June. Mid year, midway through my goal to run the Great Walks. I had fallen right off the training bandwagon, after a rock climbing holiday caused me to forget to use my legs. Yet I found myself in Nelson, so the temptation to try to tick another off my list was high. In my usual style, I impulsively booked a water taxi after a brief glance at the tide table, and drove out to Marahau. The day dawned bright and frosty, the sunrise gracing the hills of the Abel Tasman with a rosy blush. As I packed my backpack, I had a fortuitous yarn with a local DOC worker. As it turned out I had misread the tide table in my haste and my planned run from Totaranui back to Marahau was not to be. I adjusted my expectations and caught a lift to Awaroa instead, shortening my run by seven kilometres. It was truly the most beautiful morning to be on the water. The ocean was still and calm, the skies cloudless. The water taxi skipper took us on a detour to Shag Harbour to see the seal pups, dozens of them playing in the calm waters. It was a pretty neat experience, as they dived and turned, breaching the water and looking back at me with big doe eyes. My heart melted a little bit. Eventually we tore ourselves away and I was deposited onto the golden sand beach at Awaroa. My body was slow to warm up from the brisk start, but as I found my rhythm I felt a growing happiness. To be frolicking in such a paradise, free and easy, all the time in the world and nothing but pristine beaches, bright blue water, and lovely native bush, fantails flitting around my feet. What a privilege. As the sun warmed my face, I breathed deeply, savouring the sweet scent of the honey dew, growing on the beech trees. From Bark Bay to Torrent Bay was just pure stoke. Gentle hills, an ever-changing view of scenic bays. Gorgeous, perfect running terrain. Soon enough my luck began to run out, and my lack of training became apparent. I took a break on the hill above Observation Beach to rest my legs and enjoy the moment, before the final ten kilometres. They were tough, as I really hit the wall. But it was just so pretty, it was a cocktail of pain and happiness.
The final strides, I emerged to the tidal section at Marahau, unable to wipe the grin off my face. I sat in the sun and demolished chips and a beer, soaking up the experience. Mmmmm. Halfway. Life is good.
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As I made my way to Whakapapa village, I caught glimpses of Mt Ngaurahoe between roiling clouds. I wondered whether it was worth setting out that day, as it looked to be pretty cold and miserable. Yet, no precipitation was forecast, so I coaxed myself into jacket, gloves and beanie, and tentatively set out. The track meandered through a wide open sub-alpine landscape, low-lying dracophyllum scrub and tussock, with the occasional peek at Mt Ruapehu, wearing a fresh coating of snow. There was plenty of flowy running, and I couldn't believe how good I felt, having only had one rest day since running the Waikaremoana track. I took a quick look at the Lower Tama lake, before continuing on to Waihohonu Hut for a short pitstop. From there the track climbed fairly steeply up through a stand of beech forest, before giving way to some fantastic downhill single-track forest running. Yippee! I emerged from the bush to find another climb as the scenery changed to an other-wordly craggy landscape, sparcely decorated with hardy alpine grasses and cushion plants in shades of kahki and mustard. It began to hail just before I reached Oturere hut, so I ducked in to layer up and have a bite to eat. From here the track entered the red rocky heart of the mountain. I reached the Emerald Lakes in conditions of 20-30m visibility, creating an ethereal atmosphere which only added to their magic, the tourqoise taking on a dream-like quality. As I joined the Tongariro Crossing track, I encountered the infamous hoards of day walkers. I didn't mind, ducking and weaving through the crowds until the climb to Red Crater. The climb. Holy smokes, I had no idea about this climb. A steep ridge of gravelly scoria, causing every forward step to sink back downslope. This was a slog! With decreasing visibility, I was continuously asked, “how far to the Emerald lakes?” despite them being only 50-100m away. I puffed and scrambled and laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation – something that was to happen several times over the next few kilometres. As the ground levelled out I asked a tourist, “Is this the top?” He smiled yes, and I let out a loud squeal of joy, and asked him to snap a photo. “Check out my view everyone, isn't this worth it?!” I laughed. I was familiar with the section of track from there to Mangatepopo and I proceeded with glee, anticipating the wonderful downhill running to come. As I traversed the broad flats between Mounts Tongariro and Ngaurahoe the ground was carpeted white with hailstones. They bounced off my head and shoulders, stinging my bare legs. It all combined to give an incredible feeling of aliveness, and I loved it. The descent proved to be as joyous as I'd hoped, my footwork felt smooth and light, one of those runs where it all just falls into place – really, if you haven't run the Tongariro Crossing, you must! The trudge from Mangatepopo hut to Whakapapa Village lived up to it's reputation. Muddy and tedious after the excitement of the Crossing, I knew that all that stood between myself and my goal was mental endurance. I chose to listen to a podcast to help me push through fatigue and press on. It wasn't easy, but at 3.30pm I reached the carpark, giddy with excitement. I had overcome my doubt and fear, and the sense of achievement was tremendous. As I sat in the back of my van with a cold can of beer and a hot Radix meal, I thought to myself, “This running dirtbag life is a charmed one.”
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I am a conservation field worker in New Zealand. I love mountains, sunrises, river swims, barefeet, cold beer, campfires, live music and whiskey.
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