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[waywardsparrownz]

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER ~

Feb 13, 2018: Wellington New Zealand

  Two years is a long time, but the details remain fresh in my mind as if it were yesterday. Emma and I were waiting for the ferry to the South Island. The 2 AM ferry, to be more precise. You see, after a crazy week in Wellington, we’d gotten ourselves in a bit of a pickle. The bus we had been traveling on for the past several weeks was leaving and we hadn’t booked any seats. Our friends were happily bussing their way along the west coast, while we were about to be left behind! So Emma and I did the perfectly logical thing and booked ourselves tickets for the next leg of the journey (down the South Island’s West coast), venturing forth in the dead of night - planning to take the late ferry ahead of our bus. Once across we would hitchhike over to Able Tasman, where the bus would be stopping (and where there were somehow available seats) for a few days before continuing down the West coast. What could possibly go wrong? Well, a lot of things as it turns out.

  Not wanting to pay for another night in a bed we wouldn’t be sleeping in, Emma and had relocated from Nomads Hostel, to the nearby YHA in which our friend Gina was residing. The change was a pleasant one. After all Nomads sucked (See prior entry “Aukland… Again” for in depth rant about Nomads*), and the YHA common room was unsupervised. Ergo - no one would be around to kick us out should we fall asleep awaiting aforementioned ferry. Alas sleep was to elude us that evening. An annoying kiwi fellow approached as I reorganized my pack for the umpteenth time. “Where ya from? Where ya goin’? How long will you be there? What do you think of Wellington?” Every backpacker’s favorite questions no one’s ever heard before. Finchly snored in a corner, completely oblivious, while Emma and I offered short answers without asking the fellow any questions about his own story. While traveling is “supposed” to be about meeting new people and opening yourself to new ideas, sometimes one just is just a little cranky from sleep deprivation and not in the mood. However, opportunity can be persistent bastard.

“So you just hiked Tongariro eh? Such a wild landscape, but rather crowded these days.”

“Yup.”

“Where next? Oh Invercargill eh? I’ve been all round there. Not much to see that far south.”

  “Is that so.” It wasn’t intended as a question.

  “If you wanna to see the real New Zealand you to oughta hike the Kepler Track. One of the Great Walks. I was just there on holiday.”

  “Never heard of it…” Emma’s interest perked up. I continued shuffling thru my pack. If we were hitchhiking I’d have to leave some of these books and rice with Gina. Kepler huh… Tongariro had been breathtaking, but sadly crowded. I wanted to go somewhere unknown and off the map. Where there were no people and plenty of wide open wilderness.

  “Most people haven’t. Only saw two people the whole way.” That piqued my interest. “Lets see… On my phone somewhere… Aha!” He pulled up an edit of raging rivers and windy ridge-lines, narrating as the strange scenes flickered by. “Almost got blown off the mountainside here; had to pitch our tents under this outcropping. This one’s the remnants of an old landslide that near tore that mountain in half. The water on these falls came from a spring right up there: so pure you could drink it unfiltered!”

  We drew closer to the tiny screen with dying battery as he continued his tale with building enthusiasm. What the heck was this place? How could it be, such a magical hike was still undiscovered? And let me tell you: the visions fluttering past truly seemed out of this world. Steep cliffs and long ridge-lines, crystal clear pools and roaring waterfalls beside impossibly steep switchbacks. Little mountain huts for stranded campers surrounded by snowcapped peaks stretching to the horizon’s edge. Lush jungle, then temperate forest. Strange birds with iridescent plumage and sweet songs! How could this much be contained in a 4 day trek?

  The birdsong woke Finchly. He fluttered sleepily onto Emma’s shoulder, squinting into the screen with a faraway dreamy look in his eye’s “Bellbirds…” He muttered aloud.

  “Chur bro, that’s right!” Our kiwi storyteller winked at him. “Such beauties. So anyway, yah - you’re s’ppossed to take 4 days and hike it from the south, but we did it in the opposite direction. Way more fun! Oh yeah, and we hiked it in 2 days.” He puffed out his chest proudly.

  “Bellbirds.” Chirped Finchly dreamily. He seemed to like the very sound of their name. “Pro’lly  oughta go there.” He tucked his head back under his wing.

  Before the interruption, Emma and I had been on the verge of nodding  off too, but we were wide awake now. How do we get there? Is there a bus? Would we need climbing gear? Is the water really that fresh? How are there so many different landscapes? is this really only one hike? Our new friend had quickly transformed from minor nuisance to happy bard with eager audience. Delighted to have listeners - he regaled us with tales of adventure from Kepler and other faraway places well into the night. Needless to say we were entranced. Then as quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone. His travel buddy showed up, and they were off into the Wellington night scene. He was on holiday after all.

  Emma and I looked at each other, perplexed and excited. “We’re hiking that.” She said matter-of-factly.

  “Yes we are.” I was in total agreement. “To think, we almost told him to bug off…”

  “Bellbirds.” Said Finchly.

  I couldn’t sleep, but  Emma managed a short nap. We planned to walk, but got lazy and took an Uber instead. The Ferry was massive, and rather uninhabited. A vessel the size of a small cruise liner (perhaps not so tall) with scarcely 150 passengers on board. Who embarks across a wide strait on a far flung island of the South Pacific at 2 AM? Emma and I asked each other. Probably interesting people, with good stories, we decided. I would’ve asked a few of them, but no one around us looked particularly talkative as most of our compatriots donned eye-masks and earphones. Alas.

  There were no sleeping cabins. After all, this journey was only meant to take 4-6 hours max. We did a quick exploratory loop before settling on a cushioned bench by one of the doors. Our luggage had been stowed in a separate cabin, but we’d hung onto some jackets and our passports. Tucking the passports into a zippered pocket Emma used hers as a pillow. No one really stole passports in New Zealand, but one just feels better having their most important lifeline tucked safely under their head. Scarcely slept a wink that night: the door beside our bench turned out to be a minor thoroughfare. That was ok, I told myself. We were on an adventure, and I didn’t want to miss a minute of it! Even if I was shivering a little, and a constantly slamming door brought rushes of chilly air and kept me up all night.

[waywardsparrownz]

A TIME FOR DRAMATICS ~

   What is an adventure? As it turns out, there are many answers to this question - all depends on who you ask really. I myself have always preferred the standard J. R. R. Tolkien definition:

  “An adventure is some sort of exciting undertaking on which one embarks generally seeking novelty, or treasure. Sometimes they find these things, but more often wind up tangled in with dangerous and interesting forces which they were not seeking in the first place. Generally marked by plans gone awry, and a sense of getting swept off one’s feet.”

  These were not the great Tolkien’s actual words of course, but they happened to look a lot wiser when formed into a quote. It’s the spirit that counts I told myself.

  Here’s another, this one from my own lips:

  “An adventure is when the best laid plans are blown apart by something unexpected.”

  You see, a true adventure is marked by plans that DON’T work out. Those perfect days, or road-trips, we arranged where everything worked right and went according to schedule aren’t the ones we remember. The really interesting things are the ones you don’t expect, or necessarily even want.  That age-old storyteller’s trick of the protagonist setting forth in search of a certain lesson and learning something they weren’t looking for along the way. Life-changing experiences tend to be unpleasant affairs, but at least they’re never boring.

  “Well, whadaya think?”

  “It’s interesting…”  Finchly clacked his beak thoughtfully, gazing across the dying fire into the golden shadows and deep blues accentuating the distant Tetons and their foothills. The sun had dipped below the horizon some time ago, but the first star had yet to emerge. I’d have to put another log on soon… “Possibly a little pretentious though - Melvin really overdoes it with the hops. Roadhouse brewing is WAY better!”

  “Wait what?” I was confused.

  “Maybe I’m just not an IPA bird…” Finchly mused, taking another long drink.

  “Not the beer you pinhead, the blog!” Finchly was good company, but not a good listener. I’d been reminded once again.

  “Oh that! Right. Is that what you were on about? Hmmmm… Well it’s interesting, but I don’t really see how it ties into snowboarding.”

  “It doesn’t yet, but it will!” Even I had to admit, the connection was pretty tenuous - but I had grand plans for something akin to an adventure saga. My own little miniseries pulling connections of fate and the attempts of individuals to combat such forces. The perfect series of campfire stories distilled from unwritten misadventures in New Zealand.

  Knowing the strange series of opportunities missed, opportunities taken, odd adventures, and even odder connections; the whole story was just too tempting to be passed up. This wasn’t entirely true of course. I had passed up the chance to jot it all down once already and that choice had bothered me ever since. I’d had my reasons at the time, but that point might as well have been a lifetime ago. Then there was the strange element of life looping back back on itself. It seemed only fitting, considering a dangerous strain of the flu had put an end to my and Finchly’s first blog, that a worldwide pandemic should serve to rekindle it.

  “I don’t really see how it fits into snowboarding either,” Said Greg, carefully stacking  another log on the fire. “Maybe it’s time for a good story.”

  “The events are all there,” I replied thoughtfully, “Some of it got written down in my journal while it was happening, but I haven’t really connected everything into one piece yet. I’m not sure it’s ready.” I dropped my eyes from the nearby mountains, losing myself in the flickering orange embers by our feet.

  “There’s no time like the present!” Chimed in Mike, picking up his guitar and plucking some strings. He’d been present for a good portion of the events I was working onto paper anyway, and knew most of the story already from having been an active participant. “Though we should probably order some food, cause this could take awhile.”

  “And beer!” Proclaimed Finchly, with a mournful look at the empty IPA he’d been complaining about.

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got Molson's and PBR in the fridge.” Said Greg. Apparently he’d already checked. One of the benefits to having a fire-pit with an awesome view right off your back porch.

  “I can order some Dominos.” Added Jordan pulling out her phone.

  “Alright then.” I sighed. “Now mind you it’s not really all straight in my head yet.”

  “Don’t worry about that!” Snapped Finchly. “I was there! If you get lost I can fill in the details.”

  “If you can even remember them!” Chuckled Mike, brushing shaggy hair out of his eyes. “I seem to recall you were pretty busy doing your own thing chasing some long lost love all over New Zealand at the time.” Finchly glared at him pointedly, but kept quiet. After all Mike wasn’t wrong.

  Before they could get into it further I cleared my throat and got started. 

“Jordan, is Domino’s on the way?”

  “Sure thing!”

  “Ok then,” I paused for extra drama. “So it all started when I realized there were no buses to Te Anau…”

  “Whoah! Whoah! Whoah! That’s not right at all!” Finchly was very animated. “It all started when you met me in Keri Keri!”

  “Firstly: no it did not! That’s where your adventure starts, and everyone already knows that story. Secondly: this is a story about snowboarding, viruses, and fate; that we don’t need to drag it down with already established details.” Everyone at the fire already knew Finchly’s story, he’d made sure of that many times over.

  “Well at least explain why you were going to Te Anau for the listeners benefit.” Said Mike, stroking his beard. “I don’t think everyone here knows that part and it’s pretty interesting.”

  “Ok, ok.” I surrendered, moving closer to the flame’s warmth, pulling my coat tighter - resigned to a longer yarn than previously planned. The tale’s true origins dated all the way back to a newspaper article I’d come across in some Aukland cafe my first day in New Zealand; but that strange coincidence, I decided, would serve better as an interesting anecdote to be dropped in later. “So it all started with a chance encounter at 11 PM on the 6th floor of Wellington YHA while we waited for the 2 AM ferry…”

[waywardsparrownz]

Beginnings or Endings

  “I had let go of the mask, but the mask wouldn’t let go of me…”

  “Hmmm… Would make a good opening line for a novel don’t you think?”

  “What sort of novel?” Finchly peered down from the rafters inquisitively.

  “Well, it would have to be something reflective. Memoir style.” I mused, chewing slowly on my words. “Some doctor who’d given up on his trade and gone to live in the Himalayas. Years later finds his services required to save his mountain community from an outbreak of disease, or perhaps heal soldiers during a war that arrived on his doorstep. A man disillusioned from his former life forced to pick up a mantle he’d left behind. Confronting the demons that overcame him in the first place…” I trailed off lost amongst the multitude of options.

  “Gettin’ awful dark there bud; you sure you’re alright?” Finchly sounded concerned. “Anyway I think it sounds way more like an old-school superhero. Puts down the mask & suit for a quiet life, then called to put them on again & save the world once more! Sorta like me when I bothered you about starting up the blog again.” And then the concern was gone. Sometimes the best friends are the ones who remind you they care at the start of a comment, before turning it into a joke at your expense.

  While my novel opening had many possible translations I’d conceived it as more autobiographical than anything else. Before embarking on my New Zealand adventures I had been a metalworker for the better part of 6 years. An interesting time indeed, which had taught me a great deal, but a life I’d felt quite certain I’d left behind. Six years of wearing high end full face respirators doesn’t often leave wearer with much nostalgia for such contraptions. And yet here I was in the entryway of the local grocer wearing another one (albeit a much lower quality cousin of the standard foundry-worker’s getup) of the goddamned stuffy contraptions. As previously stated: I had let go of the mask, but the mask wasn’t quite ready to let go of me. Somewhat ironic really.

  While a new virus rampaged across China, then Europe, & eventually the rest of the world; Finchly and I enjoyed an extended period of blissful ignorance. Ski resorts tucked away in the Wyoming mountains are some of the last places to receive worldly tidings, & even when they eventually do don’t tend to stir up much of a response anyway. After all we’re generally too busy skiing, snowboarding, or ice-fishing (there remains the small possibility that some of the ice fishers are still thawing their toes by the lake huts & haven’t yet heard the news, but that’s another matter entirely). Anyway, while the world disintegrated into chaos, nothing of note really changed in our little valley for most of the winter. That is until everything in the state of Wyoming shut down all at once. Perhaps it wouldn’t have come as a shock had we been paying more attention, but as I said: we were busy skiing. For those who don’t already know: skiing (and its surrounding activities) can be a very distracting pursuit.

  With that extremely thorough synopsis of world (and Wyomingside) events behind us, we now arrive in the present. Being a tourism based industry, Jackson Hole ski resort is currently closed. Finchly is now gainfully (we’ll get to that in another blog post) unemployed, & I’m halfway through my shift as a shopping cart sanitizer. Yes that is a real job. Officially I’m a grocery clerk, but there were too many checkers in today so I’m a “Cart Sanitizer” for the afternoon. Not a bad spot really. Getting paid & talking to a sparrow while while watching the sun fall behind the jagged peaks of the Tetons.

  “Excuse me!” A middle age lady approaches, looking terribly worried.

  “Hello, do you want me to clean  off a cart for you?”

  “Well yes, but first I need you to clean off my gloves.” She holds out a pair of brand new latex gloves (somewhat of a hot commodity these days), indicating I am to spray the inside of them with my little spritzer bottle of bleach.

  I’m a little confused & slow to respond. “I, ugh… I don’t think you want me to do that… This is bleach - nasty stuff for your hands.”

  “But I want to be clean.”

  “It might make the gloves hard to put…”

  “Just do it!!!”

  Can’t object to that logic. I spray her brand new gloves inside and out with bleach & carefully swab down the cart as she struggles to put them on. By the time I’ve wiped down every surface of the shopping cart twice she’s managed to rip one of the gloves in half trying to get it on & grouchily points to a spot I missed near the wheels. As I’m finishing up another lady dashes in and douses her hands in Purell from the door dispenser. She then washes her face in it, yelping when she accidentally gets a large dollop in her eye. I lean against the wall & close my eyes, groaning at the level of idiotic eccentricity which has somehow become normal overnight. Finchly chuckles the whole while. The Purell addiction has arrived in Wyoming at last.

  “So what’s for dinner anyway?” Finchly asks, pulling me out of my more morose thoughts.  

  “Pulled pork nachos obviously! And this time we’re making them with Doritos.” Like everyone one else stuck in various forms of quarantine or lockdown I’ve gotten pretty creative with home cuisine as of late. Besides we couldn’t find any regular corn chips. “ Yuh know, maybe this time you should pay for…” I was cut short as something strange caught the corner of my eye. Outside the main doors the was a large barrel of Purell donated by the local breweries. Following the theft of a larger barrel last week the grocer had chained this one to a nearby pillar for safekeeping. Unfortunately this preventative measure wasn’t looking too promising. A burly man in his 40s knelt behind the pillar, holding the chain tightly clamped in a pair of bolt cutters. I mulled the situation over for a moment before purposefully looking away. Yesterday one of my coworkers had gotten yelled at by an angry fellow who had tried to fill a 2 liter jug from the communal barrel. I had no interest in the sort of trouble the current situation was bound to cause. Plausible deniability is often one’s best bet.

  “Aren’t you gonna do anything?” Finchly fluttered down onto my shoulder hopping about excitedly. “We could save the town Purell and be heroes! I bet they’d even put us on the front page of the paper!” He ruffled up his feathers trying to look fierce.

  “Keep it down!” I hissed, “First of all: hardly anyone reads the paper. Secondly: look at that dude, he’s at least 6 ft and twice my weight! Today is not a good day to die my friend. Think of the nachos!” I looked at him pleadingly.

  Finchly seemed pretty determined, but the mention of nachos gave him pause. Meanwhile a quick glance over my shoulder revealed our thief had managed to cut the chain & scurrying off towards an idling truck with the barrel precariously balanced on his shoulder. I turned back to my friend. “Nachos or justice? It’s your choice Fin…”

  “Hey you! Where do ya think you’re going with that?!” my dramatic monologue was cut short by a commotion outside.

  “None of your biz… Ahhhh!” SmAck! THUMP!!!! Finchly flew out the doors with me in hot pursuit. The scene which unfolded before us was somewhere between insane and hilarious. A small semicircle of onlookers surrounded the would-be thief, who lay spreadeagled in the parking lot knocked out cold. The Purell barrel had fallen on top of him, breaking open and spilling its contents all over his torso; creating a miniature lake in the area.

  “What happened?” Someone asked, whistling.

  “Well I yelled at him. Must’ve spooked him, cuz he started running. Made it about three yards and slipped on a rubber glove! Barrel flew like six feet in the air an’ landed square on top of him. Darnedest thing I’ve seen this year!”

  I looked over at Finchly, and couldn’t help thinking this wouldn’t be the weirdest things were yet to come. “Well man, I think we”re in for a strange summer.”

  “At least you’ll have plenty of material to write about.” He chirped back, winking mischievously.    

[waywardsparrownz]

Aukland... Again

  Lets be honest, I missed Paihia. A lot. The allure of further adventure was strong. The draw of the familiar & comfortable even stronger. Once again I found myself stopping over in Auckland out of necessity rather than desire. This time I would be there for a solid 2 weeks before setting out into the wild in earnest. Thanking Whangarei for the adventures & good coffee with a short nod over shoulder on the way out, writer & Wayward Sparrow set out for that faraway bus stop. This trek stood out from the last one in that entering Whangarei just ahead of the cyclone we’d almost drowned. This time we nearly baked alive in the intense heat. New Zealand once again flexing her muscles as a land of extremes.

  Plopping down with great relief in the welcome shade of friendly willow I snagged yet another cup of cold coffee from a little cafe attached to the nearby iSite. Leaving my backpack unattended for brief coffee runs didn’t bother me too much: it was too heavy to steal. Even if someone were bound & determined on nabbing it they wouldn’t be getting very far. The image of someone trying to run with that cumbersome load on their back was positively laughable. The bus wouldn’t be by for a good hour yet (supposing it was on time at all). So I took the opportunity to empty both my packs, spreading their contents across the lawn in an orderly fashion, condensing, reorganizing, & once again - dispensing with anything I could afford parting with. A fussy sort of backpacker’s OCD I’ve never quite been able to shake. Weight is all that matters! When you’ve got to carry all your worldly possessions on your back, suddenly lots of stuff rapidly loses it’s importance. “How much do I really need this?” becomes your favorite question ;).  

  Half-an-hour & maybe 6 ounces lighter, I pulled out a notebook given to me for Christmas by a good friend in back in Paihia. The inscription reading: For the interesting things you hear people say along the way. A little note reminiscent of a midnight conversation over delicious fresh-baked banana bread. I was already filling the book with some funny random things I’d heard & jotted down a few more out of context snippets of overheard conversation while waiting for the bus.

  Pulling into Auckland late that evening (the bus had been half-an-hour behind schedule), Finchly & I wearily dragged our overstuffed bags into Nomads hostel & up five flights  of stairs to our new room. Then we dragged ourselves up 4 more floors up to the rooftop kitchen. The elevator seemed to be out of commission. We’d be here for 10 nights. Which, judging by those stairs was going to be about 9 nights too many. I found out later the elevator did “work,” It just took about 5 minutes to get you from ground level to the roof (it also made suspicious creaking noises).

  Not that I knew this at the time, but Nomads hostels are known for having for glossy brochures, & less than glossy accommodation situations. Without going into too much detail: anyone who’s been traveling for a reasonable length of time knows the chain hostels Base & Nomads are one’s choice of last resort. Put it this way: most of the hostel horror stories  you’ve heard are true, & I experienced/survived most of them over the next week-and-a-half. However I was blissfully unaware of my grimly looming fate at the time, & went about  making dinner in a mostly empty rooftop kitchen looking over the Auckland skyline. Salad with sautéed shrooms, garlic, & courgettes on top. Rather fancy as far as traditional backpacker fare goes, but it reminded me of the group meals in Paihia. Man I missed that place. Beautiful as my new view was it wasn’t making up for friends left behind. Why had I ever left? I’d felt so at home there. So happy. Surrounded by wonderful people who I was starting to miss dearly. Mentioned as much to Finchly, who responded with an  unsympathetic shrug; saying I’d feel fine in a few days between mouthfuls of lettuce. The road suited my sparrow buddy well & he wasn’t taking any glances back. “Would it kill you to pretend you care for 2 seconds?” I grumbled back at him, “I put up with all your grousing after your ex-girlfriend turned you down… Again.”

  “That was totally different… & much more serious.” Said Finchly “I opened my heart to that beautiful demon, and she threw it away! I’ll never find anyone like her again. You on the other hand can just go back to Paihia if you’re gonna be so dead set on feelin’ sorry for yourself.” He caught the eye of a group of lady backpacker sparrows at the end of this impassioned soliloquy & winked at one of them.

  “What happened to Mr. tears & heartbreak huh?” I chided him crossly.

  “Whaaat…? She’s cute.” He grinned shamelessly

  “Stupid cheeky sparrow! Get out of here!” I shooed him off the countertop chuckling a little in spite of my annoyance, & stuffed my headphones in. Taylor Swift’s always there when you need her. “Delicate” would be my soundtrack on repeat for the next few days. Something about that song suits itself well to lonely people on skyline rooftops. Several days later I took those headphones out and ran headlong into the adventures of a certain Gina Deval.

[waywardsparrownz]

OVER THE RIVER & UNDER THE WATERFALLS   ~

   I suppose I neglected mentioning, Finchly & I each had our own reasons for visiting. The sparrow’s former girlfriend apparently hadn’t gotten on well with the German backpacker she’d dumped Finchly for. He’d heard she was somewhere round town & had grand plans for winning her back. My openly stated opinion this was a terrible idea fell on very deaf ears. Oh well.

   I was in town on very different business: paying homage to my greatest hero. Laura Dekker is a young woman who sailed round the world at 14 years old. Solo no less. I’d met her very briefly nearly a year ago when she did a talk not far form my home town. Since the voyage, she’s settled in Whangarei, New Zealand, & continues to inspire with occasional blog posts. I’d heard she was selling her famous boat Guppy, & wanted to get a look before Guppy was gone for good. Laura Dekker was the person  who’d gotten me started dreaming about travel, so this stop was something of a must.

  Stumbled across her mooring (quite lucky, considering Whangarei harbor is on the river & very spread out), took a couple photos & continued on towards Parahaki mountain thinking that was that. It was not to be so, New Zealand had other plans…

  The oft mentioned Isla de Muerta from Pirates of the Caribbean ”…can only be found by those who already know where it is”, & I might say the same of the trailhead up Parahaki mountain. A friendly local had given me some very specific directions without-which I should never have stumbled across the spot. Definitely caught myself asking more than once on the way through residential neighborhoods if this was the right way.

  That was when the Subaru drove by. The Subaru with Laura Dekker’s logo splashed across the side in giant letters. Well that’s cool, I told myself: she must live in one of these neighborhoods. Rounding the next corner I ran smack-dab into the aforementioned Subaru, parked neatly beside Parahaki’s elusive trailhead. Disembarking from the driver’s side  was a younger man with chiseled features carrying a 5 gallon water drum & good length of rope. Asked him for directions to Whangarei Falls, & wound up walking up the mountain together. Daniel was Laura Dekker’s partner as it turned out, quite an adventurous & interesting fellow. Told me a bit about his own travels, & life in Whangarei. The 5 gallon jug was for collecting water as it turned out. Daniel & Laura didn’t like how much chlorine is in NZ tap water (neither do I or anyone else for that matter), & prefer to get their drinking-water from natural springs. Best water you’ll ever find! It never hurts to carry a water purifying system, but I’ll happily testify that the water in NZ springs (esp on the south island) is better than anything you’ll ever get from a faucet.  

  The conversation wound it’s way to glowworms, with Daniel telling me about one or two rather off-the-beaten-path spots one might find them. Too bad I was leaving so soon or he’d have shown me some. Alas… an adventure for another day. You never know who you’re gonna meet in New Zealand, let alone the cool adventures they’ll take you on…

  Parting ways I headed up to the summit, leaving Daniel to his quest for freshwater. Maybe I’d go glowworm hunting tonite… The view from Parahaki’s summit is nothing short of breathtaking. Whangarei sprawled  out across a wide river valley coastline. Jungle covered hills frame & contain the small city, rolling away in the distance to ancient volcanos at the horizon’s edge. The Hatea river greets the ocean somewhere at the edge of the opposite horizon. This landscape dissolving into a confused coastline of a thousand scattered inlets. My eyes wandered between the two, well away lost in the contours of this magical land.

  Off & away! Whangarei falls were calling & having seen many photos I’d been wanting to see them since landing in New Zealand. Daniel had  given me some pretty solid directions, which I had (in typical fashion) totally forgotten by now. Also in typical fashion I figured there was probably a shortcut somewhere along the way (aka - unmarked trails). That assumption proved incorrect - leading to a speedy dash down an 82 degree incline, followed shortly by a resigned slough 1/2 a mile back up said 82 degree incline trail. The idea had seemed so promising…

  Some two hours later the falls  were in sight at last! Wild, roaring & powerful, they stood in stark contrast to an otherwise peaceful river. I scrambled up as close as I could get, & ducked behind the curtain of  rushing water. What a sound! Treacherously slippery, but utterly magical. I stood beneath the cascading falls as long as I could before getting soaked, feeling absolutely ecstatic to be alive. Spent as long as I could crawling around the falls before heading back. This time, down through the valley via the highway; rather than back over Parahaki mountain via that convoluted trail system. Got a  ride back to the harbor after a few miles walking & caught up with Finchly over early dinner back at the hostel.

  His day hadn’t gone nearly so well. Not too surprising, as few ex-girlfriends welcome the overtures of a former lover who’s just barged noisily into the middle of their peaceful (& expensive) meditation retreat. Finchly was still at a loss for where he’d gone wrong on that one. Offering to cheer him up I suggested we go glowworm hunting at one of the spots Daniel had mentioned. This then had to be  quickly followed with an explanation that: No, hunting did not mean for eating purposes! Sometimes I forget these sort of subtle distinctions when in the company of birds. Trust me: none of my slip-ups have ever gotten anyone eaten or in trouble (insert wink emoji here).

  I brought my camera for this trip. Climbing Parahaki for the second time that day, we were nearly eaten alive by mosquitos (sparrows don’t like how the pests taste, so Finchly wasn’t very helpful warding them off), but rewarded for our efforts in the most spectacular view of Whangarei at dusk. Wandering towards the supposed glowworm sight, I started to wonder if there were  any here at all. Then Finchly spotted something glowing in a faint, flickery, teal. So faint we weren’t sure if we imagined it or not. Then I glimpsed another one, & another… Three more! Ten more! Suddenly we were surrounded. Thousands of them popping into existence as darkness fell upon us. If you’ve seen the movie  “Avatar,” that should give you a vague idea what the forest around us looked like. Except ten-thousand-times more beautiful for all it’s realness. Absolute magic! A sea of teal stars lighting up the ferns & cliff walls in ghostly beams. The photos I managed to get don’t do my memories one ounce of justice, but they’ll have to do until you’re inspired enough for your own glowworm seeking adventure.

  Coincidently (or maybe not: I’m believing in coincidences less & less these days) we ran into Daniel a little farther down the trail. He was out showing some friends the hidden treasures of Whangarei forest at night. Wound up joining the party, hunting for giant Wetas in the nearby caves. A night to remember! Still smiling thinking about it…

[waywardsparrownz]

THE SEEDY SIDE OF TOWN   ~

  Apologies feather friends for the long hiatus. Bird-flu is seriously nasty stuff & Finchly & I were put completely out of commission for a solid 6 weeks. In case anyone thinks I’m just making excuses for being lazy in my updates, I do assure you this is no joke. Thankfully I’m much better now, but I dare say I’ve never been that sick in my entire life. It’s only been in the past 2 weeks that I stopped coughing & have been able to carry my backpack again. The full story of what happened is a pretty good one: involving 40 sick bus passengers, 5 antibiotics, 3 nights in the ER, & 1 particularly robust strain of pneumonia. At this point I’ve used the word “Pneumonia” in so many text messages, it comes up as a suggestion every time I hit the letter “P!” But that story is for another day - sometime when I get to blogging about it in the natural order of events. In the meantime I should be back to posting on a weekly basis again! So where were we…? Oh right,Just leaving Paihia.

  And so it was, the flock went south. Well if a group of 2 counts as a flock. Finchly’s run in with Tubs fresh on our minds, my sparrow friend and I decided it might be best to put off visiting Auckland right away. His rough-&-tumble rugby buddies were already there, & sent word the pigeon clans were all in uproar over what had happened. Perhaps a slight detour to Whangarei was in order, I suggested. Fnchly was altogether too happy with the suggestion.

  I’d was feeling ready for new adventures. Lessons learned from hitchhiking I’d had a thorough going through of my packs; selling one and giving away a good deal of the superfluous stuff I’d brought along until everything fit into my larger hiking pack. Later on, this going through (thorough as it had been) proved not to have been thorough enough, but at the time I didn’t know that. Carrying too much stuff has been a  problem that has plagued me since day one. You see I sit in an awkward spot bridging the gap between city traveler, & hitchhiking bum. The problem here is - city travelers don’t need tents (sleeping mats, camp stoves, and sleeping bags). Hitchhikers on the other hand aren’t often caught with with laptops, cameras, or more than one change of clothes. Anyone see my dilemma?

  Most of the time I wind up with about 50 pounds on my back when traveling. Which is about 5 lbs more than I can sustainably carry for a whole day.

  Anyway, back to the story. Hopped off in Whangarei on the eve of a small tropical storm. It wasn’t raining hard yet, but that would only be a matter of time. Got dropped off by the Stray bus a good 2 miles outside of town center. I’d forgotten to book a hostel (oops), and trudged into town checking google  maps for the closest one. Walking through the rain would have been more pleasant had there been someone to keep me company, but Finchly had ditched me pretty quick. One look at the approaching storm & he was off, with a cheery shout of “Good Luck” over his shoulder. Unreliable scoundrel!

  Thankfully I caught the eye of a friendly bus driver, who plucked me up, cheerily refusing payment for the ride. New Zealand can always be counted on to sort you out when in need. After a confusing search I stumbled across a poorly marked hostel at the edge of city center. Knocked on the door, which then swung open, & wandered around inside looking for the check in desk. Something seemed off about the place. For one thing it was dead quiet. There’d been some kind of huge party the night before, based on how trashed everything looked; & the place smelled musty. Popped out on the other side of the building, feeling slightly puzzled not having managed to locate any sort of check in (let alone a single soul on premises). Caught sight of a sign pointing to an upstairs balcony “Reception this way.” By this point the whole thing was giving me the creeps, I’d just ask for directions to a campground & be on my way. Made it halfway up the stairs before a gruff man’s voice called down from the balcony above. “What do ya want?”

  “I heard there this was a hostel. Just wondering if there’s any free campgrounds nearby.”

  “Not a hostel anymore, we live here. Now go buzz off!” I didn’t need to be told twice. Made it down the stairs & halfway across the street before the voice called down again in a softer tone. “Yuh said you were  looking for campgrounds?”

  “Yeah!” I hollered back, a little unsure whether I wanted to continue this conversation.

  “Com’mon up! You want some tea? The Missus said I was awfully rude yelling at you like that.”

  They gave me a can of Coca-Cola - not tea - & pointed out a few places to stay on a borrowed hostel-desk map. Apparently the hostel had closed down some time ago. They’d taken over the lease, living in the old reception office; or so I was told. Still not sure how much of that I believe… For the most part, I was a quiet guest, who listened to their directions, didn’t talk much about himself, & left 5 minutes later with the  excuse my someone was waiting for me.

  Wound up staying at a place called “The Cell Block.” Which I kid you not used to be the town jail. Conveniently it was located directly across form the police station. Just peachy. Beautiful as Whangarei is, my time  there was thoroughly tainted thanks to sorry accommodation prospects. People may disagree, but I don’t think old prisons have much charm. Especially when the doors are still solid steel, & the floors are concrete. My room did have a locker, but whatever idiot installed it had put the hinges on the outside. Lock or none, anyone with a screwdriver could have gotten inside. These are the moments when superglue comes in handy: I filled the Phillips-heads in with glue and chucked all my stuff inside, spending as little time in the dreadful place as possible.

  The storm hit with force that night, but tapered off slowly throughout the next day. Enjoying photography opportunities in such dramatic weather, Finchly & I headed out bright and early the next morning. Blown back hostelside thoroughly soaked by midafternoon, we waited out the storm & off again for more exploring come first light the next day.

This is where the exciting adventures began…

[waywardsparrownz]

A FAREWELL TO FRIENDS  ~

   Had I stayed any longer in Paihia, I’d have needed to start looking for a work. Have to admit, I was thoroughly considering that option. The place felt like home, & I’d made some very special friends. Leaving was hard, but I promised myself this would not be my last visit. As fate would have it, leaving Paihia wasn’t exactly easy. Took me a good long while to find/book a bus seat south, & when the time came to leave - thanks to a small nudge from fate (and a bit of bashfully confessed stupidity) I wound up staying a little longer. To put it shortly: I missed the bus. Oddly enough, this turn of events didn’t bother me one bit. There would be a bus the next day, & to be perfectly honest: I didn’t really want to leave. At least not today.

  There was of course the matter of finding a place to sleep that night. Which was a bit troublesome, considering everything was fully booked. Regrettably everything included Bay Adventurer (where I’d spent the last few weeks) confirmed Josh, the unflappable English manager, in a loud voice ringing of rubber-stamp-finality. “It’s all good, I’ll figure something out.” I was turning to leave when Josh put a finger over his lips & beckoned me closer.

  “I’ve got a room. You’ll just have to sneak round the back, & don’t let him see you’re still here.” He jerked his head out the door towards a weird guy wearing a suit who’d checked in a few days ago, & had been annoying everyone in the hostel ever since. “He want’s to stay an extra night & I told him we’re full up.”

  “Is he really that bad? I just thought he was a bit annoying…”

  “Yah you & everyone else! You didn’t hear?” In whispers I was quickly filled in Weird-Suit-Guy’s antics. Which for the sake of propriety, I have no desire to repeat, relate, or recount here. The room was mine, & to Josh I was profusely thankful. Quick note on that: the aforementioned English hostel manager is quite an interesting personality in his own right. I’ve never seen him fazed or caught off guard by anything, & I must say I’d have quickly devolved into a state of insanity dealing with some of the stuff he handled on a daily basis. Handled I might add with an ever present unreadably casual demeanor, & the often used catchphrase “Not  that uncommon.” I’ve always thought he’d make an interesting side-character in a novel. Who knows… Maybe he already has.

  Sticking around turned out to be one of the most wonderful non-decisions I’ve ever made. There was a concert on by a semi famous NZ band over in Russel, & I got swept up into coming along. While everyone else jumped on the ferry & headed over early, I stayed behind with a good friend Aleks. It had been pouring down rain earlier, but the clouds lifted & we hung around in the park by the ferry dock talking about everything important & bits of nothing at all. To me, that afternoon felt like that part we all know at the end of the movie: after one of the main characters has stood in the terminal & changed his mind, shows up behind one of the other main characters. “What about your flight?” “I missed it.” Then the credits roll & the actors are talking & laughing. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you know it’s interesting.

  At least that’s how I like to think about it. My novelistic mind likes to look at things that way. I told Aleks what I was thinking & we both agreed the description was pretty dead on fitting. I remember that day very fondly, & look forward to seeing my Paihian friends again. By all appearances that wonderful place has changed a good bit since I was last there. Many of the travelers I knew have left. Like me, they’re off having new adventures in faraway places. I’m in Queenstown at the moment. Besides being an amazing city in it’s own right, Queenstown is a traveler’s junction. A meeting place. I’m one of the first to arrive, but I’ll be here a good long while. We’ve kept in touch since, & I know a few Paihia peeps heading this way. Two of them are here already, with plans to stay. I look forward to the arrival of others…

  I case anyone wonders, the concert was awesome! I did leave the next morning, but once again I didn’t get very far.

[waywardsparrownz]

FREE FOOD BIN. . .  ALL HAIL THE FREE FOOD BIN!!!    ~

  “Hai dei bellissimi occhi…”

  “Hai dei bellissimi occhi…”

  “Nice! That’s a good one! What about the others?”

  “Umm… posso avere un po 'di caffè?”

  “Good.”

  “Vorresti un caffè?”

  “Sweet!”

  “Ummm… dov’è…umm.. il caffè?”

  “Perfect… How about mercato? Market.”

  “Metato?”

  “No - it’s mercato.”

  “Mecato?”

  “Sure...”

  I was beginning to suspect my Italian teacher (who’s eyes really were quite “Hai dei bellissimi occhi") was letting me get away with more than a little bad grammar and horrendous mispronunciation. To make matters worse, Nora spoke with a strong British accent. This was an unusual contrast for me, as most non-native English speakers talk with some form of an American accent. Admittedly I wasn’t the most devout student. All I cared about was coffee related phrases. Either way, my knowledge of Italian was pretty bad then, & no better now. All plans for an Italian road-trip have been shelved until further notice.

  “Buongiorno! come è stata la tua no…”

  “Chirp, squawk! Chirpetty, chirp!”

  “Look what I found! Guys! Guys! Look at it!” The sparrows were chattering excitedly from the kitchen.

  “What is is it Finchly?”

  “Is it open?”

  “Can we carry it?”

  “It’s cheese. And not just any cheese: Tong de Chevre de Pay. Which would go beautifully with my mushroom!”

  “But the label says pesto…”

  “And you don’t have a mushroom Finchly.”

  “I’m quoting ‘Ratatouille’ you schmuck. Which we are totally watching tonite. Right?” Finchly looked inquiringly in my direction. I looked at Nora. She was the one with Netflix. Personally I was rooting for ‘Into the Wild’. “Anyway I know it’s pesto, and I found it in the free bin…”  

  “All hail the free bin!” Cried half a dozen sparrows.

  “And uncleaned countertops!” Chirped someone else.

  “We’ll mix it with all those crackers we found & have a feast.” Finished Finchly.

  “Hmmm… What else in in there?” Nora & I abandoned the dinners we were working on & dashed over to investigate. All backpackers worship the free food bin as well. They just aren’t so open about it as sparrows.  “Ooo soy sauce!” There was also a dubious looking bag of greens - which we took, & an even more dubious looking carton of milk. No one touched that. Further rummaging procured tea bags, various packets of opened crackers, & other random tidbits not to our liking. Somewhere near the bottom I found BBQ sauce. “Yum! Maybe I can grill something tomorrow.”

  “I dunno, it’s not very good.”

  “Have you tried it?”

  “Yeah, & didn’t like it, I put in in there.”

  “Oh.” I set it down halfheartedly, & got back to stirring my veggies. All in all, the free food bin had given us a pretty good haul. Dinner tonite was gonna be fancy. I’d gotten an eggplant, shrooms, olives, tomato-sauce, Edam cheese, 2 kinds of raviolis, and special parmesan to top it all off. Backpackers fall into 2 categories when it comes down to meals: rice or pasta. Both are cheap, dead simple, & portable. Newer nomads tend towards pasta. Those who’ve been on the road longer are usually caught cooking rice. In case you’re wondering I still tend towards pasta, I have a bag of rice with me, but haven’t been bothered to to do anything with it. Elaborate meals are a luxury only groups can afford. The hostel we were staying at in Paihia was known for having such a group, & we made many communist meals with them, but none of those people were hungry yet. So there we were, left to our own devices. I don’t like cooking any more often than absolutely necessary. Too many dishes to clean, not enough time. So tonite I was cooking enough food to hopefully last the next 4 dinners, and once again had gotten all the portions wrong.

  Finchly had perched himself atop the abandoned jar of BBQ sauce, clacking his beak in contentment, cleaning off leftover pesto. He watched in amusement as I attempted to stretch the sorrowfully small jar of tomato-sauce. The regular store was closed & I didn’t fancy spending twice as much at the nearby gas station. Nora didn’t have any I could borrow. Baah! “Why don’t you use the BBQ sauce? It’s BarbTui’s special recipe.  Good stuff.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, the Tui Bird Brothers! Everyone knows the Tuis. Their family runs all these food joints round New Zealand. All started with Grampa Tui’s beer brewing, & he had all these chicks who took over the biz. Those dudes are the Tui brothers. There’s BarbTui - who does all the the sauces. Then there’s Fat Tui. He opened up this rad burger joint in Abel Tasman. Tui Junior took over the brewery…” I snatched the jar out from under my bird buddy and poured it in. “Yuh know you could make that even better if…” He trailed off, with a gleam in his eye.

  “You were saying…” Finchly had recovered quite well from the incident in Auckland. His run in with Tubs had left him fortunately with only a few missing feathers, which he proudly told anyone who’d stand still long enough to listen, had been lost fighting off a large hawk. I was coming to realize Finchly was quite a devilish little fellow.

  “Well maybe I’ll tell yah if you share some of it.”

  “Yeah… We’re still hungry!” The other sparrows eagerly joined him, eyeing me expectantly.

   “You’re always hungry.” I pointed out, “But sure I can spare a bit.”

  “With lots of parmesan on top?!”

  “That was expensive!… Ok.” Under  the careful direction of greedy feather-balls I was ordered to put the mixture into bowls and place a layer of both cheeses on top. This was then covered in an ungodly  amount of BarbTui sauce, and placed in the toaster oven. Shortly afterward the well browned, steamy, gooey, smoking, concoction emerged. I have to admit the cumulative creation greatly exceeded the sum of it’s components. A great feast we had. There were many second helpings and no sparrow went hungry that night. Thus BartTui Pasta was born. I’ve made the recipe a few times since. It gets raised eyebrows when I describe the recipe to  people; but to date, everyone has liked it much more than they expected to. Trust the advice of sparrows: there’s always room for more BBQ sauce!

  As for the movie, I don’t think we watched anything that night. But the next morning saw the start of a torrential rainstorm that flooded the entire premises. Everyone flocked to shelter in the common room for a movie marathon. Inside Out, Into the Wild, Ratatouille! In-between we dashed to Thirty-Thirty for $6 burgers. The perfect day.    

[waywardsparrownz]

WINGS OFF!   ~

  Finding Finchly on Facebook was pretty easy, but it looked liked he hadn’t been active in a while. Good for him, I thought - probably too busy having adventures. As chance would have it, I had business in Auckland. Stuff small towns like Paihia weren’t well equipped for. So I shot Finchly a quick message and packed my bags, heading south on an Intercity bus the next morning. No hitchhiking for this birdie!

  Talking to fellow travelers had given me some ideas. I’d be needing a bus pass and cell phone plan. My current T-Mobile setup was, shall we say, a little less worldwide than the powers that be would like you to believe. My stubborn insistence on keeping my beloved American phone number had turned into an expensive, and frustrating, waste of time. At the moment there was a big sale happening with Stray bus passes, and I really wanted one. Prepaid “hop-on hop-off” bus networks seemed like a great way to see New Zealand. Much more reliable than hitchhiking and not so risky as buying a car. I’d get those major items out of the way, and do a bit of shopping. Need shorts! More shorts! Day in the big city, then head back to Paihia and prepare for my bus trip Maybe I could get Finchly interested! If he ever checks his messages… I grumbled, staring at my phone as the bus started moving.

  Now in case you haven’t been warned: the bus trip from Paihia to Auckland is 4 hours long, and there are no stops along the way. Let me say this again. The bus drivers DO NOT stop for anything short of a dire medical emergency. So don’t be that stupid idiot who drank a large latte right before leaving. Obviously I’m not speaking from experience, but please consider yourself warned.

  Auckland was just as frantic and hurried as I remembered. Maybe even more so. Felt pretty glad I was only staying the one night: That sort of energy tends to rub off on me. Ran my errands with plenty of time to spare. Which was probably not a good thing, because I filled up the extra time with a expensive shopping spree. Still holding strong: my brand new Kathmandu raincoat is the best item of clothing I’ve ever purchased, #excusesforsplurging!

  Now it was burger-time! I make a point of finding the best burger in every city I visit. I tell people it’s strictly for investigative purposes, but in truth I just really enjoy having an excuse to eat lots of bacon burgers. I have a similar, albeit much stronger relationship with coffee, but coffee needs no excuses or reasoning. Coffee is life. All hail caffeine! Where was I… Oh yeah! So if anyone’s interested: “Burger-Fuel” is a NZ chain that makes fantastic burgers. People complain about the price, but as  Finchly would put it: “They can all go suck an egg!” I’d been once before, and had been looking forward to round 2 ever since. Ordered, took my prize outside, and leaned up against the wall taking in my surroundings. I’d eat here and maybe catch some music in the park afterwards. There was usually a live band playing…

  I’d been absently feeding and chatting with the some sparrows when the shadow flickered across my vision. Clit-clat-thump-thump. Pigeons! Now I’ve never figured this out, and no pigeon has ever bothered to tell me: but I’ve always wondered how they know… Maybe it’s a secret pigeon telekinesis. Or mini walkie talkies? Just how is it that whenever there’s food they all show up. Not one of them. Not two. No, the whole entire family and all the in-laws and twice removed cousins. “Feed us!” they chant. “Feeeeeed us!”

  “That’s a good looking sandwich brother.” The largest of their number strutted across the table towards me. His beady eyes gleamed greedily.

  “Meh, it’s alright. Kinda wish I’d gone for the dumplings across the street.” I lied, casually tucking some stray items into my bag. These fellow’s crests looked all too familiar: West Auckland Mob…

  “…And those fries… Ummm - mmuumm!” He clacked his beak, edging closer. His friends spread out forming a semicircle round my small table. I looked around, trying to conceal a building sense of unease. All my sparrow friends had disappeared. “You’re looking kinda edgy bro. What’s the matter?” His friends chuckled. Another six pigeons glided down from nearby rooftops.

  “Oh nothing. I’m just running a bit late you see, and…”

  “Hey Tubs, I think he’s trying to run away with our burger!” One of the pigeons to my left was getting impatient.

  “It’s not our burger.” The big pigeon cooed, rolling his eyes at the commentator. “He hasn’t given it to us… Yet.” Tubs shuffled on to my plate, nibbled one of the fries - staring me down. “Mmmm… Kumera chips. Usually I’d be a bit more casual about this, but my mates are hungry see.”

  “Uh huh.” I backed up slowly, holding the burger tight, as the mob closed in. Maybe I could get away through the kitchen.

  “How about we make a deal?” There were seven of them on the table now. “You give me the burger, and we’ll let you go.” I flicked my eyes to the side - they’d blocked off the kitchen door! Tubs hopped up onto my arm and adopted a friendly tone. “Common chum, no one wants any trouble. Just set down the burger and we’ll forget…”

  “Hey, American dude!”

  “Finchly?!” Flanked by a good two dozen brawny European and Kiwi sparrows, my friend fluttered unsteadily up to my shoulder.

  “Dude! How’ve you been? Guys! Hey guys! This is the dude! He’s the dude I’ve been telling you about. Is that a kiwi-burger? I could so eat a burger right now. I’ve had waaaay too much… Hey guys, what were we drinking?” I caught a few different answers, but whatever it was - Finchly’s buddies had obviously had a lot of it.

  Finchly was sitting on my burger by now, nibbling away contentedly. “Guys, this is good! Come on up!” His chest feathers were a mess of ketchup and aioli.

  “Ahem.” Tubs looked flustered.

  Clackety-click, nibble-nibble. “You know this guy?” Finchly tried wiping his beak off, to little success, and glanced from me to the large pigeon.

  “Hey Tubs, let’s just take the burger and get outta here. The pub opens in like an hour.”

  “Wow, wow, bro! Is your name really Tubs?” Oh dear…

  “You got a problem with my name birdie?”

  “Finchly…”

  “Nah chill bro. It’s a good name.” Oh thank goodness. “I mean it fits you reeeaaallll well. Cause you’re so chubby! Hahahaha!” Dammit! Finchly laughed uncontrollably, and quite a few of his friends joined in. “I mean look at him.” Feeling bolder amidst the encouragement of his of his pals Finchly fluttered somewhat tipsily down to the table and nudged one of the fiercer looking thug pigeons. Pointing at Tubs, he hopped up and down excitedly. “He’s all mush. When’s the last time you saw such a fat pige..”

  With a terrific war cry, Tubs lunged off my arm and plowed headfirst the little sparrow. They skidded sideways across the table and plummeted to the sidewalk amid alarmed sparrow squawks and pigeon cheers. Finchly didn’t stand a chance on a good day, and was knocked out cold, I suspect, before he hit the ground. Tubs shook his victim around a bit, then readied himself for one last hearty wing-smack. That was about the moment two dozen furious sparrows attacked. “Bite him!”…“Pull his tail!”…“Get him! Get him!” No pigeons came to the aid of Tubs that day. They all dove for my fries. As did every single bird on the block.

  What started as a small skirmish devolved rapidly into a full on street brawl. Weaving to avoid angry pigeons talons - and the snapping beaks of many species - I scurried around the table to where I’d seen Finchly fall. There he lay: spread eagled on the sidewalk, unmoving. I scooped him up and dashed away, covered by a small band of his kiwi buddies. Round the corner, down an alleyway, into Albert park.

  “Where am I?” My friend awoke 25 minutes later in the YHA common room.

  “Off the streets. Which is exactly where you need to be buddy. I’m taking you out of Auckland.” In the intervening time, some of Finchly’s soberer comrades had filled me in on Auckland pigeon gangs. These birdies wouldn’t be showing their faces round this city for a while.

[waywardsparrownz]

Possums  ~

   When I say Kiwi these days I’m usually taking about about people. Or more specifically New Zealanders. Ok, sometimes I’m taking about the fruit too. Anyway, this kiwi was neither of those. No, this fellow was was a true blue New Zealand Kiwi-bird, with a appetite for adventure and interest in beach fires. Oh yeah… He hunted possums too. Dec 30th Paihia: I’d set my mind to building a beach fire and had been thinking about it since this morning. Everyone at the hostel had been invited! The Paihia police department didn’t look kindly upon beach fires, so I’d carefully scoped out a secluded spot south of the main beach and well sheltered from wind, prying eyes, ect… I love fire in all it’s forms and had grand plans for this one. Newspaper had been purchased, and a beer box scavenged. Spent the better part of an hour scurrying up and down the cliff-walk trail gathering a fine selection of dry twigs, branches, and believe it or not: small logs!

  Dusk fell as I trudged downhill with my final load. “Whatcha doin’?“ We both knew what I was up to. I peered up at the inquirer, who’d perched himself comfortably atop one of the larger logs. He had a rugged and woodsy air about him. The sort who comes off calm and relaxed, while simultaneously readily attentive. Prepared for anything.

  “Building a beach-fire. Gonna have some mates from the hostel by in a bit.”

  “Sounds like a good time. Mind if I join you?”

  “Why not!” It was refreshing talking with a New Zealand local. Paihia population was probably 50% backpacker, and my interactions with Kiwis of any sort had been rather limited since the hitchhiking stint. Collin, as he introduced himself, was an easygoing fellow and it  turned out the two of us had a lot in common. Well, sort of…

  “What do you do?”

  “Hunting, fishing, trapping. Possums mostly.”

  “Possums? Can you make money hunting possums?”

  “Hell yeah bro!” He used the word bro a lot. “It’s great money.”

   As I found out in short order: possum skins were in high demand all over Asia. There’s a great deal of processing involved and the work is brutally difficult, but the pay is damn fantastic. Possums were introduced into New Zealand by European settlers years ago, and have been a major factor in the decline of native birdlife. Especially Kiwis. Collin was on the forefront of what had once been an underground resistance, but  now might be more appropriately categorized as open war. Humans in New Zealand were doing their best to rid the country of possum pests, but they were hamstrung by bureaucratic red tape and humane regulations. My companion noted, with a sly wink, that none of these so called regulations applied to birds.

  Listening to his stories, I determined this possum hunting vigilante was a dyed in the wool patriot, with a genuine love for his country. Not the sort of love/pride Americans have exactly. More like a sort of contentment and appreciation I’ve come to associate with many New Zealand natives. The understanding one’s country is by no means perfect, but loving it for it’s many beautiful eccentricities. Feeling lucky for what you have in comparison to so much of the world, and working to make it better. Or maybe that was just the reefer talking…

  We were up til midnight swapping stories. I learned all about growing up in New Zealand, and was captivated by his descriptions of the Coromandel area. Those amazing walks through the Pinnacles! Hunting and fishing stories. Dancing in Tauranga… The Coromandel peninsula I decided: that’s where I’d be going next. Sometime after running out of logs, but before the embers died down, we doused out the fire and headed back to town. Recalling him mentioning doing most of his trapping north of Paihia, I inquired as to whether he knew anyone named Finchly?

  “Yeah sure bro! Funny dude.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know what he’s up to would yah?”

  “Yeah, funny story actually: couple weeks ago he got dumped by his girlfriend said f#ck-all and took off north with a flock of seagulls.”

  “That’s odd… I heard it was an albatross”

  “You hear a lot of things bro, don’t believe them all. Last I heard he was in Auckland… You want his contact info?”

[waywardsparrownz]

Paihia   ~

 Paihia felt like home. I’d spent a few days here prior to the hitchhiking spree in the north. One of those special moments when you realize you have good friends by how happy they are to see you again. Decided quickly I’d be staying here. For a while. Send some heavier stuff home, sell my extra backpack, maybe buy a bus pass. Wonder if Stray still has that deal going…? Oooo, maybe send some Christmas presents home too! I had plans to make. Thinking to do…

  This, I decided was proper traveling. Finding a place you liked, settling in there, disappearing with the wind when you became  restless. From now on there would be very little hitchhiking involved, I thought smugly. Been there, done that. I made it a mission to know Paihia and the travelers there as closely  as I could. All the secret back-trails. Best coffee, best ice cream, best pizza and burgers. Made up my mind that New Zealand apples didn’t hold a candle to American grown ones. Sorry NZ farmers! NZ lamb sandwiches on the other hand: pure savory magic! Pies too - though explaining the concept of a handheld, quiche-like (but not), savory-gravy sort of thing to friends back home proved quite challenging. Still not sure I have a good description in my back pocket. Portable quiche…?

  Even more exciting was getting to know the people. Unfortunately hostel-staying travelers don’t meet all that many locals, but for now (and  even up into this current moment) I’m ok with that. Backpackers are just really interesting! I had plans to travel onward eventually, but just kept pushing the date back. I was supposed to stay in Paihia for one week. That transformed into two, which then naturally drifted into three. Made new friends, and more importantly: got to know the travelers I’d met altogether too briefly on my first visit very well. Everyone has a story. Take the time to listen and they’ll tell you.

[waywardsparrownz]

Will Finchley have a recurring starring role?????

Oh yes! You’ll be see Finchly a lot!

Who is this by the way???

[waywardsparrownz]

Hitchhiking... Or Not  ~

  I didn’t stay long in Keri Keri - just one night. But that’s not to say the intervening hours were dull, by any means. Bunked at a small hostel near town center. In, as far as I could tell, the last available bed within five clicks. The place was owned by a lovely German couple; and occupied by one Frenchman, a Dutch girl, and no less than 45 German backpackers - all of the latter group long-termers. Immediately singled out as a newcomer: I quickly became the center of much interest and attention.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “What are you doing in our hostel?”

  “Would you like to stay, there’s too many Germans here!”

  “I know some good fruit picking jobs…”

   In the intervening hours I managed buy a new hat, turn down two job offers, lose said hat, give away 2 pounds worth of gear (I was sick of carrying it), and purchase a replacement hat. A few weeks later I lost that hat a well - currently wearing it’s replacement. Baseball cap #III. Set off early the next morning, feeling mildly disturbed (and just a touch inspired - in a writerly sense) by a horror movie the Germans had put on the night before. I was heading for Paihia but figured a quick detour to rainbow falls would be fun. After all the trip was only 15 miles. I’d hitch a ride straight afterward, and be back at Bay Adventurer before lunch. That was a critical mistake.

  The walk was beautiful! Out in the woods by the side of a river, alone with just your own thoughts, and the random chatter of several thousand  birds. What more can one ask for? At one point, a flock of wild parrots flew right over my head, chattering excitedly in an unintelligible cacophony. Thought I picked out something about a Keri Keri local hitching an albatross ride up to the Cape, and half wondered if they might be talking about Finchly, but didn’t read much into it. Could have been anyone. Besides, I was pretty darn excited to be seeing wild parrots. Didn’t know they lived in New Zealand. The ignorant nomad is often pleasantly surprised.

  Explored round the falls a for a bit. Grabbed some much needed caffeine, a bite to eat, cold lemonade for the road. I was off! Getting to Keri Keri had been exhausting, but relatively easy. Took only 5 rides to cover 60 some miles in half a day. There weren’t many drivers around, but chances were if someone saw you they’d give you a lift. This highway seemed to have the opposite problem: Plenty of traffic, no one stopping. Surely I’ll get picked up! That car looks nice… VVVSHOOOMMM! There’s definitely backpackers in that van, bet they’re friendly!  VVVSHOOOMMM! Maybe I’ll take off my hat and look  more presentable… ZOOM… VZOOOMMM… ZOOM! MAYBE I’ll throw this stupid extra backpack and all the stuff in it in the bushes and I won’t look like a scruffy thief with two backpacks! 6 miles in, that last idea was starting to look pretty attractive. Paihia was still 9 miles away, and I was getting that sinking feeling you have when you’re in the middle of nowhere and suddenly realize you might be spending the night in the middle of nowhere.

  Around 4 O’Clock, pulled myself to my feet from the tree I’d taken a shade-break under. The sun was bearing down from directly overhead, and not a breath of wind for relief. Had just done some quick calculations and concluded I’d be reaching Paihia some time after dark. Lemonade was long gone, water warm; no rides in sight. Seemed to recall a hostel somewhere near Waitangi. That was only 7 miles… Shouldered my second pack, feeling pretty forlorn, and fantasizing burning everything in it. Maybe I’ll bury it and come back later. That sounded like too much work, a bonfire would be easier. Give it another mile… Quick double check of the crossroads on the map, then back to trudging.  150 feet further down the road, van’s engine coming from behind, slowing down, pulling over. “Yuh look hot: want a ride?”

[waywardsparrownz]

Finchly  ~

  I met Finchly early on in my travels. After a few weeks bumming around north New Zealand I’d just rolled into in a small town called Kerkeri. Back in those days I was taking too many pictures of the places I’d explored, and not enough of the birds (or I suppose: people) I met in them. So I apologize for the lack of photographs. Anyway, to put it pretty mildly, neither one of us was having a good day.

  It was raining lightly outside, but ominous storm-clouds bore down on the town full of sinister promise. I’d just settled into a cozy nook against the wall, and was enviously eyeing the even cozier looking corner by the window (it was occupied). That’s when I first saw him. A rather deranged looking sparrow fluttered in the window, heading for the cookie counter.  I probably would have paid him no mind were it not for what happened next. The fellow skimmed over the bar and sideswiped a barista’s head, aiming for a roost on the stainless steel air duct above an oven. Coming in too fast, at a bad angle, the bird missed, biffed his landing and skittered across the polished surface. For a moment he teetered precariously on the rim flapping unsteadily, before tumbling over backwards with a warbled cry. No one else seemed to have noticed, and he didn’t come up right away; so I dashed over thinking he must have fallen into a frying pan. Instead I found him passed out and upside-down, all covered in Italian Arabica, midway down the hopper of a coffee grinder. Fished the poor chum out and carried him over to my table. By all appearances he’d been knocked out cold.

  Presently he came to. Complaining of a terrific headache, which I was quickly coming to suspect came not from the fall; but more likely a nasty hangover. The bread and coffee I offered him was met with grumbled thanks. Two cups later - I was feeling slightly more awake, and Finchly (he’d finally introduced himself) felt a bit more alive. The thunderclouds had fulfilled their promise, and neither one of us had any interest in going outside.

  In short order, I learned quite a bit about him. He’d lived his whole live in Kerikeri, but was rather fed up with the place, the people, and small town life in general. He was at the tail end of a long week of heavy drinking with his mates. Apparently he’d been dumped by his girlfriend (she’d left him for some adventurous German backpacker sparrow). I got quite an earful on his distaste for European backpacker birds. Subsequently he’d stayed out a little too late and missed work at the orange orchard the next morning. They fired him.

  Feeling suffocated by orderly domestic life (and I venture, looking for any possible distraction to keep from thinking about his lost love) the young sparrow expressed great interest in my adventures. Though at the time I would have described them as an ironic series of misadventures - Finchly found my accounts of the open road quite exciting. Fresh off a four day hitchhiking spree with some nutty Swedish chickadees - I wanted nothing more than a long night in a real bed. Not a hostel common-room couch (Let’s just say: a certain unnamed Swedish chickadee forgot to close the windows of the car in which we were sleeping at Ahipara campground). “IN AHIPARA!!! She let probably 3,000 mosquitos in the car!”

  “Ahem...”

  “Eh?”

  “You were shouting.”

  “Oh... Sorry... Still kinda upset about it.”

  “So where’d you sleep?”

  “In the goddamned YHA common room - with my backpack tied to my belt so it wouldn’t get stolen!”

  “Sounds cool.”

  “Not really...”

  I was pretty tired. Already having walked 5 miles that day, with (I thought) 40 lbs on my back. Later on I found the actual amount had been closer to 55. Finishing up my yarn with a commentary on blistered feet and sore backs, I eyed my companion curiously. His eyes shone with a fiery gleam and his tail twitched with excitement. “I’m gonna be a backpacker!”

  “So none of that put you off?”

  “The open road bro! I’m sick of this orchard pickin’ sh#t. Is there like some wing signal yuh need t’ know for hitchhiking?”

  “Oh jeez.” I rubbed my eyes. The rain was tapering off, and I'd need to start looking for a hostel for the night. If they weren't all booked by now... "Look bro, I.." I started to say something but then thought about the wild thirst for that elusive edge of the horizon. That strange yearning had carried me all the way to New Zealand - some 7,000 miles from home. Who was I to discourage the plucky little chap? "You know what... Get yourself a good backpack. And DON'T..." I added - glaring pointedly at my stuffed 40 liter extra pack. "...Overfill it."

  "You're a writer, right?"

  "I suppose you could say that." I hadn't finished anything. Not really. And progress on my current project was depressingly slow. Most first novels never escape the mind of their maker... Unfortunately.

  "You should write about me!"

  "Eh?"

  "Yuh know, next time we see each other. You can write about all my adventures! ‘Tales of a Wayward Sparrow’ or something..."

  "Yeah that might actually be pretty cool." I admitted. I'd been toying with the idea of some kind of funny-bird comic series. New Zealand was full of funky birds - and Finchly was only the most recent in a line of entertaining encounters.

  "Yeah for sure dude! I've gotta go pack. See yuh round." He took off without much of a goodbye, nearly creaming himself on a window in his excitement. I shook my head, glad I'd met him (and mulling the idea of some sort of Bird-Blog), but pretty sure that was the last I'd seen of Finchly. Back then I hadn't realized what a suspiciously serendipitous place New Zealand could be...