South Island - Part II - Queenstown and Bungy

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Adrenaline Junkies

In the morning, we made our way slowly back to Queenstown from Te Anau. We stopped for photos along the way, and Eric stopped to take a quick dip in some frighteningly cold water. I egged him on, challenging him. We were in no rush to get to Qtown, and we were passing an enormous dark blue lake starting in Kingston and running all the way to Qtown. I suggested, why don’t we pull over some place and see if you could take a dip. He said he wanted to swim in cold water during the M.P., to jump into a fjord first thing in the morning. We left fiordland when we left Te Anau, so Lake Wakatipu would have to do. Eric threw on his trunks in the back of the campervan, marched down the stones to the lake’s edge, and jumped on in. Well, because of the shallow nature of the lake, and the stones leading out of the lake to the edge, he sort of waded out. This made the pain last all that much longer. But, he made it out, froze only a bit, and then we were back in the van heading to Qtown.

We really had no plans for Qtown, other than trying to do some more adventurous activity, after all it is the adrenaline capital of New Zealand. After parking Tom, we walked to the small town center and stopped at “The Station” - which is the name of the intersection where a tourist shop is located, along with several booking companies, to book some extreme adventures around the city. It was just after noon, and we decided to squeeze an activity into that afternoon. After parking Tom at a rugby field that seemed to double as a landing zone for paragliders, we decided on paragliding. We tried to paraglide in Christchurch, but it was not running because of weather. You need to have the perfect winds it seems. The weather seemed fine at that moment, as we watched about a dozen or so gliders jump from the mountain, so we moved.

We drove Tom up to the base of the mountain overlooking Qtown. We rode a gondola up to the top. As we ascended the mountain we started realizing the mountain was a lot higher than we thought from below. When we reached the top, and took a look around, we saw exactly how high up we were - about 2000 feet. After checking in with G-Force Paragliding, we took another chair lift up even higher. When we arrived at the top, my pilot, Rene, set up the parachute, laying it out meticulously on the ground while untangling the cords connecting the parachute to the harnesses. He placed a somewhat flimsy helmet on my head, and wrapped a harness around my waist and legs. I had a seat attached to my back, which felt like a heavy diaper, and slowed down my walking. It became a deliberate walk with an attachment to my rear. He attached himself to me and then we waited. The wind had died down, so our eyes were focused on a wind sock just to the right. There was another girl attached to a pilot who was also waiting. I knew that as soon as the wind hit just right Rene would yell “Go”, then “Run,” and then we were off. But, we waited, and waited, and the wind never came. I was nervous that they would cancel the glide, once I got my nerves up. The last thing I needed I needed was an excuse to not jump.

Instead, Rene informed me that we were moving to higher ground, and that Eric was probably already up there. So harness off, helmet off, and we were on our way. After the huge gondola up to 2000 feet (which, by the way, makes the Christchurch Gondola appear like a ride a Disney), and the additional chair lift, we climbed straight up, more than 45 degrees for a good 15-20 minutes to another landing where you could not even see the town below. This was another example of how considerably out of shape Eric and I still are, huffing and puffing as we reached the top. When I arrived at the top, Eric was all ready to go in his helmet and harness, with his pilot, Clarke. We spoke for a few minutes and he was off - right off the side of the cliff, and then I could not even see him anymore. Clarke yelled go, then run, and they disappeared right off the side. Rene, my pilot, criticized Eric’s take off because Eric tried to sit down prior to take off. I swore I could do better.

Rene repeated his routine that he completed just a few minutes before, farther down the mountain. He laid out the parachute, untangled the wires, harnessed me in, helmet on, hooked my harness to his, and without even 30 seconds to breathe he yelled “Go!” In line with his instructions I started to walk briskly forward, dragging him behind me. Then he yelled “Run!” I tried. I really did. I tried to run, carrying Rene, the harnesses, the seats, and a parachute behind me, but I just lost my footing as we neared the cliff. I blamed it on the extra uphill walk which tired my legs out, but I frankly just lost my footing. Rene yelled, somewhat jokingly, “what are you doing, trying to trip me?” and then he ran forward as my knees scrapped the grass just feet from the edge of the cliff. Rene jumped up at the end, dragged me forward and we were off! I apologized straight away, but it was forgotten. We were airborne over the town.

The glide itself was incredible, and despite the height, and the feeling of soaring over the city below, it was incredibly relaxing. Rene took me around and around, several times over the gondola and the initial jump site. He was snapping pictures of me as we went, and I wanted to encourage him to focus on the flying rather than the pictures. At one point he circled the parachute in tight circles, creating an amazing g-force, and a feeling of weightlessness. It almost made my lunch of steak and mushroom meat pie return to where it came from. I told Rene that and he took it as a challenge. He asked if I liked roller coasters, and without waiting for my answer he took us up and down in little tiny hills through the air. Again, my stomach felt like it was coming through my throat. When it was time to land, on an empty green field next to a pre-school, Rene told me to keep running as we landed. I thought that instruction was not all that effective on the take off. But, I did run this time, and made at least a somewhat more graceful entry, with Eric waiting for me as I landed. It was the most amazing, heart pounding experience of my life, until Wednesday.

AJ Hackett - Xtreme

As a bit of background, although this trip’s motto is No Fear, I have never been an adrenaline junkie. In fact, like most nerdy tax attorneys, I would consider myself quite reserved. I will jay walk with no fear, I will do shots of tequila, and I am getting more adventurous with foods, but I do live in a world of fear - with a complete understanding of what could happen to me. I do not think I am afraid of death as much as afraid of getting hurt - broken bones are my nightmare. I have lived through them myself, and nursed my husband through three broken arms. In general, I think my fear is a rational, intelligent, well thought through fear. Also, I never learned certain simple things growing up, the product of a working mom when I was younger, and a never present family as I grew older. So, even simple tasks I never learned, and am therefore, still afraid. I never learned to swim very well, although I demonstrated my swimming for Eric recently, and he said I was doing just fine. I never learned to swim under the water without holding my nose, although I am making headway into that one too. Add these two together and you can realize I never learned to dive. I will not dive head first into the ocean, into a clear lake, or even into a crystal clear swimming pool. Keep this in mind.

AJ Hackett was an early extreme jumper, trying to base jump from various buildings around the world. In 1987, he created his own way to attach latex rubber cords to his body and practiced by doing various jumps in France, including one from the Eiffel Tower. Do you see where this is going? In 1988, he opened the world’s first commercial bungy jump off a bridge over the Kawarau River just outside of Queenstown, New Zealand. This bridge is considered the “home of bungy jumping.”

Prior to this trip, I told people of the No Fear philosophy, and people asked if I would do a bungy jump. I really had no interest in bungy as an activity, not from a fear aspect, but I just did not think the jerking motion would appeal to me. Instead, I wanted to do a giant swing where you fly through the air like Superman. We just could not find the Superman swing anywhere. Eric was more interested in the bungy thing, and I was pretty indifferent to it. Once we hit Queenstown, the adrenaline capital of New Zealand, I began to question my lack of interest in the bungy. I was still on a high from the paragliding experience and was looking for my next rush. I was turning into an adrenaline junkie. Eric seemed to be leaning towards doing the bungy, and I suddenly found myself saying “why not?” No Fear.
So, Wednesday morning we left our Holiday Park and drove about thirty minutes outside of Queenstown. Although we were joking about what we ate for our “last meal” (Fruit Loops), I was not feeling all that nervous. When we arrived, you could see the wooden bridge from the parking lot with jumpers going out every few minutes. We walked into a very modern building, which serves as their bungy headquarters (they have three other sites in NZ). We wound our way down an unnecessarily large, metal, spiral ramp to a lower level, which has bungy paraphernalia wall to wall. They offered a “history of bungy” movie for non-jumpers. There was a free observation deck at the end of the spiral ramp for spectators. We bought our tickets the day before and marched directly to the check-in counter. They weighed us to help determine which bungy we wanted - above the water, just touching the water, or a full submerge. They gave us each a little sticker with our name and weight and said “all aboard,” just head over to the bridge. We were even early for our scheduled time, but they let us go as soon as we arrived. I started taking pictures and Eric said “let’s get this over with.” We slowly made our way to the bridge and out to the launching pad. I wrapped my glasses in my fleece and left them on the bridge, assuming I would return (hopefully). They separated the jumpers based on weight, with the lighter weight to the left and the heavier to the right. There was one girl ready to go on the left, and about a half dozen guys on the right, including a tandem duo. That meant, I was about 10 minutes from jumping, and Eric had a bit of a wait. Lovely.

I stepped into a harness, which wrapped around my waist, and around each thigh. I climb down into the launching pad and sat on my rear. The launching pad was nothing more than a small wooden platform over the edge of the bridge. They wrapped my legs in a highly scientific and technical manner - using a dark blue bath towel. I kid you not. The towels were wrapped around my legs, just above the ankles. A black rubber elastic was wrapped around the towels, then that elastic and my waist harness were all hooked to the bungy cord. My instructions from Bungy Guy (so nervous, I never got his name) were essentially “you will walk out on to the ledge, get your toes over the tip of the platform, I will count 1-2-3, and you jump.” I asked “those are the only instructions I get for a 43 meter (142 feet) jump from a bridge?” Bungy Guy helped me up and walked me to the edge of the platform. I inched my toes up over the edge, and he yelled, “Ready, 1-2-3 jump!” I went nowhere. I just froze. I have never had worse butterflies in my stomach. I realized quickly how incredibly stupid this was. Straight down 43 meters was a quickly running river, with large rocks and boulders on either side. The water is a light greenish tint, and of course, I irrationally felt as though I could see straight to the jagged rocks below. Without my glasses on, I actually talked myself into believing it would be easier because I could not see everything. I was such a fool. Somehow, the paragliding seemed more like a pansy stunt now - for god’s sake I was attached to an expert, wearing a helmet, and had a huge parachute overhead. This was a cord and bath towel wrapped around my ankles and nothing below but sharp, deadly rocks. The Bungy Guy said all the right things. He counted down again, and I went nowhere, again. He suggested that I look straight ahead at the other bridge in the distance, rather than down at the water, but I knew how high the other bridge was. I looked back and called for Eric, warning him that I was having problems with jumping, and Bungy Guy reminded me that there was nothing Eric could do for me now. They already warned me that not jumping meant no refund. Bungy Guy reminded me that the longer I stood up there, the worse it would get. I watched a dozen people do it before me, I knew millions of others have done it, and I am honestly not afraid of dying. I just could not take that step off the platform. I can’t even dive into a swimming pool! But, suddenly, on at least the third or fourth countdown, I walked off the platform. Now, they suggest you jump off the platform, hands out, and dive. I walked off the platform, screamed at the top of my lungs, and grabbed my waist harness. I don’t know if I thought that if the bungy cord snapped off my ankles, holding onto the harness was going to save me. It was a security blanket, and nothing more. I never let my hands off that harness. I bobbed back and forth over the water, and can’t remember a single thought that went through my mind, other than - get me the hell out of here. I remember seeing the water below, I think I saw the bridge in the distance, and I may have even shut my eyes. I have no memory. It was like an immediate Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. After I more or less stopped swinging, two people on a river raft paddled over to me, and asked me to let go of my harness hold to grab a long metal pole. They reeled me in like a fish to the raft, and before I could get my balance back on the raft, I was on dry and stable ground. I think I even had tears in my eyes. I walked straight up the stairs, up the 43 meters, back to observation deck, and back up to the bridge. I wanted to get my glasses so I could watch Eric go through the horror I just experienced.

Eric did just fine. I took a video of it. He was disappointed in how he jumped - he wanted to do a proper dive, but instead jumped with arms flailing. Eric did not take pictures or video of my fall (I won’t call it a jump). My only proof is my injury - a cut on my right finger from rope burn. You are not really supposed to hang onto the harness. I almost hope it leaves a scar to remind me of my stupidity. AJ Hackett took pictures and a video of our dive. My video was longer than most because it included the minute or so of Bungy Guy talking me into the jump, and me trying to rationalize what I was doing. My pictures were hysterical. My body was so tense and uncomfortable, with my arms held close to me, and then grasping for life on my harness (we did not purchase the videos or the photos as they were disgraceful). Neither of us received points for grace, but we did it! And, this is a “one and done” activity for me. With paragliding, I wanted to sign up for a course to fly solo and become an instructor. Bungy is not for me. All I can say is I faced my fears head on. I might not have jumped to the occasion, but I at least stepped off the platform.

Haast Pass and the “Beach”

After AJ Hackett, we continued along the road north towards glacier country. We spent the next four or five hours driving Tom through the Crown Pass from Queenstown to Wanaka, and onto the West Coast. It was easily the most challenging of Eric’s driving, heading straight up a mountain range, and back down the other side, with lots of curves in between. We had lunch in Wanaka, a sleepy little lake side town. Some sandwiches and chips sitting by the pristine lake was a nice stop along the way. Then, we continued through Mt. Aspiring National Park to Haast, on the West Coast. We heard from an Aussie couple in Queenstown that you can camp right on the beach in Haast, and that was our goal. Once we arrived in “town” we stopped at the information centre and asked about camping options on the beach and the availability of holiday parks. The woman at the information centre warned that they do not recommend camping on the beach unless you are fully self-contained. We are not. Fully self contained includes a shower and toilet on board. We recognized the risks, so to speak, but were willing to take them, so we headed out towards the beach from the main road. The Aussie couple said there were several gravel roads leading from the main road down to the beach. We headed down the first that we saw. Once we drove through several very deep pot holes, with Tom bobbing up and down at each one. The “road,” a word I use lightly, veered off in several directions just onto the beach. Now, at that point, we were concerned that if we continued we would get stuck in the sand. We were by no means driving a 4WD. Eric backed out Tom, and continued down the main road. We saw several more paths to the beach that seem similarly suspicious. We instead decided to stay at a Holiday Park that was advertised as “close to beach,” which apparently was similar to the “river view” description from our first night in Kingston.

When we checked in the owner described that the beach was only a twenty minute walk from the camp. We settled Tom into the park, and noticed an amazing amount of bugs, realizing we were sort of in the middle of a swamp. We threw on our Chaco sandals, and as we headed to the beach walk I clarified the directions with the owner: head out onto the road, make a right, cross the bridge, walk over the fence, and follow the path to the beach. So, we went out on the road, crossed the bridge, and I thought I misheard the walk over the fence part of the directions, but there was a wooden, handmade sign saying “beach walk” and two steps to cross over a wire fence. So, we crossed the wire fence and noticed we were in some sort of field, with a wonderful combination of dead grass, sand, mud, and of course, bugs. We saw no path but we headed in the direction recommended by the Holiday Park owner. After about five minutes I started to see what looked like giant red rose thorns sticking from the ground. I walked over the thorns and Eric started cursing bloody murder. I warned him about the thorns and suggested he look carefully to walk over them. He cursed again, quite loudly. Then, I realized the problem as I got stung by a dry, brown, difficult to see prickly sticker. Jesus the pain as it cut open my foot in my open sandals. We were in a mind field of these stickers, which Eric later referred to as the evil-doers. The next sticker I walked on drew blood. So, we started heading back to the fence, and then we saw the path. Giving it one more go, we decided to try the path a little father to see if we could find the entrance to the beach. After we each got pricked one more time with the gosh-darned stickers, we high tailed it out of there. Well, we carefully navigated the mind field and made our way back to the road.

By this point I was beyond cranky. My heel was bleeding, I was hot, and I was thrilled about returning to our Holiday Park in the middle of a swamp to spend the rest of the night sheltered in our van because of the bugs outside. I wanted to ask for a refund and keep on driving, but knew there was nothing else as far as the eye could see. I was livid with the owner for suggesting it was an easy walk to the beach, and for not suggesting we wear hiking boots. Classic, cranky Amber.

Eric talked me down, though. We moved the van’s location to be closer to the bathrooms. We showered, cooled down, and loaded up with bug spray. And, we saw there was a TV room, one of the nicest of any Holiday Park we stayed at. I was happy to sit in the TV room and write up my blog entry and to write off our experience in Haast. The saving grace of the evening, in addition to our fantastic venison sausage, was meeting a nice couple from Britain (we always meet the Brits), Jamie and Gemma. We enjoyed our discussion with them. They were also taking a year off, and were heading in the opposite direction on the South Island, and were then heading to Australia after New Zealand, so we swapped tips. They also started their trip in California, driving from San Francisco to Los Angeles. At the end of the evening, Jamie said we were the first “normal” Americans he had met. He told us one story of a guy from Texas that he met in New Zealand, complete with a ten gallon hat and yellow hunting style sunglasses. The Texan spent about twenty minutes speaking to people from all over the world, and only talked about how wonderful the US was rather than spending any time learning about the culture he was visiting, or that of the other travelers. Probably a Bush supporter. Jamie and Gemma saved the night in Haast.

Glacier Country

By late morning we arrived in Fox Glacier. Fox Glacier is the most southern of the two famous glaciers in Glacier Country, the other being Franz Josef. We had booked a half day glacier tour for two days later, but arrived in Fox Glacier earlier than expected. We had wanted to complete the full day hike, but were put off by the description on the guide company’s website stating that the full day required “good” physical fitness. But, Jamie and Gemma assured us we would be fine. So, we swapped our half day tour for two days from our arrival to a full day glacier tour the following day, starting at ten am. In the mean time, we were free to spend our day exploring the two block town of Fox Glacier. We found a wonderfully peaceful Holiday Park in the center of town with views of the surrounding mountains. We decided to splurge on a lunch cooked at a restaurant - a novel idea for us.

Of the three or four cafes in town, we settled on a Texas style saloon, complete with some of the absolute worst country music we had ever heard (including a wonderful ditty about a dirty old man who is thrilled the farmer’s daughter across the street just turned 18). I enjoyed a cheese, rasher (like an Irish thick bacon), and pineapple Texas toast/grilled cheese. Eric ordered a burger. Their burgers came in three varieties: fried fish burger; chicken kiev burger; and what Eric ordered - lasagna burger. It was a hunk of lasagna, deep fried and placed on a bun. Eric loved it. After a nice nap, we took a nice walk around Lake Matheson, which provided great views of the mountains, and showed the top of the glacier. There was another walk that provided a full view of the glacier, but we figured we would see it in the morning. Or so we thought.

We had a nice peaceful evening at the Holiday Park, until it started to rain while were sleeping. And, it rained and rained and rained. The wind was even whipping against the van and was rocking it. Eric woke at 5am and started stressing about the glacier walk. I followed his fear and was wide awake a little after 7. The glacier tour office opened by 7:30 so we figured we would inquire about the weather and status of the tour. The tour office was only about one block from us, but it was so wickedly nasty outside, we drove Tom over there. We had a few choices. Going on the tour that morning was not one of them. I was not going to pay money to be cold, wet, and miserable, and then not even be able to see anything through the fog. They offered us a refund or a reschedule. Unfortunately, the following day was supposed to be rainy too. If we stuck around in the crappy weather, in the tiny town of Fox Glacier, at a Holiday Park with no TV room, we would be stuck in the campervan all day. That gives cabin fever, or campervan fever, a whole new meaning. We decided, unfortunately, to cut our losses and head north. With the rainy and miserable weather, we drove for at least seven hours north. We thought about stopping somewhere along the way, but Eric was in the zone, so we ended up in Nelson. We stopped for lunch in Murthinson and had quite a unique lunch. I had a “bruffin,” which was a muffin stuffed with egg, bacon, and cheese. Eric had a “hotel burger with all the fixins.” His burger must have been at least nine inches high. In addition to the bread and the burger meat (which he could barely taste) the burger sported lettuce, tomato, grilled onions, bacon, a fried egg, pineapple, beets, and sautéed mushrooms. It was actually pretty good, albeit quite messy. As much as we were disappointed to miss the glacier climb, we were happy to get to Nelson.

Abel Tasman

It was still overcast and pretty breezy in Nelson, but we found our favorite Holiday Park yet. We were finally parked with a sea view. Being able to both see and hear the waves crashing on the coast was totally relaxing. We had no idea what we would do in the morning, but were quite satisfied with our decision to drive to Nelson. The weather for the following day called for rain in the morning, clearing in the afternoon. So, we took our time going to sleep, figuring we would try to sleep in the next day.

We woke to some of the most amazing weather we had in New Zealand - bright blue, completely cloudless skies, with a cool breeze. We got dressed and decided to drive out to Abel Tasman National Park. As we neared the park, we had to cross a mountain that had some sort of marathon going on. Rather than close the only road that heads in that direction, we shared the narrow, winding road with oncoming car traffic and runners, sometime two or three deep horizontally from the side of the road. I thought Eric’s head was going to explode as it became increasingly more difficult to drive. But, alas, we made it to the Abel Tasman National Park.

Although the park is the smallest in New Zealand, it is quite pristine, with no paved roads. The only way into the park is to walk, bike, or boat. We booked a small water taxi to take us into Back Bay, and set up our return taxi from Anchorage Bay. It gave us about 4.5 hours to do a three hour walk between the two. Our water taxi picked us up at the ticket centre, on a side street. It was a small 20 person speed boat pulled by a tractor. The tractor brought us down to the water’s edge, pulled right into the water, and continued to drag us out to deeper water.

This day was an example of my failure to investigate our trip. I assumed a strenuous three hour walk required hiking shoes. But, the water taxi dropped us off a bit away from the beach, so we needed to roll up the pants and wade in. There was a place to rinse the sand off our feet, but we did not bring a towel, leaving us to dry our feet with toilet paper, which I did bring, just in case. No harm, no foul though. With a little bit of sand in the socks, we started on our way.

It was a strenuous walk, up a mountain, down a mountain, up another, and down again. During the walk, Eric asked me about my relationship with nature. I was stepping over several muddy patches, just not wanting to get my shoes all nasty. I also spent some time swatting at various bugs and mossies along the way. This trip has made me hate the mossies even more than our trip to SE Asia. Eric and I both have bites all over our legs. Whenever we put on bug spray the little buggers find the one centimeter of skin I missed and will land two or three bites there. I am trying my hardest to be one with nature. I talked about what an amazing workout this walk was for us, with a straight almost two hours of constant walking and climbing, with the heart pumping the entire time. Now, I could not get through two hours of exercise at the gym back home, keeping my heart rate this high. If I could do a walk like this one each week in Chicago, I would be much healthier. Overall, I thought I was getting better with nature, even with my battle with the mossies, until the last portion of our walk.

After the first two hours we had two options to get back to our water taxi pick up at Anchorage Bay, the longer route was another 1.5 hours walk. The shorter route was the low tide option, where we walked over the sand and through some tidal streams to get to the bay. This is when I realized we totally brought the wrong shoes. Our Chaco sandals would have been much better. At this point, taking to low tide option, once the shoes were off, they were off. So, we took off the shoes and started on the sand, which became filled with sand crabs and shells as far as the eye could see. It became a little uncomfortable, to say the least. We crossed several streams, intersected by a combination of squishy, nasty mud, and again with the shells everywhere. The last 600 meters of the thirty minute walk was the worst. A new brand of nasty black mud that stained the toes, filled with a bright green algae that squished uncomfortably between the toes. I also realized that something bit my foot by this point, leaving a strange rash. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, though, with a set of stairs right ahead - until we arrived at the top of the steps and saw the sign that the beach was another 400 meters through the forest. A forest hike, barefoot, with muddy, black sludge on my feet was pushing my limits. I asked Eric to repeat his question about me and nature, and I sighed in response. So, I threw the socks over my nasty feet to walk the last bit, took off the socks when we arrived on the beach, and through them in the rubbish bin. We spent the last hour relaxing on the beach before boarding the water taxi, again boarding after a brief wade through the water. I think the whole day would have been way more rewarding if we had some sandals. But, all in all, it was a success, with a fantastic forest walk, with occasional views of beautiful blue seas.

When we arrived back at the Holiday Park in Nelson, the sun was glittering off the water. We took a wonderful beach walk, without the crunchy shells and nasty algae. We watched the sunset over the water, and felt as though the sun was setting on our visit to the South Island. The following day we drove to Picton to pick up the ferry to Wellington, on the North Island.

The ferry took three hours to cross the Cook Straight to the North Island. We were one of the first cars on board, and were parked just behind several large truck loads of livestock - mostly sheep and some cattle. When we left Tom on the deck, it certainly smelled like loads of livestock. I have been aboard boats of all sizes (sail boats, speed boats, ferries, catamarans, etc.), with the exception of large cruise ships. This ship made me feel queasy almost the entire time. We were again, like Goldilocks, trying to find a perfect spot on the boat to stop feeling the rocking back and forth. We tried several different decks, seating areas, front and back, and ended up on the outside observation deck - me with my nose in a book, until arriving on the North Island. I was happy to get back to land, and excited to see how different the North Island was.

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Photos

View from the gondola
And, this was not from the top. If you look closely you can see Tom the van way down there.

Lucky Number 13
We road gondola number 13 up to the top.

Ready, Go, Run!
Eric and Clarke ready to take off.

Its a long way down
Amber and Rene over Queenstown

The Flying Fool
Eric and Clarke taking a turn over Queenston

Safe on Solid Ground
We made it!

Flown
Our arms were stamped "flown" so we could take the gondola back up the hill. For us, it was proof.

View From the Platform Down
To the jagged rocks below.

View Straight Out
To the bridge in the distance, we were pretty high.

Eric in the Raft
Almost back to safety.

Lake Hawea
On the drive from Queenstown to Haast

Tractor Pull to Abel Tasman
There were tractors all over the water pulling boats out and coming back.

On the Water Taxi
I think the life preservers were a little over the top.

Abel Tasman National Park
This was Bark Bay, where our taxi dropped us off.

The Low Tide Option
This is me walking across the mine field of shells.

Eric the Engineer
Eric spent our time on the beach at Abel diverting water flows and building dams. It may be a future career.

Nelson Sunset
This was the sunset from our Holiday Park in Nelson.

Our Fellow Travelers
On the Ferry to the North Island.

Stinkyville
It did smell like livestock, that's for sure.

Radiation?
We actually sat right in front of the radiation sign for a good hour before moving to another spot on the ferry.