Trout, Beaches and Lovers

 

            Happy spring break.  While you folks were lounging in warmer pastures, consuming potato sacks full of Irish booze, and giving into the March Madness coma, I was hooking into my first Kiwi trout. 

            Last Saturday, I went fishing with my buddy Evan at a reservoir about a half hour from town.  We worked the water for a while with no success.  Finally, I threw my slob choker near a small stream that fed into the reservoir.  Before I knew it, I was wrestling a nasty guy out of his afternoon hole.  As I was bringing him out of the water, he threw the hook – unfortunately no pictures.  But by Mike Funk standards, it was a fish in the creel.  Evan and I agreed that he was about a three-pound rainbow – average by New Zealand standards but a slob in Wisconsin.  It was pure joy.

            I chased a morning of fishing with a night of camping on the beach.  I met up with a group of friends at Boulder Beach on the Otago Peninsula.  We spent the night huddled around a few bottles of wine, hoping a tsunami didn’t take us into the darkness. 

            Now the lovers (Tris and Jack) have arrived.  We are renting a car and heading up the coast for the weekend.  The promise of tropical north, along with orange and blond hair flying free from open windows is making school go down a little easier this week. 

            So, my flower babies.  Strip off your parkas and listen to the snow dripping.  Spring is just around the corner.

Silence in Dunedin and Adventure in Queenstown

            Dunedin is finally quiet.  Every young thrill seeker has left for the Wildfoods Festival in Hokitika, where they will pay real money to chase breakfast maggots with shots of horse semen (not a joke).  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m as intrigued by horse semen as the next fella.  But I could do a shot of that for a lot less money back in Wisconsin.  Granted it would probably be cow semen, but what’s the difference? … Anyway, I decided to stay home.  Rest up.  Prepare for whatever’s next.  Now I have time to update all my folks, who I expect are staring at bare trees from frosted windows, waiting for a single bud to appear.

            Here the trees have leaves but school keeps me inside.  I could go through my whole schedule, but who really cares about school?  We all have to sit in class sometimes.  So, I’ll focus on my weekend in Queenstown – the adventure capital of the world.  A couple buddies were planning a trip.  I snagged an open seat and went along for the ride. 

            Normally youths go to Queenstown to bungee jump, skydive, jet boat, or some other kind of dangerous nonsense.  I went to Queenstown for mountains and trails.  When all my friends were doing the second highest bungee jump in the world, I climbed Queenstown Hill outside of the city center.  On top I found an old dirt bike track through a mountain pass.   The highland pass was arid – desert brown rather than the typical New Zealand green.  On either side were two mountain ranges with frosted peaks.  Clouds passed over the summits, casting shadows and changing colors.   I walked the track for five hours, taking time to sit and watch the land move around me. When the sun began to fall, I found my way back into town.  

            I don’t regret choosing not to bungee jump.  The adventure I’m looking for happens on back country trails that few know.  So all things considered, I found my adventure in Queenstown. 

Is My Tent Leaking?

 

            A few days ago I bought a $25 tent from K Mart and recruited two like-minded REI dividend recipients, Steve and Lexi, to join me for a weekend on the Otago Peninsula.  Our plan was to see everything and sleep where we could.  We accomplished both.  Covering 20 kilometers a day, we saw beaches, mountain tops, cliffs, seals, wild flowers, and many sassy sheep. 

            But I won’t map the whole peninsula.  There is too much to write about.  Instead I’ll focus on our last evening.   

             A couple friends told us about the perfect campsite right off a trail leading to Boulder Beach.  Boulder Beach had been closed the last two months for penguin mating season – insert joke here – so nobody was on the trail.  We hiked down to a patch of trees between the road and the beach.  In the small tree line we found the only flat area on the peninsula, sheltered by a dense canopy of moss-covered trees.  Next to the tree fort was a bubbling stream.  Beyond it, a view of the Pacific.  We made camp, ate dinner, then took a sunset walk to the end of the trail.

            The three of us cleared the trees and stopped.  Everything was in front of us -- the sun sliding behind ocean cliffs, the beach in constant motion, sand changing from light to dark with each wave, rock formations resisting the tide. No one said anything.  We just watched until the sun was gone.  Then we slept. 

            The best days I’ve had here are unplanned.  I’m out there doing something and all the sudden I find the sun setting over the Pacific.  No trail, lookout, or guided tour can compare.  

            On a different note, I’ve heard whispers of blizzards and protests back home.  So my slushie friends find the nearest electric blanket or a willing friend to keep you warm.  All winters come to an end. And keep pounding on the capital door.  With enough noise, it will open eventually.