A Trance on the Water

Out on the Doubtful Sound, I could feel the fragile string to society stretching out behind me across water, road, and then more water.  The hum of the engine wrapped around me in a constant reminder that I was gliding over the water in a manmade construction.  Yet I could feel the string behind me, taut and ready to break.  Were the engine to fail, we'd suddenly find we were really on a floating scrap of metal, far from any Internet or packaged food.

This was, without a doubt, the most consistently beautiful area of the world I've yet visited.  We descended by bus through a cloudy mist, the valley opening up below us as we neared sea level and our boat, the Fiordland Navigator.  Once on board this three-masted ship, the sights refused to cease.  Clouds hugged mountains like down blankets, waterfalls dripped delicately from mossy peaks, and sheer grey cliffs reached straight to the sky.  

Out in a kayak and close to the sea, I could feel how terribly small I am.  I am not even a speck, a mite, compared to the massively crinkled land around me.  This grew even more apparent when, heading back to the Navigator in rough seas and a strong headwind, the ship pulled away around a bend.  We were totally alone.  Just the guide, myself, one surprisingly fast-paddling British boy, and the twenty or so other kayaks far behind.  It was a relief to finally rejoin the ship.

As evening approached, we headed out to the Tasman Sea, where massive swells sent us careening up and down over the ocean's hills.  Looking back, I could see the entire, mountainous shoreline stretched out in front of me, and out to sea, albatross swirled and dipped into schools of fish.  The wind and cold were so intense my insides were rattling, but being outside was well worth the momentary discomfort.  

A heaping pile of food later, I trudged off to my cabin, and before I knew it, the boat's engines thrummed again at 6:15AM.  As the sun rose, it shed a light so golden that the mountain tops seemed dipped in golden honey.  Morning fog, blasted away by the easterly gale, condensed and spread into abstract shapes again blue-black hills.  Around one corner, the clouds were piled up over a mountain in such a way that it genuinely appeared as though a massive tsunami loomed overhead, ready to wipe us away.

Before heading back, we stopped in a bowl of water so still the landscape appeared twice: once above, and once in the water.  The captain turned the boat's engines off and stopped the pumps.  For 5 minutes, all 60 of us stood, transfixed and utterly silent, as the sun continued to highlight new cracks and fissures in the rock above.  When the engines sparked to life, I realized I'd fallen into somewhat of a trance, and it took a few minutes to return to reality.  But to reality, I must return.

How to make Nipple Warmers

Milford track is one of the signature New Zealand tracks, and it gets more than 17,000 hikers every year.  We puny day hikers shared the boat to the trail head with a group whose packs suggested they intended to hike the whole length.  Even on the boat's outside upper deck, I could smell them.  You know when a subway car is suspiciously empty, and you enter only to discover a putrid homeless man emanating waves of odor throughout the car?  Well, that was what these 20 or so hikers were doing.  I understand there's not exactly showers along the trail (actually, there are showers along the trail), but if these hikers had not even begun hiking yet, why hadn't they showered?  I guess body odor is an important component when one strives to be close to nature.

Our day hike tour guide, who had a bit of a pouch for a belly, led myself, four middle aged individuals from Denmark, and a cute Japanese college girl who has thoroughly mastered the Japanese-hand-over-mouth-giggle.  Many times, she had our guide take pictures of her as she stretched herself into many of the outrageous poses you might find on a Japanese game show.  It was actually fairly entertaining, mostly because she was cute...and I think that was the point.

The hike had moments wonder as we emerged from the jungle-like forest to see incredible vistas of mountains and rivers.  The stand out moment, however, was when took a side trail to a marshland, where green, red, yellow, orange, and blue mosses grew in a great ring around us, beyond which mountains formed an impenetrable barrier.

Strangely enough, this wasn't even my favorite moment of the day.  That came a bit later, when we ran across a very singular man.  With a rainbow backpack, short shorts, a mountain man beard, and a shovel, he came striding down the trail towards us.  He's one of the fellows who maintain the track.  

"Find many possum in the traps, lately?" our guide asks, to spark a conversation.

"Yeah, two today already," the man answers, smiling.

Then he reaches down into his bag and grabs around a bit before pulling out a craisins (raisin-cranberry hybrids) bag.  My first thought: is he about to offer us a snack?

"Look," he says, opening the bag.  I peer inside, and I see that it is completely stuffed full of hair.  Possum fur, to be precise.  Then, looking up right at me, he says, "I reckon I could make at least 20 nipple warmers out of this."

It's Bathroom Time, Every Time!

Anyone who knows me at least fairly well also knows that I won't eat anything unless there's a bathroom within 10 minutes or so from my location.  About 80% of the time after eating, I also must use the restroom, and my stomach can get quite upset.  What does this mean for me when I travel?  Well, it means that I do not eat while I am out.  At all.

I left at 9AM this morning and didn't get back till around 6PM.  I was out on an occasionally strenuous hike, and the last food I had was at 7AM.  I was perfectly fine not eating during that period of time.  In fact, I was happy, since I didn't need to worry about stomach issue.  I could actually enjoy my surroundings without wondering when that next stomach rumble would lead to an uncontrollable need to use a bathroom.  

But my behavior does give rise to social tension.  Why is the rest of the group eating, and I am not?  Why am I being rude by not joining in the consumption of nutrition?  Why does the guide have to offer me food repeatedly, only to have me refuse it?  Today, everyone assumed I was a picky eater and joked about it.  In a sense, they were correct; I'm not picky about what I eat, but when and where.

Don't worry, though.  I more than make up for it during my nighttime gluttony sessions.

Glowing Anuses

Oh, the troubles I go through to take photographs!  To get to the glow worm cave, one must first traverse the sea on a modern catamaran, complete with chips and chocolate (for a reasonable price, of course).  The upper deck is really the only viable platform from which to take photographs, so up I went.  I'm not exaggerating when I say that the wind up there was unlike anything I've ever experienced.  The already fierce winds, combined with the motion of the high speed boat, created a practical vortex of fury.  To give you some idea, I'll list two facts:

1) Lots of people were up there, and after only a couple of minutes, myself and one old man (who, for some reason, was surreptitiously video-taping me) were the only ones remaining.

2) My 25lb backpack, with a rubberized back, was sliding across the grippy deck as I attempted to change lenses.

I stuck it out there, though, as the cloud formations were stunning in the setting sun, and taking pictures through tinted windows just wouldn't cut it.

The entrance to the cave is so low you essentially have to crawl to squeeze through, and once you're inside, the sound of rushing water assaults your senses.  Brilliantly clear water crashes through gaps in limestone so ferociously that you can easily imagine how the cave took form.  Near one waterfall in particular, the sound was so deafening it made me long for some ear plugs.

After a short walk, 13 of us piled into a boat, and we shoved off into darkness.  The glow worms are bright against the matte black--as bright as stars.  Their lights even flicker.  At first, I thought of the night sky, but then it occurred to me that the lights look much more like photographs of Earth during nighttime taken from space.  Gliding through the dark with only the sound of rushing water made me feel almost spiritually connected to the Earth…until I remembered I'm staring up the bottom ends of maggots.

I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.  It was a bit touristy, but the dark ride through the glow worm gave was genuinely magical.

A Day of Plenty and Few

A four hour drive on the left side of the road?  Pfft, no problem.  I think I'm finally getting used to this drive on the left thing.  At least, I only accidentally activated the windshield wipers a couple of times today.

The places I've been in Te Anau thus far have been beautiful but difficult to photograph.  How do you capture the feel of standing in a valley miles wide, with giant mountains all around you?  A wide angle lens makes everything look small, a telephoto lens only captures a tiny slice, and a panorama feels too scientific.  My drive this morning was all about scale: flat vs. tall, wide vs. narrow, and water vs. land.  I wish I could instill the feeling of smallness I felt today, my tiny car racing towards mountains that never got any closer, but I don't have the words.

Later, on an empty beach with wind whipped water ahead and mist covered hills beyond, I had a chat with an older couple from Colorado.  I can't remember what we talked about, but it was bland and pleasant and passed some time until my tour of the glow worm caves in the evening.  Speaking of which, I should get ready for the worms.  Unfortunately, photography is not allowed in the cave.  I guess the worms are sensitive to…errr…pictures being taken of them?  Boo!