3-2-1 Bungy!

I don’t know why, but I didn’t hesitate. Once I was at the edge, I didn’t have a doubt in my mind. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Three. Two. One.

And I was falling.

It was the most fantastic sensation! I gave a whoop of joy, and then it was back up, and down. I felt a sense of absolute abandon and weightlessness, and utter joy as I bounced up and down between the most amazingly bright river and a beautiful blue sky. The cliffs around me were a blur. I wished it would never end.

There are simply not enough words to describe how bungy jumping felt. It was exciting, amazing, and went by far too quickly. After I was pulled into a boat on the river, I ran up the cliffside, feeling as though I would simply burst out of my own skin. I wanted to run everywhere, proclaim my excitement to the world, and burst into joyous song, only my mind was racing so fast I couldn’t think of a single song to sing (despite the fact that one of the boatmen who took me to shore requested I sing because he discovered I was a choir teacher in our brief exchange on the boat). Had this been a musical, I most certainly would have started singing on a surge of orchestration full of swelling trumpets and rising melodies.

I really must thank Robin for prompting me to try this most amazing experience. I honestly had never imagined myself bungy jumping. I’ve long had a fascination with sky diving and would like to journey in a hot air balloon at some point, but I never really thought I’d try bungy jumping. When Robin and I were talking about my impending visit to New Zealand, she suggested that I might want to try it. She and Rich had just gone bungy jumping in Queenstown, and as she noted, New Zealand is the place where the sport was invented. What better place to try it?

I initially gave a tentative “maybe.” I wasn’t completely committed; but the more I thought about it, the more the idea took hold. “Why not?” I mused. I would be jumping with a reputable company full of professionals who knew how to hook me into the gear correctly, so safety wasn’t a concern. If I didn’t like it, I could chalk it up to having had an experience. If I liked it, it would open a door to a whole host of extreme activities I had not tried before.

Looking back, I think I was more nervous before my first jump than I acknowledged at the time. When we were on our way to breakfast that morning, I took a look in the mirror and noted that I was ghostly pale. (This was quite a feat considering that I had gotten a bit sunburnt the day before on the Tongariro Crossing.) Although I am normally a voracious breakfast eater, I didn’t really want to consume much that morning. And anybody who knows me well knows that I am a chatterbox--when I’m with good friends or family, I cannot stop myself from talking. And talking, and talking. That morning, as we drove from National Park to Taupo, I wasn’t silent, but I did have fewer words than normal. There were actually noticeable moments of quiet in the car where I wasn’t holding up my end of the conversation as well as I normally would with my equally chatty friend.

Yet, there was no going back in my mind. There wasn’t a moment when I said, “I don’t want to jump,” or “I don’t know if I can do this.” I even heard the terrified screams of the two girls who jumped before me (one of whom sounded as though she was being chased in a campy slasher film) and didn’t think about backing out.

Did I shout? Certainly. You can see for yourself in the video (complete with commentary by Robin) posted on my Facebook page. (I was planning to post it in the blog itself, but after at least four failed attempts at uploading, I figured that it wasn’t worth the stress. Everyone who reads this blog is a Facebook friend, anyway . . .) Yet, rather than screaming, I gave more of a whoop of joy. As I bounce back up, listen closely and you can hear me exclaim a “holy cow!” (Seriously--who says “holy cow” mid-bungy jump?)

After the first jump, I naturally had to jump again. Once was not enough. Twice was not really “enough,” though it did suffice for that day. The second time I jumped, went backwards. It was fantastic--on the second jump time slowed just a little bit, and I was able to really take in my surroundings as I fell backwards into the air. All I could see at first was the sky above. It was surreal.

I don’t know if there’s really any one thing I loved most about bungy jumping. It was thoroughly exciting and soul-satisfying all at once. Most people look at me incredulously when I tell them that I bungied in New Zealand; I laugh. I know I look like a kindergarten teacher to most, and therefore people assume I have the daring-do of one as well. Well, I have the video to prove otherwise. And I’m definitely planning to jump again, though it’s not to disprove anyone’s expectations. I just want to jump again because I really liked it! Maybe next time I’ll do a flip off the platform!

And sky diving is something I most definitely need to take from a dream to a reality.

The Tongariro Crossing

The mountains rose up out of the mist like a scene from a movie, but even quasi-questionable weather couldn’t diminish our excitement for the Tongariro Crossing.

See?

Yup, we were pretty excited for 19.4 kilometers (that’s 12 miles, American friends) of mountain hiking.

The Tongariro Crossing is known as one of the world’s most amazing hikes. It takes you across a full mountain, with everything from the scrubby plant-covered base to the rocky mountainside, the windswept mountaintop, lakes, waterfalls, and wooded terrain that felt almost like being back in the north woods of Wisconsin and Minnesota. The variety of terrain seems so surreal, looking back at my pictures it seems impossible that it was all encapsulated in one day-hike.

The hike started innocuously enough. It was flat with wide dirt pathways. When the walk got marshy, the conservation department had already put up boarded walkway so you didn’t sink into the sodden ground. (It wasn’t that wet when we hiked, but it was a bit damp and drizzly at the start of the walk.)

Just prior to beginning the ascent toward Red Crater, we came across the side track to Mount Ngauruhoe, best known to Lord of the Rings fans as “Mount Doom.” Prior to our hike, Robin and I had talked about wanting to climb Mount Doom. After all, it’s Mount Doom! How often does one get the opportunity to do such a thing? However, we had been forewarned that this was a tricky climb. First, our hostel roommate from the previous evening, Peter, had already shared with us his experience in climbing Mount Doom. (For the record, Peter is just about one of the most fascinating individuals I’ve yet to meet! He has travelled all over the world on extreme adventures; he shared several stories of his escapades with us. He works in his home country of England for a while, saves up, and then takes off all over the world. He’s just . . . cool!) Just like the hobbits, you have to climb Mount doom on all fours, grabbing at bits of dirt along the way. There’s no real path. This wasn’t enough to completely deter us, but we decided to “see how we felt when we saw it.” Our second warning came from our bus driver who dropped us off at the start of the track, a man craggy enough to have been carved out of the rough hewn mountainsides we came across along our hike. Due to the fog and the wet terrain from the previous night’s rain, he cautioned that anyone who wanted to climb Ngauruhoe should consult with him first, and that only the most experienced of hikers should take the climb. Robin and I glanced at one another and confirmed that although we were perfectly suited to trek the Tongariro Crossing, Ngauruhoe was not ours to conquer that particular day.

(This just gives me an excuse to go back and trek the Tongariro Crossing again! I need to face Mount Doom!)

We confirmed our decision not to climb the summit of Mount Ngauruhoe whilst passing Mount Doom--from the wide track, you could see the hardened lava flow from it’s last eruption (1975), but the entire mountain was completely shrouded in fog. Not ideal climbing conditions for gals who had not previously grappled with hand and foot climbing.) We were thrown a small consolation prize just as we were about to ascend the steepest part of our hike--the wind shifted the clouds and we got a glimpse of Mount Ngauruhoe through the mist.

As we turned back toward the track, we were given one more moment to ponder our options (and level of fitness) before we continued our hike. Here I am, thinking really hard. (Or plotting something nefarious. Take your pick!)

And we were off!

Climbing, climbing, and climbing!

Uphill adventuring isn’t so bad. Yes, it’s tough, but it’s not pure evil. Stairs, on the other hand, are a different story. I know they can be dead helpful sometimes, but so much of the time they feel like sheer torture. During the stair-laden part of our hike, we heard a lot of heavy breathing, both from ourselves and those we hiked near or passed. One lady said, “I feel like I’m working a dirty phone call!”

Luckily for us, the stairs ended. Though we continued to climb upwards, we had more gradients and rocks to help us along our way. However, we did encounter climate changes! We had happily layered ourselves for this hike, and though we were sweated from the exertion of the uphill hiking, it was quite chilly at the top! Coats came on, pants got rolled back down. I actually traded out my lighter jacket for my better-insulated one when we stopped for lunch.

(Incidentally, simple peanut butter on bread, at the top of a hike tastes phenomenal. Extreme wind enhances the flavor.)

As we walked away from our lunch stop, the craziest thing happened! It became warmer; the wind, instead of simply blowing at us in cool blasts, actually blew the fog away and we saw sunlight and blue skies again. And not a moment too soon! As we started our first mini-descent, skating through loose, dark dirt toward the Emerald Lakes, we were treated to some of the most astounding colors we’d seen yet. In front of us, we could see the bright green of Emerald Lake, caused by minerals that leach from the surrounding rocks. Against the black of the volcanic soil, the blue of the sky, and the

constantly moving fog, the green of the water appeared gem-like. When we turned around, we also had the chance to see red crater, which mere minutes before had been so saturated in fog we had to take it on good faith that it was there.

After the breathtaking scenes at Red Crater and the Emerald Lake, the rest of the walk felt serene. There were moments where the view opened up into vast landscapes that seemed to go on forever. In the last kilometers, we plunged into woodlands that felt like we had suddenly landed back home in the midwest!

All too soon we found ourselves at the end of the track. It was gratifying to have beaten the anticipated 7-8 hours--we managed the trek in six hours! Oddly, even though we had done an awful lot of walking and climbing, I didn’t feel particularly sore or even tired. (Of course, the next morning, my first few steps were a bit like Frankenstein’s . . .)

And remember that half bottle of Shiraz we had started in Raglan? We finished it that evening . . . after we had each enjoyed a complimentary glass of wine (included with the purchase of our bus tickets; for those of you familiar with my low alcohol tolerance, this was A LOT of booze in one sitting!). It was almost surreal sitting back with wine in hand, watching a full moon rise over Mount Doom in the distance. The rhyme made me giggle. Or maybe that was the wine talking . . .

Cave Women

Personally, I think Robin and I are ready to grace the front of a Wheaties box. If this picture doesn’t scream “Breakfast of Champions!” I don’t know what does.

Ok, perhaps I jest. But there is something about putting on a wetsuit, a helmet (complete with its own torch), and adventuring through a cave that does make one feel a bit inspired.

Accomplishment number one: putting on said wetsuit, when it was still wet from an earlier run through the caves. If you’ve never experienced this particular joy yourself, the sensation of putting on a waterlogged wetsuit is not pleasant. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that it’s downright nasty. It’s cold and rubbery and feels like you’re trying to put on another layer of skin that disagrees heartily with you. Robin caught this, um, charming picture of me as I pulled up the bib top of my wetsuit. I assure you it was as clammy and cold as the rest of the suit.

Accomplishment number two: facing the more frightening cave critters. Ok, I’ll admit that this wasn’t the worst thing ever. In fact, it was pretty easy to avoid the frightening cave critters altogether, and frankly, they weren’t that scary. But we did see a weta, a sizable cave-dwelling spider that looks like it popped directly out of the fourth Harry Potter flick as soon as we entered the Ruakuri Cave in Waitomo. (Robin was none-too-pleased by its presence.) And though we thought our guide was joking, there was in fact an eel waiting to greet us in one area of the cave. For some reason, that gave me the willies, and I proceeded to squeak whenever someone in our rafting group shouted “eel” to me throughout our adventure.

Accomplishment number three: black water rafting. Robin sent me an email that listed several things we could tackle prior to my trip to New Zealand, and this was one that made my “must” list. Ostensibly, we simply “tubed in a cave.” Yet, there was a bit more to the black water rafting than simple tubing. We did a bit of hiking through the cave river, which was tricky at times. Although you have a torch on your helmet, you often can’t see your footing through the darkness of the water. Rocks jut up out of nowhere and if you’re not careful, you may just take a nasty dive and injure yourself. (For all of you who are privy to my more clumsy exploits past, I am pleased to say that I emerged from this particular venture without incident!) We also got to jump off some waterfalls that were 3-4 meters in height. They weren’t particularly daunting in comparison with the waterfalls that Robin and Rich had already conquered weeks earlier whilst canyoning, but we still heard our guides give the warning: “Make sure you jump far enough away from the fall so you avoid the undertow, but not so far that you hit these rocks . . .”

Accomplishment number four: singing in a cave. It’s a funny thing, but as soon as I told anyone in New Zealand that I taught choir here in the states, I was asked, “Are you going to sing us a song then?” Ordinarily, I don’t feel stage fright. I love to entertain an audience from a stage either as a soloist or part of a choir. I like the adrenaline rush and the thrill of live performance. Yet, when asked to do this human to human, without the distance an audience and performance space, without a character to play or a planned program, suddenly it’s the most daunting thing in the world. My mind blanks, my pulse rushes, and though I nearly always have a soundtrack running through my head, I can’t think of a song. I feel like a stunned child, paralyzed in the moment, struggling through the far reaches of my mind. What can I sing? Why can’t I think of any songs that I know??? Then I proceed to berate myself for not being able to think of any songs since having a catalogue of songs in my brain is so much a part of who I am at every other juncture of my life that I often sing bits of songs when people utter phrases from them in ordinary conversation. Thankfully, I was able to pull a verse of the Irish folk song “The Salley Gardens” out of the recesses of my brain. So while floating through the river, helmet torches dimmed, and only the light from the glowworms above to light our way, I sang. It was a frightening moment personally--Robin had built me up to the rest of our caving group, and I was loathe to disappoint. But regardless of what others thought of my singing, I enjoyed a moment of personal satisfaction both while singing and afterwards. The acoustics in the cave were stunning. (I should sing in caves more often!) And I take great pride in the fact that I was able to share something I find intensely personal in a truly unique situation.

As mentioned above, we also saw one of New Zealand’s natural beauties while in the cave: glowworms. From the water below, we stared up at the dazzling light of what looked to be thousands of glittering stars above us. In reality, the glowworm is an ugly, gooey little larva, made pretty by its bioluminescence, which, as our caving guide pointed out, is really just glowing fecal matter used to capture its prey. However, knowing the truth about our little friend, arachnocampa luminosa, could not diminish the beauty of the little buggers. They are truly a sight to behold.

Perhaps the only downside to the adventure was the chilling cold. However, this was nothing that a hot shower, followed by hot soup and a toasted bagel, couldn’t fix. Would I do it all again? In a heart beat! Perhaps next time we’ll add in some repelling for an added thrill!