🗓️ October 29, 2025

🏁 Kilometers : 198

It's freezing cold when I wake up this morning. Blackbridge Camp, located in a clearing in the middle of a large, hilly forest, is drenched in humidity. I'm snug in my sleeping bag; I don't really want to leave my cocoon. I grab my phone and gather my things while still in my sleeping bag—I really do look like a strange, crawling caterpillar. I emerge from my cocoon, furtively check my back to see if I've grown any butterfly wings overnight—and since there's nothing, I pack up my gear and leave the tent. My companions are still slowly waking up. With my tent packed and breakfast finished, I set off 1.5 kilometers back to the ford we'd crossed the day before to check the water level one last time before venturing into the gorge. It's a bit of a hassle to backtrack, but since I don't need to carry my backpack, the 3-kilometer round trip will be quick; and more importantly, it could prove vital—we certainly don't want to take any unnecessary risks. Arriving at the ford, the water level is a little lower than yesterday, the stick Hal had planted about 10 centimeters higher on the bank. No worrying eddies, the water is clear—all systems are go. We'll go into the gorge! The official warnings about this section are daunting, but I imagine it's essential to be realistic about the risks involved so that people don't venture into the gorge unprepared. 

Back at camp, half the group is already ready, while the other half is still busy with their preparations. My return is welcome; everyone is relieved to know that the water level allows us to cross safely. Last night, we decided that we would all leave together at 7:00 a.m. to hike through the gorge, and then each of us would walk at our own pace. There are twelve of us at camp; two don't want to venture into the river, so ten of us descend the last kilometer to reach the waterway. The path is muddy and slippery. I walk in front, followed by Natalie, who comes from Colorado. Short-legged, with her large glasses and leopard-print cap, she doesn't look like she's built for adventure. Yet, she has so far overcome all the obstacles I myself have encountered and has maintained all her enthusiasm. The night before, she and her group had also spent the night in a thunderstorm and recounted it as if it were a moment of pure bliss… she’s quite a woman, certainly much more resilient than she looks. I like her very much. Reaching the muddy sections, I contort myself to avoid getting dirty, but Natalie doesn’t mind and wades into the mud up to her mid-calf. She painstakingly pulls her leg out only to plunge it back into the mire a step further on, her face a mixture of pleasure and disgust. She makes me roar with laughter and seems even more amused. We continue our descent, me still clean and Natalie wearing high socks made of clay.

Reaching the bottom of the slope, we discover a charming little river called the Mangapukahukahu. The valley through which it flows is very steep-sided, and the surrounding forest is dense. The morning air is still very fresh, and dew continues to glisten on the vegetation. We have the feeling of having entered a sanctuary. A celestial sanctuary where humans seem never to have set foot. An untouched jewel. We understand that we are about to have a wonderful experience! We take our first steps in very cold water, but our feet quickly adjust. The coldness of the water is truly irrelevant, so captivating is the beauty of the place. No track, no road, no path; for the next 2.5 kilometers, the river will be our route. We cross from one bank to the other, following the curve of the torrent, avoiding the deepest pools and venturing deeper and deeper into the gorges, whose height is becoming increasingly dizzying. The top of the ledge must be over a hundred meters high, but it never drops off sharply, as the steep slopes are covered in vegetation. I walk at the head of the group, feeling like an explorer in a new world. The fern trees and Nikau palms, endemic to New Zealand, that cover both sides bordering the river give the place an almost prehistoric atmosphere; I even remark to the others that I wouldn't be surprised to see a Tyrannosaurus Rex show up!

At every turn, a new scene unfolds, revealing a new light, new colors, new vegetation; a stream springing from a height, creating a small waterfall; a veritable living wall seemingly created from scratch; a giant tree whose drooping branches, covered in thick lichen, sway above the water. Our astonished eyes feast on these scenes, created since the dawn of time and yet so ephemeral for us: they have been there for hundreds of thousands of years, we embrace them for a fraction of a second, they will be there again for eternity, in whatever way Time decides. This makes us realize humanity's place in the midst of nature, humanity which was first and foremost an animal in symbiosis with its environment until its brain developed (we are entitled to wonder if humans with certain powers truly have well-developed brains, but that is a whole other subject). 

We'd been descending the riverbed for almost two hours when the main obstacle of the day appeared. The Mangapukahukahu River, in which we were hiking, flows into another, larger waterway called the Waipapa. During heavy rainfall, its flow must indeed be terrifying, as evidenced by the bare rocks all around, but today the river was just a minor snag on our route. We were all glad we hadn't taken the detour; we would have truly missed something amazing! After crossing the river, the group spread out, and I found myself with Hal, Natalie, Mattéo, a 22-year-old Frenchman, and Ben, a 28-year-old German. We followed the trail eastward upstream on the Waipapa River, which splits into two branches, the other branch, the Mangapa, flowing north. The notes state that “the trail suffered significant damage from a major storm in 2023,” and indeed, it barely resembles a trail. We have to scramble up slippery slopes, descend chaotically, squeeze under uprooted trees, and push our way through dense vegetation… while the riverbed to our left looks flat and much more manageable. I reread the notes, and it mentions that we can hike on the trail OR in the riverbed. The decision is quickly made: we head back into the water. Besides being easier, it’s also much more fun. We have to wade through a few pools where Natalie sinks deeper than the others, but never complains. After a mile and a half, the path veers away from the river, so we get out of the water and begin climbing a ridge. This section of the trail hasn’t suffered damages and a staircase of over 600 steps allows you to follow the ridge continuously. Once at the summit, we follow a forest road for 10 kilometers and arrive at the evening camp, where those who took the detour through the forest can meet us. I feel particularly tired tonight; I haven't taken a rest day yet. I've planned one for the day after tomorrow. I've already been hiking continuously for nine days.