No need for an alarm clock while rafting the Clarence: if the sound of New Zealand’s ten billion birds belting their birdy hearts out at the crack of dawn doesn’t get you up, nothing will. I awakened headache-less and to the sounds and smells of delicious breakfast being made by the guides.
During this trip, Rhett and I had been adding to the list of important relationship milestones we had passed without murdering each other:
- 24 hours of transit
- Driving on the left in a big city after said transit
- Putting up a tent halfway without instructions
- Blowing up sleeping pads
Next would come putting away the tent and other supplies. After nearly poking Rhett’s eye out with a long pole and through my dubious re-packing feng shui, we somehow got the tent back in the bag from whence it came.
The most challenging part was putting away the sleeping pads. One of them had a hand pump, which turned out to be a devil in disguise. No matter how much sitting, standing, or desperate flopping we did, we barely squeezed it back into its bag. This was going to be a real treat for the rest of the trip. I could feel it.
After a hearty breakfast, we shimmied our river shoes on and started packing the rafts up. Rhett’s shoes had nearly reverted to a dry state overnight, but they soon became soggy waffles once we had started packing the boats up.
We were in the sixer with Reed today – Reed whose boat had nearly overturned yesterday. This inspired confidence in my own ability to stay in the boat. The second day was one of the longer days, floating us past remote homesteads and ranches and impossible-looking roads and over some rapids.
Reed’s accent had confused me at first, with just a bit of Kiwi twang and upspeak common in the Pacific Northwest. It turned out that Reed was from rural Oregon and spent his northern hemisphere summers working commercial fishing boats and was in New Zealand for the summer to raft and make a living for a while. He’d run rafting trips down the Grand Canyon in the past and only had a few more Clarence runs ahead of him.
Around midmorning, one of the other boats zipped past us and pulled squirt guns out of nowhere. Splash fight was on. Unfortunately for us, they were against six paddles, which were really effective if you slapped them on the water. They darted away, defeated.
Our lunch break for the day was on a sandy beach and featured tasty sandwiches made partially from last night’s leftovers.
By now, we have grown to be quite adept at peeing in the woods and tall grass. We packed up the lunchy items after stretching on the beach and got back in our boat.
Our six boat was lagging behind the other boats a bit, and the river was relatively calm after lunch, a gentle hot float with some paddling. “It’s a bit hot, Reed,” we told our guide, “let’s get a bit splashy.”
Reed ordered all forward and we paddled. We started to rapidly catch up to the other boats, and we kept going until we gently smacked into one of the other boats. We stared each other down.
“Well, aren’t you going to get them?!” Reed demanded. Dumbstruck, we looked at the other boat for a moment more before the water fight began in earnest.
Somehow, Bradley, who was sitting up front, hit the water at just the right angle to crack his paddle in half, signaling the end of the water fight. I think we won?
Reed was confused about why we were confused. We had just meant that we had wanted to go down some rapids! We fortunately had a few extra paddles on board so Brad did have to paddle after all and made for camp for the evening.
Cicada camp
This camp was deafeningly loud when we landed. Tall trees stretched high above us and we had to shout to be heard over the cicadas as we were setting up our tents and unpacking the rafts.
It looked like rain might be moving in as the mist gathered around the peaks and hills surrounding the Clarence. Tonight would be a good night to attempt to bathe in the freezing cold river, as it had been pretty hot out. Some of us stood on the lookout for eels and we took turns bathing as quickly as possible in the frigid waters of the Clarence. We were careful not to rinse soap into the river whenever possible.
When we returned, we found that the guides set up a clever awning just in case the rain came down. More clouds were gathering.
Dinner was delicious, once again. Tomorrow was Dee’s actual birthday, but tonight she opened up a card from her brother who was in Perth and couldn’t make the trip. He had also gifted her an inflatable crocodile, which was named Charlie in his honor. Charlie would be rafting the next three days down the river with us, tethered to the back of the boat.
We split into teams played charades (pronounced shah-rahds if you’re not from the States) until it got too dark to read the slips of paper. Rain pattered on the top of the tent. It was not looking like our odds were good for clothing drying out.
Misty Mountains
Sure enough, the next morning was cool and rainy. Mist had gathered all around the tops of the hills and mountains around cicada camp. The rain in the night had prevented our river items from drying and we reluctantly shimmied into cooler and slightly damp clothing. I decided today would probably be a good day for the attractive splash and polypro gear. Rhett’s shoes were still extremely soggy, and there was a good chance they would never be dry again.
We had Reed as our guide again, but this day, we were on a four-boat with Dee and Dave. Charlie was safely tethered in back – being both cold-blooded and inflatable, he wouldn’t have to worry about the air temperature.
The river was churning and murky and the rain from the previous nights made the rapids more rapid-y. It rained quite a bit on the river, and we paddled to stay warm. I was thankful for my large, floppy hat keeping most of the rain out of my face. The polypro and splash gear kept the wind off and and kept me toasty. At least we wouldn’t need to bathe tonight!
Despite the relatively cold and wet weather, it was still a sight to behold, with the mist and rain making the scenery more vibrant by contrast against the grey sky. We saw lots and lots of goats on this day, scampering up vertical cliffs to get away from us as we arrived.
On our lunch stop, the guides made sure we were all warm, and then we paddled up to our camp for the night: the camp before the largest rapids, Jawbreaker.
Damp Camp
This was the dampest of all the camps. We eagerly unpacked and shimmied out of our wet clothes and fortunately it had stopped raining for the time being. Rhett stopped to model his attractive polypro gear.
We gathered round to celebrate Dee’s birthday with wine and stories. She received a photo book celebrating her sixty years from her husband Dave, and there were many stories of past adventures the clan had through the years.
After birthday toasts, the cupcake and good samaritan awards were handed out. Cupcake is a neon-colored monkey who spends the next 24 hours with the person who did the most boneheaded thing of the day. Cupcake had spent the first day of the trip with Brad for tipping over the ping-pong table, and the second with John for ripping the seat of his splash pants.
I became the proud owner of cupcake for my fashion show shoot of Rhett in his hot pink long johns!
We went to bed hoping that tomorrow would be a bit dryer and that our clothing would be slightly less damp in the morning.