27km walked, 10 hours
It’s hard to be a rabbit, your own height barely above the grass. At least thats how I feel amongst the high tussock grasses, not quite seeing the path, burrowing through a maybe-that’s-the-way segment.
It’s beautiful “big country” up here in the Canterbury highlands. Lots of ups and downs and great views. It’s golden hills everywhere.
I’m not entirely sure nature wants us here. The planes are lined with matagouri, which has five long thorns to every tiny leaf, and “spear grass”. I’m not sure thats the official name, but it’s what we call it. It’s like a puff of pins, or a green porcupine. Hit it at the wrong angle and the needles will draw a small drop of blood.
These are not meant as complaints: it’s wonderful here. Just accurate reporting. In photos from a distance, tussocks look like soft golden cotton balls, hillsides just ready to be rolled down. Not quite. But keep that dream.