As We Once Were
Reconnecting with the whenua (land) after six weeks away
Forced separation can crystallize one’s motivations for strapping on a pack, donning heavy boots, and tramping away through frigid rivers and clambering up mossy forest slopes, and after six weeks of COVID-quarantine-required isolation, I sense a silver lining taking shape.
I step forward against the swift, clear flow of the Eglinton River and reach the other side where the forest beckons like an old friend.
The verdant green under the trees dazzles as if it is my first time here.
The sight and smells remind how starved I am for their presence, and I drink them in, parched.
In the corners of New Zealand I explore we are fortunate enough to have a wealth of native forest land cover, so much so that it can be easy to take it for granted. My regular on-foot trips remind me of how much I value the contiguous whole of the landscapes I traverse, with forest holding its own worth against the most dramatic of the Southern Alps.
This particular sunburst is ringed in a colorful spectrum of light, like a rainbow. I have never seen anything like it and I am entranced. I throw myself into the photographic pursuit of capturing this unexpected natural wonder and just like that I slip back into a flow state of creativity that has been absent for so long. As it is otherwise oh so rare for me to do, for a few intense moments I lose track of time and direction and myself.
I come out of a deep well of focus. Pulling my eye free from the camera’s viewfinder, look around in wonder, and grin. To be stopped still in my tracks by the overwhelming marvel of nature is the goal, if elusive.
I feel gratitude and on we climb up what I have dubbed “Storybook Spur” to reach a campsite of equal shock and awe. In the morning, kākā float along in front of the cliffs we will soon walk above, and river-hugging mist again catches the light, this time from the rising sun.
Soon we reach the long-sought highlands and I am impressed by the unusual cliff-dominated landscape and sweeping expanse of Lake Te Anau. This is home but from a new vantage point.
Incredibly cold feet notwithstanding, I feel every experience with a renewed sense of buzzing excitement. That which I would have considered ordinary before now feels special. I am reminded of why I do what I do.
Every footstep yields the chance of discovery and takes me further along the simple and unrefined yet clear path of growing closer to a land, its heartbeat of living things embedded in a skeleton of rock and soil.
