I cracked one eye open, peering out of the tiny opening to the bright whiteness of tent walls after dawn. Beads of condensation clung to the outside of my borrowed sleepsack as I slowly gathered courage to expose the other eye to morning sunshine filtered by the rain fly. Wind gently ruffled the walls, its sound overpowered by the roar of the Tasman Sea 100m away. I mustered enough gumption to reach an arm out to grab my clothes to don in the warmth of my sleeping bag before taking on the frost outside.

Since arriving in Golden Bay, I’ve been privileged to be wined and dined by local expert Amanda. She works in the biodiversity section of the Department of Conservation (DOC), and I’ve delighted in peppering her with questions about all types of flora and fauna and local conservation techniques. She shares about snail counting, trap line creating, predator annihilating, and rock forming. I’m fascinated by it all, but can scarcely keep up!

Nature info isn’t the only thing in which Amanda has me outpaced. She’s also led me on tramping adventures that leave my legs noodly and heart flailing about in my chest, flopping around in apparent search for an exit from this unfit host. I’ve oft contemplated collapsing to the ground in a fit of exhaustion, but hesitate because a) there’s prickly gorse around me and b) I’m pretty sure Amanda knows CPR and would likely resuscitate me rather than accept my tantrum.

Tuesday left me Parapara Peak-ed, as we donned packs and trekked up the 1300m mountain from near sea level. I was on all fours for a few steep sections of the nearly continuous grunt, and found some corners of my boots that aren’t quite waterproof as we crisscrossed a stream and wove our way through rocks and roots. I suspect my glutes were in treaty negotiations to arrange refusal of any further upward motion by the time we reached the DOC hut just short of the summit. But the views, the clear blue sky stretching forever over the Bay and Farewell Spit, and conversation spanning life here and beyond at the peak made every step (well, at least the majority of them) worth it.

We retreated back to the hut to make some deluxe dinner (Moroccan couscous, broccoli, and cauliflower burgers) while chickenesque wekas tried to sneak peeks in the hut, then we yarned away by candlelight to keep awake until an arbitrary 8:30 bedtime, after which I peeled layers off through the early night as the borrowed down sleepsack showed its sub-freezing mettle (I’m going shopping when I get home).

We pounded and slid our way down the mount the next morning as we passed again by Dr Seuss trees (NeiNei), honeydew insects (I ate nectar drops from a bug’s bum), and carnivorous snails 🐌 (they “pounce” on worms!). I repeatedly and foolishly found myself turning to glare at the roots that dare trip me as we traversed the uneven rocky staircases of 6-30 inches on our way back to the sea.

We reached the ute (truck) at noon, so headed all glorious and stinky into Takaka to get some takeaway, then enjoyed a picnic with a view of the jewel-toned Golden Bay. Then back in the ute to find another hike (easier, thank you) to catch a glimpse of Wainui Falls.

Wednesday afternoon allowed for some quick showers and gear swapping back at the house before heading out to the west coast for meeting mates, feeding lambs, and another camping spot. We closed out our day with camp stove delicatessen rice and curry, hot chocolate, and talks of traveling the world while watching moonlight play on the waves.

Life is good, my friends.