It's raining, it's pouring, Jane Conrad is snoring...

Ok, I'll play fair, that title was chosen more for its cleverness than its veracity. While the former is accurate, our tent was far too uncomfortable to allow for a deep enough sleep to accommodate any snoring. In any case, we woke up on the final day in Abel Tasman to a gray day. While not the longest hike in our trek, the third day's adventures would by far be the most uncomfortable.

My eyes opened and my first breath of air was that sort of wet musty air that brings with it the immediate realization that although I did not hear the steady syncopation of raindrops, Abel Tasman was soaked.

By day three of no showering, the last thing you want is the stickiness that accompanies high humidity. We were tired and in pain, but we were also on a strict schedule. Not only did we have to cope with two major tidal crossings, but also a deadline. Our boat that would bring us from the apex of the park back down to the beginning where we would meet a bus back to civilization was expected at a very specific time. Miss it, and we are stuck camping again and the rest of our plans would go out the window. We quickly organized ourselves and set off.

The first crossing...
The benefit of never being able to sleep is that you never have to stress waking up on time for anything. As soon as it was light out, we were up and dressed. Tent collapsed, sleeping bags rolled, cereal bars in our bellys and we were ready to go. Within a half hour of our departure, however, we were met with our first challenge. A tidal crossing that was at a less than favorable depth. We could not wait, and had to make the crossing as it was.

... You only wish you had a pair of Spider-man boxers as cool as mine were. Note the water shoes that Jane was wearing. Clever girl, she managed to save herself the joy of impaled objects in the soles of her feet (whereas mine plagued me for the rest of the trip.) On the flipside, those along with my adidas sandals that were Eventually used (after I got sick of pulling shell fragments from my bleeding feet) ended up producing a unique odor that plagued us for the remainder of the trip.

After we made the crossing, there was a lot of hiking. Of all the days, this one was the most grueling, not because of the distance, or the terrain (day 2 took the cake on both) but more because of the time concerns. We HAD to make it to the end of the road in time to catch the boat that would bring us back, and we had to do it with a few tidal crossings that would not make our lives any easier. We prayed earnestly to the Maori tiki gods to ensure our safe passage.

Clearly the Tiki gods were not pleased with our lack of offerings. As soon as we reached the next beach clearing, we were met with a horizon obscured by dark clouds, harbingers of the storm that would soon ensue.


Of course, Jane's suspicions fell on the eye of Sauron casting its gaze on us, or more specifically the ring she carried around her neck. I too was tempted by this ring and was (for a while) changed into the creature Gollum.






For a while the rain maintained itself at a manageable steady drizzle which had momentarily ceased by the time we reached the next crossing. It was a long one with water low enough that it did not necessitate pants removal, but high enough that sneakers had to come off. I don't remember much else from this crossing except SWEET BABY JESUS! AY DIO MIO!!!

The blinding white pain of broken shells passing through the inch thick kendo-calluses on my feet and managing to penetrate new skin that has still not yet been exposed to air is a special pain to be sure. My "water shoes" were also not a help as they were a pair of adidas sandals (some of you may remember these from such places as the shoes I wore every single day at college) - they are the ones with the little massaging bumps that are wonderful under normal circumstances. The problem is, there was still enough water on the ground to 1) suck the soles of the sandals into the sand so walking was tricky, and 2) float a few shells in between the stuck sandal and my foot, struggling to raise the sandal - this happening in such a way that the raised bumps and rigid rubber of the sandal provided the shells with a base much more sturdy than sand, a base with which they could easily secure themselves so that when I stepped back down, the broken shell could penetrate my feet with maximum force and pain.
From here on in, walking became more of a method of lightly stepping, ow, picking an impaled shell from my foot, limping to the next step... wash, rinse, repeat...

After this arduous struggle, we made it back into the woods. The dark clouds were still looming, but the rain had yet begun. The beach, the proverbial "calm before the storm" could be seen from between trees.




That's when it hit. Rain. The kind of rain that first drove man to shelter and years later would inspire Sal Umbrellione, a resident of Brooklyn, to invent the first umbrella. The tears of the tiki gods crying out about whatever makes a tiki god cry (insert clever remark about the white man killing Maoris, taking their land and relegating Maori culture to underfunded museums....here.)

Still, there is something wonderfully pure about sheets of rain baptizing you after three day hike. I looked at Jane, and she had the same look on her face as I imagine I had. A wide ear to ear smile. Within the final hour of this hike, on a trip marked by 100 meter cave dives, ocean kayaking during a storm, hitch hiking, misadventures with shady vagabonds, and more to come - this was fitting. The rain was soothing, not the pit pat of inconsistent rain, but a strong downpour with constant cadence that soaked through clothing, hiking bags, and sneakers and wrinkled digits. It was earned rain, and we loved it.

We had to love it quickly, however, as time was really running out.



Of course, we made it successfully, with enough time to applaud each other on a job well done, and a few moments to pull the remaining shells from my feet as well as survey the damage.





Of course, there still had to be one more test of will. Over the horizon, we saw our boat as it arrived ashore. We anxiously waited at the edge of the water when all of the sudden the boat, our salvation and passage back to the world of men, stopped about 10 meters out.


As it bobbed in the waves, Jane and I stared at it for a while. The captain was at the stern of the boat waving some sort of signal at us. It finally dawned on us, he could not come all the way to shore, we would have to walk out to the boat.

Back to tidal crossing mode... The water was fairly shallow, but everything had to be put in or attached to our hiking bags, and they had to be carried above our heads as we waded out to the boat. Of course, even something as mundane as boarding a boat couldn't be easy.


Safe, sound, and soaked we got on board and headed out, leaving Abel Tasman in our wake.

As we waited for our bus back to Nelson, I had a staring contest with this cow. He won, he always does... That's why I come out here.... Naaaaatureeee....(Goulet)







While I lived out an inside joke that nobody who reads this will understand (I am not exactly sure if anyone reads this anyway) Jane munched down the final PB&J sandwich.



Back in Nelson, we both showered, recouped, and dined on long missed Pizza Hut... Note the "I've been hiking with a baseball cap on for 3 days in the sun" tanline that I managed to score... That and spider-man boxers... Don't you wish you were me?















Finally, after an interesting walk, with an interesting conversation about the stars, we returned to our hostel where Jane pontificated on the more exciting aspects of rubber warming bags (which she erroneously insisted on calling bedpans.)

Bedpans.