It wasn't a piece of weasel - not that I could claim that here anyway, mustelids being a dirty word in national parks - far from it. It was a scramble in places, with rocks, tree roots, flights of steps natural and man made. There was puffing, there were distraction techniques (foreign counting, forwards and backwards, recitation of bits of doggerel). There was measurement of distance to go using numbered stoat traps.
There were also scenic distractions: huge gnarled podocarps, ferns, mosses, lichens, glimpses through the trees back to the blue expanses of Te Waewae Bay, fantails and bush robins. And no people or planes or engines of any sort. Glorious.
But mist at the top, and no views, alas. Fingers will be crossed all night.
No comments:
Post a Comment