Anyway… I’m thinking I’ll finally get around to posting my travel journal from New Zealand on here.  I’ll do a little linking over to Flickr and end up making the whole thing come together.

Maybe.

Once underway, I played leapfrog with Neil and Sylvia, managing to stay just ahead of the group of older Kiwis. The elevation slowly climbed as the trail wove along a dry riverbed. Eventually, though, we made it to the Rees Saddle. This was the point that made the trail’s difficulty level “moderately difficult.”

The first picture is looking up from the base of the saddle. Notice the person standing at the top. The second photo is just a little ways into the climb. I spent most of the climb leaning so far forward I was basically scrambling on all fours. As you can see, the path is rather well defined as you look back, but looking up you can’t tell. I have no idea how long it took me to climb to saddle, but I know I was happy once it was over.

At the top I sat and ate a snack with Neil, Sylvia and Stephen. We looked at the map and at the terrain in front of us while we rested. It seemed like it just around the next corner or so that we’d find the hut and could relax for good. Unfortunately, in a country like this, distance just doesn’t translate with the naked eye.

The four of us pulled our packs back on and headed down the saddle into the Snowy River basin. It wasn’t long before we broke apart, each at their own pace.

Eventually I took a break for lunch. I happily shrugged my pack off and dug into a tuna salad lunch pack. I sat a on a rock outcrop that over looked the river. The Snowy River is primarily glacier runoff, so it was a cold, gray torrent rushing down a tight ravine. I’d read that further down the river there was a swing bridge that the DOC had to remove during the winter and spring months because of the amount of water that pushes through the river would rip it out.

Just after I finished lunch, my stomach turned a few flips. I theorize, now, that my traveller’s diaherria had finally caught up to me and just about the worst possible moment. I scrambled as far up the hill as I could get and releived myself. Unfortunately being in an apline river basin, there were basically no trees, so I was completely visible to the track below me. Fortunately, I was just far enough ahead and behind of the others that no one interupted me. Once the episode had passed I felt much better, as before then I had felt slightly weak and warm. I worried for next hour or so that I had drunk some bad water, but as time went by my worries lessened.

My pace remained good after being refueled by lunch. The track continued to follow the tight ravine that was the river’s home. It was well marked and not terribly tough. Eventually I found the swing bridge I’d read about.

I now understood why they needed to remove the bridge when the water rose. As I crossed the bridge, I watched the water flow below me. Surprisingly (to me) I didn’t consider just what would happen if the bridge gave way. I’m certain it wouldn’t have been pretty, but I’m also certain that the DOC maintains the bridges and trails to great standards.

From the bridge the trail got a little rougher, a little dryer. I slowed down in the hot sun and dry brush. The trail climbed and wove around until eventually I caught sight of the hut. Yet again, though, distance cannot be measured by the naked eye. What seemed like it was close took another hour or so to get to.

Unfortunately, as I approached the hut, I was struck with another bout of GI problems. I took off into the trees (there were some this time) and threw my pack off as I ran. Once I’d cleared myself, I made my way to the hut – only 15 minutes further. I was embarassed even though no one knew, that I couldn’t have made it to the hut’s nice restrooms. Again I began to worry about giardia or some other illness.

The Dart Hut was huge in comparison to Shelter Rock Hut. I was greeted by Neil and Sylvia upon my arrival. They told me they’d saved a bed for me in their bunk room. I was delighted to know they were looking out for me. I dropped my stuff in the room and started exploring.

The hut had a giant common area with two large L-shaped counters for cooking. There were almost a dozen picnic tables for everyone to cogregate around. Off the common area I saw at least two bunk rooms, each with 8 beds. There were also two bunk rooms across the open breezeway from the common area which is where our bunk room was located. The whole hut was surrounded by a beautiful deck and while it was still slightly warm out, people gathered outdoors.

Over and after dinner everyone discussed their day’s hike and their plans for the next day. From the Dart Hut you could take a short day hike to the Dart glacier. I had planned on doing this along with Neil and Sylvia, but I discovered after dinner that I didn’t have enough food for an extra day in the wilderness. Neil offered to share their food with me to make sure I could stay the extra day, but I just couldn’t do it – I worried about all the things that could go wrong. I also considered eating my emergency rations, US Coast Guard dry rations, but again considered the fact that I just might need those for an emergency. Plus they sounded pretty disgusting. It was decided that I would move on to the next hut instead of exploring the glacier.

The sunset was beautiful despite my decision to leave my new friends…

Tonight was the first night that I remember really missing home. I was tired and worried about being sick. I found myself wishing for a phone, but that’s another night away. I also worried about the upcoming car trip a bit. I worried that it would be strange without a companion like Rachel. We were quite similar and both spoke English, but I figured I’d make do.
As I slept I woke a number of times covered in sweat. Its likely from the sleeping bag that was too warm, but it made me worry even more about having contracted some sort of illness that carried a fever.

I woke up at David’s and packed my bag up as quietly as I could. I removed the items I thought I wouldn’t need – things like the road map or my bulky toiletries that I had purchased in Kaitia. Now that I had my pack, I could use the smaller items that were intended for this trip. I did not, however, take my thermarest or tent out – I figured I would use them at least once because I wasn’t sure about the huts. I worried that they would either be full or just rotten – either way, I was going to be prepared. I came to regret this prepardedness.

Moving on – I removed some weight/space and shouldered my pack. I slipped out the door and headed down the road. It was just a little while after sunrise and the mountains on the far side of the lake were lit up in the glow of the early morning sun. The air was crisp, clean and quiet. The sealed road beneath my feet wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but the idea of carrying my pack toward the track was a lovely idea.

I hadn’t gotten too far down the road with David pulled up alongside me. He said, “you’ve got plenty of walking to do later – jump in,” so with no protest, I dropped the pack in the trunk and we took off. I thanked him profusely when he dropped me off a minute later at the campgrounds. He wished me luck and headed back to the house. I made one last pass through the tiny grocery store and waited on the bus. When it arrived, it was the same mini-bus that I’d ridden in from Queenstown. It was a fully loaded trip, too.

I, and others, started counting heads and thinking back through our travel guides – the huts will sleep just the same number we’ve got riding with us. But what about the people hiking in the other direction? I knew then that I had done the right thing by keeping my tent… I was going to need it.

Before long we were on a rough, unsealed road heading into the wilderness. Then, just randomly, the driver stopped and put us out. This was, apparently, the end of the road as far as he was concerned and the start of the track for us. I dug my pack out of the trailer in the back, shouldered it and headed off.

I tried keeping pace with a German guy that I had met the night before at the pub. We were about the same age, but he had a lighter load, was in better shape and a very determined drive. It wasn’t long before I had to let him leave without me. It was at that point that I dug my camera out and started clicking. (If you look at the flickr photos, you’ll see 250 for just this one day.)

My very first picture has a Tazmanian guy walking away from me. I later found that he was the most laid back guy on the face of the planet. He was carrying hardly anything – a laugh compared to my well laden pack. Friendly guy, too.

I spent the majority of the day taking up the rear of the group. There was an older German couple and a Japanese girl. They seemed to group together out of the fact that they were somewhat slower than even I.

The beginning of the track was through wide open grassy fields, occasionally trekking through small patches of trees and over small hills. For the most part it was very pleasent except for the sun getting a little over zealous sometimes. With no shade, it can get warm. For a good while I followed a river full of “glacier flour.”

Glacier flour is pulverised rock suspended in the water and it causes the river to take on a blue-gray color. Obviously if this river is carrying glacier flour, then its glacier melt and if its glacier melt, its very, very cold. It isn’t anything I was going to go swimming in.

At some point through the grassy plains, I noticed the Tazzie weaving his way back and forth through the field. I couldn’t figure out what or why he was doing it, but he was much too far away for me to get his attention. That was one thing about the plains – you could see for ages.

Eventually I figured out what he was doing:

He was doing his best to navigate a bog.

I came to the edge of said bog and decided I’d look for a way around. I walked to the left, toward the river, for a few minutes and found nothing solid. I walked to the right of where I started, toward the hills and found nothing solid. It was obvious that I wasn’t going to avoid it. It was then that I recalled reading something about this in the track guide… it just didn’t seem nearly as bad on paper as it looked looming ahead of me.

Now let me describe this properly – it looked, from a distance – exactly like the rest of the fields. If you weren’t watching where your feet were landing, you could stumble straight into this mess without realizing it. However, when you’re at it, you can see patches of grass growing from the indeterminable depthes of water and mud. Something else to consider is that there I’ve seen plenty of cows grazing around, so who knows what else is down there.

So I take my first few steps and do fairly well. In fact the bog doesn’t last too long until I’m on solid ground. The water is chilly and the mud likes to suck you in, but overall its not terrible. At least not yet. I start off of my little island into the next section and sink to the middle of my thigh. I’m 5 foot 10 inches. That’s not a shallow pool. I drag my leg out and start to reconsider the direct approach.

Now, at this point I’m still wearing my khaki pants. I had only carryied my khakis and my kilt into the country, and that morning I didn’t feel like climbing into the kilt, so I decided I’d hike in the pants. Now the only pants I have, as well as the boxers underneath, are soaked with water and mud. Yuck. Here I am, on an island in a bog soaked, a little chilled, and rather pissed.

I look back and see the German couple and Japanese girl stopping for a snack before they traverse the muck.

I look down at my mud soaked pants.

I pull out my kilt.

The khakis come off, the kilt goes on. Comfortable covered, the boxers go too. Both find a place hanging on the outside of my pack and I shoulder it on again.

“I will conquer this,” I say and I dive in. As you can see above, that wasn’t my last knee deep experience, but I did start to figure out a system of not sinking. I just had to stop and look for the largest clumps of grass, because they grew in solid batches, able to support you for a few moments.

Amusingly enough, sometime near the halfway point, a guy appeared on the horizon and was headed straight for me. He managed to navigate the bog with amazing speed and grace. When I asked him how, he said I’d figure it out after I made it through the rest, implying there was plenty more to come.

After the bog, everything went back to normal for the most part. I had one stream crossing:

I believe it was 25-mile creek. And it was just as cold as I expected. However, it was a great chance to wash off the mud I had collected and dried all over my legs. Interesetingly, there is a plaque a few feet aware from the crossing commemorating the death of a couple, emphasizing the danger of the backcountry and nature’s power.

I made it through the crossing just fine and continued on. Eventually the track took me into a beech forest, then out into an avalanche field. There was no threat of avalance, or even snow, but you could see huge rocks that had been shifted by the great weight of the snow and ice of the past. It was rough terrain, rising and falling, in addition to scrambling through all of the smaller rocks that would deposit in the gullys.

Eventually, after hours and hours of walking I caught a glimpse of a tiny cable. It appeared to be stretched between two poles and I instantly recognized it as a wilderness radio antenna. A few steps later I saw the roof of the hut. I was so happy to see that hut… the hike seemed to have lasted for ages.

My pace instantly quickened and I prayed that the track couldn’t be too much longer – I so wanted to sit down, eat, and sleep. Lucky for me, it wasn’t too much longer. I crossed my second swinging bridge of the day and found myself at my first DOC (Department of Conserveration) hut.

I don’t have any pictures of the hut up close or inside, so I’ll have to describe its layout: There are two main buildings. On the left (visible in the picture above) is the common area. The entrance is on the long visible side. The left side of the room is the kitchen, with a long counter and two sinks. In the middle is a wood burning stove and a pair of large picnic tables. Next to the tables are some trough style bunks. On the other side of the wall the troughs are on are warden’s quarters.

The second main building is connected by a boardwalk. There are two rooms, each connected to the boardwalk. These rooms have 4 sets of bunk beds (8 mattresses) and 2 mattresses on the floor. Apparently these mattresses on the floor are normally stored in the warden’s quarters, but they’ve been needed so much, they just stay out. The bunks in the common area aren’t actually counted as beds as far as the DOC is concerned – I suppose they are leftovers from an upgrade. At the far end of the grounds from the common building are the toilets. Because it was still warm the flush toilets were in operation, as well as the plumbed sinks. They had winter (drop) toilets just up the hill from those.

I took a seat on the boardwalk, removed my muddy shoes and peeled my muddy socks off my muddy feet. I sat them out to dry with everyone elses then went in to claim a bunch. I ended up with the top left bunk next to the door. I slid my big, warm, wooly socks on and headed into the common area.

I wrote for a while, talked for a while, signed the register, then collected my food stuffs. I have no idea what I ate that night, but it wasn’t anything very gourmet. I remember speaking to an Israeli solider briefly – he was interested in my stove. (Its very, very small.) I also talked with an Australian couple – Neal and Sylvia.

Somewhere along in the meals and disscussions, someone noticed that the sun was setting, and we stumbled out into the grassy courtyard. After snapping some pictures and generally marvelling at the amazing scenery, we returned to the commona area. It was a nice night, with candlelight illumenating the room as it got darker out and the murmer of voices as people got to know each other.

It was really nice seeing everyone fall in together, realizing that for the next few days we were only going to see one another and you never knew if you might have to depend on your neighbor for some lifesaving action. There were no strangers there.

Eventually I retired to my bunk, only half believing I was actually there.

Wednesday (23rd) was a very rushed day…

Rachel had dropped me off in Orewa on Tuesday night before she headed into the labrinyth of the Auckland suburbs. She had visited Orewa during her travels and knew that I could get a bus from here into the big city. We said a goodbyes, although a little more rushed than I probably should have. I ran over after securing my room, but before the guy showed me around – they were both waiting on me and I thought Rachel would want to leave before the tour finished. Maybe she did, but I still regret not really saying a decent goodbye to her.

Anyway, I found an internet cafe and spent a few hours researching bus schedules as well as writing some emails. I felt pretty lost with Rachel being there since she’d been my guide the previous two days. It was amusing – gaining so much independence in the beginning by not having my pack, and then feeling so lost after picking up two days with a stranger. I didn’t eat very well that night – I think just some more trail mix, because I didn’t care to go to the one thing I could find open – McDonald’s.

I crawled into my dark room where my roommate was asleep. I slid onto the bed without a sheet or a blanket. I slipped into a fitful sleep, worried about the time and rather cold. I had been hot in Kaitai and Phiai, but now I was getting quite a chill. Finally 5am come along and I slid out of the room. I crept across the courtyard to what I figured had to be the bathrooms. I washed up and headed down the road using a map that the young man running the hostel gave me.

It was pitch black out and there was very little traffic on the roads. I walked along streets with lamps and without. I passed several bus stops, but none of them seemed to be in the places I expected them to be. Finally I stopped a lady on her morning jog and asked her where I might want to go. She was amazingly kind, what for being approached in the dark by a stranger, and pointed to the bus depot down the street. By the time I arrived at the depot, I must have walked at least a full kilometer.

I sat on the bus bench for a few minutes, but still wasn’t fully convinced I was in the right place. I crossed the street, headed into the fenced bus yard and walked toward the gathering of drivers. I hated to interupt them before they officially started working, but this was too important to leave to chance. I asked about where to catch X bus number to Auckland and the gentleman I had approached said that there wasn’t one. I showed him the schedule in my had and they spoke amongst themselves, saying things like “how about that,” and “I didn’t know that one!” I wasn’t very encouraged by the discussion. Finally they decided that it would be coming from the next city north of them and that I should go back to the stop in front of the depot. Eventually I would change to another bus and I’d make it to Auckland.

Well the bus did come a few minutes later and the driver knew exactly how I would get to Auckland. I didn’t have to transfer – just ride this bus all the way in. So that’s what I did. I rode the bus for probably an hour or so, watching more and more people climb on for their morning commute. School children (and I mean children) rode, business people, all sorts of people. We eventually made it onto the Motorway that led into Auckland and I started to understand why so many would ride the bus instead – traffic was an absolute nightmare. By planning, of course, the buses had their own lanes and made it through in pretty decent time, but it was still pretty hairy. Quite a contradiction to what I would later experience on the southern island.

I got off the bus in the heart of downtown, as close as I could get to the airport bus station. I walked with my carry-on bag and my Pak N’ Sav box about 2 blocks in the rain to the station. I bought a ticket and waiting the covered driveway. Eventually a big coach pulled up and I hopped on. I gave the driver my ticket and told him I was headed to the domestic terminal. We drive through the heart of downtown, stopping a number of hostels to pick up more passengers. I munched on my scroggin and watched the tourist promotion video that was on the small television.

About 30 minutes later we arrived at the airport, I headed to the lost baggage counter (that I had visited plenty of times the last time I was there) and inquired about my pack. They told me I’d have to go to the international terminal and ask them. I caught the inter-terminal bus and walked down to a poorly marked door where I knocked. I went into the room and passed my claim slip to a man through a fence. He walked back, found my pack and handed it to me.

Now you have to imagine this – my backpack was stored inside another big duffel style bag to make it easier to carry. It apparently also made it much easier for all the security people in the states and NZ to rummage through it, but not put it back into my pack. The duffel looks very lumpy and does not carry very well. I head into the international terminal, upstairs in the lounge area near the sushi place and start to take inventory of my possessions. I dig through the bag, locating all the important stuff and then head back to domestic.

I arrive, head straight to the ticket purchase counter to get a ticket on the next flight to Queenstown and put my bag right back into the cycle that stole it from me last time. The next flight left in 30 minutes and set me back NZ$230. I headed into the secure area of the airport, figuring I’d find a phone and make my arrangments for the trip between Queenstown and Glenorchy. But I didn’t. There wasn’t a single phone in the secure area, so I went back out and called Backpacker’s Express. The had a bus that ran from Queenstown to Glenorchy about 30 minutes after my scheduled arrival. I booked a seat on the bus then headed back to my plane.

The flight was decent – I sat next to a newlywed couple from Detroit. They were sort of stereotypical yankees which bugged me a bit, but he was a nice guy. They had been delayed in leaving the states because of a snowstorm, so I think they were both running a little short on sleep. I think it had affected her a fair bit as she wasn’t very talkative, nor did she seem very happy when the flight attendent and I reached over her so I could get my tea. He and I spoke off and on during the flight, but in the meantime I managed to get some writing done as well.

When we landed and I waited nervously at the baggage claim. Last time I’d done this in New Zealand, my pack never came out – but not this time! This time it showed up after only a few minutes of waiting and I took off out the door. I caught the attention of the first taxi driver and told him where I needed to be. We agreed on a $20 fare, loaded my pack and we headed out. Of course being a little excited I walked straight for the driver’s side door, the passenger in the states, and he had a little fun at my expense for that – “I’ll drive if you don’t mind.” I know, though, that I wasn’t the first, nor the last, to do that.

He dropped me off with about 15 minutes to spare. When the BE bus showed up I climbed on board and felt a bit of relief. Finally, the last bus for the day… a day that had started at 5am after a poor bit of sleep. The bus was a little older and was basically the same model as the one I had taken to Cape Regina. The driver was of Maori decent and he told us his Maori name which was something that took about two breaths to get all out.

As we drove the twisting road from Queenstown to Glenorchy, we were bordered on one side by a rocky mountain and the other by Lake Wakatipu. Lake Wakatipu, according to Maori legend and as told by our driver, was formed by a giant. The giant had kidnapped the beautiful daughter of a Maori chief. The daughter’s lover came to her rescue as the giant slept, and they burned him, the heat carving out the lake. Interestingly enough, from the air or on a map you can see the shape of a giant curled up for a nap.

Eventually we made it to the campground and homebase of the bus company. There was a small general store and a payphone, so I made a call to David, the gentleman my parents had met the week before. He was started up a backpackers in town and had told them I could stay with him. He was at work when I contacted him so we agreed to meet at the pub in an hour or so.

I walked a few blocks down the road to the pub/hotel/backpackers and took a seat inside. It was your standard pub – a pool table, a big tv, a bar. There was also a restaurant off to the side and the bartenders doubled as hotel clerks as well. When I arrived there was a group of Japanese people taking pictures and enjoying a few drinks. I gathered later that they were group that had been walking the nearby Caples track, on of the Department of Conservation’s (DOC) Great Walks. The difference in their walk and what I might be doing is that they didn’t have to carry a single thing – it was all taken care of by their guides.

As I waited I ordered a Kiwi burger. No, it wasn’t made of Kiwi, those are far too rare and protected, it was simply a cute, touristy name. It was, however, one of the best burgers I’ve ever had. It had an over-easy egg on it as well as carrots, onions, and lettuce. It was sloppy and I soaked a thick napkin in the process, but I loved it.

Before too long, David arrived and he took me back up to his place. At the time it looked just like any other private home, but he had big plans for the place. We walked around the house and the grounds with him telling me all the things he had in store for them. By the time we were finished talking I could see an amazing backpackers sitting on that site. Hopefully by the time I make it back “The Crib” will be open for business.

After a little settling in, we drove back up to the pub and joined into what must be the local’s regular activities. There were games of pool played and plenty of beers drunk. There were discussions about the new houses being built and the latest rugby matches – both local and national.

Eventually, though, I rode back to the house with David and went to sleep under a nice warm blanket on a nicely crafted bed.

We picked up our film an hour later.  Halfway though the wait we moved the car since it was only 30 minute parking.  The pictures turned out nice.  The shop, though, didn’t put the borders on which upset Rachel a good bit over time.  Shortly after picking them up we headed out of town.

We drove [to] Oapu and got the car ferry to Russell.  She’d been told about a great beach by a guy in the hostel so we turned away from the town and headed out.

We drove for ages it seemed.  Poor Rachel was in a sour mood, her mind racing about all the things to come in Southeast Asia.  She needed padlocks & a mozzie net.  A chain, too.  She had expected Charlie [(her friend that had been travelling with her)] to be with her for the whole trip and now she was at it alone.

I did my best to put a smile on her, but shes as bad as me when I start thinking.

We drove through some resufacing, which was intersesting.  You’d have a paved lane that suddenly became solid dirt then back to tar.

Eventually we decided we’d missed our beach so we stopped and poured over her maps until we finally found our position.  We determined we were on the right road so we moved on.

After a short distance we came around a bend and looked down at a stunning beach – that was completely private!  There were a couple small buildings on the property and they sat at the edge of this bay.  It was very rugged and the wind was bringing in beautiful waves.  We drove by looking for access & didn’t find any.  It was pretty small I suppose.  A few 100 feet wide & set into the coast.  We just couldn’t believe it was private!!

Oh yeah – backing up a bit, we stopped at Jack’s Bay, one of our landmarks to pass on the road.  There were a couple of gated driveways to private residences and [one] road not gated with a sign that said “Public Access.”  We nearly drove her borrowed Honda Domanti down that one, but I warned against.  We parked at the top.

We walked a few meters down the road and discovered it was a private driveway.  Good thing we didn’t go down.

We looked at the sign as we passed it and someone had drawn an arrow in the grime pointing left.  We went right right down the drive, though, figuring it was a hoax.

Of course we turned around and went to the left.

It took us into a well-beaten track where we frightened birds from their perches and cicadas tried to deafen us.  It seemed tropical, with ferns, palms & other foilage.  After a 100 meters or so we were dumped into someone’s backyard with no clear path to the beach.

Well, there was a clear path, but it had a gate & a sign stating it was private property.  We stood and looked around a bit, hoping for a sign, but nothing came to us.

Back up to the car.

It was then that we travelled past the stunning beach.

Just past there was a beach with access.  It was very similar – rugged, inset and tight.  It had Christmas trees lining the beach.  It seems they really like the water!

We took a few pictures and talked about what it must be like to live there.  There was a house sitting just off the beach – we later discovered it was a backpackers.

Which brings up a whole new tangent discussion  Rachel and I had.  There are backpackers nearly everywhere.  This was kilometers from any major attraction, tramp, etc and yet there was a bed waiting for you!  This wasn’t the first one we’d seen in an odd spot and I’m sure its not the last.

The idea of living there stayed with us as we travelled on.

We drove south for a bit, then looped around and headed north through a scenic reserve.  I can’t remember the name… it was east of Russell.

Anyway, it was interesting.  All gravel, [the road] took us through a forest.  The sky was nearly blotted out with foliage along the road and for sure when you got off.  We stopped once to visit the twin bole kaori tree.  It was a short walk through a marked path, passing several younger kaori trees.  They reminded me a lot of the trees at Joyce Kilmer.  We passed another walk along the way since she’d seen plenty of Kaori trees already.

It was along this road that Rachel talked out a lot of things she was worried about concerning her next leg.  She told me about all the meds and shots she’d had.  They cost a fortune plus the doctor kept trying to sell her things like insect repellent & such.  They gave her a hard time about not getting her rabies & Japanese influitis (?) shots as well.  This all occurred the day after her friend Charlie (female) left, [so she was a little further upset.]

 I’m removing my notes about Charlie and Rachel’s split as I’m sure they’d enjoy their privacy.

Walked back to the hostel [after watching the sunrise] & ate 3 pieces of free toast.  I showered properly and brushed my teeth.  Then I sat in the courtyard updating my journal and waiting on the manager.

When he came in, I checked out.

But I forgot.  Before breakfast I called the airport and finally spoke to someone!  She told me they had a note that I’d come to the airport to pick [my pack] up. Then I called Mom & Susan to let them know where I was.  Neither of them said anything much about my detour, which I found amusing.  There was a bad storm at home and I lost connection with mom’s cell [phone] once.

Back to the hostel I checked out and walked toward Rachel’s hostel.  It was a bit further than I remembered, sending me around a bluff.  It wasn’t terrible though & I found a nice spot near the beach to wait.

I saw her loading up the car after sitting (and writing) for about 20 minutes.  I walked up the road and we headed out.

We stopped at the strip mall & dropped out film at the 1 hour.  Then we wandered around shopping.  I picked up some postcards.  1 for Jamie & 1 for Mom & Dad.  Rachel sent a few – her gran, her mum & dad, and her boss.

Backing up though…

She dropped me back at the Pickled Parrot and [I] headed into my room.  There were two girls and a guy.  They were all together & I chatted with the girls about the [Cape] tour [that] I’d just been on since they were looking the brochure.

I headed to the shower, but only remember to carry my towel.  I didn’t care, though – the water was plenty to clear the sand off.

Once I finished I headed to bed.

Before I continue, I should describe this place.

You walk [in] from the gravel car park into a garden coutryard.  Its about 20ft wide including the deck that 6ft by a good bit long – 50ft?  There was a fire being stoked by the owner, plus music from his radio.  When I first arrived there were tons of people about.

The owner gave me a tour, which must be standard to every hostel of course.  Next to the office was the phone, then the toilets/showers.  Then laundry, then the kitchen.  Breakfast was free from 7-9.  Internet was available.  Then 2 doors down was my room – “Kiwi House.”

It was hot on the top bunk even though I was down to my boxers and a thin sheet.

I made it to sleep eventually, but woke somewhere around what must have been 4am.  I guess I got in around 10.  I tossed and slept a bit.

Eventually I could see some light coming into the sky, so I got up & dressed.  I slipped out with my bag and headed to the beach.

Along the way I met a man and his two dogs.  The dogs were perfectly trained.  They stayed on the sidewalk until he checked the traffic and said “ok, cross now.”  They walked up the beach for sunrise – how cool is that??

It was on a bench at the beach that I wrote this morning.  I watched the sunrise over the Pacific Ocean.  All by myself on a beach in Piahia.  It wasn’t quite a tramping experience, but it was pretty cool.

I took a number of pictures of the sunrise, the tide coming in and people headed to their boats to start their days.

So we kept travelling, talking about all sorts of things – work, life, love, etc.  We swapped long winded tangent plauged stories for hours, stopping often or taking random turns down scenic drives.  I was very happy to have taken up with this stranger!

So we got to Paihia around 8:30pm.  She had booked a room at Capn’ Bob’s and when we arrived they had no vacancies.  The lady at the desk was nice enough to call around and find me a bed – at the Pickled Parrot!

So we drove to the other end of town and secured my room for the night.  $24 for the last dorm bed.  i told the owner my the story of my missing pack and got a sheet & towel from him.

Back to the car for Fish & Chips that Rachel was craving.  Unfortunately, being just after 9pm, everyone was closing up, so we weren’t able to get any.

Anyway, we ended up at the Kaori Kingdom again so Willie could wash the bus.  There was a restaurant beside it so I grabbed some water and watched the Brit have Cornish tea.

A biscuit covered in cream & jam plus tea with milk.  We chatted at a table.  [I] found out she was a midwife on a 6 month holiday.  She was close to 3 months in NZ and leaves Thursday for Vietnam, then Thailand.

We headed out from there and I figured I’d catch her before we all parted ways and exchange email addresses.  Maybe I’d even ask her if I could tag along.

That was all foiled when she and the Dutch lady got off before me, 5 minutes [drive] up the road [from my hostel].

I got off the bus at the hostel and nearly immediately headed up the road.  A number of times I gave up and ended up spinning around in circles.  I watched every car go by thinking she might pass me, but no luck.  Finally I committed to giving up, and headed toward the hostel.

Just before I got there, she pulled up beside me!  I told her that I had been going to look for her to see if she had wanted a companion for her travels.  Without a pause she said yes.

I went back to the office and checked to see if my pack had showed up, which it hadn’t.  Then I grabbed my little bag and my box, I told Kerry’s [(the hostel manager)] daugther that I was leaving town and to tell the airline to keep my bag at the airport.

Then I jumped in the car with the Brit girl.  A minute in, I introduced myself!  She was Rachel.

We turned right onto [State] Highway 1 and drove off.  Up a bit then right on 10.  We saw Cable Bay and then went to Coopers Beach.  She took a swim to get rid of sand she’d collected on the dunes.

There were tons of trees along the beach and she explained they were NZ Christmas trees because they bloomed a red flower at Christmas time.

The tour was fun.  Willie [(the tour bus driver)] drove us on the small bus.  [(A minibus, as opposed to a full-sized coach bus)].  1 older dutch woman, an older British couple, an American man, four Japanese twenty-somethings, a British 20ish [woman], and me.  First to the Kaori Kingdom where we saw furniture made from giant trees.

Then with another little stop to buy postcards, we stopped at a bay to eat lunch.  Tapa-something.  This was meant to be my final campsite on the tramp so I asked Willie about it.

He gave me great information.  Where to buy clothes if my bag didn’t turn up, where to buy the stove fuel, and stuff about the track.

After lunch came the Cape.[It was] somewhat anti-climatic having arrived there by bus, but still neat.  I saw more of the track and better understood the route.

I spoke briefly with the British girl & the Dutch woman about the 800 year old tree at the point.  We wandered around some, trying to get a better look, but never could see more than a branch.  When we got back to the bus, Willie showed us the brochure – the picture was exactly what we saw!

We left the cape and went to the Te Paki stream, my jumping off point if I were headed out.  There we climbed these huge sand dunes and slid down them on plastic sleds.

I went first, oddly enough, and scored a great run.  I went twice more, and by the 2nd we were all going down together, cheering one another on.  Bonding through adrenaline.

We loaded back up and headed to 90 mile beach.  Its actually only 67 but 90 came from a settler method of estimating.  Apparently, as a rule of thumb, wagon trains could make 30 miles a day, so when it took them 3 days to make the journey they called it 90 miles!

I managed to get a bit sick though, and missed the start of the beach.  Overheated & dehydrated.

We eventually made it off the beach.  We were doing 100 – 120km down this sand – it was wild!

[I've] got other stuff to do.  Back later.