MONDAY 28th FEBRUARY– MARVELOUS!!!
 
I barely heard my alarm through the deluge outside my tents flimsy walls. There was a serious downpour going on outside and I had no intention of packing up in it so I killed the alarm and dosed off again. Waking at 7am I started packing up as the rain was easing and I had a big day ahead. The rain had stopped by the time the tent came down and there instantly seemed to be blue sky overhead. Do you know I have been walking for over five weeks and I haven’t had to put up or take down my tent in the rain once. There was a slight drizzle incident on 90 mile beach but it hardly counts. That’s pretty good going considering NZ’s wet reputation but I have probably tempted fate now with my stating of it.
 
After half an hour on the road I reached the junction where the track was meant to start from but I couldn't’t see anything obvious so I rang Geoff, not wanting to waste any time faffing. It was just round the corner and I was soon tramping along a farm race, hopping the puddles but still getting soaked from the rain jeweled grass. I had agreed to ring Geoff when I made it through, as he was concerned about a river crossing that could be treacherous after the night’s rainfall. He told me to wait it out if it was bloated and dangerous. The majority of tramping deaths over her are through river crossings going wrong and I was all too aware of this statistic so I wouldn’t attempt anything stupid. I had enough food to last a day or two so there was nothing to worry about. Not that I knew anyway. Apart from the river I had no idea of the terrain I was crossing as my large-scale map was far from enlightening. That is, my reading of was far from enlightening. With contour lines only every 100m and a map based on. Most likely, old information, I could stumble upon the Grand Canyon expecting only a minor land ripple.
 
The easy farm track soon gave out to a heavily waterlogged bush track and in a vain attempt to avoid the mud pools I was using my poles to vault over them. Despite my best efforts the bogs claimed my boots in the end but luckily they stayed on my feet. The suction could easily take a boot off if it wasn’t secured properly. Through the bush, I followed another race that lead out onto a gravel road. My instructions told me to “go past a quarry” so I obeyed like a good little tramper but managed to go too far. Retracing my steps, I found the track again and the markers thrust me out into the high open hills. From the ridges of the steep hummocked-sided hills I could see for miles across the volcano studded landscape. I could see Pirongia fading behind me and far in front was the dark green goddess of the Pureora forest who’s leaf clad embrace would welcome me in a few days time.
 
I stopped for lunch under the beating sun, the rain of the previous night a fading dream in the fuzz of first light. The track lead back into the bush for the afternoon and the cool forest air allowed my pores a rest from their sweaty routine. It was a glorious day and a glorious track and I felt, well, glorious of course. There were a lot of goats around and at one point I though I heard I child crying in the woods but it must have been a mirth ridden mating call. Or a kid! I also startled several large hares which then darted off up the path, their quiet afternoons rudely interrupted. Both being pests they would have been shot on sight by any country Kiwi with a rifle but they were safe in my pacifist presence. After an hour or so the picture perfect grassy track turned abruptly into an ugly bulldozer track that gouged its way through the forest. It was like being on an Amazonian logging track, the rich red earth having been carved up by some evil monsters claw.
 
Coming to the river I needed to cross I stood for a few moments and assessed the danger, It was certainly high and the water was brown from all the sediment it was laden with. There were quite a few rocks above the surface and it looked crossable so I waded on in, using my poles for balance. The water barely came over my boots so there was little danger and after a quick stop to wring my socks I pounded on. It felt like an endless uphill battle to get to the road and the fierce sun did its best to hamper my efforts. Reaching the tar seal I collapsed on my back in someone’s grassy driveway and sent Geoff a shaded text announcing my safe passage. It was only a few more km’s to Waitomo Caves and I made it to the famous town with plenty of daylight left.
 
Waitomo Caves is famous for its, you guessed it, caves but these are no ordinary holes in the ground. These caves are inhabited by millions of phosphorescent tailed glow worms that decorated the roofs like shimmering constellations. These caves are also the home of the now world famous sport of dark water rafting and I was planning a freezing foray in to Waitomo’s underworld myself. Setting up in local campground, which to my ecstatic joy had a hot spa, I trod on down to The Ledgendary Dark Water Rafting Company and put my name down for a Black Labryinth trip for the following morning.
 
Waitomo Caves was a picturesque little town nestled in the deep green hills. As soon as I had broken bush cover earlier I noticed the landscape had changed dramatically. The jagged and steep hills of earlier had become slightly more rounded and they were now perforated with protruding rock formations that broke the turf surface towards the hill crests. It looked like someone had turfed over a bizarre canyon, leaving the rocky ridges exposed. I had a quick Lord of the Rings moment, one of only a few so far, while taking it all in. For a second my synthetic pack straps turned into animal hide and my Leki poles into Elfin carved walking staffs but the illusion was shattered by a passing tour bus. I treated myself to a pub meal of battered seafood and a beer and produced my quill and parchement. There was a song brewing in my belly and I sung it aloud in my dreams of far away lands and perilous adventures.



Just Marvelous!

The Story Continues... click for the next page!