Backpacking in Fiji, Chapter 7

Wild Horses

There are dozens, if not hundreds of environments a trail can pass through: forest, fields, parks, wetlands, and so on and so forth. Out of all these surroundings, my favorite, by far is the ridge trail. For me, there's nothing like the feeling of walking from peak to peak able to see for miles on either side. Fiji did not disappoint. 

Fields fell away to either side of the ridge, blending into the forest, as my pace slowly led me farther and farther ahead of the group. Before long the track dropped just below the ridge and travelled around a summit. The rest of my group was out of sight, something that stayed consistent for nearly half an hour until we regrouped for a rest. My solitude turned out to be a stroke of luck. 

While hiking solo I made my way around a summit and found myself no more than fifty feet from seven grown horses and one foal, no humans to be seen. I froze where I stood when eight pairs of equine eyes locked onto me. Six of the adults were brown the remaining one and the foal were both white, the color of slightly dirty snow. When they diverted their gaze I inched forward. They let me get within twenty feet before all eight of them turned and trotted away, further up the trail, then down a gradual slope that led away from it. The foal followed close behind it's mother as they vanished from sight. 

I smiled to myself and kept walking. Soon after, the rest of the group slowly caught up as we stopped at a treeline for a bit of a break. While the rest of us rested on the ground, our barefoot local companion climbed a nearby tree to heights that I wouldn't certainly wouldn't attempt. Not so much was it the height, but he was out walking on too-narrow limbs while he kicked down big green fruits, slightly larger than a softball. According to Jone, they were Fijian grapefruits. The pink ones were delicious and satiated the hunger for just a little while longer. We ate and moved on. 

The short trail took us to the dirt road we would follow for a few miles before turning off. One rounded just one bend before we came across the driveway to a single home. As it turned out, unsurprisingly, a local in our party knew who lived there. We stopped for lunch and filled our waterbottles before moving on.  A few more miles on the road, another couple on a trail, and the last half of one switchbacking down a steep slope saw us arriving at our goal: the homestead belonging to Oro's uncle.