Bush Walk

Beau and I have been wanting to take a "bush walk" since we moved into the new homestead a few weeks back. If you look out our "back door"... which is basically a giant sliding glass door ... all you see is a river running into the vast ocean. Awesome. If you look out our "front door," all you see is "bush" heading straight toward the heavens. "Bush" is a term used here loosely to mean forest, jungle, thick foliage, stuff-that's-hard-to-gauge-without-a-machete, etc. Basically, the area of New Zealand we live in is all bush bordered on one side by the ocean, with the occasional house and land. There are a few kiwi orchards around, some random cow or horse herds, several junked cars, and a rare appearance by a criminally-over-priced Ma & Pop shop.

We want to go out into it because we're curious. And because we're now officially fatties. I am 10kg (about 22 pounds or so) fatter than when I was in Thailand a few years back, and when I was there, I already felt chunky. It didn't particularly help matters that Thais found great enjoyment in telling me every day, "Teacher, you are very fat!" I almost had to beat that phrase out of my students.

In fact, one day my tailor took a look at me and said, "You've gotten fatter," and all my future suits for work were then made a bit less snug. And now I'm 10kg beyond that. Fan-tastic!

So, we put on our good hiking shoes (cross-trainers) and slathered on the bug repellent and headed for our goal -- a telephone pole situated at the very top of the ... I dunno... hill, mountain, giant green thing covered in foilage behind our house. I have to tell you, this was one of those moments when NOT being pregnant was a big relief, since I fell a couple of times when I was, and that was always a bit scary. Now, I knew I was destined to fall on my ass or face in this straight-up climb, and at least all that would be hurt would be my pride.

We started our walk, with our dogs Tonks happily padding at our heels. I love my dog, but really, she's a giant pain in the ass, and if she isn't within 3 feet of you at ALL times, she becomes a big whiny baby. So, walking along with us was just bliss for her. As we were rounding through one part of the property (it is MASSIVE), I started to hear Fern, our cat, crying as if her heart was breaking, somewhere behind us.

"Oh, for the love of god. Ferrrrrrrn. Ferrrrrrn. FERN!"

*bar-romp bar-romp bar-romp* Here comes Fern. Great, the whole family is here...it's like we're filming a new version of The Incredible Journey.

We start ascending, and it's a bit challenging, and THICK, but it's pretty cool. I mean, it's like instant jungle, instant rain forest, instant ... fern land. You only need to spend about 30 seconds in the New Zealand bush to see why the fern is one of their national symbols, including nearly all of their sports teams.

We were doing okay for awhile. Beau had found himself a good walking stick to help haul himself up the steep incline, and I was in his wake, trying to find footholds where I could. The big joke of the forest, was that there were branches -- EVERYWHERE -- but every time you grabbed one in desperation, *snap* it came off in your hand and you nearly catapulted backwards to your doom.

It got steeper and steeper, and we were following a trail that really only existed in our minds. Beau was sure that men had previously come this way many times to get up to the phone cables at the very top (far...far). I seemed to remember being told the helicopters were used to get up to those lines. Beau feigned ignorance of such a fact.

I also was a bit uncomfortable with Fern following us. Tonks following us is one thing. She's a dog and loves to push through thick brush. But...a house cat? I mean, I know we let Fern outside now since we moved here, but I still see her as our little kitty, our house cat who spends a lot of the day curled up on the couch. We were getting high up this mountain and our house kitty was hiking right along with us. But Beau said, "J., she's a cat. She'll be fine." And so, whatever. Super cute, kinda weird. Our animals have some serious abandonment issues. Wonder where they get THAT from.

Onward, I continued to "see" trails in the thick brush. I felt like I should be in a Hollywood movie, dressed in khaki Snobby Colonial clothes and wielding a machete as I exhaustedly hack further and further through the mosquito-infested jungle. It was crazy, but when you know your own HOUSE is just like, down there, you don't get all dramatic about it. It's kind of fun! What's the worst that could happen?

It seemed to be getting steeper, and thicker, though once in awhile we'd get a break and find another "trail." There was only one type of branch that was both hearty and strangely flexible and curved and twisted in strange ways, so you found yourself contorting your body to get under and over the same branch. It too, would suddenly 'let go' of its hold in the earth and I'd find myself tottering once again. Beau finally relinquished his stick to me, which I used to keep myself going up, up, upwards. Those telephone cables were real close, right?

We did have a few nice stops where you could make out a breathtaking view of the ocean below, as seen in my lovely photography here. You can just make out the cable on the left-side of the photo.

Unfortunately, there weren't any places you could really stop for long. Definitely no picnics. Usually you had one leg bent at 90 degrees, with your knee just under your chin, and your other leg straight as an arrow, perched on a tiny bit of dirt somewhere below you.

We got pretty high, and like most mountains, you climb and climb, get to a point where you're feeling pretty super-human (as seen by Beau's photo), and suddenly someone goes, "Oh no, the peak is actually over there!" and you look and see another peak, MUCH higher than you've already climbed, and you realize you have like a ton of more hiking to do.

Fuck that.

The telephone cables were hanging just above our heads, and we knew that the pole itself wasn't too far. We felt pretty accomplished, and had no shame in turning back at this point. Besides, how long would it take us to get back down such a steep incline?

We started down, now with me in the lead, one hand on the walking stick, and one hand clutching my camera. I shouldn't really say "me" in the lead. My initial master plan was to let the innate intuitiveness of Tonks lead us expertly through the bush and safely to the ground somewhere far below. Good idea? Well, I spent a lot of time on my ass, so you decide. Most likely the photo to the right is blurry because Beau was laughing too hard watching me slip-n-slide to keep the camera steady.

I was hearing a lot of grunting and various "ow"s and "ouch"s coming from behind me. I turned around and offered Beau his walking stick back. "No, that's okay, I'll just keep grabbing onto this razor-sharp grass for support," he replied.

I guess the bush makes some people a bit snarky.

Finally, at the bottom. Tonks is covered in burrs and both Beau and I are covered not only in burrs, but scratches and scrapes EVERYWHERE. Of course, Fern is still the princess she always is, clean and dignified. When pulling some dead leaves out of my underwear a few minutes later in the bathroom, my dignity kind of went out the window.