We were, at this precise moment, supposed to be arriving at a mountain hut, somewhere along the Routeburn track, looking forward to shelter and a rehydrated meal of some description. Not that it would’ve mattered which rehydrated meal as they all taste pretty similar and are eaten not for their culinary delights but instead for pure survival. Carbs in = energy out. It was not to be, and instead of reconsituted food and a communal hut, we’re going to have to put up with chilled wine and cheese on the balcony before heading to the restaurant to see what’s on offer. Maybe then a dip in the pool whilst the sun sets before retiring to a soft queen sized bed with clean white cotton sheets. It was a tough decision, and one that we agonised over for several minutes, maybe as long as five. Could’ve even been ten.
Way back in October last year we booked ourselves onto the Routeburn Track, one of New Zealand’s Great Walks, and were anticipating three days walking in the mountains in Fjordland. It was going to be spectacular; clean mountain air, spectacular scenery and a chance to switch off all devices and leave the hustle and bustle of modern life behind. Well on that we’d have no choice as the chance of a mobile phone signal out in the remote hills of the South Island is just about the same as England have of winning a penalty shootout, or hell freezing over if you’re not into sport analogies.
We’d spent the previous weekend packing for the trip, agonising over choices so that week took the essentials whilst ensuring that the weight of our rucksacks didn’t top 10kg. With the responsibilities literally on your own shoulders, was it really worth the extra energy to carry a spare cardigan and a pair of slippers at the expense of the first aid kit? Hhhhmmmm. We’re two pairs of undies really necessary for a three day trip? Surely one would do if I adopted the back-front-inside-out routine. Finally, with every nook and cranny of our hulking packs used, we could declare that we were ready for the trip. Anyway, with a full four days in work still to go, there’d be time for any late changes before jumping on the Air New Zealand flight to Queenstown.
It’s fair to say that the latter part of the New Zealand summer has been a bit..well....damp. The best way to describe it is to say it was tropical island like, only not in a good way. Very hot, wet and with a humidity that makes you sweaty before you’ve even left the house. Nowhere had escaped the dampness, not even the South Island and that was before Cyclone Gita came through. As the week progressed, the forecast for the coming weekend deteriorated with gale force winds and rain expected for a significant portion of the three day trek. A decision had to be made.....
At this point, I feel the need to note that we are not fair weather hikers. Far from it. We have spent many a day deep surrounded by mountain clouds, lost in thought with only the hammering of rain on our waterproof hoods for company. You can’t hike in Cumbria and not expect to spend most of the time wet. But those days spent in less-than-ideal conditions were suffered because of the promise of a warm shower, a drying room and a cold beer to raise our spirits. Besides there was always the thought that maybe tomorrow would be better! But in the back country of the New Zealand southern alps there is no such thing as home comforts. The reward for a long day spent in rain and wind was the promise of another day spent in rain and wind, only this time with damp clothing from the day before and a half eaten rehydrated meal in the side pocket of your rucksack for company.
Did we really want to spend all that time in the mountains and not actually see any mountains? Probably not. Was there really any point in wandering each day slowly towards the next hut in the knowledge that there was no warm water and just a hard bench to sit on? I don’t think so. Was it time to admit defeat and change our plans. Hell yes! So with only a few hours to go before we were committed to the trip, we organised different accommodation, cancelled what bookings we could and unpacked and repacked our backpacks. The dried food could definitely be left behind, as could the power banks, storm shelter, spare hats, gloves and playing cards. Definitely more room now for that extra underwear, maybe a change of socks and hey, how about that cardigan!
So that is how we find ourselves in this luxurious hotel room on the edge of Lake Wakatipu, sipping chilled Sauvignon Blanc whilst we wonder what we’d be doing if we hadn’t backed out. I’d like to think that we’d be wishing we had, but knowing us we’d have been absolutely fine and making the best of it. I am wondering, as I sit here typing this, whether we’d been a little hasty. There are some clouds in the sky but the breeze is gentle and the rain that was forecast hasn’t yet materialised. There’s even sunlight illuminating the mountain opposite our balcony. But that’s here. Over in the mountains it could be a lot different. Honestly!
I know the younger me wouldn’t have cared, he’d have been very happy being soaking wet and almost looking forward to hunkering down for the night and gorging on a packet of tasteless food, all the while laughing about it with his mates. It would’ve been an adventure, an experience and something that our peers definitely wouldn’t have been doing. Or likely ever do. And that would’ve made it worthwhile. This was the youngster after all that spent the night on a small island in the middle of a lake wrapped in a bin bag because.....well I forget. Probably for no other reason than why the hell not. Maybe it’s because I’ve been there and done that, that I need more reward for discomfort. Or is it simply that spare time is much more precious when you have to work hard during the week to earn it?
Oh blimey, listen to me go on. The mountains aren’t going anywhere anytime soon and there will be other opportunities head for the hills, leave behind the stresses of modern life and abandon personal hygiene routines. For now I’ll enjoy sitting here and thank my lucky stars for being able to do this; just be here, in this space. It might not be what we set out to do, but if you’re able to change plans then, whaddya know, things will always go to plan! Maybe a day spent idly wasting time when we should’ve been hiking in the hills is a missed opportunity. But what the heck, I’ll raise a glass to the wise words of John Lennon and others and say “Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time!”
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