New Zealand-Lake Waikaramoana- #3 Adventure

With Lake Waikaremoana on my mind I was driving south from Rotorua. I had just left a bundle of cash at a grocery store but I had enough supplies to last for a week of back packing. The lake is a four hour drive south and the road surfaces will change along with the country side. I wanted to get to the ranger station before 4:00 pm to register before it closed today so maybe I had a little more foot on the gas peddle then usual. I tried to call the ranger station yesterday, after I got out of my last adventure at the Koranga River. The phone call was short and sweet with a ranger on the other end of the phone line for a millionth of a second. “It’s 4:05 pm!” as she dropped the receiver.

The paved road turned to dirt with in a few hours of driving. From now on it would me against wild pigs and wilder driving farmers. The pigs would dash out across the road like they had been shot out of a cannon. With everybody and their dog gunning for the little piggies I can see why. Captain Cook, the 1700's explorer, when he had visited the island had dropped off pigs just incase he wanted a pork sandwich if he ever made it back here. These pigs have a little longer snout and they are call Captain Cooker’s and are suppose to have a better taste. The farmers on the other hand just barrel down the middle of the road with a grazed look on their faces. They are easy to spot with a rooster tail of dust behind their trucks just about touching the sun. I don’t know if they are late for market or they all have a death wish, but it’s amazing the speed that the old trucks can obtain.

By 3:00 pm I pulled into the ranger station parking lot with a idea of a permit on my mind. I had to register in order to stay at the four huts around the lake. After meeting and greeting with the ranger she directed me to the camping area at Mokau Inlet, that would be my resting spot for tonight. The back end of my station wagon would make a perfect place to sleep. Another couple had the same idea only with their van in the next camping spot. I went over and started a conversation about he lake and fishing. A camper came up and asked us if we wanted to go out with him and fish for a spell. Come to find out my neighbor had a blow up Zodiac boat, but was forbidden to go out on the lake with it. He had taken it out yesterday morning when the lake was like a mill pond, then by after noon the wind had picked up and had created three foot waves. The poor Zodiac was thrown around like a frisbee at a fraternity party. “When I finally reach shore I thought my wife was going to take a knife to the boat, she was so worried!” he said. “ When we get back to Auckland the first thing am going to do is buy a real boat, or a new wife!” he said. The other fella had a real boat and with in minutes we were out in the middle of the big lake with the idea of catching a few fish. As they say the fishing was good but the catching was bad. Since there didn’t seem to be much else to do my new companions decided to bring up the subject of the Maoris, the people that lived in New Zealand before the white boys showed up. It reminded me of the movie “My Fair Lady!” The scene where Professor Higgens sings, “ Why can’t women be more like men!” But in this case these locals would add Maoris and white folks in the place of women and men. Since I didn’t want to have walk the plank, I just sat there and talked to my worm on the hook, instead of adding my two cents worth to the conversation.

The next morning the skies where clear with just a few wispy clouds. I had arranged to have a water taxi pick me up at the dock where I could park my car with out the fear of marauding Maoris. Last night I found out all social ills, stolen property, and rainy weather is blamed on these poor buggers.

By 10:00 am my taxi appointment had come and gone. I gave he company a call and was reassured that the boat was on the way, he had a pick up on the other end of the lake. The young fella with his even younger girl friend showed up with wet swimming suits and a funny look on their faces. The boat was called Pilot Fish but it should have been called Monkey Business.

A couple of older women slowly got on the boat and where just going on a joy ride around the lake. The boy toy and his girl friend where standing in the front of the boat as I approached the vessel. The lite weight aluminum boat was a twenty footer that I tried to gracefully board. I had my forty pound back pack on and that made a combined weigh of 300 pounds with my lard ass. As I step down on the gunnel of the boat, I thought the opposite gunnel was going to come up and touch my nose at the same time. The boat rocked so violently that all the occupants where thrown to the deck in one big pile. Luckily no one was hurt except for me wetting my pants laughing so hard.

After a few minutes the water taxi pulled up to the Onepoto dock and it was time to depart. This time everybody held onto something secure as I slowly crawled out of the boat. I thought the passengers where going to applaud when I stepped on to the dock without anybody getting thrown over board.

It was already 2:00 pm and I still had a five hour walk to the first hut named Panekiri. The ranger yesterday said this part of the trail would be the most strenuous with a elevation gain of 600 feet in eight kilometers. A couple of fellow hikers I noticed where walking towards me. “ Is this the right trail to the hut?” I asked. “Yes just keep following this path!” said the woman. This type of information can save you minutes of walking time or it can cost you hours of retracing your tracks. In this case when I ended up at the Redoubt Cemetery I knew they had buried me. With a little bit of shovel work I could have had a everlasting view of the lake. So I had to go back up to the original trail and follow it until it entered the jungle. The trail was so wide and nicely maintained it just didn’t seem right, I thought I had made a wrong turn and had ended at Disney Land. The path was six feet wide of maintained grass. The trail head sign was as big as a Walmart sign without the greeter. Most hikers only stroll along for two kilometers before they turn around and go back for a double latte and this is how long my Yellow Brick Road of a trail lasted. For he next six kilometers though, it would be a narrow path with every kind of stumbling obstacle known to man on the trail.

The trail did follow the lake as I made my way up the mountain. The views got even better the higher I got. The trees had the sculptured look from years of resisting the mighty wind. The bent and twisted trees seemed to be climbing over the giant rocks that they had grown beside. The higher I gained in elevation the colder the temperatures got. The front of my sweaty shirt had frost on and it but I didn’t have time to put on the defrosters.

I met two hikers coming down the trail and they had tons of encouraging words. “Your pack sure looks heavy, the hut is still miles a way and you won’t make it before dark and by the way have a nice day!” they said. I may end up at the Redoubt graveyard but I’ll make the hut before dark if it kills me. By 5:00 pm I was approaching the hut with minutes left of sunlight. I took off my pack with the idea of snapping a few pictures of the sunset. Because of the lower temperatures, a huge cloud of mist seemed to follow me as my sweaty hiking cloths seemed to just as glad as I was to be here.

The hut was fairly new and the interior was decorated with an assortment of hikers from all over the world. Three woman where sitting on the front porch with a cup of tea in their hands watching the sun say adios. Sarah was from England and she was dressed like she had stepped out of a fashion magazine for hikers. Her pants even had crease in them and her sweater hang around her neck by their sleeves. She even smelled good, I think she threw a sweet smelling powder in the air and ran under it. Luckily, the rest of the people in the hut, looked like early colonial, just like me. The other two woman sitting beside her looked like they hadn’t been close to a hair brush for a couple of days. A newly wed couple talked like they where from California, but their only connection to that state is that they changed planes in LA. They where from Belgium but had been taught English by a surfer dude from Malibu.

The food preparation area inside the hut was very clean and new. The windows looked out onto the lake, many feet below. The evening wind made the water surface seem to come alive as the setting sun last rays played on the waves. Everybody had different type of food they where going prepare and consume. The English lady had crackers packaged in a tin container with English Springer Spaniels painted on the lid. The honey moon couple didn’t have the years of irritating habits that seem to send older couples into opposite corners, during food prep. At this point in their lives opening a can of tomatoes can be a romantic moment, instead of the can becoming a lethal projectile used by older couples after a few hours of hiking.

After all the dinner plates where washed, someone started a fire in the stove. The glow from the fire was the only light in a room that was filled with darkness. Everyone took turns telling of their encounters along the trail with their own personal touch. Soon the thought of a soft bed became more inviting then the hard chairs we rested on. With small flash lights everyone was able to find their own sleeping bag. With in a few a minutes of everyone finding a comfortable position to sleep in, a loud crash could be heard from the kitchen. One woman said “I think it’s a rat!” I had hung my food three feet above the floor but a hungry rat could make a short job of this obstacle. I turned on my light and with a hiking boot in hand I crept into the kitchen. A large possum was standing on the counter and a large metal container was laying on the floor. With my flashlight as a light saber I pointed it towards his light collecting eyes. His head gave a twist since the bright light wasn’t his most favorite thing. A door had been blown open during the night and the critter made his escape the same way he had come in. He turned like he wanted to say sorry I was late for dinner, I was just helping myself as he left.

I awoke the next morning to the banging of a loose piece of tin on the hut roof. After breakfast all the hiker had different plans for today. I would be heading for Waiopaoa Hut that sat 8 kilometers from my breakfast spot. The beech trees forest would be my only companion as I walked along the trail back down to the lake. A heavy mist hung over the tree branches and made my surrounding seem like a dream. As I approached my hut the wind seemed to pick the mist and send it into the next valley. Today would be a short day of hiking as I prepared to eat my lunch on the hut front porch. With plenty of time on the my hands, the lake looked to much to resist for a good swim. I brought a book to have a bit of reading after I knocked the dust off my body with my swim. After dinner two Aussie’s showed up as they worked their way around the lake going in the opposite direction to me. They didn’t have much to say but after heating up their dinner they brought out three big bottles of beer and they shared.

When the sun went down the hut got very dark and I worked my way back to my bunk beds. As I lay on the bed I heard a noise that sounded like my fanny bag had fallen on the floor. I turned on my light and noticed a giant rat trying to get my fanny pack with a candy bar inside, under the door, since there was a big enough space. A well placed thrown hiking boot gave Mr. Rat the idea that I didn’t appreciate his thievery. The rat was elbows and ass hole as he slid under the door minus my pack.

The next morning I awoke to the plenty of sunshine on the lake as I ate my breakfast. Today I would walk around the lake to Marauiti hut. I noticed on my map the Korokoro Falls which was suppose to be worth a short hike off the trail. After a hour of walking I approached Kororoowhatiri Stream that came from the falls. I left my back pack along the trail that could easily hide my pack with the lush vegetation of ferns. My timing couldn’t have been better since when I gazed on the waterfalls the sun light made the water come alive with a illumination.

Within a hour I was back on the main trail and came to three hikers. After talking to these hikers, they said the trail just followed the lake shore. But within a few hours the trail just died at the lake. I retraced my steps and came to a nice building. A Maori ranger was sitting on the front porch and I found out his job was to protect Maori land. He explained that all private land is native land and it’s his job to watch over it. The ranger filled me with information about the legend of his people of the Tuhoe tribe. Hine-puohu-rangi the water, came from the sky and lured Te Maunga the mountain, to earth with her. Their children where mortal beings and that where the Tuhoe people came from. These people are born of supernatural spirits of remote mountains and drifting mist. The ranger went on to explained that the lake is sacred but the whites only see it as a water source, which makes some natives frustrated and angry. After getting an ear full about the troubles around paradise, my ranger gave me directions to the Marauiti Hut.

The Marauiti hut had a panoramic view of the lake. As I entered the remodeled interior a couple from South Africa where exiting. The couple had met in South Africa, the fella was born in New Zealand and had gone to Africa to do construction. This trip back to his home country was to convince his wife that this was the land of opportunity with out the violence of South Africa. I dropped my cloths and was in my swim suit before you could say “Hine-puohu-rangi.” After a short dip in the clean lake water, another couple from New Zealand showed up and they where from their winter home in France. The husband had more blisters on his feet then he actually had feet. I suggested that maybe they could catch a water taxi back to the ranger station and give the hubby’s feet a rest. As they where percolating on the subject a group of five woman showed up. The women where walking around the lake as their husbands used a fishing boat to cruise around the lake shore in search of fish and cold beers. Their boat pulled up with many coolers full of steaks and fresh fruit. Two of the women where sisters that owned a organic farm and from the looks of their muscular arms they must have been working out a lot. The other three women just where trying to keep up with these athletes.
As the sunset it was time to go to bed as twenty two hikers had rolled out their sleeping bags and we where packed in like sardines without the oil.

The next morning I awoke to a beauty of a day with plans for another hut named Waiharuru. The fella with the blister the size of silver dollars decided he could carry on, without the water taxi saving his life. The trail never left the shore line and occasionally I would see a fisherman bringing in a trout for his dinner. The hut that was recently built for $250,000 was quite the beauty or “FLASH” as the Kiwi’s say. It also had the reputation of have been the hanging out place for beer drinking Maoris. It was the talk of all the hikers since the beer drinkers had just left a few days ago and the empty beer bottles was the evidence. Two older hikers felt so uncomfortable that they had slept outside while all the partying went on.

In the afternoon two Israelis walked into the hut with enough gear to start a small sporting good store. The first thing they brought out was a stove that could have easily had fit onto a apartment counter top. Then they had all the pots and pans to go with the burners. Then the fella unloaded heavy can goods with a thud. After seeing all my lite weigh gear they asked for the five minute crash course in what not to pack for back packing with their aching backs in mind.

The muscle building women from yesterday showed up with plenty of food drinks to share with a hungry Yank. The men had caught some nice size trout and they smelled good on the barbeque. The French couple showed up with a little limping coming from the husband. They weren’t to tired to talk about American politics for hours on end.

Two other men from France where also sharing our hut with the idea of fishing their way around the lake. Both of the fellas had never fished before and they were very excited about all the big trout waiting for their lures. After dinner one of the Frenchies showed up with lake water pouring from his pockets as he went on to explain that he had fallen in the lake on the pursuit of his quarry.

My last day on this lake was spent peacefully walking to my rendezvous spot for my water taxi. The skies where clear and the trail was level and I was able to bring back memories of the Koorkoro water falls and about the Tuhoe people that once lived freely on this lake. The water taxi ride back was nice with a cool breeze coming over the bow of the boat and blowing any dust off my body.

I checked in the with the ranger and she told me of another lake called Waikaraeiti. It was a short hike and then I could rent a boat and paddle across the lake and save a few miles walking around it. The rental was $10.00 but the ranger advised waiting until tomorrow morning incase the wind gods picked up their heels.

Next morning the wind gods showed up with a vengeance. It was tough enough just walking up to the boat ramp must less taking a boat out onto the lake. The boat ramp wasn’t much more then a bunch of sand piled up on the lake shore. A large number of turned over boats dotted the shore line. As I stood in the trees I noticed a lone boat out in the middle of the lake with two fellas doing their best not to become the next Titanic. They sounded like a couple that had been married for a number of years and enjoyed belittling each other. “ I told you to paddle harder on the left, no on my left, oh my God!’ one said. Within minutes, which seemed like hours to them, they where close enough to shore that I could grab the boat and pull it in. I left them to finished their bickering without an audience and continued on my trail.

The trail followed the lake as the beech wood trees where swaying in the wind. Within a few hours I was able to enter the hut. Another hiker that was few years older then I, greeted me at the door. Because of the strong wind, we where hut bound for a few hours of story swapping.

Bob my new companion, was a retired electrician for Hawke Bay. Before that he had spent many years in the New Zealand Navy. He told me when he was in the Navy, part of everyday’s ration was a allotment of alcohol. The cook would bring down a keg with just the right amount of the magic juice for everyone on board, except officers, they got their own jet fuel. Not known to the sailor, the cook had taken a hammer to the metal measuring cup and dented in the bottom to make measure out just a tad bit less. The extra alcohol that was left over, the cook got to gulp down. With a hundred guy standing in the line, that could mean a lot of jungle juice for the tricky cook. Bob said if you did a officer a favor you where rewarded with a sample of their liquor. Bob delivered the mail to the captain one day and was rewarded with the captains alcohol or gasoline, because Bob said it burned all the way down and then it came back up like a volcano. Bob continued with his stories about when he was younger and worked in the forest cutting trees, which he loved. The trees of New Zealand where massive before the whites boys showed up. Bob with thousands of others harvested most of the huge trees. Bob said sometimes it took a few weeks just to build scaffolding around the tree, in order to cut it down. After the trees was down Bob’s boss had a matched set of oxen that would pull the trees out of the forest. The owner also had a small dog, that would only come to the boss. Each morning the boss man would whistle for the dog and then the dog would go get the oxen and drive them back to the work crew. One morning only one oxen showed up and the owner and the men found the other oxen had fallen into a football field size sink hole. The boss just fell to his knees and cried like a seven year old girl at her birthday party. The men then got together and started to dig a walkway around the sink hole. After a week of digging and keeping the ox fed they lead the beast out. Bob said the oxen where so well matched when one would turn his massive horned head the other would do the same, in unison.

After a few hours of swapping stories the wind died down and we where able to venture outside. This part of the lake is called Sandy Beach and it lived up to it’s name. The water was crystal clear and only a few feet deep for maybe a hundred feet out onto the lake. I spent the rest of the afternoon just walking around the lake with water up to my waist.

Before long the sun was setting and it was time to hit the sleeping bag. The subject of the two fellas that I had seen at the boat dock came up. Bob said they did act like they had been married for one too many years. As Bob lay in bed, in the next room he could hear one guy say to the other guy. “WHEN I SAY TO SHUT UP YOU SHUT UP, NOW GOOD NIGHT!”

The next morning I walked back to my car and had all the memories of my adventures of the two lakes bouncing around in my pea brain and it felt good.