Southern expedition resilience
The start of the financial year brought plenty of work, but by midwinter, home buyer interest had dissipated, I had many fewer pre-purchase reports to write, and it was time for a break.
While my contemporaries usually choose to head north for a mid-winter break, maybe to the Pacific islands or Europe during this time, I’ve tended to point south at a time when few tourists are around.
This time was not an unqualified success.
On Day 4 of my month of tramping expectations, I smashed my knee and had to be choppered out from the remote Slaughterburn Hut in Fiordland National Park.
As it turned out, I had dislocated my kneecap after slipping on a steep slope and torn the muscles supporting my patella. Not quite an Achilles tendon tear, which typically requires a year-long rehab. This time, an Invercargill physiotherapist assured me I’d be in reasonable condition after six weeks, and less vigorous walking was recommended immediately.
(His prognosis proved accurate, but there’s a significant difference between shuffling around city streets and rampaging through remote hills with a heavy pack on your back.)
I didn’t let occasional pain disrupt my overall expedition, but had to dial back, actually cease, pack-carrying duties.
After a few days in Invercargill, I took the ferry to Rakiura and set up camp in the South Sea Hotel. My compromise was to arrange an expensive water taxi to take me to a favourite waterside hut, Freds Camp Hut, for four nights, and hope they would remember to pick me up on the morning of the fifth day. My first water taxi rides since I’d been tramping there over the decades, not including the brief Ulva Island ferry.
I could have been frustrated by this, but I chose not to be.
You have to take life as it comes and make the best of what you have.