Walking On the Moon

I wrote this straight through, no editing. Comments welcome.

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There are always those moments that you will never forget. They are stronger than your normal "wow that was really amazing" type of days. But while the moment is actually occurring, whether it is for a second or 2 hours, I always say to myself, how could hell be any worse?

We arrived at our camp site just north of 90 mile beach, on the Cape Reinga trail, around 5:30 pm. We dropped our bags and looked feverishly for the nearby river that was drawn out on our map. To much of our dismay, the river was dry. It had to have been, because we couldn't find it. By now I had acquired not the world's finest map reading and compass skills, but they were good enough, having spent a lot of free time in the map room, studying topos and playing with my compass at the same time.

"I'm standing right where it should be," I yelled to Lisa as she shielded her eyes from the sun, trying to search the dunes for water.

We were upset, but not terribly in trouble. We had enough juice to get us through the night, but we did not have anything to start the day with. Nothing for coffee or oatmeal. I was more worried about the coffee, being the caffine addict that I am.

The next day's hike was at least two hours away from the next water source. So we decided to eat our dinner and take an evening walk that took us back down the trail to another path that lead to a river that divided the sand dunes. We had seen in on our way in, and in fact we crossed it with water up to our knees. Knowing it was actually there was what drove us to seek it out, but it just didn't seem right walking across the desert-like landscape at night.

In all reality, I knew that things would be fine. The sky was clear, and last night's moon was full and bright, promising a favorable force against the bleakness of the night. And as the pasta and rice settled into our stomachs, we trampled off at 6:30 pm with nothing more than our water bottles, filters, and headlamps.

There was no trail through the dunes, only orange markers held up by the occasional post. It was easy to spot them during the day, but as the sun went down they started to hide behind the dusky sand that occasionally blew across the horizon. One by one we passed, making note of surrounding landscape and kicking our feet into the sand, making moderate incisions to help guide us back.

The desert ended as the sun had finally set. An hour had gone by since we started to walk, and it was at least another hour until the moon began to run up from behind the hills. With little light, an established path emerged through some light bushes, and eventually led us into a dense, low cover forest with just enough room to walk underneath the nimble branches of the fragile trees that dominated sections of the dunes.

It was dark, impenitrable light at this point. Though our headlamps were helpful, we could see only a few feet in front of our trembling feet. We were all scared, but not showing obvious signs of fright, of course. Nobody would be that brave to lose their macho role, but we were honest enough to say, "Wow I would never be out here alone." Every once and a while we passed a cow pie splattered smack dab on the middle of the trail, and I wondered what might be lurking in the forest.

We approached a marsh and the trees opened up to a swamp full of fowl.

Although I could not see the birds, I knew that they were everywhere. There calls were so jagged and novel to me; I hoped that a kiwi would roll it's way on to the boardwalk we were now walking on. I knew that this was a pipe dream, and I wish now that I would have paid more attention to the other birds, for they are as important, and as natural, as the endangered species I seek.

"Ok, this water will do," I said to Lisa and Kel.

"Ehh... I don't know," Kel said with hesitation as he carried his water filter in his right hand. I let it go, knowing very well that he could suck water straight out of this marsh without any sort of problem or worry. Both of our filters were quality products, I thought, what is his problem? But then I remembered how I was when I first purchased my filter. I was just as hesitant, just as resistant to put my health on the line.

I finally spotted a pool that met his qualifications, softly pointing out how there was no difference between this one and the one we saw 10 minutes ago. But that was all the rap I gave it, because I didn't want to stir any sort of controversy out of the situation. Of course, getting along on tramps is an essential ingredient to success. You have to learn how to deal with the other people in your party. My general rule: as long as your safety or well being is not compromised, it's not worth the hassle.

We filled up our bottles, and then we laid down and watched the stars. I gently hinted that it would be a good idea to get back to camp, where we could watch the stars from the comfort of the grass and our nearby tents. But the other two didn't seem to mind, but in the back of my head I smelled a disaster waiting to happen.

Those dunes, I thought, are going to be impossible to cross without running into trouble. "Good thing I brought my compass" I said as I reached in my pocket, pulling out the insides like a poor prisoner.

"Damnit!" I cursed as I looked up at the sky. The clouds were rolling in, and the moon rise was nowhere to be found.

A bird called in the distance. It sounded angry, sensing something dangerous. It is us, I thought. Not our physical state but our state of being, now.

The clouds grew thicker.