Ridge, ridge—I’d always hear people mention this term, but after three-plus months hiking the Te Araroa Trail starting from New Zealand’s North Island, I’d only encountered those flat high points on either side of small hills, barely qualifying as proper ridge terrain.
So when I climbed a mountain ridge on the South Island near Richmond, the trail beneath my feet dropping away steeply on both sides, surrounded by peaks all around, I felt like I was floating above the clouds. My heart was pounding—nervous because of the height, thrilled by the grandeur—and I just kept shouting, ‘Oh my goodness! This is a ridge! It’s absolutely stunning!’
I believe that’s the magic of a ridge—it lets you see further ahead, gives you a clear sense of where you are when you’ve sweated your way to the top, and propels you toward the next peak.
(Reflecting on journal entry from 2017/3/15)
Because I wanted to see what the other side of the mountain looked like, I kept climbing,
Because I wanted to know my own limits, I pushed on,
With everything I needed strapped to my back, I was a wanderer drifting between mountains, forests, and towns.
Following water and grass to make camp, like Kuafu chasing the sun day after day,
Setting down my backpack for a brief rest was the most pleasurable moment,
Crawling into a tent that was nothing more than a layer of waterproof fabric was the most comforting time.
Hiking—everyone can walk, it’s just about going further and longer, reaching that distant place, then looking back at the path you’ve taken and smiling at yourself saying: that was great.
(Reflecting on journal entry from 2017/3/16)
On the third day in the Richmond Range on New Zealand’s South Island, I was finally getting closer to the highest peak, but there were vast areas of loose scree, each step a challenge, constant steep drops, and deep valleys beside me. Tension, fear—I wondered why it was so difficult….
I had to deal with the difficult terrain beneath my feet while talking myself up inside, trying to push past my fear of the height.
I walked very slowly, but my heart was patient. Step by step, careful and deliberate progress—as long as I kept going, I’d get there eventually. And only by continuing could this end.
That night I wrote in my journal: I should approach work with the same attitude.
No matter how exhausting or grueling something is, steady, slow progress is fine. As long as I keep going, everything can be resolved.
(Reflecting on journal entry from 2017/3/16)
New Zealand North Island vs. South Island Te Araroa Trail
While hiking the North Island, most nights I camped in forests or stayed in hostels and campgrounds when I reached towns. My daily goals were usually things like: ‘Let me cover 28 kilometers today!’ or ‘Reach town today to resupply and do laundry!’
However, on the South Island’s Te Araroa Trail, there are more mountainous areas with more hikers, but colder weather, so the track is dotted with mountain huts that let us enjoy New Zealand’s excellent hut system. So my daily goals became about counting huts, and when describing conditions to others: ‘The section from that hut to that hut was really brutal!’
An interesting shift—it was like two completely different routes merged into one, yet that’s exactly what gave me such rich and entirely different experiences.
(Reflecting on journal entry from 2017/3/17)
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