The adventure began Thursday afternoon, when I took Wendy (our Toyota Corona we bought at a car auction) for a spin down to the local grocery store. p.s. they drive on the opposite side of the street here... It was a short and successful trip, but I was easily identified as a tourist driver by switching on the windshield wipers instead of turn signals, driving too close to the left hand side of the road and having to concentrate a little to hard to make a right hand turn. With a little sweat on my brow, I entered to supermarket feeling victorious and a little more Kiwi.
We gathered groceries for the weekend and a few hours later were on our way to Abel Tasman (a 3-5 day hike on the northern tip of the South Island). Jenna, Krissy, Caitlin and myself, headed north on the main highway which wound through countryside, enclosed in mountain peeks on either side, no buildings, no garbage, no people, only sheep, mountains, and rivers leading us to adventures along the two lane roads.
Our peaceful drive was constantly interrupted by
a bright blue car, with three kayaks tied on top, that had been car flirting with us for the last few hours. They would pass us, then have to fix the kayaks, so we'd pass them, then they'd pass us again, have to pee, pull over, we'd pass...etc.... there were two boys and a girl, who we determined must be locals because there car looked a step above the "auction cars," they had kayaks and one guy was wearing a crazy mask, and if you are from the States and are deciding between a second pair of pants or a crazy mask, most likely you would choose the pants.
Our prediction was confirmed when they drove by us, shouting out the window in kiwi accents that we should go to a kayak tournament with them....around a few more corners they were standing the middle of the road, waving us down. As we stopped, they came to our car and met us all, inviting us to stop off in their town, have a drink and stay for the weekend. There was a national kayak tournament were people from all over the world (Sweden, Norway, US, Australia, Germany etc...) came to this small town and kayaked for the weekend. We were very excited about our hike we had planned, but decided we could stop for one hour…max!
Well we pulled into town, which consisted of one bar, one grocery, one public restroom, a second hand store and a hotel. The bar was the only place in town with lights on, and began to meet random people from all over the world. We met "Crazy Jimmy" a kiwi, who ran away from home at 18, moved to Harlem in New York City, joined the circus as a trapezes artist and has eventually made it back to NZ. We also met guys who were paid by their sponsors to come to the tournament and realized that the locals we met on the side of the road grew up on the river, so just joined the tournament for fun, hoping to get lucky! The next hour was spent trying to convince us to stay for the weekend. "killer competition, wicked parties, sweet-as..." Three hours later we finally pulled the 4 people who had climbed into our car out and headed for Abel Tasman.
On the drive we realized that the campsite we had reserved was an hour hike in the trail, we considered hiking in the moonlight, but when we arrived at 2am, we pulled tarps and sleeping bags out of our car and slept beside Wendy.
We were up and on the trail by 7 am. The Abel Tasman is one of 9 "Great Walks" in NZ, which are famous tramping routes that are especially popular and beautiful. The Abel Tasman winds along the Tasman Bay, Marlbourgh Sounds and ends at Golden Bay. The walk was absolutely gorgeous. It wound along the coast line through tropical forests, that would open up to golden sandy beaches with clear turquoise waves. We arrived at the supposed "Night One” spot by lunch time. It was an unbelievable cove. We took off backpacks, switched into swimsuits and spent three hours swimming, sunbathing and eating Ramen lunch cooked on our camping stove, while our sweaty shirts and damp sleeping bags dried beneath the cloudless sky. Dusting off the sand, we loaded up our packs and continued on the trail that included 30 minute barefoot slosh through mud field, up and down small hills, across swinging bridges, and countless clearings that provided a view of waterfront paradise. Arriving at "Day 2" spot by dinner (for some reason we were almost "on a jog" the entire way and making great time) we again changed into our suits, put our sweaty clothes to dry and swam again. We cooked up chili and rice along the beach.
Feeling refreshed we decided to keep moving and try to sleep at "Day 3 hut." Our evening hike watched the sunset on in the cove, then continued with moon shadows and headlamps. A few hours into it, our enthusiasm wore off and hot-spots became raw, bloody blisters, legs began aching, speed slowed, we began to envy all those relaxing in the previous coves and regretted our ambitious spirits.
An eternity later we saw signs for the next hut, 17min walk.... 30minutes later, defeated by darkness, we pulled up on a slanted beach and called day (over 20miles of hiking). As soon as the boots were taken off, our spirits lifted as we watched moonlight dance along the falling tide as it hung within thousands of stars.
Our peaceful entry into sleep was harshly contrasted to the alarm clock of biting sand fly attack that began when to sun rose. We packed up camp and went in search for the hut to get water for the day. We were not surprised to find the hut was less than 200m away, tucked behind a tree, taunting us the night before. After getting water, we realized that the tide was quickly coming in, it was meant to be crossed within a 2hour window, of which we had missed. We were not going to spend the next 8 hours waiting, so we decided to forge the bay. People began to come out of the hut to watch the stupid tourists try to conquer the tide. Water waist high and packs held over our head, we crossed, reaching the other side with a victory dance acting as our bow to the audience we had collected.
Across the bay we took off our wet clothes and ate breakfast. Since it was so early, the bottoms were not dry, my only pair of shorts.... to avoid a salty, wet, uncomfortable next few hours, Jenna and I conclu
ded we should just hike without pants. This conclusion was confirmed both brilliant and hilarious as we saw each other in our tall socks, hiking boots, t-shirt, huge pack and undies. Laughing for the first hours of the hike, we invented the no pants dance...a little hip wiggle, with two pointed fingers bopping on either side. After about 1.5 hours we saw people coming towards us, up from the beach... both feeling a little awkward (as we had no pants on) we were a little nervous for our encounter, as the rounded the corner, a small boy was followed by his mom, a heavy-set woman, with huge boobs and no shirt. Less than a step behind her was the husband, large-large bellied man with no shirt, no pants, tiny-black brief undies (awkward) and no shoes. The family passed Jenna and myself without a second look- as if no pants was incredibly normal. After they passed, there was another eruption of laughter. We continued down the path, stopping at another breath-taking bay for lunch, the trail-time moved quickly as we sang all our favorite childhood camp songs, told stories (with long pauses during the uphills), encouraging, resting, laughing, trail-mix, bloody blisters, sweat, and smelly we finished the trail(another 15 miles) around 6pm.
Shoes off and sitting was all we wanted to do, but dreams of rest were slightly broken when we realized the trail end was 25 minutes by car, from town and we were among a small "intensional community", all the buses back to our car had finished for the day and it was looking like another night under the stars...then we met the sweetest old man, who decide to drive us into town, where he left us along side the road-hitchhiking, hoping to catch some t
ravelers leaving late back towards our car. We were picked up by a Canadian couple in a huge van. We pilled our smelly, exhausted selves on top of their bed (the backseat) and they drove us straight to our car. More than thankful, and in awe of their generosity, we told them they had good karma coming their way and we would take them out for dinner if they drove through Christchurch.
We pilled into Wendy, who we had only left the day before, drove into town, ate delicious Indian food, then headed south. We decided to call our friends from the kayak tournament to see if they had a place we could stay for the night. WE arrived in the town around 2am and went with them to the "huge party" for all the competitors that had began 7 hours ago... In a random barn house, enclosed by a fence, there was "typical NZ" reggae band, dancing, mingling, and lots of drunk, random, smelly hippies. Apparently fire-twirling is really popular among the hippie population, so the next few hours I watched people from all over the world light the ends of a long stick on fire and twirl to the beat of the music. There were a few small clothes fires, drunken fights, singing and celebrating late into the night. Around 4, we finally left, laying our tarps alongside Wendy in the parking lot of the party. We laughed thinking that last night we spent on Golden beaches, alongside turquoise water and now we were alongside Wendy, with a chicken coop and fire wood stack on the other, while reggae music sang us to sleep.
Awaking to another beautiful day, we cooked up some oatmeal, freshened up in the public restroom an
d tried our luck in the local discount store-which reached a new low of selling used chap stick! We then headed down to the third and final day of the kayak competition. It was the freestyle jump. There was a 4 meter high plywood ramp covered with plastic fencing. The competitors would start at the top of the ramp inside their boats, then be shot off into the air, where they would attempt to twirl, flip and other tricks before landing in the river water. All day we watch the competitors fearlessly flip and fall off the jump.
hour later, absolutely exhausted we said goodbye to our friends, piled into Wendy and headed home, bringing home sand in our hair, blisters on our feet, tired legs and memories.
