Firey Re -entry

Today I am lost.
I could say that I just woke from a coma and nothing has changed, or that I just blinked my eyes for a very long time. But I know thats not true. My house is the same, although there are new smells and new rules for where the chips go. Denver FEELS the same...yet it's not. The supermarket has again rearranged everything in my absence, there is a blemished swath of recently leveled earth across the the street from the middle eastern restaurant. I knew people who lived in those apartments once. Now they are gone. Usually I know whats going in when they tear something down, but today I have no clue.
I have to admit 3 months is not a terribly long time, it is just long enough though for some things to evolve and some things to fade.
There are small differences and peculiar things I noticed. 3 times today when I was changing on my way to the post office I turned the windshield wipers on. Olds habits die hard. Newer habits seem
I found myself going down the left hand side of the car park and it took the toot of an Escalade to make me realize my error. Its scary...you can actually see the rage in some peoples eyes, the veiny death-grip of their hands on the steering wheel. Being "pissed off in the car" seems so commonplace on the road now, I had to take the side streets home.
Everybody is on their cell phone, all the time. In the car, on the street in the line at the grocery store. Even when we choose to get away, to go for a walk...we are on our phones.
The guy on the corner waving a laminated sign for the local Indian restaurant had me mutter in muffled amusement. I had truly forgotten about this line of employment.
I have already had 2 nosebleed and my lips are chapped. Now I know that altitude and dryness that everyone talks about. I'm no longer accustom to it, but rather exposed to it.
I have to get away. I know i just came from away, but being dropped back into it all is too much right now. I'll be in Steamboat if you need me.

Goin' on a eel hunt...

WARNING: Some photos may be graphic and unsuited for those with weak stomachs.

Eel a-la Kikkoman

Stu, ass over tea kettle in the river...he managed to save his beer

Darius AKA "Daaz" baiting the hook

Me, trying to land to eel on the rocks

Darius giving the eel its last rights.

Stu showing us the ropes

Preparing dinner.

One of a the more favorite Kiwi past times is eel and possum hunting. Endearingly know as "eeling and possuming." I know this because the Kiwi folk I camped with for a few nights in the Coromandle Peninsula tuned me on to the finer points of doing both. First eeling: This is not a passive activty like possuming. Its very similar to fishing, but with the lights out, and you use the highest quality meat scraps you can find. To begin you must consume copious amouns of beer or (for the ladies, who are very schooled eelers themselves) wine. This not only gives one the extrasensory ability to sense an "eel on the line" but gives you the perception of having warm dry feet when they are nothing of the sort. Find yourself a nice perch on a wet mossy rock and cast out a ragged piece of twine hooked with the finest fatted scraps of the nights Kiwi feast.

Wait.

Turn off all your headlamps and "shhsh" each other in hopes that the silence will somhow trick the eels into some further auditory lack and take the bait.

When there is no pole tip (as in fishing) to alert you of a nibble or a strike, you become wise in the ways of feeling the devine energy of the eel from the rocks below up the line and into the tips of your filthy steak fatted fingers. Eventually the eels will "smell" the bait and swim upstream to sniff if out. If its appealing they will swallow the fatty bit and you can "hook 'em". This whole process doesnt take very long (about 5 minutes) eels are not the smartest of creatures and are drivn by food. Once you catch the eel there is a frenzy of eel whipping to give everyone a spook and a laugh. And finally when the eel is landed you get the man with the biggest knife to cut the head off the thing. Now there is some debate as to weather the nerver center of an eel is in the hear or the tail and while some people think its in the head there are others who think it must be in the tail. NOt knowing we start with the head and if it stil moves work our way to the tail.

Eating eel. Being in the company of Kiwis I assumed that preparing eel was somthing like gutting a fish. They eat all sorts of odd foods, Kina, Paua and Mutton. Well it turns out that catching and eel is quite different than preparing and eating an eel. At this stage it's well past midnight and nobody is really hungry for more food considering the massive steaks that were for dinner. So the debate as to weather eels have guts that need to be dealt with or skin that needs to be pulled off begins. Turns out the impressive knowledge of Kiwi eeling stops at the hunt. Nobody knew how to prepare the eel as they had always eaten them smoked. It was decided that the eels would become possum bait....thats the next installment. Possum Hunting.

Mt. Ngauruhoe & The Tongariro Crossing

Ketetahi Springs

Turquoise Lakes...like what else would they be named?

The valley below Red Crater....which is to the right.

The summit of Ngauruhoe from the Tongariro/Ngauruhoe saddle

Halfway up Ngauruhoe, you can see how steep it is, eh?

The summit of Mt. Ruapehu in the background from the summit of Ngauruhoe, a remarkably clear day from what I hear.

For some time; long before Peter Jackson's hobbits and elves graced the silver screen and put New Zealand on "the map", there were the three volcanic peaks of the Tongariro national park which have had a special place in my book of "need to do adventures. " I made the journey south of Lake Taupo to the Mangatepopo Hut trailhead about 7am and began the 18km trek across the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. Considered one of the 'Great Walks" in New Zealand, this track crosses the saddle between the summits of Ngauruhoe and Tongariro and traverses across the lava fields of Ketatahi. I'm at a loss of words for what to say at this point. I survived the hike, which included a 3 hour side "scramble" up the 45 degree slopes of Ngauruhoe. It wasn't easy and my AS decided to have a near paralyzing flare up about 5km before the end of the track. It's days like this that I thank western medicine for its ability to safely get me off the mountain, it's days like this that also paint a very clear picture of my physical limits. I guess I know how far my body can take me, and how real my disease is. You can't run away from something like Rheumatoid Arthritis, but you can for damn sure grab it by the horns and give it a run for its money.

Lack of oxygen or sheer delight of making it up the side of the volcano brought tears to my eyes. There was little threat of any volcanic activity that day (i checked this with the national park HQ to be sure), but Ngauruhoe is an active volcano, and they warn you of this. Get your ass off the mountain if she starts to shake or your eyes or lungs start to burn from the build up of volcanic gasses.

from the saddle, about 4km from the trail head, it takes about 2 hours to get up Ngauruhoe. Loose gravel and volcanic rock make every 2 steps forward equal 1 step back and the steepness of the incline are constantly acting against you, pulling you backward. Getting down is the fun part, and it only takes about 15 minutes. Sweet As Mate! Plant your ankles in the volcanic scree and start to jump down. One leg and then the other, taking strides sometimes 10 or 12 feet in length (remember the 45 degree angle) and you literally float down the scree slopes with your legs shin deep in the loose sand. They call it "screeing" for rightful reasons.

Continuing the journey once down brings you by the red crater and the turquoise lakes, both unique phenomenons to the area.

A bloody brilliant hike, which I WILL do again in a hearthbeat. Maybe next time I'll take it in 2 days and really savor the adventure and give my back a break. (not literally of course)

For those who are nerd enough to care, Ngauruhoe is the volcano which made an appearance as "Mt Doom" in Lord of The Rings. The whole Tongariro National Park was used as the setting for Mordor, but as you can see the near perfect cone of the volcano lends well to starring in a movie.

My Maori New Year

Coastal horses with East Cape in the background.

On the way from the Motu Sheep station

The wild road thru Te Urawera

The land of milk and honey...

Weta on the Wall

Morning light outside Wairoa

I spent five days driving around the East Cape of the north island. It's a very remote area with a few B&B's, about 2 gas stations (this haunts me later....as I ran out of gas and had to hitch to the next town) and a little convienence store with not-so-cold milk, and not much else. So ramen noodles, bread and Marmite were about all I had to eat. You can live on this....but I don't suggest it. I stayed the first night (it was raining again) in Te Urawera National Park. In Maori, Te Urawera translates to somthing along the lines of "burnt penis"... it might have somthing to do with the geothermal activity in the area, but I was spared of any Te Urawera myself! There was the Onopoto Cave which I hiked to. It's pretty cool, and they have giant Weta's living in there. Weta are like BIG New Zealand grasshoppers. They are harmless, but the cave smells like Weta poo. Not much to the cave, it was cold and wet and muddy and that can be fun if you are into that sort of thing. The 100km road through Te Urawera is really rough and takes a solid 4 hours to drive, so it's not really somthing to drive if you are going from A to B. I took another dirt road off this dirt road to a sheep station in the middle of nowhere. There is a free DOC campsite here with not much more than a stream and a place to pitch your tent, or in my case park you van. It was really nice and I was invited to join the Kiwi family holidaying there (it was just the 6 of us) to some traditional lemon pudding around the fire....it was delicious. Another amazing show of Kiwi hospitality. Im noticing this trend down here. I had wanted to camp for New Years at or near the lighthouse on East Cape, but after telling the family this they advised against it. I guess most of this area has been given back to the Maori and it's all private property now. Being at the lighthouse would mean that save for a few small islands off the coast I would have been one of the first people to see the new day, and in this case the new year. The way the international date line is cut, this section of NZ jutting out happens to be the first place in the world to see the new day. Leela, whom I ran into first upon settling told me of a place that's not on many of the maps called Lottin Point. One of the other people in her group said this too was Maori land and you can't camp there any more. Leela said I should at least drive out there, it was a beautiful place and I should at least see it. She said even if I cant camp there, I ought to just take a look.

******

Paradise has a meaning different to each person. For some, and in the literary sense, it evokes hedonistic laziness in a hammock between palms...cool carribean waters licking your toes. For others, paradise is the rough-hewn timber of a remote and rustic cabin in the woods. Miles from the nearest electrical outlet...where the dancing embers of the fire chase the autumn cold around the room. I knew paradise for me the moment I peaked the crest of the hill and nearly carreened off the road down to the sea below. This is when I first laid eyes on Lottin Point. A rough spit of land with carpets of green Beech and crimson Pohukatawa falling softly to the sea below. Not a beach in sight, here the angry sea meets volcanic rock; the primal union of heaven and hell on earth. Look closer and the rough edges of igneous rock are softend by the clearest sea water I have ever seen. Tidal lagoons 10 meters deep as clear and vibrant with life as any place on earth.

I knew at this moment that no matter what laws I had to break and no matter how concealed I had to make myself, I could deal with being " a few minutes behind" on my eastern sunrise dream. I had to stay here. No matter what. Turns out that one of the 2 Maori land owners in the area will let you camp on the bluffs above the sea. It's private property, but I ran into a guy who was already camping there with his wife and son and told me to just go see if its OK with Grahme up at the house. Grahme was in the shower, but the woman I spoke too told me it's fine to camp there, and whatever I could donate would be apprecited. 30 minutes prior I was ready to break the law to stay here, I would be spared.

After a totally awesome swim in the tidal lagoons and a nap in sweet New Zealand sun, I spent the night playing guitar and singing Guns and Roses songs with a Maori family and eating Paua (abalone...delish!) and Kina (sea urchin....disgusting!). Tony, his wife Kare (Carrie) and their son Maniah showed me a night I will truly never forget. I learned where the southern cross constellation can be found, and how to properly sneak up on a fish when you are spearfishing. A very usefull skill for me im sure! I had breakfast the next morning with them too. Freshly caught Butterfish and NZ sweet corn. I can't ask for a better way to have spent my new years than this, and I'm sad still to have had to leave them. When somthing is so absolutely perfect you tend to try to make the feeling last forever. If I ever feeling down in the future, I have this memory nuggest to pull out of the bin and toss around.

Tony, Maniah, Kare and yours truelyThat grassy area between the trees is where I set-up camp. You can walk down to the lagoons from there and swim.

The view across Lottin pointto the other end of this land.

**Maniah is my guess on how to spell Tony and Kare's son's name. I didn't actually get a spelling, but if it's like some other things down here I think thats how it's spelled. So this is a disclaimer that if anyone know differently, please let me know.