New Zealand hike: To enjoy, not endure

The most unloved man in U.S. hiking circles is Bill Bryson, who wrote a funny book called "A Walk in the Woods" that infuriated backpackers when it appeared about 10 years ago. Bryson and his boyhood pal Stephen Katz took off to trek the Appalachian Trail and had the worst time ever, what with bugs, bears, rain, cold, sore feet and all the other afflictions of outdoor life.

Bryson deduced with tongue in cheek that the Appalachian Trail was cruelly rigorous by design, that the absence of amenities was a key to its allure to an enlightened few. He wondered why, since hiking is supposed to be fun. Why not have some little inns along the way, places to kick back and guzzle a beer after a long day's hike, hot tubs to soak in, a sauna instead of a leaky tent?

He concluded that in America, at least, hiking isn't about luxury but about sacrifice, pain, the indomitable pioneer spirit and all that. Must it be so?

After a few days hiking, kayaking and mountain biking on New Zealand's South Island, I can say categorically that there is a better way. Talk about polar opposites: New Zealand's Queen Charlotte Track is to the Appalachian Trail what the Ritz-Carlton is to a homeless shelter.

I and my old traveling pal Daniel Forster took a few days to check out New Zealand's South Island.

We wanted to see the countryside, with its towering ferns and its clear subtropical bays, and, being of a certain age, we wanted to go in style. An old New Zealand friend suggested we check out the Abel Tasman Coast Track or Queen Charlotte Track, both at the top of the South Island, where amenities are well developed.

The Queen Charlotte had the advantage of starting and ending in the heart of the Marlborough Sounds, where 107 vintners produce 75 percent of New Zealand's excellent wine. Easy choice. We decided to hike three days, then spend two more touring wineries.

We booked a guide for the hiking portion (the entire Queen Charlotte trail is 44 miles long) with an outfitter called Wilderness Guides in the old whaling port of Picton. At the dock we met Joe Healey, a rangy young fellow in the Kiwi summer uniform of T-shirt, shorts, sneakers and a bulging backpack.

The boat he led us to, a swift catamaran called Beachcomber, was crammed with 50 or 60 other hikers and tourists who rode as passengers as skipper Ken Gullery delivered mail to outposts unserved by roads. The route was eye-opening as grizzled folks rowed out from the bush or toddled out on rickety piers to exchange mailbags.

The boat ride was scenic, past steep, deep-green, vegetation-choked hillsides that plunge into the sea. But as often happens in New Zealand, it was drizzling when we hopped off at Resolution Bay, a bit closer to our first-night destination, Endeavour Inlet, than originally planned. "We don't want to wear you boys out the first day," Healey said. Good boy!

I'd heard about hiking tracks in New Zealand and always wondered what exactly they were. Rough or smooth? Steep or level? Healey said most Kiwi tracks are bridle trails from the days before the 1950s when folks got around mostly on foot or horseback. It's soft ground and mellow walking. Even better, on the QC you don't have to carry a big pack. For a small fee, the mail boat or a water taxi will ferry your stuff to the next way station; all you need for the day is water, snacks and rain gear.

Thus lightly laden, we shooed a few grazing sheep off the path and set off uphill. Soon, the track narrowed and the terrain leveled. We were on a plateau, walking easily through damp woods as little birds twittered away and occasional vistas opened to the sea.

One bird that did no twittering was the silent, cheeky weka, a flightless critter the size of a small chicken. Wekas pop out from the woods looking for handouts. "Watch them," Healey said. "They'll pinchyour lunch."

Our destination lay four hours up the track: the No Road Inn, accessible only by water or foot. We had no clue what to expect, but it charges about $240 U.S. per person, even with dinner and breakfast included, so it should be good.

It was better than that. Owner Garry Ashton greeted us with ice-cold beers. The rooms were huge. The bathrooms had footed tubs with views of the water, the bedrooms overlooked the bay. Soft terry robes and flat-screen TVs beckoned. Ashton led us out to a steaming hot tub made from an old wine barrel and warned that dinner was in half an hour.

The meal began with appetizers: whitebait fritters, sauteed local scallops on the half shell, then a 6-pound crayfish (caught by Garry, a diver) for six to share. The main course was boneless leg of lamb from the grill, theatrically prepared by the host. Bryson, eat your heart out.

The next morning we set off with box lunches for the five-hour trek to the next way station. The weather was sunny and mild; when we stopped for lunch, Healey pulled a camp stove from his overstuffed pack and fixed fresh-brewed coffee to wash it down.

Walking was easy, with the sunlight dappling the forest through a canopy of ferns and tall rimu trees. We wound up at the ferry landing at Torea Bay, where a shuttle bus runs over the hill to the Portage Resort Hotel, just off the QC track on Kenepuru Sound.

The Portage proved a proper hotel, with dozens of rooms, a formal dining room and an extensive wine list. The resort also rented sea kayaks, which we used to explore Kenepuru the next day with one of Healey's fellow guides, Bevan Gardner, a wildly exuberant Kiwi who led us to a deserted beach where we plucked oysters off rocks and ate them neat. "When you get to Raetihi," the lodge we were headed to by water taxi that evening, "you'll find so many oysters there you can eat them till you explode," Healey had told us.

But Raetihi, nestled in the trees, had too much else going on. What with a German chef and a Swiss waitress, an elaborate wine list, mountain bikes and hiking trail, we never did get around to the oysters.

OK, OK, we were living it high, but the good thing about the Queen Charlotte Track and its neighboring attractions is that they all have low-cost alternatives. No Road Inn, for example, was next door to the venerable Furneaux Lodge, where accommodations range from hotel quality to backpacker bunks and campsites.

Raetihi was a few hundred yards from Hopewell, a backpacker destination rated one of the best (and cheapest) in the country. You can stay on the QC for a few dollars a night.