A Little Taste of Home

With my scuba training done, I was finally able to put Queenstown behind me on the 2^nd of February. The only direction to go from there was south or east and up the east coast, so I decided to stop in Invercargill for a day before heading up the east coast in the last leg of my trip on the South Island. Without the help of Lance this time, I walked on the main road out of Queenstown, practicing walking backwards with 20kg of gear with the thumb out until a kiwi on his way out of town on a service call stopped to take me as far as he could. Happy to be moving, I didn’t consider that he was taking me out of the slow speed limits of the town. Dropped off on the side of the highway 5km out of town, I suddenly realised my error as cars whizzed by at 100km/hr. Hitchhiking is a skill only so far as picking the right spot. Sure, a hitchhiker must present a clean and welcoming image to potential drivers (which I manage by usually wearing a collared shirt and khaki pants), but the right spot is key. A driver already travelling at 100km/hr doesn’t want to stop, either because it is dangerous, inconvenient, or a waste of gas. The ideal spot is therefore within town limits just before the speed limit increases. New Zealand is perfect for this because unlike North American or European highways, New Zealand highways usually become a town’s main street before resuming high speed limits on the other side of town. Other considerations include a good place for the car to stop where a wide shoulder helps; being visible for as long as possible before being passed as blind corners are no good where the driver only sees the hitchhiker for a few seconds before passing; and not being within sight of the next speed sign because cars have a tendency to start accelerating before actually reaching the 100km/hr sign and are loathe to stop when accelerating. I waited only 10 minutes before deciding to hike back towards town, but as I was picking up my bag a car came to a stop a bit down the road. I jogged the distance with my bag and was surprised to see a middle aged lady stopped who was going all the way to Invercargill and could take me the whole distance as well! She later explained that her husband was having problems with kidney stones and was taken to the Invercargill hospital for diagnostic imaging, but had to go by ambulance. She was advised to pack him some stuff and go down on her own. She was happy for the company, and as she told me stories the whole way down, it became clear she may have burst from nervousness if she didn’t have someone to vent to. I was happy to listen, and frankly was glad I didn’t have to go over all the same stories every driver wants to hear.

Dropped off in Invercargill, I found my way to Sparky’s Hostel, which I had booked previously. Sparky’s is run by (as one might have guessed) Sparky who is a former Kiwi-Rail employee and remains fascinated with trains, happily sharing his passion with his guests. His hostel is clean, has personal touches (Sparky is also a fan of Sesame Street, need I say more?), and is a great place to meet people and hang out. After getting settled, I headed off for the town centre to get acquainted with Invercargill. Hmmmmm, now I just have to find town centre... Invercargill is the kind of city (the southernmost in the world) where you are never sure exactly where city centre actually is. Sprawling and flat, like most New Zealand cities (except Wellington and Auckland), the urban sprawl is interrupted only by Queens Park, an equally sprawling oasis of nature in the middle of urbanopolis. I headed for there and happily shed my flip-flops to wander the park bare foot. The park is probably the best part of Invercargill, and as if the city recognises this, the park is maintained spectacularly. Contained within the boundaries is a diverse aviary with native New Zealand species as well as other Australasian and a few African specimens. After enjoying the walk-in bird enclosure, I headed to the animal park, essentially a small and free zoo also in Queens Park. Here, introduced species live in large fenced in enclosures, but New Zealand species would be hard to contain considering the only land mammal native to New Zealand is a species of bat, and apparently fences don’t bother them too much... New Zealand is however, crawling with introduced species, each having their own effect on the ecosystem. Some, like the stoat and possum, wreak havoc on native species such as the Kiwi and other native birds by eating their eggs and young and are deemed a destructive pest. Others like the rabbit and deer are more an annoyance as they munch the same grass required by farmers for their sheep. Rabbits were recently decimated in numbers by intentional but illegal introduction of myxomatosis into the population by a pissed off farmer, and deer are actively hunted by helicopter to keep their numbers down. Needless to say, if you like rabbit or deer hunting, New Zealand is the place to come. As far as I know, you don’t even need a license to hunt either species, only permission from DOC (Department of Conservation) to hunt in a certain area to avoid hunting accidents. Other species such as the hedgehog are looked on more kindly and generally receive a warm welcome for their generally un-destructive cuteness, although a desperate hedgehog can also harm ground nesting bird populations. I enjoyed supper at a generic Thai restaurant before heading back to the hostel to plan the next bit of my trip. I had not considered what I was going to do after Queenstown, but still with little in the way of time constraint, I was free to take the east coast at the same leisurely pace I had been taking so far. I picked hot spots I wished to visit, but made no deadlines and booked nothing time restrictive.

On the 3^rd, I walked along the main road out of town with my thumb out, eventually getting a ride with a Maori man who gave me a quick lesson in the history of the local Maori, getting quite passionate in his lecture and completely missing my stop. Good spiritedly he turned around and returned to the main highway out of town before continuing on his journey. Here I stood for the next hour, contentedly listening to my music while nervously hoping someone would stop. I was thumbing in the direction of the Catlins, the Southern point of the New Zealand and a tourist hotbed. Sporting such attractions as the Petrified Forest, and the ever – if not over – photographed Purakaunui Falls, it is a haven of natural beauty and harbouring a distinct kind of flora from the rest of New Zealand as it lies on the cooler southern coast. Eventually an older van stopped and I hopped in, meeting the twenty something Swiss guy driving. He was working as a chef in Auckland for the past 8 months and was taking a couple months to see the rest of the country before heading home. He was doing the touristy thing in the Catlins, and that suited me just fine. We skipped some of the other sights in the south western Catlins, heading straight for Cathedral Caves, a sight which must be seen at low tide. When we arrived, perfectly on time, I paid his $5 to cross the privately owned land over which one must traverse to reach the famous rock formations. These sea caves have been carved out over thousands of years of wave action and have resulted in the caves visible today, with ceilings up to 30m high. Unfortunately I left my flashlight in the car as the rear of the caves can get quite dark, but we made do with the flashes on our cameras to explore as far as we could into the back of the caves before hiking back up the steep hill to the car park. My driver dropped me off in Papatowai where I intended to do an overnight self guided hike into the bush. Catlins Ecotours, the company that runs this as well as other guided and unguided tours has a bus halfway along their track in the middle of the woods which has been converted into dorm accommodations (I have no idea how it got there). I had booked my spot on the bus the day before, but arriving in Papatowai, no trace of the company was to be found. I got local directions to their base of operations, but discovered it to be accommodation of some sorts and completely deserted, and with no instructions for anyone who may have booked a tour. I weighed my options, waiting for someone to show up, or continuing on, and decided to carry on. I discovered that this part of New Zealand is much like  home, in fact as I stepped onto the beach at the Cathedral Caves, I thought that I could literally be anywhere on the Nova Scotia coast. Does this make the Catlins unworthy of a visit? Certainly not, as even a Nova Scotian will be impressed with the rugged coastline and impressive caves; but for someone limited on time, the Catlins can be seen in a day. I returned to the village centre and once again stuck out the thumb. I waited only 30 minutes before a mid twenties English gal stopped and invited me to hop in. She was going as far as Dunedin, the next city on the trail and my new next destination. She was touring New Zealand and looking for some inspiration for her future career (hopefully) as a singer songwriter. We did the touristy thing on the way through the Catlins and again, that was A-OK with me. Our first stop was some waterfalls, taking in the dramatic sights, the aromatic forest, and enjoying the plentiful sunlight. Next we hit the Purakaunui Falls, the most photographed waterfalls in New Zealand before continuing on to Cannibal Bay, once again on the sea coast. While I thought Cannibal Bay was named for the rock formation that looks like a human face, someone discovered human remains that looked...nibbled on... a while ago and named it for the supposed past inhabitants. From here we continued on to Dunedin where she dropped me off at a holiday park before continuing on to her friend’s house where she was staying. My parents told me of their trip to New Zealand some 35 years ago when they would hitchhike, meet someone, and often receive an invitation back to their house to pitch a tent in their yard, or in the rare case even sleep on a spare bed. I have not once been offered such an opportunity. Maybe I throw off the wrong vibes, but people don’t seem to mind having me in their car so I have to assume that because of the fearful times we live in, people are no longer willing to extend such hospitality. It’s disappointing as I would relish in the opportunity to get to know locals and other tourists better, but at least it isn’t devastating as cheap accommodation is available everywhere I look and hitchhiking alone is providing a terrific opportunity to meet locals and tourists alike. I checked into the Dunedin Holiday Park and was surprised at the $21/night fee, especially considering their not exactly central location in the city, but was assured that as holiday parks went, it was the average in Dunedin. I probably would have been better off checking into one of the central hostels, but as always, I know that my tent is clean and private, the facilities at holiday parks tend to be good, and I at least saved a few dollars. I got a cheap fried supper at the camp store before settling in for a night of reading up on Dunedin and the surrounding area. What was I going to do the next day? Same thing I do every day, try to take over the...oh wait...wrong show. Never mind.

5-98ft Under

I was heading back for Queenstown on the 31^st to finish my scuba course. That was really the only reason I was going back as I was tired of the hustle and bustle of the tourist infested town. But stick out my thumb I did, and I was shortly picked up by a German backpacker on his way to Queenstown to enjoy some of the plethora of adventures on offer. We had some great chats about our travels and all was going well until we saw the police car in the distance. The lights went on and the orange chequered car pulled in behind our car. According to the officer, he had my driver doing 110 on radar in a 100 zone and the New Zealand Police do not tolerate speeding. I was completely ignored during the whole process was left at a loss for words as we pulled away, an awkward silence hanging in the air for the next couple kilometres. New Zealand police have lost all tolerance when it comes to speeding and recently stepped up their efforts to bust speeders. Signs all along the highway warn of the danger of speeding with clever graphics accompanying phrases like “speed kills”, “who is really watching your speed?” (with a picture of a kid looking sideways to insinuate that kids are learning from their parents’ behaviour), and “finish line, or final destination?” (accompanied by a photo of a morgue). This campaign reminds me of the signs I saw periodically throughout England, but there it was more of a reminder whereas here it is a warning; New Zealand does not take kindly to any speeding and regardless of your home country, you will be fined and you will have to pay it (all rental companies take a credit card number to be sure of it). I felt bad for my driver, he’s a backpacker like me who is on a limited budget (and has the right kind of car to show for it) and for whom $120 is a lot of money. But unlike in England, the signs here are serious and you drive in New Zealand knowing that the New Zealand police will pull you over even for minor speed infractions.

A quick call to Lance (my dive instructor) upon arrival in Queenstown (the rest of the trip went a bit slower) and I was lined up for three dives the following day. I was back at the Lakeview Holiday Park, had another Fergburger, and was back into the ‘ol routine. While Queenstown might not be the ideal town to spend a lot of time (for cost, general ambiance and other reasons), there is a certain comfort in routine and regardless of which town I find myself in, it feels nice to get into a routine, to be familiar with my surroundings, to know what to expect. But one doesn’t backpack for a sense of familiarity with surroundings and I feel oddly at ease and uncomfortable at the same time when I’m in one place for too long. I believe Lance understood this and he accommodated me by finishing my course in one day on the 1^st of February. I was paired with Bo, a guy (slightly my junior) who’s goal in life is to be a stuntman. To get there he is acquiring as many certifications as he can, from paragliding to scuba diving, hand to hand combat to...well, I don’t know what the opposite of that is, but I’m sure he’s doing that as well. In my absence, Lance has quickly brought him along to where I was in training so we could dive together. The first dive of the day was a “deep dive” for me, and Bo’s navigation dive. For me, that meant doing a sobriety test of sorts above water, then repeating it at 30m to see if I was feeling the effects of nitrogen narcosis. On its own, nitrogen narcosis is not a danger, but is on par with alcohol intoxication. Intoxication (within safe limits) on its own is not immediately harmful physiologically, but put the same individual behind the wheel of a car and it’s a whole other story. Try taking that same individual, putting them 30m under water (or deeper), and giving them a regulator through which they must breathe (or die...). Sounds dangerous; no? The air we breathe is roughly 79% nitrogen, so nitrogen is nothing foreign to the human body, but as pressure increases, the effect it has on the body changes. Deeper = higher pressure = more noticeable effects; the effects of which are akin to breathing nitrous oxide, commonly known as laughing gas. The most important thing for a diver is recognising the symptoms and knowing how much one can take. If you got out of the water the second you noticed it you wouldn’t be a very effective diver in the 25-35m range, but if you tried to tough through some serious symptoms you could end up making a fatal mistake (you know, the kind you only ever make one of...). The test in this case is a slate with numbers written in circles of varying sizes and in random order. The test subject (me) must correctly find  numbers 1-30 in order, the time taken used as an indicator for ‘sobriety’. This is done at the surface and at 30m to test for a time difference. The second test of the day was a far less dramatic but for the science lovers in the crowd (put up your hands, I am!) is just as interesting; testing the effects of depth on colour. Any object with the rainbow of colours from purple to blue is viewed at the surface, and then at varying depths. The test successfully demonstrates that as one descends in water, one by one each colour starting with purple is only visible as grey because of the filtration effect of water on colour. Arriving at 30m we observed the rainbow objects (hair bands in this case) and indeed the first few colours were only seen as gray. After a minute or so at 30m I attempted the number test a second time, seeing a decrease in my performance even though I didn’t feel any of the symptoms. After a safe ascent, I left the water for the other two to conduct Bo’s navigational exercises which I had already completed.

The second dive of the day was far more interesting, what PADI (Professional Association of Diving Instructors) would call an “adventure dive!” Next to the tiny town of Cromwell, about 20 minutes from Queenstown, the local river had been dammed in the 90’s by a hydro- electric dam, creating Lake Dunstan, and sinking the Cromwell Bridge. The bridge was to be well under water when the lake reached its full height so it was left intact, a solid decision I would say when talking about a bridge made in 1864. So it remains under only 9m of water, an example of the quality steel work completed in the period. The visibility, or “vis”, was poor at only a couple metres, but added to the mystique of the dive as the bridge’s frame seemed to vanish into the murky abyss beyond. There were additional challenges working in three in such low visibility as the lead diver (Lance in this case) had to check every few seconds that the middle diver was immediately behind him, and the middle diver the same of the rear diver. Losing focus for a few seconds could mean losing a diver in the murky water, and the whole party having to surface to reunite. Fortunately, no mistakes were made and the dive was successful, my first wreck dive getting big thumbs up for coolness factor.

The third dive required a bit of a drive, taking us just outside of Wanaka. We drove to the mouth of the Clutha River where it drained Lake Wanaka. The current is swift but not out of control, although in rainier periods and especially in springtime, the river can flow much faster. Diving in such a river is called a river drift dive, as you allow the current to carry you along (that or it’s the fight of your life trying to stay in one spot!). This dive, as Lance explained on the ride there, would have 15-20 minutes of tomfoolery in relatively deep water, then becoming shallow in gentle rapids where the speed would pick up. Along the way there would be some hazards, but these were pointed out before hand and we would surface a few times along the way to discuss upcoming sections again. The first part of the dive was all laughs as we tested out our underwater acrobatics. One can drift dive in any position and we tried them all, swimming sideways, upside down, letting the current carry us while we “stood” on our heads, sat cross legged, laid perpendicular to the stream... Even more fun was fooling around near the bottom where we played leapfrog with large rocks and somersaults off of them. I did find myself having a bit too much fun at some points however and more than once I had to remind myself not to breathe too heavily lest I waste air. The rapids section went smoothly (as smoothly as rapids can go) and before any of us were ready to get out, we were at our exit. My first river drift dive also gets two huge thumbs up and I hope to do some more of those later!

Each of the dives successful, I was now a certified PADI Advanced Open Water Diver, and after some paperwork was signed back at Lance’s ‘office’, it was official. We had a beer to celebrate before I went back to the holiday park and crashed, not realising until then how exhausted the trio of dives had made me.

I didn’t initially know how I would take to diving as I have typically not been a fan of enclosed spaces. The mask especially, closing off the ability to breathe through my nose freaked me out and my first dive was quite a test for myself. But after the initial awkwardness was done with, I was hooked and found myself excitedly anticipating the next lesson. Due to the good ‘ol budget, I will hold off diving again until I get to do the Great Barrier Reef dives in Australia, but I find myself quite excited for the next time I get to don 20kg of weight, walk awkwardly to the water, then feel it all come off as buoyancy neutralises and I float effortlessly in the water. It’s a hobby I hope to bring back home, but the reality of diving is that it is not a cheap sport. The water temperatures experienced in Canada necessitate a dry suit, the warmer (and drier...duh...) cousin of the wet suit, and also the more pricy of the two. A good dry suit alone costs a few thousand dollars and you still have to get a buoyancy control device, all the gauges and hoses, a cylinder, mask and fins. And that’s just the necessities! Gear can be rented for the casual diver, but it is highly unlikely Halifax’s one dive shop (Torpedo Rays) will have the system I learned on – and prefer – in stock for rental. I suppose that’s another future purchase to put on the list. There is work to be had in diving, especially in a busy port like Halifax. One can find work retrieving lost items at marinas or scrubbing boat hulls at a reasonable pay rate, but there is only a requirement for so many hull scrubbers and glasses finders. I suppose diving is one of those things that I’ll just have to wait and see how it affects my future, and how I make it a part of my life.

A Doubtful Couple of Days

Hitchhiking to Te Anau proved – as usual – to be terrifically easy. Lance (my dive instructor) offered to drive me to the edge of town, and gratefully I accepted, getting my thumb out around 11AM. I waited the usual 10-15 minutes before being picked up by a young German man, touring New Zealand on his own. He was heading all the way to Milford Sound and stopping in Te Anau on the way. The ride up was uneventful as we admired the changing scenery as we entered the Fordland. I told him stories of my travel (as is expected of a hitchhiker) and he shared some of his own experiences in New Zealand. He explained how his job as an architectural engineer affects the way he experiences tourist attractions. We all experience the world in a different way based on our skills, knowledge and hobbies, unknowingly living in a different world from everyone else. I tend to look for the mechanical, seeking a process which I can examine until understood or finding someone who can explain it for me. Architects seek out architecture; designers focus on design; engineers strive to understand the workings behind the ordinary and extraordinary. An attraction is interesting to many people on many levels, and talking with this man I felt myself wishing that for one day I could see some of the same attractions but through the eyes another. I was left wondering how drastically the experience and knowledge of another person affects how an attraction is experienced.

I was dropped off in the middle of Te Anau with little in the way of a plan, and even less in the way of expectations. I was expecting a few nights in a quiet town with little to do but write and enjoy the solitude and the break from Queenstown. I got what I expected, but was tremendously happy with my choice of towns. In Te Anau I found a sleepy but cheerful little town on the edge of the Fiordland; the gateway for thousands of tourists weekly on their way to the dramatic sounds in the west. I wandered into an information centre for information on accommodation and activities in the area. I knew there were cruises, but they are expensive and with the exception of bungee jumping, scuba diving, skydiving and canyoning, I have tried very hard to keep to a strict budget. But what is money for except spending, and what is vacation for except enjoying extraordinary things, and I figured I could afford to spend just a little on a nice cruise. There are two companies running on Doubtful sound, the less cruised of the Doubtful Sound/Milford Sound pair. Real Journeys runs the Fiordland Explorer, taking 70-some people on overnight cruises for around $250. Fiordland Expeditions runs the smaller MV Tutoko, taking 10 people on overnight cruises in the same area. My sister and her fiancé Paul had done the latter and gave rave reviews for the personal and refined quality of the experience – for anyone who can afford the $500NZD ($375CAD) that is. $250 was looking much more appealing and I had told myself while coming to Te Anau that I would not spend $500 on a one night cruise. But then the information staff told me they could drop it $450, the off season rate. Well, I just can’t resist a deal, and with the additional promise of a pickup from Te Anau by the company co-owner, I signed up for the cruise the following night. I had told myself I wouldn’t, but I left the information centre quite happy that I would be experiencing some of the finer points of the Fiordland experience. I settled in at the extremely impressive Te Anau Lakeview Holiday Park and got on the internet for some contact with home. Back in touch with everyone, I set off for the town and picked the lovely Naturally Fiordland cafe for late afternoon coffee then supper. Here I settled in for a few hours of typing; working to catch up on my blog.  Te Anau was a very relaxing place, where the hurried stride of rushed tourists has little effect on the carefree residents. I picked up a bottle of wine for the cruise before heading back to my campsite, excitedly heading to the beach with my camera as the sunset promised to present some dramatic scenes in the dark clouds above.

As my tiny watch alarm chimed at 7:30 in the morning, something in my mind told me – even before I was fully conscious – there’s something important you have to get up for. My subconscious mind prevailed and I woke; packing and collecting my bottle of wine perfectly on time for pick up. Whew. I met Mandy who drove me along with a fifty-something American man and his decade (or so) younger Latvian wife to Manapouri, the departure point for the cruise. We met the rest of the 10 people we would be sharing the night with and enjoyed small talk. The group turned out to be as diverse as might be expected from such an excursion. There was a fifty-something British man (Dave) and his Kiwi wife; the previously mentioned Morgan and his wife Olga; forty-something Greek Costos, and his (I assume) German partner; and there was a group of three female backpackers, Patricia, Ricky, and Suzanne, all in their 20’s and from Switzerland, Germany, and the Netherlands respectively. Plus myself, we made ten guests from nine countries, covering early 20’s to late 50’s.

The cruise didn’t depart from Manapouri which is only a hopping off point towards the cruises. From here, we took a one hour cruise across Lake Manapouri to the Wilmot Pass, enjoying the scenery on the lake, close to what we would soon be enjoying on Doubtful Sound. We admired the hydroelectric power station on the other side before hopping aboard a small bus for the 20km journey over the Wilmot Pass. The Wilmot Pass was created in the mid 60’s to facilitate the construction of the hydroelectric station, and at its summit enjoys the most stunning views of Doubtful Sound by car. In fact, it enjoys the only views of Doubtful Sound by car. The road is completely cut off from the rest of civilisation, and any vehicle which traverses the Pass must come in by boat. Finally meeting the Sound at Deep Cove, we were introduced to the MV Tutoko and her crew of two; skipper Sean, and chef Jason. Of course – as was later explained to us – they don’t have those official titles, and anyone working aboard the Tutoko is simply a crew member, regardless of their training and primary roles. This is enforced by their flexibility in the many things they do on board the boat, but technicalities aside, Sean was an experienced skipper, and Jason a professionally trained chef. After casting off, Sean and Jason explained how the next 24 hours would go. We were told to treat the Tutoko as home; with the exception of the crew quarters and engine room, we were free to wander and free to make requests for stops or destinations. Immediately after, Sean had the Tutoko motoring through the Sound and Jason got to work on his first creation while glasses of champagne were passed around. This was exactly the tone for the whole cruise, a relaxed experience with good food, good company, good crew, and good experiences. As everyone got to know each other a little better, the Tutoko went straight for the entrance to the Sound from the Tasman Sea, getting there after a lunch of pasta salad. Bottles of wine were opened and by the time the Tutoko made the entrance of the Sound, everyone was warmly acquainted. The Tasman Sea treated us with a colony of Sea Lions and choppy water from which we hastily retreated back to the calm of the Sound. As we broke out the fishing rods, Jason donned scuba gear and went under, reappearing ten minutes later with a bounty of crayfish for dinner. That job done, we got to our ‘duties’, enjoying some fishing off the bow of the Tutoko. Fishing in 50m water, we caught mostly a fish which I cannot remember the name of, well known in New Zealand for its bland flavour and thus not particularly favoured. Jason however, knew better, and enjoys it for its ability to work with other foods without dominating the plate. A blue cod was also caught, and after consulting charts, it was confirmed we were allowed to keep it.

The work of the crew never ceased, and while we were enjoying some fishing, Jason kept busy making supper, a multi course treat to delight any connoisseur. A cheese board was laid out for a break from fishing, while a soup was made from scratch, crayfish were cooked and cooled, and vegetables were prepared for the main course. Before we got to eating, the Tutoko was anchored in a sheltered bay  fed by fresh water from a stream of mountain water. Here we donned our bathing suits and jumped in the brackish water, reasonably warm at 19 degrees. The fresh water stream created a layer of cool fresh water over a surprisingly warmer body of salt water. The nearer to the stream you ventured, the colder and fresher the water. With kayaks we were able to get right up to the stream and I can assure you it was plenty cold, probably around 10 degrees. Frolicking done and appetites renewed, we towelled off and got warm, getting cosy in the overheated lounge with fresh glasses of wine. The lounge was kept warmer than necessary (around 23 degrees) because the warm temperature discourages activity from sand flies, and we were plenty happy to have them discouraged.

Maori tales joke that sand flies are the gods’ reminder to mortals that beautiful as Aotearoa (New Zealand) may be; it is not heaven. Sand fly bites itch like mosquito bites – for the first few minutes. As one becomes more irritated by them and continues to scratch, the itching increases to almost unbearable levels.  Only by covering the area or through intense mental effort – of which I am incapable – can the itching be ignored until it subsides. Unfortunately, whereas mosquito bites might stop itching after a few days, sand fly bites continue itching for a week, sometimes as long as a couple weeks for some poor souls. The bites then scab before finally healing, often then scarring depending on how much one enjoyed the temporary relief of scratching. Fortunately, sand flies have poor temperature tolerance, and as the temperature of the lounge hit 23, they gravitated towards the windows, longing for the cooler air outside and distracted from biting. Come 10PM, the temperature outside drops too low for them, and they sleep in a near hibernation state until morning.

In the comfortable cabin we were fed a delicious pumpkin soup and half a crayfish each before taking a break from food. Full, we were astounded when Jason reminded us the crayfish was only the entree and served a  wonderful plate of roasted vegetables and the fish we had caught earlier for the main course. Despite our best efforts, we had not been able to catch enough, and while we had been enjoying our pumpkin soup, Sean had taken the tender out and gallantly fished some more, bringing back a sizable catch which was able to feed the lot of us. Go Sean! Completely stuffed but all very content, we enjoyed an evening of conversation and drinks before finally heading to bed around 1AM. Accommodation on the Tutoko is familiar for a backpacker, all ten guests sharing one room complete with bunk style beds. The two married couples had double beds while the rest of us enjoyed comfortable single mattresses.

There was general consensus the night before that everyone wanted to enjoy a morning swim at 6AM before the Tutoko departed the bay at 6:30. I was, however, the only person to rise for a swim at 5:30. I enjoyed a cup of tea to warm my body and strengthen my resolve against the cold water outside before stepping out of the still warm lounge. My swimsuit was in the – out of bounds – engine room, so my solo swim was in my underwear which I stripped down to on the back of the boat.  The boat’s thermometer later confirmed the water was in fact still 19 degrees, but at 6AM, with no sunlight breaking through the heavy clouds which themselves treated us to moderate rainfall, it might as well have been 0 degrees and while my body coped with the shock of the water, I made the decision to keep this swim short. I swam all the way around the boat, returning to the back where I promptly (and with a bit of difficulty) got back aboard, jumping into the shower at the stern, letting the hot water warm me back up. There was no sunrise, the rain was pouring, the water was cold, and I was alone; but I think that waking up with a swim in the fiords of New Zealand is something I will always remember. A pity for those who decided to sleep in, something one can enjoy any day on a vacation. The rest of the guests and crew eventually rose and we were soon under way, taking a scenic route back to Deep Cove.  The silver lining to the clouds which were presently bringing the heavens down upon us was that the waterfalls, dried up from weeks of drought, were once again flowing, making our return journey a  completely different experience from the day before. Gone were the clear blue skies and dry mountain sides. Today’s scenery was cloud shrouded mountain peaks accented by streams snaking their way to the Sound below. This was no longer a landscape of graceful, flowing mountains, but a mysterious valley surrounded by undeterminably tall mountains. Frankly, I think the weather was perfect for the cruise and I wouldn’t have wished for clear skies the second day at all. Sighting one particularly large waterfall, Sean took the opportunity to treat us to some fresh water and stuck the prow under the stream, flooding the deck with water. Jason served up a delicious (as if he could manage otherwise) full breakfast including eggs, sausage and toast, and accompanied it with a delicious mushroom in white wine sauce – unexpected for breakfast, but so good my mouth still waters for more.

As all things must, the cruise came to an end as we pulled back in to Deep Cove, I’m sure I was not the only one contemplating the possibility of hijacking the boat and turning us back around for another day of cruising; but we disembarked peacefully and boarded a bus ride for the anticlimactic ride back over the Wilmot Pass. The only excitement came from a malfunction in the cargo doors, causing some gear to go tumbling along the roadside but luckily no one’s gear was damaged (lucky, considering two of the bags to go tumbling contained at least $1500 in camera gear). At the power station I said goodbye to Patricia, Ricky and Suzanne (who comes back into my travels later) before boarding a boat back across Lake Manapouri. Here the rest of us said goodbye, going our separate ways on our own travels. For me, Mandy was waiting to take me back to Te Anau where I had one more night before returning to Queenstown. We had a great conversation on the way back to Te Anau and I learned a good deal about the Fiordland Expeditions, a small company for sure but one making a big impact on the touring scene in Doubtful Sound. The MV Tutoko is soon to be replaced, and its replacement should be in service not too long after I publish this. A slightly larger boat, the main differences will be the inclusion of an ensuite and private rooms, but the carried load will be below capacity on each sailing, maintaining the company’s dedication to a personal experience on the Sound. The difference between the 70 person ship and the 10 person boat is huge, and as we cruised in the Sound, all the passengers of the Tutoko (all 10 of us) were glad we paid the extra. It wasn’t just a cruise, it was a real experience with the Sound; one where we got to swim in it, fish from it (and later enjoy the fruits of our own fishing), swim in it again in an amazing pre dawn dip – for one of us at least – and get to know the staff who took us out on the amazing journey. We all commented as the skipper of the Fiordland Navigator walked by that probably none of the passengers on his boat got to get to know him, never mind steer the ship itself (as some of the Tutoko guests did). My thanks to Mandy were sincere, and if my writing here seems a tad commercial to any of you, perhaps that’s because it is. But that’s only because I enjoyed my experience on Doubtful Sound so much, it would be a shame for anyone to experience anything less. So if there’s one thing I’m sure of (unlike Captain James Cook when he doubted he could get the wind to sail back out of Doubtful Sound if he entered…), if you can spare the extra money, the payoff is worth it and the experience is invaluable.

I spent the afternoon and evening at the Olive Tree Cafe in Te Anau, enjoying coffee and snacks then supper while getting some serious blog work done, finally catching up to just before the cruise. Of course I’ve fallen behind again, but I have come to appreciate the gap between event and publication. The time between has allowed me room for consideration, and I have found my immediate reactions differing sometimes drastically from my later conclusions. My stop in Omarama at the time seemed terrible for example, but I made the most of it, enjoyed the quiet time to write, and now I am confident it was an excellent stop, a large part of my relaxing into a slower pace of travel. I slept well that evening, helped by just over four hours of sleep the night before, knowing that I had done well on my blog, and knowing I would be back to scuba diving soon.

Getting Under the Surface in Queenstown

From quiet Wanaka I was off to bustling Queenstown, the adventure capital of the world. This is not an easy title to obtain, but it’s not just used by Queenstonians; tourism agencies worldwide will send you off to Queenstown over any other global destination for the sheer variety of adventure activities. This is of course even more impressive when you consider they only have a population of just over 10,000. As per usual, transportation was by hitchhiking and after magically stuffing all my gear into my bag, I walked a few hundred metres up the road to where the highway began. I was 99% guaranteed that any ride would take me all the way there as there are no stops between the two towns. I waited roughly 20 minutes before an oddly familiar pumpkin orange Toyota Camry stopped just ahead of me. The boot (trunk in North America) was popped and I tossed my bag inside, quite confident my gear was safe, before hopping in the passenger seat (still weird being on the left side and not driving). Looking over I saw a very familiar face talking business on his mobile. He looked over to greet me with a smile and almost dropped his phone as his jaw nearly hit the gearshift. No word of a lie, it was the same guy who picked me up in Mt Cook a full week earlier. He is a travelling businessman so the chances are higher...but still...every time I’ve stuck out my thumb since I’ve half expected to see the same pumpkin orange Toyota stop and hear him talking to his associates. About gear being safe in the boot even if I’m not in the car; a word with many Kiwis has reassured my feeling of safety while hitchhiking. Of course hitchhiking always carries risks and you can never be 100% sure that your ride is a safe one, but by being smart, you can have a good (and free) time while staying safe. As far as gear is concerned, there have been incidences of hitchhikers throwing luggage in boots and the vehicle peeling off as fast as the tires can carry it, but a quick memorisation of the easy six character NZ license plates guarantees a region wide police hunt for the vehicle in question. New Zealand police are highly active in ensuring everyone’s safety, and take complaints from tourists very seriously. I’ve heard that one such grab and run resulted in a manhunt lasting all of two hours after which the culprit was seriously penalised both on his license and criminal record, the gear returned with many apologies. A similar case where the hitchhiker didn’t think to catch a plate number resulted in a car hunt lasting almost 24 hours, police only working off make and model and approximate age, stopping any car that matched the description. Eventually the culprit was caught and again, the gear returned with apologies.

My reappearing driver had to make an hour long stop in Arrowtown, a small town 20 minutes away from Queenstown and I decided this was perfect for me. We arranged a time to meet back at the car and we went our separate ways. Queenstown, Arrowtown, and others were all established when settlers in the area discovered shimmering yellow stuff in the water. As it turned out, this was gold and the New Zealand gold rush began. Overnight, towns such as these sprung up all over the region, but as the gold rush slowly wound down, some survived and thrived, some survived, and others faded away as the prospectors took their leave. Arrowtown has survived and is recently making a name for itself as the cute little town just away from Queenstown. Many original buildings remain from the late 1800’s, and new buildings try to match the aesthetic to maintain the appeal of the area. There is an odd assortment of boutiques which offer some unique items, but most stores are either chain tourist souvenir shops selling generic NZ souvenirs, or overpriced food vendors selling overrated food. An exception lies in the Arrowtown Bakery, a company which I suspect by decoration and product line up is related to the Queenstown Bakery. They sell terrific pies (pastries with any assortment of thick stew inside) from pork or venison to apricot or tofu. I enjoyed a lamb and mint pie as I wandered the town, the streets lined with typical pioneer style architecture; wooden buildings with wooden porches and wooden vertical support beams with wooden signs above a slightly sloped wooden roof. I guess they had a lot of wood to build with!

We met back at the car and headed into Queenstown where I was dropped at the iSite for local information, but headed straight to the Queenstown Lakeview Holiday Park to check out their campsites. Unfortunately, Queenstown is Queenstown, not Wanaka or Te Anau or Omarma. Like everything else in town, the campsite was more expensive at $18/night, not including showers which are coin op at 8min/$1. I actually headed to the other campsite in town to check their prices, but was amazed at their $21/night fee (higher than a hostel in most NZ towns except Queenstown of course) and returned to the Lakeview. The park isn’t perfect; the spaces are too close together, tents get jammed up next to monstrous RV’s (in North American speak, or camper van – regardless of size – in Kiwi speak), reception is impersonal and completely clueless about some of the activities in town, and the list goes on. But it is cheaper than (Queenstown) hostels, the facilities are for the most part clean, and regardless of the obnoxious guitar playing backpackers, I get a better night sleep than I would in a hostel filled with party animals. My first priority in Queenstown was to make contact with Dive Queenstown, the diving company with whom I would be doing my scuba qualification. I called around 8pm and spoke to Lance (owner, operator, manager, trainer, etc.) and he told me he would drop by in an hour with the book I needed to read and he would get me in the water the very next day. This was quite alright with me, because while my time in NZ is very relaxed and unhurried, Queenstown a fast paced and hurried town, and even though I have to spend a good deal of time there, I will minimise that as much as possible. So it is a wonder that after a short talk with him, I decided to also do my advanced qualification on top of my open water qualification, adding another few days to the course and another $500 on top of the $600 for the open water qualification. He agreed to take off $100 and make it an even thousand (which was damned good of him considering the time/money ratio for his course, but was a relief to my budget). The two courses together will give me training and certification required to do paired dives (recreational dives are always done in pairs for safety) to 40m in fresh or salt water. We met just a little later and he explained the whole process of education and qualification, outlining how the next week and a bit would go. It was an exciting step for me and something that I will literally have with me my whole life.

Indeed the next day we got started right away, and showing up to his shop I was immediately shown the ropes of his gear, slightly different from the usual recreational diving kit. Lance combines the best elements of recreational diving with some of the more expensive but safer and/or easier to use elements of technical diving. He teaches PADI courses in scuba diving using this improved equipment system, allowing his graduates to go  on and knowledgably conquer pretty much any consumer gear available. The first dive was what he would sell to a non qualified diver as a “discover scuba” dive; and indeed it is just that. Scuba diving is much more than just swimming underwater and breathing through a tank. There is a whole system of buoyancy control, air control, allowable time underwater at certain depths; far more than I could get into here. If I wrote it all down here it would take pages, but needless to say, on this first dive Lance takes control of pretty much everything for you except for the breathing...unfortunately only you can do that for yourself.

The 20^th to the 23^rd was spent simply living in Queenstown while doing dive after dive. During my walks in town I got to know the famous adventure haven, learned its small number of streets and found the nice spots in town for a view or a bite to eat. For a town of its size it is extremely busy, and crossing the streets you constantly dodge busses from mini to coach size. As far as actual tourist attractions, the downtown beach area is quite popular, and for good reason as the clean beach is a prime spot to sunbathe or go for a dip. On the other side of town is the famous gondola ride up a decent sized hill. From the top are amazing views of the town and you can package the gondola ride with luge rides at the top of the hill. I was spending some time with some British guys I met in the campground and we went up together, racing each other down the two tracks multiple times. Queenstown’s other claim to fame is the Fergburger, a burger joint in the centre of town dishing out hundreds of amazing burgers every hour.  Open 21 hours a day, the usual busy times bring lines and around supper you can expect to wait between 10-20 minutes just to order, the burger coming usually around 10-20 minutes later; but boy is it worth the wait. My first Fergburger was the “Big Al”, a 1/2lb of beef, two egg, bacon, beetroot, veg., and sauce monster. I was hooked from the first bite and have had a few other delicious Fergburger concoctions since.

On the 24^th I planned to take yet another plunge, and come noon I found myself at the A.J. Hackett Bungee jumping centre for a bus 40 minutes out of the town. I was headed off for the Nevis bungee jump, New Zealand’s tallest at 134m from a platform suspended between two mountains. The whole experience was somewhat surreal and there was no anticipation of the coming danger. Even as I was fitted and rigged up with a harness and took the cable car ride out to the suspended platform it still  didn’t feel real. As the door opened and the “EXTREMMMEEEE, MANNNNN!!!” bungee technicians (what else do you call them?) grabbed hold of me, rigging my ankles up in tight cuffs and ushering me to the edge where the cable was attached to my harness at multiple points, things suddenly became very real. As I stood at the edge of the platform, I looked down at the river bed 150m below and suddenly thought, “Wait, I don’t like heights, why the hell am I standing here!?” Like it or not, they gave the 3-2-1 countdown and I was encouraged to jump. Absolutely scared shitless, I more leaned out and let myself tip over the edge than jump, but the effect was the same and suddenly I was rushing towards the ground in eight seconds of freefall, accelerating towards the rapidly approaching ground. This was the feeling of weightlessness I was expecting when skydiving, and as I looked down at the river, my feet trailing above me, I had no sensation of being attached to anything at all, my brain sending frantic signals telling me to brace for the certain impact with the water below. Basically, the freefall was eight seconds of ‘HOLY SHIT!!!’, but as the cord started to tighten and I felt a tug on my legs go from gentle to firm, the situation felt a little better and I was able to appreciate the awesomeness of the moment. I was dangling – still bouncing up and down – 134m from a suspended platform above a lovely riverbed in a gorgeous valley. It was suddenly very elating, and probably about the same time the adrenaline hit my system I became very happy with the whole experience. I pulled the pin keeping my ankles attached to the cord which allowed me to sit in my harness and enjoy the views on the way back up. Worth the $250? Hell yes! Would I do it again? Of course! I think the first time you do any of these extreme activities is the worst because of the anticipation of what might go wrong. But once you experience the rush you’re absolutely hooked. Two gals about my age were terrified to tears watching people jump before them, but after their jumps they couldn’t wait to do it again! I went back to Queenstown for my last dive in my PADI Open Water course and by night time I was a certified PADI Open Water scuba diver!

The 25^th and 26^th were a break from scuba diving and I spent my Monday doing typical Monday things; barber (that’s right, it’s back to ¼ inch for me!), dentist, Fergburger, relax. The 26^th I took my trip up the gondola and had some fun lugeing with my British friends. On the 27^th I was back to scuba diving; now working on my advanced qualification and completing both my navigation dive (a bore) and my Diver Propulsion Vehicle dive (sweet) in one trip to the beach. Lance has two of the world’s fastest production underwater scooters, and with eight gears you can either meander through the water doing graceful underwater acrobatics, or cut through at maximum speed, getting where you need to be fast. I was able to pull some fun loop-the-loops, barrel rolls, helixes up and down, and more. The amount of fun you can have with one of these scooters is endless, and you can use them to get places underwater! Go figure, they can be practical too!

While the diving was a lot of fun and it was great to be actively involved in learning again, Queenstown’s busyness and the sheer number of tourists was starting to get to me, and I figured it was time for a break. On the 28^th I escaped the hustle and bustle, packing up my bag and thumbing out of Queenstown for lovely Te Anau, the gateway to the Fiordlands.