As I cautiously edged my way down the Dragon's Tail, the heat intensified, volcanic steam and poisonous gases escaping wherever they could from the surrounding rubble.  Reaching the valley floor, sunlight beat down mercilessly and not satisfied, it then bounced back up from the glaringly white sand.

Assuming it was compressed, I tugged harder on my hydration tube which remained stubbornly dry. Running out of water in the midst of a desert on a hot summer’s day was clearly not my intention but it was my reality.

For many in the developed world, striving for material wealth, status and possessions is given precedence above all else. What if instead, we recognised the importance of relationships, community contribution and service, self development, and physical and mental health? Purposely living a simple life asks that we reconsider our priorities. 

From a whisper to a howl, pine trees have their own mesmerising song though many times it’s all bluff and bluster with, despite the drama above, hardly a leaf stirring amongst the canopy below. 

But not always I mused as I listened to the rhythmic thud of pine cones hitting the ground nearby and the unnerving rattle, creak and clank as branches and trunks bullied each other for space like so many boys queuing outside the tuck shop. 

As the boat started to plane I settled comfortably onto the seat to take in my surroundings while the dog, with his superior balance and having completed the journey dozens of times perched casually on the boat’s stern alongside the powerful 200HP Yamaha engine.

Cloudy skies with but the tiniest glimpses of blue dulled the summer’s day and added mystery to the deep indigo waters below. A huge bluff towered menacingly above us, foreshadowing the effort that lay ahead. 

Having just crested the Tongariro Alpine Crossing alongside the impressive Red Crater I gazed down the precipitous volcanic scree slope which sidled past the breathtaking Emerald Lakes. We’d planned to stop alongside the lakes and the only thing between me and my sandwich was this hair raising descent. 

I weighed up the options and was attracted most by the plan to skid down on my butt so that I’d not tumble head over heels off the narrow spur. At this height, this felt a very real possibility! 

I knew once I’d spent a little more time on the land, sleeping under canvas, observing the twinkle of the Milky Way, listening to the wind whistle in the trees, the morepork and kiwi calling, even the possums squabbling, the name would present itself.

In Tibetan Buddhist traditions Shambhala is a spiritual kingdom that is believed to exist somewhere between the Himalayan Mountains and the Gobi Desert. 

Hidden deep in a valley, the land is inhabited by a mystical brotherhood whose members labour for the good of humanity. 

Below me the swollen river raged down the valley, dirty grey water rushing, crashing and tumbling, rolling boulders, tugging trees from flooded banks, swirling and churning every which way. 

Above, sky the same colour as the water closed in, the tops of the mountains remaining hidden in the murk. I knew what it was like up there, near horizontal rain driven by a malicious wind intent on tossing me off the narrow ridge. Behind, the perilous trail from where I’d descended was more a cascade than a track.