boomers-on-the-road

JEFF: We hate to say goodbye to our wonderful friends, Bob and Joan, but adventure calls. We’ll spend the next three days canoeing the Whanganui River. “That’s pronounced ‘Fanganui’. All Maori names that start with ‘wh’ are pronounced ‘fa’,” our outfitter Mark instructs me. Tall with a blonde ponytail, he looks the part. We pack the four watertight plastic drums with tent, sleeping bags, clothes, cooking and eating gear, and survival stuff like our first aid kit, compass, space blankets and more. We will also be taking our chilly bin (cooler) with us. It had accompanied us from home as a piece of checked luggage and now is filled with food and ice. I wander over to check out our canoe which is tightly lashed to a trailer. A full sized Canadian brand made in Maine, it looks good. “These tupperware (polyurethane plastic) canoes are the toughest,” I remark, attempting to artfully show him I know something. “Yup, since I hire my boats to beginners 95% of the time they have to be tough,” he smiles. Then he gives a thorough safety talk. Joined by his wife, we hop in his well-used van for the bumpy trip to Wade’s Landing where we will put in the river. There’s plenty of time on the dusty drive for him to fill us in. “The Whanganui is a wild river but it’s navigable. A hundred years ago steamers travelled from the port of Whanganui up here to service the settlers. Now there are no settlers and no steamers. Now it’s a national park and quite a popular one. Over 14,000 people float this river every year but you’ve picked a good time. It doesn’t get very busy until the school holidays start in a fortnight.” At Wade’s Landing we help him load the canoe and lash everything together, “So in case you have spill you won’t be chasing your gear.” With Lynda poised in front and me taking up the rear seat, we’re all ready to go. He gives us a push and we’re away! We won’t see him again until he picks us up three days from now at the next road access, 55 miles downstream. I wave quickly but have to turn to concentrate on a small rapid. We shoot through it but scrape on the cobbled bottom. The river is very low and I’ll have to concentrate better to find the channel. When we have time to turn around Wade’s Landing has disappeared. We’re alone on the river. But it’s a beautiful day. The sun shines through a nearly transparent haze, the river is crystal clear and where it’s smooth the reflections are near perfect. We’re navigating through a gorge. The banks are very steep, often cliff faces, and the hills are close. Huge trees tower over us and deep green foliage coats everything. Wild feral goats clamber over the rocks. Some stare quizzically at us when Lynda imitates their bleating. The whole place feels primeval. Rapids appear every few minutes. We can hear their roar. Then we see the white water. They always look a bit scary from a distance but when we float close enough to study them, the mystery disappears and I can see an obvious line to take. Steering carefully, we follow the tongue of smooth water right toward the waves because this is where the channel is deepest. If the waves are too big we try to skirt them seldom missing them by more than a couple feet. Lynda paddles hard on the danger side where the river piles against the shore and I paddle with her yet I’m always ready to use my paddle as a rudder to steer us away from a submerged rock. We’re in the heart of it and virtually flying down the river! The tricky part comes when we exit the rapid. We have to suddenly switch and paddle hard on the opposite side of the canoe because cross eddies and sometimes small whirlpools lurk in wait to catch our bow and swing us around until we point backward. This happens once or twice before we get the hang of it, but the most embarrassing moment comes when I try to short cut a rapid and a submerged rock catches our canoe and turns us sideways. Shouting ineffective orders at each other, we slide sideways down a cobbled drop where the river plunks us unceremoniously into the edge of the rapid I was trying to avoid. Fortunately we are pointed in the right direction and the rapid proves to be a piece of cake. If all this sounds way too exciting, here’s a reality check: all the rapids on the Whanganui River have been designated Class 1. That’s the easiest. We miss the first designated campsite. A large and obvious sign says ‘Campsite 200 metres’ but a mile goes by and we still don’t see a thing. An hour later we spot a similar sign which states ‘Campsite 250 metres’. Fortunately several canoes are beached in front of this site or else we may not have noticed the two dirty white fence posts that mark it. They’re planted way up the bank. Later I notice there’s an official park service badge on one of the posts. It can be read from about three feet. It’s a long steep trudge to the grassy terraced tenting area. We explore a bit further and find a spacious backcountry hut with a kitchen - bring your own dishes and stove - and sleeping area with 70 plastic mattresses lined up side by side on a huge bunk bed that spans the room. We are the only ones opting for camping and, after we haul all our gear up the steep sandy slope, we enjoy a quiet dinner sitting at a covered picnic table. Huge iridescent green pigeons entertain us by cooing and landing ponderously in the top branches of small trees. Contrary to the forecast it starts to sprinkle just as we go to bed. No matter, I reflect as I fall asleep to the patter of little drops. 2:00 am. Its pitch dark and the rain pounds on the tent’s fly. I bolt upright. How much has the river risen? I’d tied the canoe well but it’s upside down and the paddles are still in it. Feeling for the pocket sized flashlight, I put on my hat and crawl outside. The trail down to the river will be ten times more treacherous in the dark. Time to concentrate. Carefully I pick my way down stairs and sandy embankments to the river. It hasn’t risen much. Yet. I check the knot: it will hold. I check the others’ tie ups and they’re all good. Then I right our canoe and carry the paddles up to camp. Just as I reach the picnic table my flashlight goes dead. Five minutes sooner and I would have been stuck out for the night in a rainstorm in my pyjamas. I find my way back into bed and quickly fall asleep. LYNDA: The weak light of early morning filters through our mustard-yellow tent. Morning stretching – oops! What’s this I feel? My sleeping bag is wet! Still in my bag I lift my legs and see water dripping from my bag. The whole bottom section from my knees down including the three-quart length thermarest has been well rinsed from the all night rain. Clothes I left folded and stacked on the tent floor are wet. Well, there’s not much to do than pull my feet up to a dry section, relax, stay warm and wake Jeff to this good morning surprise. Wet gear bundled together, dry clothes on, breakfasted, packed and ready to go we paddle off in the rain for an estimated steady five and one half hour paddle. This is such a steady rain. We’ll not take out the camera until the rain lets up a bit. Today as yesterday the Whanganui proves to be a scenic river. Although we are wearing rain ponchos and hats we are totally soaked to the skin from this rain and river water splashes within minutes. Regardless, we will look at and listen to what is around us through this rain. The banks of the river are the almost vertical walls of a vegetation covered gorge. Green feathery leafed, black stemmed and trunk fern trees grow in profusion amongst many species of branched trees. The New Zealand ‘Christmas’ trees are flowering causing splashes of red. Native grasses which grow in bunches and have long silky cream plumed spikes add interesting texture to the forest. Iridescent blue and russet miniature Kingfisher birds rest on river-side branches. The Pukeko bird, red beaked and crested with deep bluey-black feathers, walks through the low growth exposing its orange-red legs and feet. The New Zealand Pigeon (kereru) with emerald green feathers and white feathered chest is so hefty that when it comes to rest on a branch the branch seems to groan and gives way under the landing weight. There are sections of the river were we can take a short break from paddling to rest our muscles, yet we want to keep paddling especially when I hear again that tell-tale sound looming ahead – rapids! Well, yes these are only level one rapids, but we are in a canoe, a fully loaded canoe – and this is my first experience paddling a canoe on a river and a river with rapids! I’ve paddled canoes many times before on lakes, shown others how to paddle and have been down mighty river rapids in inflatable rafts, but this is different. Let’s just say I have a good degree of apprehension and I am totally ‘in the moment’. In time I’ll get to ‘read’ the rapids, yet for now I’m reliant upon Jeff’s river rapid canoeing experience and strength. I’m no slouch. I’m paddling for all my might through these rapids. So, every time I hear that rapid sound I’ll call out: “Jeff, there are rapids ahead.” I know that he can hear and see them too, yet I want to make sure that we are well prepared, ready and well plan our approach and route through. About half way down this section of today’s paddle we’ll stop and see the Bridge to Nowhere. And here is the stopping point. Talk about a challenge to get out of the canoe on a steep slippery smooth rock surface in a niche of rock and pull the canoe up high enough to tie onto a metal steak in the rock. A forty-five minute walk along a surprisingly well groomed trail brings us to the Bridge. Built by two men in one and one half years towards the end of the depression this cement bridge with cement balustrades and expansion joints, spans a deep chasm and is a bridge that would be the pride amongst any civic bridges. Still white cement after all these years, it goes nowhere. The history is that the New Zealand government gave its returning veterans land. A number of families were given land in this area. The names of those families can still be seen on memorial plaques beside salvaged ploughs. The depths of the depression hit with the result that the families had to leave to survive elsewhere. This bridge is a testament to the strength, ingenuity and determination of those two men and the families of the area. All that is left is the bridge and the remains of a cliff hugging roadway. Back in the canoe, let’s paddle to the other side of the river where a few rocks will provide a beaching area where we’ll get out and eat the sandwiches I prepared earlier this morning. Well, we’ll have to stand with our backs to the force of the rain to eat so that we’ll not get mouthfuls of rain water with every bite. Still the rain and really it’s not that bad. Surprisingly I don’t feel that cold. Bummer! Now the wind! It’s howling and gusting, funnelling up the river against the direction we want to go – down river. The rain is coming in at a 33 degree angle and we’re paddling our guts out. Jeff is doing a superb job of steering us through the rapids and I’m paddling for all I’m worth. My rain poncho frequently flies up covering my face just at a critical rapid moment. The rain runs down our necks, arms and splashes from the rapids add additional soaking. Battling the wind I’m grunting and groaning a bit, thinking that might help in some way. After all these hours paddling against the wind – finally there are canoes beached on a rocky finger ahead. This must be the Maori campsite. Stepping into the river water it feels as warm as a bath - something is wrong, because that river water should feel cold. Oh, no! Its hit me like a wall – I’m suddenly shaking uncontrollably. My breathing rate is very rapid, erratic and shallow, my facial muscles have cramped up, and I can barely walk. Jeff is shaking too with the cold. We are in the first stage of hypothermia. Shaking, we climb up the sand hill and trail to the cabins. There is a cook house and two sleeping huts with plastic mattresses. People can travel the river by canoe, as we and a few other travellers are doing, or by jet boat with a river guide. Well, the place is packed with wet travellers. A group of jet boat travelling high school boys with their teachers and guides fill one hut, while other guided canoe and jet boat groups fill the second hut. Thanks to one of the teachers and a canoeist we get two mattresses for sleeping that night. Since the tent failed to keep us dry last night it is not an option. Now all our gear needs to be hauled up and the canoe pulled high from the river which has risen five to six feet since this morning and could still rise a lot with this continuing rain. Dried off and wearing a mixed assemblage of dry clothes we enjoy the warmth of the cookhouse. Someone has started a fire in the fireplace. I’ll park myself here since I don’t have much energy for anything else right now. Jeff heats up a can of kumara (sweet potato) soup and I make us bowls of oats with fruit. Time for bed. I’ll wear more clothing than usual to put more insulation between me and the damp sleeping bag. The rain water from what was the dripping wet bottom half of my sleeping bag this morning has been absorbed by the rest of the bag and it’s now just damp all over. I’m feeling warm with that soup in me and all bundled up like a sausage in this bag. We are both so tired I don’t think we’ll move or turn over all night. All’s well. JEFF: The alarm on my watch sounds. Its 5 am and already windy. That’s a bit disheartening because I was hoping an early start would help us miss the upstream winds. Quickly and quietly we pack and tiptoe out of the bunkhouse to the kitchen. While I’m pulling our breakfast out of the chilly bin (cooler) one of the chaperones of the high school group asks if I have a match so he can light the stove. “How about a lighter?” I respond. He thanks me and a few minutes later offers a steaming cuppa tea. “You beauty!” I say. Lynda goes for her usual cup of hot water – straight. The hot cuppas really add comfort to our quickly swallowed breakfast of tuna sandwiches, pre-made last night. The wind seems to die off while I tote our gear down to the canoe. The river has risen from last night and most of the canoes that had been pulled up on the bank are now floating. The stern quarter of one canoe is in the river and full of water, making it impossible to bail out and very heavy to pull further up the bank. Our craft sits very high and dry. I load the chilly bin and four plastic drums, lash them tightly and slide our canoe into the river. We’re off, the first boat out in this muddy swirling river. We see a long white object floating in the river. It’s a canoe and there’s no one in it. Unfortunately we have no way to assist and have to sadly watch it float lazily with the current as we paddle past. A jet boat will probably pick it up in due course and return it to the marooned owner. In the meantime we enjoy moving in the strong current. Ducks swim hard against the current then find an eddy in which to rest. There is no place for them to go ashore because the high water has buried all the gravel bars. Rushing water and canyon walls are all any of us have today. The tributaries are either in canyons themselves - narrow steep gorges mostly obscured by clinging greenery – or they are waterfalls that splash spectacularly into the main channel. The Whanganui sure meets my definition of a scenic river. But this canyon can betray you as well, for now the wind picks up and we must paddle like galley slaves to keep from sliding backwards. A peaking gust shoves us against the shore. Then another turns us backwards, facing up river. We are learning to relax and let these short events happen then resume our normal paddling when the wind dies (which is slight and ever so brief). Hours later, rounding a wide bend we see our first vehicle since we were dropped off three days ago. We see a road. This must be Pipiriki, the end of our journey. But is it? We don’t see a sign. “Is this Pipiriki?” Lynda calls to the man in the truck. “Sorry, luv, but Pipiriki is about a half hour upstream.” Right! We laugh then put ashore. Clambering out of our trusty canoe for the last time, we give each other the high five. Another adventure completed, with honors! Mark the outfitter and his wife arrive two hours early and we’re heading up the muddy road back to Piriaka and our patient car. When we get to the bitumen (blacktop) Mark stops to check the canoes lashed to the trailer we’re towing. We get out to admire the distant view of Mt Ruapehu freshly covered with snow. Lynda shudders at the wintry scene. “Yeah, they’re skiing on it.” Mark informs us. Ruapehu is the North Island’s tallest mountain, a massive volcano. Back at Mark’s we transfer our gear to the car taking care to keep the wet stuff separated. Then it’s a handshake and thanks for everything, and we speed south to Wellington where we will spend our last few days in New Zealand with friends, Nathan and Hilary and their beautiful daughters Maia and Niamh. They treat us royally and Hilary puts on wonderful dinners. Located at the southern tip of the North Island, Wellington is New Zealand’s capital. Nathan is a professional photographer. He shows us his side of Wellington: the unique architecture and great views. Built on a series of steep hills surrounding a vast bay, Wellington reminds us of San Francisco But with only 200,000 residents, it’s a more relaxed San Francisco. All the buildings have to fit the crumpled topography, hence they’re all originals. For an exciting look at Wellington’s and New Zealand’s architecture go to Nathan’s website at http://www.nathanross.co.nz/ We sneak out of Wellington before the start of the Monday morning rush hour. Our last day in New Zealand is spent driving back to Auckland. Lucky Taupo is halfway there to give us another excuse to see Bob and Joan, and thankfully enjoy Joan’s cooking one more time. By early evening we arrive at our motel near the airport to finish packing, get a few hours rest then get whisked to the international terminal in the early morning dark for the flight home. All up, we have spent 3 weeks in New Zealand exploring part of the North Island. We could easily come back for another 3 weeks and not repeat ourselves. Then there’s the South Island.