Not a trail, but "a network of tracks"

By: Will

We've just made it to what I see as my mental half-way point for our thru-hike; a visit back to Christchurch to ditch some unnecessary gear (towel, redundant water filters and stoves, etc.) and pick up warmer socks and gloves. By trail kilometers, we've passed the halfway mark, as well. Out of 1313.5 kilometers of trail on the south Island, we've covered 683km. We've skipped some sections and plan to skip more (we'll get back on trail at kilometer 753.6 in a couple of days), but we'll still call it halfway. It hardly feels to me as though a month has gone by since we started this walk.

When we did, starting out from Stirling Point on the first day of fall, I remember skimming a sign which described the TA as 'a network of tracks'. I thought nothing of it at the time, yet Katie has suffered many references to it since. The Te Araroa is not a trail like most hikers in the U.S. are accustomed to, nor like many of those I've spent my 7 seasons on trail crews maintaining. Katie and I both knew the TA was a rough thru-hike, with friends and "alumni" telling us "kiwis tramp, they don't hike" and "the TA isn't like the PCT". We were aware. Yet we've both found ourselves moving slower than we normally would, sometimes only covering a few kilometers in an hour thanks to track conditions. Every meeting of north- and south-bound thruhikers centers on the same question: "How's the track from here?"

Some days, the track from here is golden tussock, the Department of Conservation's rosey description of grassland. If you can look past the giant speargrass and dense matagouri bushes with inch and a half woody thorns, tussock track is a generally pleasant experience of wandering from one orange-blazed marker to the next in the general direction of your destination. Particularly in shoulder-high tussock, the track can be tough enough to follow that even an old trail dog like myself may give up searching for the well-trodden route. This is when landmarks come in handy for way finding: "for the next 15 kilometers, keep the river on your left and the barbed wire fence line on your right. When it's time to cross the river, you'll know". Katie and I have undoubtedly added to that 1313.5 kilometer figure with our tussock meanderings.

Tussock track, with me sitting next to a marker pole for reference.

Another ubiquitous native ecotone is the beech forest. Dominated by Silver, Hard, or Red Beech trees depending upon locale, these forests tend to grow in areas with higher rainfall and are frequently dense and shady with understories of moss, ferns, or nothing at all. We've wandered through many a beautiful kilometer of beech forest track, marvelling at the size of the older trees and honing our identification abilities. Katie has toyed with the idea of giving me the trail name "beech boy". But these shady deciduous forests also have deep, loamy, O-horizons in their soil profiles, with almost no mineral soil in sight. Ask any trail builder worth their salt what that and plenty of rain leads to, and you'll hear the same thing: mud. 

Trail workers refer to organic material as duff (dead stuff), and we do our best to remove it from the tread surface during construction. Unlike quick-draining sandy soils, duff retains moisture as it decays, turning the trail into a quagmire. As Katie describes in an earlier post, the Longwood Forest saw the two of us up to our thighs in soupy mud, with me anxious that one of us might roll an ankle. When a re-route isn't feasible and the precipitation and soils render simple drainage dips (while still necessary and holy) insufficient, the prescription for this type of boggy trail in my industry is to harden the tread surface. This will typically be accomplished by constructing turnpike, puncheon, or boardwalk.

Katie helpfully demonstrates the depth of the bog that the TA calls the "Longwood Forest track".

Turnpike (sometimes referred to as causeway) involves lining the edges of the trail with large stones or logs staked in place and used to retain gravel fill. This gravel, completely devoid of duff micro-sponges, drains itself of copious precipitation. As long as the water has somewhere to go (yes, you still have to dig those drains), you are left with a hardened, mud-feee walking surface even when wet. Well built turnpike will have multiple thin lifts of compacted gravel, with a decreasing coarseness as you move upward. It may include geotextile, to help keep the gravel from sinking into the boggy ground beneath. Enough gravel must be used to create a crown above the retaining logs or stones, so precipitation will shed off the trail rather than puddling on it. If not enough gravel is used, or the compaction is insufficient, natural settling will lead to puddles and necessitate the addition of more gravel in the future.

USFS Standard plans for turnpike

I love building turnpike. Few types of trail construction projects can progress faster while creating such a drastic improvement in trail conditions. The only problem with it is the trail builders' most fundamental dilemma: where do you find all the rock? If you're lucky, you can haul gravel in wheelbarrows or army surplus sacks from a nearby creek bed. If you're not so lucky, you can crush larger stones into gravel with sledgehammers. If you're really unlucky, you'll need to bring the gravel into the woods--"non-native materials"--or try a different approach.

Puncheon and boardwalk are, to most people, the same sort of structure. I'll spare you the explanation of the differences, and leave you to picture a beautiful, elevated wooden walkway above all that pesky bog. It's not as heavy as hauling gravel, but the dimensional lumber most often used is more expensive and must be brought into the woods. These structures are also slower to construct than turnpike, require more costly steel hardware, and will decay quickly. They require repairs and replacement. In other words, they cost money and labor hours. And labor hours cost money.

USFS standard plans for puncheon

Another issue we've been facing on the TA is the pitch. It is common for the trail to follow the "fall-line" of the hill, a term which describes the line a ball would follow down a smooth slope. We've already hiked several stretches of trail that exceed 35% slope for 2 kilometers or more. The worst stretch that we've scrambled down so far descended 100m in just 240m, for a grade of nearly 42%. The track seems to make a habit of avoiding smooth climbs or descents, preferring to go straight up to a ridge then straight back down. TA hikers commonly joke that Kiwis fear switchbacks like American backpackers fear bears.

A single day of the Motatapu Track including nearly 5,000ft of climbing and 5,000ft of descent.

Similarly, in those beautiful beech forests, you may find a quaint little creek coming down the hill to feed the dominant river below you. As you traverse the hill along a gentle grade (again, this is already strange), you await the familiar curving of the trail as it follows that topographic line into the tributary's drainage. You'll step on some rocks to cross the stream, then stroll along the gently curving trail back out of the side drainage.

But wait, is this not the TA? Better, instead, to maintain your heading, slide 10 meters straight down a muddy hillside into ankle deep mud in the creek, then claw your way back up the same 10 meters of exposed wet roots on the other side. A cheeky little creek crossing.

Both of these issues would best be solved by better trail layout. Ridges can be won by switchbacks, or perhaps avoided entirely by a long, graded run to a saddle. Tributary creeks can be crossed through that familiar glide I described before. When a trail can be planned before construction, it can utilize the topography rather than suffering through it. However, many trails were never planned for ease of hiking. In the U.S., many modern hiking trails are simply spruced up versions of their forebears: a fur trapper's access to their favorite hunting grounds.

Like those trappers' access routes, there are many sections of the TA that seem to have formed over time and under use rather than having been designed or built. This impressing is particularly strong for me when there is no flattened or "benched" tread, only the vegetation-free path left by the passing of many feet. These slippery side-slopes can make for slow going, especially when they're wet. We've found many stretches like the one pictured below, with a trekking pole staked for a reference to vertical:

Nowhere, though, does the title of this post come to my mind more than in the stream beds. One has the distinct feeling of being not just off trail but in between tracks when following a river up or down stream. It is as if some traveller I the distant past decided that the river had already cut the easiest possible course through the mountains, so why not just follow it? As long as the water is not dangerously high or the temperature unpleasantly low, these river walks can be quite enjoyable. But they are slow and--at least to this foreigner--quite a foreign experience.

Katie leads the way up a stream on the Motatapu Track between Arrowtown and Glendhu Bay.

Whenever discussing trail conditions, it's critical to consider that trails are often deliberately created or maintained to different standards. The USFS utilizes a Trail Class Matrix to summarize the expected conditions and maintenance standards on any given trail. The Classes run from 1-5, with 1 being barely developed and 5 being fully developed. Class 5 tread is "wide, firm, stable, and generally uniform", "commonly hardened with asphalt" and has no obstacles. Class 1 tread, on the other hand, is to be "intermittent and often indistinct" with natural obstacles common and "intended to provide increased challenge".

Aligning trails with Class 1 standards can be the result of intention rather than a lack of effort. Thinkers such as Aldo Leopold have decried the over-development of recreation areas. As trails are developed, remote and wild spaces are made more accessible. While many saw and see this as progress, Leopold made the argument that development of recreation access and facilities inevitably degraded the character of wild spaces. Today, I feel the same argument lurking behind the scoffs of hikers and outdoor recreationists turning their nose up at trails that are too easy or too crowded. I, myself, prefer routes that challenge my capabilities and take me to places that few other humans visit. And I fear the slow creep of concrete as our suburbs sprawl and our wild spaces are dominated.

Wilderness character is also a value that public land management agencies in the United States deliberately protect. Inside congressionally designated Wilderness Areas--note the capital W--they are required to by law. The land is to remain "untrammeled by the works of man". To that end, Trail Classes 3 and lower are often preferred. Obstacles are left in place, brush is cut back less frequently, and the tread is less meticulously maintained. Structures are shunned, and if a bridge is deemed absolutely necessary, it will be built with 'Wilderness Character' in mind. Rather than steel trusses, it may be supported by a single native log, with a railing made of native saplings. All of these trees will be felled, prepared, and assembled using hand tools. And all this so that we can maintain a certain feeling in these wild spaces, a feeling that I scorn and savor in equal measure.

While these rough trails to remote and beautiful spaces are my personal preference, it must be noted that they are inevitably exclusionary. People with a vast array of abilities, disabilities, and fitness levels may not be able to access and enjoy certain places because of the conditions of the trails that lead to them. By prioritizing wild character, we often preempt any attempt to open a trail to users in powered, off-road wheelchairs, let alone unpowered wheelchairs. And that's not to mention the fact that the Wilderness Act has been interpreted to prohibit any wheeled mode of transportation.

Like trails in the U.S., track conditions in New Zealand vary. While I can spend considerable time griping about TA conditions, the track sometimes coincides with the country's Great Walks. These are tramping tracks which DOC maintains to a much higher standard, with the intention (I have heard) of making them accessible for most kiwis and visitors. They tend to be laid out for smoother grades, with pleasantly flat tread dug to a roomy 1 meter width. They have bridges over major streams and minor tributaries alike, and one could reasonably expect to walk all day with dry socks. They're the crown jewels of DOC's track system, and they are set apart not just by the landscapes they traverse, but by the effort and resources dedicated to their construction and maintenance.

Credit where credit is due: DOC does have professionals who clear tracks with chainsaws. This particular mess was likely cleared by a "front country ranger" who would have been flown into the backcountry by helicopter. Doesn't THAT sound like a dream job?

Unlike the USFS, DOC also administers New Zealand's National Parks. The Hooker Valley Track is one of the country's most popular, offering access to some of the best views in Aoraki/Mt. Cook NP. It features 3 major suspension bridges like the one pictured above, as well as several hundred meters of boardwalk. It is a prime example of a highly visited and highly prioritized "walking track" in New Zealand. 

Disappearing tussock tracks can be made more obvious as more hikers walk the same path, compacting the soil and baking the brush into submission. Like some of the trails I've worked in Colorado or the remote high desert of Oregon, all these trails need is more foot traffic and maybe a few more marker poles. But many of the other issues are only made worse by the passage of more feet. Muddy trails are churned into ever-widening soup pots as trampers attempting to work around the mud trample the plants whose roots are the only source of structure in the soil. Fall-line trails are ground into gravel coated louge tracks as every stone is pulled free by the concentrated pressure of a human body. As exposed tree roots are worn smooth and broken, the soft beech forest tracks which lay along smooth gradients become ragged, out sloped paths of bare earth.  Each step becomes a test of one's ankle flexibility as the trail returns to the prevailing angle of the hillside.

Without mentioning wind-thrown trees blocking tracks and forcing hikers to become climbers, I will argue that these are issues that are only solved by proper planning, construction, and maintenance. They do not go away on their own, and individual local good-samaritans who are equipped to solve them are too few and too far between. While I have a deep pull towards the rougher trails, not everyone is willing or able to use them.  People of diverse abilities deserve to be able to access wild spaces for their enjoyment and their physical and mental health. As such, not every trail should be so rough. Building the trails we want and maintaining the trails we have requires materials and experienced labor. As noted above, they cost money.

Traditionally, in the United States, a vast share of the money and labor necessary for these tasks have been managed by the federal government. I have worked with wonderfully energetic volunteer organizations who would operate without the support of public land managers such as NPS, USFS, and BLM. Yet their organizations receive funding and resources from those land managers, and they often seek the expertise and skills from professional, full-time trail builders. Despite all of this--perhaps "with a complete disregard for all of this" would be a better phrase--our current government has determined that it would be preferable to terminate thousands of trail builders. They began with the lowest paid, hardest working employees: the temporary seasonals. This is because they had no recourse. Then they came for the employees who were on probation, who they could fire without cause. They have terminated employees illegally. Now, I hear they've determined they'll buy people out with voluntary separation incentives. No, the FS did not employ over 3,000 temporary seasonals who never showed up to work. They poured sweat and blood into field work dedicated to serving the American public.

These cuts go far beyond trail builders, and they are not the actions of a government attempting to trim out fraud and abuse. These are the actions of a 'dictator from day one' rushing to remove any check on himself. These are the actions of an unelected billionaire oligarch crippling the only organizations capable of regulating the companies from which he profits. And these are the actions of tycoons who would see public benefits programs such as social security and Medicare 'fed into a wood-chipper' if it means another dollar in their stock market portfolio.

If you enjoy hiking on federally managed public land, you should expect the experience to get worse over the coming years. I have enjoyed living in the United States and will continue to when I return. I do, however, expect my life there to get worse over the next few years. In the meantime, I'll be enjoying the network of tracks here in New Zealand, where perhaps the kiwis can teach an old trail dog new track tricks.