Summer has whizzed by here in the Queenstown Lakes region and I’ve been trying to squeeze in as many adventures as possible between writing lots of stuff.

I took myself away on a little writer’s retreat in Mapua, near Nelson, for a few weeks, where I managed to not get burned during the bushfires there. I smashed out some editing and a bit more work on my novel, which drives me a little crazier every day. Don’t ask me how it’s going unless you’d like to learn a few new swear words.

Ever a sucker for punishment, I’ve also done the Earnslaw Burn track twice this summer. It’s a 4 – 6 hour hike each way, through beautiful beech trees, more nice beech trees and then more bloody beech trees. The track then bursts out into a clearing with great views of an icefall on Mt Earnslaw/ Pikirakatahi. It’s tempting to fling yourself down on the first welcoming campsite, but the real reward comes from a further 20 – 30 minutes of walking closer to the glacier. There’s loads of little camping spots along the river and most have stone rings set up for campfires (tip: don’t burn anything around Otago when the weather is very dry, you’ll burn the place to the ground).

My issue with this hike is getting out of it alive. The track is covered in large trees which came crashing down in a snowfall in 2016. Short people like me have to limbo under, or straddle over the trunks. This inevitably tires you out which, for some reason, isn’t a problem for me going in. Hiking out, however, seems to be a different beast.

The first time I did this hike was in 2018. I was there for a party and was quite hungover and wearing brand new boots – that wasn’t a good combination. When I finally reached the end of the track, the person I was getting a ride home with realised they’d parked on the other side of the river, so we took a ‘shortcut’ through the river. I fell in, which did nothing to alleviate my blisters, hangover or miserable mood.

In January this year, a friend and I decided to go on a last-minute whim. The weather on Sunday was forecast to be grim, but that didn’t put us off. I threw together my pack rather quickly, checking and re-checking that I’d packed my brand new tent and sleeping mat. I walked for about five hours with the unshakable feeling that I’d forgotten something. I unpacked my new tent and sleeping mat and checked that I had everything needed for the night – my favourite food, my cooking stove, sleeping bag… yep, it was all there. The rain woke me up early on Sunday morning that’s when I realised I’d forgotten my waterproofs. It’s safe to say that walking in shorts and a tee-shirt in the pouring rain for hours isn’t a life highlight. On the bright(ish) side, we were a lot quicker walking back.

This weekend, my partner and I decided we’d do the hike together. I usually prefer to do new trails, but he’d seen the pictures and wanted to go, which was a bit of a surprise as I’d been nagging him for about five years to join me on a hike. He’s a mad-keen mountain biker and is suspicious of any activity that doesn’t involve two wheels. I packed conscientiously and triple-checked my pack (I brought all my waterproofs, even though rain wasn’t forecast at all). Off we went and as per my usual experiences, the hike in was great fun. I was really excited to show him the beautiful views and cook my favourite trail food for him. We spent an uncomfortable night in my tiny, one-person tent (tip: when a tent says it’s ‘cosy for two’ it mean it’s cosy for two Hobbits and ultra-intimate for two humans, even if one of them is short). The next morning, we both felt very tired. We had black coffee (sorry I forgot the soy milk, J) and porridge and headed for home. This was J’s first proper overnight hike – as I say, if it doesn’t involve two wheels, he’s usually not interested – so he was a bit underprepared for a solid hike out (DoC described it as ‘advanced’) on a bad night’s sleep. He’s also got a few mountain biking injuries and a mostly metal ankle that I didn’t account for. I suppose it’s the equivalent of him throwing me down one of the gondola’s black downhill biking runs and yelling, “good luck!” as I hurtle through the trees… only this track lasts for hours and hours, as did his moaning. He was lucky to get out of there alive without me or the track killing him.

I was lucky he let me come home with him, so I suppose our relationship is as tough as old hiking boots.