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My teeth are still chattering as I quickly get the fire going for warmth and then the stove going for our breakfast. It’s not long before everyone else is emerging, hugging themselves and spewing obscenities over the weather. But that’s the thing about the South Island and especially the mountains. You can have four seasons in one day and the weather can change drastically in a short amount of time. The number one killer for tourists is hypothermia.
Thankfully we’ve all planned ahead, and though it takes a while and we have to wear all the clothes we’ve packed and wait for the fire to get hot, we eventually warm up and get ready to continue on with the hike.
The track from the campsite is a lot of up and down, and though I know that the cliffs don’t suddenly drop off from the path, it’s still scary making our way through with limited visibility.
I guess I’m going too slow for Nick because he takes the lead in front of me.
“We’re not going to fall off the mountain,” he tosses over his shoulder at me. “Pick up the pace.”
I exhale noisily but keep one foot going in front of the other. Compared to yesterday, I’m in a bad mood. The low cloud makes me feel boxed in and claustrophobic, plus the slight whiskey hangover and Nick’s rejection this morning doesn’t help.
We pass through an area known as “The Orchard” where the path turns into a grassy plain dotted with ferns and ribbonwood trees. Josh says they remind him of arbutus trees back in British Columbia, the way their thin trunks bend and reach. In the fog they just look like ghostly, frail hands trying to hold the mist, but they can’t hold on any better than I can.
Today’s hike feels longer than yesterday’s, and though we pass by waterfalls and lush beechwood forest, I feel like that moment I wanted to hang on to has passed forever. I didn’t want a tomorrow and yet here it is. Cold and gray and trapped.
We reach Lake Howden Hut around three p.m. and just before the torrential downpour starts. Unlike the first hut we stayed at, this one is much smaller and feels cramped, thanks to all the other trampers taking shelter from the rain, plus the addition of my own foul mood.
Nick cooks dinner this time—parboiled rice and rehydrated vegetables, which actually taste better than it sounds—and I barely finish the bowl when the clouds suddenly clear a path for the sky and the rain stops and the sun shoots us a barrel-wide ray of light.
“I want to go to Key Summit,” I announce suddenly, getting to my feet.
“What?” Nick says, reaching for me to sit back down.
I move out of his grasp and eye them all. “The weather has finally cleared up and if I stay in here I’m going to go crazy.” Amber and Josh exchange a look. I ignore it. “I wanted to go to Key Summit earlier but what’s the point if you can’t see anything.”
“It’s almost sundown, babe,” Nick says. “We can go tomorrow.”
“Fuck tomorrow,” I say. “I want this today. I want the sunset. It’s only twenty minutes up and it’s totally guided by signs. There’s a boardwalk up there. It’s safe. I’ve seen the pictures.”
They all avoid my desperate eyes.
“Don’t be mad,” Amber admits sheepishly, “but I’m not moving an inch.”
“Neither am I,” says Nick, folding his arms.
Hesitantly, I look at Josh. He just nods and gets up, his empty dish in hand. “I’d love to go. But let’s just pack a backpack just in case.”
My nerves jump at the idea of being alone with him. Where was the brave girl from last night? Was she still hidden in the fog?
But he’s right, we need to be smart, even for a short hike. He comes back from the bunks with the small daypack that detaches from his larger one and I see he’s put in a first-aid kit, two rain jackets, sweaters, socks, the flashlight, and a handful of energy bars.
“All set?” I ask him, almost afraid to meet his eyes.
He gives me an easy smile that puts my cagey mind to rest. “Let’s go.” He looks at Nick and Amber. “I’ll send you a postcard.”
We leave the hut side by side, the trees around us touched by fading sun at their tops and hidden by darkening shadow below. Once we’re back on the track and heading south toward the turnoff for the summit route, we go into single file. This time Josh is leading the way. I like it.
Maybe I just like staring at his ass.
The track ascends through thick beech forest and ferns, everything growing darker and darker the more the sun sets, like the land is preparing for the night. And then the final ten minutes it opens up into bogs and tussock and pastel sky. I feel so much better with the forest beneath us, like my head is clearing.
We reach the summit just in time. The sun is starting to sink in the west over the peaks, and the sky is turning shades of orange and blue, tingeing the edges of the clouds with magenta, like a child has taken a neon marker and outlined them. The boardwalk among the bogs, ponds, and low shrubs ends at a lake that reflects all the colors of the sky back at us.
I want to cry. The tears are there, rushing to my eyes because my soul can’t contain them. It’s all too much but they still don’t fall.
Instead I let out a quiet sob that seems to echo across the mountains and all the way to the unseen sea.
Suddenly Josh wraps his arms around me from the back, holding me in place. He rests his jaw on top of my head and keeps his focus forward, on the beauty changing, melting, evolving in front of us.
My nerves change, too, slipping into something more comfortable. He’s just holding me, providing comfort, giving warmth, support. He’s a friend and he’s here for me. He can feel the ache in my heart.
