Day 70: Whanganui River Canoe Trip Part 5

I was the first to wake up, having taken up the middle mattress beneath the window, through which the early morning sun was now shining. I quietly crept out to the loo and back, stoked that I managed to do it with only Marie seeming to stir. After a while the guys began stirring as well and we all got up and went about our morning routines, namely breakfast and pack up.

Taylor and I were ready first (Marie and Eddie never seem in a hurry to get anywhere which I admire) and soon had all our gear packed into barrels and had carted these back down to the river. As we were pushing the canoe into the water a jet boat came from downstream and pulled in, and two men, after saying a brief good morning, headed up to the hut, presumably to carry out some maintenance work. Marie and Eddie were ferrying their gear down as Taylor and I set off, each pair calling out a cheerful "see you downstream!". I'm not sure when but at some point Taylor said he felt like Eddie was like our guardian angel, looking out for us on the river. We both agreed it was reassuring to have an experienced kayaker paddling down the river behind us and part of me wondered if Eddie and Marie weren't deliberately setting out after us now (whether or not they had been before) in case (expecting?) we would get into further trouble on the river. Already grateful, we little anticipated just how grateful we would be for their help before the day was out. While I cannot confidently recall the precise order in which some details of our days' adventure played out, I've tried my best to tell the story as accurately as possible.

Taylor was steering today, seemingly happy enough to let me be the power in the front (or lack there of). consequently we moseyed on down the river at a rather more sedate pace than on previous days. It became apparent that the rapids weren't as big as they had been upstream, several merely disturbance of the surface water as it sailed over patches of shallow rocky bottom, but it becomes apparent that the lower reaches of the river are much more susceptible to log jams than the steeper and faster flowing upper stretches. The really impressive ones are easily avoided, being a complex graveyard of chaotically deposited branches--sometimes entire trees--that scream "stay away" even from the uninitiated. But sometimes there is just a smattering of stumps protruding here and there from the water and it was in a semi-rapid section littered with such stumps that we came to grief.

Being in the front it was my job to spot the hazards and call them out to Taylor so he could choose how best to steer around them. On this particular section there were too many to call all of them out individually but there appeared to be a clear way down the center of the river, if one prominent stump in the center could be avoided. I left the decision to Taylor to choose whether he wanted to veer to the right or left of the stump...but as we approached in the accelerating current and we continued to aim directly for the stump. Growing a little concerned by this I think I quickly said something along the lines of "Taylor...? Pick a side Taylor....!". The boat did not turn. I stared in disbelief as we bore down on the log, saying in a voice that I remember rapidly rose in volume and pitch "Taylor...Taylor!....TAYLO--...[gurgle]". Seated at the front as I was I  had a clear view as almost as if in slow motion we hit the stump head on, bounced back a little, got caught by the current on either side, rapidly swung round 90 degrees, hit the log again side-on and were flooded, capsizing into the current that came rushing into the boat. It all happened in an instant. There was a moment's desperate floundering to grab the end of the canoe as I was swept past it, and in a few moments more I'd hauled myself up onto the strangely stationary canoe, wedged my paddle in amongst the mercifully double-strapped gear and sat on the up-turned edge of the canoe to take stock.

I quickly spotted Taylor who had been washed down to slower water and was now swimming for a large gravel bank on the left hand side of the river. Seeing he was alright I turned my attention to the canoe. It was standing on its side, 3/4 submerged in the water, perfectly balanced by the water rushing in and over it on either side, pinning it to the stump. I shuffled my seat to the end of the canoe and bounced up and down a couple of times in an attempt to get one side further into the water than the other in the hope the force of the water would tip the balanced and wash the canoe round one side of the stump to freedom. While it tilted slightly it didn't budge. One small branch protruding from the unfortunately non-rotted log had wedged under the rim of the canoe and was helping to hold it in place. I tried to snap the branch or maneuver the canoe off of it some how, but the shear weight of water pounding against it was impossible to counteract. After while checked to see that Taylor wasn't jumping in to try and help--what if he got swept away and drowned while I was occupied with the canoe. I can't remember if I motioned him to stay put on dry land or not, but I remembering thinking I should.

For what felt like half an hour I tried to free the wedged canoe. Standing precariously on one end and jumping up and down as much as I dared without breaking it succeeded in getting one end further into the water (and consequently the other further out). Unable to push down any further I alternated between trying to push down one end and lift the other. Turns out that right in from of the stump (upstream) was another large log that if I carefully lowered myself into the water I could use to deflect the worst of the current and brace myself against whilst trying to lift one end of the canoe, and or push the other enough to get it to give just a little...but not enough.

Eventually Taylor did jump in and wash/swim down and to help. By some miracle he made it and we both attempted to use our combined weight to tilt the continue sufficiently one way or the other. Taylor tried also to snap the branch pinning the rim of the canoe but to no avail. Meanwhile I had clambered out to either end to loose the tie ropes and tied them together. I had half an idea that the combined rope might be long enough to tie to one end of the canoe and hook (with a very good throw) around another stump in the river, from which we might be able to haul the canoe off the stump.  But I could not throw the loop of the rope far enough. I was onto my fifth or so attempt when we spotted Marie and Eddie come floating around the bend upstream. What they must have thought on seeing Taylor and I marooned mid-current on our near-submerged canoe!

We watched as they skillfully negotiated the rapid until just past our position, turned their boat 180 degrees and paddled back up in the lee of our stump to where we caught hold of the nose of their canoe. Understandably they did not want to tie up to the stump unless our efforts to free the stranded canoe should cause a collision with their's if it were to come free, so Marie held on to the log to keep their canoe in place while Eddie assessed the situation.  He and Taylor were soon able to snap the branch wedged under the rim of the canoe but the canoe still would not budge. After a few more failed efforts to force the canoe to wash one way or another Eddie made the call that we should try to rescue our gear. By this time most of it must have already under the water for nearly an hour so this seemed like a good idea at the time, and was probably the wisest option...but in hindsight it was also the undoing of the canoe.

With Taylor and I on either side we were able to carefully loose each barrel one at a time, handing them off to Eddie who loaded them into his and Marie's canoe. I thought at least they would unload their own gear first but Eddie seemed to think they could manage, so within minutes there they were in a double-loaded canoe floating barely an inch or two above the water at the middle where it was piled high with all our gear: loose barrels, my pack (which though empty did not fit in a barrel), our paddles and even the bail. I thought all was lost when Eddie had to half jump into the back of the canoe and it listed terrifyingly to one side. I had a brief vision of our unstrapped gear being dispersed down hundreds of meters of river, not to mention Eddie and Marie having to flounder for shore, but in an instant he'd corrected for the motion and they paddled carefully round to face downstream and paddled across the current to put in on the gravel bank. Not for the first time I admired their significant skills!

They quickly unloaded all the gear, ours and theirs, and paddled out to the lee of the stump once again. Marie held their canoe steady while the three of us, occupying whichever bit of sure footing on the stump we could find tried to get the canoe to move...and it did...a little. It was then I noticed that something wasn't right with the canoe. It had developed a distinct bend in it, like a gymnast attempting to lean over backwards to drop their hands to the floor behind their feet. It had also sunk lower in the water so that both ends were now completely submerged. It was then I realised that the gear (specifically the air trapped inside rigid barrels) had been the only thing keeping the canoe both afloat and straight. Now, with this vital structural integrity removed it dropped down to become close to wedging between the stump and the submerged log, and only had it's light wooden skeleton to maintain it's shape. The thin wooden frames weren't up to the task and as our attempts to move the canoe renewed I felt a late splinter poking up from a large crack in the frame. Obviously the thing would never float again, but we felt almost honour-bound to free it if we could...and so for a little while we kept trying.

At some point during the entire operation I lost my footing and made a grab for the end of the canoe to keep from being washed away. There I was floating at the surface thanks to life jacket and current, but there was so much water bearing down on me as it washed over the edge of the canoe that it was all I could do to get the odd gasp of air in between what I soon realised were great mouthfuls of water. I was dimly aware of Taylor standing right beside me on the stump telling me to climb out again, but it was all I could do to hang on to the canoe with both hands to keep from being swept away. I wished nothing more than for him or Eddie to realise my predicament and grab me by the scruff of my life jacket and haul me up. But in the eon (second or two) I was there they were preoccupied with the canoe. I distinctly remember a sardonic voice in my head saying "well this is a good way to drown" and let go. I managed to grab the side of Marie's canoe as I washed past and haul myself back along and onto the stump and out of the water, spluttering. Taylor asked if I'd swallowed any water and when I said 'yes, a bit' I saw in his face the memory of the rotting goat carcass we'd floated past the day before. Banishing thoughts of potential future gastrointestinal problems I turned my attention back to the task at hand. We all assessed the situation. Despite near self-induced drowning I was otherwise okay, but I was tiring quickly. Beside me Taylor was shivering and said he thought he needed to get out of the water soon. This was despite the fact that hauling on a canoe on and off for over an hour is an ok way to keep warm, and the water itself wasn't that cold, so I guessed Taylor might have gone some kind of mild shock. Then again I'm much better insulated than him so maybe it was cold!

We all took stock and Eddie suggested one last method we might try to help free the canoe. He and Marie took their canoe upstream and paddled it down as fast as they could. As they winged us we threw them the tail end of the bow rope and they pulled with all their might to try and slide it round the stump. But the canoe didn't budge. They were gearing up for one final try when we heard the sound of an engine...

From around the upstream bend shot a jet boat--it was the guys who'd been doing maintenance at Downes Hut that morning. They spotted us and slowed to a stop. After a moment they drive down a second arm of the river (turns out that large gravel bank wasn't actually 'shore') then carefully came up into the lee of the stump. They took one look at the canoe, which was gradually succeeding in emulating a gymnast who can bend all the way round backwards to put her hands on the ground behind her feet, and said "that's had it. Climb aboard!" Magnum(?) and Mark (aka M&M), after determine that we'd (meaning Marie and Eddie) had already rescued our gear, effortlessly hauled Taylor and I onto the bow from where we clambered over the windscreen into the seats. They took us the short distance to shore to collect our gear and said they'd give us a lift down the river to their base. What luck!! Our alternatives would have been either to get our gear to the proper shore, somehow get it up the bank to the road and hitch, or push the 'non-emergency assistance required' button on the beacon Eddie carried...which would have involved Gavin back at the Yeti office chartering a jet boat to come and pick us up. But they we were by pure luck, already with a willing jet boat to help us!

We said a short-term farewell (and a massive thank you) to Marie and Eddie, who would continue their trip, stopping to collect Taylor's paddle and hat from the end of the sandbar as they past and dropping it off when they reached the boats base. Then Taylor and I loaded our gear and sat back to relax and enjoy an unanticipated jet boat ride down the Whanganui River. I was quite excited by the whole adventure but Taylor sat warming himself in the sunshine, eyes closed, with an expression that suggested he was trying to find a happy place.

At the base--Mark's house--we unloaded the gear, bid farewell to Magnum and gratefully accepted hot showers and hot cups of tea. Mark rang Yeti and explained the situation. They were most concerned that we were alright, and having ascertained that, said they would divert a couple of guys doing a canoe pick-up in Whanganui to come and get us. Meanwhile we emptied the barrels and laid our damp gear out on the lawn to dry in the sun. Mark's wife Claire and their adorable daughter came home and we all sat around their outside table chatting and reliving the morning's events. Presently Marie and Eddie arrived, added the last paddle to the collection of gear for Yeti, and joined us for a picnic lunch. By early afternoon they were on their way again, Mark had gone off to work and Claire got on with some errands (including finding their friendly wee dog that seemed to have gone walk-about sometime over lunch), leaving Taylor and I to wait for Yeti. We joked that the day's events had been the canoe's way of getting back at us for having the temerity to christen it the "Rotten Orange" (after its colour and state of repair, but further inspired by my having found precisely this inside my food parcel on the first day).

While we waited I rang the Yeti office to ask about paying the insurance excess on the canoe; this would be $500, so $250 each, and the woman on the end of the line promised to txt me the company's bank account details so that we might transfer them the money. She seemed a bit taken aback by my enquiry and willingness to pay up on our part...but then I'm sure if she'd actually laid eyes on the canoe she might have understood. At least it can be said of Taylor and I that when we do something we do it well...if only when it comes to totalling watercraft!

It turns out that Taylor and I have come out of the ordeal with polar opposite experiences and concluding points of view.While Taylor admitted to having gone into the trip with a high level of confidence, he now felt that the main thing he had learned was never to climb into a canoe again. I was sad to hear this, but not really surprised. I on the other hand had gone into the trip a bit nervous, but my confidence had grown as I made mental notes after each capsize, and I now felt that if I were to do the trip again I would have a much better chance of being able to negotiate the river without ending up in it. Next time I would however choose to go with someone with an approach to canoeing that is much more like my own (and I daresay Taylor would say the same...except of course he's resolved never to go canoeing again). Either way I am determined not to be self-peer-pressured into "just going for it" (and by 'self-peer-pressure' I mean not having the guts to metaphorically rock the boat in order to prevent literally doing so!).

In short (ironic given the length of this account) I feel like the Whanganui River and I have unfinished business and I have promised myself to return and complete the trip one day (though after reading this any potential canoeing partners will probably be put right off...but on the off chance, any takers?!).

Day 69: Whanganui River Canoe Trip Part 4

Day 4

We awoke to a lovely sunny morning. Josephine kindly gave us and our nearly-dry gear a lift back down to the river--only my toilet paper supply was irrecoverably water damaged, but this was easily replaced by raiding the campground supply. Thanking Josephine very much we loaded up our canoe and set off. Taylor didn't see the point in double lashing the gear down as we had been instructed and unfortunately I didn't push the matter...

The river south of Pipiriki is not as picturesque as it is no longer National Park and the river banks quickly become farmland, but there are still some lovely wild stretches. A a road follows the left bank of the river all the way from Pipiriki to Whanganui so the whole area feels more civilised and less adventurous...except for the rapids. We'd been assured there were no more serious rapids south of Pipiriki, but we still managed to get into trouble (we were later told the severity of the rapids changes a lot depending on the water level of the river...which makes a good deal of sense).

Taylor paddled extremely hard all day, so much so that I could not keep up at all and eventually had to say so. Apologising in advance for seemingly slacking off I eased off, trying to keep pace with him but not paddling as hard. Only at the end of the day did he tell me he'd been paddling hard to try and make up for lost time the day before; admirable perhaps but I wish he'd said something at the time, not that I think I could have persuaded him that it wasn't necessary.

We stopped for a break under a rickety looking bridge. The sun was blazing and Taylor was finally able to get his sleeping bag properly dry. Eddie and Marie stopped to have a snack as well and the four of us looked up in astonishment as a quadbike followed by two guys on foot and a possy of dogs went over the bridge overhead. Expecting the bridge to disintegrate at any moment we all breathed a sigh of relief when they disappeared down the road on the far side of the river without having plunged into it.

None of the stops are signposted south of Pipiriki so you have to identify landing spots by sight and descriptions in notes provided by the tour operator. None of us paid as much attention to the notes as we should and so we sailed right past Jerusalem without even realising it. Consequently I was still steering (Taylor and I had agreed to swap at Jerusalem) when we came upon a fast and frothy rapid flowing round a willow-tree lined corner. Having learned from my previous experience I lined up dead center down the rapid, but was unable to bring the head of the canoe round once we were in it. Within moments we were swept straight into the willows. I had a moments horrific image of Taylor being pinned between a low branch and the canoe before the water built up behind us, flooded the canoe and forced us under...and we capsized once again. Happily the capsize freed us from the tree and I was swept off down the rest of the rapid, desperately hanging onto the canoe with one hand and my paddle with the other. Unfortunately I was traveling headfirst so with every wave I was plunged under and up again, spluttering for breath. I was also bounced off multiple boulders, one in particular would have knocked all the air from my lungs (and possibly cracked a few ribs) if I hadn't been wearing a life-jacket. Funnily while plunging down the back of this boulder I felt the water washing the sunglasses off where they had been perched on my head. I remember making a furious swipe at my head to jam them back on again before floating down into slower water and desperately striking out for the nearby shore, canoe in hand.

I made it to the bank but wasn't strong enough to haul the waterlogged canoe out of the current that threatened to wash it further downstream. I was hampered by the fact the only single strapping our barrels meant that although none had washed away, they'd all popped out of where they'd been wedged and were dangling chaotically in the water around the canoe. But gear be damned, where was Taylor?! Hanging onto the bobbing canoe I desperately scanned the rapids. If he didn't appear in the next few moments I'd let the canoe go and have to try and find him. For a scary half second I envisioned him drowning, but then I saw his head pop up among the willow trees where we'd first come to grief, a look of pure frustration on his face. He was furiously swimming against the current looking for something. As he was seemingly okay for the moment I turned my attention to the canoe and began furiously hauling on it to try and get it and the tray barrels at least partially out of the water. Taylor eventually washed down and swam in to help, closely followed by Marie and Eddie in there non-capsized canoe. By some miracle everything was present and nothing had washed away--not even my sunglasses! The only casualty was Taylor's paddle that he had dropped and which had become wedged under a branch of the willows. It was that he had been trying to retrieve. I commenced a check for leaks in the barrels while he set off along the bank to try and retrieve the paddle. Gear okay I set off to help, but turned back when I saw Taylor once again washing down the rapid, this time with paddle in hand. Eddie was impressed and turned to me saying "You've got yourself an action man!". I laughed in agreement, but did wonder why he'd jumped back in the water and not simply retraced his route back along the riverbank. I know I was in no rush to be bounced off boulders any more than was necessary and I couldn't help but smile when Taylor, previously dubious about the necessity for life-jackets, said how glad he was that he'd been wearing one.

In the excitement of the moment we all discussed what had happened. Marie and Eddie had seen the whole thing. Eddie offered lots of advice for next time, most crucially to make sure I entered a rapid on the angle I intended to exit it, so as not to have to haul the nose of the canoe round mid-rapid. I wished he'd told me that before! But I made a few more mental notes:

Mental Note #4: Paddle harder going into rapids.

Mental Note #5: Enter rapid on the angle you intend to exit them.

Mental Note #6: Strap all gear down as much as possible so that it stays in the boat in the event of a capsize.

Somewhat understandably Taylor decided he no longer trusted me to steer and as we set off again I was in the front of the canoe. No other rapids that day proved as challenging and we managed to make it all the way to Downes' Hut without further incident, although I sensed Taylor's patience with my paddling was wearing thin. We ended up switching again in the afternoon as he decided I couldn't paddle hard enough; we'd ended up zig-zagging down a long stretch of the river as his more powerful strokes from the stern made mine seem like mere splashes in comparison, whilst also dominating the steering. Taylor understandably found this frustrating, but as I was physically incapable of making a difference to our progress and previous suggestions to ease off and follow the current hadn't been entertained, I settled on being merely bemused. After we switched places we stopped zig-zagging and made better time, but frustration remained when I tried to follow the current as it meandered down the broad channel and Taylor curtly asked if I realised I was unnecessarily crossing from one side of the river to the other...

While the view along the river wasn't as impressive as it had been, there were still lots of goats to entertain, and even at one point a small herd of horses that saw us coming down the river and took off at a canter along the river bank and out of sight. There's something about horses running that is strangely peaceful and captivating to watch.

Downes Hut

Thanks to Taylor's intense paddling we spotted Downes' Hut in the trees on the right bank of the river sooner than we had anticipated. Hauling out on the gravel bank downstream as the notes instructed we began the search for the track leading back up to the hut. Unfortunately cattle had worn tracks criss-crossing in all directions and eroding the bank in several places, so much so that the track to the hut was completely obscured until well into the trees. Marie and Eddie weren't far behind and in two trips apiece the four of us had hauled all of our barrels up to the quaint little ex-homestead turned DOC hut. There's a slepeing platform along one wall with room for five mattresses arranged cheek-by-jowl, a fireplace in the opposite wall, a sink bench by the door and wooden table and benches in the middle of the room, on which we found the hut log book. I went through it, recognising several names, but none from the party of fifteen TA-ers Nathalie and Andy had been a part of--understandable since they wouldn't have all been able to fit in this hut. Outside there's a water tank and sink, and a short distance away a vault loo that was much more appealing once I'd taken to the seat with a handful of wet-wipes.

I made curry for dinner, Taylor nibbled his usual rations and I watched as Marie compiled a two-pot culinary delight from dried pasta, fresh veges and sauce. Eddie also has a jar of vegemite and was hoeing into cheese and vegemite sandwiches while he waited. He kindly offered me some and I made a cheese and vegemite wrap to supplement my meager curry. I don't like it as much as marmite but sacrifices must be mad in the wilderness!

It amused me to watch the other hiker's routines. Eddie and Marie clearly have their agreed upon tasks while hiking that together make for an effective and comfortable unit. Sharing things like cooking gear also means that they collectively can carry more non-essential items (including an entire tarpaulin) than any solo hiker ever could. It's not the first time it's occurred to me that solo-hiking has its disadvantages, but after Taylor and I have been touching each other's nerves off and on I think it also has some distinct advantages as well.

Day 68: Whanganui River Canoe Trip Part 3

Day 3
Although it rained a lot in the night it was easing this morning. I didn't sleep well so I lay in a bit, listening to everyone else getting up around me. Eventually I got up. There was no sign of Taylor so I sat looking out over the river and munched my milo cereal (tasty, but not as sustaining as porridge). By the time I'd packed up my tent Taylor was also ready and we set out along the river, leaving Marie and Eddie to their leisurely breakfast (Nadine and Philippe had gone on to a further campsite the day before).

It's a nice section of river through cliff-sided gorge south of Tieke Kainga. We passed a couple of other canoers, and dodged the odd jetboat. There's very few places to haul out for a long stretch of river; we stopped on one--a small pile of mossy boulders--for a snack. It was a charming spot apart from the leavings of some river traveler who had been unable to ignore the call of nature.

Today we began negotiating more serious rapids. As mentioned in Part 1, taking my time deciding how to guide us down them was not something Taylor particularly approved of and so after carefully standing up and scouting ahead as Gavin had recommended and being told to hurry up I sat down and went for it. Another unfortunate difference in mine and Taylor's approach to canoing is that I try to paddle harder going into rapids whereas Taylor sees them as a chance to rest. Unfortunately this means you travel down the rapid at the same speed as the current so the boat is all but unresponsive--particularly to my weak arms hauling on the paddle (you may recall I have been forbidden to use the paddle as a rudder). I wasn't able to line the canoe up with the middle of a rapid containing two large standing waves and we went down one side, got swept sideways into one of the waves...and over we went. Perhaps we might have saved it if we'd both leaned into the wave, but being complete amateurs we didn't and within a few moments had popped up beside the canoe and went bobbing down the river at the mercy of the swift current. We were understandably shocked, particularly Taylor when, as the current slowed, he realised he couldn't touch the bottom--I would find out a few days later that he'd thought this was an anomaly and that the entire river was only waist deep! Um, no, no it isn't. For those who may not know the river is as deep in places as the cliffs are high towering up on either side of it...that is, tens of meters.

Once in slower water we managed to haul the canoe out onto the narrow shore at the base of a cliff and re-tip it to let the water drain out. Thankfully the water wasn't that cold and the two of us both found the unexpected dunking rather exciting. Laughing it off as all part of the experience, we climbed in again and set off. I did however make a couple of mental notes:

Mental Note #1: Always aim for the middle of the main current going down a rapid.

Mental Note #2: Lean into waves. Eddie would later relate this to me in thickly French-accented English as "keep your ass to the stream". Turns out he's an experienced river kayaker...something we would become exceedingly grateful for in the days to come.

It was not until we reached Pipiriki, had hauled out, walked up to the campground/sparsely stocked shop to buy a hot snack and returned to the canoe again (still soaking wet and rapidly getting cold again) that Taylor noticed condensation on the wrong side of the transparent panel in his dry bag full of gear. Though we had been about to climb back into the canoe and set off for Jerusalem (our planned stop for the night) our plans were scuppered by a rapid and long overdue gear inspection revealing that most of Taylor's electrics, essential papers and the bottom of his sleeping bag were wet (we couldn't find a hole in the malfunctioning bag and during a later conversation it transpired that no one had informed Taylor that dry bags need to be rolled a minimum of three times in order to establish a reliable seal...and that he had only rolled the top down twice). He upended the now empty dry bag in disgust and a good 2/3 of a cup of water poured out. One of my own barrels had leaked slightly and some of my things were damp, including my first aid kit, although thankfully nothing as critical as Taylor's.

Mental Note #3: After a capsize, upon getting safely to shore IMMEDIATELY check all gear for leaks!

As we had been laying out our gear to one side of the boat ramp two other canoers had pulled in and were being picked up by a guy in a van. The van had the logo of the Pipriki Campground on the side and I remembered seeing a whiteboard at the campground showing they had plenty of availability for the  night, both tenting and cabins. Inspiration struck and I suggested that we abandon the planned canoe to Jerusalem and stay at Pipiriki instead. It was still only early afternoon and though overcast it was not raining, so we might be able to dry out our gear and set out on the river again tomorrow. The guy loading the other canoe overheard our situation and offered to come back and get us in the van after he'd dropped the others off. Deal. We hauled the canoe out and when the guy, Ken, returned we bundled our barrels into the back and were driven the short distance up to the campground.

Long story short, after some confusion about the state of bookings, Ken's wife Josephine was able to offer us a cabin. (She was extremely helpful and also furnished us with a bag of fresh lettuce and zucchini from her garden). The cabin proved to be a simple but spacious stand-alone affair with a queen bed and a set of bunks, solar lights and curtained windows, but no power sockets. It was built from timber and the whole place smelt wonderfully of pine. Taylor kindly let me have the queen bed while he claimed the bottom bunk. It took over an hour for us to unpack and lay everything out to dry. Besides the gear that was wet from leaky bags and barrels (much of Taylor's essentials plus my first aid kit and toilet paper), much of our gear was wet from rain (our tents), or from direct dunking in the river (lifejackets, my waist pack), or both (the clothes we were wearing). Consequently the entire cabin, inside and out on the covered deck (it was still threatening rain) became covered in gear laid out to dry. The campground has no showers but there's a small enclosed outbuilding with a sinkbench and cold freshwater tap that I used to have a wash, using an empty ice cream container I found in the kitchen to ferry some hot water down from the kitchen. Cleanish, dry and warm for the first time in several hours I felt like a million dollars.

A lady staying in the neighbouring cabin was intrigued by our paraphernalia and came to chat to us. Upon hearing we were walking TA she offered us some of the Christmas cake she had packed on the solo roadtrip she was undertaking. 'Some' turned into and enormous quarter of an entire cake that Taylor and I all but devoured over dinner; Taylor liked it so much I had to portion some off for myself to make sure I got some! I had zucchini-fortified tortellini for dinner so I saved most of mine for later. With all the donated food we've been given recently it looks like I might not run out after all!  

Two Israeli guys were in the kitchen when we went to have dinner. Their English and interest in socialising was limited so apart from the standard niceties we didn't have much to discuss. Taylor and I were just discussing whether Marie and Eddie would push the 'everyone's okay' button on the beacon at the end of the day like they're supposed to if we did not turn up to Jerusalem as planned...when lo and behold Eddie went walking passed the window. We waived him in. It turns out he and Marie spotted our canoe and also decided to stop for the night at Pipiriki, although they're taking advantage of the free-camping available at the park down the road. We chatted for a bit and told him all about our capsizing experience before he headed back down to the park and Taylor and I retired to our cabin.

While pillows and bottom sheets were provided, additional bedding could be purchased for a small fee, which sounded like a good idea considering Tailor's wet sleeping bag was currently suspended spread-eagle from the ceiling of the cabin by a combination of mine and Taylor's rope supplies. Unfortunately he dithered with the decision and by the time he went up to take her up on the offer the office was shut. Josephine had said we could knock on the house door if they needed anything but Taylor was reluctant to disturb them. In the end stripping the top bunk of its under sheet and one of the curtains of its rail saw Taylor happily tucked up in bed. He scoured a stack of magazines on the small table in the cabin, finding sudoku for himself to do and a cryptic crossword for me. I spent a relaxing evening filling it in as we both decided that all in all, everything had turned out well. 

The convent that offers accommodation in Jerusalem is reportedly cold, and here we booth were, warm and dry, gear and persons intact after an adventurous day getting dunked in the river. I drifted off to sleep, waking up intermittently as my semi-conscious brain worked out another of the few remaining crossword clues. Rather infuriatingly I never figured out the very last one!

One piece of news: we bumped into Nadine and Philippe at Pipiriki and they've decided to cut their canoe trip short and hitch to Whanganui. Apart from not enjoying the paddle Philippe has come down sick. Luckily he'd already handed off the beacon to Eddie when we were all at John Coull Hut. Unfortunately aong with the four Germans they'd already been picked up by the time Marie and Eddie had arrived in their canoe; they in turn had been hoping to trade out their canoe as it has a leak, forcing Eddie to intermittently bail all day (from his customary perch on the very tip of the stern...incidentally I've tried sitting back there; it's easier to steer but someone of my weight sits perilously close to the waterline and tends to bounce off more rocks going down rapids than is strictly necessary!).

Day 67: Whanganui River Canoe Trip Part 2

On Day 2 we paddled 33km to Tieke Kainga, stopping for breaks at intervening campsites along the way. Taylor was very quiet this morning, so much so I thought that despite my efforts at restraining myself I might have said something to offend him, but he livened up so I figured maybe he just has his quiet days. Fair enough, so do I. We stopped in at Mangapurua Landing and, while looking for the loo, ended up on the walking track to the Bridge to Nowhere. The bridge was built to open up the terrain to access for farming, but also to provide work during early 1930's. Unfortunately by the time the bridge was completed the farming was already failing and no more than a handful of vehicles ever drove across it. When you see it you can appreciate why. How anyone ever thought they could farm those steep hillsides I'll never understand. By virtue of little use (or perhaps by maintenance as an ongoing tourist attraction) the bridge looks very new, and quite picturesque, popping out of the forest high up on one side of Mangapurua Stream, spanning the water in a symmetrical arch supporting a flat roadway, and disappearing into the forest on the far side. Now it marks the nearing end of a walking track from Whakahoro, and apart from this is only accessible by canoe/kayak or jetboat on the river. The landing is small and jetboats have right of tie-up, so canoers and kayakers are advised to land and then haul their canoes along the bank and tie them up out of the way, lest a frustrated jet boat operator tow them out of their way and tie them up on the other side of the river! It's a relatively short but nice walk from the landing to the bridge (happily with a vault loo along the way). Marie and Eddie caught up with Taylor and I so we explored the bridge together, finding someone had left a note on the picnic table at the far end of the bridge saying "Welcome to Nowhere Guys. Merry Xmas!". On the way back across the bridge I peered down at the water far below and spotted and enormous eel nosing along the stream bank. We watched it for several minutes. The whole place feels very peaceful, isolated and more than a little wild.

The Bridge To Nowhere

Season's greetings from an unknown traveler

Spot the eel!

Eddie contemplating how to get back in the canoe

Late that evening, after exploring a couple of river-side caves, we pulled in at Tieke Kainga, a joint Maori Marae and DOC campsite. Most days around 4:30pm they hold a powhiri or welcoming ceremony for visitors. I thought this would be a fun thing to take part in, but Taylor was not keen, especially after I told him about the obligatory hongi. Perhaps this explained his rather more relaxed paddling this day, ensuring we did not arrive there until nigh on 6pm...with a thunderstorm brewing hard on our heals. As we pulled the canoes out at the landing site the sky downstream was pale blue becoming overcast, while behind us upstream the sky was dark blue and soon flickering with lightening as thunder rumbled overhead. We just managed to pitch our tents on the terraced sites below the marae before the first rain of the night came pelting down. A wonderfully Maori lady named Leslie showed me around and told me to make myself at home. That evening as we ate and sheltered in the communal kitchen/dining hall she came round with free food left over from a large group that had visited a couple of days before: lettuce, ham, chicken and cookies. While at the time I thought I had reveled in the buying food for the trip, volume wise it proved to not be as filling as my normal trail rations and I'm not ashamed to say I took and ate everything Leslie offered me. I'd conveniently forgotten that that particular brand of ham had recently been recalled due to a listeria outbreak...apparently listeria has up to a 70 day latency period so I won't know until mid-March if I've got away with my greediness or not!

Landing at Tieke Kainga...with a thunderstorm hard on our heals.

Campsites at Tieke Kainga

I was just drifting off to sleep listening to the rain spattering on my tent when I heard Leslie call out to everyone to get up; the rain was settling in for the night and we needed to help move the 'waka' further up the river bank to prevent them from potentially being washed away over (important to keep your camp clothes dry!) and tumbled out of my tent to stumble off down to the river to help. It was a truly impressive sight seeing most people (with a few exceptions) throw themselves into the task of untying the numerous canoes, carrying them across the gravel to the path, and then forming a human chain up the track to a flattish-spot where the canoes could be stacked. Eddie in particular was here, there and everywhere, and seemed to be able to send a canoe flying up the river bank with a single good shove. Canoes safely (if haphazardly) stacked on higher ground Leslie called out a thanks that indicated job done and we all traipsed off to bed. I hoped I'd sleep better for the late-night exercise :)

Day 66: Whanganui River Canoe Trip Part 1

Taylor and I had signed up for a 6-day canoe trip from Whakahoro to Whanganui, which we both expected to be picturesque and fun but otherwise uneventful. As it turns out that wasn't exactly how things transpired. As the tale is best told by sometimes addressing events that happened on different days at the same time the blog entries that cover the trip loosely go in chronological order, but not always. I've broken the trip up into different entries purely because leaving them as a single entry will make them even longer and more intimidating to read than normal entries!

Day 1

I was the first to wake up in the bunkroom. I snuck out to the outside vault loos and back, by which time other people were beginning to stir. After breakfast, while packing up, the disgruntled French girl from yesterday asked if all the huts along the river would be like this one. I tried to be sympathetic in the affirmative. She seems to have come to terms with the idea. I think it's the sharing of sleeping space with a bunch of strangers that concerns her, but after last night I guess she's decided it isn't as bad as she'd feared.

Along with Nadine and Philippe, Taylor and I trekked our gear down to a landing spot on the Retaruke River, a few hundred meters upstream from its junction with the Whanganui River. The landing spot is a large boulder-gravel beach accessible by gravel vehicle track. Marie and Eddie were already there waiting--apparently all six of us are booked with Yeti so we took up positions on various logs and boulders to wait for Gavin to arrive with the canoes, hoping that the damp clouds overhead would be able to contain themselves at least until we'd packed down our gear into the barrels that were to be supplied along with the canoes. Meanwhile two guys, a Kiwi and an Irishman (one of whom was sporting a full-length mullet) arrived and made ready to launch their single kayaks.

Gavin was late so the six of us TA-ers chatted a bit. Taylor asked if a fleck in a rock was a fossil. It was and it turned out loads of the other rocks scattered around the beach were full of them so scouring the river bank kept me occupied until a van towing a trailer-load of canoes finally arrived. Hooray! Canoes--check. Life-jackets--check. Barrels--check. Mine and Taylor's food boxes--check! Furnished with three barrels apiece we repacked our gear, trying to anticipate which things we would need access to while in the boat as that would all have to go into one barrel each that would be strapped in upright and be the only barrels able to be opened without landing the canoe and unstrapping everything else.

Gavin took everyone (six TA-ers plus four young German guys) through a surprisingly brief safety talk and then showed us how to strap everything into our canoes. He then gave Philippe an emergency beacon--the only one for the entire group. I was surprised...surely each canoe should be given one as there is no obligation or expectation for any of the canoes to paddle together! No matter, I have one with me anyway, but I'm a little surprised the operators are allowed to send inexperienced paddlers out on the river without a beacon per boat or strict instructions for us all to stay together. 

Taylor and I were to be launched first, in a battered old orange canoe. I being the heaviest would go in the back and be responsible for steering, whilst Taylor would sit in the front and provide the bulk of the power. At Taylor's suggestion we would switch each day. Gavin asked us to demonstrate our paddle strokes within the first few tens of meters on the river. He was happy with our technique so away we went, off downstream to the mighty Whanganui! There would be rapids on the trip and apparently about half of all canoers tip out. I was sure we were in for an adventure.

It quickly became apparent that Taylor and I have completely different approaches to canoeing. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised since all our conversations up to this point indicated that we had completely different approaches to everything in life. How this might influence the canoe trip I (perhaps foolishly) hadn't considered, but within the first several hours on the river I was beginning to worry how the two of us would handle being stuck in a tiny boat together for six days. It's all very well walking when one or another person's pace is different, the faster is free to go on ahead. But canoeing requires team work and a collaborative approach...and this was something Taylor and I would never quite master.

I set out on the river excited, but also nervous as I have no prior experience canoeing on moving water, let alone through rapids. Taylor on the other hand set out confident and questioning the need for all the straps holding down our gear, along with the need for life-jackets. I was in no particular hurry, happy to float with the current and paddle gently--after all we'd be paddling all day and energy and un-trained arm muscles would need to last. Taylor's approach on the other hand was to maintain momentum, paddle hard in straight lines and cut every corner along the river, irrespective of how different parts of the river were flowing. I on the other hand thought it would be best to follow the thalweg or main current as it meanders down the width of the channel, and therefore avoid eddies and slack water where paddling would become, I thought, unnecessarily difficult.  I quickly got told off for doing this, and also for using the paddle as a rudder to turn the boat as this caused the craft to rapidly lose momentum...this is true, but turning by paddling requires more time and effort and isn't as effective in faster moving water where you have less time to correct the orientation of the canoe. But I promised not to do any more 'ruddering', quietly resolving to try my best to avoid getting into situations where it would become necessary. Unfortunately this would require careful planning, particularly when entering rapids, something that Taylor also found annoying, telling me to "just go for it!". At such times I felt caught between the proverbial rock and a hard (wet?) place. If I was stubborn about it I risked rocking the boat metaphorically and I was conscious of the fact that Taylor and I had to spend the next six days in each others company, and I would prefer if it remained amicable (I'm not good with conflict!). The alternative however was to "go for it" and risk literally rocking the boat and capsizing in a rapid. Deciding I'd rather get wet than have a confrontational trip down the river I went for it. Predictably this worked fine for little rapids, but on bigger ones it proved to not be such a good idea.

Despite my misgivings given our different approaches the first day on the river was enjoyable. The scenery is lovely and paddling is only really difficult on long straight stretches where a headwind is channeled by the steep cliffs on either side. The forest is lovely, seemingly a mix of native broadleaf and nikau palms. I must have made some comment about how nice the forest was as I remember Taylor's answer being that is wasn't nice at all. He finds it's impenetrable appearance totally uninviting and said he wished it was more like the pine forest we'd walked through on the way to Pureora. I was humourously horrified. Those aren't forests, they're tree farms! I thought, and told him so. At least, they are here. In the States nice open conifer forests are the natural forest; I've seen them and they are lovely. By comparison New Zealand 'jungle' apparently comes as a bit of a shock to the uninitiated, and an unwelcome one at that.

Taylor's objections aside, the scenery is lovely. Steep forested hillsides give way to vertical medium-thickly bedded mudstone-sandstone cliffs. Some layers had small round concretions that look like miniature Moeraki Boulders. Other's have distinct cross-beds, or more rarely concentrated rounded mudstone pebbles, or shellbeds. The cliffs drop straight down and disappear into the water where the current causes upwellings all the way along that reassuringly mean that unless you're travelling at speed the canoe is often naturally fended off from the cliffs as you float along. Every now and then there's a cave to explore. NZ isn't particulalry wildlife rich, but there are several birds to see, mostly native pigeons or kereru, and also numerous tuis, as well as the odd hawk. One thing I hadn't expected was the number of feral goats! They are everywhere, and apart from tui song, the distinctive flap of pigeon's wings, the constant gurgle of water and occasional roar of rapids, the bleating of goats is a common sound to be heard along the river. They're a pest, and there are controlled shoots to try and keep the numbers down. Certainly along some sections of river these appear to be working, but along others goats are ten a penny and, at this time of year, have several young kids with them. Pest or not, they are incredibly cute and very fun to watch as they frolic along the riverbank, or are bleating frantically when they've lost sight of their mother. None of the goats are at all perturbed by the people floating past in variously coloured craft; if one had a rifle with a silencer they could easily take out fifty a day.

Chilling on the river.

One of the larger caves.

The first day we paddled 37km to DOC's John Coull Hut. This is currently undergoing renovations but despite that was jam-packed with paddlers. Taylor and I arrived late in the day and pitched our tents on the lowermost camping area that is close to a toilet block, but quite a distance from the hut itself (so much so Taylor never even saw it), Thankfully this also means it was removed from the crowd! All six of us TA-ers, plus the Germans and Kiwi-Irish duo camped here; the Kiwi Quartet, slightly happier French couple and whatt must have been at least fifty other people camped further up. Philippe is not enjoying the paddle, saying he'd rather be hiking. I think he is finding it cramped in the boat.

John Coull Hut

While making dinner, one of the hut wardens came round to check us off the booking list. He took a look at my small pot of curry and laughed "I hope there's more to it than that". Looking at it I couldn't help feel the same. Tasty hydrated food is nice, but despite the box size the sachets proved small and I couldn't help wishing I'd bought more food. I laughed ruefully when I remembered back to Bog Inn Hut and Taylor running out of food, dimly wondering if on this leg of the trip it would be my turn. No, it wouldn't be...not as long as I didn't eat more than my meager sachet of curry! As the light faded I kept my eyes peeled for the native bats that information boards in the hut say live in the area, but I saw nothing but pigeons, and the faintest white spec negotiating a narrow path along a near vertical cliff high up on the opposite side of the river; goats can quite literally get anywhere.

Day 65: Kaitieke to Whakahoro (25km; 1218km total)

The only problem with artificially flat ground around a monument is that it is often well compacted by machinery, not to mention the footsteps of numerous visitors year after year. Despite the hard ground and the cold I still slept okay. I was just beginning to wake up around 6am when I heard a car pull up, someone get up and then it sounded like they opened their boot. They then walked over toward the tent...at this point my ears were on high alert and my heart was pounding in my mouth as my half asleep brain was going wild considering all sorts of horrendous possibilities that could happen next, and would have, if I'd been starring in a C-grade horror movie. Happily I'm not and after a minute or two (but what felt like eternity) whoever it was went back to their car, got in and drove away. I let out the breath I'd been unconsciously holding and relaxed, but decided to get up before any other inquisitive people came along.

While Taylor and I breakfasted and packed up an intermittent parade of vehicles carrying mostly farming types went past this way and that, interspersed with the odd early tourist camper. It was a surprisingly busy road for such a seemingly out of the way spot.

Taylor soaking up the first rays of sunshine.

We were underway by 8am, keen to get moving to try and warm up. I think my feet know they're about to get a break and are thus beginning to slack off. I barely managed 8km this morning before having to ask Taylor if he minded stopping for a break. We weren't in any hurry so we sat down in the long grass on a bank beside the road for a bit.

Within a few kilometers the road begins to wind through a steep-sided gorge, following the Retaruke River where it has chiseled a path through hundreds of meters of medium-thickly bedded mudstones and limestones. With cliffs rising up on one side and dropping down the other, there weren't many places to "pull over" and stop for a break, but we made do at one end of a short red bridge. There are a handful of bridges over small streams flowing down to the river and each is painted a different colour. Taylor and I wondered whether this was purely unusual creative flare on behalf of those responsible for maintaining the bridges or whether it was an easy way of making the bridges reference points for reporting roads conditions or other emergencies (e.g. "There's a slip about half a kilometers along from the purple bridge"?).

Today Taylor and I discussed school life and family. Suffice to say I'm so very grateful to have had the family and schooling I did!

We continued on, following the road along past steadily more impressive cliffs, sections of forest with conspicuous bright green leaved trees with ever brighter pastel yellow flowers arranged almost as if they're on platters in the canopy. I had no idea what they were (some kind of pale yellow dogwood?) but something about them was distinctly cheerful with a touch of elegance.

As we neared Whakahoro we passed under one particularly impressive white cliff face that had slipped and crumbled a few boulders onto the road. I happily stopped for a break as Taylor took it upon himself to try and roll one of the medium-sized blocks to the road side and watch it tumble over the edge and into the river below with a satisfying splash (you may be relieved to know that a check was made to see that there was no people or livestock down there first!). Boys. Some things I guess you never grow out of.

Taylor takes on the roughest, toughest, meanest
boulder along the entire road.

In places the valley broadened enough to allow proper paddocks to flank the roadside. One farmer had named his paddocks and Taylor and I stopped by a gate entitled "Bluff" to each take a picture with the sign, enjoying the joke that we'd made it already and could go home.

Made it! (Er...not quite...)

As we walked we had passed one or two aged signs that seemed to indicate there was a cafe in Whakahoro. This was news to us as the trail notes don't mention the cafe specifically, and we tentatively began to hope there might be some nice food or drinks awaiting us at the end of the day. We didn't see anyone else all day apart from a quartet of women mountain biking, but they were as in the dark about the cafe as we were, and like so many, were surprised to see people who had walked all the way in from comparative civilization.

Festive driftwood boar outside the Blue Duck
Cafe.

At length we came to the small settlement of Whakahoro at the junction with the Whanganui River, and indeed there was a cafe. Better yet, it was open! The Blue Duck comprises juxtaposed themes of huntsman, stockman and environment; outside visitors are greeted by a driftwood boar and hikers may choose to sit at a long wooden table designated by a wooden sign as the "Te Araroa Table". This is surrounded by benches and a couple of stools topped with old saddles. Inside the walls contain a few trophies plus information about the conservation efforts to save the endangered blue duck or whio, from which the cafe takes its name.

The cafe menu is limited, but at the end of the day even a simple toasted sandwhich goes down a treat, not to mention the free drink offered to TA hikers. I took my ginger beer and went to say hello to the only other people in the place, a young Swiss couple and fellow TA hikers--Nadine and Philippe. They're both nice but Nadine seems to be enjoying the trail more than Philippe. Like Taylor and I they have booked through Yeti tours and will be putting a canoe in here in the morning and are looking forward to giving their feet a rest over the next six days paddle to down river to Whanganui.

After a chat, a drink and a sandwich I paid $4 to use the shower and splashed out the extra $3.50 to borrow a nice big fluffy towel. $7.50 total seems a lot to pay, but I was sweaty and it was there, and I couldn't be sure of getting another hot shower for almost a week so it seemed the thing to do to make the most of the opportunity.

While we were there a bunch of farmers showed up with their dogs, having herded several cattle into yards down the road. At least one of the dogs was obviously quite at home and flopped down across the threshold of the cafe so that it was all you could do not to stand on its big goofy paws as you walked in and out.

After temporarily commandeering the liquid hand soap from the toilets and making the most of a hot shower I changed into my camp clothes, returned the towel and then collected up my things to head across the road and join Taylor at the DOC bunkroom--an old school house converted to dormitory/hut-style accommodation. Curiously it is cheaper to stay in the bunkroom than it is to pitch a tent. Taylor's theory was that the cost in the bunkroom is per bunk, but for camping is per tent, so it only works out cheaper for solo travelers to take a bunk. This must be about the only time solo hikers are this lucky!

Taylor and I were first to arrive (Nadine and Philippe are tenting) so we got the pick of the beds. I wiled away the afternoon blogging and, after dragging the plastic-covered mattress from my bunk out onto the deck, napping in the intermittent sunshine. In the late afternoon groups of canoers began to arrive, sporting life-jackets and hauling barrels of gear up from the river. Four of them were kiwis and quickly made themselves at home. A quiet french couple were not so relaxed. After taking a look around the girl approached me sitting on my bunk (back indoors) and asked where the bunkroom was. When I said this was it her face rapidly morphed into something resembling horror as she asked "Is it a joke?!". I wasn't sure what to say to that and clearly she wasn't sure what to do. She obviously wasn't happy and spent much of the evening in brooding conversation with her boyfriend. I felt a bit sorry for her. No one likes showing up to accommodation that isn't quite what they'd expected, but at the same time, the bunkroom was pretty good by DOC hut standards and I thought that after an initial adjustment period she would either need to adjust or abandon her trip down the river.

The Kiwi quartet were a lively bunch and as all the cooking space outside under awnings (out of the rain) and next to stainless steel sinks was occupied, began cooking on the long wooden table in the bunkroom. Soon the whole place smelt of steak and onions and my mouth was positively watering. The pasta I had recently eaten seemed like bland cardboard in comparison to that smell. Remembering a time when a friend and I had done much the same to other hikers during a traverse of the Overland Track a few years back, cooking up steak when everyone else was eating dried pasta or even 2-minute noodles, I tried not to be too envious. Apparently karma had chosen tonight for me to get what I deserved.

I had little energy for socialising so I soon took myself off to bed, closing my eyes and napping off and on as the hustle and bustle continued on around me and then slowly died down as first one group and then another went to bed. It was a full house in the end, although the perturbed French couple shared a bunk next to me. We were separated by a thin plywood (or similar) wall that had a gap where the bunks met the wall of the building at what we had each chosen to be our "head end". The couple, particularly the girl, whispered to each other in soft French long after everyone else had settled down for the night. I'm sure the rest of the room barely heard them, but something about the enclosed space of the lower bunks seemed to trap the sound and funnel it through to me so that it sounded like someone whispering in my ear. This was more than a little disconcerting and I soon swung around to switch ends, running the risk of having my clothes-bag-come-pillow falling off the end, but mercifully removed from the amplified whispers.

Can't wait to get out on the river tomorrow!

Day 64: National Park to Kaitieke (28km; 1693km total)

Slept great last night but woke up at 8am still wanting more. But no! Get back on that trail!

I was mostly packed from yesterday still so it was a small matter of getting clean, getting dressed and heading out. Before checking out I shot to the 4-Square to get an Up-&-Go and some toothpaste. Porridge, Up-&-Go and a tooth brushing later I handed in my key and set off along the highway to the turn off to Fisher's Track. I had my poles out as although the day would start as a road walk I wasn't sure what the track would be like once I was on it. I passed an old guy out walking who looked me up and down as I strode toward him with my poles clacking along the pavement; he asked if I intended to ski down the street. I smiled and laughed thinking 'Nope, just saving my joints for when I'm your age buddy'.

There really isn't much to National Park apart from numerous accommodation options, a cafe, the service station/4-Square and a bunch of small and often run down houses. At the end of a side street and across the railway line Fisher Track branches off up a gravel road. It's part of the Sea to Summit mountain bike track as well as TA. The track starts off as a well graded gravel track through scrub and low forest, climbing slowly to the top of a ridge before a long slow decent down one side of a valley. I was overtaken by a couple of guys in a Downer service vehicle but other than that there was no one around. Just past a large gate supposedly under video surveillance I sat and had a break on the grass verge overlooking the green valley below. It's mostly grassy-scrubby farmland on this side with forested hills rising from the valley floor opposite.

 Not far along from my break I came upon the Downer guys who stopped to chat. From them I learned that there was another hiker, a young man, not far behind me. With a laugh I asked if it was a tall, skinny American and they said yes, although they couldn't be sure of him being American as they had not stopped to talk to him. I bet it was Taylor. If so it wouldn't be long before he caught me up since I'd just had a good break and his normal pace is a bit faster than mine. Sure enough, further down the valley, a few turns after the gravel road had become grassy track I looked back up the visible sections of track looping around the undulations in the hillside to see Taylor loping down toward me. Coming to corner where there were some handy rocks to sit on I decided to stop and wait, especially once I noticed the rocks were limestone and chocker-block full of fossils. In the ten minutes or so it took Taylor to catch up I fossicked around the fallen rocks and inspected the low cliff face on the uphill side of the track where a prominent approximately half-meter thick, gently dipping shellbed was clearly visible a couple of meters up. I tried in vain to prise a complete shell from the rocks that was small and sturdy enough to souvenir. In the end I contented myself with doing a rough paleo-environmental reconstruction, just for old times' sake and left the rocks where they lay.

Fossils! (and a moth)

Taylor and I walked on together chatting about this and that as we headed on down the side of the valley. I was chuffed to find, not far down from the fossil-bearing boulders, a large sturdy bivalve that had fallen loose and come to rest in the middle of the track with little or no excess rock attached, and so I got my souvenir after all.

Near the end of the track we startled a pair of red deer does who quickly scarpered off into the scrub. Before long the track became a gravel road once again and became flanked by more frequently tended farmland.

Swapping stories about various family and life experiences and after few stops for lunch, afternoon tea, a snack and to scratch the nose of a very friendly young sheep that came over to the fence to say hello and had obviously been hand-reared, saw Taylor and I reach the ANZAC monument at the junction with Oio Rd just on 5:30pm. We were surprised to find that out here in the middle of nowhere is a nice vault loo. There was also a river nearby for water and we were soon eyeing up the flat grass around the monument as a likely camping spot, though unsure if camping would be allowed. It's certainly not a secluded spot, right at the junction of two roads. Shortly after we arrived a 4WD towing a ride-on lawn mower pulled up and the husband and wife team that climbed out introduced themselves as the Wheelers. We helped them unload the lawnmower and soon he was off mowing the lawn around the monument while she went to clean the loo. It turns out that the large sculpture of a horse, affectionately known as "Rusty" due to its being made entirely from old horseshoes welded together, is brand new. It was commissioned by the community and the Wheeler's to commemorate the part horses played in bother World Wars as well as the development of farming in the area. The Wheeler's had come down this evening to tidy the place up a bit in time for the official unveiling of the sculpture that is to take place two days from now.

Super cute and friendly sheep

Rusty the Warhorse

As well as being nice people and lovely to chat to, the Wheelers provided two very useful pieces of information: 1. it is perfectly ok to camp at the monument, and 2. there's a hose providing fresh water there also which protrudes unobstrusively from the fence near the information board behind the cenotaph, so a trip to the river to get water was not necessary. After thanking the Wheelers and helping them re-load the lawn mower Taylor and I pitched our tents on the freshly mowed and wonderfully flat grass before setting about making dinner at the large stone picnic table between the cenotaph and Rusty. If it wasn't for a light breeze playing havoc with our stove flames it would have been a near-perfect campsite!

Over dinner Taylor and I discussed the differences between the USA and NZ. He's quite upset that NZ doesn't have it's own version of Hollywood and is adamant that we should have our own celebrities on our magazines, not American ones. I assured him we do, but that America is such a powerhouse of frivolous distractions that it's celebrities can be found gracing the pages of magazines across the English speaking world (and probably beyond). Taylor has never traveled outside the States before and I got the impression that he doesn't really realise the huge influence the US exerts over other countries around the world, both culturally and politically (and economically...the list goes on). At one point we talked about popular stereotypes of our different cultures. I joked that Americans seem to have a well developed sense of entitlement and later fell about laughing when, after the conversation topic had moved on, Taylor all but stated that he felt entitled to something (I can't remember what), caught himself, and then with a rueful grin said it anyway. Stereotypes after all are based on at least an element of truth!

We ate, chatted and washed up as the light faded. Taylor has some yummy choco-malt drink that tastes good even without having to add milk powder (a must for most varieties of hot chocolate). In between bursts of conversation I was content to sit and watch the changing light on the hills around us as the sun set. It was a nice sunset, not spectacular, but with enough clouds and colour to make it pretty. The surrounding hillsides were dotted with sheep looking at first like scattered grains of rice, but which over time wriggled along as they grazed and so I briefly had the impression that they looked a bit like maggots. Not well pleased with this comparison I quickly decided that unlike maggots they didn't move chaotically in all directions but instead seemed to graze the hillside almost in an orderly fashion from one side to another as the sun sank down one side (but as I write this now I'm making a conscious effort to forget the maggot tendency for negative phototaxis!). So in the end I decided they did not look like maggots, or even like rice, but instead looked just like what they were: a large flock of contented sheep grazing a nice green hillside.

Explorations of suitable similes aside, before it got too dark we adjourned to our tents and to bed. Despite the clouds I get the feeling it's going to be dewy tonight which means wet tent in the morning. Oh well. Nice to have flat ground to sleep on, not to mention a table, seats and a sit-down loo. So unexpectedly civilized!

Day 63: Zero Day 9

Yes I know, I ended my last entry with "Fisher's Track tomorrow!", well now I have to append "...or not".

I woke up early this morning, rolled over and went back to sleep and dreamt I'd decided to stay another night and gone to pay at reception before returning to my room and climbing back into bed. I woke up again at 9am and thought this sounded like a great idea. Whakahoro is only a two day walk away and I have three days to get there--what's the rush? Plus I'd rather spend the extra night in a nice warm room with a comfy bed and a shop selling fresh food nearby than camping in a random spot along some back-country road (even though my bank account might not!). So I got up and put my camp-clothes on and went to see if the room was available for another night. Unfortunately it wasn't and I was unwilling to pay either for a cheaper dorm room bed or a more expensive ensuite room, so I went back to my room to change into walking clothes and pack up ready to leave by 10am. I was nearly done when the lady from reception that morning popped her head in and offered me an ensuite room at the same price as what I had paid for the bed-only room I'd had the previous night. You might be surprised to hear I didn't take the offer immediately but asked if I could think about it for a minute. This is because it's surprisingly difficult to make the mental adjustment from "walking mode" to "rest-day" mode. I'd been in "rest-day" mode when I woke up, but as I packed I had nearly managed to make the necessary transition into "walking mode" and was also keen to save the money. But then I reasoned that fifteen minutes earlier I'd been willing to spend the money for the same room and now it I would be spending the money for a better one. That, and the weather was shaping up to be pretty shite. Certain that "rest-day" mode would be easy enough to re-boot I grabbed my eftpos card and wandered round to reception to say "yes please!". The room they shifted me to hadn't been used the night before so within a few minutes I had finished packing and moved my stuff upstairs to a hall-end room with a small but servicible closet-sized toilet and shower and corner windows looking out over both the carpark and the mountains. It wasn't the Ritz, but it felt idyllic. I made myself at home and changed back into my camp clothes before grabbing my puffer jacket and setting off in search of a late breakfast.

At the far end of town, suitably adjacent to the railway line is the Station Cafe. It's a nice little cafe with decent food for a tourist town; I munched a toasted sandwich and salad and slurped a hot chocolate while reading through a clearfile containing newspaper cuttings covering the 1995-96 eruptions of Mt Ruapehu. Not quite finished with the clearfile and having a bit of a sweet tooth I also bought a lemonade scone for which the cafe is apparently famous. Personally I wasn't that impressed and would much rather have had a plain or date one, I had higher hopes for the slice of carrot cake I took home in a bag for later (unfortunately it turns out these were unfounded as it was a bit dry). Back in my own little private piece of paradise for the day I chillaxed on the bed and rang a friend and my Mum for a chat before sitting at the desk and blogging for a bit whilst picking at the carrot cake and taking in the intermittent view of the mountains between clouds, the odd shower, and even a short burst of hailstones.

Around dinner time I claimed a spot at the burnt out elements and cooked up a pasta snack. While eating I got chatting to a late middle aged lady and retired athlete who was excited about doing the Tongariro Crossing tomorrow. I was pleased to hear she swears by hiking poles and asserts that they reduce the stress on your joints by up to 40%, which is apparently necessary after you've worn your self out running track and field for years. I hope that by using them to begin with I might preserve my joints for ongoing pain-free and fully-functional use for as long as possible. After dinner and dishes I wished the woman "good walk" and went back to my room and to bed.

Ok, this time...Fisher's Track tomorrow!

Day 62: Zero Day 8 - Canoe Prep

For some unknown reason my stomach felt like waking me up this morning at 2:30am with a massive "I'm hungry!" message. Since I was awake I used a trip to the loo as an opportunity to stretch my legs and then tried to appease my temporally-challenged digestive system with a museli bar. It took several mindless games on my phone before I could get back to sleep and eventually I woke up again at the much more reasonable hour of 8:30am.

Shower, breakfast (yep, still hungry) and then I managed to meet Brett, the Canadian guy I'd followed out from National Park yesterday, but only ever laid eyes on as a slowly moving black dot in the shimmery distance. He's hoping to begin his canoe trip down the Whanganui River on Monday so he'll be two days ahead of me in no time. I told him my plans to hitch into Ohakune and how nervous I was about it and he suggested phoning the kayak company I'd booked the trip with to see if I could gt a lift to Ohakune with them, since at this time of year they're doing daily runs to Whakahoro and back. Great idea! I gave them a call and they agreed to get the driver to pick me up outside the service station in National Park between 10 and 10:30am. Sorted! Or so I thought...

Taking only my phone, cash card and a shopping bag with a few essentials for the day (maps, pen, shopping list, and drink bottle) I went to wait out the front of the service station just before 10am. At the last minute I also stuffed my pocket knife into my cargo pants pocket; I had half an idea the lift with the kayak company wouldn't pan out and I'd end up hitching anyway, and I was still nervous about it.

Half an idea turned into a full figured conclusion when, after waiting for over an hour the van returning from delivering kayaks to Whakahoro still had not come. During this time the Indian guy behind the counter at the service station had at first told me off for sitting on and squashing the boxes of kindling stacked out the front of the shop, then took pity on me and re-stacked the boxes so that I could sit on them, out of the intermittent rain, without causing undue damage to the cardboard cartons...awww, Also during this time I'd watched two pairs of prospective hitch-hikerss attempt to catch lifts, one pair heading north and one pair heading south. The pair heading north looked laid back, casual and more than a little scruffy in a "we're backpacking on a shoestring" kind of way rather than a "we've escaped from a mental institution and are not particularly good at washing or clothing ourselves" kind of way.  They stuck their thumbs out hopefully and bugger me if the second car that drove past going in their direction didn't pull over and give them a lift. Barely two minutes after they arrived on the roadside they were bundling themselves and their packs into an ever so slightly battered sedan and heading north. A few minutes after this a couple of rather more well dressed and a little more stuffy looking guys took up a position and began trying to hitch a lift south, the same direction I was trying to go. They were much less enthusiastic in their hitch-hiking, one guy sticking his thumb out lazily while another talked on his phone. Neither looked particularly friendly. Perhaps they'd had a bad or unexpected start to the day but I couldn't help feeling their approach wasn't going to be as effective. Sure enough they stood there for a good twenty minutes while several cars drove past without even touching their brakes.

Meanwhile I was reassessing my own transport plans. I didn't want to leave things too late as I had no idea how long it would take to get to Ohakune if forced to hitch. I was going to have to hitch back anyway so finally figuring that there was no point delaying the inevitable or wasting more time I crossed the road to be on the side of the traffic heading south and walked a short way along to where there was ample room for a vehicle to pull over (and where I was a respectful distance away from my fellow hitchers). Turning back to face the traffic I stuck my thumb out, trying not to think about all the things that were unlikely but could potentially go wrong. Instead I focused on mimicking what I had observed of Matt's technique when hitching: stand straight, head up and smile, look drivers in the eye as they drive past, and hold thumb up high but relax the elbow. All this serves to make you look confident but friendly, and harder to ignore as you basically beg for a lift. Assume this position as soon as a car approaches within a hundred meters or so and maintain it until after the car has passed so that you still look happy and hopeful when the more conflicted drivers take a glance in the rear-view mirror as they drive past.

You're probably reading this and laughing but I swear it worked! Within ten minutes and maybe a dozen cars a shiny white 4WD pulled over and a young couple gestured to me from the front seats. The odd thing was they appeared to be going in the opposite direction to what I wanted. When I pointed this out they assured me they were heading south but that they'd doubled back to offer me a lift. They'd gone past both sets of hitchhikers but, possibly by virtue of being single, female and the second beggar in quick succession (not to mention my awesome hitch-hiking technique!) they'd taken pity on me, pulled over, turned round and come back to get me. Then again, maybe it was just beginners luck.

They say you decide whether you trust someone within the first few split seconds of laying eyes on them. These two seemed perfectly normal and nice and I fervently hoped my instincts hadn't let me down as I clambered into the back seat of the car. Sure enough, when the road was clear we pulled a U-ey and set off south again. I felt more than a little bit bad for my fellow hikers left further up the road in the lightly falling rain...

Turns out my lift was with a couple from Taumaranui bound for an end-of-year work function in Palmerston North. It sounded as if it was going to be a very grand affair. She was excited to have a chance to doll up and he was more than a little uncomfortable about deciding to wear a suit...but I sensed that despite his protests he was taking more than a little bit of pride in the fact that he was one of those farmers than will don dress pants and shirt sleeves when the occasion calls for it.

We chatted for a time and I told them a bit about the trail before she took a call on her mobile. This lasted the remainder of the way into Ohakune where they kindly dropped me off in the middle of town (despite it being a bit out of their way). Since the phonecall was still in progress I said a short goodbye and thanks that was more than half hand gestures and bundled out of the car onto the sidewalk.

I don't know what I had expected but it wasn't what I saw. I hadn't previously known Ohakune was a tourist town, but one look at the main street made it immediately obvious. The collection of shops lining the pavement has that slightly crisper, cleaner feel about it that towns acquire when the local council  and shop owners are aware they come regularly under the scrutiny of foreign eyes--eyes belonging to people looking for a good time and eager to spend money. Also, the visitors' center is an easy to spot building right in the middle of town. I had arranged to meet Taylor at 12 outside Yeti tours so I popped over the road to the Visitors' Center to ask where that could be found. Turns out it was less than a block up the road, and easy to spot from the center. Despite the fact it was barely 11:30 Taylor was already standing outside, fossicking through his pack. I went to meet him and soon felt that odd conflicted emotion of sympathy for someone else whilst being chuffed with your own good fortune when he told me it had taken him two hours to get a lift to Ohakune the day before.

Turns out Taylor had already confirmed our kayak booking with Yeti and all we needed to do was provide them with the food for our trip that they would deliver to Whakahoro along with our canoe. Speaking of food, I was once again hungry so I suggested a trip to a cafe before we went to shop. Taylor said he wasn't hungry but was happy to go so we wandered a short way down the street and soon found a likely spot that wasn't particularly busy but still had several tables occupied. I eagerly ordered beef nachos and an iced chocolate. I offered to get Taylor something but he wouldn't have it and seemed content to sit and watch me eat. We chatted about our experiences of the trail since we'd seen each other last and I was sorry to hear that he had not enjoyed the Tongariro Crossing. This is kind of understandable given the woeful condition of his shoes (he had to stop every two minutes to force his insole back through the hole in the toe of his shoe from where it had slid out), but even so I'd have thought he might have been able to appreciate the stunning surroundings on top of the mountain. But no, he had hated all the uphill, which seemed to be the overwhelming memory he had of the day. That and his shoes giving him hell (he showed me where Terry's sail-cloth repairing needle and thread and Matt's sewing had repaired his shoes). I'm concerned, in a disconnected sort of way (we each have to walk our own walk after all), that Taylor hasn't seen nothing yet and that the Tararuas south of Palmerston North are going to be a new kind of hell for him. I jokingly told him so and a little more seriously advised him to get a new pair of shoes in Palmerston North before attempting that section of the trail. He's understandably reluctant to spend the money, but I made the point that even a cheap pair of shoes that only lasts until Wellington has to be better than the ones he's wearing now. But it's not my place to push the matter and so I didn't. Turns out he has decided to stop in Wellington and not attempt the South Island. I can't help feeling that this is probably a good thing. By all accounts the Tararua Ranges are a step up from the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, and I expect the South Island to be like the Tararuas...on steroids.

After lunch we headed to New World and roamed the aisles multiple times gathering up foodstuffs sufficient for six days. While I reveled in heavy and bulky foods (fresh fruit, sachets of curry, whole milk, and an enormous box of cereal, not to mention two 1.5L bottles of fizzy fruit juice!), I was astonished to see Taylor loading the trolley with the same kind of food I'd seen him eating while walking. As we'll be packing everything into barrels in the canoe I'm trying to make the most of not having to carry everything for the first and only time this trip, but it turns out Taylor eats the same kind of food whether he's hiking, canoeing or, apparently, even just at home. I can't understand how he doesn't get bored with it all, but figuring each to their own I merely shrugged as I tossed a 1-meal bowl of Thai-style chicken and noodles (hydrated!) into my end of the trolley.

Food bought and boxed we rang Yeti to ask where we might drop it off as their office was closed and apparently not due to open until 4pm. They told us to drop it all off at the visitors' center and they would collect it later. The lady at the visitors' center was a bit miffed at this storage service being forced upon her but agreed to take our boxes. Apparently Taylor had a not-too-friendly run in with her yesterday as well so I resorted to my default friendly smile and a quick "thank you very much" as a I slid my box under the counter before heading back out into the street. Aware that if either of these boxes were mistakenly left behind we would be drastically short of food for the river trip I'd taken the trouble of writing our names on them and "box 1 of 2" and "box 2 of 2" in big bold letters. It doesn't sit well with a Stein when there is the potential for food to go astray!

It wasn't much after 2pm but I didn't want to leave trying to get back to National Park too late. Ohakune is 9km from the main highway and there wasn't a lot of traffic heading out of town so I half expected to have to walk to the highway before being able to get a lift. So Taylor and I said farewell and agreed to meet up in Whakahoro in two nights' time. I set off along the road out of town and he headed back to the secluded little spot in the park where he had stealth camped the previous night (rather him than me!).

Once over the bridge out of town I set off along the highway. There wasn't anywhere really for a car to pull over but it was a long straight so I tried my luck with stopping, turning and sticking my thumb out each time I heard a car coming up behind me. Car Number 1 ignored me, and when I turned to signal Car Number 2 I dropped my hand a moment later as it was a traffic cop. I didn't think he was likely to offer me a lift, and I even had a moment's panic that he'd tell me off for hitch-hiking, but he carried on past without a second look.

Clouds were gathering and I dwelt on the possibility of walking 9km through a rainstorm for several car-less minutes, so much so I didn't hear Car Number 3 until it was almost right behind me. Just as before it drew level I was able to swing round and jab my thumb out and to my astonishment the little black suzuki swift's brake lights came on and it slowed to a stop about a hundred meters up the road. Unable to believe my good luck, and hoping the driver didn't look like an axe-murderer (or at least, what I would think an axe-murderer would look like) I jogged up the road to the car, just as the first great drops of rain came spattering down. The window rolled down to reveal a friendly woman who cheerfully asked where I wanted to go. She wasn't sure where National Park was, but she was on her way to Auckland, so I figured if she's heading north from Ohakune she's bound to be taking SH4 through National Park. I clambered into the passenger seat and off we went.

Turns out she's never picked up a hitch-hiker before, but apparently I looked nice (yes!) and she's part way through a long solo drive and was eager for the company. Not far along the road the heavens opened and the rain began pelting down and we paused mid conversation to acknowledge how lucky I'd been to get picked up when I had (barely half a kilometre out of town). As we drove I told her all about the trail and she told me how she had recently left her job with the defence forces and was squeezing in a trip to visit her sister before moving to Australia. With that we arrived in National Park and she pulled into the carpark beside the service station to let me out. Thanking her very much I waved goodbye as she drove away and set off through a break in the rain to the YHA, smiling sheepishly as I passed the traffic cop who had stopped to refuel and buy a snack at the service station/4 Square.

Back at the hostel I made a cup of tea and spent a relaxing afternoon in my room catching up with friends on Facebook and blogging. I had contemplated staying in the communal kitchen/dining room but it was full of disgruntled early twenty-somethings for whom bad weather had sabotaged their planned day-hike over Mt Tongariro. I popped back to the 4 Square in the evening to buy a sandwich, bag of chips and an ice cream for dinner, passing miserable cold and wet looking walkers stumbling out of the only tour bus that had not cancelled its operations on the mountain that day (much to the vexation of the other tour operators, as I gathered from the conversation in the 4-Square as I queued to make my purchases). Back at the YHA and with little else to do I happily flopped into bed for an early night. Fisher's Track tomorrow!