Running Down a Dream

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Driving away from the glaciers, I felt fantastic.  I was finally on an adventure I was excited about.  That feeling of loneliness and pointlessness would pop its head up from time to time, but winding my way through the lush countryside roads, reggae blasting through the speakers, I felt pretty damn good.  

On the way back I started driving by this beautiful lake that was dead calm.  Another spontaneous turnoff led me to a peaceful afternoon of walking around the lake, taking photos around the lake's lush coastline. 

I came back to the town that I had stopped at when I first hit the coast.  A place called Hokitika.  It was a cool little town with plenty of charm, good food, and a damn decent movie theater with couches as seats!  Right up my alley.  

That evening I arrived to find that a little bit of swell had filled in.  There was a clean, well shaped peak just out in front of the main beach, and as usual no one was out.  I excitedly threw on my wetsuit and paddled out to grab a few.  

Surfing all by myself, on a decent little wave, on a perfectly peaceful evening; I felt incredible.  Surfing was always such an emotional release for me my spiritual cup ran full.

The days after that were filled with giant storm surf that I made myself surf/survive at least once a day.  I would usually spend the rest of my day taking lots of photos.  The vast amounts of tortured driftwood that littered the beach was my favorite subject.

There were a few days where I drove around the surrounding countryside, visiting lakes, rivers, waterfalls, you name it.  It seemed that the assets of the Hokitika region were literally endless, and I was almost always all alone.  

Down dirt roads and through farmlands, I realized that it didn't really matter where I went.  Almost every new area had some beautiful little niche that was all but a secret.  

I camped anywhere that seemed like it wouldn't bother anyone, and on the west coast, that was pretty much everywhere.

One day I woke up to an incredibly clear day.  The sun was out, but the surf left a lot to be desired.  For the first time, I saw the snow covered peaks of Mount Tasman and Mount Cook shimmering in the distance.  

I was heading towards a local lake for the day when I felt an intense calling to go back to the glaciers.  Very rarely in my travels have I gone back somewhere.  

It always felt that going forward was the right call, and with false promises of returning "one day", I pretty much always moved on.  

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But, I couldn't resist the thought of photographing Lake Matheson's reflections one more time.  I could see the peaks basking in the fresh day's sun from a great distance.  

Sitting in my van on the side of the road, I gave it some thought.  10 mins later, I fired up Joyous, swung her around, and a 3 hour drive later and I arrived at the lake. I packed up my camera gear and some food, and excitedly went back to the area with the famous views.  

It was crystal clear and the mountains seemed close enough to touch.  I was the only one there, and I excitedly began to photograph to my hearts content.  I took a lot of single shots, but then began experimenting around again by taking photos in a series, stitching them together later in long, detailed panoramas.

(8 Photos: PHOTO OF THE WEEK!)

Suddenly, a large group of Japanese men came down the path, equipped with rolling suitcases full of top of the line camera gear!  I was immediately surrounded.  The peace and tranquility of the day was long gone, but with the sun setting, and the mountains reflecting the beautiful colors, I couldn't have been in a better mood.  

The only thing that would interrupt the complete stillness of the water was the occasional duck, who seemed to laugh at an untimely landing.

I returned that night to the van all smiles.  It was yet another good call.  I felt like I was on a roll.  I've come to believe through my travels that the world whispers you in the right direction, but as people, we get so caught up in our own plans that we either don't hear, or we refuse to listen.  

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Its extremely hard to do, but if you can truly listen, everything seems to just fold out in front of you.  I felt like maybe, finally, I was starting to hear her once again.

Back Again!

I lived in a van, in a garage, in Christchurch for a little over a month.  I remember watching this film on blackholes one day.  Blackholes have such a powerful gravitational pull, that light itself cannot escape.  When I think about Christchurch, I think about a big, gaping black hole.  No matter what I did, how hard I tried, or how long I stayed, I just couldn't leave.

I kept remembering Chris Farley's infamous SNL skit about living in a van down by the river and thinking,  "I WISH I lived in a van by the river.  That would be fantastic."  I lived in a van, in a mechanic's garage, in a town recently hit by a major earthquake… Not to mention that I couldn't surf because the entire city's sewage was being directly pumped into the sea, and every beach within an hour or two was closed. 

After the last blog, the van just started falling apart.   The head gasket, then the alternator,  then the starter motor, then the starter motor again… don't ask.  When it was finally finished, I took it into a garage to get a new "warrant of fitness", which is a mandatory certification in NZ.  

Halfway through the inspection of the engine, the safety latch on the hood failed, and the hood slammed down onto the back of the inspector's head!!!  I'll never forget the look on his beet-red face as he slowly picked his glasses off the floor.

Needless to say, it failed that inspection.  Dave the mechanic and I were cracking up about it later, because it was such a "Joyous" thing to do.  On record it failed due to rust.  Dave had had it.

"That's it, I'm taking the day off of work. We're gonna get that rust out and its gonna pass that inspection.  This is just getting ridiculous"    

A day of grinding, filling, and painting, and she looked pretty good.  We brought her back in and she passed.  I saw my window to leave.  There was nothing in my way.  I threw everything in the van, and took off.  I remember saying to Dave before I left,

"No offense man, but at the very least, I'd just like to breakdown in a new town for a while."

Dave laughed,

"I totally understand bro, GO FOR IT!"

As I got in the camper to drive away, I found Tuffey in the driver's seat, looking at me quite peculiarly.  She could easily have just been looking for a warm place to rest or a car ride, but I like to think she knew I was leaving, and was trying to convince me not to go.  Whatever it was, it made me feel I would be missed, and I needed that.

4 hours later I found myself in the middle of the mountains, in a place called Arthur's Pass.  Although she was leaking a decent amount of oil, and there were some hills which I barely made it up; I was doing it.  I had left...

Christchurch was far behind me, and the sun was getting low.  I needed a place to stop for the night, but I was in the middle of nowhere and worried about something going wrong the next morning.  

"Screw it…", I said to myself.  "This was the reason I bought the van; to pull off in the middle of nowhere.  I'm staying."

 I pulled off onto a little side road near the river.  It was a great little secluded spot to spend the night.  

Before the day was over, the sunset started churning out the most beautiful colors.  It was one of those sunsets that just kept on smoldering; constantly changing, but never dying.  It kept putting out these dramatic streams of light, almost like it was telling some sort of story that could never be put into words.  

It was a nice story, and for the first time in a long time, I felt… grateful.  I couldn't have stopped in a better place, at a better time.  I felt like I was back on course.

Even the ridiculously bad dinner I cooked of fried eggs on toast, and the fact that virtually all of my photos came out blurry due to a stupid mistake I made, couldn't completely dampen my buzz.


But something else did.

With the lights going dim and the night growing cold, and a half eaten plate of burnt fried eggs and toast (How do you burn the eggs AND the toast?!?!), I couldn't help but feel a very profound loneliness, the likes of which I haven't felt in a very long time.  It was so profound, that it actually haunted me for several days later.

I'd find myself in the middle of doing something or going somewhere, and I'd stop and just be consumed by it.  Things would all of a sudden seem so arbitrary, so pointless.  I still have no idea why, or from where it came from, or why it was so hard to shake, but it was as real as the street I was walking on, even if nobody knew it but me.

The next day I was up early, and greeted to a beautiful, crisp autumn day.  I didn't wasted much time as I wanted to make it over the pass.  Also, driving somewhere new always seems to calm me down.  Something about the optimistic promise of a new and better place, probably one of the reasons I've always liked travelling so much.  

Once I hit the coast, I was excited to get some surf.  It was a gorgeous day and the town was surrounded by the lush greenery the west coast is known for.  I couldn't remember the last time I had felt warmed by a midday sun.

Unfortunately it was dead flat.  I sat on a rock watching the glistening sea roll in and out, just enjoying the sunshine.  I felt so relieved to be somewhere else, not to mention somewhere warm!  

After a couple of hours soaking up the sun, I decided to keep driving.  I knew I could make it to the glaciers by the end of the day.  It was something I had to see, and I could try and surf later in the week, when there would hopefully be more swell.  So off I went.  

The first place I went was Fox Glacier.  It was incredible that so much ice could exist so close to the sea.  I camped down by a lake called Lake Matheson that was famous for its perfect reflections of Mount Cook and Mount Tasman.  

When I arrived the mountains were hidden by clouds and fog.  The lake was beautiful regardless.  But then, at the very end of the day, once the sun had all but vanished, the mountains cleared, and the famous reflection in the lake was revealed.

The next day I headed to the bigger of the glaciers named Frans-Josef Glacier.  It was bigger and even more spectacular, but its access was more restricted for safety reasons.

Both glaciers had a river that flowed out from under them.  The melted water poured down underneath the ice for thousands of feet before coming out the bottom. At the bottom of Frans-Josef, there was a giant ice cave that was made even bigger after the earthquake, when a million ton piece of ice broke off into the river.  

It looked like something out of mythology.  Easily 30 feet high, the cave seemed alive as the heavy flowing river exited its archway.  At a good 200 meters away it was just a tease.  To have something so captivating and so unreal just an easy walk away, and to have that access cut off made me even more curious.

That night while laying in bed, I decided that I had to go back.  I had to go back and see it close up, and then photograph it.  Although my dreams were haunted with the "sudden river level rises" and "chances of ice collapsing" that the signs warned about, I woke up well before dawn, and hiked the 45 minutes to the glacier in the dark.  I climbed over the fence, and slowly made my way to the base of the glacial cave as dawn's first light came down.

I knew the chances of something happening were rare, but made sure I had an escape route as I hopped from rock to rock to the middle of the river.  It was truly something out of a storybook. 

According to Maori legend, Kinehukatere was a woman from ancient times who loved to climb mountains.  She persuaded her lover Wawe to climb with her one day, and he fell to his death.  Her heart broken, tears fell down the mountain, and froze as a memorial to her fallen lover.  Staring down the throat of this massive glacier, I no longer felt afraid.  I felt humbled, and at peace.

Pic of the Week!