St. James, the Protector of Cows

We got back yesterday from another hike--the St. James Walkway--it was beautiful, calm, easy and in a bowl of good weather, whilst rain continued to fall in Christchurch. We met another couple in the first hut, and since we were the only two couples walking on that day in that direction we were together in each hut, every night for five days. They are an interesting pair; Dominik from Scotland is a researcher at Edinburgh University who examines FMRI scans of autistic, bi-polar and schizophrenic patients' brains; Shelley is a kiwi currently employed as a "professional traveller", who funds her explorations with nanny jobs and ski instruction.

The St. James Walkway starts at Lewis Pass, in the middle of the Southern Alps, and wanders through scenic reserves and private farm land for 67 km. We had one of four rushing, winding rivers as a companion the whole time, and herds of cattle to watch over us. Beef cattle are large, and when worried they stand still and stare down the danger. We are little, but apparently unnerving, and a couple times a day we approached a line of fierce, immovable cows. I whisper to Chris, "they're right in the way, I can see the next marker, should we edge around?". Gulp, what if they trample us. We'd carry on, timidly, and suddenly the ranks would break apart and gigantic cows would stumble over each other in their desperation to flee. Every time this happened, and every time I was sure they'd hold fast and kill us. The only brave cows, it turns out, are the mothers with their calves. These cows we would avoid, not because they seemed more aggressive, just more determined, but because you have to respect the cow-calf bond.

We saw wild horses too. I'm suspicious of the "wild" label, but this is the term we were handed, and it certainly sounds more romantic than mere "horses". Horses are cooler than cows, they hold themselves with poise and dignity, toss their hair and move with grace. The herds of horses usually kept to themselves, off on the side away from the clumsy cows. But sometimes they'd all feed in the same area, the horses absentmindedly swishing their tails against the ubiquitous sandflies, and the cows rigid with terror at our approach.

Before that hike we enjoyed my dad's company for two weeks! We saw it all: cities, tiny towns, farms, mountains, beaches, glaciers and a rainforest. We traveled by train, plane, car and dinghy (Chris and I were in a kayak). We walked through Botanic Gardens, along city streets, around the French town of Akaroa, through rain and fog to the silent face of Franz Josef glacier, up and over the "pancake rocks" of Punakaiki, across dark sand and past the pounding ground swells of the Southern Ocean.

Our diet was even more varied than the sites! After months of car-food (nothing too perishable, nothing too colourful or interesting) and tramping our little stomachs had shrunk, but we stretched them back out to post-Christmas levels in two weeks.

Now is the final month. We've got more tramps planned, and a general route south. We've also got the fidgety departure details to work out--sell the car, cancel the phone, get to Auckland, buy Christmas gifts, get some luggage from the Salvation Army to carry all of our Christmas gifts ...