Bark Bay to Torrent Bay

Bark Bay Camp Our second day at Abel Tasman we opt to take the water taxi to Bark Bay and walk either to Torrent Bay or Anchorage for a  return pickup. The host at Ocean View Chalets encouraged us to take this walk stating that it was different from the day before, more inland territory, more sheltered and included a swing bridge (suspension bridge for pedestrians). We head out on the taxi and the wind is up so I get drenched, but hey ‘no worries’, I’m wearing my lightweight pants and my Gore-Tex jacket, they will dry quickly.

We disembark at Bark Bay after stopping nearby to see the local seal colony; three languorous brown creatures lounge on the rocks oblivious to us gawking tourists. One looks at us as if to say, “Ho hum”. Is this why they call it Bark Bay? Duncan wonders.  

Kitchen

Now is the time to comment about the high standards for “trampers” in this country. I remember my friend Keila telling me how well equipped the trail huts were even fifteen or twenty years ago when she came on a visit. If I were able I would award Bark Bay first prize; it makes me nostalgic for the days of my youth, sleeping in a tent in my sleeping bag on my Thermarest pad on the ground. This campsite is absolutely pristine. The kitchen area would allow several groups of hikers to prepare food, wash dishes etc.  though there is no stove - campers must bring their own small stoves to cook because of fire risk. There is a sign reminding us that there is no garbage pickup e.g. pack it in and pack it out. There are several picnic tables, FLUSH toilets, potable water for drinking and non-potable for washing feet after one disembarks from the ferry – our taxi driver advised us of this convenience. We see only one lady of our vintage writing at a picnic table, other campers seem to have departed for the next camping spot along the trail. The area is clean quiet and welcoming to newly arrived visitors like us. We didn’t look into the hut here, but we’re sure it is of an equally high standard.  Campers are allowed to stay only two nights in one place, and it is mandatory that one pay a small administrative fee and register for all spots ahead of arrival.

We hike to Medlands Beach nearby and join a sunbathing youth and some picnicking kayakers to contemplate the view and consume our silverside (corned beef) with cheese sandwiches and fruit. Then we hike at a swift pace to meet our taxi at one of the two pickup points. The trail is much the same as the day before, up and down over a hard packed sun baked surface with some spectacular views of small bays, beaches and aquamarine water and the hike takes two hours of steady walking.  Torrent Bay is not as charming as Bark Bay or Anchorage. There are many private cottages and signs directing hikers to designated areas. This is obviously an old logging camp as the forest has been chopped back extensively.  There is a blue lagoon where a few people are swimming sheltered from the wind. It would have been nice, but we didn’t bring our swimming gear.  We’re too early for the pickup but don’t have enough time to hike to Anchorage Bay so we stay put for about 1 ½ hours waiting for the taxi. It’s very sunny but windy so we put up our hoods and try to figure out just where the taxi will come in, wondering why there isn’t a notice somewhere.  We are on the blue taxi service and there are lots of white taxis but only one blue one and that drops people off and continues to head north; we want to go south back to Marahau. We begin to see people from our a.m. taxi filter in  to the beach area and this is a good sign. People from the USA, Canada, the UK and the Czech Republic took the boat out with us. Many of them are lined up by 3:45 p.m. as instructed. When the boat arrives we are at the back of the queue and don’t make it on the boat. There are three kayaks taking up space and some passengers are standing with no life vests. Another taxi arrives, also carrying kayaks, and then there is a lot of to-ing and fro-ing as they move kayaks and passengers back and forth between the taxis. The whole exercise seems chaotic, and we vow we’ll take the white taxis next time. They seem to have lots more boats coming and going. When we arrive back we must get off the boat and board a van because there are too many people to carry along the shore with the tractor pulling the boat. We don’t mind, we’re happy to be back on land. This time a few passengers get absolutely drenched. Luckily we weren’t sitting on the wrong side of the boat this time. The driver, also named Wood, a bit of a cowboy, bucked his boat like a bronco over the waves at high speed. He called us “uncle and aunty” because of our last name and alienates me. I guess he is trying to be friendly but is this youngster implying that we are oldies?

Frenchman's Bay
Typical of the beautiful views along the trail