Regan's Reach (4 page)

Kutch was stroking the beast. "I don't
know what this is all about he said, but I'm in!"

"It's like this, Milo my friend, you
and Steph are going to be working together on this one. Sorry, but there's no
time to explain everything now. Steph will bring you up to speed." She
turned back to the ADF, a huge smile breaking out. "What can I say? This
makes my day, I'm going away really happy."

*

Home

Standing by the ranch slider, Jean Stein
gazed into the distance, one hand nervously stroking the alpine hiking pack,
stuffed to capacity.

Regan reached out, wrapped one arm around
her mother's shoulders and drew her close. "I'm going to be fine Mom,
please don't worry."

"You know that's too much to ask, it's
a mother's prerogative to worry and it’s part of my job description."

They faced each other and embraced, long
and hard.

Jean faltered, "Your father . . . he.
. ."

"I know what you're thinking Mom but
please don't worry, that was a long time ago. I miss him too but I'm much
better prepared, I have GPS, an Emergency Beacon, even the latest SatPhone."
She held up the tiny unit then realized it was far too small to be reassuring.

"But really, why do you have to go on
your own? It's foolish, I'd be much happier if you had company . . . Stephanie,
or Kevin maybe?"

"Mom . . . please leave it, I'm going
to be fine and as much as I love them both I need the space to think. I'm so
looking forward to it and this track is a highway in tramping terms."

"Yes but then you're just going to
head off to South America without even coming home!"

"Mom, you must keep that quiet, I mean
it! I want to be anonymous like anybody else and enjoy the same overseas
experience every other young person gets to enjoy. I don't want people chasing
me like some celebrity. Keeping quiet is what I want. I'll come back the better
for it, you'll see."

"You won't convince me." Jean
protested, but not with much conviction.

"I know Mom, that's part of your job
too. I love you for it and it does keep me on my toes. It makes me extra
careful!"

A car horn sounded from the driveway. "Mom,
this is it, the taxi is ready. I love you and I'll be back again before you
know it."

Jean took Regan's face in her hands
tenderly. "I know sweetheart, I love you too, more than you know. Be
careful and call if you need anything and . . . just . . . enjoy!"

Even as the taxi drove away Jean was already
calling Kevin. She felt lonelier than she had for a long, long, time.

Chapter
Two: The Journey is the Reward

Day One: Collingwood below Farewell Spit, South
Island, New Zealand

Regan lay back on the bed mentally
dictating as if beginning a review of the day; perhaps for a journal. The
helicopter trip in had been over the top but the story about being a journalist
seemed to have gone down well and flying in had saved time too. This part of
the break was to blow out cobwebs, to walk hard and fast. Yes, she wanted to
enjoy the surroundings, but she also wanted to stretch herself, to test her
limits again and come out the other side. It was also about unfinished
business, hence her plans to divert off the Heaphy Track onto one of the side
routes where markers were few and people rarely seen. In some places she knew
it would be more animal trail than hiking track. Taking one of the old side
routes meant using all her skills and maybe sleeping rough depending on the
weather. She was fine with that, well prepared and capable. The weather
forecast was also good although it had been wet for the last fortnight. Still,
the next five days looked clear and warm; perfect.

Now, lying on a comfortable bed in the old
Collingwood police station sleep swiftly overcame her. It felt already as if
weight was lifting and she slipped into dreams for the first time in months.

A new day and she couldn't help feeling
annoyed as the land cruiser carrying
them
to the beginning of the track
arrived.
Yes, you heard right
she thought, continuing the internal
narrative,
them!

Two others arrived with the Cruiser; excited
Israelis on holiday and eager to do the Heaphy. Both seemed very nice people
but she didn't want company. Regan was determined to head off quickly on
arrival and leave them to themselves, hoping they wouldn't be offended.
They
look like new lovers so perhaps they might even be relieved
.

Frustratingly the journey took a couple of
hours taking them well inland with the driver giving a running commentary of
the area history, gold diggings, caves, springs . . .

She heard little, trying instead to ignore
thoughts of business. STEIN had consumed her mind for . . . forever! Or so it
seemed.
How could something I love have become such a burden?

On arrival and eager to get moving Regan
impatiently dragged her pack from the vehicle, quickly strapping up. She could
tell some offence had been taken but as she pounded along the track building
distance from the others, her concern about people and their feelings quickly
dissipated. Instead she found herself reveling in the sheer joy of movement,
effort and sweat.

Ahead lay a solid six hour climb past
Aorere Shelter to Perry Saddle Hut. Six hours to sort through her thoughts and
mentally clean house. She laughed out loud. The track felt like a highway and
climbing steadily she made good time. Happy, even surprised with her fitness,
she used the time to review plans for the next few days.

Perry Hut would be shelter tonight. She
knew that sleeping inside would be unlikely even though she'd booked. It would
probably be occupied and although bunks would be available, company was not
something she wanted this early in her travels.
No bother,
she thought,
I
have my Bivvy sack and the weather looks likely to be fine.
The idea of
sleeping under stars was attractive anyway and she hoped for a clear night.
Views of the night sky out here away from the city were spectacular.

Tomorrow she would begin her diversion
south, away from the track, traversing to the Gouland Range via Kaka saddle.
From there she'd cross over to scrabble up Mt Inaccessible. At fourteen hundred
and ninety meters it wasn't particularly remarkable; except it was there that
her father had fallen. Her father had come from the other side, from Lake
Aorere via Centre Mountain and Mt Dommett but she had no desire to retrace his
exact steps; this was no pilgrimage. She simply hoped to exorcise the demons
long carried, ghosts of denial, disappointment and avoidance. Finally, near
where he died, she hoped she might find her own peace.

Regan again continued her mental dictation.

It was a hard, hard night though it had
started well. Lying back, reaching to the stars, drawing patterns and
remembering a wonderful childhood. This followed by hard ground, little sleep,
but steely resolve undaunted!

The exclamation mark served to sign off any
plans of a 'Journal' . . .
Not going to happen
, she thought.

The original diamond shaped nail heads
poking from trunks served as random track markers though many were missing,
lost in long forgotten windfalls. While hard to spot, once found they served as
useful guides to her progress through the morning after an early start. Clearly
it was a route not often travelled and with the recent bad weather fresh
windfall was extensive. Frequent diversions bashing around felled trees and
subsequent searching for the trail sapped time as well as energy. Still,
confident of reaching her goal with more than enough daylight to find good
shelter she trudged on down and then up the Kaka Saddle. After a pause to rest
and refresh on reaching the Gouland Summit Ridge, she pressed on to climb Mt
Gouland and there settled to enjoy lunch with beautiful unobstructed views,
from Mt Owen and Garibaldi in the south, to Farewell Spit and Dragon’s Teeth in
the east. It was glorious.

Her pack lay open and Regan's eyes were
drawn to the sack containing the GPS and SatPhone. She casually took out the
SatPhone now and sat, cradling it while looking off into the distance. She
stroked it, marveling at how small it was. She looked at the keys then shook
her head and then rested it back on the pack. Standing quickly, Regan looked
for the shelter of rocks to make a toilet stop and finding a comfortable position,
she arranged her clothes, squatting and chuckling at embarrassment even here.
Her eyes lifted looking into the clear sky, searching for watching gods.

Returning to her gear she began to pack the
rubbish away, occasionally stealing glances at the SatPhone resting there. She
thought of her mother, and the path she would soon be taking up Dad's mountain
nemesis. Regan picked up the phone again and brushed the power button with her
thumb feeling nervous, silly. Finally, applying enough pressure to bring it to
life she watched as it began to power up and connect. She hesitated, still
doubtful that calling was a good idea and then almost dropped the phone as it
began to ring . . . . she answered.

"Sie sprechen Deutsch?"

"Pardon?"

"Snakker du norsk?"

"I'm sorry, who am I speaking to?"

"You speak English?"

"Yes, yes of course, who am I speaking
to? How did you get this number?"

"US or UK English?"

"It . . . it doesn't matter, just
English, now hold on, who am I speaking to?"

"This is an emergency, assistance is
required. Will you assist?"

"What . . . . emergency? I'm in no
position to help anybody, what's going on? Is this a joke?"

"This is no joke, and there may not be
much time. Will you please help?"

"Look, you don't realize, I'm not . .
. I'm not anywhere . . . anywhere local, wherever you are. I'm off in the bush,
hours from anywhere, I can't help."

"Your location is known, and you are
near. You can help, will you?"

A chill passed through Regan. She looked
around quickly but there was nothing, anywhere, as far as she could see. "You're
creeping me out. Tell me where I am and how you know, I'm not kidding, I'll
disconnect you."

"Don't disconnect!" the voice
spoke quickly, "There is no one else. Scanning located your signal; you
are on the summit of Gouland."

Regan paused, her heart pounding now,
adrenalin surging through her system and her thoughts were spinning . . .
What
. . . the . . . fuck!

"Regan Stein, there . . . is . . . no
. . . time, HELP please!" The word bellowed from the phone.

He knows my name . . .
careful girl
"Ok . . . Ok! What's wrong? What can I do?"

"Do you have a map?"

"Yes, yes of course, I'm not an idiot."
Regan cradled the SatPhone as she fumbled for the zip pocket of her Alpine.

"Please go to the coordinates I will
give you. Marin is there, two thousand three hundred and fifty seven meters
from your current position. . ."

Regan interrupted, "Hold on, hold on,
I need to write this down." She searched for a pen. "Who is Marin,
and what happened?"

"Marin is an anthropologist; he was
caught in a landslip twenty two hours ago. There's no other information
available on what happened and no contact has been achieved since then, but
there is still a signal. These are the coordinates . . ." Regan scrambled
to get them down as the caller recited them quickly.

No other pleasantries or explanations were
given, just the abrupt issuing of instructions and an agreement to check back
in later. She moved onto auto pilot quickly packing while running largely on adrenalin.
Deciding the best start point to her route she then stowed the map and GPS in
her jacket. The coordinates were well off her planned path and would require making
a steep drop of around six hundred meters. It occurred to Regan the new
direction would also take her away from the goal of Mt Inaccessible, heading
instead toward the Spey River. As she packed the rest of her gear it hit her,
this
will truly stuff my plans,
I'm not going to make it;
probably,
not this trip anyway . . . sorry Dad.

The progress was rough, dropping down
through spear grass and boulders, at times slipping along on her backside, more
falling than walking down the loose shale slopes.

She berated herself for not asking more
questions.
Where are you? . . . Why couldn't you help? . . . Have you
called for help?
An hour passed simply dropping altitude in the safest way
possible. On reaching the bush line Regan paused for the first time to rest and
consult her GPS.
Controlled descent is a bitch
she muttered to no one.
Thighs aching, muscles protesting, she was glad of the break she'd taken on the
summit.

Taking her time for safety’s sake, but also
to prepare for whatever she found below, Regan continued on, making steady
progress. Pausing again to check her current coordinates against the map, she
could see her altitude was right but she would need to sidle around the slope
for at least another fifteen hundred meters. She groaned. That would normally
be fifteen minutes on the flat. Here, it could be another hour or more if she
was reckless. As she fought her way on Regan thought of her father . . . and
her mother. She would be no use to anyone if she slipped.
No risks!

An hour later, bruised and torn, Regan found
a massive slip blocking the way. Perched on the edge she checked the GPS again.
The coordinates were quite specific. Comparing her position with the map she
groaned. She'd need to cross the slip and drop another hundred meters. Looking
with terror at the slip face she shook her head.
No way!
The relative
safety of the bush called to her from at least fifty meters away on the other
side. One stumble or slide while crossing and she knew it would be curtains, a
long, long fall to the valley floor.
There's no way I'm going to risk that
she
thought, and looked up the slope.

It took an extra half hour to pick her way
up over the top of the slip before she could again begin scrambling her way
down through the bush.

Tracking down the slip side she carefully
placed her feet trying to take advantage of the clear space on the edge. She
was almost on top of the body before she saw it; just off the edge of the main
slip beneath a large trunk. From twenty meters and with tree fall obscuring her
view she couldn't see much but other than a dark figure with no visible
movement. For a moment Regan paused, preparing for the worst and then she
forced her way nearer.

Anxiety and stress turned to anger on getting
close. The tramper wasn't dressed for the bush, not even close, wearing just a
thin one piece that would offer no insulation whatsoever. Nervously she talked
to herself for comfort.

"What sort of idiot would be out here
so poorly prepared?" She could see only legs and torso, long lean legs. It
didn't seem to her that the body was actually wedged, more just simply lying
draped over a branch.
"
Must have been knocked out." she
whispered. Carefully she broke away what smaller branches she could and crawled
in toward the body finding her first impressions were correct; there seemed no
weight on the body a large bough having taken the strain. Taking care and
concerned about disturbing broken bones, Regan looked for the best approach
before even touching him. She couldn't tell if he was breathing and under the
circumstances saw no option but to drag him out face down being as careful as
possible. It would be no easy task with most branches being too big to break
away but setting to it she dragged him, the body flopping over branches as she
pulled and Regan cringed at what she was doing. She whimpered as if feeling
every bump until finally she had him clear.