The next morning I was more welt than man. She woke up without a single bite. We looked around the tent and found we'd pitched it next to a still, unannounced marsh.
"Let's go home," I said.
On the 15-hour drive back to Wellington, and ever since, I started to realise: I was allergic to summer. Direct summer sunlight - New Zealand UV-drenched, ozone-depleted, SPF 50+ sunlight - it's just too much for me. Even with a friggin' sombrero on, it drills me with a headache as soon as I try to do so much as tug my sodden shirt away from my back.