Silence at the Matemateaonga Track
New Zealand, 2008
And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.
— John Muir
It is November 2008 when I decide to go hiking on New Zealand’s northern island. There are so many treks that I have a hard time choosing; the more I read, the more difficult it gets. Finally I decide to go hike the Matemateaonga Track. The four-day trek leads from the inland to the Wanganui River. Only two boat companies offer to pick up hikers near the last hut on the trek and I start making phone calls to gather information and prices. One company is not operating this time of year. The other one is asking an impressive amount of money to pick me up because it is not yet high season. They kindly add that hikers are hard to please and that they are never on time at the meeting point. Since there are no other boat guests scheduled, it would need to be a private trip. In a harsh voice they tell me in no uncertain terms that they will not wait a second for me, if I am not waiting for them at the meeting point at the agreed upon time. There not being cell phone reception on the track, it will be impossible to communicate with the boat company from the moment I set out walking. The phone call leaves me feeling anxious. Even worse, it leaves me with the feeling that they might not even be making an effort to pick me up, even if I would be willing to pay the exorbitant price. I may need to change to another route.
“Monique, just walk two days in and two days back out. You will of course not be doing the entire track this way, but at least you will be in nature for four days. I can drop you off and pick you up”, the friend where I am staying, offered.
Deeper and deeper we drive into the countryside. We have left the tarmac road a while ago and are now driving on a gravel road. Dust clouds indicate where we come from. We are out of cellphone range for over an hour already. According to the map we are on the right road. And then all of a sudden we see the sign marking the start of the track and a couple of worn-out hiking boots attached to a fence. No doubt about it, this is where I need to be.
Butterflies in my belly; the usual healthy pre-trip jitters, especially when I set out on my own. Knowing that I will be out of reach contributes to it. It also makes me laugh; this is not my first solo hike, where I will be out of reach.
“Are you sure?”, my friend asks.
