Ivory Lake HutMikinoui TrailWet WeatherWaterfall ParadiseTough TerrainBig ViewsGood to DrinkWorld's Best Patio We are hiking an hour outside of Hokitika, on New Zealand’s famed West Coast, when the vertical jungle slams me on my ***. A cloud of ferns closes in around my knees, obscuring the “trail” beneath. I misjudge a step, slip on a wet root, and my feet shoot forward, friction-free and fast. I thud backward, dislodging an extra rain shower from the dripping foliage and a whiff of something like rotten cabbage. As I stand, I scan my body. Behind me, my companions—an ultrafit pair of American adventure photographers and a sharp-faced Kiwi acting as our unofficial guide—deliver the requisite encouragement. “You’ve got this!” says Agnes Hage, 31, one of the photogs. “Happens to the best of us,” agrees her husband Matt, 41. Andrew Buglass just nods. Easy for you to say now, I think. We’ll see what you’re saying when it’s dark and I’m still trying to climb this jungle.

This voice is the fifth member of our entourage, present whenever I feel inferior, but especially vocal on the trail, if I feel I’m holding others back. From everything I’ve heard, this hike will be among the hardest I’ve done in my life, with long distances, lots of elevation change, and treacherous off-trail terrain. And yeah, I’m a bit nervous, but I was spoiling for an unforgettable trip that would push me. I just hope I didn’t plan this route at the expense of my body—or my ego. I seek challenge, but prefer to avoid total collapse. And total collapse in front of strangers? Even at 31 years old, something about the dynamics of hiking in a group can carry me back to the emotional cesspool of middle school. It’s enough to make me want to stay down on the ground where I’ve fallen, crawl up under a bush, and hide. The hike to New Zealand’s best hut might be tough, but deciding where to go was surprisingly easy. The country has 900-plus backcountry shelters, ranging from 100-year-old stone shacks to state-of-the-art mini-lodges, in an area the size of Colorado.

Shepherds and miners built the first ones, a natural response to quick-changing, unforgiving weather. Later, rabbitters and deer cullers hunting the island’s invasive mammals operated out of government-built huts. Those seeds eventually blossomed into a robust network geared mainly toward recreation, which has a reputation as the best hut system in the world. Most Kiwi “tramps” center on one or more of them.backpack literature mla citation But I didn’t just want to visit a good hut: I wanted the best. backpack cn600That meant a postcard-worthy, breathtaking setting; krupicka backpacka cozy, intimate shelter with a rich history (nothing decrepit, sterile, or brand-new); ncredible backpack

and a realistic chance at solitude. Oh, and the hike in had to be worth doing on its own. I read tramping forums, talked to the editor of New Zealand’s Wilderness magazine, and contacted Shaun Barnett, the author of several tramping guides and a book about the history of the huts. I heard about Syme Hut, in Egmont National Park on the North Island, perched on the flanks of a dormant volcano with views of the sea. ugp backpackAnd I had a fleeting interest in the Barker Hut, in Arthur’s Pass National Park on the South Island, when I saw a photo of it looking like a little red schoolhouse just below a towering peak. backpack buurt bangkokBut only one kept recurring everywhere I looked: Ivory Lake Hut. “One of the coolest hut locations,” Barnett said. “It’s perched on the shore of a small lake beneath a remnant glacier in the heart of the remote and rugged West Coast mountains on the South Island.”

Others called it a “holy grail.” I learned it was built in the 1970s to help scientists study the small glacier nearby, and a decade’s worth of researchers had added countless personal touches during their summers there. But as soon as I set my sights on getting there, everyone else set theirs on talking me out of it. “I don’t think that Ivory Lake Hut is a good idea—it is too difficult an objective,” said a different guidebook author I contacted. The tourism bureau thought it “not advisable.” Even Barnett backpedaled in an email: “I can’t emphasize enough how tough the terrain is, and how much travel in the area is weather-dependent. Even for experienced trekkers, it can be as slow as 1 kilometer per hour and side creeks can easily become impossible to cross during rain. In a few places, you might have to crawl.” “Consider me warned,” I wrote back. Sure, the trek sounded like a potential slugfest, but not scary or obviously dangerous. I did have one question, though: “Is it really worth the torture?”

Barnett’s reply sealed my resolve: “Yep … it’s one way cool place. If I haven’t put you off … go for it!” My next step was finding a local to guide me through the off-trail terrain—even good map skills can’t substitute for deep experience with a foreign ecosystem. I connected with Andrew Buglass via his website, remotehuts.co.nz, a repository of status and route information on 63 of the South Island’s less popular, more isolated shelters. As soon as I proposed the journey, he agreed to take time off from his job as a mental health counselor to come along. He said he loves any excuse to go wander the mountains—especially those mountains. He grew up in Hokitika, the closest city to our trailhead, and he’d been to Ivory Lake Hut twice before. We budgeted six nights, and if all went perfectly, expected to reach Ivory Lake on the third day, via two nights at other huts. “The weather is crucial for this trip,” Andrew explained as we firmed up our plans.