think about when I used to go tramping as a child. Being in the mountains was one of the few times I could escape the expectations of good girlhood. When climbing, I could be assertive and pick out my own route. It was okay to be hungry because I’d earned it. And although I often felt cold and exhausted, I instinctively knew how to be in my body. When descending a rock scree, I’d lean back and dig in my heels. I knew how to avoid thorny matagouri bushes and step over rabbit holes. I felt so sure in the capabilities of my body that when my father organised a group of men to climb Ben McLeod – a peak
