Goldilocks eats the first bowl

Even with these lovely kitchen facilities at hand, there was to be no cooked breakfast today.  Today was all about stamina and endurance.  A slow release breakfast was needed so it was back to the old trusty cold oats and raisins for breakfast.  Unlike Goldilocks, we couldn’t skip past the Daddy Bear size bowl of porridge.  Yes, it was just made with cold water and soaked overnight but unfortunately it needed to be an ‘as much as we could eat’ one to sustain us for the next few hours.  There would definitely be no comfy chair to sit on and by any chance you wanted to snooze, then you WILL lose.  Though, without being over dramatic, you snooze you lose possibly your life and maybe take others with you.  Before we get to that, we did have time to get a shower etc. The toilet was the most important routine of the day as their mat be plenty of time to sh*t oneself over the next few hours. 

The last minute team talk

We had chosen our sleeping destination because it was only five minutes up the road from our next adventure.  We had already signed all the death, serious injury and missing in action disclaimers that had been sent to us and were under no illusion of the seriousness of why these were given.  All trip, especially after the near- death experience in Shelly Beach, I’d been talking about the need to write a will for the kids sake, but alas I’d never got around to it.  Let’s hope that wasn’t a fatal mistake today.  This was one of the many quick conversations we had going down the hill.  One of Sarah’s friends Jake, had recommended we do this.  We were looking forward to the activity so much as it had been one of the only things we had seriously looked into. This was even before we flew to the other side of the world.  Pumped up with adrenaline, we arrived and parked the Sandd Van.

Kit Kat, take a break

We were the first to arrive and got drilled on all the disclaimer points again.  We were told we would be asked these questions a few more times along the journey.  Another ‘couple’ arrived so they gave the four of us our basic kit to wear and we went to get changed downstairs.   With seperate changing rooms, I got talking to the guy.  For reasons that you will find out later I will omit his name.  He was from the states now living and working in LA.  It’s fair to say that I am no longer in peak condition and neither is Sarah.  This guy, and I believe it was his sister who resides in Chicargo, were at least a foot shorter than me and a stone heavier (7+kg).  We went back up stairs and waited for our other twenty-seven ‘mad’ companions.  This would be our last break of the day, hopefully.  No one, I think, wanted to go home with broken bones.

Crash helmets and life preservers

With everyone assembled it was time to get completely kitted up.  We picked the right size crash helmets, which was the most essential part of this procedure. Too big and you might as well just be wearing a thong to go collect honey on a bee farm.  Waterproof jacket, big enough to give you freedom to have a full range of movement,  wet-boots small enough so the won’t fly off and a one size fits all bouyancy aid tightened to individual sizes.

The instructors were totally on the ball, as they knew the risks and finer details of getting this right.  They checked every one of the thirty- one participants equipment. A few had to swap helmet sizes and everyone had their straps fastened safely.  Another series of disclaimer questions were asked before we could set off.

Not for the faint-hearted

We were loaded into two buses, with a trailer at the back of each carrying some precious cargo.  We got the seats behind the driver and Sarah kindly let me have the window seat, saying it was because there was more leg room – yeah right.

We had read the many reviews about our upcoming, adrenaline pumping, mind-jumping, road adventure before even considering the insanity of our choice.  Looking around the bus,  at least we weren’t the only two in the ‘adventure before dementia’ age bracket.  So what did the reviews say about this lovely bus ride.  Most, if not all, commented that it was the scariest ride they had ever been on, not for the faint hearted.  Considering that you should really be an adrenaline junkie to participate in this pursuit, then these comments held extra weight, like myself.

Get off the bus

We had a new driver, who we were now putting our life in her young hands, and a guide Josh. Before the engine was turned on he re-capped on the fact that anyone (ladies) who was pregnant or anyone with any heart conditions COULD NOT go on this adventure and had to leave the bus immediately.  Before we started a warning light came on in the bus to do with the door.  The automatic button wasn’t closing the side door properly, so Josh put it in manual mode and slammed it shut.

Between six and nine out of ten

We were off, and Josh gave us an excellent guided tour on route.   We turned left and were heading up Skippers Canyon Road.  This is on many of the ’10 worst roads in the world’, usually coming between number six and number nine.  I’ve watched enough You Tube video’s and TV programmes like ‘Top Gear’ to know what these roads entail.  With the cliffs on our left, Sarah had very thoughtfully given me the view of the sheer drop below as we rounded bend after bend climbing through this awesome jaw-dropping canyon.  Hopefully it was the only thing dropping for the next thirty or so minutes.

SOS radio call

Halfway up the mountain the bus behind called over the radio.  I swear someone was looking down on us as we were the front bus of the two.  The rope on the trailer with the equipment on was starting to come loose.  We stopped, Josh jumped out and tightened it and we were in our way again.  Luckily we weren’t the bus following or it may not have been spotted.  On this unforgiving road that may have been fatal, or not as we don’t know how loose it was.  But in these conditions, on this road, the tiniest of margins are crucial.

Gold Rush

The reason there was this insane road down the side of this mountain in the first place was it was built during the New Zealand gold rush period in the late 19th century.  The one condition of anyone who wanted to be a prospector in this canyon was that they had to work on the road for six months prior.  Hundreds of people hoping to make their wealth died on this road. People often lost their pack horses and supplies as well. 

This is now a heritage road, meaning it will never be extended or sealed.  It remains in the same state today that it did 150 years ago, probably worse as landslides and avalanches often take out chunks.  In spring a lot of patchwork happens to ensure it is ‘fit for purpose’ when the tourist trade kicks in.  The government tries to keep casualties to a minimum by specifying that any tour company must have expert drivers to navigate the route.  What about ‘stupid’ tourists ? Every rental agreement specifies that this road is not to be driven, and will invalidate any claims should you even make it out.  Josh explained that even though it doesn’t look possible, it is a two-way road and it’s usually a tourist that causes problems as there are very few passing points.  All the tours, of which there are many that take you in a 4×4 at speed, travel one way in the same direction and kinda stick to a schedule to avoid issues.  That said the wheels just about stay on the road around hairpin bends but the back of the trailer swings right over the cliff and back to the track.

Personal gear

Another stipulation is that NO personal gear comes on the bus.  Everything is left at base camp.  This included cameras and phones.  No extra weight and nothing additional will survive the main adventure.  Photos of the terrain etc will be taken off  the Internet except a few done by the guides.

Bike track

Skippers Canyon seperates the Richardson Mountain Range to the west and the Harris Mountain Range to the east of the Southern Alps.  Opposite our drive up, and also on the Richardson Mountain Range, was an awesome mountain bike trail on Mt Aurum.  Aptly named after the Latin for gold, as the Shotover River was once known as the richest river in the world.   We were definitely not going to be doing Mountain biking with our knees in their state as it is a grade 4 route.  Our adventure lies elsewhere, not on two wheels.

Over the edge

Continuing on our journey up this ridiculously insane road, and I use the term road very loosely, there were many more over the edge moments.  Surprisingly, whilst my ears were listening to all the interesting facts from Josh, my eyes  were glued to the terrain below.  I could count on more than all my digits, how many times I couldn’t see a road below my window and just a sheer drop.  At one particular bend we went at snails pace around it, and the weightlessness of being momentarily suspended mid air was terrifying before the tires returned to the gravel track.

It’s all downhill from here. 

Phew, we had reached the highest part of the road.  However, as we were not here to do skydiving,  abseiling, base-jumping or wear a human bat-suit, we still had to go down the other side of the mountain.  Like a roller-coaster, climbing the track slowly keeping you in full suspense, even though you know over the ridge your heart will be in your mouth and the G-force will have gone through the roof as you make it to the bottom in seconds.  As you climb you still hang on to your last thoughts before the top.  Luckiky the bus didn’t descend with any noticeable gravitational pull, but did appear  to be going faster than the climb. We finally arrived shaken but unharmed at the water’s edge.

Blue river lined in gold

There before us was the notorious Shotover River.  Hard to imagine this turquoise blue river standing before us was once jam-packed with people panning for gold.   Today it is flowing freely, and we are hopefully not touching the riverbed.  We are not carrying shovels, pans and sieves, though we are dressed for action of another kind.  

One last chance

We had our final brief which included all the usual questions about being able to swim,  pregnancy and heart conditions.  We were also told this was the last place we could bail out, no respect lost.  From here on in there were only two routes out, either down on the raft or in a helicopter.  The latter would only be for the totally wounded or the dead.  Unfortunately people had lost their lives in these rapids, the last two being in 2018.  Both were very experienced and fit, one was a thirty- one year old policeman from Australia and the other a sixty- one year old guide, and the most experienced.  No one opted out.

Paddles at the ready

We all grabbed a paddle and went down to the five rafts unloaded from the trailer.   Without being unkind we moved away from the two Americans and next to a group of three who looked powerful and experienced.  As luck would have it, or not, the rafters had to be split into five groups of six and one of seven.  Five didn’t add up, and the seven were a group together of Latin Americans.  We were assigned to a group of six with the two Americans and two burley gents from Essex.  The American two volunteered to be captains at the front, we went in the middle, the Essex boys in the back with Finn our guide steering from the very back. 

White water,  white knuckle,  white faces

A few ripples in the water where we launched, but mainly calm and a good place for Finn to put us through some training.  With all six of us being relative novices, he kept the instructions short and simple.   He repeated several times the importance of all working as one.  Also, when he said ‘paddle hard’ it meant paddle hard and strong.  Myself and Sarah followed our two American’s every stroke.  Finn kept repeating that everyone should paddle together as I think our Essex crew were going a little faster.  Unfortunately, our two captains only had the tip of their blades in the water and the one speed (slow).  Again Finn reiterated how important it was to go hard especially over the rapids.  We practiced the ‘get down’ command which was to move off the edge of the raft, hang on to the outer rope with one hand and the t-grip of the paddle with the other while quickly squatting on the floor of the raft.  OMG, I thought my knees were going to snap everytime this was called.  Both Sarah and I had declared our injuries to Finn at the start.  With mine being my knees, in particular the left one with its plate and pins, the sudden squatting to such a low position was pretty unbearable, though no jumping ship now so we soldier on.  We made the first grade III rapid fairly comfortably and high-fived our paddles.

We carried on practicing: forward, back, get down, lean in, back up, go hard and a few others before our first big rapid was approaching.  Just as we were going around the final corner Finn gave the order to paddle backwards and we pulled into the side as one of the rafts in front of us, and at the bottom of the rapid, was having people pulled back into it, so it must have capsized.  After our 16km drive from Hell, we were now on a 16km paddle into Hell’s Gates (aldi a name for past of the r road we travelled), or in this case our first major grade IV rapid, which was a rapid with a stopper (meaning it will try to pull you back in). Ours was aptly called Rock Garden Rapid.

Up the creek without a paddle (my story)

After I pulled our American colleague back in the boat as he was falling overboard just before the rapid, Finn gave the command to paddle hard.  The harder you paddle the faster and stronger you travel getting the raft over the rapid before it can suck you back in.  We weren’t going fast enough and the raft tipped up at a 90⁰ angle after filling with more water.  SPLASH, before I knew it I was being sucked under and rolled like I was in a washing machine.  Finn, as well as Josh on the bus, who was now in the safety kayak, had told us so many times what to do if we capsize, flip or are thrown into the river.  They had said ‘first roll in a ball then surface and look for the guides and do EXACTLY what they say’.  When I did surface I could hear shouts of swim to the left,  swim to the rocks.  I had no idea if this was for me or for others.  I also started to panic about Sarah, as I had seen the American man go in first followed quickly by myself and the Essex gent behind me at the same time.  Having no idea about anyone else I just swam as hard and fast as was possible. 

Memories of Shelly Beach

As I was swimming, my mind flashed back to Shelly Beach and how hard it was to swim with no energy.  This time though, I hadn’t been on a mountain hike in 40⁰C+ the day before or been snorkeling for half an hour prior in rough conditions, this time it was as if someone was pulling my feet back as I swam forward, the bouyancy aid was up by my nose and the wetsuit and jacket felt heavy.  Still I could hear the shouts of swim, drop the paddle and swim.  I needed no encouragement to let go of the paddle and swam like my life depended on it,  which it could have.  Myself and the Essex man reached the rocks roughly the same time.  He was just a little further down stream, maybe three metres and leaning over some low rocks.  I was hanging on for dear life to the tiniest edge jutting out of a near sheer-faced rock.  The shouts had changed to ‘hang on, hang on I’m coming’ as I saw the guide Razoo racing across the rocks above me and bypassing the other rock dweller.  When near enough he threw a rope just to my left and shouted to grab it.  Luckily it was my left hand that was free so I did.  As soon as he was close enough he took a stance position and asked me grab the rope with my other hand as well.  Knowing I couldn’t cling on to the rock forever I grabbed it with my second hand and he slowly pulled me up.  I wished I had lost a few pounds for this trip, as you could see the effort and determination edged on his face which had replaced the calm loud instructions from before.  Once I was leaning over the rocks, and well clear of the water, I told him I was okay and he went to help the other guy.   During all this time I could still hear shouts of swim and other muffled commands.  Worried that Sarah was in trouble I pulled myself up and was relieved to see her and three other companions sat in our raft.  Together with the other guy, we safely climbed back in the raft.  We were still missing one more comrade, the American man.  After a few more minutes we were joined by one of the South American crew who took the place of the American with Finn assuring us that he was safe.

On the ropes but not going down without a fight (Sarah’s Story)

Having ran the first rapid successfully things rapidly changed.  I could feel the raft being sucked back in.  No matter how much Finn shouted for us to paddle hard we continued to be drawn back until suddenly the raft tipped onto it’s side, spilling four of it’s six occupants into the water.  I released my paddle, dropped low in the raft & clung to the ropes for dear life, all the while being pummelled by the sheer force of water & tossed around in the boat.  I was not relinquishing my rope grip for love nor money.  I was convinced the raft was going to capsize & I’d find myself under it. Once Finn righted the raft, still hanging onto the ropes I turned to look for Dave & saw Finn hanging onto the American guy’s buoyancy aid with all his might as he was being sucked in by the water.  Finn was frantically shaking his head in the direction of another colleague in a plea for help.  I scouted round frantically looking for Dave.  With everyone dressed the same this wasn’t easy.   I located the other lady who had been picked up by another raft but still no Dave.   I then spotted him clinging to a sheer rock face.  I really wasn’t sure how he was managing to hold on or how he was going to get off of it.   Next thing I know, Finn’s manoeuvring the raft to safety & I lost sight of Dave.  Relieved to feel safe once again, another scout round & I spot him feet firmly planted on a huge rock towering over everyone.  One by one the crew rejoined the raft, each telling of their ordeal.

Team USA back on dry land (as told to us by the ‘dry’ Essex man)

He explained how he had managed to stay in the boat along with Sarah and had seen everything unfold from the back of the raft.  He told us how our American lady had been thrown out at the same time as the three of us on the right handside, but being on the lefthand side had quickly been pulled to safety by one of the other raft crews.  Her companion however was not so fortunate and had been instructed to swim across but couldn’t.  Finn then grabbed him by his bouyancy aid and tried to pull him in.  He was holding onto him for dear life when he signalled for help.  Up the river came Josh on his Kayak and put him across it and got him to the safety of another raft.  It was later down the river at a very safe spot that the two crew members were switched back to their original rafts.  The American was completely wiped out so we had him a few minutes for him to recover.  

Drag you down (The American’s Story)

Once the American was recovered enough, he told us his ordeal.  He was toppled out of the raft and found himself being dragged back. He was being held by Finn and asked to swim to the other side.    He couldn’t swim across, as by then he saw that the two of us were hanging on for dear life and didn’t want to knock us off.  The kayak came and took him to another raft where the crew paddled him to safety and back to us.

Vice captain helps take the helm

Our American colleague actually looked in no fit state to continue, never mind lead from the front.  Finn made the decision to swap him and the dry Essex man’s positions.  He asked the American lady if she wanted to switch but she was adamant that she stayed up front.  As the guy was left-handed they swapped sides so that he was in front of Sarah and she was in front of me.  Determined to ensure we all paddled together, and at the same speed, Finn instructed everyone to go at the American lady’s pace.  He repeated how important it was that we all paddled hard when he gave the command.  Sarah asked if we needed to put the full blade in the water (she already knew the answer, but it was a kind way of telling others to).  Finn answered yes as expected,  but I was a little more blunt and asked if we could just go hell for leather when approaching the next rapids.  Unsurprisingly he answered no, he advised that we all have to stay at the pace of our front lady.

The calm before the storm

We had a little way to go before we reached out next serious rapids of grade IV and V.  We were working more in unison but still weren’t going faster when the command ‘paddle hard’ was given.  We practiced all our manoeuvring skills again.  I think there was a deep feeling in the raft that we might be seeing the water more than once today.  However, we got through a number of mediocre rapids and the occasional faster one before we approached a series of rapids in quick succession know now as the Cheif Rapids after the guide who died in 2018 at this spot.

The Chief rides again

To get a full insight into what was about to happen and what we were letting ourselves in for take a quick look at this from the go-rafting website:

Chief Section Rapids

With Finn telling us again and again that we needed to paddle hard and together when instructed,  and confirming what we thought about the reason we didn’t make it on the last big rapid, he went on explain all about out next challenges.  The Chief has five rapids in quick succession; The Aftershock, The Squeeze, The Anvil, The Toilet and Oh Shit.  For these we also learnt a new command where we pulled our paddles into the middle of the boat and completed the get down crouch at the same time.  This was crucial for the chief, as you also had to snatch you fingers in as the raft crashed into the wall before potentially grazing or losing them.

We didn’t go through fast enough, but the Chief  (Mona Roa Chief Haare) must have been looking down on us from the skies above, as somehow we made it through.  Bumping, crashing, tipping slightly, paddling again before the next bombardment of natural abuse from this unforgiving river.  We were battered like a piece of cod in a fish n chip shop, tossed like a pancake, hit like a Mike Tyson right hook but we survived again and again.  The sheer thrill of this harassment and with adrenaline pumping and flowing through every vein had us on the edge of our seats literally hanging on for dear life.  Between each barrage of thunderous roars from the rapids Finn would shout for us to get up and paddle forward or paddle hard.  We hardly had time to take a breath before the tumbleweed effect on our raft started over again and again.  Rocking and rolling like a 50s hop we bounced up and down,  sometimes huge drops before the speed of the river had us bouncing along once more.  One minute we were facing forward the next we were facing backwards, all the time speeding through these natural individuals courses that made Takeshi’s Castle look like a walk in the park.  Spurred on by our earlier disaster, we all pulled together and rode out the storm beneath us.  We were through The Cheif and gave a celebratory cheer and paddle high- five whilst knowing The Shotover hadn’t finished with us yet and there was plenty more to come.  Unfortunately, in one of the boats behind a young lady was somehow in the water and being tossed about with the relentless crashing into rocks.  This really didn’t look good but she seemed to weather the storm.  Someone from another raft threw a rope in but she missed it.   Finn threw a second rope for her and shouted for her to grab it.  She managed to cling to it as Finn reeled her in like a game-fisherman catching a blue fin tuna. Instead of fighting a fish,  Finn was fighting all the elements whilst still giving us commands to navigate to a safe eddy (a slack area of calmer water).  Once she was at the edge of our raft Finn and the Essex man behind me grabbed her bouyancy aid and pulled her in.  She was in good spirits and laughing about it.  We noticed a big tear in her wetsuit at thigh height but on checking no cuts thankfully.  Her raft pulled alongside and she was transferred back.  Her two giggling Asian friends hugged her, all three laughing and chatting as we left them carrying on our merry way.

What a gorgeous gorge

It was hard to imagine how fast and hard the brain and body were working though this awesome experience.  All the time your body is twisting, turning, being pulled and pushed in different directions you eyes were still watching the water and the surrounding mountainous terrain.  You see each huge bolder that had either been placed dramatically during the ice age 25,000 years ago by a glacier that once occupied this hollow, or moved by the power of the river itself.  With the soft rock type, Shist, (which really doesn’t feel or look soft) making up the mountains, everyday can be a different experience as the power of the river moves the boulders from the all too common rock avalanches and landslides.  Every one of these boulders and rocks looks like it had been strategically placed in the water ready to rip you apart if you get it wrong.  It was quick thinking to let go of your ‘safety’ side rope and whip your hand in momentarily, before grabbing that lifeline again, as the mountain face threatened to rip off your knuckles.  It felt in those split-second decisions like it was teasing you, even daring you to feel it’s firmness, like a bodybuilder flexing their muscles to show you their baseball biceps.  Even with all these factors going on, your eyes, as well as watching the water for hazards, were surveying the walls of the mountain, it’s ridges and crevices as well as the fertile forests that covered the clifftops.  At this speed you think ‘was that a waterfall we passed or a split in the mountain side where water once flowed or still flows in the winter?

Dancing in the moonlight

While we were temporarily having a break, if one could call it this, as we were still moving but at a slower pace, letting the river take us naturally downstream with just occasional commands to go forward or backwards depending on the cliffs, we could suddenly hear the power of another creek about to join.  Sure enough it was Moonlight Creek Confluence with its barrage of rushing water about to speed up our journey as it merged from the left. The river is at quite a low point in its yearly cycle which brings very different, but equally as challenging dangers as it is circumnavigated.  This particular junction where the two bodies of water become one is definitely more challenging in high waters as it creates huge waves that today we didn’t have to ride out.  Our experience, was like a child learning to ride a bike.  First the parent is walking gently behind holding the saddle, then keeps subtly increasing their speed to a trot, a jog and finally a sprint until they let go with an almighty push shouting ‘peddle, peddle, peddle’.  For us as the two bodies of water merged, the speed of the river kept creeping up until we were about to take the corner at speed, then the Confluence gave us that hard push with Finn shouting ‘hard paddle, hard paddle, hard paddle’ as we accelerated at full speed until the river naturally calmed itself.  Another high-five paddle moment.

Swing High

What was that that just caught our eye.  A wire across the canyon maybe a hundred metres up. It was the Shotover Canyon Swing were people swing over the river,  an alternative to the bungee jump.  I think that might seem a little boring, to have one explosion of adrenaline compared to this thrill every second for a couple of hours. For us it is already feeling like the ultimate white-knuckle ride that if you were not careful enough would end in a no-knuckle ride.  Unfortunately,  no one was there as we passed under or we may have high-fived them.  Nothing can be taken away from their bravery as they really are relying on a piece of equipment not failing.  We had each other and were now working more in unison but still hadn’t really resolved the speed/strength issue.

Not another shark bite

Next up was Jaws Rapid.  With everything that happened in Australia we thought we’d seen the last of shark warnings in the water, HELL NO!  This rapid, like the Jaws movie’s musical score as the shark gets near speeds up.  Slowly picking up the beat of de dum – de dum until there is a de-dum de-dum de-dum beat with the minutest of gaps between each one.  You know what is coming next, the inevitable crunch down of two ginormous Jaws as you are ripped apart.  We could see our shark’s mouth open as we approached at some speed.  Two enormous jagged rocks sticking their powerful heads out of the water with just the narrowest of gaps to be swallowed whole.  Get down came the command from Finn.  Instinctively everyone crouched low,  held on tight and waited to be gobbled whole straight into the hungry belly of the monster waiting for its next victim to be sieved through and digested.  It obviously didn’t like our taste and spat us out the other end to a chorus of cheers and the customary paddles in the air. This time it was more of a fist bump.

Who turned off the lights

Up ahead after another short ‘rest’ was the Oxenbridge Tunnel to the right and The Mother-In-Law Rapid to the left.  No one in their right mind wants to go left so we aimed for the right.  The 170 metre tunnel was constructed in the early 20th century by prospectors, who as it turned out were too late and found very little gold as the area before had already been dredged.  For us this was a blessing,  not an easy blessing but one still the same.  The river had created its own hazards here moving and dropping boulders all along the way.  With the command ‘bring paddles in’ as, although straight the tunnel is narrow.  Every so often, when we were central, we would paddle forward, but for the most part the river moved us along, bashing us against the walls and the natural obstacles.  The light at the end of the tunnel got closer and closer until we were through and had full daylight again. 

Say cheesy cascade

We were out of the tunnel but not out of the woods so to speak.  Finn explained that we were about to go through our last rapid, the Cascade.  He also told us their would be a photographer waiting on the rocks to take a couple of ‘holiday pics’.  What he didn’t tell us was what was about to happen next.  Giving the command ‘paddle hard’ everyone paddled and we kinda realised why the river got its name.   We Shot over the edge and landed safely in the calmer basin below.  Looking back and watching the next raft fly over we saw the magnitude of the drop.  Had we really just done that and not flipped or flown like Superman.  No, we had survived the Shotover River.

Danger of a different kind

A nice leisurely paddle to our get out point was the order of the day.  Suddenly, and at an incredible speed around the corner, came the famous Shotover Jet.  This marvelous boat can ride in six inches of water and was invented by a local resident to ride the Shotover.   You now see these masterpieces of technology in any area that does outdoor extreme water sports across the globe.  They can spin on a sixpence and give a ride of pure speed and agility.  You could see the joy and fear etched on each of the passengers’ faces.  This was an adrenaline rush of a different kind but we wouldn’t have swapped it for ours.  Three of these passed us in quick succession giving us some nice waves to contend with.  As they couldn’t jump up the Cascade Rapid then it was just a matter of seconds before they shot passed us again, quickly disappearing in the distance.  Our landing site was ahead, so we promptly jumped out of the raft, carried it to the trailer,  dropped off our paddles and went up the hill for a shower and change back into it ‘civvies’, chatting to other adrenaline seakers along the way.

We would like to thank:

Jake, who was a guide himself on the Shotover River nine years ago, for his fantastic recommendation.

Finn for an amazing experience, all his knowledge and expertise saw us through safely.

Razoo for pulling me out while I was a ‘human fly’ splattered against the rock face.

Josh for all his knowledge and his advice on the bus, as well as the bus driver who remained anonymous but took us on a Tokyo driftesque experience.

WHAT A DAY!

It’s only lunchtime

We sat and had our lunch in the carpark discussing the morning’s thrills and spills before being ready for our next stop.  It was only 2pm, the day was young, we were alive, so we took the road to go further north.

Shark after Shark

We decided we wouldn’t do too much until we reached our sleeping destination that we would find somewhere on route.  Not many stops as we have a full catalogue of photos and videos of our experiences.  But when the sign reads  Meg Roars 2km on the right, there is no way you are passing this by.   One thing we have come to appreciate in New Zealand is that the signs do exactly what they say on the tin, or in this case their names.  Meg Roars must be massive and prehistoric with a bite that no one will survive.  We pulled in and with a short walk could see the mountain side throwing out this mega volume of gushing water.  It looked like a teenager after their first wild party, drinking every concoction known to man,  believing they may never get another chance.  Projectile vomiting at is most glorious as this turquoise water cane firing into the river below.   A tremendous roar, but this didn’t splutter, sputter or spit out the last dregs of the night’s debauchery, it continued to extract the wet content of the river feeding it.

The night stop

After Meg we found a nice place to pitch up for the night at Bendigo overlooking Lake Dunstan and put the kettle on for a well deserved brew.

Ducking no diving

We promptly went for a walk along the lake and came across a massive flock of small black ducks, or paddling as they are known when on the water, having a great time in the shallows.  We bypassed the opportunity to join them and continued along the edge till we came to the facilities. 

We returned to the Sannd Van and had a cold meat platter of Lamb cutlets and Chicken drumsticks, that we had cooked the night before, with salad.  As Sarah doesn’t eat lamb, I once again got, in my opinion, the better deal – Farm fresh lamb from the farm Ben works at.  

For all our efforts of the day, we settled for the night to cards and chocolate. This chocolate, and I’m not a keen chocolate eater,  was divine.