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Published: December 14th 2005
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The Wanganui River, once known as the Rhîne of the South Sea, winds its way through the heart of NZ's North Island, starting off where I had finished the Tongariro Track (if you agree to ignore the 200km trip I annoyingly had to take down to Wellington 1st). I decided to get away from the stress of travelling for a few days - yes, it's a hard life: even travelling can be stressful. However, I would hedge a bet that everyone at some point has, for a moment, wanted to completely immerse themselves in nature, away from the hustle and bustle of booming noises, catfood adverts, road-rage, George Bush's antics and general fast-forward panic of the western world, even if you weren't a hippy. Well, this was my moment.
The Maori story goes, Taranaki once lived with the other mountains of the central North Island - Tongariro, Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe (Doom). Unfortunately, Taranaki fell in love with a pretty hill called Pihanga - who happened to be the wife of Tongariro. After a fiery battle with Tongariro which he lost, the tall and handsome Taranaki, headed west. His falling tears at being banished are said to have created the Wanganui
Day 1 - One man and his canoe
Yes - the hair has been shaved. I wanted #6, but accidentally shaved one part #2, so err...that\'s the result. River as he gouged a path to the western coast of the North Island, where he now lives.
5 days to kayak 150kms through Wanganui National Park, from 160m to 29m above sea level, through 197 grade I & II rapids, by myself - in a 2-man Canadian Canoe. As usual, I threw myself in at the proverbial deep-end. One instructor even came up to me on the river "by yourself?", "yep..just me." "Wow you must be good." Haha, if only she knew of my total 3 days experience in Canada; I replied "I will be in 5 days". Through rapids I would go, hitting rocks and logs left, right and centre, my heart skipping a beat when I heard a *thud* on the canoe. But I eventually felt I got the hang of it (which of course, had nothing to do with the rapids diminishing in size downstream).
The first 3 days were magical, just as I had hoped and imagined they would be. Mostly sunny, each day's distance was short enough to spend enough time letting go of the paddle and just read, write, eat and chill while gently floating downriver. The grey hairs, if there
were any, shrunk back into my head, as I truly relaxed for the first time in ages. Camping was dry (see previous post for comparison!), fires were made, and super noodles became my new best friend. To highlight the bliss that nothing much was happening, the 2 biggest events of these days were: 1) dropping my peanut butter jar into the river, fortunately the stuff was so moorish, it was only half full and happily bobbed its way downstream until I caught up with it, and 2) a 20-second earthquake...which I slept through.
Day 4 on the other hand, was a complete contrast. To do the story justice however, would require a couple of rounds of beer and comfy pub chairs for an hour. In brief, one of the main attractions in Wanganui National Park is a concrete bridge. What makes this bridge 'interesting' is in it being across a gorge in the middle of nowhere. So it's a miraculous coincidence that it is in fact called the 'Bridge to Nowhere'. It was built during Wanganui's short golden era back in the 1920s and 30s, before everyone moved out. Myself and three others: two 30-something Germans called Heiko and
...it gets deeper
You may wonder about my camera. It was carried in a plastic bag and held between my teeth the entire way. Volker, and a young Malaysian called Chau, decided to walk to the bridge along the well-trodden path, only to be thrawted 5 minutes from a glimpse of the BTN by a landslip blocking our path. Gutted and distraught, we head back.
I eventually set off in the canoe first, and paddle past the entrance to the tributary where the BTN is, thinking "maybe we could try going up it...", "no, stupid idea.."...this mental argument went on for a minute unti l decided to try going up it, knowing I would regret it otherwise. Thus, with all my might I turned the canoe around and paddled hard upstream and into the tributary. The 3 others joined me.
Coming across some rock rapids, the others were giving up, but I spurred them on by carrying my canoe over them and into the next pool. "You realise we would follow you if you decide to go on", they kindly announced. Naive people, little did they know what they were letting themselves in for. We ended up ditching our canoes and decided to continue on foot. What followed was a 2 hour slog going deeper and deeper in the gorge - 4
stupid guys, in sandals, with no food or water, no one knowing where we were, and there's a thunderstorm brewing - ah, but it's ok, because we are carrying big sticks! Nothing can harm us. Don't fret Mum, it's not as bad as it sounds. Over rocks, through bush, up to our necks in murky black/orange water that you can't see the bottom of, Martian-style bugs attaching themselves to you, step after struggling step, we strode on.
We nearly decided to turn back when we finally saw a glimpse of the bridge towering above us, a relic ghost from a forgotten era, nearly hidden from view by vegetation, and we eventually stood underneath it, a sight I doubt many others have seen. Before, it was just a bridge, but now, it was so much more. It was a concrete bridge. It represented all our hardwork, determination, teamwork and other adjectives for a CV. It was a gloriously stupid goal and the never-forgotten purpose of the 'Indiana Jones and the Quest of the Bridge To Nowhere". Now all that was left was to turn back and get out before the storm hit and the river became a little flashy. We
eventually reached the hut with smiles on our faces, nearly 5 hours after we originally intended, but full of pride and a new taste for life, and enjoyed a good meal of, yep, more supernoodles, but this time washed down with a beer - a kind treat from Heiko and Volker, by a fire, warm once more.
The final morning's canoe was somewhat of a letdown from the adventure the day before, but a good steady paddle through more gorges and past more waterfalls, and to the end. Countless more photos were taken, and I would go as far as saying this was some of the best 5 days of my trip so far.
Now back in Wellington once more, just missing out seeing Peter Jackson on the King Kong red-carpet parade 100m from my hostel by 1 hour! Grrr... Off to the South Island this weekend, where the hills are bigger and the sandflies more vicious. Still awesome to hear from everyone, thanks for all your comments and emails. And a special hello to Sam and congratulations on his new job (Sam will now be happy that his longing at being mentioned in these blogs has been
fulfilled..now rest, my friend). Take care everyone else. Simon x
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Laura
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Lovin the hair....or lack thereof!