THE LONG PATH TO THE HEART
Jack and I weren’t talking. After nearly 2000km together on Te Araroa, I threw my hands up and walked away.
It had been a bad morning after a poor night’s sleep in a crammed Blue Lake Hut. I had lost an important piece of kit; one-half of my hut sandals. After an hour of searching amidst bodies slumbering and others hunched over cooking pots, we left an hour late, hurrying to beat the impending weather – persistent rain, high winds and low visibility.
The morning’s frustrations were compounded by perpetual tiredness. Resentment boiled over; a fight became inevitable. Words hung as thick as the clouds brewing over Rotomairewhenua / Blue Lake, our moods reflective of the weather. I scurried away from the lake towards Waiau Pass, increasing my pace, creating space from Jack, my partner. But at the challenging descent into Rotopōhuera / Lake Constance, I slowed. Something telling me, ‘come on, you can’t fight today’.
Sullen and indignant, I waited for Jack to catch up, breathless and seething. We stared at one another, waiting for the other’s apology.
Jack was clearly the bigger person that day: “Let's
