Mt. Cook

“Is far? Top?” a woman with short legs and red cheeks asks us as we pass. “It’s a way yet. Right up there at those rocks,” I respond, directing a pointer finger several hundred feet higher, many degrees closer to a molten, midday sun. As she follows my gaze, I can tell by her silence that she is defeated. “Thank you,” she manages between short, sharp breaths of exertion, and we each continue on our way.

I found it incredibly amusing yesterday during our tramp (read: hike) that Eric and I were being repeatedly stopped, questioned over our trail knowledge. It makes sense that in a sea of slogging uphillers that the long pair making the descent might hold the key to Pandora’s box. To be seen as an authority with our there-and-back status entertained me to no end with all of our bumbling, amateur foibles in previous ascents. Eric is in white low tops and jeans for Chrissakes while I haven’t worn a bra in months. No waterproof pants masquerading as zip-off shorts for us, nor any pretentious facial hair, hiking sticks, or snappy neon pullovers with too many pockets. Our attire is better suited for a shopping mall vs. a mountaintop, but we hike just the same.

At this point in the story you miiiight be wondering why we were along in our descent? Aha! Yes! Now is my opportunity to boast that we only hit the snooze button 3 times when the alarm sounded at 5am. We arrived at the mountain by 6. We were on the trail with peanut butter sandwiches packed before 7, just in time for sunrise. Never mind that dense layers of moisture blocked our view as the sun only rose above the cloud level. That just meant that while we tackled the 1,780 thigh busting steps to the halfway point, we were in the perfect position for an epic game of peek-a-boo with the surrounding mountains, valleys, lakes, and glaciers. Our feet on the ground, our heads in the clouds, our eyes wide open, it was utter enchantment.

-K

001mtcook ^ It was an undertaking of Titanic proportions each way (3.5 hours) or a Byron to Duluth drive.

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^ Fog makes everything cooler. One of my new favorite shots.

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^ To quote Rafiki: “Look haaah-daaah.”

002mtcook^ We’ve arrived at the I-35 split! (Halfway.)

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^ Cruising towards Hinckley, and our peanut butter sandwich break.

006mtcook^ That last hill in to Duluth where you SEE it and you’re SO CLOSE but you’re not there yet.

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^ Hooray! Our destination, Mueller Hut! Positioned at the crest of the Sealy Range, it’s set an altitude high enough for summer snow.

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^ Cute little outhouse o’er yonder.

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^ SNOW, guys, snow!

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^ Catching all the scenery we missed on the way back down. Majestic, but I prefer the clouds. They’re more fun.

013mtcook^ Talk about a capsule wardrobe. The all purpose outfit.

namaste

In an attempt to be mindful of my original NZ goal list, today I unrolled my yoga mat for the first time since it’s acquisition last week. I spent a solid 50 minutes on the mat, it’s blue plastic surface nestled amongst swaying, seaside grass with a commanding view of the Southern Alps before me. Unfortunately for my spiritually inclined goals, my eyes were not closed in deep meditation but for a delightfully sunny siesta. Who knew a yoga mat doubled so brilliantly as a sleeping surface?

In all seriousness, I did attempt a legitimate go at some stretching this morning. I’m finding on this trip that my very first actions, reactions to the new day, are key in determining my daily attitudes. This morning after throwing back the covers for a swig of water, I didn’t crawl directly back into bed beside my beloved. “Oh! It’s really not too cold outside either!” led to a proper pair of footwear, an extra sweater, and a walk to the lake. Upon my return to the Hiace, I didn’t close my eyes for another snooze, but opened my book to it’s latest chapter. I made the bed, I made the table, I made breakfast with an enthusiasm not normally present at that hour. And so it was following this chain of mundane yet magically invigorating events that led me to the lycra.

After another stroll along the waterfront, I found my spot.

Breezy, sunny, plenty of bird chirp.

Mat duly unfurled with a self satisfied flourish.

Routine aborted after 30 seconds, flicking away a terrible troupe of pesky insects.

This happened twice, in fact, in two different locations before I decided that my newest purchase of athletic equipment was more useful back in it’s tight coil, wielded instead as a bat for fat bumblebees.

BUGS BE GONE, GODDAMNIT!

Namaste.

-K

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^ Morning coffee at our SECRET SPOT. Best campsite we’ve discovered yet on this whole, damn trip.

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^ In case you thought this was just a random snap of the shutter… “Here, Eric, take a picture of me too. The light looks good on you, it’s bound to be good on me too.”

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^ Silver Moki: 9.5/10
^ Saint Clair: 7/10

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^ Sileni: 8/10
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^ Hiking up around Mt. Cook’s neighborhood. The fog slowly crept in as we advanced, with the end of our 7th mile leaving us quite soggy.

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^ Those swing bridges get me every time.