Nelson Lakes National Park Big Circuit
a 14 day solo trip into the New Zealand mountains
A 14-day solo tramp could well be the full meditation on loneliness, setting out to the more remote sectors of Nelson Lakes National Park in the South Island of New Zealand, knowing the unlikelihood of encountering too many other people in my travels at this time of the season, ie, mid-autumn.
The reality is, for those of a more solitary disposition, it’s entirely regenerative to spend time free from the demands of the Modern World, well, any demands whatsoever.
There’s a plan, of a sort, enough preparations, food, but the itinerary is fluid, changeable to suit the circumstances, like whatever the weather might choose to do, or, just changing your mind.
As for spending plenty of time on your lonesome, for solitary types you might find that there’s sufficient activity to occupy your time during the day so you might not notice the absence of companionship. At night, well, don’t you just crash off to sleep, exhausted by the day’s exertions?
To start, there’s a swag of somewhat mechanical operations required when you leave the conveniences of civilisation.
There’s the walking done during the day, five hours of actual walking time is certainly a reasonable day in the office, that’s generally sufficient effort for your average middle-aged bloke to hump a humungous load on their shoulders, at least for the first days, and then with a long sequence of day-on-day walking, another week or so. Once the load dissipates somewhat, the food ballast at a low ebb, well, those last few days, then, fully accustomed to the walking thing, it’s no big deal to race on out.
So walking, what else?
Then, generally, before darkness overtakes, some firewood collection, there’s usually forest around the hut with some standing dead timber to reconnoitre and gather. There’s always an axe in these New Zealand government provided huts, they have a steel handle welded to the often blunt head, and often a saw. There will be no doubt be times when any excess wood is appreciated by those for whom the conditions are more inclement.
Historically, staring into burning wood has been the television of the times, endless fascination for those of a more reflective disposition.
Those with more literary aspirations might bung down the thoughts of their day before tiredness overcomes their body completely. I try to crank out four hundred or so words late in the afternoon while still somewhat frisky, my brain working subconsciously on topics during the day. When I sit there with my .7mm pencil and notebook with little in the way of distractions it all just flows out, sometimes I am left wondering, Where on earth did that come from?
There is food preparation and scoffing, for some the speedier the better, austerity assists there, with the bonus of making you more appreciative of fine dining back in the Big City.
With darkness crashing in early, long autumn nights, physical exhaustion soon overtakes the mind and some horizontality is required, snoring not long away.
You might think that even for your average introvert there is time to feel lonely but believe me, the reality is there’s just none. Particularly if you can shut down your mind to some degree, avoiding anticipation, ie, dreaming of some future, or dragging up memories, thoughts from the past.
Instead, just concentrate on the here and right now, what’s happening this instant, those sharp gusts of wind up the valley, the creaking of my bunk, the warm glow of my limbs, my slow rhythm of breathing, my strong beat of heart.
Away from the blur and hustle of Modern Life, these are the aspects of living that fundamentally matter, we need an occasional reminder, this is why these long trips are of consequence.
Day 7 | Bobs Hut: if you are in Paradise, why move on?
The temperature from the comfort of my sleeping bag: 1ºC.
That’s inside Bobs Hut.
About as cold as I’ve been since forever, but somehow being in a hut makes a huge difference, something to do with not much in the way of dampness. The need to keep the window open to avoid filling the joint up with smoke last night no doubt contributing to the chilled ambience in the morning.
That kind of temperature is not extreme, it’s survivable once you start moving around.
Still not a cloud in the sky, it’s going to be a perfect day.
I’ve already decided to stick around to enjoy a day off, it’s Day 7, surely it’s time for a day of relaxation and a chance to scoff some of the food I’ve been lugging, lighten the load.
This is the point where I cease my southerly motion and start to head north back towards St Arnaud, but via a more strenuous route, over the higher passes. Three the minimum, David, Moss and Travers and then the question of climbing up to Angelus.
But I’m not thinking of that, rather, what the hell am I doing out here, what’s the meaning of it all?
This getting away from things, on my lonesome . . .
There’s some obvious points.
- I’m no great mountain climber, no need to romp up Faerie Queen or Gloriana, the big mountains around, 1500m above.
- I’m not a Guinness Book of Records-style tramper, attempting to set records between huts. However, I am acquiring a certain pack bearing fitness, the ability to keep climbing those hills, but have started from a reasonable, biking, base fitness.
- I’m not a particularly dedicated photographer, realising that about every scene I can point my camera and capture is already a cliché and been taken plenty of times before. Getting up pre-dawn, carrying a tripod, all that fussing? Nah, that ain’t for me.
- I don’t know the botany that well after decades out of the country, my memory is rather faded from earlier more extensive knowledge, but I can recognise 30 or 40 plants and the scientific names of about half of them for what that’s worth.
- Not an ornithologist, although I try to notice the birdlife.
- Not seeking to find myself, I’m after all pretty knowing of my condition and my place in the world.
- If it’s a midlife crisis it’s been going on way too long.
- This reacquaintance with the backcountry of my youth isn’t a search for that youth either.
- Self-obsessed? Nah, not really.
It’s none of the above.
When it comes down to any significant reason, this trip is another step in my subtle transition into the person I always knew I was going to become, when the time was right, ie, now.
This character construction hasn’t been achieved by acquiring new knowledge but by stripping away some parts of life in the modern world that had been assumed: materialism, career, status seeking, etc, and getting back to what I consider as the essential me.
Phew!!
It’s been five nights since I spoke with anyone and likely to be another five more. These days alone with not so much to do, a monastic existence actually, cutting the firewood, getting water from Mt Maling Stream, sitting in the sun, can get into a whole wodge of contemplating and philosophising.
The isolation and quietness of Bobs Hut is as good spot for that as anywhere.
Two weeks meandering around not quite aimlessly, the destination not so important?
Just perfect.
Lonely?
No, not one little bit.
In my youth I spent quite some amount of time in Nelson Lakes, one of three national parks within easy distance from Nelson where I grew up.
Recently, after half a lifetime overseas I returned to live permanently here in Paradise, and have spent some time reacquainting myself with once familiar territory.
This excursion was a 14 day solo trip around the periphery of the National Park. This is an extract from an e-book where I wrote about the trip:
