The last stage of my New Zealand trip has begun. There are only 220 km left to Bluff. I have planned to arrive by the end of February. It’s a bit of a challenge, but it should still be doable.
It didn’t cost me any overcoming to jump in tandem from 4000 m height, not even my heartbeat was noticeably increased. I actually wonder what it takes to get me excited. How do you guys feel about it? Are you like me in that hardly anything can get you excited? For me, the only time my heart really starts racing is when I’m thinking too hard about a difficult situation. Spontaneity and quick action is the key to not getting all dithered in the first place. I wonder if I’ve somehow trained myself not to get shakey or if it’s just part of my nature.
Wir hatten uns drei Tage Pause bei Logan’s Eltern, Sue und Andrew, in Wanaka gegönnt. Die beiden wohnen in einem wie mit Händen aus Lehm geformten Haus mitten in einem Weinberg. Die Bäume, die das Anwesen umringen, geben ihm den Anschein, auf dem Land, entfernt vom touristischen Trubel der jährlich wachsenden Stadt Wanaka, zu sein.
From our perspective it is so much more, it is the effort of climbing the mountains that is rewarded with the views, it is the fun we feel trying to cross the rippling streams and rivers without getting our feet wet, the feeling on our feet of walking over a soft forest floor instead of hard rock.
I’ve spent my whole life dismissing successes that others would celebrate in a big way as not that remarkable to me. This has been the case with all of my school graduations, where I’ve always done well without really having to do much to get there, at work I’ve always gotten good evaluations or even been praised without putting in any effort, and here on the trail I’m averaging over 20k a day, which already doesn’t feel like a particularly outstanding accomplishment. When I tell my friends and family what I’m doing here, they usually can’t believe it.
Another way has to be found. I dare myself more and more each time; further away and higher up. Catlike I stick to vertical rocks. I pull myself up with the last of my strength, only to be immediately on the lookout for my next victim. The goal is not to get wet feet, to stay on top and to arrive at the top of the saddle without using the trail.
Somehow I seemed to be too spoiled. The many beautiful stages seem to have dulled me. I’m still hiking through some of the most beautiful scenery I can imagine, and yet my baseline seems to have been raised to the point where I haven’t really been able to enjoy the last few days, and so I’ve been more or less dragging my feet. I’m apparently not the only one feeling this way. I have meanwhile talked to some other hikers who have fallen into the same hole.
The greater part of my trip in New Zealand is already behind me and so slowly the thoughts are spreading, what should come after that. I know where my journey should go physically, but I don’t know yet what will happen then. We have now brought two thirds behind us, more than 2000 km. The days are starting to be counted. I can hardly imagine what it will be like when I no longer walk an average of 25 kilometers every day.
The Richmonds are known to be particularly tough. From the beginning we are driven into its dense forests of birch and fir like trees. Our path stretches on and on along the turquoise waters that indispensably carry themselves down the rock-strewn riverbed, towards us on the way up.
How interesting it is to observe in which environment the mud we all love manifests itself. Where it makes the ascent to the Tararuas difficult, we find enchanted forests, with trees that seem to have died, clothed in a mantle of moss. In the shadow of the clouds towering over us, we get the impression that behind every corner a forest gnome could jump out, making us his prisoners and turning us into soup.
