For years the mountain was no more to me than a waypoint on the flight to Auckland, and an invisible one at that. The view was always obscured by cloud, or it was night. The nearest I came to seeing it was late one afternoon. We flew right over the top. I cursed the flight path. Straining, I could not quite see. The mountain lay directly below the aircraft. But I saw its shadow, a triangle stretching across farmland.
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