After 35 years without lacing up her boots, Rebecca Hayter discovers that by taking baby steps, she has learned to love the hills again
I STOOD ON the deck of Fenella Hut in Kahurangi National Park, sipped my tea sweetened with condensed milk from my brand new Kathmandu cup and contemplated two important facts.
One, that putting condensed milk in a toothpaste tube is sheer brilliance, albeit ironic in a dental sort of way and, two, that to be here on my own near the place where the mountains live in the sky felt like a spiritual detox.
I didn’t mean to stay away for so long. In my childhood, tramping had been the norm. I used to complain every time my parents announced another tramp until, when I was aged about 10, I suddenly got it: the sheer aliveness of bush,...