The Great Adventure

In the Shadow of Mount Doom

lburton — Wed, 3 Dec 2008 17:29:00 GMT

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(What is a journal about New Zealand without a LotR reference, eh?)

Today we woke up at the crack of dawn to do the Tongariro crossing, the best day hike in New Zealand, which cuts a track in between two volcanoes, Mount Tongariro on the one side and Mount Ngauruhoe (Mount Doom) on the other. We set out on our journey with positive remarks about the weather (“looks to be a really nice day for it”), followed by not so positive remarks on the weather (“Is really cold up there with winds about 55 kph, so… not really a good day to do the crossing”), followed by the silver lining of “this should lift after a few hours and turn out to be a really nice day in the afternoon.” Alpine weather being hard to predict, and usually nothing at all like the regular weather (in Taupo it was sunny and clear), I just hoped for the best and started on the hike.

I suppose I should have seen the warning signs when we reached the carpark and could only see ten feet up the mountain. At that point, that was assuming there even was a mountain, which we could only guess was a vague northish direction. We ventured forth into the fog.

At first the hike was quite pleasant, the fog adding a mystical, ethereal element to the hike, and hiding the crowds in the haze. We hiked through a barren landscape of grasses, moss and shrubs until we reached the first major ascent. The air grew steadily colder and wetter and we saw a large number of people, many of whom were wearing rubbish bag ponchos, who had presumably turned back. At this point I myself grew frustrated with the poor visibility and the fact that the clouds were evidently not going to lift after all. After we had leveled off for a while and found ourselves on a flat muddy stretch that almost resembled a beach, we came to the conclusion: ‘I think we’re in a crater.’ I’ve always wanted to walk into the crater of a volcano, but I’d like to know for sure if I have. We climbed higher as the pockmarked, pumice-scattered landscape grew devoid of plant life and became foggier, colder, wetter, and windier still. The mountain fell away on both sides of the trail, and we may have been straddling the summit, or there may have been craters on either side, I had no idea. When there was a particularly steep slope I pondered ‘I think that’s Red Crater to our right’. At that point, everything became a crater, and every slope disappeared into an endless abyss. About fifteen minutes later and, ‘no, I think that’s Red Crater’. Then we came right to the shores of the Emerald Lakes, which looked so beautiful in photographs they were the reason I wanted to do this hike. Unfortunately, they were so fogged in that it wasn’t until we were right up next to them that we could see them, though the smell of sulfur was a good indication we had been getting close. ‘Oh, there’s Emerald Lake,’ I said. ‘Oh, there’s another one.’ I checked the map. ‘Oh, there are three!’ We never saw the third. We walked a short while longer and decided we were in another crater, then began our descent. I was taking a picture when Ross exclaimed ‘Blue sky! Blue sky! Look quick before you miss it!’ I didn’t look fast enough. Eventually we made it below cloud level to discover it was still a very nice sunny day. We turned a corner and were unexpectedly plunged into a forest, which made for pleasant walking until we reached the end of the track. We caught the bus to the backpackers in the National Park, and as we pulled in and unloaded our bags, both mountains peeked out to say hello and within the hour there were no clouds in sight.

Geothermal Wonderland

lburton — Mon, 1 Dec 2008 17:27:00 GMT

From the moment you enter the city of Rotorua, you’re hit with the pungent odor of rotten eggs. One elderly passenger opened the window a crack and allowed the stench of sulfur to engulf the entire bus. Rotorua is a mystery onto itself, or perhaps more a mystery of human nature. I spent much of my time there wondering why anyone thought it was a good idea to build a city on the flattened remains of an active volcano.

In the centre of town, Kairau park hisses and steams with the wrath of the underworld. Mud boils up from fenced off pits just across from the playground and steam seeps from cracks in the earth. I walked across the boardwalk over Lake Kairau and watched the wind blow steam across the surface of the lake, mesmerized, until the wind blew a little too much in my direction and I was engulfed in a thick cloud of sulfur. It is a peculiar place.

One beautiful Saturday morning in late November, the town of Rotorua slathered themselves with sunscreen and flocked to city centre for the annual Santa Parade. It was an interesting experience to watch a Santa parade in shorts and a tank top, and I’m not sure if I’ll get used to the Southern Hemisphere Christmas. The parade featured, among other things, elves, ogres, Santa, girls in bikinis, sheep, a girl in a kiwi bird suit, water pistols and several floats depicting Christmas on various tropical islands. That’s not to mention the musical styling’s of Little Drummer Boy, bagpipes, Let it Snow and Rhianna. I asked a kiwi about their Christmas carols, and she said “oh yeah, we sing all sorts of carols about snow.” I guess there aren’t that many that aren’t.

The following day was warm and gorgeous, and we could think of nothing better to do than head out of town and roll down a hill in a giant plastic bubble. Zorbing is a bit like a waterslide, and a bit like what I would imagine it would feel like to be trapped in a hamster ball. After jumping superman-style through a tight hole in the zorb, I struggled to my feet in a pool of water and began pushing on the wall of the ball, down the hill. Within seconds I was on my ass again and rolling zigzag style down the hill, not sure which way was up. I sloshed around like that for about 60 seconds before coming to a halt at the bottom and sliding out and plopping on the ground, an act which looks and feels a bit like being born.

(Bagawk!)

A Maori Thanksgiving

lburton — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 17:26:00 GMT

The last Thursday of November found us in Maketu, a small town on the coast in the Bay of Plenty. We ended up out here for our Maori cultural evening; a rather costly affair which we feared would turn out to be just another overpriced commercialized tourist performance. Skeptical and budget-conscious though we were, we signed up for it and hoped for the best.

We arrived in Maketu and were greeted on the bus by Uncle Boy. Right away I could tell that this wasn’t going to be at all the experience I was expecting, as Uncle Boy was friendly, funny and genuine. He named a chief off our bus and welcomed us to his extended family, which felt very appropriate given the holiday we were missing. He showed us inside, offering us a clothesline for our wet caving clothes and a cold fridge for our food and drinks. He led us into the dining area, where waiting for us was a buffet of surprisingly Thanksgiving-esque food (namely potatoes, pumpkin and stuffing). It felt quite a lot like normal Thanksgiving, in that I ate a lot of potatoes and not much else.

After dinner we took off our shoes and went into the marae, which was a lifelong dream of Uncle Boy’s and was only completed a year ago. The building was simple and modern and decorated with photos, Maori art, and other cultural artifacts. We watched as our chosen chief (our bus’s clear senior) was challenged by the warrior, who grunted and advanced on us brandishing a large wooden spear. Uncle Boy had warned us that this was the only part of the evening that is taken extremely seriously, and that if our chief made the wrong move here we would be asked to leave. Luckily, he did the right thing, and one by one we went down the line and greeted the whole ‘tribe’ with the traditional handshake and nose touch. We watched a performance of traditional song and dance, and then were asked to participate in an action song. Last to be performed was the haka, and then we ladies learnt a poi dance while the men learned the haka. We had lots of fun learning (and messing up) the moves of a very simple dance involving short poi (basically a soft ball on the end of a thick string). The women who taught us were wonderfully kind and had a great sense of humor, so they were able to tease us about our performance without hurting our feelings.

After we reconvened and performed for each other, to everyone’s great amusement, we started to wrap up the festivities and say goodnight to our hosts. We slept in the marae that night, so we all pulled mattresses to the floor and set up our beds, which felt a lot like summer camp. The night was nothing at all like I was expecting, but was so genuine and warm-spirited and wonderful that I couldn’t stop smiling the whole night, and well into the next morning. I think it might have been the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.

Hiking and Hitchhiking in the Coromandel

lburton — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 12:20:00 GMT

At last, our time in Auckland has come to an end, and we can get on with touring the rest of New Zealand. We caught our Stray bus out of Auckland at the backpackers we had made our home for our first few weeks. The vibrant orange bus listed a little to the left, and had a bad transmission. Only after I had snubbed it for being a noisy POS did I spot the moniker it had been given written in cursive on the passenger door- Lauren.

Our first stop was Thames, an old gold mining town at the base of the Coromandel Peninsula. The town itself was not much of a gem, the surrounding waters were distinctly brown, the buildings were a bit rustic, and perched atop a hill was a rather phallic monument to WWII. However, the town of Thames is now better served as the gateway to the Coromandel, and it was for that purpose that we hopped off the bus to explore. We were headed into the Coromandel Forest Park for some hiking, but had absolutely no idea how we were going to get there. Nevertheless, the next morning we began walking out of town and into the valley, hoping against all hope to hitch a ride to the trailhead. The first car we flagged pulled over. We had heard that hitching in New Zealand was common and easy, but neither of us was expecting such good fortune. We were picked up by an older couple who offered to take us about halfway up the road, and found ourselves on a detour to a feijoa farm, mostly on the grounds that we’d never seen nor heard of a feijoa, where we were handed over to an old farmer with few remaining teeth who drove out of his way to take us to the trailhead.

The hike took us up to the pinnacles and a view over most of the peninsula. The final climb was a steep staircase and metal footholds drilled into the rock. No sooner had we reached the summit, panting and sitting down to rest, that a group of schoolchildren who had given us a generous lead bounded to the top. I stared at them, speechless. “What, did you run?” we asked “Yeah,” one of the girls answered nonchalantly. Their leader said their group had divided into three based on fitness levels. “Are you the most in shape group, then?” we asked. “No,” she said, “we’re the middle group.” After we had all been thoroughly put to shame, we trudged down the mountain, the girls well out of sight.

Our next stop was Hahei, on the other side of the peninsula. We arrived in the afternoon amid ominous looking weather and began the obligatory walk to Hahei’s claim to fame, Cathedral Cove. We took our time on the walk, stopping to explore the nearby Stingray Bay and take in the beautiful, albeit cloudy, beaches, before arriving at the cove itself. Maybe it was rather late in the afternoon, but the cove was not nearly as crowded as I had expected, and we spent a good deal of time there, marveling at the splendor of it. After noticing a large pile of rocks heaped on the sand, apparently having recently fallen from the roof of the archway, we took our leave and headed back along the trail.

The next day was sunny and warm and I was grateful for having decided to stay an extra day in Hahei, despite the disagreeable weather when we first arrived. We spent the day at Hot Water Beach, a thermal phenomenon only accessible at low tide. While we were walking along the road to the beach, a truck pulled over and offered us a lift. (Apparently hitchhiking in New Zealand is so easy that you don’t even need to stick your thumb out.) Feeling that we had made it to the beach in good time, we were surprised when the shop had already rented out their supply of spades. The main feature of Hot Water Beach, for which the beach gets its name, is a stretch of beach about forty yards long where you can dig a pool in the sand and tap into a supply of hot water underneath. Lined up along the beach were eight-man sand-carved hot tubs, and, clearly, the shop’s supply of shovels. Empty handed, we headed down to the beach prepared to hand dig a hole, but realized that this was both far more difficult than it seemed and that we had evidently arrived too late and all the good hot water had been claimed. After digging several holes that yielded no hot water, I found my own sweet spot, unfortunately situated just at the shoreline. No sooner had I started digging than my hole was washed away, so instead, I merely sat on the sand. This had the effect of my buttocks being very toasty while the rest of my body was occasionally doused with cold sea water. Unfortunately, as the day ended and we headed back into town (getting a lift again without raising a finger), I noticed that I had incurred the wrath of the sun with a wicked sunburn the likes of which I haven’t seen in years. In my joy at seeing the sun I had forgotten that while New Zealand’s weather may be temperate, the country is situated just beneath the hole in the ozone.

Gallery: Auckland and Northland

lburton — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 18:13:00 GMT

North of the North

lburton — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 18:05:00 GMT

After nearly 3 months in New Zealand, we finally leave Auckland. After we had settled in and found jobs, we found that we didn’t have any time to travel, thinking that a weekend was not long enough. But this weekend was Labour Day weekend, and we finally made our escape.

Day one of this adventure was an important lesson in taking things as they come. Thanks to a flat tire we missed our afternoon bay cruise, but were upgraded to a longer one two days later in better weather. Because of the holiday weekend, every hostel in town was booked, but we got a sweet discount on a nice room in a quaint little guesthouse. As it turned out, when we left Auckland and it was pissing down outside, a lot of would-be vacationers cancelled their trip because the weather forecast was “custard”, while we enjoyed unexpectedly sunny Northland with considerably fewer crowds.

Sunday we woke early to join our guided tour of the very tip of New Zealand. I was told we would be off-roading it half of the time, so I was rather confused when a full sized coach pulled up in front of the hostel to pick us up. We jumped on the bus and began our drive north, taking a scenic drive through a forest and stopping to look at one of New Zealand’s few remaining ancient kauri trees.

We continued north all the way to Cape Reinga, the very tip of the country, where the Pacific Ocean collides with the Tasman Sea. This is a sacred area to the Maori people, who believe that this to be where their souls come when they die, the gateway to the afterlife. I wish I could give a figure in miles per hour, but suffice it to say that the winds were so ferocious that at times I feared I would be swept from atop the bluff deposited out to sea, which, I think, is more or less how the Maori say that it goes. I wasn’t, but Ross’s hat was lost to the Pacific.

After fighting the winds back to the bus we continued on our merry way to go duneboarding, which was, for many, the much anticipated event of the day. We drove along the road we came through on, and then all of a sudden we were off the main road, driving through Te Paki stream cutting through the sandy landscape. We pulled over, each grabbed a boogie board and climbed to the top of the nearest sand dune. This could have been so much cooler than it actually was if it weren’t for that pesky wind again, which assaulted me while I was waiting in the queue, sand stinging my skin and blinding me from both what I assume would have been a fantastic view of the Tasman Sea and my path down the dune. Eventually I sandboarded myself down with my eyes all but shut, tumbled off my board and into a bush. I spent the next few days finding ever more sand in my hair, pockets and bra.

Our journey continued down the stream to the inaccurately named ninety mile beach. The beach is actually a registered motorway, but only at low tide. Many cars have been lost when the Tasman claims them at high tide. In our full sized coach, which clearly had a little something extra under the hood and which never ceased to amaze me, we hauled ass down the beach, pausing to check out the skeletons of abandoned cars and a herd of wild horses in the nearby dunes. As it turns out, we were fortunate in our trip; we were the only bus who didn’t get stuck in the creek at the entrance to 90 mile beach. I was disappointed, actually, getting stuck or rescuing someone else who was stuck in the sand, I feel, would have added an extra element of adventure.

The next day we went out on a dolphin cruise in the bay. Possibly the highlight of the day was that it was Labour Day and I was in the sunny and gorgeous Bay of Islands, and getting paid to be here. I’ve never had a paid holiday before, and I’m surprised that my first should be a week into a temp assignment. Just one thing I love about New Zealand. We found a small pod of Bottlenose Dolphins and they swam alongside our catamaran for a while. Then the onboard marine biologist gave the ok and a dozen or so excited tourists donned wetsuits snorkels and flippers and jumped in the water. Put off by the commercialism and questioning the ethics of it all, I chose to forgo the opportunity to swim with wild dolphins, which has always been a dream of mine. And so it came to be that I stood on deck and watched a boatful of floundering idiots as they fulfilled my lifelong dream. They seemed to have a great time, and I’m sure they thought it was magical, but from my vantage point, the whole thing looked absolutely ridiculous, and not at all what I’ve been dreaming about my whole life. One after another they jumped into the water, while the crew pointed and yelled “Over there! Swim that way!”, and off they swam, while the dolphins, who are far more adept swimmers, popped up every now and then to humour them. Sometimes they were swimming with dolphins, but most of the time, they were just swimming with each other. Then, when some of the swimmers and the dolphins had gotten a good distance away, they called all the swimmers back (“Come back! Come back! Get on the boat!”) coasted twenty yards and then set them loose again (“Go, go, go! That way! To your left!”) Some of the swimmers didn’t seem like they really knew what was going on. In the end, I did feel that the whole situation bordered on harassment, but then again, I suppose the dolphins could have just left if they had wanted to. It’s one of those grey areas with wildlife viewing and animal rights where I don’t really know where to draw the line; where my desires and my beliefs contradict each other.

We spent the afternoon killing time until our bus arrived. Not wanting to spend any money, and not having enough time to go for a hike, we spent time sitting on the beach and laying in the grass in the park before getting on the bus and heading back to Auckland, to work, and to four more weeks of (hopefully less) itchy feet.

Gallery: Alaska

lburton — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 16:08:00 GMT

Go Nome or Go Home

lburton — Fri, 6 Jun 2008 11:37:00 GMT

The Iditarod is known as the last great race on Earth. In January of 1925, a diphtheria epidemic threatened the small town of Nome, in Northwest Alaska, and the only way to deliver the life-saving serum to the isolated town during a blizzard was by dog sled. Nearly 50 years later, the first race was run to commemorate this event, and as a way to continue the tradition of dog mushing in the modern age of snowmobiles. The race is a grueling 1,049 miles from its ceremonial start in Anchorage all the way to the town of Nome. More people have climbed Mount Everest than have finished the Iditarod.

Vern Halter is a retired musher from Willow who has competed in the Iditarod 18 times. He never took first place, but he made it to the top ten nine times, and he also won what he claims is the more challenging race, the Yukon Quest. Vern’s last race was in 2005, and he now runs dream a dream dog kennel, an educational and tourism pursuit, and continues to raise and train sled dogs and Iditarod hopefuls.

Vern is incredible. He gave us a short presentation about the Iditarod and talked about his experiences in the race, showed us around the kennel, let us meet all of his dogs and play with the new litter of puppies and gave us a ride on the summer training rig, essentially a jeep with the dogs hooked up to it.

At first I was really nervous and skeptical about the Iditarod and animal rights issues, but after visiting Vern’s I’m less worried. The dogs are treated really well, and their treatment is carefully monitored throughout the race, every dog needed to pass inspection at every checkpoint by a veterinarian. What really did it though, was seeing how incredibly excited they were to do the training run. Scary loud off-the-wall excited.

Today was the first day I saw the Alaskan sun. Despite the fact that it never gets dark this far north, it wasn’t until today that I actually saw the sun and not just the light.

Before Vern’s we were in Seward. It rained in Seward. It was a place I could tell would be phenomenally beautiful if only the fog would lift and the sun would come out. The fog was a really cool effect (literally), but after a while the mystery and the intrigue wore off and I just wanted to be able to see all of Resurrection Bay. Our last day there was particularly good, even though it was really cold. We hiked to Exit Glacier and were even allowed to touch it, which visitors usually aren’t able to do, and later we hiked to Lowell Point, where we had to wade through a freezing cold stream and do lessons and make art on the beach in the rain. (I got distracted and just took pictures instead of making beach art.) The weather was pretty miserable, but it could have been way worse. I’m excited to go again and kayak and maybe see the sun, and therefore the scenery.

We went out to eat a few times, hung out in the hotel rooms enjoying the cable tv, and took a few short walks. We also caught two bald eagles getting it on on the power lines right outside our hotel room. There’s something so incredibly entertaining about watching animals mating, and even more entertaining watching everyone watching cheer them on.

Everything's OK in AK

lburton — Tue, 3 Jun 2008 13:36:00 GMT

I've arrived safely in Anchorage. Flying in last night, there was a collective sigh of astonishment as we flew over the Chugach Range, mountains as far as we could see. The weather thus far has not been impressive. It's supposed to get warmer as the summer progresses, but it's pretty cold and cloudy now. In the first 24 hours we've been here we already had a few logistical hiccups, starting with our departure from the airport. We got a rental van, but didn't get the trailer, and instead piled fourteen adults, all of our luggage, and eight duffel bags of group gear into a fifteen passenger van together. We fit surprisingly comfortably, and loaded and unloaded the van (twice) with impressive efficiency.

We visited the Alaska Native Heritage Center today, which showcases exhibits, mainly authentic dwellings, from five of the major native groups found in Alaska. We also got to watch a little bit of a dance performance put on by high school students. One of the main goals of the center is to act not only as a museum, but to promote pride in the natives' own cultures, particularly among young people.

After dinner we took a hike. I didn’t really believe anyone when they talked about the midnight sun. It was one of those things I decided I'd believe when I saw it, as so many things I'm told turn out to be gross exaggerations. But tonight we set out to summit a mountain at ten pm. We climbed Flattop Mountain in Anchorage for a fantastic view of the city, the Chugach Mountains and the surrounding area.

To be more accurate, though, it’s not light out (the sun is not shining, like I interpreted midnight sun to mean), it’s just not dark. It's just hovering in that twilight phase. It’s really trying to be nighttime, but it's one in the morning now and it's just not making it.

At the top of Flattop Mountain (which looks exactly like it sounds) one intrepid staff-in-training braved the snow and slid some several hundred feet down a huge snow-covered slope. A few more brave souls followed, and I committed myself to hiking back down the difficult rocky trail fearing for the safety of my new camera (in addition to, or as a cover for just being a wuss). In the end, I ended up being the only one to not slide down the mountain and climbed down the first part alone, during which I had plenty of time to regret my decision and criticize myself for not being more adventurous like I want to be.

We got back to the trailhead at a quarter to one. By far the latest I have ever, or probably will ever, climb a mountain. It was an interesting experience hiking at midnight, and I'm glad I've done it, but just because it's light out does not mean we should all go take a hike. If we keep doing things this late just because we can ("as a matter of fact, there are enough hours in the day"), it is going to be a very long summer.

So that was just a quick update, and I'll add the road trip stuff and more of Alaska when I can, which will probably be not often, if not because of the unpredictable internet connection, then because I don't have enough time.

Gallery: Zion

lburton — Fri, 30 May 2008 15:20:00 GMT

Gallery: Yosemite

lburton — Fri, 30 May 2008 14:58:00 GMT

Gallery: Bryce Canyon

lburton — Fri, 30 May 2008 14:52:00 GMT

Goodbye green and gold

lburton — Tue, 20 May 2008 13:15:00 GMT

After five years, fourteen semesters, one change of major, 62 college courses, eight seven a.m. finals and one hundred and fifty eight university credits, I have filled in my last scantron and turned in my last paper. I've finally graduated!

Now, the million dollar question...

What am I going to do with my life?

The plan is as follows... I'm road trippin' out to California where I'll begin staff training (making a few pit stops in southern Utah, the Grand Canyon and Yosemite) then flying out for the summer to work as a field instructor traveling around Alaska. Then I'm flying back to San Francisco and leaving straight from there for New Zealand, where I'll work for a while on a working holiday visa, then, who knows- hopefully I'll have enough money to travel through Southeast Asia after.

That's the idea anyway... I'm leaving on Saturday and I'll keep you posted.

Gallery: Commencement

lburton — Mon, 19 May 2008 07:58:00 GMT

WCNR Class of 2008