Hillside Ponderings - The other half
Who are you hill, what do you think of me? It's been so long since I went away, but here I am, back again. There's little left to explain all this, a crumbled sense of self. From hilltop high I can view the world, this small segment of reality, stretched before me, above and below me. A new world of familiar disconcertion burned bare by summer. Dry hills presenting the last of their vulnerable life, appeasing the burning orb with a seasonal offering.

Liquid wind you came from far away, bought images of other spaces, new worlds and the expansion of virtual horizons. Challenged in this simplicity, waking, walking and working towards the reason why. Nothing gave any reason why, spoke of this before, we peered into the past. What may come of this? Seeking release and the hope of futures direction laid clear. Some change was on the air, wafting by on evening breeze.

Christmas Day - 2003
It is as it has always been, just another day. However, the deeply engrained Christmas 'spirit' saw the family congregating once again, to celebrate in the consumption of food and the exchange of a few token gifts.

The day commenced in the usual fashion with summer dragging the sun from beyond the horizon for its lengthy journey, scorching the grass and baking the earth into a traditional North Canterbury brown.

Victims of time, the day progressed, propelling us all forward to inevitable point of family reunion and the subsequent demolition of fine Christmas fare. The build-up of heat, and the intrinsic desire to cool off, led us in pursuit of refreshments on a grand scale. Our automobiles propelled us toward the inevitable destination, the Hurunui River. The river runs in a deep braided stream from far inland, toward the Southern Alps, and empties out into the Pacific Ocean about an hour drive North of Christchurch.

Eventually we reached the swing bridge, a rather run down construction built to facilitate the passage of wagons and stock. The river sweeps by between two walls of solid rock, gouging a deep hole that offers an ideal swimming site. From the top of the rocks it's a couple of metres to the water, an exhilarating moment to grab a breath before plunging into the refreshing water.

The river valley acts as a giant wind tunnel, forcing the hot, dry wind along the path of the river. From a vantage point on the rocky outcrop it is possible to gaze upstream into the bright scattering of reflected light with the wind rushing by like smooth liquid.

Fishing for the truth
Decembers sun burns strong and bright, a brilliant ball of heat in the clear blue sky. We're heading west this morning, towards the mountains and the thick green of our native bush. We aim to reach a lake, to walk a million miles and move ourselves from this point in time and space. Hot on the heels of the other, simpler things. We're looking for fish and something new. I've never been into Lake Daniels before so this is certainly something new for me.

Situated in the Southern Alps on New Zealand, and accessible from the Lewis Pass road, the Lake Daniels track is an easy walk that takes between 2 and three hours (depending on your ability and such). The track winds its way through dense (but light) beach forests and slowly climbs along the Western side of a swift flowing mountain stream that is full of large rainbow trout.

Eventually the track flattens out and opens into a clearing on the edge of a magnificent lake. A large hut (that sleeps about 30 people) and a wide open area beside the water, offers an idyllic location for any form of relaxation you choose to pursue. We spent the afternoon of that fist day standing up to our wastes in the lake and casting our lines expectantly out into the deeper water.

There was plenty of evidence that fish were about, as they jumped out of the water every few minutes in pursuit of insects. Although we persisted and tried a number of locations and styles, we were unable to land a single fish and concluded that perhaps, due to the season, the trout were otherwise occupied with the copious quantities of dragonfly.

That evening, in an attempt to catch the fish when they switched to a diet confined to the waters of the lake, we tried again with little success. Even though we could clearly see beautifully large fish swimming around the end of the pier just metres away, we were unable to attract their attention to the hooks designed to catch them. We retired only a little putout and slept soundly in our quiet mountain retreat.

As the next morning was a little cooler the sand flies and mosquitoes were out in force and soon it became apparent that we would be catching any fish and the enjoyment factor was rapidly declining. We packed up our gears and said goodbye to the lake and hut and plunged back into the bush to follow the path back to the car park, out and down below on the edge of the forest. All in all it was a great adventure into a remote yet attractive and comfortable (aside from the biting flies) location, highly recommended.

Phat Outdoors

Dusty road winds on, following the small stream towards the head of the valley. We reach a natural clearing, an area where the river buckles around a flat paddock surrounded by large trees and sheer slopes. Preparations are well underway for what looks like a great night. The sky is clear, far overhead and the sun streams down on the expectant partygoers. As the afternoon warmth continues to pour into the valley I seek out the shade of the stream. The river is crisp and clear, with a number of deep pools. It seems inevitable as I find myself diving into one of the larger pools, relishing the cool, calm wetness. As afternoon becomes evening and turns toward night, the first bands are stepping up, making themselves heard from the ground to the stars, emerging far above. From the west, unseen by most, a blanket of cloud is sliding in, obscuring the stars. A soft rain begins to fall a short while later and people begin to drift away from the main area before the stage in favour of the bar. Minuet is about to play, the rain has become a steady downpour and people are looking lost. The original yet highly familiar sounds of Minuet explode from the speaker stacks, the rain slackens, stops and withdraws to a safe distance. As the night drew on and darkness descended the valley came alive with a new energy, the deep and rhythmical bass of Salmonella Sound System, Concorde Dawn and Shapeshifter. On into the night we went with the rain clouds swirling unseen above. The dirt arena before the stage was trampled into a bog and a constant cloud of steam hung above the heaving, panting crowd. All about the hills absorbed and echoed the deep grinding and pounding of bass. I an effort to regain some of the energy I had lost the previous night from a poor nights sleep I returned to my tent on the edge of things to avoid the majority of the noise. I 'slept' the night away and awoke with the sun as the last of the drum and bass was fading with the darkness. The morning revealed a stream, swollen to twice its volume and a petulant sky the brooded above. As the sun gained altitude it tore though the sun and welcomed in me a resurgence of energy and a passion for dance. This had something to do with moving to avoid sandflies, the squelch of mud between my toes and the general ambiance of the situation.

Kaiteriteri
Big empty, out before me, display the world in wrap-around vision. My far of North is hidden now, lost beyond the curve of green, the edge of blue and the meeting point of sea and sky. Our piece of paradise lost, lost to the jet-ski and foreign purchase.

My day has been lost to the decay of time, my day reconstructed with the help of other. Here I am residing on the other side, some different place, some different world. To reflect on what has been and what may come.