Port Craig – Echoes of a Lost Industry
- Jul 15
- 3 min read
The Forgotten Industry Hidden Along the Hump Ridge Track
Tucked deep within Fiordland National Park along the Hump Ridge Track lies Port Craig—a place where the forest meets the sea, and where the past lingers quietly among the trees.
It’s hard to imagine now, standing in this remote corner of South Westland, that this was once a thriving settlement. A busy sawmilling hub. A village full of noise, movement, and purpose. Today, only fragments remain—weathered relics scattered through bush and along the coastline. The story they tell is incomplete on their own, but together, and with the help of interpretive panels, a fuller picture begins to emerge.
Take your time here. It’s not a place to rush.
Start near the old schoolhouse, alongside the former cookshop and bakehouse. Inside the shcoolhouse, you’ll find a Department of Conservation brochure—Welcome to Port Craig—a simple guide that transforms the area into a self-led journey through history. It’s worth picking up, not just for context, but to better understand what you’re seeing underfoot.
From the lodge, follow the track to the right, then take the left at the junction toward the old sawmill site. The trail winds gently through the bush before opening out to a landscape of remnants—subtle at first, then unmistakable.
Numbered pegs line the way, each corresponding to a feature noted in the brochure. Some are easy to miss if you’re not looking closely:
Cement barrels, where the contents have long since hardened into solid forms
Old toilet systems, cleverly designed with flowing water to carry waste away
The water tank from the steam locomotive Johnston ’28’, once used to haul logs from deep within the forest
The remains of the boiler house, a sturdy brick structure that once powered the mill’s massive saws
A smaller boiler, used in part to dry sand for traction on greasy rails
The blacksmith’s shop, where essential components—from bolts to brake blocks—were forged on site
Each piece feels small in isolation, but together they hint at the scale and ingenuity of what once stood here.
Before the track drops to the beach, a viewpoint opens out across the rugged coastline. A bench sits quietly here, inviting you to pause. Below, more relics are scattered along the sand and bush edge:
Sections of the “new” mill chimney
The skeletal remains of the wharf crane
Rock wagons once used to build the breakwater
The Lidgerwood hauler boiler, abandoned upside down and slowly being reclaimed by the elements
These aren’t preserved behind glass—they’re exposed, weathered, and real. Time is still working on them.
The sawmill began operations in 1921 and, for a time, was the most advanced in the country. At its peak, it employed over 150 men and processed more than 1,800 cubic metres of timber each month. It was built with ambition—designed to outproduce every other mill in New Zealand.
But the forest couldn’t sustain it.
The volume of harvestable timber had been overestimated, and the operation struggled to remain viable. In October 1928, workers were told the mill would close the following morning. Just like that, the industry—and the village that depended on it—was gone.
What remains now is quiet.
And there’s something about places like this. They don’t demand attention. They don’t try to tell their story loudly. But if you slow down, if you look closely, they stay with you—long after you’ve left the track behind.
Enjoyed this adventure? 🌿 Subscribe here to get the latest hiking stories and tips straight to your inbox.
Comments