There and Back Again: A Welsh Girls Tale

Okay so I know I’ve been conspicuously absent on the blog front and once again I have to publicly apologise for this. This time it’s not because I’ve been gallivanting around town following rugby players matches but because I’ve been doing very little in deed.

Although I’ve settled fairly well in Windy Wellington I’ve not had much opportunity to get out and about due to lack of funds! The first few weeks of my stay would definitely make me a sure thing on Ready Steady Cook – I can work wonders in the kitchen with a bare cupboard! Thankfully I now have a temporary assignment with MotorSport NZ as an administrator. It’s a small office and everyone is very nice, though I do have to pretend to care about motor sports! It’s getting easier though which makes me think I’m not really pretending all that much – it’s really quite interesting!

I’ve spent most of my free time (free as in doesn’t cost me anything as opposed to time to spare) either engrossed in a good book (honestly I read nearly 30 books in my first 6 weeks here) or strolling around Te Papa Museum. Te Papa is probably the best museum I’ve ever been to. Of course it’s the history of New Zealand but it also houses geological exhibitions about volcanoes and earthquakes as well. It has a great lay out so you don’t find yourself overwhelmed and wondering which way to turn; there’s a logical path to follow and the displays aren’t too text heavy – Perfect for an educational yet relaxing day out. (Speaking of earthquakes, I’ve slept through at least seven and I’m hoping to continue doing so!)

I’m staying in a great hostel called Downtown Backpackers where I’m sharing a room with Kirstybell who decided to come and join me in the capital! We have a great view of Wellington Harbour from our room (though the occasional ferry blasting its horn does terrify me every now and then!) and we’ve made friends with all the other long termers here including most of the staff (very sensible of us).

I was happy to discover that there are quite a few Welsh people in Wellington, it must be our city: The Scottish tend to reside in Dunedin and the Irish in Auckland. (But I might have mentioned before that the bloody Irish are everywhere!) There’s even a Welsh bar here in Welly called the Red Dragon. It’s the only Welsh bar in the southern hemisphere apparently (who knows I might one day remedy that!).

Aside from the odd beach trip or hike to Elrond’s Place (more on that later) it’s been pretty mellow getting to know the city and keeping my head down to earn some cash.

Not my most interesting blog up date I know and it’s quite a lazy attempt at bringing you up to speed, but the way I figure it everything here on in will be compared to this sorry effort and will always win out in comparison – So the only way is up!

My Official Come Back will take place next week with some capital observations on the Capital, so do keep an eye out.

…We packed up our belongings said farewell to our guide Kim and off we went. After the initial ascent it was a pleasant ramble through glorious landscape. It was hard to believe we were mere moments from gold sands and turquoise waters when we appeared to be in such dense jungle.

We walked along the mountain tops that skirted the coast and eventually descended in to Anchorage Bay; a beautiful crescent bay with soft golden sand that felt glorious under bare feet weary of hiking. We strolled through the surf looking at star fish which to me were one of the most magnificent creatures I’d seen since arriving in New Zealand – They were actually shaped like stars! Not just creatures with 5 arms that were ‘star-like’ but really, really stars! Mmm… I’m not explaining this very well. See the photo below:

Amazing, right?! Wonders never cease. Katrina and I arrived at a little nook in the rocks and found we had our own private beach to while away the hours before our boat was due to take us to our hostel on the sea. We explored the rocks and as late afternoon approached we couldn’t resist the now clear blue water enticing us in. We swam and floated in blissful peace, soaking our tired muscles from the day’s exertion. 

Feeling suitably relaxed and refreshed we meandered back along the bay to reach the little motor boat taking us to our accommodation for the night, anchored not too far away.

The Aqua Packers lodge is a lovely little vessel bobbing atop beautiful waters in one of the most picturesque places imaginable and with excellent staff that put on an awesome spread. Too could to be true you ask? Yes.

With a ‘little vessel’ comes small quarters and after being shown our ‘beds’ for the night the irrational fear from my childhood of being buried alive came flooding back. Katrina and I were sleeping on a top double bunk of a shared cabin that provided a mere 2ft between its inhabitants and the ceiling; if you rolled on to your side your shoulders would likely graze the roof! Pushing the fear aside I figured I’d be too exhausted to worry about a sleepless night contemplating morbid thoughts and headed to the deck to watch the sun set and get to know the other guests.

After a pleasant evening of conversation the guests one by one started preparing for bed. I wandered out on to the deck now empty but for a few travelers engaged in a lulled conversation. I gazed up at the sky and my breath caught. Words can truly not describe the beauty of this clear night sky. Talk of a thousand glittering diamonds or a blanket of sparkling lights just will not do. I stood in silence, neck craned back and mouth wide open feeling small and insignificant but exceptionally privileged to be apart of the universe. For 20 minutes my eyes flashed across the horizon trying to take in the entire skyline in one glance; trying not to blink for fear of another hundred stars appearing in my moment of blindness making me too overwhelmed to continue my gawking appreciation of this ever present canopy I so frequently ignore. I eventually realized I could no longer feel my toes and should probably get myself some sleep if my day is starting with an 11km hike. I reluctantly pulled my gaze away from what I can only call utter perfection and made my way to bed.

 I clambered into my coffin/bed and lay on my back (it was either that or lying face down which probably wouldn’t have helped the claustrophobic feeling creeping up on me). With such a long day ahead of us I willed myself to breathe slowly and think calming thoughts. Aaah that’s better. I gradually began to relax and started sinking into that soft fuzzy place before sleep…

Ow! What was that?! My feet started tingling as the feeling seeped back in to them. Wow they warmed up fast, they’re actually on fire and really, really itchy! Ooh they smart! What’s going on? Then it hit me – Sand flies. Those little buggars I waved off as inconsequential on more than one occasion today had now definitely made their presence felt. I’d like to think I have a pretty high pain threshold but ‘itchiness’ is a whole other ball game. You know exactly what you shouldn’t do and yet it’s the only thing that gives you any sort of relief from the constant, fiery, relentless, biting pin pricks that assault you – I need to scratch my feet! Will power out the window I attempt to reach them.

Damn it! As I bent my legs up towards my hands, my knees banged loudly on something – Oh yes that would be the coffin lid! The ceiling mere inches from my face was now a barrier between utter torture and sweet relief. Could this get any worse? Yes. Yes it could…

As tired as I was I figured if I took my mind to another place I’d soon forget about the red hot throbbing and fall asleep. Once again I breathed deeply thought about cool lapping water against my feet in an attempt to trick them in to cooling down. The torment didn’t really cease but I was so exhausted I eventually began drifting away from the anguish to sweet oblivion. Then, as I was just on the edge of sleep it starts: the snoring.

Oh hell no! This is NOT happening. The guy on the bunk next to me (who here on in will be known as devil No.1) began trumpeting away in time with every prickling throb of my feet. I started to sob tearlessly to myself, realizing that this night was never going to end. Okay Laura, its mind over matter. At least it’s a constant, repetitive noise; you can easily phase it into the background along with the searing agony of the sand fly injuries – Oh no, stop thinking about it! The itchiness flares and I rub my feet together in an attempt to acquire some momentary relief. It just makes the need to scratch even more prominent so I grudgingly stop.

Meanwhile Devil No.1’s trumpeting solo becomes a duet when Devil No.2 from somewhere below pipes in with a grumbling noise that can only be described as bear like. For some reason I imagine a cartoon bear with a hat over his face, that rises into the air with every giant outward breath the bear gives. I giggle to myself (I truly am so exhausted now I’m delirious). I begin to pray, no beg the universe for it to stop, bargaining my soul for just 6 hours of uninterrupted slumber.  

I lay there for several minutes trying to sooth the sudden anger I felt towards my fellow cabin mates, when I hear Katrina say my name. I automatically, slide myself down the bed assuming she needs to get up to use the toilet when she adds: ‘Laura, stop snoring’.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!?! I roll over scraping my shoulder and virtually shout at the top of my lungs ‘I HAVEN’T EVEN BEEN TO SLEEP YET! I’VE BEEN LYING HERE FOR NEARLY 2 HOURS DEALING WITH THIS ORCHESTRA OF PAIN!’ Too sleepy to deal with my outcry Katrina mumbles an apology and promptly falls straight back to sleep.

Now completely out of my senses I laugh manically to myself and decide to throw a kick towards Devil No.1’s head in the hope I kill him or wake him up. I have totally lost it. It works briefly and the trumpet stops, just as Devil No.3 from the back of the cabin kicks in with his whistling and farting. Haha! Great! Now every single one of my senses is being assaulted – what happened to the blissful peace of being in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever laid eyes on?! In fact lying in pitch darkness meant my eyes were rendered completely redundant. I couldn’t even catch a few stars in the window because there was no window!

Seriously, where’s The Sandman when you need him? I don’t know if you know who he is as I’ve mentioned him to several people who never had their parents tell them of him, but basically he sprinkles children with his magic sand, when they’re in bed to send them off to slumber land with nothing but sweet dreams. I saw him once but no one believes me.

I sent a mental call out to him as I lay staring up at the ceiling. My eyes started to itch, a product of tiredness this time not sand flies, so I closed them. Random images started flashing through my mind – Michael McIntyre riding an elephant; you know the usual – when all of a sudden the sounds of lulled conversation and the smell of bacon had me opening my eyes - It was morning and I had managed to get approximately 5 hours sleep. Katrina was still out cold so I threw the cover off and looked down.

Yikes! My feet did not look good, though the itching had subsided. I rolled out of bed, and assessed the damage: 36. 36 sand fly bites all below the ankle, 38 in total. Man they went to town on me! I climbed the ladder out of my own personal hell and approached the breakfast table; everyone wished me a good morning and asked how I had slept. I lied. I had 3 helpings of breakfast (by now Katrina had joined me) packed up my belongings and tried not to speak to anyone for fear of being rude.

I stepped out on deck and all my agitation and grumpiness dissolved. It was still breathtaking and I’d managed to forget it. How am I ever going to remember all the beautiful places I see on my travels if they can so easily be forgotten when presented with a difficult situation or moment of anguish? These breathtaking moments should always overshadow any negative environment I find myself in. How do you hold on to them though? How do you not take them for granted? How, when I return to the real world, do I remember all I’ve learned and experienced and use it to make my life better? We all do it I know, experience something profound and promise ourselves things will be different from now on but then life gets in the way and though you still recall the moment it’s lost its potency, its meaningfulness, you forget why it was important. A new challenge for me to consider I’m sure.

Katrina and I said our goodbyes and hopped into the boat taking us back to shore. We had a long walk ahead of us but we were looking forward to it. We climbed the trail and moved further into the wilderness back towards our little piece of paradise: Kanuka Ridge.

Katrina and I went our separate ways the next morning. I returned to Windy Wellington in readiness to start my new job at MotorSport NZ.

As you can imagine I left many a good friend back in Wales when I started out on my adventure to New Zealand; and even with the convenience of Facebook and Skype I miss them all terribly. One of those good friends is Miss Katrina Free.

Katrina and I lived together for about 8 months back in Swansea, before I left for the southern hemisphere. I guess you could say we were close given we lived together and spent a lot of time together but it’s bizarre to think that someone I knew for less than a year was coming out to see me on the other side of the world – that’s commitment! Granted it wasn’t just me she wanted to see but still I was very impressed and touched when I found out she’d booked her ticket.

Unluckily, her arrival was timed with a rather unfortunate financial drought. I’d been inWellingtonfor nearly a month and had accumulated just one weeks pay in that time – How was I going to entertain my friend? She’s coming all this way! I fretted in the days leading up to her arrival and then as I waited in the hostel on the day her flight got in, I had a text message saying ‘Laurabell where are you? I’m in the foyer!’ and all of a sudden it didn’t matter anymore. I’m experiencing a once in a lifetime opportunity here, I’ve never been frugal with money so why start now and my friend who I haven’t seen for over 6 months is downstairs right now waiting for me! WOO HOO!

During Katrina’s first evening inWellington, much the same as I did on my sisters first day in Auckland, I kept looking at her in disbelief – she’s really here! We caught up some and then commenced planning our first adventure together. It took approximately 10 minutes to decide we were going to Abel Tasman and we were going in 2 days time! By the following afternoon, ferry, bus, kayaking & walking trip and accommodation were all booked – we were on.

Abel Tasman National Park is New Zealand’s smallest national park and sits on the north coast of the South Island. Abel Tasman is known for its golden sands, clear turquoise waters and lush green forests that cling to the coastline for miles.

We awoke on the day of departure to torrential rain and high speed gales; with Wellington sitting within half a day of Marahau, (where we were staying) we desperately hoped the rumours about Abel Tasman’s ‘micro-climate’ were true. Thankfully as our day of travel wore on, from ferry to bus and bus to the middle of nowhere, the rain subsided and only a few wispy curtains of cloud separated us from blue skies.

We’d booked ourselves into a little lodge called Kanuka Ridge in Marahau, a quaint family run business snuggly situated amongst dense woodlands - it was beautiful. Picnic tables and hammocks were dotted throughout the trees and our dorm had a veranda that stretched out to touch the surrounding palms and ferns. After a long day on tremulous waters and winding roads it was early to bed; not even the deafening sound of the cicadas’ mating call keeping me from sleep.

Up bright and early, Katrina and I headed out to meet the kayaking company that would be guiding us on our exploration of the Tasman coast. Now in the past I’ve had serious reservations about being strapped into a dubiously sturdy vessel on open waters. Call me coward but self preservation dictates I avoid any such behaviour that could result in me being held under water with the need to think calmly. I generally don’t consider myself to be a panic prone person but I’d rather not partake in an exercise of self discovery when oxygen is not readily available. Not a chance I’m usually willing to take.

What quashed my fears? The fact that kayaking can be considered a family activity so surely can’t be that dangerous; that I’m supposed to be trying new things; that throwing myself out of an aircraft at 15,000ft seems far scarier and yet something I am prepared to do; that Katrina is an experienced kayaker and that I actually do care if you call me a coward.

Still, I have a profound respect for the ocean and I really didn’t want to experience her more petulant nature. (Please, please, please be calm waters!). I think Katrina thought I was just worried about getting wet should I fall in, not death; I hid my fears fairly well.

Our kayaking guide was Kim and our group consisted of just 6 people. This was good news; it meant Kim only had 3 kayaks to keep track of, my death wasn’t imminent. In the group I was the only one who had never kayaked before and the only lefty. Now being left handed doesn’t always hinder you but it can make certain things more difficult. In this instance there were no left handed paddles so I had to use my right hand as my lead. To be honest it didn’t make a blind bit of difference to me; seeing as I’ve never kayaked I was really none the wiser as to technique and so on, I might as well learn the right-handed way. Plus I now had an excuse if my paddling skills proved completely inept (It’s rather poor form on my part to use that as an excuse but I hate not being good at something immediately and whilst I’d perfect that ‘something’ eventually, my ‘cack-handedness’ provides a nice defence during the early stages of learning).

We practiced some basic paddling techniques on dry land for a while and were shown how to evacuate the kayak should we tip over (way worse than the Emirates in flight safety demonstration). If I hadn’t been concentrating so hard on everything being said I might have spared more time for the sand flies hovering around my ankles – ah well what’s a few insect bites when you’re potentially facing your demise? Before I knew it we were carrying our kayaks to the waters edge. I would be sitting in the front which meant all I had to worry about was paddling and avoiding death while Katrina would have all the hard work in steering from the rear.

All kitted out and ready to go, Kim nudged us off and I commenced flailing with my paddle. Sigh. I really should stop all this self-deprecation, I wasn’t that bad at all and Katrina made suggestions on how to make things easier for me, she’s really a very good teacher. We paddled out over beautiful still water and started out on the 40 minute journey to Coquille Bay. It was the second most peaceful experience I’ve ever had (the first being skiing down an Austrian mountain on my own with nothing but the sound of rushing air) and Katrina and I paddled in companionable silence taking in our dazzling surroundings.

Oh the colours! All so vivid and intense; the sky couldn’t have been clearer and was the purest blue, the sand the most radiant gold and the coastline forest a collection of the most brilliant greens. The turquoise waters were slightly milky from the previous days rain fall but somehow this just enhanced the glittering sunlight reflecting off its surface. All that visual splendour accompanied by the rhythmic lapping sound of water against the kayak lulled me in to such a blissful calm state that I’d probably die perfectly happy if the kayak did decide to betray us.

Thankfully it didn’t. We glided along for a while, letting me get to grips with paddling and working out a rhythm, and then steered inland slightly to weave along the coast. We explored caves and nooks and crannies and Kim told us about the park and pointed out native wildlife. She was a great guide! Kim didn’t just spout a script but told us things that interested her and therefore did so with passion and enthusiasm. We eventually came to Coquille Bay where we’d be stopping for some of Kim’s homemade carrot cake and a cold drink.

Oh my! Disembarking! I hadn’t even considered this – how the hell do you get out of a kayak whilst fighting the tide and trying to stay dry? Ah Katrina help! Which she did of course along with Kim who had beached before us. The trick is to paddle hard, catch the wave coming in, hopefully allowing the kayaks nose just to touch the sand and come to a gentle stop. Phew! Panic over, solid land beneath my feet, still fairly dry and refreshments soon to be served; I wasn’t about to ruin the moment by paying attention to the sand flies nibbling at my feet.

Now that the odds of survival were creeping up in my favour, my apprehension lessened and I couldn’t wait to get back out there. So off we cruised, this time veering away from the coast and heading out to Adele Island in search of seals. The further we paddled the more confident I grew and even looked forward to the occasional building wave rolling beneath the kayak, briefly lifting and lowering us as we moved over the water. In no time at all we were approaching the west coast of Adele Island. Kim had told us that the female seals had recently birthed pups that were just starting to appreciate playing in the water and were likely to be spotted on the rocks in the surf.

And Kim’s prediction proved right! We were mere meters away from the coast and mother and child alike were playfully tumbling through the water or bathing in the sun atop rocks. Completely relaxed with their observers and not in the slightest bit shy or nervous towards us, they simply looked up curiously every so often but otherwise ignored us. I took some photos which was a new challenge in itself – balancing the paddle across the kayak, terrified that I might drop my camera in the sea whilst attempting to capture the seals on film at just the right moment. After watching the seals frolic for a while we headed back inland towards our final destination: Akersten Bay.

Then something bad happened: sea sickness. Waves of it hitting me with every stroke of my paddle - please let me make it to land! The shore looked so far away and I was beginning to suspect that my skin was taking on a green tinge that had nothing to do with the reflection of the ocean. I took slow deep breaths and kept my eyes on the horizon desperately trying not to feel the motion of the waves beneath me. I’m not going to make it. I’m never usually physically ill with motion sickness, but given this was a day of ‘firsts’ it was highly likely I’d be seeing Kim’s lovely carrot cake again very soon. DO NOT think about it! There was no risk of us crashing in to anything so I closed my eyes and focused on keeping my mouth shut.

Finally after what seemed like a lifetime we were closing in on land. Katrina pulled my attention away and we looked back to see where the rest of the group were. Wow we’d actually made really good progress - the other kayaks were way behind! We had a choice: sit and wait here bouncing around the kayak or head for the shore and hope we don’t need Kim’s help in pulling us in. We went for it! I was up for anything that got me out of the kayak fast. Katrina called the okay to start paddling hard and reminded me to pop my spray skirt sharpish and jump out when she gave the word. GO! GO! GO!…

Aah! Quickly I pulled my spray skirt free. Shit. Where do I put my paddle? Slide it down the side of your legs dumbass! Now push yourself out. Uh Oh, no upper body strength left. Move it woman! (Meanwhile Katrina’s shouting ‘Now Laura, now!’). Oh God, up I haul myself. Just swing your legs over! Damn it, flip flop has flung off but is still wedged between my toes, just as my foot hits sand. Down my foot sinks, outwards and away from my body, meanwhile my other leg is still inside the kayak tangled around the paddle.  Goodbye cruel world! The paddle finally relinquishes its hold on my leg and with my sudden freedom comes a backwards momentum that sees me tilting towards the water just as a wave crashes towards me. Arms flailing I foolishly try to prevent the inevitable, but now my other flip flop has decided to fly off too and quick as you can I’m smack on my backside right in the surf. Well that’s one way to get out of a kayak fast. On the plus side my sea sickness is forgotten.

Man! I was so close to ending my first kayaking experience completely unscathed and right at the last hurdle it all goes wrong. Credit where it’s due Katrina didn’t laugh, even though as I now write this I’m giggling to myself at the prospect of how I must have looked to her: soaked through, limbs akimbo, with a look of utter shock mingled with anger, fear and sea sickness on my face. Priceless!

I pulled myself together, dragged myself out of the water and sat breathless on the sand waiting for the others. When they gracefully landed and disembarked, they didn’t laugh either (bless them). I grudgingly pushed aside thoughts of my final fateful kayaking moments and forced myself to take in my surroundings. We’d landed in a small crescent bay, shaded by a variety of trees leaning out from the hilly terrain. I glanced behind me and saw wooden steps that meandered through the trees and out of sight. That’s where we’d be heading. After drying off and changing clothes we had a nice lunch and I started to pay a bit more attention to the sand flies that were paying too much attention to me. Ooh they’ve a nasty bite to them! I began considering what the final damage would be this evening; I knew I’d been bitten some but the bite marks weren’t showing yet.

We packed up our things and said farewell to Kim who would be waiting for a sea taxi to ship the kayaks back to base. We would be taking the 1.5hr journey along the track up through the trees to Anchorage Bay where we would be staying aboard The Aqua Packers Houseboat. And that’s where I’ll be picking up the tale later in the week…

Wellington, a favour if you will…

Oh windy, windy Wellington

Your blowing gales are not much fun,

Cease and desist I beg you please

My skirt belongs below my knees!

One big whoosh is all it takes

And of me one big fool you make,

My skirt should not fly at eye-level

So cut it out you naughty devil!

Laura Bell, January 2012.

Alison and I took a day off to visit Lake Waikaremoana in the Te Urewera National Park (That’s pronounced Why-Carry-Moana). Of course if you want to see the whole lake you take your camping gear and stay there four or five days. If you only have a day to play with, you head through the village of Tuai and on to Onepoto Bay where you can take a leisurely hike of 2.5 hours to a lookout point that takes in most of the lake.

Thankfully spending over a week doing physical labour on a farm builds up your fitness levels somewhat! Alison and I entered the covered track of winding tree roots and started the steady climb through jungle like forest. Every time my vision strayed from the footpath and I glanced at my surroundings, I half expected to come face to face with a dinosaur. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it was like being on location at Jurassic Park. Huge ferns and palms decorated the borders of the trail and the unfamiliar sounds of native birds could very well have been the sounds of prehistoric creatures for all I knew! 

I lost our map. It wasn’t really a big deal as the only way was up which means you can’t go much wrong. The downside was that we had no idea how far we’d come or how far we had left to go which can be a little disheartening when you can’t measure your progress and pace yourself accordingly.

When we were about half way up the trail (we estimated half way as we’d been walking a little over an hour and the map said the lookout is approximately 2.5 hours along the trail) we bumped into a couple of climbers returning to the car after a 4 day hiking trip. There they were, all kitted out with camel backs, walking poles and the like and probably in their early sixties. How sickening! They were looking in far better shape than I was and had done considerably more tramping that day too having started out at 7am when we were now approaching noon.

We breathlessly told them we were heading for the lookout to which they replied “Ooh not too far now and what a day for it, barely a cloud in the sky! It’s well worth the climb!”

 I began to get my second wind just then, excited to look out at turquoise waters, green mountains and a blue sky. We took off without thinking to ask what ‘not too far’ meant to the extra fit couple coming to the end of a 4 day trek. We meandered on, climbing over tree roots and ducking under hanging vines and palms, giving ourselves small targets to reach before we stopped for a drink and a breather. We’d just agreed to reach the next orange triangle keeping us on the right path when we glanced through an opening that appeared suddenly on our right – This was it! We’d made it!

Jutting out from the track was an almost perfect circular opening offering a window to the lake far below. What a sight! I only wish I had a better camera in the hands of a better photographer. The palms and ferns that guided our way now framed this little bit of paradise perfectly. Rolling mountains as far as the eye could see, tumbled towards us building momentum and reaching a crescendo just at the head of the lakes valley before pouring down magnificently to the water’s edge. The shadows of white clouds floating over head danced over the deep water, creating various shades of blues, greens and aquamarines giving the impression that some large lake dwelling creature was swimming just beneath the surface, flirting with the sun as if to make an appearance.

We sat and ate lunch, peacefully drinking in our surroundings and trying to commit to memory this feeling of accomplishment. A small accomplishment in comparison to those cresting the summit of Everest, Kilimanjaro and K2 but one big enough to feed the desire to achieve more.

On my birthday last year I decided to start a list of things I wanted to do on my travels (I actually blogged that list!); one of the items on the list was – and I quote – “To climb a mountain (literal not metaphorical)”. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that I’ll do it and I’m sure there’ll be some metaphorical mountains thrown in when I least expect it.

My time at The Osgood’s has put a fire in my belly, a fire I’ve been lacking of late as I’ve plodded along on my travels. I’ve tried new things and challenged myself physically and it’s only just the start. I can’t thank the Osgood’s enough for taking me in to their home and helping me discover a renewed passion for what I’m doing on the other side of the world, far away from home, all by myself; but I must try:

So thank you from the bottom of my heart Osgoods. You’ve helped me feel muscles and fearlessness I never knew I had.

The next chapter begins in Wellington…

Bob took me hunting one evening. Alison didn’t want to come as she didn’t think she could handle seeing an animal killed. I didn’t know how I felt about it but figured I’d find out soon enough. Bob and I headed in to the ‘backyard’ so to speak of a neighbourhood friend where deer was plentiful. Bob had two guns, one of which I had to carry. Thankfully it wasn’t loaded but it still felt strange carrying a gun over my shoulder like it belonged there.

I took extra care as I negotiated the rather steep slope to the top of the valley where we were going to position our stakeout. We sat silently waiting and Bob’s keen eyes spotted things I needed binoculars to see. A few deer hovered near tree lines and whilst Bob’s ‘sniper’ gun could have reached them, we needed to be sure we could get to the deer once we’d shot it.

A fair while passed when two deer stepped in to a fairly accessible clearing; Bob took aim and as my eye sight was pretty lame, I watched on through the binoculars. The time it took Bob to shoot seemed like minutes during which time I just kept preparing myself for the shock of the shot. I tried to anticipate the pulling of the trigger as I stared unblinkingly through highly focused lenses, saying ‘now’ over and over again in my mind.    

Another part of my mind was debating whether I should be watching at all from such an intimate distance – A mountain a way but up close and personal thanks to the binoculars.

Then, right in between my rhythmic ‘nows’, Bob fired. My heart jumped as the noise echoed through the valley like a firework. With the jumping of my heart came an involuntary blink. Did Bob hit the deer? Both deer darted in to the brush, so if one was hit it wasn’t a clean shot. My heart still pounding, Bob led me in to the valley to see if we’d left an injured deer staggering helplessly amongst the brush.

Thankfully we left the guns behind as the way was pretty treacherous and we’d need our hands free to negotiate the bramble thickets. Thinking back Bob must have had a pretty good idea that he had missed entirely as I’m sure he’d have taken the gun to put the poor beast out of its misery if we’d found it injured. Or perhaps he was carrying his hunting knife for the purpose.

We scrambled through a narrow ravine and found no trace of blood, but hoof prints leading further in to the trees. The deer was home free. Now I’ve had a little more time to think about it, I’m not entirely convinced I’d have relished the experience of tracking and killing an animal, even if only as a witness to the event. Though I do feel that hunting with someone like Bob, who does so for sustenance not sport, would be an educational experience.

At the moment my emotions are in conflict with my mind. Perhaps its better that Bob missed on this occasion.

We went sea fishing! We hauled Bob’s fishing boat off his trailer down at Mahia and prepped the line. Basically you attach a weight to one end of the net and a length of rope to the other. The loose end of the rope you tie to some drift wood and bury it a foot or more under the sand. The boat motors off (after the hilarity of trying to get in it before the waves take you) in a straight line carrying the net. When the line goes taut (the person staying on the beach signals – that was me!) you drop the net and motor back where you attempt to disembark gracefully, bury the rope in the sand so no one can see it and pick a landmark to remember where you buried it, then head home!

Bob was kind enough to take the boat out again for a spin so I too could experience ‘disembarking gracefully’. I didn’t have to do any rowing thankfully but I don’t think I’m off the hook! Back out at 6am to see what we’ve caught…

…We caught 18 lemon fish! They’re relatives of the shark family and pretty big! We pulled the net in and started untangling the catch - some were still flopping about so Alison and I steered clear of those! Once untangled I dug a big hole where we could put all the entrails (Bob set up an impromptu filleting station). Alison took the dead fish to the tide to wash the sand off, but as soon as one started moving she passed the job to me. I soon gave up when the only ones left were still gasping so Shayne finished up. I joined Bob in the ‘filleting operation’ and took the fins off a couple of the fish. I’m pretty sure after watching Bob, I could fillet a fish – though Bob makes everything look easy!

That night we had freshly battered lemon fish with muscles and it was one of the most beautiful meals I’d ever had. I wonder how much a fishing boat costs…