And expected all day – with lightning on the side.
But I have good rain gear and I’ll slackpack a bigger chunk today. On a day I learn of a tramper dying in an the Tongariro crossing. Not a TA hiker, unprepared, poorly dressed and split up from party when the weather turned. All dumb decisions, but we’re all capable of making dumb decisions. I feel sorrow for his family and reminded about being smart on my solo walk.
I’m up and out before the house stirs in full rain gear. Just drizzle – and not cold – but a huge contrast on this second day of slackpacking. The generous offer has been given to stay, so I’m taking the time my body and soul craves here in Auckland before getting back on the trail and my big k days. I arrive in leafy Cornwall Park encouraged to relax and enjoy – but leave the fireworks at home.
It’s a gorgeous city park with magnificent trees and – cows! grazing in a field right in the middle of a city. It really begins pouring and several people comment how I picked a good day for my walk. I escape the rain in the Acacia cottage built by an influential settler. For a moment I feel like these people, happy to have a solid roof over my head against the elements. A stylish 19th century down coat is spread out on the bed.
*slackpacking is section backpacking while sleeping in the same place each night
I’m a tourist today, loosely walking the trail through Auckland on a bright sunny day. Back to the ferry building with the spectacular red lamps, popped into the DOC office to pick up my hut pass for the coming months, primarily in the south island.
I join a free walking tour and learn of a statue made in the 1960s to honor the Maori, and made by a woman – all sorts of impossible awarenesses converging. The sun burns, so I wear my hat and seek shade. At Queen and Customs, the signal stops all traffic and people casually pour into the street like a slow motion dance choreographed for some in choppy straight lines, others striding diagonally.
I am laying in a bed letting the body recover until all hours of the morning, make that the afternoon. Susie is the daughter of friends of my mother-in-law. You can’t imagine how nice it feels to hear her say, “Make yourself at home!”
And I am doing just that with her lovely family. Happily.
A lazy morning awaiting the tide to get to its lowest at 12:36 so we can cross the Okura River. Even so, the water will reach our hips and then some. The whole group is going and I’m thrilled. I’m not a ‘skipper’ – so you may have discovered – as many simply move on rather than wait it out. But I want to experience it all so have to wait for the right moment.
Soup for breakfast. I have two more instant mixes and one unopened NZ lager. Thankfully good take-away after the crossing, but it’s cold and humid this morning, rain coming and going – great for hiking but not so much for staying warm.
Cold, damp, sandflies – oh my! It rained through the night and I was warm nestled in the alicoop, but once up, the chill works into the bones.
This is a slower group I’m paired up with, but our path, too, is slowed as we approach the city due to two tide-dependent crossings, over rocks and a river. I’ve put on my rain gear and found a spot in the sun to heat up and dig into my Puhoi cheese. My biggest expense on this adventure is fuel in the form of calories. Still, my pants are loose and I no longer have a bottom.
The barkeep Sean has just asked if I met the ghost in room 7, he carries his head in his hands and has a bad case of flatulence. Whoever my ghost visitor was, he was friendly – and healing.
Since departure is not until 4:30, I took a room and it was the best decision. Had two long hot baths, hung out on this huge covered veranda in a fluffy bathrobe, tried every local beer and cider and generally rested my body and spirit – not too mention finished my next audio narrative.
I’m up and out early. Exotic birds becoming friends wake me, but I slept fitfully. It would be a big day to Puhoi, but if I get a burger after this mountain, I think I can do this.
The tent is damp – I’m damp – but feel relatively clean, the feet still managing to move well. Not fast, but far enough.
A sunrise over the South Pacific. Not a bad way to wake up. Though I faff about in the warmth hoping the sun will dry the dew. No such luck. Once I open the thermarest valve, game is on and I begin to pack, wet or not.
A grand sleep with my kiwi hoot-whistling softly and waves rumbling far below. I dream about a person who hasn’t been in my life a long time, feeling that familiar out-of-control reaction but in sleep I rewrite the ending.
Omra and Johnny let me speak about not fitting in, wanting a group of friends, but finding being alone is working for me, even if I have to weigh all decisions myself. I do have contact with Richard, so not totally alone, but we’re 19 hours apart. My confidence is building – and my trust – that it will work out. This doesn’t come easily to this control freak. I trade the (mostly) known but beginning to be routine life I know for a long trail that, even with so much information, remains to be revealed. Omra would say my subconscious needed this even if it’s hard for me.