As promised, here is the tale of the aforementioned excitement in Abel Tasman National Park.
First, a preface: it is hard to carry food, water, and a butane cooker on your back, along with a tent, air mattress, and sleeping bag. Concessions must get made then, and things get left behind, namely a butane cooker and dry food. This means that we made our food in advance, which is NOT a good idea, but we weren't really thinking as our Abel Tasman trip was rather spontaneous. It SEEMED like a great idea but by day 2 out of 5 we were convinced it was most definitely a bad plan.
Another preface: I have a tent for 2 people, which can fit 2 people and gear in a snug fashion. There were 3 of us. I was the only one with a tent. This meant that 3 of us were in the tent and our gear was outside, wrapped in plastic.
That all being said, on night 2 we heard a rustling sound. To be exact, Freddy heard a rustling sound and had to wake up her champion sleeper tent mates. Paul was next to the door, then Freddy, then me, so it was difficult, in my defense, to get out. Poor Paul had to get out to see what exactly was going on, and what he saw was a critter in my backpack! He was shining a light at it, and from the shadow on the tent I determined it was most likely a wolverine with gills. Paul found his inner machismo and took out a knife and my trekking pole, both of which he threw at this strange and foreign creature. Ok, ok, the knife wasn't OPEN (it's a large, military-issue pocket knife) and my trekking pole is lightweight fiberglass, but still, who knew what could happen with this horrible wildebeest scrounging through my stuff! This epic battle between man and beast went on until nearly daybreak, as the critter would not leave my pack alone. We finally all had to get up (after Paul had to get up, oh, 17 times, no exaggeration) when the terrible discovery occurred: the amphibious mammal (remember, a wolverine with gills!) tore through our plastic covering, OPENED THE ZIPPER ON MY BACKPACK, and proceeded to eat our limited supply of rice and beans!!
Our first thought was distress. We had days to travel still, and while we could have pansied out of our trek and taken a water taxi home, that was not on our agenda (or budget). My next thought was positive. Somehow things have a way of working out, even when they shouldn't or it would appear that they won't. Our plan then, was to simply relax on the beach, get some rest, and take an easy hike that afternoon to the next campground. None of us had a lot of sleep due to the nocturnal battle waged to save our treasure. I read Dostoevsky on the beach (which sounds an awful lot like Kafka on the Shore, a book I really love, but no...I read The Idiot, just to clear up any literary confusion here) to console myself and felt pretty good about the whole thing. I was baking in the sun and decided to go change out of my bather and sit in the shade of our campground, and probably get moving as well. I checked out the rice and beans, and I don't know if it was froggerine induced, but the sight of my torn-up bag and the PAW PRINTS ON MY BACKPACK IN RICE FROM THAT LITTLE F@!$ER really made me want to vomit. I immediately went to the outhouse to change, and when I came out, there was a dude waiting for me. My initial reaction was “creeper,” but then he said the following magical words:
“Would you like some fresh veggies?”
My response? “I love you.” It just came out, of course, as these things do when it comes to me. But it was fine-he was a really nice Kiwi fellow, not a creeper, and he was making dinner for his clients. It turns out he is a sea kayak guide and had a party of 6 scheduled but only 2 of the 6 actually wanted to go. I told him the tale of froggerine and he corrected me-it was clearly a possum and we should just kill the little bugger as they are considered a rodent in NZ (which I did know-everyone hates the little suckers around here). He then said he would probably have a ton of leftover food from dinner and we could have the rest. I may have declared my love for him at this point again. I suspect I hugged him, too. He was well-muscled and full of cool tattoos and super-nice, so that's not all bad...right? Paul and Freddy turned up from the beach at this point, introductions were made, and we decided to stay the night at the same campground again. We then had a feast of veggies, including raw carrots. Anyone who knows me well knows I am not a big fan of raw carrots. But I ate them, happily. We ate slowly, savoring every bite, like we hadn't eaten in years. It sounds absurd, doesn't it? It had been 2 days of limited food and yet it tasted like it had been 2 years of limited food. It made all of us conscious of how spoiled we are in our lives, and really thankful for being so spoiled.
The hero of our story then brought over chicken stir fry, freshly cooked, and I definitely hugged the man then. Then he brought us dessert-cake with warm custard sauce and fresh strawberries, and he mentioned he had snacks. Paul tried to sell me for the snacks. I so happy with all of the amazing food I wasn't even SAD about it! Can you imagine? Luckily the guy had some morals (he is quite a bit older than me, and I quite a bit older than my travel mates) or he was put off by the fact that none of us had showered. I did scrub my scalp and took a swim, but I was positively feral.
Hero then offered us each a beer, and I think Paul was willing to sell Freddy and I together or himself if it was necessary. Luckily it was not! While enjoying our beer, the antagonist of our tale turned up again. We left our backpacks unattended, and whose pack did the little weasel go after this time? MINE. AGAIN. This time he was after my trail mix, and that was the last straw. I squealed like a little girl and hero came running over with an oar and a giant stick so he could club it to death.
Softy over here was devastated, even though I was mad, and I preferred Paul's gentle machismo to this jazz. I put on my headlamp (a torch that affixes to one's head, the greatest invention of all time so stop your laughing) and flashed the red “warning! Danger!” lights at it Then, just like during bull riding, I was secretly cheering for the critter. I didn't want it to get clubbed to death! It really was my fault this time, too, for leaving my pack without taking precautions to ensure its safety.
In the end, the possum/froggerine got away and left my newly secured gear alone. Hero fed us breakfast, Paul tried to sell me again, I was drunk on food and gave the dude my phone number...and may have offered him a massage. Wait, that may have been Paul again. Either way, I did give him my phone number, and Paul gave him his email address and phone number, too, so we can extend him some hospitality when he comes to the US again.
Therefore, if a tattooed and well-muscled Kiwi man comes to your door (he like motorcycles and cursing), please extend him the same courtesy he has shown to us. And, if you could hook him up with a massage, that will probably get me off the hook for god-knows-what...
Don't mention any stray dogs or woeful critters though. I can't guarantee their safety.
First, a preface: it is hard to carry food, water, and a butane cooker on your back, along with a tent, air mattress, and sleeping bag. Concessions must get made then, and things get left behind, namely a butane cooker and dry food. This means that we made our food in advance, which is NOT a good idea, but we weren't really thinking as our Abel Tasman trip was rather spontaneous. It SEEMED like a great idea but by day 2 out of 5 we were convinced it was most definitely a bad plan.
Another preface: I have a tent for 2 people, which can fit 2 people and gear in a snug fashion. There were 3 of us. I was the only one with a tent. This meant that 3 of us were in the tent and our gear was outside, wrapped in plastic.
That all being said, on night 2 we heard a rustling sound. To be exact, Freddy heard a rustling sound and had to wake up her champion sleeper tent mates. Paul was next to the door, then Freddy, then me, so it was difficult, in my defense, to get out. Poor Paul had to get out to see what exactly was going on, and what he saw was a critter in my backpack! He was shining a light at it, and from the shadow on the tent I determined it was most likely a wolverine with gills. Paul found his inner machismo and took out a knife and my trekking pole, both of which he threw at this strange and foreign creature. Ok, ok, the knife wasn't OPEN (it's a large, military-issue pocket knife) and my trekking pole is lightweight fiberglass, but still, who knew what could happen with this horrible wildebeest scrounging through my stuff! This epic battle between man and beast went on until nearly daybreak, as the critter would not leave my pack alone. We finally all had to get up (after Paul had to get up, oh, 17 times, no exaggeration) when the terrible discovery occurred: the amphibious mammal (remember, a wolverine with gills!) tore through our plastic covering, OPENED THE ZIPPER ON MY BACKPACK, and proceeded to eat our limited supply of rice and beans!!
Our first thought was distress. We had days to travel still, and while we could have pansied out of our trek and taken a water taxi home, that was not on our agenda (or budget). My next thought was positive. Somehow things have a way of working out, even when they shouldn't or it would appear that they won't. Our plan then, was to simply relax on the beach, get some rest, and take an easy hike that afternoon to the next campground. None of us had a lot of sleep due to the nocturnal battle waged to save our treasure. I read Dostoevsky on the beach (which sounds an awful lot like Kafka on the Shore, a book I really love, but no...I read The Idiot, just to clear up any literary confusion here) to console myself and felt pretty good about the whole thing. I was baking in the sun and decided to go change out of my bather and sit in the shade of our campground, and probably get moving as well. I checked out the rice and beans, and I don't know if it was froggerine induced, but the sight of my torn-up bag and the PAW PRINTS ON MY BACKPACK IN RICE FROM THAT LITTLE F@!$ER really made me want to vomit. I immediately went to the outhouse to change, and when I came out, there was a dude waiting for me. My initial reaction was “creeper,” but then he said the following magical words:
“Would you like some fresh veggies?”
My response? “I love you.” It just came out, of course, as these things do when it comes to me. But it was fine-he was a really nice Kiwi fellow, not a creeper, and he was making dinner for his clients. It turns out he is a sea kayak guide and had a party of 6 scheduled but only 2 of the 6 actually wanted to go. I told him the tale of froggerine and he corrected me-it was clearly a possum and we should just kill the little bugger as they are considered a rodent in NZ (which I did know-everyone hates the little suckers around here). He then said he would probably have a ton of leftover food from dinner and we could have the rest. I may have declared my love for him at this point again. I suspect I hugged him, too. He was well-muscled and full of cool tattoos and super-nice, so that's not all bad...right? Paul and Freddy turned up from the beach at this point, introductions were made, and we decided to stay the night at the same campground again. We then had a feast of veggies, including raw carrots. Anyone who knows me well knows I am not a big fan of raw carrots. But I ate them, happily. We ate slowly, savoring every bite, like we hadn't eaten in years. It sounds absurd, doesn't it? It had been 2 days of limited food and yet it tasted like it had been 2 years of limited food. It made all of us conscious of how spoiled we are in our lives, and really thankful for being so spoiled.
The hero of our story then brought over chicken stir fry, freshly cooked, and I definitely hugged the man then. Then he brought us dessert-cake with warm custard sauce and fresh strawberries, and he mentioned he had snacks. Paul tried to sell me for the snacks. I so happy with all of the amazing food I wasn't even SAD about it! Can you imagine? Luckily the guy had some morals (he is quite a bit older than me, and I quite a bit older than my travel mates) or he was put off by the fact that none of us had showered. I did scrub my scalp and took a swim, but I was positively feral.
Hero then offered us each a beer, and I think Paul was willing to sell Freddy and I together or himself if it was necessary. Luckily it was not! While enjoying our beer, the antagonist of our tale turned up again. We left our backpacks unattended, and whose pack did the little weasel go after this time? MINE. AGAIN. This time he was after my trail mix, and that was the last straw. I squealed like a little girl and hero came running over with an oar and a giant stick so he could club it to death.
Softy over here was devastated, even though I was mad, and I preferred Paul's gentle machismo to this jazz. I put on my headlamp (a torch that affixes to one's head, the greatest invention of all time so stop your laughing) and flashed the red “warning! Danger!” lights at it Then, just like during bull riding, I was secretly cheering for the critter. I didn't want it to get clubbed to death! It really was my fault this time, too, for leaving my pack without taking precautions to ensure its safety.
In the end, the possum/froggerine got away and left my newly secured gear alone. Hero fed us breakfast, Paul tried to sell me again, I was drunk on food and gave the dude my phone number...and may have offered him a massage. Wait, that may have been Paul again. Either way, I did give him my phone number, and Paul gave him his email address and phone number, too, so we can extend him some hospitality when he comes to the US again.
Therefore, if a tattooed and well-muscled Kiwi man comes to your door (he like motorcycles and cursing), please extend him the same courtesy he has shown to us. And, if you could hook him up with a massage, that will probably get me off the hook for god-knows-what...
Don't mention any stray dogs or woeful critters though. I can't guarantee their safety.
A much prettier view of the lakes...
