Some Minutes Mean More Than Others – New Zealand

Some Minutes Mean More Than Others
New Zealand

Day One
“What time is it now?”

“It’s seven minutes since you last asked,” replies an Australian girl snuggled up inside her jumper, directly facing the campfire. “It’s twenty-five to seven.”

“It can’t be! It’s been dark forever!”

So I sat down and ruined a beautiful photo

I’m inside a wooden hut with five other people. Like me, they are hiking through part of the Abel Tasman National Park in New Zealand. I’m freezing curled up inside my raincoat. Ignoring the advice of every hiker in history, I didn’t bring a sleeping bag. But I have cookies, twenty fruit lollypops and a sink plug. How can it be cold in New Zealand? It’s near Australia!

“You think you Kiwis know cold? You should live in England. That’s the cold I know. I won’t need a sleeping bag,” were words waffled by a naive hiker earlier in the day – the same hiker that was now shivering, listening to those around him snoring blissfully – remembering, too late, that even Eskimos wear fur coats.

Despite the winter season the sun had shone on my two travel companions and I for the duration of our walk. It was the first of three days and an experience I’ll never forget – if I live through tonight, that is. Even the boat ride had been memorable, I recalled, as I tried to pull my hat tighter against my head. It was the first time I had ever seen dolphins while sitting on the toilet – a liberating experience.

I remembered Johanus, the excitable Austrian sleeping now to my left, jumping child-like at the back of the boat shouting, “Oh, dolphins! I’m so happy when I see dolphins!” He had been equally thrilled by the sight of New Zealand Fur Seals on Tonga Island, but his joy on these occasions held no comparison to the joy expressed as we walked across the Aworoa Inlet many hours after leaving the boat.

We had to wade knee deep across over one hundred metres of golden-layered sands, littered with millions of small shells that we only hoped were not mincing our feet apart. There wasn’t time to tread carefully as the tide was coming in and the mounds of sand that only moments before had the appearance of a great, endless desert began to disappear underneath the water. Night comes early in winter. Eventually I fell asleep.

Day Two

I guess I was writing, “teeth need brushing!”

I’m cold again! How can the night be so horrific when the day was so idyllic? Not idyllic enough for me to want to endure a third night here, though. Which memory will remain with me – walking along deserted golden beaches and rope-bridges in lush rainforest, or shivering in these huts, scattered about?

Tonight hasn’t been as enduring as the previous evening because of the excitement of two Israeli travellers. They are attempting to complete the three-day walk in one day. Shortly after they devoured cheese sandwiches, mis-shaped after a day at the bottom of a backpack, they headed off into the night. I thought their plan showed poor judgement.

Heavy rainfall, which had hindered my sleeping the previous night, was about to cause disruption again. An inlet that park wardens deemed too irrelevant to mention prior to our trip had now become a fast flowing river. As I lie here I think of wading across that river with images of Stand By Me haunting me – the leeches, trekking in our underpants as we proceeded to complete the trek. We snigger naughtily at hikers heading the opposite direction, knowing what lies ahead for them. They snigger naughtily back for different reasons.

Day Three

After three days, we were tired of conversation

All of my cookies have gone but I do have plenty of lollypops. No sooner do I finish one than another is swirling around my mouth. I’m freezing in these wet clothes that never have time to dry. I need food and a shower. I smell so bad I’ve started to try and walk away from myself. There’s little conversation now. We want to get home. We’re not particularly interested in beaches, woodland, wildlife, lookouts or interesting flora any longer.

Hours later we are dancing on tables at a bar in Nelson – refreshed and happy. Each is describing the experience of the Abel Tasman National Park as one of the greatest, trying to convince the others that his recollection is more amusing than the last tale.

I hated every minute of it – almost. Some minutes mean more than others.