Perfection, everywhere

I am soaking in the quiet in our little chalet, the light falling over the glimpse of the bay and the mountains in the distance. The sky is a shade of shimmering pink I’ve only seen in evening gowns. The children have gone down to feed the horses and Michael and I are sitting with only the hum of the heater for company. Bliss.

It has been one of those days that defies the vocabulary. This sort of day causes poets to turn to metaphors in order to have words that approach the experience.

We got up in the frosty air to catch a water taxi into the Abel Tasman National Park. This park, on the north tip of the South Island, is famous for its protected harbours and golden sands that shine up from crystal waters. In the pictures we’ve seen, kayakers look like they’re levitating over the sand because the water disappears so entirely. The day before we had asked at the DoC office whether the weather would be good: “Grey and showers,” the fellow told us. “Sunday is the better day.” Then we asked about the weather at the water taxi place, “Sunny tomorrow, grey Sunday—tomorrow is the better day.” This morning, as we got on the boat, we looked at the forecast: sunny for the rest of the trip.

And so it was. The journey begins with a one-hour trip in a motor boat along these pristine beaches, the snow-capped mountains on one side of you, teal water lapping forested hills on the other. We were dressed for the chill, layers upon layers under puffy bright yellow life jackets. The weather was classic New Zealand perfection: hot sun, cold wind, cobalt blue skies. We kept looking at each other and smiling, “Tomorrow’s the better day.”

The task ahead of us was to walk the 8.5 miles in the time between about 10 and 3.30; the alternate plan was to walk half of it and then wait for the water taxi to get us at Bark Bay, the mid-way point between the two bays we were hoping to travel. But the tramp after Bark Bay was supposed to be the best, and so we were hopeful that we could do it. And so we set off.

Becky—at the ripe age of seven—set the pace at a rate that had me quickly shedding layers. And mostly we maintained that pace, Becky in the lead with assorted other children sometime vying for primacy (a competition which was eventually dropped altogether as we discovered that not only Becky but all of us were happier when Becky was in the lead). We scrambled up hills through magical bush, over streams busily making their way to the ocean, and clambered down rocks tumbling to the sea. The children were shockingly free of complaints and the adults were pretty good too!

A couple of hours in, we reached the half-way point, a stretch of golden sand with clear blue water. We had made a tactical error and chosen the low-tide path slightly too many hours before the tide was actually low. With a handful of other badly-timed tourists, we picked our way over slippery boulders to avoid taking off our shoes and socks and wading across the chilly inlet to the higher stretch of beach drying in the sun. When, with great effort, we finally reached the end of the rocks, we stood triumphant and dry on the shore, only to discover one more impassable place. We gamely took off our shoes and socks and waded across.

Once on dry sand, we pulled out the lunch supplies and feasted on peanut butter and boysenberry jam, on tomato and cheese sandwiches, and fresh New Zealand apples. The kids splashed in the water while the adults tried to keep the sand out of the sandwiches, and I’m pretty sure it was the best meal I’ve ever eaten.

And then, noticing the time, we pressed on in order to walk the next two hours and be in plenty of time for the boat which was arriving three hours later to pick us up. Imagine our surprise when we got an hour into the second half of the trip and found a sign telling us it would be two more hours. Not much scope for error there. So we sang and joked and played and hustled along, up steep hills, across a magnificent swing bridge, down through tree ferns and yellow gorse and varied types of forest. The scenery ranged from deep forest dark to tumbling streams with golden slanting sunlight to sweeping ocean vistas all in a single hour. We walked in pairs and threes, talking and listening to birds and brooks, and the occasional (but seriously rare) spat amongst the kids. If there is something closer to perfect, I’ve never seen it before.

And then it was over. Kids on a rope swing over powdery sand waiting for the water taxi, a quick wet walk through invisible (but still cold) water past schools of silver fish) and a fast motor boat ride back to the tiny village where we’re staying. Home to pet horses, write blogs, download thousands of pictures (all the good ones taken by Jim). It’s hard to imagine tomorrow will be the better day, but you should check back, just to be sure.