The One with the Four of Us

Meet Caroline AKA Caro

Age: You don’t need to know.

Nationality: Brit.

Former Occupation: Some sort of job involving Rolls Royce plane engines.

My favorite thing about her: How she says “Scuze Carol” every time she sneezes!

Meet Agatha AKA Ag

Age: Looks younger than all of us but isn’t!

Nationality: French/Lebonese.

Occupation: Geologist.

My favorite thing about her: When she nods and smiles even though everyone can tell she has no idea what you are saying.

Meet Cecilia AKA CC

Age: the group baby, a youthful 20-years-old.

Nationality: Swedish.

Former Occupation: Elite player on the Sweden National Table Tennis Team.

My favorite thing about her: Her taste in music ROCKS! And she’s an elite-level athlete – even if it is just ping-pong!

Meet Ashley AKA Chico

Age: 24

Nationality: Ah-Merican!

Former Occupation: Childcare aid, rugby player, student. Take your pick.

My favorite thing about her: Isn’t this a bit awkward to answer? I’m already writing about myself in the third-person.

If life is full of unexpected things, then traveling up’s the ante. I didn’t expect to meet three young women who had an equally strong desire for adventure. I didn’t expect to see them more than once, let alone live with them for two weeks. And I didn’t expect to have such a stupendously fun time!

Things started out in Abel Tasman National Park when I came upon a group of girls meandering the trails ahead of me. With Cecilia carrying the worlds biggest camping mat, I scoffed at her and unfairly labeled their trio “stupid tourists”…little did I know I would spend a few nights sleeping on that oooh-so-comfy and amazingly cushy mat a few weeks down the road! Within the hour I had dropped my preconceived notions and we were on the road to friendship. Agreeing to meet up in Wellington, New Zealand’s capital, I bid adieu to the girls and excitedly waited for the days to pass until our reunion.

Wellington was windy and gloomy when the four of us found each other in a café named after something French. A run-around of grocery shopping and last minute gear grabbing saw us leaving town at dusk. We didn’t get very far. Night one was spent on the side of the road next to a field of cattle. Agatha snored and twitched, which I surprisingly found funny rather than annoying…things could only go up from there!

By day two we were preparing for the Tongiraro Crossing: a grueling 9-hour tramp through a series of volcanoes…including MT DOOM (think Lord of The Rings). The climb up the volcano was one of the most difficult physical tasks I’ve taken on in my life! There was no trail, only rocks, loose slate, and a steady stream of tourist making their way up a peak so high they resembled ants. Every few minutes shouts of “ROCK” would echo from above and everyone would freeze or move out of the way of basketball-sized lava rocks mercilessly plummeting downward. An hour later, crawling on hands and knees, Cecelia and I pulled ourselves up the overhang of the volcano crater – a massive hole in the earth painted by nature in a beautiful array of colors. The freezing wind hurried our decision to descend and, watching people slip and scrape their way down jagged lavacap, I took my cue from a man toward the bottom who was sliding upright down the loose gravel. One step created a sliding movement of four or five feet, and when in rhythm, I found myself floating down the volcano, looking very much like a skier hitting the powder on a double-black-diamond. Reaching the bottom in a fifth of the amount of time it took to climb up, I wearily sprawled out on the dirt and waited for my mates. When the four of us met up again, we pushed on toward the mineral-filled waters of Blue Lake and Teal Lake. Stopping for only pictures, Caroline and I ran the last 6K of the trail in order to get back to the van in time to retrieve Pip from the parking lot at the starting point of the hike before dark. 

After our exhausting day hiking, we spent a tour-filled day exploring massive Huka Falls and then all the bizarre geothermal activity in the area. The sights were stunning but the smell we could’ve done without! The four of us then made our way to Rotorua (also known as Rotovegas –a joke considering how little there is to do in the town after dark, and Smellyrua due to the sulfur created egg smell which permeates the air 24/7). Taking Caroline with me, we spent an entire day destroying the trails of the local mountain bike park. If you haven’t biked in Rotorua, you haven’t really lived. 

The 175K worth of rideable trails include easy cruisie tracks for beginners increasing in difficulty up to the expert-only National Downhill Course warning about extreme, unavoidable hazards. We peddled the moderate to difficult trails until we dropped (or fell, depending on who you ask). After a night experiencing a traditional Maori hangi (a meal cooked in the ground), we headed north to Whakatane (pronounced fa-kah-taan-ay) to swim with Moko the wild dolphin and take in a morning spent lazying about the beach.

After spending numerous hours driving together in our campervan convoy, tackling one adventure after another, and nights spent laughing over campfires, it was time to say goodbye. The girls were headed further north to Auckland, while I was driving south to continue my own adventure in Gisborne. It was a brief two weeks spent together, but they were 14 days spent with three wonderful young women that I will never forget! 

The One Hit and Run

Some places I have slept in my van:

• In a parking lot
• In a very dodgy parking lot
• The side of a highway
• On the beach
• In a driveway
• On a side street in the middle of a busy city
• At a campsite
• In the middle of sand dunes
• At a construction site
• The side of a dirt road
• The side of a paved road
• In a field
• In a forest
• In a very scary alleyway
• The bottom floor of a parking garage
• In a fancy hotel parking lot
• Under a bridge
• On a quiet street in suburbia

Now, of all these places, where would you guess I got side-swiped at 3 AM? The side of a highway right? Or maybe in that pesky side street in Wellington? The dodgy parking lot maybe?

Nope. Nope. And Nope. Surprisingly, it all happened in quiet suburbia, far from the noisy city and bar lights; my poor van Pip got creamed. 

           

Last night, after falling into a restful sleep next to a beautiful blue house with a white picket fence I was jarred awake by what I initially thought was a bomb. In my near-panicked state I quickly realized a bomb was highly unlikely and that it had been a violet earthquake. But aren’t earthquakes usually more than 2 seconds long? It was then that I saw the taillights of a swerving car driving around the next corner.  Those (insert preferred swear word here) hit me! The pitch-black darkness and accompanying fog made it impossible for me to make out a license plate number, and to be honest, I was far too groggy and disoriented to think that fast anyway.

Jumping out into the freezing night in nothing but my Hanes boy-cut undies and (by no intentional decision) matching black v-neck shirt, I assessed the damage. My bike hung steadily on the bike rack on the back of Pip. I spun the tire closest to the street and noticed it was a little wobbly. Looking around the rest of the car I concluded that the other vehicle had very loudly grazed the bike and continued on their way. Satisfied with this explanation, I crawled back into the van and spent the next 3 hours playing scenarios of all the ways I could die while sleeping in my car (a bit morbid, I know) until I finally fell into a fitful sleep.

The hazy light of day sent my bike theory all to hell.

What I was unable to see in the dark was the entire right side of my car had been smashed from end to end. Luckily, the damage was mostly aesthetic. My front door now throws a tantrum when being shut, but other than that, Pip is functionally as good as gold! What is definitely the most disturbing is the “what if’s” that so easily could’ve been a reality. I shudder to think of the idea that they could’ve hit me a hell of a lot harder, spelling out a much bigger issue than just the door being finicky: like me getting hurt.

So, in light of my brush with death (it’s my blog, I’m allowed to be melodramatic), I’ve taken another look at several important things:

1)    For the next 2 weeks (the duration of my trip), I will be hunting down highly safe areas to park. Well lit, and traffic-free.

2)    It doesn’t take a genius to realize that the driver who hit me was drunk; this just reinforces my criticism of those who drink and dive (it only takes one swerve to take out another vehicle, pedestrian, or yourself… if you’re lucky no one gets hurt, or worse.)

3)    I am now even more aware of how quickly circumstances can change and am incredibly grateful that I am healthy, happy, and able to still have the world at my fingertips. It only takes an instant for all of that to change. Thinking about that puts a whole new spin on the saying “live for the moment” eh?

Carpe Diem.

-Ashley 

Fun Fact: Despite not having any toilet seat covers anywhere in the country (good on ya little green Kiwis, save those trees!) New Zealand has an ingenious way of keeping your tush bacteria and yucky-stuff free: seat cleaners! Just pull the small baby-wipe thing from the wall and viola, clean toilet. Saves on cleaning costs too I bet. Such smart little Kiwis...

The One Where I ERUPT (not literally)

*Click on the underlined words for links!

Sticking to my newfound lifestyle choice of doing things completely on a whim, I found myself driving with my mate Nicky to a city called Taupo, located smack dab in the middle of the North Island of New Zealand. Why? To spend hundreds of hours volunteering at a festival in which I knew nothing about. I was told something about “art and performance” and thought to myself, sounds like it could be cool…lets do it!

On our way to the festival, I got a few more details out of Nicky, who was almost equally as clueless about what we would be doing the next eleven days. Halfway through the ERUPT festival I have found the answer: absolutely everything!

We have made excel spreadsheets, taken out the trash, gone on coffee runs, moved furniture, played chauffer to famous Kiwis, answered phone calls, administered surveys, made more cups of tea than I care to count, offered input on dance performances, written reviews, updated websites, taken photographs, picked up dinner, become part of the stage crew, gotten beer/food/water/candy for artists, have made festival buttons, distributed programs, arranged restaurant tables, acted as liaisons with local businesses, set-up promotional materials, vacuumed, picked-up office supplies, escorted VIPs, and basically been the towns busiest go-getters! Of course the wonderful festival staff (including Coordinator Nicole, and PR Manager Olivia) haven’t let us just work work work, there has been plenty of opportunities to experience the festival itself!

My emersion into all things Kiwi got started with a last-minute invite to see the premiere of a site-specific show called SALON (performed at an actual hair salon). Literally running to the performance in our pajamas, Nicky and I arrived breathless and excited to see the play that was the talk of the festival. We weren’t disappointed! The show was superb and so life-like that a few times I forgot I was watching a play and had to remind myself I wasn’t just waiting for my hair appointment! Next came a moving and culturally educational play called Mark Twain and Me in Maoriland. See the write-up on my Facebook profile to find out how it went! Within a few hours I was back in the theater watching Joe Salom’s Gadgets, a pseudo street/circus-performance meets technology-driven entertainment. Amidst all the fire juggling, music, and disappearing tricks was Joe’s trusty side-kick, a hysterical villain with a strange love-affair with his own…errr, man bits: Eric the Dog!

Then there was the Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra and a surprise performance by local 14-year-old musical sensation Ruby Solly. This quirky group is far too weird and fantastically entertaining for me to accurately depict in a blog. Check out their covers of songs you love, songs you hate, and songs you never really noticed before! Speaking of quirky, I also got to attend a concert put on by Karen Hunter, a poet/cabaret singer who is partial to scatting and women. It only took me nine months, but I finally found a lesbian in New Zealand! Then there was Wilson Dixon, a cowboy who claims to hail from the rocky mountains of Colorado and who has a rather unique take on American life on the range. His jovial songs, hailing from his debut album "Wilson Dixon's Greatest Hits" shed light on things like life (its like Titanic... long... and you know how it ends) and philosophy (its really just thinking about thinking).  

Another man of questionable nature is Te Radar, host of the hit Kiwi TV show Under the Radar and his festival show Eating the Dog. Never have I learned so much important history in such a short amount of time, and never have I almost wee’d myself laughing about it! Radar, a comedic genius used Powerpoint and mini-skits to inform the crowd about New Zealands most important figures in history including a general who lost his pants and almost an entire platoon, a group of bandits that should be made into a comic strip, and an explorer who, lost, starving, and sick, resorted to eating his best friends dog to survive (sorry dog-lovers, it was funny)! Who knew history could be so entertaining?

Many events are still to come (wih a blog post to boot!), and I will take this opportunity to thank Nicky for letting me tag-along to the ERUPT festival and to Nicole for entrusting complete strangers with being her assistants!

-Ashley

Fun Fact: There are 25 dormant volcanoes in New Zealand making it one of the most active geothermal areas in the world!

Fun Fact #2: I went to get the oil changed in my car today and found out two new uniquely kiwi things - that an oil change is expensive (at $100, instead of the usual US price of about $35-$40, the shock of everything being insanely over-priced in this country has still not worn off), and that mechanics are incredibly friendly. When I told the mechanic I couldn't leave my car because I needed to get back to work he said "No worries mate, here are the keys to my ute (truck). Just bring 'er back by 5 and everything should be tip-top."

So I drove around Taupo in the local mechanic's manual truck...and didn't even stall it once! 

The One in a Dark Scary Cave!

It was the first clear-blue warm sunny day I had seen in weeks and I found myself looking down a hole into the cold darkness of an underground network of caves I was about to disappear into. Great planning Ashley. But when my gumboot-clad feet splashed down from my 88-foot drop my thoughts quickly changed to, that was awesome!

Its been 280 days since I found myself leaving on a jet plane to face the big scary world out there and I’m still in awe of all the not so scary but incredibly fun things I’ve been lucky enough to do! Playing underground in the Waitomo Caves has definitely been a highlight of those adventures!

Nicky, initially scared out of her mind to abseil into the cave, was waiting for me, grinning ear to ear, as I reached the bottom of my descent. I let out a triumphant “WOOHOO!” as I reached the rest of the group: a worried mother and her unruffled 12-year-old daughter from England, Nicky my mate from Queenstown, and a hilariously awkward half-bald German dude. We all matched in our oh-so-stylish head to toe outfits of helmets, headlamps, wetsuits, and gumboots. Our instructor Brendon, a former NZ Army soldier and survival guide specialist (think of the TV show Joe vs. Wild), easily slid down into the cave and then distributed our blackwater rafting inner tubes.

Brendon, while fearlessly splashing into the depths of the cave, dished out his rehearsed lines along with jokes that sometimes got a laugh. We trudged through the cold water, eventually walking into complete darkness. The mom barraged Brendon with endlessly useless questions about anything and everything between calls to her daughter of “Lola are you okay?” followed by annoyed replies of “Yes Mom, I’m fine.”

I frantically searched the water for eels.

We came to a cavern with a mini-beach formed by the s-shaped river where we were told to sit down. Next, Brendon has us all turn off our headlamps and quite suddenly; we were surrounded by the starry lights of thousands of glowworms. If I didn’t know I was in a cave I would have sworn I was lying under a night sky. Nicky and I lay back and took in nature’s constellation of bugs as the English mom asked questions and Brendon made jokes.

After a few minutes of the bug-produced light show, we turned our headlamps back on and floated as a unit back to the cave opening. Passing our get-in point, we tubed down a few dam created rapids and floated through an even more impressive section of the cave. At one point Brendon (I swear only for his own entertainment) suggested we jump from a rock back into the water whilst trying to land on our tubes. Seizing an opportunity to jump off of something, I clambered up the rocks and launched myself gracefully into the water. Nicky apprehensively came next, followed by the German. Boy was he hilarious! Awkwardly landing sideways, he bounced face-first into the water and for some reason beyond my comprehension, held onto the tube while his feet flailed in the air in an impossible attempt to right himself. Finally realizing that in order to breath he would have to let-go of the tube, the German popped out of the water with a shocked look on his face! Nicky and I tried to be polite, but could not contain our laughter as he failed miserably in trying to get back onto the tube, each attempt funnier than the last!

Ten minutes passed before everyone was ready to continue downriver. After another few minutes of floating, we ditched the tubes and half waded, half climbed our way down further into the cave. Giant stalagmite and stalactite (bubbly looking rock) pillars rose and fell from the walls and huge rock-formed bowls scattered the river bed and cave walls. We stopped to have a warm drink and a chocolate treat before squeezing through a network of holes and passageways back to our tubes. Turning our headlamps off, we used the lights of the glowworms to guide us back to the entrance of the cave. A daunting cliffside forced us to rock climb out of the cave and, reaching level ground again, we found ourselves in near-darkness, as night had fallen during our 5-hour epic adventure underground.

Score for the day…

Bocast (and Nicky): 1

The World: 0

       -Ashley

Fun Fact: Just to further prove how lax New Zealand is- most café’s (and some restaurants) position their restrooms in the back of their building. Customers must trek straight through the business’s kitchen to make it to the toilet! The truly astonishing thing: the chef’s don’t so much as blink as complete strangers walk right past their stainless steel counter’s exhibiting freshly-made scones and soup! 

The One Daycare Reunion

“So are you excited to see your mate?” Nicky asks me.

With an ear-to-ear grin I excitedly respond with an affirmative, “Yes!” After pausing for a moment the smile fades and I ask, “Why do the addresses run from 446 then jump to 450? Where the heck is Spencer’s house?”

We had been driving for 25 minutes up and down and around every major road in Albany (a small suburb of the nations biggest city Auckland) in search of Spencer’s apartment complex. I had never met the kid officially, but he was seriously dating my longtime friend Brianna and she had flown over for a visit during his semester abroad. It took us another drive-by before Nicky asked incredulously, “That can’t possibly be it there? That tiny tiny sign and hidden driveway that you can only see coming from this direction? There’s not even a turning lane for it!” No wonder we had passed the place two or three times…

Hopping barefoot out of the van, I walked toward apartment #26. My knock was promptly followed by footsteps and Brianna opening the door. It was an incredibly surreal moment seeing someone I’ve known since the diaper days standing in front of me in a country on the other side of the world

“HI!!!” We both exclaimed between hugs. I introduced Brianna to my travel buddy Nicky and then got down to business. “I’m sure you can smell us, can I be really cheecky and ask for a shower before we head out?” Brianna obliged.

A glorious shower and three surprise packets of Good N Plenty candy later, (Brianna you absolutely ROCK for bringing those for me!) we were on our way. Leaving the city behind us after a brief lunch and shopping spree, we drove toward the beautiful Coromandal Peninsula whilst Brianna filled me in on rapid-fire questions about home. Farm country began blending with mountainsides and peaks of ocean bays the further we drove.

By early evening we pulled into a beachside campsite (that was shockingly not a total rip-off). After setting up camp, we headed to the beach for some chill time and to watch the sunset. I hounded Nicky about not spending the whole time collecting shells (if there were an actual occupation for beach-shell collecting, Nicky would be a highly sought after professional) and instead we had an impromptu photo shoot. Amidst a beautiful sunset we waded out a hundred yards into the shallow receding waters to take it all in. A delicious veggie dinner preceded a night of drinking games with a rather hilarious couple from Auckland.

Brianna, ever the responsible one, sat and watched most of the night while the rest of us proceeded to drink ourselves into a guarantee hangover. Sleep came quick and morning came even faster. By dawn we were up busying ourselves with apple-cinnamon pancakes and tea. After breakfast we packed up and headed out for the rest of our short adventure.

Winding roads did not help our hangover cause, as Nicky and I complained relentlessly and Brianna probably had a good inner laugh at our expense. We arrived mid-afternoon at the trailhead to Cathedral Cove just as everyone began to perk up. A half-hour hike, including Brianna and I relentlessly gabbing about Chico (poor Nicky), brought us to a beach of fine white sand and crystal blue aqua waters. Amongst it all jutted dramatic rock formations and cliffs with haphazard groups of sunbathing tourists.

Nicky and I swam, Brianna waded, and we all marinated in the warm sun. An excursion through the hollowed archway brought us through to another beach where, while casually walking, a black blob in the water caught our attention. Upon closer inspection we realized it was a huge stingray! The graceful creature glided toward us, as if to say hello and show off for our rapidly clicking cameras, before heading back out to sea. We all stood smiling and practically dumbfounded by our luck! What a special moment to see such a beautiful animal in its natural environment.

Tanned and tired we headed back to the car for our trek back to the city. As if we hadn’t beaten the subject to death already, Brianna and I passed three more hours talking about home, daycare, and high school dramas. I soaked up every word. After a Herculean effort to get gas and find our way back to the freeway (whatever madman thought up Auckland’s street system should move to Chico and have to share a jail cell with the creators of Walmart’s parking lot) we made it back to Spencer’s pad. All three of us were exhausted and could barely keep our eyes open.

An early night to bed followed by another early morning brought my daycare reunion to an end. Hugging Brianna and thanking Spencer for his wonderful hospitality, we grudgingly bid farewell. The childhood reunion had been brief, but had me dealing with a fresh wave of homesickness. Brianna’s lovable nature and jovial stories reminded me of how incredible so many of my friends and family back at home are. She was a near perfect ambassador for everything I missed and craved from home and her visit, along with meeting Spencer, will undoubtedly be one of the highlights of my travels in this faraway place.

Thanks Bree.

-Ashley

Fun Fact: A little lesson in Kiwi pronunciation (or Maori technically). The combination wh makes the "fa" sound whilst r's are rolled (whenever you pronounce an "r" make a "d" sound instead). So try pronouncing city names like Whangerei, Wharekauri, and Whakatane. Freaking hard right? No wonder they all think the tourists sound like idiots. 

The One Where Freedom Camping Isn't "Free"

Forty bucks will buy you a patch in the grass, a kitchen with no pots, pans, utensils, cups, plates, or bowls, a stove with one setting (burn everything), a refrigerator that you can unlock with a $2 coin, dish soap that you sheepishly borrow from a high school kid, showers that will put you another $2-5 in debt, internet access (for an extra $12 an hour), bathrooms impossibly far from your sleeping quarters, and a bunch of screaming kids. Sounds appealing right?

With “freedom camping” increasingly becoming a problem with the locals around New Zealand, my friend Nicky and I decided tonight to be polite law-abiding tourists and pay for a campsite in the small surf city of Raglan rather than quietly slipping to the side of the road and bedding down for the night. Normally we would park somewhere unobtrusive, cook dinner in the back of the van, find a public toilet to do our business, be in bed around eight, and be quietly asleep by nine. In the morning we pack up our things (sometimes taking other people’s discarded trash with us) and head out for a cuppa and some shopping. So how do we get acknowledged for our low-impact sleeping and economy boosting spending? Threats of a $200 fine and a big ‘get the hell out and don’t come back’. It’s almost worth it when compared to absurdly priced “camp sites” up the road.

It is understandable that locals have become frustrated with campers parking on private property, ditching rubbish, and leaving behind appalling poo poo’s (and the accompanying toilet paper)… and I can easily see why freedom camping is losing support. But not every Yank in a van is going to live up to the stereotype that a handful of tourists have unfortunately given the rest of us. I really don’t understand how someone can have the mentality of ‘lets head to this beautiful country and give the locals a big thanks by chucking out our garbage on the side of the road and taking a big crap next to that lovely tree’. What’s even more atrocious: meeting those tourist and watching first-hand how they toss aside their plastic packaging and beer can along with their cigarette butts. Their response when confronted? Generally a shrug and a helpful reassurance that ‘Someone will pick it up’ or that, ‘we’re leaving so it doesn’t really matter’.

Excuse me while I puke.

If someone can shed light on this mentality (in today’s age when we have constant reminders of our carbon footprint etc) please e-mail me! So while I hate to disrespect the people and government of this stunning country – I equally cannot subject myself to being ripped off of forty hard-earned dollars for a ‘proper’ campsite. So RESPONSIBLE freedom camping – here we come!

-Ashley

Fun Fact: Want to check out with your own eyes how adorable Raglan is? Rent the movie The Endless Summer, shot on location in the tiny New Zealand town amongst its’ world-class surf. 

The One Weekend of Trying New Things

One. Two. Three. Where the hell is my rescue??? Four. Is that a kayak? No, damn…it’s a rock! Five. Six. Don’t panic… Seven. Was that a bump? Eight. Oh my God! Kayak! Grab it! Nine. My lungs are exploding; take a breath…CRAP that was only water! Ten. Drown or swim? Screw it. I’m swimming.

There is a saying when one comes close to death that goes something like, “your life flashes before your eyes”; well, I wasn’t exactly close to death, but my life was definitely flashing before my eyes. Ten seconds is a relatively short time to hold your breath, but when you are upside down emerged in freezing water, drifting into rocks with half your body uselessly lodged into a piece of plastic, ten seconds is a very very long time. Here I was, not twenty minutes into my first trip kayaking down a river and already I had flipped on a pathetically calm rapid. Yanking my legs from the overturned kayak, I shot toward the surface with wild and panicked determination. Gasping for air in between heaving coughs of water, I felt myself being pulled by my lifejacket onto the bow of an instructors kayak.

“Had a nice swim did we?”

Cough. “Ye-,” cough “-s”.

“Told you not to lean away from the rocks”

Cough. “I’ll definitely,” cough, cough, “remember that now.”

Two weeks ago I had no intentions of learning how to whitewater kayak in the next…maybe ever. But when a cheery Kiwi university student gives a completely random invite to go on a practically free three-day whitewater adventure, it would be stupid to pass up such an opportunity. So here I was, sputtering and shivering half submerged in the Mohaka River trying to figure out how the heck I was supposed to get back in the kayak.

One of my Instructors on an earlier trip. 

Luckily I was surrounded by several very helpful and experienced instructors including CJ (Canadian Jen), Obi, and Magnum (a slightly serious but very fun older gentleman). CJ held my paddle while Obi emptied the water out of my boat. Finally Mag steadied me while I wedged my legs back into place and unsteadily tested my balance. Within a few minutes we were headed downriver again and maneuvering through one set of rapids after another. Three more swims and two t-rescues (when a kayaker flips and uses another kayak to upright themselves) later, I had completed the day’s run. Cold, wet, hungry, and exhausted, I wouldn’t exactly say I was thrilled at the idea of two more days on the river.

We managed to pack 10 people into Pip before shuttling back to camp where food, dry clothes, and a warm fire awaited us. Night fell as the haphazard members and friends of the Auckland University Canoe Club (AUCC) gathered around a massive bonfire. A giant redhead aptly nicknamed Big Red was quick to consume his drinks and begin the first of many songs of the night. Half playing his beloved didgeridoo and half singing, Big Red led all 60 of us in enthusiastic choruses of The Lion King’s Circle of Life and the crowd-favorite Hakuna Matata. I found it enormously entertaining to be singing Disney songs alongside several dozen full-fledged (and slightly if not incredibly drunk) adults!

Day two was apparently not meant to be a river-day. Outnumbered by club-members, my friend Caroline and myself were ousted out of our spots on the raft to run a grade 3 section of the river. Instead, we drove out of the mountains and toward the ocean for a relaxing day at the beach. My first real attempt at surfing was humorous if anything, and a rugby-related shoulder injury kept me from being able to paddle the waves for very long. After six or seven goes at catching a wave (followed by as many wipeouts) I called it a day and made my way to shore. Swapping a surfboard for driftwood, I began indulging in a favorite childhood past time and built a sweet beach fort!

By evening we were back at camp and had just settled in when a random girl came running toward us. She worriedly asked if we had cell phone reception before explaining that she needed to call 111 (the equivalent of 911) because one of the AUCC guys was really sick. I jumped up to follow her back toward the tents along with a fairly new kayak instructor named Ellie. We approached as light was fading and found a young man shivering and in a state of fevered delirium. Apparently the girl had just happened by the tent and heard the guy moaning. One look and it was obvious the poor kid was not in good shape. I quickly assessed his condition by asking him as many relevant questions as I could think of, while just feeling his forehead was enough to know he had a very high fever.  Ellie was careful to get very specific responses before grabbing someone and jetting off in a car to find cell phone reception.

In the 45 minutes it took Ellie to make the phone call, we had already begun moving Omar (in fear that his appendix had burst) onto a board in preparation of loading him into my van. The hospital was over an hour away and we had no idea if anyone had been able to make a phone call. As we were just about to move him, word reached us that the ambulance was on its way so we covered Omar in blankets, got him to drink a little water, and waited. The ambulance arrived nearly three hours into the ordeal. Omar was loaded in and driven away. Within minutes of his departure it was as if nothing had happened and everyone began gathering for dinner and the nights unruly festivities. *Omar is still in the hospital with a virus or something but will be okay.

Morning came quickly on Easter Sunday and soon the lot of us, sleepy and now on our third day of showerless camping, began readying ourselves for yet another day on the river. Once arranged into kayaking and rafting groups, the newbies (including myself) were sent on a frenzied Easter hunt for a chocolate rabbit amongst the beached kayaks. I came up short of a chocolate treat but was rewarded with a bag of Goon (the inside container of boxed wine) to drink on the river instead. Because there weren’t enough instructors (most had left earlier to kayak a gnarly Grade 4 section of the river) seven of us were put into a raft with Obi as our guide. Obi, not happy to be guiding a raft down a measly Grade 2 river, brought with him chips, beer, and magazines and situated himself smack in the middle of the raft.

“Who’s rafted before?”

Three of us raised our hands.

“Alright, you” (pointing at a clueless looking shaggy-haired freshman) “you are guiding us first. If the boat starts going out of control I’ll tell you what to do.”

And that’s how the raft went down the river on Easter Sunday.

Perfectly content to sit on the raft and chill down the river all day, my time on the boat was short-lived. While bumping our way down the first rapid, we noticed a group of kayakers on the side of the river with several standing on the shore. Once we got close enough, the instructor Victoria cheerfully asked for a volunteer to kayak in place of a girl who had spent the last ten minutes swirling around half-drowning in an eddy. No one looked very interested so I took a big swig of Goon, high-fived Obi, and jumped into the water.

Day two on the kayak was phenomenal. The girl who I switched with had a kayak that was a hundred times easier to stay upright in than the topsy-turvy contraption I had paddled two days before. I smashed through the rapids and was able to maneuver around obstacles without fear of rolling with every splash. Only swimming once (I rolled trying to avoid another kayaker who had already flipped) my second attempt left me wanting more. Once back at camp, buzzing from the excitement of a successful day on the river, I noticed a girl named Lou walking by her motorcycles.

“Hey Lou! Can I try riding one of those?”

“Hell ya girlfriend!”

Sweet as.

I somehow managed to get the dirt bike started on my first attempt, into gear on my first attempt, and took off in an attempt to brake. I got the bike to stop but didn’t realize how heavy it was and found myself leaping over the handlebars as the bike fell to its side. Laughing, Lou ran over to help me upright it before I jumped back on and started the process over. This time I was able to stop and go several yards before Lou shouted at me to let ‘er rip. I did! Much to the annoyance of other campers, I zoomed up and down the campsite testing my speed with each pass. It was brilliant! I got hooked to the adrenaline rush before I even got off the bike; it was like mountain biking without all the effort!

What an epic weekend of firsts…Now I just have to figure out how to do it all again!