Where on earth is Tim ?

United in Discomfort

I am on my way back to London to complete my trip around the world. Well, technically, I have already been around the world having crossed the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco during a business trip in August 2008. Since then, I returned to London, worked a little bit, saw a little bit of India, Pakistan, Nepal, China, Thailand, Burma, Laos, Cambodia, Philippines, Hong Kong, New Zealand, the Cook Islands, San Francisco and then finally drove back over the Golden Gate Bridge. For this privilege I have to thank a certain Victor Knotter-Finney.

It was an experience.

To cross some rather large ponds I bought myself a round the world ticket with Star Alliance. I even treated myself to business class for the first flight out to India, which was rather good, courtesy of British Airways. I return the American way; I can't read the subtitles on the in-flight screen as its too small. There is no Video on Demand. My Headphones crackle like my brother-in-law's transistor radio set. It costs $6 dollar a drink. The leg room was designed for subterranean creatures who were only resident in Tolkien's imagination. And breakfast involved a sandwich resembling something that has sat squashed at the bottom of my rucksack for the past 10 months. Thankfully the water is still free. Which is a hard tonic after the pleasure of Air New Zealand, who know how to tranquillise a large mammal with wine.

Sorry United Airlines. But after a 10 month lapse, I've just remembered why I am allergic to traveling on US airlines.

Tracy, a colleague at work, tried to upgrade me thanks to the zillions of United miles she has accumulated over the years. Unfortunately Business class was full or I must have looked like I've been living out of a rucksack for the past ten months. Which, errr, I have been. But Tracy, a super big Thank You for trying and an even bigger one for successfully tranquillising two large mammals this afternoon with Shiraz.

So back to life after San Francisco. Many of you know that Sarah and I were planning on settling in the bay following our trip. Well, we've decided to go back to London. I've heard its been snowing there. Lots. And its cold. And Dark. And my old Job is waiting for me. And Sarah is only back in March. But it is nice to be heading back. I just wonder how long that feeling will last.

Captain Cooks Needle in a Haystack

The Cook Islands are a tiny set of 15 tiny islands in the middle of the Pacific ocean. They happened to be named in honour of Captain Cook who managed to stumble across the Islands when he was on his way to New Zealand and Australia during 1773. Which is pretty impressive really. They are a few tiny spots in the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

Rarotonga, the largest of the Islands is only around 9km in diameter. Its only main road, which circumvents the island, is only some 32km long. Its home to some 9,000 people which is less than you'll find attending Brentford United Football Club, the closest to my london home, on a Saturday afternoon. And last time I checked, Brentford were languishing in the lower tables of the English Football League. I even had the pleasure of watching the Cook Island news this evening, with the headline being 'A tourists camera was stolen from a parked motorbike in town this afternoon. A canon IXUS which is silver and looks like this...' Yes this is a pretty small place.

The Queens Representatives residence. Not a bad job if you can get it!

I have to say, however, that I am in Paradise. It balmy climate, white sandy beaches, blue lagoons and tropical reef make it an ideal place to unwind before facing the rigours of work. Which is exactly why I am here.

Paradise

That said its done nothing by rain while I have been here. Which, in a strange way, is proving to be a perfect relaxation tonic. Top it with some excellent Windsurfing and a rather nice hostel, I don't want to leave. That has put paid to my plans to visit some of the other islands in the cook islands.

The first thing I did when I arrived was to hire a Scooter to get around. To do this I had to apply for a Cook Islands driving licence. This involved driving five metres down the road without falling over, at which point the officer presented me with a rather posh looking plastic driving licence, complete with my photo on it. Apparently, if I had fallen over, I would have been given another chance, and then another chance, until I got it right. Oh and I did have to line the Cook Islands coffers with a $20 note for the privilege.

I then went for a drive around the Island, sticking to the 50 km/h speed limit which is actually only 40km/h if you don't wear a helmet. Which is irrelevant as no-one wears one and there must be only a few on the island. It didn't take long to get around:

And as a result, being a small dot in the Pacific, you won't find the prairie plains of Iowa here. Most things have to be imported, such as fresh milk, which costs a whopping $10 a pint. So I stuck to UHT which is only $3 a pint.

I've also worked out that every time I search the internet, I've realise that I am in fact searching for google.co.ck. Thankfully I've not been inundated by a Porn storm just yet, but it still does makes me smile every time I log on. Speaking of surfing, the reef breaks here are pretty spectacular. Quin, a fellow traveler, who just happens to only be traveling in the cook islands, seems to be be getting a scar a day as he rides the waves and hits the reef. My next break is an Air New Zealand flight to San Francisco, to rejoin the working world on my way back to San Francisco.

January 5th 2010: Groundhog Day

I've just got off a plane to the Cook Islands from New Zealand. The air hostess told us that we are going across the international date line. For those that are wondering its not some hotline to hook you singletons up with international chic's or even international chap's for you chic's.

No. Through some magic trickery conjured up by early British mariners I've arrived in the Cook Islands some 20 hours before I left. So tomorrow is actually today, groundhog day, and I'll get to relive January 5th 2010 again.

No where should I start ?

A Global Warning

I've just checked the BBC news and its all doom and gloom in the UK. The weatherman is predicting that the south of the UK is about to face its coldest night ever (on record), with lows of -20C. And for the past few days I've had a stream of Family and Friends pinging me about the snow and ice that has enveloped the UK. Rod even got me to look at his webcam pointed at his front garden, which is in balmy Ealing (West London) and is now covered in snow. Thats quite a few snowfalls for London this winter, isn't it ?

I'm in the Cook Islands, which is almost the other side of the world, drinking a beer on the beach and in the sun. But as it happens the Cook Islands are now particular worried about a typhoon. Apparently the Sea's temperature is critical; Hit 29 degrees C and cyclones start kicking off. Its at 27C and rising. A couple years ago they had 5 typhoons in one week. Considering the average is one typhoon every 5 years its about 175% above average.

Cyclone Bearing down on the Cook Islands in 2005

Yet I'm now reading The Rough Guide to Climate Change (On a rather nice beach with a rather nice beer). Apparently there are people out there who still deny Global Warming ? They must be mad, delusional or just simply greedy.

Last Chance to Meet: A Ode to the Kakapo

Some 20 odd years ago Douglas Adams and the eminent biologist Mark Cawardine had the idea to go and hunt down six of the most endanged species on earth and document their plight in a book called 'Last chance to See'. Sadly since this was filmed Douglas Adams past away. So did the Yangsi River Dolphin, something we will never have the last chance to see.

Which brings me to 2009: Stephen Fry, who happened to be a good friend of Douglas Adams, decided to team up with Mark Cawardine to go see what happened to the species that Mark and Douglas documented in their book. They shot a TV series called 'Last Chance to Meet', over six episodes, where they went to see the White Rhino, Aye Aye, Blue Whale, Kakapo, Amazon Manatee and the Kamodo Dragon.

Stewart Island Robin; Another endangered species

I downloaded 'Last Chance To Meet' while I was in the Philippines and watched this over the past few weeks. One particular animal caught my eye as being particular special. It was the Kakapo, a rather charismatic, fat and flightless parrot that once roamed New Zealand. These birds live to be over 100 years old and were so abundant on New Zealands South Island they were was popular as a pie filling and their feathers were used for decorating garments.

However the Kakapo has had the misfortune to have evolved without the need to reproduce like rabbits (the limit to the specifies expansion was only the availbility of food), who average only one egg every four years, when the NZ Rimu trees blossom. They also have no natural predators, so, when something threating comes along, like you or even a stoat, the parrot just sits there looking on with curiosity. Even worse Kakapo have a very distincitve smell ... you can smell one a mile off, well at least a stoat can.

And as many of you know Man arrived a few hundred years ago with Rats, Stoats and Possums. Its was then no small coincidence that Stoats took a liking to a belly full of Kakapo, being a hell of a lot easier to catch than the Rabbits they were brought in to control. Unfortunately the Kakapo did not have a few hundred thousand years to evolve the ability to breed like rabbits, fly away from predators (never mind just fighting or running away) or have body odour that can't be smelt a mile off.

A Weka ... Another of New Zealands flightless ground scavengers

The Kapapo population has since be decimated from hundreds of thousands of birds to just some 60 individuals. But through a stroke of luck the Kakapo had the fortune of being on the brink of extinction at just the right time. After a couple of disastrously public extinctions, the NZ government's Department of Conservation (DOC) had the fortune to find a small breeding population of Kakapo in one valley on Stewart Island after having just pioneered predator free islands. Over the space fo a few years DOC were able to transfer the remaining birds onto to Codfish island, a small Island off Stewart Island on the South of New Zealand. They have since started to thrive again and the population is growing slowly.

  

Oban, Stewart Island. Your not going to need much in the way of fuel here. Or even a Car mind you.

Which brings me to Stewart Island: We just spent the last three days tramping across stewart island (If you don't know what a tramp is, pay attention). Our aim was to see the Kiwi in the wild, except unlike every other person we met, we didn't have any luck. We heard lots of them mind you; several rummaging in the trackside bushes at night and plenty of kiwis calling at dusk. But I did get the pleasure of sitting on the Beach at Masons bay and looking over to Codfish island, the last stand of the Kakapo, and thinking ... one day we might all have a chance to meet a Kakapo in the wild.

Masons Bay with Codfish Island on Horizon, Left. The last stand of the Kakapo.

Its on this thought that I have to say goodbye to New Zealand. I am off to the Cook Islands and Sarah is off to Australia.

Update 7/1: One male Kakapo was hand raised and is now on Codfish Island. His name is Sirocco and he's a pretty friendly guy apparently. You can find him on facebook under Sirocco Kakapo.

Have you ever fancied a Tramp? The New Zealand ones are rather sweet...

One of the reasons we decided to head to New Zealand was to take on a few tramps. And I'm not talking about the bloke you see in the subway on the way to Tesco's with the left overs of a bottle of whiskey in is hand. I'm talking about some of the excellent hiking to be found in New Zealand, except here you don't go hiking, you go tramping. So after a few day tramps litter over the North and South Islands, we saved the best for last with a multi-day tramp on the Routeburn which is one of New Zealands great walks.

The Routeburn is pretty famous as tramps go, in fact its one of the most popular tramps in New Zealand, certainly amongst foreigners, meaning you've got about as much chance of getting a reservation in a hut as you have of meeting Billy Connelly. Thankfully we booked the huts well in advance, in september and even then we only managed to get a bed in our second choice of huts, meaning a long days tramping on our second day. Its popular for good reason, as it crosses the alpine divide between Fiordland and Queenstown, crossing over some of the most stunning Alpine scenery going. Its was a mouthwatering prospect and I had high hopes.

Start of the Routeburn

Our Journey to the start of the Routeburn in Fiordland was just as impressive as Milford Sound with scenery straight out of a video game. Note to self: must come back and experience this on a Motorbike (best pass my licence then). Our first day on the tramp however, turned out to be entirely different, when we got a sharp reminder that Fiordland is one of the wettest places on earth. Yes, It pissed it down. And ti was not just your average British drizzle, it was like having a bucket of water thrown over your head every minute. It was so wet that even a flood bypass around a waterfall was under a foot of water. After four hours of bucket drenching rain, we arrived in our first hut and spent the rest of the evening trying to dry ourselves and then our belongings. But it was worth it ... we were lucky to wake to a perfect blue sky day the following morning, leaving the best part of the walk to the best of weather.

Alpine Scenery on the RouteBurn

The tramp was every bit as spectacular as i was expecting. The scenery was straight from a New Zealand coffee table book, with jaw dropping scenery in every direction including some spectacular Alpine lakes with snow capped peaks as a perfect the backdrop. Three days later, we were back on the valley floor with Queenstown now only a short distance away. By then the climate had changed considerably; at the start of the tramp every crevice was spouting new ferns and trees while everything else, including mature trees was was covered in lichens and mosses. Arriving in the Glenorchy valley near Queenstown, we were in a scene more reminiscent of an African Savannah, with parched grass in every direction.

Arriving in Glenorchy

After a brief stop in the Pub, Sarah travelled onto Queenstown and I returned to pick up our car via the Caples track up the Caples valley. The Caples does not see the traffic that the Routeburn does and was an entirely different experience. Most of the time was spent dodging tree roots on a rugged track, while some sections involved wading waist deep in swampy mud. It was worth it though, as the Caples valley is an area where the Department of Conservation has been trapping stoats (a predator to the native New Zealand birds) for some time. You could really notice the difference in bird life with a cacophony of song at every moment.

I have to say that Tramping in New Zealand is a exceptional experience. There are thousands of Huts all over the national parks of New Zealand and you can stay in a hut for as little as NZ$5 a night. Thats exceptional value at £2 a night. Its a treasure the Kiwi's are or should be proud of. Oh and we just drove past Billy Connelly.

Milford Sounds like a Fiord to me...

I once went to Milford Haven, a huge sound on the west coast of South Wales. I happened to be diving off a small island outside the sound and used Milford as a port to launch our RIB (Rigid Inflatable Boat). My impressions were of an horrendous port littered with giant tankers, huge jetties and numerous gas containers everywhere you looked. It just so happens that Milford Haven is one of the major oil and gas ports in the UK. I would not describe it as picturesque, in fact it was a truly awful place.

MIlford Haven, South Wales

Last week I was some 12,000 miles away in Milford Sound which is in Fiordland, New Zealand. I have to say it was the complete opposite of Milford Haven, a complete dichotomy. It is one of the beautiful landscapes I have encountered. In every direction there are sheer sided walls, topped with towering peaks all dressed with huge waterfalls tumbling down into the Fiord. It was incredible.

Sailing across Milford Sound

We decided to splash out and with the backing of a recommendation from Paul we went on an overnight stay-on-the-boat posho trip around the sound. It turns out to be the best money we have spent in New Zealand. Our boat rounded the sound a couple of times, got awfully close to some waterfalls and went out to sea where the Captain told us it was one of only two days in 2009 he had managed to get out to the Tasman sea. As it happens Fiordland gets some of the roughest weather in the world as well as one of the most amounts of rain, a whopping 7+ metres of rain annually. Thanks to the weather we got the privilege to anchor up for a few hours Kayaking in one of only two areas in New Zealand where Pounamu (a.k.a. as Greenstone or Jade) is found. I even got to go for a swim which has to be one of the dafter things I have done one my world trip; The water was verging on only a few degrees.

Sunset in the Tasman Sea

Milford Sound, as it turns out was overlooked by Capatin cook when he charted New Zealand in 1773 ... either he missed the entrance or was doubtful about whether he could escape the steep mountainsides, afraid that the wind conditions would prevent his boat from sailing away. The sound was only discovered when a welsh sailer sailed into the sound looking for refuge during a spot of bad weather, something that Fiordland is notorious for. It reminded him of home, Milford Haven. I find it hard to grasp the similarity to Milford Haven. Probably a good job that the Kiwis did not build any giant LPG ports in the sound.

As it turns out 'Milford Sound' is not a Sound and 'Milford Haven' is not a Fiord (Milford is derived from the viking 'Melr Fjordr' meaning Sand Fiord) . Milford Haven is a Sound and Milford Sound is Fiord. I hope your as confused as me now.

The Base of a waterfall, Milford Sound

Its Sperm Jim, but not as we know it!

Following our trip to Golden Bay, we headed down to Kaikoura which is the whale watching capital of New Zealand. On the trip down, Sarah added to the conservation efforts of New Zealand, with a roadkill along the way. She managed to completely flatten a stoat, which would probably make any decent Kiwi proud. We arrived in Kaikoura a few hours later and once again my wallet had to part with another wedge of large denomination notes to join a whale watching trip the following morning. After a bit of searching we realised that there was monopoly, with only one operator in town. This is hardly a good example of letting market forces dictate the price (and a little frustrating for me) !

Sperm Whales Spouting

And I found out why; The Maori signed the treaty of Waitangi with the British, an agreement signed to bring peace with the colonisers in 1840 . As part of the treaty, the British gave the Maori's full rights to their possessions and properties, both collectively and personally. Unfortunately the Maori translation of the treaty contained a number of inaccuracies, including the word 'Tonga' which was used for 'possessions' but actually translates to 'Treasures' in Maori. This along with a number of other translation inaccuracies at the time has been a source as resentment to the Maori's for many years. Todays implementation of the treaty, erring with the Maori version, classifies Whales as a 'Tonga' ... after all the Maori's hunted whales a long time before the europeans arrived. All of this means that the Maori's have a monopoly over Whale watching in New Zealand. So we forked out NZ $145 each (GPB £70) for two hours on a boat, with some 50 other people. With a packed schedule (I counted some 24 odd trips that day), I would classify this enterprise as being a treasure. A bloody big cow made of cash.

Sperm Whale about to dive

A few days later, I heard on the radio that the Maori are have raised a claim with the NZ government that the airwaves are a 'Tonga'. The government is about to start licensing the 3G and 4G spectrum to the NZ telco's. The Maoris claim the right to ownership of (at least to some part of) the spectrum. I found this a little strange and very hard to imagine some chap wondering around South Island, a few hundred years ago, using his iPhone 3G to track the last of the Moa. To be fair, 'The Crown' (I.E. the British) blatantly abused or ignored the treaty, especially when the Maori refused to sell land. The Crown just took lands from the Maori which remains a source of massive friction today. Its a complicated problem which the NZ government is trying its best to untangle today.

Dusky Dolphin checking us out alongside the boat

Anyway, we hopped onto the Whale Watching tour at another unearthly start, this time at 7.15am. The boat was rather snazzy ... with plush seats, lookout stations, a sonar locator (to find whales), a 50 inch LCD screen with lot of info about the experience and some larger-than-life Maori bloke sitting up front giving commentary, who I'm sure was cracking the same old jokes every trip. I felt like we were on the bridge of the enterprise, although I didn't have the courage to ask Captain Jim if his surname was Kirk.

Captain Jim using a sonar locator on the Enterprise

Ten minutes out to sea and the poor chap next to me turned a pale shade of white. Then vomited. Then vomited again. His girlfriend was awfully apologetic as she kept a production line of brown paper bags flowing towards her not so pleasant smelling (and now not so pleasant looking) boyfriend. We were glad that Capt'n Jim and his helper Scotty spotted the first whale a short while after so we could take in some fresh vomit-free air. Three sperm whales, a large pod of Dusky Dolphins and a wandering Albatross later, we were back at port. As it happens, it was the last boat of the day as the wind notched up a few knots.

Dusky Dolphin and her Calf

The larger than life Maori bloke went on to explain that the Sperm whales are called 'Sperm' whales after a one was caught and its head was cut open ... they found a large amount of white liquid in the whales head. And they thought it was sperm!? I'm not really an expert in most animals on earth, by could anyone point out a mammal, let along creature of the sea, that has its balls located in its head ? And I am not talking about the Chav's hanging around your local shopping precinct. The 'white liquid' turns out to be wax, which is manipulated by the whale in order to dive, solidifying the wax to dive and melting to surface. As it happens the wax is also used to amplify their sonar. And the whales' nearest living relative is probably the hippo ? (or at least they had a common ancestor) And Dolphins are a type of whale ? Another fascinating result of evolution.

We have just arrived on Stewart Island which is a bird lovers paradise. It was a traumatic crossing and I don't know why but my jeans now smell of puke. As you've probably guessed I'm a blog or two behind. You can blame New Zealand.

Have a Very Happy Heli-Biking New Year

When I go mountain biking in the UK it normally results in a few hours of huffing and puffing up some never ending hill. By the time I have get to the top I'm ready to barf up my lungs, quickly followed by my stomach. That is, unless its a circuit around Reading (UK) when most of the time is spent in the pub with the rest of the time trailing Mr Fellows and Mr Rummage who are usually peddling effortlessly in the distance ahead.

So having arrived in Queenstown, arguably the adventure capital of the world, I decided to try a spot of Heli-biking with a lovely but rather wallet trembling shop called Vertigo Bikes. I parted with a small fortune and was told to turn up at some unearthly hour the following morning. I hadn't been mountain biking for a while and the last time I was in a helicopter was in, errrrr, somewhat different circumstances. It was a helicopter courtesy of the Italian government, which I should add, was very kind of them. However, with a broken ankle, dislocated shoulder and enough blood to keep accident and emergency going for a few days, I didn't get any panoramic views.

We had some Panoramic Views this time

So at 8am the following morning I turned up at Vertigo Bikes, somewhat bleary eyed, but feeling quite positive despite a rather nasty chill to the air. I was told that the wind had changed direction during the night to blow in south westerlies and apparently the only thing in the south west, apart from a lot of sea, is Antarctica. But with only a dusting of snow during the night I was told we were good to go and then promptly shoved into a bus which was off to the heliport.

30 minutes later we arrived on the summit of Ben Crucian, some 1500 metres higher than where we started. I hopped out of the helicopter only to be greeted with the shock of sub zero temperatures and serious wind chill. The chill was made somewhat worse by the unfortunate event of losing my beanie the day before in a 120mph gust. That is, a 120 mph gust experienced while tumbling down the Nevis gorge, thankfully attached to a rope and paying NZ$170 for the privilege. Maybe I should have left the beanie at home then.

Wintery welcome

The next two hours involved some seriously exhilarating singletrack. Well it was exhilarating after we got beneath the snow line, before which the priority was to avoid going head over heels though each snow drift. And this was the middle of summer ? The route finished with some seriously cool downhill which resulted in a last minute change to my new years resolutions:

1. Buy a full suspension bike.
2. Go biking Downhill more often, and if you can afford it, hell, take a helicopter!
3. And ditch the SPD's ... you can go faster round the bends with a foot down ...

We finished with a FergBurger and a pint of beer. Except in new Zealand beer comes served in 'handles' which is considerably less than a pint and costs considerably more.

On the way down

Finally ... Happy New Year to you all. Its a strange feeling spending New Year in New Zealand. Its the first major country to see in the new year. By the time India (that means you Jon) sees in new year I'll be sleeping off my hangover. By the time London hits the new year I'll be digesting my New Years Day lunch and on a flight to Stewart Island. And by the time San Francisco hits new year I'll be tucked into bed for an early night after the previous evenings indulgences.

If you have been paying attention, you'll probably know by now that we are off to Stewart Island tomorrow. The plan is to try and see some of New Zealand's native birds in the wild, with the Kiwi being top of the list.

My Boxing Day sales tip: save your money, bare feet are in this year

In the past three weeks, I've become accustomed to the relaxed, easy going attitude of the Kiwi's. People say hello to you, no matter where you go including central Auckland. Its not unusual to exchange a few words when you're at the checkout where-ever you happen to be shopping. But best of all, many Kiwi's seem to be able to do this in nothing but bare feet. Yes, you see them hanging ten not only in places like the beach. You'll find barefoot clad kiwi's in the supermarket. The Gas station. The street. Riding a bike and, my favorite, the butchers. Its completely normal here and I am not sure why; Is it 'I a Kiwi, I can handle anything, including sore feet' or 'shoes are for Aussies' or 'I want to be closer to nature' or 'I can't be arsed to wear shoes' or 'hey look, I don't wear shoes aren't I cool' or 'I'm an eco warrior, no cows were killed for my feet' or finally 'I'm broke and shoeless'. Whatever it may be the Kiwis love to trudge around in their bare feet... and you may even see the odd kiwi in Jandals. Go figure that out.

In New Zealand Penguins get feet, but people don't!

Its quite a contrast to the countries I've traveled to in Asia, where shoes are of prime importance, and to be barefoot would be a shameful experience. In South Africa, shoes come as the most important status symbol purchase of your wardrobe. I once met a bouncer in South Africa, he told me that the one way you can tell if a client is 'made of the right stuff', is to take a look at his shoes.

My shoeless highlight has to be a few days ago when we were in Wellington. As it turned out it was the evening of the premiere of "The Lovely Bones", one of Peter Jacksons latest creations which was confirmed when we saw Dennis Pennis walking down the street. Later that evening, one of New Zealand's Oscar winners, Susan Sarandon, walked onto the red carpet in bare feet. Conclusion; People, bare feet are in this year.

Logan, One of Shambala's likeminded travellers.

A few days later, Sarah and stumbled across 'Shambala', which, after nine months traveling is one of the most unique 'hostels' we have come across. Its kind of a hippie retreat which is run entirely 'green'. Electricity is provided from Solar panels. Hot water is provided from a Solar heater. Water is collected from rainwater runoff. A Wood fired boiler heats the house and there is a wood fired oven for cooking (and gas hobs now, as the owner crumpled under the time demands of travelers). The best part of the place was the type of traveler that it attracts. You wont find the 18-year-old-gap-year-adrenaline-pack here. You come here for a reason and need some persistence to find the place. We really liked our stay and as a result got stuck here. Its a great concept, unless you live in China and find you rainwater polluted with whatever the nearest heavy industry is pumping out. I guess it would not be such a great concept there.

As we drove to Shambala, we passed Pupu springs, which given the name sounded a bit shite. After turning off the road, on closer inspection its actually Te Waikoropupu Springs. These are the largest freshwater springs in the southern hemisphere apparently. I dribbled with anticipation over the Cave diving potential, but later found out that it a sacred Maori site meaning there is no chance of any such opportunity. That said, even in the dry(er) season it pumps out so much water, in a marble maze of passages, that any attempt to go diving will end up in like a Champagne bottle cork ... hitting the ceiling.

PooPoo Springs

While at Shambala we went for a walk on part of the Heaphy track, which is one of New Zealand's great walks. The Heaphy partially follows the north west coastline of the south Island where there are no roads. Its a 78 km walk which, for part of the way, follows a track made by prospectors ... prospecting in the jungle for a route for a road. Yet for some reason the New Zealand government never made a road, instead establishing this part of New Zealand as a wilderness area. It means that the track never attains more that a 6% incline, which makes for a rather pleasant days walking, especially if you have a 1000 metres to ascend.

Logan, Tim and Baz taking a break on the Heaphy tack. Fellow travellers from Shambala.

Enjoy your boxing day all. For Christmas we cooked a roast, as we had the luxury of a cooker ... we decided to stay in a rather posh apartment type place. I roasted a Hogart Joint. If anyone know what a Hogart joint is.. I'd be intrigued to that I'm not the only one who didn't. For those of you who don't, the answer will be in my next blog.

We are off on the Routeburn track this morning for three days of tramping. It should be good, however there is a heavy rain warning in the area. Ouch.