The settled, anti-cyclonic conditions I have been waiting for finally arrived on St Patrick's Day. One glance at the Friday night weather map and I knew it was on. I turned to Madam Dog:
"We're going in tomorrow," I said. She cocked her head to indicate lack of comprehension. "We're going over tomorrow. Conditions are right. We are making our assault on the east face of the Ruahines."
Still no sign of comprehension. "Walk," I said. Her tail wagged. "You'll need a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast in the morning."
St Patrick's Day dawned fine and I donned a green shirt for the trek - not so much to celebrate the day but to serve as camouflage in the green terrain. I didn't want Livingstone or other would-be explorers spotting us and beating us to the source.
Lacking baggy khaki shorts, I opted for a pair of Billabongs. Without a donated explorer's helmet, I had to go with whatever was at hand. I chose a paper party hat left over from Christmas. I knew that bright orange might hinder the effect of the camouflage but, hey, you need to look festive for these occasions.
For footwear, I chose the same tried-and-tested jandals I had worn on my reconnaissance trip (though I did pack some sturdier shoes for when the going got rougher).
Jandals may seem a little foolhardy for an intrepid explorer but the early explorers didn't have it easy so I thought I should try to match some of the hardships they endured. I didn't mind suffering for my Dominion, my Empire.
I slapped a hunk of cheese between two slices of bread and put it in a lunchbox with a nashi pear. I stopped at a service station on the way to supplement my supplies with two Alison Holst cookies.
Apart from that, I packed a jacket, a camera, a bottle of water, a Band-Aid and a box of matches in case I was stuck up in the Ruahines for the night and felt the urge to light some matches.
Into the car and off we went, as far as the road would take us and then it was a matter of trudging along the muddy slopes, crossing the river from time to time, all the time getting closer and closer to our goal, the source of the Manawatu River.
We had only been trudging for about 35 minutes when we ran into a barrier fence. On it was a sign: No Access. Private Property. "This won't deter us, "I said to Madam Dog. "I know my Queen's Chain laws." We headed down the slope to the river.
The chains were there too and they looked anything but royal. The barricade stretched right across the river - only a few feet wide at this point - and the gables of a house were evident tucked among the trees somewhat higher up the mountainside.
While the inhabitants obviously had 4WD vehicles - there was no other way in - they clearly lacked law statute books.
Not to be deterred, we traipsed back to where there had been a fork in the river and decided to head up the other fork. Same barricade greeting.
I must say this sort of impediment to intrepid exploring is very frustrating and we turned back rather broken. I had not even worked up enough hunger for my Alison Holst cookies.
This will not put me off finding other sources: of rivers, main highways, pain, anguish - whatever you ask me to find. For Dominion, for Empire.
