cook—ravioli for him and frozen butter chicken for me—and then I literally fall asleep in the chair writing. I have no idea why I’m so tired. I didn’t go very far today. But there were a lot of facts. Lots of facts make a brain tired. Tired and interested and grateful.