words from the world

It turns out to be hard to make a choice between the appealing sceneries of the coastal road and the voluptuous curves of the asphalted ribbon that opens to the mountains of the middle of the island. At the chance of a bend, we turn on the left and dip again into the New Zealand Alps for a day. A blend of wooden houses mark the boundaries of the Arthur's Pass village. A small fistful of tourists converge here, most of them tempted by the ascent of the 1000m-overhead Avalanche peak.
The next morning, we start the ascent. Some portions liken more to rock-climbing than trekking and require a high caution. The climb seems endless. The calves burn and the water leaks through our pores to cool down the machine. Our eyes look upwards and hope for a little bit of flat land at the end of the visible path. But, after a curve, the nature makes fun of us and keeps on with an even more difficult slope. The ascent goes on and on. Then, the continuity of the forest suddenly ends and a barren hill, incrusted with patches of snow rises above the clouds. The fist up, we enjoy the last meters of the ascent. The nature, after being so exhausting, cheers us up with a panoramic vista.
A tongue of clouds devours the valley, the snow softens the raw lines of the mountains and a keas' family celebrates our arrival.
Some landscapes are picked thanks to numerous aches and repeted efforts. A shooting screenplay for masochists that finishes with a happy end : an inexpressible excitement where we are perched on the summit.