Kayaking Carnage
Trip Start
Oct 14, 2005
1
49
71
Trip End
??? ??, 2006
Motueka,
New Zealand
Saturday, March 25, 2006
A quick wander around the town and I realise there is not a lot to do here, so I head back to the hostel, where an almost indecipherable Irish man tells me the highlights of the north Island, I know that I must go to White Island, something about acid pools and volcanoes, but that was about all I could make out from his thick Irish brogue.
I am picked up at 8:10, nice and early, by the kayak company I am joined on the bus to Kaiteriteri, for that is our starting point, by what seems to be the majority of a Kiwi Experience bus. Over hearing the banal conversations about Daddies money, and how wicked Queenstown is going to be, I reflected, not for the first time about how I would probably end up killing someone if I was stuck on one of those busses (sorry Jo but it's true, I hope you are still enjoying the Big Green Fuck Bus) that's probably just cos I'm a grumpy old man and they are all hormone charged teenagers, who cannot think for themselves and want to be told what to do and get drunk every night.
Most of the BGFB residents were only doing the half day walk, so I was spared the massed horde. Setting off to our starting point we boarded a water taxi, which was being driven by a lunatic, who liked to crash over the waves and jolt us around as much as possible. With the Tasman Sea feeling the effects of the cyclone over Cairns there were so big waves to launch our water taxi over. Changing taxis after an hour I had the fortune of sharing my water taxi with a vomitting american lady, not as gung-ho as our first driver, the second taxi still swayed enough to unsettle some, and there is nothing guaranteed to make me feel ill more than watching someone be sick. It didn't help that she was sick into a white paper bag, and then proceeded to cling on to it for dear life holding it under her nose, so everyone could see the carrotty chunks swilling around, I'm feeling nauseous just thinking about it.
Glad to be on solid dry land, I made the acquaitance of a couple of Irsh chaps, who were going on the sam walk and kayak trip as yours truly. After a bit of a detour we eventually got on our way to Bark Bay, our home for the night. At times an arduous walk, with a\some steep up hill sections, it was still a great way to see the National Park, with it's perfect beaches and unspoilt forestry. Alas the weather was not the best, with grey skies rolling in it took the edge of the beauty. It also made us query the weather for our kayaking the next day. I tried to reassure my Irish friends that I am currently blessed with good luck in terms of the weather and that all would be well for tomorrow. I was wrong. The night before had shown signs of the angry skies to follow, with the odd smattering of rain as I huddled round a gas stove with the Irish guys, a couple of Dutchies a German girl, who didn't appreciate the Dutch guys anti-German jokes, and a Welsh lass, the afore mentioned Jo, who despite being on the BGFB was actually kinda cool. Not realising the extent to which the tide came in I ended up getting very wet feet as I ventured from the camp site where the rest were staying to be more at one with nature, to my big warm hut, which wasn't actually warm, and as usual I got stuck next to a snorer. Fortunately his girlfriend was also fed up with his nasal racket, and every time he started I heard her give him a quick punch.
So the next day and it is greyer than my once white socks, the wind is whipping around, and the threat of rain is imminent. The Kayak company have come to try and talk us out of kayaking, but we are having none of it. Well I was unsure until the Irish guys were adamant they had paid their money they were going to kayak, and Welshie was also not going to back out of it, if only she had a partner. No to be out done by the other home nations, and never one to turn down a damsel in distress, even if she is Welsh, I donned my borrowed fleece (a fetching orange), wind breaker and life jacket, and prepared to get wet. This display of typically British stiff upper lip, in the face of adversity, also persuaded a couple of Swiss to join us. The rest ran back to the warmth of the BGFB. More fool them we had a great time battling the elements, forming an instant bond over our shared foolhardiness. Our guide was a legend, constantly motivating us with shouts of don't stop paddling you will end up going backwards, as we forced ourselves on into the head wind and driving rain. Sheltering from the elements in the many bays and coves along the coast of Abel Tasman, our guide told us Maori legends and kept our spirits up with games and stories. After falling out of my boat trying to land for lunch I accepted I was not going to get any wetter or colder, and as I was still enjoying myself it had been a good trip. Swapping positions at lunch I got to strecth my cramped legs at the fornt of the kayak and let Welshie do the steering, big mistake, as we were following the guide close to the rocks a momentary lapse in knowledge of left and right, and we were nearly seal food. Fortunately she recovered just in time to not add a kayak to the car she was telling me she had written off. Due to the strong head wind we were late getting back, but that did not dampen our spirits as we landed on the shore accompanied by our Maori chanting.
Back at the Hostel I am finally dry and clean(ish) and I meet Mario, someone I bumped into at the Abel Tasman camp site, who offered me a lift to Nelson the next. Bonus!
With my arms aching and my body swaying like I was still on the sea, I crashed out on my bed and had probably the most well deserved sleep I have had on my travels.
