My knees are busted. My hips creak and complain. I feel like I’m hungover. But I can now cross multi-day hike off my bucket list. Hooray?
Depending on the mile marker, our destination was either Howlett’s Hut! Or How Let’s NOT. Given that we’d up end traversing 51.5 MILES (according to Siri) it was more often the slander of the latter. (Sorry, Mr. Howlett.)
To begin, it seems appropriate to record and rant about the hike first. E’erbody likes a happy ending, so we better get the ugly outta the way. That being said, why don’t we just zoom forward to the first emotional breakdown, eh?
The circumstances: Day 1, about 7 hours into our “8 hour” hike. Wet feet, weary bones. Eyes hopeful as we crest every ridge, eagerly scanning each new horizon for the hut. Eric: “Well, it looks like we go down this dip, up that peak, and 4-5 ridges over. We’re probably 1.5 hours away yet.” After repeated reassurances that my darling was not joking, I lasted 10 minutes before the onset of the deluge. I fell into a ditch covered by a bush and wept. Full, gasping sobs that didn’t fully subside until we reached our destination 2 hours later.
Breakdown #2 set in when the sun did. Following the smallest suggestion of a “track” we were constantly stumbling into bogs, being scratched and skewered by hardy alpine flora, attempting to race the sun. Darkness was quickly descending at the same rapid pace that my right knee was beginning to scream with shooting pains.
And it was in this condition, my weakest hours, that we were saved. A mirage in a desert of tears, a bloody deer head in hand, a group of strangers promised to show us the way. And when we arrived to the promised land, we found beer. Lots of it. And chocolate chip cookies. Bags of them. And I’ll be damned if we didn’t smash that manna from heaven, double fisting each, before being offered 2nds, 3rds, and a cup of jello. I thank those same heavens that those hunters were there. For that foursome who showed us the way, filled our bellies, and entertained us for a few hours before bed, all the while keeping that furnace piping hot. BLESS YOU, YOU GENTLE SOULS.
Day 2.
In addition to the squad of lively deer hunters overnighting at Howlett’s, we also shared our bunkhouse experience with a fellow named Phil. Former schoolteacher, former husband, he quit both and decided to hike the length of New Zealand. On the morning of our second day, the 2 of us watched the sunrise together from the front porch. I traded him a mandarin for a hot cup of coffee and he explained that the root cause of my knee pain was buried in tight, overextended quads. And just like that, my life was saved all over again on the trail! Praise! Our new friend ended up accompanying us for the next 4 hours on the trail, after setting out from our little shelter. I was grateful for the distraction, conversation, and inspiration. We socialize with strangers far less than I ever anticipated on this trip. It’s been an unexpected disappointment as that–people, interactions, characters!–are usually the most interesting meat of my travels.
We came to a crossroads around lunchtime at mile #11. Sitting on the saddle, munching on the last set of sandwiches, it was decision time. Go back the way we arrived, trudging again through the marshes up the mountain, or opt for the longer, more gentle and mysterious route back to the car park, skirting the ominous unending vertebrae of Mt. Tunupo. With a great sigh, we heaved our packs back onto sore shoulders and took the fork on the right: the longer, hopefully more leisurely option.
And it sucked.
Whoops.
But at least I was more mentally fit to undertake the 17 miles remaining. My manta: I will be grateful for this day, one step at a time. And I was. Part of the time. We were up against a whopping set of challenges–low food and water stores, poorly marked and overgrown trails, nightfall when we still had 2 hours remaining–but we also had each other. And while that’s the cheesiest statement to enter the journal in some time, the truth and value of it are indisputable. We helped each other. We encouraged each other. And we pulled each other up, both literally and figuratively, when things got particularly precarious. When he says, “We’re a team,” I say, “And I’ll follow you anywhere, darling.”
-K
^One of the only photos of me on the hike. This was when I was still happy and wanted that sort of thing. Allllmost at the top of Mt. T.
^ This was the site of the first breakdown. I was in bad shape, but even through my misery I could recognize the value of dragging the camera out.
^A less artistic shot from the same moment. Although THIS one shows how far we had to go. The hut is somewhere buried below the 4th ridge or so to the right. Also recall, I thought we would be DONE by this point.
^Again, quite distraught, bit still able to unzip the pack for the Canon. That light!
^Howlett’s Hut exterior + interior. It’s a first come, first serve, cozy little 10 bed structure. They’re usually MUCH more primitive, but the hunters we bunked with took a helicopter in with an ungodly weight allowance. (They woke us up the next morning with BACON sizzling for their BANANA PANCAKES. I appreciated their generosity the night before, but this was a keen cruelty when we were down to peanut butter and jelly.)
^ About to set out on the return hike. Trying to stave off feelings of panic at the day I knew was waiting for us.
^ Bye, Howlett’s.
^ Lunch.
^ Hiking buddiez.
^Parting ways with Phil.
-K
^ We’ve arrived at the I-35 split! (Halfway.)
