Perfectly Perilous Pelorus

“Hey Mate, how's your driving?”

Shane, one of the owners of the Blue Moon Lodge here in Havelock, has been running an adventure kayaking business on the side for the past few months. Pelorus Eco Adventures takes groups down a section of either the Pelorus or Wakamarina Rivers in inflatable kayaks, through still pools in winding river valleys and over white-water rapids. So I figured, when he asked me about my driving yesterday, he was looking for someone to drive some of the kayaks up off the beaten track, giving me a chance to escape to a world of canyons and waterfalls, swim in crystal clear water coming from the mountains, and maybe get out in one of these cool little boats.

Anyone who's driven with a wide trailer in tow knows that it's a totally different driving experience, especially if you have to back up. I've done it approximately zero times. Plus, if I got behind the wheel, I'd need two voices in a shouting match in my brain: one reminding me to keep an eye on that trailer, the other one screaming for me to stay on the left-hand side of the New Zealand highway.

“Umm . . . it's not bad. I've had my license for like 6 years.” Seriously?! Well, this is how accidents happen. “I mean, I've never driven on the left before though.” That's better.

“Alright,” he said, plunking a handful of keys in my hand. “Let's take you out for a drive around town.”

Thank God it wasn't a manual transmission, otherwise the stress of the moment would have broken through my trying-too-hard-to-be-nonchalant demeanour and caused the biggest traffic jam in the history of this 500-person village. As it turns out, I found the ignition on the first try, took the van out nice and slow, and only had one issue: the turn signal is to the right of the steering wheel instead of the left. So, if you want to make a left turn, you hit the blinker up instead of down. I screwed up once, but it didn't lead to nuclear meltdown in Havelock.

All that fuss, and the dates for the afternoon tour group got mixed up. Which actually ended up being a whole lot better: I didn't need to drive a trailer loaded with kayaks down a rickety dirt road, but Shane still wanted to explore a different part of the river for possible future tours. “Mate, do you do much kayaking?”

I don't, no, but I went for the middle-of-the-road honesty: “A bit, but mostly it's been canoeing back home.”

Apparently that was good enough. So, with him in the driver's seat, he took me along to see what it was all about.

We ended up in the backwoods, about 45 minutes outside of town, and after hoisting the boats up over our head and walking through a woods path, we ended up along the banks of the Pelorus, flowing steadily towards the Sound of the same name. Two other WWOOFers (that's the loose term for what I'm doing right now – it stands for “Willing Workers on Organic Farms” who work for food and board. It's an actual organization in New Zealand, and so even though this gig isn't technically a recognized WWOOFing spot, it's close enough) came along, to drive the van back down a section of the river where we'd get picked up at the end of our reconnaissance mission.

With blades on each end of the paddle, it really was like a kayak, except that the Sevylor inflatable boats we took down the river were incredibly light and sat high on the water, were durable enough to handle rocks, and easy to steer and manoeuvre. In the two-person boats that Shane normally uses for his group tours, it's pretty easy to get from point A to point B, even if both paddlers are complete morons – it's not like there are many wrong turns you can take. We took single boats, which aren't a huge step up on the difficulty chain – clearly I made it out in one piece.

 

Down we went, 4 km on a clear current. The water was a warm green-blue colour, and even in the deepest parts, you could easily see to the bottom. The river went around these huge rockwall bends, so that there was always a new section of trees, rocks, and rapids waiting around each turn. At parts, the water would be completely still, and you'd glide along slowly, keeping your eyes open for trout. Other times, you'd go headfirst into the rapids.

 

The rapids. That was something brand new. Normally when you're kayaking, if you start heading for a rock or the side of the river, you adjust your strokes and correct your path. But, when you start going down a sudden slope, the water frothing up like a kid's volcano science project, and you see that the water in front of you is littered with rocks, you can alter your course slightly with your paddle, but you're also kinda committed. That boat is going, and it doesn't matter a whole lot if you're pointed backwards or forwards. Hang on tight, because it's going to be a wicked ride.

Once I got a bit of a hang for the steering, it was much easier to avoid getting tangled up in the rocks, but just letting the rapids grab hold of you was a pretty cool thrill either way.

Midway down, we stopped at a deep pool in the river and had a swim, to refresh ourselves and renew our limbs for the rest of the journey downstream. I think that would be the first (and possibly the last) comfortable swim I've ever had outside at the end of January.

In this untouched waterway (you could drink the water right over the side of the boat if you wanted, and in this heat, you wanted to), dwarfed by hills and sky, it was easy to forget about paddling and just lose yourself in a gaze. Which is probably why I fell behind near the end – that, and I'm a little scrap who doesn't run a kayaking business for a living.

So, if you should ever happen to wind up in Havelock and get sick of eating mussels, think about getting out on the Pelorus River in an inflatable kayak.

The hostel was alive by the time we made it back, so once the kitchen cleared a few of us pitched a slew of ingredient together and made a huge pot of chili con carne (which is totally just regular chili, except that amongst this international crowd, that's what it's called) over a bed of basmati rice. When you go from place to place, you get used to buying simple ingredients and ready-made food, so it was nice to have a decent meal, especially when it's with some decent people (and some decent New Zealand beer).

This afternoon was another hot day, with a slight breeze from the bay making it bearable. Stefan, a German traveller passing through, and I found the shaded glens of the forest near to the lodge, coming first to a waterfall before following a narrow path up steep ledges and into the thick of a jungle with ferns everywhere and the cicada racket much louder than in Tauranga (I saw these suckers up close and kind of wish I hadn't). 

We didn't do enough bushwhacking to make it to the Takorika Summit, but after a solid hour (a solid hour in sneakers, I should add . . . I was expecting a gentle woods path, not the set from Vertical Limit), we had a pretty sweet view of Havelock at the mouth of the Pelorus Sound.

As an early February evening closed in, the lot of us crammed into the Blue Moon van and drove across the bay, to Cullen Point, where we had a perfect setup to watch the sunset over New Zealand mountains. Hard to believe that same glowing orb was just poking its head up over a much colder London. 

 

A few hours later, as I get ready to drift to sleep, that same morning is just starting in Newfoundland. That's real life – sitting on a deck in t-shirts and shorts with a crowd of Germans is just what I'm doing in the meantime.

Cheers,

rb