In December, I had a road trip planned which included an attempt to bag the newly minted Paparoa track, followed by the mightiest of all the Great Walks, the 85km Heaphy Track. Before we had even left home a large slip had delayed the opening day of the Paparoa, taking it off the table for me (and in fact, it is yet to fully open!) I made the journey north with a pretty questionable weather forecast. After much deliberation, it was decided that I would run the first stretch to Heaphy hut with overnight gear and continue on the following day, which had a slightly better forecast. It would be hard and miserable, but I bargained on it being possible The initial chunk went smoothly, if wet. Very wet. All the streams I crossed were humming. That night, drying my running gear by the fire and chatting with friends, I was optimistic. The first creeping doubts arrived the following morning, with a pair of trampers who reappeared only an hour or so after leaving the hut, claiming to have been turned back by flooding. Lest they be exaggerating, I set out. After only a kilometer, I encountered said flooding. It quickly became exceedingly deeper, with floating Nikau palm fronds providing interesting obstacles. When the chocolate-milk floodwater reached shoulder depth, I finally came to a halt. I could swim a ways and see if the situation improved, but even if the flooding was short-lived, it would slow me down substantially on what was already to be my longest run. Starting to shiver, I reluctantly accepted the inevitable. It was not going to happen for me. I turned back, chasing down the couple to whom I had given my car keys. It was a pretty sad 15km run back to my car, feeling deflated. Having been ousted on the Heaphy track, my motivation to try to squeeze the Milford into the final days of 2019 gave way to my desire to cram in a few extra days of work before the Christmas break. I figured I could run it in the New Year, and try to get back up to Karamea later in the summer. After a few busy weeks at work, the Apocalypse Storm hit Fiordland, closing the Milford track and the Milford road. I took this as a final blow to my goal... All momentum felt like it was lost, and I found myself reflecting upon what had made me set this goal in the first instance. I was seeking a way to maximise a sense of adventure with a scarcity of days off work. I now found myself with ample time off, getting out on varied outdoor adventures. In the first six weeks of the new year, I bailed off an attempt to reach the Garden of Eden Ice Plateau, took a six day alpine skills course, tried canyoning for the first time, climbed my first alpine rock climb, snagged a couple of other trampers' peaks and spent some sumptuous days cragging in sunny Wanaka. I no longer needed my goal in order to scratch that itch. To continue to cling to it gave me an anxious feeling in my belly, the opposite of what I had hoped to achieve. Therefore I made peace with failure. While I certainly could have done more to achieve the endeavour, I gave it a good crack given my dirtbag budget and other competing interests. In the end, nature gently dissuaded me from my check list... and I'm ok with that.
P.S. I am lucky enough to have worked on and around both the Heaphy and Milford tracks... So I'll end with some Milford eye candy...
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Four months after ticking off the Abel Tasman, I found myself in the depths of the stormiest Spring I can remember. Every weekend I had free, fresh snow hammered Fiordland. My window for ticking off the Kepler and Milford tracks was shrinking. Not to mention, I was yet to recover my running legs, after becoming a slave to the skis. I was beginning to let go of my goal, to accept defeat. Then one Sunday, it all changed. We were supposed to be checking stoat traps across lake Te anau, but had pulled the pin due to gales whipping the South Arm into angry peaks and troughs. Not boat-friendly. I eventually got away from work at midday, and decided it was time for a big run. A return trip to Luxmore hut sounded good. A devious voice in the back of my mind suggested I could just knock the whole thing off, and while I hushed it, I did pack my running vest with a sizeable stash of snacks. I set out on the familiar terrain and as I gained elevation I was feeling good. Upon reaching Luxmore hut, I sent a text message to a friend, suggesting I was considering going for the whole loop that afternoon and asking him to keep tabs on me. The reply read “Yes yes yes, go go gooooooo.” I continued on and was pretty blown away by the veiws over the alpine section. Honestly, this must be the most underrated of all the Great Walks. It was stunning! Once I committed to descending into the Iris Burn I knew what I was in for, having worked in that valley several times. It would be long and undulating but largely downhill, and through such beautiful open forest with giant podocarps. I committed, and every time I hit a spot of reception I had another “go, go, go” message from my mate. It definitely helped. In the final ten kilometers my legs became heavy and aching, and it became a tough mental game. With a few kilometers left, my mate appeared in his running gear, grinning widely at me. Feeling revived by his presence, and more than a little emotional at the sweetness of the gesture, I stumbled on (at times literally), to make it home for dinner. Shit yeah. Another one down. That didn't hurt a bit.
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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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