3:30 AM Wide awake. I can hear the ocean tide tripping its way to our precariously placed tent. The pebbles just beyond tumbling over themselves as the waves push and pull them in its encroaching crawl. I breathe slowly and try to believe we are not about to be swallowed by the Earth’s strongest muscle. Just wait 15 minutes more and fall asleep. Just 15 minutes…
Two days earlier, SK and I struck out from Nelson an hour later than intended. We drove to the Marlborough Sounds to start our month of adventure with a two day hike on the Queen Charlotte Track. Following the lesser advertised Antimony Mines track, we skirted the costly ferry ride while taking in best views on the hike. For future walkers: the trailhead is inconveniently unmarked. In blissful ignorance of the laborious miles ahead, SK and I cooed over the pockets of hydrangeas and rogue goats crossing our path. We enjoyed a drink at the Furneaux Lodge on the ocean’s edge of Endeavor Inlet. I contemplated whether or not this would work as a wedding venue. The thought was overturned due to its proximity to an old mine. An experience with a horror film at 16 (The Hills Have Eyes) left me with a fear of forgotten mines.
Back on the trail, we continued to think romantically of the fingers of land stretching elegantly towards its Northern counterpart. By 6:00, it wasn’t so charming. Not realizing from the Lodge we still had 6.5mi/10.5km to go, we dragged our way around every bend with the false hope that it would be the last. As the sun lowered behind a ridge I was considering camping on the track itself, but SK pulled through with his positivity and 20/20 vision and spied Resolution Bay. We set up our tent on the edge of the inlet, sleeping bag and eyes parallel to the lake-like calm of a posing ocean. Bordering on “Hangry” (Hungry + Angry = important vocab for this post), we undercooked our dehydrated food. With the pacifying caresses of salubrious ocean wind we didn’t register the ache of our yet-to-be-calloused feet.
As we turned off our headlamps, an unearthly screeching sliced the silence. “What is that?” I whispered to SK, hoping the local would dispel my fears. “I have no idea.” Great. So that left it up to my overactive imagination to determine it was probably dead miners come to kill us. I ran through my mind defense options, realized tents are pretty vulnerable, and went with “freeze”. Then the noise turned robotic: like a raging battle between Transformers was taking place outside our tent. This was when we discovered a hole in one of the sleeping mats. Having grown up on futons (similar to rocks) I offered to take the defunct pad. Between the inhuman death threats and my merciless mattress, I endeavored to dream.
By 6AM I gave up and grumpily switched sides with SK. Refreshed by noon, we again eased into the fun of youthful travel and ignored the fact we had booked a date with dolphins a six hour hike and five hour drive away in Kaikoura for 5:30AM the next morning. A run in with a DOC official cleared up the mysterious battle cries of the night before, “Did you hear the weka last night?” Weka: the joke-of-a-bird with no sense of self-preservation that had literally walked into our fry pan while camping in Golden Bay the week before. So not only are weka “dumb as”, they also make robot noises when defending their territory. New Zealand’s wildlife is full of oddities.
4:00 AM. I couldn’t lay down any longer: clearly the tide is coming in. I would have to go examine the water line to double check before waking SK an hour earlier than necessary. I unzipped the tent and crawled out. Pointing my headlamp to the ocean and I saw waves lapping 15 feet away. Okay, that’s fine. I looked to where our car was parked and on the far side saw a dark line creating a disagreeable edge: the high tide mark. “Oh *$&#!”
After trudging our way back up the steep Antimony Mines Track, we raced around a billion hairpin turns to Picton. Picton is the port for the North-South Island ferry so I was under the assumption there would be great options for food. I was wrong: everything was closed. With expectations squandered and my hungry stomach ambushing my senses, I did the mature thing and blamed SK. Taken aback by my quite audible hostility, SK calmly drove to the grocery store. At this point I realized I could either diffuse the situation before it really sparked up or I could continue digging the proverbial hole. I crossed my arms: “I’m passed the point of hungry.” “Are you sure?” SK was really giving me the benefit of the doubt. Inner Dialogue (ID): Say it, say you’re kidding. Go IN and feed!! “I am not coming in.” I pouted in the car while my growling stomach made it clear I had just lied for the sake of an argument. SK came back with his food and a few apples: “There’s an extra apple if you want it.” ID: Great opportunity, Jade. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot in your raging pride. Apologize. “I told you: I am not hungry.” ID: Nice, dolt. I barely helped SK navigate and by midnight we gave up finding a campsite and parked the car in a pull-off bordering the ocean.
And that’s how I found myself at 4:15AM making the choice to be swallowed by the ocean or wake up an equally turbulent boyfriend. I hedged my bets on the human being more forgiving. I yanked my sleeping bag out and threw it in the car: clearly there wasn’t even enough time to put it away properly. SK closed his bleary eyes against my headlamp: “Jade, what are you doing?”
Jade: “The tides coming in! Get up!”
SK: “Jade, the tide is not coming in. We’re fine.”
Jade: “I saw the high tide mark: we’re lower than it.”
SK: “How far away is it?”
Jade: “We only have, like, five minutes!”
SK: “You’re just not used to the sounds of being near the ocean.” I started striking the tent while SK was still in it. SK crawled out of the tent and started brushing his teeth and walked towards the far side of the car. I put the tent in the trunk. “Jade,” SK’s eyes fell on me and then looked pointedly at the ground. I knew forgiveness would be a little harder as I realized my high tide mark was actually just the edge of the road. Dammit.
But we were up and we were awake and so nothing could be done but head to Dolphin Encounter. Neither SK nor I had ever swam with dolphins before, so I spent the drive trying to prompt positivity: a tall order given the last 10 hours. Although soon enough our excitement outweighed all irritants as we were breaths away from sharing water molecules with one of the world’s most playful animals. Armored in wetsuits, flippers, and snorkel gear: our boat of 15 aliens was ready to commune with dolphins. The first pod of 100ish dolphins pranced toward us in an array of flips and clicks and we jumped in. Amidst the Ocean’s incubative silence, all I could see was a thick fog of aquamarine holding me close as if in a walled room. Searching left and right I saw nothing. Then through the wall, a hand’s whisper away, a gray blur vaulted towards me. An unreadable eye scaled me quickly and she twisted down and was gone.
Now, dolphins are way cooler than us and it only takes about half a second of a dolphin’s curiosity to realize that. As such, it was our job to try and make up for our inability to swim or communicate long by entertaining them. Here were our options:
1. Make dolphin-like noises: squeak, sing, chirp, anything in the high octaves is the gist.
2. Dive straight down: with my aptitude for inhaling the ocean: not an option.
3. Make eye contact while swimming in circles: bingo.
Given their raging A.D.D, every time I swam around in circles with the same dolphin for longer than 3 seconds, I felt like there must be some deep soul-connection between us that the dolphin could feel in order for her to stick around so long. In our various parts of the ocean, SK and I blurred the barrier of order expectation to discover the parts of ourselves these dolphins inspired: joy, laughter, and affection. Speaking of, dolphins are extremely frisky: copulation being the preferred form of the human hand-shake. According to our guide, one prodigious female enjoyed the company of six male dolphins in the space of 60 seconds. Clearly the founders of Free Love, indeed the unsung mascots of the movement, perhaps dolphins wouldn’t be endangered had they registered the trademark before the 60s.
After our last swim, below deck quickly became the sea-sick ward. Buckets were expertly distributed and SK and I, thankfully spared, rushed to the open air before we were. As we turned to shore, the pod of dolphins stayed for a little, prancing and inverting alongside, until they had better things to do and returned to bluer waters.
Entering the Marlborough Sounds.
View of a section of the Queen Charlotte used for commercial green lipped mussel farming.
Pretty hydrangeas lining the Antimony Mines switchbacks on our way down to Endeavor Inlet.
SK relaxing at the Furneaux Lodge.
Our destination inlet! That little white boat is still so far away…
Arrived just in time to our camping spot: gorgeous sunset over the ocean on the Queen Charlotte. Doesn’t it almost look like a New England lake? Ohh, but it definitely isn’t. The next morning we took a quick dip and disturbed a sting ray: not something that would happen in Vermont.
SK at breakfast with the tent drying out in the background.
Found this little guy by the faucet. Ignore the fact it’s in one of our drinking cups.
SK and me heading along the Queen Charlotte.
Who know wetsuits were so fashionable? (Modeling the motorcycle jacket – 2014 Summer Collection)
Coming upon our first pod. It’s as if the water is suddenly alive in a concentrated storm/
Dusky Dolphins at Dawn!
A mama and her calf! Side note: dolphins are born tail first. Wonder how evolution let that happen. The other way would be so much more aqua-dynamic.
SK and me back to “je t’aime” after playing with the dusky dolphins
The dusky dolphins depart to more entertaining activities.
Just before Kaikoura is a pretty substantial fur seal colony. The rocky shores provide perfect shelter and basking zones for the pups and worn out adults.
The rocky nursery is situated in a tidal pool. Undeterred by the odd large wave, the baby seals rough and tumble in their little toy pool.
Little baby seal. God knows why these little creatures even bother coming on land. Can you imagine having your butt attached to both your feet and having to ungraciously waddle your way over rocks and boulders?
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