It’s Christmas Day, I’m sick, coughing, in bed, going a little stir-crazy. Netflix, nap, repeat. I should be at a friend’s BBQ. This is rough. Jogging my memory-have I ever missed Christmas?

Well, there was that one time in Cairns, it was 1990. A 3am rude awakening from my parents, next thing, me and my sister Chloe are huddled in a bathtub. A cyclone had decided it might make landfall-Cyclone Joy, on Christmas morning. Joy? Not sure I agree. A few hours later, we were both ripping presents open like nothing happened. As a five-year-old, I was totally oblivious to the chaos in the streets. I was just upset my brother got a SEGA Master System II and I didn’t. Certainly a memorable day, probably somewhat PTSD-inducing, and a longer version of this story even got me an A+ in English. Not all bad in hindsight. I guess.

Wikipedia – Overall, Cyclone Joy killed six people, including five in river flooding, and caused about A$300 million in damage. While stalling off the northeast Australia coast, Joy produced widespread gale force winds,with gusts to 124 km/h (77 mph) recorded at Cairns. After the winds knocked over trees, causing power and phone outages, storm damage cut the water supply and briefly isolated Cairns due to debris blocking roads.

How about that time me and my flatmate Rhys had one too many late-night beers on Christmas Eve, then slept in until 2pm, much to the dismay and disdain of our girlfriends and family. Whoops!

Or that time while living in North Vancouver, where I skipped the lot and just went snowboarding at Grouse Mountain. Epic.

Anyway, this is well beside the point. Much like my delirium from sickness, this story really has nothing to do with Christmas, except it’s slotted right between the 25th and 31st of December.

Oh, and being sick two days before a four-day hike isn’t a great start. Nor my second hike ever. Or the fact Rabbit Pass is apparently quite ‘hard’, and my first-ever hike just a few weeks earlier was a ‘walk in the park’ in comparison.

Awakening to the melodic tunes of a Tui, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and sunlight streaking through the window covers, I slid my campervan door open, with all the dreams of an Instagram influencer in mind, only to be brought straight back to reality with a vampire attack of a thousand sandflies, a sore throat, cough, and runny nose. Welcome to Makarora. Sick. As!

Now, I like to think of myself as an environmentally conscious bogan. A bit polarising, really. I love the smell of my 2-stroke dirt bike, a Woodstock bourbon, the hunt for adrenaline, and I have dreams of a Porsche GT3 RS race car in my garage. But I also appreciate the more conscious things in life-being ethical, doing better by the world, nature conservation, wine, arty stuff, photography, creating stories like this one, and recently, even terrible drawing. See exhibit A.

So, let’s get polarising. Nothing quite says multi-day hike in a protected national park more than the smell of kerosene and the voice of Arnie in your head: “Get to da choppa.” It wasn’t on the plan, but recent rain meant our plan of a plane ride into Jumbo Land and a hike from there wasn’t possible due to the soft ground. Instead, we would be flying directly to Top Forks Hut-no walking. So I figured I can nap all day at the hut and be good to go for the rest of the trip. Yes!

That enjoyment was very short-lived with these words mid-flight: “DOC won’t allow us to land directly at the hut. I’ll still need to drop you at Jumbo Land.”

So that was that. Walking. River crossing uno. Shoes off. Cancel that-let’s make coffee first. Yes! These are already my kind of people. With (additional) caffeine coursing through our veins, it was on to the walking-and lots of it.

Now, I’ll be honest. Walking is not my jam. Running, yes. Biking, yes. Walking, no. Heck, it took me 38 years to do my first hike. Weird, right?

At heart, I’m a speed and adrenaline junkie. I’ve won Downhill Mountain Bike races, snowboarded and skied all over the world, and recently took up Hard Enduro (dirt bikes).

I’ve been wondering why I seek out these activities for some time. Especially given my novel-worthy list of injuries these activities have caused me, including a broken wrist, nose, leg, elbow, shoulder, collarbone, both ACLs, and even three vertebrae in my neck-well technically, that was a trampoline, but we won’t let that get in the way of a good story, will we?

After long reflection, I’ve decided it’s because it’s really the only time my inner voice takes five.

It’s a place of solitude, where the only thing I’m thinking about is three seconds ahead-the next jump, turn, face shot (no, not that kind, you dirty bugger), the white room, Japow style.

A disconnect from the mundane-at the top of a mountain vista with only your best friends and nature. Pure escapism.

Nothing about relationships, the future, work, the past, money, or even what’s for dinner. Just my heart pumping to the sound of dirt flying off tyres, edges carving perfectly formed snow crystals, or the sound of an engine at its limit.

A little while ago, I decided to work on this-why I feel the need to escape. Can’t life have clarity between these moments too?

I mean, I part-own a business and have a role that fulfils almost every facet of my life’s accumulated skills and values. From branding, marketing, sales, staff, client and project management, logistics, IT, web programming, photo-videography, drone flying-heck, even down to occasionally unloading deliveries with a forklift (a flashback to my first job in the warehouse of a New World supermarket).

My health is mostly good, except for three years of an iffy neck coupled with pins and needles, and related surgery… thanks, aforementioned trampoline.

I have a solid and diverse group of epic friends, I’ve travelled the world, my creative work has been published, paid, and awarded. I’ve had all the toys-from bikes to fast cars, closed tens of millions in sales, had the house, the mortgage, the renovation, the ‘wife’, and man’s best friend-Frank.

Life should be great. Right? Not quite.

I have an overly active mind, and I had a realisation-and it sounds stupid saying it now-but in aspects of my life, I assumed people knew what I was thinking and feeling.

Like the times I was daydreaming of her beautiful eyes, hair, potential kids’ names, and adventures to be had together-but simply failed to say any of it.

Needless to say, that relationship was short-lived, and with that kick in the proverbial nuts, I had a fundamental pivot-something changed in me.

Let that voice talk out loud. Share its thoughts with others. Be open. Transparent. Kind. Give love. Think it. Say it. Move on.

It’s been a tough but liberating journey. Would I think, let alone write and share this, 12 months ago? Not a chance.

Now, I will tell you what gets that inner voice going-60km of hiking without anything but a small group of new friends and nature for stimulation. 59,000 steps to consider everything you’ve done right and wrong in your life.

The perfect trip to voice it all, right? Well, not this time. Ironically, I had pretty much lost my voice and energy to talk by this point.

As it turns out, this hike also packed a punch. Day one was illusion-easy; the remainder came with plenty of type-2 fun, and with incoming weather we squeezed this four-day hike into three. Really allowing some adrenaline to sneak its way in and sap my wandering mind back into the present moment, with bush bashing, wet tent, wet sleeping bag-actually just wet everything-back-to-back 12+ hour days on the feet, scree scrambling, very questionable handholds, river crossings, loose schist, fallen trees, countless cliff edges, and a good dose of vertical to spice it all up.

All perfect for a slightly sick newbie hiker, really. At moments, I thought to myself, flat-out sixth gear racing on my dirt bike feels much, much safer.

When said and done, it was described by all in the group as one of, if not the most technical (rope-free) and gruelling hikes they had done-and these guys and girls were all seasoned hikers.

Not a bad introduction to the sport? Is it a sport? Meditation? I think both. Nature, going off-grid, pushing yourself out of your comfort zone, depleting your energy, and ‘slowing’ down are great for the soul.

Rain on a tent. Waterfalls. Mountain daisies. Scroggin. Glacier lakes. Dehydrated food. Sandflies. Cold plunges. Keas. Beech forest. Cramp. Fatigue. Elation. Chocolate. Whisky. Monopoly Deal. Cheese. Hugs. Group selfies. Pristine rivers. Glacial lake swims. Moss. Birds. Mushrooms. Tranquillity. Resilience.

As always, after being off-grid and away from the hustle and bustle of life, reality always comes back to bite you hard.

Nothing screams welcome home more than arriving to Wanaka at midnight on the 29th of December, expecting a sleeping town, only to find the bass pumping, thousands of kids-aka 18-year-olds-high on life (but likely mostly just other substances), and the sweet nectar of kebabs and Don Bin pies wafting down the lakefront.

Successfully refuelled, Rabbit Pass ticked off the list, it was off to sleep-dreaming about my next escape. Probably something without walking. Or sandflies. Or wet sleeping bags. If I’m honest.

Todd Couper

The Stats

Distance: 59.58km
Elevation: 2499m
Time: 62 hours (21 hours moving)

View the route on Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/13214242060