Day # 1 Totaranui - South Island
" So, the water is only supposed to be knee deep as we cross." said Alec, our young guide. She had led groups in the Abel-Tasman National Park before, but this was her first season back this year. It had been raining a lot, the skies heavy and overcast, and the tide was out; the boat we saw in the distance looked to be grounded. It was meant to be our transport across the inlet at Awaroa, and on the other side was a short walk to our lodging for the night.
There were four of us travelers, plus Alec who was a New Zealander, but had been raised on the islands of Vanawatu. We had all met earlier that morning from our various pick-up points in Nelson, and been transported by coach bus to Kaiteriteri. Along the way we introduced ourselves, N. and J. from Cambridge in the U.K., and S. who came from Glencoe, practically in my back yard. The others had been to New Zealand previously. They were as eager as I to hike (or tramp) in this subtropical rain forest/beach area. S and I were looking forward to the kayaking, which I envisioned as it was in the guidebook pictures--golden sands, radiant sunlight, blue to green calm bays, islands with seals and birds to watch.
We were cautioned to bring everything we needed for the first night in our backpacks, as the sea was too rough to make the boat landing where our lodge was, but we were assured that our duffel bags would make it to the lodging the second night. I attempted to shuffle things around hurriedly and be compact, but not carry too heavy a backpack. I was still wondering if I would have my own room--we had been told that if a single of our gender was not available, we would have a room without an extra fee. I wasn't looking forward to sharing, but was somewhat resigned to the possibility.
As we waited on the beach for our boat to come, we all opened the lunch packets provided by the outfitters. A sandwich, an apple, sweets, chips, and a round cheese pie like a quiche. We were all ravenous, washed it down with water just as our boat arrived. It was a squat rectangular vessel, rather like a houseboat on a catamaran. It dropped a ramp off the bow so that we hardly had to get our feet wet boarding. We were cautioned that the sea was windy and wavy, but many people took seats on the top deck since the bay seemed calm. Within a few minutes on the open Tasman Bay, most people had staggered down the gangway steps to the warmth and protection of the 2nd level, with tables and booths. I thought about the seasickness bands I had previously used in Milford Sound which I hadn't been able to find. Nevertheless, by focusing on the horizon, islands, and the shoreline, I found that I felt all right, even with waves pelting the portholes.
After we landed, we began our trek, which took us across beach and bush. The track was always clear and there was a gradual ascent, which in parts could be steep. Along the way our guide pointed out the different trees and ferns, but we soon found ourselves in a thunderstorm with lightening. I kept hoping we were somewhat protected in the bush aka forest, and then we would have a descent and cross over the open beach. Our young guide commented how unusual the thunderstorm was, and how exciting it was. When at length we reached the open beach at low tide, we gazed out across the estuary of Awaroa. It was fed by the river which was higher than usual due to the rains. We were fairly soaked by now, but my cell phone was tucked inside my raincoat. We all looked out a distance of about a kilometer to the other shore, and were assured by Alec that our lodge was a short walk away.
Entering the water with our bare feet, pant legs rolled high, we could feel the soft, sludgy bottom push through our toes--the water cool but not cold. The water became higher, past my thighs, then up to my chest. We all hiked our day packs up as far as possible. The couple from U.K were holding hands behind me. I knew I couldn't swim with the pack. The water seemed to recede, then back up to chest high, and we were only halfway across.
Thankfully the water receded and we reached the sandy beach, and I checked my phone--to find it soaked. We arrived at the lodge, a two-story gray frame house with outbuildings and a drying room--view from the front room of the sea. The other group--12 or so--had arrived yesterday, and were sitting around the fireplace, drinking and savoring appetizers--bantering conversation, and a lot of them seemed to know each other. We presented a sodden, tired small lot. Someone suggested I stick the phone in a bag of dry rice, which I did, to no avail after 2 days. I was introduced to my roommate, a 31 year old pediatrician from Switzerland. She confided that someone she knew had accidentally washed his phone in a washing machine, and was able to revive it after the rice treatment. Salt water, however, is unforgiving.
In dry clothes, warmed, having wine, salmon, and lemon tart for dessert, life was more amiable, as were the table companions. We retired early, I with a borrowed book which featured every day of the year recalling some event in world history, none of which I remember.
The next day presented much the same weather, overcast, raining, and cool. Our respective hiking groups picked up lunch bags and snacks and mounted packs, off for our trek. Once again we were surrounded by green subtropical forest, and ferns. Bellbird song and tui calls surrounded us from the treetops above, and there were some steep climbs. The rain was incessant. We descended to Bark Bay for lunch and convened under a square shelter with burners, water, and...our guides presented tea. There were flush toilets--also something unexpected in a beach national park.
Weka birds, known for thieving anything they can pick up with their beaks, followed us at tea time.
They tend to hoard treasures they have stolen--in one case, a woman's bra.
I liked the lodge of Torrent Bay even better;by then the skies had cleared, and the sun emerged. We hung our wet clothing on lines outside or in the drying room with hiking boots and packs. From the livingroom and veranda the beach stretched out to a calm water's edge, and I noted some yellow and orange kayaks neatly stacked on the sand.
After dinner a small group walked across the beach to investigate the small enclaves of glowworms underneath a nearby bridge and overgrowth near the hiking path. We strolled back across the sands, seeing the constellations (Orion), and admiring the moon in the clear night sky.
The next morning was very warm, sunny, calm sea, and all looked perfect to take out the kayaks. It turned out that only my fellow traveler from Glencoe and I wished to kayak, and we had a 28 year old Welsh guide named Miles. Miles had been doing outdoor guiding trips for a number of years; a good day for him was surfing in the morning and skiing in the afternoon (Vancouver). He loved to do white water trips.
I did not have any experience with ocean kayaking, so his beach lesson was helpful. We had to "step into" the skirt with shoulder straps that would then be straddled over the cockpit. He informed us that in most cases of tipping over, one's knees push into the skirt and it pops off, but there is a strap to pull. A few words more about paddling technique, and we were off.
There was a head wind as we paddled; Miles pointed to some areas ahead where the waves pushed up vertically in a white splash, and indicated the rocks there. We would steer wide of those. We eventually cruised around Adele island, bird sanctuary and home to a lot of very well-fed sea lions, basking in the sun, and blending in with the brown of the rocks. I learned that the male sea lion guards his harem aggressively, and that female sea lions could be pregnant 51 out of 52 weeks a year--but the 2nd embryo would not evolve until the pups had been weaned.
Glorious sunshine had brought out scores of kayaks from different guide trips; we eventually glided to the beach, and it did indeed appear to be golden sand, divinely warm and inviting compared to the previous two days. Reluctantly I said good-bye to my companions, and boarded the boat which would take me to my taxi and back to Nelson, and from there to fly back to North Island.
My last adventure in New Zealand was over, and soon I would be joining my family for Christmas in the U.S. I was to have some fond and regretful good-byes to my new friends from Taihape
" So, the water is only supposed to be knee deep as we cross." said Alec, our young guide. She had led groups in the Abel-Tasman National Park before, but this was her first season back this year. It had been raining a lot, the skies heavy and overcast, and the tide was out; the boat we saw in the distance looked to be grounded. It was meant to be our transport across the inlet at Awaroa, and on the other side was a short walk to our lodging for the night.
We were cautioned to bring everything we needed for the first night in our backpacks, as the sea was too rough to make the boat landing where our lodge was, but we were assured that our duffel bags would make it to the lodging the second night. I attempted to shuffle things around hurriedly and be compact, but not carry too heavy a backpack. I was still wondering if I would have my own room--we had been told that if a single of our gender was not available, we would have a room without an extra fee. I wasn't looking forward to sharing, but was somewhat resigned to the possibility.
As we waited on the beach for our boat to come, we all opened the lunch packets provided by the outfitters. A sandwich, an apple, sweets, chips, and a round cheese pie like a quiche. We were all ravenous, washed it down with water just as our boat arrived. It was a squat rectangular vessel, rather like a houseboat on a catamaran. It dropped a ramp off the bow so that we hardly had to get our feet wet boarding. We were cautioned that the sea was windy and wavy, but many people took seats on the top deck since the bay seemed calm. Within a few minutes on the open Tasman Bay, most people had staggered down the gangway steps to the warmth and protection of the 2nd level, with tables and booths. I thought about the seasickness bands I had previously used in Milford Sound which I hadn't been able to find. Nevertheless, by focusing on the horizon, islands, and the shoreline, I found that I felt all right, even with waves pelting the portholes.
After we landed, we began our trek, which took us across beach and bush. The track was always clear and there was a gradual ascent, which in parts could be steep. Along the way our guide pointed out the different trees and ferns, but we soon found ourselves in a thunderstorm with lightening. I kept hoping we were somewhat protected in the bush aka forest, and then we would have a descent and cross over the open beach. Our young guide commented how unusual the thunderstorm was, and how exciting it was. When at length we reached the open beach at low tide, we gazed out across the estuary of Awaroa. It was fed by the river which was higher than usual due to the rains. We were fairly soaked by now, but my cell phone was tucked inside my raincoat. We all looked out a distance of about a kilometer to the other shore, and were assured by Alec that our lodge was a short walk away.
Entering the water with our bare feet, pant legs rolled high, we could feel the soft, sludgy bottom push through our toes--the water cool but not cold. The water became higher, past my thighs, then up to my chest. We all hiked our day packs up as far as possible. The couple from U.K were holding hands behind me. I knew I couldn't swim with the pack. The water seemed to recede, then back up to chest high, and we were only halfway across.
Thankfully the water receded and we reached the sandy beach, and I checked my phone--to find it soaked. We arrived at the lodge, a two-story gray frame house with outbuildings and a drying room--view from the front room of the sea. The other group--12 or so--had arrived yesterday, and were sitting around the fireplace, drinking and savoring appetizers--bantering conversation, and a lot of them seemed to know each other. We presented a sodden, tired small lot. Someone suggested I stick the phone in a bag of dry rice, which I did, to no avail after 2 days. I was introduced to my roommate, a 31 year old pediatrician from Switzerland. She confided that someone she knew had accidentally washed his phone in a washing machine, and was able to revive it after the rice treatment. Salt water, however, is unforgiving.
In dry clothes, warmed, having wine, salmon, and lemon tart for dessert, life was more amiable, as were the table companions. We retired early, I with a borrowed book which featured every day of the year recalling some event in world history, none of which I remember.
The next day presented much the same weather, overcast, raining, and cool. Our respective hiking groups picked up lunch bags and snacks and mounted packs, off for our trek. Once again we were surrounded by green subtropical forest, and ferns. Bellbird song and tui calls surrounded us from the treetops above, and there were some steep climbs. The rain was incessant. We descended to Bark Bay for lunch and convened under a square shelter with burners, water, and...our guides presented tea. There were flush toilets--also something unexpected in a beach national park.
Weka birds, known for thieving anything they can pick up with their beaks, followed us at tea time.
They tend to hoard treasures they have stolen--in one case, a woman's bra.
 |
| courtesy of Wikipedia |
I liked the lodge of Torrent Bay even better;by then the skies had cleared, and the sun emerged. We hung our wet clothing on lines outside or in the drying room with hiking boots and packs. From the livingroom and veranda the beach stretched out to a calm water's edge, and I noted some yellow and orange kayaks neatly stacked on the sand.
After dinner a small group walked across the beach to investigate the small enclaves of glowworms underneath a nearby bridge and overgrowth near the hiking path. We strolled back across the sands, seeing the constellations (Orion), and admiring the moon in the clear night sky.
The next morning was very warm, sunny, calm sea, and all looked perfect to take out the kayaks. It turned out that only my fellow traveler from Glencoe and I wished to kayak, and we had a 28 year old Welsh guide named Miles. Miles had been doing outdoor guiding trips for a number of years; a good day for him was surfing in the morning and skiing in the afternoon (Vancouver). He loved to do white water trips.
I did not have any experience with ocean kayaking, so his beach lesson was helpful. We had to "step into" the skirt with shoulder straps that would then be straddled over the cockpit. He informed us that in most cases of tipping over, one's knees push into the skirt and it pops off, but there is a strap to pull. A few words more about paddling technique, and we were off.
There was a head wind as we paddled; Miles pointed to some areas ahead where the waves pushed up vertically in a white splash, and indicated the rocks there. We would steer wide of those. We eventually cruised around Adele island, bird sanctuary and home to a lot of very well-fed sea lions, basking in the sun, and blending in with the brown of the rocks. I learned that the male sea lion guards his harem aggressively, and that female sea lions could be pregnant 51 out of 52 weeks a year--but the 2nd embryo would not evolve until the pups had been weaned.
Glorious sunshine had brought out scores of kayaks from different guide trips; we eventually glided to the beach, and it did indeed appear to be golden sand, divinely warm and inviting compared to the previous two days. Reluctantly I said good-bye to my companions, and boarded the boat which would take me to my taxi and back to Nelson, and from there to fly back to North Island.
My last adventure in New Zealand was over, and soon I would be joining my family for Christmas in the U.S. I was to have some fond and regretful good-byes to my new friends from Taihape
Adrianna, thank you for a good story about your hike and kayak adventure. Now I know to keep my mobile in a water proof bag during inclement weather.
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