Abel Tasman episode one

To be honest i'm thinking about disabling the anonymous comment option. If it wasn't available I would know who it is (I'm assuming it's a man/boy) that assumes that four girls alone in the wild for five days(okay flushing toilets the whole way along the track, not that wild) would be at each others throats the whole time.

To be fair, Thursday night about 10:30 pm when we were doing the communal shop at City New World, I was thinking:

Holy shit, what am I getting myself into. I hardly know these girls...

From the different degrees of exposure I have had to all three they are clearly intelligent, strong, city girls. Linked by one girl who knows all of us well, as a group, we are still at that stage where everyone is trying to be polite to the point that nobody says what they are really thinking and the amount of consultation results in frustrating delays and just the slightest undertone of frustration or resentment. Me, in these circumstances I get annoyingly easy going and submissive. It's a cop out.

A few hours later and we are all crashed out on the floor of the Arahura (is that the ferry's name, it's the biggie?) in our sleeping bags getting little sniffs of sleep. Five o'clock in the morning we rock into the backpackers just up the road from the Picton terminal, a long narrow blue room, with blue furnishings, and I collapse on a top bunk with...blue starchy linen. A miserable four hours later and we wake to torrential rain and the prospect of a four hour bus ride to Marahau, the start of the track - and then a four hour hike to the first campsite, Anchorage.
We have Subway for breakfast, to conserve the milk powder. That was Easter Friday morning. I think that was the last time I ate meat until today. No wonder i'm sick, I need a big fat scotch fillet....

I digress.

I'm borrowing Sarah's pack. It's a kind of cerise colour and it's called the Rhino. Luxury item, ummm half a kilo of chocolate. And my beach feet. In an uncharacteristic moment of practicality I have left my snorkel at home. I'm regretting it...and as we march off in the rain single file, I kind of wish I was wearing a wet suit....

"The leader" is in the lead, and we aren't half an hour into the walk when there is a mini conflict between her and one of my more sluggish companions about whether we need to get some momentum going or whether we should be soaking in the view and checking out every lookout we pass. "Non-confrontational mode" me isn't particularly phased either way, i'm just happy the rain has settled into that sweet light rainforesty type of haze. The sky around us looks like someone has burst a bag of flour and it is humid and very peaceful as we walk through an exposed estuary.

"The leader's" pack is about twice the size of mine. I'm feeling slightly bad about that seeing as she is carrying our tent at the moment, but I feel better about it later that first day, after she has pointed out (twice) that she is stronger than the rest of us (okay it's true) and also after I have seen that she has also brought half of the bathroom cabinet into the bush. A couple of days in I have room in my pack to split it.

The bus was late and the dodgy weather convinces us to settle down a bit earlier than planned, but when we get to Stillwell campsite we can't find anywhere to actually camp other than the damp beach, although there is a sign stating there are three sites on which to camp. It is still almost two hours to Anchorage, and it is almost five o'clock in the afternoon and we no longer have daylight savings on our side. It is remarkable the change in the four of us as we make the decision to carry on, conversation ceases, the pace quickens, and for me, I'm feeling a delightful release from the detailed to the minute itinerary that had been organised by "Camp Mother". Not that it wasn't fantastic what she put together, I am still going to get her a bottle of wine or something, without her efforts I doubt I would have got off my ass and booked anything. But it was just a trickle of real adventure having our plans foiled by the weather and needing to make a quick decision to soldier bravely on. Hee hee. Which ofcourse we did, and arrived at Anchorage with the light fading into a dusky hue, our gear drenched, tents are hitched and a hearty meal of rice risotto cooked by torchlight. I think we must have been in bed by about 8pm.