2023-01-22 -44 169

Sun 22 Jan 2023 in -44,169: -44.6875241, 169.0802566 geohashing.info google osm bing/os kml crox

Location

On a hillside near Wanaka.

Participants

• Stevage (talk)

Expedition

We begin the adventure

Awkward car park

After another recent failure, I was keen to make amends. A hash just a few kilometres from our campground on Lake Wanaka, beside the main highway? Game on.

I park the car awkwardly beside the busy highway and assess the situation.

We gather information

It's easy to fall into the trap of thinking of all Aotearoan hillside hashes as somehow similar, but this one immediately marks itself as different. Worse. Dangerous. Fearsome. Because of this:

See those horns? See the flames?

And then this:

Arguably this second fearsome beast is somewhat smaller than the first, but undoubtedly makes up for it with extra terrifying attributes, perhaps a flamethrowing backside or claws or something.

We search the soul

Indecision beside the barbed wire fence

Meekly, I decide against the direct approach. I gear up, gaiters, boots, the works, and shuffle down the highway. There's a thick layer of bracken just outside the fence, so I hide inside while I try to summon the courage to enter a paddock with known human-eating predators lurking within.

I also have some reservations about entering what is obviously an active farm, in full view of a gazillion cars, neighbours, etc. I'm not so concerned about actually causing any harm by entering, but it might not do much for Kiwi-Aussie relations, which are generally pretty good. But the temptation of a virgin graticule, after two previous successes barely missed out on that achievement, is too much. It's only 500m. I'm going in.

We scurry inelegantly

It doesn't look so bad from here

The going is easy at first. Open ground, a little bracken. I give the beasts a very wide berth, hoping they'll stay in their shady spot rather than pursue me in full sun. I pass a mobile phone tower.

I don't have a clear plan, but assume that even the steepest bit of the hill will be manageable and of short duration. I blunder along.

Suddenly it gets steep. I plough in.

Misery descends upon our ascent

Dead bracken is quite horrible to bush-bash

I suddenly learn a few things about bracken. Although it is not spiky (thank god), it has a way of just...resisting. You push into it, it gives way...then it pushes back, and you find yourself where you were. It can trip you.

When it is alive, it grips the soil strongly which can be useful for hauling yourself up a steep slope. However, when it is dead, it pulls out immediately, giving no support at all. All the bracken on this very steep slope was completely dead. Yanking it out slowly shreds up your hands. And showers you in fine dead-bracken dust.

It is also a maddening height, where if you can get your knee over it, you can stomp it down and move forward. But on a very steep slope, that's impossible. You lift your knee and get blocked. Stymied. Stuck.

I found myself trying desperately to make headway up the slope, grabbing handfuls of dead bracken, and falling backwards. I can't recall a situation where bushbashing has been so incredibly slow and ineffectual.

Gasping for air, I took a quick breather, and messaged my geohash-buddies, "42m". I then plunged in again, fighting without much success. After 15 minutes or so, I paused again, completely spent, grateful to at least probably have gained 20m, maybe more. I check the app. Five measly metres. Frick.

The soul is shredded like so much dead bracken

Success, although it doesn't feel like it

I regret taking this direct approach up this slope. I regret plunging through the dead bracken. I regret everything.

I hide deep in the bracken to drink some more water.

Every metre gained is a nightmare. Finally I'm over the steepest bit and need to just shuffle sideways to the hash. Even this is a big ask. I'm at 6 metres, but the app stubbornly refuses to give me a green celebration. 5 metres. For god's sake? 4 metres. Please. Just get me out of here. There is bracken dust all over my face, down my neck, in my ears. My hands are itchy and scratched up. 3 metres. Still not enough? Wretched GPS. I labour another metre, thoroughly disgusted by the whole situation, just desperate to be out of this mess.

The view is nice

The app finally, mercifully recognises my pitiful state and gives a cheery lurid green acknowledgement of my achievement. I try to muster up a smile for a photo and collapse into the bracken again.

Arguably the view is quite nice, but there is no one to argue the affirmative, and the negative is tired and grumpy and hot and sweaty and fed up.

We flee the horrors

The grimace says it all

I gather what remains of my wits and start trampling downhill. I have learnt nothing from my ascent, and proceed via the steepest route. Gravity mostly adds additional risks of twisting an ankle or getting awkwardly stuck upside down, while not really helping as much as you'd think. The odd briar rose adds some misery with additional thorns.

The way down

I plunge on. I weigh up the relative risks of the horned beasts, a possible landowner confrontation, and my desperate need to be out of here. I take a shorter route to the car. I'm able to muster up a graceful little move to get myself and backpack elegantly through the barbed wire fence and hot foot it to the car. No one is waiting to yell at me. Belatedly I notice a "Private property - no hill access" sign just beyond where I parked.

I'm relieved, but feeling completely wretched. For the first time I can understand how some people after a week-long hike have an urgent need for a shower. I need this dust and grime and sunscreen residue off me.

We recover our humanity

So many scratches.

I stop at the first available spot beside the lake and charge in. It's a terrible choice. The water never gets deeper than about mid-calf, but I make do. I bathe desperately, taking off layers of clothing in the water, scrubbing vigorously at my hair.

I slowly feel the worst of the human condition part, and regain a trace of the good part. I feel alive. Wet, cold, arguably indecent, scratched and bleeding, but alive.

No hill access