The Last Hurrah, Pt. 2

This, the description of my final trip in New Zealand, is being written in Ecuador. I could just jump ahead, but that would be skipping over maybe the best week I had there. After returning home from my West Coast and Castle Hill extravaganza, I had a Thanksgiving feast with the other lingering International students and some assorted Kiwi´s. The next day I took one more test for the class that I had been missing; the intro class for the trip to Ecuador. After that kicked my ass I finished washing my clothes and packing and was ready to leave the next morning.

Unfortunately, because I happened to aquaint my camera with a very unforgiving rock, I have no pictures of this trip. I started out of Dunedin with first light and, in one day of efficient hitch-hiking, I made it up to the Nelson region on the north of the South Island. I was looking for some place where climbers hung out. Apparently there was some place around Takaka that was well known for its climbing. Luckily, the last ride I caught knew exactly where I should be headed: hangdog climbers camp. This place was a chill camp established just for climbers. Some people had been there for a week, some a month, and, the longest I heard about, six months. The camp was a relaxed twenty minute stroll to Takaka and a relaxed two minute stroll to the nearest boulder. For bouldering, there was just this one big ol´bastard and a few really sweet climbs over the river. The first morning I was there I ran into my climbing buddies from Castle Hill and we worked on this route called "Acid Drop." There was an overhang about three feet over the water with a plethora of jugs and what I can best describe as monkey bars of stone that slowly faded into harder and harder crimps as you made your way downstream. We played on this for the morning, trying to say parallel to the river to avoid the cold water in the cold morning, but that only lasted so long. We spent the afternoon looking for routes we could climb and ended up finding what was considered the classic warm-up wall which was just perfect for us. It was on this wall, a diverse 5.9, that I executed my first lead climb, not falling once. Well, I fell once, but I caught myself before the rope did, so it doesn´t count. It started with a jump start, which I had to stand on my tippie toes for, and jumped up quickly with some reachy jugs. About twenty feet in the air the rock shifted to a series of crimps that got you breathing hard until you managed to slap onto the big ridge that started the next section. By now I was thirty five feet up with four clips in the wall and had reached the most acrobatic part of the wall. I managed it with a side pull where I matched my feet about two feet under my right hand and semi-dinoed to the next big jug, skipping all the chippy holds inbetween. To finish was a balance problem with a series of slopers to a quick clip in at the top. Perfect.

Unfortunately they had a date with the North Island and had to move on. The next day, while bouldering solo and starting to feel lonely, I met a German couple in New Zealand for the stone. I tagged along with them and, while they were absurdly better than me, we climbed together. Really, I was only slightly worse than the woman, but the man was lightyears beyond, being a 5.13 beast. For the next two days I climbed with them and my last climb, with only one and a half days until I returned home, was a 140 foot marathon. The cliff rose abrubtly out of the trees and gained altitude with an increasingly beautiful view of the valley. It was late afternoon and the rock was black, burning and beautiful. After a few rest stops I managed the top and looked down at the river I was about to jump in. The next morning I packed up camp with first light and made my way back to Dunedin to fly out the next morning.

New Zealand: fin.