Travels with George

by Vivien Fallows

  Unperturbed by this tiny tremble, I then set off to find the black-water rafting bods, but they too seemed as hidden as the Lost World guys. I retraced my steps up the hill, along the hidden pathway and retrieved the car to drive to the head of the valley where there are caves you can walk through to see the glow worms. A chap at the ticket office thought that the Black Water Rafting Co (BWR) was probably the outfit a couple of kilometres out of town; he was right. More instructions followed and it was arranged that I should be picked up the next morning at ten not for the rafting, as that would come later, but for the Big Red experience – quad biking.

  Back to a FRR-FRREEZING room for a very brave shower and down to: “Dinner for one?” (Waiters always make it sound as if no one else would want to dine with you). Strange choice on my part; seafood chowder, followed chicken fettuccine – half of which went in the pig bin – washed down with a couple of glasses of the house brew, a Cabernet Sauvignon Merlot, which made a pleasant change from my usual tipple of beer and bucked me up warmth-wise.

  Making the most of the small internal glow created by the alcohol, I returned to my room and got undressed from my day clothes and then dressed for bed: knickers, nightie, jumper, dressing gown, socks and if I’d have had a woolly hat, I’d have put that on too. Thus swaddled, I tucked myself up in my icy single bed and watched Ab Fab on a tiny TV and as there was no remote control, swore when I had to crawl out of my now slightly less cold and damp bed, to switch it off.

  Somehow, sleep overcame the cold and I drifted off into happy oblivion deciding that hyperthermia is probably a relatively civilised way in which to float from this world into the next.

  Wednesday 3rd April: This is the life! Muddy quads and chilly black-water

  The morning did not get off to an auspicious start. Having survived the night, I sleepily turned on the shower and – kerpow! The shower head suddenly flew off in an alarming fashion, leaving me to struggle with a headless water-spewing reptile. Blinded by the unexpected storm, I somehow managed to find the bits and put the shower back together. During this frantic exercise a jet of water had escaped and sprayed the entire ceiling and the wall opposite. Water slid down every surface drenching my towel and night wardrobe. And ‘ouch’, my bosoms and thighs were bruised by the sheer force of the water. The bruise-inducing water had woken me up like a bolt of electricity and my morning exercise had been taken dancing around in the shower. If I thought that that would be the end of both bruising and exercise, I was a little mistaken. But first of all, clean at least, I tottered down to breakfast which once again was an almost solitary affair with nothing special to report.

  By nine, I was out in the sunshine feeling like a bug emerging from its chrysalis and warming itself before finding the energy to fly away. From my crow’s nest vantage point I watched the comings and goings down below and the minutes ticked away as the hour of my first adventure drew closer. At ten-ish, a little red van stopped outside the village shop and eight Japanese (I think) tourists climbed aboard. The little van then made its way up the hill, disappeared amongst the trees and a few seconds later emerged at my side. Big Red was getting nearer! Sarah, the guide, introduced herself and the party of Taiwanese (wrong) teenagers, whose parents worked in Auckland. We then enjoyed a pleasant drive up the valley to a shed in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere, home to a collection of quad bikes.

  Sarah had just resigned after seven years working as a full-time primary school teacher to be an adventure guide. She continued to work occasionally as a relief teacher in her old school to keep her qualifications valid, but her new regime allowed her the freedom to indulge in her love of the great outdoors. Sarah spoke of all the travelling she had done in her back-packing days, adding that she would probably do more, but in the meantime she wasn’t regretting her career change as she loved Waitomo and it would always be home. Once again, my thoughts flickered back to my daughter, whose own love of travel could well lure her away from the primary school classroom. Time would tell.

  Back to business. Next we met the chap who looked after the quad bikes and he talked us through the ‘what’s what’ of these machines and then kitted us out in overalls, helmets and wellie boots. Tasteful! The youngsters then set off with him to enjoy a gentle trail whilst Sarah, me and one other headed for the hills. And oh boy, what fun!

  Quad biking was not as easy as it looked as the bikes were unexpectedly heavy. Also, you lean out of bends and not into them, which is the natural inclination; fighting inclinations and tackling inclines added to the experience. A gentle ten minutes pottering to get used to the gears – four, brakes – assorted and then up (literally) and away. What a fabulous non-green way to see the fabulous green countryside. Horseback would probably be more ecologically sound, but I was as happy as Larry with all that heat throbbing away under my bum. To be honest, my thumb control on the accelerator was a bit lurchy, but for a first timer, I don’t think I did too badly. Managed to scare myself skidding round a corner with a precipice just feet away, but I jerked my thumb into action and put on full power and yippee! Whoosh, round I went to the sound of cheers from in front and behind (I was sandwiched between the chap, who was an experienced rider and Sarah).

  It was a great adventure – the bits of me not covered by overall and boots got scratched by gorse and mud spattered, but I didn’t notice until afterwards. At one point we stopped to look at the breathtaking scenery and I gratefully sent up a silent prayer to my benefactor. If on my travels I think too much about my flu-recovered husband, I do start to wobble as I contrast the selfishness of my adventures, with the selflessness of his ‘freedom pass’. But the wobble is temporary. Now, back to the mud…

  On our slippery journey we met up with the youngsters. Watching the casual ease with which they rode their bikes made me think that we were on the wrong tracks, perhaps they should have been on the tougher route? Said a quick “hi” then off went the senior class (surely that wasn’t a slightly smug smirk from me?) for a bit more uphill and down dale before muddily heading back to the bike shed. Parked my bike very neatly, and yes definitely smugly, in its allotted space!

  Sarah’s father, Jim, who had led the youngsters, was delightful and wanted to know if I’d enjoyed the ride and had I scared myself? “Good,” he said when I confirmed “yes” on both counts. “Wouldn’t have been right if you hadn’t,” he replied with a grin.

  My email home:

  This is the life! The New Zealand highlights have to include my outdoor adventures in the Waitomo Caves region. The first adventure was above ground and as the day drew nearer began to have concerns about the ecological impact of riding a quad bike over unspoilt countryside – frightening the animals and polluting the atmosphere. Regretfully, all green thoughts went from my mind as I accessed hidden gullies and climbed steep hills to survey the most incredible scenery and wonder at pockets of undisturbed ancient forest. Many of the varieties of vegetation that grow wild are in fact imports brought into the country by intrepid settlers, so it was great to see something that truly belonged: weird nikau palms, tree ferns, New Zealand flax and toetoe grass. Also managed to scare myself more than once, but that’s permissible. Not sure why, but I did have great problems with lefts and rights, ins and outs, clockwise and anticlockwise…

  Back to the hotel, climbing the hill via the ‘fairy grotto’ as I have now named the walk through the undergrowth, for a quick de-mud before gathering up my swimming togs and heading off to my black-water rafting adventure. Got there early, so had half a scone and a drink for lunch. Whilst munching, Jim came into the BWR office cum café for his lunch. We started chatting and he was so enthusiastic about Waitomo Caves and what the area had to offer and was equally enthusiastic and encouraging about what I was doing… a solo middle-aged traveller having an adventure. He was an absolute weather beaten and gnarled old charmer! When you’re on your own, it’s these little conversations that mean so much. And somehow it’s always the fift
y plus blokes who seem to say the nicest things!

  Mine was quite petite compared to some…

  One-thirty came around and along with my fellow rafters, was herded towards a van where I sat opposite glamorous Daphne from Santa Monica… about which we chatted as I now felt an expert on that specific point on the globe. Arrived at the site, where we were kitted out in smelly wetsuits, jackets, sock thingies, wellie boots and helmets. Everything was cold and soggy from the previous occupants. Jane, the guide, had to zip me into my wetsuit, by virtually putting her foot on my stomach and heaving on the zip in an effort to squash my matronly bosoms into one attractive mid-chest lump. The wetsuit was big everywhere else, but the bosoms were definitely a quart into a pint pot arrangement. Having managed to corral them, breathing then became a heaving optional extra.

  Smelling quite unappealing, we climbed back into the van for a short trip to our testing spot. The first task was to choose a rubber inner tube. Having sat down in one, wriggled around for a moment or two and then standing up – finding it still firmly attached to your nether regions, framing your buttocks like a halo – you knew you had made the right choice. So fetching! Unusually for me, my first choice was the right choice… and I have to say mine was quite petite compared to some of the others.

  The first lesson was how to form an eel; I was in the front of the long line and we all sat down on our inner tubes and grabbed the wellies of the person behind. When forming an eel in the dark, it is useful to know whether or not there is a foot in the boot you’re clutching. Ha, ha. Then we sat on the ground to learn how to paddle forwards, backwards (to break) and turn left and right. Having mastered that little exercise on terra firma, it was off to a muddy stream where we had to prove ourselves; failure to do so meant an abrupt end to your trip. The challenge was to jump backwards from a height of six feet with the ring around your bum… not so easy if you’re a wimp about heights. Having been first in the eel, I was last to jump.

  Everyone else got through the task with varying degrees of finesse and when I was the ‘last man standing’, I knew I couldn’t make an idiot of myself. But I did. I shuffled backwards to the edge of the wooden jetty, clutching my rubber ring, and flexed my knees ready to jump back into the unseen. One, two, three… and my feet stayed firmly rooted to the spot. I tried again: nothing. Jane approached with pupils dilating and I leapt backwards before she could scream “wuss”. Coughing and snorting muddy water is an experience, not a good one, but I’d made it! At this point, I should add that I was the granny of the outfit, everyone else being about thirty years my junior.

  From there we trudged over rocks, into a cave and on and on: me stumbling and Daphne pointing out that Jane’s frosty demeanour left little to be desired. Between stumbling (well, have you tried caving in ill-fitting, water-filled wellies?) I mumbled that a smile would mean so much. But at last the black-water lake at the back of the cave loomed in the shadows of our headlamps and as one we stopped moaning as the awesome spectacle took our collective breath away. It really was another fabulous experience.

  The lamp-lit journey continued with a mixture of wading and paddling. We floated past cool damp rocks and bumped into submerged soggy things clinging to the sides. We fell down unseen potholes and jumped off waterfalls, trying to avoid whirlpools that would suck us down and eventually spit us out rudely into the daylight. We formed our rehearsed eel, to eel our way through a long tunnel inhabited by glow worms. Looking more like the grub of a mosquito than a worm (in fact, the larval stage of the fungus gnat) their phosphorescent glow attracts small hapless flying insects which have been careless enough to find their way deep into the cave system. Happy to find a ‘mate’ they stick to the glow worms like flies on a fly paper and are slowly eaten by the shining sirens. Lolling back on my inner tube, with someone’s ankles firmly in my grip, I lie looking up at the night sky, dotted with tiny stars. I’m sure Orion’s Belt is down here.

  Now, I haven’t mentioned the cold or the young girl from Nagoya, with whom I had chatted before we plunged down into these dark depths. Overcome with maternal tendencies, I kept an eye on her, because if I was cold – she was colder. Hands and feet don’t count apparently, as Jane and her fellow guide Brad were only interested in chests and heads; if they became cold, the problem was getting serious. Whilst my chest was well-insulated, the young girl from Nagoya was somewhat lacking in that department. But a few well-timed calories boosted our dipping blood-sugar levels and stoked our inner fires. Having mastered one particularly arduous ‘up and under’, Jane was waiting perched on a rock to hand us, as we surfaced, chocolate fish: m’mmm, never has chocolate tasted so good! Thank you, Jane.

  Not really all too soon, as we had been submerged underground up to our armpits in cold water for over an hour, we emerged back into the muddy stream into which we’d jumped, seemingly eons earlier. The journey had taken us past stalactites and stalagmites, we had drifted through enormous caverns and scrambled through narrow gaps (tugging our rubber rings) and climbed up slippery, half seen rocks. Nearly forgot – I spent ages looking at an eel (a real one this time) deep in the cavern. They’re lovely, but it must be a lonely life down there with very few companions, just the occasional trickle of wellie-clad tourists. Also saw various fossils which resembled clams or oysters; New Zealand had been under water until it was pushed up zillions of years ago.

  The sheer exhilaration of actually completing the escapade intact brought on the second adrenalin surge of the day. The Big Red and Black-Water adventures had been two totally different, but two totally fabulous experiences. I would do both again…but not in a hurry, I need to warm up first!

  Back to the base camp to strip off – a task that was easier said than done when everything was frozen solid, but thank heavens my constricted bosoms, could at last be released. Phew. A sort of shower followed and it was better than nothing, but didn’t really get rid of the yucky rotten rubber suffused with rotting vegetation smells. A mug of hot soup and a toasted bagel managed to set the world to rights. Feeling less than beautiful, I was amazed to see that Daphne had managed the entire journey in that lost world without chipping her immaculate fingernails. Well, they were acrylic.

  Back in my hotel room, I showered in a more leisurely, meaningful and accident-free way and took my book down to the bar before supper: the Lion Red local brew proved to be the ideal restorative after a bout of strenuous physical activity. Then time to strip out of and climb into assorted clothes, ready for bed because tomorrow’s another action-filled day of adventure. From my email home:

  The next adrenalin adventure was black-water rafting. The caves are famous for many things, including glow worms, and one way to see them is to splosh through water… clasping or sitting on an inner tube, which has to fit your posterior exactly. The test to see if you’re fit to undertake this activity required jumping backwards (with ring in place) into muddy water. Lovely! My knees buckled ineffectively but one glare from Jane, our macho guide, and suddenly I could have leapt from the Eiffel Tower. Maybe an ungainly entry into the water, but style wasn’t the issue. The reason for the dummy run became clear as underground we had to leap backwards off crashing waterfalls, avoiding whirlpools. I kid you not, a leap in the wrong direction would have you whisked away to be spewed out somewhere uncomfortable. Oh, the indignity!

  The glow worms are fascinating, like little stars sprinkled on the walls of the caverns through which we floated or stumbled. You don’t have to get wet, as you can see them by taking a dry walk through a different cave, but hey, where’s the fun in that? Ouch, I’ve just remembered how cold it was and how I had to rub the hands of a young girl from Nagoya who was so cold she was purple…

  Thursday 4th April: time for the big one…

  Once again, up with the freezing lark and time to kill before the eleven-thirty off – off to the Lost World. Had breakfast in total and absolute solitary, so chatted to Rita the waitress, who said Easter had been very busy
and good for the hotel, but bad for her as she’d worked both breakfast and dinner shifts. She’d much prefer one customer at a time! Lucky me, I had her full attention. A Waitomo native she had left to travel but here she was, back home again. On her travels she’d done a fifty metre abseil and said the sense of achievement was awesome. She described her childhood playing in the magical Waitomo area where they called the limestone shapes fairy castles, playing up and over them. It seems that everyone I speak to who lives here, really loves the place. I can understand why.

  After my cheerful breakfast, with an hour or so to spare, went up the road to the Black Water Rafting outfit to send an email home, but the machine was so slow that I abandoned the truncated message. Returning to the village I resorted to pen and paper and settled down to a stint of postcard writing, sitting in the sun under a cloudless brilliant blue sky. By ten-thirty it was surprisingly hot and as if sensing that this might be my last drop of sunshine for some time, I sat in its full glare lapping up the warm rays… some people will never learn. Now, picture me as I roast and write, seemingly oblivious to my leaflet’s dramatic description of the journey I was about to undertake:

  The Lost World adventure is a spectacular 100 metre abseil into a magnificent, sheer chasm that can only be described as an enchanting wonderland. Ferns and mosses coat massive cliff faces, it is misty, cool, strangely still and smells fresh and alive. Surrounding you is a range of breathtaking rock formations that include stalactites, stalagmites, curious bubbles, swirls and drips. It is fairyland without the fairies. This is […] 330 feet of sheer drop off a solid platform suspended high above a rushing river. On reaching the bottom of the descent, dry caving leads to a 30 metre ascent out on a cave ladder above a deep black chasm full of rushing water.3 [n.b. ‘black’ does not do it justice…]