After
Stewart Island we made jam and basically did not really move for a week, so
Saturday we decided to go for a little walk. Foolishly I decided on little
Mount Peel, and more foolishly we chose the hottest and wind-free-est day of
the year.
After some
nice gentle tracks through the forest, and having cooled down at Emily falls,
steep uphill it went. At some point we emersed from the forest into prickly
scrubs, and while I was sweating and yelling at the prickles, Thomas said: “look,
you can see the top from here”. The top seemed as high and far away as Mount
Everest, with the distinction that there was considerably less snow (none).
Cursing and
in a foul mood I kept climbing after Thomas (always such a joy to go up a
mountain with me … poor Thomas!). It was soo hot and although I usually curse
the everlasting winds around here, I was dying for a cooling breeze. It was
really hard to cool down and as the track got steeper and steeper and the sun
hotter and hotter and my legs more and more tired, my heart racing faster and
faster and the mood sinking with every meter gained in altitude.
But we made
it, and there was cool water and a shady hut up there, and a cool view of the
Rakaia river, one of Canterbury’s braiding rivers.
Going down was also easier.
But never
will I go up Large Mount Peel.
