May 9th to 11th - The Whanganui River Journey

New Zealand has a staggering number of government sponsored walks, hikes, and tramps, all of which take full advantage of the beautiful landscape of the country. Perhaps in a bid to increase tourism or perhaps out of genuine concern for conservation the powers that be decided to select 9 of them in particular and dub them as the Great Walks of New Zealand. For these walks you are required to pay extra fees for staying in the allocated huts and generally need to book months in advance as only a certain number of people are allowed on them at any given time. Starting on the morning of Monday, the 9^th of May, we set out on the black sheep of the Great Walk family, the Whanganui River Journey. Given that it’s a journey that is done entirely by watercraft, it seems a bit strange that it should be included in such an exclusive list otherwise comprised entirely of walks. I suppose the Department of Conservation was most concerned with including trips that succinctly capture the uniqueness of New Zealand in a relatively short period of time, and if such is the case then they have succeeded with the inclusion of the river journey. A small company called Yeti Tours rented us a canoe, a kayak, all the camping supplies we needed, and transportation to and from the river for a very reasonable price. I had been concerned about the amount of food we were bringing with us, partly due to not being certain on the amount of storage we would be provided with, and partly because I found it to be against the spirit of the journey to provide ourselves with too many small comforts. I suppose the others found it difficult to understand that I was chasing the same experience as my walk across England where an extremely arduous day makes one appreciate the taste and ease of obtainability of food that much more. It turns out we were supplied with plenty of barrels to store our belongings, perhaps at the expensive of some canoe stability but nevertheless it was welcome. The man who drove us out to the drop off point was a prime example of the dichotomy that separates the contemporary Maori people, at least from what I’ve experienced thus far. It seems as though you have some that have absorbed some of the worst aspects of European and Western culture, namely the obsession with fast, unhealthy food, and others that have retained their traditional morays and methods at the expense of seeming a little on the fringe. Despite this, they have all been amicable, if not downright hospitable to us since we arrived. Our driver was in the former category, one of many severely overweight individuals that appear to be more accepted by the Pakeha (European New Zealanders), as I will discover later. The drive from Ohakune was about an hour and a half, the better portion of which was spent on roads that appear to be driven upon about once every few months. We were amazed to see signs for a school out in the hills after having gone half an hour without any signs of civilization. There are minor colonies of people that have congregated on the secluded Whanganui River who probably receive some of their goods by boat lest they be forced to brave the treacherous, unsealed roads, laid down by logging companies that connect them to the outside world. We finally set off with myself in the back of the canoe, Kelsey at the front, and Simon paddling solo in the kayak. It started out a bit rough, I was unfamiliar with the handling and management of a proper, loaded canoe and was apparently so bad at steering during the first hour that Kelsey was convinced I was intent on sending us to our collective doom via an intimate encounter with the rock walls. Of course this wasn’t true, though I must admit I was pretending that I was in more control than I actually was. I was quick to realize that sometimes you just have to go with the flow; there are times where no matter what you do the river takes you where it wants to, and that despite our best efforts, what we are subjecting ourselves to is putting us out of our comfort zones for long enough to make us all act a bit funny. That being said, I think we’ve done quite admirably in coping with each other’s idiosyncrasies and all the curveballs this trip has thrown at us. We are, after all, vastly different people who just happen to share a hidden desire to do bungee jumps and other crazy things of that nature. The river journey was a good time to confirm our friendships with nothing to do but talk over a solitary candle. We shared this amazing experience with four other travellers; Yifat, Anselm, Emanuel, and Danilo. Despite a bit of a language barrier we were able to become quick friends over a shared love for an Israeli version of the card game Rummy called Yaniv. On the second day we went to the infamous Bridge to Nowhere which, as its name suggests, is a bridge in the middle of nowhere built to service two communities of people on opposite ends of the river that have since vacated the area. We found a small path from the view point that took us to a secluded rock ledge overlooking the bridge and it was there that we stopped for a snack of taco chips and salsa. It was one of those rare moments that, despite sharing it with some cool people, I wish I were alone as it’s something so perfect you just want to sit there in the silence and appreciate it for longer while it’s still there, unspoilt. The second night we encountered a Department of Conservation maintenance party at the hut. Among their ranks was a man who fit into the latter kind of Maori people I described previously. He was very much in touch with nature and insisted we enter through a ceremonial gate to be greeted by a statue built by his ancestors. I finally got a chance to use some Maori as I gave him a friendly ‘kia ora’ upon our meeting, though I was disappointed that he didn’t initiate a hongi. He had only arrived a few moments before us but had somehow managed to roll a joint within those first few moments and was soon getting high with the two German chaps who were setting up their tent. Another of the DOC wardens in his party was from small town New Zealand which we learned breeds a strong sense of racism. This old crackpot was unimpressed with our travel companion from Israel simply because she was from Israel and turned the whole hut deathly quiet with his remarks. The weirdest occurrence of the trip however began on the first day; we kept coming across dead goats with their heads and hooves cut off, hung on sticks at the river’s edge like grim warnings that we were about to experience the movie Deliverance firsthand. We had become sufficiently freaked out after about the 5^th corpse when we came across a jet boat with two hunters aboard. Upon exchanging pleasantries one of the men explained that they had been the ones who had killed the goats as they are considered pests to the native flora and they would be heading back up river to collect them soon. This was confirmed later as we saw another of their group with a hunting dog track a goat down into the shallows before blasting it in the face with a high powered rifle. I don’t see the excitement in this activity, the dog did all the work of finding it, cornering it and injuring it, which makes the final act just seem pointless and malicious. In the end it was an amazing but exhausting trip and we celebrated by pigging out. My dinner of a gourmet muffin and beef kebab seemed tamed in comparison to Kelsey and Simon who had chips, ice cream, and beer in addition to their kebabs. If I keep up these eating habits I might resemble our Maori friend come June.