2024 Outdoor Photo Story Competition Winners
1st Place: Colors of Mt Taranaki
Author: Victoria Mummenbrauer
In the heart of Egmont National Park, my boyfriend and I embarked on an unforgettable adventure in December 2023. The Pouakai Circuit was our plan for a two day hike and a stay at the famous Pouakai hut that promised an experience like no other.
When we arrived at the hut and the sun began to descend, casting hues of orange across the sky, we made our way to the famous reflective tarn. With no wind, its mirror-like surface perfectly showed the reflection of Mount Taranaki. The view was just breathtaking. We watched the sun set below the horizon, casting its final golden rays across the rough landscape.
With darkness slowly creeping in, we headed back to the hut, snuggled up in our sleeping bags, trying to not focus on our snoring neighbors and get some sleep. The anticipation of a night spent under the starry sky filled us with excitement. Three hours later, we found ourselves sitting outside, all by ourselves, witnessing the Milky Way stretched above Mt Taranaki. We watched the stars moving across the sky above us. Eventually, we headed back to the hut to catch some more sleep.
As dawn approached, we crawled out of our sleeping backs, determined to witness the magic of a New Zealand sunrise. The sky was painted in shades of purple, the horizon showed up in a burst of colors and a breathtaking cloud inversion unfolded before our eyes. In the distance, we could even see the peaks of Mount Ruapehu and Mount Ngauruhoe which stood proudly against the backdrop of the purple sky. We could not believe what unbelievable conditions we got to witness, as weather is so unpredictable here.
As we made our way back down the trail, we had big smiles on our faces, a heart full of unforgettable memories and a SD card full of frames. This trip really showcased our love for exploration of the outdoors and the beauty nature has to offer. Looking at these pictures gives me goosebumps and I am so happy to at least be able to share just a tiny bit of these feelings and memories through my photos.
2nd Equal Place: You Can Do Hard Things
Author: Alice Milne
Legs quivering, I slowly look up from the carpet of beech leaves at my feet, to the wall of gnarled tree roots in front of me; the “track”. My gaze continues to rise until I’m staring at Charlie’s trail-shoes, resting right in front of my face on top of the tree root wall. She looks down at me from on high and gives me an encouraging nod, before turning to look for the next orange triangle. I tug on my pack’s shoulder straps, trying to find a more comfortable fit, and suppress a groan.
You can do hard things, I repeat silently in my head, as I look for the next safe place to step. You can do anything for a minute, I tell myself, as I reach for the next tree root handle. My birthing mantras, coming in handy in a very different environment, ten months later. Why do we do this to ourselves? I wonder, as I haul myself up the wall of tree roots, step by slow step. Are all trampers insane?
Just as I reach the part where balance is crucial, my precious 10-month old cargo grabs a hold of my hair and pulls, using my ponytail as her reins, and kicks my ribs to make me go faster as she babbles away excitedly. This right here must be the definition of Type II fun, I think, teetering before regaining my balance.
Well, it will be if I manage to haul my ass up this mountain and safely back down again.
Our group of four adults and two babies are only two hours into our hike. The hike that will end up taking us a full nine hours before we’re back at the relative safety of the hut that evening. We’re slowly climbing the mountainside above Siberia Valley, on a track that all too frequently disappears into ladders of tree roots, hoping to reach a beautiful alpine lake. I’ve been on this track before, and, unlike my companions, I know what’s coming.
And I’m starting to have doubts about whether I’ll make it.
*
Several hours of plodding and self-talk later, and my aching body slowly tops the moraine wall surrounding Lake Crucible. My face lights up with an insane grin at the sight that greets me: the turquoise blue of my last visit is now completely covered in mounds of marbled ice. There aren’t just a few icebergs in the lake, there are hundreds! The whole lake is covered in them, only a tiny amount of free water visible near the outlet where Charlie and her sister Daisy are taking turns to jump in and touch an iceberg.
I’ve made it! I’m too tired to raise my arms in celebration and don’t want to disturb the baby sleeping on my back, but I do a mental happy dance. I persevered! I made it. Our bodies are incredible, I marvel, taking in the view. Across the lake, a small avalanche releases from the slopes above, crashing down into the lake. Once the echoes die, there is only serene silence. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Tired, but content.
*
Flash back to half a year earlier, in the middle of suburbia. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed in darkness, rocking a screaming baby back and forth, tears streaming down my face. It’s 3am and I’ve maybe had four hours of (broken) sleep in the past 24 hours. I don’t know what’s wrong and I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been this exhausted in my life. I’m not used to feeling like a failure.
It's so easy to lose sight of yourself when you become a parent for the first time, especially if you’re the primary carer, and especially (in my experience) if you’re breastfeeding – my body was no longer my own, for almost a year I couldn’t be away from my baby for more than three hours at a time. An invisible umbilical cord still attached us to each other, so that we weren’t really two separate beings just yet. For someone who was used to their independence and being able to trust my body to carry me up mountains, it was a massive adjustment.
But with the benefit of hindsight, I now wish that version of me, weeping and lost in the newborn haze, could have seen the version of me standing on top of that moraine wall in front of a lake filled with icebergs. Only seven months separate those two versions of myself, but they could just as easily belong in alternative realities from each other.
*
I arrive back to Siberia Hut that evening as the sun paints the sky in twilight hues. I’m beyond exhausted, but my cup is filled to the brim with happiness. The day certainly wasn’t easy, and my whole body might be one solid ache, but as I walk in the door of the hut, I feel like I’m returning home after a long absence.
This trip was one of my most impactful adventures. It showed me what my body was capable of, if my mind got out of its way. I wish I could bottle up the emotions of this trip, and relive them whenever I was feeling down. But I guess it’s not the worst thing to be chasing after that mountain high.
Pain, suffering, exhaustion, depression always feel so infinite when you’re in the middle of experiencing them. But this too shall pass. Our bodies and minds are capable of incredible things if we just have the patience and determination to let them. I hope that when you’re in the middle of your darkest night, you wait for the beautiful sunrise that’s on its way, even if you can’t see the light just yet.
2nd Equal Place: Walking to Climb
Author: Hazel Meehan
By the time we began our approach the sun was well on its way across the sky. Our intention had been to start walking by 11:00am. Unfortunately, my beloved Sylvia had picked today to blow a head gasket which delayed, but had not stopped us.
The gravel crunched under our shoes as we said our goodbyes to the car park and started along the trail. I was glad Felix had been here before and could point out our turn off onto the rough cut track up the mountain, one I might have missed on my own.
The bush was alive with sound. Water flowing over rocks, sand flies buzzing around us, birds singing their songs in the trees above. Sometimes they would follow us, always from a safe distance, eating the bugs brought up by our rough foot-falls on the soft carpet of the bush.
Thighs burning, pulling on trees, plants and the occasional hand-line left by the TPP students who helped cut this track, we made our way up. Felix entertained me with stories of said track cutting, how an unsuspecting student had been told the sledgehammer was absolutely necessary, and needed to be carried right to the top. (They had never needed it)
Today we had opted instead for just our climbing gear, ridiculous amounts of food and enough beers to quench our thirst.
We were thrilled when we found ourselves making the final scramble up to our camp spot just as the sun was starting to kiss the horizon, giving us the most spectacular light show as we set camp and cooked up a feed.
For us, the tramp was only part of the trip. We were here to climb at the West Coast's newest crag, Mt Turiwhate. The same rock as the Darren mountains, that had wandered its way up the island and popped out just behind Kumara Junction.
The rock was sharp on my skin, the exposure stressful and the view from the top worth the pain in my toes. The crags face was blocky, requiring alpine draws for safe rope management. A swing across a sharp lip had the potential to be dangerous so we were careful not to push it. After all, we weren’t here to pull hard moves but instead to connect ourselves with this spectacular and powerful place.
We climbed until our cups were full, our skin sacrificed to the wall.
It’s in these places I have learnt some of my most important lessons. Out here you have to be self-reliant. The West Coast of the South Island is an unforgiving place. And because of this, it holds a great deal of significance to me.
If I’m not good enough, not confident enough, not lucky enough, these hills are going to tell me all about it. They have taught me to be honest with myself and my abilities. Most of all, through testing me, these hills taught me to be confident in myself.
