More about dreams - 6/7/09

About time I rekindled my diary writing for assistance of future recollection. Recently remembering a vivid dream I once had, I flew (in the dream) to Canada and hiked across snow covered back-country for what seemed like several days (unlikely), without food (obviously unlikely). The landscape was pristine untouched apline loveliness, and like any good dream it probably included choice music, and a dozen of my favourite things.

The reason for my recalling this was the most recent school holidays (which I persuade current bean counting employers to let me take off) which were partially spent in pristine untouched alpine loveliness. Staying in a hut called for maximum cold weather resilience (38F on arrival), and some fetching merino long john sartorial elegance. A 20-30cm snow dump preceded a gruelling hike into Temple Basin to gaze at the snowboarding masses (ridiculously quiet NZ ski-fields!). I consider the hire options and risk of re-breaking the wrist. Emily glares.

Knee-high, arse-high then chest-high (the snow!), but well worth braving for a hike up the Bealey Valley riverbed, traipsing carefully in the avalanche areas. Punchbowl Falls for snow man (woman) making and Waimakereri river crossings burnt us out. Cajun, bluegrass, and marshmallows; cheese, wine and chocolate; curry, steak and scrabble helped build us back up.

Akaroa on the Banks peninsula makes for entirely more serene holiday making (sweet place). Which is alright for some. The itch got the writer though. A run to a rather high 600m and shin destroying canter down the other side to Le Bons Bay culminated in a half marathon, low sugar levels, and a well scratched itch.

It also provided Emily the chance to pit her wits against the volcanic local geography, eeeeeeeking her way around twisting, steep, edgeless, unsealed roads. With the runner back in the driving seat, a road to Port Levy looks inviting, soon turns unsealed and winds up to 600m (ice free of charge). It is relieving to find someone else using the road at the top. A pleasant old chap stopping for a flask of mild hot drink no doubt. He assures me the road down the other side is navigable before venturing in the opposite direction. The last thing I notice is his number plate - 'BOTHER'. We drive on sheepishly, fortunately with no bother at all.