After the Nevis bungee, Jordache and I were scheduled for the Canyon Swing on the following day in Queenstown. Swinging from steel ropes attached to either side of a canyon, the ride starts with a 60 meter free-fall that accelerates you to 150 km/hr and then flings you out through a 200 meter arc. While it may sound as frightening as the bungee (or more so) it didn't have quite the same psychological effects on me. Jordache handled it even more easily than the bungee, smiling widely as he pushed off the platform backwards for his first swing. Unlike the bungee, where jumpers need to dive out from the platform, the swing allows all sorts of different jumps. Jordache did two swings while I did three, as neither of us could pass up the opportunity for following swings for only twenty bucks. The first swings we each did were simply backwards jumps, while the second was what is called a "cutaway." Suspended upside, the operators swing you out over the canyon where you look straight down at the cliff face before they pull the bolt that sends you falling head-first. My last jump was a gainer, a back-flip while moving forwards, and each time the adrenalin rush was as strong as the previous jump.
After the Canyon Swing we hit the road, traveling out toward Milford Sound in Fiordland. The only problem was that we didn't check to see if the wash-out that had closed the road earlier in the week had been cleared up yet. And it hadn't. We parked in a gravel parking lot at the "Closed Road" sign, only a scant 60 kms from our destination. We phoned the road information line that evening, and they said that we should check back in the morning in case things might have changed overnight. We did, and they hadn't. Backtracking south, we decided that we might as well go toward Stewart Island which was next on our itinerary. We got into Bluff on the coast, the town the ferry departs from, and booked our tickets for the following day.
Jordache had high hopes that Stewart Island would be where he would finally set his eyes on a kiwi bird, and while we kept our eyes peeled throughout the day and even went on a guided bird walk, the nocturnal flightless bird eluded us. We should given more thought to fact that it was a nocturnal bird. We arrived on the island mid-morning after the quick one-hour ferry ride and took the first hour or so to get over the trip. The waves were quite choppy and left both me and Jordache feeling slightly seasick. I had ridden the first bit of the trip at the front of the boat, standing while holding on tightly to the hand rails, feeling the ferry alternately drop from underneath me and push me into the air and felt great. It was only after I staggered back to my seat and observed a number of other passengers depositing their breakfasts into little paper bags that I began to feel sick myself. The ride back was much of the same, so Jordache and I spent most our time outside on deck in the fresh air.
After getting back to mainland, we spent the night in the same spot we had the night before, that being the local cemetery, and then headed out in the morning. A farmer observed us pulling out of the parking lot in the morning and just shook his head at us. Other than him, I don't thing we disturbed anyone else with our choice of parking spot. We headed into Invercargill where we used the internet and the public bathrooms and before we left, Jordache spotted a clothing sale and went into check it out. After a long talk with Peter, the owner of the store, Jordache and I each got an item off the sales rack, and Peter gave us a complimentary bottle of wine. By far the best perk I have ever gotten with a purchase.
We drove throught the Catlins along the south-east coast of the South Island towards Dunedin, stopping at the well-known Porpoise Bay. Hector Dolphins regulary frequent the bay, swimming alongside humans, and I went for a swim hoping some would come to see me. None did unfortunately, though while I was rinsing off back on shore, Jordache watched a sea lion surf in on a wave and chase the kids off the beach. When I got there it was sunning itself on the beach, oblivious to us tourists leaning on the fence taking pictures. We left the sea lion to itself, aiming to get into Dunedin by dark, and after making ourselves supper along the way, we realized that our muffler had come undone again. Ears ringing, we pulled into Dundedin around eight and quickly found a place to park for the night. Given the noise of the muffler, it is difficult to move quietly.
Surfing this morning was great, even if it was quite cold, and what was even better was that we found some beach showers. We are entirely self-sufficent except for a way to wash ourselves, so we may hang around here for a while and just enjoy being clean for a few days. Then, off to Mount Cook and Christchurch, unless there is another wash-out.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Westcoast
Cape Foulwind actually has nothing to do with the seal colony found there but was in fact named by Captain Cook after his ship met with day after day of strong seas in the 1800s. Live and learn. We got to the Cape in the late afternoon and made the walk up the bluff where we could look down on the seals lolling on the rocks below. There were about twenty or so full grown seals and about a dozen seal pups that we could see. The pups were gamboling after one another, slinking awkwardly from rock to rock as the adults, assumedly the mothers, basked in the sun. After checking out the seals we walked back down to the beach and surfed for about an hour and then headed down the coast. The rip tide was the strongest we had experienced so far, and we got into the water at the south end of the beach and in thirty minutes we had been pushed about 250 meters north - a good reminder to pay attention to what the water is doing.
We left Cape Foulwind and headed south, parking outside of Barrytown in the dark. Along the drive, I added another possum to my tally - unintentionally if you are wondering - bringing my total to two. With possum skins fetching thirty dollars in the tourist stores, it might actually pay to start aiming for them along the side of the road. I'm kidding of course. Really. Barrytown is a tiny little hamlet, and in the morning we slipped into the hostel in town to brush our teeth and then headed on down the road.
Arriving at the town of Franz Josef Glacier, we booked a half-day hike for the following day and then drove down a track near the river to find a place to park the van. We woke in the morning to mist rising from the water and low-lying cloud wrapped around the mountains - a magical view, and all the more enjoyable for having spent the night cocooned in our warm van as rain pelted down. Looking carefully, we could just make out the Franz Josef Glacier up the valley as we headed back into town for the 9:15 AM departure of our hiking tour. We spent the morning and a few hours of the afternoon walking through the rain to, on or from the glacier, though occasionally the sun would break through, making a great view spectacular.
After getting back into town, we again headed south, stopping briefly at the Fox Glacier where we ran to the lookout point in the rain, snapped a picture, and then ran back to the relative dry of the van. We kept on driving, getting into Queenstown at night. After driving around in the city for forty-five minutes looking for a place to park and being foiled by a night watchman in our attempt to sneak into a campsite bathroom, we found a promising-looking parking lot where we bedded down for the night.
Today we headed out to the Nevis Bungy, the biggest jump in NZ at 134 meters, where I had a bad case of the shakes before I threw myself into thin air. You rest the soles of your feet on the thighs of the attendant as she attaches the straps above your ankles, and I had what she termed "a little bit of Elvis going on." My legs were shaking so strongly that I was in turn causing her body to shake. Hobbling to the edge of the platform, I looked down as my toes peeked over the edge, and the ground seemed much further away than it should have been. As the countdown reached "ONE!" I turned off my brain and leapt away from the platform. After the tension of the line pulled me up for the first time, I relaxed and enjoyed the sensation and the fantastic view of the canyon, albeit upside down.
We left Cape Foulwind and headed south, parking outside of Barrytown in the dark. Along the drive, I added another possum to my tally - unintentionally if you are wondering - bringing my total to two. With possum skins fetching thirty dollars in the tourist stores, it might actually pay to start aiming for them along the side of the road. I'm kidding of course. Really. Barrytown is a tiny little hamlet, and in the morning we slipped into the hostel in town to brush our teeth and then headed on down the road.
Arriving at the town of Franz Josef Glacier, we booked a half-day hike for the following day and then drove down a track near the river to find a place to park the van. We woke in the morning to mist rising from the water and low-lying cloud wrapped around the mountains - a magical view, and all the more enjoyable for having spent the night cocooned in our warm van as rain pelted down. Looking carefully, we could just make out the Franz Josef Glacier up the valley as we headed back into town for the 9:15 AM departure of our hiking tour. We spent the morning and a few hours of the afternoon walking through the rain to, on or from the glacier, though occasionally the sun would break through, making a great view spectacular.
After getting back into town, we again headed south, stopping briefly at the Fox Glacier where we ran to the lookout point in the rain, snapped a picture, and then ran back to the relative dry of the van. We kept on driving, getting into Queenstown at night. After driving around in the city for forty-five minutes looking for a place to park and being foiled by a night watchman in our attempt to sneak into a campsite bathroom, we found a promising-looking parking lot where we bedded down for the night.
Today we headed out to the Nevis Bungy, the biggest jump in NZ at 134 meters, where I had a bad case of the shakes before I threw myself into thin air. You rest the soles of your feet on the thighs of the attendant as she attaches the straps above your ankles, and I had what she termed "a little bit of Elvis going on." My legs were shaking so strongly that I was in turn causing her body to shake. Hobbling to the edge of the platform, I looked down as my toes peeked over the edge, and the ground seemed much further away than it should have been. As the countdown reached "ONE!" I turned off my brain and leapt away from the platform. After the tension of the line pulled me up for the first time, I relaxed and enjoyed the sensation and the fantastic view of the canyon, albeit upside down.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
South Island
Catching the ferry on Tuesday from Wellington, we arrived in Picton on the South Island around nine in the evening. The plan was to catch the ferry on Monday, but I had some issues with collecting my Russian and Chinese visas. I needed a longer NZ visa before I could get my Russian Visa, and after I got that taken care of they had closed their consulate. I wouldn't mind the 1:00 PM close if I worked there, but it didn't give me much time to run down to Immigration and get a six-month NZ visa. The next day I was prepared, or so I thought, but was told that I needed a full receipt for my lodgings in Russia. I ran down to the nearest internet cafe, and luckily Jared was online - he phoned my travel agent in Edmonton for me, and she sent the information I needed five minutes later. I got back to the Russian Embassy with twenty minutes to spare and dropped off the necessary documents and my passport. When they are finished processing it they'll send it on to the Chinese Embassy in Wellington where I will have to pick it up on my way out of the country. Oh bureaucracy.
After getting off the ferry in the dark, we found a spot to sleep in a gravel parking lot in Picton and then headed west to Abel Tasman National Park. We pulled into the little town of Marahau in the evening and planned the next day for our hike. The Tasman Trail is 52 kms long and can be done in 3-5 days, but we don't have a tent - or the interest in spending a bunch of nights sleeping in the woods. There is a fee for every night you spend in the park as well, so we decided the best way to do it would be to do an all-day out-and-back hike.
This didn't seem like such a good idea at 6 AM as we pulled ourselves out of the van the next day, but we had managed to find a mattress at a second-hand store the day before which made the sleep significantly more restful. Getting on the trail just as the sun was rising, we headed out with backpacks full of food and water with the plan to cover as much distance as possible. What we had not taken into account that it has been nearly two months without wearing shoes, and about mid-morning our feet reminded us. Jordache ended up finishing the day with blisters all over his feet, none of them smaller than a thumb nail, while I was lucky to only limp through a pulled groin muscle I had injured surfing a few days ago. We did still manage to cover over thirty kilometers though, getting back to the trail head around six in the evening. The highlight for me was Cleopatra's Pool where I went for a swim in the cold water and gave the natural rock water slide a try.
Getting back into Marahau, we parked our van down the street from a campground and slipped in the front gate with our towels and soap for a quick shower. Jordache had tried the same thing the night before but had found out that the showers were coin-operated, so we were prepared this time with some coins. A legitimate camper was using the bathroom at the same time and was surprised to see that he needed to go and get a dollar to use the shower. He turned to Jordache and said "What? You have to pay for showers here? I already paid for a campsite!" Jordache nodded his head in sympathy and said "Yeah, I know what you mean man." Our dirt camping skills are becoming more and more advanced.
The hike was yesterday, though by the end of the day it could only have been termed a shuffle, and we are now on our way to see the seal colony at Cape Foulwind (Hopefully the name isn't too apt). Our plan is make a counter-clockwise circle of the South Island and then end in Christchurch, though the plan is more of a rough sketch than a set itinerary.
After getting off the ferry in the dark, we found a spot to sleep in a gravel parking lot in Picton and then headed west to Abel Tasman National Park. We pulled into the little town of Marahau in the evening and planned the next day for our hike. The Tasman Trail is 52 kms long and can be done in 3-5 days, but we don't have a tent - or the interest in spending a bunch of nights sleeping in the woods. There is a fee for every night you spend in the park as well, so we decided the best way to do it would be to do an all-day out-and-back hike.
This didn't seem like such a good idea at 6 AM as we pulled ourselves out of the van the next day, but we had managed to find a mattress at a second-hand store the day before which made the sleep significantly more restful. Getting on the trail just as the sun was rising, we headed out with backpacks full of food and water with the plan to cover as much distance as possible. What we had not taken into account that it has been nearly two months without wearing shoes, and about mid-morning our feet reminded us. Jordache ended up finishing the day with blisters all over his feet, none of them smaller than a thumb nail, while I was lucky to only limp through a pulled groin muscle I had injured surfing a few days ago. We did still manage to cover over thirty kilometers though, getting back to the trail head around six in the evening. The highlight for me was Cleopatra's Pool where I went for a swim in the cold water and gave the natural rock water slide a try.
Getting back into Marahau, we parked our van down the street from a campground and slipped in the front gate with our towels and soap for a quick shower. Jordache had tried the same thing the night before but had found out that the showers were coin-operated, so we were prepared this time with some coins. A legitimate camper was using the bathroom at the same time and was surprised to see that he needed to go and get a dollar to use the shower. He turned to Jordache and said "What? You have to pay for showers here? I already paid for a campsite!" Jordache nodded his head in sympathy and said "Yeah, I know what you mean man." Our dirt camping skills are becoming more and more advanced.
The hike was yesterday, though by the end of the day it could only have been termed a shuffle, and we are now on our way to see the seal colony at Cape Foulwind (Hopefully the name isn't too apt). Our plan is make a counter-clockwise circle of the South Island and then end in Christchurch, though the plan is more of a rough sketch than a set itinerary.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Surfing, Sheep, Southward
Waking up in Raglan to a rapping on the side of the van, we were accosted early in the morning by what we later thought was a By-law officer. At the time we were too sleepy to ask exactly what position he held. He told us that we were on private property and that the farmer had complained and, while he wouldn't ticket us, we would have to leave immediately. We had parked in a cul-de-sac down a street that didn't have any houses on it, but apparently a farmer was developing a section of his land - and "had his guts full" with tourists parking on his property. Yawning, we made the short drive down to the beach and grabbed our boards for our second attempt at surfing in NZ. Unsurprisingly, the water was just as cold as it has been at Piha and we walked out of the surf after just an hour, seriously considering wetsuits. We actually picked some wetsuits up later in the day - last year's models, so that along with the strength of the Canadian dollar made them a pretty good deal. So excited after buying the suits, we went right back into the water, but a storm was rolling in and the waves weren't as good as they had been in the morning. Still, the suits worked perfectly, though Jordache complained he was too warm. Better than hypothermia I always say.
In the afternoon we headed out of Raglan and got into Rotorua where we parked just outside the city. The next day we got up and headed to the Zorb hill. A Zorb, for those of you have better things to do then waste time on YouTube, is a large clear ball, approximately twelve feet high with another smaller ball suspended by bands inside the first sphere. Basically a human-sized hamster ball. Climbing through the side and into the centre sphere, one to three riders attempt to maintain their balance as the Zorb rolls down a hill. You can elect for an unsecured ride with about 5 gallons of water to make sure you don't stick to the sides, or you can have yourself strapped in securely and maintain one position - basically one somersault after another. Jordache and I each took a solo ride in the unsecured Zorb, careening down a zig-zag track, running inside the Zorb, falling, and then diving forward to lend the Zorb more momentum. As one onlooker said, it is definitely not a spectator sport, but quite fun for the rider. I asked one of the operators how much a Zorb cost, with visions of putting a track together in Canada, but when he said it cost about 13,000 bucks I decided it just might not be worth it.
After zorbing Jordache and I went over to the luge track just down the road, taking a gondola up the mountain just outside of Rotorua and then racing each other down on concrete tracks. The track is four carts wide at some points, and by our last ride we were speeding down the runs, cutting in and around the slower learners as we bumped and cut one another off. The three-wheeled carts probably aren't made for it, but on many corners we were up on two wheels, leaning way over to counter-balance ourselves, and once I over-balanced, rubbing my ankle raw and rocking back upright as Jordache sped by laughing his head off.
Just outside of Rotorua is a camp site called Waikite Springs, and along with your camp rights comes full access to the natural hot springs. We soaked there last night, and then climbed into our van to sleep. The nights are significantly colder here in NZ, and my +3 sleeping bag isn't really doing the job. Even Jordache in his -7 bag is finding it uncomfortably cold at nights. I had another poor night's sleep and woke up this morning at 5:30. After almost an hour of attempting to convince myself that I was sleepy enough to fall back asleep, I unfolded myself out of the van and went into the pools. There are a number of them, each with a different temperature, and I made my way to the warmest one, about 42 C, where I quickly warmed up and waited for Jordache to wake up.
After having breakfast, we headed back into Rotorua for the world-famous Agrodome sheep show where we made it just in time to catch a shearing demonstration. The presentation was well-polished, as expected when there are three shows a day seven days a week, and it was very well worth it. We stayed around afterwards, looking at the filthy expensive merchandise and then leaning on a fence outside as a sheepherder (staff and all) worked a trio of sheep through a series of gates and into a pen with his dog. An interesting thing to us that we learned at the Agrodome is that New Zealanders have begun incorporating possum hair with wool to create a new blend of natural fabric - a good use for the non-native possums as there are over 80 million of them in the country and each of them a much-hated pest. Their carcasses litter the roads, and I've even squished one myself. They are nocturnal, and in some night driving last week one froze in front of me with its saucer-wide eyes staring up in shock as the grille of the van bore down on it. Just doing my bit to get rid of those invasive species again.
Writing this in Taupo now, we are getting back on the road and aiming to get into Wellington tonight. I have some visa applications I need processed for countries coming up, and then we are catching the ferry to the south island where we will have approximately another three weeks.
In the afternoon we headed out of Raglan and got into Rotorua where we parked just outside the city. The next day we got up and headed to the Zorb hill. A Zorb, for those of you have better things to do then waste time on YouTube, is a large clear ball, approximately twelve feet high with another smaller ball suspended by bands inside the first sphere. Basically a human-sized hamster ball. Climbing through the side and into the centre sphere, one to three riders attempt to maintain their balance as the Zorb rolls down a hill. You can elect for an unsecured ride with about 5 gallons of water to make sure you don't stick to the sides, or you can have yourself strapped in securely and maintain one position - basically one somersault after another. Jordache and I each took a solo ride in the unsecured Zorb, careening down a zig-zag track, running inside the Zorb, falling, and then diving forward to lend the Zorb more momentum. As one onlooker said, it is definitely not a spectator sport, but quite fun for the rider. I asked one of the operators how much a Zorb cost, with visions of putting a track together in Canada, but when he said it cost about 13,000 bucks I decided it just might not be worth it.
After zorbing Jordache and I went over to the luge track just down the road, taking a gondola up the mountain just outside of Rotorua and then racing each other down on concrete tracks. The track is four carts wide at some points, and by our last ride we were speeding down the runs, cutting in and around the slower learners as we bumped and cut one another off. The three-wheeled carts probably aren't made for it, but on many corners we were up on two wheels, leaning way over to counter-balance ourselves, and once I over-balanced, rubbing my ankle raw and rocking back upright as Jordache sped by laughing his head off.
Just outside of Rotorua is a camp site called Waikite Springs, and along with your camp rights comes full access to the natural hot springs. We soaked there last night, and then climbed into our van to sleep. The nights are significantly colder here in NZ, and my +3 sleeping bag isn't really doing the job. Even Jordache in his -7 bag is finding it uncomfortably cold at nights. I had another poor night's sleep and woke up this morning at 5:30. After almost an hour of attempting to convince myself that I was sleepy enough to fall back asleep, I unfolded myself out of the van and went into the pools. There are a number of them, each with a different temperature, and I made my way to the warmest one, about 42 C, where I quickly warmed up and waited for Jordache to wake up.
After having breakfast, we headed back into Rotorua for the world-famous Agrodome sheep show where we made it just in time to catch a shearing demonstration. The presentation was well-polished, as expected when there are three shows a day seven days a week, and it was very well worth it. We stayed around afterwards, looking at the filthy expensive merchandise and then leaning on a fence outside as a sheepherder (staff and all) worked a trio of sheep through a series of gates and into a pen with his dog. An interesting thing to us that we learned at the Agrodome is that New Zealanders have begun incorporating possum hair with wool to create a new blend of natural fabric - a good use for the non-native possums as there are over 80 million of them in the country and each of them a much-hated pest. Their carcasses litter the roads, and I've even squished one myself. They are nocturnal, and in some night driving last week one froze in front of me with its saucer-wide eyes staring up in shock as the grille of the van bore down on it. Just doing my bit to get rid of those invasive species again.
Writing this in Taupo now, we are getting back on the road and aiming to get into Wellington tonight. I have some visa applications I need processed for countries coming up, and then we are catching the ferry to the south island where we will have approximately another three weeks.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The North of the North Island
Arriving in Auckland at 12:30 AM local time last Friday, Jordache and I spent a few hours right away looking for a vehicle. Samsung had a free internet station at the terminal, so we made good use of that, looking up vehicles online and jotting down numbers to call later in the day. After catching some shut-eye in the airport, falling asleep around two in a nearly empty airport and then waking up around eight surrounded by arriving travelers, we caught a cab into Auckland into our hostel. Ideally we would have liked to have found a vehicle on Friday and then hit the road on Saturday, yet everyone we phoned had either already sold their vehicle or was unavailable. We even took the bus out to the suburbs to look at a potential vehicle, but after we arrived in a shady part of town and looked at the vehicle, we decided it wouldn't be a good fit. The seller seemed a little bit shady actually, as he was under house arrest and had about half-a-dozen vehicles for sale. The vehicle we had come to see was across the street from his apartment, and he yelled at us from his front yard, his ankle bracelet blinking, wondering if it was what we were looking for. We told him it wasn't - and didn't stick around to chat.
After looking at a number of other vehicles we finally bought a 1988 Nissan Bongo van. It has less than 100,000 kms on it and its five-transmission has been a big help in navigating the circuitous highways. We got it for $1800 CDN, and after spending Monday morning putting a raised bed into the back, we think we might be able to sell it to some backpackers when we leave for a bit of a profit.
We left Auckland on Sunday, heading north up the east coast with the plan being to get to Cape Reinga, the northern tip of the North Island, that night. A good rule of thumb in Canada is 100 kms = 1 hr, but in New Zealand we quickly learned that it is more like 75 kms = 1 hr, especially when you are driving a van like ours, so we parked outside a gas station along the way, planning on getting up early, getting some fuel and hitting the road early. We were visited by a cop only fifteen minutes after pulling in, and he told us he had had some reports of "some guys who looked kind of sus." After chatting with us for bit, he realized we weren't that suspicious after all and headed off, telling us to enjoy our trip.
The next day the plan was to make a bed for the back of the van, and we pulled up to a hardware store where we got the lumber we needed cut to our specifications and then began tacking it together the best we could with a hammer and nails. A guy leaving the store offered us the use of his surfboard workshop across the road, so we made our way over there. Power tools made life much easier and the bed much more likely to last the trip, and after a few hours there we were on our way.
Sunset found us taking in the view at Cape Reinga, looking north as the Tasman and the Pacific met in front of us. Because of the difference in the tides you can see where the two seas meet as waves crash into one another in a northerly line, and the place has a spiritual significance for the Maori people. According to legend, it is in this place that souls step down into the ocean and begin their journey to the afterlife. The parking lot on the Cape served as our campsite, and in the morning we turned south and backtracked to the Te Paki Sand Dunes.
There was a sandboard rental at the dunes, but we had rented sandboards from a gas station and so headed straight out onto the sand. After we each had a ride down one of the smaller dunes at a painfully slow speed, we realized that we had been duped. The "sandboards" from the gas station were actually boogie boards, obviously designed for water, not sand. We ended up getting some legitimate sandboards from the woman renting the sandboards at the dunes, and this time we flew down the slope. There was a bit of a rise at the bottom of the dune we were sliding down, and after a few rides Jordache headed down, trying to steer himself around the rise and so get a longer ride. Steering sandboards is pretty much impossible, and Jordache found himself heading straight for the rise. He rocketed off, landing twelve paces down the sand, sticking the landing. The the next two times he attempted it as I filmed it, but the landing just wasn't as smooth as the first time. When you see the video you will know what I mean. And he had just about recovered from his cliff dive too. The difficulty of the hike up the dunes was the deciding factor in how many rides we had, as tramping up the steep incline was exhausting, and after about six rides apiece we hit the road.
Heading south, we decided not to take the same highway and instead took a dirt road down to 90 Mile Beach. The dirt road cut through a farmer's field and we made the requested one dollar donation in the coffee can, opening and then closing the gate after ourselves. The beach is actually a registered highway, and we cruised south, only meeting a handful of vehicles on the sand. If we had to navigate the same quality of track off the beach as we did on our rear-wheel drive van would not have made it, but at the southern end of the beach we were relieved to find an actual ramp off the sand.
That night we got into Pahi, a surfing beach that had been recommended to us, and in the morning we headed out into the waves. The few people we saw in the water were wearing wetsuits, and we quickly discovered why. The water is cold. Coming from the warm water of Australia, we had been spoiled, and we shivered through an hour of waves. We have yet to get into the water again, and it is looking like we will either buy wetsuits or sell the surfboards. Pahi is on the west coast, known for its surf and its black sand beaches, and after exiting the water we headed east coast, typified by white sand and more swimmer-friendly waters. We hiked down to Cathedral Cove and parked our vehicle on the beach at Hot Water Beach. This town is so named because of the hot springs that bubble up along the coast, and around nine we headed down the beach in the dark to go dig ourselves a natural hot tub.
The hot springs can be accessed two hours on either side of high tide, and the tide was coming back in as we found the spot. I had visions of digging a deep hole and then relaxing in water of uniform temperature. In reality, a hole eight inches deep is as much of a depression as can easily be made in the sand, and the hot water comes out of the ground in waves, alternating between boiling hot and luke-warm. We hung out with a German couple we had met, and after we were swamped by a wave for the fifth time which obliterated the wall of our pool, we decided that we would call it a night. Still, for a few brief minutes outside of the labour to dig away the sand and jumping up to avoid scalding, it was quite the experience to lay back in the shallow water and look up at the crystal-clear sky.
Today we made the drive from Hot Water Beach to Raglan, where the plan is stay tonight and brave the water and do some surfing tomorrow. The trip took a bit longer than it would have if we hadn't had vehicle problems, but that was taken care much more quickly than we expected. Our muffler had come apart yesterday, and while the noise generated made us sound rather impressive on the road, it induced headaches inside the cab. We drove the van into a shop along the highway today, and the mechanic welded it up and had us on our way in thirty minutes. Talk about service!
After looking at a number of other vehicles we finally bought a 1988 Nissan Bongo van. It has less than 100,000 kms on it and its five-transmission has been a big help in navigating the circuitous highways. We got it for $1800 CDN, and after spending Monday morning putting a raised bed into the back, we think we might be able to sell it to some backpackers when we leave for a bit of a profit.
We left Auckland on Sunday, heading north up the east coast with the plan being to get to Cape Reinga, the northern tip of the North Island, that night. A good rule of thumb in Canada is 100 kms = 1 hr, but in New Zealand we quickly learned that it is more like 75 kms = 1 hr, especially when you are driving a van like ours, so we parked outside a gas station along the way, planning on getting up early, getting some fuel and hitting the road early. We were visited by a cop only fifteen minutes after pulling in, and he told us he had had some reports of "some guys who looked kind of sus." After chatting with us for bit, he realized we weren't that suspicious after all and headed off, telling us to enjoy our trip.
The next day the plan was to make a bed for the back of the van, and we pulled up to a hardware store where we got the lumber we needed cut to our specifications and then began tacking it together the best we could with a hammer and nails. A guy leaving the store offered us the use of his surfboard workshop across the road, so we made our way over there. Power tools made life much easier and the bed much more likely to last the trip, and after a few hours there we were on our way.
Sunset found us taking in the view at Cape Reinga, looking north as the Tasman and the Pacific met in front of us. Because of the difference in the tides you can see where the two seas meet as waves crash into one another in a northerly line, and the place has a spiritual significance for the Maori people. According to legend, it is in this place that souls step down into the ocean and begin their journey to the afterlife. The parking lot on the Cape served as our campsite, and in the morning we turned south and backtracked to the Te Paki Sand Dunes.
There was a sandboard rental at the dunes, but we had rented sandboards from a gas station and so headed straight out onto the sand. After we each had a ride down one of the smaller dunes at a painfully slow speed, we realized that we had been duped. The "sandboards" from the gas station were actually boogie boards, obviously designed for water, not sand. We ended up getting some legitimate sandboards from the woman renting the sandboards at the dunes, and this time we flew down the slope. There was a bit of a rise at the bottom of the dune we were sliding down, and after a few rides Jordache headed down, trying to steer himself around the rise and so get a longer ride. Steering sandboards is pretty much impossible, and Jordache found himself heading straight for the rise. He rocketed off, landing twelve paces down the sand, sticking the landing. The the next two times he attempted it as I filmed it, but the landing just wasn't as smooth as the first time. When you see the video you will know what I mean. And he had just about recovered from his cliff dive too. The difficulty of the hike up the dunes was the deciding factor in how many rides we had, as tramping up the steep incline was exhausting, and after about six rides apiece we hit the road.
Heading south, we decided not to take the same highway and instead took a dirt road down to 90 Mile Beach. The dirt road cut through a farmer's field and we made the requested one dollar donation in the coffee can, opening and then closing the gate after ourselves. The beach is actually a registered highway, and we cruised south, only meeting a handful of vehicles on the sand. If we had to navigate the same quality of track off the beach as we did on our rear-wheel drive van would not have made it, but at the southern end of the beach we were relieved to find an actual ramp off the sand.
That night we got into Pahi, a surfing beach that had been recommended to us, and in the morning we headed out into the waves. The few people we saw in the water were wearing wetsuits, and we quickly discovered why. The water is cold. Coming from the warm water of Australia, we had been spoiled, and we shivered through an hour of waves. We have yet to get into the water again, and it is looking like we will either buy wetsuits or sell the surfboards. Pahi is on the west coast, known for its surf and its black sand beaches, and after exiting the water we headed east coast, typified by white sand and more swimmer-friendly waters. We hiked down to Cathedral Cove and parked our vehicle on the beach at Hot Water Beach. This town is so named because of the hot springs that bubble up along the coast, and around nine we headed down the beach in the dark to go dig ourselves a natural hot tub.
The hot springs can be accessed two hours on either side of high tide, and the tide was coming back in as we found the spot. I had visions of digging a deep hole and then relaxing in water of uniform temperature. In reality, a hole eight inches deep is as much of a depression as can easily be made in the sand, and the hot water comes out of the ground in waves, alternating between boiling hot and luke-warm. We hung out with a German couple we had met, and after we were swamped by a wave for the fifth time which obliterated the wall of our pool, we decided that we would call it a night. Still, for a few brief minutes outside of the labour to dig away the sand and jumping up to avoid scalding, it was quite the experience to lay back in the shallow water and look up at the crystal-clear sky.
Today we made the drive from Hot Water Beach to Raglan, where the plan is stay tonight and brave the water and do some surfing tomorrow. The trip took a bit longer than it would have if we hadn't had vehicle problems, but that was taken care much more quickly than we expected. Our muffler had come apart yesterday, and while the noise generated made us sound rather impressive on the road, it induced headaches inside the cab. We drove the van into a shop along the highway today, and the mechanic welded it up and had us on our way in thirty minutes. Talk about service!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
To New Zealand
Having spent the last few days in Byron Bay, Jordache and I leave today for Auckland, New Zealand while Kyle is staying in Byron for a few more days. We were plagued by constant rain nearly the entire time we were here, and after selling our car along with one of our tents, it was back to the three of us sleeping head-to-toe in our remaining three-man tent with not even a car roof to keep dry under. That being said, we really had no complaints about getting rid of the car so easily. After we sold it, one of the ladies working at our camp site said she was glad for us, as the week before a guy had left with no interested parties and had to settle for $17 from a friend. Some friend.
Jordache had listed the car online about a week before we got into Byron, and while we had a fair number of views, only one person contacted us. We had listed our 1994 Toyota Camry Wagon with over 270,000 kms for $2200, having paid $1800 for it, so we had room to drop our price. Mirthe, a German exchange student, contacted us and sounded very interested, so we set up a time for her to drive down from Brisbane to check out the car. She got a ride with her employer, an Olympic team physiotherapist, and they pulled up in a Mercedes SUV. Her employer was going to let her know what he thought of the car, as she had told us she knew nothing about vehicles. The physiotherapist naturally wasn't that impressed, given that his ride was approximately thirty times what the Camry was worth, but we eventually settled on $1750. We had decided earlier that we could have let the car go for as low as $1000, and seeing as no one else was interested, we thought it would be best not to be too greedy.
That night, while we had a few extra dollars in our pockets, the walk into town was no less long or wet, and we realized that we had dropped a few rungs on the traveler ladder back down to backpackers. The walk into Byron Bay from our camp site would take between 20-30 minutes depending on our level of committment to haste, but we also hitched rides in and out of the town depending on the time of day. On foot, Jordache would repeatedly pronounce that his body was not made for walking, and would usually trail glumly behind me and Kyle.
Byron Bay, the most easterly point of mainland Australia, is a small town of about 9,000 permanent residents but with the backpackers/tourists/transients (depending on your point of view) the population is around 15,000. We met quite a few fellow Canadians during our stay, and we were most vocal after the men's team took gold on Monday. Showing at noon on Sunday in Canada, it meant that the puck dropped at 7 AM Monday morning for us, and we groggily but faithfully pulled ourselves out of our tent and walked into the camp kitchen to watch the game. With only four channels, the game wasn't being shown, so we made our way into town thinking that we had probably missed it. Walking past an electronics store, I saw the game playing on a bank of TVs in the back so we quickly claimed a couch and watched the end of the third and overtime. After Crosby scored we burst off the couch, loudly interrupting the salesman explaining something about picture quality to a customer. Canadians were running down the street with bodies painted red and white and leaning out of cars on main street with flags from the windows, all yelling along with a nation on the other side of the world.
Surfing, a trip to the Byron Bay lighhouse, and a day trip to Nimbin filled our days in Byron and now Jordache and I are gone. The one thing we had wanted to do here in Byron that we didn't do was go cliff jumping at a quarry just outside of town. Jordache is still feeling the effects of his jump a couple of weeks ago, so he wasn't interested, and after Kyle and I heard that someone had just broken their back in a jump we decided that maybe we wouldn't do it either. Theo, if you're reading this, you're one crazy man. Making smart choices, this is it from Justin from Australia. On to New Zealand.
Jordache had listed the car online about a week before we got into Byron, and while we had a fair number of views, only one person contacted us. We had listed our 1994 Toyota Camry Wagon with over 270,000 kms for $2200, having paid $1800 for it, so we had room to drop our price. Mirthe, a German exchange student, contacted us and sounded very interested, so we set up a time for her to drive down from Brisbane to check out the car. She got a ride with her employer, an Olympic team physiotherapist, and they pulled up in a Mercedes SUV. Her employer was going to let her know what he thought of the car, as she had told us she knew nothing about vehicles. The physiotherapist naturally wasn't that impressed, given that his ride was approximately thirty times what the Camry was worth, but we eventually settled on $1750. We had decided earlier that we could have let the car go for as low as $1000, and seeing as no one else was interested, we thought it would be best not to be too greedy.
That night, while we had a few extra dollars in our pockets, the walk into town was no less long or wet, and we realized that we had dropped a few rungs on the traveler ladder back down to backpackers. The walk into Byron Bay from our camp site would take between 20-30 minutes depending on our level of committment to haste, but we also hitched rides in and out of the town depending on the time of day. On foot, Jordache would repeatedly pronounce that his body was not made for walking, and would usually trail glumly behind me and Kyle.
Byron Bay, the most easterly point of mainland Australia, is a small town of about 9,000 permanent residents but with the backpackers/tourists/transients (depending on your point of view) the population is around 15,000. We met quite a few fellow Canadians during our stay, and we were most vocal after the men's team took gold on Monday. Showing at noon on Sunday in Canada, it meant that the puck dropped at 7 AM Monday morning for us, and we groggily but faithfully pulled ourselves out of our tent and walked into the camp kitchen to watch the game. With only four channels, the game wasn't being shown, so we made our way into town thinking that we had probably missed it. Walking past an electronics store, I saw the game playing on a bank of TVs in the back so we quickly claimed a couch and watched the end of the third and overtime. After Crosby scored we burst off the couch, loudly interrupting the salesman explaining something about picture quality to a customer. Canadians were running down the street with bodies painted red and white and leaning out of cars on main street with flags from the windows, all yelling along with a nation on the other side of the world.
Surfing, a trip to the Byron Bay lighhouse, and a day trip to Nimbin filled our days in Byron and now Jordache and I are gone. The one thing we had wanted to do here in Byron that we didn't do was go cliff jumping at a quarry just outside of town. Jordache is still feeling the effects of his jump a couple of weeks ago, so he wasn't interested, and after Kyle and I heard that someone had just broken their back in a jump we decided that maybe we wouldn't do it either. Theo, if you're reading this, you're one crazy man. Making smart choices, this is it from Justin from Australia. On to New Zealand.
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