Adventure Try a walk or run on the wild side

In "Our Place", reporters go to a location in the region, stay for two hours and observe. Jolene Williams took up the 30km Cape Kidnappers Challenge. She couldn't run it in two hours, but the breathtaking views and hills certainly made for an interesting morning.
Cape Challenge "Thirty kilometres?" a friend asked. "Can you run that far?"
Well, I knew my body could handle it. It was my mind that I worried about. My attention span, like a hamster on a treadmill, needed constant activity and attention. It needed continual ... ooh look, something shiny.
But reading the race programme for the Cape Kidnappers Challenge dispelled any fears. The race followed the coastline from Clifton Bay to the most northern point of the peninsula and then wound through farmland, down to Flat Rock, onto a private reserve. The course nipped over one of the country's most exclusive golf courses - or fourth-greatest in the world, if you want to get technical.
It went up, it went down. It went sideways through rivers and spat out participants onto the road again, about a kilometre from Clifton Bay.
I pored over the race programme like most women browse shoe catalogues.
"Windswept beaches, native forest, waterfalls, river groups and stunning coastal farmland ... "
That sort of heady effusion would make Tourism New Zealand weak at the knees. And it made me forget the fact I'd be running for close to four hours.
Thirty kilometres? I shrugged. Think of the views!
It was 8am and a quiet, grey day. About 300 runners lined the beach, buzzed out on glucose, excitement and fear.
I let the real runners - the ones dressed in lycra and with rippling calf muscles - speed ahead. They bound through the incoming tide as it raced up the sand. I - being a non-real-runner and therefore a bit of a wuss - tiptoed through the water and sidestepped onto rocks.
I didn't want to get my socks wet.
Seven kilometres into the run, I would be knee-deep in water.
Another 18km on, I would be submerged up to my neck.
The walkers perhaps took the wiser option. The more leisurely pace allowed them to appreciate the warm, sea-salty air. They could admire the happily impassive gannets perched on rocks. They could gaze upwards at the looming cliffs with faces that spoke of a history through faultlines, rock formations and fossils hidden like jewels.
But I was still foolishly concentrating on keeping my feet dry.
We rounded a rocky point and left behind any sight of the Clifton-to-Napier coastline. I felt like I'd crossed over into different territory. This was nature's place. And nature certainly showed me who was boss. It stung (thistles), tripped (rabbit holes), spooked (livestock) and zapped my will to live (hills, hills, hills).
By gosh it was glorious.
I didn't see any brown spotted kiwi or the rare pateke ducks that live in the Cape Kidnappers Wildlife Reserve. I did see gannets and bull calves, which for a city girl was pretty wild.
There must have been sheep or goats about, because I found evidence of their presence underneath my sneakers.
I also saw a boy no older than 14 who I nicknamed Billy the Kid. He shot out of the first transition area and bowled down the hill like a mountain goat. He was unconcerned by the steepness of the hill or the impact on his knees.
Silly Billy. He'll rue that when he's 60.
The river crossings were a welcome relief, especially when the Hawke's Bay sunshine began to break through the clouds. The Maraetotara River area was lush, cool and thankfully downhill. Then was an open field of tall grass, bordered by hills. No path, just follow the runner in front of you.
This open landscape, all green and blue and golden, was quite possibly hippies' heaven.
But eventually my little hamster upstairs began to notice the lethargy in my legs. "Tired, I want an ice cream, are we there yet?" he asked.
A marshall told me only 5km to go. I picked up the pace, knowing the end was deliciously close.
Then down the hill, through the gates, and I could see it clearly: The finish line! I crossed the line and the race organiser personally shook my hand.
I'm touched.
You don't get that at running races in the city.
"Our Place" is an occasional series which runs when space permits.