The New Zealand Chronicle ! #4

In the winter of 2003 I was on my way to the land down under named New Zealand. I had spent a month in New Zealand the year before and had seen a life time worth of wonderful sights. On that trip a bus had dropped me off at the town of Thames. I had walked around the Coromandel Penninsula and I had ended my adventure at Tauranga. This year I would start where I had ended my trip last year.

This time I had two months of travel time to kill if it didn’t kill me first. I had met some wonderful New Zealander on my last trip and the Sharp’s picked me up at the air port in Auckland. With the idea of me buying a vehicle we visited a few places that sold used cars, without much luck. Lots of visitors come to New Zealand and buy a car for the mode of transport for few months and then sell it. Some of the cars have been abused while others have been taken care of. When I hitchhiked last year tourists would pick me up with the main idea of not only helping me out but showing off their used car purchase and bragging about what a great deal they achieved. Some times the cars trunk would hold treasures in the way of tents and camping gear from the previous owner. All used cars seemed to be already gone before I could acquire a mighty steed. I would have to take a bus to Tauranga and then rent a slightly used car from Rent a Wreck, at a slightly lower rate. Bus rides can be very educational with the changing scenery and the verity of people sharing your space. By the time I arrived in my destination I had met a crossing section of the locals and the visitors to this island. Most of the visitors seemed to be from Germany and I wondered out loud if there was any more German’s left in Germany after this mass migration.

At my bus drop spot I had the pleasure of meeting up with a fella that was being picked up by his sister and I could share a ride into the downtown. I was able to acquire the last car from Rent a Wreck and it was held together by bailing wire and spit. The mechanic said that it had a exhaust leak but if I kept the car window open I shouldn’t have much trouble. I thought if I start to see purple Kiwi birds with pink spots, maybe it would be a good idea to pull over and clear the fumes from my brain. The best part of this car besides the lower cost was the fact it was a station wagon and not only was it easy to load but in a pinch I could sleep in it.

I didn’t have to drive very far when I saw a sign for a campground that advertised a natural hot springs. I set up my tent and was sitting in a hot springs with some other travelers before you could say, “This is life! The owners of the campground had carved this hot tub out of solid rock and the natural hot springs then filled in our giant bath tub. Folks from all over the world where sharing my warm water and the beers to be passed around. One fella was from Belfast, Ireland originally, but after meeting the girl of his dream in New Zealand, he had moved his liquor soaked carcass to this island. I don’t know if it was the beers or the beer caps under his tongue, besides his accent but he was very had to understand. His wife would have to be the interpreter after every one of his stories. I asked him if he liked the warm dry weather better to his liking compared to the cold wet of the Emerald Island of his home land. After downing the last beer he said, “You know it never rains in the Belfast pubs!” Come to find out that most of the pubs are connected by doorways so you don’t have to go outside during bad weather, you just walk from bar to bar. He said the main reason for leaving Ireland, was because he wanted to raise a family away from the free flowing alcohol.

After dinner I was sitting at my own picnic table along side my tent when I noticed a young woman sitting in front of her tent starring a hole through a road map. “Are you familiar with biking the Coromandel Penninsula roads?” asked my neighbor. I told my new friend that I had walked the whole area last year, so maybe that made me some what of a expert. As I explained about some of the narrow roads and crazy drivers, I noticed and asked about her hands that had the looks of burns that had healed. The flood gates of her young life was opened like a dam break. Inga was from Germany and had graduated high school this year with a real yearning to see the world, with limited funds. The first think she did with her little bit of dinero was buy a around the world airline ticket. One of her stops was Sydney, Australia with out much of anything else except an ambition to widen her horizons. As she worked her way through customs she became acquainted with a group of travelers that was missing one it’s members. This poor fella had gotten deathly ill just before the trip was really ready to get under way, and he was left at home. Fortunately for Inga he had paid for his travels and her new friends offered her, his place, on a month long travels of Australia.

Then when that trip was over she flew to New Zealand without much in the way of plans or money to see the two islands. Again as she was working her way through the airport in Auckland, a fellow German pulled up on his bicycle with all the camping gear attached. He had biked the roads of New Zealand for month and had a burning desire to be up close and personal with his girlfriend back in the Fatherland. Because of the time restriction he didn’t have time to sell his bike, so he offered it to Inga with all the camping gear. At the end of her adventure she would sell the equipment and send this fella the money.

Inga never spent much time tooling around on a bike in Germany, much less with forty pounds of gear loaded down on it. On the first big hill leading into Auckland the front wheel started to shimmy back and forth violently, that’s the last thing she remembers, except she jammed on the brakes real hard. A Swiss couple that where driving down the road at the same time said that the bike flipped over and Inga slid along the hard road, until most of her cloths where in tatters, except the ones covered with blood. Inga woke up in the hospital and wondered what in the hell happened. That was the reason for her skin looking like it had been burned. After spending a few weeks in the hospital and fixing up the bike, she was ready to take on the roads again. I asked her if she didn’t have a brother that might travel along with her. “Oh I have a brother, but he’s a mamma’s boy!” she said. I thought compared to Inga, the Terminator would be a wimp.

The next morning I was on the road heading towards the town of Whakatane and the beginning of my adventure. I had left my walking stick in the first car that had given me a ride and I needed to replace it in this town maybe. The pronunciation of the name of Whakatane is a rather interesting use of the Maori language. The Wh is pronounced fuck and as a result, when people piss you off and you tell them to “Go Wahkatane yourself !”, they might be offended, but you might see them driving towards the town.

I walked into a local hardware store that might carry a new walking stick or at least know where to acquire one. The owner told me that he didn’t carry any walking stick but was interested in where I was headed on my walk about. As he produced a map of the Eastern Bay of Plenty, he suggested I might get start with in a few miles of the town. “The remoteness of the Koranga River has some great sights and nice huts to stay in.” he suggested. Just then the morning quiet of the country store was broken by the squeaking of the screen door then the banging as it closed. A powerfully built man walked up to the counter, where we had the map spread out. It was a draw on which smelled worse his dog or the owner. In the way of appearances the dog was paws ahead. This farmer had just finished slicing and dicing a few sheep and his cloths proved it. His baseball cap even had bits of wool and blood on it bill. I think his shirt started out as flannel, but along with the pants, they where covered with sheep lanolin grease. While brushing off a few of the bigger pieces of the deceased sheep from his outfit he said. “ At least the grease acts like a waterproof while I hunt in the back country!” “It’s been a year since I butcher a woolie and the rain still bounces off of me!” he said. The store owner explained that Bob was a government goat hunter in the area that I was interested in exploring. “What kind of goat do you hunt?’ I asked. “Let go to my truck and bring in a photo album of my last hunt, it might spark your interest.” Bob said. Within minutes Bob had the album spread out on the counter that held the map. It showed in detail all the dangers of hunting a semi domestic goat with a high power rifle. I am not sure but I think maybe the recoil from the rifle may have knocked a few screws loose in Bob’s head from the images of the pictures that he was so proud of. One clearly dead goat was wearing Bob’s hunting hat, while smoking a pipe and behind the wheel of this hunter’s truck. Another goat was propped up in a lawn chair reading a newspaper. I was wondering what type of test Bob had to pass in order to become a government hunter. One of the questions could been, have you or any member of your family ever had a rational thought.

Bob said, “Maybe the next time your down we could go out on a goat hunt!” I never was very photogenic, especially strapped to Bob’s fender smoking a pipe was my first thought. Bob did have a few better suggestions about where I could hike in the Koranga River basin. The ranger station was in the town of Opitiki, that handled the permits for the area. Bob suggested that I didn’t really have to register, he was probably thinking it would be easier for him to get rid of my body a lot easier that way. After buying the map and a wooden dowel that I could make into a walking stick I left one of the more interesting stores that I have been to for a long while.

I pulled up to the ranger station in Optiki, with the thought of getting all the permits that I would need. A Maroi woman was in charge of this building that was a little bit bigger then your average phone booth. “Are you going to be pig or goat hunting?” she asked. I found out if I was just sightseeing the huts where free. The huts where plainly marked on the map but the trails in between didn’t show any visible signs of any established routes. “That’s easy!” said the woman, “Just follow the rivers!” “What happens when it rains and the river level rises?” I asked. “Raise the level of your pants!” was her come back.

As I motored my way to the road to start my trek, I came to a bend in the road that held a fruit stand. The shelter was covered with palm leaves, like you might see in Hawaii. Hoanni stood behind the counter that was covered with a large assortment of fruits. His grandmother had originally owned the land and when she went to the that big fruit stand in the sky Hoanni came back from Auckland and took over. As Hoanni bagged my selections he asked about my holiday. I told him I was on a quest for beauty. “Sounds like a wonderful way to spend your life!” he said. “I have two beauties that you might want to take a look at. He gave the directions to them and I drove to the first one. I stopped along the main road and walked back into the jungle and first heard and then noticed a large waterfall descending into a large pool. From the way the large rocks where arranged I could tell the local’s used this as a swimming hole. I drove back to the fruit stand and sang the praises of the sacred pool that I had just visited. My next secret spot was just behind the fruit stand after I followed a trail down to the ocean. I entered a large cave with the ceiling covered with years of soot from countless fires. The ancient Maroi’s had used this protected spot to do their wood carvings as they watched the ocean waves pound against the beach. By the time I made it back to the fruit stand Hoanni’s son and a few friends had stopped by. The three of them had some sort of smoking contraption and I don’t think tobacco smoke was the material that they where sucking into their lungs. They just used a plastic pop bottle filled with water, then there was a metal bowl on top that was filled with burning wacky tobaccie. Then each one of them would suck the smoke into their lungs with such force I thought their eye balls where going to pop out and roll across the counter. They offered me some but I had to put on some miles in order to find my first hut before dark, besides driving on the left side of the road is tough enough sober, so I said good bye.

I found Moanui Valley road easily enough and then I had to follow this road for a hour going ten miles a hour because of the rough condition of the road. I was glad to see the Koranga River trail head sign, since the thought of being lost crossed my mind. I got my back pack ready with all the fruit I had bought at the fruit and medical marijuana stand! The river bottom where I stood had a very steep valley and the surrounding was covered with many white fuzzy balls, with legs. The sound of the sheep baaing echoed off the fast moving river as it worked it way through the open country side. It reminded me of the time I was in New Zealand and there was a brush fire on a steep hill side. A flock of sheep got trapped in the flames and their wool caught fire but as they rolled down the hill the fire was put out. It was quite the sight to see a rolling ball of fire with baaing coming out of it and at the bottom of the hill the sheep got up and ran off.

Within a few minutes I met my first and last visitors to the river basin, as they stood waist deep in the cold water. The three where fishing for some type of trout and after a few hours without any success, any type of fish would do. The couple did manage to snag a bush with their fly and where swearing in German. The guide after asking where I was headed, told me to watch out for the fast rising rivers after a rain storm that was predicted for tonight.

As I closed the sheep gate I entered the world of Jurassic Park, with fern trees and every object covered with green moss. Giant beech trees and cascading waterfalls was my only companion as I worked my way through the maze. I followed the river and with in a hour I came to a suspension bridge that let me cross the river and find the Koranga River Fork Hut. The hut wasn’t the Ritz but you couldn’t beat the cost. There was two sets of bunk beds that had a great view of the river. A pot belly stove was in the far corner, with a fresh supply of wood beside it. The skies looked a little darker then when I had arrived so I wanted to get a warm fire going. I had a brought along some lighting fluid for those hard to start fires and boy did it work. I loaded the stove with wood and sprayed the fluid. I threw in a match and I swear the stove jumped off the floor by several inches, but the fire started just as quick. As my dinner was bubbling on the stove I pulled a chair up to the doorway and marveled at my million dollar view. A wind storm that had the appearance of becoming a major down pour, swayed the ancient tree canopy. As I ate my dinner and read the hut diary the rain hit the hut with a vengeance. The window facing the river became my view and protection from the pelting rain. I could hardly believe just two days ago I was stuck in Denver traffic and now I was in the back country of New Zealand.

After all my adventures today and with sound of the rain falling on the metal roof I fell sound a sleep. I awoke during the night with the sound of falling rain and the scratching sound of something else on the metal roof. I grabbed the flashlight and flashed it towards the skylight in the ceiling. Two yellow eyes attached to a fuzzy body and long rat tail filled the corner of the skylight. For those that believe in the devil, this could have been his cousin, but it was a opossum. They where imported to New Zealand years ago and now have become a major nuisance. When you rent a car the sales person ask you to run over everyone you see. If you ask about walking a trail, the ranger will ask you to club the living snot out of every possum you encounter. Even thought they look like diabolo reincarnated, I didn’t want to have the possum spirit following me, so this critter and I just starred at each other.

The next morning the major part of the storm seemed to have passed and all that was left was some clothes soaking drizzle. Just making it to the out house was challenge. The green ferns, held gallons of water as I waded my way through them. I now know what a car feels like going though a car wash. The water logged fronds of the ferns wrapped around my legs and within a few seconds everything is completely soaked to the bone. As I packed a lunch I noticed looking out the window how much the river had risen. I had plans on walking down river to the Nikau Flat hut for lunch and hopefully I wouldn’t need a raft. I left my hiking boots in the hut since I would be wearing sandals from now on. I must have crossed the swollen river a hundred times before I arrived at the hut. The upside of the rain was all the waterfalls coming from every direction on the banks as I made my way along the river .
The hut was a welcome relief from the drizzle as I ate my lunch and listened to the river churning it’s way to the ocean. After a short nap I had to make it back to my hut before night fall, so I got started. By dinner time I was back at my hut and the sun tried to come out as a welcoming sign.

The next morning the skies where partly cloudy. It was ten miles to the Tewa hut my next destination. The valleys where so narrow it would have been impossible to have any type of trail, that was not on the river bank. The river had filled up the banks at this point because of all the rain. My walking stick and wool socks inside sandals was the only way to handle this next part of my adventure. The river was a tad bit higher and stronger. The water seemed to be darker in color so at the numerous river crossings I wasn’t sure what I would encounter just under the river’s surface. Slippery bowling ball size rocks made up some of the more challenging crossings. Large beech trees dislodged by this storm and blocking the river added to the fun of my watery path. A couple of the fallen trees where so big that I didn’t have to duck to get under them. The sun occasionally tried to break free of the clouds and would light up the river in a spot light appearance. I noticed on the map fourteen creeks emptied into my river and some of them had water falls attached to them. The verity of water shows from these water falls added a lot of entertainment value to my voyage. Each bend in the river added to my curiosity of what may lay ahead in the way of obstacles. Finally after making my way through the river of no return the hut was positioned on the other side of the river and I only had one more river crossing today .

I could smell the cabin before I saw it. It didn’t smell like grandmother’s house on Christmas morning, unless granny owned a slaughter house. The outside of the hut looked like a wildlife horror movie set. A young deer carcass was swinging in wind as it hung from a tree limb. Most of the meat had been strip from it’s bones and the smell was enough to gag a maggot. Wild pig heads had been nailed to both sides of the entry door, which added to the mood of the place. Two fish eyes seemed to be looking me over as I entered the hut from a large trout head that had been nailed above the door. I disturbed the lunch of a large hawk as he feasted on two large pig livers that had been laid out on top of the water cistern. If I planned on staying here I would need a shovel and some soft dirt to give all these critters a proper burial and me some relief from the odor penetrating the air. I found a shovel inside the hut next to a note left by the last sicko’s that had used the hut as a slaughter house. It seems that the group had lost three hunting dogs and the hunters where offering a reward for their return. If I were those canines I would still be running from this mob.

The next morning the weather looked promising and I wanted to head to the next hut named Makakoere for a bit of lunch. The trail again just followed the river. My first obstacle was a boulder field that blocked the river and formed a deep pool of water. A large waterfall was also a by product of the rock formation. I had to swim through the pool until I got to the rocks and then I climbed over them. Since the temperature’s had warmed up it was a great relief. By lunch time I was sitting in the hut and actually started a fire in the stove to dry my cloths a tad. After a nap I walked and swam back to my base camp at the animal grave yard. When I got back to my hut I noticed some clown had thrown a dead possum into the water cistern and I had been drinking out of it for two days!

The next morning a lite rain was my companion for my walk back to the car. The undergrowth again acted like a car wash with the ferns acting like washing fingers you might find in any car wash. I found the car and as I pulled onto the main road a man approached the car carrying a rifle and machete. He had become separated from his dogs and hunting partners and needed a ride down the mountain. I was going to ask him if he was one of the guy that left the dead animals at the hut, but the machete looked very sharp and I didn’t want my head nailed to any hut in the near future.