Written by Natalie Gallant:
As the final 99km ticked down, the finish line was finally within our grasp. The Colac Bay Tavern however, where our hopes and dreams had been idled for the last 48 hours, lay between us and that sweet yellow sign post at Stirling Point. Predicting our arrival time to be around lunch, chatter seemed to purely revolve around menu and beverage choices. After one last muddy, shin bleeding half marathon we would be entirely deserving of the chips and beer we were drooling over. In spite of my accelerated forward momentum, a message from my parents quickly halted progress. Their request to phone home meant something was up. My grandfather (Nanda) of 96 had died, only a week after his beautiful partner Anne (99) had passed also. So homeward bound yes, but I suddenly felt incredibly far from home at the same time.
The boys passed me one by one, not quite sure what to do when unexpectedly finding their tough (I like to think I am) girl friend sat on the forest floor crying down the phone. But they did what they could do best in a situation like this; messaged to say they were keeping a seat warm for me at the pub. With eyes wiped dry, I raised a glass to Nanda & Anne’s wonderful life together, known as the ‘the kids on the hill’ in their little Welsh cottage.
After that my last 90km became bitter sweet. Knowing their lives should be celebrated, yet allowing reality to settle in, and disheartened by the thought that I’d never be able to relay my trail stories in person to them.

Written by Natalie Gallant;
Ever had a pie panic? For those of you aware of what that is, I can hear you cooing in sympathy. For those unsure, I shall explain. Imagine you’re all packed and ready to go tramping in the bush for a few days, suddenly a wave of doubt runs through you, unsure whether you have enough food and worse still, potentially lacking in snacks. You have exactly 20 minutes before your ride arrives. Google maps says it’s an 8 minute walk to the bakery - you can make it if you run.
This is me on the morning I’m leaving Te Anau. Charging through the pouring rain, bakery bound, I’m having a full blown pie panic. It’s suddenly not a want, it’s a need. I urgently need that warmth in my belly before heading into the notoriously muddy and wet forests of Southland for 4 days. I’ve made it to the Four Square for snacks followed by the bakery in less than 6 minutes; I have time to savour my hot veggie pie on the walk back to the hostel.
I’d left my final resupply with the wonderful Abi of Roscos kayaks in Te Anau. After picking it up Abi had kindly offered to drop me back to the trail head the following day. The car journey was short but I was sure by the end Abi and I would be seeing each other again; with many friends in common through Outward Bound we were full on into adventure planning as we hugged goodbye.
Southland is farming country, so it was only appropriate to refine my sheep herding skills before heading into the first forest of Takitimu…

Written by Natalie Gallant:
​I stuck my head out of my tent’s inner and tapped the fly, sheets of ice slid down and dropped to the ground. Quickly I grabbed my camp stove and smuggled it back into the marginally less icy inner with me. Gas and naked flames aren’t advisable inside the highly flammable cocoon, wrapped in an equally flammable sleeping bag, yet this girl was cold and in need of coffee so fire hazard avoidance was not in session that morning. The historic reserve of Macetown was frigid. I should have know I was in for a cold night, falling asleep with all my merino layers and down jacket on. Unfortunately I hadn’t thought ahead and so my socks and water filter spent a lonely night outside, completely forgetting that freezing the filter compromises its integrity…oops…
On the plus side, I learnt to brush my teeth without covering myself and the surrounding area in toothpaste. Jamie won’t recognise me anymore, I’m a changed woman! :D