Diary Readings (continued)

Digression; Side note 2

The Ascent:
The ascent is bold. It makes its intentions known. It challenges all that oppose it throwing fire from the sky and rain from the side. Legs cramp, brows furrow, fists grow white, all the while a slow path performs a crescendo and the victor stands upon weather beaten rock and snow with the wind wiping exhaustion and bringing vigor and glory and peace.

The Descent:
The descent is cruel. Its motives are scarcely scene, but become more apparent with every stumble down. Bones become brittle. Joints become stiff. Hunger sets in. What comes up must come down. Bull shit. The distance grows. The heat gets hotter and the wind gets softer. The forests are inviting. They ask for nothing more than a chat. Then it gets dark.

March 9th - a Saturday

Tis the second consecutive day that I have risen before the sun to do nothing but say hello and make her coffee. It wasn't too bad, either; finding comfort by adding a little chicory; watching the clouds billow over the mountains as they cover the turquoise blue lake that extends past the horizon just to tuck it in at night. Fragments. Run-ons. My mind has been full of them lately. Constantly thinking of my past, present, and all of the would be futures that it has conjured at the same time wields an anxious mind. A dominating thought has been my career. I'm ready to grow up. To get a haircut. To shave my face. To become my own man. Self reliant in every respect of the word. I write this as the day is coming to an end in Aoraki (cloud-piercer) National Park. I am anxious about the hike thru Ball Pass. I bought my first Topo. It already has some food stain on it. I snagged avalanche and hypothermia guides. I have my Cuban cigar at the ready. The seas may look calm, but they are buzzing beneath.

March 10th - a Sunday

Our first true Alpine crossing. Thank the Lord for those old folks with all of there rejuvenating wilyness and, more importantly, experience. The slippery scramble up that scree pitch on top of our consistent wash out of our route was a tad scary. With our tents snugly situated behind several large boulders, the "Upper Playing Fields" aren't too shabby. The pink and purple and blue haze dropping below the surrounding white and black peaks makes for one hell of a view. Those damn Kea better not get into our stuff tonight. Alpine parrots? Huge green parrots with brightly colored under feathers that have a more inquisitive mind than a cat tripping on nip. I cannot believe that the Hooker and Tasman glaciers used to fill up those two valleys; the Hooker to the left and Tasman to the right. It's even hard to imagine them coming up to the moraine wash out rising some 1000 feet of the two old guys let alone the entire damn gully. Still anxious. We cross the pass tomorrow morning.

March 11th - a Monday

That scree slope falling out of those chaucy bluffs looks sketchy. It's 6:30 in the morning. My camera is steadily taking pictures. Maybe it will turn out well, what with the pink and blue climbing over the distant, but not so distant peaks. I'm looking at Mt. Cook (Aoraki) from the Northeastern side. I see where we have to go. I see our pass. On to the scree slope, up the bluff, thru the ice field, over the snow, atop the pass, and down the crumbling Ball Ridge with the Caroline face to our "true-left," will we reach the mouth of the Tasman glacier all while taking notice of the OTHER glaciers and mountains towering above us and breaking beneath us. Anxiety. Fear. Excitement. My pulse has quickened. It's nearly time to go. We have a long day ahead of us. There is no more route. We're leaving the trekking party that we met behind. We must find our way. I like that. Scares the hell out of me, but I like it.

March 12th - a Tuesday.

It's Drew's birthday! I'm in the car. We're in the car. We're alive. Sun burned, scraped, skinned up and down, achey, but relieved, proud, and happy. That climb. That scree. Looking to the right and left and seeing nothing but an immediate wash out lasting thousands of feet with nothing but fine gravel and big boulders to stop you on the way down, which, as you well knew, wouldn't. It's as if the side of the mountain fell off leaving nothing but a fragment - there they are, again - like little momentos for the mountain to remember her by. Makes me sad. The snow pitch! The heavily trodden and iced ascent up. Jack not getting crampons. The steep, slippery traverse down. Looking at Mt. Cook and hearing him rumble as he cast down ice and rock the glaciers and valleys below. Ball ridge. The exposed Ball ridge. All dangerous. All scary. All conquered (well, not Mt. Cook). That 8k run right after. Getting the crampons back with not a moment to spare. Success. Relief. Gratitude.

March 16th - a Saturday

The last several days have been a blur. Images and country are crashing together throwing flashbacks of big dinners, rock face, momentary solitude, boulders and beach, nightlife swing, green falcons, among other things. It's been a good trip. We're in Dunedin. We're at the beach. The wind is blowing. The surf is up and the water is cold; it's just so damn clear! It's a shame that your pride won't allow you to surf anymore today because your lack of skill surrounding by that surplus of skill. But, to be fair, that wet suit was a girl's wet suit; i.e. way too damn tight in a few areas (like, one area). I still have a stomach ache. This may be my favorite beach, yet. All of those gentle rolling hills and bluffs really make it something special. Actually, it's that lone, old, gnarled tree. It's just siting there in a pasture of golden hay at the foot of the sand looking over the bay. Natures light house. Green house? The boys are being lazy. I don't blame them. Lots of climbing yesterday with a big night out afterward. I lost my nerve cleaning that route. It was tall. It was exposed. It was scary. More like beautiful. I'm proud now, but that's after. That's usually how things go, I suppose.

Digression; Side note 3

Details. Life is full of them. Sure there is always that big picture scheme, but how do we know or, better yet, feel words without knowing those little words to describe those big words? Little words being details, of course. The little things that you're supposed to enjoy. Our mornings are pleasant. This is how: birds singing, sun rising, tent stirring, wind blowing, camp moving, water boiling, coffee making, breakfast munching, Eugene starting, car packing, and we move on. How about even more? The way Micah flashes his blue eyes when I flash an additional sugar packet for tea; the way Drew always says, "nice." after a good roll up of the tent; the way Jack's stomach growls louder than my own after a meal (WHAT!); the way a wave dances and tempts you closer never being able to discern whether she's going to give you a smack or salty kiss; the way the sky looks above the tree line as you stumble out of the tent in the wee hours of the morn. Yeah, those. They're nice, right?

March 21st - a Thursday

Micah left two days ago. My entries haven't been sparse for lack of material, but to accessibility and time. Yeah, we've kept on with the trekking and climbing and all of the other "cool" stuff, but his absence has caused a great deal of unrest within me. The last three nights have been bad. Can't sleep. Not a wink. I'll wake up from a small trance and immediately jump to conclusions as to why my worn out body won't do what it's told. What is it about? It seems as if all my drive and ambition are narrowing to climbing out of this whole that I have out myself in (having a good time doing it, I might add). Becoming financially secure and settled. Normalcy. I crave normalcy; that day to day grind that so many people tell me that they wish they could free themselves of. Free like I am. It seems as if my mind is more occupied with forecasting job outlooks than the outcrop of that bluff we just climbed. It will pass. Things always do.

March 23rd - a Saturday

Content. We had a massive meal for dinner. 3 burritos with all of the fixin's (except sour cream; junk is nasty). I make almost every meal. I don't know how this happens given that Drew is every bit as good as a cook as I am, if not better. Eh, whatever. I don't mind it. Beats washing up afterward. We've been climbing a lot of rocks as of late. Big rocks, little rocks, slippery rocks, slab rocks, granite rocks, limestone rocks, dirty rocks, clean rocks, overhung rocks, ya know; the lot of them. Drew is a damn good climber. Wye creek was scary. I think that I would have attempted to onsite lead a route on that big wall, but if I would have looked down, I might have cried. I think Dunedin is still bothering me. Being utterly exhausted 75-80ft off of the ground after finishing the hardest route you've ever attempted desperately hanging on as you're trying to remember the process of cleaning a route while being above your protection with nothing above or below. I lost it on that route. Unnerved for sure. The past several days have been good for me. I think I'm getting it back again. The mojo.

Let the pic's begin:

looking at Cook from the Upper Playing Fields.

I know Jack.

hey, Drew.

going down.

whip my hair?

surfers in the woods? nah, they comin'

Milford.

Mount Cook (The Caroline face)

KEA!

Diary Readings

February 11th - A Monday.

I'm not quite sure where I am other than in a tent by a stream in a meadow near mountains in Northland. It's our first night camping in NZ. The landscape is spectacular. We started our journey the 16th of January, but not too much before today is worth recalling. That's a bit bold. Maybe they will be recalled. Further on, I suppose. The surfing with Mickey was the best. Of course you'll remember the big wave you got crushed in along with the big wave you finally caught (5.5ft maybe? hardly big), but remember all of those smaller moments too; like this one. Washing dishes in the creek, drinking red wine, and eating chocolate by the moonlight.

February 14th - A Thursday.

I just arrived in Raglan. I'm sitting on a porch. I'm drinking tea. I'm periodically looking at the bay. She sings encouragement. I'd rather not be with anyone at the moment? The last several days have been great. Camping, Camping, and Camping. Now I'm at a hostel. The money is running out way faster than I intended. I'm anxious. Can't decide to go for a run or have a smoke. I can do neither. Damn... Have I spoken of Cape Reigna yet? Well, It was nice. Look to the left and smell the air, feel the breeze, close your eyes. You're there. Now you're running into the water under the massive rock bluffs. It's a great feeling.

February 15th - A Friday.

At this very moment, I'm listening to the album "Kid A" by Radiohead. It's out there, but good. I'm still in Raglan. I wish I could stay here. I can't wait to leave here. I went for a surf today; was too scared to go for the big boy rocky point break. It had great waves, though. We're going to Hobbiton tomorrow. I'm awfully excited about that. I've been drinking too much beer lately. I attribute that to the Nelson Bay venture where we drank just about every night. Nothing serious, but continuous. Yoga was quite nice today. She pronounced her O's oddly. Oregonians. I want to go to French Polynesia and work on a pearl farm. The potential position in Nashville has me on a edge a bit.

A Digression; Side note 1.

This is my first side note. I don't know how long this is supposed to last. Maybe I should continue to talk about Cape Reigna? It was big and beautiful and blue. I went skinny dipping in broad day light where the two oceans met - the Tasman and the Pacific, of course. I was 100% sober. The Kauri forest was nice. I don't think that I'm spelling that correctly? I think it inspired the creator of ferngully. Especially that second tree being 17 around or more? I miss being off of the beaten path. I want - NEED - to climb a mountain. I want - NEED - to be challenged brutally. I think about it all of the time. I rode a good wave. Now I need to yell atop a snow covered peak, beat my chest, and yell into the nothingness that sets above the world. Damn, my handwriting is bad. Cruising around the North Island is beautiful. I'm having a hard time imagining how the South Island can be so much MORE beautiful. I miss stability. I long for chaos. I hate roads, yet I live my life on one. Cello or piano? There are still so many things that I want to learn. I'm going to get good at one of them when I get back. Not like Dr. Sebba or Dr. Simon good; hell, not even half that good. But good enough to play a song. Carl, my dread, is hungry. He's growing. He's also trying to raise a family.

February 16th - A Saturday.

I'm by the light of my lantern. I'm in a tent near a lake near mountains near the sea. Today was a great day. I drove to Matamata with the amigos. We drove further, led by Eugene of course. We arrived in Hobbiton just before our tour began at 1. We saw it all. Buckland even! The party tree was still there. Hobbit holes of all sorts still in tact! My favorite was having that free tasty ale in the Green Dragon. Purchasing Micah and myself another round was just as rewarding as the first! Geeze, I was excited. I wanted to run through the meadows and hills, swim down the streams, and dance and sing all night long never leaving the pretend world dreamt up to be the Shire.




February 19th - A Tuesday.

Not much happened today other than eating. Lots of it. Nvm. We went to Wellington. We went to the Te Papa museum. We saw the giant squid. Miraculous. It was a great museum (I touched the raptor even though I wasn't supposed to!!!). More important note! We climbed Mount Doom yesterday! And Tongariroo! We took the Tongariroo Alpine Crossing and turned right towards Mount Doom. I keep referring to it by it's fictional name merely because I cannot pronounce nor spell the real name. What a sharp, ashy, barren, steep shadow of a path it was. Into the mist and clouds we went only to arrive standing on the rim of the volcano. We smoked our cigars and had pb&j's. Lovely. Tomorrow we're crossing the Cook Straight with the South Island in our sights. HooraH.

February 22nd - A Friday.

So I'm making a habit of writing in the tend before or after reading. Wednesday we crossed the Cook Straight and stayed in White Bay. Thursday morning I woke up to scower the rocks searching for my breakfast; abalone and green lipped mussels. I was successful  Breakfast was successful. Those two Americans biking New Zealand were nice to talk to. The hostel we stayed at in Motueka that night sucked. The steaks, potatoes, and beer was great. Today we woke up and at 30 eggs, a loaf of bread, and a block of cheddar. We're men, damn't! I'm hungry just thinking about it. I'm always hungry. The Hangdog climbing park was pretty cool. Felt good to be on rock again. I almost got that overhang. Almost. Though, my knee has been hurting ever since. More climbing tomorrow along with prep for Mt. Arthur and Mt. Owen in the Kuhurangi Mountain Range.

February 23rd - A Saturday.

The full moon has risen over the mountains  It has a cast a silohuete of the sub-alpine ridges and peaks surrounding us. It's chilly outside. Our fire is-a-goin'! The back country of New Zealand has been all too welcoming. Man, that moon is bright. And the stream flowing down from the nearby brothers of rock and stone, Arthur and Owen, tastes delicious. As long as the weather holds, the hike up to Mt. Arthur throughout the Tablelands and Kuhurangi forest should be nice and clean. This is our first multi-night camping venture into the bush. I'm so packed with granola and peanut butter, I could explode and feed the entire populous of Bonnaroo. Climbing was good this morning too. Three lead climbs and my first clean! Though, I couldn't have done it without Drew's expertise. Climbing by the mourn and tramping by night. All is good.

February 26th - A Tuesday.

I'm listening to the sound of American and Canadian voices. I can't remember any of their names. I don't miss America per se, but I do miss good, cheap beer. And cheap things in general. When I get hungry, I miss the States. When I am thirsty, I miss the States. So basically, my homesickness can be quite wretched sometimes. Anywho. We climbed Gordon's Pyramid and Mt. Arthur yesterday. Tomorrow, We climb Mt. Owen. How 'bout that hike in? Jue puta! The guys are getting weary. It's tiresome work, the trekking and tramping, but it's oh so rewarding. I'm worried that they are not seeing the reward. I'm worried that they are not feeling it like I am. Maybe their spirits will pick up. I'm sure they will. I want a massive burger. One that will make my heart fear for its life. We haven't been eating much. I'm energized enough, but I'm constantly hungry. That 30 egg breakfast seems so long ago. Le sigh.

March 3rd - A Sunday.

I'm clean! I'm full! I mean sorta full! Did I mention that I'm clean? It's been over a month since I have washed my hair. I can't remember my last shower. The Scottish dark ale was absolutely delicious. This Crafty Beggars Pale Ale is quite nice. Remember: they're crafty, but not too crafty. Shall I recount the journey up Mt. Owen thru Granity Pass? Along Sentinial Mountain keeping right across the sub-alpine mixture of tussock, boulder, flower, and granite? Scrambling up grey sheets hanging from the side of Owen as he stood proudly in the beating sun? How we jumped over crevasses with no visible bottom? Scanning the horizon to the South and looking at snow covered peaks chatting above the clouds? I'm in Christchurch. Our bodies hurt. We need to rest. We are weary but not broken.