A Solo Walk, a Sleepless Night, and a 4:30am Decision
I like the night, but night owls are stealthier than me – and that’s a problem. I get the urge for a treat sometimes, especially when the rare visitor comes along. I’m willing to take risks to get what I want.
I smelled it one evening when an overnight camper arrived. An obsessively delightful sweetness – maybe dried fruit. I knew it would be dangerous to try until she was asleep. I waited, and waited.
The camper was a poor sleeper, so it wasn’t until four in the morning that I began gnawing through the wall of the tent. It was too noisy.
She sat bolt upright and turned on her light. Most people go back to sleep. Instead, she started packing and took the food away. My chance was gone. I scurried back to my nest of leaves to wait for the next camper.
I don’t know anyone who would willingly do what that rat did – take such foolish risks – but the irony wasn’t lost on me as I set off alone in the dark, on day two of a solo hike.
I started at Broken Hills in the Coromandel and walked up to Hihi Trig Station, taking a small detour to an old dam along the way. The views were lovely, stretching across to the cliffs where I sometimes go rock climbing. Then the mud began. At one point I sank into the track up to my waist. The downhill sections saw me scrambling down banks by clinging to tree roots.
I reached the pristine campsite – accessible to the semi-intrepid by a one-hour walk from the nearest road – and met a solo hiker who was doing it right. She had walked up to camp, spent the night, walked to the Pinnacles and back, and now intended to spend the afternoon reading and snoozing. Then two women in their twenties swept in, pitched a tent, and rushed off, hoping to reach the Pinnacles by sunset. They invited me to join them.
It tore me up not to go. My logical side won: You’re recovering from shin splints. That wasn’t the plan. The evil voice inside me whispered that I’d repeat the entire miserable mud-fest one day just to satisfy my curiosity. I didn’t go.
That night, after much obsessing, I made up my mind to go up to the Pinnacles early the next day. I packed a small bag for the morning while I burned with questions. Could I have done it that day? When a rat gnawing at my tent woke me, I gave up on sleep and left camp at 4:30 am, walking in the dark to have breakfast at the Pinnacles by 7:30 am.
The view was spectacular. A pink glow spread through a wispy cloud over the land, and I was alone at the top. The sunrise crowds from the Pinnacles Hut had already gone. I lingered for ages, legs dangling over a quiet ledge that might otherwise have inspired a concerned citizen to tell me what not to do.
Back at camp before 11 am, my tent still stood. I faced a decision. Logic said rest and stay another night – if I had enough food. I was hungry. Two women stopped for morning tea and mentioned they’d brought too much food.
My old self might have asked. Instead, I hesitated. I had dinner for that night, but the next day would have been a caloric deficit – not the day to start intermittent fasting.
I decided to walk out that afternoon.
I took it slowly, mindful of injury. I hadn’t seen anyone on the track the day before; it wasn’t popular, and it could be a week before someone passed through again.
I carried an emergency locator beacon but hoped never to use it after the last time – a rock had cracked my skull during a descent from a climb. I didn’t want to be a frequent flyer.
In the end, the rat and I weren’t so different – both weighing hunger against danger.
Read more stories from Rachel here!
Words by Rachael Mayne
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