Deep within Te Urewera, far beyond the reach of signage, cell signal or even DOC-maintained tracks, there’s a trail that doesn’t officially exist — but has been walked for generations.
It’s unnamed, unmarked, and absent from every modern map.
And yet, to a small group of Māori hunters and local whānau, it’s still very much alive.
A trail passed down by footsteps, not GPS
Known only by word of mouth and whakapapa, the path weaves through dense native bush, crossing streams, climbing ridgelines and dipping into hidden clearings.
There are no orange markers, no track numbers, and no mention of it on AllTrails or Google Maps.
“We don’t need signs to find our way,” says Matenga, a hunter from Ruatāhuna who first walked the trail with his grandfather at age 9. “The land teaches you, if you listen.”
For many in Ngāi Tūhoe, the trail is more than a route — it’s a living connection to whenua, tradition, and survival.
Still in use – but quietly
Despite not being maintained, the trail is still used every winter and spring by hunters seeking deer and pigs, as well as gatherers collecting kawakawa, pikopiko and other rongoā (medicinal plants).
Small signs of human presence remain: a faded boot print in soft mud, a plaited flax marker tied high on a branch, a weathered tree scar where dogs are usually leashed.
“You won’t find it on DOC maps,” says Aria, a local guide, “because it’s not DOC’s to map. It was ours before there was even a name for ‘bush track’.”
Why it’s not public – and probably never will be
The trail crosses land returned to Tūhoe under the Te Urewera Act 2014. Unlike national parks, Te Urewera is legally recognised not just as a place, but as a living entity with its own rights.
Access to many parts of it is not guaranteed to the public, and some areas require permission or are deliberately kept private — to protect sacred sites, ecological balance, and cultural integrity.
“We’re not hiding it out of selfishness,” Matenga says. “We’re protecting it from becoming another Instagram trail. Some places aren’t meant for everyone.”
What happens if others find it?
Occasionally, trampers stumble across the path by accident — usually after losing their way or straying from marked tracks. Some have posted vague photos online, though seasoned locals are quick to identify and report them.
There’s growing concern that GPS apps and social media could eventually expose the trail — putting pressure on iwi to either close access completely or risk it being overwhelmed.
So far, the solution has been silence.
No signs. No posts. No coordinates.
Just quiet footsteps, generations deep, moving through the forest like they always have.
Some trails don’t need maps — they survive in memory, instinct, and the trust of those who walk them.
That’s beautiful korero Matenga and I totally agree some places are not meant for everyone. Kia ora.