WALKING, or tramping as the Kiwis say, in the many beautiful national parks throughout New Zealand has become an increasingly popular pastime, not just with the locals, but also with visiting travellers. So much so, there are tramping clubs specifically set up to inform and take members on such walks.

And almost anyone with the desire to tramp, can do so. All you really need are a good map of the area, a pair of sturdy boots, a picnic lunch and, of course, a camera.

These walks can range from a gentle 30 minute stroll to a four-five day hike. For my first tramp, I chose a six-hour trek in the Westland National Park on New Zealand’s South Island. A gentle introduction — or so I believed.

Rather than walk along the sealed road to the official beginning of the track I decided to combine parts of two other tracks to reach the start.

From the town of Franz Josef, I entered the forest opposite the Park’s Headquarters and immediately discovered another world. Such was the thickness of the tall rata and kamahi forest, I became all but invisible except from a distance of a few metres. Moss-covered branches, broken trees and all manner of living and dead plant matter almost barred my progress.

The shades of green were spectacular as the overhead sun struggled to filter through the canopy overhead. From jet to the pale shade of a fern tree caught in the sunlight, the tones of green were too numerous to count.

This area of the west coast, being so geographically close to the Southern Alps, receives approximately 7,000 millimetres of rainfall annually. Therefore even on the driest and sunniest days the forest is always wet and dripping. Streams trickle downhill and the track is forever moist. Sometimes trampers walk over sodden leaves and, at other times, the track passes over moss-covered stones surrounded by water.

As the Terrace Track route finishes trampers may continue along the Waiho River Track, but it isn’t difficult to go astray as the paths easily become overgrown — luckily I managed to get lost only once. Generally, however, the tracks are well signposted, if only by a cairn at times.

Crossing the first of many swing bridges over Callery Gorge, the track runs almost parallel with the glacierally-discoloured Waiho River. At times, it is possible to glimpse this fast flowing water, but trampers are still mainly deep within the forest cover at this point of the trek. Many small streams have to be crossed and, for a while, the track itself seemingly becomes a stream — stepping stones and a ladder are all means of continuing.

After two hours of the trail, trampers reach the Douglas Bridge — the official start of the Roberts Point Track. With a fine film of sweat covering me and straining thigh muscles, I realised that supreme fitness wasn’t even a close friend. The trek is, certainly, no Sunday stroll in the park.

And from Douglas Bridge the going gets even tougher as the track slowly rises above the Waiho River, still passing through thick rate forest.

In the upper part of the valley, the track crosses splinter faultlines on man-made galleries and high swing bridges at Arch and Rope Creeks. And just before Rope Creek I stumbled onto the Hendes Hut which made for a perfect lunch spot.

After my deserved rest, I set off again and soon entered a clearing of open shrubland. I climbed steadily to the treeline — another band of rata trees — which showed where the ice once reached over. A descending couple happily informed me I still had an hour’s climb before I would reach the summit lookout. So, with my head down, I barely noticed either the numerous waterfalls cascading to the valley floor below or the Waiho Valley stretching almost to the Tasman Sea in the west. And just when I began to doubt the couple’s time-keeping I spotted a sign saying “5 more minutes”.

Encouraged by this knowledge, I covered the final hundred metres with a resultant spring in my step.

Suddenly, and with absolutely no prior sight, the track ended and I stood gazing at the majestic beauty of the Franz Josef Glacier in all its naked splendour. The view was completely breathtaking. An almost stationery river of pure white ice broken by deep blue crevasses and bordered by sheer mountain sides. It was mother nature at her most spectacular.

Finally, I forced myself to leave this paradise amongst the clouds and headed back down the track. The descent was another journey entirely and a feeling of exhilaration and triumph made light of the walk. I stopped to dip my head in the cool refreshing streams and straining calf muscles were easily dismissed.

Returning from six hours on the march, I reflected on the incredible scenery and how it was all for free. Show me the next tramp.