The day of the pass was brilliantly clear and we had amazing views that almost compensated for the pain of the long, steep descent over boulders and rough steps, that went on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on...
But the lodge at the end was warm and dry and comfortable and comforting and we relished our hot showers and power-drying rooms and soft beds and spared little thought for the independent walkers who covered the same ground carrying all their equipment and food, and who had no showers, and slept in communal bunkrooms. Cheapskates.
The last day was long, long, long, but the scenery was fabulous, the birdlife diverting and the sandflies surprisingly less bitey than expected.
And tonight all the others are at the pub in Queenstown and I'm here at fancy Blanket Bay at the north end of the lake, where all sorts of Hollywood stars and other rich people have stayed, and I have a stone chalet overlooking the lake and mountains where I plan to lie quietly and digest the five-course dinner I've just eaten which involved oysters, venison, elderflower sorbet and much other excellent nosh.
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