Terminal Velocity

Freefalling

I love flying – the acceleration of the take off, watching the world disappear below you, a couple of drinks, a bit of lunch and the thrill of coming in to land at a new destination. But one thing Boeing and Airbus don’t usually offer airlines as an optional extra is to cut a whopping great hole in the side of the plane so people can throw themselves out of it.

Besides, who would want to? I mean, it’s a long way up, and falling from such a great height would be ridiculous, right?

Once again, Queenstown has got hold of me.

15,000ft departure…

It seems just about anyone on the backpacking and travelling circuit, be them the barely-20 gap year students, the 30-something career-break grafters or those who,somehow, have just found themselves on the other side of the world, have managed to get a photo of themselves plummeting towards earth from a plane.

It’s almost become a rite of passage for anyone spending a long period of time overseas, as if passport control at Heathrow won’t let anyone back into the UK unless their Facebook profile picture shows them attached to a parachute. I’m even beginning to wonder if British Airways will start introducing a warning not to jump out of the doors as part of the pre-flight safety briefing before long, such is the number of people who are members of the skydive club over here.

Its easy to see why, especially around Australia and New Zealand, with an almost endless number of companies set up to take the paying public up in the skies, only to throw them out of an aircraft.

I must admit, a skydive is one of those things that I had on my ‘to do’ list. Unlike the bungy jump, which I always said I would leave well alone- until this week anyway – dropping like a stone from an aeroplane did strangely appeal to me. And when you’re surrounded by snow capped mountains, a huge, beautifully dark blue lake, alpine forest and scenery to die for, the urge to see Queenstown from above – suspended below a sheet of space-age material – takes over.

A tandem skydiver landing at Nzone

And who better than one of the industry leaders, who have been in the skydiving business longer than any other in Queenstown, to be the ones to take you up to 15,000 feet before sending you on the express route back to the ground. Nzone boasts an impeccable safety record, going above and beyond all statutory industry regulations when it comes to those who take your pictures and strap themselves to you while you fall back to Earth. It was peace of mind for me.

The dropzone

Its natural to be afraid, and as I arrived at the drop zone, a short drive from the main town, I could feel the nerves starting to build. I’d had some time to get my head around the fact I was about to jump from an aircraft, but hearing one of the staff say ‘right, are you all ready to jump out of a plane,’ really does make you wake up and smell the coffee. And when you see the aircraft sitting there, waiting to whisk you up beyond the clouds, it suddenly all feels very real.

Speaking of clouds, they are a bit of a problem when it comes to this daredevil activity – I was actually booked to make my jump yesterday, but the whole area was plagued by low-level cloud and poor visibility. It’s one thing making a jump and landing on a target site, its another thing if you can’t actually see where you’re aiming for.

The weather was fine!

Thankfully, the clouds were breaking up and promising to clear for the latter part of the morning. I was met by Flip, real name Philippa Collins, who it turns out used to be the early breakfast presenter on Capital FM, as well as a continuity announcer for Sky One. We suddenly went into ‘media’ chat about who we might know in the industry, as it turns out Philippa has also worked for a large number of local stations. She told me how she moved here five years ago, fell in love with New Zealand and has now settled, even gaining citizenship.

“Sometimes I do a bit of voice work here and get behind the microphone and miss it, but then I know that I love the life I have here,” she says.

With Flip, former Capital FM presenter

And one of the things she loves, aside from the fresh air, stunning mountain backdrop and a fun-filled lifestyle, is seeing up to 200 people a day drop out of a plane high above the Nzone offices. With the first group up – and very quickly down – Flip ushers me into the parachute packing area, where I’m kitted up with the jump suit, gloves and hat.

Packing the ‘chutes

“Hey, I’m Mira, you’re jumping with me today.”

The outstretched hand from the tall, smiling and relaxed guy, dressed in his bright red jump suit and very much the calming influence I needed, helped to relax me. Mira – short for Miraslav – is from the Czech Republic, and has been jumping from planes for around nine years. Its enough to reassure me I’m in safe hands.

“Right, you need to make yourself into a banana,” is the advice from the pre-flight briefing.

“Keep your legs together, bend them up, arch your back and keep your head up all the way through the freefall. Just like a banana.”

I run through it in my head. I’m sure that when I’m dropping through the sky, it will all fall into place, but I practice just to be sure.

Ready to go!

By now, the cloud is clearing by the minute, and the sun is breaking through more and more. I’m glad – while it feels like I’m about to put my life on the line, at least the scenery will be good to look at.

With a final check of my harness, a group of us are walked to the aircraft. It’s a Cessna Grand Caravan, known as a Supervan 900, specially made for skydiving. It’s a turboprop capable of climbing really high, really quickly – around 4,000ft a minute to be precise – and you can get a fair few people in there. Among them, a few people who are to jump from 12,000 feet, before we continue the ascent to our 15,000ft altitude.

Our plane

With the aircraft engine running, there wasn’t much time to think about what I was about to do. I climbed onboard and followed Mira. The floor of the plane is padded, and there are no seats – you just shuffle along and sit in two lines, almost like you’re about to do that Superman song by Black Lace (you know, the ‘spray’, ‘comb your hair’ thing)

Comedy dance routines couldn’t be further from my mind as I watched the see-through door being rolled down over the opening in the fuselage. My one escape route to terra firma had been closed off – there was no going back. I could feel Mira adjusting the buckles and straps on my harness, double checking it was attached properly. I’m facing the back of the aircraft, but just behind me I could hear the pilot talking about the drop site.

“We’d like a one mile warning,” came a call from one of the tandem instructors. In front of me, my cameraman for the next half an hour was getting waves and smiles from me. I sense the engine noise increasing, and feel as the wheels begin rolling along the grass. This is it – the next time I have my feet on solid ground, I will have fallen to it from a plane.

Grab a parachute, we’re off!

I look outside the window and watch as a grassy bank starts passing faster and faster. The turboprop engine reaches a scream just a couple of metres away, powering us up into the air. My cameraman captures the moment. Mira pats me on the shoulder and shows me his altimetre, indicating how far we have already climbed into the sky. 2,000ft already, and we’ve only just left the ground.

I can feel my nerves building, and look around the aircraft. There are similar nervous smiles all around from the rest of my group booked onto the flight. The tandem instructors are clearly in their element, looking forward to what for them is the day job. Up towards the back of the plane, the first jumpers are putting on their hats and goggles in readiness. Outside, the wings have been surrounded by mountains, the brilliant white snow that has topped them in recent days and weeks gliding alongside us. I can’t help but smile at the most incredible scenery I am flying through.

“We’re just coming up to 12,000ft, so the first jumpers are about to go,” says Mira in my ear and showing me his altitude gadget on his wrist.

We level out and the throttle to the engine is cut. It feels like we’re floating compared to the high-powered, rapid ascent we’ve just made from the ground. The see-through door is pulled open, filling the cabin with noise and wind that blows across our faces. The first jumper shuffles her way to the door, and within seconds, she and her instructor have disappeared. The next one shuffles along the floor. Another girl begins to scream as it dawns on her that she’s about to move towards the door.

I watch as the next jumper has her head pulled back into her instructor’s shoulder, and in an instant, they’re gone. There’s a part of me that’s horrified at how quickly they disappear. It doesn’t quite feel right to watch two people vanish through an open door in an aircraft like that.

There’s more screams from the final 12k jumper as her feet dangle over the edge of the plane. I hear someone tell her to keep her head back. A few more nervous screams, and then silence. The door closes. The first jumpers have gone.

The throttle increases again and we begin climbing further. I’m told to put my hat and goggles on. I feel my teeth start chattering – I can’t make out whether its nerves or the cold that’s causing it. I can feel the effects of the thin air on my breathing, as the reduced oxygen levels this high up force me to take deeper breaths. Mira tries to calm me, sensing my nerves.

“Deep breaths will relax your body,” he says, before motioning me to move forward.

I look outside – it’s the sort of view you normally get high up on an airliner. We’re reaching 15,000ft, about half the cruising altitude of your holiday flight to Spain. And it looks like it. New Zealand’s south island sprawls out below, Lake Wakatipu dominating the view. The mountains that towered above me just a few minutes ago now look like ripples on the land, the town of Queenstown a small patch of grey buildings. Inside, the photographers and instructors are all high-fiving each other, wishing each other well for their dives. I’m encouraged to join in.

I can feel the butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I keep telling myself its safe, but for the second time in a week, my body is starting to fight against the human instinct of survival. Except this time I am not in control. When it came to the bungy, it was my decision when to leap. I was petrified. Today, my life is in someone else’s hands – they have a back-up parachute, years of experience and a calming personality, but this is still a daunting challenge. Why am I about to do this? I’m in a perfectly good plane, one with wings, an engine and wheels that in a few minutes will be safely back on the ground. There’s an element of risk, a danger, a slight chance that I could be that one freak statistic of when it all went wrong. And then I think back to some very wise words I spotted in the Nzone office.

“Why climb a great mountain that does not know you exist? Why run a marathon? Deep in the human consciousness is a pervasive need for a logical universe that makes sense. But the real universe is always one step beyond logic. We do these things. It is something deep within us, the need to feed our voracious appetite for danger and glory. It is the spirit of man.”

The door opens. The green light beside it can mean only one thing. The rest of the group disappears into the bright blue sky beyond. I’m the last one onboard the plane to go.

Life on the edge…of a plane!

“Legs out, tuck them up underneath the plane, don’t let go of your straps until I tap you on the shoulder, and remember to stay in the banana. And have fun.”

They were the last words from Mira as he shuffles me forwards. My cameraman has performed some kind of Spiderman act and stuck himself to the side of the aircraft, the cameras recording my once-in-a-lifetime moment sticking up from the top of his helmet. Being harnessed to Mira in front means I’m the one who has to stick my legs outside first. And then I get to look straight down.

It’s a long way up. A very long way up. And it’s a perspective that I have never seen before. Try as you might on an airliner, you can never look straight down at the ground, nomatter how hard you squash your head against the window. Mira moves forward and I’m positioned right on the edge. A quick photo, and then there’s a couple of pushes from behind. Its Mira leaning forward on his count.

And then we tumble out.

Tumble and fall

For a split second I feel a falling sensation before realising I’m out of the aircraft. My eyes are filled with the deep blues, greens and browns of the landscape below me, while the dazzling whites of the clouds and mountain tops are bright to look at. I lose my bearings and have no idea which way I’m pointing. The realisation that there is nothing below me is an odd one – it feels so unnatural. In a strange way, it almost feels as if I’m laying on a huge scenic canvas below. The wind howls around my body as our speed towards it continues to pick up. I feel it lifting my goggles slightly, blowing around my eyes. For a second or two, its hard to keep them open.

Heading back to Earth

Just 12 seconds after dropping like a stone from the aircraft, we’re travelling at 200km/hr – 125mph – yet it hardly feels like I’m moving. I know I am, the deafening noise and forces I’m feeling confirm it, yet we’ve reached the moment where the force of gravity is balanced out by the drag of our bodies falling through the air. Our acceleration has stopped. For the first time in my life, I’ve reached terminal velocity.

TV

We stabilise, and already the plane we’ve just left is well out of sight. My cameraman suddenly appears and I try to give a smile. Its pretty hard to focus with so much going on, so much to look at and so much to savour.

Over the dropzone

The cameraman holds out his hand, reaching out for mine. I grab it and link fingers for a few seconds, before he glides away again. Mira somehow turns us around and we try again, this time getting hold of each other. We start spinning around, and I start laughing. This is incredible.

Link up!

We loop around each other again, dancing around in the beautiful blue sky. We’re laughing in the face of gravity, every bit of fear and self-preservation urge in my body has been proved wrong so far.

Wham.

The brakes go on

Suddenly, it goes silent. I’m yanked hard upwards as Mira releases our parachute, quickly killing our speed. As quickly as the freefall started, it seemed to be over, yet somehow we’d been falling like a stone for 60 seconds through around 10,000ft. The Remarkables mountains are once again alongside me as we sail around in the air, looking around and enjoying the view. I’m laughing again at how fantastic the experience is.

“And so this is your office?” I ask Mira.

“Yes, yes it is,” he replies, clearly happy with the view from his window.

Below me, the colourful parachute canopies of those jumpers who left the plane moments before me drift around in circles. The brown-roofed buildings of the Nzone offices are growing ever nearer as I try to take in as much of the view as I can. I’m struggling to hear much though, aside from squeaks and clicks in my ears as they struggle to deal with the rapid change in pressure. It borders on painful, but the adrenalin coursing through my veins helps to keep it bearable.

“Keep your feet and legs up when we come into land,” Mira tells me, getting me to practice as we drift around the landing site.

“That’s it, just like that.”

Coming in to land

We turn right and make our final approach to the grassy area and watch as the fence disappears underneath me. I listen to the wind as it ripples through the canopy above us and hold my feet up as we head towards the ground, waiting for a bump that never arrives – it was a perfect landing.

Down to earth without a bump

Considering the incredible speeds of just a couple of minutes ago, the height we’ve dropped and the rate of descent, we touched down on the grass with about as much impact as a feather. Beautiful.

Mira unclips himself from me. I stand up knowing I’ve got a huge smile on my face. I shake his hand and give him a manly hug for getting me down safely and in one piece. He’s already gathering his parachute back up in readiness for his next jump. I’m already envious.

Back on terra firma with Mira

I looked up at the sky. The clouds had cleared and the day had turned into perfect conditions for skydiving. Another group of people were walking out to an aircraft, about to experience the same heady mix of excitement, fear, acceleration and serenity within the space of just a few minutes. A trip to terminal velocity, to the fine line that divides life from death, to the boundaries of the human mind and to the instinct that tells you ‘don’t do it’.

Amid all that is an unbelievable rush, an underlying urge to push mind over matter, a thrill that only a select few people will ever experience. Those who have skydived. As the company says here, there is no such word as try – there is only do, or did not do.

Embrace the fear, Nzone suggests. I’m glad I did.

For more information, pricing or to book, visit the Nzone website at www.nzone.biz or call 0800 376 796 in New Zealand

‘You might feel a few bumps’

‘If you suffer from seasickness, you might want to move away from the front of the ship’ came the ominous call from a crew member as we pulled out of Wellington harbour.

It was soon clear why – and about 40 seconds into my video here explains all.

With some of the roughest seas I’ll probably ever see, the Cook Strait lived up to its reputation as being one of the most notorious stretches of water for mariners in the world.

And being from Grimsby, famous for its fishing and seafaring history, this Mariner was loving every second.

It was a bit choppy

While most of the ship was retching into sick bags, strategically placed around the decks, I was with a few hardier individuals at the front of the ship, watching through windows as we crashed into wave after wave.

Lapping it up like a rollercoaster, we stood and watched as we sailed up the face of huge waves, before rolling down the back and crashing into the next, throwing tonnes of water up and over the ship.

Come on England!

It’s been a late finish and very early start in the past few hours, having been up late seeing out blog duties, before waking up at 4am to watch the England versus France football match in the European Cup. Thanks to the time difference, which means I have to be up at the crack of dawn to watch any of the games, it was the first match I’d seen of the championship.

My hostel, Nomads, had put signs up around the accommodation advertising the match was being shown live in the bar below the rooms, and there was a good 20 or so England fans watching along with me. A good turnout, considering the time, and there was a nod to the few who managed to down a couple of pints before the sun had even thought about rising above the horizon. I stuck to a cup of tea and a bit of toast – after all, what else does an Englishman need when he’s watching his national team?

Decent turnout, considering the time!

It’s fair to say it wasn’t the most exciting game of football, but we all agreed we’d accept a 1-1 draw with France before the match. I gathered my bags, had a quick shower and jumped onboard the ferry shuttle bus that was waiting outside the hostel for me.

This is the only part of the journey that I am pretty much on my own for. Touring New Zealand with the Magic Bus makes everything really straightforward when it comes to going from town to town on the islands, but the buses and drivers tend to stay on their designated land masses.

A familiar ferry to some…

Therefore, I booked myself onto the 8.15am Interislander ferry, one of three huge ships that make the regular three hour, 58 mile crossings from Wellington to Picton, a small town on the tip of the south island.

I noticed that the bow of my ship, Kaitaki, had a more familiar name below it, and one that many will recognise. The paint barely hid the raised ‘Pride of Cherbourg’ that had once been emblazoned on the side – the ferry was one of the main P&O cruise ferries that would cross between Portsmouth and Cherbourg before the route was scrapped a few years ago. At some point, the ferry made the epic sailing from the south coast of England to the deep blue waters of New Zealand, and now makes a couple of sailings a day between both islands in the country. Its still registered to Portsmouth, the city name still painted on everything from the stern to the life belts and lifeboats.

Leaving Wellington…and relative calm

In need of a bit of sleep, I found my way to the reclining chairs, hoping for a good nap before arriving in Picton. The nap never happened. I’d noticed that even while we were at the berth in Wellington, the ship was noticeably pitching even though we were stationary. The waves were already crashing onto the sea defences along the shore, and this was the sheltered harbour area. I had a feeling the crossing might be eventful, confirmed when one of the crew warned us to move away from the front if any of us suffered from motion sickness. I decided to take the chance.

After a bit of fresh air on deck, I watched as Wellington disappeared behind me before the strong wind forced me inside. It was there, looking out of the front windows, that I saw what was ahead. Waves were breaking for as far as the eye could see, and already we were rising and falling on the few that had managed to maintain some height through the harbour wall.

Soon we hit the big ones – smashing down into one huge wave after another. The first time it launched gallons of water over our window, there were gasps and laughter. Hitting the waves at 90 degrees, it was perfect for wave bashing, and there were a fair few of us enjoying the ride.

“The upper and outer decks have been closed for safety reasons,” came one announcement as the swell began to throw all 22,365 tonnes of ship around like a toy in a bathtub.

“Due to the inclement conditions, please only move around the ship if absolutely necessary,” came another.

At one point, every wave we hit was jolting the ship, the bow throwing up a huge white wave and spray every time it smashed into the next wave. People had noticed the spectacle out in the front, and were arriving to take their own photos through the window. Suddenly I had forgotten I was so tired.

Calmer waters of the Marlborough Sounds

After about an hour, we entered the calm serenity of Marlborough Sounds, a beautiful, and thankfully sheltered stretch of water that leads to Picton. Rich in nature and wildlife, we passed the sad sight of conservationists and wildlife experts trying to rescue a whale that had been washed onto the shore. A pod of dolphins effortlessly leaped out of the water alongside the vessel, while beautiful forests, mountains and greenery surrounded the sailing into Picton, a picturesque harbour town.

Most of the passengers had recovered by now, thanks to the calm waters and a lack of wind, and many lined the outer decks to watch as the scenery glides by.

Finding out why the crossing is known as one of the most picturesque in the world

It was still bitingly cold, but enjoyable all the same. Shortly before entering Picton, the ferry is forced to make a sharp s-bend before the town comes into view.

S Bend for ships

I spent a night at the Sequoia backpackers, being warmed by the cosy log fire and looking forward to some free chocolate pudding, a bit of a perk supplied by the hostel. It would have been lovely had I actually got hold of some – I was eating what has almost now become a nightly bowl of pasta when it was served, but had some put aside for later. Unfortunately, a group of German backpackers decided they wanted seconds and helped themselves to mine. I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle of saying anything, and settled for a couple of biscuits with a cup of tea instead.

After a couple of days of doing my own thing, it was time to rejoin the Magic Bus for my south island adventure. I met Murray, one of the drivers, at the ferry terminal for the short drive to Nelson. One of those also rejoining the bus was Mel, my German friend who travelled with us to Taupo on the north island. After a few days there, she’d made her way south and our paths had crossed again. It was good to see another friendly face, and we laughed about the ferry crossing.

“Oh, mine was lovely, very flat,” she said. Typical!

Marlborough wine region vineyards

The road to Nelson took us through the wine-growing region of Marlborough, and we drove past an almost endless line of wineries and vineyards, the browning leaves being the tell-tale sign that harvest season has just been and gone.

Arriving into Nelson late in the afternoon, Murray told us that a great spot to watch the sunset is from the centre of New Zealand, which finds itself on the top of a hill in one of the town’s parks.

“It’ll take you half an hour or two to get there, but it’s a nice walk and the views are worth it,” he said, just before I jumped off his bus.

I quickly learned that night, as I tried to reach the summit of the hill before the sun set behind mountains in the Abel Tasman national park, that if someone tells you a ‘half hour or two’ in New Zealand, it probably means about an hour. And a ‘nice walk’ can mean it’s a mighty steep hill to the top.

Understatements must be a part of school lessons here – and something the captain of the ferry must have mastered for his ‘a few bumps’ assessment.

The view from the centre of New Zealand

Murray was spot on about the view though – a panorama overlooking the town, with the flat calm sea bordered by mountains rising up from the national park on the horizon. Behind me, a valley through mountains being framed by a pink and purple sky. A plaque on the ground marks the centre of New Zealand, with a pin-like monument marking the spot.

Dead centre

My photo was taken by a couple who were also admiring the view. I recognised an English accent and asked if they were visiting. It turns out they are a couple of artists, originally from the south coast but who now live in Nelson, and contemplating a move to Byron Bay in Australia. It prompted much chat about how I had been there, our collective thoughts on the place, and discussion about the beauty of New Zealand. I’m pretty sure their names were Andrew and Stephanie, although thanks to yet more problems with my iPhone – its locked itself, complete with all my notes – their names are from memory. I know they said they would check out my site, so if I’m wrong, I apologise!

A name I’ll probably never forget though is that of Soap, our bus driver for the next few days. I’ve deliberately called him our bus driver, because on the first day’s journey with him from Nelson, he made a point of stating he’s a tour guide that happens to drive a bus. He soon changed from tour guide (or bus driver) to that of a good mate – from the moment he welcomed me onboard the Magic Bus, there was a great relationship between him and the dozen or so other people who he was about to tour the south island with.

Soap, who happens to drive a bus

Soap is someone who loves his job, and showing people from around the world his country. Born in Christchurch but brought up in London, he’s an avid Chelsea fan but supports all things New Zealand, his home. He’s around my age, but done some incredible things with his life, from working in security to driving rushes footage around from the Wolverine movie as it was being filmed. He likes a good laugh too, and as we passed a road sign, explained the story behind an orange teddy bear on his dashboard.

It’s the story of slumps – a cross between a possum and a wombat that only comes out at night, and two Dutch girls he once had on his bus, who he’d nicknamed Tango and Sprite because of their hair colour.

He’d explained to them that the large orange signs you occasionally see by the roadside, with the word ‘SLUMPS’ plastered across them, were a warning to drivers to be on the lookout for the rare animal. The two girls were taken in, and spent the next few days trying to research on the internet about this crazy New Zealand animal called a slump, and wanting to see what they look like.

Soap’s slump

Of course, they’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker, and Soap ran with it for a couple of days. Slump signs simply warn of dips in the road, but for a while Tango and Sprite believed there was a secret animal few people knew of. When they’d been put out of their misery, they gave Soap a bright orange bear. On his tummy are the words ‘I am a slump’. So now, Soap has his very own slump – and a lot of other momentos and bears – that make the circuits around the south island with him.

Early morning cloud lifting

We were on our way to Greymouth, and by now we’re really making tracks through the mountains towards the south end of New Zealand. The road winds its way along rivers and through the Lower Buller Gorge, and we’re able to watch from our seats as the beautiful vistas unfold in front of us.

One of Soap’s little games – a competition to see who can get a photo of them waving along with the Magic sign in the mirror. Win!

“Hey Peter, you should try to keep track of how many single track bridges there are on the way to Wanaka,” Soap calls to me from the drivers’ seat. I have no idea why he’s just called me Peter, but I let it go. Afterall, he’s got a lot of new people to get to know.

There were a couple of stops along the way, including one where Soap demonstrated how tight some of the roads were by letting us walk ahead and watch as he squeezed his bus along the narrow road at Hawks Crag. Here the road has been chiseled out from solid rock, leaving some overhanging the carriageway.

A tight squeeze for the Magic Bus!

“If you hear a loud noise, engine breaking, coming from around the corner, its probably a logging truck. Please get out of the way, because they don’t stop,” was his wise advice ringing in our ears as we made our way from the coach to the pickup point on the other side of the pass.

Rocks were the focus of the day, with a later stop at Punakaiki, home of the pancake rocks, an outcrop of stone which has left even geologists baffled as to how they were created. As the name suggests, they look like stacks of pancakes, thin layers of rock laying on top of one another with gaps between.

Pancake Rocks

Its believed the rocks have been formed in this extraordinary way thanks to layers of weaker rock and matter being eroded away by the ocean and battering of waves.

Pancakey

But while the rocks are strange to look at, there is also another aspect of the stop which demonstrated the full power of nature. Within the rocks, there are blowholes and caverns, shapes and crevices formed by the erosive forces of the ocean. And as the huge waves roll in, the sound of them pounding the air from those spaces below the land echoes around the area – a whole range of deep, loud booms that make the ground shudder, such is the force below.

Pancake toppings

We pulled into Greymouth just before sunset, and Soap called me Peter again. I guess he’ll see my name on the passenger sheet later and correct himself for tomorrow.

In the meantime, after braving the weather as it got colder the further we travelled south, it was time for some new additions to the backpack. We head to the Franz Josef glacier tomorrow, and while I might be able to grin and bear the cold at sea level, it will be a whole new ball game up a mountain on umpteen million tonnes of ice. A trip to local outdoor clothing superstore was in order…

Time to finally wrap up warm!

The endless days of hot sun and lazy days by the sea in Thailand seem like another lifetime ago.

Facing Fear – Bungy Style

I’ve just done something that I have always said I would never, ever do.

Its something that I always dismissed as being for people made of tougher stuff than me – those with nerves of steel and guts to match. Adrenalin junkies, extreme sportsmen, mad people, call them whatever. But certainly not me.

For me, it’s a seemingly death-defying act that appears to push the boundaries between life and mortality to a limit that I’m just not prepared to take. I like being in control of my own fate and my own destiny too much to put my life, my future and my beating heart in the hands of a glorified elastic band.

Eeek

And then along came Queenstown, the adrenaline capital of the world. A place where fun, excitement and exhilaration is the order of the day. A place where, for reasons I am yet to understand, I thought it would be perfectly normal to throw myself from a suspended gondola and dive head first into a canyon.

I introduce the AJ Hackett Nevis Bungy.

Yep, that little blob is me!

At this stage, I need to supply a few facts as this isn’t your average jump from a crane in a backstreet pub carpark. This is the real deal – the birthplace of the bungy, the home of the pioneers of the sport, and a 134 metre drop over the Nevis River that flows below a purpose built bungy pod.

134 metres. The highest bungy jump inAustralasia, and for that matter, one of the highest in the world.

Add another half on top…

It’s a figure I have been torturing myself with over the past day or so. Grimsby Dock Tower, visible for miles around Lincolnshire, is only 94 metres tall. Add almost half again and its about the same distance that you drop. The Humber Bridge towers reach a height of 155 metres – I have been up them, and can’t imagine the thought of throwing myself from something that height.

Yet somehow, I am.

I spent most of this morning with my stomach churning with nerves. On top, my head was pounding from a night out with my Magic Bus group. Our driver Soap had given us a Queenstown party to remember. Even the Irish rugby team turned up to join in the fun after their dramatic last minute loss against the All Blacks 24 hours ago.

Cian Healy, one of the Irish rugby team who joined us for a night out

It was, most definitely, a night to remember. There will be more about that in a future post, however – with a lot planned this week, I’m taking a break from the chronological norm and hoping to document my time in the adventure centre of New Zealand day by day.

Some of our Magic Bus gang with Irish back rower Chris Henry

So how, after being so resolutely against doing any kind of bungy jump in my lifetime, have I ended up on my way to the mountains so I can throw myself towards a river from a ridiculous height?

It all started when my bus tour visited the Kawarau Bridge Bungy, the place where bungy jumping all began. Its home to the original 43 metre bungy jump that was to become the first commercial jump in the world, thanks to two Kiwis who met while skiing in a nearby resort. Their names were Alan John (AJ) Hackett and Henry van Ash.

The original bungy bridge where it all began

Inspired by watching ‘land diving’ by people on the islands of Vanuatu, they developed the stretchy latex rubber chord that was named the Bungy, after the stretchy bands that were often used to strap items to the roof of a car. After some high profile leaps from landmarks such as the Eiffel Tower in Paris, they demonstrated that their newfound sport, and chords, were safe.

Their leap of faith spawned an activity that is now going from strength to strength, and watching the video of jumps over the years, and hearing how safe and enjoyable the leap towards ground can be, my mind started to wander. Perhaps it would be quite good to do one. After all, Queenstown is the home of the bungy. I might only ever be here once – I might leave having had an opportunity to do a jump with the company that invented it, right at the sport’s birthplace, and regret it when I’m back home.

And I hate that nagging ‘I wish I had’ thought.

Checking into the Base hostel in the town, there was a sign on a wall. It says you’re not allowed to leave Queenstown without having done something crazy to write home about. My decision was made.

AJ Hackett Bungy offices in Queenstown

And so I made my way to check in at the offices in the town centre, butterflies in my stomach and already feeling nauseous. In the back of my mind, that awful thought of ‘what if’. What if the chord snaps? What if there’s a problem with the harness? What if I’m that one statistic for whom it all went wrong. The prospect of a terrifying few seconds of realising my time is up before gravity and a rocky riverbed colluded to do their worst.

Its all part of the fear, facing up to your own mortality and wondering, as I prepared to leave my hostel, whether it could be the last time I’ll experience the warm spray of a shower or the minty freshness of brushing my teeth.  I guess these thoughts are part of the reason why the human species puts itself through such incredible extremes for a thrill. There’s always a chance something can go wrong, and yes its frightening, but the sense of achievement and the rush of adrenaline will always outstrip those nervewracking concerns.

I’d not eaten, and I didn’t feel hungry, but knew I should get something. Afterall, it might be the last time I experience it. It might possibly be my last supper. So what did I go for? Why, the McDonalds loose change menu of course, but for once I struggled to eat the double cheeseburger. My nerves were definitely getting the better of me.

Check-in at the Bungy

I arrived at the AJ Hackett check-in centre, where the friendly and reassuring staff told me it was completely normal to feel exactly how I quite clearly looked. I was finding it difficult to speak properly, my mind racing away in my head, as I signed the disclaimer. I was weighed, my 85kg bulk being an important factor in the choice of bungy chord. My hand was covered in permanent marker with numbers and codes for the jump and photos. I have also been put forward for a bungy swing, taking the sport to another level by introducing the largest swing in the world to the area.

Snazzy 4×4 Bungy bus!

Before long, I’m being called to the special 4×4 bus that will take me to the jump site. There’s a Dutch guy called Dennis, also heading to the Nevis Bungy. He’s equally as nervous as me. There was little conversation as we both watched the mountains gliding by the window, before we turned off the main road and headed up a dusty, rocky track. Above it, my first glimpse of the high wire and pod. My fears reach another level.

“First jump bro?” asks one of the assistants at the reception building on top of the mountain.

‘Yes’ I nervously nod back, sucking air between my teeth as I look through the windows and see the suspended jump pod swaying slightly in the breeze.

“You’ll be fine mate,” came the reply as he pulled out a harness and asked me to pull it up and around my legs.

‘Make sure it won’t come off’

I look at the mass of buckles, clips and straps and know that my life, in a few minutes time, will depend on them.

We walk outside and I get my first proper look at the jump – and of the horrifying height we’re at over the fast flowing Nevis River below. The third highest jumping platform in the world, built at a cost of some $1.5-million, is suspended by high tension cables in front of me. I’m given a briefing about how to jump and how to prepare for recovery. At this point, the thought of coming back up couldn’t be further from my mind – the prospect of stepping out into the emptiness below me is still the big one that occupies my brain. It is joined by a fleeting, morbid thought that this could be where I meet my end. After all, I’ve seen those videos where the bungy chord snaps. I try to channel those thoughts and images out.

Give over!

I’m ushered towards the basket transporter to the platform. It starts out slow, leaving the cliff and mountain behind, the land quickly falling away below me. The adverts around town say ‘don’t look down’. I can’t do anything but. It still hasn’t sunk in that this is all real.

Nearly there – the point of no return

The door opens as we arrive at the platform. The jump crew unclip my safety line and connect it to the pod, before I’m welcomed inside. A glass floor provides yet another reminder of just how far I’m about to plummet. Somehow I’m selected as the first one to go. I know there’s no way back. Chicken out now, and I’d never live it down. I had made a point of not broadcasting the fact I was signed up for a bungy, so that I didn’t have to put my hands up if I bailed. The only people i’d told, a couple of hours before, were my parents.

“Don’t die,” my dad had reassuringly told me.

Aside from the embarrassment, I would always be disappointed in myself. I’ve done a few fairly brave things through my work – flying with an aerobatics team, jumping from a lifeboat into the Humber, being winched up by a helicopter, that kind of thing – but this was a whole new ball game.

Uh oh

“Just take a seat for me buddy,” I’m asked, before getting into a wobbly chair. My feet are raised and placed into holders, while two padded straps are placed around my ankles. My harness and clips are checked and double checked, which is reassuring. Then my feet are fastened together and attached to the bungy chord, that from now on is quite literally my lifeline.

Slightly worse than the dentist chair!

“Smile for the camera,” I’m told, before a flash above me.

“You’re all set buddy, up you get,” I’m told.

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I get to my feet. They’re buckled together, but I can still shuffle forward.

“Keep going mate, keep moving,” I’m told by the crew, clearly keeping the motivation going to prevent any chance of me backing out.

I shuffle onto the patterned steel pad that juts out from the pod. Its small, about the size of a small bath mat, and the bungy chord was moving around near my shin as I inched closer to the drop. There was a black line on the edge, and beyond, a straight fall to the bottom of the valley.

Keep moving…deep breaths

I stood there, looking down against all the advice i’d been given, staring out and taking in the enormity of what I had to do. I was yet again asked to smile for the camera. Somehow, I mustered the most nervous smile you’ll probably ever see.

By now, the palms of my hands were sweaty, despite the icy cold wind blowing through the mountains. My heart was pounding, with a strange sensation that I could feel it beating in my throat. I entered that weird tunnel vision sensation, where everything in the background is silenced.

Below me, I can see the river winding around the valley. It’s some 30 metres wide down there, but from where I’m standing, it appears like a babbling stream. I look at the trees and rocks way down there. They look so small. There are no cars or people to give me any kind of perspective, but in a way that helps. I ask myself a question that has troubled me all morning. What am I doing?

Somehow I have to jump from this, and its not just a little step. I’ve been told to leap out as if it was a dive into a swimming pool. I don’t even like doing that, and at most it’s a couple of metres. Somehow I’ve got to also keep my arms out stretched.

From now on it was me, my thoughts, my search for courage and a fight against every human instinct I’ve been born with to somehow find it in me to jump.

Cheese!

“Ok man, a big dive on one,” came a voice from behind me.

I didn’t feel ready. It’s too early to go yet.

“Two”

Not yet. I can’t do it just now. Its too quick. I need to think. I hesitated.

“Wait, wait,” I muttered.

“Don’t wait around man, use my countdown,” I’m told.

He’s right. The more I stand here, the more I’m going to think about it. I shuffled from side to side. Hesitate again, and there’s a chance I’ll back out. But it’s a leap into the unknown. Will the rebound throw me around? What does the acceleration feel like? Will I know if it goes wrong?

“Three,” starts the count again behind me.

This is it. Now or never.

“Two”

Deep breath. Focus. Look ahead. Arms out.

“One”

I looked out at the horizon, gritted my teeth, and somehow found enough inside me to crouch down and launch myself away from the pod. Instantly the falling sensation takes hold. My ears are filled with the increasing sound of howling wind as I accelerate towards the ground. I feel my eyes bulge and my face contort with fear. Genuine fear. And it was all captured on video:


From deep inside me, I let out a scream – a completely unintentional yell. A loud, fright-filled shout that filled and echoed around the valley. A noise I cannot recall ever making before. It was my body’s release. They say bungy jumping is all from the neck up. Right now, my brain thinks its all about to end.

Look out below!

I feel the wind rushing around my body, my hair flapping around my head. I can feel the arc I have made through the air. I’m in freefall – a full eight seconds of freefall – as I hurtle towards the river that’s growing ever bigger in front of me. By now I’ve hit around 128km/hr and there’s no sign of slowing down.

Unreal

And then something clicked inside me. This wasn’t frightening anymore. It was an incredible feeling, one that suddenly I could enjoy. The adrenaline had kicked in, and this high speed, freefalling rush had hold of me.

Into the abyss

The valley sides were whizzing past by my head and I’m still looking straight down before I felt the gradual pull as the bungy chord trailing behind me starts to do its job. This was another part I’d been dreading – it can look so abrupt when the chord twangs you back up.

Yet this was a gradual, enjoyable deceleration. The wind grew quieter, the speed and falling sensation slowed right down. And I’m going back up.

“Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh” I remember screaming out.

I’d done it. I had faced my fear. And it felt incredible.

Gone…

I reached the top of the bounce, and once again I was on the way back down to earth. The speed and falling sensation picked up again. This time I could enjoy it. I knew I’d be fine. The second phase of the jump, surprisingly, has a greater fall than the first ever bungy from up at Kawarau Bridge. Its another bungy jump of its own. And it did feel like I was on the end of a giant elastic band. It’s a sensational feeling.

Somehow I remembered that I had to release my legs at the top of the next bounce, by curling up and pulling a red chord from near my left calf. I saw it release the clips holding me upside down, itself a daunting prospect, and the jolt made it feel like I could fall free. Thankfully its all down to a brilliant design which means I could be winched back to the pod upright. I stayed still and soaked up what I had just done, taking in the scenery around me, laughing to myself with relief and with a giant smile on my face.

I had pushed myself beyond a limit that I never thought I could do, yet somehow I achieved it.

Back at the pod, it was nice to feel my feet safely back on the platform.

“That was a real nice dive you did there mate. Was that your first time?” asked one of the team, handing me back my camera after getting a great shot of me jumping. I looked at the screen and couldn’t believe the person on it was me.

I watched Dennis make his jump, marvelling at how he turned into a tiny dot 134 metres below me.

On a rope, on a rope, Dennis hanging on a rope…

On an adrenaline-fuelled high, there was one more task I had ahead of me. The Nevis Swing – the world’s largest swing. It launches you from one side of the Nevis Canyon to the other in a matter of seconds. There was a crew of people eager to take me over to it, and I was led by Donal, from Kilkenny in Ireland.

“My dad used to work in Grimsby, sorting peas,” he tells me. It really does seem you can go to any corner of the globe, and there will always be someone with a link to my home town!

A big swing…

I was introduced to the swing operators, and asked how I wanted to go.

“You’ve done forwards on the bungy, you may as well do something different. Upside down?!” I’m asked.

I might still be pumped up and have adrenaline blasting through my veins, but I wasn’t quite ready to go that far.

“How about backwards, you’ll love it,” I’m asked.

“Why not?” I laughed. Well, its something a bit different.

The guys who spend their lives putting people through hell, all in the name of fun, love their jobs.

“We see it all up here, laughs, tears, terror,” they joke.

Here we go again!

Strapped in, I’m winched over to the drop and told to let go of the ropes otherwise I could hurt my hands.

“You need to put your arms out and keep them out,” says Jesse, who’s operating the swing.

He engages me in conversation before secretly launching me mid-flow. I felt my face contort and heard laughter from the launch team which disappeared into the distance as I was sent tumbling through the air and in an arc across the canyon.

The face says it all!

It was a different type of adrenaline rush, one that I could enjoy much more, but without the same level of personal achievement that you get from forcing yourself to jump from a ledge high above New Zealand’s southern alps.


For that, there is only one thing to do – the Nevis bungy, but the faint hearted, while finding it daunting, I am sure would love the sensation of gliding through the air on the Nevis Swing. Its like the best tree swing you’ve ever been on, a playground swing built for adults. But both of them have one thing in common – the beauty of gravity.

Today I learned that gravity can be fun to play with. I learned that falling from a great height can be strangely enjoyable.

And I learned that had I not visited Queenstown, I would have lived my life without experiencing the awesome feeling of a Bungy.

My life, from today, feels a little bit more complete.

The Nevis Swing team. Cheers guys!

With special thanks to my friends at AJ Hackett Bungy. For more information, latest offers or to book, visit their website at www.bungy.co.nz

Gumboots and a Wellington Hoot

Skiing Kiwi – the weather turns cold

It’s definitely time for some thermals!

Teeth chattering, and wrapped up the best I can with contents of my backpack that was more tropical beach than winter wonderland, I sat with Mem on the Magic Bus waiting for the windows to defrost.

A night out in Taupo

Russ, our driver, and fellow tour mate Thibault, were still inside Taupo’s YHA hostel trying to bring round Taylor, who, after a fairly heavy night that had only ended a couple of hours ago, would probably rather have been anywhere else but trudging through the frost.

Zzzzzzzz

Thankfully for her – and the rest of us, if I’m honest – we were to spend much of the morning in the dark. With thick fog outside, there wasn’t much to see, so a few of us spread out well around the coach and checked our eyelids for gaps for a while, before arriving at the Waitomo Caves.

The caves here are famous for the glow worm, a tiny creature that produces, for its size, a big light. We were driven to a farm and walked along a track, surrounded by some of New Zealand’s famous silver ferns, to a set of stairs leading deep down into the ground.

A national symbol

“Wherever there’s water flowing underground, there will be caves,” said our guide, adding that the caves are a constant 14 degrees Celsius. A cooling relief in the summer, and strangely, some much needed warmth on this cold winter’s day.

As we ventured past a wooden door, we entered the cave, our guide lighting candles every few metres. It was enough to show us our way, but not too much that you couldn’t see the illuminous creatures. It was cold and damp, and as we walked further along in the murky cavern, suddenly we saw something above us.

With the appearance of tiny LED lights, there were dozen’s of them shimmering on the roof of the cave. They weren’t bright, but once our eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, you could see them clearly, clinging to crevices and hiding in gaps between rocks.

You might need to look hard, but they’re there!

Below them, lines of a sticky fluid the glow worms use to catch insects, dubbed a glow worm fishing line. Rather like a single thread of a spiders web hanging straight down from the worm, once a mosquito or fly lands on it, it’s reeled in by the worm and eaten.

“It’s a bit like an alien,” said one of the group.

Glow worms and their fishing lines

As we walked further, thousands of glow worms lit the roof, looking like stars in a dark night sky. It was hard to get photos of them, but thanks to a mini tripod and by turning the flash off, a few of us managed to get a couple of images.

Drink stop

By the time we left the cave, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, with heavy rain and wind spoiling much of the view. We managed to squeeze in a quick stop at a waterfall, offering crystal clear freshwater that is clean enough to drink, before the weather closed in completely, meaning there was very little for us to see in National Park.

As a group, we decided to cook a meal between us and spend the evening relaxing at the YHA hostel in the park. Gustavo and Michelle, a Brazilian couple with us, were nominated to be chefs for the night, after Gustavo made a brave shout a couple of days earlier that he prefers cooking for larger groups of people much more than just for himself and his partner. It didn’t take much for us to persuade him to cook, and we found ourselves drifting around a supermarket collecting ingredients for a chicken stroganoff.

Magic mealtime!

The couple did a brilliant job – lashings of tasty, creamy stroganoff, piles of rice, a few beers and some Jim Beam whisky, infused with honey, rounded off what turned out to be a brilliant, and funny, night.

After three days on the road, it was time for the Magic Bus to head to Wellington, New Zealand’s capital, and where I will spend a few days before crossing over to the south island. It would be a journey that takes most of the day, but as usual, our driver Russ had a couple of stops up his sleeve.

The first was for a bit of wanging.

Now, while that may appear to be strange word for anyone outside of the north of England, welly wanging is infact a highly popular sport here in New Zealand. It goes by the name of gumboot throwing, and the small town of Taihape even has its own purpose-built gumboot throwing field. Russ was prepared with the welly boots (I’m going to stick with the English name for the footwear from now on!) and it was our turn at throwing the welly as far as we could.

What a wanger

Having covered a fair few stories on country shows and fetes over the years back home, I’ve done my fair share of wanging. I’ve quickly learn’t that underarm wanging is hopeless, and usually results in your welly either skimming along the grass and coming to a stop a few metres away, or being launched straight up in the air and putting your head, and everyone around it, at risk of a whack.

Russ had his own game plan – scrunching up the welly top, and throwing it with a strange technique that was a bit like a cross between the javelin and a discus. He did, however, get a fairly impressive bit of distance on the welly.

Next it was our turn.

“Just don’t get it over the fence and on the train line if you can help it. I nearly had one carried away on my last trip,” said Russ, telling us how a bizarre incident led to a flying welly clearing the railings at exactly the same time a goods train was passing by on the neighbouring track. We’ve all heard of ‘leaves on the line’ as an excuse for late trains back home, but ‘gumboots on the line’ would really take the biscuit, even by New Zealand standards.

Another lookout stop

Continuing south, we stopped for breakfast at a café with a small farm at the rear. There was also a small shop, selling crafts, winter hats and a few books. I spotted a relatively recent copy of the Lonely Planet for New Zealand for just $6.50, and decided it was too good a bargain to miss. I took it to the counter and paid.

A minute later, I had wandered outside to find the rest of the bus, only to see everyone petting a couple of goats through a fence. I walked over, and began stroking a lovely white goat before another, with one horn, came over for a bit of attention.

Suddenly, my newly purchased Lonely Planet was yanked from the bench I’d rested it on. I tried to grab it, but it was too late. The hungry one-horned goat had it firmly in his mouth. I somehow knocked it out, and it fell on the ground, only for said goat to grab it again, trying to pull it through the fence. There was a momentary tug-of-war, before both of us lost the fight.

The cover to my almost new Lonely Planet was ripped clean off by the goat, who stood happily munching the colourful glossy cardboard, while everyone else, who for a few seconds had watched the ridiculous escapade as it happened, fell about laughing.

There goes my front cover

“Awww, bro!” said Russ, eyes wide at what he’d just seen.

The guide is well read with lots of marks and notes inside – its clearly been around New Zealand a few times, and inside I found a receipt from somewhere in South America, so it’s probably fairly well travelled too. It’s been carefully looked after, a fellow travellers’ best friend and bible for years. Then I get my hands on it, and no more than five minutes later, without me even so much as having a flick through its pages, I’ve managed to get the front cover eaten by a goat.

When its on my bedroom shelf back home, it will certainly always have a story behind it as to why its so badly damaged!

He still wanted more!

Back on the bus, and by this stage of the trip with just four passengers on it, it had a feel almost like a good old fashioned road trip – except our transport was a big white coach. Russ had become more than just our guide and driver, he’d become a good mate too.

On the road again

Thibault, Taylor, Mem and I had been together as a group from the day we left Auckland, and were now totally comfortable having some banter and occasionally winding each other up. The journey to Wellington was an absolute pleasure, passing through green countryside and mountains while beach-hugging roads gave us great views of the coastline.

“The weather is stunning, I can’t wait to show you my home city of Wellington,” said Russ over the microphone as the distance signs by the highway show an ever decreasing number of kilometres until we reach the capital.

Wellington comes into view

With a few final sweeping turns on the motorway, the single lane carriageways long left behind, Wellington’s skyline came into view.

“And there’s my home,” said Russ, clearly excited to be driving us into his city.

Parliament buildings – known as the beehive

He told us that he used to drive the city’s yellow buses before getting his job with Magic – a move that he says means he’s showing his country to his type of people. Its clear he loves the job, and after showing us the main parliament buildings, he began winding his way up Mount Victoria and the city began to sprawl out below us.

At the top was one of the best views of my journey so far.

Wellington from above

Suddenly, I’m starting to see why people love this country so much for the scenery. With a 360-degree view, the whole area was surrounded by hills and mountains. The deep blue water in the harbour, complete with the famous Interislander ferry waiting for a berth at the docks below. Behind us, but below us, an Air New Zealand jet was landing at the city airport. To our left, the city was bustling, and despite the winds blowing across the lookout, we spent a good 20 minutes taking in the sights. Russ pointed out where he used to live, while also showing us where the main areas were to head to in the city.

With Thibault, Russ, Taylor and Mem overlooking Wellington

It included the national museum of New Zealand, Te Papa, which I have to say is one of the best museum’s I have ever been to. With a focus on New Zealand, its background, the cultures and its geographical and physical features, it’s a fascinating insight into the history of the country.

Te Papa, the national museum of New Zealand

The best thing about Te Papa is the way it has such a brilliant mix of interactive exhibits that appeal to all ages. There are great areas dotted around the six floors that are aimed at young children, discovery areas where they can get hands-on with some of the topics. There’s also a great use of technology, in particular computers, video and imagery.

Perhaps the highlight for me was the colossal squid exhibition, with the world’s only example of this giant of the deep that has been caught and put on show for everyone to see. It’s the world’s largest invertebrate, has the largest eye of any known animal (it’s the size of a football) and this particular example, caught in 2007, weighs a hefty 1091lb.

Calamari, anyone?

But the weirdest thing about it is the way it traps and eats its prey – with a series of sharp, swivelling hooks and teeth on the ends of its tentacles. You wouldn’t want to be a fish caught in there either – they are designed to dig in and take a stronger hold the more the trapped creature tries to free itself before being eaten by the colossal squids strange beaked mouth. This was probably part of this creature’s undoing though, as it was caught by fisherman hauling in a toothfish that it had decided to have for lunch. Somehow it had clung on from the depths and ended up on the surface.

The exhibit here has been put on display in a huge metal cabinet, and it’s a strange creature to look at and learn about. Scientists know that the exhibit is a female, and believe there are much, much larger specimens out in the deep Antarctic waters. Some further food for thought – if the one on show here was prepared into calamari squid rings, they would be the size of truck tyres!

My squid on his birthday!

Before leaving the colossal squid behind, I created one of my own as part of the exhibit. He’s currently six days old, and apparently passed an underwater volcano the other day. He needs playing with to keep him happy though – click here and search for ‘afishoutofgrimsby’ and I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you!

Te Papa

Aside from huge squids, there was a mock-up of a house that shakes to demonstrate what it feels like to be in an earthquake, there was a chance to go below ground and look at the rubber dampers that protect

Earthquake damper

Te Papa from earth tremors, a brilliant look at people of New Zealand with short videos detailing their favourite parts of the country, and even one of the cannons from Captain Cook’s ship that had to be thrown overboard near the country when he managed to run aground in shallow water. There were also a couple of simulator rides, cleverly synchronised with a video, letting you ‘experience’ more than a dozen activities New Zealand is famous for. It included a very tough game of rugby – the seats certainly jolt you around, but it was great fun.

One of Captain Cook’s shooters

I ended up spending the best part of two days in the museum, and as anyone who knows me will testify, that is a long time for me to spend anywhere cultural. But when you find somewhere so well laid out, interesting yet fun, and with some fascinating exhibits that can engross you for hours, it was hard to pull myself away.

A last shindig with my Magic tourmates

When I did, I was often with Thibault, Mem and Taylor, my fellow passengers from the Magic Bus. Our time together was coming to an end – it’s a hop on, hop off service, and for me it was time to hop off. Mem and Taylor head to the south island on the next bus, while Thibault heads back to Auckland. We went out for one final night out together, heading to the Base bar in the city. With such a great group of people, it was a shame we had to go our separate ways so quickly, and I think we were all a bit gutted to have to leave Russ’s bus as he continued his journey with new people back to the north.

Part of the beauty of this type of tour though is that you get to meet so many new people in such a short space of time. In a couple of days I’ll be heading to the south island too, with a whole new set of people to meet, but for now it was time to enjoy Wellington – and after some early starts on the bus, enjoy a couple of relaxing days in the city.

Days in Wellington

Sound like fun? Visit the Magic Bus website at www.magicbus.co.nz

All Aboard the Magic Bus

Hello New Zealand!

Touchdown in Auckland

I’ve found a new friend to travel with for the next few weeks. It’s white, got a load of wheels, some snazzy photos along the side and has a friendly driver called Russ.

That’s Russ – R, U, S, S – not Ross apparently, who is another driver on the country’s north island, and who, according to our driver as he meanders his way out of Auckland’s busy city centre, has a much bigger beard than him.

Our driver Russ. With a ‘U’.

I’m on the Magic Bus, which has nothing to do with Paul Daniels or fluffy white rabbits, but will have a lot to do with me making my way from Auckland, at the top of New Zealand’s north island, all the way down to the white wonderlands of Queenstown and across to earthquake-hit Christchurch in a three week tour of the world’s youngest country.

Now that’s Magic!

I’ve been looking forward to New Zealand. As a fan of the great outdoors, stunning scenery and all things mountainous, all the reports I’ve heard about the place would suggest it might go on to become one of my favourite places on the planet. Time will tell, but with so many people gushing to me while I’ve been travelling about how ‘I’ll love it’ and how ‘it is so much better than Australia’ then the bar has been set pretty high. Either way, it should be a great few weeks.

After a couple of days in Auckland, which followed on from a few days in Sydney, I was ready to leave the big city behind again and head back out into the countryside. I’ve already started to like New Zealand just from the chilled out vibe to its largest city. Incredibly, a third of the country’s population lives here, with its main shopping area, Queen Street, running right through the centre of the place.

Great rooftop kitchen and terrace at my Auckland hostel

I had earmarked my time in Auckland as an opportunity to plan out exactly what to do for the best part of a month. It was ‘admin’ time, as far as my trip goes, and although there are a few things to see in and around the city, sightseeing, for a few days, went out of the window. Yet again, I had deliberately turned up in a country without a plan, to see what happens. I’m winging it again, but it’s a great feeling as an independent traveller.

This was time to sort myself out with a new phone number, do a ‘big shop’ at the supermarket, get some well-overdue laundry in a washing machine, write and upload a blog or two, reorganise my backpack (for a few weeks of winter, the shorts go back towards the bottom!) and even find time for a beer, a free one at that, thanks to an invite to a bar from a few guys I got talking to in the Nomads hostel kitchen.

In the midst of all that, I had a meeting with Mike and Bobby at the Magic Bus headquarters in the city, following on from an email I’d sent them a few days previous. Faced with quite an array of choices when it comes to getting around NZ, I had already spent a bit of time sifting through all the tour bus websites. Did I want to go for KiwiExperience, with their bright green buses and young 18-25 party lifestyle, with the smaller, more cosy orange bus of Stray, or with the slightly broader mix of people onboard Magic, that will still know how to enjoy a beer, but probably not force me into drunken games of ‘I have never’ the moment we leave the hostel.

Having heard good reports from my friends Dan and Laura, who I travelled with through the centre of Australia, and who had toured New Zealand with Magic, I was already edging towards the company. It also happened to be offering the best price, with a deal of $400 for both islands, saving almost $500 on the full price ticket. And then I saw an advert on the side of the website.

“Photographers and bloggers go free,” it screamed at me.

So from the comfort of my Sydney hostel, I sent off an email including links to afishoutofgrimsby, a bit of background about me, what I am hoping to see in the country, and attached a scanned copy of my column in the Grimsby Telegraph back home, based on my blog, that dad helpfully keeps sending me. It was short notice, especially over the Queen’s bank holiday weekend, but I figured it would be worth a try.

A few days later, I found myself in a meeting with the company in Auckland. Mike, the company web marketing manager, had been impressed by my blog and is a huge believer in people writing about their travels and experiences. I chatted through with them about how the blog began, my background in journalism, my experiences in some of the countries I have visited, even discussing the type of camera I am using. There was huge emphasis on social media, something I’m also a big believer in, and we looked at the map of New Zealand together.

I was offered a north and south island pass in exchange for writing about and documenting my journey with Magic, something I would be doing anyway. It’s a perfect example of ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ and as I’m nearing the end of my trip, any help I can get to continue the journey is gratefully received!

Devonport…looking a bit like Bournemouth in the British summer!

I left the offices with a spring in my step – I suddenly had direction and a plan of how I was going to see this faraway land. Better still, the rain that had been lashing down all day had stopped for a while, so I jumped on a ferry and made my way to Devonport, mainly so I could get a shot of Auckland’s waterfront, but also because I fancied relaxing for a while. It’s a good little traveller tip for coastal or port towns and cities. Instead of the pricey sightseeing harbour cruises that are on offer (the one in Auckland is around $45) just find the cheapest public ferry and take a seat on the deck. It was just $9 (£4.50) for the 20 minute ride across to the village, but it gave me plenty of time to get a few shots of the city skyline.

New Zealand’s outback!

So that’s how I find myself writing this in my seat on the Magic Bus, cruising through lush green countryside somewhere between Auckland and Rotorua. It’s a very similar landscape to back home, infact, sometimes I find myself comparing this part of New Zealand to Lincolnshire. It’s a grey, blustery day, with orange and yellow leaves still blowing off the trees as this part of the world heads into the depths of winter, and there are gently sloping hills to my left. It’s a very similar road to that between Caistor and Horncastle, maybe without the Belmont transmitter halfway along, but aside from that, the trees, fields, and even the cows and sheep remind me of leisurely drives through the Wolds.

Our first sightseeing short stop was in Paeroa on the way, home of a world famous New Zealand drink called L&P…

Precisely, I’d never heard of it either until I arrived on these shores, and that’s exactly why their tongue-in-cheek advertising slogan is particularly funny.

Great bit of advertising, and sums up the humour here!

The story goes that the town of Paeroa was founded during the gold rush, but then the gold ran out. It left so many people in the town, and so many houses to fill, that the townspeople needed to find some way of making people return. Someone found a natural spring of pure water, and would give it away to people in the hope they would return.

Stocking up on L&P

It worked, and not only did they return for more, people were happy to buy it too. Then another bright spark, as it says on their cans, decided to add a twist of lemon to it, making it even better. It went on to become a famous drink, and, according to Russ the driver, a self-confessed addict to the stuff.

Bizarrely, I don’t think it tastes that lemony, its more of a sugary, flavoured drink that you can’t really put your finger on the exact flavour. A bit like Coke, which is funny seeing as its actually made by Coca Cola these days, it is really nice and I can see how refreshing it can be.

Driver Russ’s attempt at being creative!

After a photo with the world’s largest L&P bottle, well, in New Zealand anyway, we were back on our way. By now, a few of us are beginning to chat and have a laugh on the bus. Its only a small group, mainly due to the season that we are visiting. It promises to get cold and wintry the further south we go, and with the summer starting in Europe and North America, this is the low season for tourism in these parts. But there was a good group – fellow Brit Mem, from London, who has recently completed his university, American Taylor, from Austin, Texas, Thibault from Belgium, a couple from Brazil, Gustavo and Michelle, and couple of girls from Germany, Elizabeth and Mel.

Group games at Hobbiton

We were brought closer by stopping off at Hobbiton, one of many filming locations for the Lord of the Rings movies in the country. Divided into groups of three for a team challenge, we were given some pieces of rope and a rubber tyre inner tube and the task of lifting three beers out from the centre of some metal rings without touching them. I was with Mem and Thibault, and as a group we worked out straight away how to complete the puzzle, but we couldn’t manage to get a good enough grip with the rubber tyre around the beers to lift it. It was neighbouring group that took the glory, and the three beers.

SobeRing Thoughts

They weren’t just any old beers however – they were bottles of SobeRing Thought, a brew of just 1% alcohol that was made especially for the actors in the films, to be consumed on set, to prevent them from becoming drunk. Having to drink it all day while filming scenes could cause a few problems at full strength, and with the winning team passing their prizes around the group, we all got to have a taste. It was a deep, dark colour, with only a strangely mild taste of beer.

With Mem, and a beer good for lightweights

A couple of hours down the road, we arrived in Rotorua, our stop for the night. It’s a smelly place shrouded in steam, but for all the right reasons – it’s full of geothermal activity.

Eggy steamers

The town is built on the banks of Lake Rotorua, where bubbling pools of mud, boiling hot water and crystallised sulphur surround the edge, and eggy-smelling steam belches out from the earth’s bowels below.

Hubble bubble, boil and trouble

I’m not going to deny it, the place does absolutely stink, but it was fun hopping around and over all the little pools that are bubbling away, all thanks to the thin crust of the Earth and the close proximity of molten magma just below the surface.

Sulphur

The lake is a strange blend of two colours, where the cooler, deep blue waters meet the shallower murky grey of the sulphur-rich edges. Even where the water laps onto the shore, the sand bubbles as water boils around it.

That evening we went as a group to learn a bit about the New Zealand, and in particular, Maori culture, at the Tamaki village, a half hour drive from Rotorua. Billed as the country’s most awarded cultural experience, it promised fun, humour, a slap-up feed and an insight into how the original Maoris travelled from the Pacific islands of Tahiti to discover the land.

Maori night

Even the journey to the village was an experience, with Mark, our guide for the night, saying hello and welcoming everyone in an incredible number of languages that he knew. From Thai to Taiwanese, German to Greek and even a bit of Aussie thrown in for good measure, it was a hilarious start to the evening as he made his way through the languages, complete with the different accents, and throwing open the doors of the bus to anyone that dared disagree with him.

On arrival there was a full Maori welcome, complete with big tongues, wide eyes and nimble feet, as the family danced around and greeted us as if we were the European invaders who landed on the shores here a couple of centuries ago. Making our way through a Maori village, we were told of the origins of the Haka, made famous by the All Blacks rugby team, of how tribespeople would become nimble on their feet by running and jumping over logs, and how they would pass the time with games.

Getting far to competitive (Photo stolen from Taylor’s Facebook!)

Somehow I ended up being volunteered to take part in one of them, a group game where everyone holds a large stick on the ground. At the correct call in Maori, I was to move left or right, and catch the next stick along before it fell to the ground after being let go by the next person along. The group of us was soon whittled down, and my competitive spirit started to shine through. Down to the last two, it was a showdown between me, England, and a tall Italian man. The advantage I had was that the Italian bloke not only had to work out what the Maori was for ‘left’ and ‘right’, but then had to work out in English which way both words meant.

It was a decisive hesitation. The call was made to go left. I probably sprinted a little to quickly for what was, in the end, a bit of fun, but I made it to his stick opposite me almost before he’d let go.

Winner!

I was crowned the evening’s champion, much to the delight of my fellow Magic Bus companions, and was awarded a photo with the game referee as a prize!

Dinner comes out of the ground

There was an hour long show full of Maori history, dance, singing and the occasional bit of humour too, before the hangi – the Maori meal – was served. Cooked by hot rocks underground, the chicken, beef and potatoes had a delicious soft, smoked flavour. Having been living on noodles and pasta for the past few weeks, and the fact that at about £44 for the night’s entertainment, most of the backpacker contingent set about demolishing the all-you-can-eat buffet to get our moneys-worth.

A Maori cooker…hangi meal and hot rocks

Two servings of main course later, followed by two very healthy doses of pavlova and ginger cake, I was tempted by another helping of the delicious meringue.

Chicken and spuds, cooked the hangi way

“I know we’ve only just met, but don’t judge me if I go back for more,” I joked with Taylor, the blonde American girl who is laughing and encouraging me to go back for more.

Then a whole new pavlova appeared. I would no longer be the one who took the last slice that was remaining of the old cake. My decision was made.

After a third slice of meringue, I pretty much had to be rolled out of the place and back to the bus. The journey home was equally as hilarious, and somehow the whole bus got singing Round and Round the Mulberry Bush as Mark the driver notched up around 10 circuits of a Rotorua roundabout. Apparently, although unknown to me at the time, it’s a bit of a regular joke that the drivers do, and with a few motorists beeping their horn, we made our way back to the Base hostel I was staying at.

Part of the Magic Bus gang. I’ve cleverly hidden my meringue bowl behind a plant…

It was a brilliantly funny, yet completely informative evening that for anyone newly arrived into New Zealand, helps paint a picture of its heritage.

There was more comedy the next day, although not from a comedian or performer as such. Somehow, driver Russ, Thibault and I managed to fall about laughing at boiling mud. Strange, I know, but it was something to do with the way it was bubbling, and quite possibly the noises it was making too.

Bubbling mud pool

We were at a hot mud pool near Wai-O-Tapu, the geothermal hot springs on the way to Taupo, and it really was something that I have never seen before.

Its one thing seeing pools of water bubbling away – as clever as it is that its all done by the power of deep Earth, you can still get the same effect by boiling a pan of water on a cooker – to see a lake of mud, so hot that it’s a liquid, bubbling away like a giant cauldron of molten chocolate, is quite something.

Blub!

With the ‘blub….blub….blub’ being interspersed with the occasional ‘sploosh’ as the mud suddenly gets angry somewhere, it was a great stop off. It was Thibault who first got the giggles, before Russ caught them, and everyone else followed suit. We walked back to the bus as if we’d been on the laughing gas that can be produced from some of these sulphury pools.

Funny mud

Have a watch of the short video I made – you never know, it might make you smile like we did!

With a stop at the powerful Huka falls, where there’s enough water flowing through a 10 metre gulley to fill five Olympic swimming pools every minute, we made our way through the lush greenery and headed south.

Huka Falls

It’s a peculiar view from the window at times – I’ve dubbed it the ‘lumpy landscape’ to the amusement of a few of the others on the bus. It seems to be the only word to use at times. While there are definite similarities between the countryside here to that back in the Lake District or Scotland back home, some of it is, well, a bit odd.

In places, everywhere you look are small rounded mounds. There are hardly any rocks on show, just smooth, rounded tops covered with bright green grass. It can look like Teletubbieland in places, definitely scenery that I have not seen before, and somehow the word ‘lumpy’ seems to fit.

New Zealand: Lumpy

Perhaps the highlight of my first few days in New Zealand came that afternoon, when Russ told us about Hot Water Stream in Taupo.

“Who wants to go? It’s free, and its pretty cool,” he asked us over the coach microphone.

Bath time for the Magic Bus travellers

We’d already been sold on the fact it was free, so with a quick drop-off of our bags at the hostel, we were on our way. Admittedly, few of us had got changed into swimming attire, mainly because its freezing cold and we wanted to judge it first before committing to swimshorts and bikinis. Afterall, if its more of a luke warm stream, its going to be an uncomfortable afternoon with temperatures already dropping fast.

With Mem in Hot Water Stream (again, stolen from Taylor’s Facebook!)

Russ was good to his word, and we found a steaming stream full of pools and waterfalls. The water was almost too hot to bear – getting in was like trying to lower yourself into a bath that you’ve run too hot. Almost painful, but done slowly, you knew you could get in. It was a great setting, almost like finding yourself in the River Freshney in Grimsby, surrounded by woodland and nature, but instead of an icy river, it was a steaming hot flow that was hard to climb out of.

Enjoying some waterfall warmth

It was beautiful, and with a few beers supplied by Thibault, we had our own natural and private outdoor hot tub. We took it in turns to drench ourselves under the hot waterfall, occasionally having to take some respite from the constant steam and heat by having a seat on the outer edge of the pool. Suddenly the freezing cold air temperature was a relief, rather than an annoyance.

Heading downstream! (Erm, also stolen from Taylor’s Facebook…well, she did have the only waterproof camera!)

We moved into a pool lower down, where the water flows out into the icy cold and fast-flowing Waikato River. Where the hot water and cold water meet, a strange sensation of having hot and cold currents running over our bodies at the same time kept many of us near the final hot waterfall. Further out, it was almost too cold to stand for any length of time, unless, like me, you’re trying out a bit of a practical joke.

Magic Bus group hangout

I think the afternoon was proof that we had truly bonded together as a group, and with it came some banter and jokes. I swam out to a particularly icy part of the river, and told everyone I’d found a really hot current. Elizabeth, from Germany, took the bait, and swam into the water that became colder and colder the more you moved away from the shore.

“Are you sure its warm over there,” she panted, fighting for breath against the cold.

“Positive, its lovely, so, so warm,” I shouted back, before secretly braving the cold and laying back in it.

“See, lovely,” I chipped in.

By now, Elizabeth was getting close.

“Its just getting colder,” she squealed. “Are you sure it’s hot?”

I couldn’t keep a straight face – nor stand the cold – any longer.

“Nope, only joking,” I laughed!

I got called something in both English and German that I wont repeat here, before she turned back sharpish and headed back to the warmth flowing from the stream, both of us laughing as we warmed up again.

Dusk in Taupo

We spent a good few hours at the stream, leaving only when the sun was setting and temperatures fell even further. We’re back on the bus tomorrow, heading out for more fun and adventures with our driver Russ, who rather than just being our guide and driver, has become a mate too. It’s like being on a road trip, but instead of a car, we’ve got a great big coach to chill out in as we watch New Zealand glide by outside. I think I’m going to enjoy these few weeks of winter.

Sounds good? Check out the Magic Bus website at www.magicbus.co.nz

Vivid Memories of Australia

Goodbye Oz

Its been the best part of six months since I was last heading to Sydney, on a flight from Thailand, but now, having completed a huge circuit through and around this giant country, it was time to go full circle.

Leaving Byron Bay in the knowledge it was my final overnight Greyhound journey down the east coast, there was more than a tinge of sadness. The initial novelty of seeing the differences in Australia – the different road signs, the gum and eucalyptus trees that line the highways and byways, different retail names and brands, even the Aussie accent, had all long worn off.

It has, to all intents and purposes, become home.

To say “I’m just nipping out to Coles” rolls off the tongue as normally as “I’ve got to pop to Tesco,” back home. I long mastered the Australian currency, although I still think the $2 coin should be bigger than the $1 coin, and seeing incredible coastlines, crashing waves and beautiful beaches has become as much as part of life as driving along the Humber on the A63 back home.

It has crept up on me quickly, and I don’t think it has sunk in yet that within just a couple of days, my time in Australia will be no more, that I’ll have moved on to pastures new, and my friends here that I am so used to being in touch with via text message or Facebook in the same time zone will once again start living further and further away from me.

But I had a few friends to catch up with first before I finally said farewell to Australia, and the first involved a short 24 hour stay in Newcastle, a few hours north of Sydney. Leaving the surf behind in Byron Bay, I joined the Greyhound in the town centre and got comfortable for a night’s broken sleep on the road. Thankfully, two days of hard work on the waves had left me shattered, but its still hard to get a ‘proper’ sleep on a bus, nomatter how many ways you contort your body to try to get comfortable.

A recipe for no sleep

Sleeping on buses, I have learned in the last few weeks, is something of a fine art. For best results, take a pillow – my tiny British Airways issue pillow has been worth its weight in gold. An oversize hoodie provides a great way of keeping your body and head warm, and when pulled over your eyes, acts like a sleeping mask.

Most of all, night time coach travel requires you to be short, which I’m not. How I look in envy at some of the smaller people in life, quite happily curled up on two seats and enjoying the slumber. For me, when my legs aren’t trying to find available cavities under the seats in front of me to fill, they’re often flapping around trying to become horizontal. That’ll involve trying to get comfortable by resting on seats across the aisle, only to be knocked down shortly after by someone getting on or off the bus.

You might just nod off, only for a debilitating pain to strike up, usually in the buttock region, from being sat in a weird angle for too long. Or your arms have gone to sleep from resting on them. Or we’ve just flown around the last corner too quick and I’ve banged my head on the window again. Or the pillow has slipped and my skull is vibrating on the glass.

Early morning driver break. Feeling good.

You probably get the picture that sleeping on a bus isn’t necessarily for me, but when you’re backpacking, it does save the cost of a night’s accommodation. And for me, that’s the most important thing right now – I’ve got the rest of my life to sleep properly in a bed!

Somehow, the night passed and I woke up on the outskirts of Newcastle, a coastal town built up around a busy port, and where I get off the bus for a day. Its somewhere that, before this trip, I would have happily sailed through on the motorway and on to Sydney, but that part changed in Thailand.

Studious Liz at home in Newcastle

Newcastle is home to my friend Liz, who I met in Chiang Mai and spent over a week travelling around the north of Thailand with back in December. We rode and washed elephants together, enjoyed countless Chang beers and Sangsom whiskeys, toured waterfalls and beautiful scenery and had countless laughs in a group with our friends Bryce and Erin. Regular readers, however, will just remember her as the Australian girl I managed to throw off the back of a scooter on the motorbike ride back from Pai.

Liz and I about to get thrown off an elephant in Thailand in December

Thankfully, our friendship survived that little test and we’ve stayed in touch, and I promised to call by should my journey take me anywhere near Newcastle. After a few hours of much needed sleep at one of the town’s only backpacker hostels, Liz picked me up. It felt strangely normal to wave her down in the street and jump into her car, despite it already being six months since we were causing trouble in Thailand together.

Liz is studying to be a journalist, which probably explains why we get on so well together, but she had a bit of coursework due to be handed in that afternoon. We headed straight to a lovely bar and restaurant complex near the docks, where she treated me to lunch and refused to take any money.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re still travelling,” she said.

We had a great few hours catching up, laughing about our adventures together in southeast Asia, and finding out all about each others’ travels since. The last time I saw Liz, she was running out of the dorm room in Chiang Mai, late for her taxi (bad timekeeping is another thing we have in common) to the airport for a flight to Cambodia. She told me all about her new year celebrations in the country, as well as her onward travels to Vietnam and Laos, following a similar route that I took a month previous.

Taking in the sights of Newcastle!

I also read through one of her assignments for her, giving her a few pointers but mainly putting her mind at ease that it would get a good grade. She’s actually a really good writer, and I know she’ll go on to do well in the industry.

Like all good journalists, Liz also knows how to have a good time, and that night we met up with some of her friends as one of them was leaving, funnily enough, to go travelling. We’d promised to relive some of our party nights from Thailand, and we certainly did our best.

Liz and a laser

I woke up the following morning only having had a few hours sleep and with a sore head – a familiar feeling from our nights in Chiang Mai together – and managed to pack my belongings into my bag for the 9.40am departure to Sydney. Co-incidentally, Liz, her partner and her sister will follow me a few hours later with friends to see the Temper Trap gig at the Opera House, and we agreed to meet up for a few more beers afterwards.

In the meantime, I boarded my coach and watched as Newcastle passed by outside the window. When I’d mentioned to a few people I was stopping off in the city, I did get a few quizzical looks.

“Why on earth do you want to stop there?” people would say.

Newcastle seagulls. Mine?!

When I explained I had a friend there, all was understood, but actually, I really liked the place. For me, there were many similarities to home in Grimsby – by the coast, with a beach, a hugely important port and a rich history. Coal exports are a huge deal for Australia, and much of it passes through Newcastle. The port very much resembles that of Immingham, an industrial landscape with huge piles of coal ready to be loaded onto ships for markets overseas.

I didn’t see much more of the journey however, after I managed to fall asleep in a snore-inducing position with my head wedged backwards between the seat and the window. I twice woke myself up with particularly loud snorts, and judging by the looks I was getting from other passengers, they weren’t the only two I’d managed in the three hour journey south. The fact I woke up, on the outskirts of Sydney, with a dry mouth and slightly sore throat was all the evidence I needed that I had, indeed, snored my way from city to city. I kept my head down and avoided eye contact with other passengers until I was well away from the coach.

Approaching the Harbour Bridge

The way back into Sydney took me for my first crossing of the famous Harbour Bridge before we pulled into Central Station, my 3,000km journey down the east coast of Australia finally complete. While Sydney felt familiar, it seemed a world away from the Sydney I arrived in at the end of January. Back then, the height of summer, I had everything to look forward to in Australia – I had all my friends to meet, I was catching up with my friend Cat from home, and Jack, one of my best mates from university, was in the city for work.

Crossing the Harbour Bridge

Now I had arrived knowing the end was near, and that my trip is slowly but surely moving into the twilight stages before I finally head home. I walked along streets that I had walked along before my ‘Ballarat family’ was even known to me.

End of the road – arriving in Sydney on the Greyhound

That I walked along believing I was heading to Mount Gambier in South Australia to help out at a roadhouse. That I had walked along not knowing I would attend the Australian Grand Prix, break down in a mate’s car at Ayers Rock, get thrown out of a hostel in Darwin or learn to surf in Byron Bay. Back then, I had no idea how my stay in Australia would pan out – but I smiled as I walked back to my hostel in Sydney knowing I had made the most of every moment here.

As I pressed the button on the lift at the World Square Hostel in George Street once again, my mind flashed back to that day in January when I was doing the same, on my way up to room 403 where Cat was staying, my friend from Hull who was the main person who inspired this trip. I remember the nerves, and of wondering how long I could afford the expensive place that Australia has become. Its almost six months, yet it feels like just a few hours ago that I had last been in the building.

Back then, Cat was in the same position I now find myself in, having worked her way around Australia and arriving in Sydney with a couple of days to spare before flying out to New Zealand. I checked in with reception, before heading off to Darling Harbour and to my friend Katrina’s office.

With Liz, her partner Jim, her sister and friends on my first night back in Sydney

Having left my bank card in Alice Springs, I have been living on a credit card for the past month. Now, however, the funds on the credit card have dried up, and I couldn’t have timed it any better to pick up my card. It was initially sent to my hostel in Darwin, but I’d left before it arrived. It was down to my friends Dan and Laura, who I left in the north, to send it on to Katrina in Sydney, who in turn left it with security at her office for me to collect. It was a relief to get my hands on it, and I could go on to pay for my hostel as a result!

I met Katrina for lunch at the Hard Rock Café on the harbour for a catch up and a goodbye before I left. I’ll always be grateful to her for the help and support she gave me during my first few days here, and we had a great couple of hours laughing about some of my travel tales, talking about her Crossfit exertions and savouring our last meeting for a while.

Fireworks at Darling Harbour

There was one other goodbye that evening, to Brandon, who was in my dorm at the Gilligans hostel in Cairns. He’s also made his way down the east coast, but in his own car that he’d bought for his travels.

With Brandon at Vivid

We’d agreed to take in the Vivid light festival together, and met at Darling Harbour in time for the weekly fireworks show at 8.30pm. It’s a great little display, one that I watched with Katrina when I first arrived in the city earlier this year, and Brandon was impressed that it was a weekly event. It certainly brings in the crowds to the area, where, despite the rain, hundreds of people line the quaysides.

We walked on to Circular Quay, where you get the best views of the Harbour Bridge and Opera House, and where the Vivid festival takes place.

Vivid light festival, Sydney

It’s a collection of illuminated art, the centrepiece being a special display on the sails of the iconic Opera House. I was lucky enough to visit the exhibition last year, co-incidentally on the same weekend as this one during my three week trip around the world. But whereas last year the famous sails were lit in bright colours, that would change and evolve into shapes, this year there was a projection of two figures onto the surface.

Sydney Opera House, disappointingly not as Vivid as last year

While they would move, roll around and appear to walk on the landmark, for me it wasn’t quite as effective as last year, which was a shame. The rest of the exhibition was as fantastic as always, including Customs House and the Museum of Modern Art being lit up with some incredibly clever 3D projections.

Customs House before the ‘show’

Customs House during the ‘day of city life’ show

We spent hours walking around in the rain, taking in all the smaller pieces dotted around the area, before heading back to my hostel for a final beer together. While I leave in a matter of hours, Brandon also heads back to his native Canada, and to Saskatchewan, in a few days. As he disappeared down the spiral stairs and back out onto the wet Sydney streets, I headed to my bunk.

One of the highlights of Vivid Sydney – they’re cycles!

Giving art a whirl!

Its hard to sum up my feelings. There’s sadness that I will probably never spend as long in Australia, meeting so many good friends, ever again, but gratitude that at least I’ve had the opportunity to make this trip. There’s a feeling that it’s passed by so quickly on one hand, yet when I think back to my arrival here, it can seem so long ago. Then there’s excitement at a new chapter in my travels about to unfold, a visit to a new country that I have never been to but heard so many good things about. And I also know it means my journey around the world is slowly coming to an end. In just over a month and a half, I will be back home – Sydney, its Opera House, my Australian friends and those uncomfortable Greyhound bus seats will seem so far away.

As I hauled my bags over my shoulders in Australia one last time, I said goodbye to the staff and took my final steps out of the hostel. It was raining, yet again, which seemed to suit my mood. I made my way to Town Hall station, but paused before disappearing down the steps and onto a train to the airport. I looked up and around, taking in one last view of the city, and smiled.

Looking forward

I came to this country knowing just a couple of good friends, who helped to look after me, support me and made me feel so welcome in their homes. I leave with a huge list of new friends, who I will stay in touch with, remember fondly and hopefully, at some point, meet again in the future, either back in this fantastic place Down Under, or back home on British soil.

I also came here with a few ticks outstanding on my bucket list – Uluru and the Whitsundays were high up there. Somehow, despite a few financial problems that cropped up along the way, I had visited all the places I set out to see, and more besides. The beautiful Great Ocean Road and stunning Grampians in Victoria with Siobhan and Matt from home; the sights and sounds of Ballarat with my ‘family’ of Nat, Jess, Liv, Jane and James, the Ghan train to the outback with Dan and Laura, Alice Springs and Ayers Rock with my friend Neil, complete with the fateful breakdown of his car. Diving the Great Barrier Reef, cruising along the beach on Fraser Island and learning to surf the Aussie way – so many highlights, and memories that will always be with me.

A last view of Sydney’s skyline from the airport

On the way to gate 36 for my Qantas flight to Auckland at Sydney’s international airport, I stopped off at a souvenir shop. I had just five Australian dollars left in my pocket. There was only one thing I could buy – an Australian flag patch for my backpack. Its quite fitting that its larger than any of the others from the rest of my trip, having spent the longest time here.

As we turned off the taxiway and onto the main runway, the engines screamed to full throttle. I was pushed back into my chair, and wedged my head into the window and watched as the terminal disappeared behind me. We lifted up into the air, a slight bump as the wheels left the ground, and I left Australian soil for the final time. The street lights of Sydney’s suburbs began to drift away below me, and I watched until the coastline disappeared from view.

I know I’m going to miss it, and I don’t know when I will be back in this far-flung part of the world. But I do know that this huge, beautiful country, and all those who have helped make my stay here so memorable, will always have a very special place in my heart.

Surf’s Up!

Catching my first waves in Byron Bay

I’m writing this on an overnight Greyhound bus. Every limb feels fifty times heavier than it should. Muscles I never even knew existed are aching in every corner of my body. My chest and ribs hurt, and my right foot is bruised and throbbing. And despite the cramped conditions I currently find myself in, none of these aches and pains are because the person in front has fully reclined their chair into my personal space.

My body is seriously hurting as a result of surfing, but boy, was it worth it.

I’ve always seen surfing on the television and wondered what its like, catching a huge rolling wave and effortlessly using it to speed along, pull off tricks and generally have a good time thanks to nature. It looks like you need perfect balance, a ripped upper body and bags of coolness, none of which I possess, and largely why I’ve stayed clear of the sport. Plus, back home, there’s a significantly high chance of a turd finding its way into your mouth somehow.

And its cold.

I never thought I’d give it a proper go though, but all that changed when I reached Byron Bay, three hours south of Brisbane. Having spent hours on a bus passing by some amazing beaches, spotting ant-like surfers bobbing up and down over the swell, even passing through Surfers Paradise, a town named after one of Australia’s favourite pastimes, I think it dawned on me that I should at least give it a try.

Those balmy days in Cairns already seem so long ago

I almost needed a surfboard to get to my hostel when I arrived off the relatively short four hour journey from Brisbane. If I needed any further proof that I have gone south enough for winter, then my welcome into Byron was definitely the required evidence. A huge rainstorm raged, leaving me camped out and sheltering by a rack of public phones until it eased off. It’s the first time I’ve actually had to wear my rain jacket in anger here, and is definitely the first time I have had to find a hostel, fully laden with bags, in the pouring rain. It knocks your spirit somewhat, especially when the address and iPhone map lead you in completely the wrong direction.

After trudging through puddles and looking lost for a while, a kind man with a multicoloured umbrella came over and pointed me in the right direction.

“And don’t worry about the weather – it does this in Byron. It’ll be blue skies tomorrow, you’ll see,” he shouted as I disappeared towards the Nomads hostel.

He was almost right. After a grey start, the sun began to break through. I walked to the beach, where there were already people catching waves. My decision was made, and I went in search of a deal. Most lessons are priced at $49 for two hours, but I walked into one backpacker travel shop where in return for ‘liking’ their Facebook page, I could get two $69 lessons for the price of one at Mojosurf.

“You’ll have to hurry up, it leaves at 12,” the travel agent said.

My surf board awaits…

I looked at my watch – I had 10 minutes to get back to the hostel, pack a bag of stuff for the beach and change into my swimshorts. I somehow made it with time to spare.

“Too easy mate,” said Jimmy as I walked in (they really do say that over here)

He was wearing a cap, his long hair poking out of the bottom and his tan spoke volumes for the amount of time he clearly spends in the ocean under the sun.

“Ahhh, you’re all going to have a grrrreat tiiiime. Yuuuueeeeeeep,” he said, his cool surfery accent putting a smile on everyone’s face.

My instructor was Adam, or Adsy as he likes to be called, and I jumped into the bus to be taken to a nearby beach that is less crowded and better for learning.

Ready to surf

There was only a few of us, a good sized group for learning. Among them was a guy from Western Australia who I was on Fraser Island with, and who I shared a dorm with in Rainbow Beach. Then there was Jag, from Manchester, who has been travelling for 17 months, doing everything from the usual sightseeing and partying to working at an orphanage in southeast Asia. We already had banter going on the bus, and we could feel it was going to be a good day.

After a short 20 minute ride, I found myself being handed a large green surf board. Its quite cumbersome to carry, as its larger than normal to give better balance in the water. There was a small handle in the middle, enough to give you a decent hold of the board, but with a strong wind, it was easy to get caught by a gust and find yourself being swung around.

Me and my board

Down on the beach, and after a few warm-ups, it was time to learn the basics –what to look for in the waves, how to spot a potentially dangerous rip tide, the impact the wind has and how to push through the waves with the surf board.

You do it just like this…Adsy showing us what to do

Adsy briefed us on the correct stance and how to paddle with our arms for a while, before we were grabbing our boards and heading out into the waves.

The first thing I can say is that surfing is a lot harder than it looks. The first thing you have to master, aside from getting up on the board, is making your way through the huge waves that Australia, and the Pacific Ocean, are famous for. Strangely, wave size is measured from the back of the wave – today, they were around four to five feet, but when you look at them from the front, they seem twice as high. Some of them tower above you, forcing you to jump and hold onto your surf board to allow you to keep on the surface. It’s a tiring cycle in itself.

Jag practicing the stance

Then, when you’ve waded out a fare distance, its time to spot a wave. We were in a good training ground, with waves and white water rolling all the way to the shore from breaking point around 60 to 70 metres out. It means you have plenty of time to ‘snap up’ onto the board. The ‘snap’ is a one move jump up from laying down, using your arms to push up from underneath your chest and then quickly bringing your feet from the back end of the board to a stance about halfway along it.

Out into the ocean

Despite plenty of practice on the beach, it’s a move that takes some doing, and relies on some strong upper arms. My first attempt ended with me toppling off the side, while my second attempt saw the board fly out from underneath me and whack me straight on the head.

And that was the general pattern for the next two hours, a constant wave (pardon the pun) of false push ups, falling off the side, the board flying from underneath me and finding myself somewhere under water with my hands on my head, taking yet another bump somewhere on my body from either the bottom of the sea below or my escapee surf board from above.

Kneel up, topple off, swallow salt water, crack my toes on the sandy bottom, back to the surface, drag board back to waves, repeat. It was frustrating, but strangely addictive.

Then, shortly before a break, and with a bit of help from Adsy, I finally did it.

“Get on…start paddling…this wave’s yours,” he shouted, holding onto my board.

I looked back, and a foaming white mass of water was getting ever closer.

“Big paddles now,” came the call from Adsy.

I took some huge, deep paddles on either side of the board. Suddenly I felt the acceleration as it caught the wave and began being pushed along.

“Snap up NOW,” Adsy shouted from behind.

I pushed hard with my arms, jumped up and brought my feet underneath, staying in a low crouch as the board wobbled below me. And then it stabilised – I’d found my balance, and stood up straighter. I remember thinking how high up it seemed to be standing on the board, and how strangely quick the wave moves you forward.

There was a cheer from behind – it might have only been for a few seconds, but I was officially surfing.

Off I go!

After a break, I was back in the water and gradually finding my feet on the surfboard. Eventually, I was able to pick out each wave I wanted to ride, paddle fast enough to catch it, and in a fashion, stand up on the board and ride it all the way to shore. It was a great feeling, and there was a strange addiction to getting back into the ocean and trying it again, but wanting to get on the board that bit faster, that bit smoother, or perhaps just swallowing less of the salty water.

It was a similar feeling to when I learned how to ski four or five years ago. It was difficult at first, but there was something that kept making me go back for more. There might have been the odd fall that twisted a knee slightly, gave you a coccyx-bruising knock and left you shattered come the end of the day, but the adrenaline and fun outweighs the risk. The same can be said for surfing – its hard work, you get pounded by the sea, sand and board, and you can consume enough salt to keep Saxo in business for a year, but it’s a brilliant way to spend some time at the beach.

Adsy and my surf group

Four hours passed by really quickly, and we headed back to Byron Bay happy with our efforts. I promptly passed out in my dorm, despite organising to meet some of my fellow surfers for a beer that night. I did, however, wake up in time to use my free beer voucher at the Woody’s Surf Shack bar in the town,

With Marit and Anna from my dorm at Woodys

meeting up with some of the girls in my room before moving on to Cheeky Monkey’s, a bar-come-nightclub where, by all accounts, pretty much anything goes.

Anything goes, apart from me, however, who got refused entry in the most bizarre circumstances. Having consumed a little leftover goon from the Fraser Island trip, as well as having my one lone free beer at the pub, I led the group to the door. I was asked for ID (which, at almost 31, is a joke anyway) and pulled out some business cards from people I have met, rather than my driving licence. Trying to get some light from a streetlamp, I leaned back to move the shadow of my head out of the way of my wallet. Somehow, shifting my weight like that meant I took a step back and I slightly stumbled on my ankle.

“Woaah, someone’s had enough tonight haven’t they?” said the bouncer, patronisingly.

“Erm, no, I’ve only had one beer,” I put back.

“They all say that mate. You’re not coming in. The police are over there, and they’ve seen I’ve refused you, so you’d better go home,” he replied.

In front of quite a few people who I have just met, the whole episode was more than slightly embarrassing. It was a public humiliation, but everyone knew I’d only been out for half an hour, and that I was just being picked on for some reason. I tried to explain, but just got the usual patronising drivel from the doorman, which ended with one of his colleagues coming over and telling me ‘my night was over’.

Sadly, when faced with that type of ridiculous security, which, quite frankly, borders on bullying, there will only ever be one winner. It was barely midnight, but I went back to the hostel and opted for an early night. I was fuming, as I’d not even had chance to meet up with my surf class inside, but at least I’d wake up fresh for my second surf lesson the next day.

Back to the surf

“Where did you get to last night,” Jag asked as I wandered into the MojoSurf shop with just a couple of minutes to go before the bus left. I explained, and he remembered how I’d sent him a text explaining when I’d got back to my room.

We spent another four hours trying to perfect how to get on the surf board, but strangely, both Jag and I found it much more difficult. The currents were stronger in the water, the waves were breaking and moving towards the shore much closer together, and many were not making it all the way to the beach without re-forming. It was frustration, but still enjoyable. The only problem was my tired and aching arms and legs – by the end of the session, and after hours of being smashed by wave after wave, I was barely able to lift myself up, let alone ‘snap up’, and instead found enjoyment cruising around on the board like a stranded dog.

Surfing is definitely something I will try again, whether its in the warmer waters abroad somewhere, or in slightly chillier waters back home. It’s a great adrenaline rush, and when you’re not leaning too far forward and faceplanting into the ocean, it’s an addictive way of spending time in the sea.

With an evening Greyhound booked, I got back to the surf shop with about an hours-worth of daylight remaining. There was still one place I wanted to reach, Byron lighthouse, which is officially Australia’s easternmost point.

Stormy scenes at Cape Byron

Jimmy, who had been one of my instructors for the day, gave me a rental bike for the change in my pocket, and, despite aching legs and a storm raging around me, I made it to the top of the nearby peninsula with time to  spare. It was a steep climb, but the views, even despite the storm clouds and rough seas, were well worth it.

Byron Bay’s famous lighthouse

An interesting fact is that the Cape Byron lighthouse, which for the past few nights I have seen blinking away from the comfort of my hostel kitchen, houses the most powerful light in Australia, visible for some 50km. Its blinking light, every 15 seconds, warns the busy shipping lanes off the coast of the dangerous coastline, and has been in place since it was built in 1901.

I wonder if they’re still together?!

It was exposed and windswept on the top of the rugged outcrop that the lighthouse sits atop of, and I watched the waves crashing onto the rocks below me. A mile or so out in the ocean, a container ship was pitching and falling on the swell, being whipped up by the offshore storm. One can only imagine what it must be like when Mother Nature puts her full force behind the weather here.

Capturing the powerful light

With darkness falling, a lack of cycle lights and another stormy shower about to blow in from the ocean, it was time to head back downhill to return the bike, collect my belongings and pack my bag back at the hostel. I had yet another free beer with Jag at Woodys Surf Shack, before heading to the bus stop for my final overnight Greyhound journey in Australia.

A final free beer with Jag in Byron

I was glad to have three days in Byron Bay, but part of me wishes I could have spent longer in the town. Its got a brilliant atmosphere about it – apart from the odd doorman here and there – and is a beautiful coastal town. In the height of summer, I can imagine it being a perfect place to spend a few lazy weeks. Everyone I met was friendly, helpful and seemed to just be happy to be living in what feels to be a very happy, cheerful town. Surfing plays a huge part in life here, and who knows, maybe one day i’ll return to ride the waves here once again.

Another overnight Greyhound about to leave Byron Bay

For now though, I’m heading to Sydney, and ultimately, my flight out of Australia. But there is one last quick stop I need to make on the way – and it’s my first visit to someone who I have met on this journey, thousands of miles away in Thailand. A familiar face awaits.

Meeting the locals in Brisbane

Koalas – grey, furry, cute, most definitely not a bear but a much loved and treasured icon of Australia.

Altogether now…ahhhh!

A trip to this vast nation wouldn’t be complete without seeing a few of the fluffy bundles, and where better than a koala sanctuary, home to well over 100 of them and on the outskirts of Brisbane.

“I am not a bear”

Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary is only a small place – I was budgeting for just a few hours – but ended up spending my whole afternoon there watching the animals, playing with kangaroos, and even getting a hug from a koala.

It’s a great place to visit, and somewhere that I only discovered after I checked in at the Base hostel in Brisbane city centre. A few travellers had questioned why I was staying in Brisbane for a couple of nights. “There’s not much to do there” and “Its an awful place” were just two of the comments I’d helpfully had passed my way by people on tours or on the Greyhound as I have been making my way down Australia’s east coast.

The truth is, a former colleague of mine, Andy, now lives in the city, and it would be rude to just pass by without at least trying to meet up for a coffee. And besides, when you’re travelling, a stop-off is what you make of it. That’s why, when I saw a pamphlet in the hostel reception for the koala park – and someone holding one of the little animals – it shot right to the top of my ‘to do’ list in the area.

Greyhounding down the coast

Also near the top of my list was the task of spending as much time away from my dorm room as possible. Despite paying for a 10 bed dorm, someone somewhere thought they were doing me a favour by upgrading me to a four bed dorm. The only problem was that the three others in the room, two German guys and a Russian, quite liked their eastern European hardcore trance music. Their stereo, it seems, only has ‘loud’ or ‘loudest’ as settings.

Random giant kangaroo at the service station

Without so much as a hello, or even a glance up from whatever artist they were lining up next on the laptop, I walked in, dropped my bags, attempted to make a bed and then gave up, only to walk back out again. I took myself off for a wander around the city centre, taking in the atmosphere and meandering through the busy pedestrianised area full of people enjoying meals in bars and restaurants, sports fans watching the footy on big screens, and quite a few people heading out to nightclubs.

Back in the hostel, things had quietened down, and I worked out that I had been put in a room with three workers. They were carrying out cleaning duties in the hostel, working for their accommodation, a popular way of saving money while travelling when funds run dry. It meant that they were up at the crack of dawn, banging around and turning lights on, but I needed to be up early anyway to cram more sightseeing into my short stay.

Hello!

The journey to Lone Pine involved finding a public bus and taking a half hour ride out some 15km or so to the park, but it was well worth the effort. Set up in 1927 there were initially just two koalas being cared for here, called Jack and Jill. Now its an internationally acclaimed breeding centre, the world’s oldest and largest koala sanctuary, and the kindergarten enclosure was by far one of the best bits about the day.

Adult koalas, due to their low energy diet of eucalyptus leaves, don’t move around a great deal during the day, but the kids on the other hand are full of life. Leaping around from branch to branch, chasing after each other, trying to climb the fence to escape and general juvenile fun and games means they are very entertaining to watch. You could tell they were developing personalities, even at such a young age. One koala would happily climb to the top of the enclosure, standing proud as king of his castle for hours.

I watched a presentation about the animals, where it was revealed all 130 or so koalas at the park have a name – and the staff know each and every one of them. Now, one koala to the next looks pretty similar to me, give or take a bit of fluff around the ears, or perhaps a smaller nose here and there. However, there’s a way to tell each animal apart.

You have to look at its bum.

Yes, every koala has unique markings around its bottom, lighter shades of grey or white patches arranged in special patterns amid the dark grey fur. The staff revealed they have learnt to tell all of the koalas apart by working out pictures on each of the koalas to remember them by – one of the males sitting nearby was named thanks to his markings looking like a pair of eyes.

Next it was my turn to hold and cuddle one of the koalas. For $16 (£10) you get a photograph of the moment too, and with my hands held out, palms up and crossed together, Violet was placed in my arms.

At first she looked at me, putting her arms around my shoulder and clinging on to my shirt, before she was distracted by the camera. She was the weight of a small dog, but actually felt very stable and happy in the short time she was in my arms. Her fur was short, and slightly rough, and actually felt very similar to the koala cuddly toys that are available in all the tourist shops here. I gave her a rub on the back, before I had to hand her back to the koala keeper.

With a Skippy or three

The best thing about the park is how well cared for the koalas are – they are only ever held by the public for short periods of just a few minutes every few days, and all of the animals I saw seemed so happy.

“What have you got for me?”

That included the field full of kangaroos, jumping around all over the place as the sun began to set. It is their most active time of the day, and instead of spending money on food to feed them, I pulled up some grass and held it out. They loved it, and I got quite a few of them bounding over to me.

Somehow I had whiled away an entire afternoon at the park, spending much of the time taking photographs of the koalas. I took that many, my camera died – you just never know when you’re going to get the perfect shot. Besides, they are my mum’s favourite animals, so I had to get plenty of photos to keep her happy. The afternoon was a great way, towards the end of my stay in Australia, to spend some time with some of the country’s most famous animals.

Almost lost my bag…

There was another catch-up in store the following day, when I met Andy, a former colleague of mine from when I first started at BBC Look North. He’s the man who would operate the satellite truck out on location, transmitting live reports back to the studio, and in turn, out to televisions across the north east of England.

Another city, another mate to catch up with!

We only worked together for about a year before he left for Australia, eventually settling, having a family and making a life for himself Down Under.

We’d promised to try to meet up if our busy schedules allowed it, and thankfully he’d been called into Brisbane city centre to run an errand, and so took the opportunity to meet up for coffee.

We had a great time reminiscing about my early days in the Look North newsroom, and Andy appreciated the information I had about all the recent goings on that he’d not heard about. He told me all about the exciting life he’s had here, operating satellite trucks to broadcast sports events from across the Asia Pacific area, even beaming shows such as I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here to homes back home.

“Ant and Dec’s trailer was really close to ours. They’re really nice lads, would always give you a wave and a smile,” he told me.

Andy (eighth from right) and I (right of Pudsey) at Children in Need, Lincoln 2005

He told me how I join a huge list of former and current colleagues who have visited him, with around eight or nine mutual friends that have stopped by to say hello since he left Hull in 2006, who, like me, remember a good mate despite the miles between us these days.

“Its been amazing that I’m all this way from the UK, and I might not speak to someone for months, even years, yet they’ll drop by,” he said, smiling.

He admits it can be tough being away from family and friends in his native land, especially when it comes to bringing up a young family and the extra hands close friends can lend, but he’s really happy with his life here. And with near constant sunshine, beautiful scenery and a good job, its easy to see why he’s so happy, and I’m really pleased for him.

Saying goodbye again!

After a few hours of telling each other about our current lives, and remembering some of the television projects we worked on – including my first Children in Need outside broadcast in Lincoln in 2005, Andy had to get back to work. We had a few photos in the park near my hostel, before we said goodbye and promised to stay in touch.

With my Greyhound bus set to leave in a few hours time, I booked myself on an economy cruise through the centre of Brisbane to get some shots of the city. It was, of course, my usual trick of buying a regular passenger ferry ticket and just going for a ride. It was onboard a particularly fast ferry, a ‘fast cat’ catamaran to be precise, which afforded great views of the waterfront and exclusive yachts and millionaire riverfront villas that line stretches of the river.

Brisbane

It’s the equivalent of catching the number 16 bus in Grimsby and going for a ride to Asda and back, but it’s a great, cheap way of seeing a place, as well as it being quite fun.

Brisbane’s waterfront area

The fast cat was particularly nippy, and I stood on the front deck watching the world go by for two hours, before it turned around and delivered me back into the city centre with just enough time to collect my bags and head to the coach terminal.

Yet again, I was heading south on a Greyhound, this time to Byron Bay. I’m more than halfway back to Sydney, with Byron being my last full ‘east coast’ stop before hitting the city once again and preparing to fly out of the country.

Back on the road again

Fraser Island, Yeah?

Touring Fraser Island

‘They’re my cars, yeah. Cars are not boats – they don’t float, yeah?”

The words of Al, the man tasked with telling 30-odd twenty-somethings (and some a bit older!) that a 4×4 car can’t be driven into the sea on Fraser Island.

“And don’t go swimming, yeah. I’ve seen it, you get all fuelled up on goonie juice and head off for a swim in the ocean. Get caught in a rip, yeah, and two minutes later you’re two kilometres offshore, yeah.

“You’ll be shark food, yeah,”

The ‘yeah’ thing has already been noticed by a few of us, giggling away like schoolkids every time he launches into another crescendo of his end-of-sentence punctuation.

Al, on the right, with Graham (saying ‘yeah’) and Kelly

“Show my cars a bit of respect, yeah,” goes another one in the background.

By the end of the half hour talking to – sorry, welcome – to the Fraser Island tour, we were left wondering if we’d actually be allowed to breathe without someone barking a rule – followed by a ‘yeah’ – at us.

“And don’t go feeding or petting the dingoes, yeah,” Al continues, reminding us that the island we are about to spend a couple of days on is actually overrun with wild dogs. So much so, controls are strictly enforced to prevent the dogs becoming aggressive towards humans.

So if we fail to sink the car in the ocean, get eaten by a shark, mauled by a dingo or pass out due to too much ‘goonie juice’ we should have a good time.

More goon…or ‘goonie juice’ as it shall now be known!

Its dark and raining outside at the Dingoes hostel in Rainbow Beach, where I’d arrived on the Greyhound from Airlie Beach just a few hours before. Yet again, I’m about to be put into a group of complete strangers who I will live, breathe, sightsee, cook, laugh and party with for the next 72 hours.

Fraser Island is a sightseeing tour with a difference, being on a 120km long sand island in the sea. There are no main roads, and so the only way to see the place is by jumping in a 4×4 and roaming around the place behind a tour leader in a vehicle in front. It promises to be a lot of fun, and is one the ‘must do’ attractions of the east coast.

“Phil, you’re in the A Team,” came the call, along with the obligatory theme tune from a few.

I took my seat on a table with four blokes and four girls, who were also in the A Team. They were Ryan, Alan and couple Graham and Kelly, all from Ireland, and fellow English companians Melissa, Georgia and Kate.

“I’m gutted you all want to drive – I want to be at the wheel as long as possible,” says Ryan

Everyone else basically tells him its tough, and we’re all taking it in turns.

Fraser Island by 4×4

Meanwhile, there’s confusion. There are two Phils in the room, and the other Phil is up with the leader trying to work out where he is supposed to be. They look at second names, and it turns out he’s supposed to be in the A Team rather than me, but he gives me a nod seeing that we’ve already done introductions and makes his way to the B Team. It was a similar situation with ‘our’ Alan.

“We meet at 7.30am, yeah. Don’t be late, yeah,” comes yet another order from Al.

And with that, everyone gets on with the task of getting to know everyone. Kate seems young and loud, quite fancying a bit of attention. Ryan has one of those personalities that at first can seem quite ‘in your face’ but I know I’ll warm to him. Graham and Kelly seem like a great couple, while Melissa and Georgia take a role a bit like me, quietly watching and joining in a bit of the banter. Ryan and Kelly are joking that they could be cousins.

A few of us walked to the shop to buy some snacks for the next few days, when inadvertently I put the missing part of a jigsaw in place for them. Graham asked me what I do back home, and as soon as I told him, he called out to Kelly.

“Phil’s a journalist for the BBC,” he says.

“No way, do you know my aunt, Donna Traynor? She works for the BBC in Belfast,” Kelly asks.

And with that, Ryan pipes up about how he’s also related to the BBC Newsline presenter.

“So, we’re cousins,” he excitedly shouts in his broad Irish accent!

Incredibly, on the other side of the world, two people had been put with each other and worked out that somewhere along the line they are related.

With supplies of Doritos, biscuits and drinks, we headed back, with Ryan telling anyone and everyone that he’s found his cousin. We were already laughing and joking, enjoying banter between us. I think we’ll get on just fine!

Al giving the early morning briefing

After another early morning briefing, we got on with the task of loading up our vehicles and preparing for the trip. We were introduced to Shane, our guide, a typically shade-clad, cap-wearing, chisel-chinned Aussie who seems up for a good time with us all.

Al stepped in to give us a briefing on how to steer, followed by instructions on how not to lock the doors and keep the keys in the ignition at all times.

“Drop the key in the sand, yeah, and it’ll be gone. Then you’ll be stuck for a day before I get a new car to you, yeah.” We all nodded.

And we’re off!

Before long we were on our way, with Melissa taking the controls for the first leg to the island, involving a short 15 minute ferry crossing. Sadly, Kate took control of DJ duty and put Justin Bieber on, but thankfully we arrived at the sea crossing to spare us any more.

On the boat to Fraser

The first sight of the island included the ominous view of a Jeep that had become stuck fast in the sand, with around 50 people trying to shift the thing. Maybe all of Al’s orders and driving tips were needed after all. (Yeah..)

Hitting the beach…with wheels

But we were on Fraser Island, the world’s largest sand island measuring in at around 75 miles long, 15 miles wide and made up of rainforests, woodland, mangroves, swamps and heaths. Its sand has been accumulating on a base of volcanic bedrock for some three quarters of a million years, and some of that volcanic rock juts out at impressive lookouts like Indian Head.

Lake McKenzie

Most of the hills on the island have simply been formed by sand dunes growing and growing as wind blows more and more sand onto them, while there is also some incredibly pure fresh water from springs, and our first stop took us to one such place, Lake McKenzie, said to be one of the cleanest lakes in the world. Like the Whitsundays, the sand is almost brilliant white, a result of it being almost pure silica.

Braving the chilly water in Lake McKenzie

The lake is also impressively cold, but most of us braved the water, opting to run and dive to get the icy blast over with as soon as possible.

My A Team family enjoying the water

It was very refreshing, and nice that for once it wasn’t saltwater – there was no taste when it went into your mouth, and you actually feel clean when you can’t take the chill anymore and finally climb out.

After a few hours of getting to know everyone in the rest of the group – or should I say, getting to know who would annoy everyone – on the beach beside the lake, it was time to move on. We got back into the car, with the windows down, only for one young lad in a neighbouring vehicle called Adam, really push himself to the top of the annoying list by spraying a whole load of goon (cheap wine) through our open window and all over Ryan and I.

Now, while I went for the ‘stare’ technique of showing how little I was amused, Ryan – who has bigger muscles, and who looks a little fiercer than me when he needs to – ripped a shred off him by telling Adam exactly how he felt. His card had been marked with a firm but fair warning to behave!

Beautiful lakes on Fraser Island

Back out to the beach, and to Fraser’s informal highways. There are 80km/h speed limits on the beach, with normal ‘keep left’ rules of the road applying. It’s a great way to travel, and I could spend hours just gazing out of the window as we cruised along the shore, waves lapping just a few metres away from the wheels below us.

Dingo dos and don’ts

All along, we were on the lookout for dingoes, the wild dogs that have a reputation, perhaps unfairly gained, for being aggressive and dangerous towards humans. Unique to Australia, the island is famous for having some of the only remaining ‘pure’ dingoes in the continent, and while there have been a handful of cases where the animals have attacked humans – including a couple of deaths as a result – on the whole they tend to stay away.

“I’m starting to think it’s a bit of a myth,” said a couple of the girls in the car as we were driving along.

Having seen a few near Uluru a few weeks ago on the drive back to Alice Springs, I know they are far from a myth, and I’m confident we’ll see some before we return.

An electrified dingo trap, keeping campsites safe

Back at base camp, it was dinner time, and the A Team is quickly becoming a family. We made a trip to the shops together, buying a few snacks for the evening, while also investing in some plastic cups due to the lack of drinking vessels available at the camp site.

Its Phil’s cup!

With a permanent pen, we marked them with our names. The fact I’d written ‘Phil’s cup’ around the outside of mine caused a few giggles, and we’d protect them for all they were worth over the next couple of days to prevent any cup theft from ruining our much loved cuppas.

When it came to mealtimes, we would all find our jobs to do – some would prepare, some would cook, while Graham and I opted to help out with cleaning duties on the first night. After just a small sandwich for lunch, itself eaten at 11.30am, we were ready for the steaks that Alan had managed to cook perfectly considering the facilities, and we sat around a table together to eat, laughing and joking about the day’s events, and with more than a few ‘yeahs’ thrown in for good measure.

Mealtime fun. ‘Who likes tomatoes?’ Silence.

In the room next door, the younger contingent on the trip had already begun passing out from too much ‘goonie juice,’ to coin Al’s phrase, and it was barely past 6pm. A few of us joined in the drinking games, but most of the time was passed playing pool with some of the worst cues I’ve ever had the misfortune to play with. I never knew they could fray so much at one end, with one having a tip about the size of a 50p with all the wood that had folded back on itself. It was certainly a challenge.

At the wheel!

After a short stay at a creek in the morning, it was my turn to take the wheel and drive ‘the family’ around for a bit. Despite my love of driving – and I like to think I’m fairly good at it – I got off to one of the worst starts of the lot of us by getting us stuck and then stalling the engine in the deep sand.

Ryan: “Phil, remember, cars are not boats, yeah?”

Thankfully, I got it going again fairly promptly and, giving it beans, powered out with some revs and down to the wet shore where I ignored Al’s advice to keep it out of fifth gear (‘Forget about fifth, yeah, you won’t be needing that. Yeah?)

Approaching the wreck of the Maheno

The drive also happened to be one of the shortest of the trip, to the wreck of the Maheno, a Scottish-built Edwardian liner that was washed up onto the beach in 1935. With the weather closing in, the outline of the shipwreck appeared as a dark outline through the sea spray and the rain on the horizon, its full size and scale only becoming clear once I’d pulled over and parked up near the site.

The Maheno being launched (Copyright http://www.clydebuiltships.co.uk)

The SS Maheno was built in 1905 as a luxury liner for crossings of the Tasman Sea between New Zealand and Australia. She was used as a hospital ship during the First World War,

The Maheno as a hospital ship

serving in the Mediterranean, Gallipoli and the English Channel, before returning to work as a luxury liner in peacetime.

In 1935, the ship was declared outdated, and on June 25, 1935, the ship was being towed from Melbourne to Japan for scrap metal when it was caught in a strong cyclone. A few days later she drifted ashore and was beached on the eastern shores of Fraser Island.

The Maheno in her final resting place

It wasn’t the end of her military service, however, even being stranded on the island. During the Second World War, the wreck served as target bombing practice for the Royal Australian Air Force.

The A Team family and the Maheno – Alan, Graham, Kelly, Me, Ryan, Kate, Georgia and Melissa

Since then, she’s become a tourist attraction, with most people who have visited the island having a photograph of themselves by the wreck. It was a fascinating place to get atmospheric and creative shots, and to gaze and wonder at the journeys the rusting hulk in front of me had made. It was hard to believe there was another three storeys of the ship hidden, buried below the sand.

With dark clouds getting thicker above, we made our way further along the beach, to Indian Head, offering spectacular views of the ocean, and to the champagne pools, which were not very ‘champagne-like’ thanks to a low tide.

View from Indian Head

The prayers of the dingo hunters were answered at a shop stop on the way back to the camp, with one of the wild dogs showing up to please the group. From a distance, all was well, the dog even yawning and almost posing for photographs from the intrigued group milling around.

Dingo dangers!

That was until he got up, walked meaningfully towards the group and sent everyone scattering to their cars. While I didn’t dive into a car like most, I must admit it was slightly unnerving to come face to face with a famously unpredictable animal as it came to within a metre or two of my legs. It seemed to be showing everyone who was boss, and then seemed quite chuffed with itself for managing to send an entire tour group back into their cars. He soon wandered off down the road, having given us all the chance to take some photos and prove once and for all that dingoes call the shots on the island.

Bingo! A dingo

That evening it was my turn to cook, knocking up a stir fry with the remaining ingredients from our food rations,

Dinnertime!

before having a few drinks and heading down to the beach for an impromptu beach party. With 4×4 headlamps as the lighting, goonie juice as the drink of choice and a car battery-powered stereo system providing the music, it was a great way to round off the day. I spent much of the night with Ryan, who has become a really good mate in such a short space of time, and Susie, a German girl who was in my dorm before we left Rainbow Beach, but who has spent the last few days with a carload of blokes!

With Ryan and Susie at the beach party

The fun you can have with a beach and car headlamps

With the end of the trip upon us, and a slightly fuzzy head from too much cheap wine, we packed away our belongings into the cars and prepared to head off for more sightseeing before an early ferry back to the mainland. Suddenly there was a voice directed at me.

“There’s no point getting in there. There’s a blue cushion missing from the sofa thanks to your lot. Go and help them look for it.”

It was the owner of the campsite, and he didn’t look happy. And because he wasn’t happy, he clearly forgot to talk to us like adults.

“You’re not going anywhere until it’s found,” he chipped in, before herding me out towards the back of the building.

I resisted the temptation to ask him to put my flights back a bit, just incase the blue cushion doesn’t turn up.

After much walking around, searching everywhere from the campfire site to the kitchen, from the sand dunes to the dingo traps, even underneath the building, the much missed blue cushion didn’t turn up. Better still, despite most of the group having had a fairly rowdy last night, I don’t think anyone had anything to do with its disappearance.

Family outing!

Neither did Shane, our tour guide, who decided that enough was enough after wasting half an hour looking for the foam-filled fixture that we were heading off whether the camp owners liked it or not. It’s a move that, apparently, sealed him a ban from the campsite with any future tour groups, but we headed off towards Lake Wabby and leaving the slightly patronising volunteers and manager to look for their beloved cushion. It turns out the other group who left before us possibly took it.

Sand dunes on Fraser

A long walk through a rainforest and over a breathtaking expanse of sand led us to Lake Wabby, where we’d been advised against running down the steep dune into the water. In the words of Al: “You’ll break your neck, yeah,”

Lake Wabby

Instead, some of the group rolled down on their sides, while our A Team family relaxed near the top with a view overlooking the lake, making various shapes with the sand over our feet.

Ryan and his, erm, creative talents

The rain, however, brought any further relaxation to an abrupt halt, and instead sent us running for the walkway back to the vehicles. Drenched, tired and done with sightseeing, we caught the ferry back to Rainbow Beach and enjoyed a couple of jugs of free beer with dinner.

It was time for us all to say goodbye. In just a couple of days, we had become a close-knit group. We’ll definitely be staying in touch, and with a few heading over to New Zealand, there’s a chance we could meet again in the next few weeks. We’ve agreed there are reunions planned for both Hull and Ireland, where I’m sure we’ll relive our memories of dodging dingoes, glugging goon and searching for a stupid cushion.

Farewell family beers

It was a shame the weather wasn’t kinder to us, but it was a brilliantly enjoyable three days of driving around what is a beautiful island, among some great new friends and with a lot of fun banter.

Had we had a great time? Yeah!

A wave goodbye from Ryan as he, and the rest of our group, head off in different directions

A New Horizon

Rain. Annoying isn’t it. This is what the Whitsundays, and in particular, Whitehaven Beach and Hill Inlet, is supposed to look like.

Stunning (Image ©Australian Geographic)

And this is my lasting memory of one of the most beautiful places in the world….

Wet and bleak – more Skeggy than paradise!

Yes, after weeks of unbroken sunshine, the clouds came and dumped a load of rain on us at precisely the moment we were supposed to be taking in one of the best beaches in the world. It didn’t stop us from having fun and making the most of it though, taking part in a UK and Ireland (wet) beach football match against a mostly German opponent. Sadly, they won.

Pass us a brolly!

Thankfully the weather didn’t spoil a brilliant few days, where I took to the seas and sailed around a particularly beautiful area of Australia with some great people. It involved a stop in Airlie Beach, where despite its name, there isn’t actually much sand to go and relax on. Instead, like many places where there’s a risk of crocs and stinger jellyfish on the coast, there’s a huge swimming lagoon where people hang out.

The New Horizon

I didn’t have much time for that, arriving the day before I set sail on the New Horizon, a 30-year-old sailing boat that spends its time taking backpackers and tourists around this islands for snorkelling, partying and sightseeing. I was under strict instructions not to take any bags with zips, mainly because its how bedbugs travel around apparently, and so with a beachbag of clothes and a box of wine (more on that later), I made my way to the marina.

I arrived to find a huge group of girls standing around.

“Hurray, another boy,” I overheard one of them say.

I asked if it was the waiting area for the New Horizon. There were nods and smiles.

“There’s only four boys coming,” said a blonde German girl to my right.

Now, you might think this a bit odd, about to spend three days at sea with a boatload of girls, but I was more than a little worried. With 31 people on the trip, that’s a ratio of almost eight girls to each bloke. I began to have visions of dinnertime chats being dominated by lipstick and makeup tips, which boys they fancy, and shoes.

Welcome aboard!

Thankfully, the girl’s sources were wrong, and slowly but surely another few lads turned up, mostly German, but lads all the same. There were still twice as many females as there were males, but we weren’t complaining, and neither was Brett, the slightly cheeky chappy who would be our host onboard and who turned up with a huge smile.

“They sell seasickness tablets in the shop behind you, and it will get a little bit bumpy out there with this wind,” were some of the key words I picked out in his welcome speech. I invested in a pack.

As we all climbed onboard, handing over our footwear for the next couple of days (‘this is a naked from the ankle down boat’) we were welcomed to the New Horizon on the bow, 31 of us from all around Europe. There was a large group from Germany, some from Switzerland, Holland, a good group from Ireland and one other guy from England.

Andy the captain

The New Horizon is skippered by Andy, a cheery, smiling bloke who looked every bit the salty seadog when he’d hang out of the wheelhouse, looking out to sea and sailing his vessel with pride.

Alex is the cook/anchor attendant/washer upper, a great guy to have a laugh and a chat with around in the kitchen. He’s originally from back home, but has been living and working on boats for years. He clearly loves life at sea.

Then there was Brett, our host come entertainer come alarm clock, who would be the one telling us what we could do, what we couldn’t do and when we need to do them for the duration of the three day trip.

Alex and his sausage

It was Brett who told us where the goon box was onboard. Now, goon, for anyone who doesn’t know, is a huge thing for backpackers in Australia. With a pint of beer costing anything up to $12.50 (just under £8) it leaves young, skint travellers with a problem when it comes to having a bevvy. Thankfully, a box of wine saves the day – known as cask wine, it comes in either ‘fruity’ or ‘dry’.

Its fairly similar to the boxes of wine you get back home, except probably not as nice. It definitely won’t win any international quality wine awards, but it does get you a little tipsy. And when you can pick up 4.4litres of the stuff for $12, thanks to the proximity of Australia’s wine growing regions, it becomes the drink of choice!

Goon it up!

The only problem was, with everyone taking their goon out of the cardboard boxes for the ice box – known as an ‘esky’ down under – it would be a confusing array of silver foil bags without any kind of marking system. Thankfully, it’s a problem the crew of the New Horizon have found a solution to, in the form of multicoloured elastic bands. For the next two nights, my grog was the one with a green and red bands twisted around the nozzle.

The sun goes down

With the sun shining, the calm, crystal clear blue water near the marina slowly gave way to the choppy ocean as we made our way over to the anchorage for the night, waving goodbye to Airlie Beach and mainland Australia. We got to know each other a little better when we hit calmer waters, and watched the sun set over the ocean.

Sunset at sea

The rest of the night was spent playing cards, drinking games, finding out about each others travels and watching sharks circle the boat. Yes, you did read that right. Sharks.

You can imagine the commotion, spotlight shining on the waves in the darkness, when someone shouts ‘shark’ amid a boatload of young people. Suddenly, we were all at the handrails along the side of the boat, watching and waiting.

Shark attack!

Sure enough, appearing like a ghost from the deep, an outline appeared, swooping around in a definite shark-like manner. Its long pointy tail, top fin and rounded head confirmed it. I strained my eyes, trying to spot any markings, and could just about see some dark markings on its fin.

“It’s a black tip reef shark,” said Alex, adding that it wasn’t often the trip would be blessed by the appearance of such a fish.

We watched as the shark circled other fish that had made the mistake of being attracted to the light and noise onboard the vessel. A short time late, another shark appeared, and I’d spend much of the night watching the two of them swooping around together, diving beneath the boat and getting dinner for themselves.

Cloudy arrival in the Whitsundays

The next morning, with a thick head thanks to the goon, there was a rude awakening that, being in the forward-most berth onboard, I’d been warned about. It was just after 5am – the noise was the anchor chain being hauled in and clanging away just centimetres from my head.

My lower bunk at the front of the boat

Just about the last thing anyone needs after a heavy night of goon, but thankfully it didn’t go on for long and we were told to carry on sleeping to avoid a rough bit of sea before arriving at Whitehaven.

The New Horizon can’t get close to the shore – shes’s a pretty big boat – and with no jetty at the Whitsundays National Park, it was a case of jumping in the small boat we’d been towing along and making a few shuttles to the shore. We headed up to the lookout, passing huge webs full of evil-looking spiders, before there was a clearing and a wooden platform. Stretching out for miles in front was the famous view I had seen on television travel programmes and in almost every Australian tourism brochure I have ever looked in.

There’s no doubt Whitehaven is one of the most stunningly beautiful places on Earth, but I was gutted there was no sunshine. For me, this was one of the places I had come to Australia to see, right up there with Ayers Rock. Without the sun shining, however, the brilliant white sand and turquoise blue waters just didn’t glow.

Still beautiful

The sand is famously white because of its high silica content, caused by years of washing by the ocean before being dumped on the sandbanks here. At low tide, you get an amazing view of the sand bars amid the bright blue water, a result of the incredible white sand below. I waited until the sun managed to poke between the clouds for a few seconds before grabbing a photo, but it’s a long way off those picture perfect postcards. Worse still, out to sea, there was a storm brewing.

We made our way down to the soft white sands of the beach, where most people donned stinger suits to protect themselves from jellyfish in the water. Alex told me there was a good chance of seeing some stingrays near the mangroves, so I went with him in search of them. It wasn’t long before a familiar dark outline appeared in front of us, along with a few others. We’d waded out to a family of them, who gradually lifted themselves off from their sandy beds and swam away.

I headed back towards a group from our boat that had set up camp on the beach, and was in the process of setting up some cricket stumps when I heard my name being called. It was Alex and Brandon from my dorm at Gilligans in Cairns!

With Alex and Brandon, mates from Cairns

“How are you buddy,” they said as I threw everything away I was doing to go and meet them.

It turned out they were onboard the Atlantic Clipper, the sister boat to New Horizon, and who were anchored just a short distance from us the previous night. We had just started talking about our respective boats when I caught sight of what was happening a few hundred metres away out on the sandbank.

Dozens of people were running. Fast. And towards us. Behind, a menacing cloud and a sheet of white from the ocean waves to the sky. It was rain – very heavy rain – and it was heading right for us.

The heavens opened

Alex and Brandon scarpered for shelter under a tree with the rest of their boat. Someone handed me a giant blue plastic bag. But it was too late. In an instant, the heavens opened with some of the heaviest rain I’ve known, not only on this trip, but ever before. It absolutely threw it down, and everyone, whether they had been in the water or not, was instantly soaked. I made a hole in the bag so I could see through (and breathe!) and braved my camera to get a few shots of the monsoon-like conditions that had suddenly swallowed us.

With everyone soaked to the bone, there was no point in heading back to the New Horizon. Instead, we carried on regardless – the cricket continued in the storm, people swam in the sea, we found a football and had a kickabout. Paradise might have changed to a winter’s day in Skeggy in an instant, but we were making the most of it. We’d only be here once, and if you can’t remember it for all the right reasons, then you may as well remember it for smashing a six into the sea. Or in our case, hitting the tennis ball so hard, it smashed the end off the plastic cricket bat. Whichever way you look at it, we turned a negative into a positive, and we’ll always remember our visit!

Fun and games jumping off the boat

Strangely, just as we were leaving Whitehaven, the clouds broke and the sun came out. We finished off the day with some snorkelling around the coast, diving off the boat and entertaining some batfish that had come to us for a feed. We sailed past the world-famous celebrity hangout Hayman Island, anchoring not far from its shores, and the goon was out again in the evening, along with yet more drinking games.

Our host Brett explaining where we had been

There was also an outing for my iPhone, after the German contingent alienated most music lovers by hijacking the sound system onboard at about 7pm in the evening to engulf us with a selection of weird European hardcore trance that absolutely nobody out of Germany had any interest in. I, along with a few of the others with better taste in music, agreed something had to be done. My family and friends back home will no doubt have a facepalm moment when

Our map and journey around the islands

I say it was my iPhone selected to make a playlist for the night, and after a few minutes selecting classics such as Scatman John, the Grease megamix and a bit of Aqua (there was a fair share of Oasis, Muse and Florence too!) the boat was rocking along to my DJ’ing for the rest of the night. Thankfully, the German contingent was dancing along too – its fair to say my music taste appeals to all!

Having fun on deck at night!

Despite being away for a few days, the trip was over quicker than you could say ‘landlubber’. After an early morning snorkel and breakfast, we headed back to the mainland with full sail, bouncing our way across the waves. Andy, the skipper, smiled at me when he saw how many people were on the bow as we made our way to the open water.

Early morning snorkelling

“They probably think this is as bad as its going to get…they’re going to get soaked in a few minutes,” he laughed, with a knowing wink.

It was a bit choppy…

Sure enough, as we hit the swell, the New Horizon lurched from one side to the other, throwing water up over the sides and drenching everyone in the process.

Water everywhere!

Even sheltering in the doorways you weren’t safe, with water gushing up over the top of the boat, landing on the roof and cascading down on anyone in the vicinity. Most people found a spot and stayed in it, hanging onto anything they could. Some where just trying to hold onto their stomachs. Thankfully,  I found my spot – it was in the sun, on the deck, and horizontal – catching 40 winks!

My spot on deck!

A couple of hours later, we were sailing into the calmer waters near the harbour, posing for group photos and looking forward to losing our sea legs. I was working out what to do for the afternoon, with another overnight Greyhound booked for the evening. I decided to head back to the hostel where I had stayed before the trip, knock on a few doors and blag a shower in someone’s room before collecting my bags and heading to a café somewhere.

The motley crew onboard the New Horizon!

We gave all the crew members a round of applause and a few cheers as we got back to the mainland. They had done a brilliant job – Brett had kept us all safe and entertained, Andy had steered us on the trip of a lifetime, and Alex had kept us fed with some great meals considering the tiny amount of space he has to work in. The spaghetti bolognaise on the last night was one of the best I’ve had.

I said goodbye to the crew and headed off up the pontoon, where I could see Alex and Brandon who had just left their boat.

“Phil! Where are you heading?” they asked.

I told them I was off to blag a shower in a hostel. They told me they were heading to a luxury apartment in the mountains overlooking the bay.

“How in the world did you manage to afford that?” I asked, slightly envious.

One hell of a luxury apartment!

They told me a friend that Brandon had worked with had managed to get them a good deal for a few nights, and said I should go with them for the afternoon. It was an offer I would have been stupid to turn down, and walked with them up some of the steepest hills Airlie Beach has to offer until we reached a fantastic set of apartments. These were the best of the best in the area – $300 a night jobs, complete with a pool high in the mountains overlooking the stunning scenery.

Living the life!

The boys had landed on their feet. They knew it, I knew it, and in return, I too had shared in their luck. I spent the afternoon chilling by a pool in a setting that millionaires would be happy with, dumped some washing in their utility room, had an amazing shower in one of the best bathrooms I have ever seen and caught up with two good mates on a balcony with one of the most brilliant views in the area.

Alex, a self photo, with Brandon and I in the pool!

Yet again, it was another example of the beauty of travelling. Within the space of an hour, I had gone from trying to scout out a shower in a grotty dorm, to spending an afternoon at one of the most luxurious apartment complexes I have ever seen. It was all thanks to two guys, who a week before I had never met. Now, after meeting in our dorm in Cairns, they had invited me to share the afternoon with them, and dropped me off back at my hostel late in the afternoon to collect my bags. They are both heading south towards Sydney, the same as me, and we hope to meet up again further along the way. But whether we manage that or not, they are already two more people to add to my ever growing friend list from this trip.

Strangers to mates in an instant – and photographs and memories that will last a lifetime.