Up above the horizon along Rainbow Road I watched remnants of lost clouds spin themselves into a tie dye whirlpool of cotton candy color. The sky changed its mind every hour, with all four seasons colliding into one frostbitten sunset.
There was a short bridge into nightfall. There was a baby blue barn to hide out from the wind. There was just enough camp coffee to fuel even more climbing beyond even more mountains, forever dreaming of the West Coast Wilderness.
Three different people told me that New Zealand’s Punakaiki region was even better than Big Sur, my favorite place on the planet. I could certainly spot the resemblance.
It wasn’t in the creeping fog of morning that lingers toward eternity. It wasn’t the hairpin dive-and-climbs around steep ravines with rocky threat of landslide. It wasn’t even the impossible Tasman blues, as if I’d forgotten what color the ocean was. It was mostly in the steady calm of the canyons, a calm from which you can hear the waves in their violence and feel the wind with its torturous velocity, but sneak by in absolute refuge of a sublime wilderness.
Windswept trees lay bent into knots. Nikau palms knelt beside resilient conifers and dripping curtains of fern. Sandstone sea caves crumbled in the green flash. Even with so much to love, the silence is often the best part.
by donivanberube
1 Comment
Nice scenery indeed! I especially like there is nobody around 🙂