My past few weeks have been spent traversing New Zealand’s south island. I specifically ventured out to seek world record-breaking opportunities, but I got much more action than I planned on from being flooded out to meeting an old woman with too much time on her hands.
The first night of my trip, I jumped into my hammock on the banks of the Waikato River. During the dark hours, it rained slightly and the computerized sluice gates on an upstream dam opened to equalize the dam’s water level. My laptop got soaked and 36 hours later, it was rusted. Wow! I was forced to buy a replacement.
After a spot of begging – to see what it’s like – with coins jingling in my jacket pocket, I headed for a homeless shelter to sleep. The place was immaculate because an inmate had a thing about wiping and washing almost everything at waist height. The entertainment didn’t last long before Jack became a tad annoying.
Next was scenic Motueka. I volunteered on a farm needing a weeder for a few days. Having weeded so much I was sick of it, I plodded off down the west coast, known for its rain and exquisite forests. What appeared to be gallery forest hugged the narrow road for hundreds of kilometres, breaking occasionally to provide sweeping views of the grey Southern Alps mountain range, topped in snow. This was countryside I’d have loved to attempt a world record in, but alas, opportunities didn’t present themselves.
Gore is home to a friend of a friend, whom I decided to surprise. Of all the nights I could have chosen, the farmer wasn’t there. So I curled up on a concrete slab with a row of his sheep staring at me deep into the night. At least I was able to maintain their curiosity, even if I hardly slept in the bitter cold.
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