There’s a shyness to the Heaphy you don’t find on other Great Walks. Reserved and secretive, it doesn’t have the intrepid tops of the Kepler, or the jaw-dropping valleys of the Routeburn. Instead, like a library, it rewards the curious, and reveals its wonders to those who seek them out.

Walk or bike the track without straying, and its highlights will be missed; the weta-filled caves of Gouland Downs, the 1238m Mt Perry summit, and nocturnal powelliphanta oozing along in the dew, to name a few.

I tackled the mammoth 78km track with six others over New Year’s in 2018/19, camping along the way to save money – and in the process ruin our feet and knees.

Planning the trip gave me my first sense of the track’s scale. From its beginnings in Golden Bay to its completion at the West Coast, nearly 500km of winding roads separate the track ends – the first obstacle to be hurdled for any would-be Great Walker.

For me, the joy of the Heaphy is in its anticipation of the ocean, and I couldn’t imagine walking it in reverse, from sea to summit. From the track start, the Heaphy reels you in, and every day proves better than the last. Anything else would be anticlimactic.

The first day is all about the climb; a seemingly endless – and mostly viewless – gradient leading to Perry Saddle Hut. It’s relentless, and with four days of food packed, it’s a day for questioning your motives, and dreaming of the coast.

When the battle is over, the rewards start flowing. Crossing the Gouland Downs as the sun lowered itself into the west was when the Heaphy stopped feeling like hard work, and started feeling like the adventure I’d craved. The thin ribbon of track winds its way through golden tussock land, with intriguing copses of beech huddled in steep valleys, confined to water catchments. I’d have loved to spend days exploring each nook and cranny, but like the rivers, we were on an inevitable journey to the sea.

At halfway, the new James Mackay Hut provides views of the next day’s walk, all the way to Heaphy Hut at the mouth of the Heaphy River.

The descent from here is a farewell to the tussock and an introduction to the messy, scrappy rainforest of the west – a jungle of vines and palms, alive with titipounamu, robin and pekapeka. That there have been possible sightings of the ‘grey ghost’ – South Island kōkako – in this wilderness, feels totally believable.

The Amazonian Heaphy River – dark with tannin – is followed to its dramatic conclusion at the Tasman Sea and the stunning Heaphy Hut.
As far back as the 13th century, Māori called this place home, and archeological evidence shows a village once existed near the hut. How anybody managed to occupy the land without toxic lashings of Deet, I’ll never know.

Sandflies guard the coastline with menace, in numbers enough to hold you hostage in your tent and draw blood through clothing. The bites accumulating on my hands and neck drove me sideways, but the Heaphy Hut ranger assured me ‘you just get used to it’.

The final leg to Kohaihai Shelter is one of my favourite days of any Great Walk – pure exhilaration.

It’s the meeting of two worlds, where nīkau palms sprout from sand, rivers meet the sea and ocean-blown clouds dive into the mountains trailing thin fingers of mist.

On a typical day, the Tasman roars in all guns blazing, smashing into the foreshore and grinding boulders audibly in the tremendous push and pull of waves. The air stings salty, the forest breathes fresh, and every sense is tested.

Around every headland, a new view is earned, vibrant forests of green, ochre and yellow easing into the sea. If you’ve ever driven the magnificent SH6 between Westport and Hokitika, you’ll know the drama you’re in for.
Flying back to the trailhead in Golden Bay, it was hard to believe I had walked all that way, but as soon as I get the chance, I’ll do it all again.