The wind is full-on grinding me down. It seems as though New Zealand spring, traveling across the Southern Pacific, is locked in battle with our snow bound plateau high in the Southern Alps and for the past four days the wind gusts have been upwards of 85km/hr. Spring is losing, as it remains winter-like up here, but not for lack of effort. With about 5 days of substantial winds bombarding us, I’m starting to worry that if this keeps up my clothes are going to begin to resemble a tattered main sail of an 18th century Spanish Galion nearing retirement; in tatters, stained (in my case from sport drink that blows out of my drink belt in the short span between unscrewing the lid, and lifting it to my lips), weathered and derelict.
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