Last Pics and Entry (Time to put this thing to rest)

Back in Auckland where it all started.  It has been an amazing journey, having traveled up, down and around much of New Zealand, Stewart Island, Tasmania and finally the Sydney area of Australia.  I have challenged myself physically and mentally and have met some of the most interesting and amazing people along the way.   

I got to see my childhood friend Frances, an amazing person with a beautiful family and thanks to Fran I can now say I have hand fed a giraffe and have been attacked by leeches.  But most importantly thanks to so many amazing friends, family and some people I have never met, we raised money for Juvenile Diabetes Research and one day we will find a cure for our daughter Halley and other children affected by this disease.   

Good bye New Zealand.......see you soon Mount Pleasant.

Bondi Beach

Had a very cool day today. I went to the famed Bondi beach with Frances. It is nice to chat with one of the only people who remembers life before I moved to America. We both grew up in the little town of Higher Denham in England and have vivid memories of life growing up in the UK. Bondi beach was very much as I would have imagined it to be. Big waves, lots of very fit people surfing and a great coastal path that takes you along the sand stone cliffs with views in to some of the other harbors where other young surfers were riding more substantial waves among the sandstone rock formations.

After about five kilometers of walking along the cliffs, we stopped for coffee and then later for some ice cream. It was good to talk to Fran and an all together excellent day. Five days 'till Bobbi....can't wait.

Tasmanian Weight Lifting

I awoke this morning and it was raining out. Although the hostel that I'm staying in is quite lacking in creature comforts, I did notice a piece of paper stuck to one of the doors saying "Gym Equipment."  I got up early put on my shorts and a t-shirt and headed for a work out.  As soon as I opened the door I heard a familiar whirring sound.  There were two young ladies already working out.  One of them was on a life cycle type of machine and the other was stretching as she held on to the side of a treadmill.  I quickly surveyed the room and noted an old fashioned weight bench with weights already attached to the bar.  I flexed my muscles, placed my ear plugs in my ears and turned on some appropriate muscle pumping music.  I then straddled the weight bench, assumed the correct position and lifted the bar until my arms were fully extended.  It wasn't until I lowered the bar that I realized my fatefull mistake.  I couldn't get the damn thing off of my chest.  Note to myself. "Always look at the weights before lifting them."  I tried lifting the bar up and was able to raise my right arm slightly before having to lower the entire load to my chest once again.  I was able to kind of roll the weights down to my abdominal area, where I rested for a while as I thought about the next course of action.  I was finally able to lift the bar on one side and slide the other end on to the floor with a mighty clang that only helped to heighten the awarness of my lack of athletic abilities.  After lowering the other side to the ground I got up looked at the girls who were both smiling and quietly exited the room.  My workout was done.

Hanging in Hobart Tasmania

Flew in to Tasmania today. Very cool city surrounded by mountains with a spectacular harbor. I intend to spend another day here then back to Sydney for more of a visit with Frances and her family. Then back to New Zealand for a day and a half and finally home to Bobbi. (Can't wait to see her and the kids).

Received a few more donations this week which put a huge smile on my face.  The amount donated is actually more than the facebook amount listed as that does not include any checks or cash donations...so once again, thank you all who supported us.  It is our hope that one day Halley will be rid of this disease or that she will at least have access to new and improved technologies that will help her stay healthy until a true cure is found.

We will be forever grateful for your help.

Hanging in Sydney

I arrived in Sydney a few days ago and am staying with an early childhood friend from England. Frances and I were quite inseparable when we were young. It was an interesting combination as she was always completely brilliant and I was an average lad with the attention span of a small puppy. I can still remember being around ten or eleven and walking along farm road talking about what we were going to do when we grew up. Frances said "I'm going to be a vet."
She is now Dr. Frances Hulst, a veterinarian at Taronga zoo. I believe when she asked me what I was going to do I probably just stared at her with a blank expression on my face.

As I write this I am sitting outside in a free wireless zone looking across at the iconic Sydney Opera House. To my left is the harbor and the harbor bridge. Tomorrow I catch an early morning flight to Tasmania and then return two days later.

Yesterday, Frances dropped me off at a park near her house and I walked along a river in sandals no less. I was informed that their are red bellied black snakes and deadly brown snakes in the area but that I shouldn't worry as I probably wouldn't see many. As I entered the bush the sign said "If you are lucky enough to see a Brown snake, be cautious as they can be quite aggressive." Ha Ha I laughed as I looked down at my feet and wondered why I had not worn my boots.

Homeless in Auckland

It is almost 10pm and I am sitting outside on a beautiful night in downtown Auckland. In order to conserve my rapidly depleting cash reserves, I have decided that it didn't make sense to get a room for the night when my plane leaves for Australia at 7:15 in the morning. There appears to be some type of art festival happening with many people drinking wine and beer and enjoying the evenings festivities. This works to my advantage in several ways. I am unlikely to get mugged with a large crowd hanging around and I will not be the only strange character lurking around the streets at 2:00am in the morning. There is a sixteen dollar shuttle bus that leaves from Queen street every half hour or so. My plan is to hang tight 'till 2:00am, do the sad and lonely homeless thing for a while and then catch the bus to the airport for some much needed rest on a cushy airport chair.

If you are reading this before you pick me up Frances, I apologize for my physical appearance and I promise to bathe as soon as possible. For anyone reading this who does not know who Frances may be. She was my first best friend as a young child growing up in England and she currently lives in Sydney Australia. She ended up in Sydney and I ended up in New Jersey. What was up with that? Actually New Jersey was quite an awesome place to be.....a lot of great people up there.

I can't help but sit here and reflect on what I just went through over the last two and a half months. I have seen some amazing things and have pushed this fifty one year old body and mind to the limit. I have stood at the summit of Mount Tongariro and walked alone through the Martian landscape of the Northern circuit. I have trekked almost eighty kilometers through a driving storm on the lonely and wide open Heaphy track. I walked along the ridge lines of the Routeburn, Kepler and Milford tracks and walked through the mud and rain forest of the Raikura track on Stewart Island. I slept in my tent along the Abel Tasman Coastal track and awoke to the sounds of the waves crashing on the beach and I fell about fifteen feet off of the path during the Waikaremoana great walk and I Kayaked the primal and challenging Whanganui river. Having accomplished this I now realize that it is the people that I met along the way that probably had the greatest impact. Calvin from Singapore hiking in his rubber shoes that looked like gloves for your feet. The two young Russians and juggling Canadians I met on the Northern circuit. The cool English Doctor from Christchurch and the two sweet German doctors along the Heaphy track. My Canadian friend Shelby who pulled out of the Kepler due to rain. The Irish woman Toni, who made bird calls and the diabetic Englishman Tony, who struggled with me in a storm at the top of Mackinnon pass. My young Australian paramedic friend who warned me about the loud American group on the Milford track and who I met again while hiking the Routeburn and the couple from England who worked at the Artic, who just recently bought a boat and sailed it to New Zealand and who were hiking the Kepler along with his parents. Geoff and Linda two awesome Kiwis who love to tramp and who happily walked in miles of mud along the Raikura track and two hysterically funny Dutch guys and an amazingly strong and inspiring sixty nine year old Australian who kayaked the Whaganui river. But most of all, I will remember a family from Wellington with two little angels, that took me in fed me and made me feel at home. When they dropped me off at the train, one of the girls said in her cute little Kiwi accent "Greg..will we ever see you again." There was a pause and then she said "ever?"..I sure hope so.

The realization of a dream and Kayaking the Whanganui river

I have come full circle. I am back sitting in the same Starbucks in Auckland where I first wrote in my blog. I cannot believe that I just did what I did. Two and a half months of tramping and now kayaking, covering almost 600 kilometers. It was one thing to write that when I hadn't even started, but having experienced the journey, I really can't find words that would do it justice.

My final chapter was a re-visit to the Tongariro/National Park area. After leaving Jon and his family in Wellington, I took the overland train up to National Park. In order to save dwindling funds, I went with the cheapest kayak rental place I could find, and one that would let me rent one without being part of a group. The owner Steve, said "no worries, we will meet you at the train." He also said "no worries, we have plenty of kayaks." Followed by "no worries, your camera will be safe with us mate, we'll stick it in a dry bag." I learned that in National Park lingo, this means "sure we have at least two kayaks and you will be paddling a double by your self and we are unfortunately fresh out of dry bags, but here is a plastic bin liner will that do?" Followed by, "Oh were we supposed to pick you up...don't remember saying that."

After calling the kayak operator, a young Kiwi girl finally showed up and picked me and an Irish girl up at the train station. We arrived at the "lodge," where I was greeted by an older gentleman with a cowboy hat and his Asian wife. I assumed they were the owners but apparently they lived in a camper van on the premises. After sitting for about twenty minutes in a plastic chair in the middle of a huge room with a massive fireplace, I approached a young man sitting on one of the worn and thread bare couches. He was apparently French and spoke very little English. After another ten minutes I found the young girl who had picked me up in the kitchen area and asked her where I could pitch my tent. It was already starting to rain and had apparently been doing so for several days. She showed me to an area outside littered with trash, beer bottles and broken machinery. "How much would a room be?" I asked. "Eighteen Dollars." She said. I smiled. She showed me to a dingy room, with two bunk beds and a single and pointed to the single bed saying "don't sleep in that one, I think it's still dirty." Yeah! I was home at last.

That evening I met some other wary adventurers, a sixty nine year old Australian Veterinarian two hysterically funny Dutch guys and a very intense young fella from Switzerland. We all joked about the posh accommodations. That night we were Informed that we may not be able to get on to the river due to the rain. This was my second attempt at kayaking the Whanganui and this was really bad news to hear. Anyone who knows me would understand that completing eight of the nine great walks would haunt me for ever. We were told that they would check the conditions in the morning and that we should all be ready to go by 7:30am if it was going to be a green light. Just when they got done informing us about this two soaking wet American girls and a group of about six Kiwis entered the room. They had gotten on to the river three days prior. I listened intently as they recounted how they had capsized and how one of the American girls needed help from a passing jet boat, as her kayak had filled with water and had gotten wedged between some dead trees during one of the rapids. I looked at the Dutch guys and the sixty nine year old Australian. The Dutch guys mouths were wide open, the sixty nine year old Australian just smiled.

After a fairly sleepless night, I awoke to a cloudless and beautiful day. Our driver, an interesting young lad with dreadlocks and very cool sunglasses took us outside so we could load up our barrels. It was then that I found out that there was no single person kayak available and that the kayak company was fresh out of dry bags. My experience on the Whanganui river would involve me trying to steer a very long two person kayak down a treacherous and often rapid filled river while trying to stop the nose from turning to far with each stroke.

After about a forty five minute drive we arrived at the landing, roped in our barrels filled with supplies and pushed off in to the rain forest. I can only agree with what my friend Jon from Wellington said about the Whanganui. It is a very surreal landscape. When the river is calm you paddle along looking up at cliffs that rise vertically out of the brown water. The cliffs were often covered in drapes of vines and moss that lead up to a dense forest that looked completely impenetrable. At times you would pass waterfalls, some that were visible, cascading down the cliff face and some that roared inside a hidden cave or around a rock face that you could not see. At other times that roaring sound emanated from the approaching rapids or break water leaving you wondering what was coming and where to position your kayak to avoid the inevitable roll in to the chilly and murky waters. Along the grassy portions of the river banks, you would see wild black and white goats grazing, along with the occasional wild pigs. With every turn, the river was more astounding as the cliffs got higher and the landscape continually changed. You were in a completely different world that has probably looked this way for over a million years.

At night we stopped along the banks at various DOC sites. At this point we were also joined by two young English lads rowing in a Canadian style canoe and a Swedish couple out for a little adventure. The Dutch guys turned out to be the two funniest people that I had met on this trip. They were both in their mid thirties and were former art students turned massage therapists. They had a few extra barrels to contain the wine, beer and gourmet food supplies that they had bought on this trip. I haven't laughed so hard in quite a while, as watching these two Amsterdam residents drink and eat Their way down the Whanganui was hysterical and great comic relief. At one point the Australian chap had capsized in one of the rapids and while helping him with his kayak and gear I looked back up river to see the Dutch guys laughing and standing on a pile of rocks. Instead of just hitting the rapids head on they had apparently decided to try to go around them and ended up stranded in the middle of the river.

On the last day as we approached the pick up zone in Papriki, we could hear a more intense rumbling up ahead. As I turned the corner I could see the Swiss guy turning and paddling hard towards us. He was waving us over to the left hand side saying we had to go that way as it was too shallow to paddle down the center. We had intentionally avoided this, as to the left the water was accelerating at a rapid speed and the rapids were way more substantial than those in the middle of the river. We watched the Swiss guy line up and head down the chute. It looked amazing watching him bounce around and finally come out the other end so off I went. I paddled over, lined up the nose and plunged in head first. It was amazing. I could feel the water trying to spin me around and you continually had to power the nose of the kayak in a forward direction. Although you were probably through the hardest section in a matter of seconds it felt like a lot longer. I looked back to see the sixty nine year old Australian guy shoot in to the water and watched him come out smiling once again, on the other side. I found out later that the two English guys had experienced a serious wipe out earlier, but that after getting to dry land they gave it a second try and made it through. After one last really good rapid towards the end we paddled to the pick up zone. In the perfect end to an amazing journey, our dreadlocked driver stopped to pick up a few beers, happily drinking one as he drove us back past the Tongariro National Park with Mount Doom looming in the background.

The next day the Australian chap dropped me off on the road heading in to Taupo and I hitched a ride to the entrance to the city. From there I caught another ride from a young Israeli all the way to Rotorua. GOOD TIMES.

Hangin at the "Lazy Shag Backpackers,"

You can't make up names like the "Lazy Shag." After a long day of hiking along the cliffs and photographing seal colonies basking in the sun I headed back to the Lazy Shag. It was time for my weekly ritual of doing my laundry while taking a shower at the same time. It is very economical, ecological and addresses two issues at the same time. I usually start off wearing a shirt, underwear, socks and often shorts and then simply lather up. after the clothes are well scrubbed, I take them off, rinse them and myself off and voila....laundry is almost done. A few more items in the sink and my cleanliness chores are over.

I was quite excited to have this difficult chore behind me and after hanging my clothes out on a community clothes line I went back inside, put on my sandals and headed out to the beach. I didn't get far before I passed three young people sitting at a picnic table laughing hysterically. I looked at them somewhat uncomfortably as it appeared that their apparent uncontrolled laughter was somehow connected to me. The girl, who was almost in tears from laughing so hard was now pointing down at my feet. I slowly moved my gaze downward and then immediately noted that Velcro sandal fastners are to nylon underwear as a magnet is to nails. There I was heading out for some fish and chips and dragging a pair of grey Marks and Spencer style briefs along for the ride. I attempted to make a joke and then slowly retreated back to my room.

Heading North

After leaving Queenstown I headed up North to the town of Ashburton, on the east coast of the South Island. While watching the television at the hostel, a news flash came on saying that there had been a 4.6 earthquake in Wellington. I texted Jon, who I had stayed with the previous month and he texted back that it was enough of a jolt to make them run for the door jam. He stated that the girls hadn't even woken up.

The next day I hopped on an inter-city bus and headed to Kaikoura, a beautiful ocean-side town further up the east coast. In order to get there I had to exchange buses in Christchurch. As soon as we entered the city you could see the devastation all around. We passed a church where the whole front side had collapsed away and the stained glass windows still lay in pieces in the rubble. There were many buildings completely destroyed and others with obvious damage. It was a surreal sight as army personnel were everywhere, controlling access to the city center. Everywhere you looked people were wearing dust masks and after several hours waiting for the bus we all understood why. Large trucks would come by and spray the roads in an attempt to control the dust but due to strong winds that day, your eyes were burning and your nose became clogged very fast. As we waited for the bus to arrive, there was a pharmacy directly across from us that was mostly collapsed. Due to the continuing gales, the roof kept lifting up off of what was left of the structure and then crashing down again. After about an hour, police officers told us to move down to the end of the next block as the building was coming down. Most of us thought they meant it was about to collapse. About a half hour after we had all moved behind a new tape line, a large machine arrived and the building was torn down in minutes.

I couldn't help wonder how the city center must look and I thought, who might have been in that pharmacy when the earthquake struck. Was it some girl working behind the counter, or a husband picking up medication for his wife. You watch the news and see how some people were on the top floor of a five story building that completely collapsed and they walked out with minor injuries and then you see a funeral for a young man who stepped out of a tattoo parlor and was crushed in the rubble. These things are always so random and senseless and incredibly sad.

To Old to Party

I have definitely come to the realization that my partying days are over. Last night was the strangest night ever. I stayed at the Base hostel in Queenstown in a four share mixed dorm room. When I arrived there were two large tattooed guys napping on two of the beds. When I entered the room, they opened their eyes, glared at me, muttered something in a distinctly German accent and then rolled over to face their prospective walls. The one chap had the bed by the window, the other against one of the walls. Their was a pack on the other bed next to the toilet which left mine dead center in the middle of the room. Not the place that I really wanted to be.

I dropped the bag and headed out in to the city. This is my second time here and it truly is a stunning place. Imagine the cleanliness and tourist Mecca of Disney surrounded by massive and beautiful mountains that frame an aqua blue lake. It is the adventure capital of New Zealand with stores catering to all of your adrenalin junky needs. If you want to bungy jump , sky dive, ride the rapids, swing over a gorge....well you get the meaning. I intentionally stayed out quite late so I didn't have to deal with the hostile hostel situation. When I returned aroung 1:00am, I could hear the base thumping from the end of Shot Over street. As I approached a distinctly young crowd were screaming, singing, wearing red sombreros and all were feeling very little pain. Not a grey haired fellow among the crowd.

I locked my bag in a storage unit downstairs and headed up to the room. When I opened the door, I could see one shadowy figure on the bed by the bathroom and could barely make out another by the window. I closed the door, fumbled my way over to the center of the room and climbed into the bed. A very strange feeling I must say. After lying there for about ten minutes it started. In this particular case it wasn't the usual middle aged white male snoring (except for the hobbit lady of Milford), this time it was the sound of twenty something drunken and passed out snoring. Even stranger was that the loudest one was definitely a female in a room with young drunken back packers and one really uncomfortable and annoyed old guy. About an hour later I cold hear someone struggling to get the door open..."ah...great. My third roomie is home."

Stewart Island, the Raikura Track, and Friends

When I walked out of the rain forest and the mud and stepped on to the paved road headed to the port town of Oban, I was done. I had completed my eighth and final over land Great Walk, the Raikura Track. It is still hard to process the fact that I have walked all eight of the actual Great Walk tramping tracks, with just the Wanganui river journey left to complete my goal.

Although the Raikura track may not have been the most visually appealing of the great walks, the people I met along the track made it one of the most pleasurable. There was a Kiwi couple from the Auckland area with a distinct love for their country and a passion for tramping, for each other and just life in general. Another young Kiwi couple from the coromandel area of the North Island, very much in-love and also aware of how fortunate they were to be from this amazing place. There was also a young, curious and wonderful Israli lad who had already traveled through India after leaving the army, and who's perspective on his Arab neighbors was enlightening and refreshing to hear. As we walked through the mud and out of the forest, he told me that he also spoke fluent Arabic and that he wished all of his friends would do the same. "If we all learned to communicate their would be less mistrust and misunderstanding." He said. This had not been my experience with many of the Isralis that I had met along the way, and it was evident that this was a fairly remarkable and open-minded young man. Then finally there was Robert, the American. He may well have been one of the funniest guys that I have met along the way. He was an unemployed school teacher, mid to early thirties, who buys old bikes, fixes them up and re-sells them. He meandered in to the DOC hut as evening was turning in to night, and had just walked some twenty five plus kilometers to get there. He had some of the funniest stories yet such as drinking to much wine one night in the Australian outback and forgetting where he left his pack. He finally passed out, got eaten alive by Mosquitos and later found the pack with two park rangers who had been quite concerned about where the owner was. Much like myself, he had also experienced a ride with a one legged man while hitch hiking. While traveling across the outback in Australia, an old man with a long white beard had picked him up. The man had just lost his leg and was self medicating with a large quantity of pain pills. I believe the reader can imagine the rest.

In just over two months, including several day walks around Wellington and Nelson, I have walked solo across some of the most stunning and awe inspiring places on this planet. I have transversed the vast volcanic lunar landscape of the Tongariro Northern circuit, the beautiful, exhausting and magical forests of Lake Waikaremoana, the golden bays of the Abel Tasman coastal track, the wide open and stormy tussock downs of the Heaphy track, all three of the majestic and stunning alpine tracks the Milford, Routeburn and Keppler and finally the mud pits and rain forest of Raikura on Stewart Island. If I add in the walks along the Belmont Regional Park near Wellington and the day walks of the Whispering falls track and Coastal Ridgeway loop near Nelson, I have walked approximately 437.8 kilometers so far.

When I started this insane quest months ago I thought it was simply about landscapes, physical challenges and achieving a goal. Although these aspects are all part of the whole story, it has increasingly become about the people I've met and the overwhelming importance of the actual journey. It is about the support of my best friend Bobbi, it is about my three amazing and talented kids, it is about the last words my mom said to me before she died, it is about understanding what my friend Eric felt like when he was out there on his own and it is about sitting in the nursing home and looking back and going "yup....I stepped out of the safety zone and I really did that and it was completely amazing.

frolicking in the forest with Frederik

I recently completed the last of the big three alpine/fiord land tracks. The Kepler track is Sixty kilometers and starts at the control gates in Te Anau. The walk initially brings you through another beautiful rainforest and after about a two to three hour climb, your reach the
Luxmore DOC hut that sits atop the bluff, providing panoramic views of the Te Anau Basin, the Takitimu Mountains, and the Snowdon and Earl Mountains. The first day was completed in a fine rain with low clouds obscuring the bottom half of the mountains, giving an eery perspective of the massive peaks protruding through like islands floating on a sea of white.

Although the weather forecast was somewhat daunting, those of us who did not cancel our hike were rewarded the next day. Although foggy and very windy at times, the views from the ridge line were quite spectacular and once again different from the other alpine walks. While the other peaks were made of black granite with snow capped peaks, these had olive and beige hues that blended with the tussock grasses and mountain flowers to create a completely different mountain experience.

After several hours of walking the ridge lines, you descend rapidly and steeply in to the valley and the forest below. I had been warned by my English friend Tony from the Milford hike that this section was known as the Kepler, crippler. The way my knees felt after about an hour were ample clarification of this deserved name. Once I arrived at the Iris Burn hut, I met an Englishman from Lancashire who had had a previous knee replacement. He was in a lot of pain.

The second to last day the rain was much more intense. Although I walked much of the hike in the forest, it was pouring down, and pack cover or not, my entire pack was still soaking wet.

This brings me to my forest adventure with my Dutch friend Frederik. Once I made it to the Moturau hut, I was greeted by Frederik who had stripped down to his speedo. "You swim in lake, yes?" I declined and made the universal sign for shivering. I watched as he ran down to the lake and jumped in. After about an hour, Frederik had dried off and noticed me playing with my camera. "Come in to the forest....we take photos together." Said Frederik. It was another one of those silent moments when I felt that all eyes were upon me. I wasn't sure what he meant by take photos together, but I put aside my distinctly heterosexual thought processes and embraced this new friendship with confidence and vigor. Soon I was following my new friend through the woods in search of fauna, birds and beautiful sunsets. He turned out to be a very cool young fellow,and talked enthusiastically about his girlfriend and his life in the Netherlands, but when we finally returned to the hut about an hour later, I had this mental image that we should be skipping hand in hand up to the porch.

Due to weather and transportation issues I returned to Te Anau the next day. It was then that I learned of the earthquake that had occurred earlier. I couldn't help think of the young doctor from Christchurch that had given me a ride to Westport from the Heaphy track and of my day spent in that beautiful city several weeks prior to the event. A beautiful city already trying to rebuild, struck once again.

Nervous Anticipation

I can look out the window of the hostel and look across lake Te Anau at the distant mountains and the Kepler track. At this moment the peaks are completely covered by grey clouds and I am fully aware that the weather up there is not like it is down here.

Tomorrow I head out for four days across the sixty kilometer track that will transverse these ridge lines in what are supposed to be some fairly bad weather systems moving in to the mountains. I was somewhat comforted in the fact that I had a possible partner to hike with, but she just canceled out due to the forecast. I would love to do the same but I can't. I have come to far and have committed to do this to raise money and complete my goal. Besides anyone who knows me understands that my OCD would never let me pass this one up.

I also realize that quitting can never be a viable option. My little girl gets up everyday and checks her blood sugar. She then measures the correct amount of insulin and injects her self to keep her self alive. She has done this since she was a little girl and never complains or cries about it. She bravely does what she has to do and lives her life fully and passionately. It is for her awesome spirit and the possibility of a cure that I will keep going to the end and hopefully get back to Te Anau on the 22nd before moving onto Stewart Island.

If you have not donated to our cause (The Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation), please go to my blog and scroll down to the bottom left. There is a link to JDRF with a picture of Halley. If you click you will see a donate button. WE DESPERATELY NEED YOUR HELP...PLEASE HELP US FIND A CURE.

Sleepless in Te Anau

On the advice of a chap that I met on the Milford and Routeburn track I decided to change my accommodations at Te Anau to a cheaper hostel that was actually closer to town. As I paid cash for the other room, I gave a lame excuse and they were fine with giving me a refund. Thanks to this move, I am now sitting in the lounge area wide awake due to the smell of vomit that currently permeates my former room. I was unable to get in to the one he suggested and ended up in a shared room at a backpacker place near the lake. There were only three of us in the room and I was actually drifting off when the incident occurred. I believe alcohol may have had something to do with the inability to contain his stomachs former contents. Waiting to find out about another room.

Over the last few months sleep has been a rare luxury that usually occurs when I am in a tent or lucky enough to get a single room in some seedy motel. As most trampers will attest, if the huts are inhabited, their will be many different nocturnal sounds that will make sleep an impossibility. This particular situation however, is a first. "Ah to be young and stupid".

Tramping the Routeurn

I just finished walking in possibly one of the most stunning places on the planet. The Routeburn track is a true mountain tramp that travels over thirty two kilometers through both the Mount Aspiring and Fiordland national parks. The Track traverses wild and scenic mountain country between the Hollyford and Dart Valleys at the base of New Zealand's Southern Alps.

I have been fortunate over these last several months as I have had mostly great weather on many of the hikes. For these three days The weather was absolutely incredible. Bright blue skies, beautiful cool evenings and mornings and stunning light as you will see in what are probably the best photographs that I have taken so far.

There is a considerable amount of climbing in a consistently upward trajectory, but one would expect this when you are hiking in an alpine region. The first day involves a walk through the beech forests until you begin a gradual and at times, steep ascent up to the falls hut. The views along the way are breath taking and at one point you come to an area where there was a Massive land slide in 1994.

The second day was the kind of hike that you dream about. Much like some of my days of isolation on the Togariro Northern Crossing or out on the Heaphy track, I Had that same feeling of elation and euphoria. I was feeling physically strong and getting closer to the completion of an often daunting goal. To complete all nine of New Zealand's Great Walks. With the completion of the Routeburn I only had The Keppler and Raikura tracks and the Whanganui River journey left and I will have accomplished what I at times, thought was going to be impossible.

The second day encompasses the walk up to the Harris Saddle. After leaving the falls hut, you begin a steep climb up towards the Harris Saddle. Once the hut is out of sight you come in to an area that is a pristine mountain path surrounded by mountains on either side. The sun was still low in the sky and you were now walking level with some of the clouds that still hung un-moving, below the mountain peaks. Some of the mountains appeared grayish brown in color while others were the color of black granite. Looking back towards the valley, the sun was now brighter and the distant mountains were just grey Silhouettes. After several hours you reach a shelter at the base of Conical hill. Conical hill climbs an additional one thousand five hundred and fifteen meters up and many people pass it by and go on to the next hut at Lake Mackenzie. It was an extremely steep climb and quite challenging with a camera bag strapped over the shoulder but it was completely worth the effort. From the summit, you have endless views of the Darren Mountain range and can see as far as the Tasman Sea. It was a crystal clear blue sky and the white snow capped peaks were stark and bright against the black granite rock. AWESOME.

Along the way, I met some more really great people. The Australian fella that I had met on the Milford track that I talk about in my ode to the American tourist, and a very nice and friendly Australian couple who were semi-retired in their early sixties and vey fit and enjoying life. The husband is my hero as any guy that plunges into a freezing mountain lake in a speedo is OK in my book.

ROUTEBURN PHOTOS AT BOTTOM OF PAGE

Ode to the American Tourist (not to be confused with tramper)

OK, let me just get this over with and say I love my country and many of the wonderful people who live there. Having gotten that out of the way, why is it that so many wealthy Americans have never learned to keep a low profile when traveling abroad? On my recent foray in to the wilderness I had the misfortune of running in to a group of eight mid-fifty to early sixties friends who decided that a back country tramp through the world famous Milford track would be a fun little adventure.

Unlike most of the tracks, Milford is the most known and attracts the most people. Although it is so vast, you don't see anyone when you are out walking, you do eventually meet up again at the end of the nights at the DOC huts.

My introduction to this group of very loud vacationers first occurred when I was walking out of the bunk room and a young Australian that I had chatted with the day before said "bloody hell, you don't want to go in there." As I approached the communal area I could hear them from over thirty yards away. A series of shrill shreaks, followed by uproarious laughter. "No not here," I thought to myself. As I entered the room there were eight very loud people playing a card game dressed in the latest North Face tramping fashions adorned with much jewelry and wearing the latest designer hiking boots. I looked across the room and noted a separate table with various other trampers quietly eating their ramen noodles with varied looks of disdain on their faces. It was at this point that I wondered if I could do a convincing Canadian accent.

The group was comprised of four couples, with one couple ranging no more than four feet seven to possibly just under five feet. Of course, being in New Zealand, I couldn't help thinking of the hobbit analogy.

If their is one cardinal rule that I have learned on this journey it is this. Don't embark on a major hike over mountain terrain unless you are physically prepared to deal with the pain and discomfort that accompanies such a journey. Over the next several days I would have to listen to loud exclamations of how the DOC literature should do a better job of explaining how hard this is. Also, that no one mentioned how bad the sand flies were.

The worst moments came during the night. If it wasn't for all of the other tough, fearless adventurers sharing the bunk room with me, I probably would have cried myself to sleep. The female member of the small in stature couple, tended to snore as if she was six feet tall. That combined with a variety of other nocturnal and undesirable sounds emanating from her body made the act of sleeping quite impossible. One of the more traumatic moments came the next morning when I opened my eyes to find her in nothing but a bra and underwear bending over at the foot of my bunk, foraging through her pack. I looked away fast, but the image was already burned into my psyche. As I was gearing up and getting ready to head out the door, one of the other ladies with this group approached me and said, in a loud voice. "You are faster than us, so when you get to the other hut can you save eight of the bottom bunks for us?" I looked around the room and could feel the international glare from among the other trampers waiting to see how this American would respond. "No I can't do that...that wouldn't be right." I said, as I walked out the door. you see that very question emphasizes the difference between the American traveler and the American tourist. Could you imagine me getting to the next bunk house and then, as various representatives of other nations arrive, me standing there saying "sorry guys, these are reserved for the Americans." The fact that the question was even asked says a lot.

The following evening it was beginning to get darker and everyone had made it to the hut except for two of the Americans. One of their group had struggled in and exclaimed that the two short in stature hikers, were having a difficult time and that the husbands knee was hurting him and that his wife was having trouble carrying her bag. I, the Australian fella and the DOC warden headed up the trail to find them. After about a twenty minute hike I could hear heavy panting and could see the tops of two heads approaching through the moss covered forest. "I heard they were currently filming the new Hobbit film," I thought, once again, to myself.

Once we had helped them in with their packs and retired to the hut, I could hear a rather heated discussion coming from the common area. One of the American couples were having an emotional discourse about the fact that this was not as relaxing as they thought it would be. I curled up into a fetal position in my sleeping bad and quietly began to practice my newly acquired Lithuanian accent.

Realizing A Dream

Whenever I dreamt of walking in New Zealand it was always on the Milford Track. I would always imagine what it was like to be completely on my own, walking
through Mackinnon pass on a clear and beautiful summer day. Well now I know, except for the clear and beautiful summer day part.
Although there were Many trampers at the hut that first night, I set off at around 7:30am, while most were still making their oatmeal or catching some much needed rest from the previous days hike.


The hike is a four day walk from Glade Wharf on Lake Te Anau to Milford Sound on the South west coast of the South island. Milford sound was formed by an ancient glacier that created a deep, narrow valley that later filled when the sea level rose. The track follows the upstream flow of the Clinton river, and then continues up and over the almost 4000 foot Mackinnon pass, followed by a perilous and slippery descent and then finally passing through the valley of the Arthur river.

The walk involves staying at three Department of Conservation huts all with spectacular placement that allow for incredible vistas of the surrounding mountains. Some soaring to almost seven thousand feet, covered with fresh snow melting into hundreds of waterfalls that cascade continually down the face of the granite mountains. The walk takes almost four days to complete and covers fifty three and a half kilometers, with one full day being a climb up to the top of the McKinnon pass and then all the way down till you reach the Dumpling hut.

The second day involves a walk through ancient beech forests with the constant sounds of varied bird life ringing in your ears. As you walk along the forest path, you are often given brief vistas of the tall mountains that contantly tower over you. At times the tree lines thin as they follow the crystal clear river below and one can step out in to a clearing to see massive granite peaks casting their reflections in the water.

The second day involved the realization of my dream. After leaving the hut early before anyone else, I was once again alone in the forest, and I was heading for the beginning of the famed Mackinnon pass. I cannot completely explain this to anyone who has not walked alone in such a wild and stunning place. For me it was a feeling of complete euphoria. A religious experience in the truest sense. I walked out of the forest and into the start of the pass. If their are such things as earthly cathedrals then I was in the most holy place that nature could create. I was encompassed on either side by massive granite snow capped peaks. the warmth of the sun was melting the snow and you could hear the constant distant roar of a hundred towering waterfalls cascading down the face of these giant black granite monoliths. The path meandered through a valley of tussock grasses and smaller forested areas with a multitude of rivers fueled by the waterfalls pouring down from the mountain peaks above.

I have stood before, in some awesome man made structures that pay homage to a higher power. Buildings such as the Vatican, Notre Dame and Canturbury Cathedral all have a certain iconic force, no matter what your religious or spiritual beliefs, but for me on this day, I was alone in the most pristine and awe inspiring cathedral of them all. I was surrounded by nature in it's most primal and beautiful state, untouched by man, powerful and overwhelming and capable of turning a fifty one year old man into a child filled with wonder and complete joy. whether I was trying to call over a rare blue duck, eating a protein bar next to a hidden lake or taking ridiculous pictures of myself with the self-timer button on the camera, I was in a state of complete and utter happiness.

After arriving at the Mintaro hut, I met up again with The two young men from the Czech Republic, the Australian paramedic, a young married couple from China and Tony the sixty year old diabetic from Sheffield England, who struggled along much of the track with severe cramps in his legs. Someone I would later sit with at the top of McKinnon pass as we both sought shelter from the storm at the top of the mountain.

The next day, was the toughest and most daunting part of this particular tramp. We already new what to expect as the DOC hut warden had posted the weather on the board in the hut. We were told that the climb was going to be a difficult one due to rain, fog and cold temperatures at the top. Most (sensible) people decided to wait out the storm, as it was supposed to improve later that day. Yours truly, was not so bright. Tony set off first, about a half hour before me. I soon found him leaning against the rock face about five hundred feet up. His diabetes was affecting his leg muscles and once again he was struggling with cramping. I asked him if he wanted me to stay and climb with him, but he insisted he would be fine. After several hours of going straight up the mountain, my supposed wet weather gear was soaked through. My gloves were wet, my hands were freezing and I was walking along these switchback sections at the top of the pass with misty, cloudy views of the mountains to either side and the valley now thousands of feet below. When I finally reached the peak it was hard to see anything and it was extremely cold. At first I was a little concerned as I was shivering fairly constantly and was having trouble finding the continuation of the path. I finally located a sign that said "hut 20 minutes.". After a half hour or more I had that similar feeling of dread I have had before on some of the walks. Did I go the wrong way...should I try to go back? At this point I was freezing, soaking and needing shelter fast. There was no greater feeling in the world than finally seeing the shelter in the distance. I went inside, stripped off my wet things, changed in to long underwear and put on a new fleece top. There was no heat but momentary shelter from the rain and freezing wind was a complete luxury. After sitting there alone and wondering about Tony, in he walked. "Bloody hell that was murder," exclaimed Tony. I could only agree.

After waiting for about a half an hour, it seemed that the weather was not going to get any better. On with the wet rain gear and down the other side of the mountain I went. the descent was in some ways more challenging. Murder on the knees and very slippery. There were often awe inspiring views as the clouds and mist would some times part and you would see the valley floor below.

Finally arriving at Dumpling hut was a joyous feeling. I fired up the gas cooker and Tony and I both enjoyed a hot coffee. Hours later various other trampers began to straggle in to camp. Most added the comment that they had waited for the weather to clear, and that it had been quite nice comming over the ridge. Tony and I just glared at them and said nothing. after all where was the adventure in that.

The next day was beautiful once again. Eleven and a half miles to the boat at sand fly pointe, a short cruise through the spectacular Milford sound and then back to Te Anua for a two day recovery. Then off to do it all over again.

PHOTOS AT BOTTOM OF BLOG

Made it to Te Anau

Bus transportation in New Zealand is interesting. Whether you want to or not you will be stopping at least once for a snack and a visit to a road side cafe. In order for the drivers to get a break they pull in for regular scheduled stops in little towns with names like Bull, Harihari, Waimangaroa and yes, even Charleston. This is a good thing, as it simply means that my driver, who is operating a very large bus, is relaxed and refreshed as he drives along a winding dirt road spiraling eternally around a very steep mountain.

After departing Dunedin at 1:55pm, I arrived in Te Anau at around 6:30pm. I understand that this may be becoming somewhat cliche at this point but once you get past Invercargill, the surrounding country side is stunning. Before that it is just plain beautiful. Rolling green mountains on either side, frame a variety of farm lands inhabited by sheep, cows and oddly enough deer. (That's right folks deer farms....a very strange sight to behold). The mountains are gentle and sloping at first, as if formed out of liquid magma. they take on these undulating rounded forms that seem to intentionally frame the lower grasslands and funnel the eye forward towards the approaching Alpine landscape.

The closer you get to Te Anau, the larger the looming mountains begin to appear. On this day it is grey and cloudy with moments of heavy rain. The massive Alpine mountains seem all the more imposing as the peaks are once again, shrouded in clouds and mist. As if this wasn't enough to stir the emotions, thunder is roaring in the distance. Once again I disembark the bus, look up at the peaks and think to myself. Here we go again.

This will be my base for the next two and a half weeks as I attempt to complete three of the nine great walks. Arguably the most famous walk "The Milford Track," followed by the "Routeburn," and finally the "Keppler track." I have no illusions about how challenging this is going to be as some bad weather is inevitable and these are all difficult walks indeed.

If I can successfully get through these, I will be a very happy fellow as I will have completed seven of the nine walks. After that I plan to find my way to Stewart Island and then all the way back up to the North Island and Ohakune so I can Kayak the Whanganui.

Nelson to Christchurch to Dunedin

This constant travel thing can be quite frustrating. Up early in Nelson and then five plus hours on a bus to Christchurch. Spent over an hour walking around the city looking for a cheap place. Finally....yet another hostel. Sharing toilets, showers and another dirty room. Up early again and another five hours further South down the East coast to the Otago peninsula. Once again saw many seals sunning themselves on the rocks as we drove along the coastline. Wish I had more time to stay in the area as there are many seal, sea-lion and penguin colonies. Who knows maybe on the way back from Stewart Island. This walking mission can be frustrating as I am always on the move. Another cheap room and five dollars for an hour of Internet.

I do have to say the drive in to Dunedin was once again, beautiful. It reminded me of the Scottish Highlands around Ben Nevis. Green rolling mountains and then a drive down into the Valley by the sea. Another night...hanging out with myself, watching the world go by. Oh well at least I get to get up early and head off on a bus in the morning.

Call of the Weka and other Adventures on the Heaphy Track

Before I start. I would like to give a shout out to two beautiful, and intelligent young German doctors who laughed a lot along the way, to a young male English doctor who practices medicine in Wellington and who fully understands how fortunate he is to live in a place such as this, a young adventurous fellow from Singapore who I met several weeks ago, who hikes in those rubber toe shoes that look like gloves for feet and who laughs at everything, an Irish woman who has spent years comming to this wonderful place and who occasionally talks to birds, a very cool young German student traveling alone and Rambo, the strange but likeable French speaking fellow from Switzerland who showed up at night during a storm, dressed in army wear, cleaning his massive hunting knife by the light of his head lamp.

The Heaphy Track, located in Kahurangi National Park, sits at the North-West corner of the South Island. The entire track covers almost 80 kilometers of varied landscape from forest walks filled with Nikau palm trees, to vast tussock downs filled with copper colored grasses, laced with massive boulders that seem to have been artfully placed along the endless landscape. At times you follow the track through expansive valleys, towards distant fog covered mountains, through green forest trails with enormous trees that dwarf anything that I have ever seen. Towards the end of the track, you continue along moss covered pathways that eventually bring you down to the copper waters of the Heaphy river and out to the pounding sea with waves crashing against a coastline dotted with monolithic stone formations and the bleached skeletal remains of thousands of trees that have washed up on the beach.  During this long and beautiful walk, you transverse many rivers and streams, that were swollen, and at times raging, due to the day and a half of rain that happened over the four days spent on this spectacular journey.

Having given the reader a brief understanding of the topography and beauty of the Heaphy track I will now get down to why this may have been one of my favorite walks so far. Their were two main factors that made this track one of the most interesting walks to date. The weather and the other crazy adventurers I met along the way.

As with all of the great walks, you always check the weather reports before you venture way out in to wilderness. I, along with the other trampers did just that. We all heard the same thing, sunny with possibly one day of some light rain. Seemed safe enough we all thought. When I arrived at the Perry Saddle hut 17.5 Km from the start of the track a hut warden informed us that there had been a slight change in the forecast.  He then went on to inform us that an unexpected storm system was heading over Kahurangi park and that they were expecting gale force winds and rain for the next day and a half.  At that point the few of us that had ventured in to the park were already to far in and already committed to completing this journey.  I had just walked 17.5 Km's up to the Perry Saddle hut and it seemed possible that I could get another 7 Km's done before the storm got really bad.  So off I went, with the two German doctors close behind and the Irish woman somewhere behind them, as I headed through the open landscape to the Gouland downs hut.

By the time we all got there the wind was becomming quite fierce and the rain even harder.  As I settled in, set up my sleeping bag and prepared to weather the storm, I heard a shrill, shreaking sound as if a bird had been run over by a mack truck.  I looked at one of the German girls and finally realized that the Irish lady was outside of the hut and apparently engaged in some bird calling ritual as she tried to summon a Weka (A native bird that looks like a cross between a black bird and a hen).  Once inside I enjoyed the familiar taste of noodles, tomato paste and chemically treated water as our Irish companion sang along to the song stylings of Jon Bon Jovi.  Could the night become any more interesting?  Why yes it could.   As darkness enveloped the cabin and the weather intensified, the door opened and a very large French speaking man entered the room dressed in some type of camouflage outfit.  I watched silently from my wooden bunk as he sat in the light of his head lamp cleaning a large hunting knife, before he clambered towards me took off his boots and climbed in to the bunk above me.  Pleasant dreams Greg....pleasant dreams.  He would later be called "Rambo," by the various park wardens as he was apparently moving through the park in rapid speed without paying any of the DOC hut fees.

The next morning it was still raining, and I set off for the James Mackay hut approximately 18 Km's away.  The guide book for the park states "when the mist lowers, the featureless downs can be confusing and it is easy to become disoriented."  I kept this in mind the whole way, as I navigated my way over some streams that were now roaring rivers due to the amount of rain we had received.  After finally reaching the hut many hours later, a young doctor from London entered the hut.  He had walked over 40 Km's in one day through this storm system and was obviously quite exhausted and sore from his journey.  Also at this hut, the young fellow from Singapore, the young German student, the English doctor and myself.  The two German doctors were also here but decided to camp outside as the weather was finally starting to ease.  This turned out to be a great group of people and I would hike anywhere with any one of them.  Anyone who hikes in toe shoes or who brings along a bag of wine and a fishing pole is cool in my book.

The rest of the journey was varied, beautiful and rugged, as we finally crossed the Heaphy river and made it once again to the coast.  It is an amazing thing to be walking in a thick moss covered jungle and to hear the pounding surf through the trees.  The coast line was strewn with massive rock formations, boulders and sun bleached drift wood and the ever present and relentless sand flies.

On one of the last moments of the track, I sat with my friend from Singapore, another avid photographer who would laugh at me as he turned a corner to find me covered in sand flies taking another photo.  We both noted how the photographs can never fully convey the beauty of what your eyes were really seeing.  It was sometimes frustrating to think that there is no photographic image that could truly define what the eye really sees and how the other senses soak in the beauty of such a primal and surreal landscape.

Once we made it to the end of the track we took a shuttle to Karamea and the young doctor from Wellington gave the two German girls and myself a ride to Westport.  Last I heard the Irish lady had moved on and had spent the night in one of the open shelters.  I hope the flies sleep at night.  Rambo was never seen again.

Thanks for the on-going support

I am sitting alone in the land of the golden arches having a coffee and realizing that their are a some very cool and supportive people in the Mount Pleasant community. I want to thank Victoria Musheff and Sully Witte for their on-going support in my endeavor to raise money for my daughter Halley and the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. Your support keeps my spirit lifted and keeps me focused on finishing this sometimes daunting mid-life mission. I thank you both for helping me to get the word out and for providing me with a connection to the community that I have come to call home. I also realize that none of this would be possible without the support of my best friend, Bobbi. I miss you a lot more than you will ever truly know.

Sand Flies, Sun Burn and a Walk Through Paradise

I woke up early at the Bridge Street Hostel to the sound of Two Maori fellows having a loud and heated discussion in the next room. They were speaking in their native dialect and I found myself entranced by the rhythm of their voices and the intensity of their discourse. After trying unsuccessfully, to avoid placing my bare feet on to the stained and filthy carpet I showered, drank some black coffee and downed a hard and tasteless energy bar.

I made it to the bus stop five minutes before departure time and once again, was the only American and middle aged fellow on the bus. The rest were an eclectic group of young people from various countries heading off for a day of adventure. In my mind they were light weights. Most were doing a one day trip, where they take the water taxi from Kaiteriteri and go to Anchorage or Bark Bay for the day, returning later after having leisurely strolled the golden beaches of the Abel Tasman. I however, was determined to complete the 54.4 kilometer great walk from Marahau to Wainui and then would double back from Wainui to the pick up point at Totaranui. This would make the actual distance traveled around 67 kilometers.

After arriving at the drop off point a voice from the back of the bus said "are we at Kaiteriteri yet?" Apparently all of his friends had gotten off the bus and had left this twenty something Columbian kid sleeping on the bus. The only way he could get back was to walk the almost 12 Km to Anchorage where he could eventually pick up a water taxi. So the day started with a young Columbian Fillipe, a Canadian girl, two Israeli girls who had just finished their two year stint in the army and a middle aged American fella with sore knees. As the young Columbian lad was quite dejected about his ordeal I walked with him to Anchorage. We had an interesting conversation along the way and I learned much about his life and his views on everything from his love of family, his thoughts on religion and his perspective on the murder of the Columbian world cup soccer star. He currently resided in Canada and like so many young people today, he was seeing the world.

Over the next Three and a half days I hiked through some of the most beautiful coastal scenery that I have ever encountered. I have walked along coastlines in other places in the world but never have I seen the vivid and vibrant colors of the Abel Tasman landscape. The deep royal blue fringed by the shallower turquoise waters combined with sand that was truly the color of gold, was surreal and breath taking. As I photographed it continually, I realized that there is no camera that can really portray the beauty of what I was really seeing. I wish that everyone could see it the way my eyes were seeing it. Full vivid color in an endless landscape of blue sea and golden sand shrouded by green mountains and granite rock formations.

After leaving any specific bay you would often climb steeply in to the forest canopy filled with ferns, palms and a variety of lush green plant life that I have never before experienced. All the while I could hear bird calls that were completely foreign sounds and that heightened the awareness that I was in a distant and primal place, completely unspoiled and void of any impact form the modern world. Near the end of each days hike, you would come down from the mountain trails and would begin to see the familiar vibrant hues of blue and gold through the green canopy of the forest. Gradually you would descend on to another beautiful bay where you would set up your tent and marvel at the panoramic views and the fact that you just walked miles through some of the most stunning landscapes that you have ever transversed.

In a minor note, the sand flies were tough, the minor sun burn irritating and the sore muscles were ever present. Having a meal of freeze dried lamb with freeze dried potatoes and a nice drink of chemically treated water overlooking the Tasman sea......priceless.

The journey from Wellington to Nelson

The following section is completely taken from the "Encyclopedia of New Zealand, 1966.". I thought that it gave a very good explanation of the Cook Strait and the waters between the North and South land masses.

Cook Strait is the stretch of water separating the North and South Islands of New Zealand. It connects the South Pacific Ocean and the Tasman Sea through the centre of the New Zealand land mass, and is 14 miles at its narrowest, between Cape Terawhiti on the south-east coast of Wellington, and Wellington Head near Tory Channel. Much of the shore of Cook Strait on both sides is composed of steep cliffs. The beaches of Cloudy Bay, Clifford Bay, and Palliser Bay are composed of boulders with steep and high storm beaches. Although these bays shoal gently down to 70 fathoms, where there is a more or less extensive submarine plateau, the bottom topography of the strait is complex. The major features of this bottom topography are, however, an eastern Cook Strait Canyon with steep, and in some places, precipitous walls descending eastwards into the bathyal depths of the Hikurangi Trench which lies off the east coast of the North Island. The upper part of the canyon divides into three arms: the South Arm, lying near the centre of the strait with its head south-west of Wellington; the Middle Arm with its head south of Tongue Point on the South Wellington Coast; and the Wairarapa Arm with its head at the 20-fathom contour near the western side of Palliser Bay.

I will now translate. It was beyond the comprehension of anything I had ever sailed through. The fact that these ferry captains do this type of navigation on daily basis is amazing. It seemed as if we sailed through an endless maze of green mountains and enormous craggy rock formations that just rose up out of the waters. At times you would pass a mountainous bay with several houses or buildings at the base and one couldn't help wonder "How do then get to the local shops?"

As we finally turned in to Picton harbor I could hear people making audible gasps out of the window. all around were dolphins, escorting the ferry in to the harbor. If I didn't know any better I would have thought I was on the Cook Strait ride at the some new Disney theme park, except this was reality and we weren't herded in to some gift shop after the ride.

After grabbing my gear I found my way to the inter-city bus and headed off to Nelson. The ride to Nelson was unbelievable. Stunning views the entire way. Past low land planes of beautiful vineyards, green mountains and massive Forests that seem to go on forever. Finally we Looped around in to Nelson on the Southern shores of the Tasman Bay.

Across to the South Island

Last evening I met Jon after work and we went back to his house for another meal. Barbecued locally made lamb sausages, great beer and an amazing cheesecake made by Tanya. It's strange how you meet people that you never anticipated meeting and you make an instant connection. (Thanks John! AKA Elvis). Their beautiful and energetic little girls Sascha and Nadia stole a piece of my heart and I will remember this wonderful family with a smile on my face.

The next morning Tanya and the girls picked me up outside the hostel and drove me to the inter islander ferry. On a cloudy Friday, I crossed from the North to the South Island and caught a bus from Picton to Nelson. The Drive in to Nelson was nothing but stunning vistas of vineyards, cloud covered mountains and sweeping tree covered valleys.

My milk shakes bring all the boys to the yard

So here I am feeling like I'm in some bizarre skin head limbo. The two angry drunk fellas are surveying the room with malice intent as a group of Asian kids have taken over the pool tables.

I am in the process of doing my laundry in the common area where an array of people much younger than myself, are engaged in conversations, playing ping pong or snogging on the couches at the end of the room. Could it get any stranger? Why yes it could. People are now dancing to "My milkshakes bring all the boys to yard.". You can't make this stuff up folks.

In a few days I will cross the Cook Straight over to the South Island. Over the next month I have one insane great walk after another. As soon as I get to Nelson I will head off to the Abel Tasman Coastal track, then back to Nelson, re-supply and off to the Heaphy track. After that it gets even crazier.

Maybe this place isn't so bad after all.

Meeting the locals

What a crazy world. Here I am floundering around at the bottom of the North Island in the beautiful city of Wellington when I hear from my best friend, John AKA "Elvis," Costello. John is apparently involved as part of a covert on-line community bent on the destruction of the civilized Western world. Apparently he and other like-minded fellows, play war games and strategize world war two battles that occurred in places such as Normandy. (Hard to believe John has such a beautiful wife and children). It just so happens that one of the chaps that he plays with lives here in Wellington.

Jon...from Wellington met me at my hostel after he was done work. He stopped by and we headed to the waterfront area for a few beers and a chat. It was cool enough that he took the time to do this but then we were sitting there having a beer and he says "do you have a car with you?" Anyone who has followed my blog knows that cars, New Zealand and I, are not a good combination. Turns out Jon was offering me the use of a car while in Wellington. After the beers we hopped a bus back to his house for a meal where I met his partner and their two adorable children.

Jon....if you get a chance to see this...thank you so much for your hospitality. You live in an awesome place and you have a wonderful family.

I want to thank my daughter Halley for her quiet inner strength and her determination to live a happy life filled with love for her family, Cameron and her many friends. Your smile is infectious and the note that you hid in my bag makes me smile whenever I feel alone. So many of us complain about our aches and pains and the variety of ailments that we have to deal with. You were dealt an unfair hand as a little girl and have never let this disease define you. You are truly my hero and I know that one day you will live a life free of needles and constant worry.

I also want to thank your mommy and my best friend and wife Bobbi. It is easy for me to be out here living my dream raising awareness and trying to get donations. From the day you were diagnosed it has been your mother who's strength made everything possible. I remember when I got to the hospital and cried when I saw you, so little sitting on that big hospital bed. Your mom told me that I needed to pull it together so that I didn't scare you and make things worse. So much for the big world adventurer.

It was your mom who learned everything about type 1 diabetes and who knew how to calculate the right doses of insulin and measure carbohydrate intake. It was your mother who with her usual strength of character, learned everything that needed to be learned, and who instilled that knowledge and sense of independence in you.

I also want to thank all of you who have stepped up and donated on behalf of my little girl. there is no more important gift that I could receive from all of you as it helps to move us forward in our search for better technologies and hopefully a cure. Your kindness inspires me and demonstrates to my family and daughter that anything is possible.

Hitching a ride with the one legged Yorkshire man

In one of my cost saving efforts, I decided to try hitching again today. This time I was on the road and heading to the town of Wanganui in the hopes of hiring a kayak. Not so simple as it turns out. Apparently no companies will allow you to kayak the river by yourself. As Mark from "blazing Paddles," out of Ohakune informed me. "It's very dangerous and you have to go as part of a group." Anyone who really knows me understands that I am not a group kind of fellow. Because of time constraints, I will plan to come back at the end of February and see if I can complete this one along with other paddling adventurers.

So back to the hitching. There I was at the side of the road, having already been picked up once by a friendly and amiable chap from Taupo, when a blue van pulled over and started to roll back towards me. I went to the driver's side window and soon recognized a heavy Yorkshire accent similar to my uncles Don's from my childhood in England. "Hop in" he said, made even stranger when I realized that my driver was missing his left leg. He had one of those titanium prosthetic legs. Very state of the art, and very shiny.

I don't know why, but for me these types of situations often cause a certain level of stress. It was like the elephant in the room or in this case the blue van. We were making small talk and here he was completely missing his left leg. Do you ask where's your leg? Do you talk about all of the hiking you've been doing. I was quite unsure of what the correct amputee protocol was at this point. It ws then that the conversation turned to fishing. Apparently my driver (James), was an avid fisherman. He then went on to tell me how some of his friends had hooked a juvenile Great White shark. He informed me that there are plenty of them around the coast of New Zealand. I never found the courage to ask him about the leg, nor did he offer any explanation. I could only conclude that it had to be a Great White.

Walking on Mars

When I first got to the town of Taupo, I looked across the lake and there they were looming in the distance.  Mt. Ngauruhoe and Mt. Tongariro with Ruapehu as a large and ominous companion.  For several days while setting up transportation to the Northern circuit I would look across and see them shrouded in clouds as I listened to locals telling me about the young asian girl who got lost and who's body wasn't recovered for several weeks, or the middle aged American couple who stubbornly ignored all warnings resulting in the death of the wife and a grieving husband left with the guilt of his stupidity.

My first day started off with my transportation never showing up.  There I was at 5:15am, the sun comming up, and no ride.  Just then a bus pulled up with about twenty foreign students who were doing the one day Tongariro alpine crossing.  The driver asked me if I needed a ride and off I went.

The first day was amazing.  I began my hike on a gradual incline with Ruapehu to my right and Ngauruhoe (Mt. Doom) in the Lord of the Rings film, rising to my left.  I walked alone in the land of Mordor, steadily up through a grey covered volcanic landscape with vivid crystal blue skys until four hours later I arrived at the Mangatepopo hut, eight and a half kilometers from the Whakapapa village where I began.  When I arrived there was a strange shirtless, heavily tatooed Belgian fellow sitting wide eyed looking up at the mountains.

The next day I set off on the Tongariro Alpine crossing.  My destination was the Ketetahi Hut, almost nine kilometers away.   The track begins at the western end by Mangatepopo Hut with a forty minute valley walk to the foot of the steep Tongariro saddle. This is a steep forty five minute ascent and the most difficult part of the track. There are many more descents and ascents throughout the day that take you past volcanic craters, the Emerald Lakes and along the edge of the Blue Lake.  Along the way I met up with two hardy Kiwi women, led by the intrepid and adventurous Linda.  Due to the looks of disdain at my apparent expression when they suggested climbing to the summit of Tongariro, I joined them on this additional hour and a half excursion.  The views from the top were spectacular and I upheld the image of American male strength, and stamina.   Inside I was crying like a little girl.

After finally reaching Ketehahi, Jimmy the hut warden entertained me with more horror stories of lost souls and emergency searches.  He was part of the team that descovered the dead American woman flanked by her sobbing husband.  The views from the hut looked out for close to a hundred kilometers across lake Taupo and beyond. 

The next morning I walked sixteen and a half kilometers to the final hut.  Once again the experience was surreal as I walked completely alone for almost eight hours. I walked through a volcanic waste land, encircled by mountains and active volcanoes in a land littered with strange neolithic formations and the ever present smells of sulphur emenating from steam vents that rise constantly from the surrounding landscape.

After a night at the final hut, I walked out another five hours (completely alone once again), and back to the village from where I started.  As I had no official ride back I decided to hitch hike the 60 kilometers back to Taupo.  I was picked up almost immediately by Grant, a Maouri fellow driving a red van.  He took me about two miles to the end of the road but was going the other way.  The next pick up was a couple on holiday from Wellington.  They took me about ten miles out to the cut off to Taupo and National Park.  The next fellow was a young Maouri chap called David.  He was a meat cutter, recently promoted form working in the slaughter house.  Took me all the way in to Taupo driving at a high rate of speed.  Good chap.  

Waikaremoana

I just want to start off by saying....no walk on the bridge, or time spent cycling in the gym can prepare you for this. I could see Panekiri ridge in the distance from where I was camping. It seemed ancient and beautiful covered in green, with the exposed grey rock reflecting in the blue waters of lake Waikaremoana. Climbing it straight up with 30 pounds of gear on your back. Not so simple. It was one of those climbs that makes you question why you ever decided to take this crazy quest on in the first place. Four and a half hours of holding on to roots as hand holds, various slips that caused bodily harm to reach a hut at the top of a mountain where you will dine on freeze dried beef pellets with instant potatoes. Go figure.

The views from the top and along the way are truly stunning, and it is quite evident already, how fortunate are they that call this place home. After leaving the four day walk, I headed back to Taupo on a road that makes Ice road truckers seem like a bunch of little girls. For two hours I drove on the left-hand side with the steering wheel on the right hand side through a narrow winding dirt and gravel mountain road. My reward was a flat tire approximately one hour in to this terrifying journey. Once on route five towards Taupo I drove through beautiful farm lands over shadowed by distant mountains and past steam vents emanating from natural thermal baths that dot the landscape.