A Starry Night [From 2-18-09]

The next morning we woke up early to go fishing with Andy.

He took us to the nearby harbor, and we caught some little red snapper for supper. I let two of them go (That must be where the saying “off the hook” came from), but Andy caught one substantial enough for Sarah and I to eat that night... Andy doesn’t like fish.

In between fishing and eating fish, I test drove a manual compact car for the first time on the left side of the road, steering wheel on the right side of the vehicle, gear-shift on my left. Weird. Really weird. It was an old Mitsubishi Galant with nearly 400 thousand Kilometers on it. That’s about 250,000 miles. We got back up the hill to Andy’s after I learned how to do an uphill start, but decided against buying the car even though it was the equivalent of about $400 USD. We had our eye on another prize…

But more on that later…

What was really special about this day was the evening.

Remember that little Dr. Suess house at the top of the world?

Sarah and I went up there for the night to play some cards and have some freshly picked chamomile tea with cinnamon. Sitting comfortably with knit blankets on an old couch I put my headlamp on (thanks Amy Paris) and read my book. We drank the tea with high expectations, but it turned out not being so great... it was surprisingly weak for fresh flowers. After reading for a while and writing for longer I felt slightly restless inside the humid room, so I stepped outside with my headphones to just cool off. I laid down on my back flat on the small section of bare deck just outside the only door, put on some tunes and looked straight up at the glorious infinite sky. It seemed to be much closer to my face than ever before. “With Rainy Eyes” came on my headphones, a tune by The Emancipator--an artist just recently put into my constant rotation (Thanks Vince Haddad). Chills ran up and down my spine, goose bumps spotted my arms and legs. These aren’t the kind you get from a sudden gust of wind, though I felt the cool breeze against my entire body coming from all directions, shifting from one side to another in constant chaos. Nature was strong that night and she was demonstrating for me.

The coast was just behind me, rolling hills in front of me, and what seemed like a perfect 180 degrees of Milky Way hovered directly above me. I could see it all as the cones and rods in my eyes adjusted, tuning to the key of brilliance. I breathed a chest full of fresh air, feeling every inch of my lungs absorbing the crisp oxygen coming off the ocean and filtering through the bush. A natural high made my senses extra keen. The only lights present were the few tea-light candles flickering from within the tiny cabin. I could see the stars and sky more perfectly than ever before, save one previous occasion in the middle of Dunhuang, China. Orion’s belt was straight above and the Southern Cross just down the way, though you could hardly focus on any constellation for long as so many of the stars all around were so bright the entire sky seemed like a surreal scene from The Fountain or maybe Astronomy picture of the day. I saw four shooting stars within the small period of time I was out there alone… the perfect number for the perfect night. I made the same wish on all of them.

The song became forever burned into my memory along with the image and the associating feelings that had me repeating in my head, "I am actually out here, experiencing this right now. Because I chose to do so. This is what I want right now and I have it.”

I own my life.

At the same time, I recognize and appreciate what a privilege this has been for me. In light of this, I won’t take one moment for granted and I will put as much effort back into my experiences and wisdom as this trip has afforded me.

“Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.”

-Eskimo Proverb


As you must understand, the naked eye sees far more than my camera could record. But I've attempted to recreate the experience anyways. Turn your speakers up:

Forestry with Paul [From 2-16-09]

We spent a day with Paul (Andy’s neighbor) and his dog, Jay, doing some forestry in one of Northland’s many indigenous bushes.


It was quite an adventure and definitely a learning experience. Sacada's whizzed by like bullets fired from behind as we hopped streams, traversed swampy cow pasture (often running face to face with the bush dwellers!), climbed steep inclines and scaled the declines of the bush. For a moment I let the juvenile in me imagine it as an escape from a prison camp in the Vietnam jungle. Sometimes only complete invested faith in my grasping of a tiny, flimsy, dying branch was the only hope of not tumbling down some of the steep ridges, but some might say my imagination is just being dramatic. In any case, thank you hiking shoes for helping me fight the battle against the forces of gravity. In reality, we must have looked like neurotic apes that just learned how to use a tape measure, leaping through the forest frequently stopping in our tracks to take measurements Totara and Puriri trees (native species).







Sacada's come every year here, and in some parts of the bush their party is so dense and roughty that after passing them it feels similar to having been to a metal concert. Ears ringing, lungs panting, and pupils widening, we moved on to take a sample plot of the forest's species composition. We hammered a post deep into the ground, set a circumference parameter of 8 meters and measured trees within the circle for their distance from plot center, height, circumference, apropriate angles and compass notch, numbering them with a can of orange spray-paint. Trigonometry, geometry and algebra + trees= neat. Years from now, another forester could come and re-measure the same plot, comparing our archived measurements for growth-rates and diversity changes.

[Now you know what those neon numbers are]

In between working and working out, Paul and I got to chatting quite a bit. Paul offered insight to his perspective on the current political-ecological climate in NZ. He comes from a very conservative but radical opinion that holds position against Greenpeace and other large "green" organizations, believe it or not. He maintains that large all-encompassing organizations like Greenpeace are relatively il-informed in their approach and goal towards sustainability. Organizations like Greenpeace have good intentions but are ultimately failing in catering to the specific needs in unique environments. They preach against logging of indigenous forests in efforts to preserve native species and re-growth of unique forest life for the land, but this fails to attend to vital details. Paul's general position maintains that it would be more beneficial and fruitful to have the forest regenerate and for it to be logged in proper intervals, allowing it to regrow more densely and consistently. This provides a more sustainable model, enabling the bush to thrive with many layers of age, naturally self-sustaining on its own fallen vegetation. A "no-logging-at-all" policy ultimately fails as a model because it allows non-native species that are already prevalent in otherwise indigenous forests to dominate in cases where the native species are a step behind due to consumer demand. ...You'll just have to pick apart that sentence.

...If consumers are purchasing more timber from pine trees that aren’t native to New Zealand (because they grow extremely fast and straight in large quantities), of course those trying to survive and thrive financially follow suit, plowing down huge sections of native bush and planting huge plots of non-native pine trees. It’s simple, quick and profitable. What they don’t know is that with a bit of education and effort, they could be making easily as much or more money off indigenous timbers if their environment is properly cared for, and can likewise take part in preserving forests and lanscapes that are unique to the country.

Needless to say, it was quite a learning experience and definitely good insight into another skill-set, career and lifestyle.

After an entire days-worth of making the forest our personal jungle-gym, Paul and Katarina treated us to an excellent dinner back at their place. Kebabs, sausages, colourful salad, rice, beans, olives and feta, wine, beer and a variety show medley of local potatoes. Among the spuds was the the widely popular Kumera. In New Zealand they use it just about anything and like to pretend its something really special, but in reality it's just a funny looking sweet potato. Desert was more wine and beer, dark chocolate, "Hokey Pokey" ice-cream (butterscotch) and hot drinks. We went to bed back with the spiders in one of Andy's 60's caravans, stomachs full. A good day and night for sure. But I have never had an evening experience like did the next night...

Meet Andy Waterman [From 2-11-09]

The last week or so we've spent at an abode that rests on the side of "Piddling Mountain." This is a polite translation from it's traditional Maori name, which I'll leave for your imagination to figure out. Andy Waterman was our host, a fifty-something year-old sarcastic and extremely proud Brit. With no reservations, Andy's witty remarks and vulgarities replaced normal small-talk, always accompanied by a subtle smile stretched across his carcinogen-creased face. He hand-rolled his tobacco cigarettes nearly every 6 minutes, resting them very loosely in the corner of his mouth. The gravity-defying cigarettes left just enough room for a cheap can of beer, 4% Abv. only. And he always, always wore a camouflage hat. Him and I got along quite well...We had frequent chats and the occasional debate on topics ranging from over-population and environmental biology to Polynesian gardening rituals and war ethics, always over-toned with traces of cynicism and non-politically-correct humor. He loved to criticize Americans for messing up the land "given to us by The Empire," and constantly joked about our "improper" customs and use of the English language donated to us by the British Empire. I won't soon forget something he said during a conversation about the American Revolution in regards to our defeating the Red Coats...

Bitterly he complained,

"The English march around properly, in lines... in uniform. Gentlemen with straight collars and proper muskets, awaiting orders. Now how the hell do you shoot something jumping around in the woods, hiding behind trees wearing GREEN!? You see... the English only lost because of their chivalry...honor."


Splitting his time between the UK and his simplistic escape on Piddling Mountain, Andy has managed to escape every form of Winter for 10 years. When Winter comes in England, he rents out his space to fund his life in Kaeo, NZ, where Summer begins. Once the rain comes in Kaeo, he flies back to England and begins gardening work. His all-volunteer-built home includes a garden shower, compost toilet, pond, pine forest with stream and paths in the back and an Adobe built at the top of his mountain property. Exotic trees, grasses and plants spot the area, with a large pond accompanying the all-volunteer-built octagonal cabin... boat and paddle included. We joked frequently about how he's managed to acquire a nearly self-sustainable retirement community all for himself, built completely by volunteers...

Andy left for a 6 day trip in Auckland while we watched over his property. We lived in one of two outside 60's-era caravans he owned. Our simple task was to feed the "chooks" (Half-beak, Light-twin, Dark-twin, Granny and Two) and cat (Goggles), water plants and trees on dry days, gather eggs and pick veggies from the organic garden (A.k.a.--Great salads every day.) Rainy days were spent quietly in the outdoor-but-roofed kitchen/common area reading, painting, writing, cooking and playing cards. Perfect time to recover the mind and reflect on the swiftly-accelerating experiences thus far.

We also got to know the neighbors across the way quite well. Paul and Katarina were there names. Katarina had us over for dinner frequently, probably feeling sympathetic for our living situation... I should have mentioned that Andy has no electricity, refrigerator, oven, or much else beyond the technology of the 18th century.

Paul and Katarina have a tiny one-room cabin overlooking all of the town atop the tallest nearby point, the equivalent of a block away from Andy's in the direction of UP. It looked a lot like something out of a Dr. Suess book, sans the deformed cats and discolored breakfast foods...

Waterfall #4

After the second adrenaline rush here (rock-hopping) I debated back and forth before deciding I was too exhausted and bloodied to check "waterfall jumping" off of my list. So we headed back for The Welcome Swallow. After getting chased and bullied by cows and bulls twice momentarily running for our lives each time, we realized we were lost. Two hours of roaming (cerebral-gps battery died) brought us right back to the waterfall. I figured it was a sign or subtle second chance at a rare opportunity. That's when I decided to have my third adrenaline rush in NZ.

I gathered what little energy I had left, looked down at my shin, looked a bit further to the bottom of the waterfall, took my clothes off and went for it. No description or image necessary, you can imagine the gratification...

Real Men Rock Machete's with Lavendar Shirts and Bandanas [From Feb. 8th, 2009]

[Aphro Warrior/Gimme a break, I haven't seen a shower in days]

We managed to hitch-hike our way further north into a small town called Kaeo, placing us only a bus ride's distance from Cape Reinga, the northern most point of NZ. From The Welcome Swallow (the backpackers we stayed in) we hiked in search of a hidden treasure not known to many in the vicinity: A local waterfall, concealed by native bush.

The journey there was a test of our skills in many unpracticed arts: Cow-Evasion (they are aggressive here!), Electrical-Fence-Hopping, Cerebral-GPS Navigation (aka following the river), and the best part--Machete-Slashing paths through jungles of gorse and bush.

This was one of my fantasies as a child (and I'm sure this is the case with many little boys). I was slashing through wild hanging branches and bush with a massive blade to reveal a path, on a mission. I had a girl following behind me too... but it's not like that.

The final hurl of the giant blade lent to me by the owners of the Welcome Swallow revealed delicate rapids and small rushes of water at the fore. It was as if I was looking at a nature program through a lens contoured with leaf shapes and branches hanging on either side, accept this was real life. These were my eyes. The sounds were real, and I was completely surrounded by it all. My brain narrated in place of David Attenborough and my face was numbed with a semi-permanent smile.

[Gorse-Battle]

The stream was spotted and broken up by small boulders and large moon-rocks (they looked like moon-rocks, at least) that would soon become a life-size game of connect the dots. Rather than a pencil, I used my feet to draw complex lines that created patterns and shapes that would soon reveal the path to the waterfall. We inched closer and closer to the top of it. I could sense it coming closer and closer, each step eventually revealing bits more of the fall's horizon and the depth of its plunge. You can imagine the anticipation.

Once approached in full, we had a good look down, marveling at the sounds and sights before us. The isolation was incredible. I relaxed on the few rocks that were tall enough to keep me dry and reflected on our little journey to the waterfall for a moment, rejoicing our survival. It wasn't too long before we climbed down the side of it for a swim in the natural pool, enjoying the sun and privacy of a completely-secluded, unaffected marvel.

I waded around soaking in the cool natural water knowing there was a wild eel enjoying the same. I swam underneath the waterfall to feel its force. I felt the weight of the water impacting my head, depressing and soaking every one of my hairs to full saturation. I looked up for a moment, but the force was too hard for my eyes. I looked back down and started to float away, allowing the fall to push me back outward into its pool.

It was still early/midday and the sky was clear, the sun working to make the atmosphere a perfect 80 degrees or so. Fatigued from the swim and its preceding journey, I perched on a large rock that was still hot from the sun's rays. This rock, well-smoothed from the constant water, was eroded to perfectly contour my body. Here I stayed for hours reading, contemplating, napping and practicing yoga, fully calmed. As cliche as it may seem, it was a completely surreal realization of nature and its role in harmonizing the body and mind. As I read through Richard Woods' book, I came across a passage incredibly suitable for the circumstances. He wrote, "It is now a mainstay even of scientific medicine that true healing arises primarily from 'within.' Medical arts remove obstacles and create optimal conditions for recuperation. In themselves, they do not heal. Nature heals."

Perfect.

I looked around, re-appreciated the subtle, almost still pools of water that were slowly being funneled into a gradual stream that would eventually gain the speed to become a rapid. I set a leaf in the small pool to my right, watching it slowly spin and accelerate towards the choke point where the pool spilled out. Eventually it would take off, navigating its way through the moguls of moss-covered earth-stones and boulders ahead. I remembered something from the one time we have seen a t.v. this entire trip...

Back in Hellensville, during dinner with the people we were sharing the accommodation with, we watched a special program that documented the "Free Runners" of New Zealand- a group of younger athletic/acrobatic types that run the streets of the slums, hopping across roofs and maneuvering their way around various urban obstacles, barriers and otherwise common architectural scenarios. They don't stop to assess the terrain much, they simply keep a forward momentum. There was an interview of one of the more conscientious in the group. He described the mental preparation they have to execute prior to engaging the environment. He talked of it as a meditation to keep the rational mind from getting in the way of the actions that were ahead. Because these actions were otherwise naturally contradictory to human instinct, the reasonable mind would cause some hesitation to the body before letting it leap across high roofs and climb walls 4 stories high with nothing to grab onto. This mental prep was the key to keep them from dying. He spoke of it in terms of unifying the mind with the body while simultaneously removing the doubt and hesitation that reason produces... This was a turn of mindset for someone who just finished a degree in Analytical Philosophy.

Disregarding the last 4 years of my education, I attempted to put this mindset to practice, accelerating my way through the rocks of the river, downstream. I hopped, skipped, jumped, and leaped with only forward momentum. I found this foreword thrust to be key in situations where there were only tiny, intermediary rocks with tips only exposed enough to serve as a quick transition between two larger landing points. I had to shift my weight quickly, only delicately pushing off some of these tiny rocks before they moved as a result of my force. I would kick off sometimes 3 or 4 in a row with just enough momentum to reach the landing rock. Jackie Chan, I mean... Bruce Lee style. A worthy exercise, I made it all the way to the bend where the rocks end without a scratch or even the slightest slip. The total course was about 20 minutes of non-stop hopping while quickly sketching the path in front of me and keeping my mind calm. My mind must have been equating distances, risk-fators, moisture levels of each rock, my energy levels, inseam, ankle reflex etcetc. and translated it all into immediate non-thought-action. Shortly after my success, this caused exhaustion to set in. Not to mention I started to get a little cocky.

On the way back, I let my mind interrupt. I thought "well, what would happen if I DO fall? I could seriously hurt myself! What if I do permanent damage?!" The moment that thought entered my mind-- the same very second my mind conceived it-- I knew I was screwed.

I couldn't slow down. My muscles hesitated and I finally collapsed in the middle of a jump between one small rock and a mossy boulder. I landed only half-way in-between.

My shins and knees met the sharp rocks under the water as if they were uninvited guests disrupting a japanese cutlery party. I didn't do any permanent damage, but I swelled and gnarled up my right leg.

A realization that there is mental and physical work to be done here.

I've realized that the last few years of my life I have spent growing so much rationally and intellectually that I have seemed to leave a sense of balance behind. I worked the yin up so high that I left the yang almost too far for sight. It had become fundamentally difficult for me to remove reason from even the most mundane daily exercises.

A new goal was born that day.

Ultimately, I have realized I can do anything. But new grounds require new preparations and hard work. But even preceding that... it begins here, with Will.

[cheeseball]

[The quotation in this update is from a book I did research for as an Undergraduate. The author, my mentor, Richard Woods has a blog here: http://richardwoodsop.net/ and the book is titled Wellness: Life, Health and Spirituality.]

Chapter 3: Piahia and Russell

Paul and Toni Harris dropped us off in town the morning of my birthday and we walked to the end of the page, pressing it firmly back to start the new chapter. Spending most of the day hitch-hiking, we ended up in a small, coffee-book-picturesque, coastal (tourist) community called Piahia. Waitangi day was approaching fast, so we had a difficult time finding accommodation for the night. Thankfully we found solace in the last remaining room at The Pickled Parrot (See: "The Island of the Long White Cloud [from 1/5/09]," a few posts down). Funny how those things have seemed to just work out. Waitangi Day comes once every year on February 6th to celebrate the signing of the founding document of New Zealand. The Waitangi Treaty established New Zealand as a British colony in 1840, also (supposedly) guaranteeing the Maori people (Indigenous New Zealanders) the rights to their land and all of the civil liberties maintained by the British. Waitangi day is similar to American Independence day, though I suppose the document signifies the exact opposite effect in terms of the state's relationship to Great Britain. Much like The United States Constitution, there has been a lot of debate over The Treaty of Waitangi and its constituent elements. Rather than attempting to summarize it here, if you are interested you can read more about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waitangi_Day

Piahia (pronounced "Pie-Heya") is essentially composed of hotels, backpackers, a central grocery store and a long, multi-beach coast. We happened to be out on the beach as groups of Maori were rehearsing for the celebration, making laps around the coast. Groups of 10 or 20 paddled away in traditional war-canoes (called "Wakas"), chanting in their traditional tongue. The largest war canoe in the world is a Waka called "Ngatokimatawhaorua" (good luck pronouncing that one properly), and it resides in Waitangi about 5 minutes from Piahia.

We rented a couple of kayaks from a shed on the beach for 10NZD (for 2-hours, about $5) and paddled our way out away from the beach madness. We must have looked like fleeing white people, but many might have just thought we were playing a role in part of the Maori's Waitangi celebration rehearsal.

We launched away after a 5-minute instruction in rudder-steering and proper paddle technique. In all directions there were tiny little islands, sometimes smaller in size than an American Wal-mart. We made our way to a drowning rock that was more like the size of a Starbucks. It included a tiny 20-foot wide beach salted by rocks about 40-feet high and peppered with piles of seashells. We pulled our kayaks up, had our inevitable 10-20 minutes of beach-combing and shell collecting, and spent the rest of the two hours laying out in the sun on our tiny little isolated paradise. Nobody, save for the one crab skeleton, could see us... Not only because we accidentally camouflaged ourselves with sand, but because that's just the way it was. A busy beach in New Zealand is about 10 miles long of the most perfect beach you could think of with approximately 4 to 6 people on it.

Not kidding.

We ended up going over our allotted time, but the Canadian fellow that was running the shed didn't charge us extra. He likely was entertained by my less-than graceful entry and exit to and from the kayak, capsizing only a total of three times...

After our one-night with my friend The Pickled Parrot (thankfully he ended up being as much of a sloth as I at night), we avoided most of the Waitangi celebration (not entirely intentionally), by taking the ferry across the peninsula to another small coastal community called Russell. We stayed at the backpackers there for one night, as Piahia was completely booked. It was there we arranged our next route north...

Some views from Russell:
[You'll just have to imagine these photographs larger until I get back]

[Also, the current image at the top of this blog was taken in Russell, Northland]

[The chronology of this blog is all out of whack now, so I apologize for any confusion. This post brings us up to the moment I was writing the update on February 12, titled "The Island of the Long White Cloud [from 1/5/09]." I am going to attempt to finish catching up to present in the next 4 days. Then updates will occur in real-time. Thanks for your patience!]

Later, Harris Family [Feb. 4th, 2009]

Goodbye, Harris family. Thank you.