When George Orwell wrote 1984 he buggered off to the remote Scottish island of Jura, and described it as a pretty “unget-at- able” place. New Zealand’s Northland and most likely the whole of the South Island share this unget-at-ability, so this week I put my hand into my deep Yorkshire pockets and shelled out for a car that was built when I was still in nappies!
“She’s not a great lookers but she can still move”…No not a description of Madonna’s latest piece of visual diarrhoea, but the words of top gear magazine….or more accurately the guy that flogged me this beast of a machine.
With the motor packed and raring to add to the 200,876 miles on the clock, my new found friend and road trip compadre Konrad headed for Opua and more precisely the vehicle ferry that would take us to a point on the Cape Brett track. To start this tale I should rewind a little, Konrad had sold me the idea of this “walk” a few days earlier not mentioning any length in time or distance just a gentle meander if you will, to a famous landmark in NZ… the hole in the rock. No problem I exclaimed I have done many walks in the UK…blah blah. To fast forward then, there we were, looking out over Paihia, and the whole area of the beautiful bay of islands. We stopped casually for pictures, I had no bag only a light rain jacket and my camera……Around 2 ½ hours in, I had started to contemplate the idea of where the endpoint may be, Konrad who had bounded off like fucking Ben Fogle on one of those ridiculous programmes, where he invites uninteresting members of the public to trek all over the world, and then, up some sodding mountain in Peru exclaims to the camera man
“Sue is really struggling today…it must be due to her worrying about her sons diabetes”
Piss off Fogle its because she sits in a crappy office all day while you get paid to look after yourself and prance around the bloody Alps or gorp at animals on a posh farm.
Anyway enough of my distain for talentless Class Z celebs, time was ticking by, it was around 3 in the afternoon when we passed a sign…hole in the rock 4 hrs.
“Konrad..how long do you think is left?”
“….maybe over zi next ill”….
The next ill came and went and another, we finally reached the end and after around four and a half hours walking didn’t feel so bad..If a little thirsty. We turned back.. Night fall was at 8 and we wanted to be well out of the bush by this point, so we packed away the camera’s and got cracking.
Now I’m not the most unfit chap in the world nor am I Haile Gebrselassie, but I consider that as an average Guinness drinking 24 year old goes I don’t do too bad. Within 90mins of heading on the long drag back I felt bloody awful, nearly all the water had been drunk and I was dragging my self along like a child who had been playing football on a long summers evening, and could now hear his mother calling him home! I don’t know what happened but the air seemed hotter, the sweat that poured down my neck wasn’t wet enough to cool me but damp enough to catch the breeze and make me shiver. Konrad who seemed unchanged from the first five minutes continued on. By 3 hours into the trek back I was starting to feel like Vanessa Feltz hauling myself over hills made of treacle. I had to take a break, I felt dizzy and my mouth was now unbelievably dry. After a short while we reached a water butt that caught rain water, what had looked a slightly risky and unattractive place to fill the water bottles before, now was a necessity, I drank 1.5 litres without thinking. It felt like all the hangovers I have ever had, had all come at once. When we got to the car I was done, I flopped into the seat, polished off more water and looked down at the front tyre, it was four inches into the mud. Even though at this point my brain knew we were stuck I didn’t give a monkeys I just sat there staring at this piece of rubber and the sopping mud and grass all around it. If this day could get any worse it had…..
…..Yes I had to be towed out. And yes all the local Maori kids had a good laugh at the stupid tourist who had parked in the lowest point of the field, when there were 400acres of fucking dry,arid,solid, better than tarmac ..Kiwi earth to park on. It seems we English can’t even beat the Germans at parking cars in fields or the most basic of Human tasks..Walking up a hill, and not even one high enough for Jack and Jill to write home about. I got back, ate, and suitably humiliated went to bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment