Day 3. A World-Class Detour
When you don’t plan too much and allow experiences to unfold on a whim, they often feel more genuine. Perhaps because there are no expectations — you simply take things as they come. One such detour on the third day turned out to be truly unforgettable.
It was seven in the morning. A few pieces of dry bread with peanut butter were pulled from my backpack while the coffee water boiled on the gas stove. Breakfast was enjoyed sitting on a tree stump, my gaze fixed on the crystal-clear waters of Bark Bay. I packed up camp and handed over my gear for the next transfer to Anchorage Bay. By nine o’clock, I was back on the trail.
My legs felt heavy after the previous day, and blisters under my feet were beginning to demand attention. I slowed my pace to tend to the aches — not a bad decision from a photographer’s point of view.
The hike continued along the coastal route, and I stuck to my detour-first philosophy, a choice I would not come to regret. Before long, I was joined by fellow hikers from England and Germany, both travelling New Zealand by campervan — one for three months, the other for a full year. As a solo traveller, company is always welcome, and as we walked and chatted about this and that, my eyes were constantly scanning the landscape for potential motifs.
The terrain offered steady climbs and descents, encounters with trickling waterfalls, weka birds foraging on the forest floor, and raucous birds blasting sound from the treetops. The sky was blue, the trails dry and easy to walk, and now and then the route led across suspension bridges spanning deep gorges in the landscape.
We reached Torrent Bay later in the morning, having timed the tide to perfection. The water was low enough for us to cross the bay almost dry-shod, sparing ourselves a long detour inland. Shortly after, a sign appeared pointing to a detour to Cleopatra’s Pools. 30 minutes, it said — an easy decision. Thankfully.
A handful of other hikers and a few families with children were already at Cleopatra’s Pools, where small natural swimming holes provided the perfect setting for a well-earned break. My fellow hikers settled down for lunch on a rock beside the rushing river, while I began exploring the area in search of interesting compositions.
Not long after, I said goodbye to my companions as they needed to push on — a long hike still lay ahead of them, leading back to their campervans on the edge of the national park. I stayed on for a couple of hours in this magical place, which reminded me strongly of a river in a tropical rainforest.
The water was cold, but on a warm summer day a dip in the river is exactly what most people need. In one spot, the water rushed down a naturally sculpted rock chute, serving as a makeshift waterslide for the swimmers. In the gently flowing river, sore feet were soothed and sweaty bodies cooled.
After a couple of hours by the river — photographing and unwinding — I set off in the late afternoon toward the campsite in Anchorage Bay. My legs were in surprisingly good shape, but the blisters on the soles of my feet were becoming increasingly hard to ignore.
When I reached my luggage at the campsite in Anchorage Bay later that afternoon, the wind had picked up and was whipping the water into a frenzy, forcing both sailboats and sea kayaks to seek shelter. Once again, pitching my tent proved challenging — this time battling near-gale-force winds that turned the task into a minor ordeal.
Still, the tent went up, even if my late arrival left me with what was probably the most exposed spot in the camp. As evening settled in, the wind gradually eased, and the soft light of dusk spread a calm, golden glow across the bay.
My third day of hiking had come to an end. It was time for a simple dinner, some much-needed foot care, and a quick wash in the clear waters of the bay before switching off the headlamp and letting darkness settle inside the tent.