Where Sea Meets Sky (20 page)

I’m still too afraid to fall.

Chapter Eleven

GEMMA

If you ask most people from New Zealand what’s on their bucket list, they’ll usually start listing places and activities far, far away from their home country. I mean, driving through the American Southwest in a pale blue convertible was always high on my list, and I finally did it (though the car ended up being more navy than powder blue). But there have been a few other places on my list that are in New Zealand itself.

Tramping the Routeburn Track in the Southern Alps was one of them. Ski diving over Lake Taupo is another, as is swimming in Lake Tekapo. And even though I grew up on the East Coast of New Zealand, I’d always wanted to venture to the remote East Cape and see the first sunrise of the world grace the beaches there.

Now I can cross Routeburn off the list. Even though it’s only day two, the trip has been absolutely amazing. Yesterday went perfectly and everyone woke up happy and not too sore. My thighs burn in some places, mainly my hamstrings, but that’s always a good thing; it means you’re pushing yourself. And I need to be pushed.

This morning we’ve almost made it to the top of Harris Saddle. It’s a side trip off the main track, but since we made good time yesterday I don’t want to miss an opportunity. Luckily everyone was game, even Amber, who is the least athletic out of all of us.

Still, she can’t help but whine. “Are we there yet?”

I turn around to look at her. She’s nearly falling backward into Josh, with Nick at the very back. The last bit of the hike is always the hardest but I know if we keep pressing on, we’ll get to the summit.

“Just a bit further,” I tell her, as I have been again and again.

Finally I can see the top of the A-frame shelter poking its head out among the rocky outcrops and endless waves of tussock grass and I nearly yelp with delight.

It’s so fucking stunning, I can barely believe my eyes.

The tiny, windowless A-frame shelter looks so small against the valley and mountains that it looks as if it could blow off into the abyss at any moment. All around us the wind crackles around our limbs like lightning; the hum of the land can barely be contained.

We are so,
so
, insignificant here and the mountains go on forever and ever, the distance so vast and great between us and the peaks. I’m almost getting dizzy and I lean back for a second. A small hand goes around my arm and I know Amber is keeping me upright.

None of us say anything, we just suck in the air, suck in the view, suck in the life around us. I feel like the wind rushing up from the far-off lands below is feeding us. It’s feeding me, deep inside, giving me strength.

We have a quick lunch of protein bars and water, sitting among the dry tussock and trying to get our small brains to believe the world around us. Then we head back down the track, passing other exhausted trampers on the way and encouraging them to keep going, that the pain is worth it for the beauty.

Back on the main track heading to the Mackenzie Lake campsite, the out-of-body experience doesn’t end. It amplifies as we walk along exposed ridges, the brown and green grass and subalpine plants rolling off on either side of us until they end, dropping off, and then there’s nothing but space between us and the Hollyford and Ailsa Mountains.

I’m watching my step on the trodden rock path but I wish I had eyes on the back of my head. Not only to keep taking in the views but to watch Josh. Out of all of us, he seems to be just as affected as I am. He’s thirsty for the experience and his passion is revving my heart. I’m already awake and alive and he’s adding to it, making me want him more than I ever have.

I don’t even have the decency to chide myself. The feeling is freeing and freedom is all I need.

Though it’s a breathtaking hike, it’s a long one. When we finally reach the campsite, down a steep descent to the rich, blue-green waters of Lake Mackenzie, we’ve been walking for six hours. It’s almost dinner time and the rumble in my stomach, my body screaming for protein, forces me to set up the tent in record time. I bring out the food from my pack—freeze-dried organic chili and a roll of gluten-free bread—and Amber cooks it over the portable stove that Josh pulls out of his backpack.

It’s cold up here, and though summer has swamped the rest of the country, it’s still spring in the mountains. We’re all wrapped in our sweaters and jackets, ample amounts of mosquito spray covering our faces. The bottle of whiskey gets passed around the fire and soon the sun sinks behind molten clouds and the stars start to pop out in the sky.

Nick heads to our tent early. Soon after, Amber goes to hers.

I’m alone with Josh and I don’t want to think. I don’t want to be afraid. I don’t want to stop being free. I want to get up and strip naked and run into the lake. I want to dance under the stars and the sliver of moon poking its head in the distance, rising from the hidden sea.

I think he can feel it in me, this wildness. I want to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist and the rest of my life doesn’t exist and the only thing that’s certain is here and now.

I want him to kiss me. I want to kiss him.

I’ve wanted and yearned my whole life, but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted quite like this. It pulls from my gut and mingles with those feelings I’ve ignored, the ones that tell me I’m looking for something and haven’t found it yet.

Is it Josh? Would he fill that void?

Or is he just the sleight-of-hand in a card trick?

He’s sitting across from me on a mossy rock and his eyes keep catching mine through the flames. If I were to lean over and kiss him, I would catch fire.

But I think I’d enjoy it.

“I think I’m going to turn in,” he says, his voice careful, and I look down to hide the disappointment I know is etched on my face.

“Yeah. Me too,” I reply, hoping I sound free.

But I’m not free. My stupid fucking heart is nothing more than a cage. I have to learn better. I have to watch myself.

I tip another shot of whiskey into my mouth and feel it burn as it goes down. I wish there was no tomorrow.

Josh seems hesitant to leave me so I get up and go to the washroom instead with the one dying flashlight that we have. I relieve myself and then spend a few moments milling around the campsites, staring at the glow from the tents against the glow of the stars above.

I wish I could paint this. I wish I could capture it as it is, all the details. I wouldn’t need to embellish or elaborate. The reality is as beautiful as art.

With that thought in my head, I crawl into bed beside Nick and go to sleep.

The next morning I wake up with a fuzzy head and a frozen nose. It’s the only thing poking out of the sleeping bags, and when I open my eyes I see frost on the top of the tent. Lord, it’s cold.

I turn against Nick and try and snuggle, try to get warm. But he cries out and pushes me away.

“Fuck, babe, you’re pure ice,” he says in annoyance and he keeps me at arm’s length so I don’t bring the chill to him. Now I kind of want to freeze him out in a different way.

“Cuddle me,” I demand, half joking, half serious.

But he only covers himself with the rest of his sleeping bag and rolls away, facing the side of the tent. “Fuck no, cuddle yourself, ice queen,” he grumbles.

Maybe he doesn’t mean for it to sting, but it does. It shouldn’t. He meant it as just a joke, a jab at my frozen limbs, not anything more than that. The truth is I don’t really need to snuggle up to Nick; he’s just a warm body and I’d probably snuggle up to a fat, bearded trucker named Earl if I had a choice, but I don’t.

I sigh, my breath catching in a cloud above my head, then decide to get on with the day. I get dressed as fast as I can, my teeth chattering as I go, pulling on singlets and T-shirts and flannel shirts and sweaters.

I noisily zip out of the tent and emerge into the mist. I can barely see Josh and Amber’s tent across the fire pit. Everything is hidden by cold, heavy fog.

My teeth are still chattering as I quickly get the fire going for warmth and then the stove going for our breakfast. It’s not long before everyone else is emerging, hugging themselves and spewing obscenities over the weather. But that’s the thing about the South Island and especially the mountains. You can have four seasons in one day and the weather can change drastically in a short amount of time. The number one killer for tourists is hypothermia.

Thankfully we’ve all planned ahead, and though it takes a while and we have to wear all the clothes we’ve packed and wait for the fire to get hot, we eventually warm up and get ready to continue on with the hike.

The track from the campsite is a lot of up and down, and though I know that the cliffs don’t suddenly drop off from the path, it’s still scary making our way through with limited visibility.

I guess I’m going too slow for Nick because he takes the lead in front of me.

“We’re not going to fall off the mountain,” he tosses over his shoulder at me. “Pick up the pace.”

I exhale noisily but keep one foot going in front of the other. Compared to yesterday, I’m in a bad mood. The low cloud makes me feel boxed in and claustrophobic, plus the slight whiskey hangover and Nick’s rejection this morning doesn’t help.

We pass through an area known as “The Orchard” where the path turns into a grassy plain dotted with ferns and ribbonwood trees. Josh says they remind him of arbutus trees back in British Columbia, the way their thin trunks bend and reach. In the fog they just look like ghostly, frail hands trying to hold the mist, but they can’t hold on any better than I can.

Today’s hike feels longer than yesterday’s, and though we pass by waterfalls and lush beechwood forest, I feel like that moment I wanted to hang on to has passed forever. I didn’t want a tomorrow and yet here it is. Cold and gray and trapped.

We reach Lake Howden Hut around three p.m. and just before the torrential downpour starts. Unlike the first hut we stayed at, this one is much smaller and feels cramped, thanks to all the other trampers taking shelter from the rain, plus the addition of my own foul mood.

Nick cooks dinner this time—parboiled rice and rehydrated vegetables, which actually taste better than it sounds—and I barely finish the bowl when the clouds suddenly clear a path for the sky and the rain stops and the sun shoots us a barrel-wide ray of light.

“I want to go to Key Summit,” I announce suddenly, getting to my feet.

“What?” Nick says, reaching for me to sit back down.

I move out of his grasp and eye them all. “The weather has finally cleared up and if I stay in here I’m going to go crazy.” Amber and Josh exchange a look. I ignore it. “I wanted to go to Key Summit earlier but what’s the point if you can’t see anything.”

“It’s almost sundown, babe,” Nick says. “We can go tomorrow.”

“Fuck tomorrow,” I say. “I want this today. I want the sunset. It’s only twenty minutes up and it’s totally guided by signs. There’s a boardwalk up there. It’s safe. I’ve seen the pictures.”

They all avoid my desperate eyes.

“Don’t be mad,” Amber admits sheepishly, “but I’m not moving an inch.”

“Neither am I,” says Nick, folding his arms.

Hesitantly, I look at Josh. He just nods and gets up, his empty dish in hand. “I’d love to go. But let’s just pack a backpack just in case.”

My nerves jump at the idea of being alone with him. Where was the brave girl from last night? Was she still hidden in the fog?

But he’s right, we need to be smart, even for a short hike. He comes back from the bunks with the small daypack that detaches from his larger one and I see he’s put in a first-aid kit, two rain jackets, sweaters, socks, the flashlight, and a handful of energy bars.

“All set?” I ask him, almost afraid to meet his eyes.

He gives me an easy smile that puts my cagey mind to rest. “Let’s go.” He looks at Nick and Amber. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

We leave the hut side by side, the trees around us touched by fading sun at their tops and hidden by darkening shadow below. Once we’re back on the track and heading south toward the turnoff for the summit route, we go into single file. This time Josh is leading the way. I like it. Maybe I just like staring at his ass.

The track ascends through thick beech forest and ferns, everything growing darker and darker the more the sun sets, like the land is preparing for the night. And then the final ten minutes it opens up into bogs and tussock and pastel sky. I feel so much better with the forest beneath us, like my head is clearing.

We reach the summit just in time. The sun is starting to sink in the west over the peaks, and the sky is turning shades of orange and blue, tingeing the edges of the clouds with magenta, like a child has taken a neon marker and outlined them. The boardwalk among the bogs, ponds, and low shrubs ends at a lake that reflects all the colors of the sky back at us.

I want to cry. The tears are there, rushing to my eyes because my soul can’t contain them. It’s all too much but they still don’t fall.

Instead I let out a quiet sob that seems to echo across the mountains and all the way to the unseen sea.

Suddenly Josh wraps his arms around me from the back, holding me in place. He rests his jaw on top of my head and keeps his focus forward, on the beauty changing, melting, evolving in front of us.