On the first day, we had walked 15.94 kilometres from Bark Bay to Anchorage.

Back in Mārahau, Katherine had finished her wine at our table outside Hooked, but the tiredness in her legs had not disappeared with it.

The next morning, she was uncertain.

Yesterday had already been too much, she said. She did not know whether she could finish another walk today.

Our second day began, once again, on a water taxi from Mārahau.

Instead of heading straight north, the boat first turned towards Split Apple Rock / Tokangawhā.

Two enormous pieces of granite stood parted above the water, like an apple cut cleanly in half. The skipper slowed the boat so that everyone could look.

We stayed on board.

Soon the engine rose again and the boat continued north along the coast.

The day before, we had stepped ashore at Bark Bay and walked south to Anchorage. This time the boat passed Bark Bay and kept going.

One bay after another slipped behind us. Forest covered the slopes all the way to the rocks and sand. Where roads no longer reached, the sea became another way into the national park.

We were bound for Awaroa.

The water taxi landed on Awaroa Beach. We stepped off, followed a timber walkway away from the sand, and entered the trees.

We had expected the walk to begin as soon as we left the boat. Instead, there was a café behind the trees.

Since it was there, we stopped for coffee.

The café was part of Awaroa Lodge. It served food and coffee, but it also offered accommodation. No road reaches the lodge; most guests arrive by boat or on foot.

Once we sat down, its place in the middle of the national park began to make sense.

Many people walking the full Abel Tasman Coast Track leave Mārahau carrying several days of food and clothing. They make their way north over a number of days, stopping at Awaroa to sleep, eat and recover before continuing.

We were not travelling that way.

Each morning we left Mārahau and used a water taxi to reach the beginning of that day's section. We then walked towards another bay. The boat removed some repeated ground and allowed us to return to the same room each evening.

Other walkers joined one day of walking to the next. We joined the boat to the track.

By the time the coffee was finished, Katherine looked more at ease than she had that morning.

We left the lodge and turned south.

Continuing north from here requires a crossing of Awaroa Inlet. The tidal flats are passable only from about ninety minutes before low tide until two hours after it, with no all-tide alternative. We were heading south. We did not need to cross the inlet or wait for the sea to leave.

The first part of the route from Awaroa to Bark Bay climbed through forest towards Tonga Saddle.

The track soon closed around us. Sunlight fell through the leaves onto roots and earth. For a while the sea disappeared, leaving only our footsteps and the sounds of the forest.

The weather was beautiful, and the sun was strong.

The moment we stepped out of the shade, heat returned to our caps and shoulders. Back beneath the trees, our skin cooled again.

Beyond the saddle, the track began to descend.

Water gradually appeared below the forest. Richardson Stream divided into shallow channels as it crossed the wetland near the coast. A bridge and boardwalk carried the track towards Onetahuti Bay.

Katherine stopped on the bridge. Sunlight lay across the boards, and the railings cast long shadows beside her feet.

Beyond it, wetland, sandspit and sea entered the same view.

Shallow water curved through the sand towards the blue beyond. Much of the previous day's coast had remained hidden by forest. Here, the view opened all at once.

Onetahuti is one of the longest beaches along this part of the track. Wetland and forest lie behind it; offshore is the wider area of Tonga Island Marine Reserve.

Late on the first day, we had checked the time repeatedly, afraid of missing the afternoon water taxi.

On the second day, Katherine stopped asking how many kilometres remained.

The route was shorter, and the sea kept returning through gaps in the trees. We would walk for a while, and another stretch of water would show between the leaves.

She began stopping to take photographs. On the bridge, she was happy to remain a little longer.

South of Onetahuti, the route passed Tonga Quarry. We did not know its name at the time and did not look for traces of the old granite workings. Only when we studied the route later did that part of the coast acquire a name again.

Farther south, the track left the shore and climbed through mānuka forest.

When the trees opened again, the estuary at Bark Bay lay below us.

At low tide, channels remained across a wide bed of pale sand. Water curled around rocks and driftwood before reaching the bay. Beach, wetland and forest had all been placed within the same open space by the retreating sea.

We were close to the end of the day's walk.

Our record from Awaroa to Bark Bay stopped at 12.02 kilometres.

It was the shortest of our three days on foot.

At the end of Day One, Katherine had worried that she would not manage today. After finishing, she had already started working out which section we might walk on Day Three.

A water taxi carried us from Bark Bay back to Mārahau.

That evening, instead of returning to Hooked, we went to Park Cafe.

It did not look across the road towards the open tidal flats as Hooked did. Its timber walls, lattice screens and slightly informal tables made no attempt to create a polished waterfront atmosphere.

It felt more like a restaurant that belonged to the place.

Our waiter was a young man who had moved from Christchurch.

He was easy to talk to. He had met a local woman here, he told us, and eventually stayed.

Work in Mārahau was intensely seasonal. In warm weather, water taxis came and went with visitors, and the restaurants and accommodation were busy. Once winter arrived, the visitors disappeared. There was really work for only half the year.

When the food arrived, Katherine tasted it and gave me a thumbs-up.

Then she ordered another glass.

At The Vic in Nelson, we had sat down for a drink as two for the first time in nearly twenty years. At Hooked on the first evening of walking, it had been the second time.

By Park Cafe, there was no need to keep counting.