I Found It (pt II)

If you missed part I of this two part mini-series, scroll down to the previous post and have a gander. This is the second half of my hike along the Hillary Trail.

After the 14 km hell hike of the day before I felt a bit weary of the 17 km hike coming up on day 3. Not to mention, I never really wanted to leave the Pararaha Valley, especially so soon after I had arrived. But I ate my rice, rolled up my tent, and hit the trail anyway. The first step was to cross the stream that I was sitting in the night before. It’s not a terribly fast moving stream, but it looked a bit deep where the trail crossed it. I thought back to the words of the two Kiwis, who said they always just walk through streams and mud with their hiking boots on, that’s just how tramping goes in New Zealand. That may be fine for them, but I wasn’t hauling around these gumboots for nothing, so I took off my bag and pulled out the boots. I stomped my foot in and proudly took my first steps into the stream. After about three steps though, the water was really getting close to the rim of the boot. Then on the fourth step, they went from rubber boots to bucket boots, as the water flowed in and then stayed there, thanks to the excellent waterproofing of my Red Band gumboots. I would have probably been better off just using my ventilated hiking boots, or better yet just going barefoot, but at this point all I could do was laugh and keep tromping through. I finally reached the other side and pulled off the bucket boots to empty them. I also had to ring out my socks because I hadn’t thought to take them off in case of an overflow. Marion, the German, caught up to me at this point and had a good laugh as she removed her boots, walked through barefoot, and continued on no problem.

A bit uphill and a bit down, as usual, and I reached the first bay of the day. The guidebook suggested taking a side trip to a waterfall, just up the road from the bay, so I hid my bag in a bush and went to check it out. It was a pretty nice waterfall, maybe 100 feet tall with a good flow of water tumbling down its rock face. I took a minute to appreciate the falls and the grove of trees around it, then headed back to the trail. Unfortunately, there was a bit of road walking, but less than I had anticipated, so I overshot the trail marker and instead took a 20 minute tour of some funky little surf village. It wasn’t too bad, but it left me a bit frustrated when I finally found the trail and had to go back up up up. Essentially, I was following step by step the cliff sides of the coast, so this is why I had so much vertical work to do going from sea level at each bay, to the sharpest peaks of the cliffs, and back down to the next bay. In addition to my uphill battle at this point, the surf village that I toured had been left in charge of maintaining the trail, and they like their trails natural. What I mean is very overgrown. Now I wasn’t just gawking at the bush, I was in the bush, using one stick to prod the ground in front of me to make sure I didn’t walk off the cliff, and the other stick to push flax, kanuka, ferns, vines, and various other plant life out of my way. This was an unfortunate time to have a tent strapped to the top of my bag, as it had a tendency to get stuck on pretty much everything and yank me back. When I finally reached the peak of the cliff though, it was an awesome view. I could see up the coast, to every peak and bay, for miles. I could even see my finishing line, Muriwai beach… so close and yet so far. Though the view was spectacular, and even a bit dizzying, I had to pay special attention at this point because the cliffs were very steep and the ocean looked very unforgiving.

After a bit of cliff walking, followed by a few kms of road walking, the trail began to snake alongside a beautiful stream surrounded by Nikau palms, the southern-most growing palm in the world (according to the guidebook). It was a nice, cool, calm atmosphere, so I was able to relax a bit and really enjoy each step. Eventually the stream lead to the top of Kitekite falls, which appeared to be a series of terraced deep pools. I climbed down to one of the lower pools and considered stripping down to my boxers and taking a dip, but instead I just took off my shirt and dunked my top half in. Good thing because just as I was doing so, an older couple and their daughter cruised right on past me… after hiking alone for three days in some very remote valleys, I sometimes forgot how a few of these trails are used on a regular basis by the average day-tripper. I don’t think these people would have appreciated a stinky multi-day hiker bathing nearly naked in a pool they hiked 20 minutes to see.

I pulled my shirt back on and headed down the trail yet again. I eventually reached the bottom of the falls to discover that it was not just a small series of pools, but a major waterfall. From the bottom, I couldn’t even see where I was before, but I knew it was easily hundreds of feet above me. Good thing I didn’t try too hard to peek over the edge, I guess. There were a lot of people taking pictures and splashing around in the water, so I just took a quick look and continued on. A little further up the trail was a spectacular lookout with a full view of the falls. Now I realized it was a really good thing I didn’t go for a swim, because I would have been on full display for anybody who took a moment to view the falls… and there were a lot of people doing so. The lookout was a bit hidden in the bush, so I hadn’t noticed it from the top of the falls, but I’m pretty sure a lot of people were wondering what I was doing climbing around, hanging out on top of this massive drop of a waterfall.

Coming out of the bush, I again did some road walking to Piha Beach, one of the most well-known and well-loved beaches on the west coast. It was a welcome relief to be able to kick my shoes off and relax on the beach for a while. Also, I was able to go to the café and treat myself to a coffee and slice of berry pie. After eating such basic food for the last couple of days, the caffeine and sugar really got me going! Eventually, my 3 hiking buddies arrived down to the beach and we all relaxed for a bit on the sand, watching kids play in the river and people surf the breaks. Piha is also a black sand beach, which is a pretty crazy thing to see if you’ve grown up frequenting normal tan-sand CA beaches. After about 2 hours on the beach, we all decided it was time to find the next camp ground and cook some food. Easier said than done. Of course, after this wonderful, peaceful downhill to view the falls and then rest on the beach, there had to be another uphill. And a major one. They really don’t mess around with their hills out here.

After a long climb, we reached Craw campground, the plainest of all the campgrounds we’d seen. We had become a bit spoiled with two rather amazing campgrounds alongside fresh streams, and with beautiful views in all directions. Craw campground was on top of a hill, so there was no stream, plus the land had all been slashed and burned into grazing land, so we didn’t have the normal seclusion of the bush. Save its plain features, there was a nice view of Piha and we had a great vantage point for the sunset, so I can’t complain too much.

The next day was our last, and a 27 km day for me. The other three opted to do the 18 km route to Swanson, but I had a mental block preventing me from believing I did the trail unless I did the FULL trail. The guidebook suggested the long route would take 12 hours to walk, so I knew I had to get an early start. My alarm went off at 6, but I got up at 6:45, and officially hit the trail by 8, only an hour behind schedule. The first direction in the guidebook was “Find the paddock (that’s a pasture) gate, and climb over. Walk across the paddock to the next gate and climb over.” So I found the paddock gate and climbed over, and took a gander at the paddock…which was massive, hilly, and unmarked in all directions. My only option was to take a stab in the dark, so I started following a cattle trail and climbed over the first gate I found. This gate lead downhill, as the guidebook said, but in reality, any direction would have lead downhill. A bit skeptical, I walked a little further, looked at the map, and decided to turn around to scope out my other options. So I had to walk back uphill. But thankfully, I saw the 2 Kiwis climbing over a different fence and ventured over that way. I was too slow to catch up to them immediately, but I assumed they were going the right way and followed their trail. Now 2 hours behind schedule, I started jogging the down hills; I had made plans with a friend to pick me up from Muriwai at 7:30 PM, which meant I had to cut this 12 hour hike time down drastically. I reached the bottom of the valley and headed right back up the other side to find the point of no return: Swanson 12 km or Muriwai 21 km. I stared down the picture of Sir Hillary on the trail marker, with his silly smirk and Sahara hat on, and felt in myself the animosity a student feels towards a good teacher; I wasn’t sure if I chose the Muriwai route to overcome him or myself.

Knowing the three other hikers were headed toward Swanson, I had the trail and my well-being all to myself. I had been hiking alone for all four days, but I always knew the other three hikers would eventually catch up to me if I got hurt or was dangling off of a cliff. Now it was just me, and the clock was rapidly ticking down. If there was ever a time for Buddhist mindfulness and bodily awareness, this was it. I started jogging all the down hills and the flats, still with a stick in each hand. I’m sure I looked like a real weirdo, but I was making great time. Came across a nice lake with black sand dunes, then stumbled to Bethelle’s Beach where I was instructed to again climb over a paddock gate and walk across. I was met in this paddock by a single white horse, which I took as a good sign. In hind sight, I should have just climbed on that horse and told it to take me home. But instead I walked up to the peak of another cliff.

Between Bethelle’s and Muriwai is all cliff walking with stunning scenery. I didn’t have so much up and down at this point, which was a blessing because my feet were screaming and my legs were like jello. I had little coordination except forward momentum, but had to move methodically, because the trail was cut into the side of the cliff and often only about as wide as my foot. Funny enough, there was a lot of gorse growing out from the uphill side, so I had spike plants to my right and certain death to my left with a couple inches to hike on. Plus it was super windy! Needless to say, my walking sticks were my best friends. The view was definitely spectacular though, and I could really feel the power of the ocean as it smashed against the cliffs hundreds of feet below me. After a few hours of trying to balance the truly dramatic scenery with the truly dire consequences of becoming too involved with my surroundings, I finally reached the end of the cliff walk and headed inland. I could taste the finish line, but the guidebook told me I had three hours of road walking. THREE HOURS of road walking. I was not cool with that. After seeing all these amazing things, discovering the dense shaded bush, and staring at vast expanses of the sea, why do I want to walk along this hot, un-shaded, ugly black road with all these cars flying by me? I tried hitching a ride, but I think the walking sticks scared people off. So I started jogging again… I couldn’t really feel my feet or knees by this point anyway.

45 minutes later I had finished the road walking. I don’t know if they had seriously overestimated the road walking length, or if I’m just a world record backpack runner, but I was happy to be back on the trail… and the last 5 kms of the trail at that! I was like a horse to the stable. The trail was all downhill to Muriwai, which I was ridiculously excited to see. I had no idea what was there, but I assumed it was glorious. I arrived to a gannet sanctuary on the Muriwai cliffs, which was nice, but I had a serious urge to just grab one and eat it. I briefly considered the best way to sneak up on one, but I decided the potential effort of having to chase a bird would be too great, so I left in search of more domesticated food. I found a burger joint, so I settled for that, and had myself a delicious cheese burger. Made 1 minute call to my parents (literally 1 minute was all I had on my calling card) to report my triumphant return to society, then headed to the beach to relax and wait for my ride. I also had the pleasure of popping all of my blisters, which had developed after hours of hiking in loose gumboots, days of going up and down hilly, rooty trails, and running in hiking boots with a backpack on. I’ve dealt with blisters in my life, but these were definitely the biggest and nastiest I’ve ever seen. But I won’t go too deep into that.

My friend Tara came to pick me up, which was awesome, and then she took me to a food court in a mall, which was even more awesome. I could have done without the Christmas shoppers, but I ate a heap (a heap!) of food, so it was all good. And then I had some dessert. Mmmmmm. Tara then brought me back to her house, where her roommate was holding a birthday party for her brother. Though the Kiwis know how to throw a raucous house party, I proceeded to fall asleep on the couch in the middle of the festivities. Being that Tara was my only connection to that party, I’m sure I looked like total bum who just snuck in to steal beer and sleep on the couch. But I’m no bum, I’m just a tramp. Anyway, it was a good sleep, but I was up again at 6 AM to catch a bus back to the monastery.

The story isn’t quite over. I found the bus station fine and got on the right one, but the bus only goes to Bombay, a tiny farm town just off the highway. From Bombay, the monastery is another 7km walk. Usually, I’m fine with doing this walk, but I… I just didn’t want to walk anymore! I tried hitching a ride, which is usually not too difficult, but apparently that day was national Pass-‘Em-Up Day, because I wasn’t getting anything. So I hobbled along for the whole 7k’s; I didn’t even have my sticks to help me along. At one point, I considered setting up camp next to the road. I don’t know why this little stretch was so difficult, but it was a real bear. When I finally arrived to the monastery, the retreat was still in full swing, and the food was just about to be served. Good timing! As I crawled up to the table, two separate people who had just delivered the food said to me, “Hey, was that you walking along the road? I thought that was you! Why were you walking along the road?” AWESOME! Yep, it was me, I was walking along the road because YOU DIDN’T PICK ME UP! I mean, I wasn’t mad, but I couldn’t help but laugh out loud… two separate cars who were headed to my location thought they saw me, but let me walk anyway. National Pass-‘Em-Up Day was confirmed.

I ate and then slept the rest of the day away. It was a great trip, I had an awesome time. I saw the real New Zealand, I pushed myself to my limits, I was humbled by Sir Hillary, I made a few new friends, and I learned to trust a Kiwi when they say something is challenging. I might not do that hike again right away, but I did find a few places worth going back to on day trips. I saw some of the most beautiful views and features of the North Island, and enjoyed my time alone along the trail, where I reflected on home, family & friends, the present, and myself. Overall, a tough, but successful trip… and I finally found a piece of what I was looking for!

Uploading pictures in New Zealand is like pulling teeth! But it takes longer. I have yet to find a connection that will allow me to upload even half of my pictures before my time/bandwidth limit runs out, so you will all have to wait a bit longer :( For Christmas, can somebody send me some internets?? I don't know how these people live like this. However, my parents are coming out for a visit soon (!!!), so maybe somewhere along our travels I'll be able to find a decent connection at a hotel. So until next time, have a merry Christmas and a happy New Year! Stay safe and don't get arrested! And say hello to the family for me!

I Found It! (Pt. I)

Hi guys, sorry it’s been so long. Though I have a computer with wireless, the internet can be a very illusive thing around here. Between the monastery and my brief moments in town, I never know when I’ll be swimming in a digital bath or wandering the incommunicado desert. But I’m here now!

The good news is, I’ve found it: I have found New Zealand! The monastery is great, I love the lifestyle, open spaces, and the slices of native bush that it offers; Auckland city is okay too, it has its interesting pockets of life and culture. But when it comes down to it, the area surrounding the monastery is a replica of the English countryside, and Auckland city reminds me way too much of downtown San Jose, a town close to my heart but not what I flew 13 hours to see. The cover of my guide book was more mind blowing than anything I had seen for myself. I was beginning to think all these amazing images of the land down under was a big marketing scheme. Luckily, the real NZ is hidden just at the fringe of all these sheep pastures, round abouts, overpriced pubs, Guy Fawks Day, and other incessant British patriotism. Just a short 20 minute bus ride west of Auckland city is the Waitakere Range, a 16,000 hectare block of (nearly) pure New Zealand. While it’s not completely “wild” as it would have been a few hundred years ago, the Waitakere wilderness offers massive hills, natural groves of strong and stout Kauri trees, prehistoric flora, majestic rivers and falls, epic ocean cliffs, and the always peaceful and benign wild bird life. I heard about this place, bought myself a map, and immediately started planning a trip.

Less than a year ago, the Auckland Regional Council established the Hillary Trail as an ode to the adventurous spirit of Sir Edmund Hillary. There are plenty of day hikes within the Waitaks, but the Hillary trail is a 4 day, 70 km hike around the western perimeter of the park and gives a real taste of what the west coast has to offer. As the caretaker of the monastery, 4 days off is not the easiest thing to arrange, but Ajahn Chandako happened to be hosting a 9 day meditation retreat in late November and my presence was not required. “Perfect!” I thought, “This is my chance. I’ll just throw on a backpack, lace down my boots, and have Ajahn perform a false knighting to become Sir Edgar, hiking in honor of Sir Hillary.” I made a few efforts to rope other fools into this 70 km march, but everybody I asked either pointed to their work schedule or looked at me perplexed, wondering why I might want to carry my personal belongings on a 4 day tour through the mountains. For about 2 minutes I was doubtful about backpacking alone without a cellphone or any real idea of what I was getting into…. But then I heard the neighbor’s sheep bleet my name like I’ve been hearing for over a month and I knew I had to get away from this madness.

I chucked a few things in my backpack, put on my bucket hat, alerted Ajahn to send out the search pidgins if I hadn’t returned in 7days time, and caught a ride into the city. I crashed at a friend’s place for the night and departed early the next morning. I still hadn’t made reservations for the campsites yet (woops), so the first step was to walk clear across town to the reservation office and book up. I arrived at 7:45am to find they don’t open until 9am, so I sat. What seemed like days later, I finally got everything booked and headed toward the bus station, yet another 30 minute hike through town. Stumbled my way on and off a few different bus lines to reach Titirangi Village, the closest town to the trailhead: a simple 6 km uphill. Along the dirt road to the trailhead, there was a road closure with aggressive warnings of prosecution upon trespassing and absolutely no suggestion of detour. I really had no idea what to do…I was beat tired and apparently stopped in my tracks before I even started. So I figured, “Forget the Hillary trail, I’ll just wander around for 4 days” and began walking up an unnamed dirt road. This lead to a paved road, which in turn miraculously lead to the Arataki Visitor Center, which offered an alternate trailhead. I marched upstairs and gave the visitor center people a real piece of my mind about the unbeknownst road closure, pointing out the absence of an alternative route, and made clear that I only happened to find my way there. After a short rant, I demanded they fill up my water bottle for my trouble (I think they would have done it regardless…), bumbled around ‘til I found the first Hillary Trail post, and took my first step by 3pm.

Day one was only 11km, the shortest of all the days and supposedly the least strenuous. I was bright eyed and bushy tailed to finally be on the trail, but my enthusiasm quickly drained with the first hill climb. I was told this trail may be a bit unmaintained, rooty, muddy, or otherwise rough, but I was straight scrambling up this trail from root to root, clinging to trees as to not collapse under the weight of my backpack. At the crest of the first hill started the mud. At first it was little puddles, easy enough to hop over. Then they got bigger, but I was still able to skirt around the edge without completely plunging in. Finally I reached a point where the trail was just completely mud: no little pools of water, no dry edges to teeter along, not even a fallen tree to balance on, just mud for yards. Back at the monastery, I had debated whether or not to bring my rubber boots, as they add about 3 pounds and ridiculous bulk to my bag. At this point on the trail, I was glad I was a tough guy and had decided to throw on the extra lbs. I pulled my gumboots on and started tromping directly through the mire, determined to make it to camp before sundown. Imagine this for a second: a guy with a 25(+/-) lb bag, up since 6am, having wandered all over hill and dale just to get to this point, now beyond ankle deep and sinking in bottomless mud, racing to an unknown campground. Don’t get me wrong, the bush was amazing: twisted vines crawling up fern trees, palms scattered next to massive thick-barked trees with colorful flowers, and every once in a while a grove of fat kauris, where I could feel the power and spirit of the forest reside. The forest was so thick, I couldn’t see deeper than 10 feet on either side. Some people go to nature to stretch out and feel open, but this nature is so dense one might start to feel a bit claustrophobic. Though my eyes were constantly darting about this twisted jungle, I had completely focus my physical effort first to find a spot in the mud that would hold my weight, then make sure I didn’t slip out completely (which happened twice anyway), then pull my back foot out of the mud, but not lose my boot in the process (which happened frequently), all with the swiftness of the setting sun. It was just the comedy hour. I eventually had to grab two sticks to use like ski poles to keep me balanced with forward motion. Finally, I reached a paved road next to a reservoir, which lead to a very nice beach. I turned around to look at the hill I had just ascended and descended and my jaw completely dropped…it’s hard to see the forest for the trees, but looking at the forest from the beach makes it all worth it. This was my first view of the New Zealand I was looking for, and it was good. I felt like I had just descended into the land of the lost; some place I could have only dreamed about. I snapped a few pics and hustled to the Karamatura campsite just in time to see the sun dip below the mountain peaks, which still seemed too picturesque to be real…

As I triumphantly tromped into the camp site, a stick in each hand and a pound of mud stuck to each boot, I was surprised to find 3 other campers: 2 Kiwi women and a German woman. They were some real tramps, if you know what I mean… and what I mean is that they hike a lot. They call backpacking tramping out here. Just to clarify, they were complete tramps, but morally pure. Anyway, the German, Marion, thought I was a total genius for bringing gumboots, while the Kiwis, Margret and Dianne, couldn’t stop laughing at me for bringing gumboots. “You haven’t been tramping NZ much have you? Gumboots are for the farm… boots with laces are for the trail!” Well, call me a genius or call me a fool, my feet were dry. I hustled to set up my tent and get my sleeping bag situated, then cranked up my stove to cook. Unfortunately (majorly unfortunately), open fires are not permitted anywhere in New Zealand, so I had to invest in and carry around a tiny stove and fuel to cook with rather than simply rely on sticks and brush, like a real explorer; not to mention missing out on the mystical campfire talk that every camper from the States knows is the best part of the day. It may have been for the better though, because I had a long next day ahead of me, so I simply ate and rolled into the sleeping bag.

Woke up re-energized at 7 the next day and cooked up some breakfast: brown rice and peanut butter. I’ve never thought to combine these two things before, but with a strike of Buddhist simplicity, I decided to bring it as my primary sustenance for the 4 day hike. Sure, I had a freeze dried backpacking MRE for each night, but breakfast, lunch, snack time, and my energy goo were all made of varying ratios of rice to peanut butter. It really wasn’t too bad, but I would have been happy to have a little fructose somewhere in there… a bit of a sugar high would have gone a long way. After I gulped down my peanut butter porridge, I hit the trail: a 14.5 km day, but the most challenging of all the days according to the guidebook. If I saw the easiest day yesterday, I had no idea what to expect from the most challenging.

The guidebook said “Exit the campground and follow the trail uphill. At the top of the hill turn left and continue along until you reach the outlook…” They made it all seem so simple. Oh yeah, just go uphill and turn left. An hour later I wondered what kind of hill I was heading up here. By the second hour I was beginning to worry about the fact that I had committed so much of my time and energy into THE FIRST SENTENCE. I still had 2.5 pages worth of directions to follow! Near the top I took a detour to a waterfall, not so much because I was interested in the waterfall, but just because the trail was flat in that direction. It was a decent waterfall, but I didn’t have much time to spare, I knew I still had a heck of a day to go. I finally reached the top, turned left and found the lookout and whoaaaaaaaaaaaaa. I had reached Mt. Donald McLean, at 389 meters tall, one of the highest peaks in the range. I had a 360 degree panorama of the Waitaks to the east, the massive Manukau harbor to the south with the powerful and dangerous Manukau bar at its mouth, the rich blue Tasman sea to the west, and days worth of cliffs, bays, and beaches to the north. I took a seat and spooned up some peanut butter porridgethat I had saved from earlier to take in the view. I located Whatipu, the beach where I was planning on breaking for lunch, and scoped out the valley leading into it, trying to decipher exactly where I was headed. I also noticed 3 very beautiful, very dramatic cliff faces along the ocean’s edge and took a few artsy pictures of them, thinking to myself “Man I’m glad I don’t have to climb up those!”

45 minutes later I was on top of the first cliff, looking back saying “Yep, pretty much the same view… still pretty nice though.” Snapped a few more pics, just because I had invested so much energy in arriving there, and continued along the trail, confident I would simply dip into the valley and cruse down to Whatipu. An hour later I was throwing rocks off the peak of the second cliff, trying to maim the view which I had once cherished but was now just taunting me. I couldn’t even make eye contact with the third peak, I could just tell it had a dirty smurk on its face. Mind you, going up these ridges is difficult, but going down is a whole ‘nother game. Going up is pushing against gravity, but going down is like allowing gravity to punch you in the kneecaps over and over. Luckily, the trail was dry as a bone so I wasn’t having the slippin’ slidin’ experience of yesterday, but I was really using my sticks like ski poles now. Plant the left stick, pivot around left, plant the right stick, pivot around right… that is until my left stick broke and sent me sliding down the gravel path, and suddenly I was snowboarding. That was pretty… exciting.

I didn’t even stop to look out from the top of the third cliff, I just had my eyes set on Whatipu. I finally reached the beach and gratefully unloaded my pack from my shoulders and just sat for a long time. Gulped down some peanut butter porridge and let my feet rest a while; took a look at the guidebook to see how much further I had and was not surprised to find “From Whatipu, head uphill and turn left at the top of the hill.” I was beginning to understand a theme to this hike. Except at this point, the guidebook seemed to have that annoying, falsely friendly tone of the unhelpful lady at the DMV who tells you you’ve spent the last 2 hours filling out the first form, here’s the second one, NEXT. After I finished eating, the two Kiwis and the German were arriving to Whatipu with the same bedraggled look that I had on upon arrival. I was happy to see the Kiwis, these tough Kiwi trampers who’ve been there done that just about all over NZ, just as pooped as I was. Just like me, they were being beaten into exertion-based self-reflection by that bastard Sir Hillary. There’s Buddhist vipassana wisdom, then there’s Kiwi sweat wisdom.

Up up up, then finally a bit more downhill towards the Pararaha Valley, which cradled our campsite for the night. Half way down, the bush broke open and offered a view of the valley. This image is burned in my mind as my favorite moment of the entire hike. I had been amazed by some things previously, but this view transcends all. Hundreds of meters tall on both sides, the valley is made up of step volcanic rock slicing into the sky with patches of bush barely clinging on. This place felt prehistoric, like a giant terradactal could have swooped out from nowhere and it would have been completely natural. I tried to take a picture, but I looked through the viewfinder and the magic was lost. I couldn’t take a picture of this, I could hardly comprehend it in real life. I knew there was some existence going on in that valley that was beyond anything I could begin to understand. The pixels of my digital camera only made tiny colored squares out of something that was REAL, man, do you know what I mean? They paid no homage or justice to the true existence of Pararaha, I just had to know that there is such a place in the world, and respect it and let my eyeballs bask in its glory for a while.

I finished walking down to the campground and dumped my stuff immediately. I was way done with that backpack, those boots, and those sticks for the day, I just walked into the stream until I was knee deep and sat down for a long time. Have you heard of stream entry? It’s a pretty figurative term, but in that valley, at that time, after that hike, I can only assume it’s a similar feeling. The three tramps cruised in a little while later and found me spacing out in the stream, but they were too tired to judge. We all set up our tents very slowly as the sun was setting and cranked up our stoves as we settled into comfortable clothes and clean socks. Everybody was beat tired, but the spirits were high as we poked fun at our death march and congratulated each other on survival. We drifted off to bed shortly after dinner to dream of our adventures to come.

I still have TWO DAYS of ups, downs, trials, trails and victories to recreate, but this entry is TOO LONG so STAY TUNED and I will post another SOON! Hope everybody is great, I spent a lot of time thinking about home and friends while I was on the trail and I really wish you could have all been there with me! I hear the snow season is great, so get out there and take a few rides for me while I sweat through the humid New Zealand summer. Talk to ya’ll soon

PS: In other news, we got a goat on the monastery. His name is Lucky and he's a real cool guy. I'll have some pics of him, as well as my hike and other stuff up when I get a better internet feed... this connection is draggin' and its a real drag.

Friends, Rats, Uncomfortable Chairs, and the Blending of the Three

NOTE: this will likely be the first post you see because I’ve had some problems posting, and thus have a backlog of entries. Accordingly, I suggest you begin by scrolling down to my first post, “Before I get too Crazy..." in order to understand my experience chronologically. Or you can read it backwards and just pretend it’s a Quentin Terrentino movie. Sorry for the inconvenience. In the future, I'll only be posting once every week or two, so don't get too overwhelmed, you can pace yourself on these first few.

After my somewhat negative first experience in Auckland city, I was weary about traveling back in. Like I’ve said before, I’m really finding this monastery lifestyle (though not a monastic lifestyle for me) both beautiful and satisfying, and at times almost fear the saturated sensory experience that I once called “normal life.” Though these things were sitting heavy on my mind, I had heard about a reddit.com meet-up in Auckland some weeks earlier and had my mind set on it. If you’ve never heard of Reddit, similar to digg.com, it’s an online news and social media site that encourages its users to share links and comments. It’s like a “what’s hot online” forum and it’s used worldwide. Did you hear about that Colbert/Stewart Rally to Restore Fear/Sanity? That was Reddit’s brainchild, put in motion by Colbert. We can be a pretty powerful community when we’re not talking about online comics. Coincidentally, r/newzealand (NZ subreddit) had planned a meet-up for early November, perfect timing for me to meet some like-minded internet geek Kiwis. Ignoring the larger half of my conscience screaming “Don’t go back to the city!,” I went and checked myself into a hostel. I stayed in the more “artsy” part of inner city (though it’s so small, no neighborhood is really separate from another) on what’s known as K Road and headed to the meeting place. Thankfully, the bar chosen for the meet-up was in the opposite direction of where I had been the week before, so I felt there was hope for a better experience. I arrived to find about 20 fellow Redditors and only one laptop; a surprisingly large group with a very surprising absence of internet feed (it’s like a drug, man), and more surprising yet, everybody was pretty normal! I mean, granted we’re all geeks for taking time out of our lives to meet other anons in real life, but there were no, shall we say, uber-geeks. There was a nice mix of Kiwis, travelers, and permanent residents (like a citizen with fewer privileges), so I was able to get a lot of great info about the local scene, the travel scene, and young-adult Kiwi life in general. I was the only guy from the States, and more importantly, from California, since Reddit “headquarters” are based in SF (I’ve never seen it, I guess it’s just an office with like 5 dudes running the show. It’s a user-based site, so the big cheeses are really only involved in ensuring smooth site operations). I was asked a lot of questions about American and Californian life and politics, particularly because the meet-up was just a few days after the mid-term elections and Reddit had been chucked full of political posts. Many random questions were asked, but I also asked a few good questions and wound up exchanging contacts with a few different travelers and locals. As the group began dispersing, I was invited to grab some food with a few cool cats, so I tagged along. These guys were all really into music, skateboarding, being outside, and doing adventurous things, so we got on well. Subsequently, I was invited up to a gathering at one of the guys’ house. They liked me, they really liked me; I was so pumped, I almost couldn’t keep my cool.

At the house I met about 20 new people, all of whoms’ names I forgot almost immediately. Thankfully, I remembered my Reddit buddies, so I was in the clear. Everybody was really nice and had a million questions about California… I felt like some sort of American Guru. I warned them not to take my word on anything about American culture because my individual American experience is different than yours and your neighbor’s, but I think they were happy to just take me at my word on most things. After the initial interrogation, it was crazy how comfortable I felt at the gathering; the group had all been friends since high school, and they reminded me so much of my close friend group from high school. Not that they replaced you guys, I MISS YOU ALL!, but it was just nice to be back in that sort of environment with musicians, inside jokes, good times and good people. While the whole night was a blast, by far the best part was when we were all sitting outside on the deck. I had been offered a chair, which was nice, but the sitting surface of the chair was like rubber bands, so they kept stretching out and allowing me to slide through. As I struggled to stay afloat, I noticed the back of the chair was a cool design, but just terribly unfunctional as a back support. It had no surface where I needed it, but instead had gangly awkward bars jabbing me in the spine and across the ribcage. It was ridiculous. I thought it was some kind of weird new age massage device, but I wasn’t old enough or tense enough to actually enjoy the massage. I wasn’t going to make a big deal about it though, I was a guest in this house and desperately wanted these people to enjoy my company. As I quietly squirmed about, climbing out of the quicksand seat and trying to find the best way to take full advantage of this devious massage, I noticed another guy stuck in the same quagmire. I quietly mentioned, “Hey, what’s up with this seat? It’s really uncomfortable, right?” Unfortunately, a handful of other people heard me too. The response came swiftly and confidently: “Well yeah man… It’s the height of New Zealand art and culture to sit in uncomfortable chairs. We do it at parties, and it’s representative of a man’s worth and masculinity if he can endure the discomfort without squirming. If you wiggle too much, you’re perceived as effeminate and uncultured.” My face dropped deadpan as I contemplated this barbaric social construct and form of art; interestingly, we generally sit on the floor at the monastery, which is pretty uncomfortable for a normal chair user, so it was all beginning to make sense. Then everybody started busting up laughing. “I’m just kidding man, if that was the truth, I would have suggested you leave New Zealand immediately. Actually, those chairs came with cushions, but they’re in the garage right now. Let me get you one.” I was relieved and deeply humored, and when the cushion came, it was luxurious comfort. They make some quality cushions out here.

While I was happy to make some new friends and contacts and plan to hang out with them again, I still spend almost all of my time on the monastery. Along with wild rabbits, opossums (of the cute Australian variety, not the American giant-rat-opossum), dozens of different birds, and millions of different spiders, there is a rat colony who has taken up residence on the property. They live conveniently next to the compost pile, which isn’t as much a compost pile as it is a rat welfare distribution center: food has no time to compost before it is consumed. I usually take up the responsibility of delivering the compost to the bin, and recently have begun really enjoying spending time with the rats. They’re not all scraggly and vicious like the American street rat, and are actually rather cute and playful. I figure this is because they get fed daily by fresh, vegetarian, mostly organic food without having to fight for it. They’re pretty happy beings. Anyway, I’ve grown close to these rats, I think they’ve learned my scent and know food is coming, so they come out to say hello. I tell them secrets, I watch their family dramas unfold, I oversee their well-being and make sure their garbage-food is well balanced and free of toxins. Unfortunately for the rats and me alike, the purpose of the compost bin is to create compost, not support a rat colony. Furthermore, with such good, consistent food, the monastery is bound to have a rat infestation in no time… then they won’t be so cute.

So I had to cover the compost bin’s holes with chicken wire so they no longer have access. It kinda killed me inside, just a bit. After the meal, I took the food down and found the rats in a state of emergency. All of them were out, scurrying around, clawing at the chicken wire, looking for a way in or a new food source. I dumped the food and sat to observe my four-pawed-confidants. They had figured out well enough that they couldn’t get in and weren’t even trying any more. They were anxiously, aimlessly running between holes on their grassy terrace. I saw four fights go down; I’d never seen any of them fight before. The whole scene was just tense and everybody was on edge. It was hard to watch; this is why the Buddha teaches to remain unattached from all, as all is impermanent and attachment only leads to suffering. I dumped the food again the next day to find only two rats say hello. All I can hope is that they’ve found a brighter compost pile in some other pasture; I really, really hope they didn’t move on up to the kitchen, because then I got a serious problem on my hands.

I have a new set of pictures, but haven't uploaded them yet... so check back in a week or two for more of the good stuff.