To the nines

TRAIL RUNNING

Words & Photos: Patrick Kinsella | Video: NothinButShorts International

TO THE

NINES ATTEMPTING TO COMPLETE NEW ZEALAND'S NINE GREAT WALKS IN NINE DAYS, THREE ADVENTURERS EXPERIENCE EXPLODING KNEES, KNIFE-WIELDING SLEEP MONSTERS AND A RIVER THAT DOESN'T WANT TO PLAY NICE.

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I'VE HAD FRIENDLIER RECEPTIONS – BUT NONE THAT WILL STICK IN MY BRAIN AS LONG AS THE WELCOME TO COUNTRY CEREMONY WE RECEIVED ON THE BANKS OF LAKE WAKATIPU IN QUEENSTOWN, WHEN THE LOCAL MAORI LEARNED ABOUT THE CHALLENGE WE WERE ABOUT TO TAKE ON IN THEIR BACKYARD. We, being myself, Ben Southall and Luke Edwards, were embarking on a mission to try and complete the country's nine Great Walks in as many days. It had never been done before and these guys were wishing us luck. I think. Either that or they were going to tear us limb from limb. I was hard to tell at times, with all the fierce face pulling, shouting and weapon waving.

Stewart Island - tropical trail.

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But afterwards it was all smiles and nose rubbing, so I think they were on our side. I certainly hoped so. We were going to need all the help we could get.

GOING BIG

As a trio of wannabe trail-blazing record setters, we had minor form. About 18 months earlier we'd completed a self-styled mission called the Aussie8, which had seen us run to the summit of the highest peaks in each of Australia's eight states and territories in eight days and 14 hours, a good two months quicker than anyone else had ever achieved the same feat.

Now, across the Tasman, we were preparing to go one better – to take on nine trails in nine days. But this wasn't Australia. There are real hills in New Zealand.

Volcanic, satanic, rain-strafed, water-logged, rock-strewn, snow-covered hills, peaks and ridges, where the weather is every bit as unpredictable as the terrain is terrific.

Lake Waikaremoana - On the ridgeline run.

Routeburn - snow running.

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Heaphy River.

Our expedition would involve 400 kilometres of running, the equivalent of doing nine-and-half marathons on the trot, and 145 kilometres of paddling. Anyone following official Department of Conservation (DOC) advice would leave themselves at least 28 days to do all nine routes, and that's not allowing for travel time between trailheads, which are scattered widely across the country. We planned to decant the whole shebang into a week and a half.

SOUTH ISLAND

We began our mission at the shallow end. Stewart Island is an extreme destination in geographical terms, but the 32-kilometre Rakiura Track is the gentlest challenge of the nine: short, with minimal elevation and sweet, soft terrain underfoot. The weather was kind too, delivering a nice ambient temperature with a little bit of cloud cover and no wind; perfect running conditions. We finished well within our predicted time and our confidence soared.

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But Fiordland was lying in wait, ready to cut us back to size. This is where the country curls its beautiful lips and the route profiles for the Great Walks really bare their teeth. Terrific peaks tower over the mighty South Island and all three trails that wend through this wet wilderness are vulnerable to avalanches, flooding, blizzards, people-flattening winds and other acts of natural violence with the potential to derail our mission.

Yet our luck held. Mostly. The wind howled like an aggrieved banshee on the 60-kilometre Kepler Track, flooring me at least once. But it was at our backs, pushing us onwards and upwards across the spiky spine towards the head of Mt Luxmore. From Hanging Valley Hut we dropped into the divide and completed the first ultra-distance of the expedition with grins as wide as the swing bridge leading to Rainbow Beach.

Running the Milford Track was a little like being *water boarded at times, with persistent rain falling for most of its 54-kilometre length, but H2O is exactly what makes this track so spectacular. This is where the superlatives that underline New Zealand's Great Walks first started flowing, with the poet Blanche Baughan declaring Milford ‘the finest walk in the world’ when writing in the London Spectator in the early 20th century.

Heaphy River Bridge - Pat, Luke and Ben.

What thrilled her to the point of prose in 1908 inspired us to keep running over 100 years later: the endless waterfalls that rush around the track from all sides. At one point the downpour was so heavy that the track was closed because of elevated avalanche risk, so we had to negotiate a steep B-route to get around the danger, but it all added to the experience.

Rain turned to sleet and then snow on the rugged beauty that is the Routeburn Track. It's a battle to reach Harris Saddle in wild weather, and it took 8 hours of hard running to knock off the whole 32-kilometre route. At the trailhead we collapsed into the waiting camper van and began the long overnight commute to Kohaihai River, to face our biggest challenge so far: the huge Heaphy Track, where 78.4 kilometres of single track was waiting to be run.

The Heaphy was always going to be the crux of the expedition. We originally wanted to mountain bike this track, but we'd just missed the window when this is possible (May–September), so there was no option but to run it. A virtual double marathon is a massive challenge at the best of times, but coming straight off the back of two ultras and a pair of 32-kilometre outings, plus an 800-kilometre drive cross the length of the South Island, I knew we were heading for a stint in the hurt locker.

South Island's roads were even twistier than expected and little sleep was had en route. Our planned early morning start time came and went while we were still miles away, and we didn't run past the trail head until well into the afternoon, knowing full well that it would take us most of the night to knock this track over, even if all went to plan. Which it didn't.

AFTER A BRISK 20-KILOMETRE RUN ALONG THE COASTAL PATH THAT HUGS THE WILD WEST COAST, WE WOBBLED ACROSS THE HEAPHY RIVER SWING BRIDGE AND BEGAN TO TACKLE THE SWITCHBACKS THAT ANNOUNCE THE LONG CLIMB OVER THE RANGE. And that's when my right knee decided enough was enough.

Out of nowhere a searing pain tore across the front of my patella, followed by throbbing and then swelling. Soon it resembled an angry pufferfish.

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HOSPITABLE TRAMPERS WE ENCOUNTERED AT THE HUTS KEPT US GOING WITH CUPS OF COFFEE AND GOOD CHEER, BUT I WAS BEGINNING TO SERIOUSLY STRUGGLE. TURNING AROUND WAS NO LONGER POSSIBLE BECAUSE OUR DRIVERS HAD BEGUN THE 654-KILOMETRE ROAD TRIP AROUND TO THE OPPOSITE TRAILHEAD, SO IT WAS ONWARDS AND UPWARDS IN THE DESPERATE HOPE THAT I COULD RUN IT OFF.

I stumbled the final 17 kilometres in a trance-like state, dragging my right leg like a lump of dead meat behind me. The others were suffering too; Luke was being haunted by a sleep monster in the shape of crazed axewielding man chasing him through the woods, a vision he declined to share with Ben lest he think him mad.

Darkness caught us long before we reached the apex of the route at Perry Hut, and my increasingly glacial paced was slowing the other two down. The night was bright, clear and freezing and, worried that their temperature would drop too much, I urged them to run ahead when we reached the last shelter.

We awoke at the trailhead of the Abel Tasman as a bluebird day announced itself with a spectacular sunrise.

To not take on one of the world's best coastal tracks on such a day would have been criminal, so I strapped the knee, gritted my teeth and began the 54.4-kilometre track.

Whanganui - Pat and Ben.

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Meanwhile, I had a visit from a much more friendly (and real) vision in the shape of a kiwi bird that burst from the bushes and ran a section of the track with me. It was a surreal experience, one that I credit with getting me to the far trailhead, albeit a shuffling wreck of a man, to where the two boys were waiting with a down jacket and recovery drink. I'd made it around the Heaphy, but I fell asleep fretting about my ability to continue.

The golden bays and curvaceous coves of the Tasman took my mind from the pain long enough to get into a rhythm, and we maintained a steady pace, stopping only for a photo opportunity with a sunbathing seal. As the day wore on, however, it became obvious that we'd have to up our speed to catch that evening's inter-island ferry. If we missed the boat, the whole expedition would be sunk. Time, tide and commercial ferries wait for no man, and we were chasing all three.

Digging deep, we hit the last tidal crossing just in time, wading across with the water up to our chests. At the far trailhead, our driver had the motor running. Still, it was tight. We drove onto the ferry with 60 seconds to spare, and bid farewell to the South Island with pumping hearts. The North Island soon loomed large, and that's where the real trouble began.

NORTH ISLAND

To do the 145-kilometre Whanganui River Journey we needed to swap trail-running shoes for kayaks, which was fine as we'd all been training on the water. To cover the whole track in one day, we'd gone for surfskis, trading stability for speed, confident in the knowledge that this river is typically tame enough for families to float down it in canoes. Unfortunately, we arrived on the riverbank just in time to be greeted by the sight of a tempestuous torrent, with the river running dangerously fast and high

after a three-day deluge upcountry. The commercial operators had all pulled off the wild water to wait for it to calm down, but we didn't have that time luxury.

Luke looked nervous approaching the first rapid, and his narrow surfski soon proved too twitchy for him in the conditions. After several involuntary swims, both his confidence and body temperature were dropping dangerously, and we knew we had to get him off the river fast. Pulling in at a waterside lavender farm, we poured a hot drink into him, pulled out some dry clothes and called in the cavalry.

Ben and I hit the water again for another 10 kilometres or so, but after reassessing the situation we realised our options were reduced to two: we could carry on down the river without our teammate, and probably go well over the nine days were targeting for all the trails, or pull out of the paddle there and then, regroup and refocus on running the final two tracks. It was a no brainer, ours would be a trail-running record if it were destined to be a record at all.

Tongariro - Ben, Luke and Pat.

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WE HIT THE 43-KILOMETRE TONGARIRO NORTHERN CIRCUIT EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, BUT OUR RELIEF AT BEING BACK ON TERRA FIRMA WAS SHORT LIVED. AFTER THE STARTLING GREENERY OF THE SOUTH ISLAND, THE DARK AND BROODING LANDSCAPE HERE MADE IT FEEL AS THOUGH WE WERE RUNNING ON THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON. Conditions took a turn for the worst as we left Whakapapa. A rugged-up group heading to Mangatepopo Hut from the other direction, shocked at seeing three idiots in running gear, without ice axes or any other obvious technical gear, stopped us to make sure we knew what we were doing. We soon found out why when an icy 80-kilometre-per-hour wind ripped into us across the saddle, stealing our breath and sapping our energy. With relief, we skirted the luminous lake and made a run for Oturere Hut. The run out took an age, and there was no rest stop waiting at the end of it either. We arrived back to the news that our driver had arranged a helicopter to take us straight to the trailhead at Lake Waikaremoana. It was the only way we stood a chance of finishing the ninth track on time.

For three guys tired almost to the point of sickness, the chopper ride did at least put a spring back in our stride. As we circled, looking for a landing spot, the pilot pointed out our track and the towering escarpment that had to be climbed to reach Panekire Hut. A couple of hours later we surprised a tramping couple who'd made themselves a cosy eyrie in front of the fire here, by bursting into the hut from the freshly fallen darkness outside.

The Waikaremoana Track wends for 46 kilometres around the gorgeous Lake Waikaremoana, one of the least known of the Great Walks. Frustratingly, many of its secrets remained in the shadows beyond our beams, as we negotiated the majority of the trail under torchlight – although sightseeing wasn't high on our agenda by that stage anyway.

At 07:50 the following morning, a tired trio emerged at the far trailhead, performing an activity more akin to a zombie shuffle than anything you'd describe as trail running. We finished with 40 minutes to spare before the expedition clock ticked over into a new day, setting a new record for the land-based Great Walk tracks of nine days, 23 hours and 20 minutes. •

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MORE INFORMATION The expedition completed on 17 November 2014.

For more information about the expedition, including route maps and run times, see theglobaladventurers *Water boarded - a torture technique used to simulate drowning.

Lake Waikaremoana - On the ridgeline run.

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