Life below treeline

I’m sitting in ­­­­­the Mountain House, a lodge at the entrance to Taranaki National Park, and I’m the only one. There is a fire lit, but no guests, no reservations, and no one staying in the rooms. The ambience is stellar, except for the “Power Ballads on Pan Flute and Harpsichord” muzak (I’ll be watching you, Aguilera’s I am beautiful). There’s a persistent drizzle going on outside, but blue skies not 5km away. It’s the effect of the 2518m volcano upon whose flanks we’re perched: Mt Taranaki in Maori or Egmont as the English-speakers named it.

It’s a good chance to relax and reflect on the Kiwi peculiarities that I’ve experienced in the last few days. Just noticing the obvious things like driving on the left and light switches upside down leads to appreciating the other parts of Kiwi-land. New Zealanders are a friendly sort. I thought the smiling, happy attendants on the flight over just might be that way because they are paid to, but it’s really a stereotype that holds true for the most part. Everywhere there’s a friendly face and a quick smile. I have had no problem hitching around and even got invited into a ski club at Mt Ruapehu for the last couple days. This group of friendly folks shared their beer and wine, took me four-wheeling and on a hike to a great waterfall.

The weather wouldn’t let up there so I came to Taranaki and the Mountain House. The chef gave me a ride to a sweet little hostel set up by some surfers called Wave Haven. Still crappy weather, but I went and dipped my toe in the Pacific, which is only 15 Miles from Taranaki’s 2500m summit.Socked in weather for days on end is a non-Colorado difference I could do without, but the clouds should clear tomorrow and the mountain man can get back to what he does best. Update soon…