Sep 25, 2025

One Man, One Island

No crew. No shortcuts. Just 1,500 km of mountains, rivers, and raw solitude. When Florian Guillier set out to traverse New Zealand’s South Island alone—on foot and by packraft—he wasn’t chasing records. He was chasing wildness. What followed was a journey of endurance, precision, and vulnerability across one of the world’s last true wilderness corridors.

When Florian Guillier stepped onto the rugged soil of New Zealand’s South Island, there was no trail map that matched his ambition.

No guidebook could tell him how to blend foot travel with wild packrafting across 1,500 kilometers of alpine ridges, jungle-thick valleys, and remote river corridors. This wasn’t just a long walk — it was a self-designed expedition where instinct, solitude, and stripped-down gear shaped every decision.

For two months, Florian journeyed alone, unassisted and offline, tracing his own route across the spine of Aotearoa’s dramatic wilderness. What follows is not a travelogue — it’s the anatomy of an adventure: precise in its planning, raw in its execution, and deeply human in its revelations.

The Urge to Leave

Florian Guillier is no stranger to the wilderness. At 29, the French filmmaker has spent over a decade seeking out landscapes that scratch at the edges of comfort — from the Arctic chill of Sweden’s Sarek National Park to the steep tracks of Morocco’s High Atlas.

But it was after a relentless year of 80-hour workweeks in Australia that the craving to escape became unignorable..”I had this deep need to disappear,” he says. “To feel the unknown again. And New Zealand — it was right there, calling.”

The decision came fast. Within two months, he’d mapped a concept. Not just to walk Te Araroa, New Zealand’s long-distance trail, but to step off it. To paddle wild rivers. To stitch together a route that had never been done quite this way before.

Mapping the Unmapped

He began with rivers — seeking out Class I to III waterways that flowed north to south, using topo maps and Google Earth. Then came the connectors: alpine saddles, forgotten valleys, glacier lakes. He carried everything on his back, including a Blueduck packraft light enough to hike with, but durable enough to float through isolated terrain. Navigation was powered by Gaia GPS, with all maps downloaded for offline use. Each segment was improvised from a pre-built .gpx route, cross-referenced with weather, terrain, and gut feeling.

“For the first three weeks, I followed the Te Araroa Trail. But after Lake Tekapo, I veered off. That’s when the real adventure began — no more marked trails, no signs, no guarantees.”

The Weight of Essentials

His pack weighed 33 kilograms after resupply — heavy by ultralight standards, but necessary for full autonomy. The key was balance: every gram mattered.

He ditched the stove in favor of cold soaking couscous and noodles. Traded a sleeping bag for a quilt. Replaced a tent with a tarp. Swapped comfort for versatility.

“The packraft changed everything,” Florian explains. “It let me reach places that walking couldn’t. It turned the map into a puzzle of blue and brown.”

And when the rivers ran too low, he adapted. “I’d lie flat on the raft, hips raised, so I could glide over shallow stones instead of tearing the bottom.”

Risk Without a Net

In a place as wild as the South Island, risk isn’t theoretical. It’s a constant, living presence — especially when you’re alone. There’s no mobile service in the deep bush. If something goes wrong, help doesn’t come.

His backup? A satellite SOS function on his iPhone 15 Pro Max — a last resort, never triggered.

The greatest hazard? River crossings. “In New Zealand, rivers kill people.

If I wasn’t sure about a crossing, I detoured. No hesitation. The mountain doesn’t care about your plans.”

The weather turned on him only once — a day of flash flooding and wind that forced him to pause rather than push.

“Safety isn’t a list,” he says. “It’s a mindset. You prepare, you read the land, and you stay humble.”

Breakdown and Breakthrough

But even preparation can’t save your gear.

Late in the journey, on the Hollyford-Pyke Loop — a detour through some of the island’s most surreal wilderness — he lost everything. First, his drone crashed into a lake. Then his camera stopped working. Then his last trekking pole snapped.

“All the footage. Gone. I dove in, tried to recover it. Nothing. I was exhausted. Angry. And I had to keep going.”

What did he do? He improvised. He found someone who lent him a drone. He hitchhiked for hours to retrieve it. Then he returned — and filmed the entire section again.

“That’s what adventure is. Not a perfect script. Just the courage to stay in it, even when it unravels.”

The Interior Journey

With no companions, no signal, and no distractions, Florian entered the deeper terrain of solitude.

“Solitude isn’t emptiness. It’s a mirror. At first it’s loud — your thoughts, your fears, your doubts. But then it becomes quiet. You hear things that matter.”

And freedom? “It’s not about the absence of constraint. It’s the power to choose your own. To set your pace, change direction, stop when a place speaks to you. That’s real freedom.”

In the shifting rhythm between mountains and rivers, he found balance. “The climb demands effort. The river lets you go. One anchors you. The other releases you.”

For anyone dreaming of a similar expedition, Florian is clear:

“Don’t make this your first adventure. Build experience. Learn navigation. Understand how your body and mind respond when things go wrong.”

Florian's tips

Use Gaia GPS and topographic maps

Practice cold soaking and ditch the stove

Resupply every 10 days or pre-mail food boxes

Pack ultralight — then go lighter

Always carry a satellite communicator

Plan for improvisation — not perfection

don’t forget insurance, Trust me!

When asked what he carried that mattered most, Florian doesn’t hesitate:

“My packraft. My maps. And my backpack itself — because without it, none of this happens.”

But beyond the gear, beyond the logistics, what stayed with him most was the clarity.

“The essential is what remains when everything else is gone. Cold water after a climb. Mist in the morning. The sound of wind in the canopy. That’s what stays.”