As arranged, at 8:30 Don gave Sam, Taylor and I a lift into town. Sam is having a zero day but needs supplies. Taylor needs to buy a few things but then, like me, he'll be hitting the trail. Thanking Don very much I shouldered and waist-strapped my pack and set off down the main street, stopping to take in the large statue tribute to sheep shearing at the southern end of town. I also took advantage of the public convenience, and bumped into Taylor on the way out. So we set off together in search of the Mangaokewa Reserve Track.
While we missed the start of the track (a well worn secondary track and bush bash indicates several others have as well) we soon found it and followed it around the back of the sawmill and limeworks. 3km in the track links up with the Mangaokewa River Track. At an intersection we encountered Marie and Eddie, plus another hiker, who were out with a local guy who had offered to show then some of the edible native plants and how to prepare them. I was eager to sit in on the lesson but it didn't seem right to intrude, so after a short stop Taylor and I headed on.
Deep in conversation at one point we missed a turnoff and followed the main broad track until it petered out into brambles in what might have been an old quarry (this would not be the last time this happened). Backtracking we found the turn off and followed the correct track as it quickly deteriorates into a narrow path with some steep sections and a lot more walking sideways along slopes than my feet were willing to do without complaint.
At one point we accidentally followed a wrong trail up to a low ridge (I think a bush-fall had obscured the actual track, which at that point was little more than a game trail anyway). Taylor went ahead to see if there was a trail leading back down off the ridge and I soon heard "Oh my God!!" come hollering out of the trees ahead. I scrambled up to find Taylor had walked into a patch of grass only to find it full of decaying goat carcasses someone must have hurled down the bank. Lovely. We headed back down the way we had come and soon found the riverside trail once again.
Sometime mid-morning Taylor went to 'take care of business' (as he calls it). I kept walking, then stopped a few hundred meters ahead to have a snack break and wait for him to catch up. An entire can of Fresh Up and a museli bar later there was still no sign so I decided to keep walking. About half a K further on I came to a stile--looking back along the river bank I still could see no sign of Taylor coming up from behind. I debated. Go on, or go back. Had something happened? Was it merely 'business' giving him trouble or had he fallen over and sprained an ankle, or been stung by a bee and gone into anaphylactic shock? That's the problem once you've had a little bit of first aid training: all these remote possibilities occur to you that never did before. We'd already ascertained from the morning's discussion that Taylor wasn't carrying a beacon, so even though we weren't really in the 'back of beyond', if something had happened, especially while he was somewhere off the main trail, chances are no one was going to stumble across him. Deciding I'd rather accidentally walk in on someone going for a pee than find out later that I'd left them when something injurious had happened I dumped my pack, grabbed my first aid kit out of the top pocket and headed back along the river. Back where we'd first separated I caught sight of Taylor down by the river, seemingly mobile and well. Feeling a bit silly but glad everything was ok I returned to my pack and carried on over the stile. With his long legs it wasn't too long before Taylor caught up with me. Turns out he'd stopped for a snack break as well, and hadn't tripped, fallen, been stung or otherwise come to any harm. Well of course he hadn't, but it eased my conscience to know I'd checked and gave us something to laugh about in the meantime. I really think he ought to get a beacon though...
While some people's attitude seems to be along the lines of "I guess if I die out there, I'm meant to die out there" (which personally I won't have a bar of--I want to live dammit!) I think there is also the argument to be made that whether you want help or not, if you go missing, other people are going to come looking for you at some point. That's the service part of "emergency services". Having a beacon may get you help faster (a great thing if you're in the 'I want to live!' boat) but also might prevent all those search and rescue personnel from potentially putting their lives at unnecessary risk by not having to blindly comb hectares of remote, or even not so remote, wilderness (something to consider no matter which boat you're in).
Following the track as it wandered narrowly along forested slopes and broadly across grassy patches I was struggling on the poorly formed track on the steeper sections and Taylor went on ahead. I wandered along, variously losing the track and finding it again over short disrances and vaguely wondering how far ahead Taylor had gone. I came to a broad, steep grassy slope and startled a mother goat and young kid, who quickly made off over the ridge high above. I followed the trail more slowly as it zig-zagged up, thinking Taylor must have ended up behind me somehow as surely he would have startled the goats first when he came through...Sure enough, half way up I looked down to see Taylor making his way up from the bottom. At least I'm not the only one struggling to follow this section of the trail!
A large billy goat stood on top of the ridge and snorted at us as we made our way along the hillside, about halfway up above the river. Coming down the other side I was ready for lunch, but decided to persevere for a bit longer, which was a good call. Just on the far side of a random small patch of redwoods we came across a picnic area on the bank of the river, complete with a table and chairs, a fire pit, and a pile of inner tubes for tubing down the river. At once I sat down and set about making a cheese and salami wrap for lunch (I am my father's daughter after all, plus it's become my rule while walking to never pass up a proper seat!), whilst Taylor grabbed an inner tube and set off along the track heading further up stream. About fifteen minutes later, while I munched, he came bobbing down the river, grinning from ear to ear. It was good to see him enjoying himself. From our conversations it seems he doesn't find many things very exciting. He doesn't even seem to particularly enjoy thru-hiking and yet he's done the PCT and now is doing TA! Pardon the pun but this strikes me being a bit of a walking contradiction. Perhaps there's just not enough adrenalin in just walking day after day? (Until you slip on a steep hill or get chased by a bull, I'd argue).
After lunch we continued to follow the temperamental river track as the river grew smaller and the land around more cultivated. Eventually we were walking through almost entirely sheep and then cattle paddocks, finally getting to follow a farm track out to the start of a gravel road. We reached the start of the road (virtually indistinguishable from the track at that point) at 6pm. Having walked some 20km and with there not looking like any decent camping spots up ahead we stealth-camped under some willow trees by the river. I went to take care of some business of my own, having to walk a fair way down the road before I found bushes I judged to be large enough that we're far enough away from the river. There was a lone sheep in the paddock, with dags so long and old and dry that they rattled like maracas as the animal fled ahead of me. I think it must be a pretty lonely sheep though, as it soon came back to see what I was up to, before fleeing again, dags rattling, as I headed back out to the road.
I startled a hare on the way back, who after running a short distance decided it was best to sit still in the grass. Lucky I wasn't a hawk Mr Hare (or a hunter who was even a half decent shot) or you'd have been a goner. I watched him for a bit, sitting there, staring at me and barely daring to twitch his nose. I like hares; they just seem to have so much more character than rabbits.
Just as I got back to camp a bright cock pheasant came striding out of the grass on the side of the road. Sam had said they're stupid and easy to catch and I half wondered if I had it in me--if I could catch one--to kill it, pluck it, clean it and have pheasant for dinner...I never got to find out as when I got to within several paces the bird saw me and took to flight, seeking refuge in the neighbouring paddock.
Back at camp I set about making dinner, taking care to extra-boil the water as the only source was the river, which, flowing through farmland, was bound to contain...well, I was trying my best not to think about it as I ramped up the heat on the gas. My pasta was nearly ready when I looked up to see another hiker marching down the track to the road. I called out and he came over to chat. His name was Daniel, although he prefers to go by the trail name Cloudwalker. He's from Washington State, of equivalent age to Taylor and myself, and recently completed the Triple Crown, that is, he has thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), the Appalachian Trail (AT) and the Continental Divide Trail (CDT)--the top three long distance trails in the States. Consequently he's a seasoned thru-hiker who averages 40-45km per day (averages...meaning he sometimes does over 50 or even 60km a day...oy!). As such, both Taylor and I found him fascinating and asked him lots of questions. I was sorry to hear he has been bored by TA so far, but he said he was looking forward to the South Island as he likes grand landscapes. I'm sure (hope!) it delivers!
After several minutes chat Cloudwalker decided we seemed like "decent folks" and chose to camp with us rather than push on a bit further. I think Taylor and I were both taken aback by that assessment, but I guess it never occurred to us that we wouldn't be decent folks!
The guys continued to chat about the North American trails as Cloudwalker pitched his tarp tent (he's another ultralighter with a base weight of only a few kilos, but did accept Taylor's offer of a hiking pole to help with pitching-apparently he normally makes do with tree branches). I left them to it and went to bed.
In a lull in conversation it made me smile to hear Cloudwalker humming "When the cold of winter comes" from LOTR. I asked him if he knew the words but he didn't know there were any. I wasn't quite in the right mood to sing them myself, and instead lay down to sleep, content to listen to Cloudwalker humming the tune. He has a nice voice and the experience reminded me pleasantly of doing field work in Namibia with Bradley the singing fieldy, who's excellent tenor voice had filled any too long a pause with traditional Namibian folk songs. It was a pleasant evening...spoiled only by mild envy of Cloudwalker, who once set up, said "goodnight", lay down to sleep, and from the rhythm of his breathing, was able to fall asleep within moments. Lucky bugger! I must train myself to be able to do that one of these days!!
No comments:
Post a Comment