Time: 2 hours and 30 minutes (includes a cuppa at the Sign of the Kiwi Cafe)
Distance: 8.3 km
Start: Sign of the Takahe, Dyers Pass Road
Finish: Same place - it's there and back
Date: Friday 10th April 2026
An overcast autumnal Friday morning. We picked up all and sundry, and drove across town, chit-chatting about crazy neighbours. We parked on the road outside the Sign of the Takahe, behind a groovy red car. Today was my first time ever on the Harry Ell Walkway, which is kind of surprising given that it is a quintessential Ĺtautahi experience. The start of the track is weirdly unmarked and inconveniently placed on a busy blind corner. But everyone knows where it is (except me).
Harry Ell (1889 - 1934, born Henry George), was a Christchurch City Councillor, Member of Parliament, liberalist and conservationist. At some point he had a vision for a "network of scenic reserves along the Port Hills, linked by Summit Road with a network of rest-houses to allow travellers to refresh themselves." Reserves and tracks were created, and four stone rest-houses were built: Sign of the Takahe, Sign of the Bellbird, Sign of the Kiwi, and Sign of the Packhorse.
That story is the stuff of Christchurch legend. Other interesting and lesser known factoids about Harry Ell (gleaned from Wikipedia and Te Ara): His admirable philosophy was "Our aim in life is to effect such social and economic reforms as will improve the lot of our fellow men and women". But, (gulp) he was also in the Armed Constabulary that invaded and destroyed Parihaka. Although, apparently "this experience turned him into a stern critic of the race-relations policies of the time." Yes. But still...
The Harry Ell Walkway is wide and smooth like a footpath. Not at all the sort of place where one would expect to fall on a tiny stone and get a black eye - although this did, in fact, happen recently to one of our crew. We set off, whizzing along the track at high speed (like the cars below us), chit-chatting about the precarious state of the world and stuff like that. The path was littered with squashed red berries from numerous strawberry trees (Arbutus unedo). The trees were both flowering and fruiting all at once. We stopped for a strawberry tasting (notes of peaches and a chewy crust). Actually, only two of us were game because eating berries on random trees always feels like risky business. The others suspiciously desisted with excuses like "I don't like strawberries" and "I would prefer a wine tasting". Fair enough. We continued on, bypassing the tiny "black eye" stone.
As we neared Summit Road there was a unanimous decision to have coffee at the Sign of the Kiwi Cafe where lots of French people work. We were told you can order glasses of champagne there all day. We sat outside on a picnic bench drinking coffee and it was lovely. The hot chocolates also passed muster. And the date scones were exceptional ("Best Date Scones in Town"). No mean feat. A kereru landed itself ungainly on the cabbage tree above us, and all was well. However, after about ten minutes of this idyll, a lorry arrived to pump sewerage out of the septic tank next to the council loos up the hill. The lorry was parked just close enough so that a terrible smell soon wafted across to our nostrils (notes of shit) . This was accompanied by a terrible hum (the pump) that pierced our eardrums. The hum was first pitched at middle C (261.63 Hz) then it jumped up to A (440.00 Hz) and finally reached a crescendo (right in the middle of a pithy anecdote) at high C (523.25 Hz). High C is the perfect pitch for a burst of song "Now is the month of maying, where merry lads are playing, fa la, la,la,la,la la, fa la la la la la la!". We sung in harmony and laid a complaint with the beret-headed owner who directed us to the council.
It was time to go anyway. We circumnavigated Sugarloaf/Te Heru o Kahukura on the Gilpins Track where Jane got to know the names of all the pooches coming our way: Snowy, Phoebe, and Fluffy (that's how I remember it anyway). Not to forget William Smith from Woodview Road. At the ridge, we followed Latter's Spur Track most of the way back down, chit chatting about the precarious state of the world and stuff like that.
