Adventured 20-21 March 2021

The unwashed three

They were draped amongst the red Forrester, in various states of undress, licking ice creams and lounging in the west coast sun. The town was quiet, and there were few to notice. Some of the tourists watched with curious faces as they cruised through the center of Ross. A few starrted to approach but turned around when they got within sniffing distance. The locals paid little attention, they were used to paddlers descending on the town and kinda… lounging.  

A man, probably the most draped, laid across the drivers seat reading a tablet perched on his bare belly. Nick wasn’t just idly scrolling however. The three had just run the Kakapotahi and with the taste fresh on their lips were looking for more adventure. 

“The problem is the water” said Kelly “everything is too low to paddle”

Nick unslouched. He looked at us with gleaming eyes, peeking from between messy locks. “Let’s do the Arahura” he said.  

“We’ve already talked about the Arahura. It’s too gnarly” said Kelly.

“Nah I just read a blog from Roman Dial. He ran it and just walked around all the really hard rapids. We can do it, we’ll just walk heaps.”

Made sense. 

The red Forrester disappeared down a windy West Coast road. 

Packing with time pressure

The red Forrester sat at the Arahura bridge, surrounded with an explosion of tramping and paddling gear. The sun hung delicately over a tree lined ridge to the east and three feverish figures stuffed gear into unwilling packs. The occasional gummi bear could be glimpsed amongst this chaos. 

Our plan was to walk up the Styx River, staying at a hut that evening before crossing the Styx Saddle and dropping into the Arahura. We would then paddle and portage our way down the Arahura to the bridge. Simple. 

“Are you taking a tent?” I called to Nick.

His face appeared around the side of the car. 

“Have you got your fly? We’re going to a hut, so emergency shelter should be sweet.”

Half an hour later the red Forrester sat forlorn and abandoned. 

Skip the walk in – click here to jump to the whitewater

The wrong track

“Before we set off… Are we sure?” said Nick and looked at me and Kelly.

“Yeah” we both mumbled. We all climbed over the gate. 

In the past the Styx track was a relatively well groomed track that ran all the way up the true rightSide of the river or valley when looking the same way as the river is flowing. of the river. The traditional kayak put in at Tyndall Stream could be reached in about an hour. However we had been told that after the floods in 2019, it was now easier to follow a track on the true left.

Kelly had got the betaBetaInformation on the route. Originally a climbing term, now being used in more outdoor activities. for the walk and had been told “cross the river once you see it”’ 

With that in mind, we followed a 4 wheel drive track for 200m and emerged from behind a clump of trees. 

“I can see it.” said Nick. 

Kelly paused. 

“I don’t think he meant it that literally. I think he meant once we come across it close to the old track.”

A discussion on the meaning of “cross the river once you see it” was had, and to put the matter to rest we crossed the river so it couldn’t be argued that we had seen it and not crossed it. 

A faint track led across the grassy river flat. We followed it, hoping it would grow into a well formed track as previous trampers, who no doubt followed the same pearl of wisdom and ‘saw the river’ and joined us on the true left. 

The faint track disappeared into the bush and we poked around the edges, trying to find where it went.

After several minutes of hopeful poking we were all a little frustrated. We did not have the luxury of time. 

The track on this side of the river was not going to be obvious for the first half a kilometre or so.

 I looked over at Nick and Kelly. They nodded back. I plunged into the bush like a school bus ploughing through a paddock of maize. Kelly and Nick followed in the wake ready to take a turn at being the lead school bus. We assumed we would find the track further upstream. 

A school bus and a turtle

The bush thickened and copious amounts of supplejackRipogonum Scandens, Supplejack, kareao, a common jungle vine that grows in coastal NZ forests. It often grows into thick, difficult to move through thickets. stopped all ploughing progress and I transitioned to paddle threading instead. This unique method of movement involves ‘threading’ your paddle around obstacles lengthways to avoid it getting tangled in thick bush. It is a legitimate method of movement recognisedIts not. I just made that up. It works though! by the New Zealand Mountain Safety Council.

We found a faint track, marked with pink tape. Pink tape usually means a trap line, but it was better than nothing. We made decent progress for 10 or so minutes before we lost the track again and were back to paddle threading. 

Paddle threading naturally progressed into straight bush bashing, complete with trips, falls and entanglement. 

I was following Kelly through a section of tight bush when she tripped. She lay in the undergrowth, like an upturned turtle. I fought the temptation to laugh and watched as she rolled and rocked from side to side on her pack, trying to roll over to get back up. After several failed attempts she flopped back to full turtle mode and dropped her head against her pack. I took a tentative step towards her and stretched out an arm. Kelly looked at me standing above her. She shrieked and a loud shrill note echoed off the sides of the valley. I snatched back my hand, and several startled birds took flight. 

Kelly again rocked from side to side on her pack. Loud peals of laughter echoed through the forest. Nick and I stared at her with wide eyes for a few moments before we were infected by the laughter. 

The sun continued its journey, arcing towards the mountain tops.  

The laughter ebbed and I again offered Kelly a hand. I looked at her, still turtled and a grin started to form on my face. She reached for my hand and matched my grin. I started to pull her up. Her boot slipped and she plopped back into the foliage and we all dissolved into laughter once more.

Oh boy. This might take a while. 

Of Ongaonga and obstacles

We spent the next few hours finding and losing the miserly track and our progress was slow. I think all of us were starting to get frustrated, and our chances of getting to a hut that night seemed to be slipping by the minute. 

We did find copious patches of ongaongaNative tree nettle. Stings when touched, grabbed or fallen into. which were announced by shrieks or swearing, depending on the discoverer. 

The occasional marking tape indicated uphill. Pack, paddler and paddle were forced upwards. The track began to sidle across a face and we made our way along it. I was leading and saw the track approach the precipice of a steep creek. Standing at the edge I could see no way down. The track ran up to the edge, with undue confidence, and then disappeared, just when we needed it most. We scouted up and down the sheer sides of the creek but couldn’t find any indication of the track descending into it. 

After 10 or so minutes, Nick edged down a slightly mellower section. Encouraged by the fact that he hadn’t fallen to his death Kelly and I followed. Paddles were used in demeaning ways, reduced in status to mere walking poles. 

Now standing in the creek we wriggled our way out to a pleasant river flat. A thick mat of merry green waving grass stretched up the flank of the river. We wandered along it, and I felt a small wave of relief wash over me. I was happy to have escaped the bush. I glanced at my watch.

“Bloody hell. We just spent three hours floundering around in that bush!” 

“Yeah. We might as well have slept at the car,” said Kelly.

I didn’t dare turn and look, just in case she wasn’t joking, and I could still see the car. 

 The dusk tightened its grip on the valley. 

There was a shout of excitement from ahead. Peering up the flat I saw Nick pointing at our first proper track marker. A beautiful orange triangle sat patiently on a tree limb. 

We danced up the flat towards it. Joining Nick I glanced back across the river and saw a matching orange triangle. It sat proud and fluorescent on a tree as if to say ‘cross the river here.’

Groans of frustration passed from adventurer to adventurer. Turns out “cross the river when you see it” isn’t as literal as we thought. 

There’s a time and a place to grind, to struggle, and to pit yourself against the cruel face of nature. That time is not when there’s a marked track and struggling is totally unnecessary.  

We toiled on with only the occasional curious kakaruwaiKakaruwaiSouth Island Robin/Bush Robin. as company.

How long do we walk in the dark?

Dusk gradually turned to dark, and the usual dilemma of when to turn the headlight on occurred. In a rare clever move, I decided to do it before the customary faceplant. 

Our progress was better now we were following the actual track, not a trap line. It snaked up the flat and weaved through fringes of bush. We tended to lose it every time it left the bush, and we wasted time doubling back and scanning the bush edge with our headlights. 

Time, as ever marched on, faster even than our progress up the Styx. 

8pm came and went.

At 9pm we started having conversations about how long to walk in the dark. 

At 9:30pm we walked past a comfortable looking hollow on a river flat.

At 10pm we gave up and threw our sleeping bags into whatever remotely flat area we could see on the side of a hill.  

A mountain of couscous and doubt

We set up a hasty camp and Nick began cooking the standard fare, an enormous pile of couscous with flavourings of some description. I had just finished shaking out Nicks bivvy bag on a little bench when I was presented with an overflowing plate of food. 

Not one to turn down a challenge, especially when it involves food, I set about summiting this mountain. I learnt a valuable lesson that night. Sometimes the cost of summiting is too steep. My stomach ached and I felt too full to concentrate on the discussion about what to do in the morning. 

We decided we needed to give it a good nudge and get over the Styx saddle the next day. Plan set I dragged my bloated carcass to my bivvy bag and crawled inside.  

I lay in the bush and my gut churned, full of couscous and doubt.

The Arahura was staunch. Like proper staunch.

It had seemed simple when we set off that evening. Paddle the fun bits, walk the hard bits. 

What if I missed an eddy? What if we didn’t see a feature and accidentally paddled a gnarly rapid? What if I swam and was swept downstream into something big or a sieve?

I wondered if we were making a good decision. 

Voicing my cowardly doubts

Headlights on once more, we demolished camp and sat in a circle munching breakfast. 

I summoned my courage to admit that I wasn’t up for the Arahura. 

I was the weakest paddler in the group and I knew it. It can be a hard place to be, but it can also be reassuring. As the beaterBeaterPaddler who suffers the most carnage of the group, if I said I wasn’t up for something it was taken with grace. 

“I’ve kind of got a bad feeling about the Arahura.” I said.

Kelly and Nick both stopped and looked at me. 

I explained that although the idea of walking the hard bits sounded good, there was still a risk of making a mistake. The consequence of paddling or swimming into a hard bit seemed a bit steep. I also talked about the fact that we had previously decided the Arahura was above the skill level of the team, but for some reason we had suddenly decided it was ok the night before. 

Nick nodded. 

“If I’m honest I have a little bit of doubt about it too” he said.

We looked at Kelly. She wanted to do it.

“I’m keen, I think we can manage it. We will just have to be careful and communicate well” she said. “But I have also seen my mate swim a grade 5 rapid because she missed an eddy. And that was scary.” 

We decided we should paddle the Styx instead. It had been one of our options. It would be less epic, but it lowered the risk.

It is hard to be a coward, but it is much better than following a group into a bad situation. I think we could have paddled the Arahura, and safely portaged the gnarly bits. But I was happy when the group decided that if I wasn’t onboard then we should bail and paddle the Styx instead. There was still plenty of fun to be had. We didn’t need to be exposing ourselves to that level of risk when there was fun right in front of us. 

Authors note: The word coward is used here satirically, as a tool to entertain you, the reader. Making a safe decision should be encouraged and is far from ‘cowardly.’ It is important that group members encourage each other to talk openly about their thoughts and needs.  That’s what makes a great team.

‘Communication’

We left our hasty campsite early in the morning and meandered up the river. It didn’t take us long to realise that we were still a long way from the hut. We had decided we would continue upstream, check out the hut, the scout the higher rapids and paddle out. Perfect! The day was looking better with every step, we even found some magical fungus.

The sun peeked over the mountains, and blessed us with its warmth as we approached Tyndall Stream, the traditional put inPlace where paddlers put their boats in the water and start paddling for kayakers. 

The map showed a short jaunt up Tyndall Stream, before breaking away from the stream up a small incline followed by a pleasant meander across a pleasant plateau. 

Ten minutes into this ‘short jaunt’ up the stream, Kelly got sick of lugging her heavy pack over the boulders and ‘communicated’ her displeasure to this situation.

We stopped in place and discussed this. Kelly ‘communicated’ that we were walking away from the river, and what was the point in lugging our boats up to this hut if we were just going to come back to the river.  

Small joys

This ‘communication’ was effective and we ditched our packs. I loaded a dry bag with some brew gears.  

Now thoroughly enlightened we continued upstream. The weightless rock hopping reminded me of something. 

“Walking up this big bouldery creek with no gear feels like coast to coast” I said.

That was all it took. I tore off up the riverbed, skipping from boulder to boulder. Visions of ripping up the Deception River flashed through my mind. Reliving my glory days I flowed past competitors, they peeled off the side of the track in my wake.

My daydream was shattered when Nick bounced past me, leaping with wild abandon across the boulders. 

I looked back and saw Kelly was also running. A grin lit her face as she glided weightlessly over the rocks. The three of us ran up the river bed, taking turns in front. Nick and I were both trying to beat each other, all whilst pretending we weren’t racing.

The race finished as we arrived at an orange marker. We hauled ourselves up the surprisingly big climb to the plateau. I had underestimated the size of the features leading to the hut and it was far more than a short stroll. 

It continues to amaze me how many mistakes with navigation I can make despite constant learning and practice. It seems to be a skill that a person never masters. Either that or I’m stupid. Both theories seem plausible. 

Mid Styx Hut is a classic orange ex-forestry service hut, perched on a clearing above a gorgy section of the Styx itself. I’m always excited to darken the doorstep of a hut with my shadow, but decided to boil the billy first. A quick lap revealed no water tank and no long drop. 

It appeared that I had carried a cooker and coffee up the hill for no reason. 

Nick explored a bit further and returned with water. My feverish hands shook as I set up the jetboil.  

I lay in the warm west coast sun, a steaming mug perched on my belly. 

That was close. I almost died of caffeine deficiency.

I resolved to do proper risk assessment in future. Next time I might not get off so lucky. 

Whitewater at last

The midday sun glared off the boulders in the riverbed. My pre-cooked scrambled egg had thankfully not leaked through my pack and I was feeling quite smug as I sat on a giant boulder studying the rapids between bites. The river promised to be exciting.

“Can you see a line?” I asked Kelly. 

She nodded. 

Nick rejoined us. We could all see a way through it and were happy to explore further upstream.

The cool thing about the Styx is that the difficulty of the rapids increase very predictably the further upstream you walk. So to paddle it, one simply walks up until a rapid looks too scary and then get in at the bottom of that rapid. There are many rivers that are like this but have one or two hard rapids lower down amongst the easier sections. The Styx was an almost perfect linear drop in difficulty all the way from the Upper Styx to the road bridge.

We continued upriver scouting as we went, identifying hazards and picking lines. 

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as we progressed up the river. The rapids became more staunch, and the butterflies in my stomach became energetic as a result. We scouted several grade 4 rapids before coming across a short boogey waterBoogey waterPart of the river that is easier than the overall grade. Usually enjoyed as low key fun as a comparison to challenging.section of grade 3. Above that was a gnarly looking rapid with wood across it. We were all keen to get paddling and the rapids were punchy enough. Any harder would be unrunnable for our team. Eye contact was made all round and all three packs thudded on the ground at the same time.  

The grade 3 boogey water was supposed to be a warm up. Kelly and Nick swung in and out of eddies, making tight technical turns around rocks. I had never paddled with a fully loaded packraft and I edged into the current eager to see how it responded.

I can’t paddle!

The answer is, not well. My boat felt all wrong as I tried to make easy moves in the boulder garden above the hard stuff. 

I’ll get used to it, I told myself. I often feel unsettled in the boat if I haven’t been paddling or if something changes. I just need a while to warm up.

I bumbled my way down, charging downriver and missing eddies.EddyPockets of slow water behind rocks where paddlers can stop, rest and plan their next moves

I pulled into an eddy above the first big rapid. Nick and Kelly joined me and we got out of our boats to rescout and confirm our lines. On the way up I had confidently identified my line. Now, I knew I couldn’t paddle that line. 

“I’m walking” I said

“Sweet bro. Maybe be safety boat at the bottom?” said Nick, understanding my feeling but too excited to try to restrain it. 

I hauled my boat to my shoulder and started lugging it down.

I only just bloody walked up here I thought. I hammered my thigh with a bitter fist and then scowled at the pain. 

Creeping shadows slunk closer and enveloped the vivid, sunny thoughts in my brain.

I need to stay positive.

I dumped my boat at the bottom of the rapid and dutifully paddled into the eddy.

I watched Kelly come barrelling down the rapid. She reached the crux and slid onto a tongue of green, sneaking past a channel that led into a nasty mankyMankyWhitewater that is so shallow and rocky that its not fun and likely to hurt. chute. She launched her boat from the last drop, sailing through the air and landing with a satisfying BOOF sound. 

Nick followed in a similar suit, adding a dash of style to the rapid. I forced a grin to my reluctant lips. 

“Shot bro, that looked great!”

Nick grinned back, the joy of the river flowing easily through him. 

Don’t switch off

Three paddlers pulled their boats to the bank to refamiliarise themselves with the next rapid. Two were grinning, one looked at his shoes. 

My confidence was low and I didn’t feel up for the next rapid.

I decided to portage it, and was busy picking my way down the tedious boulders when I caught a glimpse of orange in the corner of my eye. Nick was paddling past me.

I raced to the river edge. I had expected them to wait for me to portage and then set safety. Deep in my own dark thoughts I had not even noticed they had put on the river. 

Just because I’m not having a good time, doesn’t mean you can switch off, I scolded myself.

Swimmer!

Throwbag in hand I watched Kelly and Nick run the rapid. They both cruised through it without incident. We scouted the next one, and I felt it was time to get back in the boat. I was very aware that if I allowed my self-confidence to drop too low I might not be able to get back into a paddling mindset. I had to get back on the horse. The frothing, bucking white horse that was the Styx. 

I put in as high as I could above the rapid and flowed around a couple of boulders. I felt a semblance of control return. I approached the eddy where I planned to start my descent and felt the packraft rock back on to its tail. The bowBowFront of the boat. Did you not know that, you landlubber? leapt into the air, and I flung the paddle out to regain balance. The current grabbed a tube and flipped the boat. I was swimming.  

Oh no.

I was swimming, right at the top of a big rapid. This might be nasty.

I threw my paddle into the eddy. My frantic hands shoved the boat in the same direction before I swam hard towards the shore. The current clutched at my legs and I felt the first stirrings of panic. The eddy seemed close. Surely I could make it. 

In a few frenzied stokes I pulled myself into the eddy and up onto a rock, breathing hard. 

Nick arrived a second later. He had sprinted from where he had set up with a throwbag. (As in, somewhere you would expect a swimmer.)

“You alright?” he asked between puffs.

I nodded.

I was alright. Well physically. But I was now well and truly rattled. That was an easy move. I had done similar moves a thousand times. 

The lurking dark thoughts rushed in and clouded my brain. I tried to push them away with frail thoughts of positivity as I stomped angrily down around the rapid. 

Was I going to portage the entire river?

I had to do something. It had to be the heavy gear in the boat, I reasoned. 

A little white lie

I deflated my boat and took out all my gear. The problem was my gear was in a series of medium, round dry bags attached together by their handles. These were free to slide along the length of the tubes.

Nick helped me daisy chain the bags together, front to rear. I then cable tied the front bag to a loop in the tube. My pack had a few drybags inside and I fixed it in the other tube with a cable tie. This would limit the sliding and hopefully distribute the weight better. 

I blew the boat back up, and prayed it would make a massive difference. As soon as I got back on the water I felt the boat responding. 

I decided to have a crack at the bottom drop of the rapid I had just portaged. I’d just watched Kelly and Nick run it, seen the line and there was a pool at the bottom. Perfect for getting back on the horse. 

I eased my boat back out into the current, slid it along a green tongue and pulled a messy boof strokeBoof strokeLong forwards stroke used to keep the bow up, and launch the paddler out from the lip of a drop or waterfall off the lip. With a whoop, I landed square in the middle of a frothing heap of joyous paddling glee. My paddling career was resurrected. I was back from the underworld of doubt and spiralling self confidence.

Nick and Kelly were stoked to have their friend back. The scowling sullen child had been replaced with a competent paddler, who even responded to their jokes.

“Nice bro, you’re good to go,” said Nick.

“This next rapids all good man, it’s easy… Well, not super easy but it’s straightforward – river left, then centre chute at the bottom. Just follow me.”

With that he leapt into his boat and set off.

I didn’t want to miss his line, so before I had time to think about it I was following him down the rapid.

I followed him around the corner and my eyes opened wide. This didn’t seem like the ‘easy’ rapid Nick had described. It was a jumbled boulder garden with several small drops.DropSmall/medium waterfall At the bottom of this most of the river flowed right, into a manky drop. Nick did not follow the water. He weaved through the boulders before he dropped down through a boat wide slot on river left. 

I followed his line, paddling hard to get out of the main flow and away from the manky drop. I straightened the boat, and the bow swung around and kissed the right hand boulder at the top of the slot as I dropped down into the pool below. I paddled into the waiting eddy and looked Nick straight in the eyes.

He was grinning from ear to ear. I tried to hold a serious face but felt the corners of my mouth twitching up. 

“I thought if you looked at that rapid you might not do it” said Nick. “better to lie and get you paddling again”

I shook my head. 

“Yeah nah, I wasn’t expecting that. My eyes just about popped out onto my spraydeck when I saw it!”

A rather large rock

We boat scoutedBout scoutingLike it sounds. Inspected the rapid from the top without getting out of packrafts. the next few rapids before a chunky rapid forced us out of our boats to scout.

Massive boulders created a three drop rapid. It looked quite continuousContinuousJoined sections of whitewater with few or hard to catch eddies in which to break the rapid down.. The first two drops looked good, but the third was gnarly. To run it I would have to get out of the main flow, between two rocks and then immediately hit a drop above a massive boulder and buffer waveBuffer waveWave formed when a current runs straight into the face of a boulder. The wave flows back upstream and then flushes to one or both sides. . 

The clock stood still as we all planned and agonised over the right line. I walked up and down the rapid three times, putting the moves together.

Nick ran it first and nailed it until the last move. Too far to the left, the eddy above the last drop pulled his boat off line and he hit the last drop on an angle. He managed to pull it together and recovered at the bottom.

Kelly followed and had a similar experience. Learning from their mistakes I realised I would have to stay slightly further right to avoid being pulled off line by the eddy.

I cleaned the first two drops. They both felt good and I was feeling confident about this run. Aiming up the bottom, I paddled hard at the marker rock. I eased off the power. It looked perfect, I was lined up to be left but not as far left as Kelly and Nick had been.  I glided the last few metres to ease between the rocks. But I had slowed too early. I felt the current grab the boat and pull me to the right. 

Oh no.

Now I was heading straight for the middle of a massive buffer wave at the bottom of the drop. I tried a desperate boof to launch away. The bottom of the packraft thudded down onto the buffer wave. It grabbed the boat and I was surged up on top of it. I was surfing on top of the wave, right against the center point of a massive boulder. Reacting on instinct, I leaned hard into the boulder and sat for a few confused, panicked seconds riding the buffer wave, pinned against the rock. As I was, I was fine. But if I dropped an edge I could be in a very sticky situation. I looked back at Kelly and Nick on the shore. Both were screaming and pointing. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying. I tried to push myself back off the rock to river left. I made some progress before the buffer wave surfed me back up to the top. 

This would be fun if it wasn’t terrifying.

After 20 seconds (according to Kelly) or 1 hour and 45minutes (my version) of surfing against a big boulder I managed to sneak the stern of the packraft back and ride the wave into the left chute backwards. I bumped down the last section and pulled into a eddy with relief. 

Nailed it. 

Sullen moment the third

Rapids, rapids, rapids. They diminished gradually until we were boogying down easy grade 1 and 2 wave trains. Nick decided that since both Kelly and I had had sullen moments he was entitled one. Fed up with the boogey water he resorted to laying back in his boat, with his legs hanging over the sides. He bobbed down the remainder of the river only bothering with occasional obligatory paddle strokes to avoid persistent rocks. 

At long last something resembling the takeout appeared. I pulled my boat out and had a look. The other two watched me with tired eyes. 

“The truck is down a bit further.”

Nick looked at me. 

“How much further?”

“Like 400 metres,” I guessed “but the river curves away so I think we’d be faster to walk.”

“I think it would be faster to paddle.” said Nick.

“Well, I guess it’s a race then”

We both paused, stock still for a second. We both exploded into action, water and dirt flying respectively. 

Sweat poured from my face as I arrived at the truck and collapsed in a triumphant panting heap. 

The only way to finish such events

Nick arrived a few dignified minutes later. He lowered himself on to the tailboard of the ute, looking defeated and exhausted. I knew what he needed. I found a can of Speight’s from under the seat. I strode round to the back of the ute, cracking the beer as I went. I grabbed Nick’s head in one hand and tipped the can down his startled mouth. After a short struggle he succumbed and drank like a greedy calf. When i had poured three quarters of the can either down his throat or on him I released him. Refreshed by the elixir of life, he grinned.

“That was good!”

It remains unclear whether he meant the packrafting trip or being force fed warm beer.

We went and picked up the other car from the Arahura bridge where it had sat unneeded for two days. The trip ended where every west coast boating adventure should. On the beach with a steaming newspaper full of fish and chips. The sun set and I reflected on our trip.

A last minute decision to hare off and paddle the Arahura had not come to fruition, but the Styx had delivered the whitewater goods we craved. It was a reminder that we don’t have to chase ‘epic’ trips to have fun.

Looking back I’m proud I was able to overcome my ego and admit to the group that I was probably not up to the task. Like many male adventurers, or males in general the need to appear strong and competent can overwhelm good decision making and communication. I’ve worked really hard to try to separate myself from my ego, and found it has generally resulted in more fun as well as better decisions and communication. That doesn’t mean it’s not hard, but that’s another story.