Waiting on a mission
When the opposite to moving is the challenge.
Kia ora, team!
Please help me. I’ve been housesitting for eight weeks now and my grand total for overnight adventures this summer equals zero. Yep, none. And what a summer stunner it’s turning out to be. Even on Tuesday, when we were forecast for all manner of hell to rain down on us in the form of thunderstorms, all we got where I was was a bit of grey cloud rumbling somewhere in the distance. I’ll take it. My tenure looking after these cats will soon be ending and I’ll be a free agent to go and hit me some wilderness. In the meantime, that favour: please regale me in the comments with news of your summer adventures. Give me inspiration, hope and satisfaction that you’ve been doing some cool things with your time. Cheers!
In fact, this cat-sitting role reminds me of the end of the first day of my South Island packraft journey. I’d set off from the northern point of the island that morning and walked through a farm to reach the Whanganui Inlet/Te Tai Tapu. It was around 2pm and blowing an absolute hooley. The tide was on the out and I didn’t fancy finding out how much of the estuary was mud at low tide. The mission is to paddle as much as possible and only hike when the water runs out, so I decided to call it a day. The tide would be back into the estuary next morning and the weather looked good for a crossing.
Needing somewhere to camp, I hiked up the quiet, dead-end, gravel road to the Kaihoka Lakes. This is yet another pair of dune lakes found on the western side of the country, alongside the likes of Taharoa, Kaiiwi, Waikere and Rototoa of the North Island. As I gladly trundled down the short track from the road to the water’s edge, the first lake glistened at me in the untethered spring sunshine. For a small lake, cut-off from the ocean by several giant rocky heads, the wind was sure making itself known. So’wester, it was, bringing with it a familiar chill and making the flax beside the lake clap loudly.
I slipped my weighty pack off my shoulders and left it to rest beside the lone wooden picnic bench. Needing somewhere to wild camp, I killed a few minutes scoping out the area, looking for somewhere I wouldn’t be seen nor annoy anybody. The small vehicle area by the lake had a toilet, so I’d preferably be within a wee walk of that.
Once I had some options, I began the drawn-out task of waiting for the wind to drop. And this wind really didn’t want to drop. 4pm passed, 5pm passed, 6pm passed and the flax was still clapping. Small waves of crystal clear water repeatedly smashed onto the sandy shore. Time seemed to stand still. The sun began to dip and I started to feel a bit cold. I got in behind a big flax cluster and boiled some water for a tea, which killed some time and helped with the chill. As I sat there, sipping my brew, I thought about the day, how it had gone and how it had ended. “I did not expect this!” I said, fidgeting slightly in my grass tuft seat.
It was a good reminder: sometimes the challenge is just staying put.
