Posted 21.9.03 by Mike
Day 8 - Dart River 0800-1400 // Queenstown 1900-0520 // Awake at 0600L // ACTIVITIES: Jetboat, Funyak, Clubbin

Ferris Bueller said it best. “Life moves pretty fast…and if you don’t stop look around every once and a while, you could miss it”. That’s the idea behind getting up so early, despite being up so late. Sure, I’m tired, and instant coffee doesn’t quite do the trick, but it works. I gather up my stuff in the daypack and walk down to the Station, where I meet up with the bus and a couple other folks.

It’s ever so slightly humorous, then, that the bus returns to the Deco backpackers I’m residing in to pick up 4 loudly obnoxious American girls. If I’d known, I’m sure I wouldn’t have bothered with the walk, which was good for me anyhow, and I would’ve been stuck talking… you know, on second thought, I lucked out here.

It’s a 45 minute ride to Glenorchy, and it’s the same area where some of the best scenes from the Lord of the Rings trilogy were filmed within the last year. Along the way, I mostly enjoy the scenery, and punctuate the lulls by fending off pretentious grievances of the American traveling group. I’m not anti-American-girls, for sure, but many of the ones I meet have a tendency to whine far beyond my capacity to give a shit. Besides – this particular group seems the essence of spoiled daddy’s girls…

Once we get to the Dart River station, located right at the end of a gravel pit, we pile out and head for the wetsuiting station. We’re all suited up with those, 2 fleece, booties and a lifejacket. It’s a good day for dressing warm, as the sunny interlude of the morning is giving way to chilly Southerly winds that come scraping through the Dart River valley. I can’t see much of the scenery yet, especially from my particular vantage point, but it promises to be amazing. A thin cold mist wisps here and there, hanging about ever so slightly in the air.

We climb into the jetboat a few minutes later, and after receiving the tutorial, speed off through the shallowest shallows imaginable. This is to boating what hang-gliding is to flying. At times, we’re literally doing 40 knots through 6 to 8 inches of water in a fully weighted boat. Then Callan, the guide and pilot puts his right index finger in the air and swirls it clockwise a few times. I grip the bars just a little bit tighter as he jerks the wheel to port then hard over to starboard. We spin a dazzling 360 degrees and come to a full stop gasping and laughing. Wow. Ever do donuts in a parking lot? This is like doing them at 60 miles per hour – in a convertible – while your friend blasts you with a Super Soaker.


Our sister jetboat in action

Callan pilots us further upriver, taking us within mere inches of this World Heritage sites sheer rock walls. He points out some mosses that only inhabit environments where the oxygen is 100% pure – and I’m not sure how it gets that way, but I guess he means no pollution haunts these enchanting forests that hang their lives down to the river. He throws us through several hairpin turns, and even plays a bit of chicken with the other jetboat. It’s not long before we reach our destination beach and hop out to inflate our “FunYaks”. Justin pulls his boat up next to ours and unloads the rest of the group. All in all, there are about 15 of us, and 6 yaks.

I run off into the wilderness to dispense with a pee that had built up far beyond my ability to control my bladder. Yes, I know I’m wearing a wetsuit – but it wasn’t wet yet. I’m using a hand pump to force air into the red rubber FunYak that I’ll be traveling in. Callan and Justin point out the various film highlights of the area, including the party along the ridge scene from Lord of the Rings, and a few scenes from Vertical Limit. As we climb into our inflatable canoes, I brag to a nearby Aussie couple that I brought the good weather with me. This is a mistake, for as everyone knows, you don’t brag about the weather gods’ fortune while you’re still using it.


Mount Pluto on the Dart River

We paddle off downriver and the rain follows shortly. All in all, the sprinkles don’t dampen much but the mood and the views of the glorious Mount Pluto and stunning Mount Albert. There are many other peaks, of course, but the suns absence doesn’t lend as favorable a vista as the first two. After a while, we reach our secluded lunch area. It’s a pack-in pack-out place, so we haul drag our canoes through the cool rocky slippery shallows, and pull them up onto the shore. We drag all the picnic stuff out, and dig in. Gourmet meats and cheeses are the order of the day, along with fresh breads and juices – and even fresh fruits. It’s a great picnic except the rain has stopped – and since the rain has stopped, the sandflies feel that it’s only fair to bother us.





The hidden gorge awaits…

Sandflies are the bane of New Zealand. They’re a curse upon the islands, and the nemesis of all tourists. Several Maori myths account for these annoying creatures, but none of them explain their cruel wickedness to my satisfaction. Imagine a mosquito crossed with a vulture and you’ll get the idea. These things are relentless, and tend to swarm in packs. Swatting, bug repellants and even clothes do little good. If you want to see some of the most beautiful scenery in the world, you just have to put up with the little buggers. I manage to only eat two and kill a handful more. The rest live to torment me another day.

Once everyone has their fill and packs out the picnic area, we go for a nature hike up a short trail to a natural bridge (enhanced with wooden anchors and ropes) overlooking cascading waterfalls. There’s also an inverted house in the ground – like a sinkhole with a window overlooking the falls – and I toy with the idea of moving in. Jaunting back to our craft, we paddle into the gorge we’ve just gazed at from above. It’s narrow and cool, the forest breeze channeling into my face. All around, the cold clear water whispers, and the air smells thickly of moss and fresh greenery. It’s another hours paddle downriver to our pickup site. Lucky me, I’m traveling with the guide, and nary lift a finger, much less a paddle, I lazily cruise down the quiet river. The sun burgeons forth one more time as our activity draws to a close, and I give the Aussies a knowing smile. The girls champion themselves as heroines of incompatibility as they consistently refuse to work together paddling, and delay our beautiful day on the river, much to my bemusement. They get their revenge, however, as a no-holds-barred water fight assisted by paddles breaks out near the shore. The cold water is just that – cold – lacking any semblance of refreshment. The sculpted mountains leer at my shivering wet-suited form, advising me it’s time to depart the pristine area.


Riding with a guide is less work…

The ride back to town is quiet. We’re all tired, napping or dozing. I try to carry on a civilized conversation with Sybill, one of the American girls, but she’s being snide, so I give up and turn my attention to the passing scenery. I can’t get over how breathtaking this county is, how many opportunities cry out for a photo. Even though the bus is going to stop at Deco backpackers, I hop off at the Centre, and shuffle over to get my bungy photos from yesterday. They turned out great – and I also turn in 2 rolls of film and pick up the stuff I had developed. The total is something like $150 for 6 rolls of film with double prints and burned onto CD. I’ve seen better – I’ll probably see worse. The pictures themselves were largely good, but the CD quality of them was really shit. To get an idea, most of the included pictures on here are the original CD size, which isn’t saying much for resolution either.

I huff and puff my way up the monster hills back to Deco. After a warm shower, I leaf through my pictures some more while my laundry’s going, then jaunt into the ‘living room’ to hang out with the TV watchers. None of them seem too keen on the idea of chatting, so I remain steadfastly silent, enjoying none of the droll English ‘soap’ that’s on the TV.

After folding up my weeks worth of laundry – a process that takes naught but a minute or so, I head to the kitchen to feast on my Ramen noodles. It proves to be predictable in taste, save for the garish amounts of chili powder that I soaked it in. As I’m struggling through eating, the ‘water twins’ (though why I call them this, I’m no longer sure) stroll in. Nathalie and Majorlie from Holland are amiable flirty women. In my state of female deprivation, I’m all too eager to discuss life with them. Nathalie shows a keen interest in me, for purely platonic reasons, and spends many hours laughing and joking with me at the kitchen table. Alcohol, drugs, ghosts and religion are all fair-weather topics as we kill the night in a flurry of small talk which ultimately leads nowhere.

On to the night life then, and rather reluctantly at that. I feel a surge of my patented depression setting in for the night, as if life somehow tolerates my company, but refuses to provide me any cheer. What’s really sad is that I’m feeling this at all – here I am in a country of utter beauty, strolling through a remarkably safe party town at night, and all I can do is wallow in my self-pity. “Get over yourself” I think…

I spin a few emails off before going in search of my home for the evening. I check out the Edge and Surreal – both tiny posh haunts smelling of European discothequette – before moving on to Winnies. It’s packed in here, much more so than last night, and between the family dinner patrons and the snow-staffers exercising their exodus escapades, there is no room for my gloom. I end up at Frasers – a rockin’ techno club occupying the corner of a wharf building. I get some rum & cokes in me, tipping well, and decide to throw a beer at the British house DJ too – which seems to gain me some favor. After awhile, I’m tossed, and I think the staff is giving me doubles for singles price.

Tim, a fellow backpacker of Irish descent, strolls into the club with a few friends in tow. He’s feeling celebratory too, and by the time we recruit a group of 5 Aussie and Brit girls into our company, we’re all feeling quite outstanding. We make our way to Debajo – literally a hole in the brick façade – for more dancing and drinking. I spend a good amount of time chatting up Jo, a friendly blonde from somewhere along the Australian coast before the party decides en masse that it’s time to sleep. I watch them huddle into three different cabs and speed off in four different directions before deciding that I’m extraordinarily hungry (that half bowl of chili powder with a hint of noodle just didn’t fill me up).

I’m following my nose along ‘Cow Lane’, and I come across a rather appropriate monument to bovines: Fergburger. Now, I’m sure in your life you’ve heard friends and authors and critics share their recommendations on food and fun. You should always greet it with skepticism, and really strive to make your own decisions – except in this case. I’m telling you here and now, that this hole-in-the-wall one-of-a-kind trailer serves up what is positively unequivocally without a doubt the absolutely best burger in the world. I do believe that cows willingly sacrifice themselves for the chance and hope that they’ll end up as a hamburger patty at this place. The bun is locally made, not too thick, and slightly toasted. The patty is sizzled to perfection – completely done, but supremely juicy with a bit of pink shading the middle. The cheese is local, thick and flavorful. The lettuce and tomato must have been picked from steroid farms, and are boldly surprising in their flavor and moisture content. Then there’s the onions – which I’m sure are imported Maui sweet onions – so sharp, tangy and sweet all at the same time, that they become the ultimate compliment. By the way, this is just the cheeseburger, one of twelve or so varieties on their menu, and as an added bonus, they’re open really really late.

My taste buds fully satiated for the millennium, I head off towards home, stopping in one more terribly loud and obnoxious club. Obscure boastful easily forgotten lyrics flow out of an aggressive MC as his partner spins overly loud drum-and-bass. The freestyle atmosphere of the place is further complimented by the colorful psychadelia that adorns the walls, just above the heads of the hundred or so kids that are jammed into this tiny bar. I have to get three rum and cokes to use my card, but since I just want one, I pass the other two off and stroll away into the early morning.

As I’m sobering up (an easy thing to do on the uphill walk home), I realize it’s five a.m. It’s been a full day, and my sleeping bag screams my name in desire across the dark and quiet miles. Gaia whispers sweet nothings to me as I head home, and I listen to her birdsongs with a grin, my depression has thankfully evaporated.

I wake up twice that morning. Once at 7:30 to say goodbye to the twins, and Kang and Soo. The other when Tony rouses me at 10:20 and told me it was time to check out, unless I wanted to pay for another. I love Queenstown, and it’s been good to me, but it’s time to move on.

Posted 1.7.03 by Mike
Day 7 - Various Bungy Locales in the Queenstown area // Awake @ 0730L // ACTIVITIES: Bungy Jumping, Clubbin'

Despite my consumption of aspirin mere hours ago, I find myself waking up with a headache anyway. I’m waiting for that coffee to brew in the kitchen – it smells delicious, and holds a vague promise of further alleviating the dull pounding of my forehead. As I join fellow backpackers at the picnic table out front, inhaling the blue death of my morning cigarette and sipping on my cuppa, the conversation turns to my plans for the day. A pretty young Japanese girl iterates several times that the whole thing is “scary”.

I pack it off after my cup is done and head downtown to the A.J. Hackett Bungy Centre. The place is alive, though my brain is still not. I check in, get my weight, pay for my package (which I’d arranged several months before on the net), and as a last minute though, pay for the media package too – it’s an additional $110 NZ, but I’ll have a VHS tape and 9 pictures to go along with my memories. Now I’m outside waiting for the bus. It looks like Charlie and Jo, two backpackers from the hostel, are also going flying today. We share conversation before heading off on our respective buses to meet our respective fates.

By the time I get to the Kawaru Bridge, the site of the first commercial bungy jumps, I’m extremely nervous. The little souvenir shack is packed with people, and loud dance music infiltrates every pore as it drools out of the speakers. I poke and prod my way to the counter, check in, and get a little ticket. Looks like all I have to do now is make my way out to the bridge and go for it.

Out on the platform, my nerves really start to get the better of me. Roller coasters are surely no match for the fear, fright, and fun one must feel while jumping. I’m harnessed up – the guys are busy, and I’m just another customer up here. They count it down as I wave to the crowd. There’s no backing out, I’m hobbled out to the edge of the wooden platform, looking down at a raging river.

Don’t forget to write! © AJ Hackett

“Three…”

Deep breath in, glance to the camera and the crowd

“Two…”

Another glance down

“ONE”

Straight ahead now – and, following directions like a good boy, I attempt to jump headfirst onto the road bridge 100 meters in front of me, splaying my arms out to my sides.

The first thought is something regarding my total lack of hesitation.
The second thought is something about gravity.
The third is pure adrenalin, as I’m now well on my way to splashing in the river.
I notice a sound emanating from my mouth – it’s a hybrid scream, yell, and thrill of excitement. The water is screaming at me quickly – too quickly – and before I know it….

What a rush. © AJ Hackett
BOOOOIIIINNNNNG

Well, ok, it doesn’t actually make that sound, but were I a cartoon… The point is, the cord holds and pulls me back up rather quickly. The river recedes, then approaches as I fall the second time. One more bounce, and I’m reaching for the pole being extended by two guys in a river raft. They pull me in, on my back, and I’m so delierious with adrenalin and joy that I can’t even comprehend what they’re saying for a few seconds.

“First jump, eh mate?” says one

I mumble, incoherent, “yes”

“Owa, you a yank? Wotcha doin’ out here?” says the other

I’m talking about my vacation. Holy shit – I can’t believe I just did that! Yes, I’m a yank, I’m out here on vacation….

“Yeah? Wotcha job?”

I tell them – a brief summary. They’re laughing and joking with me as they drop me off on the shore. My legs are jelly – I can barely make it up the four flights of stairs. I grab my pack, my video, and wait for the bus.

The bus out to the Nevis gorge bungy crawls through town due to the large amount of construction occurring. When it reaches the turnoff, we find ourselves creeping up a one-car wide ledge with a sheer drop on one side, and an immoveable stone mass on the other. At the top, we get a lesson in harnessing as well as the dos and don’ts, of which there are relatively few. Mostly, we’re advised to “relax and have a good time”.

Riggght…relax…sure. The Nevis Highwire Bungy, as it’s formally known in social circles, is reputedly the highest static bungy jump in the world – and definitely in New Zealand. It’s 134 meters (roughly 440 feet) above a snaking Nevis river, which being so small in width and so far away offers no ‘comfort’ zone for jumpers. In addition to being so high up, it’s called a ‘highwire’ bungy because it is a small platform quite literally anchored by cabling (or wires), and otherwise hanging free over the gorge. To get to the pod – which looks quite unstable from afar – you climb in a miniature gondola car, six at a time, and speed along at 2 km/h to the pod.

The Nevis pod of death. © AJ Hackett
To be fair, I believe this is actually scarier than the jump, in its own right. I mean, the jump is 8 seconds of exhilaration and falling, whereas the gondola trip is more like three minutes of terror – especially if you’re agoraphobic (and thankfully I’m not). Still, once arrived in the pod, we gathered around the transparent plexiglass floorpanes to watch the jumpers. It was quite a sight, until the person was out of sight anyway. There is a point about halfway down where the jumper transforms from a humanoid figure into a tiny blob with a bunch of sticks coming out.

After several jumps, it’s my turn, and I’m very amped. I have a seat in the barer chair as they connect the bungy rope securely to my harness. With a thumbs up, I inch toward the platform to receive my countdown. Peering over the edge is like staring at death in a New York subway and flipping him off when he asks what the hell you’re looking at. I feel sweat pour out of places that don’t have sweat glands. The drop goes on forever and lands on jagged stones. I can be heard muttering “Holy shit!”

Like I said…holy shit! © AJ Hackett
“2…..1…fly!”

I leap with all my might, arms straight out like a platform diver, legs spread as much as they will, and try desperately to fly forward like Superman. Alas, gravity has something else in mind, and I’m very quickly pointing at the ground and falling at an astonishingly fast rate.

I leave my stomach and my voice behind in the first fifty feet, but after that, and I mean this sincerely, it’s all extreme thrill and mortifying fear coupled together like Monica and Ross. It goes on forever, yet it’s gone in one terrifying instant. My lungs were emptied three or for times on the way down, but I don’t remember yelling. What I do remember is thinking about halfway down “is this bungy going to catch?”

Look ma, no hands! © AJ Hackett

You must understand that I’m utterly thrilled to be doing this, and when the cord catches my harness on my second return bounce, I’m almost sad to be done. On the way up, though, I release a catch like I’m supposed to, and flip right side up, only my leg is caught on the other side of the bungy cord, kind of wedged in like it may or may not be something that’s keeping me from falling. Naturally (or instinctively?) I hold my leg there and ride the harness like a bucking bronc all the way up, not wishing to plummet without a guaranteed way of getting back up. Damn that silly hydraulic winch.

The boys operating the pod give me some good-natured ribbing about my unfounded caught-leg fears before complimenting my jump as being “Kiwi natural” and “picture perfect”. What I wouldn’t give for a beer right now.

A few more jumpers head down, some of the sporting a giant Brazilian flag in their hands. Now, I was quite sure the flag would act as a parachute of sorts, slowing their descent, but I can’t detect any slowing. The flag flutters loudly like a giant sail in irons, and flaps against the individual jumpers all the way down. Then – disaster. Some jackass who hasn’t been paying attention for the last hour gets to the edge and on the count of one, proceeds to fall – not jump – fall FEET FIRST. It’s really more of a faux-pas than a disaster, but the jumper will get quite a muscular jolt as they’re whipped around once the bungy cord catches at the feet. Injury appears to have taken the day off, and the jumper is spared on all counts, save for a relentless and humorous tongue lashing by the pod crew.

After collecting our video tapes and souvenirs of the jump, it’s time to head back to AJ Hackett central. Back at the Deco hostel, I’m riding high, and telling everyone, whether they want to hear it or not, about my days jumps. Jo the Aussie has also made a few jumps, and we swap experiences like baubles. I try to catch a nap and rest up for my evening jumps at the ledge, but to no avail. So, back to the living room to share more tales of fright and fear.


The infamous Ledge bungy.

Eventually, the time arrives for me to head to the ledge. I drive my car over to the parking lot, and head inside to catch the tramway. I just happen to hop in a car carrying Andrea, a cute AJ attendant with huge crystal-pool blue eyes, stark blonde hair and an effective but snaggly smile. We chat amiably about working conditions at AJ Hackett as we traverse the slope via tram. Once at the top, we clamber over to the Ledge check in station and I present my jump card.

Here now, on a drizzling cool gray evening 400 meters above Queenstown, NZ, is the moment of truth. This time I’m wearing yet another harness, though the drop is of similar height to the first ‘tame’ bungy of the day. Why the difference? Here at the Ledge, below which there is not water but rocks and trees and a steep declining slope, you are allowed to perform tricks during your jump. Well, that’s a fine idea – and I think I’ll go for the flip-while-taking-a-picture maneuver, perfected in the early 90’s by adventure pioneers. With a five foot lead, and a running start, I run to the edge of the Ledge and flip off while snapping a fearsome photo.




Flippin’ good time. Both © AJ Hackett

What they forget to tell me is that I should be holding the harness rope out to the side so I don’t become tangled in the retrieving winch. Luckily, it proves of no consequence. I take another panoramic shot while suspended over crushing boulders and the lovely city of the lake. Ah…3 jumps of exhilaration and bliss have come to an end.

But wait, there’s more! For the low-low price of only $23.50, I get a fourth jump absolutely free (kind of)! The video guy even agrees to put it on the tape I paid a mere $25 bucks for, which I figure is remarkably kind. So, with a skip and wink to Andrea, I’m back out at the Ledge.

This time, I want to see how many flips I can do before busting my hip on the return snap. I aim for the sky, haul ass, jump high and tuck into a ball (a little behind schedule), managing to flip once, twice, and a half before being tugged back to reality. I love this country!


Queenstown behind, and a full day of fun

So, with remorse, I bid the Ledge, and my full day of adrenalin aideu. This had been one of my premire events, something I was really looking forward to, and now it was behind me. In my utter despair (grin), I decide to wash the feeling down with some beer and make some friends in the process. Conveniently, a package store is located just down the street from the hostel. I load up with a case of canned Speight’s, and two bottles of wine.

I put the beer and the wine in Deco’s kitchen, and embark on a mission to inform everyone staying in the place that I’ve purchased beer and wine, and they’re for everyone. I get a lot of suspicious “whys”, and happily tell them that I’m still high on adrenalin and I don’t know any better. Though I wish it to be a party atmosphere, I never quite generate one. No matter, for in the process I meet the Dutch twins Majorlein and Nathalie (the latter of which I am very enamored), as well as the Korean couple Kang and Soo. We sit in the kitchen sharing stories and lives, as I alternate between water and Speight’s. The twins are reluctant to have more than a glass of wine apiece, and though I earnestly try to convince them otherwise, they cease drinking before the moon makes an appearance.

Soo on the other hand is helping herself to the wine, and has already offered my stomach the chance to participate in her evening meal. Kang goes to the fridge, asking repeatedly if I’m sure it’s OK if he has a beer. “Yes, of course, please,” I answer, and then, waiting for the moment he takes his first sip, put on a face of fury, and demand “What the hell are you doing with my beer??!?!?”

The look on his face is priceless, but I cannot let him suffer long, and I tell him I’m joking. We all get a hearty laugh out of that. It’s spicy rice and curry time now, and as I digest the delicious meal, we share some more conversation. Around midnight, and reluctantly, it’s bedtime. Everyone else is gone, and the day tomorrow begins early. I leave a note on the fridge reminding everyone that the booze is in fact free before I head off to a restless night filled with dreams of falling.

Posted 7.4.03 by Mike
Day 6: Wanaka - Queenstown - Wanaka - Queenstown // Awake @ 0700L // ACTIVITY: Driving

I wake up early, with a mildly sore throat. The room seems frigid outside my sleeping bag, but no time can be spared. Up and out of bed, I scarf some Muesli bars and search desperately for some coffee. There is none save for the instant stuff, and 1 boiling pot of water later I’m finally “awake”. I take the time to make a call back home to John & Tammy. My words are long since forgotten, but it’s a good way to waste 15 minutes waiting for sunlight to grab a hold of this sleeping town. On my way out, I grab a local horse ranch’s brochure – apparently it’s only 25 km away on Crown Range Road. Why does that name seem familiar to me?


Morning on Lake Wanaka 10/1

I’m speeding at a pretty good clip on Crown Range Road when I come to my first suicide bridge – it’s a one laner with two blind corners. I’ve got the right of way, and a quick wish for luck seems perfectly natural as I round the bend and zoom across. The scenery moves from rolling hills to towering mounds and mountains. The drive passes quickly and I soon realize that I’ve just passed Backcountry Saddle Expeditions. A quick U-ey and I’m in the driveway. I have no idea what time tours start – I’m just stopping by to see if I can get to ride a horse today. After all, I’ve got all kinds of time to burn before making Queenstown my next home.

A little redheaded firecracker with a Kiwi drawl greets me with the largest smile this side of Wanaka. She wants to know where I’ve been, what I do, what I’m doing out here on vacation. Debbie’s seems sincere and genuine, and I’m all too happy to share the feeling. Soon enough, I’m grooming the Appaloosa “Amigo”, who will be my ride in about an hour, and asking questions about the different horses she’s feeding. Some part of me is petrified that a horse will up and kick me in the chest, but I maintain calm and a healthy respect for the equines.


Galaxy & Amigo grazing. Backcountry Saddle Expeditions 10/1

The sun is shining quite brightly now – there are only a few clouds in the sky and I swear the blue tint is deeper and truer than I’ve ever known of the sky before. The air is warming slightly, and is cool but not unpleasant. The other riders have gathered and we stand around talking and grooming and trying on helmets. Now I’m sure there’s another name for a rider’s helmet – but I don’t remember it now, so it’s a helmet. I find one that fits me and smile and flirt with everyone I can. I’m nervous about the horses – I don’t want to hurt one, I don’t want to be hurt by one – and I don’t want to be embarrassed.


Me & Amigo checking out the Cardrona Valley 10/1

Debbie, myself, and four others set off at a slow walk across the road. It’s only going to be a two-hour trek, but I’m excited about exploring the region on horseback; after all, this is the first time I’ve done such a thing. It’s day 6, and I’m my experiences continue to mount. Debbie is spilling out information about the horses, herself, and the Cardrona Valley – which is where we happen to be doing the trek. Once everyone feels comfortable at a walk, we pick it up to a slow trot. When Debbie stops to open a sheep gate, we all stop and almost all of us don’t pull the reins back up when our horses start grazing.


Another goregeous day on the South Island. Cardrona Range in distance 10/1

There are only two more parts to this story that are worth relating – I mean how much can happen in two hours, right? We all work our horses up to the top of a hill and take great pictures. Debbie soon tells us that we’re not supposed to let the horses graze, but she’s not really concerned. I spend the last hour being alternately cruel and forgiving to Amigo, letting him graze only when I don’t feel like fighting his pull on the reins. He gets his revenge though – as we are ever increasing the comfortable speed at which we ride our horses, I get into the canter at one point, and try to set my rhythm to Amigos so my balls aren’t crushed.


View of Cardrona Range from atop Amigo 10/1

It doesn’t work – as we’re in the final canter-gallop on the way home, I literally have to pull Amigo to a stop with cries of “Whoa!” and hard yanks on the reins. My scrotum feels like it’s in my throat, and my testicles are so tender that I can barely stand to trot the horse the rest of the way. Debbie has a grin on her face that strikes a balance between sympathetic regret and devious apathy.

“Sorry mate – shoulda’ splained betta how ta keep ya bum planted on the saddle. Ye gots to lean back into it and press ya bum down or – well, ya know now ay?”


The infamous Crown Range Road. 10/1

At least the views were nice – but I’m getting a bit hungry now. I slam another Muesli bar and hit Crown Range Road, heading towards Queenstown. After a few miles the road begins to take on a remarkably sinister twisting form. I’m in second gear, going uphill at 40 miles an hour, snaking back and forth constantly – and I haven’t even hit the hairpins, which I know are out here somewhere. Still, the views at the top can’t be beat, and I’m sure I’ll post more than one picture with this narrative. At one point, I’m in first gear heading down the 3% or better gradient watching signs of “25 km/hr!” and “Danger!” fly by. All of a sudden – it dawns on me where I’ve heard about Crown Range Road before. Steve, the Ace Rental Cars agent mentioned this in his “forbidden roads to drive on” list. Ha ha – that makes sense, because the road is only getting worse. About 40 km into the drive, I come across a fantastic vantage point over Queenstown, and eagerly snap several pictures before I drive the hairpins.


Yikes. Crown Range Road 10/1

Hairpins, being so named because of their U-shaped narrow turns, dominate the hill. There are 4 in all, turning 2 times in each direction before reaching the bottom. It’s awesome – it’s fun – and ever so slightly frightening, only because looking down such a steep fall, you naturally wonder what would happen if your brakes fail. Just after the hairpin turns, the road rejoins Highway 6, a major artery connecting several towns with Queenstown. That is the way I should’ve gone, but as I find out later – I went the quick way. Fighting traffic, I crawl into town, covering 15 km in 45 minutes. The town has no lights, it’s full of traffic circles, and I’m trying to obey the rules of the road – so I’ll just ignore the truck that nearly broadsides me and honks his horn in fury.


Queenstown here I come! 10/1

Stupid Americans.

When I find a quiet side road, I pull over and decide which hostel I’m going to stay at. I end up choosing “Deco Backpackers” because of its free coffee, “party atmosphere” and “homey appeal”. It also happens to be less than 2 blocks away. As I pull in and begin unpacking, I realize I’ve left my jacket – the nice waterproof one – in the coat closet of the Purple Cow in Wanaka. Shit – now I gotta go back. Tony – the hyperactive desk watcher at Deco says no worries to holding my room. With no worries, I hit the road and head back to Wanaka.

Getting out of town is a lot easier, and before I can blink more than a handful of times, I’m winding up the hairpin turns. Of course I’m taking Crown Range Road again – after all, according to three different people, it’s almost twice as fast as the highway. Plus, I’m comfortable enough to pick up speed on the turns, and know which one laners are blind, and which I can safely ignore the “give way” sign.

The short version: Hitchhikers, snowboarders from Frankton trying to get back to Wanaka. Drop em off. Pick up my jacket – still in the closet (Whoo hoo!). Get garlic fries and gravy, and a curry roll. Hit Crown Range Road. Zoooooooom. Eat. The forbidden road. Faster. Eat. Come up with a silly song in my head about “eatin’ chips on the forbidden road”. Hairpins. Traffic. Gas up. Deco Backpackers.

Tony smiles broadly, “Oi, that was quick mate – didja fly or wot?” Yeah – I guess I did.

So I check into the room, and organize my bungy jumps for tomorrow. Tony assures me he’ll take care of all the arrangements – and sure enough, I get the same price for my Bungy Thrillogy (read: 3 jumps from 3 places). I reserved the date online a month or two ago, but Tony processes the sale and earns himself a nice little commission. He’s happy now, and quickly gives me the tour of the place I’ll call home for the next 3 days.

It’s a nice facility, named for its vague resemblance to Art Deco architecture. There are several dorm style rooms, plenty of beds and at least 20 other people in the place. A separate building houses more rooms, and a second living room area (minus the TV) and an open-air kitchen. For now, I’m in the first room off the main entrance, and unpack quickly. I shut the blinds and take a nice long nap.

It’s 6 or 7 PM now, and after a great hot shower, I head downtown. I know I’ve got to be up early tomorrow, but I just want to relax, meet some people, drink some beer, and generally have a good time. The first place I wander into is Winnie Bagoes, a popular bar/restaurant right in the middle of downtown. I just took out money, so I’m set for the night. I waltz up to the bar and order a Monteight’s, which I’ve already decided is my favorite brewer in NZ. After the one beer, I head off to see what else is in town, but not finding much going on just yet, I soon find myself back at Winnie’s. I grab another Monteight’s and order some Pizza Bread. It tastes ok, but I end up giving it away to the startled surprise of other people sitting around drinking. Several cigarettes later, the roof opens up – giant mechanical hinges extending it out like a box lid. I can see the stars just over the giant candle-chandelier. Life is sweet.

After awhile, I join the group of friendly looking folks sitting in front of the fireplace. As I’m sure I’ve explained before, the quickest way to make friends in New Zealand is to buy a round of drinks. Once that happens, I find that Maori Mike, Dave, Scotty, Shannon, Jenna, Joanne and Charlie are all pretty happy to meet me. We sit around for the next two hours getting pissed and talking about life. Off to Cow Lane we go, looking for another venue. I’m relentless in my flirtations with Joanne, a tall Australian with a great sense of humor. We dance and laugh and drink, and I top off with water and cheese and bread. I don’t know why, but I give most of it away again. When I realize it’s 2 AM, I call it a night, say my goodbyes and head back to Decos.

It’s a hell of a walk – because it’s all uphill. And not gradual hills, but steep slopes. I’m not exaggerating here, it’s at least a 15% gradient – a hell of a climb when you’re drunk. At last I reach the Backpackers and go to open my door, only I forgot my fuckin’ key!!

Back to Winnie’s we go, and sure enough it’s still sitting on the table in front of the fireplace. I try to remember why the hell I ever pulled it out of my pocket, but can’t come up with a good reason. 30 minutes and an exhausted pair of legs later, I’m in my room popping aspirin and downing water. Goodnight cruel world – wake me up at 8.

Posted 12.1.03 by Mike
Preface:

On a relatively warm day in the middle of May – whilst hanging about in my Fort Worth hotel room, I picked up my complimentary copy of National Geographic Traveler and began flipping through the pages. I knew I had a large block of vacation time coming up – 30 days or more – and was eager to go somewhere in the Pacific, though I really didn’t know where in particular. I had vague notions of island hopping, then bouncing to New Zealand, and down to Australia before coming home – but had only recently learned that the chances of doing that were not bloody likely.

So here I was, reading about some of the hidden spots of my current home, Washington DC, picking up packing tips, and learning about the South Island of New Zealand. The latter article in particular caught my eye – as I found myself wanting to do nearly everything the writers had done – and then some. I circled the article, wrote some notes, and stuffed the mag away.

When I arrived back home, I started serious research into New Zealand – finding along the way that I’d have to buy my tickets, since getting an Air Force ‘hop’ that far west wasn’t going to happen. I also found that my allotted 3 weeks was not enough to see both islands of New Zealand and still do everything I wanted to do – so I opted for the more adventurous South Island. $1350 later and two months away from going, I had my round trip ticket(s) to get from DC national, through SFO, LAX, out to Auckland, and into Christchurch.

Those next two months passed like a snails race – and I was absolutely piqued the closer I got to my departure date. I received many excellent packing and solo-adventuring tips from my friends John and Tammy, as well as their [nice] North Face backpack, a camera with APS, and an EMS rated cold-weather sleeping bag. I purchased some nice new hiking boots, with the assistance of Christopher, and broke them in over the next three weeks. My parents provided an excellent waterproof jacket and some convertible all-weather pants, and I purchased some all-weather shorts and a heavier jacket.

Then, on September 23rd, at 3 o clock in the morning, I drove through the darkness of Maryland’s highway 4. After parking my car on base and catching an ‘interesting’ cab to the airport – I tried to check in for my 6 am flight. It didn’t help that it had left the day before. I paid my extra $100 bonehead charge to change the flight for that morning, checked my bags, and headed through to the terminals. This was the third ‘bad’ thing to happen – the first being my new jackets’ lack of front zipper, the second - my friend canceling on a deal to take me to the airport and pick me back up.

No worries – as they say – off to San Francisco for a night’s stay with my aunt and uncle and a quick visit with my cousins. The next night I was on my way to New Zealand with a planned itinerary and a lot of dreams. Susie – the orthodontist from Brisbane – shared some laughs with me as we eagerly awaited the passing of the hours. The food was great, the entertainment grand – and though I was happy I’d chosen Qantas for a carrier – I knew it was only the first good thing that was going to happen to me for the weeks to come.

My planned itinerary included many activities, and many sights I wanted to see. Some I had reservations for, others I didn’t – and would just hope for an empty spot. What was more important was checking off every ‘must’ item on the list – which included everything from hiking the Milford Track to seeing the ‘Wizard on the Square’ in Christchurch. Now to see if I could do it.




PART I – THE UNKNOWN AND UNEXPECTED

Day 1 : Land in Christchurch @ 0830 L // 26 September 2002

“So it begins” is the first coherent thought trickling through my head. It brings a huge grin to my face seeing the rolling green splash into the thundering blue Pacific Ocean as I eat my hot mushroom quiche, yogurt and sausage breakfast. The Qantas 737-376 descends into the relatively small but bustling Christchurch airport after a brief flight from Auckland.

When it comes to people, food, plants, animals, and tiny specks of dirt on your well-worn hiking shoes, the MEF (Kiwis' version of the Agriculture Department) is adamant about it not getting into the country. Kiwis pride themselves in having zero biocontamination, which goes a long way in explaining the beagles running around sniffing everyone’s luggage. As you process through – everything is questioned, with stiff penalties for lying or trying to pull one over on them. I had my boots inspected (and it was a real pain to produce them, since they were strategically buried in my borrowed North Face backpack) – even though they were only a month old, and hardly broken in. And, of course, I declared my Ramen noodle packets.

But that was back at Auckland. Here in Christchurch, the largest city on the South Island, I’m eager, and probably looking silly with my huge grin as I collect my bags. The shuttle I end up climbing in isn’t the one I’m looking for, but it serves the same purpose – taking me through downtown to my rental car company for a flat $15.00NZ. I meet up with Steve, the manager of Ace Rental Cars’ Christchurch office. As he checks out my license and jokes with me, I fill out some basic car rental papers and mentally psych myself up for the mind-taxing task of driving on the left side of the road from the right side of the car. He’s kind to mention that “some” of the roads have a “few” one-lane bridges. I have no idea that I’ll see no less than 20 in my first 2 days on the island.

As I’m packing the car, Steve engages me on the finer points of the New Zealand healthcare system, lawsuits, politics, the number of sheep on the island, the fact that most vacationers are in a terrible rush, the high cigarette prices, and (finally) the places not to miss on the South Island. I hop in my Mazda Familia – a white four door sedan that was to be my car for the next 3 weeks – and ask about Ace’s smoking policy.

Steve quickly quips “I’m not the bloody police, mate. And I won’t be able to see you anyway. Just make sure you don’t burn the car down.”
So, for a mere $29.00NZ a day (or $13.50 US), I drive away – enjoying the thrilling experience of driving on the left side of the road while simultaneously trying to smoke, flipping through songs on a CD player, looking at a map and ignoring the jet-lag that’s already trying to shut my mind down.

The “highway”, once out of the suburbs of Christchurch, becomes a simple two-lane paved road. About 30 minutes along the way to the ecotourism capital, Kaikoura, I come across a wine region with several wineries. Though I had not previously planned to do any wine tasting, sampling, or drinking – I decide to check out one of the wineries anyhow. The one I pull into, The Canterbury House, has a set of steeply rising roofs arching high above the main building – almost faux medieval (and intentionally I’m sure). The patio is covered by a wide-lattice wood beam structure, and the off-center entryway beckons.


The Canterbury House Winery 9/26

Inside is Mary, the first local to greet me with a smile. I taste the Cabernet Sauvignon, as well as a decent Blanc and Merlot, happily discussing my recent arrival and my upcoming adventure throughout the South Island. As I leave, I feel obligated to take a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon (new vintage, first year for about $12.00 US) with me. Tossing it in the trunk, I hit the road again.

After a time, the road starts to wind, throwing curves of 85, 75, and right down the line to 45 km/hr at me. I slow down – there really is no choice – when the sign says 45, chances are it really means 40. Since the road is winding this way and that, and I’m now traveling uphill at a fairly good incline, my excitement slows somewhat, and I begin to really take notice of all the sheep and scenery played about me. The day itself is a gorgeous one – scattered high clouds ironed into a silk blue sky – and it seems as if I can smell the thrill of the days ahead of me. The road continues its twisting and turning, eventually bringing me to cliff edges with steep drop offs, and descending down hill with 25 km/hr switchbacks. Suddenly it spits me out onto a beachfront road, eye to eye with the boiling Pacific Ocean.

Almost immediately, I stop along the blue-green waters to take a few pictures – some of myself, and some of the scenery around me. It’s all very startling – seeing the road plow through the seaside cliffs in narrow granite tunnels – beholding the strange color of the Pacific – gazing at the nearby Kaikoura range that drops into the sea only a bit further up the coast. Even though the weather is clouding and drizzling somewhat, the awesome sights still astound me.


Gull in flight, Kaikoura 9/26



First self shot of the trip, Kaikoura 9/26



Kaikoura Coast Road, 9/26

It’s only a short drive now to Kaikoura – quickly covered in another 15 minutes of winding road. There have already been two signs welcoming me, though I still haven’t found the town center. I’m looking for a specific backpacker’s [ed note – by “backpackers”, I mean a Youth hostel – a small hotel-like business that caters to budget travelers] mentioned in the Lonely Planet Guide – but as I pull into the tiny shorefront town center (which is bustling pretty good), I only see one place – a simple, large building with the painted logo “BACKPACKERS”. I stretch before I reach the lobby – my muscles aching a bit from the flight over. I ask the woman attending the desk if this is the spot I’m looking for. It is, and she explains that the old place, being somewhat shoddy, had gone out of business and was immediately repurchased at foreclosure price. The money saved went to all new paint, beds and linens, showers and curtains, toilets, washer/dryer, phones and furnishings for the TV room. Even though it wasn’t a BBH hostel [ed note - that is, one of the 290 hostels included in the discount system of BBH] – it was still more than reasonable at $20NZ.

Food is the first order of business once I’ve dropped my things off in the room. Although Qantas had served up delicious hot meals – all this excitement is making me hungry, and it’s lunchtime – at least locally. So I duck into the crayfish restaurant next door for a ‘long white’ cappuccino and a ‘ham and cheese toastie’. Finishing that, I scout the post office for some postcards and stamps – and also throw in an ultra-quick email session at the local Kodak to fire off an “I’m here and safe” note to friends and family.

Back at the hostel, I head upstairs to get in a hot shower. In my head, I’m thanking Tammy for helping me pack light, already realizing how foolish it would have been to be lugging around an extra bag of clothes I wouldn’t ever really need. The shower feels great – being my first in over 24 hours. It’s not the hottest or the most powerful – but it gets the job done nicely. Feeling fresh and clean, I poke my head into the TV room. There I meet my first fellow backpacker: Chris. This Brit is right in the middle of a round-the-world backpacking tour, and I’m very interested in his (brief) stories about Australia, Thailand, and Vietnam. There are others in the room as well, though most are fooling around with their own business – so I made a quick offer to take anyone down to the Seal colony – an offer no one accepts at the moment.

It’s 3:00 PM and I’m back in the car – ten minutes through the town to Kean Point. The change is only slightly dramatic, as the buildings fade, and the rocky shore replaces them. There are low cliffs here, and an large area of exposed, wet rock, which is normally where the seal colony likes to hang out. I snap a few shots – eager to see some fur seals, but am disappointed. No worries though – and I head up Kean Point around the bend, navigating tricky rocks and sea-crossings, stumbling into the seaside end of someone’s sheep farm. Continuing on to a short headland, I pass by sheep and gulls time and again, but unfortunately see only seal-bones, and no actual seals.


A gull stands watch over the Kaikoura Range, Kean Pt 9/26


Waves looking for attention at Kean Pt 9/26


Fur Seal bones at Kean Point 9/26

Undaunted, I head up a short trail to an observation hilltop – which quickly reminds me how out of shape I am as I huff up the steep climb. Once on top, I offer to take a photo of a Japanese couple that’s sharing the view – they’re only too happy to accept and then return the favor. And just like that - my first roll of film is gone.


Me at Kean Point 9/26 – happy to be here!

The point reminds me of several locales crammed tightly together – it has elements of Zion or Bryce Canyon within its rock formations. The coast has a distinct North California or Oregon feel to it – the wildlife reminds me of Monterrey. Nearby, the splendorous mountains echo of New Hampshire, or possibly the Sierra Nevadas. That it all rolls together in one picture is something that doesn’t occur to often on our precious Earth – and already I’m grateful I took this trip.

Now, since I know I’ve got a big day tomorrow – it’s time to socialize. Finding myself back at Sleepy Whale Backpackers [the hostel’s name], I meet Kristy from Edinburgh and Francis from Glasgow in the kitchen. Kristy is on a semi-round the world travel deal, and has just finished working in Australia. Francis seems quiet, either feeling us or herself and the story behind her piercings to be uninteresting. Not long after, I meet up with my two roommates – Richie and Martin. Richie, a 40-year-old ex-soccer player from Birmingham, U.K. is doing a self-paced laid back round the world adventure. He’s cool, casual and has a great sense of humor. Martin from Manchester England has been here before on a work stint, he got hooked and now he’s back on his own terms.

Somehow or another – and I’ll always say it was my idea – we all end up down the street at the local (only?) pub in the main section of town. The pub is about half full – and based on the number of stares we get, I’d say it’s mostly locals. We grab two tables near the heat lamps, and gather round, shouting a round or two at a time from the bar. After the first two rounds, Fez and Yolanda show up – a traveling couple from the UK to join the fray. Pints of Speight's and Mac's later, we find ourselves discussing various hostels throughout New Zealand and the world, traveler tales, and eventually (as it always goes) about how screwy a place the world can be. Richie has a lot to say about racism in England – and, being a public figure, he’s experienced more than his fair share. His explanation of how bad things really are over there puts a somber note over the session – and just as the laughs start back up – I excuse myself to get some sleep before tomorrow’s whale watching event.

The walk home is quick, especially since I’m 5 beers into the crisp chilly night. Once in bed, I hit the lights and within 10 minutes fall into a dreamless peaceful slumber. Day one is over, and already I have pages worth of memories and a whole roll of film.


Day 2: Kaikoura Whale Watch @ 0800 / Drive to West Coast @ 1230 // Awake at 0530L //ACTIVITIES: Whale Watching, Driving, Hiking, Socialising

It’s 5:30 AM and my new travel alarm is making barely perceptible whoots and bleeps. Richie, rousing when he hears me get up, is asking again what the meeting time is supposed to be. As I down some (instant) coffee on the deck with a heart-starting cigarette, I admire how gorgeous the morning is. The sun splashes into the mountain scenery as it creeps above the flat blue line of the Pacific Ocean. I grab my sheets and pack my clothes before taking a quick pseudo-shower (in other words, deodorant, soap face, brush teeth) and head downstairs to check out. It’s only 6:30 AM, so I feel a little bad about waking up the hostess just to turn sheets in and get my key deposit back, but we do what must be done. Then Richie and I head down to the “Whaleway Station” for our 7:00 check in.

Standing on the edge of the pacific, watching the sun creep further up, Richie and I trade stories and commentary until at 7:00 AM, we’re let in to Whale Watch Kaikoura. I quickly confirm my seat and Richie gets a lucky cancellation and is now able to make the early boat. We head into Flukes café, where I get a nice hot and strong espresso and some toast and pastries to subside my stomach’s protests. Around 7:30 a large group of 40 or so gathers to watch a safety video and board the bus for the jaunt down to the South Bay, where our sleek looking boat Maka Whui [name is not known to be correct] awaited us.

Thanks to a brilliant stroke of luck, the last seat (mine) is located in the back of the boat, right next to the exit we’ll be using for wildlife viewing today, and a much smoother ride than further up front. Rex, our part Maori tells us a little bit about the Sperm Whales we’ll be hunting, as we scout out our windows. The boat captain radios circling helicopters and local fishing boats for directions. Soon enough, the boat motor slows, and we’re advised to head for the upstairs deck or foredeck to view a Sperm whale on the surface.

I elatedly grab my camera and go zipping out the back door, up to the front port side of the top deck. From there, my scouting eyes quickly find out target, a sperm whale spouting water out his blowhole every 20-25 seconds or so. I take a lot of pictures, hoping at least some of them will turn out decently. [Though I later found this was not to be the case]


Captain Ahab could not be reached for comment, Kaikoura 9/27

We stay up there waiting for the elusive tail shot – but in my excitement, I prematurely snap the camera and blow the opportunity. Hopefully, this won’t be the only whale sighting of the day. After making sure no other whales are in the immediate area, we continue on – stopping to circle a couple of royal albatross on our way to the next Sperm.


Two Royal Albatross, Kaikoura 9/27

I happily snap away – feeling quite justified in using up an entire roll of film for this one event. Oh well – we can’t all be master photographers, right? Shortly, we come across Sperm Whale #2, and watch him for about five minutes. I’m a little more patient this time, and manage to get a fairly decent ‘tail shot’.


The Sperm Whale Tail, Kaikoura 9/27

As soon as he dives, we’re on our way to a pod radioed in by one of the local fishermen doubling as a spotter. As we skim heavily through the water, Rex duly informs us what an above average day we were having. I suppose that it’s some relief, after spending the $110 NZ for the three-hour tour (Any Gilligan reference is unintentional). We swing in rather fast to the ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’, and circle the pod of whales before cutting engines and drifting in. As we clamber for the exits again, we’re greeted by a special double feature; two sperm whales (possibly one of them a child) have surfaced on our port side, and two more are frolicking on the boat’s right side. We watch all four of them with somber enjoyment until the last of them decides to be done with his ten minute roll and dives for the bottom to feed on some fish. Now, unfortunately, it’s time to head back to the South Bay.

Heading back, Rex puts in a video for us detailing the background of the area as well as the Sperm Whale’s history, near extinction, and current plights. (For those of you who don’t know – Sperm Whales were so named by the early whalers that hunted them: upon slicing open this particular species’ head, the whalers found a slick thick white sperm-like substance and mistakenly believed it was part of the whale’s reproductive system.) As we stream along, the captain points out two transient Humpback whales in the distance off our port side, a rarity in the early Spring. There will be no closer view for us though, unless we want to skip seeing a pod of dolphins swim with the boat – and no one wants to miss that. Rex explains a bit about the Humpbacks as well – namely their competition during breeding season, and the most recognizable aspect of the Humpbacks: their song. During the beginning of the breeding season, each male Humpback makes his own song, and merrily sings it in hopes of finding a mate. The most fertile female will always choose the male with the best song – and once the males realize they are not the lucky ones, they begin imitating the more popular males. By the end of the season, they are all singing the same (or at least very similar songs).


Two Dusky Dolphins swimming alongside, Kaikoura 9/27

In a rather sudden move, the captain swings sharply right and cuts the engines. The doors are flung open, and we all head out onto the deck one last time. About ten Dusky Dolphins are jumping along in the water, swimming in circles, and generally amusing themselves and us. I follow the playful creatures along, trying to get the best pictures I can, but having no true idea how the photos will turn out. The dolphins are putting on an amazing show though – and when the captain fires the engine up and heads us home again, the Duskys delight us by jumping in front of the bow wake. Out they fly – just in front of the bow – then dive under and drift back or to the side, so the next dolphin gets a chance.


The Duskys lead the boat, Kaikoura 9/27

All in all, the show is fantastic – total wildlife count: 6 sperms, 2 humpbacks, 2 royal albatross and 10 or more Dusky dolphins. It’s definitely worth the money I threw at it – and an excellent way to pass time in Kaikoura. After all, this was the original for-profit eco-touring industry of the town – it’s how the town makes its money and stays in the public eye – yet the business is not over-commercialized, which is real nice. In fact, Rex tells us about the current moratorium on new eco-tourism licenses in the area to prevent further impact. At the dock, we step off the twin-engine catamaran back and take the bus back to our cars to go our merry ways. I say goodbye to Richie, thank the whale watching staff, and go in search of the fur seals at the seal colony again.

As soon as I pull up at Kean Point, I notice a few people on the rocks in the low tidal basin. They have cameras in hand, and are very interested in two blobs on the rocks in front of them. I cautiously hurry down to the same perch, and snap a few photos of the sleepy looking fur seals, now having seen everything that Kaikoura has to offer to eco-tourists.


Fur Seal wakes up to see what’s up, Kaikoura 9/27

On my way out of town, I pick up some ‘Italian Pizza made by an Aussie in New Zealand’ ($9 NZ for a ‘small’ three topping) and scarf it down at a picnic area just outside the town limits. The fat looking magpies get my scraps (though probably not the first pizza they’ve had), and I hit the road at noon with a full tank of gas, prepared for four to five hours of drive time.

With my MP3 CD of music, I take to the winding roads, slithering along the mountainsides, brushing against hills and valleys, one-lane-ing across rain-swollen streams, and boring through the heart of the South Island. I fly along at a pretty good pace for most of the early part of the drive, excepting the occasional slow down for sheep and dogs herding along the road. Somewhere in the first half hour of driving, “I’ll Be Here Awhile” by 311 comes on – and it strikes an instant chord with me, seeming to echo my own feelings about this trip - a largely a spiritual venture for me. I sing along at a 3 percent downgrade, switching back left and right, slowing for most of the scenery, and often stopping to hop out and take pictures. Rainbows follow me as I break from the Kaikoura range and rush toward the Spenser Mountains, which are in the northern center of the South Island. The flat expanse lasts all of 20 minutes before I’m snaking through the passes again on my way to the Lewis Pass, a high altitude crossing.


The clouds surrounding Lewis Pass in the distance. Highway 7 9/27

The lack of toilets through this area is a definite downer, and since I’m fighting jet lag, I’ve been drinking quite a bit of water (which is really good here, but more on that later). Whilst passing by a scenic outlook that was just beyond an overbridge, my bladder could hold no longer, and I relieve myself well away from both the waterfall that the bridge crossed over and the dead sheep that appears to have gotten very lost about 3 months previously. The bridge is caked in graffiti boasting about minor accomplishments and small people long forgotten by this mountain. When I head back to the car, a gentleman who has just pulled in with his family tells me I’m lucky. “Why’s that?” I ask. “Ya left your keys in and ya car runnin’ mate,” he retorts. And while it was a glaring oversight on my part, my only reply is “That’s just coz I trust you Kiwis”. We shared a brief laugh, and I hit the road again.

On and on I drive – and while the scenery is grand, I’m dying for a break, but I also know I’m racing daylight to the West Coast. Shortly after the snow-caked Lewis Pass, I cruise by a ‘Waterfall Trail’ entrance and slam. Well, not slam, but I stop pretty quickly, and turn around, heading back to the trail. The sign promises a ten minute trip, so I throw on my rain jacket and plunge into the thick damp of the temperate rainforest.

I skirt around some thick mud – lightly stepping on fallen twigs to circle around the pulpy puddle before continuing on the soggy sod and gravel path. It soon slices through the rainforest and dances along the edge of a raging stream. As I proceed along, I occasionally stop to take photos of the torrent, wondering where the actual waterfall is – you see, following a trail up a waterfall can be somewhat harder than following it back down – the gradient continues to increase as the path’s width shrinks considerably. Not long into it, I’m breathing heavy. [Of course, that was due mostly to me being terribly out of shape and a regular smoker.


Along the waterfall trail. Lewis Pass 9/27

At this point, the going slows somewhat as I begin to capture the cool damp air deep in my lungs and really take heed of the extreme variety of plant life that surrounds me. It’s about this point that a patch of white catches my eye - snow here in the middle of a rainforest. You don’t see that everyday, now do you? After clambering over some rocks, I arrive at a wooden landing that hangs over the creek and frames a nice waterfall – but it doesn’t look impressive enough to title an entire trail after. Ah – no matter, I snap a photo (that didn’t turn out) and am about to head back when I notice that curiously enough, the trail keeps winding upwards.

Now you have to understand by this time I was fairly beat since I had traveled a ways uphill, and though the scenery was fantastic and I was the only one out here, it still wore me out a bit. On top of that, I was about twenty minutes into a ‘ten minute’ trail.

Still – I continue on, following the rocky path over a few more inclines and listening to the stream grow louder and louder. It all happens pretty quickly after that – I round a bend and there it is – The Waterfall.


The gold at the end of the waterfall trail. Lewis Pass 9/27

It’s kind of hard to miss, isn’t it? I get as close as I can and meditate on the whiny-weakling session I’d just gone through. Then, I inhale deeply and truly appreciate the waterfall for all it is before reluctantly yet quickly bounding back down the path to my car. It’s rapidly getting darker and I have yet a ways to go.


This waterfall was definitely worth the trip! Lewis Pass 9/27

Back on the highway, I handle the car smoothly through the sets of winding turns as I descend through the rest of Lewis Pass and onto a flatter (yet still twisting) road. The air around here is very damp, and my wipers remain on constantly. At about four in the evening, I come across some old coal mining shaft and bridge outside the city of Greymouth – where, by the way, I was originally planning to stay the night. Now, as I step out of the car into frigid windy air, I make a spot decision to continue the extra 45 clicks down to Hokitika – a smaller town. There wasn’t much to see at the coal mine anyway – unless you’re into that sort of thing, and I’m certainly not.

The road down to Hokitika, conversely, is a downright challenge. I’m now skimming the Western Coast of the South Island – hanging right next to a howling Tasman Sea that’s trying to infect the area with a lovely dark squall. Rain beats fiercely against my windshield and roaring westerlies buffet my car from side to side. It’s about this time, with headlights on full and eyes straining through the slashing wipers that I notice I’m approaching another one lane bridge. This one seems to have something running along it as well – but I can’t tell what it is …but wait a minute. Ah – interesting – a pair of railroad tracks runs straight though – and I’m guessing they have the right of way. So, as soon as oncoming traffic crosses, a group of three of us in cars hustle across the suicidal bridge – hoping an out-of-control locomotive isn’t steaming around the blind corner.


My first experience with a one-lane rail bridge. West Coast 9/27

Sure, you can call me dramatic if you want – but you can plainly see it really is a one lane bridge with a railroad on a blind corner. In fact, between Hokitika and Greymouth, there are two of them! Whoo hoo – I love New Zealand.


Sittin on the tracks waiting to cross the one-lane rail bridge. West Coast 9/27

It’s around six in the evening, and as I search through the dimly lit streets of Hokitika, I find the house I’m looking for: Just Jade Experience Backpackers – located on the residential end of the Revell street. I get out of the car and stretch my legs before knocking on the door. A jovial balding man a few inches shorter than me opens it. “Howdy mate” says he with a big grin “what can I do for you?”

“Well, I emailed you about staying here tomorrow night – but I’m here early and wondering if you have a place to stay” say I.

“Oh yeah” [sounds like awer yeahr] – “sure thing mate” he says, holding the door open and walking inside with that ‘you can come inside’ kind of gait. I step into the ‘foyer’ as he tells me that I’ll be staying in a double since there’s a family occupying the only other room – the dorm style with 4 beds. And that’s ok with me – as long as I can pay dorm room price. Being a friendly businessman, he quickly agrees.

I get to meet his wife Michiko, a Japanese woman who appeared to be about 35 to 40, as well as the South African family which is sitting around the table. [they were Danish I think – or he was French Canadian and she was Swedish, but they had married in France and moved to South Africa before working as doctors in some country or another, and now, they’re vacationing in New Zealand.] My worries disappear as Gordon, the owner of the home, offers me a cuppa.

A hot shower and an unpack later – I’m on my toes and ready to check out the Nightlife of Hokitika. There really was only one place to go, according to Gordon – Southland Hotel. All the other backpackers in town (if there were any) would be across the street or in their own backpacker establishments. I apparently was staying at the smallest place in town. I drive down, and though I could’ve easily walked in so small a town – I chooe not to brave the cold wet wind still tearing up the West Coast.

After some great pasta, I humble up to the bar and order a pint of the first tap I see – Speights. Everyone in the place seems fixated on the gigantic TV located at the front. The pub is good size – with the bar in a central location opposite the TV, and a pool table shucked into the corner. It looks recently remodeled and the restroom is airy and clean. A band is in the process of setting up as the rest of the room burns holes into the Rugby match on the telly.

I hit my second pint by trying a foul-tasting brew called Macs’ Gold – the equivalent of Bud I guess – because I sure don’t enjoy it. As I’m drinking, I chat up the wait staff behind the bar trying to figure out exactly what was going on in this game of Rugby. I’ll be the first to admit I’m somewhat apprehensive about approaching any groups of people in this place – but that problem fixes itself when the blokes next to me hit their fourth shot. These guys were drinking a shot of every liquor the bar offered. They’re in the middle of a Bacardi shot when I start paying attention. Only two sets of hanging bottles comprise the liquor supply in this place – each consisting of 10 relatively well-known brands. When they hit the Jim Beam, their tenth bottle – I shout for the round, and quickly become the hit of the night.

As it turns out, in New Zealand, offering to buy a round or “shouting” is the best way to make friends in a bar, or anywhere really. As I’m buying the round, these two, Steve and Andrew, insist they would only accept if I partake in the shot with them. Of course I accept. Soon after, I meet the rest of a group of people who are already well acquainted. Among them is a slender pretty blonde bank teller by the name of Jocelyn. She gets most of my attention, and in drunken revelry I try to hook up with her. I think it’s going smoothly, until I say goodbye and goodnight to a bar full of new friends and offer to take her home. She smiles sweetly, kisses me on the cheek and bids farewell.

It’s late now – and in the pre-dawn light I stumble into my room. I’m out before I even know I’m down - purely and utterly exhausted, and knowing I can wake up a little late tomorrow. Somewhere in my dreams Jocelyn turns over to me and smiles.

~~End day 1 and 2~~

Posted 12.1.03 by Mike
Let’s see if I can make this clearer – less censored – I don’t want to write for an audience I’m not even sure I have. The rest of the story goes something like this:


Day 3: Hokitika // Awake at 0930L // ACTIVITY: Cave Rafting

I awaken with a stinging sharply painful headache that’s trying to beat the backs of my eyes onto the sweet smelling pillow. The sun is creeping in a little, and the clouds of yesterday’s squall seem to have disappeared. I swing my legs out of bed, searching for my bottle of Motrin that I’ve cleverly stashed in my very-accessible toiletries case. After popping a few helpful orange pills I stand up and stretch – trying to greet the day with an enthusiasm I’m not sure I have yet. Well, I never said I was a morning person. My original plan had been to stay in Greymouth the night before, and explore some of that ‘city’ – but I’m pretty happy with my decision to skip the failed coal and gold mining town to taste a bit of true Kiwi hospitality down here in the Hoke.

I stumble through the hallway and out into the cramped dining room, making my way to the kitchen to search for something – anything to eat. My stomach, now digesting the ibuprofen is yelling for attention and food. A younger looking girl is in here – maybe a teenager – and I’m sure I mumble some kind of incoherent greeting. I fish a Ramen noodle packet out of my backpack and ramble back to the kitchen to cook it up. The excess boiling water soon finds a home in a cup of instant coffee.

I don’t remember too much about this first 20 or so minutes, other than my head really hurts – not enough water I guess. The immediate remedy is to drink tons of it from the tap – and once again, I find it’s the best water I’ve ever had. This stuff is pure glacially fed spring water, and it tastes like heaven.

Once I can think straight, I ask my company where she’s from, what she’s doing here, and where she’s headed. Turns out she’s Gordon’s daughter from his first marriage, on school holiday, and a mere fourteen years old. She carries herself well, and I think she wants to be taken as being older, but she isn’t, and I’m not out here to raise hell with jewelers’ daughters.

I begin pouring over the several notebooks worth of pictures and drawings of jade carvings, trying to generate an idea for my own unique design. There are simple shapes, spirals, fishhooks, traditional Maori designs, and complicated loops. The more intricate design, the more it costs – proportionally of course. I start my own drawing with no real focus and nothing truly inspirational comes out of my dehydrated mind for about an hour. Then I start drawing dragons – lots of them. Of course, I’m a horrible artist, but I try. Another hour later, I see Gordon amble into the house. He’s in what I’m guessing to be his usual jovial smart-alecky good-natured mood. His manner is like a steaming pot of coffee – one whiff and you’re awake. Gordon is poking and prodding, asking if I’d managed to seduce any of the locals the night before. I tell him a short version of my sad but true Jocelyn story, before relating on how friendly the town was. Gordon shoots back with a few jokes and good-natured ribbings while agreeing that New Zealanders on the whole are a really friendly bunch.

“Betch’ll have more luck tonight mate – or any night. Shit, yore here anutha three weeks. No worries” says he.

In my mind, one clear thought emerges: He’s absolutely right: fuck the headache – on this trip there are NO WORRIES!

I sit around a bit longer to learn some more about Gordon’s history, what he likes to do, why he was here in Hokitika. To be honest, I won’t remember too much of it, but that’s not surprising given my condition. For the moment, I’m just content to hear what he has to say; I just don’t have the presence of mind to remember anything. Eventually, I make arrangements to stay an extra night, finish my design for the jade carving that evening, and polish it in the morning. Somehow, I’m under the impression that I’ll be able to do it all by noon and be on the road. The seductive South Island has other plans though – and as will become habit on this trip, my plans will change.

For now, though, it’s time to go to my first “adventure” activity – something I had booked at the last minute back home, and being none too sure if it’s something I want to do: cave rafting. It sounds great - but we will see.

So, with a half full belly, I take off towards Greymouth, revisiting the one-lane rail-bridges and the rocketing west-coast wind. After cruising the 40 km. like a pro, I find the place I’m looking for with little trouble. Norwest Adventures is just off the main drag, and I pull my sedan in between two mammoth WWII era Mercedes diesel trucks with oversize off-road tires. I can’t help wondering if that’ll be my transportation for the day. I duck inside the tour company and stand in the absolutely tiny and empty front office.

Hmmm….I ponder which door to pick while glancing at the 200 color brochures packed onto every free space the back wall has to offer. As I’m peeking into a door that leads to a concrete floored changing room, a whole line of people dressed up in wetsuits piles out of the minivan that has just pulled up out front. Their tour guide nods at me with a quick smile, “be with you in a tick mate,” and follows the group into the changing room.

Not even a tick passes before he emerges from the opposite door. “Right, you must be Mike, the Internet reservation” he says after looking me over quickly.

“That’s me, “ I reply, still not feeling too talkative. I follow Simon around to the back room and sit down at an old wooden picnic table. Vicious techno music blazes through the speakers and echoes throughout the room, making the place sound like a chintzy dance club. The walls are mostly bare, save for the area near two computer terminals propped up on stacks of boxes. Simon returns with a brochure, 3 pieces of paper, and a pen.

“Just look these over mate, sign here, here, and here – read this, and we’ll get you started.” Simon says.

Now I love Kiwis – their passion for adventure and respect for nature is absolutely unsurpassed by any other culture, I’m sure of it. The proof is in their insurance waivers, damage waivers, responsibility and stupidity waivers. These sheets of paper I sign, not for the last time, say basically this:

I _____________ agree not to hold the parent company __________ responsible for any equipment damage, public embarrassment, libel, slander, bodily harm, injury (intended or unintended) and especially not death. In addition, my relatives and relatives of relatives, no matter how pissed off they might be, will not hold any claim or right to sue anyone ever remotely involved with anything this company endorses. Signed __________ , the dumbass for doing this.

Of course, I sign it without hesitation. After all, this is why I’m here in the beautiful land of New Zealand – to escape life, to live and taste adventure. Today would prove to be a great start to that end.

The new arrival, Bart is hunched over his contract, and I introduce myself cordially, finding out in short order that he’s from Holland and working as a relief worker as a general medical doctor in Uganda. He had also apparently worked in Kosovo and Sudan - not with Doctor’s Without Borders either, but just in his own time.

Simon collects our paperwork and directs us to gather two pairs of socks, a wetsuit, booties, “grubs” [boots], mittens, rubber gloves, a fleece skullcap, and a helmet. We change behind chest-high cubicles. The floor is numbingly cold, and it bites through my woolen socks before my feet finish touching the ground.

Soon enough, we’re on our way. We take the very same still-damp Toyota minivan that had pulled up outside upon my arrival. As we ricket and ratchet our way along the local roads, Simon tells us a history of the area. Unfortunately, most of it is drowned out by the noisy car and the fact that Simon keeps talking to the windshield.

We drop into a shot out gravel pit of a road and drive through some fields of what looks vaguely like corn. Simon is explaining the weed-like properties of what I had thought to be a ‘pretty’ yellow flower that appears almost everywhere I look. Like most introduced species, this weed was no longer welcome in Aotearoa. We park in a rocky gravel lot just off the main ‘road’. There’s nothing descript about the area, and I’d be hard pressed to find it on my own, even if I was really searching.

When we get out of the van, I notice that the weather has grayed up significantly. The clouds are spitting a cool mist down on the land. Ahead of us is a mixed temperate rainforest with a few timber boards forming a rough trail. Immediately, I understand the need for the ‘grubs’ – galosh style boots – as there are several very large pools of thick, slimy mud, and more puddles in sight than I can count.

We venture off into the forest, with me at the point following the easily identifiable trail. It’s a good twenty-minute hike, and thankfully my cigarettes are in my car thirty clicks away. The rain’s having trouble breaking the canopy of leaves, but it doesn’t much matter since we were sloshing around in wetsuits and galoshes. The mud sticks to every inch of anything it touches – a grimy brown sludge of wet dirt clinging on for life and amusement. As we’re plunging along through the thick growth, alternating between muddy earth and wooden-planks that trail on for hundreds of feet at a time, Simon gives us a run-down on the company’s founder. He also remarks that the boards will eventually lead from the path’s beginning all the way to the cave mouth.

As we get nearer to the cave, the trail turns treacherous. We cross a zip-wire bridge inch by inch, holding onto the guideline for fear of limb loss. The line is strung over a paltry but muddy thirty-foot gap. The bridge is 4 planks joined together lengthwise. Shortly after the crossing, the ‘trail’ turns into a winding mass of mud puddles formed around gnarled exposed tree trunks. The going is slow as we eye the constant slippery footing. I fall down flat at least once, splattering myself with mud, and laughing all the way down.

We’re now at the abseil point: a hole in the ground that drops right into the mouth of the cave. Below we can hear the rush of water though we can’t pierce the utter darkness to see anything.

Simon tells us some of the Maori mythology surrounding the entering caves and descending into the Earth. To ensure that the Maori soul-eating lizard demi-god ‘Whiro‘ doesn’t steal our souls while we journey through the underworld, we paint spirals on our cheeks with mud. This ostensibly is a sign meaning “I’m not really dead, so please don’t treat me like I am.” The spiral in this case represents the circle of life. Additionally, we appease the Maori Earth goddess and mother ‘Papatuanuku‘ by taking one of her most cherished symbols – the fern leaf – along for the ride in our helmets. With a traditional Maori pose, we prepare to scale the hillside down to the cave.


The Maori war face – and, funny enough – the mating face. Dragon Cave, 9/28

I stumble within the first few steps down the muddy hillside and go run-sliding down it to the bottom. We clamor over the rocks at the cavern entrance – which is quite impressive. It seems this is the third largest cave system in New Zealand – and second on the South Island. The mouth stretches roughly 80 feet across, and towers up about 35 feet, with the traditional arching shape that you expect to see. There’s a jumble of rocks just inside, giving the impression of a giant mouth with sharp teeth trying to swallow you whole.

Simon gives us a quick tutorial on caving and climbing among rocks in the dark as well as safety brief before we start. Feeling sufficiently prepared, we venture into the darkness, leaving the dull misty grey of the world behind.

At first, the water seeps into my feet – sloshing over my boots with almost every step – and the water is so frigid that it bites and stings, making me draw in your breath. After a while, Bart and I are encouraged to submerge ourselves to chest-level in preparation for an upcoming ‘surprise’. We gasp as the shockingly cold water fills our wetsuits. It’s as if icicles are growing along my back – and the chill has me breathing heavily for some time.

We continue into the cave, using our headlamps and carefully feeling out every step, so as not to twist an ankle or shatter an elbow. Once we’re deep enough into the cave, Simon has us douse our headlamps and adjust our eyes to the utter darkness. To our amazement, we realize the entire cave roof is littered with thousands of phosphorescent glowworms – each appearing as a tiny blue star in the black night of the cave.

This is the first of several epiphanies I will have: Just for a moment, everything makes sense. Everything is fucking beautiful. The world is right, the cosmic flow of the universe unimpeded, and each of us are touched in some way. The blue lights are the stars – and I’m flying through space with a feeling of complete contentment.

Just as abruptly, the feeling disappears, and I’m back in a cold, damp and very dark cave.

The surprise is here. Simon has us slide up onto an outcropping, cross our arms over our chest, take a deep breath, and slide off the edge. I’m the first to go – with my headlight on, I slide right into an opening in the river floor, plunging feet first into a fifteen-foot hole in the cave bottom. The water is icy cold still, but I’m somewhat acclimated, so the urge to gasp for air isn’t present. There in the gripping embrace of the ice water and the blackness, I open my eyes, ignoring the stinging effect of the cave river. The light from my lamp dimly illuminates the tightly enclosed space – where were roughly hewn cave walls are pocked with tiny holes that I imagine eyeless fishlike creatures making their homes in. I surface, hauling myself out onto a slab of wet rock, and for the moment, keeping the micro-journey to myself.

Bart’s is next, and he plunges in, almost immediately surfacing again. Next is a quick picture in front of the church rock formation, so named for its ornate spires and organ-pipe appearance.


At the cathedral formation, Dragon Cave 9/28

Norwest Adventures is a smart company – they know that hauling inner tubes back and forth to the cave for each tour is a logistical nightmare, and would probably leave more than a few customers with a sour taste in their mouths. So, they do the smart thing – they hiked the tubes in once, floated them to the back, and found a ledge on which to stack them. There are about fifteen tubes, divided up into three stacks along the cave wall in a small antechamber, out of the way and unobtrusive, yet extraordinarily easy to get to.

As Simon tosses them down, he reminds us with that famous Kiwi guide humor which side of the tube is up: “If ya get a sharp pain in your bum when ya jump on tha tube, ya’ve got ‘er right side down mate”. We laugh, smartly ensuring the filling tube (which was about 10 inches long and painfully rigid) was in fact submerged in the water, and not awaiting our ‘bums’.

In this portion of the cave, the water roars fiercely, swallowing my senses. As I back paddle, I can no longer hear what Simon and Bart were saying – though I know they’re still talking. We kill our headlights and the cave roof explodes again – blue diamonds littering the walls and ceiling. I have no idea how fast or slow I’m floating – the darkness is complete, save for the tiny specks of glowworm light that are more disorienting than helpful. My balance and directional sense are quickly lost in the cave – sometimes, I can’t even tell if I’m moving. The Earth has swallowed me whole, and I was just another piece of Her now, drifting along.

SMACK!

I bounce up onto a rocky surface, hearing what sounds like a large waterfall just behind my head. I switch my low-grade blue light on and look around, letting my eyes remember what depth perception is. Sure enough, we’re right against a steep waterfall protected by a hole too small to slip down. Simon tells us it’s was time to paddle our way back up the cave, after we drift here for a bit in the dark.

You know the rules, when Simon says, you do. We paddle up languidly, taking our time. And as we drift in, Simon hops out and had us pose for another picture. By now, I’m in the spirit of things, and give a big thumbs up.


Into the deep, into the wild. Dragon Cave 9/28

Simon, being a most excellent tour guide has another surprise in store for us: “Since our group is so small, and I only get one or two groups a year this size, we’re gonna do a few extra things. Right now, we’re way ahead of schedule, so no worries – let’s enjoy ourselves and see what happens, ay?”

We creep our way up onto the landing, placing the inner tubes in the middle of a shallow cave pond, and help secure a fifteen-foot ladder to the base of an outcropping of some kind. Going up the ladder is slow, and once at the top, the footing gets very slippery. Our mud caked soaking wet no-grip boots have little traction on ultra-slick smooth limestone formed by thousands of years of slow dripping. We’re cautious as we crowd into the area, examining the fantastic formations that don’t seem possible. I decide to get creative and punch a few, seeing if I can alter thousands year old geography. Luckily, I can’t

We climb over to an impossibly slick and cramped precipice, dangling over the pond we had left our inner tubes in. Up here, it’s nice and warm, our insulating wetsuits providing a high level of comfort after moving around. After another tutorial, Simon shoots down the ladder, positions Bart’s inner tube underneath the precipice, and Bart swings out using his hands as a brace. He splashes into the water a good foot away from the tube. I’m next, and as I start inching my way over to the ledge. My foot catches a slick spot, and as I try to brace myself, I My other foot starts sliding as well. My heart rate shoots up instantly, and adrenaline flows freely through my veins as I claw at the smooth cave walls, trying to keep from falling awkwardly and breaking something. I stop literally on the edge of the crag, bracing myself firmly with my hands. Before the adrenaline high disappears, I suspend my legs off the edge, and swinging twice while pushing off from the cave wall, plummet right down towards my tube.

Have I mentioned how ice-cold the water is?

If you can’t tell already, I miss my target and dive into the water, laughing hysterically as I surface. I feel solidly frozen as I inch my way over to the limestone shore of the pond. A nice cup of hot cocoa awaits me, and it’s the best I’ve EVER had. We laugh and joke for a good fifteen minutes, before Simon tells us it’s time to go – out through the Tunnel of Love. This exit is so named for its extremely tight (though not by spelunking standards) crawlspaces. We stretch and contort our way to freedom. In the lead again, I come across a tiny opening that I literally have to dive through sideways and arms first, before rotating onto my stomach and pulling myself through. There are no places to stand in the tunnel of love, so inch by inch, I make my way out to the grand cave entrance.


Oh come on, no one will know! Dragon Cave 9/28

Up ahead, through a few more openings I see a dim gray light. The rush of water, which had dissipated in the last few minutes, is starting to approach din level again. “We must be getting close,” I think – just as Simon says “we’re getting close, mate”. I zip through one more two-foot tall antechamber, feeling like an old pro at moving around in the cave now. Popping out into the main entrance chamber of the cave, I turn to see Simon and Bart following in short succession, and we make our way out into the blinding hazy gray of late afternoon. My eyes feel swollen and sore as I squint my way through the water pools, careful not to fall or twist an ankle, [since according to our guide this is where it happened most] on the way out.

I’m in high spirits as I exit the cave and pick my way up the side of the hill, following the other two at times, and just hanging back to enjoy the view at others. We make our way just past the zip wire bridge that had taken us to the cave. Once again, we’re in for a treat. In front of me is the ‘hydro slide’ – a sloping waterfall that crashes and crags down the hill for a good thirty yards. Now, it isn’t gently sloping like you might be thinking – still being a good thirty-degree drop – in appearance if nothing else.


Simon gives us shoddy Styrofoam mats, the kind day care centers use for naptime, and we trot up the hundred-foot slope, noticing that most of the formation has a layer of smoothly eroded limestone just beneath the surface. At the bottom is a giant pool of water, blocked in by a few well-placed logs. The effect is a perfect landing zone. I volunteer to go first – adventure adventure adventure! Placing my feet in two convenient crevices on the waterfall, I lean back, pulling the middle of the bottom of the mat into the air, and leaning my head all the way back, just above the water. Then I lift my legs.

VOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!

I take off in an instant – gaining incredible speed on the almost frictionless surface – my legs are crossed over the bottom of the mat. I peer down, seeing the landing pool and the logs blocking them approaching with great rapidity. I’m laughing - whooping with joy as I speed down the hydro slide.

SPLAAAAASHHHHHH!!!

Once again, I’m immersed in ice-cold water. Damn good thing I’m wearing a wetsuit.

The journey back to the van is quick, as we all commune with the spirits of this Earth in our own ways. Once we arrive back at the company, we strip down to the bathing suits we had wisely been advised to wear underneath everything. The floor feels even colder on my bare feet now than it had when I changed the first time. I practically dive into the hot tub, feeling instantly warmer as Simon kicks on the jets. Bart and I share stories of life as I down the brew I choose over the proffered coffee. Somehow I just know beer will go better with this day.

Once warm and fed, we say our goodbyes, thanking Simon profusely and wishing each other luck in future travels. It’s back to Hokitika now, knowing I still have to finish designing my jade carving. But wait – Whiro is a lizard – a dragon, and the circle of life – yes…it’s coming together now. …

I drive on, getting into Hokitika around 6:00 PM. I drop by a ‘takeaways’ place on my way back to Gordon’s Just Jade Experience. Fried lamb shank and chips (that’s French fries for the westerners) are the order of the day, for a mere $3.50 NZ. Back at Gordon’s place, I meet the newcomers – a group of Korean students and a Japanese teacher that had arrived that afternoon, and are polishing their new jade pieces profusely. As I’m observing, I bite into my lamb shank and shrivel at the horrible taste. The chips are great, but the lamb tastes like … well, something without much taste. It’s bitter and much too chewy for my liking. I end up giving it away to the students, who apparently had not eaten much that day.

I’m all smiles during the introductions. There are 3 students, along with the teacher, Miwa, who is a cute Japanese woman in her 30s. I notice 3 boxes of wine on the kitchen counter, and another 2 in the fridge. Kim, one of the Korean students already has a red face (a dead giveaway for inebriation in Koreans), and seems busy hitting on Gordon’s daughter. I sit down and sketch out the final design for my dragon, hoping it looks better in 3 dimensions.


Miwa, Soul, Alicia, (me), Kim, Yong having a jade party. Hokitika 9/28

When Gordon runs off to the shop to begin work, I help him find the stone I want. He’s explaining the differences in each piece of greenstone, and lamenting over recent Maori claims on the pricey rock. Not too long ago, several Maoris petitioned to the legislative body responsible for Maori culture that the jade was all on the island originally, and as such, should be theirs and theirs alone. Almost overnight, any piece of uncut or unfound jade, not in prior possession of a certified artisan, jeweler or distributor became Maori property by default. No one else could lay claim, and anyone using jade would now have to purchase certified pieces from Maori merchants. Gordon’s not happy about the new laws, as it plays havoc with his relatively small business.

Gordon, in his normal jovial tones tells me about his earlier days. “I came right out of high school, ya know. Worked in the jade factory right up near Greymouth. It’s not there anymore, but I started there. It was all master jade artisans back then, I could only apprentice, do the detail work and polish all the bloody time. That’s why I don’t polish anymore – I’ve had enough mate!”

He goes on as he expertly carves the piece from a section of ‘bloodstone’ – named for the streaks of red that could be seen when the jade is held up to the light. His diamond drill seems to crackle and spark as he carefully etches the edges. I roll back in for a while, fraternizing with everyone, and flirting with the 36 year old Miwa in a half-innocent, half-playful, half-naughty kind of way.

I don’t know if I’ve adequately explained what this vacation is all about for me. Number one is fun and adventure – something new and different, a big change from the routine I’m drudging through at home. Number two is to meet and experience different cultures and people, since I eventually want to travel full time. Number three is a release of myself. I want to jump into the cosmic stream and let it take me for a ride. Part of this release is mental, part physical, part spiritual – and part of it is just to get laid. It has been too long, too far, and too rough ago to not have at least one semi-meaningful partner on this trip.

Anyhow, the gang of jade polishers and I trade stories and jokes. My dry wit and American style vulgar humor prove to be a great addition. Occasionally I hustle out back for a smoke, and even more occasionally, I give Kim English slang lessons:

“Wow – you are a hottie. What’s your number baby?” I say, repeating myself as necessary.

“Wa – yu ayh uh hote tee.” Kim replied.

“Good enough man – a little practice and you’re in there.”

He ends up practicing on Alicia, Gordon’s daughter.

Meanwhile, Gordon is grinding the rougher edges down in his workshop. I stand over his shoulder for a while, asking more questions, and answering his.


Gordon grinds it down. Hokitika 9/28

It turns out that Michiko is his third or fourth Japanese wife. Interestingly, all of them have come through the Just Jade backpackers at some point. Apparently, this business is more successful than I realize.

“You can get her tonight if you play your cards right mate,” he said.

I assume he’s referring to Miwa and not Michiko. “I hope so, I’m trying. It would be nice…but I’m not sure she plays cards.”

He laughs, deep and hearty, appreciating the joke. “Well, she’ll be playing whatever you want once you get her in the sack. Michiko already mentioned your flirting with her. It’s good, ya know. Japanese women are great lovers.”

Deep down, I want to agree with him – to know and understand. But I don’t, I can only keep wishing at this point.


High-pressure water gets the grit out. Hokitika 9/28

Gordon moves over to the water drill to finish up my piece. I struggle to fight the exhaustion that’s consuming my body. I bounce between the workshop and the dining room, continuing to talk to Miwa. It doesn’t seem right that she’s so reserved – I figure I’m not the first American to show interest in her, but I don’t have the combination – and can’t quite string the right words together. Maybe I should just know her for who she is…

She tells me about Hiroshima – her hometown. And I’m truly interested, I try to hold her gaze, but my eyes only want to close. Sometimes your body works against you.

Gordon is finishing the piece now.

“Gonna stay up and polish, right mate?” he asks, laughing. He knows I won’t. “And Miwa’s not ready – you’ve got to stay up if you want that.”

But I can’t – not any more. The day is done, it’s time to sleep. I feel like I could sleep forever. I take a hot shower, say my goodnights, and crash on the mattress set out for me in the hallway. I’m out in five minutes flat.

~~ end day 3 ~~

Posted 12.1.03 by Mike
Day 5 Fox Glacier Tour 0900-1300, Fox Glacier – Wanaka Drive @ 1330 // Awake @ 0645L // ACTIVITIES: Glacier Hiking, Driving

I wake up excitedly, before my wimpy alarm ever goes off. For a while, I gaze around the dim purple of the room trying to organize my scattered thoughts. It doesn’t take long to get moving though, and I grab my stuff and cart it out to the car. The sun is beginning to peek through the mountains and gaze on the town – it looks as if the day will be perfect for the half-day Glacier Hike I’ve arranged through the front desk.

I have a heart-starting cigarette and sip my rapidly cooling instant coffee in the brisk morning mountain air. There’s definitely something different about this town – the smell and feel of it – but I can’t quite grasp what it is. After a short while, I head down to the Alpine Guides headquarters, eager to check in and get something in my stomach besides instant coffee and nicotine.

Inside the faux ski-lodge there is frenzied activity as different groups scramble over each other to check in for the full day, half-day and heli-hiking tours offered by the company. Another large gathering earnestly tries to buy every imaginable souvenir in the store. For my part, I pick out some tasteful postcards and a silver-on-black baseball cap sporting the town’s name and a silver fern leaf before I hop in line. The full-dayers and heli-hikers are already moving out of the store, and in no time I check in and check out.

I sit at one of the ‘rustic’ wooden benches outside to wolf down my breakfast and sneak in some postcard writing. Right in the middle of my eggs, sausage and bacon – my half-day cluster shows up under the same overhang. The guides are busy splitting the group into two – with one consisting mostly of young and middle aged adults, and the other being comprised of kids, families and elders.

Inside the boot shack, I’m granted permission to keep my own relatively new but well broken in Montrails on. They had served me well so far, and would probably host the crampons and today’s hike without complaint.

Into the bus we stalk, with plenty of room for everyone, and an air of anticipation building. Among the first gems from our guides is the story of the regions ever-changing weather patterns. According to the driver, although it promised to be a gorgeous morning, by mid-afternoon there was sure to be a squall-like rainstorm in the glacial valley. “Simply a fact of life around here” he dryly quips. We also quickly find out how smart it is to book a tour through Alpine Guides, since they are part owners of a trail system that is strictly off-limits to unguided individuals trying to get close to the glacier terminus.

The road, though a relatively short journey, turns from uncomfortably bumpy to seat-dislodging insanity before coming to an end in the granite parking lot, located where the glacier terminus stood 20 years previously. We pile out of the bus, orienting ourselves with our respective tour guides and courteously wait as the other group begins their journey. Graham, our friendly looking salt-and-pepper bearded information source is quick to assure us that we will not lose any time or sights by waiting a bit. He launches into a brief history of the Alpine Guides company and some of his personal history as well. I try to listen and shoot at the same time.


My first view of Fox Glacier. 9/30

Graham has been around for quite awhile, and has personally seen the glacier terminus hundreds of meters both ahead and behind of its current position – the retreating and advancing being among the most dramatically variant in the world.

Before we hit the trailhead, an Australian couple kindly offers to take the first of several pictures of me with glacial backgrounds. I accept, and we began the long march uphill.


Aussies snap me smiling before the hike. Fox Glacier 9/30

Now, I have no idea the half-day hike would be a true hike, but it’s well worth it. On the first sloping ascent, I can feel my calves tighten and release, adjusting to the incline. My feet stretch into my boots even more comfortably, and my knees pop a few times before getting used to the steady uphill motion. We plunge right into a temperate rainforest, a sight that is still somewhat magical to me, even though I’ve now seen it a few times. Graham notes that this is one of three places in the world from which you can view a true alpine glacier from the thick of a temperate rainforest. The second is Franz Josef, 25 km. up the street.

There are breaks in the rainforest, where the trail seems to get steeper and more intense before plunging back into the moist world of ferns and leafy greens. Birdsong echoes sparingly as we approach the first bridge crossing a torrent of the mountain melt-off that’s spilling down the sides of the valley.


The other ones don’t have ropes… Fox Glacier 9/30

We all step carefully along, though at least one person manages to submerge a foot. Graham reminds us all glacial and mountain runoff in the area is fairly pure water, but this fast-moving stuff from atop the nearby hills especially so. I take him wisely at his word and refill my water bottle.

I think what an unexpected and delightful a turn of events this is. At no time in my trip plans had I ever thought about doing a glacier tour. In fact, were it not for the encouragement of several new friends along the way, I would’ve blown right by this wonder with nary a picture to remind me. Instead, I find myself creeping uphill on the way to walking on a living glacier – and from here, the valley looks amazing.


Signature U-Shape of Glacially carved valleys. Fox Glacier 9/30

We continue up, ever up, pausing to take pictures every so often, but mostly following the trail along the fringes of the rainforest on our way to the top of Fox Glacier. Our esteemed guide Graham was keeps most of the conversation at the front of the group – so I occasionally make my way to the head of the line before falling back again while admiring the scenery. Then, we hit the chain ropes.

At the highest point of the trail, the path winds up and down extremely steeply, cutting back and forth, and traversing rocks rather than dirt. Because of this, the company put in looped chains to guide the walkers and hopefully keep them from falling down the many cliffs that comprised this upper lip of the glacier valley. The Australians offer to snap another portrait of me at one of the most scenic panoramas on the entire trail.


Panoramic views of Fox Glacier

Graham stops us here for a while, detailing the intricacies of glacier formation and Fox Glacier’s history in particular. He points out marks throughout the valley clearly indicating the glacier’s movement. He describes the great heights the terminus once stood at. The township itself had been buried under ice only 300 years prior. Then he points out a curious rock formation on the other side of the valley, telling us of the ultimate price some people pay for extreme adventure. Several years prior, two BASE jumpers had tried to plummet to the valley floor – and though they succeeded, their parachutes never made the journey with them. Since then, it has been known as Cathedral Point.


The insightful Alpine Guide – Graham. Fox Glacier 9/30

We descend the trail now, traveling the short distance downward to our glacial entry point. We can see several other groups at various stages along the ice walks, including our other half just dismounting and removing their crampons [metal spikes which are tied to the bottom of your hiking boots, giving you traction in ice] and replacing their poles. Graham keeps us entertained with anecdotes and a fair warning to stay away from his swinging ice axe when he ‘repairs the stairs’.

As we get ready to throw on our crampons and mount the massive ice block, I ask the ever-kind Aussies to get another shot of me – still finding it hard to believe I was about to go glacier hiking.


About to go ice-hiking!

The group excitedly marries crampons to boots, ensuring a completely snug fit. We grab our hiking poles – a long wooden broom handle with a semi-sharp piece of metal at the ends. Graham reminds us not to eat the back of his ice ax, and to step carefully and flat footed.

“Ballerinas tend ta’ eat ice ‘round up here” he added with a grin. He isn’t kidding – though it’s always hard to tell with Kiwi guides. As I step onto the ice, planting my pole firmly and stepping down flatly, my ankle still finds a reason to cringe as my heel slips out slightly to the left.



On the ice. Fox Glacier 9/30

We curve around a bend in the ice path – which carefully winds and picks its way among crevasses, holes (properly moulins – think of a pipe from the surface of a glacier to its center), icefalls (just like waterfalls, but with ice), and small sinkholes (suncups and the like – formed by warm weather).

“We carve these ice steps out at least twice a day” Graham calls over his shoulder, “and sometimes more, depending on the weather. Not to mention every guide that comes through here cuts out some steps to keep the shape of the trail right. Rain can wash it out quick, but the sun can wash it out a lot quicker.”

I understand already, just recently having converted my pants to shorts. Still, I feel a definite need to keep the watch cap on my bald head. Graham stops us for a moment, pointing out an almost perfect moulin formation, into which he tosses a nice sized rock. We listen for a good 5 or 6 seconds before we finally hear the clatter-splash of its landing. It’s a long way down.

“Now, on to something else I hope is still around” Graham says gleefully and leads us up and around the ice path, coming about a sharp hidden corner of the ice to a remarkable ice-cave. It’s melting quickly from the still-rising heat and sunlight of the day – but it’s still sharply defined, and exciting to walk through.


Looks cool, doesn’t it? Fox Glacier Ice Cave 9/30

I run my hands along the ultra-smooth blue ice on the interior of the cave – it’s frozen silk at my fingertips, slick and frictionless. I’m tempted to lick it, but resist, thinking of “A Christmas Story”. The rest of the group crowds ahead and behind me, all of them taking pictures in the ice cave – a rare chance for anyone who is not by habit a glacial hiker.

From there, it’s on to the crevasse - a portion of the glacial trail that runs right down the middle of a ‘shallow’ gap in the surface. Our guide continues to give us an education on glacier formation, glacial deposits, the physics of ice flow, and a number of other fascinating topics as we follow him through the crevasse.


In the valley of ice. Fox Glacier Crevasse 9/30

Graham’s telling us about till now – the great deposits of rock left behind by the ever-moving glacier. It comes in all shapes, sizes, and brittleness. Some of the stuff crumbles to dust if you look at it funny, other rocks are so sharp they break the skin when you pick them up. There are little piles scattered hither and thither along the surface – some of them seeming perfectly logical, others appearing out of place. Our escort tells us about the slow churning and layering motion of the glacier, and how it “tosses” the rocks from underneath to the exterior of the glacier. You can tell which ones have been run over flat, and which ones have been constantly churned too – the former being smooth and flat, the latter looking like broken glass.


Till and layering on Fox Glacier. 9/30

It’s a funny thing about the glacier pictures too – because it’s so hard to tell when you’re looking at them what’s a close-up, and what’s a distance shot.

We wander further ‘up’ the glacier to a good vantage point for the icefalls. Icefalls are, according to Graham, a very common geological formation on glaciers – it’s a tap or spigot for the ice flow that comprises the main body of the glacier (at least the part we’re walking on). I’m gazing at what looks like a cross between Superman’s home and an avalanche – jumbles of ice, pillars and columns strewed this way and that, punctuated by spans, blocks, and massive chunks of ice. Above and below the falls, the ice is comparably smooth. Graham tells us that we’ve missed visiting the icefalls since we are on the half-day tour, a feat that the full dayers will accomplish.


The icefalls of Fox Glacier. 9/30

“If”, he adds, grinning, “the weather holds. And it doesn’t look like it will. So maybe you’ll be glad ya dinn’t take the full day tour, ay?”

We laugh appreciatively as we continue down the ice stairs, scanning both the ice below and the sky above. The air is chill on my head and torso, even under layers, but my legs are quite warm from all the exercise. I notice grayer and grayer clouds rolling in – pushing against the hilltops that surround the valley – trying to find a way in.

“Ya’p – won’t be long now,” mulls Graham peeking around before going back to cutting the rapidly melting stairs away with his swinging ice axe.


Why take the elevator when you can take the stairs? F.G. 9/30

He’s still pointing out till and moulins, as well as other small glacial formations as he leads us back to the dismounting point. There seem to be a lot more streams than when we first arrived – some of them forming tiny crevasses. Graham nods assent and explains that it’s all ablation – a continual shrinking of the glacier balanced out by the growth through the icefalls. While we’re vacating the glacier for weather, a local expert (or private) guide is just mounting the glacier with a full pack on. Graham seems to know him and they exchange greetings before our guide tells us “wish Claude luck – I think he’ll need it with today’s weather”.

The other guy just smiles as he leaps across the gap and onto a bit of rock. “I don’t need luck – I love this weather – more glacier to have for myself!” and with a wry grin starts trudging his way along.

Meanwhile, we’re removing our crampons, ditching our walking sticks and stretching our legs for the journey downhill. I look over the lip of the glacier and snap a lit line of clouds rolling down into the valley.


The weather moves in. 9/30

We’re taking a different way out – right down alongside the glacier to the terminus. The path is steep, rocky, and Graham makes sure we take it slow. The till here is loose and fine, save for occasional large jagged boulders, all of which have spiraling rayed patterns. Some rocks look like they were split in half or just split period, and when I ask Graham about it, he tells me it’s been shattered by frozen water expanding. Well – that makes sense.

As we near the terminus, we find ourselves fording several runaway valley streams. The water running down the mountainside often picks new paths, and today is pretty wide – to the end that almost everyone gets their feet wet. That is, of course, save those of us who have worn our own waterproof hiking boots – Graham and I.

Once at the terminus, I ask the Tasmanian couple to indulge one more picture of the journey complete.


A fun hike completed F.G. 9/30

And just as we’re leaving, a sign catches my eye. I take a few seconds to process it and begin laughing wholeheartedly. A few people look back to see what I find so hilarious – but it seems the sign is only funny to a few who share my appreciation for the Kiwi’s innate and ingrained sense of humor.


Danger of Ice, Falling, Drowning, Rockfall, Current, etc…..

But it’s unfortunately time to go. We make our way back to ‘base’ – and I talk with Graham some more before I grab my fresh Panini and hit the road. He seems like a typical good-natured Kiwi, friendly, genuine, and reluctant to share the thousands of tales he’s accumulated in his life. New Zealander’s, after all, are not by nature braggarts – though they all seem to have accomplished great things within their lifetime. His eyebrows arch when I tell him of my plans to kayak Doubtful Sound in several days.

“Oh, you’ll have a great time there. You’re very lucky, you know, not many people do that, and it’s a shame. Also, say hi to Christina when you get there – if she’s still working. And enjoy yourself – that will be quite an experience.”

I shake hands and depart, heading to the car. As I wolf down the scorching and delicious lunch pocket, I check out my map book to gauge the distances involved for today. I’m planning on shooting all the way around to Wanaka – a distance of roughly 240 kilometers. Time to get going.

The drive is great, too. I’ve got the music blaring, mostly upbeat tunes by various urban and rock artists, with a fair measure of solid rap to keep my mind busy reciting lyrics. The pavement begins with a few straight-aways that I rocket through, sending sheep fleeing for cover, though they’re always behind a fence. The brief time I spend on the coastline is great here – it smacks of Oregon. The high cliff tops and evergreen forests crashing down into the Indian Ocean seem very familiar to me.


Oregon Coast reminders on the road to Wanaka. 9/30

The first 140 km. blazes by surprisingly fast, and before long I pull into the World Heritage Visitor’s Centre in the tiny outpost of Haast. There doesn’t seem to be anything else here, save for a scattered village smaller than Fox Glacier. I’m real glad I didn’t stay here last night. The visitor’s center is modern, with all the amenities you expect to find at such a place. The displays featured here are interesting enough for a quick look around, though I don’t end up spending much time here. Pretty soon, I’m on the way again.

Now I’m on the stretch of road I read about – the Haast Pass highway to Wanaka. Fodor’s Guide had made it clear that this was a must-see drive, and I’m planning to make the most of it. It’s a short jaunt to Roaring Billy falls up the road. Although the distance between here and Wanaka is only 100 km. drive, but I’ve got several stops planned. When I pull off the road and on to the five minute Roaring Billy falls track, I run into a nice Scottish couple. Of course, they mistake me for Canadian and I take them for Irish – but with a few laughs we shrug it off.


The Roaring Billy Falls Track. 9/30

“As long as you don’t call us Brits, we’ll be alright,” cracks the husband. They are an older couple, but I think I saw them earlier at another stop. I make it down to the basin on my own, traversing a rocky half-full riverbed to the falls viewing point. Not much to see at this stop – but I take a picture anyway before heading back through the cool forest trail to my sedan. Along the way I take good notice of a thousands-year old Totara tree, one of New Zealand’s hallmarks. I swear it’s talking to me, whispering of the past as I capture the ancient tree’s portrait.


Totara Grandeur on the road to Wanaka. 9/30

A little further up the road, I pull over at the Thunder Creek Falls track. The weather seems to be cooperating along this portion of the road. As I look up to see the occasional cloud, I notice the sun continually fighting its way back out. The forest and the landscape, however, are fighting the sun as well, and covering the land with thick draping shadows that give the illusion it’s much later in the day. This particular track is short and sweet – a black pavement walkway ducks behind a grove of native flora and discharges me onto a wooden observation platform. Thunder Creek Falls can’t be missed as it streams down onto the waiting pile of discarded rocks. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the life back home releases its unconscious hold on me and disappears for the rest of the day.


Thunder Creek Falls 9/30

I’m back on the hardtop now, with the mountains still shadowing the tricky turns. Warning signs mark the way, each one advising extreme caution, dangerous curves, and excessive downgrades. The road dips and swings, rounding bends at insane angles and dropping back into flat, straight highway sections where speeding is the only option. It’s on one of these roads that I fly right by the infamous “Bra Fence”, identified in one of my guidebooks. Without a thought, I screech to a halt and throw the car into reverse, backing until I’m just opposite of the landmark. What started out as a practical joke is now an actual feature of the drive between the townships of Haast and Wanaka. I have no true desire to figure out when or why these items of clothing came to be left here.


Underwear Ridge – the Infamous Bra Fence on the road to Wanaka.

The Cardrona Range and Harris Mountains are nearly in full view now, as I chug along the forty-year work project that’s now a relatively smooth road. The snaking begins again and starts the slow sloping descent alongside the head of Lake Wanaka, instantly astounding me with the dramatic change of scenery. The temperate rainforests have disappeared now, replaced by sharply defined mountains and dramatic lakescapes. I pull over at the first lakeside hut I come to and hustle out in the frigid breeze to get a good photograph.


Lakefront on Lake Wanaka. (Rd to Wanaka) 9/30
[You can see Mount Albert and The White directly behind me]

The sun seems to play with me, ducking behind the mountains on the opposite shore of the lake as I traverse the zigs and zags of highway 6. I know I’m running out of daylight – at least it seems as such, though it’s still only 4:00 PM, but I keep pulling over to capture the moments and magic of the sun shooting through the valleys around the Minaret Peaks.


The Sun God takes a bow between The White and Pykes Hill. (Rd to Wanaka) 9/30


Last Light between the Twin Peaks, Mt Alta in the background

Though I’m trying for the magic sunset shots, I know I have a ways to go yet. Not much further down, the road veers away from Lake Wanaka and embarks on a parallel course with Lake Hawea. I’m sure these lakes were born together, as I notice the same majesty. The difference here is that the mountains on the opposite shore are now lit directly by the setting sun, rather than appearing backlit. The views are enchanting, and I stop more than once just to gaze across at a world previously unknown to me. At one particular stop, I find myself face to face with a dream-world setting – and just stay there for a few moments letting it all sink in. It finally dawns on me how lucky I am just to be here.


Lake Hawea’s Magic, in the Dusk. (Rd to Wanaka) 9/30

The last 20 kilometers go quickly once the road pulls away from the lake, and I’m happy to be in town as the light fades from the sky. Every time I roll the window down for a cigarette, the chill in the air seems a little more bearable, and as I find my way through town, I begin to notice how hungry I am. My last snack was some time ago.

It takes me a while to find the Purple Cow, but I do – pulling into the gravel parking lot and checking in at the desk. Although this is somewhat legendary backpackers for the South Island, I find it to be noisy and crowded, and not at all what I’m looking for after communing with so much beauty. While I check in and scan the place, I realize I’m unwilling to deal with large groups of people tonight – and part of me wishes for a solitude I know I won’t get here.

My room is trashed, with only 1 of the 8 bunk beds still open – right under a sick kid who speaks nothing aside from Japanese. On my way out to get some food, I notice something I hadn’t before. The crowd in the main areas of the hostel seem to all be segregated – snowboarders with snowboarders, quiet folks gathered around the same table – large groups not really mingling or interacting except with each other. The frenzied activity really gets under my skin, though – and I make my way downtown for some food.

Most everything seems shut down, and after exploring several different streets, I settle on “Muzzo’s”, a nice looking café/restaurant. I work my way through a delicious Seafood Chowder (with a little bit of everything) and homemade bread. The service is friendly, and cautious – seeming to sense my desire to be left in my contemplative mood on the plush couch.

Back at the hostel it’s an early night, and I find myself eager to be lost in the wilderness as I drift off to sleep.

~~end day 5~~

Posted 12.1.03 by Mike



Day 4: Hokitika-Fox Glacier // Awake at 0930L // ACTIVITY: Jade Carving


I’m in for a treat this morning, in a manner of speaking anyway. I roll out of my makeshift hallway bed around 9:30. It’s not late, but certainly later than I intended. The jet lag has caught up with me I guess, shutting me down for 8 solid hours, and leaving me behind the power curve on an important day.

By the original schedule, this was the day that I was going to crank out a drive down to Haast Pass, a distance of 281 km. [174 miles]. I’m under advisement from 2 people so far to stop at the Glaciers instead. Either way, I have quite a drive ahead of me – and as it stands right now, plenty of time. Only….

Only I haven’t seen nor polished my piece yet. I make my way to the kitchen, and most of the houseguests (Miwa, the Koreans, and Ana) are milling about here and there. Ana, realizing I have no breakfast of my own save for the Ramen noodles I had brought along, is quick to proffer her bread for toasting. I gladly accept, scooping out some of Kim’s butter and have this light breakfast with some instant coffee.

Miwa asks, “Have you see jade carving? It is ready I think.”

I still haven’t at this point, and answer her plainly. I have no idea where it is, and unfortunately, neither does she. It’s 10:00 before Gordon shows up, and though I’m done with the breakfast, I still haven’t started to polish. So far, I’ve wasted a bit of valuable time.

“Hey Mike, you ain’t started yet mate? You better get goin’ if ya wanna get outta here today,” he chuckles and picks up some greenstone from the mantelpiece, “See, it’s right here, what do you think?”


My jade dragon design and carving

It’s unpolished, but a striking carving nonetheless – a far cry from the artistically uninspired drawing I had done the day prior. I had watched most of the carving myself, but still found the finished workmanship amazing. I stare for a while in dazed half-awake admiration before Gordon’s deep jolly voice brings me back to the real world.

“Let’s go mate, get polishin’” while knowingly laughing.

I grab one of the abrasive stones, some water and paper and sit down at the table to begin my work. It’s hard to be too descriptive about this process - I mean it’s a fairly mundane but absolutely necessary action – you polish with this abrasive stone forever, and then you move down to smaller and smaller grain sandpaper, trying to rub out a smooth finish on the piece.

The abrasive stone has to be the worst part. It has a funky shape to it, making it difficult to remain on the jade surface and apply constant friction. There are times when it feels I’m not making progress – seeing now results on a tiny portion I spend ten minutes rubbing with the abrasive. Jade may be shaped easily, but it’s a tough stone to polish up. I continue unabated though, my spirits still relatively high. My original plan had been to get out of there by noon, but I’m already figuring in my head how long it will take to drive the 164 km. [97 miles] to Fox Glacier. Knowing New Zealand’s penchant for winding scenic roads, I decide I need a few hours of daylight to make the journey safely. My target time is now 3:00 pm, and no later than.

About an hour into the stone rubbing, my muscles begin to protest severely. Yesterday’s cave rafting has worn me out, and my arms do not want to continue repetitive motions. Just as I cease my rubbing for the first time in forty-five minutes, Gordon’s wife Michiko walks in.

“No, you keep rubbing!!” she says, and I can’t tell if she was joking. “Keep rubbing, much work ahead!”

Miwa and Gordon laugh. Oh, she it joking I guess.

“I need a break,” I protested, and put my fleece on to dip outside for a smoke.

“Ok,” Michiko scorns, “but you never get done. You see, much work to go.”

She’s right though.

Around 11:00, I announce that I absolutely have to be out of there by 3:00 PM. I’ve just graduated from the abrasive stone to the 120 grain sandpaper, and I’m now frequently wetting the small squares of paper to keep the jade moist. Gordon wants to hire Miwa onboard as full-time staff – I guess she’s a good polisher. Part of me knows from the previous night’s conversation exactly what he means by that – but I’m not sure how Michiko will react to the new hireling.

The ads are right, though, I’m learning to hand-polish greenstone, just like the Maoris did. Of course, sandpaper hasn’t been around that long, so I’m not really sure why that’s a selling point. But no matter, I’m three hours out with five hours of work ahead of me. I submit my piece for a progress report with Michiko, the expert.

“Keep rubbing!” she encourages for the umpteenth time. “Use nails, keep rubbing! Look here. And here.”

Well, I don’t have any nails. And I am rubbing – I’m rubbing the shit out of this piece. I can’t rub anymore…but I have to. At noon, Miwa and the gang get ready to leave. We take a nice group photo, and they depart. I’m grateful for the ten minutes she had spent rubbing my carving, as she seemed to polish it more than I had in my two hours of work.


The gang @ Gordon’s place: Top - Soul, Michiko, Gordon, Mindy, Yong. Bottom - Me, Ana, Miwa and Kim

The 120-grain paper takes forever – but the radio isn’t repeating songs, so I’ve at least got something pleasant to listen to. Sometimes I have extreme bursts of energy (usually when a good song is playing), and other times I just drop everything and have a smoke break. My fingers seem raw and wrinkled beyond repair. But the task looms – I still have a long way to go.

So I rub. And I rub some more. And still I rub. At 1:00, I graduate to 240-grain sandpaper. This stuff is killer – I have an hour and a half before I want to be on the road, and 240 normally takes an hour. That leaves two sandpapers for the last hour? I put in overtime, only taking 3 or 4 smoke breaks in the next 60 minutes. Well, I guess that’s not overtime. Did I mention how sore I am?

“Keep rubbing!” reminds Michiko every time she breezes through the room. She doesn’t even need to look. It becomes the big joke – keep rubbing.

Lisa’s at the table now, talking to me. I won’t remember much, or really any of the conversation. I take note that the local radio station isn’t repeating any songs, and has so few commercials and such great favorites that I don’t mind listening to it at all. And I rub. I polish, and rub; rub and polish. I wet the paper, apply it firmly to small sections of the carving and bore away until my fingertips are numb. Then I switch hands. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

“Keep rubbing!” Michiko calls from the hallway.


Does it ever end? Rubbing til I can’t no more. Hokitika 9/29

2:00 o’clock rolls around and I submit my work for inspection, emphasizing that I really want to be on the road by absolutely no later than 3:30. Michiko looks at me, looks at the piece, looks at my hands, and the water bowl I’ve been using.

“Ok,” she half-sighs, “you can use 600, but you rub hard here, here and here,” pointing to several still rough-looking spots on the dragon.

A weird exhilaration sweeps through me and I greedily pick up several squares of 600-grain sandpaper. I’m sure by now you realize that I rub a lot, and Michiko tells me several times to keep rubbing. That’s really the summary – I mean for another hour I rub so hard that my fingertips and elbows and shoulders want to stage a walkout.

At 3:10, Gordon grabs the wet jade dragon out of my crippled hands. “Hmmm, mate, I think this will work out good enough. I know you gotta get goin’. Let’s go buff it – but don’t let Michiko see it before we do.” And he laughs softly. Jolly Gordon, mischief-maker and master jade carver.

The buffing doesn’t take long at all, and the piece looks gorgeous. It gleams with such a smooth-looking finish that it seems almost store-bought. But I’m not done. I still have fifteen minutes (down from the normal hour) of 1200 grain polishing ahead of me. Gordon shows me which areas to concentrate on and I make the final push to turn the piece priceless – rubbing carefully, but with firm pressure. Right at 3:30, I turn it over to the master jade carver for the final approval. He runs his fingers over the smooth stone carving, looks up and winks. “I think we got a winner here, mate”. Then Gordon draws a cord through it, tying a clever adjustable knot, and we head out to the beach for the photo album shot.


The finished product, on the beach at Gordon’s place. Hokitika 9/29

Finally I’m done! It’s time to get my plans back on track. But I’m not going to Haast anymore, so I have no true plans – just a vague notion that I want to stop by Fox Glacier tonight, and avoid the ‘touristy’ Franz Josef Glacier. This is on the strength of three recommendations now, and who am I to argue? I’ve never seen a glacier, and find myself wondering why I hadn’t to until now.

As Gordon and I head back into the house, Michiko escorts two quite beautiful Japanese women through the other door. Gordon looks back at me, winks and asks slyly “You sure you wanna leave mate? Looks like another night of fun.” before laughing his Gordon laugh. The girls all giggle in unison.

Yeah, maybe I should – instead of simply introducing myself, showing off my jade piece, and leaving, maybe I should stay. It’s not a choice that will haunt me or anything, but it will probably be another night without female company.

The new girls are giggling and whispering as I leave. I can only assume it’s because they haven’t seen many white gaijin with shaved-bald heads, aside from Moby perhaps. But I don’t really know, do I – they could be laughing at the prospects of my staying on that night.

At any rate, I say my sincere goodbyes to Gordon, Michiko, and Mindy (the Jack Russell Terrier in charge of security). I express my gratefulness for everything I’d experienced here. The happy couple makes it seem like overwhelming hospitality is simple everyday manners around here.


Gordon, Michiko, Mindy (the head of security). Hokitika 9/29

The stay at Just Jade Experience Backpackers cost me a grand total of $210 NZ [That’s $105 US] for the carving [loops always cost more, as do unique designs – I had two loops with raised edges, and a very unique design], and two nights lodging [$20 for a $40 single bedroom and $10 for sleeping on a mattress in the hallway]. Just as a comparison, the price for such a unique jade carving in a store would have been about $200 US for an existing piece, or $400-600 for a custom one of the same size. I paid $65 US – labor not included. In my opinion, it’s well worth it.

I wave fondly as I back out of the driveway and head out of town, swinging by the ATM for some cash and the takeaways to grab a bag of chips. I find that I’m already addicted to the thick potato sticks perfectly fried and salted. Round the roundabout and off I go.

I make good time along the first 25 km. of coastal highway since it’s all fairly straight. The road veers sharply left and begins climbing. The straightaway continues for a short time, but soon, I’m back into the familiar winding of New Zealand’s high country roads.


The road south from Hokitika. 9/29

Rain comes in from the coast often, and the weather alternates between pleasant drizzles, light rain, and down pouring squalls. I don’t take many pictures, as the dim gray light pervades everything. The hour is late, the roads are steep and winding, and I’m eager to get to my destination. The pictures I do manage to snap aren’t impressive anyhow – but I do get out of the car several times to gaze upon the dazzling green scenery. Up here, the forests are mostly temperate rain, with some deciduous mixed in as well. The ground is blanketed in ferns, greenery, water and dead leaves.


A lonely cloud looks for friends. West coast road, 9/29


I catch myself off guard West coast road, 9/29

Around 5:30 PM, I drive through the township of Franz Josef. The town’s pretty active, with several hostels, touring companies and restaurants along the main road. I don’t stop, though. The road continues for another 25 km., winding through the hillsides, but not losing or gaining too much elevation, and then, with little warning, spits me out into the much smaller township of Fox Glacier. I don’t have to look too hard to find the Ivory Towers backpackers, nestled among several other buildings.

I check in fairly easily, using my newly acquired BBH card. [For $40 NZ, you get a $20 phone card and discounts at all BBH hostels] For a few bucks, the guy behind the counter takes all my laundry and promises it will be ready for pickup in a few hours. I wander around the impressive hostel for a while. The building is built lengthways, with several dorm-style and single-occupancy rooms down a long hallway on the south side of the building. I’m in a 4-bed room with a sliding door that leads to the entry porch, a.k.a. smoking area. I drop off everything, locking my backpack and continue exploring the place. The kitchen is quite large, as is the dining and gaming area. There’s an island counter in the middle of the cooking area, with bowls, plates, cups, utensils and other goodies. A communal spice rack and three large 4-burner stoves line the walls. The dining area has several diner-style tables and looks like it can accommodate quite a crowd. The TV/computer room has a nice warm fireplace and plenty to read, but only one terminal. Outside there are at least two bungalows, each housing more spacious (and expensive) rooms. In between them is the tiny five-car parking lot where my car lies sandwiched between several others. I light up a smoke and shuffle around outside.

A young British backpacker steps out from her bungalow, also lighting up. I introduce myself and ask where she’s from.

[ed note: let me pause here for just a moment, and relate my memory problem. I have no idea what she looked like, what her or her roommates name was, or what we talked about. But they did offer me weed – the second time someone had. (The first was by one of the locals while I was drinking at the Southland Station hotel in Hokitika.) Of course, I had to decline, being in the military and all.]

I’m looked up and I notice the sunset appear as the rain clouds race away. It looks painted – unreal – magical. The oranges and reds swirl with purples and blues in a way I can’t ever describe. I dart inside to grab my camera, and take what I hope will be a decent shot.


Magic sunset. Fox Glacier township, 9/29.

Now, it’s time to eat my Ramen noodles and explore the town. I go by the front desk again and set up a half-day tour on the glacier for the next morning, leaving at 9:00 AM. Dinner takes little time to prepare, and I add some curry on a whim. As I slurp my pre-packaged meal, I jealously watch a group of several Americans (or Canadians) cook up a pasta feast and drink it with beer. Still, the water I’m drinking is even better than my previous stops – cool, clean and delicious.

After dinner, I head to the local pub. The desk manager has given me easy directions, and I locate it with no problem. The place is not very crowded, but it seems full of energy – and it looks like a good mix of locals and out-of-towners are present. I spend half a pint at the bar before wandering over to the pool table and laying some change down. Once the player’s game is over, I ask the young lady nearest me if she wants to play a round.

“Sure, “ she smiles, “how about some doubles?”

I’m game – and she nods at two of her friends. I end up partnered with her friend Marme and she, with her buddy Moe. Marme and me have a great time, but lose – as my teammate isn’t too hot with a pool cue, and I’m no shark myself. Renee thanks me for the game, and invites me over to her table. I spend a good hour talking to the group – they’re a tour group from Australia doing a whirlwind weeklong trip through the South Island. They have to get up at 6:00 the next morning, and leave the scene rather early in the night. I’m not ready to go home, so I stay on and continue drinking.

I love the beers down here, and am already developing a loyalty and love for Monteight’s Celtic – a red style beer with a Sam Adams boldness of flavor. I end up meeting a few American students over a game of pool, and some locals over another game (which we rapidly lose). One of the locals, who isn’t wearing shoes mind you, comes over after the game and starts talking to me. I can tell he’s been drinking quite a bit – but I indulge his curiosity about why I was in town.

“So, whaddya reckon about Iraq?” he slurs, “are yous going to go in there and attack Saddam, go to war?”

I have a boxed answer for this, and as I’m giving it – he interrupted. “Ya know mate, yous guys are part of the best military, and the US has a lot to be proud about. If anyone gives ya shit, come talk to me – don’t take no shit….”

He keeps on for a bit, but I’m getting bored - tired. I say my goodnights, promise not to take any shit, and hit the door.

It’s about 10:30 or so – and the cold, clear air feels pleasant against my face as I trundle through the parking lot. A passing Asian woman, in the company of her friend and a much older Caucasian guy smiles at me as I gazed at the stars. I smile back – the only courteous thing to do. Nevertheless, neither she, nor any of the girls from the Australian tour group, nor the Japanese girls back at Gordon’s will come to my bed that night.

And what a fantastic night it is – I can see a whole lot of stars – and they’re all different and misplaced. The only thing I can orient myself with is the Southern Cross. I continue on through the cool air, up the street and up the hill to my hostel. Inside I hit the shower, which feels so much better than the dribbling shower at Gordon’s place, that I take a good ten minutes before I’m done. Then, I shave the ol’ noggin, have another smoke and am just about to crawl into bed when I realize….

I haven’t picked up my laundry. When I check the front desk, it seems everyone’s asleep for the night. Oh well – I can get it tomorrow.

I lay there in my sleeping bag, looking up at nothing in particular, wondering why I’m here. Here in New Zealand, here on Earth. Why had I decided to take this vacation? Was I having a good time? Should I have said something different to Jocelyn in Hokitika? Would things have gone well if I’d stayed another night in Hokitika? Was that girl in the parking lot a few minutes ago smiling at me to tell me something? Why can’t I be more outgoing? Where was I going? What am I looking for?

And then…dreams.

~end Day 4~

~~”Day 5: Glacier Walking and Wanaka” is next~~