It Took a Mountain to Move This Couple

Once upon a time, I had been in decent shape, hiking and inline skating on weekends, with a couple of step classes or brisk walks thrown in during the week. Not in the same league as a Madonna or Janet Jackson--but good enough. It’s easy, though, to get out of the exercise habit, and growing family obligations gradually took me away from the gym.

So last fall my husband, Bill, and I decided to do something to force us to get back into an exercise routine. While planning a February vacation to New Zealand, we made reservations for the Routeburn Track, a three-day, 28-mile guided trek through the rugged terrain of the majestic Southern Alps.

Since there was no way we could complete the trip without getting into decent physical shape, the looming hike provided ample motivation to jolt us out of our lethargy. (The humiliation of having to be helicoptered off a remote mountain or the idea of forfeiting $1,000 in advance registration fees were not appealing options.) So on the first Saturday after New Year’s, we dragged ourselves out of bed and headed to Los Liones hiking trail in Topanga State Park in Pacific Palisades.

The trail, which is three miles round trip, follows a thickly foliated path with winding switchbacks, and a slight elevation that takes you from sea level to 1,525 feet. The reward at the top is a spectacular coastline view from Malibu to the Palos Verdes Peninsula. The trail ends at a flat clearing where it joins the East Topanga Fire Road, a well-trod dirt path carved out of the side of the mountains that encircle Topanga Park.

That first day, we barely made it to the end of the Los Liones trail in under an hour, then hobbled to an overlook that juts out over the ocean a half mile from the trail’s end. After fortifying ourselves with water and trail mix, we pushed ourselves up the fire road, which has about a 30-degree incline. But laboriously trudging uphill left us gasping for breath. Feeling defeated and horribly out of shape, we only got about 200 yards before we quit, and were bypassed by a group of runners nimbly trotting up the hill like gazelles.

At this rate, hiking 28 miles with backpacks seemed like sheer madness.

The next day, on the same hike, we shaved 10 minutes off our time, making it to the overlook in 40 minutes. Then we trooped a half a mile up the fire road. All in all, we hiked four miles in about two hours. Not too shabby, we thought, for two 50-somethings who had just slithered off the couch.

During the next four weekends we become regulars on Los Liones. On the final Sunday before we left for New Zealand, we practically bounded up the trail, making it to the overlook in 20 minutes, completing more than five miles in less than two hours. Strains of the “Rocky” theme echoed in my head.

We were ready. Or so we thought.

Four days later, we joined 20 other hikers on a bus that transported us from Queenstown, a tourist town that is one of the adventure sports capitals of the world, to the Divide, a cleft carved by the massive glaciers that formed New Zealand’s vast, unspoiled fiordlands.

At around noon, after stopping along the way for tea, we finally set foot on the densely wooded trail. Our group included three female guides, two lawyers, a young investment banker from Hong Kong and his girlfriend, and 10 middle-aged Japanese women from Osaka. And, somewhat encouragingly, three doctors--a husband and wife from Virginia, and a widower from southern England--and two tall, blond nurses from Sydney, Australia.

Within a half an hour, I knew I had made a big mistake. I had never hiked with a backpack, and the trail was much steeper than the Topanga Park fire road I had found so daunting. The Japanese women--all veteran hikers--were marching effortlessly up the trail, literally leaving me in their dust while I buckled under the weight of the pack. The bus was gone, though, so I was stuck--three days and 27.9 miles to go.

The good news was that we had clear weather with temperatures hovering in the 60s each day. The fiordlands have an average annual rainfall of 10 feet, so we were lucky to avoid hiking in a relentless downpour. I was mostly too tired, though, to notice the rich variety of ferns, orchids, and fuchsia that dotted the lush trail, or to enjoy the breathtaking vistas. Emerging from the Silver Beech forest in mid-afternoon, I collapsed at Earland Falls, a glacial stream that spills several hundred feet down a mountainside. We were barely halfway to where we would camp that night, and I had no desire to take another step.

The women from Osaka were already at the falls, nibbling on chocolates, chatting gaily and sunning themselves on the rocks, looking like they had done nothing more strenuous than cruise the mall.

By the time we reached the lodge near Lake MacKenzie, I was slipping on the rocks out of weariness, which frightened me because I knew the most serious accidents happen when you’re distracted. But we made it through the first day, and settled in at the lodge, which had dormitory-style rooms with bunk beds adjoining a kitchen and cavernous dining hall.

After scarfing enough food to feed a small army, I climbed into my bunk. Our roommate, Fung Lui, the banker from Hong Kong, busied himself studying the trail map for what seemed like hours.

“Tomorrow ... more ... difficult,” he finally pronounced in halting English.

I could hardly wait.

Day two, which entailed traversing the granite face of a mountain, wasn’t just difficult--it was downright treacherous. Clinging to the mountainside along a foot-wide trail ledge, I made the mistake of looking down and immediately froze in terror: Beneath me was a sheer drop of more than 5,000 feet. This was not in the travel brochure.

“Don’t look down,” my husband commanded.

“Just find a place to put your feet--and quit taking such delicate little steps,” suggested Margaret, one of the Australian nurses. Like a human shuttlecock, I inched across the mountain face, with Bill pulling me along, and the Australian nurses pushing me from behind.

Climbing down through rocky terrain after lunch was just as tricky, if not as harrowing. Somehow, we made it to the lodge about 6 p.m. after more than eight hours on the trail. My feet ached, my left knee was swollen and throbbing, and I scarcely had the energy to peel off my clothes and hiking boots before I stepped into the shower. Later, I held court in a corner of the lodge, my knee propped up on a chair and covered with ice, joking with my two new nurse friends, Margaret and Betty, about how we’d all be in the wheelchair brigade on the next day’s six-mile hike.

The next morning, descending the rocky mountain slope was arduous because I could barely bend my knee. Once we hit the flat pastures around the Routeburn River, however, I was pleasantly surprised. The trail was easy--packed dirt surrounded by leafy trees. Like a horse heading back to the barn, we picked up the pace, and covered the remaining four miles in less than two hours. We had done it: We finished the Routeburn Track, and even got certificates at a celebratory dinner that night in Queenstown. Accomplishing our goal was exhilarating, though admittedly there are a lot of less expensive, and equally challenging, ways to force yourself off the couch. For us, though, it did the trick. We’re still regulars at Los Liones, and planning our next hiking trip, albeit one that’s closer to home. And this time, we’ll be in much better shape.