Pisces Finds a Home

I've felt homeless for awhile, long before taking this journey. My physical home -- the home I make -- always feels warm, enveloping, a haven. Yet the places where I've lived never quite felt like psychic home. At last I've found a place where I feel calmed, at ease, at peace, at home -- on the water, kayaking.

I've always loved the water and swimming is very much a part of my family's orientation. Canoeing has been a great joy for many years, but kayaking is a relatively new friend, starting in 1992 with an amazing Alaskan adventure followed by an exquisite paddle through the Virgin Islands five years later. Now I can add to this list memorable trips in NZ -- a two day paddle in Abel Tasman National Park, a one-day trip in Doubtful Sound, and a handful of mini-paddles here and there.

The Abel Tasman trip consisted of nine of us: Johan and Helena from Holland; Jo and Brian from the U.K.; Carsten, a German, and Jacqui, a Scot; Donal from Ireland; myself; and Rhys, the ubiquitous Cute Guide (click here for the Cute Guide Calendar -- to be developed soon). The group was very compatiable and fun, with no one being annoying with the possible exception of myself.

We were a strong group of paddlers, even those who did not have prior experience.

Donal was paired with me, and being one of the novices, willingly let me sit in the stern and steer, allowing practicality to override any ego need to be in command (which was a good thing since we all know about my need to be in command).

The first day was beautiful and sunny and we skirted the splendid coastline of the park. At lunchtime, C.G. Rhys showed me how to find North using the sun and a watch. In the afternoon we took advantage of a high tide and paddled into Cleopatra's Pool, a freshwater swimming hole fed by a waterfall and a natural waterslide that you rode more than once even though it roughed you up a bit if you didn't sit just so (which none of us did the first time). Later that afternoon we pulled into a busy coastal campground where I made good use of a clothesline to hang up my bathing suit and very wet T-shirt, which -- because I had packed very lightly -- needed to be dry for the next day. Despite a considerable breeze and a couple of hours of bright sunshine, the shirt made no attempt to dry, so I left it out overnight. That night, C.G. Rhys showed me the Southern Cross and how to find South. I slept more soundly than I had in awhile because I WAS ALONE! (see A Hostel Experience, if I ever get it written). My own tent -- what luxury! However, my restful sleep was interupted by my own stupidity; I had forgotten to turn off my watch alarm, which went off at an unnecessary 6:00am. After cursing it and myself, I realized that it was actually a good thing since I was 8 hours into a 7 hour bladder cycle.

On the second day, after a hearty breakfast, I put on The Shirt That Never Dries and we set off for another day of glorious paddling, including twice rounding an island on which there was a seal reserve. We saw many, including babies. That afternoon, after we beached, two of us -- one with an incredibly Inadequate Backpack -- hiked to Arawoa Lodge where we were to stay the night in the Lodge's Backpackers' cabin. There I hung up The Shirt That Never Dries and luxuriated in a long, hot shower, which was lucky given the Lodge's electricity was out and the power from the generator was diverted to the main lodge were the monied class dwelled. But it was a banner night; not only was I clean, The Shirt That Never Dries began to dry, and I met two fun Kiwis, Ted & Margaret, who were also staying at the Backpackers.

The next morning The Shirt That Never Dries was even wetter than before, which left me with three choices: hiking in a bathing suit top, a long underwear top, or in The Shirt That Never Dries (which is also pretty dirty at this point). I opted for the polypro. I hiked a bit with Ted & Margaret, crossing a large tidal pool, and lunched with them on the beach before they turned around. I continued off by myself, hiking alone through lush rainforest, along the magnificent coast,

singing Beatles songs -- one from each album, preferably in order of release. I started laughing at "I Should Have Known Better" because I remembered that my sister Nina and I would consistently morph this song into "I Wanna Hold Your Hand'" but we could never figure out how. The views of the water were amazing and I continued happily, glorying in the country's No Snake policy, although a large bird -- aware that my hiking experience would be incomplete without some fear -- swooped down on me like an aviary hit and run.

That afternoon the three of us -- me, the Inadequate Pack, and The Shirt That Never Dries -- reached our destination beach and rode a water taxi back to the kayak company base. There I topped off the trip with a soak in the hot tub, a cup of hot chocolate, and one last lustful look at C.G. Rhys.

Upon return to the hostel in Nelson I hung up The Shirt That Never Dries (which didn't until I washed it and put it into a damn dryer), ate yummy Thai food, wandered the streets as a Crayola sunset washed over the town, walked up several steps -- heavily populated by the town's teenagers, each slurping one beer pilfered from Daddy's stash -- to the top of a hill where sat a sweet cathedral. Upon descent, I lost my head and said hello to a lone teen boy as I passed, forgetting that in the world of male interpretation, speaking at all -- even to say "get lost" -- means "I want you." I didn't realize it for several blocks, but this boy -- and I emphasize boy -- followed me! Puhleeze, even Cher wouldn't go that young. (No doubt as this is being read by my faithful fans there is a chorus of snide but-you-like-them-young remarks, which you are welcomed to enter into the Rib Deborah contest.)

The trip to Doubtful Sound was equally satisfying. Doubtful Sound is deep within the Fiordlands National Park and because of its remoteness it is not visited as heavily as the infamous Milford Sound. What a blessing! No buzzing of helicopters or planes, no large ships in constant traverse. (The same threat of rain and sandflies exists, however.)

This time I had company, junior high school friend Jenny Peters had joined me for a two-week, action-packed tour of the South Island. Our day began earlier than either of us is used to managing, but fueled by purpose and anticipation we reported to the tour operator's office at the required 7:30am. A small group formed consisting of a Dutch couple, a couple from New Caledonia (can you correctly locate that country?!), a Swiss couple, and a woman from the U.K. Again, an amiable group, with no one being annoying, with the possible exception of myself, led by able and -- although not conforming to NZ guide policy by being over 25 -- still C.G. Reg.

C. G. Reg took us first on a boat ride across perhaps NZ's most beautiful lake, Lake Manapouri.

It was cloudy and cool, but the sun shone through the clouds with streamers of sunshine much like you'd see in a landscape painting and doubt ever really existed. At the end of the lake, we and several hundred sandflies, piled into a van to cover the bit of land between the Lake and the Sound.

Just before we reached the second boat, we had a brief nature hike. Then we climbed into a large boat that held our kayaks and rode up the Sound in search of dolphins. Apparently, it was their day off.

C.G. Reg kept bemoaning the highly unusual sunny day, claiming that the fiord was far more beautiful when dripping with rain-filled waterfalls. We managed to enjoy the sunshine and the fact that we could actually see the tops of the mountains.

As we prepared to enter our kayaks, I was named The Leader of the Pack, which meant that I got to fulfill a decades-long childhood yearning for a walkie-talkie. The idea at this point was that we paddled back through the fiord while the boat followed silently at a distance, thus C.G. Reg wanted to make sure we had radio contact to give directions and instructions, and to point out wildlife. (Does anybody doubt that I reveled in this role?!)

It was a delightful paddle through an unspoiled fiord and a definite highlight of the trip.

I hope to continue finding kayaking opportunities while I travel and envision buying a simple plastic one-seater when I return. When I am paddling I feel peaceful and strong; in command, yet yielding. The water is my element. The water is my home.