Skiing with the Unitarians of Auckland

Over the September 9th weekend we joined the Unitarians of Auckland for a ski weekend at Mount Ruapehu.  Having visited the Unitarian Church both times we were in Auckland, I had met several friendly and outgoing people there, immediately making me feel at ease.  Katy attended with me during the most recent visit, and she enjoyed meeting the young people during the religious education hour.  So when they mentioned that there was a ski trip planned for September, I enthusiastically agreed that we be included.

After Glenn finished his workday at 4:00 Friday, we left Masterton and drove up to the Tongariro National Park.  The park consists of three volcanoes: Mount Ruapehu, which includes two ski fields, Mount Ngauruhoe, which looks like a textbook volcano, and Mount Tongariro, whose multiple eruptions have given an irregular shape.  All three are considered active volcanoes, with the most recent activity of Mount Ruapehu happening in 1996 (while skiers were on the mountain).  This made for a bit of excitement, and I was eager to be able to tell the tale of our grand adventure of skiing a volcano. 

We arrived at about 9:30, and with the excitement of meeting other kids, Katy and Beth found it difficult to settle into their bunks.  Finally, they fell asleep around midnight, only to be awakened an hour or so later by a loud siren.  The alternating pitch sounded like a flood warning siren in Tulsa, and we all had the same thought: volcanic eruption.  Yikes!  There we were, camped out on the side of a volcano, and we hadn't read the emergency plan to know what to do.  After scrambling to read the emergency placards posted in the lodge, we realized that the siren was a fire alarm calling the volunteer firefighters to report for duty.  Whew!

Skiing Mount Ruapehu that day was like skiing Red River in late March--the snow was the consistency of mashed potatoes--the instant kind.  We couldn't control our turns, and the slushy, wet snow was just no good.  Glenn and Katy skied one run while Beth and I skied another; after several falls on his run, Glenn was done for the day, and while I hadn't fallen, I was fighting the snow too much to have much fun.  The girls agreed that we call it a day after just the one run--but, by golly, we have now skied a volcano!  After lunch Katy and I used our lift tickets to ride up the mountain again--this time in snowboots rather than skis.  I wouldn't have taken my camera up while on skis, for if I had fallen, the camera would have been soaked in the wet snow, but going up on foot made a quick photo shoot possible.  All was well until I tried to get on the lift going downhill--I disgraced myself by falling and having to have the lift stopped while I rolled out of the way of the chair, totally drenching myself in the slush and worse yet, falling on my camera.  Fortunately, it only sustained a small nick in the housing and I merely bruised my hand (and my ego). 

We rewarded ourselves for our skiing efforts by going to the Chateau Tongariro for high tea.  They have a lovely grand piano in the lounge area, and they were kind enough to allow Beth to practice there.  The chateau also has huge picture windows that look out at the three volcanoes, so I wasn't surprised when Glenn said that he wanted to stay there and read his book while the girls and I drove out to the thermal pools for a swim.

On our way to the thermal pools, we took a brief detour so that the girls could gather up some pumice stones from the shores of Lake Taupo.  This lake is actually the largest volcano of all: its eruption some 26,500 years ago formed a caldera, collapsing several hundred square kilometers of land that later filled with freshwater to form the lake.  The thermal pools are part of the same geological feature, as they are created by vents that are formed via the Wellington Fault.  We enjoyed using a small private thermal pool, but the girls were dismayed by the warnings posted inside the room to avoid putting one's head under the water to prevent the amoeba that can cause meningitis from entering our noses.  Eeew!  But the public pool was chlorinated, and we found that several of our group were already there, so we all enjoyed a relaxing time in the big pool.

Saturday evening we enjoyed a meal with the group back at the lodge.  How refreshing it was to be among a group of like-minded folks!  The girls enjoyed the other young people and seemed completely comfortable and natural with them, as if they had known each other for years.  I wasn't surprised when Beth whispered to me, "Mom, I LIKE it here!  I mean, I like all these people!"  "Nice" is such a bland adjective, but the people in the group really were nice, and being with them made me feel a little less homesick.  It's ironic, I suppose, that in an entry about the Unitarian ski weekend I don't have any photos of the people, but when we were at the lodge I was having such a good time, I didn't remember to get out my camera.

If Saturday's skiing was poor, Sunday's conditions were absolute rubbish: rain and wind.  We had to drive up to the top to check with customer service for a glove Glenn had lost the day before.  A surprising number of souls were braving the conditions to ski or board, but I noticed that the wind was whipping their snowsuits into concave shapes.  Glenn witnessed a ski being skittered across the parking lot by the unrelenting wind, so we were all glad that we had other plans for the day.

We spent nearly two hours at the Whakapapa Visitors' Centre, where the girls each interviewed a park ranger for the reports they will be writing about New Zealand.  I was proud of the way each girl asked questions and recorded answers, taking the assignment quite seriously and wanting to learn about their topics (volcanoes and avalanches).  The ranger went out of her way to be helpful and gave the girls excellent resources to conduct further research.  She was complimentary of them, too, and impressed by their curiosity and maturity. 

After we left the Tongariro area, we drove through the Taranaki region to New Plymouth, where the American rugby team was playing Ireland in the World Cup.  Having no understanding of or interest in rugby, we explored the Pukekura Park's "Light the Night" tour.  Next day, we visited Cape Egmont, the first shores of New Zealand spotted by Europeans in 1642.  When Abel Tasman saw the land, he had no idea that there was a volcano nearby because it was enshrouded by clouds.  We, too, failed to see Mount Egmont by day, though its silhouette was faintly discernable at night.  Nonetheless, the area is dramatic, rugged, and beautiful, even in the misty rain that followed us much of the day.

A welcome respite from the rain was at the Waitomo Caves, famous for the New Zealand glowworms that live there.  These tiny, mosquito-like insects trap their prey through bioluminescent mucus that hangs from the cave ceiling like tiny straws.  In the dark, the tiny lights resembled distant stars, and we could almost see constellations as our boat floated silently beneath them. 

On our drive back to Masterton we had to detour due to a rock slide on the main highway, but the detour took us directly through the wind farm of Te Apiti.  These massive windmills appear to march in formation over the hillsides, but it is only up close that we could truly appreciate their colossal size.  Standing over 70 meters tall, each windmill produces enough electricity to power nearly 1,000 homes.  Nearer to home we passed through Eketahuna, where the large concrete kiwi was draped in a black cloak to honor New Zealand's beloved All Blacks rugby team.  These folks in New Zealand take their rugby seriously!

Our trip was only three days, but it had taken us from the peak of a volcano to deep underground caves, along historic coastline and across scenic mountains.  Evidence of powerful natural forces was everywhere, from dramatic plate tectonics, to energetic ocean waves, to billowing winds.  Once again, we had discovered only a portion of the diversity that makes up this land of New Zealand.
 

Keeping a Tradition

It’s Labor Day weekend in the United States, and today I am reminded of a particular Labor Day many years ago.  Labor Day in Tulsa in my childhood years meant one thing: the Great Raft Race, a race down the Arkansas River by amateurs on homemade rafts.  We’d go down to the river in Sand Springs to the launch site, because that’s where all the action was.  In the early days, people didn’t know much about building rafts; they just threw together something that looked as if it would float, rigged up some means of propulsion, and into the water they went.  A quarter or so of the rafts never made it out of the launching area, as they either sank under the weight of crew and “beverages,” or they broke apart as soon as the current hit them.  I recall one raft in particular, made of Styrofoam and old bicycle parts.  Half the crew sat on the bicycles and peddled like mad to turn the paddlewheel while the other half waited in reserve.  They pitched the craft just fine, but the crew were disorganized and started peddling around in circles.  Within minutes, the raft broke apart, right down the middle; that is, the crew who were peddling were suddenly without their relief crew, and the rest just smiled and waved as the current took them downriver, because they were the half with all the beer. 

But it is another Labor Day I recall just now.  Of all those years KRMG radio sponsored the Great Raft Race, one truth remained: there was always a 50/50 chance of rain on Labor Day.  One first Monday of September I awoke earliest in my house and sleepily got out of bed, then was puzzled and confused when my feet touched the floor with a “splosh.”  Walking into the hallway, both feet were submerged in about an inch of water.  After I sounded the alarm, I spent the day with my parents and brothers mopping up water from our downstairs bedrooms.  When friends called and invited us to go with them to the lake, we had to decline, and avoid mentioning that we were sopping up our own lake just then.  The water, we discovered, had seeped in around the stemwall of the house during heavy showers, creating a waterfall inside one bedroom wall.  When my father figured out the problem he was able to seal around the outside leak, but we were never supposed to tell anyone about it, lest it harm the value of the house, I suppose. 

Today is Father’s Day in New Zealand, and we seem far, far away from an end-of-summer holiday, though it is becoming more spring-like here.  After sharing gifts and a nice breakfast with their dad, Katy and Beth were enjoying some computer time.  I started a bath for Katy while Glenn read one of the books he had received from the girls.  Then I started doing a bit of research for the girls about Girl Scout badges they may be on their way toward earning.  I guess I skipped the one about “Water Fun.” I had no idea that anything was wrong until Katy finished her computer time and went to her room, suddenly announcing, “Houston, we have a problem.”  Confused, I looked up from the Girl Scout book to see her sploshing in an inch of water down the hallway.  Yikes!  Confused at first, I thought the toilet was overflowing, until I heard the sound of the still-running bath water.  The girls and Glenn were quick to help grab towels and the mop; Beth pulled the plug on the tub, and Katy helped mop—until the girls discovered how fun it was to slide down their very own indoor water slide.  We built dams out of towels to minimized the water seeping into the carpeted areas (fortunately the hallway is tile), and began pushing the water toward the outside door.  As I was using my feet to scoot the towel across the floor (a technique I learned from my mom during that Labor Day of long ago), it hit me: another Labor Day, another flood. 

Most of the water is cleaned up now; the towels are in the washing machine; and the doors and windows are open to air out the house.  The only permanent damage is a library book that was on the floor, which we’ll have to replace.   I sent Glenn and the girls into town so that I could finish up alone—sometimes many hands just get in the way—and as I look at it, I realize that I have, inadvertently, kept the tradition alive, though it’s a tradition more honored in the breach than in the keeping.  Think I’d rather be watching a raft race.  Then again, maybe I'll just go and take a bath...