new zealand antidote for jet lag

I have just arrived in New Zealand, Rotorua to be exact, it is about 2.00 a.m and my first impression is of drifting smoke and the smell of rotten eggs. I have been travelling for more than thirty hours and just want to sleep. My slumbers are rudely interrupted by my son, who tells me to get up or the jet lag will only get worse. He has a busy day planned, no dozing about for me. A quick breakfast and then we are heading to meet a friend of his who has an exciting introduction to this land of adventure.

‘White Water Excitement’ are running a free promotional trip down the Kaituna river and there are two spaces available. I soon find out why. Our guide, Nick Gutry, fits us up with wetsuits and goes over the safety drill and after a short portage we are on the river in our inflatable raft. More instruction follows as we bob through exciting and ‘dangerous’ white water. Did I have a surprise waiting?

For the uninitiated it might be of interest at this stage to explain that travelling in an inflatable raft requires one to sit, precariously balanced, on the side of the raft, leaning out over the water whilst propelling it forward with a paddle. Staying on board requires jamming a foot, your own preferably, under one of the inflated cross tubes that fit across the width of the raft to keep it rigid. An uncomfortable position. We are descending a grade five river and will go over a series of waterfalls, one of these, the Okere Falls, some nine metres of a drop and apparently the highest commercially rafted fall in the world. As we pleasantly drift we receive important 'in flight' safety instructions. Apparently and most importantly is to paddle really hard as we near the top of the falls.This will keep us in control. We don't want, under any circumstances, to get out of control and go into the waterfall sideways or backwards. I nod sagely. No we certainly cannot afford to go in backwards, what am I saying, I don't even want to go in 'frontwards'. Seems there is a fifty-fifty chance of remaining upright with even shorter odds of us all remaining in the craft. Now he tells me! We certainly will not stay dry.

The river now enters a meandering narrow gorge, dank and gloomy. The sheer vertical walls are covered in vegetation, mostly ferns of one sort or another. I also see fantails flitting about. To complete the picture a thin mist hangs in the air. A hundred and fifty foot above us a narrow strip of blue. That must be the sky I muse. Then I hear the falls. A faint, non-threatening sound soon transforms to a deafening roar and we are urged to paddle faster, in the wrong direction I think to myself. Our guide, sitting calmly on the stern, steers our craft into the best position to tackle the narrow entry. No going back now, no last minute escape for the faint hearted.

My memory is limited, fragmented into a few short snapshots. I recall being hurtled forward at breakneck speed, at the same time urgently paddling towards the abyss, all accompanied by the incessant, increasingly deafening roar as the torrent accelerates uncontrollably over the cliff. I remember thinking, 'what am I paddling for, were going over anyway.'

Nick’s cool commands permeate the roar. GET DOWN, HOLD ON. I did. My stomach seems intent on leaving my body through my mouth. I am deafened by roaring water and screams. All seems chaos. We crash onto the next level and I am aware of being struck about my shoulder by a flailing paddle then beaten up by thousands of gallons of water. Our rubber craft is helplessly trapped by the awesome hydro-power and thrown about like a cork in a toilet bowl. I stubbornly cling on. Then we are released and I am aware of cheering. I, then a fifty two year old child who should know better, am also cheering, with relief I suspect.

We rest a few minutes, gather our wits, gaze back at the falls, then we were off to traverse the remainder of the river. There were plenty other white water experiences and we play ‘ride the bucking bronco’ (I think that's what he said. With all the noise and the accent I might have misheard) at one section. This involves getting an idiot to sit astride the prow, facing forward, feet dangling in the river. The remaining crew then paddle the dinghy as hard as they can back into the base of the torrent. The bow is forced violently below the water and the ‘rider’ is pounded senseless by it's brute force. As the craft loses forward momentum, the paddling stops. The sheer raw power of the waterfall dips the front of the craft down alarmingly. Then comes the good bit. Having lost forward momentum and been forced down by the force of water bombarding the prow, hydro powers again take over and in an instant the inflatable is throw backwards out of the torrent. On being so quickly released the front of the craft violently and alarmingly is pitched high into the air, summersaulting the prow rider some feet backward into the boat. As I untangle myself from painters, paddles and the other 'passengers' I understand why this piece of tomfoolery is so named and I wonder; 'why me?' (a painter is a seasalt's name for a rope, showing off a bit there)

Soon we are at the end of our river trip, for that day anyway. The Kaituna offers a relatively short outing, just over an hour, what an hour. It is not regarded as one of the classics, however, certainly for the uninitiated it is an exciting and memorable, if not to say mind blowing, experience.

Probably not for the non-adventure seeker, but a must for anyone looking for an early wake up call to New Zealand and definitely an antidote for jet lag.

As we trudge up from the river porting our inflatable I see my first New Zealand Kingfisher.