Christmas and New Year mean different things to different people. For me, more than anything, it’s a time to enjoy the moment, reflect on the year that’s been, and look ahead with optimism for what’s to come.
I live by a simple philosophy: No Regrets. Each year I try to shape life so that when I look back, I’m not thinking “I wish I’d done this” or “I should have gone there”, but instead, “What an awesome year that was, let’s make the next one even better.” There are no guarantees, of course, but that mindset has served me well so far.
Adventure is my lifeline. It’s how I reset, how I stay grounded, and how I measure the year, not by calendars or milestones, but by the frequency and quality of experiences outdoors. And for our family, the Christmas New Year window has become a sacred opportunity to step away from noise, crowds, and expectations, and replace them with movement, effort, and shared memories.
Choosing Distance Over Distraction
Christmas Day itself is about family, slowing down, reconnecting, and enjoying that shared time. Once that box is ticked, we head the other direction. Away from Boxing Day sales, queues, busy roads, and fireworks. Toward quiet water, muddy boots, and big landscapes. This year we had our sights set on an eight-day Fiordland adventure, a packrafting journey inspired by the Long Burn route. But Fiordland had other plans. After a very wet spring and a cold, unsettled December, conditions forced us to adapt.
One thing adventure teaches you quickly is that mission objectives change. When they do, the group dynamic shifts with them. Our kids decided they’d rather cherry-pick the best part of the original plan and turn it into a shorter three-day New Year’s trip. That left Jodie and me with a small window either side, three days before meeting them, and another couple of days afterwards. So instead of one big expedition, the adventure became a series of smaller journeys, stitched together by flexibility and curiosity.
This blog is about the first of those trips.
Henry Pass – A Reminder of Why We Go
Jodie and I launched from Boat Harbour on Lake Te Anau, paddling hard into a westerly as we crossed toward Middle Fiord. Once inside North West Arm, the wind eased and the lake softened, a familiar Fiordland lesson in patience and persistence. We had limited information about the area, by choice. Often we prefer to let the landscape reveal itself rather than follow a fixed script. Our hope was to paddle into Lake Hankinson and stay at the hut if space allowed, knowing full well it was Boxing Day and could be busy.
Reality intervened early. The river connecting the lakes wasn’t navigable with our kayak, which meant a short but unavoidable portage. Rather than forcing the day, we camped by Lake Te Anau, lit a fire, and cooked dinner as sandflies gathered in biblical numbers. This is where small comforts matter. After a long paddle and a heavy pack carry looming the next day, sitting on the lake edge with a hot, proper meal felt grounding. Food isn’t just fuel out there, it’s morale, warmth, and something familiar in an unfamiliar place.
The next morning we shouldered the kayak for the short but steep carry and slid into the glassy water of Lake Hankinson. The hut was empty, an unexpected surprise, and suddenly the sense of remoteness sharpened. From there we moved up the Wapiti River and into classic Fiordland terrain: deep mud, fallen trees, slow progress, and constant decision-making. It wasn’t about speed or efficiency. It was about being fully present. Every step required attention. Every obstacle demanded patience.
After lunch at Lake Thomson Hut, we climbed into the Rugged Burn and worked our way toward Deadwood Lagoon. From there, Henry Pass waited, modest in height at 830 metres, but unmistakably alpine in feel. The route wasn’t quite where the map suggested, but that’s part of the process: observe, adjust, move on. Above the pass we found a perfect campsite, perched with views down toward the head of George Sound. That evening the clouds lifted just enough for the setting sun to light up the Marguerite Peaks, throwing shadows and colour across the landscape.
Dinner was simple, warm, and satisfying Real Meals Tom Kha Gai, eaten slowly while watching the light fade. Moments like that don’t need embellishment. They speak for themselves.
The Value of Being Small
Day three was about retracing our steps. We’d hoped to paddle the river back into Lake Te Anau, but conditions didn’t suit our setup, so we accepted another portage. The weather had shifted. A strong southerly funnelled up Middle Fiord, sending gusts and swell our way. We hugged the southern shoreline, weaving through islands to find what shelter we could. The final crossing back to Boat Harbour was exposed, wind gusts, two-metre swells, and constant assessment.
We had options if it deteriorated further. That’s key. Adventure isn’t about bravado; it’s about good decisions made early. In the end, we crossed safely, tired but satisfied, and rewarded ourselves with dinner in Te Anau before heading south for the next chapter.
Why It Matters
Over those three days, we didn’t see another person. We moved at our own pace, carried everything we needed, and let the landscape dictate the rhythm. There was space to think, to talk, and to sit quietly with our own reflections. That’s the gift of getting outdoors, especially at this time of year. You strip life back to essentials. You reconnect with effort and consequence. You remember how little you actually need to feel content.
These trips aren’t about ticking routes off a list or collecting stories to tell later. They’re about living in a way that leaves no regrets. Choosing experience over distraction. Choosing movement over stagnation. Choosing adventure, however small or improvised, over standing still.
As we rolled into the New Year, I felt exactly how I’d hoped to feel: grounded, grateful, and quietly excited for what’s next.
No regrets.
– Nathan Fa’avae
