With a pack on her back and her partner (usually) at her side, 1News presenter Jenny Suo will traverse the longest distances in the harshest conditions and enjoy a solid 95 percent of it.
For the past 40 minutes, I’d kept my head down. My eyes moving sluggishly from limb to limb. Hand on this rock, foot on that. One, two, three, HEAVE.
My pack, which included among other things, half a toothbrush (I’d cut the handle off to save on weight), eight Vita-Weat crackers (four getting there, four getting back) and four liquorice allsorts (non-negotiable), weighed around 16kgs but the Metservice “feels like” factor was precisely 1 million tonnes.
I’d not looked up because I was scared I’d see just how far we still were from Liverpool Hut – a haven in Mt Aspiring National Park in the Southern Alps. I could no longer feel my shoulders – my pins and needles had pins and needles. But surely, soon the metre-high rock slabs and awkward tree roots would be below us and a dazzling red building would emerge. Then I could have a liquorice allsort.
I was losing patience though. I could hear my partner, Michael grunting behind me. He was ready to see the end of the hike too. So, I looked up.
A great wall of grey, green and brown towered over me. There was no end. Just more tree root tentacles twisting from the dirt. A monster ready to devour me.
And then it did. My legs gave way. I was two again. Mum said back then, when I threw a tantrum, I’d sit on the floor, cry and wet my pants. I did two of the three.
The six-hour trek to Liverpool Hut is challenging, but wouldn't usually be outside our comfort zone. But this was our ninth day walking. Our Te Waipounamu holiday was booked with back-to-back tramps.
I ugly cried. Emotion sprayed and spluttered out of every facial orifice onto the trees and rock and dirt.
Poor Michael. He lightened my load, shoving two bags of food into his own pack and wedging my ice axe next to his. He whispered gentle words of encouragement as he pulled me back onto my feet. We took it slow. Me and my near empty pack, dropping gingerbread tears up the West Matukituki. It was another 40 minutes before we spied Liverpool Hut.
A shot of adrenaline coursed through me. I was resurrected. I skipped the rest of the track. Michael following behind me like a tortured Santorini donkey.
At the hut, I reclaimed the bag of food and unpacked it. I saw Michael’s expression frost over.
“You brought an entire head of broccoli? I didn’t even bring spare undies and you brought AN ENTIRE HEAD OF BROCCOLI??”
But the view wipes you of all grievances. Every edge and curve of the valley is glorious. I’m standing on a page of a giant open book, looking down at the crease. The veins of the Matukituki river gleam in the early evening light. The birds rustle the trees below, their songs echoing through the valley.
There is nothing more beautiful than this. I breathe. I’m at peace. I can’t feel my legs.
As darkness envelopes the valley, I see tiny specks of light in the far distance, headtorches on those at the neighbouring French Ridge Hut. “I bet it’s stunning there too,” I say to Michael. “I wish we could go.”
Michael laughs. “It’s just two hours back down and then a three-hour climb back up the other side of the valley.”
I laugh too. We go quiet. The next day we did it.
I have always loved being outside. Weekends in my twenties were spent wandering beneath Kauri giants in Auckland’s Waitakere Ranges and summer holidays, camping.
Nature is bewitching. It’s fragile yet powerful, comforting yet unpredictable, intricate yet expansive. It’s your favourite novel, that changes its narrative every time you read it.
Multi-day tramps meant I could not only visit the outdoors, but I could stay.
Michael and I started out doing more basic tramps like Peach Cove Hut and Frampton’s Hut in Northland. As our legs got stronger, we got braver. The Cape Brett and Te Paki tracks, some of my favourites.
But it’s Te Waipounamu’s mountains that have my heart. In the early evening, the sun projects candyfloss pink onto the mountainside. The sprawl of jagged peaks reminds me I am only a speck in this world.
No matter how cold, at night we brush our teeth, wrap up in everything we've brought and step outside to admire the stars until we lose feeling in our fingers. And it is so quiet. I can hear my heart beat and my eyes blink. Then the silence is pierced by a brazen kea who’s spied my Vita-Weat.
The actual tramping is wonderful too.
I feel a sense of safety and security when my pack is strapped snuggly to my back. My friend, who holds everything I need. I relax. It’s impossible to get too much into my head when all my attention needs to go on my feet.
And there’s so much to discover along the way. Sometimes we stop every 10 minutes to examine an unfamiliar lichen, or curious creature.
Most of the time I tramp with Michael. And we talk. And we talk and we talk and we talk. And we can’t check our phones. We have only each other and it’s so very treasured in a world of constant distractions.
Sometimes I don’t talk. Sometimes I hike alone. I pick a more straightforward track and I bring my personal locator beacon.
Sometimes I crave space and it’s nice to be alone. I get myself into a good rhythm and I breathe. I ponder a dilemma and then I get distracted by a bug or a view. Then I remember a good Beyoncé song and belt it out terribly, then I return to the dilemma, and everything seems clearer.
I can choose to focus or I can forget the entire world. I am calm, I am confident. I wish I could be this person when I'm not tramping too.
It’s always good, even when it’s bad.
One time I emerged from the West Coast’s Paparoa track to find we were in lockdown.
Another time, Michael and hiked to Heather Jock Hut in Central Otago with two logs for a fireplace that didn’t exist. That night, an unexpected cold snap froze all our water. I felt awful the next morning and then tested positive for Covid.
But these things don’t matter when I’m outdoors. All the pain and challenges are worth it. They’re even enjoyable (immediately or after the fact) because the feeling of accomplishment is so very satisfying.
Yes, it’s hard at times, yes, I sat on a shrub and cried. But every moment rewards my heart and soul.
And the broccoli was delicious.
This Makes Me Happy is a series about the things in life that bring us joy.
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