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For some reason Fiordland trips play on my mind more than other big trips, something about the legend of the place I suppose. Anyway, the last thing I wanted at 7am on a Monday morning on the boat across Manapōuri to West Arm was a wind-up Canadian toy bouncing around screeching in my ear.
“You guys off to hike the Dusky that is so ...
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I'm lying upside down with my legs in the air. My pack is jammed against the slippery log I had been standing on five seconds earlier. I stand up wincing and kicking myself for rushing. Up ahead I can hear Quentin burrowing into another thicket. The boat is only 10 minutes behind us but may as well be on the other side of Lake Te Anau. A few ...
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