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Published: March 13th 2009
It has been a while since the last blog and we have been pretty much non-stop since then so sit back, buckle in and get the painkillers ready as this may be a bit lengthy!
The skydive was where Catherine left off last time, so that’s where I’ll pick up. The feeling of falling at 200 kph was amazing and like nothing I could have imagined. When the parachute opened it all went silent and we were gliding peacefully down above the airfield. Despite the rather uncomfortable tightness around my crotch (from the harness) and the horrendous pain in my ears, it was brilliant to take in the views in such a serene way - a big contrast to the heart pounding white noise of the previous 10,000 feet. As Catherine has already mentioned, nausea and dizziness set in after the jump and about twenty minutes after hitting solid ground I went round the back of the building for a good old heave. At that stage I was wondering if it had all been worth it, but looking back now it certainly was.
The next day I was feeling a lot better, a good job since we had decided
to walk the Tongariro Crossing, touted as one of the best day walks in New Zealand. It didn’t disappoint, and we had a fantastic day walking the 19km route amongst some awesome volcanic scenery. The walk climbs steadily across volcanic plains and mountainous ridges to The Red Crater (a red crater), from where we could see for miles. In the shadow of a picture postcard volcano, Mount Ngauruhoe, we were totally captivated by the surroundings, especially since it had been a bit of an effort to get up there. With the pungent egg-like sulphur smell of volcanic activity lingering in the air we walked down past steaming vents, down a shingle mountain ridge (Catherine only fell over twice there - both times my fault of course!) and between sparkling turquoise lakes.
After that we were in need of a bit of relaxation and a hot bath. Not much chance of that we thought as we needed to hit the road to continue our relentless journey up north. How wrong we were. We stumbled across a great little camp park called Golden Springs that - get this - had a thermal stream running through the site complete with two steaming
hot natural thermal pools! No sooner than getting there we were stripped to our bathers and lying back in the bath-like mineral stream, refreshing those aching limbs. Just what the Pharmacist (in absence of the Doctor) ordered.
The springs were just a part of a huge geo-thermal area around Rotorua in the North Island, which we explored the next day. An early start took us down a windy dirt track to Kerosene Creek and the prospect of more unjustified relaxation. We found the huge warm natural hot pool a short way down a thermal stream, with a dramatic steaming waterfall feeding it. In complete isolation we bathed in almost heavenly bliss for around half an hour until a dreadlocked hippy type turned up to spoil the fun. We’d had enough anyway so left him to it, discussing whether or not that was actually his normal daily bathing routine that we’d inadvertently interrupted.
The thermal tour continued about 10km down the road at the Wai-O-Tapu Thermal Reserve. Unfortunately there was no jumping in to be had but the sight of the different thermal pools, geysers and streams was almost other worldly. It started with a massive hot bubbling mud
pool, then to a 15 metre high erupting geyser - and that was before we had even properly started. The highlight was probably The Champagne Pool, a massive red crusted steaming thermal pond, but the bright greens, reds and yellows of the rock and pools all around the park were like something I would probably have expected to find on Venus.
The van was put to the test again after that, with a long windy journey up to the Coromandel Peninsula and Hot Water Beach. With the wind whipping up and the clouds drawing in we parked up at a camp ground by the beach and got an early night. The next day, we were up and on the beach under grey skies at 6.45am, bucket and spade in hand. Hot Water Beach has natural hot springs rising up through the sand, and one to two hours either side of low tide you can dig a hole and sit in the hot pool waiting for the tide to come in. Unfortunately for us, low tide that day was at 0744hrs, hence the early start. We found the hot springs - and some of them were so hot you couldn’t
stand on them - and dug. It was just like being a kid and digging, trying to reach Australia, only this time we were going the other way. Also unfortunately for us a combination of the strong winds and a relatively high low tide meant digging a hole was a bit of a challenge. We would feel like we were getting somewhere only to have a selfish wave come crashing in and undo all of our hard work. We got a decent but small pool in the end and sat in the hot water, which was topped off by the occasional cool wave. A few other people joined us, including a small tour group of Germans, who decided to set up camp right next to us and spoil the views with their skimpy beach wear. They had obviously decided that the best way to dig a hole was with a metal plate, going for it frantically as the wives and waves watched on. When we upped and left one of them waltzed straight into our shallow used puddle and sat gleefully.
The northerly turning point of our road trip was Coromandel Township, at the top of the Coromandel Peninsula.
We stopped there to admire the quiet arty town and for some good old fish and chips, which were spoilt by the annoying seagulls waiting for the chance to savage our food. There was no way I was going to feed the vermin and somehow one of them must have known that. It glided above us and with uncanny accuracy dropped some green bird poo right before my nose onto the neck of the bottle I had to my lips, some of it splashing refreshingly into my face.
Having turned back down south we made our way to Waitomo Caves for a spot of so called Black Water Rafting. I can see why they call it that but the water was not black and the rafts were actually rubber tubes. We kitted up in some flattering wetsuits and gum boots and spent the morning walking through and floating down some rapids 60 metres underground. It was good fun jumping down waterfalls into a black abyss and as we floated we could see the galaxy of glow worms clinging to the roof, guiding the way down the cave.
With so little time and so much ground to cover, the
driving continued through some more amazing terrain down towards Wellington. After a night by a cool black sand beach, we jumped on the Kaitiki Ferry (which, for you boat spotters out there, used to sail the Irish Sea and the Channel) to Picton then drove the scenic Queen Charlotte Drive over to the Abel Tasman National Park. We walked a part of the coast trail, which took us alongside the calm waters, swooping down to sandy beaches and up to headland lookout points. We got a bit obsessed with setting a good pace and made it up the coast to Torrent Bay in record time. From there we waded out to the water taxi which jetted us back to our starting point of Marahau village. As we approached the village the tide was too low to go all the way to shore. To counter this, there were a fleet of awaiting tractors with trailers parked up in the sea and we simply glided on the back of one, still in the boat, and got dragged up like agricultural commodities into the village. To see all the tractors ploughing to and fro across the beach reminded me a bit of the
fruitful soils of Devonshire and I’m sure I heard the driver singing ‘I’ve got a brand new Combine Harvester’.
As we closed back in on Queenstown to give Mike his van back we still had a few more stops on the long but spectacular State Highway 6, running down the west spine of New Zealand. After a few hours driving we pulled into a campsite that turned out to be one of the most bizarre and spooky places we stopped on the trip. Situated all alone at the bottom of a valley and down a dirt track was a small building advertising itself as a Pizzeria and Caravan Park. A couple of signs painted on a wooden shack outside said rather menacingly, ‘Motel’ and ‘No BYO’. Going inside it was the most weird room, with a feeling not dissimilar to the start of a horror movie, with a few tables inhabited by a motley collection of interesting looking individuals. It was run by some Germans and the back bar area felt like the set from an 80s X rated movie. We paid for the site before realising how totally strange it was, and we were given a leaflet that
explained in no uncertain terms that camp ground guests are expected to eat in the restaurant. We felt it best to go along with the wishes of our captors, especially since we were the only ones staying there (I wonder why). The rest of the night was spent locked in the van apart from the forced toilet break, when we trekked over to the house to use the loo under the watchful scowling eyes of two blokes fixing the roof. If anyone has read any Magnus Mills (and if not, why not?) then you will get the idea of the place.
Having survived that we continued on to Punakaiki, where we stopped to admire the Pancake Rocks, a series of rocks formations jutting out to sea, formed like flat pancakes piled on top of each other. Luckily we had hit it in rough conditions at high tide which meant the blow holes between some of the rocks were spouting water into the air, managing to dampen the spirits and cameras of some Japanese tourists in the process.
We had booked an indulgent ‘Heli-hike’ for the next day on Franz Josef glacier, a bit further down the coast, but
as we approached the area in the dull pouring rain we were not too hopeful of being able to get up on the ice. The next day we woke up to clear blue skies and the sound of helicopters milling about over the small village. We luckily had hit a good day and had an amazing time up in the helicopter and out on the ice. The flight up to the glacier was stunning, buzzing to the top via long tumbling waterfalls and then zig-zagging down to our landing point. The tall blue ice towers of the glacier were just metres below us and there were views right down the valley to the rainforest below. Fully kitted up with crampons and ice picks we walked around the fresh glacier ice for a couple of hours, going through ice tunnels and between imposing monoliths. The pace was quite slow though as one girl in the group was continuously forcing her boyfriend to take hundreds of photographs of her posing at every turn. We were also blessed with the obligatory American tour guest who thought she knew more about the glaciers than the guide, and made sure everyone was aware of it.
A final night was spent with the trusty van in the beautiful town of Wanaka before returning it to Mike in Queenstown a couple of days ago. It served us well for just over 4300km, and was a great place to live. Almost every road in New Zealand seems to offer amazing scenery and wildlife (often saw huge birds of prey hover by the road or swoop down in front of us), which never fail to disappoint. Despite the many examples of road kill in various states of decomposition, we got away with ending the lives of just two small tweety birds that decided to fly directly into the front of our van at 90kph. At least it was instant, but to be fair we didn’t stop to check. Scenery aside, one thing we did get more than a bit bored of was the Welsh crooning songstress ‘Duffy’, whose album we unfortunately know back to front and inside out, having had to listen to it every day for the last two weeks due to a lack of available listening options. And please don’t mention ‘Meat Loaf’ to me for a while, even Catherine - a diehard fan - had
had enough of him by the end.
Before leaving Queenstown we had time for a very pleasant meal out with Mike and his girlfriend Shannan and a Gondola ride up to the top of the mountain where we had few runs on the exciting Luge track. It was great fun zooming down the mountainside on the little three wheeled sledges, getting overtaken by 12yr old kids. Catherine was a bit of a timid old woman driver at first but by the end she thought she was Nigel Mansell, only without the dodgy moustache.
I have had a few disparaging comments from back home about my mop top Lego hair microphone head haircut, and for those of you that are interested you will be pleased to know I visited a Barber whilst in Queenstown and now sport a rather more trim mop, complete with side parting.
In other news, It pains me to report that Dick and Pat lost it a bit recently at Franz Josef and somehow ended up sitting in the middle of the road for a while, dicing with death. I managed to save them but I’m afraid Pat’s wheelchair was run over in a
freak accident and no longer serves a meaningful purpose. She’ll have to learn to walk.
We have now flown up to Auckland and fly out to Santiago later today. It will definitely be interesting to see how our poor grasp of Spanish goes down amongst the South Americans. Very badly I suspect.
Stay Safe
Nic
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Rich
non-member comment
Beards?
How is that facial hair coming on? (Nic not Catherine) I'm sure I see a bit of a beard in the Abel Tasman photo?