one last stop

Since the group had some time before they had to get to the airport, Vic decided to include Harcourt Park in the itinerary on our way back into Wellington. We pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, and I was immediately struck by how much grass there was. Grass isn’t exactly uncommon in New Zealand, but this grass was particular striking – it was thick and tall and a deep shade of green. If it hadn’t been wet, I would have wanted to lay in it. As it was, I was reminded that this was New Zealand’s winter grass. When I returned home in November, I would be greeted by shriveled, brown, dead winter grass. I tried not to think about it.

Harcourt Park, located in the Akatarawa Valley roughly twenty minutes outside Wellington, was used for a couple of scenes involving the wizards Gandalf and Saruman in the films, mostly in “The Fellowship of the Ring.” But, for the August Fellowship, it became the site of their first Orc Run together.

A Red Carpet “Orc Run” is exactly what it sounds like. It requires participants to find a hill and some sort of makeshift weapon, then to charge down that hill brandishing said weapon while acting as “orc-ish” as possible. Three years earlier, my own fellowship had done one in Queenstown, on New Zealand’s south island. I had played Aragorn, while the rest of the fellowship – and Vic – charged at me with branches and sticks.

After finding a suitable small hill near where Vic had parked the van, Susi stood at the bottom and took on the role of both director and videographer. The rest of the group – Vic and I included – rummaged in the undergrowth for sticks and, in my case, an entire tree bough, and plastered sneers on our faces. On Susi’s command, we stampeded down the hill in unison, shaking our “weapons” and growling and grunting as we went. Or, in Mary’s case, grumbling “I’m gonna kill myself, I’m gonna kill myself” as she careened toward the camera. By the time we reached the bottom, many of us had dissolved into giggles, Susi included.

I don’t think it’s something an outsider could possibly understand. But, just as on the damp path at Mount Vic where we transformed into hobbits and Black Riders, as we charged down the hill, shaking our tree branches, we forgot we were in New Zealand. For those brief moments, we really were in Middle-Earth.