On Thursday morning, I woke up to the realization that I definitely had caught the "O-week cold." Apparently, everyone parties so hard in Orientation Week (O-week), that a week or two later, the entire campus comes down with a case of this chills. So what do I do, but decide it would be a good day to climb a mountain. Mt. Cargill barely counts as a mountain, especially by NZ standards, but it is about a 2 minute drive from my flat. The trailhead is actually closer to my flat than my classes. According to NZ tramping guides, the trail is labeled a "walk," rather than a "tramp," and is designated easy. Since Eddy was at work, my friend Elyse and I drove to the trailhead, and started walking. At first, the trail was wide and gently sloping. The trees were tall and thin, with white bark and small, thin leaves. The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy, dappling the light on the ground before us. It was beautiful, and fun to walk and talk with a newfound friend. Then, suddenly, the trail turned and everything changed. The flora became dark and dense, and the afternoon sunlight could no longer penetrate the thick leaves. The trail became rocky and steeper, although there were bridges over the many streams and ravines that we crossed. Vines cascaded over the overhanging trees, cicadas chirped overhead, and suddenly it felt like we were in the jungle. It was then I realized I had forgotten my water bottle. However, a sign said we were 5 minutes from the picnic area and viewpoint, so we decided to forge onwards.
About 30 minutes later, a bend in the trail revealed yet another change in scenery. Suddenly, the dense flora disappeared, replaced by short bushes and "cabbage trees," which look like palm trees, but aren't. The muddy, trail was replaced by gravel, and large rocks to step over. Each bend in the trail looked like it could be the promised picnic area, but turned out to be only another, steeper switchback. The rocks turned into stairs, which led up and up, until suddenly, there were no more cabbage trees. Instead, there was an incredible, 360 degree view. On one side, was Dunedin, hills covered by little white houses, and the crystal blue harbor. The ocean lay beyond, empty of land all the way to antarctica. On the other side were hills, bright green hills that were too far down to see the sheep. But we could hear them.
Something about the lay of the land amplified certain sounds. The howl of a dog, the chime of a flute, cows mooing; we could hear all this, but somehow, the sounds of the city were absent. It was beautiful, and as we sat and ate lunch, baked by the UV rays made stronger by the hole in the ozone layer, I realized this was something that could only have happened here.
About 30 minutes later, a bend in the trail revealed yet another change in scenery. Suddenly, the dense flora disappeared, replaced by short bushes and "cabbage trees," which look like palm trees, but aren't. The muddy, trail was replaced by gravel, and large rocks to step over. Each bend in the trail looked like it could be the promised picnic area, but turned out to be only another, steeper switchback. The rocks turned into stairs, which led up and up, until suddenly, there were no more cabbage trees. Instead, there was an incredible, 360 degree view. On one side, was Dunedin, hills covered by little white houses, and the crystal blue harbor. The ocean lay beyond, empty of land all the way to antarctica. On the other side were hills, bright green hills that were too far down to see the sheep. But we could hear them.
Something about the lay of the land amplified certain sounds. The howl of a dog, the chime of a flute, cows mooing; we could hear all this, but somehow, the sounds of the city were absent. It was beautiful, and as we sat and ate lunch, baked by the UV rays made stronger by the hole in the ozone layer, I realized this was something that could only have happened here.
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