Pororari

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The alarm goes off at 06:06. The wanderer's brain is shocked into action - which button is it again? Damn, not that one, ah - there it is. Finally, silence again - apart from the distant rumble of the trucks passing on the highway. A faint glow of pre-dawn light from the uncurtained window in the corner. Now why was the alarm set? Oh yes, Mt Owen. Turn onto your back. Now lift your legs. Ooh - not much pain at all actually - that's a pleasant surprise. Now lift your head. Hmm. Now weigh your brain - does it want to rise and hike up a hot mountain? Oh dear - still feeling weak brain? Shame.

Tell you what, let's just lie here for a few minutes, do the visualisation thing and see how that goes. Right, imagine yourself through a light, fast breakfast. Imagine yourself throwing the packs in the van. Imagine yourself grabbing a coffee to go if the cafe up the road is open? Unlikely - unimagine that bit. Imagine yourself driving an hour up the road to near the end of the Owen Valley East Road, finding a place to dump the van, beating away the bumble bees as you shoulder a delightfully light day pack (8kg, not 23kg), and heading off into the farmland. An hour across farmland as the sun rises behind you then into the bush for three hours of steady ascent. Imagine your calf muscles crying out to you. Imagine your lungs huffing at you. Then out above the bushline into the searing hot sun. Imagine yourself applying another healthy layer of sun cream and climbing onwards onto the barren, rocky, bluffy tops. Two more hours in the sun and a summit might appear. Imagine yourself at the top, taking in distant hazy views. Then imagine the pain of descent. Five hours of ankle and knee pain through hot sun, skin burning steadily, will power ebbing away, energy flagging, feet overheating, clothing dripping in sweat...

The baying of a sheep wakes me. It's bright - another sunny day outside. The silently patient watch says it's 08:37. I guess that's that decision made then - no Mt Owen ascent today.

10:01: fortified with coffee and toast, a decision has been made. I'm heading north for Havelock in preparation for an ascent of Mt Stokes tomorrow morning and then a drive south down the west coast. I drive north out of Murchison and pass the sign at the edge of town - it reads "Picton 251kms". Havelock will be no more than 50kms short of that. That makes it a round trip of 400-odd kms just to get back to Murchison before I drive 300km south to the glaciers. Hmm. Pull over. Re-think. I'm sure Mt Stokes is nice but I swing the van round and head south instead. Indecision is such a wonderful thing, it's worth repeating multiple times a day.

Four hours later I'm in Punakaiki at the DOC office. Too many options. Welcome Flat hut (south of the glaciers I drive down to tomorrow) is available for whenever I want it. That's the one with the weird hot pools beside it but, more importantly, it's the one on the way to Copland Pass - one of the few routes open for getting across to Mt Cook from this side of the island. Now the wanderer is not confident (or mad) enough to hike over the glaciers and fast-moving snowfields on the other side of the pass but maybe he can just get up to the pass and have a look over? Maybe.

Find a place to crash for the night behind the Punakaiki Tavern and then head off for a run-hike up the Pororari River Track (one of the start points of the Inland Pack Track). It's 15:30 when I set off and the sign claims it'll take 1.5 hours to reach the junction of the Pororari River Track and the Inland Pack Track. That's my target but the beautiful river and the soaring limestone bluffs that rise above it fly past as the legs search for escape. I reach the junction in 40 minutes and run on across the swingbridge (don't run, walk) through the peaceful woods, feet slotting themselves ably either side of the ankle-snapping tree roots. The track is dry but soft - perfect for run-hiking. I pause as the track begins to turn west again. Check the watch - 50 minutes in. Enough for today - I decide I'll run-hike back and challenge myself to make the return journey in 40 minutes.

I run, walk, pause to breathe, run, hike, run. The terrain passes by as the legs slog their way onward. Big boots are not the best for running in - feet and ankles are both hurting now. I check the watch - 15 minutes left. Run again. Tired, sore - hike again. I think I see the mouth of the river up ahead as I skip past the lone kayaker ambling slowly seaward. Breath runs out again - pause. Check the watch - 5 minutes. Come on, one last push. The boots feel heavy and it seems as if I am having to lift my legs and throw them ahead of me to keep my body moving. It can't be far now surely? I pass the kissing gate - this was very close to the start. The winding gravel path is all that remains. Legs pumping, lungs gasping, don't lose your grip now...the sign comes into view. My legs feel like they're made of lead. I lurch onto the sign and pull out my watch. 40 minutes and 17 seconds...

I surprise a camera-laden tourist by cursing into the hot air. Seventeen seconds?!?!? Surely I could have made that up somewhere. I collapse onto the concrete bench, cast aside my sweaty pack and laugh at myself. What a child. What fun.

Back to my room and grab my shorts and a sarrong. Down to the beach where the Tasman Sea is delivering a gentle battering to the coast (I've seen it deliver waves multiple times this size in the past). I dump the soggy t-shirt and flick off the sandals (I left the boots back in the room) and gingerly walk down to the ocean. The pebbles hurt against the tender soles of my feet. As I approach, a wave recoils (don't blame it - I stink) and then its nearest sibling comes crashing in over my shins. The contrast in temperature is enough to remove all the air from my lungs (well, poetically, anyway). I stumble into the crashing sea as the icy water envelopes my legs. I dive into the waters only to relieve the delicious agony of my leg muscles. They are singing some cursed folk song as I swim on for what can only be seconds before escaping back to dry land. Refreshed really does not cover it. I shiver my way up the beach and wrap the sarrong around me in welcome relief. A German couple pass by and smile. "Cold yes?" "Y-y-y-y-yes" I stutter back. They smile again.

Tomorrow I drive south to attempt Mt Fox again - I'm already looking forward to the sweet pain in the calf muscles - odd character this wanderer.

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Comments

[Rob]

Punishment
You do punish yourself. I reckon you're flagelating yourself because of some heinous thing you've inflicted on someone else. There was a programme on R4 in which they explored what happened when a human didn't wash their hair (in this particular case). It seems that it does go through a 'stink' phase but, if left long enough, will reach a steady state where the odour becomes mellow and the natural oils take over. Go on try it! Perhaps after a few weeks no will notice the natural odour that you've arrived at :-)