Wild 'n Crazy Riverboarding Adventures of Docta P

Exit Light, Enter Night

... Take my hand,
I'm lost in NeverNever land.

Or so it felt after an hour of driving through the enchanted forest with the talking trees in the black of evening, but I'm ahead of myself - that's the end of the day. And to think, I didn't even have my pillow, as it'd torn into 27,347 pieces the day before on a bus in Tahiti (note to travellers - those handy-dandy neck pillows that are used when sleeping on an airplane make an enormous MESS when ripped asunder by forces stronger than say, your average pigeon pulling on a worm - the little balls inside FLOAT in the air whenever stirred by a breeze the strength of a whisper, and they have a tendancy to STICK to things with very little visible adhesive qualities, like say one's skin... the ladies on the bus in Tahiti were THRILLED to be wearing my pillow as they exited the bus - but I'm already digressing. I promise, I'm getting to the riverboarding part!).

Remember that Ice and I slept (I use the term broadly) in the airport in Auckland when arriving from Papeete?

Yeah, that's where we're picking up the story. At roughly 630 AM, I was gently awakened by a 372 lb Maori manchild who mistook me for an appetizer. ok, kidding on the last part (obviously! hello, we're in New Zealand here, not New GUINEA - that's the next island over bozo), but there were some LARGE Maori guys stepping over me and whispering in tones to wake the pteradactyls (the large dinosaur-birdy things, you know, that fly and sound like enormous crows - how do we know what they sound like, anyhow?), so I peeled off my turquoise blue Tahiti Nui sleepmask and socks, took out my bright orange pistol range earplugs, and stood on my head to get the blood going. ha. it was GORGEOUS outside - crazy trees visible from the parkway.

Once our shuttle got to us, Ice and I were off to the races. After our version of a Goldilocks re-enactment (too small, STILL too small, just right) we finally upgraded from a Corolla to a bus, complete with right hand driver side steering wheel and peddles, and a MANUAL transmission on the left. I drove for the first 30 seconds as agreed (to get out of the lot, since the ride was in my name), then turned the controls over to my brother, who to his credit did a pretty doggone good job relearning to drive on the fly. He served as the designated driver the entirety of the trip with no mishaps (other than coordinating with Kev to get us lost 47 times, driving the wrong way down one way streets 18 times, and running over a few animals).

The exchange rate was AWESOME. seriously. loving NZ. much better than the FAKE exchange rates in Papeete.

After several hrs of driving through Jurassic Park

(no seriously, it looks like the freakin' movie, sans Rex & Co, but replete with anaconda-sized eels in the rivers), we came upon a smell so dreary, it woke something in my head, the memory of sulfur sadness, the stench of what was dead... and we were  to Rotorua (and the smell WASN'T just the guys' feet after 3 days in a plane - the place is filled with sulfer eruptions). After trying to no avail to reach Kev and Regan at the X Backpackers Hostel, we drove down the street and nearly ran into Regan, who was styling on the busiest corner in town in a manner that all who know and love him know is simply Reganesque. ok, so he was standing there with a big grin on his face waving at us. but the sentence before sounded better, yeah?

soo, after putting an APB out on Kev, the feds finally found him - I think he was busy getting lost with his atlas of Rotorua as a warmup for our adventures...

seriously though, while Kevin is a LOT of great things (punctual, organized, dedicated, and funny, for starters) a badger with that same doggone map would have likely had more success the first two days. how we actually FOUND the rivers is beyond me. this is no joke - while attempting to get out of the SMALL town to the first river we had planned on running (the Kaituna, which is frequented by IDIOT rafting guides, by the way, who know as much about riverboarding the Kaituna as they do Bill Clinton's interest in chimeras - which is to say, NOTHING!), we turned ALL FOUR DIRECTIONS onto various roads leading out of town  under Kevin's guidance, since he had the map, the route, and apparently, the plan. Seriously, he had done a BUNCH of homework on NZ and had put together a pretty doggone good trip, but those map reading skills...

After Ice's THIRD u-turn in a mile (each time predicated by Kevin saying, "oh wait, I think it's the other way), we finally ran out of "other ways" and headed out to Kaituna (home of a large falls and dumb river guides). the area is ridiculously gorgeous, as the pictures will show. incredible. 50 foot FERNS with edible stems (as we later found out, thanks to a really cool Maori) that taste like

asparagus.

(what, you thought I was gonna say 'chicken'? c'mon, its a FERN for goodness sakes). but the ferns were growing amongst cyprus and pine trees in a vast rainforest. just awesome.

oh, and the river was GUSHING - THROUGH the rainforest.

looked to me like a recipe for disaster, or at least, a healthy decapitation. Tuitea Falls (which is a 22ft healthy chute at normal water) appeared about as inviting to me as a romp with the already mentioned T-rex, with a NASTY undercut at the bottom right GUSHING water 15 feet into the air every few seconds. snap, crackle, pop. and those are just the big bones breaking.

Even from 150 feet up, its still imposing.

Regan was excited to get his proverbial feet wet, and Kev was also down for the run, but Ice and I thought the conditions were just too risky without safety, which we could not set, not to mention there was only a SMALL chance of getting out at the bottom without zipping through the VERY lowslung forest and OVER Trout Pool Falls (where 18 people have drowned in the past few years due to the recirculating hydraulic - that thing looks like Scylla - or is it Charybidis? you know, Homer - ok, nevermind. it's a story, told by a Greek guy, about another Greek guy named Ulysses, who fought in the Trojan War, and his Odysey home). *tangential reference to literature deeper than comic book warning*.

anyhow, we left to find some less flooded rivers, only to see some "river guides" at their ramshackle barn.

I jumped out and ran to ask their opinion of running the Kaituna. "Yeah, go for it - someone we knew ran it earlier today." dunno if they thought it'd be funny to see us in Trout Pool Falls, or if they'd just fried the last two working braincells amongst them. Regardless, we headed out for the Rangataki.

and got lost.

again.

a few times.

after the 7th u-turn, we took away Kevin's map reading priviledges for the moment.

after 20 minutes of foraging along gravel roads, we FINALLY came to what appeared to be the CORRECT gravel road (come to find out, the guidebook Kev had gave SPECIFIC directions to the 1/10th of the kilometer - which was part of what made the day so hilarious - I can't remember the last time I've laughed so hard, or so often). walking up the track was a Kiwi in a shorty, who asked for a ride, since he'd lost his boat. I needed to stretch my legs anyhow, so I volunteered my seat and commenced walking the track towards the river, munching on trail mix I'd brought along. speaking of which, that sounds good now.

ok, I'm back.

the nice man gave us advice about the Rangatiki. "Just watch out for Rock A and Rock B at the top of the first rapid (seriously, those are their Christian names). The rest is gravy." Apparently he was related ( on his mother's side) to the rafting guides at Kaituna.

after gearing up and getting in, we carefully pulled out above Rock A, only to discover it was harmless. thoroughly annoyed now, we jumped back in. I decided to just let it rip, and went flying down through a straigh 1/2 mile stretch of fun (New Zealand) Cat III and III+ water, checking over my shoulder every so often to see where the other guys where. I couldn't see them, but figured they were just getting used to their equipment, enjoying the scenery, or catching eels in the river, so I bombed forward. As I rounded a bend in the middle of a decent Cat III burp, I happened to notice a good-sized horizon line dead ahead about 40 feet, nearly river wide.  A big smile grew across my face, and I headed straight for what looked to be the steepest drop river center-right.

Kicking hard through the crest and then pulling my board up as I dropped 8 feet or so through what we later discovered was Jeff's Joy Falls, I stuck the landing clean and came out into a large eddy pool.   I spun around and started gesturing to the guys I knew must be close behind that a falls was coming, and to run river right and go over the drop, but for some strange reason I was largely ignored. I did get a good chuckle watching the pinwheels as the guys came through. Not to be outdone though, the river handed me my lunch on a platter the next 2 times I hiked up and reran the falls, as on one occasion I actually got my board stuck between a literal rock and a hard place while jumping in and swam over the falls, board in tow. all in all though, it was a wonderful warm-up run for the days to follow. Jeff's would be a likely Cat V in the US, though ranked a IV or IV+ by the guidebook there (I called it a IV+ too, which made Ice say its a  normal persons V. Whatever that means).

Regardless, the hike out was a V+. Apparently, Regan moonlights as Sacajaweah in his free time, as he seemed to sniff out paths made in the 1700s by small rodents, and nimbly followed them, Kev close behind. Unfortunately for me, I'd chosen to wear a Farmer wet suit to leave my arms and shoulders free in the water. It gave my much great manouverability in the H2O, but absolutely ZERO protection from the thousands of thistles, thorns, berry bushes, nettles, and man-devouring insects we encountered on the hike out. Equally unfortunate was Ice, who was stuck behind me on the "trail," and consequently, he stopped to soak in tributary streams a few times while I thrashed through the brush like an angry bear.

Did I mention that I dropped Ice's brand-new, waterproof digital camera in a pool below Jeff's Joy while preparing to take a picture of he and Regan? Kev was Johnny on the spot, diving in to divert the flow while I hunted around on the bottom for the lost equipment. Fortunately, God was smiling on us, and I found the camera no worse for wear, even managing to snap some shots while they came over the falls.

Then came the drive back to Rotorua, the Kev & Ice collaberation with the map and road signs, not seeing a light, a Maori word sign (you KNOW you're lost when they haven't named the place yet!!) or another living soul for like, oh, an HOUR, as the gas gauge dipped to empty...

shortly before we ran out of gas, we overtook some MINERS in a 1948 Jeep Willys on their way back from prospecting for gold or something. after they stopped their rendition of "Clementine", they directed us towards town. after passing a huge surreal factory that appeared seemingly out of nowhere, we finally sputtered into a gas station.

sleep came easily once we reached the hostel.

Docta P
www.FaceLevel.com

Did they REALLY say that?

 

So, the first day of the trip was standard, as far as these things go. After a day of frantically running around trying to get all of the absolutely necessary business things done, to no avail, I finally shut my phone off at around 7:45 pm (for the first time in nearly a year) in order to focus on getting the absolutely IMPERATIVE things done for work before time ran out. I finally finished the work I had to do at roughly 2:45am, and then started packing.

My brother got to my place at a little after three am with gear bags large enough to stuff several large goats and at least five wombats into, and after jamming up all of the gear, extra boards, and EIGHTY BATTERIES (!??!) into them, it appeared that indeed, that was precisely what we had done.

My friend and electrician extraordinaire Mario arrived at around 3:45am to take us to the airport with his Xterra, and to no one’s surprise, the gear wouldn’t all fit inside the vehicle, so Ice tied it onto the roof. We then shared the front passenger seat and waved at the groggy commuters with their puzzled looks.

At PDX, we ran into problems checking the board bags (along with Kevin’s board / gear and Regan’s board), since apparently the airline wanted space for other passengers to stow their luggage as well. Go figure. After getting dinged $$$ for extra shipping, we finally made our way down to our concourse. At this point I’d been up around 24 hours, and things were starting to appear more humorous than normal. As Ice and I walked past a closed kiosk with the questionable moniker “Baubles & Bling,” we asked together, “Who SHOPS there?” (which led me to immediately respond, “Bro, it’s your store.” That was a nod to his nickname ‘Ice’, for those of you reading along in Rio Linda who missed the connection.)

Jokes aside though, it gave us a good snicker as we contemplated some stodgy execs sitting around in a boardroom somewhere agreeing on “Baubles & Bling” as the name of their new venture. I mean, if that was the final selection, what didn’t make it? Cheap Junk for Posers? Shiny Fake Things for Really Stupid People? Yeah…

 

Our snickering was cut short by the next sign I saw, which was advertising “Guide Dogs for the Blind” and inviting potential customers to come check out their facilities in Portland and San Francisco. Um, “Aren’t signs supposed to cater to their customers? So shouldn’t that be in Braille? Seems like that’s counterintuitive.” I know, I know, it’s insensitive. (And I’ve got some advice to give… tangential lyricalese warning.)

While we were still chuckling over the billboard, a midget walked by pushing an industrial vacuum. Ice and I just gave each other that look.

Hey, those things are supposed to come in threes, right?

Upon our arrival at LAX, we stumbled off the plane and discovered that we’d disembarked in Port au Prince. While I was puzzling over how the stink we’d ended up in Haiti, and Ice was wondering aloud about the quality of the whitewater, we realized that we actually were in LA, and apparently it was just Haiti dress-up decade in terminal B.

The only thing uglier than the terminal where Alaska Airlines dropped us off was the attitude of the small little man with the “supervisor” tag (and who had obviously just escaped Haiti) who awaited us at the Air Tahiti Nui counter. Not only did he insist that I check my backpack and take it all the way back through security AGAIN, (where luckily the TSA guy was totally cool and let me skip the 30 minute line), but he had the audacity to lecture us on how he was “doing us a FAVOR by letting us on HIS plane” since we exceeded the luggage weight limit, and he could have made us wait another day before getting on with our trip.

I try not to engage in battles of wits with unarmed men, and this guy clearly had no weapons about him, so I bit my tongue, paid his cash bribe, and left him to look like the logical master to his employees, one which immediately remarked, “I wouldn’t fly this airline.” GREEEAAAAT. Now ya tell me…

Getting through the next security checkpoint was like crossing the border from one emerging market into another, and Ice were the only people speaking English. It was very surreal to think that we were in LAX, which truly is a melting pot of cultures. Arriving at our gate, we discovered that the AARP was holding a convention, and apparently they were adjourning onto the plane that we were taking to Papeete, French Polynesia.

I spent good portions of the next 9 hours alternating between getting destroyed by the seatback computer in chess (there was only one level – I think Bobby Fischer sucks) and beating up on people’s grandpas in electronic trivial pursuit. I nearly hit the all-time Air Tahiti Nui record, but somehow locked the wrong answer and connected Bunker Hill to WW II. After reflecting for a minute on my annoyance, I decided that it’d been waaaay too long since I’d had a break from work, and promptly went to sleep.

Upon awakening, I started scrolling through the movies, and The Lion King was playing on one of the channels. Yeah yeah, cheesy movie, but “Hakuna Mutada” is something that I’ve strayed so far away from the past few years. Gotta hold that closer to my heart.

So we land in Tahiti, it’s midnight and 99 degrees, 99 percent humidity, and we have to walk down the tarmac a quarter of a mile to get to the airport. Crazy how lax security was. Ice thought it’d be fun to walk into town, since the island could only be “three or four miles around.” Uhhuh. Ok, first of all, Tahiti itself is the Haiti of the Pacific – all of those pictures floating around the world are NOT of Tahiti per se – they’re of Bora Bora, Moorea, etc, which are TECHNICALLY  part of Tahiti, but not exactly CLOSE – Bora Bora is 700 miles away.

Tahiti has no beaches to speak of around the town – just big rocks (although to it’s credit, over on the small island,Teahupoo is one of the best surfing beaches in the world, if you're a surfing god – 30 miles from the airport).

Basically, Tahiti just has a little scam going with the airlines, and so they have 23 hour layovers. They then charge unsuspecting tourists $250 for nasty rooms, $12 for disgusting hamburgers, etc, even though the average Tahitian makes $150 a month. There is sooo much garbage in the water, around the chickens that peck along the dirt roads, and among the kids that play futbol on the packed grass fields.

Anyhow, as we trudged along the nasty road from the airport into town, hoping we didn’t get robbed and left for dead in the black of night, we realized that it was a bit further than we had at first figured, and so grabbed a room at the first fleabitten hostel we saw.

Docta P
www.FaceLevel.com

Drove all Night...

Sooo, here it is, 225 in the AM, and I'm blogging. no, I don't use MySpace (although one of my companies is represented there), and I'm not really a techno-geek, nor did I grow up playing Gameboy. Nevertheless, instead of snuggling up to something yummy, I'm sharing my thoughts about this trip with y'all. spe-cial. ok, seriously, Ice and I are taking enough gear for a global eco-trek with a whole clan of swarmas. My entryway looks like two 15 year old plastics are headed for summer camp, and it ain't cuz I'm packing multiple changes of D&G lounge wear. that was last week.

in all seriousness, after this all-nighter to initiate the trip, gonna be nice to wake up with the Tahitian sun on my face. could be worse places to have a 23.25 hour layover, but ya know, SOMEBODY has to take one for the team, and I'm game this time. c'est la vie.

We got some more SICK helmets today - the people at Gath are really taking care of us, and their gear is unparalled - any of you that are getting ready to go hit some sick waves and catch gnarly air really outta check them out - www.gathsports.com. protect your melons!

Ok, I'm gonna go finish packing now and trudge off to ze aeropuerto.

rock n roll.

P
www.FaceLevel.com

All the King's Horses

Yeah well, I suppose that TECHNICALLY, this shouldn't be categorized under "Global Adventures - NZ" yet, because haven't embarked on the trip, but hey, it's ABOUT the trip, so c'est la vie. No semantical quibbling.

I've been doing this for quite awhile - since my undergrad years - and as I think about my 12th season riverboarding (or the equivalent), it's baffling, in an oh-so-positive way - to see the progress and expansion the sport has experienced, ESPECIALLY in the past two or three years. It wasn't so long ago that boaters and rafters would look at Ice and I and say, "What is that thing you're on?" and express shock as we'd beat them down stretches of river. Last year though, it was more commonplace for questions to be posed with regard to what we were doing the following week, as more raft guides and adreneline junkies here in the Pacific Northwest became tuned into this rapidly growing sport.

Truth be told, I haven't paid a ton of attention to what we're going to run on this trip, so it's tough for me to comment on too much of it yet, other than Huka, which looks large from some angles. Frankly, the pictures don't mean jack though, and in my opinion, reading about the water and looking at the pretty pictures does as much good (for ME, at least) as reading the Kama Sutra while chilling alone on a deserted island - the basic idea comes across, and it sure looks fun and exciting, but until there's actually something in front of my face to LOOK at, to touch, to smell, to EXPERIENCE - well, it's all just two-dimensional. While it made Hef a buncha money, it doesn't float my boat (or board). Snapping back to reality...

So yeah, I feel confident that this will be a fun and entertaining trip, but no, I haven't studied the rapids. Yet. Frankly, most of it is split-second reaction anyhow. You see and feel how the current is moving, and subconsciously you know that there's a big boulder, spillover, nasty hydraulic, or whatever that's just ahead, and you respond accordingly. The view and the ride are so different when you're actually in the rapid that the most effective form of scouting for me always comes on my knees on my board directly prior to hitting the rapid - and sometimes in it. Even though it's January, I'm in pretty decent shape - there is no offseason in life - and so much of riverboarding big water is just about reading the water and having good gear anyhow. Art up at American Rescue is hooking Ice and I up with some sick new gear, and that more than anything else should improve the ride this season.

More on that in the days to come.

Docta P
www.FaceLevel.com