The dew had collected on the feather-fronds of seeding grass and the early morning sun reflected from these thousand jewelets, turning the field from golden to tarnished silver. In the shadows of the mountains and in the gullies and dips of the undulating land, mist still swirled, languorous. And sometimes, these tendrils of mist gathered and lifted from their earth-parent, like a cell in mitosis, and was reborn, a cloud.
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It was, of course, raining in the morning when we planned to hitchhike. We went back to sleep. It did clear up early though, and we braved the cold and damp, ate half of a partially mouse-nibbled granola each (all the food we had besides uncooked couscous) and stood by the road with our sign and our thumbs out. Whenever a car approached, we'd start up a one-sided conversation with the driver (who, admittedly, couldn't hear us). "Oh, you look like a wonderful person, and we're really awesome. I'm sure we'd have a lovely time driving together. And your car is certainly spacious enough to fit us easily." Zoom, the car whizzes past, and our tone changes. "You're a heartless wretch!" we yell after them. "I didn't want to ride with you anyway." And so on. A station wagon was pulling around the curve. "This is the one. He's going to pick us up," I told Bethany, remembering a fellow traveller named Graham, who told us about putting thoughts out to the universe for a comfortable ride and being rewarded with just that, complete with free pizza. It worked for me too, and thus we got ourselves our first ride with a crazy person. Perhaps next time I'll ask for a safe ride, not an imminent one. Phillip was a amiable fellow, eager to talk as only those starved for conversation can be, but he certainly wasn't quite all there. When we started off, he put down the hand break, then decided to pull out his phone to show us a picture of his motorbike as he slowly drifted, unaware, into the highway. Luckily, no one was in our lane, and he snapped to attention when I gestured to the road before the car could drift into an oncoming car. He was passionate about cars, talked non-stop about them in a rushed, semi-coherent mumble of excitement, and mentioned that he was missing a part for his motorbike because it had gotten stolen from his garage. 'I've had loads of stuff stolen, but the police never believe me because of my head injury.' Uh-oh. Head injury? What have we gotten into!? Apparently, he'd gotten into a motorcycle accident and been in a coma for 9 months. Although the first couple minutes meeting Phillip were a little on the scary side, I never really felt threatened by him, except perhaps by the terrifying rate at which he drove around corners, and he did get us all the way to Hanmer Springs in one piece, even went several km out of his way to drop us off right outside of the thermal pools. Despite what Phillip seemed to think, we did not immediately walk in, dig our swim suits out of our backpacks, and soak up the healing waters. No, first we got a coffee amd chocolate ( peanut m&ms IN coffee are a great innovation), the true essentials of civilization. Hanmer Springs is a bit too touristy (and expensive!) for my taste (no town of 800 can support multiple fudge shops without a large and elderly tourist crowd), but we met a few really cool people who made the visit worthwhile. When we went out for Bethany's birthday with some apple-pickers we met at the hostel, we attracted many stares. At first, I thought it was because Scott, this Canadian Rasta guy, didn't exactly fit the vibe of the quiet, upscale Irish "pub" full of old ladies, or that I looked like a vagabond even in my town dress. Then we realized it was because we had been busking all day to support ourselves and, in the process, became Hanmer Springs celebrities. Dream come true, really. When the pub closed, we went to the town's only "club". It was like going back to high school. The music was generic and tame, the dancing awkward and trying too hard. There was one fellow who danced as though he were Mickey Mouse in The Sorcerer's Apprentice. It was an odd crowd. Bethany's birthday itself was spent relaxing at the thermal pools. It was fun, but rather artificial with the concrete pools and waterslides. At night, we hung out with some young folks who had found jobs at a couple local bars to support their travelling habits.
We could have left on the 23rd, but wanted to wait for Ryan, the cowboy we met on the trail, and his promise of pig-hunting. However, we've been trying to live more cheaply, so we planned on sleeping at the abandoned hospital, as we had done before Bethany's birthday (which deserved the luxury of a bed). On the 20th, while on our way to find a campsite, we had discovered this abandoned hospital, explored the extensive grounds, and crawled in an open window and gone exploring through the dilapidated, creepy patient's wing. Since night fell while we were inside, we ended up sleeping there. But not inside! Waaay to scary. We slept on the porch of the nurse's hostel, which had much better vibes. I still had some pretty messed up dreams, though. So while I knew we could handle it, it was a bit of a relief when Bethany came up to me while I was skyping with my family and told us that the French girl we'd met at the library had invited us to join her in her couch-surfing endeavour. It ended up being great! I love that travelling brings you into contact with people from all walks of life, people who generously take you in and share home and hearth with you, people who expand your horizons by taking you deer hunting. It was really fun stalking around the mountains like a Native American hunter, keeping all your senses sharply honed to detect movement. We did see a deer, but didn't get close enough for a shot. There was still venison for dinner though, from a previous hunting trip. Dinner was amazing, actually - venison and lamb, cooked veggies, salad, mashed potatoes, wine, chocolate. A real treat, especially after all the carb-heavy, fancy food in Hanmer Springs. Those boys were a little rough and rowdy, perhaps (shooting rabbits out of a car window using a flashlight was a little intense...), but real gentlemen nonetheless. I am ready to get back out into the bush. As always, getting into town is a luxury, a reward after many nights of simple foods and no showers, and heading back into the bush is a delight, a respite from the world and an escape into pure Beauty. Wet feet in the morning,
first crossing of the day, I jump into that stream right up to my knees And hurry on my way. Ain't gonna stop to untie my shoes No stones to hop, no time to lose, So I put my feet right into that creek And I hurry on my way, Yeah I hurry on my way CHORUS: You gotta start with one mile and then you move to two, Pretty soon you got that Walkin' Groove With that lengthy stride that eats up the miles Over mountains, valleys, over farmers' stiles Uh-huh, you got that Walkin' Groove. Scree slopes in the afternoon got a mountain on my mind. Loose rocks turning underfoot So I guess I better take my time. And then I stop to take in the view On a mountain-top, there's not a day I rue On these happy trails cause there's beauty without fail As I hurry on my way, Yeah I hurry on my way. CHORUS Backcountry Huts in the evening And they sure are a sight for sore eyes Gonna take off my pack, kick back and relax, Maybe build myself a roaring fire. So I won't stop till I'm through that door, eat my curry rice, a piece of chocolate or four, Got a mattress tonight, I know I'll sleep real tight, Then I'll hurry on my way, Yeah I'll hurry on my way. We had two long days planned, 28 and 30 km, to get out of the Waiau Pass Track and into Boyle "village" (more on the quotation marks later)*. And we had to do it. That was all the time we had food for. The first half of the 18th was great! It started with a river crossing. I got halfway across the river when I realized that the next stepping stone was farther out of reach than I realized from shore. I looked at it for a moment, then reached the conclusion that I just didn't care anymore and strode manfully into the water and across the stream. This ended up inspiring me to write a (rather silly) song called "The Walkin' Groove" which is about finding your stride and just walkin on despite obstacles. It's got a rather jaunty tune and writing and singing it repeatedly to get it right distracted me literally for hours.
As Ann from London had promised, after an hour or so (I really have no concept of time on the trail. Once I thought night was falling but it was actually 4 PM and just getting cloudy...) the track merged with a 4-wheeler "road" and was so easy to walk. An eternity of flat, spacious trail, surrounded by golden fields of grasses which were, in turn, surrounded by majestic mountains. It was spectacular. It was hard to feel I was making progress, unlike climbing mountains when every outcropping of rock is a waypoint and every corner of the trail an accomplishment. But I did love the scenery and it was good terrain for a long days hiking. Although I felt like I kept up a good pace until the very end of the day when my calf cramped, it was evening by the time I got to the hut. I climbed over the hill and saw... horses standing outside. I'd been looking forward to a hot fire to dry my boots and a comfortable(ish) bed to rest my weary limbs and, tired as I was, the thought that I might have to sleep in my tent to avoid an asthma attack almost made me break down and start crying. But I straightened my shoulders, marched up, and pulled off my boots. I was greeted inside by a roaring fire, a large, cheerful group of folks about my parents' age. I was given a cup of coffee and some chocolate. There was a young cowboy who gave Bethany and I a couple smokes. And, best of all, I didn't have a terrible reaction. I slept in the common room instead of the bedroom where people were keeping all their horsey gear and got away with a few sneezes. The woman who owned the horses was named Heather, and she was so great! I think what first attracted me to her was her hair - a thick grey braid hanging down to her waist, very suitable for a carer of horse. We got to talking about various subjects and she ended up giving her contact information. She said when the trail runs closest to her house (which is still a fair few miles off), she'll come pick us up and we can come for a shower and a feed and pitch our tent in her yard! Working for her was Ryan, a good-lookin cowboy (got that deadly dark hair, blue eyes combo). He wasn't there when I arrived; Bethany said he'd ridden off with one other man and a rifle. Heather told us the gun was mostly to scare off wild horses, but Bethany misheard her and thought she said "locals", which led to some hilarity. "The gun is mostly to scare of the wild locals. They get real interested in my horses and come up and bother them, so we just fire a couple rounds in the air to scare 'em off." Haha. On this occasion, however, Ryan was using the gun to hunt, but only got a rabbit. He did, however, tell us if we were still in Hanmer Springs, where we were going to resupply, when he got back home he'd take us pig hunting. Dogs and all. So, that will be a fun new experience. I hope... On the following day, our sleep in the common room was interrupted rather earlier than usual by morning people cheerfully greeting each other and making breakfast. I think we caused a few chuckles with our reluctant, bleary-eyed stirrings, but it was actually very useful for us to get on the trail early for another long day. The day was easier for me than expected. I thought I'd be more tired after the day before but, while it took me a little longer to get into "the Walkin Groove", I actually had better stamina. I met an Austrian fellow before lunch who said I only had five more hours on the trail. "5 hours! woohoo, I can do that". "Well, maybe 6" he amended. Still sounded great to me! I still had energy in the late afternoon and, inspired by Ann from London, decided to run on the downhills that weren't threatening with roots and loose rocks. It was fun to change the pace and hilarious to imagine how I looked with my giant pack bouncing around behind me. It only lasted an hour, though, before I was ready to return to constant walking. Still, I would never have considered doing that the first week of TA. Although I was pleased with my energy, I was really ready for the day to be over when I got near the end of the trail. My boots had been wet for days, never properly drying before being re-soaked in some river, puddle, or mud patch and my feet felt as though they were in early stages of trench rot. Blisters I now turn a blind eye to, but trench rot? Too far. So when I got to the Outdoor Education Center in Boyle "Village" where I was supposed to meet Bethany and she wasn't there, I was not happy. I dropped my pack and took off my boots, then started looking around. No Bethany in the parking lot, no Bethany in the yard, no Bethany by the bathrooms, no Bethany inside the building. Then I started asking people. When this produced no better results, I began to freak out a bit. I walked down to the road where we planned to hitchhike. No Bethany, but I saw where the trail continued. Returning to the Center, I met a man who seemed willing to help me out. He wrote down Bethany's name, showed me maps of the area, and suggested that she might have just gone to the next hut to sleep, it being "a 1/2 a km or a km away, just off the road." Although it would be unlike Bethany to push on from our meeting point without me, I was tired and a little scared by this point and thought it would be worth checking. I was ready to be pretty mad at her if she was there, though, as I was not particularly happy about another km of hiking at the end of the day. In retrospect, I should've just waited, but he was oddly convincing in my frazzled state. The trail followed the road for a bit and I stopped to check a building that looked of the same quality as a backcountry hut, but ended up being just a house, perhaps abandoned. The trail then crossed the street and meandered through undulating fields sparsely populated with scraggly trees and bushes. In my frazzled state, I followed some goat track and got off trail. Suddenly I was in a very uniform landscape with no trail markers in sight and started crying. I didn't indulge for more than a few shuddering gasps, then followed my own trail back to the last marker. I probably walked about 1.5 km at breakneck speed before I decided that there was no way Bethany would have gone so far beyond the road. The hut was still nowhere in sight (I later learned it would have taken me 3 hours to get to it) and dusk was creeping up on me. I turned around and walked back, resolving to camp the night and hitchhike alone in the morning if she hadn't shown up. The only form of communication we have (besides old-fashioned talking) is via internet, so getting somewhere with wifi was worth a shot. If that didn't work, then I could really start panicking about her loosing her footing and lying somewhere in a rocky gorge. If that didn't work out, I'd start organizing search parties. She was waiting in the parking lot, playing ukulele. Turns out she'd made a wrong turn on the trail and gone an extra couple km out of her way to an off-trail hut. In the interim, I had passed her by. She'd been worried too. thinking I was still behind her on the trail because she'd gotten a long view ahead of her at one point and not seen me, she'd slowed to let me catch up. When I neither caught up, nor was waiting at the Center, she began to be concerned. We had a quietly emotional reunion and I felt my upset, angry, worried, confused, panicked, tired knot of tension dissolve into relief. We still tried hitchhiking, without success, then set up the tent in the field across the highway and ate the last of our food. *I didn't realize that something qualifying as a so-called village could be smaller than my expectations. In my mind, a village is a really really small town. It may not have a grocery store or a bank, but it has a tiny community of people, 10 or more perhaps, living in relatively close proximity to each other. Not so with Boyle Village. There's an Outdoor Education Center and a few supporting buildings and... I think that's it. I don't think anyone actually considers it home. That's not a village; it's a compound at most. On the 16th, we hiked over Traver's Saddle (not technically a pass, I suppose, so the title of my post is a little misleading.) At 1787 meters (5863 ft.) it marks the second highest point on the whole trail! It wasn't, however, the most difficult climb by any means, since we started at a higher elevation than we'd previously climbed to. The main difficulty for me actually came after the saddle. I'm much improved in my ability to climb mountains, but still have to build up my stamina for long distances. The last hour or so to Blue Lake Hut was both a mental and a physical struggle. The surrounding nature, however, was incredible! In addition to the saddle, which provided expansive views of mountains and valleys, I crossed a bridge that spanned a thin crevasse. I could hear the water rushing far below me, but could only see a short way down the fern covered walls into the darkness. Part of me wished to climb down and go exploring, but with a backpack and no rope for repelling, it was so foolish as to hardly be indulged in a daydream. There was also a section of the woods that was entirely overgrown with moss. It looked somewhat like a house that had been closed up, with sheets spread across all the furniture to protect them from dust. The ground, fallen trees, upright trees, massive boulders, all were draped in the thickest coat of moss imaginable.
On the 17th, we did the Waiau Pass, purported to be the most difficult day of the TA (by word of mouth). I set out from the hut ready for anything, and soon found it. Midway through the morning, we came upon a huge (HUGE) scree slope. Strait up. The way was marked by poles and you could see where previous trampers had sidled their way back and forth up the mountain. Having been told that it was very windy and cold at the top, I pulled out my jacket, ate a granola bar for strength, and began. Mountains can be very sneaky things. You look ahead on the trail and see blue sky ahead. Aha, you think, that is where the uphill section stops. I can do that. Then you get to that section and realize that the mountain has simply flattened out for a bit before continuing strait up, or that a rocky knoll simply blocked your view of the continuing ascent, or that the trail turns a corner and you simply keep hiking up a different slope. Such was the way with the Waiau Pass. I thought I was almost there, 4 more trail markers to go (I gave myself a 5-10 second break at every trail marker) and would discover I'd failed to see an entire section of mountain. I did, eventually make it to the top, of course, and it was beautiful! Unfortunately, there was no time to linger as fog was on the mountain and more clouds were rolling in by the second. I didn't even stop to eat my apricot, which I'd been looking forward to greatly. I've begun writing odes to fresh fruit in anticipation on the trail, and they've gotten rather melodramatic. I don't really remember much of them afterwards, but I do remember that the ode to my apricot on the day of the Waiau Pass compared their tender golden flesh to the sumptuous bosom of Aphrodite. Bethany pointed out that I didn't know Aphrodite's views on apricots or whether she would appreciate this comparison, but I assured her that, had she heard the reverential tone with which the ode was recited, she would have taken it as the compliment it was intended to be. Oh, the things we think about to distract ourselves from soreness and pass time on the trail... The down was nearly as difficult as the up and there were times when I had to turn around and, clinging to the rock face like a ladder, lower myself to the next ledge. It was harder on my joints but easier on my knees and I enjoyed the thought, the planning that went into every second of descent. I was also very grateful for my limited experience with rock climbing. We made it to Caroline Creek Bivvy by evening, a disgusting and slightly creepy little hut. We opted to erect our tent rather than sleep in the mouse-dropping infested bunks. There was another girl who had opted for the same option, Ann from London. She was an awesome girl who was running the trail! Although we didn't talk much because there were a ridiculous number of sand flies and we all retreated into our tents, we connected on some level and she left a note for us in the morning when she left, inviting us to visit her in London for a couch an dinner. She also left her card with contact information, which proclaimed her "Adventure Queen and All Round Good Egg". I liked her :) In an unusual flipflop of our normal routine, I got to our destination first Because I was ahead on the trail, I kept encountering the spider webs that Bethany generally gets out of the way for me. It was horrible. There were so many! At one point, I became convinced that there was actually a spider that I had accidentally caught up with me who was spinning a web on my person. This happened to me once as a child and it was a traumatic experience for one who suffers from minor arachnophobia. Sure that it had happened again, I flipped out, arms windmilling, trying to brush the offending (and probably phantom) arachnid off my body. I almost started crying, but did manage to pull myself together.
The reason I had gotten ahead was that Bethany had detoured to visit a waterfall. Once again she earned her Trail Name, Mermaid, given her because I so often happen upon her, naked in the water. That girl sure loves to skinny-dip! (And she's probably cleaner than me thanks to her willingness to brave the icy water.) My own trail name is up for debate. One name could be Robin, because the New Zealand Robins, brazen little fellows with plumage like a smart, dark grey tuxedo, seem to love me. I've even had them land on my boots, pull at my backpack straps, and peck at my pant legs. They also eat sand flies, which I find to be an extremely endearing quality. The other trail name up for grabs is Ragamuffin. Ragamuffin came up in a conversation we had while hitchhiking. I stated that I hoped I was not to much of a ragamuffin to catch a ride and then, because we had had to share our last paltry granola bar for breakfast, added that I would also like to eat a ragamuffin. Bethany pictured a dirty rag baked into a muffin, but I was envisioning a delicious muffin recipe gone slightly awry. The muffins might look a bit odd, a bit grungy or dishevelled, but they would be good on the inside. Like me :) Feel free to weigh in on the trail name debate! We only walked 6.7 km today, our shortest hike since Day 2. The shortness of this hike was not planned, and neither was it due to a particularly difficult trail. We arrived at Upper Travers Hut in the early afternoon with the plan to continue on after lunch, but it was too lovely to leave. There were two bedrooms and a common room - we could have our own space for a whole night! - and huge windows looking out on a spectacular valley framed by imposing mountains. Too difficult to pass up. Later in the afternoon, we were joined by a Northbound TA hiker named Johannes, from Germany. Bethany had gone for a nap just before he arrived, but the two of us chatted for hours. He was a very interesting fellow, rather quiet but very smart and with similar interests to me. We discussed Buddhism, particularly mindfulness, and Plato. He said he'd been an avid atheist until his girlfriend did a retreat on Buddhism, and he found the logic of it to be compelling. Now, he said, he understands the compelling power of religion and accepts all of them as possibilities, but has stuck to Buddhist philosophy and meditation himself. We also discovered a mutual love of similar books (including Lord of the Rings and Patrick Rothfuss) and, of course, nature. After Bethany got up (actually, I suggested she get up because it was her turn to make dinner and I was hungry), we ate and then the three of us went outside to meditate as twilight descended on our beautiful valley. It was a good end to the day. Apparently, today was our 30th day of actual tramping. Bethany keeps track of this sort of thing far better than I. Considering the amount of time we've spent in New Zealand, we don't have a great hike-to-rest ratio, and perhaps an improvement in this department would speed up our progress. However, it's not a race to the finish line and I've very much enjoyed all our stops, the people we've met and the time we've spent with them. I see the trail as a way to see New Zealand, not as an athletic enterprise undertaken for itself alone.
The 30th day was made additionally special by an entirely new experience for me. I got stuck in a bog. Yes. It happened. I accidentaly went off trail for a little while, led astray by a goat track or some such. Nothing terrible - I could still see the next trail marker, I was simply off the beaten track. And suddenly knee deep in sticky, slimy, smelly mud. My first thought was that my nice dry boots were now filled with goo, and I throroughly lost my temper with Mother Nature. Then I remembered times when I hade been instructed on how to react when stuck in a bog or in quicksand. "Don't panic. Don't struggle. Slowly and calmly make your way out of the bog, as though treading very thick water." My complete oversight of the "panic" reaction in favour of fury suddenly struck me as hilarious and I couldn't stop laughing at the whole situation. Then I got around to the task of slowly breaking the suction around one leg and laboriously pulling it out. Then the other, and so on until I had escaped. The whole incident probably took about 15 minutes. And fortunately, there was a river crossing soon after with no pathway across, so my boots got a good washing. We walked 21 km today to the John Tait Hut. Bog experience aside, it was a fairly easy walk, characterized by flat, well made tracks through mossy birch forests and a very posh hut at the end. There was even running water and a table with benches, what luxury! We planned to hitchhike back to St. Arnaud today and walked to an ideal spot with two young men who were hitching in the opposite direction. They assured us that two girls with obviously heavy loads would have no trouble catching a ride, and they were right. The only trouble was fitting our oversized packs into the already stuffed car. I ended up having to untie my violin and hold it in my lap, but it all worked out in the end.
The man who picked us up was an American grad student studying bird malaria, and we learned several interesting tidbits of information from him. For example, sand flies, those horrible demons of itchiness (10x worse than mosquitos, if you can believe it) detect their prey by the CO2 we emit from our skin. He told me this to explain the cooler of dry ice that was smoking in the trunk of his car, which he uses to load his bug traps. Bethany wondered how long we would have to hold our breath before our bodies stopped converting oxygen into carbon dioxide, and whether the little fiends would stop biting us before we accidentily killed ourselves through self-induced asphyxiation. Seems worth a try... He also told us that when he is catching birds to tag and monitor them, they let out alarm calls. So far, so normal. However, due to the traditional lack of predators in NZ, the other birds have lost a sense of their own mortality. Rather than fleeing the scene, other birds in the area apparently flock inquisitively around to see what the hullabaloo is about. Silly birds! The last coffee in St. Arnaud before setting out into the wilderness was, as always, a poignant affair. I had a great time in Nelson and we ended up staying a day or two longer due to a more-or-less unspoken need to relax. My knee kept collapsing in the Richmond Ranges and Bethany hurt her ankle on the interminable scree slopes, so it was necessary for our physical as well as our mental/emotional wellbeing.
Once again, we stayed at The Bug and the people continued to be delightful, perhaps even more so this time. We didn't do much - hung out in the park, rode bikes to the beach for a rather cloudy sunset, read, cooked delicious food, etc. Oscar made yummy Swedish pastries called Semla, which are stuffed with almond paste and whipped cream. They took almost the entire day to make - much more labor intensive than I expected. I made a pretty great (if I do say so myself) Pesto Chicken Cavatappi loaded with fresh veggies, but I was a little overenthusiastic about the amount, it being our first night out of the mountains. We struggled, but overcame our plates in the end. Bethany and I did both go busking again, separately this time, which ended up being more successful. Although it's fun to play together, our styles are quite different and don't showcase the other particularly well. She also said it's exhausting trying to sing over my fiddle, but since I've already put on a mute, there's not much else I can do. So from now on we'll play together for pleasure and busk separately for business. We went to see our friend Jack play a gig at a local bar. He was surprisingly good! Surprisingly only because he was quite humble and didn't talk himself up very much. "Oh, I just play some cover songs, nothing very impressive," he said casually. But he had a lovely voice and a good stage presence, and even called B up to sing some songs during his break, which was a fun opportunity for her. Jack was an interesting character whose lifestyle made me consider my own. He lives in a campervan, the luxury version of being on the road. He's not really tied to any place, working odd jobs as he finds them (when he's in the mood) but still has a bed to call his own, a place to keep his things, a home of sorts. Part of me yearns for this lifestyle and I spent several hours on the trail designing my own perfect campervan. It would come complete with a tiny kitchen (single burner, mini fridge hooked up to an extra car battery which could be switched with the original car battery to keep both charged). The bed would be elevated on a loft of sorts, the supports of which would be a bookshelf, chest of drawers, and mini closet/storage space. Pretty perfect, eh? There are a two main things, however, that I do not think I would be able to handle about the campervan lifestyle, at least not for a very extended period of time. One is that I suspect I would quickly feel a lack of purpose that I would find irksome. Perhaps I would find purpose on the road - indeed, I sincerely hope that being on the road will now will help me more fully understand what I want for the future - but I can't quite believe that purpose lies in constantly indulging my love of travel. The second is that I would miss the people I love. Being always on the road is fascinating and you meet so many interesting people and learn wonderful, unexpected things from them. But the relationships are almost exclusively fleeting and, therefore, have less potential for depth. I do have a solution for this problem, however. A fleet of campervans! Everyone laughs at this - Bethany says it's a terrible reality TV show waiting to happen and Mom simply refused to accede to my grand plans - but I still hold that it's the perfect solution to life. Modern day nomads: the somewhat limited comforts of a small home, the company of loved ones, and the chance to travel the world, observing Beauty in it's many forms and faces. We met a young Dutch man named Terrance (the first Terrance I have ever met), who both inspired and intimidated me with his statement that he was hiking 25-48 km a day. I thought 25 was good! He was going the opposite direction from us and I sincerely hope he made all those river crossings successfully, as the water would have risen even higher during the night. He told us that the next bit of the trail is extremely dangerous and that 300 people died and 60 disappeared in the past 30 years. I did my research, though, and found that 1 person died and 2 others disappeared (presumed dead) since 1995. I'm not sure why his exaggeration was so extreme; a bit odd, that.
The final bit of the trail was a 5km stroll down a 4 wheeler track and then 10 km on the road into St. Arnaud. We started during a break in the drizzle, but it soon began raining in earnest. My raincoat is a failure. I suppose it took a slightly longer time to soak through the fabric than regular clothes and that I was moderately more dry than if I'd not been wearing it, but it was still rather terrible. I realized that the cuffs around my wrists were actually holding water inside the sleeves, so I undid them and water ran out of the jacket, down my hands, and dripped onto the soggy ground. An abject failure of a rain coat. We hoped that once we made it to the road, some kind person would take pity on us and pick up the cold and wet hitchhikers. Instead, I could practically hear the thoughts of the drivers zooming past 'wow, those androgynously dressed hikers look like they and all their gear are soaked through; I certainly don't want them mucking up my nice car.' After about two hours, a nice young guy from Auckland picked us up. He was in a rental car, so I suppose he didn't care if it got wet, and he said he couldn't believe we were hiking in the middle of nowhere. He blasted the heat for us and drove us to the hostel, which was full, then convinced the owners to let us camp in the yard. Quite a charming young gentleman. Despite the ride we finally caught, it took a long time to recover. After 30 minutes indoors, Bethany's hands were still too numb and shaky to open a chocolate bar. We hitched back to Nelson on the 8th, partly because we could get actual beds, partly to see friends, and partly because we thought we were going to skip the murderous trail where 360 people had perished and Nelson would be a better place to get a bus. However, as we've decided to do that trail, we now have to hitch/bus back to St. Arnaud. Given the fab time we've been having with the excellent people here at The Bug, not to mention the delicious pastries they keep baking, I'd say it was well worth it. We tried busking, which was about as successful as my rain coat. Not very. I'll try again today; perhaps a different style of music, something more upbeat, will render people financially appreciative. |
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April 2015
AuthorI am a twenty-four year old Masters student who is about to finally complete years and years of schooling. The last thing on my agenda before I get my degree in Elementary Education is to finish student teaching... in New Zealand! After what I am sure will be an incredible learning experience, I will go on a 2000 mile hike with my wonderful best friend. I am taking this opportunity, before my career, before my "life" takes off, to step back from everyday life and explore a beautiful piece of the world. Categories |