Tom FrenchAuthor | Mountaineer | Skier

Two years ago, in November 2023, I returned from climbing Cholatse in Nepal. That climb had been a bit of “bonus expedition,” on top of the many climbs, including Everest, that I did during my self-proclaimed “gap years” in 2020-2022. The past two years have been filled, happily, with serving on boards, skiing, sailing, day hiking in the mountains of New England, and writing a book. Time has flown, and it has all been great, but I have missed being in the wilderness in a more fundamental way.

Last spring, I eyed open weeks in my calendar and started scheming. Options included climbing Carstensz Pyramid in Papua, the highest peak in Australasia, or a return to Nepal. In short order, I decided on a trip to New Zealand to do some hiking, or what the locals call “tramping.” I have long wanted to visit New Zealand and its legendary wild places, and, as with so many things these days, I sense myself starting to run out of time. Jill was wonderfully tolerant of my abandoning her yet again to head into the mountains. At least this time it is only for a couple of weeks. So I am off!

Here is a photo, pulled from the website of New Zealand’s Department of Conservation, taken in the area where I am headed:

In contrast to many of my recent trips, this one does not involve a major climb. It is just hiking: like the approach treks I have done in Nepal, minus the ascents on the back end. I have loved those treks, including the one to Cholatse two years ago, when I walked ten days to Base Camp, solo, with just my thoughts and the surrounding peaks for company. This trek, by design, will be solo as well.

One could spend a lifetime trekking in New Zealand. Its two islands are packed with vast national parks, containing thousands of hiking trails, or “tracks.” A collection of the most spectacular tracks are referred to as the “Great Walks,” with the most well known being the “Milford Track.” I know a number of you have walked it. My plan is to string four to five of these walks together sequentially, culminating in the Milford. I picked ones that are close together, in Fjordland National Park in the Southern Alps, at the tip of the South Island.

Here is a map to give you a sense. The key in the upper left places Fjordland in the context of greater New Zealand. The tracks I will follow are in gold, a required car transfer is in black, and a ferry ride is in blue.

My plan is to fly into Queenstown, get dropped at the start of the Routeburn Track the following day, and start walking. From the end of the Routeburn, I can connect directly to a loop involving two additional tracks: the Greenstone and the Caples, which after six total days on the trail will bring me back to the end of the Routeburn. I have booked a shuttle to take me from there to the lakeside town of Te Anau, where I will spend the night in a hostel before the next day starting the Kepler Track. Four days of walking later, I will be back in Te Anau, then the next day I will take a ferry north to the start of the Milford Track. Four more days of walking will take me to the terminus at Milford Sound. Then I will take a long, circuitous bus ride back to Queenstown and fly home.

Most people choose to walk just one of these tracks. Some do a couple of them sequentially, perhaps with a rest day in between. It is not common to do four or five back to back, without a break, but I am up for it. I have always loved the rhythm of the trail and prefer not to interrupt it. I also have a limited time window and want to cover as much ground as possible. One challenge I have already surmounted was logistical. The huts one sleeps in on the Great Walks need to be reserved months in advance, and huts on the well-known tracks sell out the moment bookings open. Securing hut reservations on five different tracks, on exactly the nights I needed them, wasn’t easy. On three different nights last spring, corresponding to three different booking window openings in New Zealand, I went on-line early and hit “refresh” repeatedly until I got a place in the queue. Like buying tickets to a Bruce Springsteen or Taylor Swift concert.

There are some other challenges ahead. Offsetting Fjordland’s great beauty is the fact that, (despite what the stock photo at the top of this post suggests,) it is statistically one of rainiest places on earth. I am going there in New Zealand’s spring season, when freezing rain can be mixed with snow. In anticipation, I have invested in new, top of the line Goretex rain gear, and am mentally prepared to walk multiple days through miserable downpours. Then there are Fjordland’s notorious sandflies, which are prone to come out in swarms whenever the rain stops. Top on my last-minute shopping list for Queenstown is a local insect repellent said to afford trampers some defense. On top of all that, over the past few days as I prepared to leave, I got reports that several of the high passes I plan to cross are closed due to unseasonably deep snow and avalanche risk. I have a lurking sense that my initial day in Queenstown will be filled with frantic re-working of my carefully planned itinerary.

Regardless of what combination of rain, sandflies, and snow-filled passes comes my way, I am thrilled to be heading back into the mountains, and to a beautiful part of the world I have long wanted to see. As I went through the familiar packing ritual yesterday, with my gear spread out over our living room floor, I could feel myself heading back toward a cherished expedition rhythm: where daily life gets simple, I am immersed in natural beauty, and I am intensely in the present. Here is a photo of my packing session:

Amid those piles is food for my first six days, (I plan to reprovision in Te Anau,) my new rain gear, plenty of warm clothes, and some tools to get me through snow and ice if necessary.

As I write this at 30,000 feet en route to New Zealand, I couldn’t be happier.

For those who remain interested, updates to follow. Happy November to all!