‘Star People’
We’re not all star-gazers
Paul and I had been trundling across the South Island for about a week, although I couldn’t be totally sure of that — the days had already taken on a dreamlike quality, not so much crashing into one another as melting gently from one frostbitten morning to the next.
6 o’clock alarms and bus timetables had been replaced by a natural waking with the (8am!) sunrise, burrowing out from beneath our cocoon of blankets to wipe condensation off the van window. That first assault of frozen earth beneath my feet never got easier; I had to steel myself anew each time. It was fucking cold. It was also glorious.
The campsite we were at now was my favourite so far, a lucky thing given we’d booked it on the fly. It was picture-book pretty; lushly green and encircled by pine trees, with Mt Cook looming majestically in the background.
We tracked pine needles into the van with each entry and re-entry, a welcome reprieve after all the mud — a constant companion since we got bogged after our very first night.
City scum.
The only downside of the campsite was…well…all the other people. We’d had a dream run of it so far; it was off-season and school holidays hadn’t yet started. Apart from that one creepy guy we’d encountered while freedom camping at Lake Pukaki, it almost…
