Day 6 - Life's a Beach

Well it appears I have been inspired to return to my blog by Bene’s impressive final video of our spring break, in addition to his steadfast ability to disregard schoolwork for the greater good of entertainment (the link can be found at end of this blog entry, mhmm yes, there you all go skipping over the writing… sigh*) . I too have been growing weary of the real world and chose to get back to reliving my own life. Here’s to another day in paradise…

I woke up on day six much the same way as day five, this time it was to the sounds of Putangitangi or the Paradise Shelduck  rather than the Spur Winged Plover. I was in a little better mood this morning and seeing as the bird was feeling equally as friendly we talked during our morning stroll over a cup of tea before I directed him to some breakfast.

The day was off to a great start, the sun was warm and bright and apparently our first stop of the day was at nearby Onemana Beach where we could do some bouldering/rock climbing. At last I would have a chance to do some rock climbing that wasn’t in a gym with plastic rocks above crash pads, instead it would be shell covered cliff faces with nothing but sandy beach and ocean water below.

It was a short ten-minute drive to the beach followed by an equally easy hike down to the beach. A strip of golden sand about a half kilometer wide nestled between grey rocky cliffs, fronted on the endless blue ocean. A few kilometers out to our left were islands that we would see a little clearer later on in the day. A fine winters day if I do say so myself.

While some of the group took on the waves that crashed incessantly into the shore, Gizo, Benen, Alex and I were quick to head for the cliffs to do some rock climbing. Our first few climbs took us from the beach out over the waves, along shell-covered cliffs and then back to the shore. Gizo, who was our designated climber for the trip upped the ante as he headed for some particularly jagged rocks that jutted out just above the thrashing white swells. As he moved cautiously across segments of the route the waves seemed to jump, spitting and snarling at him, just out of reach. As he rounded the final corner towards us a striking image of man vs. nature presented itself and fortunately Bene had his finger on the trigger of his camera to take the shot.

Elsewhere on the beach there were sand castles being made, shells being collected, keepsakes being carved, books being read and you know, all that other beach stuff being done. I looked on as a few of my friends were tossed effortlessly about by the waves, bugs in a backyard pool. One thing that was particularly amazing about this beach aside from the obvious scenic aspect of it was the fact that we were the only ones there. Not even a toe print from another human being remained as evidence that anyone had ever been there, so for those of you looking to travel to NZ and don’t mind wearing a sweatshirt every once in a while, late August is the way to go. We stayed for few fun filled hours before reluctantly packing up our gear and heading back to the cars. I walked barefoot and shirtless up through the forest to the car park, thinking to myself that no other beach would quite seem the same; I had discovered the beach to which all other beaches would be measured. On the drive to our next stop in Tairua our ears were graced by the sunny sounds of The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Bag of Toys and Slightly Stoopid. I nearly drew blood as I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming.

Tairua was a quaint little town settled around a small bay, overlooked by what appeared to be an overgrown anthill. Naturally, we drove straight to the trailhead that led to the top of said hill and started up a quick fifteen-minute hike. When we got to the top of ‘Paku Hill’ we had an incredible panorama of Tairua, Mercury Bay, the Pacific Ocean, and a number of little islands that lay strewn out in front of us. The Pinnacles that we had hiked the day before stood off in the distance like old friends; I gave them one last wave before we headed back down the hill. Though I had only been in the area for two days I felt as though I was leaving home. As we drove north out from beneath the shadows of my old friends and into the watch of new ones, I couldn't think of a place I'd rather be. We wound wildly about the necks of these new mountains, peeking over their shoulders at the rippling water below. The sun cast a gold light that warmed my eyes and coloured the cliff faces that jutted out from beneath us.

Our campsite for the night was yet another Top 10 Holiday Campsite, luxury. This one wasn’t as extravagant as our site at Blue Lake, however it was situated across the street from the Hot Water Beach. We had to tease Benen a bit because he had been leaving out the key word “hot” every time he referred to this beach. The times for the ‘hot’ aspect of the beach were based on the times of the tide and so we had arrived at the campsite just in time to catch the 5pm hot water tide. Graeme rented a shovel from the camp office and off we went like a couple of kids to our second beach of the day, tough life. When we got to the beach there were quite a few people that had already established fairly impressive little hot water pools. The idea was that you had to dig out a small trench or hole a few inches deep that you could sit or lay in, but it couldn’t be too deep otherwise you might as well hop in a pot of boiling water, no joke. There we were, grown men digging our hole in the sand in ankle deep water, occasionally shrieking and jumping about like little girls when we stepped on a hot water spring. When we finally managed to get a decent sized hole we laid down, half of our bodies covered in perfectly heated water, half in the cool ocean breeze and our heels boiled to a succulent tenderness as they sunk just a little too far into the sweat glands from hell. When Benen showed up he smiled, looked around at everyone laying in their pools of water, then back down at us and said, “Geeze, this place is like a really really weird mass grave site”. I nearly drowned in my tiny pool I laughed so hard.  What we failed to take into account when building our glorified ankle pool was the incoming tide of cold ocean water that was slowly creeping up the shores of the beach. There we lay in our three inch deep trench, peering above a tiny sand barricade as the enemy slid closer and closer until finally it breached the walls and sent us all screaming like little girls up the beach, much to the delight of the crowds of people now gathered on the shore. Great view and a free show. As the high tide took back its beach, we too headed back up to the campsite in the twilight of the Coromandel. 

That night over dinner we discussed our plans for the Day and mapped out our route. I volunteered for the role of 5am wake up call and by about 10pm most of the group was in bed. I wasn’t far behind them, fingers (and toes) crossed, prayers for clear skies when I opened my eyes six hours later.

 I will not reveal any more than that for fear of taking away from the blog entry I have been waiting to write about since I started this spring break series. I will try and get this done as soon as I can.

Bene’s Final Episode of Spring Break 2011 (WOOOOOOO!)

http://benegrodotzki.wordpress.com/2011/09/27/mid-semester-break-part-3-the-final-episode/

Cheers,

Brayden

Day 5 - The Perfect Storm

Nothing exciting happened today so I am quite glad that I get to talk about Day 5, it had enough adventure to satisfy two days… enjoy.

Day 5

            I awoke at 6:45am to the prehistoric cry of spur-winged plovers. If pterodactyls were still living they would sound like this bird, and at 6:45am I wasn’t far from being the cause of the plovers extinction. Graeme rolled over and asked groggily if we were in Jurassic Park and seeing as we had arrived at the park when it was dark out we were all pretty excited to see what the other side of the tent walls would have in store for us today. Benedict was the first one out and before she spoke I could see the look on her face was unimpressed with her surroundings, “I do not see de sea” she sighed. Well I suppose we can’t always wake up in paradise…

            There were little wooden boxes that claimed to be showers but their sole purpose was to give you a false sense of hope and take your money at the same time, rude. Once our group had revitalized themselves with their lifeblood of tea and coffee we were off to our adventure of the day. We left our tents and major equipment set up at the site with the intentions of spending another night there solely because we had grown tired of setting up in the dark after a long drive. Many of us were starting to resent the aimless spur of the moment walks and had been itching for a lengthy full day hike up in the mountains with a set goal or summit to reach; so after consulting two or three guidebooks we decided our desires would be satiated in the Coromandel Forest Park on a trail called ‘The Pinnacles’. The ride to the park was roughly an hour of incredibly mountainous, scenic driving that took us right into the heart of the mountain range.

            Roughly ten minutes into the hike we had to cross a narrow one person bridge suspended over a river. Finally a little hint of danger! Though this was about as crazy as playing checkers compared to what we would face later. The trail led up steep steps that were carved into the stone of the mountain, left behind by pioneers who had once mined these hills for gold and logged the forests. After an hour or so of climbing we found ourselves atop a rocky ridge surrounded on all sides by radically shaped mountains, the skeletons of what once were volcanoes. Strangely disfigured and gnarled trees stuck out of the low-lying brush of the mountains like rogue hairs on the backs of giant beasts. Up to our right in the distance was a peak comprised of what appeared to be sharp teeth, a crown of thorns threatening the blue skies above. I looked longingly at it, hoping that this was our destination, our goal. Fifteen minutes later we walked past a hut used by campers and veered up to the right, directly towards my mountain. It glared at me, taunting me, daring me to climb it.

            From the very second I laid eyes on the summit I was consumed by it. Haunting my thoughts, it had this audacious attitude towards the skyline it was a part of, an individual. It was one of the most formidable looking mountains I had ever seen and I could not wait to test its merit. A seemingly endless staircase shot straight up the front of the mountain like a zipper. To the left was a valley carved between rugged peaks that stood watching like guards atop great walls of an entranceway leading to the Pacific Ocean. Islands lay floating like ships in the distance, the blue water of the ocean a mere shoreline to the sea of green that flooded the waves of mountains before me. I shook my head in disbelief; never before had the two elements of land and water played such a magnificent role together in any stage of my life.

            The wind had picked up, whistling past my ears and making my eyes water. I was nearing the final climb to the summit but paused one last time at its base to take in my current vantage point of beauty that I knew was about to be magnified just a few moments later. The final climb to the top was along a series of steel ladders that had been bolted into the mountain like piercings on its face. The wind was howling now, sending shards of rain to test my footing. Clouds started sliding past me like snow down a rooftop, lower into the valley. One more ladder to go, the steel slipping slightly in my hands, I thrust myself upwards, legs like pistons, lungs like a furnace. I reached the top with cheeks that matched my bandana and breath that challenged the wind. Euphoric, I stood there and cried out to deaf ears, my words carried into the clouds as soon as they formed. Nothing remained of the view but I didn’t care, the taunting, the glaring, the power of the mountain had swallowed me whole and that alone rivaled the beauty I had seen but a few meters below where I now stood. The clouds raced before me like the dust of a stampede and I stood there laughing; I stood there alive.

When the rest of the group arrived at the top there were mixed feelings about their accomplishment. Yes they had made it but all of these damn clouds were in the way of the pictures, it was freezing cold and the rain and wind were showing no signs of surrender. After fifteen minutes of photos in front of a grey wall we began our descent down the unforgiving trail in what appeared to be nearly the worst conditions possible. A few meters from the top of the mountain I stepped off a rock and as I placed it on the ground it slid from beneath me sending me crashing into the back of Graeme’s legs as he was nearing the top of the next ladder. Heart still in full contraction I sputtered out a thousand apologies in a thousand languages. Graeme turned to look at me, a few shades whiter than he was a moment before and told me that it was likely he was going to die on the way down anyway and that he didn’t need any help doing it.

The cold steel handles of the ladders paralyzed my hands so I gripped them with my eyes and descended one slow, slippery, step at a time.  When we got to the clearing at the top of the staircase where I had paused earlier I again looked out, this time through grey space. In the distance light seemed to be shining down as if into water, refracted, sifting through the clouds with its long slender fingers as if it were looking for me. I stood there long enough to witness the birth of a rainbow before I turned to follow the steps back down to the bottom of the mountain.

At the base of the stairs we stopped at the hut for a quick bite to eat and a break from the rain. Of course within the first few minutes of arriving there the clouds parted, the rain stopped and it was as perfect a day as any. The mountain sat there smugly, laughing.  The hut was quite impressive with showers, a kitchen and enough mattresses to sleep eighty people, yes, eighty. After eating a tuna sandwich, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a peanut butter and banana sandwich I felt as though I had enough energy to keep going. We backtracked for a few kilometers down the trail and then took a three-hour track back to the parking lot. This new trail followed networks of paths left by the pioneers including a set of the steepest railroad tracks I had ever seen. To have seen the train in action would have been damn near miraculous.

Now because two of our friends wanted to go climbing instead of hiking we gave them Jackie Chan leaving us with the other two cars. This would not have been an issue except there was this one thing that happened… Bene’s beloved Helga would not start, no power, no turnover, nothing. Furthermore because it was a strange car and had a custom built bed in the back we had no idea where the battery was to try and jump it. Out came the tools, out came the bed, out came the frustration. Luckily before we got too far in taking the entire van apart screw-by-screw, Zach located the battery. Because we didn’t have any jumper cables we tried switching the batteries but not even that was working. While Ross, Zach and the girls drove off in search of jumper cables and maybe some help, Graeme, Bene, Alex, Benen and I started pushing the van down the road. We didn’t get very far before we decided that we would rather throw stones as designated targets and wait for help.

About an hour from the time we finished our hike Jackie Chan showed up with the fuel light on, needle flirting with the E, could it get any more perfect. I grabbed some rope from my backpack and we tried towing Helga but she’s a big girl and ended up breaking my rope about a kilometer from where we started. So there we waited with one van running on fumes and the other not running at all, waiting for Ross to return with jumper cables and maybe a gas station. When he finally showed up with cables it was nearly dark.  We tried unsuccessfully for about twenty minutes to jump the van before two of the scarier bush men I have ever seen showed up and helped us out. After ten more minutes of swearing, three cigarettes each and the focus of thirteen pairs of desperate eyes, the engine roared to life.

We piled sluggishly into the vehicles and stared intensely out the windows with the hopes that we could possibly conjure up a gas station beside the van. After what seemed like the longest ride of my life Jackie sputtered and lurched into gas station, thirstier than ever. An hour later it was 8pm and we were back at our campsite more than thankful that we had chosen to leave our tents up. While we ate dinner the park owner showed up to fix the showers and informed us of an abandoned gold mineshaft nearby that was lit by glowworms. Excited by the prospect of another night hike we wolfed down the rest of our food and grabbed our headlamps.

The owner wasn’t kidding when he said the cave was lit by the glowworms. With the headlamps off you could make out the silhouettes of people using only the indigo light of the worms in the deepest part of the mineshaft, so cool. There were also cave weta which are essentially massive crickets a few inches long, crawling all over the roof and walls of the shaft.  

As we walked back to the campsite I looked up and was blown away by what I saw. I have climbed to the tops of mountains to look at stars but never in my life have I ever seen anywhere close to the number of stars that were staring back at me right then. No amount of words can do justice to the feeling I experienced in that moment, seconds, hours, maybe years could have gone by while I stood staring up at them, lost.

When I finally managed to get my neck to move back down to a regular position I returned to camp. Satisfied with my accomplishments for the day I retired to my tent, absolutely exhausted. I was followed closely by Graeme and Benedict and the three of us were asleep in seconds, while millions of stars watched from above.

Thanks for reading, hopefully you’re getting a bit of an idea of the incredible time I am having over here. I will try and get Day 6 up as soon as I can… I have to fit school in here somewhere.

Cheers,

Brayden

Day 4 - Rafting and Rainbows

I would like to take this chance and apologize to those of you waiting for this post, I was too busy getting more material for the blog, we’ll call it… research. I mean surfing in one of the nicest areas on the north island of New Zealand warrants a break from writing about my other incredible trips right? Sorry, not sure when I'll get these bragging rights again... Enjoy.

Day 4

Despite the two layers of thermals and gloves I had dressed myself in the night before, the tent and I awoke at eight, shivering in the wind. I could hear people walking and talking at the tent site just to the right of me and judging by a few muffled words and angry tones I deduced that their tent and its residents were a little beyond shivering. The heavy winds had ripped a gaping hole clean through the six person tent and despite their best efforts to fix it in the early morning hours, the wind huffed and puffed and nearly blew their house down again a few drafty minutes later.

Although I had thoroughly enjoyed the bottle of red wine the night before, it had left my stomach and was now residing somewhere at the back of my head, bringing with it a jackhammer, what a lousy tenant. Aside from the dull thudding that seemed to forcefully massage my brain, it was time to pack things up so we could start the day. Five minutes later I was packed and headed for a hot shower, I was more efficient than my German counterparts, not an easy feat. Somewhere between this moment and the actual shower I had pinched a nerve or something in my neck and was now unable to look any more than a few degrees to the left, right or up. This had also happened on my backpacking trip from Tobermory to Lions Head a month or so earlier in Ontario and had lasted for two or three days. I was not a happy camper.

Now that I had entered a state of zombie-esque posture, the first thing we had on our list of things to do was white water rafting, wonderful. I was dreading the thought of bouncing around wearing ridiculously restricting floatation gear in addition to not being able to move my neck, it will be damn near impossible to look anywhere but forward haha. After eating some granola and guzzling down a coffee the worst of my cranial symptoms had been mitigated and I regained my sense of humour. Benen’s comment pre-coffee about the “immigration of birds” followed by Graeme’s quip about “their poor living conditions forcing them out” had me in stitches and Benen looking for the bottom of his coffee cup before we arrived at the rafting head office. Upon our arrival we were greeted by a group of testosterone primed adrenaline junkies that had the hilarious humor of 'that friend' who wasn’t afraid to jump off the highest cliff or pull a prank on the teacher when they weren’t looking. These guys had it made, rafting or kayaking white water rapids whenever they wanted and most of them had been all over the world to do it, wild lives coupled with wild stories.

After going through the safety talk, blah, blah, blah, you might die, blah, blah, please sign here, blah, we were given wetsuits, fleece sweaters, and neoprene boots. When we emerged from the changing rooms we looked like the biggest bunch of goofs you’ve ever laid eyes on; some of the wetsuits were a little big and so you had these thick rolls that looked as though you had been through a number of poorly planned liposuction operations, it was quite entertaining. Next we went over raft etiquette and key words that would be used when we got on the river, the guides had fun tormenting the ‘foreign’ kids during this segment. You could tell that they had a sort of mock routine they followed when teasing the group. When we got on the shuttle bus to the river one of the guides asked, “Who has never done this before?” Of course all of us raised our hands assuming he was referring to the rafting, to which he replied, “Hmm surprising, I used to take a bus to school all the time but this vehicle essentially takes us to the river…”.

We were split into two boats and when we got out onto the water the guides started to get a little more serious with their instruction although they still had ridiculous names for sections of the river like ‘Meat Grinder’ etc. Thankfully we were accompanied by two guides on kayaks that were there for first aid situations, we’ll touch on this a little later on.  One of the most exhilarating sections of the whole rafting trip was the seven-meter waterfall, Tutea Falls; the tallest commercial waterfall you are allowed to raft in the world. There we were, perched at the top of it, our guide going over the safety rules and bringing up times when the raft flips, sending everyone flying. I watched as everyone’s faces went from a comfortable smile initiated by the trip thus far, to an anxious sort of ‘ha-ha this is gonna be great ha-ha… right?” kind of a face. We watched with bated breath as the other boat approached the edge of the waterfall, its crew suddenly jumping down into safety position and then disappearing in a cloud of mist and gasps of elation.

So this was it, our turn. We took part in one final team cheer and released the anchoring vines dangling from the cliff wall beside us. “Paddle hard! Paddle hard! GO! GO! GO! GET DOWN!” shouted the guide. I took one last glance down river and my eyes grew wide with fright, what a drop. I pounced down into my safety position low in the body of the rubber raft, right hand securing the paddle along the side, gripping the safety rope, my left hand clamped like the jaws of life on the handle fastened to the bottom of the raft. Suddenly a view opened up ahead of me and I could see clear above the helmets of my friends as we were now vertical headed for the frothy white abyss below. Down and down and down we went, my chin tucked to my chest, and locked in place as I was unable to move it anywhere else, everything sounded as though it was pressed under the shower faucet. Finally, we crashed into the bottom, folding in half and springing open like a miscreant calzone. Miraculously our only casualty was a paddle belonging to Benedict who looked on in horror as it floated like a corpse away from the raft. The rest of the crew laughed , delighted that it was only the paddle floating along in the unsettled waters below the crashing cataract before us.

After retrieving Benedicts poor paddle we continued on down the river. This is when something absolutely unexpected occurred. While waiting below a set of rapids, we looked on as one of our first aid guides took on the rapids in his kayak. Suddenly he was flipped upside down and rushed unforgivingly through the thrashing teeth of the white water. In awe of what was happening our crew looked on helplessly as the kayak was forced past us, its captor still being held somewhere below. Roughly ten seconds from the time the kayak flipped it hit one of the cliff walls of the pool we were drifting in and at last the guide surfaced, white faced and gasping for breath as the current washed him further down the throat of the river.

“PADDLE HARD, PADDLE HARD, FORWARD, FORWARD!!!” shouted our guide. Our energy renewed by this sudden jolt of fear, we hurled the raft down the river in pursuit of the guide and his overturned kayak. The second kayak guide was just ahead of us and had pinned his coworker along with the overturned kayak up against a vine-covered wall. We immediately pulled the sopping guide aboard and made sure he was all right. When it was certain that no harm was done the rest of the staff teased him ruthlessly for the remainder of the trip.

            After completing the rest of the rapids and returning to the office we thanked the staff for all they had done including the unscripted excitement and loaded up the vans headed for yet another adventure.  Luckily for us our next stop was just around the corner from the Blue Lake campsite at Lake Tarawera where we had heard of a hike we ‘had to do’. When we arrived at the trailhead it was partially overgrown and uninviting, unsure of what to do we asked the owner of the tour boat on the lake who of course told us the trail was impassable, asshole. Shortly after hearing this Graeme had found the trail that led around the lake, packed down and well traversed. We wound our way along the coast of the lake for a couple of hours through the thick foliage of ferns and Manuka flowers. While crossing a stream we spotted a massive rainbow trout, one of the first fish I have seen here. After making our way around perhaps an eighth of the lake we pushed through the brush to a narrow strip of shoreline to take in the view. Directly across from us was a volcano, lips pursed gently against sky, I tried to imagine it upset, a fire belching beast blowing smoke and ash through the butt of a cigar. It seemed possible at the time because everything around us was so wild, if we had waited a minute longer maybe it too would unleash itself.

            During the hike back to the car we were rewarded with a view across the lake of a rainbow, or at least part of one. Unfortunately our pot of gold expert, Benen the Irishman, was not present for his expert opinion as he and Bene were mountain biking (hopefully he doesn't read this). At last most of our adventure was done for the day and we had a long three-hour drive ahead of us to a place called Wentworth just outside of Whangamata (pronounced Fanga-metaa). The drive took us through such places as Te Puke: kiwi fruit capital of the world, and we caught a beautiful sunset while passing through Bethlehem. By the time it got dark the silhouettes of the steep mountain ranges ahead were nothing but a tease to our hungry eyes.

After an hour of steep winding roads we finally arrived at our campsite which was simply flat ground with running water and an outhouse, perfect. Exhausted and starving from a day of rafting and hiking I gorged myself on tortillas filled with rice and tuna, washed down by Red Lion beer, such a treat. That night it was Graeme, Benedicte and I in my small two person tent seeing as our big tent was no longer usable. No need for the extra thermals, we were packed in like sardines.

Well it was another amazing day in the books. I wondered how many days we could keep up this streak of good weather and incredible activity? There was no telling what the next few days would have in store for me and that might be one of the best feelings in the world.

Now I know you all must be getting tired of my writing so my good friend Bene who I have mentioned throughout these blogs has put together some videos for this spring break on his own blog and I am telling you right now, they are impressive. He was constantly filming and snapping photos throughout the trip and his time and effort has really paid off. Please click on the link and see for yourself. I will post Day 5 as soon as I can.

http://benegrodotzki.wordpress.com/2011/09/19/mid-semester-break-part-3/

Cheers,

Brayden