I emerge after a half hour's kip, don my lavalava and long-sleeve shirt and cover my remaining bits with Dimp in a vain effort to discourage sandflies, and Miranda and I head up the track a couple of hundred metres to check out the Lewis suspension bridge. It is about 35m long reckoning by the number of uprights.
In a mad burst of faux-confidence, I hand the camera to Miranda and say, "Me first!" After a few gut wrenching wobbles in which the bridge moves at least 5cm under my feet and I start to back off, Miranda calls out to me to stop, while I am still close to the start of the bridge, and see how much I can get it to wobble.
It's no use. No matter how hard I swing my weight around I cannot raise enough of a wobble to make the bridge look dangerous. It stays upright. I relax a little and the bridge stops moving. Second lesson.
I fix my eyes on the far end and start counting my footsteps. The floor of the bridge is a robust wire mesh, and thankfully I do not have to watch where I put my feet.
Miranda captures the moment for posterity. Note the tannin stained river water.
Buoyed by my success, I rashly suggest we tackle the Heaphy Bridge which is just up ahead about 400m. Same again. I give it a wobble and it stays relatively quiet. Even so I freeze several times on the way over and tell myself to relax while the bridge stops moving.
Eyes remain fixed on the end of the bridge. I cannot fall out. I gradually master the art of sliding my weight forward gradually and transferring my weight gradually from one foot to the other. 142 steps.
Nailed it.
This is a special photograph. It is a picture of the Lewis Hut taken by Miranda from the middle of the Heaphy Bridge. If you have ever tried to take a photo from the middle of a suspension bridge you will appreciate the skills involved.
It is also the last photo Miranda is likely to take from the centre of a suspension bridge.
We take a walk along the beach
...and check out wheter the Heaphy really is fordable. Not unless you want wet boots, and definitely not without a stick. And bare feet are just not an option.
The water looks harmless enough until you feel the weight of it against your legs. And even a shallow river packs a lot of weight.
On the way back to Lewis Hut, we have run out of memory chip for the camera. Miranda is half way across the Heaphy bridge when a long, strong gust of wind catches the bridge. For fully a minute she hangs on and does not move, until the wind drops. Up above, clouds are gathering.
