Watch Out! There’s a Tomo About!

It’s very dangerous to assume that just because you’ve been somewhere a while, that you know all there is to know about a place and are totally at ease in your surroundings. But, just because everything is quite similar, no sooner do you think you have a handle on everything, then New Zealand’s uniqueness reasserts itself and bops you on the nose. Figuratively speaking of course. 

It all started so innocently. I was asked to attend a video conference meeting with some colleagues to discuss progress on site and to take a look at the programme for the coming weeks. Fairly mundane and run of the mill stuff. With over three years of NZ work experience under my belt I’ve finally stopped referring to pounds, no longer called intersections junctions and a verge is finally a berm. In fact, so sure was I of my perfect colloquialisms that I’ve even started raising a wry smile when new European arrivals made exactly the same mistakes that I had not too long ago. Oh how we forget. And how easily we can fall off our high horse, partner!

Anyway, the conversation was progressing nicely when suddenly the person at the other end of the call stated “We’ve found a tomo so part of the site is a no-go area!”

“Wow, a tomo!” I exclaimed a little to enthusiastically, not having a clue what or indeed who a tomo was. 

“Yeah, we found it whilst we were walking over the site. Lucky we didn’t stand right on it really!”, came the response.

I looked around at my colleagues in the room for any clue as to what is was that we were talking about, but all I could see was a row of confirmatory nods that this was indeed a precarious situation. In short, no bloody help at all and I was going to have to figure this one out for myself.

“So,” I started cautiously, “what’s your plan of action then for dealing with it?”

Brilliant! A good question and one that was designed to not disclose my level of ignorance. 

“Well, we’ve already put a fence around the area so it’s contained but obviously we need to get an expert in to deal with it”.

“Obviously”, I agreed without knowing what it was that I was agreeing to.

So we were surely dealing with an animal of some kind. Definitely not a bird - a fence would’ve been useless against a flying animal.....oh but wait, it could be a flightless bird. I started to rack my brain to see if a flightless bird called a Tomo had ever been mentioned but nothing was registering. Surely I would’ve heard about such a creature? I decided that I hadn’t and therefore it couldn’t be that. Right, an animal of some kind it must be. And clearly a dangerous one given the level of concern that was being shown both in the room and on the screen. 

Time for another carefully worded question.....

“Great. What do you think their assessment will be?”

“Well, ideally we’d like to get rid of it but it depends how big it is really.”

“F*ck, this thing must be huge”, I thought to myself. 

The thought of animal slaughter on the project, however, was just too much to bear. I could see the headlines writing themselves in from of my eyes. The last thing we needed was a load of environmentalists crawling over the site. And who would blame them? You can’t just go around exterminating creatures because they happen to wander into your project site. Especially not in New Zealand. Unless they’re possums of course. I needed more information.....

“Just how do you propose to get rid of it?”

That was clearly a question too far as the assembled group, real and virtual, looked at me with incredulity. 

“Oh, probably with an excavator, that’s what we normally do with Tomos”, came the response from the TV screen adding, “or just drop a load of rock on it if its not too big.”

This was too much.

“Wait! How do you know that dropping rock on it is going to sort it out. What if it survives?”, I exclaimed, not sure if I was more concerned about the negative publicity or the inhumane method of disposal.

“Survives? How else are we going to fill the hole?”, a colleague enquired no doubt half wondering if I’d lost my mind before quickly adding, “Or we could just excavate to find the bottom but it will depend upon how deep and wide the Tomo is.”

Thankfully the conversation moved on to the engineering solution whilst I surreptitiously consulted Wikipedia. And in doing so, I soon realised my mistake. How could I have been so stupid....  don’t answer that! So, to prevent you from landing in a similar situation, and before we go any further, you need to know what a Tomo is. Admittedly the chances are slim but you never know in this world. So a Tomo is a hole in the ground that either once, or still does have, water passing through it and usually found in limestone regions. Or if you prefer, a sinkhole and definitely not an animal or flightless bird.

For those that would like a longer explanation, and I’m thinking mainly the engineers out there, here is an extract from the Wikipedia entry;

The word ‘Waitomo’ comes from the Māori language ‘wai’ meaning water and ‘tomo’ meaning a doline or sinkhole. In short, this can translated to be water passing through a hole.

And the moral of the story? Well if this story must have one then I guess its that don’t be afraid to ask questions, no matter how stupid they may seem. Or to put it another way, you’re going to look like an idiot no matter what you do so you might as well get it over with!

Stumble in the Jungle

When nearly a thousand like minded souls turn up at just before 7am in a sodden field in the middle of the New Zealand bush, that can only mean one thing. They are there to take part in a trail run. Well, either that or there has been a serious fault in the GPS system and it has directed each and every one to a remote corner of the upper North Island. I’m going for the former, although I wouldn’t put it past the current US government to corrupt the GPS system. Not that they would admit to it though and no likely brand it as fake news despite several hundred individual accounts to the contrary. Sorry, I’ve gone off topic. Back to the sodden field, although not literally thank goodness.

Trail running in New Zealand is nothing like its equivalent in the UK, something I learned very early on but don’t seem to have remembered the lesson. In the UK you can expect fairly well defined routes with grades that are at least runnable. Not here though. Oh no. Trail running in New Zealand is much more rugged, gnarly and challenging with terrain that will reduce you to walking with purpose rather then leaping gazelle-like over the obstacles. And, unless you have ran the route before, you have literally no idea what to expect. Take today’s run for example. If I’d known that there would be three river crossings, several tunnels and four kilometres of heavily tree-rooted New Zealand bush to negotiate I might have had second thoughts. Actually, who am I kidding - it would’ve made me even more determined to line up on the starting line and set off like a banshee into the unknown.

Having said that, I haven’t done a lot of trail running in New Zealand. It sort of lost its shine when I broke two ribs during the third race in the 2015 Auckland Xterra Series. Slipping on wet grass and sliding down a bank into a fence post definitely wasn’t part of the race plan. Since that incident, details of which were covered in a previous blog, I have been just that little bit more cautious and respectful of New Zealand trail running. These are definitely not walks in the park. Nor are they runs around gentle terrain on manicured footpaths.

It’s fair to say that a damp field somewhere of State Highway 2 between Paeroa and Waihi is not a hugely inspiring place to loiter for 90 minutes whilst waiting for your turn to line up and set off. At least the sun was shining. Sort of. If nothing else, it gave me a little time to wander around and ponder why on earth do people do this? Surely they have better things to do on a Saturday morning? But evidence pointed to the contrary. Wherever you looked there were huddles of people, contentedly chatting and sharing and swapping advice. Advice? Some of the conversations I overheard whilst mulling my existence sounded more like horror stories. Falls here, trips there, grazes, cut and bruises on show as physical trophies to previous runs.

It was no different on the bus on the way to the race. There I was, minding my own business, happily wondering if the rain was going to stay off and looking forward to a run across some beautiful countryside, when a fellow passenger piped up;

"Have you done this race before," she asked before helpfully adding, "it's a killer!"

I admitted that I hadn't before casually asking, "So why is its a killer?". To be honest I regretted asking the question immediately the words had left my lips.

"Oh the hills of course....." she added with a mischievous grin on her face

Hills, well that was ok I could handle hills

"...and the mud. But that's ok because the river crossings will get you nice and clean.."

"and wet!" I interjected before adding "How deep are they?"

"Oh, not deep," came the response ,accompanied with a helpful hand gesture that suggested it was only waist high.

"Great!" I sarcastically responded, secretly wishing I was a foot taller.

"At least you're only doing the medium length course. Those poor sods in the long race have to do two laps!"

I smiled inwardly and relished in the thought of others who would be worse off than me. Ah, comfort in the misery of others.

As I looked around the field, which had now filled up with excited runners and walkers, people looked genuinely happy. I wondered whether they would still be so happy and conversant after the run and whether the coming pain was sufficient payment for a free Speights beer at the end.

Inevitably, the time to line up with the others came and after receiving our safety briefing, which basically boiled down to you're on your own mate, we were off....

We didn't get very far before we all had to queue to cross a river on a wooden and rather rickety suspension bridge. It was one at a time and walking only. Kiwi engineering at it's best, a bundle of No.8 wire and a whole lot of hope.

Once we were across I started to accelerate and slowly move through the pack. Slowly because there wasn't much room and I realised that I was wearing far too many layers and in danger of over heating. After several tunnels, a quick stop for water and change of tops, and a gorgeous run through Karangahake Gorge we started the climb up Karangahake Mountain.

Oh and what a climb it was. It was made worse by the fact that runners who had already reaching the turn around point on the path were speedily descending as we puffed and struggled up the slope. I muttered under my breath, "If one more person cheerily notes 'you're nearly there' I'm going to do something that I'll regret!". And worst of all there was no way to see how far we had to climb. The path was through dense bush and with twists and turns only a small portion of the path was visible at any point. When the bush did break for a brief moment the whole stunning vista of the gorge opened up. It was very tempting to stop and in the view but I knew that I may not ever start running again. Plus I didn't want anyone to think that I was taking a sneaky breather...which I so desperately wanted. Eventually, as is always the case, I reached the turning point, took a swig of water, and belted back down the hill. And of course I greeted runners who were struggling up the hill with the now customary greeting, "Well done, you're almost there!". What a bastard!

My speedy descent soon came to a halt when I tripped on a tree root and was unceremoniously dumped on my arse. That'll teach me. Luckily there was no damage done, except to my already bruised ego when a small group of school girls nimbly jumped around me and continued their fast descent. "Let's see how fast they are in thirty years time," I grumpily said to myself.

I'm pleased to report that, although the tree-rooted descent was definitely gnarly, the muddy section was relatively short and easy to negotiate. And, as was promised by my bus companion, the river section cleaned off any mud that I had collected on the way. Especially as I slipped on a rock and was thrown backwards into the torrent. I'd like to see Mo Farah deal with this course!

The final few kilometres were flat and along a wide trail. Finally some running where I could relax, switch off and stop worrying about my personal well being.

After negotiating a few fences and one small stream crossing, I ran down the finishing shute in a relatively slow 1hr 43mins. Not particularly fast for a 13km run but not bad considering the queues, clothing change, hills and river crossings.

By now the sun was definitely shining so I gingerly walked to the beer tent, grabbed a cold bottle of IPA, and sat watching the other runners and walkers finish their race. And it was there, whilst I sipped my cold beer, that I realised why I, or should I say why we do this. It wasn't for the cold refreshments, although that was very welcome indeed, or for the promise of a double sausage sizzle. It was neither of those things. Instead it was something much less tangible..... togetherness.

Or as I like to put it....a sense that you're not totally deranged for wanting to hurl yourself around a natural obstacle course on a Saturday morning. You see, as I sat there, I witnessed hundreds of running souls race, walk, limp or crawl over the finish line. Some for charity, some in the memory of loved-ones and others just for the sheer hell of it. People of all ages took part, just as they do every weekend around this country and others and it almost brought a tear to my eye. (Well I was very tired and the beer was rather strong so was quite emotional). Parents encouraged their children to finish,  whilst other children raced each other to the finish line seemingly unaware of the kilometres they had just ran. Yes there were tears, other than mine. Some of joy, some of relief and some due to exhaustion. Occasionally at least.

What other explanation could there be? You could, if you so desired, run around the New Zealand bush every weekend, free of charge and to your own timetable. But we don't. We wait. We enter. We run. Be a part of something. And that's why, despite promising myself as I struggled up the the hill that this would be the last trail race I would do, I found myself only moments after crossing the line planning my next one and wondering if there was anything....well you know.... a bit harder?

...or maybe I'm wrong and it is all for the free beer and sausage butty. Maybe but surely there are easier ways to earn a decent meal?

Before the clothing change

After the pit stop and tumble in the jungle