Day 38. Pirongia

I was woken up at 4am to the cold seeping in through my sleeping bag. I struggled my body back to sleep.

Buzz, buzz, buzz! My 7am watch alarm vibrated me to reality. Arguably, the hardest part of the day is starting the day. I found the courage to abandon the warmth, and was shocked to find my tent covered in a glass shattered coating of ice. Everything around me was white with frost. My bic lighter managed to die on me last night, leaving me with knife and flint to start my gas cooker. This was harder than expected when I lost the feeling in my fingers. By the time I cooked breakfast, cleaned my pot, packed up camp, and was walking, was when I finally started to get feeling back in my body.

1000 metres to climb today. The track estimated 4 hours to the summit of pirongia. Pirongia was the first forest over the past month that just felt different. There was something about it. I was expecting a steep challenging climb, but pirongia was more of a gentle accent. The forest trapped the cold, bringing my breath to life. I found the familiar routine of obstacles, such as fallen trees, mud, and hard to follow track.  Nothing out of the ordinary. The higher I climbed the lower the temperature dropped. The mud started to become harder, and soon I found ice, then snow. The plants managed to hold onto their frost, even though they were visible to the afternoon sun. As I fought through the hard mud my fatigue would settle in, and more times than once I would loose my balance, and more times than once did my  kauri mountain walking stick manage to catch and hold my entire weight. Ive been walking with this dead stick for something close to 500km now, and I've found myself growing more attached to it each and every day. Like Tom Hanks and Wilson from cast away I've started to talk to my stick, and depend on my stick for company. I am yet to name my strong companion. Not because of any reason in particular, I just have yet to find it. I could make up a name, maybe "Woodrow" or "Barklee", but that would be no different than calling a cat a dog. I'll know the name when I find it.

All true climbs are patterns. Though I cannot see through the dense jungle above me I can tell how close I am to the summit. After climbing up for some hours I start to descend. This is the first phase of my climb to the top. Usually after going down, I will climb back up, this time steeper and more narrow. Then I will descend again, before making one last steep climb. This is when I know I'm close to my goal. I was surprised when I reached the summit. 2 hours and 30 minutes, and I felt good. There was a ladder that brought me to a high balcony, giving me an entire view of Pirongia forest park, the west coast ocean, and far off I could spot the white tipped peaks of Tongariro. I spotted Pahautea hut over the hill and started my walk towards it. When I arrived I was disappointed to find there was no fireplace. It was certainly cold up here at 3100 feet, but this was supplemented with beautiful views. I could have continued down the mountain, but since this was the first proper hut that  I've seen on Te Araroa I wanted to spend the night. I read through the log book, and was able to read of some of my fellow trampers who have passed through over the years. I was able to hang my tent up to dry, and cook some very delicious meals. I read my book, and did some well needed stretches. As the sun started to set I found myself on the balcony railing of the hut taking photos. As I jumped down for the high point my nike sneakers caught the frost coated deck and stole my feet from under me. In one hard crashing motion I hit the floor. My side ached, and I decided to lay there for a few seconds laughing at my pain.

When the light of the sun faded the wind immediately took over. The hut rocked and ached. The short walk to the toilets quickly became a task. There was some candles at the hut, and I was happy to have some natural firelight with me. I curled up in my sleeping bag, and fell asleep to the madness that danced beyond the door beside me.