Adam's Adventures in NZ: The Search for Spock

The official Seal of New Zealand (get it)

I started my trip on the South Island of New Zealand by taking the ferry from Wellington to a small shipping town called Picton. There I was met by a very old man holding up a sign that read "Brunner." He delivered me to my new rental car and soon I was off down the Queen Charlotte Highway on my way to Nelson.

Nelson, is only a slightly larger and more important town than Picton, if only because of its proximity to Abel Tasman, the south island's most famous national park. I booked myself a bed for two nights with the intent of visiting the park on the next day. However, my real dilemma was that I was tired of hiking. Over the course of the past several months I have spent more time than I can count lugging my lazy behind up so many mountains, down hundreds of dirt paths, and tramping my way through every corner of wilderness from Sydney to Endor. So I decided to try a new approach, exploration by water. I booked myself on a kayak trip to explore the sands and surf surrounding Abel Tasman National Park, and it was one of the best decisions I made.

Not only did it feel good to be out on the water, but the day was unseasonably warm for the New Zealand winter months. I found myself on a trip with a group of I-Site employees. (I for Information Sites are scattered all over Australia and New Zealand. They are usually managed by middle-aged women who can recommend to you anything from a great trip to a great restaurant. Mostly, in my travels I have utilized these small ports of information for their free bathrooms and to ask stupid questions: Where are the glowing lakes?; What is a tuckerbox?; etc) Anyway, among the highlights of my kayak trip (besides the amazing coastal scenery) was the seal sanctuary we visited.

A large seal colony protected by the New Zealand Government lives off the coast of Abel Tasman and is open for kayakers to visit. We were able to get close enough to colony to not only see the seals, but have them curiously come up and play around our boats. They bobbed and weaved in between us, doing tricks and generally being ridiculously awesome. I was even able to touch one as he stood up on a rock beside my kayak. It was certainly a real highlight of my New Zealand trip. However, it was not the only surprising experience I had while on my south island journey.

$10 a Day? Maybe for Non-Brunners

The destination I actually found myself getting most excited about was not the Pancake Rocks (though they were interesting and beautiful, situated along New Zealand's equivalent of the Great Ocean Road) or the Castle Rocks (which were huge rocks that made even a 6'2" guy like me feel like a kid. At least kiddish enough that I allowed myself to run gleefully down a particularly steep hill, only to be embarrassed when I discovered an elderly German couple watching me.) No my most astounding find in this stranger newer world is locasted about 30 kilometers outside of the town of Greymouth, in a small vacation town, visited only by locals. It is not a usual destination for backpackers or international visitors, but I found that I could not resist visiting the majestic shores, of Lake Brunner.

Mostly, I believes Lake Brunner was probably going to be a large boring body of water, and I would entertain myself by getting pictures of me posing in front of signs and markers proudly bearing my surname (which I did). However, little did I know that Lake Brunner is actually a beautiful crystal clear lake situated at the foot of towering white-capped mountains, near an area named after Thomas Brunner, surveyor and explorer. Thomas Brunner was born in England in 1821. At the age of 20 he was appointed to the New Zealand company as a surveyor and he helped to establish the settlement of Nelson. During his time in New Zealand, Brunner and his sidekick Kehu (a Maori) left on a five month expedition to explore and trace the western coast of New Zealand. During this expedition he actually identified Mt. Cook as New Zealand's highest mountain. So why isn't called Mt. Brunner? (An early example of Adam's Law in effect.) On his second an most arduous journey down the Buller River, the Brunner luck continued. By the end of the following year Brunner and his party ran out of provisions, and were forced to eat their dog (and that is why to this day my family serves dog every Thanksgiving.) To add injury to insult Brunner also suffered a severe stroke and was left paralysed on one side of his body. However, Kehu (his Robin) refused to leave him and with the help of the rest of the members of the expedition was carried to Nelson, arriving in June of 1848. Among his many discoveries was the identification of coal in the Grey River Valley, and in 1851 he was awarded the Patron's Medal by the Royal Geographical Society. He died in 1874 in Nelson, Kehu and a large Maori party attended the funeral.

Lake Brunner is the largest lake in the northwestern part of the south island. It is popular for fishing, particularly for catching freshwater mussel. Upon seeing MY magnificent lake I must admit I was stunned by the sheer size and beauty of it. I dined on peanut butter and potato chips by the lakeside as I watched the clouds reflected off its clear surface. I do not think I could have picked a better place to proudly bear my name. The locals, however, where not amused when I proclaimed myself long lost ruler of the Lake. Thus, it was that I ended my visit to the majestic Lake Brunner by being chased off by several retired fisherman and a snarky mouthed waitress from the Lake Brunner Cafe. (I'm still not even sure where they found pitchforks in this day and age.)

Arthur's Pass

After leaving Lake Brunner I passed through Arthur's Pass (another place not named for me), which wraps around and through the New Zealand Southern Alps. These mountains are some of the largest peaks in New Zealand and belong to the same geological range as the actual Alps and the Australian Alps (which my loyal readers will remember I so treacherously crossed driving between Melbourne and Canberra). As with all my mountain driving I found myself ascending and descending sharp inclines, making hair-pin turns near treacherous and deadly drops, and narrowly avoiding oncoming logger trucks as they labored up and down the steep sloping roads. However, what I was thrilled to notice is that for the first time, I was not bothered at all. At this point I found that not only was I adapted to driving on the wrong side of the road, but I was no longer daunted by the prospects of crashing hundreds of feet below to a fiery death. In fact, I found myself exhilarated by my drive through this rugged and amazing mountain scenery. (The high arching mounts set against the backdrop of a reddening sky combined with my own terrible singing voice belting out lyrics to Cage the Elephant and Linkin Park songs.)

I cannot say for certain, but perhaps I am actually starting to adapt to life in this part of the world, or perhaps (*gasp*) even beginning to find a little confidence in my own abilities and judgement. Hey, if I can find a lake called Brunner on the otherside of the world, than maybe anything is possible.