I am not religious, but if I could construct my own heaven it would involve a cosy cabin (with utilities) surrounded by native bush amongst birdsong, gentle rain and a gushing river nearby, with the ocean just a short flight away (because I would be able to fly, surely?). Sometimes I would sleep by the sea, listening to its faint sighs and surges. At other times I would shelter in my cabin, drinking coffee and reading and writing. My favourite people would come and go, too. But there would also be alone time.
Last week I had the pleasure of two nights away as part of my science Masters. We stayed at a river retreat in Ōtaki – just over an hour’s drive away, but another world. There was just a small group of us and I had my own little cabin with a bunk and a door and a heater and two side windows. My name was written on the door in chalk. From my room I could hear the rush of the nearby river and, on the first night, the rattle of rain hitting the tin roof. In the morning, when I stepped outside at 6am, there was a clear, wide scattering of stars across the black sky. After dawn, chubby white-bellied kererū flapped around and plonked onto branches.
It was my first trip away without friends or family in six years. The previous trip involved a week on a ship sailing south over rolling waves to the Auckland Islands. This trip was far less intrepid, but I was still a bit nervous. A new environment with people I mostly knew only through the Zoom app, thanks to covid-related online learning.
We’d been advised to dress warmly and just as well, as the temp dipped down to about two degrees at night. The discovery of their help-yourself hot water bottle system was a pleasure. We also had a cook – a cook! – who came thrice a day and whipped up delicious meals. There was a daily schedule, so there was no planning involved. We discussed our courses, asked questions, gave our pepeha, met locals who were planting and restoring, and learned their stories too.
I also had a dip in the river.
I’d expressed an interest and asked if anyone else was keen. There wasn’t exactly a rush of hands, but one of the lecturers agreed to come with me. So, on the second day when the rain stopped and a weak sun emerged, we traipsed down the hill to the river. About 10 others came as well to have a look (more at the scenery than at us). I felt shy – I don’t usually swim in front of an audience of peers – as I stripped down to my togs and sandals. Even with the shoes, stumbling over large stones made for a decidedly ungainly entrance into the water. I’d braced myself for it to be cold and it sure was, but not melted-snow cold. I could do this, no problem!
However. At about calf-deep I slipped, lurched forward and belly-flopped right into the water. I was so embarrassed, but also relieved that I hadn’t hit my head and needed to be dragged out, so did the thumbs-up sign at the concerned faces and had a little swim. I’d guess the temperature was about 8 degrees. My hands were tingling (no neoprene) so I only stayed in for a few minutes. Afterwards I felt fantastic!
I returned home feeling zen and inspired, which is fortunate because now we are straight into the next courses and all that entails (some of it I will share here soon).
Apart from that I haven’t had many sea swims but my Sunday swim (yesterday) was 15 minutes and the water temperature was 11.5 C. Will it get much colder? Not as cold as it will be for NZ’s first national ice swims championship. Brrr!