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.
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