USA, Hawaii, New Zealand

The beginning. Going from USA to Hawaii, then on to the first part of New Zealand.

Transcript

E10 -    Leaving USA, Hawaii, and New Zealand

Hey everybody and welcome back to “Goin’ down the road with Randy” Wow, so this is my 10th episode! I just checked, there are over 8 hours of me yabbering on in this podcast and we have hit many of the high points of my travels, but not all, no, not all by any means, not yet. I was wondering what to yabber about next and I think that I’m going to jump from nearly the end of our travels, in Nepal in 1992, to the beginning, the very beginning, in the late summer and fall of 1990 while we were still in the US and how we kicked the whole thing off.

I am often asked how the idea came about for this little adventure and it might well have been Greta who first came up with it, but if that was the case, I was fully on board. When we left, we told friends and family that we planned to be gone anywhere from 6 weeks to 6 years. We did not have anything resembling a final destination. We had a one-way ticket to Sydney, Australia from Los Angeles, with a 2-week stopover in Hawaii, followed by a 2-month stopover in New Zealand. Two months is the standard visa issued at the airport for New Zealand. That ticket cost $685 buck on Continental Airlines. We had about 2 thousand dollars’ worth of travelers checks and a clean, high-limit credit card.

The first entry in my travel journal is dated August 25th 1990 and it was my last day of work at the Chinese restaurant where I was waiting tables in Boulder, Colorado. We left Boulder and headed East to say final goodbyes to family. From this point on we did not have to be at work. Which meant we were not making any money. We did not have a home, or a fixed address from here on out. We used American Express offices, conveniently located worldwide, as mail drops. American Express publishes, or used to, I don’t know if they still do, a booklet listing the mailing addresses of every office around the world. I would just tell people where our next stop was and we would get mail drops there. This is a service that AMEX offers to card holders and travelers check holders. On the whole, AMEX offices tend to be located in more convenient locations than general post offices. However, we missed more than one mail pickup. From here on out we were traveling, pretty much constantly on the move to the next best place.

On this trip back East we ate crabs and sailed on the Chesapeake. Our only expense was gasoline, our family and friends, fed and sheltered us. We left Greta’s jeep with her mom in Indiana and got a drive-away car from there back to Boulder, where we got student cards, International Youth Hostel cards and an International driving permit. The student card was useful, but we did not use the other two at all.

By mid-September we were in my 1968 Volkswagen squareback and headed for Yosemite. We did some climbing, hiked the cables route on Half Dome and after a week or so, drove to San Francisco to visit friends from school. We had other friends to visit in Santa Cruz and I had a surfing accident there that left me with six stitches and a nice scar in my right cheek. We visited more friends down in San Diego, including breakfast with my favorite Uncle Bird, who was in town for business, and on October 1st we boarded a Continental DC-10 out of LAX to Honolulu. I left the Volkswagen with an old roommate in LA with instructions to sell it for as much as she could get and she could keep it – I think she got 500 bucks for it – not bad – I bought the thing for 150 and had probably put less than 5000 dollars’ worth of work into it. Definitely less than 7500, for sure.

It was an 830 am flight and we were on time and arrived in Honolulu at 1130 local time. Now what? We had no clue what to do. Honolulu is not exactly a budget travel destination and the main expense is lodging. A guy gave me a pamphlet for “Jack’s Vacation Hostel” in Kailua, about a half hour bus ride from Waikiki, where we got a private room for 35 bucks, and so it begins.

In actuality it was not quite that linear. After we land we catch a public bus from the airport down to Waikiki and have lunch and then go for a swim before catching a bus back over the Pali highway to Kailua on the windward side of Oahu. There I discover that I have rather inconveniently lost the directions to the hostel, which looks like any one of the suburban houses in the area and we have to call the airport to get the number and some dudes from the hostel come and pick us up and take us to the store for supplies and we make dinner and crash. It was a long day. Hawaii somehow feels like we are in another country, but, of course, we are not. Not yet.

We spend two weeks in Hawaii. We rent a car at “Rent-a-Wreck” for 70 bucks a week with unlimited mileage. In the course of two weeks we circumnavigate Oahu, snorkel at Hanauma Bay, hang out with our friend Ka’au and enjoy staying at his family’s beautiful house. We sail on a Hobie cat in Kailua Bay, jump off the rock in Waimea Bay, go surfing, and hang out on the beach. I try to go to Pearl Harbor but it is closed due to a government shutdown over the budget. It kinda pisses me off as I had no idea when, or if, I would ever be back in Honolulu to see it. As it turns out it would take me three visits before I was able get out to the Arizona, but how was I to know?

I do remember two notable bars in Kailua that we hang out in, the “No Name Bar” and “Someplace Else” (as in, “Where do you want to go?” “I don’t know, someplace else.” And, “Where did you go?” “I don’t know, I can’t remember the name.”) I much prefer the laid back vibe of Kailua to the big city lights of Honolulu but we also do the tourist stuff in Honolulu, you know, hike Diamond Head, shop Ala Moana and swim at Waikiki, but by 1220 am on October 12th we were on a 747 headed to Auckland, New Zealand where we arrive at 7 am local time. 

Our arrival is marked by the flight crew walking down the aisle spraying us with some kind of insecticide fog so that we would not contaminate their pristine island with our bugs, I guess. We are not suffering jet lag, having only traveled through 2 time zones, but we have jumped forward a day after crossing the date line and it was a helluva long flight – like 10 hours. We wait and wait for our bags to appear. We wait some more, then it becomes clear that they are not coming. The airline tells us they probably continued on to Sydney, or Melbourne, Australia – they aren’t sure. We are devastated. Everything we need for our travels is in those bags! Oh, and we are now in the southern hemisphere of the world.

We take the Super Shuttle into Auckland and get a room at Aspen Lodge on Emily Place. We wander around Auckland, which is eerily quiet on a Saturday. Later that night, much to our relief, our bags find us. The next day we leave the Aspen Lodge and check into what will become our unofficial hub during our travels around the North Island of New Zealand, the Picton Street Backpackers.

Backpackers are a uniquely Kiwi phenomena. It is essentially a large house that has been converted into a hostel. They are characterized by large communal kitchens and living rooms and the bedrooms vary from bunk beds and dorm-style rooms to private rooms for from 2 to 4 people often including their own bathroom. They are quite cheap, we get a double room here for 35 New Zealand dollars – 1 dollar US gets us 1.60 NZ dollars so the room is like 22 bucks. From here on out, I will call New Zealand dollars, dollars and US dollars, bucks.

We meet – separately – 2 Americans, Elliot from San Fran and Kelly from Santa Cruz. We were actually going to buy Kelly’s car but did not jump on it immediately and while were thinking about it, he sold it to someone else. But getting a car is our next plan. Also, we are informed that it is actually quite simple to apply and get an “IRD” number which is basically like a social security number and if we have one we could find work easier, if we so desired. I still have that number. We never use it but if we had decided to work and extend our visa it might have come in handy.

We end up buying a car at the car auction, picking up a 1973 Ford Escort station wagon that we dub “The Yellow Submarine”. It costs 615 NZ dollars including the registration fee – just shy of 400 bucks US. It has 164,348 miles on it and we think we got a steal until we go to the gas station and fill it up and find that it has a leaking gas tank. But, it only leaks at a seam on the top, so we just fill it halfway.

Six days after arriving in Auckland we have the sub ready to leave. Picton Backpackers lends me tools and I change the engine oil and the tranny oil and replace a hose. The yellow sub is ready. Except for the gas tank, but we’ll just fill it up halfway. Eliot and Kelly hop in the back and we head north from Auckland with the intention of going all the way up to Cape Reinga, the northernmost point of New Zealand.

We leave late in the afternoon and our first stop will be in Dargaville which we reach after driving through rain on narrow, dark roads. I am unfamiliar with driving on the left and the headlights are dim in the rain. We pass a fatal motorcycle crash, it had to be fatal, the motorcycle was wrapped around a tree. But we arrive safely at the Green House hostel and get a bed for 12 dollars.

Dargaville is famous for being the last resting place of the masts from the original Rainbow Warrior, the Greenpeace vessel that was bombed and sunk in 1985 by French intelligence agents. Our plan today is to drive south to the tiny village of Pouto where we hope to hike to an old lighthouse. The drive is through rolling, emerald, green hills on barely two lane roads but there is no traffic, and we park the car by the beach when we get there. We hike for hours along the wide, sandy beach flanked by giant sand dunes. It is absolutely deserted. We don’t see a soul on that entire beach. Fun fact: New Zealand has a population of 3 million humans and 75 million sheep. We don’t find that damn lighthouse either and we drive back to Dargaville and hang a left and drive another 15 minutes to Bayly’s Beach on the Tasman Sea where we stop at a campground for 28 dollars for the 4 of us – less than 5 bucks each.

Saturday, October 20th, 1990

It is Labour Weekend here in New Zealand. How smart is that? They don’t have a Labour Day – they take the whole damn weekend and take the Monday as well. We wander down to Baylys Beach and toss some frisbee. A lady in the shop turns us on to the fact that the sandbars are loaded with clams, so we wait for low tide. We wade out and in 20 minutes we fill 2 large grocery bags with clams. All you have to do is reach down and grab them. If we had a proper clam rake we could have gotten that much in 5 minutes.

In the afternoon we drive north to Tronson’s Kauri Park see the kauri trees and we get a grassy campsite and settle in for a clam feast. We have steamers for appetizers followed by a spicy and garlic-y linguine with clams. My journal proclaims, “Dinner provided by the planet, we are true hunter-gatherers!” I am still trying to figure out where the southern cross is, but, to be fair, the skies haven’t been.

This northern part of New Zealand is the last refuge of the mighty kauri tree. Kauri trees are not overly tall, less than 200 feet, but their trunks are massive – like giant sequoia size - 50 feet around. Think short, fat trees with lots of wood inside. The trees were heavily logged and many that remain suffer from a disease called kauri dieback that is spread by a pathogen on people’s shoes, so we are told to stay carefully on the trail.

We visit the largest and the 2nd largest kauri and we are running on fumes so we coast into Opononi to get gas. Petrol goes for 1.12 per liter. Fueled up, we continue north to Rawena where we get on a ferry to Hokianga. We drive, trending north, through massive forest preserves. There are few people around up here We got into Kaitaia before 4:30.

We have learned that New Zealand, outside of the major cities, generally closes down quite early in the evening so you have to have your provisions sorted and your grocery shopping done before 5 just to be safe.

We get a room at the Main Street Hostel in Kaitaia and the plan is to drive up the so-called “90 mile beach” to Cape Reinga during low tide tomorrow at 6 pm. But the next morning we can’t wait that long so we drive up the road to something called “Te Paki stream road” and we drive the car right down the stream-road to 90 mile beach! Looking back on it, it might not have been the wisest choice to drive our newly-purchased, overloaded and under-powered submarine down the road – just look at some YouTubes on our Facebook page if you don’ believe me, but we had no idea what Youtube or Facebook was. We do pass at least one rusting carcass of a car, but never imagine anything could happen to us. In fact, we return to the road up the stream-road that we just came down here on.

I’m not certain who told us to drive down (and back up) this stream but in retrospect they were probably making bets on the side as to whether we would do it or not. Only too happy to oblige!

We reach Cape Reinga and the lighthouse which, what we were told at the time, marks the northernmost point of New Zealand and the meeting of the Pacific Ocean and the Tasman Sea. It may set up the meeting but it is not the northernmost point, that honor belongs to North Cape, 30 kilometers east. Alas, we did not visit the lonely North Cape.

We find a place to camp nearby at Tapotupotu Bay and look for clams but our hunt is unsuccessful, so our pasta tonight is without meat. We turn in early so we can pack up and leave before anyone comes around asking us to pay. Cheeky bastards!

The next morning we escape back down the road to Kaitaia where I stop at a few junkyards looking for a gas tank but have no luck, so we head down highway 10 from Awanui so that we will have a different way back to Auckland. We detour to go north again on the Karikari peninsula where our progress is stopped by a large herd of sheep in the road. We inch our way through them, surrounded by the herd. This is not an uncommon occurrence driving in rural New Zealand.

We find a gorgeous, secluded beach all the way at the tip of the peninsula at Maitai Bay where we hang out for a few hours before retracing our way back to highway 10 and continue on to Kerikeri. We get a completely self-sufficient cabin at the highly recommended Pagoda Lodge for 16 dollars each and make a delicious feast of lamb chops marinated in soy and honey with broccoli and baked potatoes. We must’ve gotten a little rowdy drinking beers after dinner because they came and told us to keep it down – goddamn loud Yanks.

We decide to hang out here another day and after a big breakfast of eggs and hash browns we borrow some of the kayaks available for guest use and paddle over to the Stone Store – the first stone building in New Zealand. It is next door to the Kemp House, the first European house in the country but both are only mildly interesting. We spend the afternoon paddling around and wandering around the village.

Thursday, October 25th, 1990

We check out and drive 20 minutes to Pahia and Waitangi and get a room at the Mayfair Lodge for 13 dollars, It is pretty nice with a pool table and ping pong and even a hot tub though the couple who run the place seem a bit fussy with numerous “No Noise” and “No Smoking” signs everywhere.

Waitangi and Pahia are on opposite capes connected by a cute and narrow one lane bridge. The view over the Bay of Islands is fantastic, the green hills contrasting with the brilliant blue water.  The thing to do here is to visit the Waitangi National Reserve where, in 1840, the Treaty of Waitangi was signed between Britain and the Maori chiefs. The Maori are the indigenous people of New Zealand, which the Maori’s call Aotearoa or “Land of the long white cloud.” (A much better name in my opinion.)

The Treaty places the Maoris under the protection of the British crown and gives them all the rights of British citizenship – yeah, right. Anyway, it kept the French away, I guess. It is all very interesting, and the place is very well-kept with a big flagstaff and a large Maori war canoe. Most of this history is completely new to us.

Eliot and I thought we had a lead on some of the first kind buds to be found but alas the deal fell through and the local Maori lads were ultimately unable to hook us up. We did end up having a good night at the quaint and picturesque Twin Pines pub which had cold beer and live music.

We hang out in Waitangi the next day then take the ferry from Pahia to Russell. This town is the first European settlement in New Zealand and started out as a whaling station. We have a quintessential Kiwi lunch of meat pies and visit the oldest church in New Zealand, Christ Church Russell. We wander a short distance to the other side of town to Flagstaff hill where Hone Heke, a powerful Maori chieftain proudly chopped down 4 British flagpoles.

It starts to rain as we walk back and we are early for the return ferry so we step into the Lord Marlborough for a pint. We go to the ferry only to learn that this is the wrong one and it costs us an extra $2.50 to get back to Pahia.

We book a sea kayaking adventure for tomorrow and get stuff to make dinner including some clams we forage from the beach. A nice hot tub after dinner followed by a shower and we hope the rain will stop by tomorrow.

But it doesn’t. It is a dreary day and we cancel the kayak trip and just hang out watching videos. The next morning is gorgeous and we take the car ferry from Opua to Okaito and we continue out on the Cape Brett peninsula as far as the road could take us – the village of Rawhiti, which delivers stupendous views of bays, coves, and crystal clear blue water. There is no one around. The peninsula continues on but there is no road to the end of it.

A horrendous dirt road takes us back to Route 1 and civilization – such as it is. Just past Whangerei the yellow sub starts running rough and losing power. I pop the hood to find that the number 3 spark plug wire has somehow gotten loose and melted itself on the exhaust manifold. A gas station sells us a wire and we are on our way again. I really hope our yellow submarine is not a lemon in disguise.

We blow back into Auckland by 5 pm and decide to spend a night at the Georgia Hostel with hopes of befriending Kevin, the manager, so he would hook us up with some of the kind bud. The hostel is kind of a pit – there are no real walls between the rooms and we worry about thieves having easy access to our stuff. Kevin is a great guy and he has plans to visit Denver in March. Unfortunately, he is not able to connect us with the kind.

We spend a few days in Auckland. I have decided that the filling up the tank halfway thing is not going to work in the long term so I finally track down a tank at a junkyard for $33.75. Once again I borrow tools from Picton Street hostel – we only stayed the one night at the Georgia – and I replace the leaking tank. Now the sub is flawless!

On Tuesday, October 30th we leave Auckland heading for the town of Thames, at the base of the Coromandel peninsula. It is only an hour and a half drive through emerald rolling hills. We stop at a bottle shop for some beer. A bottle shop is where you get your alcohol in New Zealand. We buy a “crate” of DB Lager. A crate is 12 750 ml bottles in a plastic crate. We pay a deposit on the bottles and basically just keep trading empty crates for full ones. Some bottle shops also sell draft beer in growlers, known locally as riggers, to take away.

The other thing to keep in mind is that outside of the big cities or the main tourist areas most small villages in New Zealand close up by 5 or 6 in the evening so you have to make sure you have your cooking or dining options sorted out before everything closes. I took a picture of a sign in Milford Sound at the gas station that said “Petrol available at 1:30 pm and 3:30 pm”, and that’s it – twice a day.

A few kilometers north of Thames on the coast road which, strangely, had telephone poles in the water rather than on the land side, we find the Boomerang Motor Camp. The guy who runs the place, Grant, is very laid back and sets us up in a converted school bus with a lean-to addition on it and it is equipped with a fridge, stove, sink and hot water for 35 dollars for the 4 of us! He also gives us the scoop on local attractions.

We meet a 71-year-old dude named Lionel who lives in one of the cabins here and professes a love for us “Yanks”, as he calls us, and he doesn’t understand why the younger generation is not so keen on us. (The “younger generation” is down on the US because of nuclear weapons, among other things.) We cook up a veggie stew and have a quiet, early night.

The next day is Halloween and we plan to head to the eastern side of the Coromandel peninsula. An enjoyable and scenic drive north on highway 25 takes us to the town of Coromandel, situated strangely enough, on Coromandel Bay. We spend a few hours shopping and having lunch – the Star and Garter provides us with a huge sandwich for $2.50!

After lunch we head east to Whitianga. By the time we arrive it is raining pretty hard, A rock has bounced up and disconnected the gas gauge wire, but it is an easy fix to put it back on. The town is situated on Mercury Bay, home of the Mercury Bay yacht club which briefly held the America’s Cup. We check out the information center and decide to spend Halloween night at the Hahei Holiday Park. It is only 25 kilometers up the road and along the way we stop and pick up a bottle of vodka, some lemonade and orange fanta.

We spend the afternoon jumping on the trampoline and walking on the beach. We decide to hike up to the Maori pa site on Te Pare point for sunset. Maori pa’s were fortified Maori villages, usually located on hills with a commanding view.

What a magical place! High on a hill overlooking the town of Hahei, sitting nestled in a cove with all sorts of these strange, white limestone rock formations sticking up from the clear, blue water. If the wind had not been blowing so hard we might have actually stayed for sunset. As it was, we come back early by a different route which forced us to ford a manky, polluted stream which requires an immediate shower when we return to our little cabin. This is unfortunate because the power goes out just as Kelly and I finish and Eliot misses out on his. Also, the stove in our cabin is electric so we are forced to use the gas stove in the communal kitchen to cook our simple dinner of beans, rice and cheese.

But, if we hadn’t had to do that we would never have met Thomas from Munster, West Germany, who is destined to become the newest member of the yellow submarine crew. He has been studying medicine and is taking 5 weeks off to travel New Zealand before returning to Germany for his internship.

After dinner we drink the bottle of vodka while playing cosmic wimpout and discussing world politics and drug use.

Remarkably we are up rather early the next morning and since it is low tide we go to experience the wonder of the world’s only hot water beach.

We drive a few kilometers south to what looks like a normal beach, however, as we walk along it there are places where the sand is very hot. Low tide is the time to find these spots and they are usually close to the water’s edge. All you have to do is dig a little pit to sit in and you have your own personal hot tub! In some places the water is too hot to tolerate, but if you go a bit further into the ocean and mix in more of the brisk ocean water you can find your sweet spot. Or, you can channel it in to your pit by digging in the sand. 

This is the only place in the world where this phenomenon happens. New Zealand is a geologically active island nation on the Pacific Ring of Fire. Rotorua, the Yellowstone of New Zealand, with its geysers, sulphur vents and bubbling mud pits, is not far from here, and is, in fact, our next destination. Tongariro, an active volcano, is just past there. The key at Hot Water beach is finding the perfect hot water / ocean water balance. At high tide there is too much ocean, and the beach reverts to normal beach status. 

We return to Hahei and go north to the other scenic wonder of the area, Cathedral Cove. Here the waves have eroded the volcanic tuff creating a series of secluded bays and sand-filled coves crowned by Cathedral Cove. Here, the headland has been eroded right through, creating a huge, church-like space in the rock. Just across the cove, a waterfall spills over the cliff. Paradise! 

The view out to sea is filled with islands and strangely eroded rocks and islets. The water is a pristine blue. We have to leave too soon as the store in Hahei is only open from 11 to 1 and from 4 to 5. Thankfully, it is southern hemisphere spring. In a few weeks this beach will be crowded with tourists. We go back, get our dinner and spend the evening sewing curtains for the submarine’s windows. We want curtains both to protect our gear inside from prying eyes and in case we have to sleep in the back. 

Friday, November 2nd, 1990

We are off by 10 and stop for fuel in Whitianga. Then we spend a few hours finding the trail to Castle Rock. Thomas is now on board. We park the sub 4 kilometers up a forest service road and walk, like literally straight up the mountain to the top of Castle Rock. The view from the summit is expansive – you can see both sides of the Coromandel peninsula. On the return trip I bottom out the poor overloaded sub and it starts making funny noises – it overheated a bit on the way up too – 5 people and their gear is too much for the sub but we are dropping Eliot off in Paeroa on our way to Roturua. He is going to hitch up to Auckland from there.

We arrive in Rotorua about 7 and Kelly suggests the Ivanhoe Lodge. The whole town of Rotorua smells of sulfur. The rotten egg smell is everywhere. The Ivanhoe even has its own hot water pool. We get a double room for $14.50 but we end up sharing with Kelly because this place is full!

The next day, Thomas has decided to tour Rotorua on his own so we pick up an Irish guy, Manus for a trip to Hell’s Gate, a thermal area outside of town. We walk the path past mud volcanoes, sulfur lakes, a steam vents. It is pretty impressive. The only thing is I wish I knew more about the geology and there is not much information provided. Fun fact: in New Zealand geysers are pronounced, “Geezers”.

We get a meat pie afterwards and a decide to go to a maze. This is a Kiwi craze. We check out a hedge maze but decide on a 3D wooden maze. For 4 dollars we had the privilege of going in, each going to a corner and racing to the shared entrance.

We go back to town and drop Manus off and head south to Taupo to stay at the Rainbow Lodge. We pick up a hitchhiker on the way, Hillary, who was hitching to Napier on the southeast coast. We drop her off on the other side of Taupo. Here, we get our first glimpses of snow-covered peaks – Mount Tongariro and Mount Ruapehu. We check in to the Rainbow Lodge and make dinner and have an early night.

The next morning is pissing rain – again. I’m beginning to understand why New Zealand is so goddamn green. In the afternoon we go visit the Craters of the Moon and Huka Falls. We have met an Australian named Darrin who turns us on to a doobie on the way – our first in New Zealand. It is a good day for the Craters – very steamy and misty. Taupo is short for Tapuaeharuru which means “hollow ground” in Maori. If you stray far from the path you’ll find out for yourself how apt this name is. It is pretty cool and best of all, it is free!

Huka Falls is pretty spectacular as well, the color and volume of water being more awe-inspiring than the vertical drop. We drop Darrin off back in Taupo and head south through the rain to Tongariro National Park where we intend to do our first real tramping in New Zealand.

We check into the Ski Haus (H A U S) and this is the coolest hostel / backpacker – whatever that we have stayed in. First of all, there are only a handful of people here and it has a bar, a sunken fireplace and a hot pool. We spend the evening drinking, playing pool and chess and reading or writing. If the weather is clear tomorrow we will begin our 4 day circumnavigation of Mount Ngauruhoe.

Auspiciously, the day dawns clear and beautiful. When it’s not raining in New Zealand the weather is usually just gorgeous. We get up early to drive to Turangi for provisions but by the time we are ready to actually put our packs on it is nearly 4 in the afternoon. 

We leave the car at Whakepapa (yeah, fackepapa the “Wh” is pronounced as ‘F”) village and start up the Mangetepopo trail to a hut of the same name about 3 hours away. We do arrive there about 3 hours later. The track is a nightmare – eroded 5 feet deep in many places and very muddy.

The scenery is dominated by Mount Ngauruhoe and miles of bush and shrubbery. Our hut mates for tonight are Gary and Monty from the US, Martin and Leonie from West Germany and James, a Canadian. We have purchased an annual hut pass from the Department of Conservation which allows us to stay overnight in huts in national parks in New Zealand for no additional charge for a year. We use it often to avoid having to pay for nightly accommodations.

We have a spartan dinner of instant mashed potatoes and veggies and venture out of the hut into a bitter cold wind to see the southern cross for the first time, hanging upside down in a sparkling clear sky. After roughly 3 weeks in New Zealand, we finally see it.

Tuesday, November 6th, 1990

Up early. Couldn’t sleep – the wind was howling all night. Instant oatmeal and trail mix for breakfast and pack up to tackle the steep climb to Red Crater. A huge, steep hill leads to South Crater. Mount Ngauruhoe is hard on our right. We decline a summit attempt on it as it was wreathed in clouds. We later regret this decision as it re-appeared and was clear the rest of the day. In any case, another steep climb leads to the top of Red Crater, which is, I will testify, in actual fact, red. And smoking. Mount Tongariro is on our left and the Emerald Lakes sparkle below. The amazing view is matched only by the wind.

We slide down to have lunch beside Emerald Lakes (which are, in fact, quite green) where we cache our packs for a short side hike to Blue Lake, which, believe it or not, is actually blue. These Kiwis really know their colors – but may be a bit literal. I’m being nice because I don’t want to accuse them of being unimaginative because I do, on the whole, love them dearly.

Blue Lake is iced over and when we get back to our packs we begin a steep descent to the Oturere Hut. After a bit the trail levels out through a lunar landscape that looks like the Land of the Lost. I half expect to see a dinosaur lumbering by. We reach the hut which is occupied by a West German and has a magnificent view of the back side of Mount Ruapehu, at 2797 feet it is the highest point on the North Island of New Zealand. Eventually a Kiwi couple arrives, so it is only the five of us tonight.

The next day is much easier – a 2 ½ hour hike to the Waihohonu Hut. From here we will cut back between Ngaurahoe and Ruapehu to return to our starting point. There is a complete circumnavigation of Ruapehu if we continue south, but it will add days to our trek.

We have the standard oatmeal and gorp - trail mix – I grew up calling trail mix gorp for good old reliable peanuts but now everyone knows it as trail mix. I chop a bit of wood to leave for the next trampers and then we are off speeding through a veritable desert. In most places the trail was marked only by poles stuck in the rocky sand.

Just before we arrive at the hut we cross a stream which offers a beautiful framing for a view of Ngaurahoe. No one occupies the hut when we arrive at 230 in the afternoon. We have a lunch of PBJ’s and take a short walk to Ohinepango Springs where a huge amount of crystal-clear water is coming out of the ground. The Park Service has thoughtfully provided a nice wooden platform built over the pool which, yeah, we checked, is a perfect place for a bit of sunbathing in the buff.

We return to the hut to find a nearly full house. We make small talk and cook our dinner of ramen with veggies and canned, smoked oysters. It is a quiet evening, as most are on the tramps here.

The next morning finds us, not at all surprisingly, to be the last out of the hut. I kinda like being last, it leads to solitude on the trail. The weather is clear and sunny and Mount Ruapehu shines in the near distance. The track winds steadily upwards over the occasional, steep-sided river gully. After two hours we opt out of the side hike to Tama Lakes and continue on to Taranaki Falls where we stop for lunch. One more hour to the end of the trail.

We sit for a while outside the visitor’s center, getting reacclimated to civilization. It has been a perfect 4 day “tramp” and the first of many we will take in New Zealand. We find notes on the yellow sub left by fellow trampers who have departed ahead of us. We go to the Ski Haus for a bed and a cold beer.

We go to the store across the street and get dinner – lamb patties, eggs and home fries. I play some chess. We see a sunburned couple suffering from snow blindness. They climbed Mount Ruapehu without proper sunglasses. They’ll be fine. The shower is good and so is the bed.

Friday, November 9th, 1990

We pack up and head out to New Plymouth / Mt. Taranaki, on the west coast of the North Island to stay for a few days with some Kiwis that Kelly knows, Peter and Sue Harrison. The weather is sunny and clear. I take what looks to be the shortest route, highway 43, and it probably is, but the road is a winding, narrow affair. It cruises through the Tangarakau Gorge – very rugged country.

Looking back provides an amazing view of Mount Ruapehu floating on air as we climb out of the gorge. We get a takeaway lunch at Stratford. I get a bacon and egg burger and wonder why the Kiwis insist on putting beetroot on their burgers. Where we typically add the equally-disgusting-in-my-mind, tomato slice, the Kiwis replace it with beet.

In any case, only another hour or so of driving brings us to New Plymouth where we stop at the transit station to call and tell them that we are here, and I lock the keys in the car. I painstakingly extract them through the window.

Soon after we get there Peter comes home and after we chat a bit we head out to the local pub, Butler’s Reef for several beers. We come back to a quiet evening reading and writing.

Saturday, November 10th.

We sleep comfortably and wake rather early for us and after breakfast we tramp up to Kaitake for views of Mount Taranaki, or Mount Egmont, as Peter insists on calling it. As I read through my journal here I catch the undercurrent of my disgust with the racism displayed by this incredibly nice, and hospitable family. I mean, where does the idea come from, that you get to name a mountain that has been here since it rose out of the ocean and was named by the indigenous people of this place long before your white-faced ass arrived – and then you get offended when the indigenous people insist on using their name.

We go to get groceries in New Plymouth and the fan belt breaks. We get a new belt at a gas station and go back to Peter and Sue’s to replace it, which is quite convenient. While I put it on Kelly gets beers from Butler’s Reef and prepares a “surfers’ casserole” of tuna and noodles and cream cheese and the mystery ingredient – potato chips. It is really good!

The next morning we hang out watching the test match – rugby is like a religion here in New Zealand – between the New Zealand All Blacks and France. It has been interesting to spend this weekend with a typical Kiwi suburban family. Sue works in the transit office and Peter is a supervisor in a chemical storage facility. They have a great relationship with their adult children and are very active and health conscious. They hold the Kiwi reputation as environmentally conscious in high regard, yet, Peter, at least, is very racist against the Maoris.

We leave on Monday morning, in the rain, for the 5 hour drive to Wellington where we are going to catch the car ferry to the South Island of New Zealand. The entire trip is marked by driving rain and buffeting winds and in retrospect it is a wonderful thing that the car sped through it without skipping a beat, though I guess it would’ve been a story if we had been stranded somewhere. Yeah, well I’m ok missing out on that particular story right now, thanks anyway.

We pick up a hitcher – a Kiwi from Dunedin along the way. Wellington is miserable. Check in at Rowena’s Lodge where rooms are 13 dollars a night. We go down the street and pick up beans and curry noodles for dinner. We run into those crazy Brits we saw on the trail in Tongariro and never got their names – Andy, Paul and Vinnie, just for the damn record. Don’t ask me their last names.

The woman at the desk is supposed to book us on the ferry either tomorrow or Thursday. In any case we should have time to explore Wellington.

The next day is pissing rain again. I do not wonder why New Zealand is so fucking green for I know, I have experienced the rains here. What is a wonderment is that the plants find any sun to grow. But they do which probably goes to show they get plenty of each.

Apparently, we are booked on the 4 o’clock ferry to Picton so we spend the morning in town going to AMEX and even probe the Australian High Commission for visa’s but we are too late. 

We are right on time for the ferry though and the weather is beginning to clear. We wait for an hour to drive on and then we get a beer, chat with an older Aussie couple and we go and watch a movie, “Back to the Future, Part III”. It wasn’t great and by the time we came out the voyage was nearly over. I feel like I missed some great views sailing down Queen Charlotte sound past the Bay of Many Coves.

We roar off the ferry in Picton and head to Nelson on highway 6, only we don’t quite make it as we stop at a roadside camp, and, well, camp. It is a spartan meal of curried rice and veggies with a few mussels that we scavenge.

Thursday November 15th, 1990

We wake up, make tea and try to break camp early, but a guy comes along and asks us to pay – only 3 dollars though so no biggie and now we can take our time and pack up. I have no idea who gets the money from these roadside camps and it seems to be hit or miss if you pay, or not.

An hour later we are in Nelson and at the information office where we decide to go sea kayaking in Abel Tasman National Park. For 120 dollars we can rent sea kayaks for a 5-day adventure. Instead of walking in our next national park, we will be paddling. 

We need to pick up some camping essential s and groceries. The kayak folks have told us that more weight is better, so we take them at their word, buying two boxes – 6 liters – of wine. We also get some beer. There is a fantastic local stout called, “Black Mac”. We are not going to starve or be thirsty on this trip. We stay at the White Elephant in Motueka.

The next morning we are up by 7 to begin our adventure. We have already packed most everything. We meet the kayak people around 8 and pick up a spray skirt, helmet and life jacket. They also provide waterproof maps and flares. We launch at Marahau. Jody, our guide teaches us how to load the kayaks, how to rescue someone in the water, how to put on the spray skirt and how to paddle. The kayaks are equipped with a small rudder that we control with foot pedals. We set off in a group of two sets of two Swiss guys and us.

It has been almost a full hour of instruction and we are deemed competent enough to set off into Tasman Bay by ourselves. We paddle north between the coast and Fisherman’s Island and Adele Island. It is a glorious sunny day, the kind to be savored and enjoyed when they come in New Zealand. The winds pick up in the afternoon as we make camp at Watering Bay so we will be rested paddling past the headland tomorrow.

We spend the afternoon gathering giant, green-lipped mussels off the rocks and fishing. We catch one poor, small fish but you know what - we ate his ass anyway! Feasting on ramen and mussels and drinking wine as the tide comes up and the sun goes down.

Saturday, November 17th, 1990

We wake early and take advantage of the calm conditions to tackle what kayakers apparently call, the “Mad Mile”. Our experience was the anger management classes were working and it was probably less than a mile, though your mileage may vary. This brings us to Torrent Bay. There is a hut here, but we pass it by for Sandfly Bay where we make a short detour up Falls River, underneath the suspension bridge built for the convenience of land-bound trekkers.

Afterwards we have a picnic on the beach – I mean, where else – and after a short nap we paddle further north around Bark Bay where we find a peaceful campsite. We forage for cockles for dinner. Tomorrow, if the weather holds, we’ll try to paddle out to Tonga Island to see the seals.

The dribbling of soft rain, punctuated intermittently by the booming of heavy rain tells us that those seals are safe from us for today. In fact, we never make it to Tonga Island. We lay in the tent listening to the rain. No reason to get out of bed. It might stop, you never know.

We finally decide to make a break for the Bark Bay Hut, 300 meters away. We pack all of our food, clothes and essentials into plastic bags and tiptoe down the trail in shorts, rain jackets, and bare feet in cold sandy puddles.

We plunge into the jungle-like humidity of the steaming hut with the woodstove cranking and lots of people drying clothes, eating and others, like us, arriving out of the monsoon from points unknown. We dry out and eat, like everyone else. We read by the dim light at the communal table alternating with walks to the porch to stare dumbly at the downpour and wonder numbly when it will stop. It rains on.

There is a break in the rain and we make a break across a low tide shortcut to the tent to salvage our sleeping bags. We had bought high-end, Marmot Mountain Works, Gore-Tex down sleeping bags to take with us on this trip and, despite the damp they were, so far, performing flawlessly. It starts raining again on the way back.

It stops again and we go to the beach to gather shellfish for dinner. The rain starts up again before we get back.

We steam clams and cockles for dinner and hang out with John, from Boulder, and Brian, from Dallas, and talk to a Kiwi from Queenstown, Dave and his girlfriend. I smoke my last cigarette – yeah, I was smoking back then, and at this point was rolling my own with Drum, Dutch shag tobacco. Dave rolls a joint, and another, and another. I was stoned after the second one. Who cares about the rain?

Monday, November 19th, 1990

Bark Bay Hut. Rain, raining, rainiest, rained, drizzle, mist, downpour, shower, torrent, storm, frikking cats n’ dogs if the Eskimos have 12 words for snow then the Kiwis ought to have at least that many for rain just not to be outdone! It’s raining. And we don’t  “have to” go anywhere, really. We have food, we have time – though it means we won’t get as far along the coast as we wanted and we feel like we’re wasting the money we spent for kayaks when we could have walked, but it offers a completely different perspective and it’s far too late to change that choice anyway. We could tramp in the rain but going out to sea in it is a different matter altogether.

So, we hang out. Tea, breakfast, oh, is it clearing up? No, more rain. Looks like a bit of blue sky poking through, then a downpour and it’s gone. Was it an illusion? Can it really be raining still? It has rained, steadily more or less, for 36 hours straight. I’m out of cigs. I guess a good time as any to quit, again. Quit raining. And it does! Quit raining.

We go down to the beach for a paddle around Bark Bay, and it starts raining. Something looks a bit less serious about it now though. We go back to the hut and pack and load the kayaks, ready to make a break for it. We paddle though the ebbing tide to the camp and the sun mercifully breaks through to dry our tent.

Just as it is barely dry a shower threatens to wet it again. We quickly pack it and load the boats and head for the sea. Dare we try for Tonga Island to see the seals that are supposed to be there? Or, scenic Arch Rock Point? Both lie beyond the aptly named Foul Point which marks the northern cusp of Bark Bay. However far north we go, we will be obligated to retrace on the way back and given the recent weather we are hesitant in our attempt.

Monstrous, from a kayaker’s perspective, maybe 4- or 5-foot waves as we head north brings doubt to our minds and an endeavor like this demands focused concentration and resolve that we do not have. We learn later that the other two Swiss guys capsized multiple times trying to pass this headland. We turn back with the intention to head for Anchorage Bay Hut. The rain has stopped for now but there is a squall on the horizon. 

We stop in Frenchman’s Bay to find that the sand is paved with shellfish! We collect dinner and drift into Anchorage Bay propelled by the wind and the waves – this is definitely the way to go, we can’t fight it.

The hut is full and even the field out front is covered in tents. We pitch ours and Kelly finds a corner on the porch. We start steaming up our dinner and guess what – it starts to rain. Will wonders never cease? We have our clams and then some beans and then retreat to our tent. It is a very good tent indeed and we fall asleep to the soft steady drumming of the rain.

The next day we are supposed to return our kayaks but I’ll be damned if I’m going to paddle in the rain. The other two Swiss guys are here and they don’t want to go either. Mutiny in Abel Tasman! I just know that the folks who rented us these kayaks knew the weather forecast better than we did.

We are all feeling cabin fever. They say the weather will be better tomorrow but what do they know? We collect shellfish for dinner, getting low on food and fuel – we’ll have to go tomorrow, they say it will be sunny, but what do “they” know? Currently it is still raining, kinda hard to believe. One of the launch operators then tells us that not only is it going to rain tomorrow it will be accompanied by southeasterly winds – headwinds for us.

We decide to make a break for it and paddle in a beeline from the Anchorage Hut. We round Pitt Head and encounter giant rolling swells all the way to Kaiteriteri. They are pushing us south and we can’t get in to Marahau. We make it ok, but we are tired, wet and chilled to the bone when we get there. Three Canadians ahead of us have already called the kayak folks to come get us. One of the Swiss groups is coming in behind us.

Jody is soon there with the van and we load up and speed back to Motueka. We unload the kayaks and we find a self-contained unit at the Vineyard Tourist Units. We go into town in search of dinner, but everything is closed except for the fish and chip shop. We all order double orders to take back to the cabin. I get some tobacco – quitting is not in the cards right now. We also splurge on some chocolate chip cookies and we have a fish and chips feast while watching “Lonesome Dove” on the telly. We are so tired we don’t even take a shower. Tomorrow we will head south on the west coast road to Greymouth on our way to Wanaka where we intend to spend Thanksgiving.

But, that is going to be where we pick up in the next episode. That’s all for now, thanks for listening, check the Facebook page for photos, and I’ll see you next time, somewhere down the road.