Abel Tasman at Last! - Day 1

Okay. I have to admit that basically, I've just been lazy for the past week or so and that's why I haven't written. Okay. Now its out there, so now I have to make up for that while I still have free internet access. Last I told you guys, Karin and I were headed out for a 4 day trek along the Abel Tasman Coast Track in Abel Tasman National Park, another of New Zealand's Great Walks. Only we only walked half of it, because we kayaked the other half, which was definitely our favorite part. Day 1. We dropped my car up at Wainui Inlet, the northernmost end of the Coast Track, where we would be finishing our hike and then hopped into Karin's car for the drive down to Marahau. We stayed the night with Stephen at his farm, and Karin thought it was just as cool as I did. We got up bright and early. Well, early anyway. It wasn't so bright, because it was raining! Not exactly what we were hoping for to start off our tramp, but the weather changes so quickly here that we didn't bother ourselves worrying about it too much. We got all trained in on safety and kayak protocol at Southern Exposure Kayaks. We knew a lot of what they were telling us, but the parts specifically about the ocean and the special considerations for the area we'd be in were really helpful. Plus, the guy training us knew good spots to go check out and camp and stuff, which he pointed out for us. We were also outfitted with our nice, bright yellow kayak, yellow-tipped paddles with purple hand grips, attractive purple spray skirts (I wish I'd gotten a picture of us wearing those things! They look hilarious), and blue lifejackets with the funniest over-the-shoulder clipping system I've come across on a lifejacket, and I've worn many in my day. They made up for it with all the handy-dandy mesh pockets in front, though - perfect for a muesli bar, sunscreen, watch, chapstick and sunglasses! The color scheme of the company, which all the guides wore, was blue and yellow. Karin was excited, saying that she felt right at home, since they were almost exactly the colors of the Swedish flag. We found out, however, that contrary to Karin's hopes, the owners were not Swedish. They were just regular New Zealanders. Finally, after getting all geared up, suited up, and trained in, we got out on the open water and took off, finally left to our own devices. We had lunch on Adele Island, where we switched to let me have a try at the stern, since I've never steered a kayak using a rudder before. You use foot pedals to move the rudder back and forth, and it takes a bit of getting used to, especially since it seems so natural for me to steer with the paddle, after all my years of canoeing. Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to get used to it, since directly after Adele Island, you paddle out into the "Mad Mile," where you paddle out in the ocean without any of the shelter of bays of barrier islands. Now, luckily for us, this was a calm day, so my new rudder-steering skills weren't really put to the test as much as they could have been. We pulled into Te Pukatea Bay, our first enormous golden sandy beach (our lunch beach was a little mini one surrounded by boulders and an even "bolder" seagull. Karin hung out at the beach, while I stretched my legs a bit, making the 45-minute return hike to fill our water bottles at the Anchorage Hut, where they had filtered water. This was a smart move on our part, because we didn't end up reaching our campsite until nearly dusk, and we would not have wanted to mess around with water purification at that point. We instead were able to devote our time to pick out the perfect little campsite next to the beach, and cooking ourselves a nice dinner (nice to be used in camping context - we had couscous, green beans and thai chili tuna). But that's jumping ahead. We took our time exploring up the coast, paddling back into Torrent Bay, where we watched a diving bird, unconcerned about our presence, floating along through the water next to our boat. The water was so clear that we could watch it paddling its feet to propel it through the water. When it dove under the water looking for fish, presumably, we could observe every detail of how it swam. I am continuously impressed and amazed by how close I can get to the wildlife here. It is an incredibly special feeling when they allow you to share their space and their habitat with them so openly. We continued north, loving the sandy beaches, but both of us agreed that our favorite scenery was the multitudes of weather-worn and sculpted boulders and cliffs that lined the shores along a large part of the coast. The sculpting tended to leave the rough-textured rocks shaped with rounded, smooth lines, a wonderful contrast. There were so many different shapes and forms, we never tired of watching them and inspecting each new rock face or boulder pile that we passed. We kayaked around a little sand bar and into Sandfly Bay (a brave move, as those of you who have experienced sandflies will understand. For those of you who haven't, they are little insects about the size of gnats who swarm around and bite you and oh, do those bites itch!). Luckily, we didn't encounter any sandflies. Instead, we found a little river, which we followed up to a bridge suspended high between the banks where the hiking trail crosses up above. There were birds calling from the bush, and the lazy, quiet murmer of the water as it flowed downstream out to the sea, but we both felt how quiet and peaceful it was there after being in the constant motion and action of the ocean. We relaxed in there, drifting down at the river's pace, tasting the water to see how far up the salt water penetrated, and watching the fish swimming amongst the logs and stones beneath us as we floated over them. Karin pointed out that we were finally getting our chance to paddle downriver all the way to the sea, as we'd dreamed of doing on the Whanganui. Okay. So maybe it was a smaller scale, but it still had quite an effect on us, emerging from the bush to the sheltered water but open sky behind the sandy arm that acted as a breakwater. Rounding the end of the sand arm and encountering the ocean waves again put us back into the feeling of action and alertness that we were able to leave behind back in the river. We continued up the coast, now searching for a campsite, since the sun had gone behind the mountains and dusk was fast approaching. We decided upon Mosquito Bay, despite the unpleasant-sounding name. What a good decision that was! It was a site accessible only by water, and we landed on the beach, unloaded our gear and some other people there helped us carry our kayak up to the racks for the night. After dinner, it was definitely dark and the water on the beach in front of our campsite was receding with the falling tide. We made our way around the point, climbing over the rocky outcrop that separated our beach from the one next to it, and were rewarded with a serene, moonlit beach all to ourselves. We laid out on the boulders at the far end of the beach, as we'd been tempted to do all day. We talked about all sorts of things that had been on our minds and found ourselves pausing for long periods to fully take in the beauty around us: The waves lapping quietly on the beach, the moon so bright that we cast distinct moonshadows across the rocks, the faint salty hint to the air that seemed to lessen as it got crisper and chillier. The clouds in the sky were playing their own little game, hiding sections of the sky, dissipating and then reforming to hide different groups of stars. It made for some interesting stargazing. Karin still managed to see an enormous shooting star, in one of the cloudless patches. She summed up the day best as we were walking back across the beach to our campsite with her comment that "I'm going to fall asleep with a big smile on my face tonight." Right on. That makes two smiley sleepers in our tent.