Half A World Away

Posted on July 10, 2012 by afishoutofgrimsby

On the far side of the world…

I’ve set myself another travel challenge – to get myself to the furthest point away from home on planet Earth. I want to get myself to the complete opposite side of the world to Grimsby. But its going to take some doing.

It was an idea that came to me thanks to one of my friend Neil’s housemates in Alice Springs a couple of months ago. He was from Fiji, and handed me a magazine that outlined what there was to do in the islands. My eyes fell on a page all about the date line.

Now, this in itself is something very few people ever get to visit. The chance to stand half in today, half in tomorrow. Or half in yesterday, half in today. However you want to look at it. It confuses me to even think about it.

Anyway, there are only three places in the world where you can stand on the actual, true, international date line without getting wet in the Pacific Ocean. One is in Siberia, another is in the Arctic Circle, both of which I have no plans to go near anytime soon.

Which leaves one more – in Fiji. Which, incase you didn’t see my last post, is where I find myself for the next six days. It means I don’t have a great deal of time, and it’s a bit of a toss-up between switching off on a paradise island for a few days, or setting off on another adventure somewhere, seeing the country in the process.

Now, the thing that swung the decision for me was through a bit of research and slow realisation. The international date line sits on the 180° Meridian line, one of the imaginary lines used for time and dating around the world. And then I thought back to home.

Cleethorpes, the town next to Grimsby, has the Greenwich Meridian Line running straight through it. And that, it took me a while to realise, is in other words the 0° line.

The Greenwich Meridian, 0deg, running through Cleethorpes (©Steve Collins, Flickr)

Of course, a full circle, like the big circle that is the planet we all sit on, has 360° in it before you reach wherever you first started off. Which means 180° is exactly halfway around. Which means it is the exact furthest point you can be from 0°.

Now, for all of this, you can quite simply read that Fiji, or should I say, a part of Fiji, is precisely the furthest point away from Cleethorpes that you can get. And that, I think, is a fairly cool fact.

The slight snag is that the particular island the 180 line passes through is called Taveuni, and its pronunciation isn’t the problem. It’s the fact that it lies quite a long way north from Nadi, the town I landed in on the main island.

I looked into flights. There’s an airline called Pacific Sun that will fly me there from Nadi, but at a price. Over £300 return is a sizeable chunk of my remaining travel fund, and out of the question. I started to write off the idea. Besides, a week in the sun on an idyllic beach would be quite nice.

But then that nagging thought that has plagued me at moments like this throughout my journey came back. The voice in my head was telling me I’ll probably only ever be here this one time in my life. And once I have left these shores for Los Angeles, there will be no going back. No other chances to look on a map at where it says International Date Line and know that I have been there.

And I will always know that I had the chance to say I have been as far away from home as possible, but never took it.

A ferry cheap way to travel

That’s when I found out about a ferry. There are three a week, its relatively cheap and it leaves at a time that means I should be able to make it back to Nadi for my flight. But it leaves from Suva, on the south of the main island and a hefty drive away from Nadi. Already I have picked up that Fiji isn’t necessarily geared up for independent backpacking, but surely there is a way of reaching it.

Thankfully, while trying to drink the local poison of Kava, made from plant roots, I got talking to staff from a nearby hostel.

“You can do it, yeah you can do it. Infact, we have a trip leaving on Friday,” I was told

It was music to my ears.

And so, at 9.30am this morning, I had packed my bags, said goodbye to the staff where I had been staying and rolled up at the Bamboo hostel, where the travel guy was waiting for me.

Being waved off from Nadi

“Bula! Good morning Phil,” he smiled, directing me to put my bags down.

“So, you’ll get a driver that will take you to Suva for FJ$18 (£6) then its an overnight ferry that leaves at 6pm for $68. That will get you to Taveuni for lunchtime on Saturday, you can stop off at the line, then spend the night at the hostel there before coming back on the ferry on Sunday, arriving back here for Monday.”

It is a long way to go, but the way I see it, I will see far more of Fiji, and experience more of life in these remote islands, by travelling with the locals and making my way to the northern islands in search of my unique spot on the globe.

There were three others who will make the long journey with me, two American guys called Craig and Michael, and a Canadian girl called Marie. We loaded our bags into the back of the people carrier and set off down the dusty road towards Nadi, where we dropped off a couple of people in the town centre.

Stacks of fruit!

The drive to Suva took us through the lush fertile landscape that Fiji is famous for. It was a drive that took us past fields full of sugar cane crops and colourful pink and blue houses set on hills, surrounded by fresh fruit and vegetables growing all around. The beautiful deep blue Pacific Ocean was sending waves crashing onto the surrounding reef. Out to sea, some of the many small islands that litter the coastline around the main island, swathes of bright blue water marking the areas of coral. This was more like the tropical island I had been expecting to see.

Palm-fringed roads and beaches

It was a bumpy, dusty ride in places, the windows open slightly to let in a much needed breeze. Having thought we’d been put into a private transfer to Suva, we soon began to get some company in the form of locals along the way. With just one main road around the edge of the islands, hundreds of minibuses, like the one I’m on, ply for trade by cruising along the road, picking up anyone that indicates they need a ride. It’s a mode of transport that seems to work well, for just a few cents from the locals. Some would hop in and get out just a few miles down the road, some would climb onboard and stay for a while, getting out at a major town half an hour away. But all would jump in with a huge smile and a friendly ‘Bula!’ before settling into their seat. It’s a greeting we all return with gusto!

Mixing it with the locals

A couple of hours down the road we stopped at the service station, and while it was a welcome break to stretch our legs, a Welcome Break this was not. A small shack selling everything from toasted sandwiches and crisps to sausages and chips – pretty much everything you could want on a long trip, but in typically Fijian surroundings.

Service station, Fiji style

It was a typical small town on the island, and yet again the people were incredibly friendly. It was also cheap, with some fresh pineapple, a bottle of coke and three bags of crisps for the journey setting me back just over the equivalent of a pound. Maybe that was the biggest difference to the service stations back home – the fact you don’t need to remortgage your house for some refreshments.

Pineapple at the services

Another two and half hours down the road, we arrived in Suva, the capital. We called at the port first, catching my first glimpse of the ferry that will become home for the next couple of days. I say ferry, it was more of a rusting cargo ship, a former Greek vessel that sailed the Aegean Sea, shuttling between the islands since it was built in the 1960s. It was certainly showing its age in places, and that was just by looking at it from the shore.

Suva city centre

But there was still five hours to go before the 6pm sailing, so we were dropped off in the nearby city centre, and for me it was time to sort out a few errands while I was in relative civilisation – a new memory card for my camera, a postcard for the parents so it can be stuck on the world map they are plotting my journey on, a new t-shirt and a new towel, having left my Australia flag one in a hostel in New Zealand. I’ve replaced it with a Fiji flag – it’s a much nicer, bright blue anyway.

Leaving our mark in Suva

It was also a chance to grab a few supplies from the supermarket, as I’d been warned food onboard the ship was expensive. Having got fed up of bread and Vegemite, it was time for a change. Bread and peanut butter it was.

After a few photos around the city, it was time to meet the others and find a taxi back to the port and continue my journey to the far side of the world. It was FJ$68 for the one-way ticket to Taveuni, about £22. Considering I was paying more than that for one night at a hostel around Australia, it was a price worth paying for travel and accommodation for the night. The only catch is you don’t get a bed, it’s a case of sleeping in the seating area for the night, but having spent a fair few nights on Greyhounds or on planes in such a sleeping position, it shouldn’t be a problem.

We arrived at the port to find a completely different scene to the one we’d left a few hours previous, with crowds of people now gathered around the stern doors to the ferry, a busy scene of people saying goodbye to loved ones, hauling bags and boxes up onto the ship, and of lorries and vans trying to manoeuvre themselves up the steep ramp and into position in the hold of the ship.

“Taveuni?” nods a man from the ship, taking my bag and placing it with countless others that had been piled inside a shipping container. I made my way up through the fume-filled cargo area and up a steep rusting stairwell, covered in oil and grime, and across the decks towards the passenger area.

The main passenger ‘saloon’

It was there that I found most seats had already been taken, with an abnormally high number of mothers spread out and lounging around with their offspring on mats on the floor. Many were between the rows of seats, others just clogged up the gangways. I managed to find a seat next to an older Fijian man called Henry, who was interested in my journey and where I had been.

“I’ve just got a new job, working at a hotel in Taveuni. This is the furthest I have ever travelled, I’ve never been on a big ship like this,” he tells me.

“I’m hoping its nice on the island. I don’t like leaving my friends and family behind.”

Setting sail

It was interesting to hear one of the locals talk about the journey like that, and a reminder that while the price is relatively cheap for myself, even on my dwindling budget, it is still a lot of money for those who live here. It is a journey few will ever make, although Henry is full of praise for me making a break away from the well-trodden party island routes of countless backpackers before me.

Heading north

While Henry was a really nice bloke, he also happened to be one of the worst snorers I have come across on the trip so far. I had a warning when he took a very loud nap shortly after we drifted away from Suva, prompting me to have a good look around the ship. There were many more seating areas in the open air on deck, and people were already setting up to spend the night under the stars. I felt lucky to at least have a padded seat indoors.

After a round of peanut butter sandwiches, the lights suddenly went out. It was 8.30pm, and the crew had decided it was late enough for us all to still be awake, and so in a not so subtle manner, forced us all to bed. Thankfully I kept typing away under the glow from my netbook screen, while all around me began to settle for the night. I unfurled my sleeping bag and got as comfortable as I could before eventually trying to get some sleep myself. All was going well, even managing to fall asleep, until I heard a deep, bass-filled rumbling sound.

It was Henry, and he was fast asleep. And how. Amid all the background noise on the ship – the engines, the air conditioning, the screaming babies – Henry managed to outdo them all. Others, too, were looking over in my direction, having been awoken by Henry’s howls. My seat was vibrating with the force of his snoring, and there was little I could do but try to shut it out. I tried for half an hour, and then the baby right behind me began screaming. I couldn’t take anymore – I wriggled out of my sleeping bag, put my valuables in my pockets, and made my way to the top deck.

Trying to sleep under the stars.

It might have been outside, it might have been on a rusting, gap-filled bench, and it might have been at the worst point on the ship to feel the full effect of the rolling Pacific Ocean waves, but at least it was relatively quite, aside from the sound of the water crashing against the ship. That, combined with the rocking of the boat, actually sent me off into a relatively deep sleep, apart from waking up periodically through the night thanks to some agonisingly uncomfortable aches from the hard metal bench.

Morning!

It was lunchtime the following day before I finally got my first glimpse of Taveuni. It’s known as the Garden Island of Fiji, thanks to it being the wettest of all the islands, which in turn means it produces more fruit and vegetables than any other in the country. From across the magnificently deep blue sea we were sailing through, the island seemed shrouded in cloud, growing greener and greener the nearer we sailed to our final destination.

Approaching Taveuni

After almost 20 hours onboard the ship, we were finally allowed back down to the vehicle deck to collect our bags, and met by Rafa, who is part of the team from the delightfully named Tuvununu backpackers on the island. I asked him if we could stop off at the 180 Meridian on the way north to the resort, and thanks to a kind driver, he agreed.

We finally arrive at the date line

It was just a five minute ride to the actual line. It is marked by a sign, divided into two, which sits at the far side of a playing field. Unbeknown to me, I have already crossed the International Date Line into ‘yesterday’, but this is something that becomes normal for the 9,000 people who live here. Because of the natural problems that having a country split in half by a day (imagine the TV listings for a start – who knows when Coronation Street would be on?!) the date line, for the sake of countries and islanders like those in Fiji, actually zig-zags around the land masses in the southern Pacific. But the true date line is at 180 degrees, and as I walk over towards the sign, I notice a building with ‘2000’ painted onto the roof.

“That’s because so many people from around the world came here for the Millennium,” Rafa tells me.

“This was the first place where the new Millennium dawned, when sun first rose in 2000, and so they marked it by painting the roof.”

I approached the sign along with the rest of the group from Nadi who had been taken in by my story of how I was about to stand at the complete opposite side of the globe to my home town. Only a couple of them had actually realised the significance of the line until I told them about it.

Welcome to the dawn of a new day

The sign was rotting slightly at the edges, but there was all the confirmation still remaining painted on it that I was indeed standing on the 180 Meridian. I looked out to the north, knowing that if I walked in a dead straight line – or swam over the wet bits – I would indeed eventually walk straight up onto the beach at Cleethorpes and along the coastal path in the town near the Humberston Fitties. It was a baffling thought, and I looked through the gap in the sign showing where the Meridian passes through, gazing out over the Pacific Ocean and thinking of home so many thousands of miles away.

My next baffling thought was that of what day I was standing in. Strangely, I was standing in both – my right side of the body was in 1pm ‘today’, Saturday, June 30, while the left side of my body was standing in 1pm ‘yesterday’. A strange phenomenon, and one that raises further questions when the sun sets at that particular point. I puzzled over which night you are actually seeing.

Half in today, half in yesterday!

It was also a weird thought to look at how the island was divided by the line, knowing that in reality, two different days are ongoing. A few of us chatted about it, and agreed it changes your whole perspective on time, days and what actually constitutes a 24 hour period, as if by standing at that point had made us realise that actually, what we live our entire lives by is infact just a clever way of regulating life by the constant sunrise and sunsets that the revolution of the earth brings.

Relaxation awaits

Having spent 20 minutes taking in the odd knowledge that I am as far away from home as possible, we all made our way back to the minivan and on to the accommodation. And for a backpacker hostel, what accommodation it was – a wooden deck overlooking an amazing blue lagoon, opposite a tropical island and surrounded by hammocks and relaxing chairs. It was a perfect place to relax, and I was already regretting only being there for one night. With the ferry returning the following day, and it being the best part of a week before it returns, I had to catch it to go back in order to make my onward flight to America.

On another, slightly smaller, boat…

I made the most of my time at the Tuvununu lodge though, getting to know people, sharing Kava and even taking a canoe out in the afternoon, being set a challenge by Rafa to make it across to the island on the opposite side of the lagoon.

With Rafa

From the hostel, it didn’t look too far, but it took a hard half an hour of frantic paddling to safely make it through the current and across the choppy waters to the palm-fringed island. I took shelter from the current in a small bay, even getting out of the Kayak to officially step foot on the island. There wasn’t a beach as such, just a rocky, shingle cove full of driftwood and rotting leaves that had been washed up onto the shore. I picked up a rock and a leaf to take back to Rafa as proof of making the crossing.

It was actually further than I thought – the dot is me, paddling furiously

Thankfully, the return back was a little easier with a back wind, and I arrived in the hostel to a congratulatory word from Will, one of the residents who would also be sailing back with me to Suva the following day.

“I’ve been here a week and I’ve not managed to do that, so fair play to you for doing it on your first afternoon,” he said. Craig, who I had travelled from Nadi with, even took a photo of me after being surprised how far I’d had to paddle.

“It really shocked me to see the perspective of how small you looked,” he said.

24 Hours later, heading back again!

My time in Taveuni came to an end far too quickly. Before I knew it, I was back in a taxi and heading back to the ferry terminal for the return trip onboard Sofi, the Spirit of the Fiji Islands. There was a bit of amusement for us all as we watching the crew of a neighbouring ship, the Lomaviti Princess, struggling to haul in a small boat that they had been using to bring in the mooring ropes.

The Lomaviti Princess sets sail, dragging a boat

Having struggled to slide the boat onto the stern door, they came up with a novel way of getting the problematic vessel back inside the mother ship – attaching it to a forklift truck, and driving the forklift as quickly as possible inside the ship. There was an almighty bang as it hit the door, but aside from that, they somehow got the boat back onboard.

Nearly there…

It was entertaining to watch, and laughed in the face of all our health and safety laws and regulations back home. I can’t quite imagine one of the ships leaving Immingham Docks carrying out the same procedure in the Humber. It was while doing some research into the ship that I found this little gem on Wikipedia, and it made me smile. Its about the launch of the vessel, formerly a ferry in Canada

All done and also heading to Suva

“The launching did not proceed without incident. The traditional smashing of a champagne bottle against the hull was to be performed by the wife of the Speaker of the Legislature, W H Murray. Moments before, however, a young boy ran across the dock and tripped over the rope which restrained the chains holding the vessel to the ways. Instead of being launched by the pull of a lever, the Queen of Prince Rupert was sent down the ways prematurely by accident.

Mrs. Murray belatedly pulled a second lever to propel the champagne bottle, but it missed the boat. Harold Husband, president of the shipping line, grabbed the bottle on its return swing and tried to smash it against the hull, but the bottle only bounced off. Then the winds pushed the unpowered vessel directly towards a grain dock. Nearby tugs quickly moved in to keep the QPR out of danger. To ensure that there would be no bad luck associated with an improperly christened ship, Mrs. Murray later “threw another bottle of bubbly at the frisky ferry” as it lay tied up to a pier.“

Taveuni bound again

There is perhaps no wonder the crew can find it a struggle onboard that particular ship. I decided not to look into the mishaps that happened when my particular mode of transport was launched, but thankfully I found a much quieter lounge for the night, setting up a proper bed on the floor like the locals and getting a decent amount of sleep before arriving in Suva at dawn.

Bed!

Sunset over the Fiji Islands and ocean

I had booked into the Beachouse, a place recommended to me by my friend Cat, who had stayed shortly before ending her travels around the world in March. It was also heavily advertised everywhere, so I thought it would be worth a try, and thankfully it was. With an early arrival at 9am, I was half expecting to be told to wait around until I could check in later in the day, but to my relief and surprise, I was shown to my room and told to help myself to breakfast.

Paradise found at the Beachouse, Fiji coral coast

“You’re only here for one night, but stay as long as you need and use all our facilities tomorrow too,” I was told. Refreshing.

I helped myself to breakfast, talking to the friendly staff and using the free wifi to catch up with events back home, while also making my parents slightly green by turning the camera around to show them my view of a paradise beach, turquoise waters and hammocks where I was to spend a lazy couple of days relaxing.

The Fiji i’d been told about

My Beachouse beach house

It was two days of perfect sunsets, afternoon tea and cakes (another great free touch by the Beachouse) meeting fellow travellers, catching up on the blog and exploring the shallow reef that was just a few metres from the hammocks I grew so attached to.

Peanut butter sandwiches in paradise!

Free afternoon tea and cakes!

One of the highlights was walking out to the coral drop-off at low tide, watching the Pacific waves pounding against the reef, and looking at scores of blue starfish, commonly found in these waters, but for me a totally alien species that I was amazed by. They were an incredible colour, and there were so many of them.

Blue starfish

I almost had to pinch myself on several occasions. Fiji is a country that lies so far away from home – quite literally on the other side of the world – that I am unlikely to ever visit again, yet I had found a place which summed up my expectations.

Fun in Fiji

This was the paradise people had been speaking to me about, yet there are dozens of other islands that I am told are even better. Hard to imagine, yet in a place where you can stand in two days at once, find drinking something that tastes like pond water as enjoyable, and almost shatter windows with a snore, there’s little that can surprise me anymore here.

A beautiful place

Combined with some of the friendliest people I have met – the Fijians are on a par with the Thais for the friendliest on the planet for me – it was a stay on a faraway island I will always remember

Christchurch: Rising from the Rubble

Posted on July 3, 2012 by afishoutofgrimsby

Christchurch Cathedral – a symbol of the city’s loss

“Ive just been watching my old offices being pulled down.”

“Weird isn’t it – I had to watch mine on video as we weren’t allowed nearby.”

Just a snippet of the conversation behind me in the corrugated steel shipping container-cum-coffee shop where I’m waiting for a cappuccino in the centre of earthquake-hit Christchurch.

A devastated city

Since February last year, this has become a normal conversation in this southern New Zealand city. A few blocks away, I’d just been watching yet another building being pulled down, as the long, ongoing process of flattening an entire city centre and rebuilding the whole lot from scratch continues.

Another building starts to come down

Almost every high-rise building in the CBD is set to be demolished – or deconstructed, to coin the phrase being used here – after the 6.3 magnitude quake wrecked foundations and left entire swathes of the city in ruins. Along with the devastation to the city and infrastructure, the February 22 disaster claimed the lives of 189 people, and daily life in this part of the south island shuddered to an abrupt halt.

A once bustling shopping area

It was the nightmare scenario many believed the area had avoided, after an even greater earthquake just a few months previous. Back in September 2010, the area was shaken by a 7.1 magnitude earthquake, which caused damage but no deaths. The city lies right on top of previously unknown fault lines between two tectonic plates, a part of the infamous Pacific ring of fire. But people in New Zealand are familiar with their country’s unique geological make-up, and when the first major quake struck in 2010, causing relatively minor damage and injuries, there was a belief that the area and its people had dodged a bullet.

But there was a major difference in the type of earthquake that struck last year. In the first earthquake in 2010, the two plates largely slipped side by side, and in a much deeper location some six miles underground. In February last year, it was much shallower, at three miles deep, and there was a huge vertical shift – so much so, the hills around the city rose by an estimated 40cm in an instant. With the epicentre just 10 kilometres south-east of the centre of the country’s second largest city, there was only going to be one outcome.

Work ongoing at the city’s main theatre

Almost 18 months on, and parts of the city centre are still so unsafe, the public are kept away. Known as the red zone it covers most of the central area, and while some parts have recently reopened, there is still a long way to go with demolition work before the rest of the city is made safe.

One of the huge areas of space from cleared buildings

Yet this is a city, that despite its loss and devastation, is already looking forward. Speak to anyone on the streets, and it is more than likely you’ll get the strange response that the earthquake, aside from the loss of life, could actually be a good thing for the area.

The Red Zone

“It means we can start again. It’s quite exciting,” said one taxi driver as he drove me around the edge of the red zone.

And inside the city centre, there are already the green shoots of recovery thanks to one of the most surprising and novel ideas – the Re:Start Mall, an entire shopping precinct full of stores and cafes trading again from inside brightly-painted shipping containers.

At the Re:Start Mall

Container village

The bank

“I don’t know who thought about the containers, but it’s a great idea as we needed something to stimulate the city again,” says Bronwyn Jones, an assistant at Johnson’s Grocers.

Bronwyn with some Yorkshire Tea at the Grocers

“Christchurch is nothing like it was, and you need something positive to give people something to look forward to, to bring the community together again and be joyful.”

The owner, Colin Johnson, had been feared killed in the earthquake after the imported foods and produce he specialises in were shaken from the shelves, landing on top of him. At 72 years old, he was knocked unconscious.

Colin Johnson in his old shop

“He came out after a while, covered in red. It was tomato sauce, but everyone thought it was blood,” laughs Bronwyn, before revealing the store is doing better than it ever has done after relocating inside a number of black containers more commonly seen on the world’s largest ships.

“Colin’s busier now than he ever was before, and despite the earthquake, he’s still going,” she said.

“The shop has always been part of him – I can’t imagine him ever giving it up.”

Colin’s new shop…in shipping containers

But the costs for Colin, and every other home and business owner, can be crippling as insurance prices reach record levels.

“The excesses are so high now as a result of what happened. If anything breaks here now, it will have to cost thousands to replace or repair to even consider claiming on the insurance.”

The busy shop

Amid shelves full of Yorkshire Tea, Sherbet Fountains, HP Sauce and Tunnock’s Caramels, 82-year-old Christchurch resident Marianne is looking for a replacement for her beloved New Zealand Marmite.

There is currently a national shortage of the red-labelled yeast extract – a different flavour to the British version – after the Marmite factory in the city was badly damaged by the events of last year. So sought-after is the foodstuff by locals, it can sell for many dollars a jar online. Instead, I persuade Marianne to try the yellow-labelled variety from home.

Marianne, with my mate, Marmite

“If I don’t like it, I’ll come and find you,” she laughs, before revealing she’s only just plucked up the courage to return to the city centre.

“A lot of older people have been nervous about coming back into the city, but I have found it in me to return and I love it,” she said.

“I think the people who have stayed here and haven’t moved away from the city are handling it better than those who moved away. I think they have almost put a barrier up against a return now, so find it hard to do.”

But there is also a feeling that what happened in Christchurch has largely been forgotten by those overseas. While the death toll was limited, the cost will run into billions of dollars, with an estimated rebuild time of around 20 years. Most other cities around the world would have been obliterated by such an earthquake, but strong building regulations had helped minimise casualties. Yet few people know exactly what happened, largely because just over two weeks after the earthquake hit, Japan was devastated by a tsunami – directing news crews and the world’s attention to the far east.

The devastated main shopping street

“There has been 11,000 tremors since the earthquake – that’s one every four hours,” says Ross, a driver and tour guide of the London bus that now takes tourists around the ruined city.

“You don’t feel them all, particularly if you are out on the road or driving, but there are some 4,000 that have been strong enough to be felt.”

Ross heads back to his bus amid the ruins

On the bus are around 15 people who are all keen to have a look around the city and take in the damage. It follows a growing trend in people travelling to centres of natural disasters, either to pay their respects, volunteer or just to try to comprehend the events of the past year and a half. The tour is popular, running twice a day, and includes a stop at the once iconic cathedral, its famous façade now a gaping hole and mass of rubble.

Christchurch Cathedral

What will happen to the cathedral is perhaps the most controversial subject to have come out of the whole disaster here. There has been a huge argument between supporters of the church and the authorities who have deemed it unsafe, and more importantly, unsalvageable. While the cathedral still stands for now, the likelihood is it will be demolished, much to the anger of those who have been campaigning to save it.

But the tour isn’t the only indicator that tourists are once again beginning to return. Having scrapped Christchurch from its route map, Magic Bus, one of the three main backpacker buses that tour the islands, has recently put it back on the stop list, citing pressure from those who were using their services.

Magic Bus product manager Daryl Raven said: “The time was right to bring international tourists back to Christchurch. They were curious about what had happened and wanted to learn first-hand about the earthquakes and their impact on the Canterbury region.

“We want to give passengers the chance to say they were present during the rebuilding and rebirth of one of New Zealand’s most iconic cities, and to help the Christchurch economy get back on its feet.”

Christchurch YHA, a once popular spot for backpackers

One of the problems now is a lack of accommodation – most of the beds in the city centre, from backpacker dorms to five-star suites, were located in buildings which have now been condemned. Work is rapidly ongoing to refit, rebuild and repair some of the city’s main hotels, but in the meantime accommodation can be tight.

Christchurch railway station

As the bright red London bus passes the former railway station, the clocks are frozen in time. One is them is the time of the 2010 earthquake, a poignant reminder of how time has stood still for Christchurch.

4.35am, the time of the first earthquake

“We watched as it took just a week and a half to pull down a seven storey building,” says Hester Moore, who runs the Base Woodfired Pizza stall with Andy Thomson in the Re:Start Mall.

Hester and Andy at their pizza stall

“The whole façade was ripped away and people’s belongings were still there. It was like looking into people’s lives as they were a year ago,” she added.

But Hester agrees that as a city, the people of Christchurch are moving on with their lives.

“Generally, people are just happy to be here. You just have to accept the circumstances as they are and as they change,” she said.

“It is such a great opportunity now for business, and what they have done here with the containers is a unique and individual way to resurrect the CBD from the state it was in this time last year.”

In a ghost town area of Christchurch

While there are pockets of new beginnings springing up around the centre, there is still an eerie feel as you walk around the deserted city streets. The sound of clinking coffee cups and the hustle and bustle of business has been replaced with a permanent din of jackhammers and drills.

Familiar names like Starbucks and STA Travel sit boarded up and covered in dust and grime.

Markers left by search teams

In a newsagents, bars of chocolate lie scattered around on the counter in the places they came to rest after being thrown around by the force of the tremor. The walls and windows of buildings still show the spray-painted messages left by search and rescue teams from around the world in the immediate aftermath of the quake. Billboards in the red zone display posters for shows and concerts in March last year – a reminder how beyond the barriers, it is still February 22, 2011.

Search and rescue teams from around the world helped here

Vast areas of the city have already been made safe – empty spaces left behind on the footprints of huge office blocks have now been turned into carparks. All of the city’s multi-storey parking facilities remain closed, deemed unsafe for use. As a newcomer to the city, its easy to think that it just had an open-plan feel to the place, easy to forget that the streets here were once lined with shops, restaurants and places of work.

New initiatives have been started to help move the focus away from the city’s loss, to looking towards a brighter future. One of those is Gap Filler, filling the spaces left behind with anything from crazy golf to live music events. Others, like artist Mike Hewson, have created huge works of art that fill the gaping spaces left in many of the damaged buildings and walls.

185 Chairs.

But perhaps the most thought provoking is that of 185 chairs, a collection of white chairs arranged in a neat square on the site of the former Oxford Terrace Baptist Church. It’s a reminder of the loved ones the city lost on that awful day,

No words needed.

each chair being different to the next as a symbol of the individual people that lost their lives. On a railing to the east of the city centre, yellow ribbons still flutter in the wind with messages of love and hope for those who perished, and for the city as a whole.

As you follow the barriers that section off the ruined city, flowers and messages from loved ones catch the eye. Many are recent, having been left for birthdays or anniversaries.

Just one of many messages

By a huge empty space, once the home to the Canterbury Television Building, I find Tomo, a young Japanese man who is saying prayers and attaching a bunch of yellow flowers to the railings. More than 100 people died in the building, over half of the total fatalities in the city, after it collapsed within seconds of the earthquake. As well as being home to the local television station, an English languages school was situated inside.

Tomo tells me how 28 of his fellow countrymen died in the building, either killed by the collapse or who died in a subsequent fire. Visibly moved by being at the site, he struggled to contain his emotions.

“Those Japanese students came all of this way from home to study English, but died in the earthquake,” he tells me, eyes welling up.

Tomo remembers

“I have come here to learn English in their honour, to do it for them. They are no longer able to learn, but I am, and they inspired me to come here and study.

Looking back through the railings at the levelled-off rubble that remains, he sighs.

“I am doing it for them.”

There is no doubt that Christchurch will rise again from the ruins, but the human tragedy from one of New Zealand’s worst ever natural disasters will take a long time to heal. Now though, all thoughts are focussed on getting this city back on its feet as a fully functioning place to live and work.

New building regulations have been brought in – a seven-storey limit has been imposed on new structures, and strict earthquake proofing standards will have to be met. Early plans for the new city layout will make the picturesque river and parks a focal point, while an entirely new infrastructure, including potential for a light railway system, have now become a possibility.

It will, however, take time. It will be years even before the final damaged building has been made safe. The manpower alone to rebuild the city is phenomenal, aside from the incredible demand for building materials and supplies. Conservative estimates put the rebuild duration at between 15 and 20 years to complete, but that doesn’t bother Ross on the city tour bus.

“Our forefathers planted trees around the city, knowing they would never see them reach maturity, but instead they planted them to bring pleasure to others in the future,” he says.

“We’re rebuilding Christchurch. We are starting again and making it somewhere to be proud of again. But its not for us that live here now – it’s for our children, and our childrens’ children. And I’m happy with that.”

The End of a Magic Wander

Posted on July 2, 2012 by afishoutofgrimsby

Cold

Its fair to say the Magic Bus that left Queenstown was full of people desperate to get away from the place.

It wasn’t because they didn’t like the town – far from it – it was purely because everyone was exhausted from the rigors of one of the best places in the world for partying or pushing your body and senses to their limit.

To say the bus was a little subdued is an understatement. Blurry eyes, dazed expressions and an overwhelming desire to sleep were the telltale signs that everyone had done themselves proud. Queenstown had officially got every single one of us, and there were plenty of stories to catch up on from an eventful seven days.

Back on the bus, daft hat and all

As Jack, our new driver, navigated us away from our hostels, we said goodbye to Fergburger, the Remarkables and all the little watering holes that had become second nature to us over the past few days, watching as the scenery changed back into the open countryside. After a few minutes, we passed the Kawarau Bridge, the place where the first ever bungy jumps were made, and one final reminder of what this area is so famous for.

Having said goodbye to our driver Soap, who left Queenstown a couple of days after our epic night out with his new group, we had also said goodbye to his huge bus in which we would all sprawl around in absolute comfort thanks to it being largely empty because of the low season.

Full of energy on the (smaller) Magic Bus

Jack had a nice, small bus, but he claimed it felt like a rocket after downsizing for the low season. He’s only been doing the job for a few months, and has lots of enthusiasm for it. He admits he’s still learning about the route, what there is to see and the activities on offer in each place, but for that reason he also sees the fun side of it too – he’s discovering parts almost as much as we are.

For me, this is the last leg of the Magic Bus adventure. My final destination is earthquake hit Christchurch, from where I’ll be catching a flight back to Auckland and then on to Fiji. That’s in a couple of days time, but first we were making our way back through the mountains and making our first stop of the day.

Kate and the ‘real’ horse

“Is that horse real?” asked Kate, probably too loudly bearing in mind everyone else could clearly see it was a model horse and cart.

We were at a small village called Cromwell, and Kate’s alcohol intake of late had somehow affected her perception of reality. But that was something I could completely understand, with a lack of sleep thanks to a final night out to blame for my higher than normal clumsiness levels. I was also desperate for a coffee, so we headed to a lovely little café with a roaring log fire to while away the half hour break.

After much talk of events in Queenstown, we were back on our way, making a later stop at a salmon farm surrounded by snowy mountains. It came with free food to throw to the fish, and after much fun making them fly out of the water at the little brown pellets, Jack, our guide, had a great idea.

Feeding the fish

“See if you can launch them across the whole area from your pot,” he said, throwing his out in a nice arc across the whole pond.

I gave it a try, and somehow overestimated my strength, pretty much making all the bits of food clear the water and hit the path on the opposite side. It at least got a laugh from a few off the bus, in particular Becky, who continued giggling until we all got another bowl of food and had another go at said exercise.

“Right, everyone together, spread out around the water, and on the count of three,” he told us.

With cameras at the ready, we all launched our food together and ensured we made a lot of salmon very happy.

Salmon, doing a very good Piranha impression

The next bit of fun was a stop at a nearby lake, surrounded by rocks and huge boulders. Sometimes you have to make your own entertainment, and Liam and I decided to have a race down to the water by jumping from rock to rock.

A lake and a challenge…

Liam won it, although he’s a bit younger and a lot more nimble than me on his feet. I did, however, raise the stakes down at the bottom by challenging him to get the furthest out into the water.

He wasn’t quite expecting to see me quickly taking my shoes and socks off and rolling up my jeans, having spotted a protruding rock I thought I’d be able to wade out to.

Liam still beat me

The rocks were slimy and slippery underfoot, but I managed to make it to the rock without falling in, while Liam once again beat me by making it to another rock even further away from the edge of the water. It was simple, but gave us all a few laughs, and was followed by the usual manly stone skimming competition, that later turned into a full on ‘how far can you just chuck the thing’ competition. Jack, funnily enough, had a surprisingly good throw.

The rest of the Magic Bus group at the top

And that was about as exciting as it got for the day. Anything after Queenstown was always going to be a bit of an anticlimax, but in some respects it was exactly what we needed. There was some further excitement down the road, however, when we climbed up into the mountains high enough to reach the snow line.

Snow!

Arriving into Lake Tekapo, it was the first time we’d hit the ‘proper’ snow of New Zealand away from the artificial stuff that had been thrown around at Coronet Peak for the masses to slide down on skis. We checked into the Lakefront Hostel where there was a frosty reception. Not from the staff – they were quite nice – but it was by far one of the coldest hostels I had stayed in yet.

It had a log fire in the lounge, but the lounge was massive and probably not insulated a great deal judging by the fact I could see the condensation on my breath just sitting in it. I kept my hat and scarf on just to stay warm while moving all my belongings to the room I was to share with Becky and Liam.

Great view from the hostel, shame it was just as cold

After Becky finally managed to open the door following a 10 minute struggle with the lock (again, the after effects of Queenstown can be the excuse) we got into the icy cold room to find a cat had left muddy footprints all over the beds. The window was open (in the middle of winter) and one of the resident moggys had obviously found a sneaky little way of getting some kip on a bed.

One room change later, we had moved into another equally icy room and fathomed out how to use the cumbersome wall heater. Various buttons were pressed until finally we could feel some heat coming from the vents.

Brrr

We all headed out to have a walk by the lake (and a warm up!) where we took in the spectacular views across to yet more snowy mountains. There had been some recent snowfall, as the alpine trees were still covered in the white stuff, while a mist was drifting from the surface of the lake, catching the sun and giving a strange eerie effect.

With yet more stone skimming, we were joined by a golden retriever who decided it would be quite fun to try to chase the stones as we were throwing them. He’d wait for the splash, run for a while and then stop, before looking at you.

Here boy!

It didn’t take long for me to twig that he might like playing and chasing snow, so I scooped up a decent snowball and compacted it in my gloved hands. I launched it into the air, only for our new friend to jump up and catch it, covering himself in snow and then excitedly looking for more. It would have provided hours of fun, but the biting cold started getting to us all so we retreated back to the marginally warmer hostel, threw some logs onto the fire and admired the view through the window.

Fun in the snow

And that was about it for the day. It was very much a relaxing stopover. We could have gone to the hot baths or gone snow tubing, but to be honest, most of us were just happy to be relaxing around the fire, reading, writing, catching up with relatives back home on Skype and watching the television. It sounds boring, but after such a hectic week, on reflection it was perhaps just what we needed. What wasn’t needed was an extreme allergic reaction to the two resident cats at the hostel, but i’ve regained the use of my eyes now, and the redness has gone down, so i’ll let the hostel off for that minor down point.

I’ve always loved snow!

With an 8.30am start for the leg to Christchurch, we needed to be up relatively early, but there was an important game taking place on the other side of the world – the small matter of England versus Italy in the quarter final of the Euros. I woke up at 5am and made my way into the communal area of the hostel, turned on the television and tinkered with the digital receiver, only to find it had just six channels. Four of those were showing kids programmes, and not one had anything that resembled football. I checked my laptop to see if the internet bandwidth was any good – it could barely load up the BBC Sport home page. There was no way it could cope with video, and so I gave up, settling for just checking the score every 10 minutes.

By the time we got on the bus, it had gone to extra time and sounding every bit like it was heading to penalties. I feared the worst, and my fears were confirmed when Kate logged onto the free onboard wifi.

“England have gone out, they lost on penalties,” she said. Brilliant.

I can’t say I was surprised, bearing in mind how little time Roy Hodgson has had with the squad, but having seen little of the competition thanks to the time difference, it didn’t seem to matter too much.

Sombre arrival in Christchurch

It wasn’t too much of a drive to Christchurch, with only a couple of stops for coffee and some fuel, before we began to reach the outskirts of the city at around 1pm. Last year, the city was devastated by an earthquake that claimed 185 lives and shook most of the city centre from its foundations. The entire central business district will have to be knocked down and rebuilt, while with more than 11,000 tremors since the 6.3 magnitude quake that brought so much carnage to the city, this is still very much a city living on the edge.

Christchurch Cathedral

There will be a feature on Christchurch, what happened and how it is recovering, online here in the next day or so, which in part has been helped by a double decker tour of the city that we were supposed to be catching at 2pm.

Checking in at the Old Countryhouse hostel, I began to wonder if backpackers were still visiting the city judging by how quiet the place was. It also took a fairly long time for us to be checked in.

“Are you the bus driver,” I was asked out of the blue by the receptionist. It took me by surprise, and I wondered what I’d done to give that impression. Everyone found it amusing.

“Oh, its just you look like you have authority,” she smiled awkwardly. I laughed it off, joking that Jack, our driver, only looks about 12 anyway. Bang on cue he walked in, looking slightly concerned about time.

“Guys, we need to meet the bus in 10 minutes for the tour,” he said. We asked the receptionist how long it would take to walk to the meeting point at the museum for the tour.

“Oh, 25, 30 minutes,” she smiled.

We were in trouble.

“Right, get your stuff in your rooms as quickly as you can and I’ll drive the bus down there,” said Jack, putting in calls to the office to try and delay the tour.

On the way we managed to hit just about every red light that Christchurch had to offer, before eventually getting to where there were two tour buses waiting on a stand. There was nowhere to park, and Jack’s phone was ringing. It was someone asking where we were.

Running for a bus!

“We’ll be sixty seconds,” we overheard him say. He parked up in some parking bays, about 100 metres away from a double decker London bus, and we all ran back round to where we’d seen the tour buses. Jack and I made it first, to find a guide who didn’t seem to have been waiting at all.

He handed us a leaflet, and I pointed out the $79 price tag. Ours was supposed to be around the $25 mark. It was the wrong tour.

Wait for me!

We took to our heels again, and back around the block to where the double decker bus was parked. There we met Ross, the driver and tour guide, who mentioned how he’d been waiting for us and saw us all run off in the opposite direction. We were just grateful he’d waited around for us.

Our London bus tour of Christchurch

All aboard!

Again, there will be more on Christchurch in an upcoming post, but it was a thought provoking look around the city. Few of us have ever been to somewhere that has been obliterated by a natural disaster, where buildings even now are still being pulled down and an entire city has become ghostly eerie, sealed off to the public, frozen in time to the moment that the earth shook the area to its knees.

My Magic Bus group at the Cathedral

We looked at the Cathedral, its famous façade now just a gaping hole, its history laying in ruins. It’s a hugely controversial area in the city, as there is a campaign to have the Cathedral made safe and rebuilt. Sadly, the condition it is in means it is likely to be demolished.

We headed back to the hostel after a sobering hour-long tour. I was fascinated by the city and its people, and I wanted to learn more. My journalistic instinct had kicked in. I had a choice – to chance a mad dash up to Kaikora, at considerable expense, for a chance to watch whales off the coast, or to stay in Christchurch and find a way of meeting and talking to the people here about their experiences.

I think you probably know what my final decision wa

Sounds like fun? Find out more about the Magic Bus at www.magicbus.co.nz

Go Hard, or Go Home

Posted on June 28, 2012 by afishoutofgrimsby

Queenstown – a brilliant place!

Queenstown – the self-proclaimed adrenaline capital of the world. A place that gave humankind the bungy, made jetboats to navigate ankle-deep water and taught England rugby player Mike Tindall to think twice about where he rests his head.

Fergburger – feeding adrenaline-induced hunger since ages ago

Its one of the planets biggest party spots, a place where you can dance until dawn before taking a gondola to the top of a mountain for one of the most incredible views in the southern hemisphere. You can jump out of a plane in the morning, jump from a bridge in the afternoon and fall into one of the best burgers on the planet at Fergburger in the evening.

And when you’re fed up with adrenaline pumping through your veins, within a few hours you can find yourself serenely sailing through the fjords and valleys of Milford Sound, taking in snow-capped mountains, dolphins that leap from the depths, gushing waterfalls and bright rainbows created by the pure water spray that hangs as a mist

Milford Sound – much needed calm!

The whole town bubbles with excitement, the ski-resort feel of the place filled with people looking to push themselves, their fears and their wallets to the absolute limit.

I had seven days in Queenstown, and arriving at the town’s Base hostel I noticed a poster on the wall. It seemed quite apt for me – having spent eight months making my way around the world, writing about everything from the effects of war and genocide through to China’s love of spicy tripe, Queenstown was not the place for me to come and wimp out.

I’ll do my best…

Do something worth writing home about. Go hard or go home. Phrases that people live by in this cold, southern New Zealand town set on the shores of the beautiful Lake Wakatipu. It’s almost as if the town won’t let you leave unless you’ve done at least something to get the nerves going. I had seven days to fill – I’ll have no excuses.

Soap in his new bus

My introduction to Queenstown came courtesy of Soap, my Magic Bus tour guide, who had promised us a night of all nights when we arrive. After the late arrival into Wanaka, and watching his beloved All Blacks just scrape a victory against Ireland, he was probably in need of a glass of wine, but first there was something else to put a smile on his face.

On the Buses

We’d stopped off at Arrowtown, not far from Queenstown, where we were supposed to go and take in the sights of the old Chinese settlement. It was bitterly cold though, and instead of walking around to look at the tin shacks, we headed straight to a pie shop for some late breakfast. In the meantime, a bright red London bus had pulled up near our Magic Bus, providing Soap with the opportunity to take the wheel, if only for a momentary photograph.

We took in our first views of Queenstown through the windows of our bus, a perfectly clear, sunny day with blue skies providing the perfect way to catch our first glimpse of the Remarkables mountain range and the lake that forms the backdrop for the town.

First views of Queenstown

Our instructions for Soap’s big night out were to meet in Altitude bar wearing something black (again, his love of the All Blacks) at 8.30pm. Aside from the fact the bar gained notoriety as the place where Mssrs Tindall and co enjoyed their night a little too much during the Rugby World Cup last year, promptly hitting all the national papers back home, it is also the bar that comes as part of my hostel complex so it was easy enough for me to find.

My home for a week – and a bar that became famous!

There was one condition attached to joining Soap on his Magic night out however – everyone had to wear some ‘krazy kat’ sunglasses. So we’d all spent time raiding the dollar shops in the main Shotover Street, trying to find the daftest we could find. Sadly, I missed the fancy dress section and settled for some thick rimmed, colourful affair for $5 (£2.50). They were good, but no match for Becky’s alien-inspired attire, or Kate’s oversized love heart shades which were about twice the size of her head.

Any pair will do

It was great to meet up in the bar, with everyone gradually turning up with all manner of weird and wonderful sunglasses on, ready for the night. It started well, with Soap securing a VIP area in the bar – yes, that’s right, a VIP area in a backpacker bar – where

VIPs

we’d down various shots, ask Soap if there was any alcohol in them, and then down a few more, the only rule being you had to be wearing your sunglasses while drinking.

With rivals from the other tour buses arriving by the minute, we made sure we lorded it up in our private, sectioned-off section. The busload of Kiwi Experience guys and girls, all dressed up as geeks for the night, could only look on in envy as we even secured the services of our own bouncer to keep us safe from the crowds.

Erm…is there any alcohol in this?!

The DJ would put a shout out for Kiwi, then rival tour group Stray, only to get a subdued ‘whoop’ from the dancefloor. Spurred on by Soap, when the call came for Magic to give the bar a cheer, we managed to drown out the rest by cheering at the tops of our voices.

Soap’s ‘Kool Kats’

There might only have been nine of us, but we made it sound like there was 99.. The drinks continued to flow, in part thanks to a great two for one offer, and everyone was having a brilliant night. And then the Irish rugby team turned up.

Cian Healy, one of the Irish rugby team who joined us

Now, with two Irish girls in our group, and with the rest of us having watched them play the All Blacks on television only a couple of nights ago, it was quite something to have their company in the bar. After obligatory photographs with them all round, everyone let them get on with their night out – but then the players began hanging around with us.

Big blokes with poorly arms

Not being the greatest rugby fan, I didn’t know any of them, but I recognised a few from watching them play on the television. I got talking to one, a tall, fair-haired guy, who asked me who I was in Queenstown with. I told him we were all on the Magic Bus and had been travelling around both islands for the past few weeks, before explaining about the three main different tour buses.

“You lot sound like a great group,” he laughed, before introducing himself as Chris and shaking my hand.

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

It was Chris Henry, an Irish back rower, and a really nice bloke. We continued talking for a while, just like meeting anyone else in the bar. And the same could be said for everyone else in the Magic group – we began having a good laugh and spending time with the Irish lads as if they were old mates.

There’s a tap on my back.

“Mate, can you give me a hand with this drink,”

It was one of the other players, wearing a bright red hoody and struggling to get hold of a pint glass on the bar thanks to a pretty badly messed up arm that had been strapped and bandaged.

“Just wedge it under my arm mate, that’ll be grand,”

I took the glass and stuck it up under his armpit, and he shuffled off to meet the others.

A regular Soapy face

The night continued well into the early hours, and included a stop off at a bar that served quite possibly the nicest drink I have ever tasted. Called the Money Shot, it’s a secret mix of four ingredients that produces something more akin to a Banoffee Pie dessert than an alcoholic drink.

Creating the money shot

Still going strong – shades on!

With stops at Winnies bar and World Bar, there was more fun and games with the Irish rugby team later in the night at Buffalo bar before somehow we all managed to make our way home, via a detour to the famous Fergburger where I shared my attempt to ward-off a hangover with Mel and Kate, the latter almost managing to bite off my finger while taking a giant bite of the bun.

Irish rugby player stole my shades…

…and then tried to steal my shot!

Unsurprisingly, half of the group managed to miss the bus to Milford Sound the following morning, while the other half managed to catch it in various states. I, however, had a phonecall offering me the chance to do a bungy jump from one of the highest leap platforms in the world. You can read about that here.

The beauty of Queenstown is that there is so much stunning scenery and landscape to see, and the Milford Sound trip is a favourite among visitors. It’s a long drive – a 10 hour round trip on a bus for a two hour cruise in the fjords – but it is worth it.

Ghostly mountains on the way to Milford Sound

It provides a welcome relief from the full-on activities that take up so much time in QT, and even the bus ride is part of the sightseeing. Here, the journeys don’t just get you from A to B, they show you everything else in between too, with stops to check out magnificent mountains, and even a glacial stream with water that flows so pure, you can drink it straight from the river.

Drinking again…this time from a river

Again, we were blessed with the weather, although some argue that Milford Sound is actually better when visited in heavy rain because of how dramatic the waterfalls can be. Either way, the sight of mountains rising straight up from deep under the dark blue icy water of the fjords is quite special, the dusting of snow at the top forming the picture perfect views shown on all the advertising leaflets and photos.

Milford was sound

There’s gold at the end of that. No really, there is – its in the rock!

I was on the trip with Becky and Liam, two of my group from the Magic Bus who managed to sleep through their alarm the day previous thanks to the small matter of Soap’s night out, and we had a great day together sailing around the sound. It was a welcome relaxing day out, with lashings of free coffee and tea thrown in for good measure.

“Jack”…”Rose”…Becky and Liam looking for icebergs

Back in Queenstown, it was time to meet up with a good mate who I’ve not seen for 10 years since we met during my time working at Camp Na Sho Pa with Camp America in 2002. His name is Matt, although he’s always been known as Titty, and he moved to New Zealand shortly after finishing his time in the States. He’s now settled here and calls it home, and part of me can see why he fell for the place when he first set eyes on it.

Catching up with another Nashopian

Titty is in charge of stock for Outside Sports, one of the main outdoor clothing stores and ski and board rental outlets in Queenstown, so it was easy for us to meet up for a beer and catch up on old times, filling each other in with stories from the past 10 years and talking about people we know back home, what they are up to and sharing memories of camp. There was also a bit of chat about our respective teams – Rushden and Diamonds and Grimsby Town – both of whom have had some pretty spectacular falls since the last time we chatted about football together.

It was great to see each other again, and I joined a growing list of people who had passed through Queenstown on their travels since working together in upstate New York all those years ago. One of them, Barney, is apparently working in the area. More on that in a bit.

My week continued with a skydive, a heart-stopping jump out of a plane at 15,000ft above the mountains. I’ll never forget the feeling of leaving the aircraft and falling through the icy cold upper atmosphere, reaching terminal velocity and admiring the view of the Remarkables as we floated back down to the ground. And after all the nerves and adrenaline built up a raging hunger, where else to celebrate my achievement than with a Fergburger.

Its all about the Ferg!

Now, Fergburger is something of an institution in Queenstown. Even before I arrived, three separate people back home had told me that I just *had* to have a Fergburger while in the area. I began to wonder what all the fuss was about. And then I tried one.

The Fergburger menu

The fuss isn’t about nothing. Even the smallest burgers on the menus are veritable giants, but as a celebration, and with the blog in mind, I decided to step it up a gear. I went for Mr Big Stuff.

Open wide! Tucking into a Fergburger

Two huge burgers, bacon, cheese, barbecue sauce, lashings of salad – it is one whopper of a mouthful, and a mouthful that people flock to this little outlet for. They might just be burgers, but they are done incredibly well. Don’t even think of ordering a side of chips, you’ll never have the room. And yet, despite the name, Mr Big Stuff has got an even bigger brother on the menu – the Big Al.

Takes some doing!

That comes with a load of beetroot and eggs on top of the half-pound of meat, bacon, cheese and everything else. Amid all the photographs on the walls of celebrities who have called in for their taste of the Ferg is a lone photo of a Big Al, complete with the world record time for consuming it. Somehow, someone has managed to put one away in just two minutes and 14 seconds. If an overdose of adrenaline doesn’t put you in an ambulance here, trying to stuff one of the Big Als inside you within two and a quarter minutes almost certainly would!

The fact is that nothing comes close to Fergburger for both the friendly, fun atmosphere inside – orders are called out by your first name, often with some chirpy remarks from those behind the counter – and for the quality of the food. And with hundreds of hungry skiers and boarders to contend with every day, its Queenstown’s hang out for a quick, meaty feed and a catch up over the days activities.

Ski time!

Speaking of which, with snow on the mountains, it was an opportunity to get another fix away from burgers – skiing. My journey over the European winter has seen me miss out on a couple of annual ski trips, for which I know I will get no sympathy. Skiers and boarders will know how it feels not to get your ‘fix’ of winter sport in the season though, and despite all the places I have been to, it was still quite hard to see my dad and brother go for their fun on the French pistes without me.

Still, here in New Zealand, while the British Summer is doing its worst back home, the snow has been falling and the ski resorts are open. Thanks to a bit of a discount on some skis and boots, courtesy of Titty and Outside Sports, I bought a day lift pass for Coronet Peak and headed to the slopes.

The first difference I noticed between southern hemisphere and northern hemisphere skiing is that the runs are called ‘trails’ instead of pistes, although the term ‘apres-ski’ is still alive and well in these parts. There’s also a huge difference in the number of lifts and ski runs – Coronet Peak has just three main lifts, compared to the gazillion you can find in the Three Valleys of France. Yet, incredibly, NZSki, who run the ski fields around Queenstown, charge more for a day pass than I would pay in France. $95 (around £48) for the day seemed a bit steep, but I had no option.

After a year and a half away from snow, it was good to be clipping my boots into the bindings of a pair of skis again, although I was slightly concerned I might have forgotten all my technique. I contemplated a visit to the beginner area, full of two green runs and a lot of unsteady-looking learners, before deciding to just head straight up to the top of the mountain.

It always amazes me how quickly skiing comes back to you, and peeling away from the chairlift, I stopped myself and tried to decide which way to go. It turns out, with some of the resort still closed due to a lack of snow, there’s only one main run from the top. And being a northerner back home, it did put a smile on my face that its called the M1.

Been a while since I had a trip down the M1

The first run was a slow one, a chance to get my ski legs back on, work out the trail, get a feel for the skis and the snow, and work out if I could still stop properly. Thankfully, the M1 is a long, sweeping run with lots of wide areas for motorway skiing (although unlike back home, there was a distinct lack of bottlenecks, annoying BMWs up my rear end and no signs directing me anywhere near the M18 to Grimsby)

After a few good runs, gradually picking up speed and confidence, I was back in the skiing zone. It felt good. Combined with the spectacular views across to the lake and the Remarkables, it was a great place to ski despite the comparative lack of runs. But then something even more incredible happened.

I was making my way towards the gentler slopes when someone on a board clattered through a railing near the entry gate to the lift. I heard a laugh – a familiar laugh that sounded like Barney – yet I couldn’t quite put my finger on who it was for sure as they picked themselves up from the tangle of fence, board and legs.

I got on the lift and pondered about who it was. It sounded like Barney, who I last knew as an 18 year old at the same summer camp I worked at as Titty, but with a bobble hat, ski mask and winter clothes, it was hard to see what he looked like. Like a stalker, I hung around at the top of the lift waiting for whoever it was to come back up.

The boarder appeared, and I stared at him through my sunglasses in an attempt to work out if it was Barney. He looked back, saw me looking, and quickly looked away and sat down on the snow nearby. Maybe it wasn’t him.

Yet more stalker moves saw me shuffle nearby to hear his voice. He was definitely English, and it was a familiar voice from back in America, having not changed since 2002. I decided to ask him.

“Mate, are you Barney?”

He looked at me. “It is bro. Who’s that?”

I didn’t say anything, but just removed my hat and sunglasses and smiled as he realised it was a long-lost friend from years back.

“Phillip Norton, what on earth are you doing here?” he laughed, before getting up, shaking my hand and giving me a manly hug.

Bumping into Barney after 10 years

We both laughed about the chances of bumping into each other like we had. It is one of those moments when the world feels very small, yet it was a brilliant coincidence – Barney is actually working for NZSki in the rental department for a season, but had the day off and so was with friends and fellow ski staff trying to improve his snowboarding skills.

Catching up on the lift

We went on to spend the entire afternoon together on the slopes, catching up between runs while taking the lift back to the top of the mountain, and reflecting on the chances of bumping into each other like we had. Until starting work on the mountain, Barney had never done any skiing or boarding, and like me, he’s fallen in love with it from the moment he first tried it.

Barney comes a cropper

He admits he’s got a long way to go with his technique, but he wasn’t doing too badly – aside from the moment where he managed to jam the front edge of his board into a hole in the snow, spectacularly launching his feet over his head and sending him face-first into the white stuff. This, just minutes after hurting his thumb after clattering off the top of the lift, can damage confidence, but in the best way while on the mountain, he laughed it off and was ready for another run.

Barney is in New Zealand for the winter season, and I dare say he’ll be here for some time yet if he can get his visa extended. He’s always had a love of travel, and one of those people who thrives on being in far flung places, a little like me, and I’m quite envious of his ability to float around the world, finding work and making small parts of it home for a while.

Queenstown Winter Festival launch night

There were more friends to meet in the evening, the start of the annual Winter Festival in Queenstown. With fireworks, live music and entertainment promised, I met up with Kelly and Graham, two of my Irish friends who I was on Fraser Island with in Australia. It was great to see them again, catching up over a pint and meeting two of their friends they have been travelling around parts of New Zealand with.

Hello again! With Kelly and Graham (left) from my Fraser Island family

The only problem was the weather – with thousands of people gathered around the lake for the opening night of the festival, there was a great atmosphere as the fireworks lit up the sky, only for the heavens to open the moment the fireworks ended. It sent most people home early, and we dived back to Altitude bar where I supplied everyone with vouchers for a $5 pizza and beer deal, which if I’m honest, I’d been practically living on for a week with it being cheaper than cooking for yourself.

With Clare and Louise…I think…somebody nicked my glasses

The night somehow turned into another classic Queenstown night out. I ended up meeting with Clare and Louise, the two girls from Franz Josef that I’d met in a hostel while they were celebrating Louise’s birthday. With a group of us on the dancefloor, it turned into a great night – after somehow talking me into climbing on a pole following Clare’s demonstration of how to perform on it upside down, we braved the rain to move to Buffalo bar once again where it got slightly messy.

Clare’s attempt…

…My attempt

With tequila being poured from the bar into everyone’s mouths below, a surfboard being given away, and free t-shirts being launched into the crowd every half an hour, I had moved towards the end of my time in Queenstown in pretty much the way I started it.

Oh dear.

Due to ski the Cardrona resort the following day, my two hours sleep didn’t leave me feeling great. Yet despite packing my bags at 6.30am – in doing so waking my dorm – and checking out ahead of a room change at the hostel in the afternoon, I was given the news that the mountain had been closed because of the weather. I went straight back to bed.

A fast boat

And so on my last day, I carried on the tradition of having at least one activity under my belt, and it was the turn of the jet boat. The bright yellow Kawarau Jet is a familiar sight as it makes its way to and from the jetty in the town centre.

Wet and windy!

It was a high speed affair, reaching some 50km/hr along water that you would assume to be too shallow for anything that floats other than a duck.

Somehow, thanks to the water inlet technology that sucks water in through the bottom of the boat and spits it out at high speed from directional jets at the back, it scoots along on the surface in much the same way as a jet ski. And the driver really knows how to get the best from it, dodging around obstacles in the water, almost scraping along the sides of canyons and performing shriek-inducing 360-degree turns on the surface of the river.

Suddenly we’re facing the opposite direction

The only thing he couldn’t do was stop the oncoming weather front from dumping a load of rain on us as we made our way back to the jetty – and at the speed we were travelling and no windscreen, it felt like a sheet of needles hitting us all in the face.

Luge

Its not all high speed, high adrenaline in Queenstown, but it certainly helps if that’s your thing. The Skyline gondola was full of families enjoying the views from high up above the town, as well as the popular luge that runs along a purpose built mountainside track. Mind you, even that can get a bit hairy at times, particularly on the ‘advanced’ track.

One day i’ll grow up

There are quaint boat trips on the lake, as well as the high-octane version, and the town itself is a great place to just wander around, have a coffee and soak up the atmosphere.

Shotover Street, Queenstown

A week in the QT passed me by so quickly, but left me drained. I had certainly taken the ‘go hard or go home’ message onboard, and with home just a few weeks away now, I certainly had to go hard here instead. A couple of weeks ago, I had a vow that I would never, ever make a bungy jump, a skydive was just something people back home do in the guise of raising money for charity, a Fergburger sounded like it was made of some weird animal, and the Irish rugby team were just a load of blokes who wear green and play rugby on the telly.

Oh Queenstown, you certainly gave me something worth writing home about.

Wouldn’t mind your own Magic Bus adventure? Visit their website at www.magicbus.co.nz

Like the look of Milford Sound? Kiwi Discovery run a day trip from Queenstown – www.kiwidiscovery.com

And you too can fly around the Queenstown lake and rivers with the Kawarau Jet – www.kjet.co.nz

Soap’s Stars Trip the Ice Fantastic

Posted on June 26, 2012 by afishoutofgrimsby

Playing it cool on the Franz Josef Glacier

“You can have the Love Shack”

It was an offer by the staff at the Chateau Franz hostel that got laughs all round, the biggest from Soap, my Magic Bus driver who had just driven us from the greyness of Greymouth to the blue skies and bright sunshine of Franz Josef, home to a huge glacier.

“Make the most of it Peter,” he jokes, still not quite grasping that he’s been calling me the wrong name all the way throughout the journey so far.

“It’s Phil,” I say back. He doesn’t hear me.

The Love Shack (That’s where its at…as well as the laundry)

I take my bags to my room and unlock the door to my love shack (even just writing this makes me smile!) to find a small cosy room full of red cushions, blacked out windows, the smell of sweet roses and, shall we say, pretty much anything you’d need for a night in with a loved one.

With no loved ones around, I was just grateful for the chance to sprawl out in a double bed for once. After months of single bunk beds in rooms with up to 20 people, tonight is one to look forward to purely for the fact I should get a good night’s sleep.

Inside the Love Shack at Chateau Franz Backpackers

Of course, the room was purely a chance to have a good laugh, and a few of the Magic Bus gang came in to check out my novel lodgings for the night. We had a tight schedule though, with a helicopter to catch up to the nearby glacier just an hour or so after arriving in the town.

Thankfully, Soap had driven us past the check-in offices not once, but twice, to make sure we all knew where we were going. I resisted the temptation to ask him where we needed to be once we’d arrived at the hostel for the night.

Instead, with the sun shining and a beautiful day ahead, we made our way to the offices of the Franz Josef Glacier Guides to embark on our icy adventure. Its something we had all been looking forward to, a highlight of the south island and one of the sights many people come to New Zealand to see. On the way, Soap had been telling us how lucky we were with the weather.

“The last six times its been raining and people haven’t been able to get up there,” he said.

“I’ve been told conditions are perfect. I don’t want to curse it, but it looks like you’ve got the conditions as good as they come.”

‘Famous last words’ springs to mind.

Checking in for the helicopter…

Having checked in, been given wristbands and everyone excitedly being ushered over to the clothing section, where we were to be issued with thermal jackets, trousers and crampons to navigate around the ice, we waited around for a few minutes. And then along came one of the staff.

“I’m really sorry guys, we’ve got some bad news. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to go today. The wind has really picked up on the mountain and the helicopters are having to bring everyone off.”

It didn’t quite seem real – outside the weather was glorious. It was calm, blue skies, and seemingly perfect conditions. We knew we were also to leave the town first thing in the morning. We had one afternoon to make the trip, and the plug had been pulled. Some of the group at first thought it was a cruel joke, but as another glum-looking group already dressed for the mountain traipsed back into the building, it was clear nobody was having a laugh.

There were a lot of sad faces, particularly from the girls. Kate, from Jersey, and Ailish and Christine from Ireland, were particularly downhearted. There were seven out of the nine of us on the Magic Bus who wanted to make the trip, and we gathered round in a circle to plan the next move.

“I wonder if we could go first thing in the morning, and delay the Magic Bus a little bit,” I put to everyone.

Sad faces all round

It was a thought that gathered a bit of momentum. We knew we had a long day of driving to Wanaka ahead of us the next day, with an early departure on the cards, but we found out what the options were from the glacier company.

There was an 8am departure, which would see us off the glacier by midday. It was something we could put to Soap, but we knew it would be out of his hands.

Back at the hostel, we sat around feeling sorry for ourselves. We managed to drag Soap from out of his room, who immediately got the blame for cursing the weather by speaking too soon about the conditions, and we talked it over as a group. There was an option to head to nearby Fox Glacier that afternoon, but nobody was too keen. We could also take a shuttle to the Franz Josef Glacier walk, which means we could at least see it, but not touch or experience it. Or, as we suggested to Soap, we could take the first helicopter and delay the Magic Bus departure.

“The Magic Bus never gets delayed for anyone, but we can give it a go,” Soap tells us, reaching for his mobile phone.

Land of the long, white (laughing) cloud

We didn’t hold out much hope, but it was worth a try. In the meantime, we were all taking it in turns to look up at the mountains and moan about how it seemed too calm to have any problems. We watched a cloud stay in the sky, motionless, and almost forming a face and mouth as if it was laughing at us – in Kate’s mind anyway!

With a call in to Magic HQ, Soap tried his best to keep our spirits up, sympathising with our disappointment and blaming himself for being the unlucky charm, having had a lot of similar bad luck in recent weeks. Time was ticking waiting for the news of a decision from the Magic bosses. It could all depend on how many people were to be picked up from Franz, in addition to those of us who arrived on the bus. With seven of our nine wanting to make the trip up the glacier, it made sense to delay departure. But if there were another 10 people due to get on the bus in Franz ready for a journey or with activities ahead in Wanaka, we’d probably be out of luck.

By now, the time had passed for the afternoon trip to Fox. Our eggs were all in one basket. The phonecall came through from head office. It was all or nothing. Soap answered. There are no smiles, and the tone of his conversation is subdued.

Its not sounding good. It looks like Franz Josef is off. Soap comes off the phone with the words “I’ll talk to them and see what we can do,” before hanging up with a sigh.

“Sorry guys.”

There were groans. That was it. We waited to see if it was one of Soap’s jokes, but it wasn’t. He started to walk away.

“Gotcha!” he shouted, turning back towards us with a huge grin on his face.

Happy faces!

For the first time, Magic Bus agreed to delay the departure to allow us one more chance at making the trip up to the glacier. It was a huge relief, and there were happy faces all around. In addition, it now gave us an afternoon free, and we decided to book the Franz Josef shuttle to the glacier walk.

And so we all headed off on the bus, taking in our first views of this famous attraction, ironically stopping off at Peter’s Pool, a name that is still being used for me, where there was a fantastic reflection of the glacier and mountains on the surface of the water.

Peter/Phil at Peter’s Pool

Next up was a long walk along the glacier bed to the head of the glacier.

The Franz Josef Glacier starts high up in the southern alps and descends deep into the lush rainforest of Westland’s National Park, from a height of 2700 metres above sea level, to just 240 metres, in as little as 11 km. It means it is the worlds steepest and fastest flowing commercially guided glacier and provides some of the most dramatic glacial scenery in the world.

The Franz Josef Glacier snaking down the valley

As huge as it is, some seven and a half miles long, its actually constantly moving, being in a cycle of advancing and retreating from its source.The glacier was advancing until mid 2010, but it is currently in a very rapid phase of retreat, shrinking heavily, in a way many people have put down to global warming.

It is also a dangerous place to visit, hence the need for specialist guides to actually venture onto the ice, but even visiting the face of the glacier can be potentially lethal, so much so it is strictly off limits, a fence keeping people away.

Danger…

We reached the yellow rope fence, about 500 metres from the actual ice, with strong warnings not to cross over the line. They are warnings that need to be taken seriously too – most years there is a story of a tourist who ignored it, only to be trapped by a rock or ice fall from the surrounding mountains. Newspaper stories of deaths and injuries are blown up and featured on warning signs, in attempt to put anyone off who was thinking of making a trip over the rope. Somehow, the prospect of thousands of tonnes of ice and rocks falling on top of you is enough of a warning for us, and we stayed well behind the rope.

Stop!

We spent the evening at the local hot baths, a trip that comes as part of the Franz Josef Glacier Guides tour. I met Soap as he was heading out to the baths, and who decided to take the bus because of the freezing cold temperatures, so I jumped onboard with him. The baths were deliciously warm, and a great way to spend a few hours relaxing with everyone else on the bus and getting to know everyone a bit more. I’ve been really lucky with the groups, having a lot in common with people onboard and sharing the same sense of humour.

Back at the hostel, I ended up having drinks with Thecla from the bus, and two Australian girls Clare and Louise, who were celebrating a birthday. Despite my best efforts, I was persuaded to go out for a beer with them, despite the early morning start the following day.

Our ride arrives

Thankfully, after keeping it to just a couple of beers, I was up in time to check out and made it to the helicopter check-in for 7.45am. This time we made it further than the clothing desk, being issued with full arctic attire, boots, crampons, gloves, the lot, ready for three hours of ice exploration.

We were taken to the helipad, taking in the beautiful dawn view as the sun began to rise over the mountains. The air was still with the sound of silence, until, in the distance, we heard the familiar sound of a helicopter’s rotor beating its way through the sky. It appeared a few moments later, swooping around to us and landing with expert precision just a few metres away.

Destination Glacier

The first half of the group climbed onboard, and within seconds they were far in the distance, making the short five minute journey up to the ice. It wasn’t long before the helicopter returned for us, and we were ushered over to the aircraft door before climbing into the back seat. The pilot didn’t hang around, and within seconds of the door closing we were lifting off and flying into the valley.

With Mel and Kevin in the helicopter

Up on the glacier, a gaggle of blue jackets from the first half of the group marked the landing site, and we all left our stomachs behind as the helicopter suddenly dropped from high above the ice to take its place on the landing site.

Onto the ice

Tom is our guide for the morning. Originally from Crewe, and so a fellow northern lad, he met us at the helicopter and waited as we fixed the cramp-ons to our boots. I’ve never had to wear them before, but the glacier was like no other surface I have ever walked on. It was pure ice – shiny, see through, glass-like ice – and a bit like a giant ice cube. I have skied on glaciers before, but they are normally covered in snow, so to see the huge mass of ice up close was something completely alien to us all.

“The best thing you can do is walk normally, feet straight, and put pressure on the spikes,” Tom tells us, advising not to walk sideways and to avoid falling down holes in the ice.

We followed Tom, who was armed with an ice pick to help clear the way, through a maze of icy valleys and around caverns formed by the constant movement of the huge mass.

Tom, our guide

“When I first got here three years or so ago, the ice was right up to the greenery on the side of the valley walls,” he tells us, showing a huge drop in the ice level in just the short time he has been guiding in the area.

The constant change in the structure of the glacier has actually caused a few problems in recent months with tourism on the glacier. Until April, a cheaper tour would take the public on a full day trek from the bottom of the glacier up to the point we were standing. The helicopters were part of a more expensive, more exclusive trip. But all that changed when a giant hole opened up in the ice lower down, forcing tours to pass around it by the sides of the valley.

Exploring the ice

However, the rock faces that surround the glacier are notoriously unstable, partly due to the constant process of freeze-thaw, where moisture and water freezes in the rocks, expands, and then thaws in the morning, letting go of whatever rocks it has broken away during the night.

“We actually had a pretty bad rockfall a while back that I saw, and I knew there were a few groups in the area,” he says, reflecting on a potentially disastrous moment.

“There was a few minutes when one of the guides couldn’t be reached on the radio which got us all worried, but then he came over to say he was ok.

“Thankfully, nobody was hurt, but that was the worst one I have actually seen.”

A tight squeeze

I surveyed around the glacier sides and piles of loose rock and dust can be seen all over the area, sites where substantial portions of the mountain have dropped away. For this reason, the guides now stay well clear of the rock face, and the only way of reaching the glacier, avoiding the potentially dangerous walk around the hole, is by helicopter.

We made our way down the glacier, dropping down into gaps in the ice, walking around deep holes that have formed, and edging our way up and over various ice formations created by the constant movement of the white mass.

I say white, but in many places the ice is a bright blue, a result of minerals in the ground being absorbed. In some places, it was a particularly deep blue, with millions of air bubbles and particles suspended in frozen time.

Hiding in the ice

We edged our way along a narrow gap, the tightness causing a few of us problems with our new walking boots and tricky conditions. The walls of the ice were as smooth as and had the appearance of polished glass. At one point, Tom fixed a rope to an ice wall, and threw it down to help us climb a particularly steep set of steps that had been chipped away into the ice.

Kate laughing in the narrow gap

It was a fantastic, if more than a little tiring, three hours of walking and climbing around on the glacier, and we were grateful of a helicopter lift back off it and down to the village. Had the original full day tour been running, we’d have had to walk all the way back down the glacier, and Tom admits that it would often leave even some of the hardiest walkers exhausted.

As we were waiting for our flight back down to ground level however, the glacier provided a reminder as to how potentially dangerous the area can be. In the middle of a conversation with Tom, suddenly we were all stopped by a deep rumble that sounded very much like thunder rolling away nearby. But the skies were clear, and there was no chance it was the weather causing the noise. I could feel a slight vibration under my feet. It carried on for a good few seconds, causing us as to stop and look around to where the noise was coming from.

“Rockfall,” said Tom, looking in the same direction we were. We’d fallen silent and waited for the noise to stop. A few minutes later, a huge cloud of dust rose up from the site of the rockfall. A stark warning by the mountains that the dangers are incredibly real.

Rockfall…

We flew back to the village, knowing there would be no hanging around in order for Soap to get off at a decent time so we could make the long drive to Wanaka. Besides, there was an important rugby match between his beloved All Blacks and Ireland in the evening.

“We will be there for kick off, even if we have to skip toilet stops and pass a bottle around the bus,” he joked.

Back in the chopper

He’d already loaded all the bags into the boot of his bus to save time when we returned from the glacier, and within 20 minutes of touching down in the helicopter, we were back on the Magic Bus and on our way further south.

“Did you all have a good morning Peter?” he asks me. I replied as normal – I think the name Peter is stuck in his head, despite me writing my name every day on his accommodation sheet, and his passenger log clearly showing my details.

Soap navigating another narrow single lane bridge

The delayed departure means a few of the regular stops during then long drive south may have to be missed out, but Lake Matheson, close to the nearby Fox Glacier, was one stop that Soap wasn’t going to cut from the itinerary. We were glad he didn’t, as it was stunning. Its another ‘mirror lake’, a perfect reflection formed by the incredibly still water – bar the odd duck or three – of the surroundings.

Lake Matheson. Stunning.

When those surroundings are alpine forests with the backdrop of picture postcard snow-capped mountains, it makes for a beautiful place to spend a few minutes, taking photographs and absorbing the view.

Back on the bus, Soap had been dealing with a few requests from a couple of passengers, who for sake of anonymity will be known as red jacket and yellow jacket. It’s fair to say they had caused one or two problems along the way, mainly with a language barrier, but most of us on the bus also queried a general lack of common sense and wondered how they had managed to travel so far without getting completely lost somewhere.

They weren’t huge problems, but just awkward ones like having completely different arrangements for accommodation than everyone else, at one point prompting a drive around a town centre in search of the drop-off point. And then one of them opened a tin of tuna – and when you’re on Soap’s bus (or any bus for that matter!) an open tin of tuna is a huge no-no for obvious smell-related issues. Despite his patience being tried on more than one occasion, Soap somehow still managed to keep a smile on his face and accommodate requests as well as he could. He might have secretly been twanging his rubber wristbands somewhere, his way of releasing stress, but he would still be the happy, cheery guy we had all grown to love as our tour guide.

Its the Magic Bus!

“I’ve got no plans or times for the rest of the day, as we’re in new waters for the Magic Bus, but we’ll try to fit in as much as possible,” he tells us over the speakers as we head off down the road yet again.

It gave us a sense of adventure. We had gone against the norm, and I think even Soap was enjoying being away from the routine timetable and exploring the route to Wanaka at a different time.

As one of New Zealand’s scheduled buses approaches from the opposite direction, Soap smiles.

All roads lead to the mountains

“He’s going to wonder where I’ve been,” he laughs. And with that, the coach driver approaching starts pointing at his watch and laughing. Most of the regular drivers on the island know each other, and it was funny to see the camaraderie as Soap gave a knowing wave back out of the windscreen.

Lunchtime on the Magic Bus!

Most of my group on the bus had managed to fall asleep, a mass of legs criss-crossing the aisles and nodding heads bumping on windows as everyone enjoyed a nap following the cold and hard work of the morning. I tucked into yet another Vegemite and cheese sandwich, and judging by the laughs and smiles I’m now getting everytime I pull out the ingredients to make my regular lunch, its becoming something of a running joke.

We headed further into the southern alps as the sun began to get ever lower in the sky, turning the white snow caps into beautiful shades of pink and orange.

Same old…same old!

“I never get to see this scenery at this time, its stunning. You’re in for some really special views,” says Soap, himself taking in the view as he continues the 300km drive.

We briefly stopped at a waterfall, which would have been our final scenic stop had we kept to the original departure time, and it was the final tick on the list. Somehow, despite leaving almost five hours later than we should have done, we had managed to fit absolutely everything into the day. In fact, taking into account the extra walk the day before to the glacier, we’d actually been able to do more than any of the other groups that have stayed at Franz Josef. In addition, the way we saw a beautiful sunset, and the fact the sun was in a perfect position at Lake Matheson for photographs during the afternoon, meant we had much better photographs and some brilliant memories from the time we made the Magic Bus late.

A new view for the Magic Bus!

We pulled into Lake Wanaka in darkness, and as the engine was turned off, Soap decided to address the coach and mentioned my name as ‘Peter’.

“Its Phil,” I shouted yet again.

Soap started laughing over the speaker system.

“I’ve been seeing if you’re just too polite to tell me and how long I could carry it on,” he chuckled.

The only thing is, half the bus still doesn’t know my real name, and instead know me as Peter. It all starts to get a bit complicated!

The Magic Bus in Wanaka

We had, however, arrived in time to watch the New Zealand All Blacks perform the Haka before coming far to close to losing the international game with Ireland. Soap was incredibly quiet for the second half, particularly with a couple of very hopeful Irish girls in Ailish and Christine on the bus. Sadly, their hearts were broken when a last minute drop goal settled the game in the All Blacks favour, but we all enjoyed an enthralling game and finished off with a few beers at the bar.

Soap and his stars…next stop, Queenstown

It was nothing too heavy though. We were up early in the morning – the destination is Queenstown, the party and adrenaline capital of the world.

Sounds like fun? Find out more or book the Magic Bus by visiting their website at www.magicbus.co.nz

Want to learn more about the Franz Josef Glacier Guides? Their website is at www.franzjosefglacier.com

And if you fancy a stay in the Love Shack, visit the hostel website at www.chateaufranz.co.nz

Swings, Slides and a Chair of Death

Status

Bye then!

Another day, another dose of adrenaline in the world’s adventure capital.

Whether its rafting down the white waters of the Shotover river, strapping yourself to a bungy rope, skiing down a black run or being blasted around in a jet boat, people in Queenstown are constantly working on finding the next big thrill.

Who would have thought that a simple children’s slide would provide it.

The prototype slide test-bed

Well, I say childrens slide – its actually a purpose-built job, but its about the same size as the ones you’d find at the side of the kids section in the local pool. There’s a slight difference here though, because Queenstown being Queenstown, there’s a company that’s pushed even a slide to the limit – by replacing the typical kids splish splash at the end with a 60ft freefall drop.

On The Slide! Take note of the raft you can see…

This is the world of the Shotover Canyon Swing, a team of people determined to find the scariest, most fun-filled, funny and imaginative ways to launch people from the world’s largest cliff jump and off on a 200 metre swing through the canyon below.

The Shotover Canyon Swing site

Its been up and running for 10 years here now, set up by two keen Kiwi climbers who set out to find the perfect place to build a rope swing. Its based on the same principal that would see many young lads throwing ropes up and around tree branches to build a swing out in the country, except this one reaches speeds of up to 150 kilometres an hour.

And now I’ve been invited along to try it, and its latest way of launching those thrill seekers/crazy people down a cliff face and towards a fast-flowing river at breakneck speeds.

A few days ago I managed to throw myself from one of the world’s highest bungys, and while the drop here isn’t quite as far, its still a daunting prospect to peer over the side of the platform and down to the river below. Nerves are far from helped when Doug, one of the crew members, decides to fall into the back of you and almost push you over the edge.

It’s the first part of what turns out to be a great double act between him and Andrew, the two men in charge of launching me from the safety of a cliff top in a variety of ways. There’s a staggering 70 different ways, and counting, that you can meet your potential demise from the cliff. With my confidence up from the bungy, and no doubt under instruction from the marketing team of Ana and Sarah to do their worst with me, the pair of them set about playing with my mind.

Andrew…thinking of ways to dispatch me

“This is the chair of death. Or the chair of life as we call it,” Andrew tells me, brandishing a plastic patio chair and a strap.

“Your task is to sit on it, lean back, and gently fall,”

Gently fall? I’m dropping off a cliff face, there’s nothing gentle about that. As in introduction to the Shotover Canyon Swing however, it at least means I’m not looking forwards to see the drop. Andrew and Doug had other ways of raising my fears though.

The cocktail glass can only mean one thing – a variety of ways down!

Strapped into the chair, I was instructed to lean back, and so pivoted on the back legs just like I’ve done a million times before at countless barbecues and picnic tables. Except the worst that can happen there is I can overdo it and fall on my back on the grass, to the amusement of whoever is sitting around the table. Here, it’s a sheer drop down a rockface.

“Just lean back Phil, head back, look at where you want to go,” I’m told.

I prepare myself for the inevitable and gently rock back, feeling the chair reaching the limit before gravity takes over. I feel it about to swing back and down into the valley.

Going…

“Whooooaaaaaa, hold on a minute,” says Andrew, pulling me back with the rope just as I thought I’d committed myself to the fall. My heart was pounding but I managed to laugh. I thought I’d gone, but now I’m back to square one again, the two crew members ‘checking’ my safety harness and generally milking the whole Chair of Death experience for me.

I pluck up more courage and lean back again – this time they will surely let me go. Afterall, they’ve played with my fears once on this chair.

“Am I going now?” I asked.

The look on Andrew’s face, still holding onto my straps, almost told me otherwise but I couldn’t quite read him. I looked down below me, which was a mistake – up until now I had managed to block out the fact I am overhanging a straight drop to the rocky bottom, a certain death without the various ropes and clips that connect me to the swing. Its like being at the top of the Flamborough cliffs back home, knowing you’re about to fall to the bottom.

…Going…

Leaning back again, I slowly pushed myself to tipping point yet again, only for Andrew to pull me back upright yet again. I could feel sweat on the palms of my hand and my grip on the plastic armrests to my side was getting tighter.

Again, I start tipping back on the chair, preparing myself for the fall. Andrew pulled me back, and I thought yet again he was playing with me, only to then let go. I felt the shock ripple across my face as the sky suddenly filled my vision, followed by cliff face, followed by river, and quickly followed by the sky again. It was a sequence that repeated itself a few times, faster and faster, as I made my rapid descent to the bottom of the canyon. It was as if I’d been put into a washing machine, the world becoming a blur until the rope took my weight and smoothly swung me out over the Shotover river at speeds of up to 150km/hr.

…Gone.

While the initial fall was a shock, the rest of the swing is hugely enjoyable – and now having got rid of the fear, I found myself laughing as I became a human pendulum in the valley.

Winched back up, Andrew and Doug were clearly pleased with their efforts, and determined to take it a step further. Out came the new slide, a stainless steel affair that is set up on the platform and angled out over the drop. I am positioned at the top.

A view you don’t normally get from the top of a slide

“What I need you to do is cross your legs, and then just scooch on down,” came the instructions from Andrew.

As we’re both laughing about the word ‘scooch’, and debating whether it would appear in a dictionary anywhere, or gain points in Scrabble for that matter, there was some noise coming from the river below. Two boat loads of white water rafters were drifting by, earning a yell from the team on top of the Shotover Canyon Swing. I could sense Andrew was keen for me to drop off above one of the boats as they pass. He removed the safety ‘string’ from the gap in the fence, and I was free to go.

Ready to slide with Andrew and Doug

“Just scooch on out then Phil,” he says, his eyes widening and beckoning me down this new frightful activity.

I felt myself starting to slide, and before I knew it, I picked up speed and launched myself over the edge. I shouted as I dropped – leaving my stomach behind, the full falling sensation was felt as I fell over the edge, seeing and experiencing the whole drop. I whizzed over the heads of the rafters, and slowed down as I reached the far end of the swing.

“You’re a legend bro!” came a shout from someone on the rafting boat. I cheered back and punched my fist in the air.

I watched as the cliff slowly moved past my face as I made the slow ascent back towards the drop zone. Andrew and Doug yet again pulled me back up onto the ledge, their final duty of the day ahead. To give me one last fright.

Having a laugh and preparing for the next drop!

I was elected to undergo the Gimp Boy Goes to Hollywood procedure – strapped to a teddy bear, winched out into the open and turned upside down to face the bottom of the canyon.

“Just wrap your feet around this green rope,” smiled Andrew, clearly enjoying his role as chief drop executioner.

Getting into position

I could feel the blood rushing to my head as I faced the ground, some 109 metres below me. I knew that at any moment, I would be careering towards it at breakneck speed.

“Are you ready? Three, two, one, gooooo,” called Andrew, whacking something on the rope that was suspending me.

It felt like something wasn’t releasing properly, worrying me slightly. He hit the rope again, the shock rippling through the rope and my body. Still nothing.

Then a second later, I feel the acceleration as the pin is pulled on my fate. I make a perfect headfirst arc, swooping up the opposite side to the canyon like a bird.

By now, I’m loving the sensation, and all the kiwi humour. Every time I returned to the top full of smiles and laughter. And every time I reached the jump platform, there were a couple of familiar faces smiling back.

Gimp Boy Goes to Hollywood…Shotover Canyon Swing style

Andrew has been doing the job for five years now, an enthusiast and advocate for the sport of jumping from a great height. He enjoys scaring people witless just as much as calming those down for whom his comedy/suspense/scare act can become too much.

Back on terra firma!

“I love getting people who are scared to go,” he says.

“Sometimes I can spend 20 minutes with someone, then they come back up and wonder what all the fuss was about.”

His words are almost drowned out by the shrieks and laughter of the latest ‘victim’. It was Ashleigh, from Brisbane, who emerged back on the jump platform having been the first of her group to make the leap.

Ashleigh from Brisbane

“I opened my eyes after a second when I thought ‘uh, I’m not dead’,” she laughs, trying to stay steady on her feet thanks to some swing-induced wobbly legs.

Next up was Marius from Norway, who is studying in New Zealand but who had decided to take some time out to experience some of its famous adrenalin hotspots. He’d chosen the slide, in part thanks to my recommendation having stated it was by far the scariest of the three jumps I’d just made.

“It was one of the best feelings I have ever had,” he beamed.

“It was out of this world – crazy – and I’m seriously considering doing it

Marius from Norway

again. The slide was great, it was like being at the playground but far more serious and a lot more fun.

“It’s like the two extremes for me here, studying and getting my head down, and then doing things like this,”

Amid the sound of harnesses being pulled tight, carabiners being clipped and the shrieks of those falling through the air, the laughter, stories and general humour injected into the Shotover Canyon Swing by those entrusted with your life brings a whole new dimension of fun to what can be a daunting, scary and yet thrilling experience.

I headed back to Queenstown with Sarah Norton from the company – no relation, but there were many jokes about us being long lost cousins – and I reflected on the experience. Sarah told me how they love to use the kiwi humour and come across as a bit wacky – but offering a much more personal experience. I have to agree, it was definitely very wacky, and most definitely a great afternoon where I didn’t feel like a number just being thrown over the edge for some cash. The jump crew look after you, talk to you, find out about where you’re from and what you do, before asking that all important question of “how would you like to fall?”

Back at the Base hostel in Queenstown that night, I recognise Murray, my first Magic driver on the south island who drove me from Picton to Nelson.

“What have you been up to today?” he asked me.

I told him about the Shotover Canyon Swing and how i’d jumped three times.

“You didn’t happen to see any rafters did you?” he asked.

Suddenly I thought back to the slide jump.

“I did mate, a couple of boats went under me on one of them,” I told him.

We compared times and they matched up.

Murray with one of my slide photos he managed to get himself in!

“I was the one that shouted ‘you’re a legend bro!” he laughed.

Incredible. You drop off a cliff around here, and there will be someone you know waiting for you at the bottom!

To find out more about the Shotover Canyon Swing, to book or keep an eye on the latest crazy ways to make the jump visit their website at www.canyonswing.co.nz/

Terminal Velocity

Posted on June 21, 2012 by afishoutofgrimsby

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.

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’

Posted on June 19, 2012 by afishoutofgrimsby

‘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

Posted on June 18, 2012 by afishoutofgrimsby

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

Posted on June 16, 2012 by afishoutofgrimsby

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

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