The Last Adventurer

Several months ago, I didn’t know anything about the Milford Track. My ignorance was total. I had no idea where Milford was, or what it was. I knew that it had to be in New Zealand, because that was where I was going on vacation, but that was all. I had no idea what terrain the “track”, or as I would call it, the “trail” was situated on, or even why it was called a track and not a trail. I had no concept of how long it would take to traverse the area, or the types of gear I would need to bring.

I was woefully unprepared. I was busy with practical, real world things, like trying to pass the bar exam. I couldn’t be bothered with speculative things like vacation, because there was a very real danger that my head might explode under all of the assorted pressures. Immediately after the bar, I began my education about the Milford Track (“MT”) because I really needed that vacation in any shape, way or form.

My first indication that the Track might be more than a simple day-hike came to me on a hot, triple digit trek up a dusty road in August. To make the lung-searing smoggy heat even more interesting, I was carrying a backpack chock full of two things: dumbbells and hardback books. The weight didn’t bother me, because I had been on plenty of treks in the past, and through a combination of preparedness, skill, and absolute luck, had never required any sort of rescue, medical assistance, or burial. The reason I was carrying all of the weight was because my wife had told me that we were on our first practice hike for the Track. These small tidbits of information told me that the Track might be considered a little strenuous.

I was not fazed at all by the revelation that the Track was tough. I knew that my wife and I were in good to excellent shape, and I knew that sooner or later, she would stop worrying about her ability and stamina to complete her second backpacking trip. What bothered me were the sharp edges that poked me from the collected works of Plato, and that I was carrying our overheated and overtired dog for the last mile of trail. But, as I knew that neither Plato, Socrates, or the dog were coming on the Track, I remained confident about our ability to walk and or stagger over however long the trail turned out to be.

Despite my completely positive outlook, I dutifully attended all of the other mandated practice sessions that occurred. I had even gone along with the purchase of brand new gear for the trek. Initially, I had balked at the mere suggestion of new gear, because it had seemed like nothing but conspicuous consumption. After all, both of us had perfectly good serviceable sleeping bags and tent that, while weighing more, worked perfectly well. My about face on the matter had occurred when I realized that my back would be bearing the bulk of the weight. At that moment, the changes became practical, and not merely cosmetic.

After I had helped exhaust our bank account by purchasing gear, and had tramped all over the region of Southern California we resided in, I went to the Department of Conservation (“DOC”) website, and actually read about the hike. I learned that people travel from around the world to do the four day “walk”, and that a strict quota system limited use, causing the few spots to be highly coveted. I also learned that avalanches occasionally threatened the trail, and it apparently rain was quite common in the area.

In the end, after reading everything on the DOC site, I felt unsatisfied. All I had learned were the words on the page. The whole hike still felt intangible despite the paragraphs of cautions and pages of history. Just as I was about to click the window closed, a phrase caught my eye – “the walk of a lifetime”. Those five words were more intriguing than anything I had heard or read yet. I had backpacked the mountains and valleys of North America, South America, and Europe, and had experienced many fabulous vistas and many daring tribulations. Yet, none of those walks had mentioned or suggested anything akin to that quote. The more I thought about the words, the more excited I became. I wanted to test the phrase against my memories of the world and see if it was true. With those words in mind, I was done learning and ready to start experiencing the track; and as such I eagerly started counting the days until the trek began.