Timmer

I love the mountains. And a certain range of mountains, the Ruahine, in particular. From the first time I set foot in them back nearly 20 years ago, something inside me knew I was home, that this place on the other side of the world from where I grew up was where I felt most at home. I still recall with vivid clarity a moment coming down from that day walk up Gold Crown ridge with Nigel and John, it was a very hot day and I had much to learn about travel in the mountains being a flatland Wisconsin boy such I was. Carrying enough water was one lesson. As Nigel climbed down ahead into the forest John and I looked down through the tupare and tawhairariki to a stream far below. We could hear it faintly, see the clear green depths of her pools, and the satiny ribbon whiteness of the rapids - and we were thirsty! Even with my thirst I was tingling inside, feeling excited and alive as I had in many years. I knew part of me would never leave these mountains.

A very good friend of mine back home in Wisconsin died this past week, far too soon at the age of 50. Tim Revane never climbed any towering mountains, he never traveled to distant lands, I am not even sure he ever left Wisconsin, he never wrote any books or went to university, he will not have any statues built in his honour, no lofty tributes from on high will grace the news recalling his feats. This will have to do. For in a circular way it was my friendship with Timmer, and the time I spent with him, and others, that brought me to that moment I described above, and gave me the presence to recognize it happening. Timmer most likely would not even acknowledge what I am writing about here, but rather he would smile at me as he opened a beer and lit another cigarette and say, "Dobber, let's go fishing".

Above is a photo of The Barbaric Open - a golf tournament we held every year in the late 80's to early 90's when I moved here to New Zealand. We played on courses from Minneapolis to Milwaukee and we were never invited back to the same one twice. Timmer is the 5th in from the right, in front of him his brother Bob, and behind Bob in the blue cap is Rick Parduhn - whom has tramped here in the Ruahine. One of my oldest friends, Quinn, is seated on the bus, with his brother Mitch in front of him, me holding young Colin Pollesh (who would now be approaching his mid 20's!), on my right in the blue tee shirt is Phils, and to his right in the blue shirt is Gustav, whom has been in the Ruahine many times and now lives in Tasmania. The guy with the arm around the fellow next to Gustav is Todd, the father of young Colin, and now a charter boat captain on Lake Michigan, and closest on the left is Iron Mike, the other brother of Tim and Bob and also one of my oldest friends.

Timmer in the crash helmet with Mitch ready to board his amply supplied golf cart. This was vintage Timmer. In a bus load of characters and personalities he always had a surprise, or a perfect comment on any situation. Then he would just sit back and laugh.

An evening at Selen's in Milwaukee, a sort of going away gathering before I left on this part of my life to join Tara here in New Zealand. She had returned earlier as her visa had expired, and on the day she left we found out she was pregnant out in San Francisco. Interesting times. Out of a lot of my mates one of the most supportive was Tim in his own unique way. He kept my car running, helped me move, kept the whiskey flowing, took me fishing, made sure I had lots of venison - big chunks marinated in orange juice and grilled rare on the Weber. He always planned to come over to fish and hunt and see these mountains I was so fond of. He never did. So it is up to me to take him there with me and I will.

Above: Todd, Phils, Timmer, me, Iron Mike, Bogger, and Tony Maio. Enjoying the best prime rib in Milwaukee and all the trimmings.

A spot of croquet on the afternoon of my 30th birthday. Summer 1990. Iron Mike playing out of the rough while Todd and Timmer eye up the situation, me not really caring much, Roaster - another Ruahine veteran, Bob, and Phils.

Timmer loved to fish and hunt. At a time not long after my birthday I struggled a bit. A relationship ended badly, I quit a job I hated and went back to school. Timmer decided I needed to start fishing again, which I had not in years. He took me out and reignited the flame within me. He taught to me to slowly stalk and hunt fish from shore, to do it with purpose and stillness. Yet is was being outside that meant more to me, the smell of the woods, the sunlight glistening on the lake, this stirring inside of me I had yet to understand. So I eventually returned to the Boundary Waters, a magical place of lakes, woods, rivers, bears, and wolves, and accessible only by canoe. My friend Quinn and I spent 8 amazing days there and relished each second. I owe that to Tim and he recognizing something in me I didn't even see myself. I needed to go fishing.

Sitting by the fire on Mahlberg lake. 3 days paddle from the nearest road end.

A walleye caught from shore. A few more and dinner is served.

The final evening at Bashatong Lake. May the waters on the other side be as still for your paddle my brother, may the walleye be large and hungry, the woods full of deer, and the firewood dry. Keep that fire burning e hoa. See you soon.

"Farewell farewell,

Let the heavens mumble and stutter

Let them acknowledge your leaving us

Mine is the lone gull's cry in the night

Let my grief hide the moon's face

Let alien gods salute thee and

with flashing knives cut open

the dark belly of the sky

I feel rain spit in my face

I bear no malice, let none stain my valedictions

For I am at one with the wind

the clouds heave and the slapping rain

the tattered sky with the wild solitude

of the sea and the streaming earth

which I kneel to kiss............."

Hone Tuwhare - Lament (1)

Deep River Talk - Collected Poems

Winter

27 July Heritage Lodge, Oroua Valley

Robb Kloss

Charlie Kloss

I was on my way yesterday on the road and looking forward to a four or five day solo trip into the wintry Ruahine. A very cold southerly has blown in, and the snow was down very low in the hills, and covering the far off peaks in a shimmery glowing white satin against the foreboding grey skies. I pulled the car over and sat looking at the view out there and dealt with the thoughts tumbling through my brain. Then I turned the car around and returned home. I had decided to take Charlie with me. He wants to be in the snow. He was down in Wellington for the day with Tara, so this meant I lost a day, and also a bit of logistical reorganizing, but the feelings that ran through me looking at those peaks told me to get my son. So I did.

So here we are after walking into Heritage in the early afternoon and settling in for a big day walk in the morning up to Tunupo Peak and the snow. The southerly has blown through and the warmer northerly bringing wind and rain and easy low lying snow is gone, so some tough work lies ahead for the Chomper to see snow. I had planned to be far deeper in at either Iron Gate or Triangle on my own, instead I am here with Charlie, and that has it's own wonderful charms. We spent a while gathering, chopping, sawing, and stacking wood, and now the lovely confines of the hut are warm and cozy. We are joined by Mike, a retired gentleman who has put out a small line of possum traps a short way up the valley towards Tunupo creek, doing 'feasibility study" as he puts it. There is good money in possum fur at the moment, but it is very very hard work. Interesting how a cup of tea and sharing a warm hut in the wilderness brings out the good things about human company. I love my solitude and will always relish seeking it, but here now in this moment with Charlie and Mike it all seems right.

Charlie doing the dishes after a tea of marinated steak with Chinese rice and cashews.

Charlie has taken in interest in why I spend time out here huddled up with my little notebook, and picked up and my pen and book, and has graciously given me permission to share a few of his thoughts... " Charlie here. Sitting by the lamp here writing stuff on a nice night, though it is shitting itself outside with rain. I was thinking about my dumb brother and how we discovered he has broken the zipper on my new sleeping bag, he is the only one he used it. Now you can't zipper it up, which is sort of the whole point of a sleeping bag. Mike is pretty cool, his stuff was here but he didn't get here till late, so I thought he might be hurt or dead. Dad didn't seem too worried. It is heaps warmer in here now than when we arrived and the fire looks cool. Me and dad are about to have some big juicy steaks. I bet the way it is raining mum would love it so much as it is raining even harder than last time we were here, and she loves the rain on the tin roof. It is a bit quiet except all the rain, but still lets me focus more. THE END.

The mountain tawhairaunui reaching for the sky against the droplets of rain. The beseeching limbs always remind me of the mountain spirit Herself. Trying to tell us what we refuse to hear. Listen!

Robb: It was a bit more difficult getting my head around returning to the mountains than I thought after my last experience with Taylor. So I am surprised a bit by the notion which overtook me to change my plans and collect Charlie. Maybe the thought of being on my own was more daunting than I thought. But I don't think so, as the thought of being further up the valley on a stormy night in a smaller less posh hut still makes me sigh with a small tinge of regret that it is NOT where I am. Or maybe it was the mountain spirits themselves knowing me better than I know own myself. I like the thought of that for some reason.

Up onto the ridge. A couple days ago this all would have been covered in snow. 600 metres or so. We had a long way to go and did not get into snow until well over 900 metres. Still, the winter forest above heaves and sighs with energy, colour, and steepness!

Charlie looking for snow ahead. Not yet mate!

Finally! Nearly two hours after starting our climb did we get into any real snow still around. As a kid who grew up with Wisconsin winters, it takes a fair bit of snow to impress me. But through the eyes of a child who has NEVER been in amongst the stuff, it is a real amazing experience to observe. Especially when the kid has to work so hard, and climb so high to see it.

The hump below is the ridge to Tunupo peak we were climbing. A long steadily climbing ridge, which then steepens considerably when finally emerging out of the forest into the tupare and tussock. Gazing up at the route ahead.

Charlie got a fire in the belly once we saw a bit of snow. Climbing up with a big smile on his face.

Eureka!

A phone call to mum. The final push to Tunupo lies in the background. The weather up was getting considerably cold, misty and cloudy. Not too much longer from here and I pulled the pin to Charlie's chagrin.

The far off Whanahuia's on a stormy winter day.

Heading back down. A lot of work still ahead.

Lower in the forest the mosses and lichens began to glow. There is a lot going here in this photo.

An old familiar friend.

"Winter Ruahine"

The scents of the winter forest greet me

the musty earthy loveliness

assures me of my place here

the flapping wings of the chubby Kereru

like the forlorn song of the whio further below

and the gentle towering presence of the tawhairaunui

all familiar and real

like the aroma of fresh brewed coffee

or the Thanksgiving delights in my grandmother's oven

muddy steep tracks that never end

pulling us upward guided by the glow and shine

of the mosses and lichens

we climb to the tupare

to the snow

my child has never seen till now.

Charlie back below, a short few minutes to Heritage, warm fresh gear and hot drinks. It was a 6 hour effort round trip to get up there and back to see a bit of snow. I think he will remember this.

Aroha,

Robb and Charlie

Makariri Pohewa (Winter Dreamer)

Parks Peak ridge back in 2004 or so, and a walk up that ridge in what became in places hip deep snow, only to arrive at the old Parks Peak hut, at best a freezer out of the wind, and a place certainly requiring a warm sleeping bag. Not quite like the comparatively luxurious quarters there now. I loved that old hut, even on that cold night. It is a bit easier to write in retrospect, fire blazing not far away, wee dram at hand, but it holds true. Where the above photo was lived, it was bone chilling cold, I had only stopped to put on some more gear, so I knew what lie ahead, and I knew what awaited me. I carried on regardless.

I love being in the mountains in winter. The temperamental mood of the mountains in winter suits me well. I love the wildness and solitude. I love arriving at a much loved hut and finding in the hut book no one has been there for weeks, or months. I love the quiet of my own company. I dream of this happening soon. I have had my nose to the proverbial grindstone for a bit, and I dream of a few days to myself, to renew my place in a place I need to come to terms with for many reasons.

Maropea Forks: A winter July trip with Gustav. We spent a couple days here, and on the second day I went for a solo walk up river. A few hours later the weather started to close in, the skies a silent grey, and the whole narrow world around me took on an ethereal glow. Just as I arrived back at the hut the whole place exploded into a whirling snowstorm. The wind blasted us in huge gusts and the snow swirled and then fell in gentle huge flakes, only to swirl again. Gustav and I danced about in glee, laughing and then silently gazing in awe at the power of this storm, freight train sounding blasts of wind rushing up the valley then unleashing itself upon us. We cooked huge steaks and sat by the fire, smiles upon our faces.

Winter 2009 : Heading into the mist, snow, and wind upon the Whanahuia's with John. My last trip with an old tired, worn out painful hip and I could feel every step.

" You, as ego , cannot change what you are feeling, and you cannot, effectively, try not to change it. There is simply and only what is happening, including those particular thoughts, images and tensions which you customarily attributed to the phantom thinker and doer. They persist like echoes, but as it is seen that they are just static in the nervous system and not the work of any central ego, they lose interest, subside, and go away of themselves. Hoping they will go away is just more static". - Alan Watts, Cloud Hidden - Whereabouts Unknown: A Mountain Journal

I need to go to the winter mountains.

John returning to Parks Peak from Upper Makaroro hut July 2008. I climbed up earlier in the day, and an hour or so from the hut it started snowing, and by the time John arrived late in the afternoon we were in a real blizzard. In this case the NEW Parks Peak hut, its insulated walls and flash new wood stove all were of comfort and building of my own relation to this place. Still, I could not help but gaze across to other end of this wintry mountain meadow and wistfully not miss that little orange hut and the many other souls who had sheltered within it.

Road end - coming down from Parks Peak to the road end. We knew what was snow up high would be rain far below, and where the mountain river rolls out of the hills to more sedate land, thus wider and deeper. The Makaroro above is normally a fairly easy cross, thigh deep and clear. Above, a muddy, wide torrent, but one I know pretty well, so John and I barged in at a good spot and battled across. The power and force of water is pretty awakening when you are in it, and only halfway across. Time to pay attention. Above we had made it, the car was only a few hundred metres away, and we were safe. Yet part of me wanted to cross it again and go back the other way.

I am a winter dreamer.

Residual

It has been a month or so since Taylor went missing, and got found in the Ruahine. This past month has found me vacillating between extreme highs and very melancholic lows. Highs in that, in moments, I feel so completely alive, and so understanding of what is important in my world and the things I do, a deep love I can barely contain for Taylor, Tara, Charlie, and the people I love, (and why should I contain it?), a desire and understanding of Wild Places and what they mean to me and the truth of what operating in such places means. I feel an awareness of sight, sound, vibrant colours and tones I have not seen before come into view. I find reasons to be physically close to my sons, when I touch my wife and look at her beauty I want to cry. These are good things.

Then a terrible grief and melancholic sadness rolls over me like the mist and cloud on a high exposed Ruahine ridge. I cannot get out of the way. The overwhelming sense of helplessness and loss I experienced that night at Maropea Forks, the hut illuminated only by a lonely candle in the window knowing my beautiful son was out there, lost, possibly hurt or worse just consumed my soul, burning and twisting it into to tiny knots I am still slowly untying. I fully learned and felt what it was like to have a child taken away, then by the Grace of Nature, have that child returned to me. Then I read of the young 17 year old who took his own life on the weekend, sent to his room by his parents after being expelled from his high school ball for being under the influence. Inside me I feel the grief and desolate emptiness they are living, I understand it very well. Just as I understand the same pain of the 13 children in Kawerau whom have killed themselves in the last 18 months. I feel still, the hopelessness of my friend Kevin, whom killed himself at age 15 and in a few days time would have been celebrating his 51st birthday. I will never stop missing him. I wonder why I had the gift of being able to still gaze upon my son alive given to me, am I even deserving of it?

Taylor has not had any life changing epiphany, though he does seem a bit more settled, today even landing a job in an economy where 35% of his age group is unemployed. I still worry for him, but I know out here there is really as little in the mountains once he steps out of my range that I can do for him. And I suspect the lessons out here for him fade as fast as they come into view for me. These are now his choices. He is coming into whom he will be and I am winding down into who I have become, the eternal struggle between sons and fathers. Some of the melancholy comes from that as well.

As for me, I think that sooner than later I need to return to Maropea Forks in particular, either alone or with Tara. I need to be in that area, to sit on that porch I love so much and just be part of it all. Now that I have been there at the very best of times, and the very worst of times, it simply has deepened my connection, and my aroha, for these wild places. The Lessons keep coming.

Kia kaha!

Aroha,

Robb

Hokia ki nga maunga (Return to the Mountains)

23 May 2011
Top Maropea
Robb Kloss
Taylor Kloss

I am once again in the back yard of Top Maropea gazing down the valley and mist shrouded peaks above it. This time, however, I will be venturing further into those alluring views. The next five days will be spent roaming about with my oldest son, who returns here after almost a two year absence from the hills. And judging by the fact that he, like Charlie a few months back, immediately crawled into the very same down sleeping bag and fell fast asleep upon arrival, indicates a lack of bush fitness and carrying a large pack. At 17 Taylor no longer warrants my back bearing the entire load, and it is good to see him sleep out of physical tiredness and the mountain air rather that tiredness of his more hedonistic pursuits.
We both need this trip, for many reasons, some our own, some to find each other. I have no real expectations, nor fatherly advice to give, except to simply be together in the mountains for the next five days. I am leaving the past where it is out in the world, and resolve to simply be present and in each moment with my son. It feels real here in the Ruahine.
It was a cold windy crossing of the saddle and I was thinking of my last crossing with Charlie battling those gales. He did so well, and was so brave. And looking at Taylor walking ahead I drifted back the sliding years to him in this same place at age 8. It seems we have struggled a lot since then. But I love my son, and I want to see him here. It may be the last chance and the last time I get.

Taylor just above Armstrong saddle and The Gut, looking out towards the Hawkes Bay plains.

Taylor and I on Camel Back spur overlooking the Maropea valley back in 2005.

Taylor, on a decidedly inclement day, age 8, 2001, on his first trip to Top Maropea.

Taylor, not far from the same spot, age 17, 2011.

"Thoughts in late afternoon at Top Maropea"

Surly and bruised grey clouds
roll over my head
fluorescent on the edge
opaque and glinting
of yellow and red
A painting is never the same
in any different light
Nor is the backyard of Top Maropea
when day turns to night
I'm here with my son
my son is with me
we have 5 days more
to simply be we.

Early morning 24 May : Taylor still sleeps, and has been, aside from rising for dinner and sitting by the fire, again so much like Charlie on his first night, for over 14 hours now. I let him sleep and enjoy the quiet solitude.

The day still appears to be deciding what to wear and soon enough we will head down to the stream and then meet the river and Maropea Forks. I have not been there for over two years now, as my last trip with Jeff and John in 2009 was just too painful with my hip, and in the last year since having it replaced I have not gone that way. So I am looking forward to the reunion, and walking the river with focus and joy, rather than pain and wanting to just get there.

A pair of Whio on the Maropea. A beautiful sight that never fails to move me deeply.

A better photo of whio, courtesy of my friend, photographer and writer, Pohangina Pete, http://pohanginapete.blogspot.com/ .

Lunchtime on the Maropea. In the late morning sun, bagels, salami and cheese. The river was in great condition, and we had perhaps a little more than an hour to go from this spot to the hut.

The last time I saw Taylor for the next 20 hours or so. A little blurry, but the last time I laid my eyes upon him this day. He wanted to walk ahead and I decided to get out my video camera and record some of the river scene, and see if I could go back and get the whio on film. There is a very distinct waterfall on the true left of the river not so far from where Taylor is above. From there it is less than 30 minutes to the hut, and a large orange marker indicates a track that cuts through the forks to the hut on the true right just before the forks. Taylor walked right by it.

The water fall.

Maropea Forks - late afternoon : Taylor is missing. He took off in front of me and when I arrived at the hut expecting he was here I found it empty. I dropped my gear and hurried down river towards Otukota twice now, the second time building cairns and leaving markers back to here. I also searched back up river to the falls thinking he may have slipped or been injured and I missed him but found nothing. I am having a short rest and will try to climb up to Point 1450 to ring out and notify search and rescue. I have to remain calm and think clearly, and hope if he is still walking down river he will realize his mistake. He knew it was only 30 minutes from the water fall. If he carries on down towards Otukota he is going to get himself into a very wicked gorge. This is real.

This is the view above Maropea Forks from the spur leading to Puketaramea ridge. The top branch is the west branch of the Maropea leading down from Top Maropea, the bottom one is the east branch, and Maropea Forks hut lies about 200 metres up it. Taylor simply carried on down the top branch and missed the hut completely. I couldn't get up to 1450 as the day turned to dark and had to retreat to the hut. I usually appreciate being alone in the mountains, but in this case it was just lonely, and thus began the longest and loneliest night of my life. There is a lot of stuff from those hours I just have to keep for myself, but there were some very dark moments. Just before dawn I awoke, very discouraged and upset. Then I heard a whio calling from the pool just outside the hut. It filled me with the first hope I had in hours, that whio was saying to me "Keep hope, Keep hope". My eyes fill with tears as I write this and remember. Later on Taylor told me he had heard the whio as well.

I climbed the spur above, using my torch to keep on the track and spot the markers just going slowly and surely till it got light enough for me to see. Then I carried on climbing to the ridge and the open high point at Puketaramea (1358 metres), and rang Taylor's grandparents as I knew Tara was working. Then I just sat down exhausted and cried for my son.

Taylor and Nigel on the porch at Maropea Forks - 2001.

I returned to the hut, and was sitting resting before heading back down river to search for Taylor, when suddenly he walked around the corner and up towards the hut. I shouted out his name running to him and bawling and we hugged each other tightly. He had done exactly what I wrote, and just missed the sign, and in his 17 year old brain just didn't pay attention and kept going. He did end up in the gorge, and not till then did he realize his error, turned around but ran into darkness. The thing he did do right was to stop and rest, and found the best place he could to camp in the narrow river. He had plenty of food, dry clothes, a bivvy sack, sleeping bag, and made himself a little camp. He then spent a very cold, damp and wet night on the river, as lonely as I was back at the hut. At first light he packed up his sodden gear and headed up river towards the forks and soon found the signs and markers I had left indicating the distance and times to the hut. I had placed them at the river crossings and marked arrows all along the way in the sand as well. He said as soon as he saw those he knew he would be okay, and that I was looking for him. He thought the reason I hadn't found him was that I was hurt and he was going to have to find me.

Taylor was cold and shivering and had been vomiting a few times in the night, so I got him in front of the fire and then went and retrieved his pack which he had left at the forks by my last sign as he was too tired to carry it further, and could see the smoke from the fire. Then we waited 2 hours for the chopper to arrive. They were quite happy to find all was well, and quite keen to ferry us out. As the weather was due to get quite nasty, I wasn't going to argue. I don't mind bad weather, but after his experience Taylor was fairly done in. He still managed to enjoy the chopper ride over the ranges. My thanks and appreciation to great crew of the Hawkes Bay Rescue Helicopter Trust.

Let me be very clear. This incident has not put any dent for my love of the Ruahine and any wild places. Taylor recovered well from making a few near fatal mistakes. He was not paying attention nor in tune with his environment. Out here in the world that can get us into trouble, in wild places it can kill you. He should have realized far sooner I was not behind him, and stopped and waited, then come back looking for me on the basis I might be hurt or need assistance. And thirdly, with his knowledge that the hut was very close to the water fall he should have deduced that far too much time had passed. He said to me later he just caught in the trap of going around "one more bend" thinking the hut must be there. It is not an uncommon occurrence. A steep ridge we think will end soon only leads up another steep point, or ground we think looks familiar is not. This is why being in focus and in tune is so vital. My mistake was not telling Taylor to wait for me. He did well when he did realize what he had to done to remain calm and then focus on getting a camp and planning for the morning, and staying as warm as he could. Fortunately the last good move he made overcame a few very big errors.

The mountains are very neutral to our presence, neither for us, nor against us. And though I feel a deep spiritual bond to the Ruahine, it does not mean I can ever take my eye off the ball, ever. I went back to the mountains with my son whom I have been struggling with. Taylor got himself into and out of a jam for many of the same reasons he struggles out here, and lying on the cold ground by a mountain river, damp and freezing, he had lots of time to ponder things, just as I did in the hut. What I found was this deep overwhelming enduring aroha for my child that I wasn't sure was within me. The Ruahine took my boy, and then she gently handed him back to me

Kia kaha!

Aroha,

Robb

Ka Kite Ano

The Ruahine mean, and have brought so much to my life, which I have tried to share through my words and photos here. I am in the process of examining EVERYTHING in my life. Some are fortunate to know this when they are young, to seek at all times who you really are, and that which defines the values and the ethics you choose to live by. For me, it has come late, but it has come. At least I think.

Eventually that had to come around to the mountains, to the Ruahine, and what they have meant to me, the role they have played, the way I want to have my future interactions with such a huge place, with such meaning, in my life. I want to find the Truth about who I am so that I can honour and treasure this place and have the times I can spend there be full of love and integrity. They are not right now, the balance is skewed and I have simply become a Taker, a User, an Appropriator, and I am giving nothing back to them.

I go to the mountains when I am empty from my trials and tribulations out here. I go to the mountains to be renewed and filled with mana and life once again because all that has been drained from me out here. I go to the mountains to simply find the energy to carry on out here with my relationships with my wife, family, and friends, not to mention the state of the world as I see it and try to live amongst it. Soon the lightness I obtain there is drained away and I return again to the Ruahine to simply take more from her grace. So I am essentially draining the place I love most of her energy and leaving nothing in return. There is something fundamentally wrong with that, wrong with me. And it is a place I love too completely to dishonour in such a shallow way. And in my heart I know I am also dishonouring myself.

I want to experience what it is to enter this sacred place when I am already full of spirit and aroha, when I take that first deep breath of mountain air and feel myself ready to burst as I am already so full of life. I have to live out here as I live in the mountains, and I have had that all twisted and turned around.

So I am examining all this out here now, and making myself confront who I am as a man, a husband and father, a friend, and a human being. It is exhausting and terrifying at times, and at times already has been full of tears of both pain and joy. It is like learning to breathe and walk all over again. A journey I am finally ready for at the age of fifty.

It means I have to write Ka kite ano (Goodbye for now to people I know) here in this place I also have grown to love, and to people whose presence I also love and honour, at least for now (I mean your presence and honour always, just me being here for now). Till I can write with the complete feeling of honesty and truth I want to feel. Not that I have not shared my entire fibre and love for the Ruahine and all wild places here. What I want to do is to write that way even when I have not just been there, and right now I cannot. That is not truly honouring my love for the Ruahine. This journey does not hold room right now for me to be here. I do hope to return, but I do not know when, if at all. It doesn't mean either that I am giving up on the Ruahine and wild places. Her mountain breeze is always upon my face, the sweet water always slakes my thirst, and the smell of woodfire one I will always seek. I just need some time to get my shit together.

To so many friends here, kia ora, and I will still check in at your places , even if silently for awhile. You have been places of refuge and grace for me, and it is an honour to have had you here, and I hope you will return when I can once again do this with complete Truth. Seek out those Wild Places and Rave On. I truly hope to see you soon. Kia Kaha!

Aroha,

Robb