Inadvertently I was gunning for the old Maori adage “Leave nothing but footprints” when I told my tramping companion not to throw away an avocado stone in Tongariro National Park.

“What else do you expect me to do with it?” he inquired as he dug a small hole with his dusty boot. With new-found environmentalism, I said we should take it with us and quoted the Maori saying “Toitu te whenua” (leave the land undisturbed) — with perfect pronunciation, of course.

He looked at me incredulously, shook his head and began perfecting the sides of the avocado’s planting spot in the dry soil with a twig. “By burying the stone, you risk introducing a new species into this terrain and disturbing the ecological balance of this unique environment,” I pontificated. I was on shaky ground, having given up biology at the age of 14, never having shown any interest in horticulture and my environmental awareness to date consisted of occasionally spurning tuna fish sandwiches when I remembered the poor dolphins.

“Imagine how terrible you’d feel if in 10 years time a forest of avocados was growing here, destroying this,” I said and theatrically swept my hand across the vista of the volcanic plains. I was on even shakier ground, I didn’t even know how avocados grew — on trees, shrubs or whether they were root vegetables?

“Don’t be so bloody ridiculous”. He made to throw away the stone in irritation at my crusade. “No.” I lost all my ability to speak about the preservation of natural habitats and expletives began to fly.

The resolution of the dispute was that I carried the stone in my rucksack pocket until the end of the tramp and disposed of it in a bin. The remnants of the flesh of the avocado transferred themselves onto the pocket and decayed in amongst the fibres of the canvas. I’ve not been able to get rid of the smell since. But I’m smug to say, at least I’m not responsible for any sprouting avocado forests on the sides of volcanoes and despoiling any part of New Zealand.

New Zealand — land of the great outdoors, astounding natural beauty, tranquillity and no noise or people pollution. You can’t do much better than to take advantage of the scenery and silence by going tramping in one of the national parks. It’s a lot easier on the pocket than flinging 70 quid in the air as you leap off a bridge praying that they’re using a new bit of elastic for you. And, all that exercise and fresh air is healthy.

Tramping involves picking a walk, packing up your life for the next few days and squashing it into your backpack. You have to remember to take everything you could possibly want during the walk; waterproofs, sleeping bag, cooking equipment and food. Otherwise life is going to be unpleasant. But, remember who has to carry it.

I suggest dividing the potential luggage into two categories. 1: Vital for practical survival 2: Nice but heavy and bulky — i.e. unnecessary. Matches, candles and blister pads fall into the first category. While clean underwear and toilet paper fall into the second.

Once on the track you journey through wonderful topography, in hopefully, wonderful weather. Evenly spaced out along the tracks are huts with cooking and washing facilities where you can rest your weary head for the night. There is a nightly charge for use of the huts or you can camp at appointed spots for free. The hut fee depends on the season and the walk.

The huts are basic so forget showers and heating.
Forget privacy. Happy trampers bring their own sleeping gear and share wide bunks with their compadres. Obviously, the sleeping arrangements have pros and cons. Loud snores being the latter. I won’t spell out the advantages of shared bodily warmth which the former may, if luck prevails, offer.

There are thousands of tracks in New Zealand ranging from gentle afternoon strolls to treks in remote bush which, if weather conditions are against you, can take 14 days and involve serious self sufficiency and survival techniques.

Ever ambitious I chose to do all eight of the “Great Walks” culminating in the pinnacle of Great Walks — the Milford Track. The Great Walks have been specially chosen by the Department of Conservation (DOC) for their outstanding natural beauty and scenic interest. They have been groomed for accessibility for even the most unseasoned of trampers.

But they aren’t for the faint-hearted. You have to do about six hours walking a day and carry all your gear. Each walk takes between three and six days. Although, if speed walking is your forte or the weather turns they can be done quicker.

DOC branches, found in even the smallest of towns, provide information on general tramping or specific walks and have the up to date information about the weather and track conditions.

The DOC is hot on safety and conservation. The emphasis is on the tramper to be properly equipped and prepared for changes in conditions. There is a system of checking into a book in each hut through which you pass and arrange a time when you expect to return in case of an emergency. DOC expects you not to leave any of your rubbish or disturb the environment. Hence the avocado stone’s trip for three days.

My initiation into the distinctly Kiwi pastime of tramping was ill-feeling over an avocado and a festering rucksack pocket. It also gave me blistered feet, sore shoulders and constipation. The latter due to my thoughtless diet of cement-like carbohydrate food stuffs. As I tramped my way over several more of the Great Walks these problems have all but faded from my memory. Tramping gave me days of breath-taking scenery and a sense of the importance of preserving it.