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.
Now I myself have already walked more than half of the total 3000 kilometers, and that in just 2 months. What seemed like an infinitely long distance a few months ago, is now quite normal, my everyday life. Maybe even too normal, so that I can’t even imagine having a normal everyday life anymore, having to get up at a certain time to go to work and do errands. Who would want to do that voluntarily every day?
The unsettled rainy weather keeps us from running the trail as it is intended. Rain keeps us from crossing rivers and paddling down, and strong winds from crossing higher passages in the mountains. Because of the circumstances, I tried to make the best of the situation and run sections that were not problematic, rather than just letting time pass by waiting.
It’s a little surreal to have already hiked a third, 1000 km, of the hike. We have mastered 90 Mile Beach with its seemingly endless miles of monotony. We waited knee-deep through mud to get over mountains and to other shores. We often had the water up to our knees, hips and even up to our necks, which came not only from above but also quite often from below. Looking back, we walked endless miles along roads and dirt tracks to get to the next breathtaking section.
I can smell myself, the way one smells when one has spent a few days in the bush. A smell that, when I’m alone, I don’t seem to notice at all. Yet here I am, in the midst of washed and parfumed people, civilized people who all go about a daily routine that does not allow them to look like me.
