Mangawhai

The longest day so far has been totally doable. Break days actually make a massive difference when it comes to performance afterwards. At the beginning we walked a few kilometers along the beach, then a while along a road to Waipu, where there was free coffee (thanks Café Velo), and then we soon went up into the mountains. Partly it was really steep, but for that I was rewarded with breathtaking views to Whangarei Heads.

We finished the evening with a few beers with other TA walkers. My left heel has developed a spot that is strangely compressed, allowing it to hurt a bit. We’ll see what develops from this.

Pakiri

We had a lovely summery day to get a few miles on the beach behind us. The weather was glorious and the feet were doing well. Somehow the slim 15 kilometers along the beach dragged on. The tide was at its maximum towards the end. There were two river mouths to cross along the way. Due to the rising water, my two pretties were properly wetted with water. With wind and sun but not too bad, because here everything can be watched drying. Not that I would actively add this to my hobbies, but I prefer to watch grass grow. Because of the rising water one had to walk constantly far above in the soft sand, which goes very on the perseverance and lets the bones hurt in the long run.

A painful reminder at every step, how much is still to go. I was ready and just wanted it to end. My favorite is slightly damp sand where you don’t sink in as much. I started listening to Transition Manager on Audible, a modern take on the Grim Reaper, with iPad and equally modern problems. It’s a brilliantly fun idea with lots of food for thought in my own life. It especially got me thinking about whether I’m making the right moves (pun intended), how I’m making my life fulfilling, and why I have such a damn hard time with relationships. A combination of the right triggers and exhaustion, I’m sure.

Dome Walkway

Where the flat beach seemed endless the day before, muddy slopes pushed me to the top (and back down) that day. My concentration wore thin from constantly staring at the ground to make sure I didn’t miss a root or slippery spot that was more than willing to trip me up or send me sliding to the ground.

Of course, my inadequate footwear didn’t help matters either. Ankle-deep in the mud, without walking sticks and with running shoes, guaranteed to fall. I had not expected, from home, that it is so mountainous here on the North Island. And certainly not with so much mud, which seals the ground. New equipment is still out of reach for a few days.

Endless hardships

We were predicted 11 hours for the 27 kilometers to the intended camp, a garden behind a permanently closed café, 27 km for which I would normally estimate half the time (excluding breaks). Ten hours I then effectively took, in weather conditions that I would almost call pleasant, light drizzle, a breeze, sheltered in the forest, visibility below 10 meters. However, the forest protects not only me from the weather, but also the ground from the sun. The warm element to dry the same.

So we were met by a slide unknown to us before, smooth as a plastic sheet with soapy water. The only thing that protects me from a sure fall is the occasional post that keeps the barbed wire suspended. Every step is taken with deliberation. Even when the ground is dry, but instead littered with roots eager to help you fall. In the process, it quickly becomes a new hobby to stare at the ground, like a peeping tom into an open bathroom window. Fully concentrated on what one gets to see.

How much I missed the endless stretches of road. How much I’ve longed for the beach and its endless monotony on the trails in the woods, so happy to drop in on our old friends when our feet are craving solid ground and begging for predictable ground for a change. Nothing can please me, once I have one, I can’t wait to have the other back.

Puhoi

What does “long” mean? If the weather is good, “long” seems to pass quickly for me. What does “far” mean? If the conversation is good, “far” seems quite short. What does “far” mean? If the ground is solid, a distant destination quickly becomes near. If the facts are not right, one is left with the will and the conscience that the arrival and the review of the hardships are all the sweeter. How often do the difficult phases bring the certain pepper into the life that can appear otherwise also times so yawning monotonous.

Somehow I like the feeling that the goal sometimes seems so miserably distant, but at the same time having the certainty of being able to look forward to the next steps the following morning. Everything is somehow relative, not only the moment, but especially the feelings that are linked to the moment.

Again and again it strikes me that my approach of planning little in advance is not so bad. How exactly are you supposed to know what it’s like on location when you’re half a world away? Step by step I learn new things about myself, my skills and my equipment, of which I could not have formed a proper picture from home. What is a light backpack without having a reference? What is the right tent that gives you the best comfort while keeping the weight down? How much can I trust myself to do in a day? Even the stage planning I do hardly more than three days in advance. Usually the night before or the same day while talking to fellow trampers. I still don’t read the trail notes.

Silverdale

The early bird drifts down the river in a kayak, past a multitude of mangroves lining the wheels. The early light shines over the hills, illuminating us the mist-covered bodies of water. For miles, we drift with our previously unused muscles toward the ocean’s exit. Around us, little by little, the birdlife comes to life and delights us with its song.

Looking back on a day gone by sometimes feels like watching an episode of Breaking Bad. The whole day you have the impression that not much actually happened and yet a look back reveals a waterfall of events.

We are along cliffs that are released by the low tide and become impassable just a few hours later. Not only the path, but especially the taking in of new perspectives, views across the sea, to distant shores at the other end of the beach and to distant islands.

Familiar land, having been visited by me before, ends for us in a shock of civilization and a vast sea of food, closed to our otherwise simple diet on the trail and small towns. One restricts oneself nevertheless otherwise to the essential, energy-rich and nevertheless light, the taste and the health remain there rather the freestyle or the pain, which one accepts by a heavy backpack.

Later we arm ourselves with new shoes, as the old ones did not withstand the adverse conditions, and with a few gifts, beer and chocolate, for Connor and my hosts for the night, a loving family that comes from South Africa, are already many years ago to Aotearoa (the Maori name for New Zealand). Camilla and James are happy to help and like to have a few candid conversations with hikers.

Interacting with them is a real pleasure. We spent the evening together, cooked, ate what we had made and spent some more time in the hammock. The most diverse political topics were discussed and analyzed in detail, especially by Connor and James. Finally, there was a sky lit up by fireworks, in memory of Guy Fawkes and the Parliament he set on fire in London.

Energy (or its absence)

While visiting with our friends, I noticed how much I prefer spending time in smaller groups or with individuals. It apparently robs me of energy when I’m in large groups, the conversations get louder and go into breadth than depth, not small talk, a common denominator that everyone in a large group can relate to. I like the conversations you get immersed in when I walk with single or two hikers at times. The exchange is somehow more personal, closer. In the evening, there are often so many hikers that I prefer to retreat, exhausted from the day. The exertion of the day sometimes wears me out so much that I have no energy left for socializing. I guess that this is my “introverted” side, which doesn’t draw energy from social contacts, which I generally like very much, but I also always need time for myself to recharge my batteries.

Memories

It’s quite exciting how sometimes you can suddenly remember something that happened many years ago, in this case certainly 30, and sometimes it’s hard to remember what took place last week or what you ate the day before. Probably they are just different storage places in the brain. The ones from the distant past are triggered by impressions from the present, a sound, a smell, or, as in my case, a passage in the book I am reading ( Dying of Kanusgard). He writes about his childhood.

For me, it brings up an episode when I was still in elementary school, when I secretly watched TV longer than my parents allowed me to. They often went out on weekends to dance. A chance I didn’t miss to watch action movies that I wasn’t actually allowed to watch yet, something with karate or monsters. Afterwards, when the TV was off and I snuck into my room in the dark, I felt like the hero in the movie. I was flailing around and fighting imaginary opponents. I felt great, full of energy, just like a real hero. I’d be happy if I still had that scrappy kind of imagination. Somehow, as an adult, you don’t seem to be allowed/able to do that anymore. It seems to me that you are not educated, but rather something is pulled from you. Why is that so? What purpose does this deadening, this conforming serve?

Quitting my job and not knowing what I want to be when I grow up particularly pleases me for this reason. I feel a bit like a rebel in the establishment. I’m not doing what I always thought an adult person should do. I turn off the imaginary TV, go out and play hero, just like I used to when I didn’t play by the rules either.