MO 11/23/98 - Our flight into Auckland was uneventful, rising early for the 7am flight. Because we had to ATM some money for departure tax, we had a bit left over, enough for two breakfasts, which in turn made us two of the last on the plane. We found a few center rows empty and each grabbed one, making the 3 1/2 hour flight very pleasant. Part of the reception into the country was filing the normal customs declaration but also agricultural declaration, resulting in having our hiking boots washed and tent shaken out. Megan, our New Zealand angel, was anxiously awaiting our arrival. We had a good greeting and sped off to Megan's home in Remuera, an upscale part of the city.
Megan just pushed the 30 envelope, born in Cape Town, moving to New Plymouth, New Zealand after five years, living in Hamilton for seven years, Christ Church for six., Taupo for three, London for two, then Auckland for the last year. Megan schooled at Christ Church University and Teacher's College for five years, one year 'mucking' around, then a four year course in physical education and teaching. Currently, she is in bible school at Carey Baptist College working for a diploma in missions, a two year degree, with three months off between semesters. Extremely active and friendly, she's a good friend to have. I met Megan in Cape Town in 1996 hiking Table Mountain. She also was part of the twelve on the forever memorable Otter Trail hike later in that vacation.
Just before Megan's street, I saw a sign that read 'bowling', and asked if we could take a look. I saw bowls in Cape Town, old topies in all white, white shorts, white long socks, white hats, white long skirts, all on perfect greens. It reminds me of a scene from colonial days, something out of the movie, 'White Mischief'. The games object is to try to roll your ball closest to a white ball that is rolled first. It was good for a chuckle. Megan had a volunteer class to attend for high school kids needing to repeat courses, and she daringly lent us her car for an errand to find the proper telephone adapter for John's computer. Oh oh. John drove. He didn't have a problem staying out of the other lane, coming extremely close to a park car. Before I had a chance to finish saying, "John, you're ...", he hit the mirror, flipping Megan' back and setting off the other cars alarm. His immediate comment wasn't one of shock, instead saying, "That was really funny!". No harm done and another chuckle.
We had dinner with the six roommates and were able to check email finally. I copied over my twenty two days of notes to the laptop, happy to get them backed up, and prepared them for download to my website. One problem after another lengthened the task. I did finish up though, dragging to bed at 4:30am.
TU 11/24/98 - The first morning in Auckland was slow. We checked email, ate, and lazed. John and I made plans to bus into town and meet Megan for the free Alanis Morrisette concert. The concert was hot and packed, but worth the two hour wait She followed the Dead Flowers and played seven hits I recognized. Later we walked the town, gathered pamphlets from the information center, stared up at the new Sky Tower, similar to Seattle's Space Needle and Toronto's CN Tower, and found ice cream. For sunset we drove to the top of Mt Eden, a great vista of the city and surrounding area. Dinner was at a funky designer pizza restaurant called One Red Dog.
WE 11/25/98 - This morning was even slower than last. I realized that not having to push in the morning for an event or to move to another location, as we have been doing every two or three days, is a welcome relief. Lazing is just about right. The weather has been unseasonably cold and we have started to complain about the lack of summer. You know, maybe American's ARE a bunch of whiners.
We have been told however, that we have broken people's stereotype of Americans. We like that. We're not coming across as a couple of loud mouthed, everything is better at home, yanks, although a nickname for American's is 'god damns', and that may apply. It's funny when someone points out a habit you have that you don't realize, like saying "god damn!". John has been telling a story of an older American couple he came across while deep in southern Baja on a camping trip to watch Grey whales. The man, fat with Hawaiian shirt and goofy hat, was trying to hire a boat to see the whales. He was yelling louder and louder at a Mexican because the Mexican didn't understand, then totally perturbed, turned to his wife and said, "You would think if these fucking Mexicans would want to do business with us they would learn the fucking language".
The threesome ventured across to North Sound for lunch in seaside Davenport, browsed through a used bookstore, found ice cream (again!), and headed back through rush hour traffic. We ate a pasta and feta dinner with the roommates, then tagged along with Megan to her Netball game. Netball is similar to basketball without dribbling and without a backboard. The ball moves quickly down court because it can be held for only three seconds. When the ball makes it close to the basket, the play slows while a goal is attempted. A blocker must stand away three feet. John and I in our tourist ignorance, stood on the sidelines trying to figure out the rules and blasting them for the way they played. Just minutes observing this foreign game and we were experts! Imagine. The game has two fifteen minute halves and Megan's team, the No Ideas, lost to the Barbarians, 6 to 27.
TH 11/26/98 - I had left a message on Sue's machine the day before, leaving Megan's number. When the phone rang at 7am, I knew it was her. We had signed up for the Rockwell call back service through Andrews Communication, but trying yesterday, it failed me. Coincidentally, the whole system was down for the day. Callback service works like this. Each person has his own phone number in Florida. You call the number, let it ring a bunch of times until it answers and you are presented a menu. You supply your access number and then are allowed to reprogram the callback number, which is most likely the number you are at. Then when you wish to make a call, you dial your Florida number again, and after one ring hang up. The programmed number is dialed and when answered presents a U.S. dial tone. The prices are much cheaper than using the local long distance service, or calling collect, or using a long distance calling card. Instead of incurring a long distance number to program the callback number, I emailed Rona at Andrews and asked her to do it.
We left Megan's at 8:30am, heading south to New Zealand's geothermal center at Rotorua. We drove to a pay-for attraction to see hot springs and geysers and such, but when faced with a $N15.50 entrance fee, balked and laid down in the walkway to figure out whether we really wanted to go in. Below is the name and pronunciation of the site:
TE WHAKAREWAREWATANGAOTEOPETAUAAWAHIAO
te fucka rare wa rare wa tongue a o tee o pee toe ahh wa hi o
I know John isn't big on the touristy things, I believe we are thinking the same way - if its fun and free, we're in. No, we aren't quite that bad, but we are on a tight budget, $US30 per day, and we have a long road ahead. As of today I am right on target, but New Zealand is filled with a lot of adventure activities we would really like to do, but we can't even afford to do one every couple of days. For instance, black water rafting. In Teraweira (sp), black water rafting consists of rappelling 150 meters into a cave, donning headlamp, wetsuit, vest, and boggieboard, and doing rapids underground. The trip includes lunch, a hike through caves at the end, and so on, but costs $NZ125 = $US65. And not to mention we would really like to get certified to paraglide, the cost $NZ1150. So, we didn't see the thermal springs at TE WHAKAREWAREWATANGAOTEOPETAUAAWAHIAO. Instead we trooped downtown to Pizza Hut and had all you can eat for $NZ11. A far better utilization of resources, and there was all you can eat ice cream (a reoccurring theme?!). In searching through all the tourist literature, we stopped by a thermal area in town open to the public, then went to a redwood forest. This forest was not only free to visit, but was very majestic. The coastal California trees were planted 100 years ago and reach heights of 60 meters. We walked this forest of skyscrapers for an hour or so on wide and flat paths of needles very different from New England. Everything had a big and orderly and neat appearance. We gathered our creative power and took a couple of Blacky pictures. The first of Blacky climbing a tree, then a picture of him flying down from the trees to possible death after losing a foothold. Do bears have feet? Well, maybe John whipped him skyward while I took a picture. Blacky is a good actor, he's athletic, and does do all his own stunts. We came a across a Korean / New Zealand film crew shooting a tissue commercial in the middle of these woods. There were a handful of trucks, a dozen or more people, and cooler full of quail. We spent fifteen minutes with a crew member busting on the whole production. It was pretty strange - why spend all this money to film a Korean commercial in New Zealand?! The idea was to have the mother quail fly away and bring back food to the chicks in the nest. Problem was that the birds kept falling out of the four foot high nest and needed to be replaced every so often. And as Megan pointed out - quail nest on the ground! The walk was good fun, and to top our day of protesting pay-for activities in New Zealand we drove to Mt Ngongotaha nearby to catch the late sunrays. In asking for directions, a petrol attendant explained that the viewpoints are on the way up and that the road was closed of before the top, and even if you did get to the top the view was obscured by trees. There was a tower on top, and in reply to the attendants comment about an obscured view I replied, "we'll see about that". We drove up the access road, catching beautiful vistas of Lake Rotorua, the rolling countryside, and distant mountains. At a locked gate we walked along the road for twenty minutes to reach the top. Without hesitation I led over an awkward fence to access the tower and we were golden. Megan humored us by repeatedly saying, "I'm not doing that". We would repeatedly reply, "Oh, yes you are, come on". She didn't offer much resistance, and enjoyed the adventure as much as us. We scaled the framework of the lowest level of this squat metal structure before reaching ladders. After climbing about ten levels we were at the top, free from obstructions to gaze across this fun country. The wind was cool, but the sun was out. The lake sat in front of us to the east, a large island in the middle. North and west were green rolling hills of irregular shaped farms bordered with trees and fences. To the south spread the town of Rotorua, in the distance volcanic formed mountains including an ominous one we were to climb tomorrow - Mt Tarawera. After taking a couple of pics, I asked that we hang a little longer to enjoy. I find nearly any effort for a view worth the price, and here the value far exceeded the cost!
We met Megan's roommate John Tucker and three of his friends, Trim, Steve, and Ollie, at the Fat Dog in town at 11:00PM, where the threesome had had dinner, and followed them to John's uncles vacation house, which Kiwi's call a 'batch'. Basic, ten beds, lakeside on lake Tarawera, windows to a view of the lake and mountains, including Mt Tarawera.
FR 11/27/98 - We made a plan to wake at 7AM, and drive around the lake and mountains to climb Tarawera, a volcano last active about 100 years ago. I had seen postcards with aerial views and questioned Megan about the mountain. The postcard shots were awesome, showing a large colorful crater blown out on the southwest side. I had showed John the card and we agreed, "that's us!". We left the batch late, stopped for a park pass, drove half an hour past one turn resulting in an approach from a different direction to the mountain, and bought groceries. We drove along a long dirt road behind a dust raising logging truck through commercial forest, and arrived the trailhead at 11:30am. Sunset is at 8pm, providing a lot of remaining light for hiking. Comparatively, in French Polynesia the sunset was 6pm!
John Tucker also joined us for the hike, while his friends stayed behind to jetski and mountain bike. He's an energetic, happy 28 year old with graduate degrees in law and history, a recent post graduate degree in theology. He practiced law for two years before tiring of the long days and comparatively little return, went abroad traveling, and returned for his next degree. Soon he will search for position us a pastor. In contrast, John told of one of his brothers, a story John McKinney and I listened to with wide eyes.
John has two adopted brothers, one a computer graphics designer in Los Angeles who has worked on the film Blade and a recent Jackie Chan movie. The other brother, Paul, lives in Auckland and for recreation spends a week in the wilds, boar hunting. Paul is 6' 6" tall, 230 pounds, with long matted hair to his waist. He helicopters in to a remote region with a pack of trained dogs and spends the week living off of boar, which weigh around 200 pounds. The dogs are trained specifically for the hunt, and aren't close to being pets. The lighter and quicker mongrel dogs will chase down and corner the pig while the heavier dogs with restrain the pig until Paul arrives by clamping down on the snout or an ear or the tail. Paul will then knife the boar through the heart. The beast is gutted on the spot, the entrails fed to the dogs. The boar is carried with its head draped over Paul's head, while the adventure continues. Boar meet is sweet from the diet of berries and other natural foods, better than the garbage domesticated pigs live on. Sadly, if, when in the process of training young dogs, a dog appears not to take to the trail properly, he is shot on the spot.
The Kiwi's call hiking 'tramping', and trails 'tracks'. For example, the Lonely Planet guide book Megan has is titled "Tramping in Northland", and months ago we booked the most famous hike in New Zealand called the Milford Track. The five hour tramp started by walking past the trailhead sign saying the hike was three hours. Fortunately, the weather was heavily overcast and cool, because parts of the hike proved to be a bear. Similar to many trails, the initial bit is steep because roads snake the mountain contours. A mud side wiped out 50 feet of trail including access ladders, leaving debris of mud, trees, and rocks. We clambered up the mud slope, and made our way up through thick woods with attractive large fern trees called pongo, 20-40 feet high. The slope leveled and surroundings turned to low shrubs when we came across a signpost, leaning over and directing us across a little valley - or so we assumed. This area was good for a stop and look because we could see higher peaks of the mountain and this valley was one of a handful in a chain created by the volcanic eruption's run off. We later realized that the sign had been twisted and we had pursued the mountain from the wrong direction. We continued on the trail until it started downward and followed a best guess into the woods until it trickled out. We bushbashed our way through for fifteen minutes, not fun going, and stood looking up a long steep slope of black scree. This was the days schlep! Every other step the scree would fail to hold and a foot would slide. My ticker was working overtime, and my breathing was horrible, probably due to the dust on the drive in and the powdery scree. We had one long stop, sitting with light wind in our faces and gazing out at the rolling mountains and distant rain. A few mountains dominated the view. Hey! They have flat tops like volcanoes! They ARE volcanoes! Excitement built as I thought about this landscape, having rarely seen such volcanic formed mountains before. Back home in New Hampshire, the White Mountains were formed by glacial movement across the granite strata. The islands of French Polynesia and Fiji are dormant volcanoes, but here, looking across a whole long vista with bumps of volcanoes, hit home the excitement of a different landscape. Also aiding in this excitement was seeing geothermal hot springs and hearing about Mt. Ruepao (sp) which erupted last year. Our toil eventually gained us the first high plateau, covered with a yellow/white moss that I commented was like walking on sheep. We were soon able to see into the top of the mountain - an extremely beautiful colorful valley of red, black, white, green, and yellow. The view was magnificent! Adrenaline popped up a few notches, I couldn't help repeating, "this is soo coool!". The wind was really cranking at these heights, up to 50 knots, we donned all available clothing and made cover of a rock outcropping on a precipice hanging over the view below. Lunch consisted of a salami packed with hot peppers, cheese, bread, bananas, apples, and .... Cadbury Fruit and Nut. We were at the second highest peak, John McKinney and I tired, John Tucker still bouncing with energy, Megan in the middle. We deliberated whether we should attack the second peak or not, which is 1111 meters high. Watching a lone hiker come down the ridge below this peak, we estimated how long it would take. Reminding us that we had a long day of light left, I said we should go on. We ran down a steep scree slope, laughing and yelling, emptied our boots of little rocks, and walking up the ridge. Because of the high wind, walking the ridge was cold and loud. One more schlep up a steep scree slope and we were standing at the geographical triangle marking the summit. Views in all directions, a different dark red valley to see off the opposite side. Down to the right of the gorgeous valley we hiked along sat a desolate dusty Grey runway. Three 4x4's had carried small groups of tourists to see the crater. We walked toward them along a ridge with drop-offs on both sides. There was an entrance trail into the crater, a shoot down deep into the red crater. Like children, we ran and leaped down the slope, similar to running down a sand dune, hooping and yelping past the few tourists that were ahead of their troop. Stopping suddenly to pick up cheap and dusty Fuji camera I sliced my hand on a sharp piece. The panorama from the bottom of the crater was great, walls of colorful scree on three sides, a trail lead out of the bowl. Fortunately, we were on the proper trail now, the remaining hike lacked scree slopes and bushbashing. Only one short error finding our way down, and by 5:30pm we were back at the trailhead sign.
"The Tarawera Eruption - At two o'clock in the morning of 10 June 1886, a series of earthquake shocks, increasing in violence. culminated in a violent shake followed by a loud and prolonged roar. Terrified people saw that Mount Tarawera had burst open and was ejecting red hot lava. Although by six o'clock the greatest eruption was over, the volcanic outburst continued and darkness settled over the countryside as suffocating volcanic ash began to fall. It was not until 13 June that the summit of Mount Tarawera became visible. Ash covered an area of 4,000 sq. miles. The two Maori villages of Moura and Teariki were buried under 75 feet of mud and scoria. Over the whole area, 147 Maoris and 6 Europeans were killed or smothered."
Trim and Ollie cooked meatball and sauce grinders for dinner, although we had stopped and bought $NZ54 worth of dinner. We were able to share desert of vanilla ice cream and cookies with all. We sat around while John tried to catch up with his journal (he had written notes and had been writing his journal out on the computer, every possible moment he was at it, all day long for a week at least), reading questions from Trivial Pursuit cards, New Zealand Genus edition.
SA 11/28/98 - I woke at seven, and moved to the far side of the batch to work on the journal, falling behind recently. We didn't rush to depart, and talked a bit about various topics. John Tucker explained that his parents were missionaries in Papa New Guinea, and we asked what that actually meant.
For a few years in the mid-60's they were isolated amongst the native population in a remote area, the only whites. It was so backwards, that supposedly cannibalism still existed in other areas. John said that besides potentially bringing disease to the area, they brought modern medicine, the English language, the concept of reading an writing, and most importantly Jesus. I was taken back by this idea of pushing religion on a peoples, thinking that missionary work was a thing of the past, and asked if this was all necessary. He believes not except "bringing Jesus to save their eternal soles" Wow. After living and thriving for thousands of years, they just now need Jesus. It reminded me of John McKinney's skit on Fijian taxi drivers. When we walked down the sidewalk in Nadi, they would shout from the street to ask if we needed a taxi, John would get irate, hit his head, and say, "Gee, I guess I do need a taxi! If we wanted a taxi, we would be LOOKING for a taxi". I wondered why Christian missionaries didn't try to convert Hindus and Muslims.
John McKinney showed John Tucker and the others his computer. The little computer generated video of a baby in diaper dancing to "I Can't Stop This Feeling" was a hit, and I heard laughter from the kitchen. Then I heard John start to play Donald Duck having sex, and I thought, "they're not going to appreciate this...". It wasn't a hit. Since staying with Megan in Auckland, we have said grace before every group meal, and religion seems to be a reoccurring theme.
We left the batch, saying thanks to John and goodbye to Trim and Ollie. Megan brought us around to some local sights, like a really cool falls called Hula Falls on the Waitako river. Running through this gorge area is very clear and clean water, turned up and filled with air resulting in bright aqua blue water. John and I imagined trying to navigate the falls in different ways. In exchange, Megan told of a story of kayakers she knew who attempted this run, three went down, two came out. We also took a look at Craters of the Moon, another geothermal area, but free to the public.
We drove west to Taupo, where Megan had lived for three years, to stay with her roommates Andrew and Graham Smith parents, Ken and Mariam's. They were home when we arrived at 8:30pm. We talked a lot about volcanic activity in the area. Mt Rotorua has gone off a number of times, last in 1996. The huge Lake Taupo is also a volcano, and when I asked if the real-estate prices changed when the volcano became active, Mariam replied that few people reacted, but some were more worried about the lake becoming active. If New Zealand's largest lake decided to spew, it would be a huge disaster. I suppose most people here are not affected by the geothermal activity, but it must gnaw at the back of some minds.
Megan had wanted to catch up with her last boyfriend, Tim, so we dropped her off and drove to Debrett's hot springs. For $NZ7 you get to bath in a couple of large pools, 40C and 38C, and splash around in a couple of whirlpools. Bad people also sneak on the pay-extra water slide, some even sneak on eight or more times!
That night we met Tim at a local dance club called Axis, a loud place filled with a mix of ages, although mostly younger. The drinking age here is twenty. Home almost by midnight, before we turned into pumpkins, or sheep, or kiwi birds.
SU 11/29/98
We had made a plan the night before to join Ken rock climbing at Kinoch, a half hour from town, on the lakeside. Ken had borrowed equipment from the school he teaches physical education at, and John set us up for top roping a cliff about 15 meters high, rated 16 on the New Zealand scale, about a 5.8 at home. I joined John at the top at his suggestion that I know what is done so I trust the system. Well, that comment alone made be nervous, so I had to follow John up. After setting up, John suggested I rappel (called abyssal here) down first. I have climbed in a rock gym once, and climbed outside once with John in 1997. So, for me to be the first on the equipment, to lean back so my weight is supported by the harness, to put all my trust into John's knowledge of the sport, I was nervous - it was about 50 feet high. I was nervous. Did I already say that? See? Well, I did my first rappel, and then tried to keep up with the others climbing. but didn't happen, I need more practice, while John, Megan, and Tim all have climbed a lot. It was fun though, a challenge and a work out. A bonus to it all - the views from the top of the lake were good.
We made an attempt to see a dam open at 4pm, but the river was already flowing, then trooped to town for lunch at Megan's choice of KFC. It's on the lake, between Subway and Pizza Hut.
The next stop on our first leg of the Megan Lawton New Zealand Discovery Tour was Lepperton, near New Plymouth. We headed south to the west coast, a three hour drive from Taupo. Megan moved to New Plymouth after Cape Town and grew up with the Hooper family. We stayed with Rob and Bethane Hopper, on their dairy farm.
Rob and Bethane were extremely excited to see Megan, both women literally squealing with delight. Their home was traditional for New Zealand made of stone walls and low roofs, this home was obviously a rambler with additions happening as needed. We felt at home quickly, and within the half hour, we had a delicious 'fry up' in front of us - sandwiches with a massive amount of grilled ham chunks with egg and mystery flavor. The dinner table discussion quickly leap from our trip to the workings of a dairy farm, well, I'm not sure what the women talked about in the kitchen.
The farm is exclusively dairy cows, 235 currently. In this area about one acre is needed per cow (2.47 acres per hectare), although the Hopper's own 240 and lease 160. The cows are milked twice a day at 5am and 4pm, producing on average 20 liters per day per cow. The split between morning and evening is 60/40. Total daily output is 4500 liters. The average longevity is 7-8 years, although a handful of heifers are over ten, at least one is thirteen. The milk is sold unprocessed for milk, cheese, solids, and so on. In some form it is used to make plastics. 95% is exported to places like China, South America, and Korea. The milking season lasts from end of July or beginning of August to end of May. After season, the cows are left to dry up. then are inseminated, and the process starts again. Of the calves born, some are used to replace lost herd, which is 10-20% of the stock. Some are sold to other farms, other for veal. All parts of the veal cow are used, the French buying most of the brains.
MO 11/30/98 --- MILKING THE COWS -OR- IF THE TAIL GOES UP, RUN!
I asked to be woken early so I could help Rob and his son Mark with the 5am milking. After typing until 12:30 in the morning, I felt as though Rob was banging on my door right after I turned the handheld off, although I woke immediately, and jumped up to go. I went straight into overalls and gumboats at the back of the house, then I was chasing Rob's long fast strides up the drive to the milking building. There I added rubber pants and a rubber apron. Mark had already gathered the cows from a nearby field and had them moving into the milking area. Realize this - I had never been near a dairy farm, and never had the need or curiosity to check a milking cow's details out. Here, in front of me was a shock - the Pit. The pit has a long line of twenty milking sets consisting of hanging stainless hoses with suckers on the end. Between each set are other hoses for water and teat cleaning. Walking down into the pit to work you have forty filthy green pasty cow butts hanging over you each attached to seven stomachs and miles of intestines. First thought - if one of this dumpers rips, it just wouldn't be right. You have to work the teats from behind and between the back legs, and each time looming above you is a big ole cow dumper, just loaded and ready to fly. As I walked into the pit something awful happened I hadn't considered in those first numbing seconds of appraising the situation - one cow let her bladder go - a deluge into the pit! Wow, this is going to be a long morning, I suppose I could always shower afterwards. I was constantly looking over my shoulder at the butts as Rob explained the process. He held a suction cup and had me place my thumb inside to feel the suction ... hmmm, Rob must have a system for telling when the cows will dump, he isn't jumpy at all. Next, he showed how to place the four cups over the teats - first you hold the device in your left palm, letting all four suckers fall downward so they crimp the hoses and don't suck ... I glanced around quickly, searching for an evacuation route in case of emergency. In the center of the device a button starts the suction, you press it with your left thumb ... suddenly, I heard a noise from down the pit - a long fountain of wet dark green is draining from a cow into the pit like a firehouse. Wow, glad I wasn't anywhere near that! Quickly I glance around at the butts within distance. With your right hand you grab a sucker, with forefinger feel for a teat and place the sucker on without allowing the teat to double over. Now wait, feel with your forefinger?! Feel?! No way, this is something totally foreign and I want to SEE what I'm touching! Those groddy things hanging down there, they're conjuring up all kinds of morbid analogies, and I want to SEE what I'm touching! The novice technique then is to stick your hands and arms down there while trying to keep your head as far from the cow as possible. You have one eye on the butt above, one glancing around down below, one on the bungs to the left and right, one on the ladies behind you. You assume an incredibly awkward position while fumbling around. Fortunately, John joined in with the afternoon milking so I was able to see what I
must have looked like. Watching him nervously work this process had me rolling with laughter! I guess that's what I looked like too. Those poor cows. This just isn't South Park, Colorado.
Of course Rob and Mark go about it all painlessly, quickly moving from cow to cow. So, you walk up the pit, sticking the cups on each cow, and when done you walk up again, moving the cups from one side of the pit to the other. When a side has been milked, they are coaxed out and another twenty are brought in. This continues until the 200+ are all milked.
I did help some, and I am sure I was in the way at times. The weirdest thing about it all was the song I had in my head, "Oh, I like the night life. I like to boogie, on the disco....". I did finish unscathed and thought the smartest move would be to retire since I had a perfect score. Rob asked if I would hose down the paddock where the cows had hung while waiting to get milked. It took about ten minutes to wash all the cow dung down a hill. I was surprised at how much cleaning was done during and after the process, and thought that since this was all about to be repeated in the afternoon, a major cleaning would be done at the end of the day. I faired well, left the dairy operation, and went back to the house for breakfast of toast, and cereal with powdered milk!
A couple of hours later John and I and Bruno the cool cowdog helped Rob move cows between paddocks. Bruno was cool because he could take orders from Rob similar to a sheep dog, and while in the back of the truck tried to bite everything within reached like tree branches and the garage door actuator which that made us laugh. Once he grabbed it and the door closed on the truck. John and I walked/ran the 39 babes along a couple of roads, taking half an hour. We really felt as though we had a purpose, trying to guide the little girls down the road, making sure none fell behind, and keeping them from entering fields and driveways. Rob did the same while driving along in the truck, Bruno occasionally snipping at heels. This was the first time these cows had seen a road. Yee ha! We walked gallantly, clapping our hands, saying really cool milkcowboy things like, "gettalong", and "get going", and "hey, get back here". We also pointed out the similarities to the running of the bulls, and there weren't any but that made us feel as though we were flirting with danger and that made our chests puff even further. everything was going very well until an impatient truck driver came along at the same time as we were passing a driveway and suddenly the herd went in every direction. We were running and chasing after them and I had to crawl behind bushes to flush four out.
On the way home, Rob gave a local tour, pointing out the school where he, his kids, and his mother all attended. He also pointed out a couple of dairy farms that milk all year long (not worth the extra money for the effort), and a chicken farm (with ten acres of chickens you can make the same as with 240 dairy cows, but you have to buy in).
I joined in for the 4pm milking with John and Mark, giving Rob time for other chores and perhaps a little rest. Halfway through Mark asked if I could drive a motorbike, and I excitedly said yes, he qualified the question by asking if I had driven an ATV, and again I excitedly said, but not truthfully, yes, because I knew I was in for a break from milking. In a pasture the south were nine lame cows that needed to be milked separately, my mission was to collect them. That was interesting, and hey, first time on a ATV (red Honda four wheeler)! Afterwards, I hosed down outside the paddocks again, John hosed the milking area. Mark asked if I wanted to ATV to another pasture to check the herd. I drove singularly, John joined Mark. This was a longer ride, made more interesting by negotiating hills and speeding back to the farmhouse.
Megan, who seems to know everyone in New Zealand, was invited to a 32 birthday party for her friend Jude. We tagged along, stopping at a big fancy grocery for grill food (marinated lamb! and inexpensive, go figure.) and a bottle of New Zealand wine. The party was fun, massive food and deserts. Met handful there, nice people.
TU 12/1/98 - Slept comparatively late, until 8am. I was surprised to see the sun through the window blinds, maybe the forecast was wrong (day before was 61F and rainy). The plan for the day was to climb not to the top but on Mt Taranaki, 2518 meters. Like many geographical features, James Cook, the famous and extremely successful explorer, named this mountain as he sailed by. He had named it Mt Edmont and fifteen years ago the Maori name was then used. We drove on the park road with an great canopy of trees and shrubs to the visitors center at 940 meters, hiked a small steep gravel road for an hour to a transmission tower and emergency shelter at 1500 meters. John trucked well ahead of us and at the shelter talked to a couple of Americans who were returning from the summit, one from near John in Philadelphia. Two young Israeli guys and a pretty girl joined us in the emergency shelter to warm up, and were fun to kid around with. One guy and the girl spoke English fluently and told us of buying a Holden 4x4 (Australian company that bought GM) in Australia for $OZ5000, put $1000 into repairs, $70 insurance, and selling it for the same. They bought and sold at the Sydney Auto Market, at King's Cross where buying, selling, and insuring cars for travelers is convenient. A nice contour path brought fine vistas of the mountain top, which amazingly wasn't in the clouds.
After a brief goodbye with Rob, we drove through great farming scenery on back roads to Auckland in five hours. Actually, to us the were back roads, to Kiwi's main roads since very few divided highways exist, only around cities.
