Lake Waikaremoana Great Walk

Lake Waikaremoana: The Great Walk That Almost Broke Me (and My Knees)

Part of my summer mission to walk all 11 of New Zealand’s Great Walks to raise money and awareness for Dementia NZ.

This summer, I’m tackling all 11 of New Zealand’s Great Walks — one sore knee, one blunder, and one unforgettable view at a time — to raise funds for Dementia NZ, an organisation doing incredible work supporting families and those living with dementia across Aotearoa.

If you’d like to support the cause (and laugh at my poor life choices along the way), you can donate here 👉 Givealittle . Every dollar helps. 

Day One: The Tentless Wonder

There’s something wonderfully optimistic about deciding to walk across large chunks of the country for fun — and charity, of course. My Great Walks summer challenge kicked off with Lake Waikaremoana, a place as wild and remote as it is stunning. I’d been itching to start, even if my idea of preparation was somewhere between “winging it” and “mild chaos.”

It’s a five-and-a-half-hour drive from my home on the Kāpiti Coast to Waikaremoana, but thanks to the new Te Ahu a Turanga – Manawatū Tararua Highway, the journey is smoother, faster, and far less likely to make you question your life choices.

I rolled into the Waikaremoana Holiday Park around 7:30 p.m. on Sunday. In true Brendon fashion, I’d only remembered to call and book a tent site halfway there. The after-hours instructions were excellent. I found my site, opened the boot — and immediately realised I’d forgotten my tent. Classic.

Luckily, the trusty station wagon came to the rescue. Seats down, instant bed. The holiday park itself is a gem: quiet, tidy, and beautifully set on the lake’s edge. Julie, who runs the shop, greeted me the next morning with a smile and a “don’t worry about it” attitude that instantly improved my mood — even after I discovered my credit card had gone missing.

You can leave your car at the park and catch a ferry to the start of the track or drive 15 minutes and start from there. I drove — because why not double down on bad decisions?

It was a perfect day to start: clear skies, light breeze, and the misplaced confidence of a man carrying 20kg of unnecessary gear in a cheap Temu pack. DOC’s notes warned that the first leg was the hardest — 4–6 hours uphill to the first hut, then another four to the next. I, of course, decided I’d do it all in seven.

By 8:30 a.m. I was storming up the track, channelling my inner mountain goat. Two hours later, I was wrecked but convinced I was nearly there — until some trampers with a GPS kindly informed me I wasn’t even halfway. Nothing like cold, digital truth to humble you.

Four hours in, I stopped for lunch, then trudged on. Every bend revealed another hill. Just when I thought I’d conquered the last one, a giant staircase appeared, laughing in my face. The hut, mercifully, was at the top.

Out of water, I traded chocolate for purification tablets — classic trail economy — and promptly realised my insulated drink bottle had turned my “freshly boiled” water into portable soup. The downhill stretch was hard on the knees, and by hour three I was chatting to my walking pole, Mobi, who by now had become both therapist and best mate. When I finally reached the “Waiopaoa Hut – 2 mins” sign, I nearly kissed it.

The hut was buzzing with life: people cooking, chatting, or already asleep at 7 p.m. (a concept I’ll never understand). A voice called out, “Are you Harris?” Apparently, I’d missed the ranger’s safety briefing, but at least I’d made the roll call.

Outside, I met Logan, a pest-control ranger who was sitting by a bonfire like some kind of bush oracle. We spent the evening talking about everything from stoats to politics under a huge moon. He slept under the stars, so I joined him — best decision of the trip. Even his snoring somehow fitted the soundtrack.

Earlier, two groups of German hikers had asked if it was OK to swim naked. They’d seen others swimming fully clothed and didn’t want to offend anyone. I, perhaps not the best cultural consultant, told them to go for it. Logan later confirmed I was right. One of them suggested I should swim too because, after nine hours of tramping, I apparently smelled “very strong.” Fair enough.

The next morning, watching Kiwis attempt to wash under taps while maintaining absolute modesty was a highlight. No showers at these huts, just a massive lake — but we’ll twist ourselves into yoga poses to avoid showing a bum cheek. Meanwhile, the huts have shared bunks, so you’re basically spooning strangers anyway. Go figure.

Day Two: Heroes, Hammocks, and Hot Eels

Day Two dawned bright and clear — a bluebird day with barely a breath of wind. After yesterday’s vertical marathon, today’s plan was simple: an easy five-hour stroll to the next hut.

People were leaving at different times — the ambitious ones off early to cover two huts in a day, while others somehow managed to stay in bed. I’ll never understand hut sleepers.

One guy I’d chatted to the night before had said he was tramping with his nephew. That morning, I saw him heading out with a very attractive young woman. Let’s just say his family tree had gotten a bit creative.

I set off with Mobi, feeling surprisingly strong. The track hugged the lake, winding through lush forest and quiet coves. Before long, I ran into “Uncle Nephew” again — this time accompanied by two actual nephews who’d slept in hammocks like proper Kiwi bushmen. Mystery solved.

A few hours in, I found a perfect swimming spot. No onlookers, just me, the swans, and a few eels giving me side-eye. I dove in, imagining I looked like Aquaman. Reality check: definitely more Peter Griffin.

As I was drying off, a young woman from another group appeared, clearly panicked. Her mother had fallen and broken her arm. She was heading back to Waiopaoa to find Logan and radio for help. But Logan and his team were off on a pest mission somewhere deep in the bush.

I told her not to worry — I’d head to the next hut, Marauiti, where another ranger was stationed. Nothing like a bit of drama to liven up the day. Channelling Daniel Day-Lewis in Last of the Mohicans, Mobi and I bolted down the trail.

The DOC estimate said five hours; I did it in three and a half. When I arrived, the ranger — Here, whose briefing I’d missed the night before — was out front weed eating. I delivered my emergency message with cinematic intensity.

She looked up calmly. “All good, bro — I rescued them already. She’s on her way to hospital.”

So much for my hero moment. Still, Here turned out to be awesome. We chatted about the lake, the local iwi, and her work as a ranger. Shockingly, she said they struggle to hire enough people. I half-joked, “Sign me up,” but honestly, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

Then she made me an offer too good to refuse: she’d take my pack by boat to the next hut if I wanted to walk there unburdened. I was meant to catch the 3:30 p.m. ferry the next day but could jump on the 11:30 instead. Done deal. Ten minutes later, Mobi and I were flying down the track, light as deer, free as the wind.

Day Three: No Pack, No Problem

The track to Waiharuru Hut was a dream — flat, scenic, and dotted with swimming spots that begged for a dip. Walking without my pack felt like a superpower. I covered the two-hour stretch in just over an hour and a half, floating along in a blissful, pain-free haze.

Waiharuru Hut was the biggest and most beautiful of them all — lakefront views, crisp air, and single bunks. Actual personal space! After communal mattress surfing, this is like five-star luxury.

Logan was there again, joined by his pest-control partner Daniel, a man so rugged he probably brushes his teeth with a stick. Between the two of them, they cover a massive area crawling with pests. Listening to them talk shop, you get a real appreciation for the quiet, relentless work that keeps these wild places alive.

It was an early night, and for once, I slept inside. Someone apparently snored like a freight train, but I didn’t hear a thing — possibly because it was me.

The next morning, the track to the ferry pick-up was an easy final stroll. I stopped for one last swim with the eels, chatted with a few fellow trampers, and took in the stillness of the lake one last time. The ferry ride back to Onepoto was the perfect ending: sunshine, reflection, and that unbeatable post-adventure satisfaction.

Three days, two huts, one forgotten tent — and a whole lot of laughs. Lake Waikaremoana tested my knees, my patience, and my packing skills, but it delivered everything a Great Walk should: beauty, challenge, and just enough chaos to make it memorable.

Next stop: Great Walk number two. Hopefully this time, I remember the tent.

Walking options
Lake Waikaremoana can be walked either from Onepoto in the south or Hopuruahine in the north. It's not a circuit track and is described here from Onepoto. This not what I did I combined days but this looks a lot more relaxing 

For a 3 night/4 day trip:

Day 1 – Onepoto to Panekire Hut
Day 2 – Panekire Hut to Waiopaoa Hut
Day 3 – Waiopaoa Hut to Marauiti Hut
Day 4 – Marauiti Hut to Hopuruahine
Guided options are available.

Places to stay
There are four huts and five campsites on Lake Waikaremoana. These must be booked in advance. To book click here

Camping on the track is only permitted at the designated campsites.

You can stay at the nearby Waikaremoana Holiday Park before or after walking the track. It has a range of accommodation including tent sites, cabins and chalets.

Water taxi pickup and drop off
Check Ngāi Tūhoe website for water taxi information.

About the Author
Brendon Harris is a Kiwi traveller, mentor, and storyteller currently walking all 11 of New Zealand’s Great Walks to raise money for Dementia NZ. Equal parts wanderer and wisecracker, he writes about the beauty, mishaps, and characters he meets along the way — reminding us that adventure doesn’t need to be perfect to be unforgettable. Follow his journey and support the cause here: Givealittle