I signed up for a sea kayaking trip through the uni’s rec center, and that was this weekend. To give the end of the story before I even start it; the trip was amazing. Worth every penny, and one of the most wonderful weekends of my life.
Friday afternoon, the group of eight of us (5 Americans, 2 Danes, and a German) met up with our driver, a young enthusiastic guy who’s kiwi slang kept us all grinning. We packed up the van and hit the road, stopping first for some “snaps,” when the driver noticed our faces glued to the window with awe.
Then it was back on the road until our next stop, this painfully boring little town called Gore. It was 7 pm on a Friday, and the place was deserted. We found dinner and made our way to the gardens, passing through several cages with peacocks, parrots, and other birds, before sitting down to enjoy what was, I imagine, the only interesting place in Gore, as we devoured our food.
Back on the road before we found our lodging, in Manapouri. We got ourselves a little confused as to where registration was, and said hi to a wedding party blaring “Red Solo Cup,” and asked a few strangers (most of whom tried to send us back to the wedding), before we learned that the key was to blast your horn, three times fast, before a kind, somewhat elderly woman appeared with keys.
We found our cabin, and each claimed a bed. We sorted through the food for the next few days, excitement building before we collapsed into well-deserved sleep before that 5:30 am wake-up. Moving slow and thinking slower the next morning, we changed into our togs and packed our bags light. Breakfast in the kitchen area (toast, cereal, and that awful instant coffee) and then back on the van for a short drive to a huge dock. Our kayak guide arrived, and we helped him load gear onto the boat. Then we climbed on board ourselves, and the excitement began to outweigh the exhaustion as we went up to the top for amazing views.
Then we were there, at the other side of the lake. The guide passed out gear, and we donned thermals and wetsuits over our togs before jumping onto a bus which climbed the steep, winding roads up (where we stopped to take photos) and then back down, to Deep Cove, where our on-the-water experience began.
We loaded the kayaks, and got a quick safety briefing. Then we were finally off.
The views were incredible from the very start. We paddled down to a meeting place, “rafted up” (our boats lined parallel as we gripped each others’ seats), and listened to our guide tell us about Fiordland before we broke up to catch some views of a fur seal, swimming and playing in the water alongside us. He was pretty big (4-5 years by the guide’s reckoning) and swam alongside us, weaving through the boats and away, climbing onto the shore as we paddled forward.
Rounding the next island up, we came upon our next surprise.
Fiordland crested penguins, the second rarest in the world, and we just came upon three, who came out to say hi when they heard our splashing. Neither they nor us wanted to leave. The circled around, clambering over the rocks and putting on a show, basking in our attention, while we stared on with huge grins, perfectly willing to give that attention. These penguins only make their way out to Fiordland twice a year– once to mate, and once to molt. On this trip they were out molting, and looked beautiful.
We finally tore ourselves away, and kept paddling. The views were amazing, and our guide noted that it was the rare “postcard weather” that some people wait months for.
These lands were carved out by glaciers, forming massive U-Shaped valleys that then filled with the ocean, (though the running streams are all fresh water). It was named Doubtful Harbor at first, by Captain James Cook, who came in and was doubtful he would make it out. Later the name was changed to Doubtful Sound, though that was still a misnomer (a Sound is formed by a river, and a Fjord by a glacier) but with all the Fjords named “Sound” around the area, the whole place was simply dubbed Fiordland to fix the error.
The Maori legend is that the South Island was formed by the crash of a great waka (canoe) full of atua (gods) whose bodies became stone. Looking around, I couldn’t help but think that, whether by faith or science, the place where we paddled was formed by destruction, and maybe it all just meant that all things terrible, given enough time, become this beautiful.
The Maori legend specific to Fiordland is that one atua had not dominion, so the Sky Father and Earth Mother, Rangi and Papa, gave to him something to dig, and he carved out the Fiords and the other atua filled them with such beauty that the goddess of death feared people would not want to leave, so she filled the place with sandflies. The story sounded legit to me…. the sandflies did manage to put a damper on things.
We stopped on the only sandy beach for lunch, enjoying the sun and, though freezing, the water.
Then it was back on the water, and views were still simply breathtaking. The Maori name for Doubtful is, translated, the “Sound of Silence,” and it’s a title I understand. The place is so tranquil and peaceful, I simply cannot get over its beauty.
We paddled past a visible fault line, which I thought was the most amazing thing I’ve seen. As a Chemistry student, I love getting into the tiny– electrons, atoms, maybe molecules. It’s easy to forgot how big the world is. But here, staring straight at where two massive puzzle pieces of our Earth come together, I realized it more deeply than I have before. Our world is grand and large beyond understanding.
We landed at another rocky beach to climb into the temperate rainforest. We were tricked into rubbing the appropriately named stinkwood into our skins, and then tried some Fuchsia berries, these deep, smooth, purple berries whose taste was most similar to blueberries.
We made our way over the campsite and set up. Then we crowded into the insect shelter, cooking dinner and getting to know each other. We had wanted to go for a walk, but suddenly it was dark, the food was gone, and we were full. We headed out to try to star-gaze, but heavy cloud made the view less than ideal.
We attempted to sleep on the rocky ground, and at 2 a.m. received the agreed-upon wake up call. The stars, now, were clear and perfect, and I can’t tell you how long we stood silently alongside each other, eyes cast up with awe before someone came to tell us to come back. By the light of the few of us with headlamps, we stumbled onto a trail, carrying chairs, and made our way into a clearing. We set ourselves up into a circle, facing out, and the lights went off. We sat for a while, in pitch black and total silence, except for our guide throwing out an occasional kiwi call, until we finally heard kiwi answer back. Honestly, I would have been content with that. To hear a kiwi, in the wild, was amazing. But we weren’t done. A few more calls and some patience later, we saw a kiwi, by the light of a red light on someone’s head torch. It was indescribable, something I honestly did not think I’d get to see. We stayed a while longer, loving every second.
A few more hours of almost sleep, and then it was up for breakfast and repacking up the boats. Tents torn down and wet wetsuits re-donned, we carried the kayaks back out to the water and headed back in.
The views continued, and we traveled in a leisurely silence. We occasionally broke the steady sound of paddling with light conversation, but mostly we just stared, and took photos.
We made a sandfly infested stop to stretch our legs, then found another little stop (much better in terms of insect life) and ate a very quick lunch (we were a little behind schedule after a couple of us weren’t paying attention and made a pretty wide detour out of our way). Some more paddling, and suddenly we were back where we started, and it was over far too quickly.
The trip back to Dunedin went far more quickly then the first direction, probably because this time I slept for most of it. I arrived back, and jumped straight to a much-needed shower before turning around and heading back out the door to meet up with some friends for LOTR drinking games… we called it an early night, pausing the unfinished movie and promising to finish it another night, because we do all have classes this morning.
It was a perfect weekend, and I almost dreaded going to bed at its end. I saw and did so much,and could not have asked for a thing to be different. I’m falling in love with travel, with studying abroad, and with this country. I may have just had the best weekend of my semester, but I can’t wait for what the rest of these months has in store.
See that town? That’s Te Anau.
As we climbed out of the treeline, the wind hit us. Hard. And the sign said we had 45 minutes left. We walked, pausing every now and again as a particularly strong gust threatened to knock our feet out from under us. We walked, shouting at one each other because the wind carried our voices away. We walked and, as the hut came into view, we walked faster. It promised one thing, in that moment more valuable than any other thing: warmth.
And they were so cool!! We had to crawl through a large portion of it, which honestly just made us feel adventurous. Neither pictures nor words can really capture what a great experience this was, so I’ll stop trying.
I guess we should have been upset by the foul weather (everyone else seemed to be) but we embraced it, even leaving a snow angel behind as we started our tramp downwards, singing Christmas carols (my suggestion). We hit the trees again with great excitement, and sped down the mountain. There reaches a point in every adventure, I’ve found, when it was simply understood that the adventure is over, and you just want to get back to your car, and find a good fish and chips place.
From the North Country to the South Island 