A Mardi Gras Faux Pas

19/2/07 - 1/3/07

cigarettes smoked - 0 (yay me!), sandfly bites - 97 (I fucking wish I was kidding) , sandflies killed - I lost count after 58 several days ago in Doubtful Sound, but I think 120 would be an extremely conservative estimate (every last sodding one of the little bastards deserved it)

I dragged myself away from Kaikora once I realised that there really was no way I could swim with dolphins again as they were fully booked, and got a lift with an Israeli guy from my hostel who plays guitar rather well (especially considering he'd only been playing for 4 months) and who played U2 all the way to Christchurch. He was good company, and definitely preferable to sitting on a bus listening to my mp3 player. From Christchurch I made my way on to Lake Tekapo close to the foothills of the Southern Alps. Tekapo really is a beautiful lake - after I had unpacked my stuff, located the local supermarket, cooked yet more pasta and pigged out I went for a swim in the icy water. Later on I watched shit films (the hostel's collection wasn't up to much), while chatting to various other hostel residents and attempting more weaving - it turns out it's much harder without Rany there to advise and supervise. I gave up after an hour of making nothing more than a complete bloody mess.

The following day I made my way to Te Anau, doing a massive food shop in Queenstown on the way in order to get decent non-perishable vege food for the week of wilderness treks ahead (nice non-refridgerator vege food is hard to come in tiny towns like Te Anau). Unfortunately (due to my attempts to alleviate the boredom of two days travelling consecutively), I was somewhat under the influence when I did my wilderness food shopping, and as a result I had (and still have) a huge amount of chocolate, chocolate brownies, boysenberry danishes, spiced apple muffins, dried fruit, chocolate raisins, and other sweet munchie food, and not very many savoury options. I made it to Te Anau just in time to be half an hour late for my pre-departure meeting for the two day kayaking trip leaving the following day. After being told things that they'd already told me on the phone and then being given a list detailing everything that I'd now been told twice, I left and found my hostel, located my room and discovered that, not only were the beds of the non-bunk variety, there was a double bed going spare. When I had finished shrieking in delight (and disbelief that the other people in the room hadn't bagsied it yet) I went to cook, then came back and separated out my belongings into two piles - things I was taking in a kayak deep into Doubtful Sound, and things I wasn't, while chatting to a lovely amusing English guy and his rather sulky girlfriend. After much internal debate I decided to bring my lovely camera on the kayak (I didn't spend all that money to leave him behind any time I go somewhere interesting, only to find he's been stolen when I get back. Besides which, he's insured). Before I went to bed I checked the weather forecast for the next two days - rain the following day, rain and more rain the day after. Bollocks.

I got up at 5:30am, tiptoeing round the room getting my things together as quietly as possible so as not to wake my dorm-mates, in order to be picked up at 6:20. I sat outside waiting for 20 mins, wondering if I was somehow in the wrong place or had got the wrong time. Eventually the bus turned up and it transpired that two of the other kayakers had slept through their alarm. I tried and failed to catch up on sleep on the bus. Eventually we arrived at Lake Manapouri and we loaded the boat with our gear, set off, took some photos of the lake, and chatted to each other as best we could manage at that ridiculous hour. They seemed like a nice lot, except for one grumpy girl from somewhere up north who just kept snapping at her two male friends. It was a beautiful boat journey to the power station at the other end of the lake, where we sorted out our gear, waterproofed it and worked out what was necessary and what wasn't. As usual, I had brought far too much stuff, but as I was the only one having to carry it, I brought it all anyway. We changed into our wetsuits and went outside to find keas (a very pesky but cute mountain parrot - actually the only species of alpine parrot in the world) attacking our van and attempting to take it apart. After a long drive we arrived at the stunning Doubtful Sound, which was wreathed in early morning mist with the ridges on either side and the peaks hidden in the clouds. We loaded up our kayaks, (I was sharing a tandem with Matt - a friend of the grumpy girl), then we set off, with Matt taking the rudder and slaloming all over the shop.

After a lengthy paddle, when we felt we'd really earned it, we stopped for lunch, then I persuaded our guide, Ben, to let me have a go in his single kayak and for him to take the tandem with Matt. I've taken out single kayaks many times before, but I never realised how much harder work they are than the tandems, until I tried to keep up with them and constantly found myself miles behind. The upside to this was that I frequently found myself paddling on my own with no-one else around, and I could no longer hear the louder people in the kayaking group, just the sounds of keas and gulls calling overhead and in the bush. It was utterly peaceful. It drizzled for most of the day, but whenever there was a break in the rain I'd get my camera out and take loads of pictures of the moody, misty mountains around me. When we were given an hour to explore and everyone else sped up to go and look at some waterfalls, I hung back and had a quiet moment thinking about Steve, remembering how when he'd come back from his travels in South and Central America with Ruth, we sat down and went through 13 packs of photos in one sitting, with him telling me the stories behind all of the photos. He told me about being at a temple in Mexico, or perhaps Peru, for sunrise, and he and Ruth were travelling with a girl at the time who just wouldn't shut up trying to describe how beautiful the scene was. He said basically that everything she said fell short, and that the sound of her voice was detracting from the serenity of the moment, but she just couldn't seem to shut up. When I caught up with the group, Ben was making them all sit still and quiet in their kayaks, just to appreciate the stillness of the Sound. I was quietly impressed that he managed it! We paddled to the end of a branch of the Sound called Hall Arm, watched and listened to the spectacular falls for a few moments, then went back to the camp where we were staying that night, carried our kayaks in, set up our tents, went for a swim, slathered on sandfly repellant too late when we realised how badly we were being bitten, and then cooked food. After food we stayed up chatting much later than I'd planned - the irritable, loud girl actually turned out to be very amusing, you just needed to get used to her caustic, sarcastic sense of humour first. There was much discussion of plans to kidnap Ben our guide, so that we wouldn't have to return to the real world, hopefully ever.

The following day we woke to see blue skies with patchy clouds, not the heavy rain that had been predicted (after a couple of months here I've found that the best way of taking weather forecasts in NZ is to assume the opposite of what they say is going to happen will be true - you can almost forgive them for this given the mountainous landscape and the microclimates that this leads to, but still, I can't help feeling that they predict the weather here by communing with the higher powers using tarot cards, tea leaves, I Ching...). I went out to the water to take in my first views and my first photographs of the enormous peaks surrounding me at close proximity. I had no idea of the scale of the sound yesterday as the peaks were all obscured by clouds, but today the view was mind-bogglingly spectacular. I completely failed to do the views justice with my photographs and once again lamented my lack of a wide angle lens (the sounds in Fiordland are narrow and steep sided and just won't fit into my view-finder).

I made myself some porridge for breakfast in a billy pot, then spent half a decade trying to clean it without detergent and only had time for a quick dip before we set off. Just as I was walking back to my kayak to load it up to leave, a cry came from the shore. As it sounded rather like "Dolphins" we all raced to the shore in time to see the dolphins (bottlenose this time) arcing gracefully through the water. I tried and failed to get decent photos of them (I was in such a hurry that I forgot to change the aperture/shutter settings now that I was taking photos zooming in on the dolphins in the murky water). I suggested going for a swim with them, but Ben was in a particularly dictatorial mood this morning and insisted that we get the boats out. Damn, damn, damn.

We kayaked back up hall arm, and after a half hour or so, the dolphins came back past us, one of the dolphins coming within about 10 metres of us (sadly I didn't get any decent pictures this time either as I couldn't get my camera out of the waterproof bag fast enough). We followed the dolphins up to the main reach, watching from a distance as they did syncronised acrobatics. The wind picked up until, by the time we reached the main arm of Doubtful Sound, we were battling serious head winds in order to reach the island on which we had planned to have lunch. Inevitably, when our arms felt like they were about to drop off and float away, we gave up, turned around in the opposite direction, rafted up and unfurled a sail to do all the work for us. When we were nearly back at our original starting point we stopped for a brief lunch, and I then hurried everyone into their kayaks to get back (I needed the loo and couldn't face the arduous task of peeling off my wetsuit and squating, so that I could spend half an hour yanking the wetsuit back on, just for 30 mins worth of kayaking, when I could wait, take my wetsuit off, use a proper flushing toilet, and not put the wetsuit back on again). In no time we were back in font of the van, hauling our kayaks in. When I'd hurriedly located the toilets and returned, much happier, I stripped off the remaining layers and went in for one last dip into the icy waters of Doubtful Sound before we loaded up the van and headed back. We did a mini 20 minute wander along the old walking track that used to lead from Lake Manapouri to Doubtful Sound before the road opened, and took in the last breathtaking views of the area before we were dragged away by Ben (he hadn't turned out to be terribly amenable to our kidnapping idea). After arriving back in Te Anau, we all went off to our separate hostels, stood under hot showers for eons waiting for our shoulders to unknot themselves and to move back to their natural positions about 3 inches further apart. We met up again that evening at an Italian restaurant (yummyummmyummyummyummy) to celebrate both our achievements and being back in a place with more restaurants than sandflies (my many, many bites were only just starting to itch now).

The next day was spent getting ready for starting the four day Milford Track the following day. I went through my things 3 times to make sure I had everything on the list, and to try to summon up the ruthlessness to eliminate the unnecessary luxury items (pois, San Juan etc). As usual I failed at the latter task, and by the time I had done a bit more food shopping (to try to add a few savoury items for the sake of my teeth), and hired the gear that I didn't have (cagoule that was nicked, billy pot, pan and plate/cup/cutlery set), I had filled my 65 litre rucksack and day pack and had the excess in a plastic bag. I decided "Bugger it", as I couldn't be bothered to unpack and go through my things again.

Later on in the day a woman named Patsy appeared, and it turned out she was due to start the Milford Track the following day too. She was ridiculously smiley and jovial and I knew instantly that we'd either become good friends over the course of the next few days, or that she's irritate the shit out of me. Thankfully it turned out to be the former. Patsy lent me a spare compression sack she had lying around for my clothes (I repacked and still had some things in a carrier bag), then quickly e-mailed a few friends and family members to remind them that I would be in the arse-end of nowhere for the next 4 days, and so not to panic when I didn't reply to e-mails. I finally got to bed around midnight, and was so exhausted from preparing for and thinking about the track that I passed out immediately, despite the infuriatingly itchy sandfly bites on my feet.

I got up early to sort out the last of my things and to dump the stuff I wasn't taking in the storage room, I hurried off to the DOC centre later than planned and only just made my bus (I got onto the bus to cheers and laughter from the people who'd been watching me running with bags almost as big as me. I bowed and told them that running for buses is the latest adrenaline sport). We made the boat and the bus driver looked at me doubtfully and asked if I was sure I didn't want to repack my bags and send stuff back to the youth hostel with him. I declined and ignored the wise voice at the back of my mind telling me to do it and save myself the agony (I take the Magnus Magnusson attitude when it comes to physical challenges, once I've started them). We loaded our stuff onto the boat across lake Te Anau and a huge German guy started chatting to me, wondering if everyone would be doing the track, I wasn't sure as there seemed to be far too many of them (thankfully it turned out that most of them were just doing a day walk on the track). The first day's walk was just 5km from Glade Wharf to the Clinton Hut. I spent every step of it thinking of ways to repack my luggage and what bulky food I could eat so that I wouldn't be carrying the fucking carrier bag anymore. The problem is, you can't throw anything away - you have to carry all your rubbish out as there's no road access and there are no rubbish collection facilities. Eventually I arrived, dumped my bags with extreme relief, changed into my bikini, intending to go for a swim, and went for a wade instead as I couldn't bear to go in further than bum depth (the water was substantially colder than the 10.5 degree water in Doubtful Sound, and I hadn't walked nearly far enough to be desperate for water that cold). I made the most of the remaining sunshine that day (rain had been forecast for the rest of the walk) and sunbathed. Later I sat down with Bronwyn and Jo, a mother and daughter who had impressed me with their hardiness earlier by actually swimming in the river while I shrieked and shivered. We played San Juan until Patsy turned up (she had got on the later boat across to the start of the track). In the early evening, the hut warden took us all on a guided nature walk, showing us how to identify various plants and animals, telling us all sorts of interesting information about the ecology of the area, the medicinal properties and other uses of the plants, and he got us to eat and smell the more vile tasting and smelling plants, I'm not entirely sure why, possibly for his own amusement. When we got back to the hut we cooked (I bunt my fingers repeatedly trying to light the gas hobs and made a right old bloody mess with my far-too-small-billy-pot that kept boiling over on the rubbish gas flames that went out every time you tried to turn them down). When my food was ready Patsy and I got chatting to an Aussie guy called Tony, Peter - the German giant from the boat who had already taken to calling me honey, sweetie or darling at every given opportunity, and Sam - my eye-candy for the next few days. One rule of travelling that I've noticed over the years is that the more effort a place is to get to, the higher the quality of the company you find there, and the more you manage to avoid the pissed 18-22 year old contingent - as a result, the people I met while walking the 54km through the Fiordland wilderness were (nearly) all great guys and fabulous company. After dinner we had a talk on the weather forecast for tomorrow. Although experience had taught me to ignore it, I listened. The met office had issued a severe weather warning for the next day (they were predicting 15cm of rain in one day starting at 3am) and the ranger went through the various safety and evacuation procedures in case the path flooded (apparently in weather like this you can be walking waist deep in mud - I thanked my lucky stars that I had had the sense to wrap everything in my rucksacks up in plastic bags). Before bed, the rather dedicated hut ranger took us on a mini walk to see a rock shelf studded with a constellation of glow-worms. I went to bed happy and certain I was going to sleep like a log.

I proved myself wrong by waking at 3am feeling like my feet were on fire - I'd been scratching my sandfly bites in my sleep by rubbing my feet together and the itching had reached a crescendo that was enough to wake me. I finally managed to get to sleep at about 5am, just in time to be woken up by the first people leaving at 5:30am, slamming the door on the way out. Keen bastards. I finally gave up the battle for sleep at about 6am, made myself porridge with dried apple bits and chocolate drops (Sam it turns out is not just a pretty face, he's also a culinary genius - I'd have never thought of bringing chocolate drops along to put in my porridge). Patsy and I were among the last to leave at 8:30am as I did some lightning speed repacking and managed to eliminate the third bag (if I hadn't I don't think I'd have made it through the first day with mind and body intact).

As it turned out (surprise, surprise), the severe weather warning turned out to be completely incorrect, we were beset by drizzle for the entire day - just enough to cause waterfalls to cascade down from the misty mountaintops on either side of us as we walked towards the MacKinnon pass, but nowhere near enough to flood the track, thankfully. Patsy and I walked together, jabbering to keep our spirits up, as any bits of us uncovered by waterproofs were drenched in rain, and any bits that were covered by waterproofs were drenched in sweat. Eventually I came to the conclusion that I prefered rain to sweat and took my waterproofs off.

Every so often we crossed paths with Tony and Carlton - Tony was even more obsessed with his camera than me, had an umbrella so that he could take photos in the rain without getting the lens wet, and didn't seem able to put his camera away. Carlton and Patsy were remarkably patient with our snap happy ways. After 16.5kms walked, 300m climbed, and more waterfalls than you could shake a walking pole at, we arrived at the Mintaro hut exhausted and ravenous. I managed to persuade Tony to do my washing up in return for a back massage (I really didn't fancy scraping pasta and porridge off my rubbish billy again with the none-too-powerful biodegradable washing up liquid), troughed half a ton of pasta, then attacked various muesli bars, chocolate bas and dried fruit for dessert. I like being able to use trying to lighten the load of my heavy bags as an excuse to eat like a pig. Tony, Peter, Patsy and I played a game of San Juan, ending with Peter kicking our arses (never play a game involving constructing civilisations with a civil engineer). Eventually I went to bed, determined that tonight I'd sleep like a baby after todays exertions. Oh no no no no no, that was not to be - once again I woke at about 3am after a foot rubbing frenzy, feeling like my feet had been napalmed.

And once again I was woken, just after I had finally fallen asleep again, this time by keas outside the hut (they sound rather like crows, but with more of a "Keaaaa" noise than a "Caaaaw"). I staggered downstairs, glaring at everyone and everything I saw along the way (except of course for Sam), until I spotted that the ridges of the Mackinnon pass were not covered in cloud, as the hut warden had predicted the night before. I realised that we might actually be able to enjoy the view from the top of the pass after climbing 600m to get there, but only if we hurried. I gobbled down my breakfast (porridge with dried apple and pineapple, and chocolate covered raisins - yes Mum, I know it sounds like one of my culinary inventions from when I was five, but it's far nicer than it sounds, trust me), threw my belongings in my bag, and Patsy and I managed to leave relatively early for once. This of course means that we were overtaken by a stream of people who walk faster than us, but left later than us. We chose not to be too demoralised, and focused instead on the number of people that we overtook (who were all about twice our age, but that's neither here nor there). Along the way we saw keas, wekas, NZ robins, tuis and bellbirds (they're the ones that we kept hearing in Okarito that sounded like techno doorbells, Maz). We eventually got to the top (in one and a half hours, compared to the predicted 2 hours - considering the number of photo stops and the amount of crap I was carrying, that's pretty good) just in time to enjoy a bit of the view from the top of the aptly-named 12 second drop cliff edge before the clouds rolled in, obscuring the view for the rest of the day apparently, so we were bloody lucky. Just as we were giving up on seeing any more of the view, a kea landed right next to us on the cliff edge. We took several pictures of us standing next to it, and lots of close ups, and were so busy playing photographers that we temporarily forgot everything we'd been told about keas being pesky creatures. I took the picture of the kea on my rucksack (above) just a second before it snatched the plastic bag from inside my rucksack and flew off with it. I got a bit of a telling off for that from one of the guided walk guides (for the people with more money than sense to find their own way on a well marked path). Oooops.

We climbed for another 20 minutes to the highest point on the track, from where we had a wonderful view of the clouds completely obscuring the valleys between the cloud covered peaks. We stopped for lunch, as we felt we'd earned it, then started the 970m descent to Dumpling Hut. Everyone had gone on and on about how this is the hardest bit of the track, but it wasn't as bad as I'd expected, probably because we had regular breaks as Patsy had hurt her leg muscles early on, and wanted to take it slowly. We ploughed on slowly but surely, with Patsy in fits of ecstasy over waterfalls pouring off rockfaces around every turn and the moss hanging from the trees and growing on every available surface as far as the eye could see (apparently Arizona isn't quite as moist), while my walking trousers slowly started to sink down my bum, until I looked like I belonged to some sort of hip-hop popular beat-boxing combo. Either I was losing weight, or my rucksack was too heavy.

An hour from the end of the day's walk we left our bags in a shed and did a detour to what we had been told were NZs highest waterfalls and the 5th highest waterfalls in the world - the 580m Sutherland Falls. Since then I've looked online, to find that no two websites agree on their lists of the highest waterfalls in the world - Sutherland Falls is either the 5th, 6th, 12th, 14th or 60th highest waterfall in the world apparently. Wherever they appear in the global hiearchy of waterfalls, they were pretty stunning - the kind of waterfall that would be inviting to stand under after a long days walking if the sheer force of them wouldn't break your neck instantly. We tried taking photos, but ended up spending more time cleaning our camera lenses as there was so much spray in the air that the lens would fog up in seconds. We walked back to the track, fetched our bags and walked the last hour to the hut, dumped our bags and went for a swim in a nearby creek. It was sooooooooo cold, but I hadn't had a wash for 2 days and had carried about 15kg for 30kms, so wild kiwis couldn't have dragged me away from that water. Patsy was less enthused and just dipped her feet in. Peter, being typically teutonic, took a more ballsy approach and stripped off completely. Not a shy man, our Peter.

That evening we discovered that Sam had managed to steal a bottle of whisky from the guided walkers hut (with the help of his friend who works for the guided walking company), so we all drank (rather a lot) to our aching limbs, and to the hardest part of the walk being over.

After lengthy, giggly, half-pissed conversations, and many attempts to get back massages off anyone whose hands still worked, we all staggered back to our dorms, and everyone slept the sleep of the tipsy, except for me who once again slept the sleep of the badly bitten, and was then woken for a second time at 6am by one of the early risers having a loud conversation outside everyone's dorm. As I could hear that everyone in our dorm had woken up, and since I was the one closest to the door, I stuck my head outside to politely ask the man to keep it down, but before I could say anything he shouted "I know, I know, I'm waking you up because you all woke me up with your snoring." I didn't know where to begin replying to something as irrational and mean as this, so I decided to go back to bed and speak to him when he'd gotten over his early morning grump, or at least when we could argue without keeping people awake. An hour later I got up again and he hadn't left yet, so I went to speak to him, to point out that talking loudly is more of a conscious decision than snoring, when you're unconscious (not sure it was me, to my knowledge I don't snore, but I have just given up smoking, so anything's possible), and when I managed to get a word in edgeways again to point out the sandfly bites that had caused me to loose so much sleep, explaining that I didn't need to be woken up just as I'd managed to get back to sleep again, and neither did anyone else. He called me a spoilt little girl, shouted at me and was generally incredibly rude. Much as I hate to admit it, I think I'm a little bit past the age where people can get away with patronising me by calling me a little girl, and since he was being such a rude, ageist git, I had no qualms whatsoever about telling the belligerent, decrepid old fart to fuck off. People shouldn't talk over me rudely, with no regard for reason first thing in the morning. It's not my best time.

Once again we set off after a hurried breakfast, this time with Patsy not waiting as she had an earlier boat to catch than me. The day's walking was stunning as the landscape gradually changed from mountainous to fiordland, with blue skies, blue water and beautiful fresh air. I kept leapfrogging past Peter (or babycakes, as I'd taken to calling him) and Sam. An hour from the end of the walk we came to a beautiful spot with a glacial waterfall that would have been just perfect for swimming if it wasn't for the fact that the water was, as said, glacial and about 6 to 8 degrees (just to put that into perspective people, the cold dip at a turkish bath will be about 18 degrees). Peter and I went in anyway, Peter complaining that there were too many people around (only 4 of us went in, about 20 people watched though) to skinny dip. I stood thigh deep for about 6 or 7 minutes while everyone told me that it would just get harder to go in. When everyone else had given up coaxing me in, I had a reckless moment and dived in on impulse, before I could change my mind. It was really, really cold - I know I've said that before, but other cold swims were nothing compared to this water. The great thing is when you come out though - you feel so refreshed and clean, which is wonderful after not having access to a shower or a bath for 4 days. And it's pretty amazing considering I was only in for about 10 seconds.

I left the waterfalls early as I was starting to develop blisters on my heels and wanted to give myself plenty of time for the last stretch, so I wouldn't risk missing the boat. I arrived in plenty of time, before Peter and a group of Canadians that I'd chatted to a few times (I only caught one of their names though - Carol). We took lots of "We've done it" photos, caught the boat back, and then discovered that we had to walk 2km to the hostel in Milford. This did not put me in a good mood. Peter wisely decided to leave me to walk on my own and stopped at a cafe while I stomped and huffed onwards.

It's hard to say which made me feel more joyful - putting my bags down in my dorm and feeling my shoulders float away, taking my walking boots off my sore, bitten and blistered feet, or standing under the hot shower until my rank, BO ridden body felt, and smelt human again (it took a while). I bought a bottle of wine with the Canadians, we polished that off pretty quickly while Carol (who's an osteopath), bless her heart, gave everyone treatents, and then they and Peter took me out for a meal - I hadn't budgeted for that, and there was no cashtill in Milford. Bless the lot of them. We ran into Tony on the way down to the restaurant, coming back having already eaten, and dragged him back on the promise of alcohol. It wasn't difficult.

The following morning I woke early to pack my things up quickly in order to say bye to the Canadians, who were going kayaking (I was seeing Tony and Peter later), and get to my boat in time. I left my bag in the luggage storage room, got a lift half way to town with the kayaking people, then speed-walked the rest of the way, arriving at the ferry terminal just in time to see my boat pulling away. I managed to wangle a ticket on the next boat, went to the cafe for a hot chocolate, and was just sipping it when I noticed that the get-well-soon-bracelet that I'd made for Steve (when I was stuck in Thailand waiting to come home when he first got sick) was no longer on my wrist.

I can't even begin to accurately describe the next four hours, but for the record I'll try. Time appeared to stop as my brain felt like it was immitating a whirling dervish inside my head. I tried to slow it down long enough to remember when I'd last seen it (over an hour ago in the hostel) and where I'd been since. I retraced my steps several times, leaving a message with a different group of kayakers and leaving photocopied notices, begging whoever found it to e-mail me and to return it to me, on every surface I could find. After the first round of retracing my steps failed to produce the bracelet I started crying. By the time I'd been round again I was hysterical, blotchy and covered in snot. I don't think I've ever hated myself as much as I did then. Eventually I gave up and returned to the hostel to collect my bags, and to check my e-mail, hoping that my notices would produce some results. I found my bags and was just hunting through them for a jumper, when Steve's bracelet fell out. It must have been pulled off when I shoved things into my bags at lightning speed that morning. It goes without saying that I felt massively relieved, but Christ did I feel like a dickhead. The only thought that made me feel better (sort of) is that Steve would have been laughing his arse off at the punchline of that story - classic "Calamity Cath".

Needless to say I got on the next bus out of Milford (without doing a boat trip round the sounds - at the time that was the last thing on my mind, but now I wish I had). I returned my hired gear, picked up the rest of my belongings from the hostel and went to meet Peter and Tony, and we ran into Patsy on the road (she hadn't stayed in Milford, but had gone back to Te Anau, in order to catch a bus that she'd ended up missing that morning). They noticed my red eyes pretty quickly, so I got the explaining what had happened over and done with as quickly as I could (I barely had the energy to explain, I felt so drained), and they responded by pouring alcohol down my neck before Tony, Peter and I travelled on to Queenstown.

When we got there we found our hostels and met up for a meal. I gradually cheered up and came back to life as the wine flowed freely, and then someone (it may even have been me) suggested going for a drink when the restaurant shut. We found a loud bar with live music and a dancefloor which Tony dragged me straight onto. The man is even less shy than Peter, but in a very different way. Being twice the average age of everyone else on the dancefloor didn't faze him at all, and he quite happily jumped around pulling some very odd faces while air-guitaring. I tried not to laugh too much and danced my arse off too. We managed to coax Peter onto the dancefloor eventually, and by the time I left to go back to the hostel I felt relatively normal again, having laughed my head off and having actually had a good night, despite having had one of the worst days of my life.

I don't have the energy to write anything more tonight, and am still a week out of date, but I really want to post this to get it over and done with, and so people don't worry or anything. I realise that I haven't explained the title, but I can't be bothered to think of a new one, so you'll just have to wait for the next posting, which will hopefully bring you up to date. I also can't be bothered to edit it for smelling pisstakes - Maz, fell free ot srot it uot, if u can be boverred, or fi it''''''''''s boverrrrring yuo ennuff.

Sweet as, Dude

5/2/2007 - 18/2/2007

cigarettes smoked: 6 (but not for 7 days, I just had a few more weak moments when I hung around with smokers in Raglan - I must stop making friends with people who smoke)

At the end of my last blog posting I was in Whangerei intending to scuba dive the Poor Knights islands the following day. I watched the weather forecast for the following day, which came with a severe weather warning predicting storms. I had a horrible feeling that my dive wasn't going to be happening, so I consoled myself with a bath (a bath! In a hostel! Bliss, bliss, blissssssssss), then I suggested to the other hostel residents that we watch twister in honour of the coming storm front. The film's still as rubbish as it ever was, but it seemed appropriate. I stayed up chatting with a group of guys until the late hours, then had to get up the following morning at 5:30am, get rdressed and breakfasted only to be told that yes, my dive had been cancelled. Decided to make the best of a bad situation by going back to bed. I decided against sticking around indefinitely until the weather cleared as this could have taken days, and my time in New Zealand is running out. It's a shame, as diving the Poor Knights islands was the first thing on my must do list when I planned this trip - I will just have to resolve (as I always do) to come back here one day.

I left Whangerei later that morning forAuckland. I arrived mid afternoon, dumped my stuff at my usual hostel and located the bus to Kelly Tarlton's Antarctic world and aquarium. I loved the seahorses, sharks, stingrays and corals in the aquarium, but the highlight was the trip around the penguin colony in a snowcat! The replica of Scott's hut, the film footage and the information on Scott and Shackleton's Antarctic expeditions were amazing - especially the story of Shackleton's expedition (they were stranded in the Antarctic for about half a year before they managed to rescue everyone, and they didn't lose a single person, if only Scott's team had been so lucky). When they closed the aquarium and had to drag me away from the seahorse tank (I had my nose glued to the glass), I got the bus back to Queen street, had some wonderful cheap Thai food, then went back to my hostel to the spa and the sauna (both of which I had to myself), with my customary glass of free champagne. It's the only way of dealing with being in a big city when necessity dictates that you must pass through. Later on I met a massage therapist doing massages for 1 dollar per minute. I, of course, indulged and had a wonderful back massage, then showed her a few of the things I learned on my Thai massage course (she did Swedish massages).

After a wonderful night's sleep, the next morning I cheated and took a taxi to the bus station as I couldn't face carrying my bags after my evening of relaxation. I made my way back to Raglan, ostensibly to collect my clothes, but really to surf some more. I went into the visitor's centre to organise a lift out to Solscape (the surfer dude filled accomodation in railway cabooses outside of town), to find Rany (the woman who works there) weaving flax into a basket. After watching her in fascination and asking lots of questions, she offered to teach me to weave the next day. Marvellous. I made my way to Solscape, dumped my bags and spent the evening chatting to people, star gazing, starting a macrame bracelet for Rany, catching up with the long term residents and making new friends. Apparently Kyle went off to Taranaki a week beforehand, and nobody knew what he had done with my clothes. Arse.

The next day found me in the visitor's centre weaving flax. First you have to tear the flax into strips o0f equal width, then score it to weaken it, then shred the ends. Next you plait the ends together, then weave the basket. It's easier than it sounds, just quite fiddly at times. I chatted to Rany - she apparently lost her sister last year, so between tourists we had a long chat about our siblings, and I showed her my pictures of Steve. On the rare occasion that I've told another backpacker about Steve, usually out of necessity, they've not known what to say, or tried to cheer me up, it was nice to just talk about him and tell some of my favourite stories, and just be listened to.

I went back to Solscape and finished my bracelet for Rany to say thanks for a wonderful day, then drank and chatted as usual.

The following day I decided it was about time that I went surfing again, so I got a lift to the beach with Stacey (an English woman in her 30s), she went to surf school and I hired a board while she went out for her first lesson. I had a couple of nice waves that I managed to ride reasonably well, but I just enjoyed being out on the sea again. I dropped by town again on my way back and took the bracelet to Rany - she looked like she was going to cry when I gave it to her, bless her.

On the morning of the 10th I woke up surprised to find myself feeling emotionally stable (it was the four month anniversary of Steve's death), so I joined various friends in a mass exodus to the beach. There was Justin - the extremely entertaining Canadian who dislikes other Canadians, Luke - the ex-marine teenager who likes older women as he keeps telling Stacey and myself rather optimistically, Phil - a real sweetheart from Bristol and Ilaria -a vivacious, excitable Italian girl. I helped carry other people's boards (I'd decided to hire mine from the beach as it's worth the higher cost to not have to carry it for half an hour). I hired out an 8 foot fibre-glass board and charged out into the breakers. This time, finally it clicked - I'd try to stand up, and most of the time I'd succeed, and stay up. Ride after ride I'd make it into the shallows whooping and shrieking "Yeah baby" (there weren't that many people around, and I'm sure I'll never see them again). I've spent the last couple of weeks enjoying surfing, while being equally frustrated, but more than anything else, baffled as to why people get up every day, religiously, at the crack of dawn to carry their boards for half an hour down to the beach, battle with waves that break over them and bruise them, to swim out into the substance that covers 70% of our planet, containing an estimated 3 billion sharks, then paddle like a bastard in order to catch the most fleeting, ephemeral of ocean-dwelling creatures - the wave. Suddenly, this time I understood - the moment when the wave is just behind you and it sweeps you up in it's path as you push yourself upright, the feeling of acceleration, balance and harmony with the ocean is exhilarating. Plus there's the surfer dudes with their toned, taut, tanned torsos. I went back and celebrated my breakthrough with a nice bottle of Pinot Noir, and finally managed to locate my missing laundry in the lost property cupboard, except for my pj bottoms (someone else seems to have run off with them - it's a shame, as they were the things I wanted back most, for decency's sake, and as they're really good for things like yoga).

The following morning I had intended to leave, but I woke up feeling awful - there really is no telling when grief is going to hit you (and you don't want to be on a bus on your own when it does). Often when you steel yourself for an occasion that is likely to make you feel shit, you get through the day itself ok, then the grief hits a day or two later, when you're not prepared for it. I sat down and carried on working on a picture of Steve that I started a week or so ago, then flooded with tears when Phil asked what had prompted me to draw a picture of my brother. Bless him, he was so apologetic when I went to mop up the snot and someone explained the situation.

The guys took me surfing to cheer me up. Action being the enemy of thought, I agreed. I was determined to try surfing out behind the breakers today, for a new challenge. It's much harder work getting out - you have to paddle much more as you go out of your depth, and you have to battle with the waves that have just broken, or worse, break over you. Or break on your face (I thought I'd broken my nose one time when a wave slapped me in the face with such force I somersaulted). For the first few times I couldn't even paddle fast enough to catch the wave ( you have to catch it sideways on, so you have to paddle faster for the component of your velocity that's perpendicular to the beach to be the same). When I did manage to paddle fast enough, I ended up surfing above the wave, on the white foam when it broke, rather than in front of it - it was wierd and bumpy. Phil told me to keep paddling next time after I'd caught the wave, so that I push myself in front of the wave. I sat on my board, laughing at Pete and Luke beatboxing and MCing behind the breakers until the next wave came along and I paddled like there was no tomorrow. When I caught the wave, I kept paddling until I felt the nose of the board tipping over the front of the wave. For a moment I left my stomach behind as the board dropped in front of the wave, then suddenly the nose went underwater, flipping the board and causing me to wipe out spectacularly, in a manner that would have made professional gymnasts weep - there was an aerial cartwheel and several underwater somersaults. I tried again several times, but I just couldn't get in front of the wave properly without wiping out. I also discovered in the process of wiping out several of the reasons why it's wise to wear a wetsuit on top of your bikini, even if the water's warm enough. Suffice to say the bruises are healing, the cuts have become scars, and I did manage to find my bikini top again.

We left the beach and went into town in order to treat ourselves in a lovely little cafe. After a panini, a huge slab of carrot cake that was large enough to feed half of the people on the beach that day, and a wonderful hot chocolate (complete with marshmallows, of course), we went back out for a sunset surf. I borrowed a friend's wetsuit and spare board as the hire shop had shut (I managed to squeeze into a size 8 without using a shoehorn or lying down with a coat hanger!!! It was snug to the point of almost cutting off my circulation though). The waves were higher, it was harder to see and the board was much smaller, lighter and harder to balance on. I battled my way out to the back eventually, and tried again to get in front of the wave before it broke. I managed a couple of times, but just couldn't stand up on the smaller board (I got as far as rising to a crouch and falling off). Sitting behind the breakers waiting for a wave, watching the sun set was glorious though. When it got dark enough that seeing became difficult I body-boarded back in, then decided to do the only thing you really can do when presented with the ocean at night - skinny dip.

When we arrived back at Solscape, Kyle had come back from Taranaki with his friend Noah (who incidentally had the most fantastic washboard stomach I have ever seen in my life, and wasn't remotely shy about wandering around bare chested, to the jaw-dropping delight of the women of Solscape - is surfing making me more shallow?).

I was determined that this was to be my last night in Raglan, so I stayed up late chatting and drinking once again, I was just louder and more drunk than usual. Stacey spent the evening flirting with the teenage boys again (she had been doing this a worrying amount for the last few days. I realise that my profession makes me slightly more prudish about age gaps, but it did seem pretty twisted, objectively. Maybe she just needs the affirmation that she's 'still got it' for some reason).

The next morning I said my goodbyes and left (this time I only left half of my food in the fridge and ran off with my room key by mistake) for Taupo. I was sad to be leaving - I have grown quite attached to Raglan, to surfing, and to eye candy surfers wandering around scantily clad in boardies.

I found my hostel in Taupo quickly, decided since the weather forecast looked pretty good that I was going to walk the Tongariro crossing the following day and booked track transport for 5:40 the following morning. That done, I went to lie in the spa pool, then went to the pub with some people at my hostel.

I got up bright and early the following morning, trying (and failing) to not wake up my dorm-mates. The bus to the start of the track was trying, as I just wanted to sleep, but so it seems did the driver, so he put on loud rock music to keep himself awake. Not what I needed at 6am. But I suppose I needed a bus crash less, so I didn't complain. The first couple of kms of the walk were an easy stroll as the sun rose in the sky, until I came to the ominously named "Devil's staircase". It wasn't as bad as it sounds, just 40 minutes of steep uphill climbing. When I reached the top I sat down to catch my breath, drink water, apply suncream and gaze at Mount Ngauruhoe (aka Mount Doom in the Lord of the Rings). Our bus driver had warned us not to attempt the summit of this mountain unless the top was visible, the wind was low, we were ahead of schedule and we'd found the Devil's staircase easy. I couldn't say in all honesty that the last condition was true, but everything else was right, and I got chatting to some Welsh guys (Wendy, Gareth and Ross) who lived in and around Snowdonia, and who were going to attempt the summit, so I decided "Bollocks to it" and joined them. They turned out to be wonderful company and a real laugh, thank christ - I needed people to keep my spirits up while I tackled Mt Doom - it really was bloody hard work as not only are there no switchbacks on this 2287m high mountain, there's also no path and the entire mountain is pretty much one steep scree slope. At one point I said that if anyone wanted to act out scenes from the film, they were welcome to carry me up Mt Doom the rest of the way - sadly there were no takers, so I just had to haul myself up the entire way. When I got to the top, I was gasping for breath, saying "I..........fucking.........hate..........scree". It took two and a half hours to get to the top, but it only took half an hour to get back to the bottom (and I was one of the slowest). Most people took big sinking strides straight down the scree, but that looked just a tad precarious for my liking, so I slid down almost the entire mountain on my arse, squealing "weeeeeeeeeeeee" and giggling all the way down. I decided I quite liked scree after all. Sadly I ruined my walking trousers though - the scree ripped the seat of them to shreds (it was totally worth it). When we got to the bottom, we realised just how behind schedule we were, so we didn't stop for lunch as planned, just missioned on ahead, stopping for the odd photograph (believe me, if you had seen the stunning volcanic scenery, you'd understand why we prioritised this above food - there were mountains, craters the colour of blood, lakes of the most vibrant hues of blue and green imaginable, views over lake Taupo, far below and in the distance and steam bursting forth from fumaroles everywhere). Eventually we stopped for lunch next to a particularly picturesque and smelly lake, troughed down dried fruit and crisps as fast as we could, then soldiered on. I must say, we did damn well - we managed the last 4 hours worth of the walk in less than 2 and a half. I still missed my bus though, and had to pay for the journey home again with another company. It was worth missing the bus to climb Mount Doom though - everyone who made the summit agreed that it was the toughest climb they'd ever done. 18km walked and over 1500m climbed in one day - I was bloody knackered. I thought about the spa pool for the entire bus journey back to Taupo, only to discover that it was closed for the day as it was being cleaned. I almost cried, but instead settled for a long shower, some food and a night in front of the TV watching Lost, discovering I was, trying to fill in the huge gap that was series 2 (of which I've seen one episode), and trying to grasp series 2 of Prison Break, having never seen it before.

Around Taupo are some of New Zealand's best thermal areas, but for some reason very few people visit them, they all flock to Rotorua. I spent the following day wandering around geysers, caves, silica terraces and bubbling mud pools, taking hundreds of photos along the way. The only slightly annoying note came when I arrived in Aladdin's cave in Okakei Korako to find people talking loudly and the noise echoing around and spoiling what was otherwise a beautiful, serene spot. Particularly annoying was one loud American package tourist. She kept pointing at a silver FERN and saying "Look at this palm tree" (it's a fern), "Palm trees don't get this tall" (actually, they frequently do, but that's a fern you're pointing at - they rarely get that tall, but sometimes they do. You should realise this, as you're pointing at the evidence) "Apparently that tree's been around forever" (ah, an amateur metaphysicist), "That means B.C." (oh jesus christ - no comma). What really grated is that she said all of this to three different people at different times, and at no point between her bouts of verbal diarrhea did she think to edit out the more meaningless or inaccurate comments. By the third repetition I had to leave before I started banging either my head or hers against the wall repeatedly. I'm not entirely sure why I'm so irritable today, but at least I'm recognising that I am and walking away from sources of irritation, rather than arguing.

When I had had my fill of other-worldly natural wonders I walked to a local meadery and had a try of honey liquor (apparently there are some things in this world that are too much, even for my sweet tooth). I then discovered a DOC track that went to the Huka Falls, then on to the thermal springs in the park in Taupo by the river. You sit in the cold river, with steaming water bubbling past you. This means that one side of you is boiling hot, and the other side is freezing cold. The best thing to do is just keep turning round. It was a wonderful little spot to unwind after really quite a lot of walking considering it was the day after I'd done the Tongariro crossing, and to let my irritable mood drift away. It's one of the few places in New Zealand where you can bathe in thermal springs for free. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

The following day I had to change hostels due to a combination of getting up late, and disorganisation meaning that I didn't get round to booking my bed for an extra night, until the hostel was fully booked. Conveniently, the new hostel was much closer to a quieter part of lake Taupo where a large number of ducks and black swans reside, and also closer to the opposite end of the spa scale - a posh resort where I could indulge in a massage after lounging in smelly pools. It wasn't a complete indulgence, I did promise myself some pampering treatments if I successfully gave up smoking - I may have wobbled a few times, but I hadn't had a fag for a week, I'd hardly had any for a month, and I felt I needed a massage for motivational purposes.

After I had soaked in thermal spas for enough time that I felt I could cope with the journey south, I headed down to Wellington, then across to the South island again on the ferry, then down to Kaikoura again. The journey took 2 days and was largely uneventful, so I won't ramble on at length (for once).

I arrived in Kaikoura yesterday, checked in at the lovely Dusky Lodge and headed straight for the spa and sauna (only in NZ could there be a hostel with both, free to customers for 7 pounds a night). I decided I'd had enough of the different sauna etiquette you have to adopt for mixed saunas, and went in with tons of conditioner in my hair, and a face mask on (it's for deep cleansing boys, and it's worth looking like a complete twat for half an hour, just to feel fabulous for the rest of the day). One Aussie bloke screamed when I first came into the sauna. I'm now known around Dusky lodge as "the creature from the deep". I went out in the evening for food supplies and wine (another lovely pinot noir), then slobbed in front of the TV with the crowd.

This morning I got up at 4:30am (I wish I was kidding), in order to be at the dolphin encounter offices at 5:30am for my dawn dolphin swim (can you think of anything that is more obviously something I'd go for?). They gave us a talk on how "the dolphins aren't there to entertain you, you're there to entertain them" - basically dolphins (dusky dolphins especially) are very sociable, intelligent, curious creatures, but they seem to suffer from something similar to ADHD - you have to find a way to hold their attention if you want to interact with them rather than just have them swim past you. The best ways of doing this are making noises (since hearing is the prime sense that dolphins rely on), making eye contact, swimming in a tight circle staying level with the dolphin if it swims in wide circles around you and diving down, if you can with a snorkel on.

We went out to the boat and set off into the Pacific ocean in time to watch dawn setting the Seaward Kaikoura mountains ablaze with various shades of fiery red. We sped through the water watching the scenery unfold and seeing the occasional small pod of dolphins leaping through the air and splashing back down. I got a few strange looks for bouncing around in my seat and squealing in delight whenever they did this. After about half an hour, the boat slowed down, and suddenly we were surrounded by hundreds of dolphins arcing through the water in small groups that were in sync with each other, leaping out of the water, doing backflips and generally playing. These dolphins live in a coastal area that is incredibly nutrient rich, and there is abundant marine life to feed them, so much so that they only eat their favourite foods, not just whatever they can get their hands on like many wild animals. They don't have to spend most of their time hunting, they just feed oncce a day at prime feeding time, then spend the rest of their time socialising with each other, playing, showing off their acrobatic skills, investigating things that interest them and mating. In fact they're the only species of mammal other than humans that mate, not just for procreation, but for recreation. They're not monogamous, in fact they don't even have the slightest tendencies towards monogamy. One female was recently observed by a marine biologist mating five times with three different males, all inside of two and a half minutes (this sounded remarkably like the sort of stories I'd try NOT to hear my students telling each other about their weekends on a Monday morning up until recently). They (the dolphins that is) like it, they like it a lot, they like it often and they value quantity above quality it would seem. These are basically party dolphins.

After faffing around with wetsuits and snorkels for a while, the guides told us that we could go and swim. I didn't need telling twice - I slipped into the water (jumping in scares them off), stuck my face down, and suddenly I could see all these black and white dolphins (they look kind of like mini orcas) gliding past me on either side, and below me. They were bigger than I'd expected - apparently they grow up to 2m long and weigh up to 100kg. I spent most of the first swim humming different tunes and watching which ones had the best effect. Oddly enough, the humming from the start of the Fugees "Ready or Not" produced the best results (dozens of dolphins came over to me for a look or swam past). They also took to the tune that Gizmo hums in Gremlins and responded well to Karine Polwart. Mozart's "Eine kleine Nachtmusik" didn't go down too well - I only had one moderately interested (but clearly very cultured) dolphin when I hummed that. Someone else on my boat tried a spot of underwater beatboxing without too much luck. They seemed to go for melodic (well, as melodic as is possible through a snorkel, and usually a mouthful of saltwater), repetitive, simple tunes. Being party dolphins, I reckon they might go for happy house if anyone's likely to come here in the future. I bought an underwater camera for the second swim, and spent a bit of time attempting to work out how to take photos underwater (I haven't finished the film yet, so we'll have to wait until I go diving in the Great Barrier Reef to see if any of them turned out well). Most of the time on that swim was spent with my new friend, Finn. He/she (how do you tell???) came over to investigate the source of the Gizmo noises, we made eye contact, and (s)he did a circle round me, which I just about managed to keep pace with. (S)he then turned quickly and went the other way, so I reciprocated. She was making lots of exciting dolphin clicky echo-location type noises at me, so I attempted a series of clicks and whirrs myself. Amazingly this didn't cause her to leave, and she circled round me again. I took a deep breath and attempted to dive down, but then forgot to hold my breath, so when I came back to the surface I didn't have enough air in my lungs to clear the snorkel, so I had to put my head above water, coughing, spluttering and gasping for air. Finn surfaced with me, then dived back under with me. (S)he seemed more impressed with my attempts at diving and somersaulting underwater (much harder with a snorkel on) than the other dolphins had, and kept going away, doing a big loop, then coming back and clicking at me again. Perhaps (s)he liked the little squeaks and squeals of happiness that were coming from me involuntarily. (S)he was sooooooooooo beautiful. Then suddenly the dolphins (including Finn sadly) all rushed off at an astounding pace - maybe they were being called over, or maybe they were escaping something. I didn't like this last idea much, so I headed back to the boat. The third swim was a bit uneventful, but the fourth swim was just wonderful as we landed right in the middle of the pod, and the dolphins stuck around for ages. I had a wonderful time swimming round in circles with a pair of dolphins, I even managed to swim off after one for a few metres who was going REALLY slowly so that I could keep pace. My somersaults got better, my dives didn't and then all too soon it was over and we were called back to the boat for the last time. We had a while longer to get changed and to get photos. It was just incredible watching them - there were about 300-400 dolphins in the pod, and at any one time it was impossible to know where to look or point the camera. Eight dolphins doing syncronized arcs through the water, or one doing a back flip at the same time as another does a forward flip two metres away from each other? Either way it was spectacular. I'd have got much better photos if only I'd bloody cleaned my lens and deleted my old photos last night (why didn't I think of that - I spent half the time sorting out my camera, rather than watching and photographing).

Sadly they took us back to shore, we went back to the offices, then I came back to Dusky lodge and sat in the spa for a while. Honestly, if they'd have let me I'd have happily stayed out there all day swimming with the dolphins. If it wasn't for the fact that they're booked up for the next 2 weeks, I'd do it again tomorrow (even the getting up at 4:30am after 5 hours sleep part). I'm completely hooked. Dolphin swimming is by far the best thing I've done in New Zealand - I loved every second of it (even choking on seawater repeatedly).

Anyway, lots of love to everyone back home, and sympathy to those of you stuck in a grey London office on Monday morning. I'm about to put the photos up on the last 2 postings as well if you scroll down (including the comet photo hopefully). When you get to the picture of the big Kauri tree, look at the base - I'm there to put it in proportion.

Keep the e-mails coming.