I've been trying to think of some witty Lord of the Rings thing to say in the blog ever since I hiked around Mt. Doom aka Mt. Ngauruhoe, and I'm not the first (to hike around it or say some silly LotR reference).
But first things first I finally got south of Auckland, driving over to the Coromandel Peninsula for several days. Many others did the same as the roads and camping sites were loaded with Kiwis on holiday. The whole country basically has vacation from Christmas through at least the first week of January. On my way driving up the coast, I noticed a large crowd on the beach in the distance. Getting out of my car, I walked closer and discovered 20+ beached whales and a huge rescue mission to get the survivors back out to sea. I stuck around for a couple hours watching the rescuers throw buckets of water on the whales and wait for the tide go up.
I continued along the dusty gravel road to the end of the peninsula, finding heaps of campers and the beginning of a nice hike looking out over into the ocean. This was the first of a number of hikes (known as "tramps" in NZ) that I'd do the next few weeks despite spraining my foot/ankle and my other leg and back ailments. Take that, adversity! Back at the base of the peninsula, I set off on probably the longest hike I've been on since summer camp over 15 years ago. The Pinnacles were definitely worth the trek.
Hopping back in the trusty hatchback, I made my way down to the touristy and stinky town of Rotorua. Thermal vents make for bubbling pools of mud, steaming water, geysers, pretty colors and sulphur scented air. When the British discovered the hot springs, they built an enormous bath house to treat patients with the healing waters.
The next big town down the road is Taupo, even more touristy, but better smelling. Lake Taupo is the start of a dammed river that supplies 15% of all of NZ's power. They open up a dam a few times a day for the tourists to check out. The Huka Falls show the power of the river.
Before continuing with my wwoofing, I decided to tackle the Tongariro Northern Circuit. The Circuit is a four day "Great Walk", one of nine walking tracks in New Zealand featuring photogenic scenery. The trail has "huts" with mattresses and gas stoves, so I didn't have to carry a tent, pad or stove. Even so, I wasn't used to the weight of four days of food, a sleeping bag and other equipment on my back while hiking up and down between volcanoes. A hiking pole I bought was a wise investment. It was all worth the views of Mt. Doom, the two other volcanoes, thermal pools, lava slides, etc. Most people only walk one day of the Circuit, the most scenic one, which while quite lovely, sometimes resembled a highway of hikers. I plan to hike at least two more Great Walks before I leave the country.
Napier and Hastings are two cities on the east coast I visited whose claim to fame is that an earthquake destroyed most of their buildings in 1931 when Art Deco was all the rage, and they subsequently rebuilt themselves all Art Deco style.
My first wwoofing hosts back from summer vacation were Winston and Louise in Central Hawke's Bay. Unlike some of my hosts who have worked me to death, Winston invited me on a two night hunting trip my second day there, and Louise gave me about an average of three hours of work the days I actually worked. Winston also invited Marty, maker of Marty's Muesli, on our trip into the hills. We hiked up a river, crossing about 30 times and filling my waterproof boots quite full of water. We stayed in a hut, and had fresh caught river trout (introduced to NZ by the Brits) for our first night's dinner. The next day we hiked up a steep slope to another hut with great views around. We hung around for a bit until it started raining and hailing, and rushed back down the hill. I was pretty wiped out at that point, but Winston grabbed his rifle, waded up the river, and returned with a big old stag. Marty and I were sorry to have missed out, but the next day on the way out, Winston spotted another deer. We climbed up the side of the hill, and Marty put a bullet in Bambi's mother's head. Bambi was pretty grown up though and she'll fend for herself. Watching a deer getting gutted, the tenderloins and what not sliced out, and the remaining carcass strapped across someone's back like a backpack is pretty damn cool I must say. I'm a peaceful sort and just blog about that kind of thing.
Now I'm at Fay's place, north of Wellington. She's building houses out of tires, and has a lot of chooks.
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