So... People often ask me for "stories about New Zealand. Tell me something crazy!"
I know my blog has taken on the vibe of the deep, heart-wrenching and heart-freeing lessons I continue to learn out here on a daily basis... But, for the reader's sake, I figured I would write a couple of blogs on the crazy stuff that sometimes does go on out here in the bush. First, the Crazy Bull.
One of my walks, in... March, was a 16 day walk. I combined 4 tracks in a big loop and then out toward a town called Glenorchy across a large mountain range on one of the Great Walks, the Routeburn.
While on this walk, I came across many domesticated cattle, as the pole markers wound their way down through livestock land and valleys, in addition to winding its way up through mountain ranges. Alongside the domesticated cattle, who mostly ignored me, no matter how close I walked to them, lived Wild Bulls.
Now, I didn't know these bulls were wild at first. I sort of grouped them together in my mind as in the same heard as the other grazing cattle.
I have hiked in the midst of cattle only a few times before. When I was guiding for Aspiro Wilderness Therapy in Utah. We had an itinerary we called "Tabby," where back then we used to backpack and mountain bike in some ranges that were also private cattle land.
It was on those itineraries that I developed a distaste for cattle in heat. We camped on the same side of the fence that, we didn't discover till later, the bull was on - while all the lady cows he was longing to jump on, were on the other side of the fence. Needless to say, we didn't get much sleep that night listening to their calling out for one another.
They didn't bother us though - they sort of kept to themselves as we kept to ourselves and drank the disgusting cowshat-infested muddy stream water, of which we later found a dead cow in upstream. Yuck.
ANYWAY! I didn't pay much mind to the cattle here, as I peacefully hiked hours and hours through their land. They would raise their eyes to glance at who this strange red and blue blob was parading across their muddy fields, swearing every couple of seconds because the mud was above her ankles, and then, heads back down, they would continue chewing their grass.
I had heard stories of the Wild Bulls that parade NZ country lands, impregnating the females and giving farmers a run for their money. Testosterone a-blazing, fighting one another and eating up grasses meant for domesticated cattle. But, from what I had seen, all the cattle were fairly calm!
After a few days of this, I came face-to-face with a bull, standing next to a calf and a female cow. He stood between me, and a wooden bridge (log) I needed to cross go get to the other side of the river that ran straight through my track.
I stopped dead in my tracks, as he looked me straight in the eye, something none of the other cattle had done. I felt a strange unease come over me, as I looked in every direction for "help," which, I soon realized, was quite silly, given I hadn't seen anyone in days.
The realization that I was all alone, in the middle of a wide open field, standing face to face with an unhappy bull smacked me in the face as I took two steps backward, nearly tripping over my muddy and wet feet (cattle land is actually very unpleasant to walk through.) The minute I moved, he bowed his head toward me, horns in my direction, and began scoffing the ground with his foot. Pawing at the ground, in a way I had only seen animals do on T.V. I knew he was not happy. Snorting through two huge grass and snot covered nostrils, he made it clear I was NOT going to be crossing that bridge.
I stood frozen in my tracks. Scanning my memory for something, anything, that might help me in this situation. He was too large for my little pink pepperspray to make a difference. Plus, it was tucked away in the brain of my pack. Not much help there. He would squash me in an instant if I tried to pull out my knife, I thought, "Shit. What do the Cowboys do?? Oh yeah, they have horses and guns. Duh." A gun wouldn't do me any good anyway, I would probably end up shooting myself. Whether accidentally, or out of grief for having shot the bull, I am not into the death of innocent animals.
"Well..." I thought to myself, "I guess all I can do is slowly retreat. Like how I've watched my animals do hundreds of times, heads bowed, paws forward, acknowledging that the other animal has won the fight." And, that is just what I did.
Slowly placing one foot behind the other, I stayed facing him as he eyed me daringly. He stayed still, with one paw tilted into the ground, as if in case he needed to suddenly charge. As I retreated further and further away, I slowly began go make a wide arc around him.
I still needed to cross that river! My next triangle marker was on the other side. I had given up the hope of dry feet much earlier in the day. So the bridge was no longer of consequence. I was afraid of slipping and falling in the river, as that is the most common way solo hikers die out here, since it's almost impossible to have sure footing in a moss-covered stone riverbed. But I had no choice.
I saw an outcropping of trees behind me to my right, and slowly curved around behind them, out of his sight. Instead of the sigh of relief I had anticipated as I rounded the trees, I was startled to my senses as another cow and her calf were equally as startled, jumping to their feet and booking it out from behind the trees. Leaving me in a panic of fear that the bull had seen, and a cloud of dust that blurred my vision and had me coughing up a lung. There was nothing I could do but run. And run I did.
I didn't look back. My short little legs slapping against the muddy earth as I ran toward the river with all my might, my pack bouncing violently up and down, threatening to pull me over backward.
I leapt into the river and it almost felt like I was walking on water. I have no idea how I did not slip. I splashed through it, stumbling and nearly tripping, but running toward the mountain of trees that was just in the distance. My orange triangle marker glinting in the sunlight, appearing like a beacon of hope and promise of safety in the woods.
Out of breath and panting from the adrenaline, I turned around, just once, from the top of the hill, just before I entered the trees.
There stood the bull, watching me with menacing eyes and a threatening posture. But he wasn't about to chase me across the river and up that hill. So there he stayed. And I nodded my head in respect to him, and continued into the forest, on my way.
Needless to say, my fear of cattle and Bulls has been slightly out of hand since then. In the following days, I crossed through pasture after pasture. Paranoid, I would look all around me in all directions, and avoid groups of cattle with wide arcs, at all costs. I didn't care if it took me an extra 15 minutes, there was no way I was coming face to face with one of those bulls again.
But of course, here I sit, in a hut next to a cozy fire, completely fine and unharmed. Yes, it would totally suck if I had some freak accident and I died from being trampled by a wild bull. Haha.. I am laughing out loud right now just reading that sentence again.
Really though, all in all, animals most often respect us as human animals, if we show them the same courtesy. I have been so enthralled with how friendly the birds, possums and even seals are here - simply because they do not know they need to be afraid of us. And maybe, just maybe, they don't "need" to be. We could all stand to be a little kinder to each other, a little more respectful, and a little more understanding of our many differences. New Zealand truly does teach me something new, every single day.
And that, is my experience with the Crazy Bull.