One of the highlights of Dunedin is the many chances it offers to really commune with nature. And by that, I don’t mean getting your kit off and having sex with people four times your age à la 70’s killing cults. I mean really getting out there and Hufflepuffing your way up some fucking dead volcano or whatever. Dunedin was built on a giant 1000m extinct volcano because why the hell not? Walking up hills is fun for everybody, especially unfit fat cunts like myself. So naturally in the spirit of Dunedin’s predilection for a high ratio of rise to run, I called upon my long-time bud Megan to come hiking with me, coaxing her with promises of scroggin.
We started out nice and early on a Sunday, and in true Dunedin form the sky was clear and the weather was crisp. I had lovingly packed a backpack full of the following: scroggin (of course), dark chocolate, licorice bullets, brie and camembert cheese, jalapeno and lime hummus and meal mates, because we are most definitely ladies who lunch. The track started out pretty brutal and we were jokingly second-guessing our life choices as we trekked an unforgiving incline for the first 1-2 km, but once we found our stride we were as happy as a couple of Perth lesbians at a Pink concert. On the way up we were overtaken by a couple of guys running (RUNNING, what the fuck) up to the Flagstaff summit and would have jealously and bitterly made fun of them if we had possessed the necessary lungpower to offer a scornful insult. But we didn’t. Not long after, we met a man who had FIVE happy dogs. Life goals.
When we reached the Flagstaff, we found the running guys being hell lazy pricks just sitting on a rock doing nothing and we smugly offered them some scroggin, which they of course could not refuse. Once we continued on our way, we blithely dreamed aloud of becoming a weird Dunedin fixture – those two girls that are always walking the Pineapple track providing scroggin to weary hikers – the Scroggin Sisters, we could be known as.
We continued happily hiking along until we found a nice wee clearing and declared it to be lunchtime. Sitting happily with our scroggin, cheeses and chocolate, we were somewhat bemused to see a man run up to us with a trestle table that he unfolded right in front of us. We were hoping that this was for us to put our lunch on, but the man frantically started muttering that he had to “get this water sorted out”. He disappeared over a hill and returned with some large containers of cold water, while asking me if I was any good at “pouring”. Being a shameless braggart, I of course told him I was amazing. And so began my descent into being an integral part of the Dunedin Three Peaks running race. Once I had filled up about a hundred cups of water for the racers, the guy got distracted and Megan and I hastily made a break for it. I mean, we were just trying to have our fucking lunch when that guy made me his water bitch.
Further up the track, we bumped into the most beautiful German Shepherd and I was reminded strongly of my dear sweet shepherd friend Bitey G. Of course we got pics with the happy boy, who was only too happy to meet us.
Awhile later, we were on the home stretch and decided to run the remainder of the trail, which earned us a bunch of “well dones” from the people in the carpark who had no idea that we had only ran that last leg, and in fact are total lazy bitches. But we graciously accepted the praise and felt like we had just completed an Iron Man event. Thank yoiye.
Dunedin’s Pineapple Track = 9/10, would hike again.
Love, Chelle xooxoxoxoxo