The River Runs Through Us

For fear of losing some of you to one of our more long-winded posts, we’ll kick things off with an exciting announcement:

In case you haven’t recently checked, we together as a community have managed to raise over 20,000 dollars for our causes. This is truly a massive accomplishment! We are deeply grateful to you all for your contributions and feel immensely proud to be part of this collective effort.

Ok, now for the recap…

Following a brief period of separation, during which Mia earned their keep on a sprawling sheep and deer farm (mowing lawns, feeding lambs, even riding in a tractor and a helicopter) and Olivia had a 3-day solo trek between the Rākaia and Rangitata Rivers, Pup and Pony were reunited to tackle a series of TA sections that were not for the faint of heart.

It began with a helicopter ride. This was the first hit of adrenaline and it was sickly sweet. Our pilot was clearly keen on showing us “greenies” what some gas-powered machinery could do. It being the first time for both of us in a chopper, we were in awe of the views, though all the cells in our bodies remained jostled and confused for the rest of the evening.

On our second night, we met a uniquely friendly group of younger hikers, three of them German, one from Christchurch, and a woman who had moved to NZ from Malaysia three months prior. They shared their food and whisky with us and we chatted for hours, gazing at the stars together, and in the morning we took a group photo.

A night in Twizel provided a bed and our routine overconsumption at an Indian restaurant. We didn’t know exactly what lay ahead, but we figured we had enough bread and dairy in our systems to take on the world.

In response, the Breast Hill track was suddenly and forcefully upon us, wind-whipping and calf-cramping us from the start. Of the four days we spent on trail, only one of them saw a break in an otherwise constant presence of wind, and it was to make way for rain. As for the terrain, what can be said is that we went up and we went down - that both remain difficult even when you think you’ve surely gotten the hang of things. It’s not until later, in your sleeping bag, that you can feel the subtle new shelves of muscle that have formed in your legs.

This earned strength - the physical and the emotional, too - was most tested during our crossing of the Ahuriri River. It was a remarkable encounter, though difficult to describe. Parts of the event still feel fresh, but on the whole it now feels strangely long ago. We chose our route from up on the hill and then descended with determination. We staggered ourselves to have one leader driving forward with a set of poles and one anchor holding them down by their bag from behind. In either position, it wasn’t long before the endeavor became a shocking imposition on the body. 10 meters in, we were waist-deep and straining against the current. Our quadriceps shuddered in the water’s harsh flux; the poles shuddered just the same. What we clung to the bottom with, in other words, was shaking towards defeat more and more with each step. Our breathing couldn’t be quieted. The reality of the situation and its likeliest threats was entirely eclipsed by the range of emotions that emerge from the experience of being overpowered. Whether the odds of injury or worse were higher in the river than in, say, a passenger vehicle, who knows. But all sensations in that water were driving us towards panic. The cold was mounting, numbing the muscles in our legs and hands. At times, one of us would slip or stumble and the other would brace, becoming their only hope against submersion. Our progress was painstakingly slow. We weighed the caution of each step against our dropping body temperatures. The last 15 meters took 20 minutes. Many times we shoved back on the doors against our growing emotions. When we reached the final few strides and the current eased up in shallower waters, we were able to quicken our pace and adopt some optimism. Stepping out onto shore was - like in a scripted piece - provocative of laughter, which quickly turned into sobbing and panting and a long, needed embrace. We squeezed our relief into each other. It was hard to think of much during the crossing apart from where each foot could go safely and, generally, thought devolved into a frantic desire to be finished and through to the other side. The reality, as previously mentioned, was not likely to result in our demise. But being in that river, for half of an hour struggling to move an inch and stay upright - it reduced us to bare fear.

And yet, by all accounts we had triumphed. So we were crying and swearing and also we were embracing and celebrating. There was no sense in looking back to calculate some superior route or technique. We were on the other side, headed to sleep in a hut. As at other times, we were strong enough or lucky enough, or some precious combination of both.

Following this challenge and a host of others that you’ll have to ask us about some other day, we made it to Wānaka and leaned into rest. We showered and ate and slept, caught a movie at Cinema Paradiso, where they serve warm cookies at intermission, and prepared for the next of what is really becoming our final sections of the Te Araroa.

We’ll leave you with a few more pictures and an abundance of hugs, which we hope you can feel! Thank you again for your support. You’re with us all the way :)

Xoxo

Pup and Pony