Central North Island simmers and steams, bubbles and spews. The pungent smell of sulphur emanates from the rising hot steam in a harsh and uninviting landscape. Lakes have formed in the calderas of volcanoes where once mighty eruptions occurred the likes of which we have not seen in our lifetime of which epic stories are told. Mud pools bubble at the surface, great fountains of boiling water charge out from large pools below the earth’s crust and minerals colour the bare craggy rock in rich primary colours.

Plant-life of course finds a way to take root in the surrounding area and with it humanity thrives. Population numbers here are high by NZ standards despite the two vast dormant volcanoes hidden beneath Lakes Rotorua and Taupo.

 

Lake Rotorua and Rotorua Museum

Lake Rotorua at dawn is a sight to beheld. The lake steams against the blue, blue sky as the light glistens across the still blue water. The smell of sulphur permeates the air and birds fill the skies in search of a cool spot to rest. In this environment you become increasingly aware of the earth as a living breathing organism. To really appreciate this amazing scene you must take a dip at the Polynesian Spa. There are eight outdoor pools to dip in and out off at leisure and the most beautiful lakeside view. The thermal pools are cloudy white with minerals and organic matter which floats around you. The advise is to dip for only 15 minutes at a time and rehydrate often as it is easy to overheat, but in return you get to look like you are on the cover of Conde Nast Traveller magazine. For a less crowded experience go straight here first thing in the morning.

Rotorua township is not particularly remarkable from an ascetic viewpoint, but gems can still be found here. Top of our list was the Rotorua museum, within walking distance from the spa, it is held in a beautiful old Bath House. The museum is mainly dedicated to its heritage as a geothermal spa and therapeutic treatment centre. In its heyday treatments were administered in individual rooms with sunken baths powered by the lake and electrocution therapy was even used. An engaging exhibition also details the events of Mt Tarawera eruption of 10 June 1886 where many villages were buried along with the world renowned Pink and White Terraces. Described as the ‘Eighth Wonder of the World’ people from all over the world would have come to bathe in the terraces geothermal waters. The Bath House roof terrace enjoys extensive views of both Rotorua township and the lake.

Ever present throughout New Zealand and no less so here is Maori culture. Traditional Maori evenings can be enjoyed including tasting hangi (a traditional meal cooked in the ground). Though this offers an interesting insight into their culture we chose to miss this on overly-touristic grounds. Later we learnt that to sample ‘good’ hangi you must attend a real Maori ceremony. I have yet to taste hangi but hope it will challenge my taste-buds when I do. A historically significant Maori church sits on the shores of the lake but sadly we were unable to navigate the tiny old streets in our ‘Mammoth’ campervan so we leave you this gem to discover.

   
 

Hell’s Gate

Just a short journey north east of the lake leads you to the geothermal park of Hell’s Gate. The stench of sulphur invades the nostrils with even more vigour here, but this is an impressive place not to be missed. From small fumaroles that puff like a Cuban cigar to great chasms that boil and steam with a fog like haze. To see is to believe! It is like stepping onto another planet that has no concept of plant or animal life. Here everything will kill you. Still there is beauty and pleasure to be found even in this most alien of places. 

 

James ruminating in the warm mud spa and the thermal pool we enjoyed looking over Hell’s Gate!

Strangely enough you can enjoy a mud spa and thermal pool here! Having enjoyed the luxury of the Polynesian Spa that morning the thermal spa here was not a draw for us, we came for the mud spa! During off peak season you get a mud pool to yourselves which we were glad of as it is quite an intimate and fun experience smearing each other with thick slimy clay-like mud from the bottom of the pool. Now the fun really starts when rinsing the mud off in the pool and then showering the rest off before entering the warm and inviting thermal spa pool. Needless to say the shower was ice cold and my slightly padded bikini top had absorbed an insane amount of residual mud. James was only too thrilled to watch me shriek and squirm in agony whilst I cleaned myself and my bikini! Finally three minutes later we quietly slipped into the spa only to realise that everyone in the spa had heard my screams! Luckily the heat of the spa camouflaged my embarrassment, but did not stay long!

 

Early morning at Lake Rerewhakaaitu

DOC campsites grant you the freedom that holiday parks just can’t and Lake Rerewhakaaitu at the base of Mt Tarawera was no exception. The low morning mist over the lake felt as if you were the first ever people to enjoy this place. Ducks quietly paddles across the reed riddled lake. There was a sense of comfort knowing such tranquil places exist between the effervescence of the region.

 

The wondrous colour palette of Wai-O-Tapu

In contrast, further south Wai-O-Tapu is a vast geothermal hotspot complete with rivers of sulphur, lakes of multitudinous colours, cooking pot pools and even pools the shape of Australia! Though the highlights here are the famous Champagne Pool and Lady Knox Geyser. The Champagne Pool, shown above and at the top of this feature, effervesces with steam from an extremely deep flute-shaped pool edged by a magnificent rich primary colour palette. The orange is created by layer upon layer of arsenic, so “Don’t lick it!”.

At 10:30 daily Lady Knox lets off some steam!

Lady Knox Geysers was discovered by unsuspecting criminals using the water to wash their clothes. In doing so washing powder was added to the water in the funnel which acted as a catalyst and caused the first known eruption from the vast underground pool. Eruption heights depends of the volume of water within the underground pool, but this eruption was considered to be about 50m high. Today it reaches an impressive 30m and is still activated by washing powder at 10:30 each day for the paying spectators.

The geyser initially begins to froth and foam at the top, pouring white suds down the protruding funnel as steam rises above. As Lady Knox reaches fever pitch water gushes out with the force of a fireman hose gushing vertically into the air. A blanket of water droplets floats on the wind so camera protection is advised! All said it was touristy but an impressive sight non-the-less.

Lake Taupo in considerably different weather

Lake Taupo is the mothership in comparison to Rotorua in size and volcanic prowess. Classified as a dormant supervolcano, created about 26.5 thousand years ago, the last eruption here is believed to have ejected 100 cubic kilometers of material of which 30 cubic kilometers was ejected within a few minutes! Ash from the eruption was reported to have turned the sky red over China and Rome.

The view over the lake is serene and tells nothing of its violent history. Looking over the shores on a clear day you are blessed with a beautiful view of Tongariro National Park, home of Mt Doom! Lake Taupo is home to fishing in a big way and most particularly trout fishing which reminded me of my Grandfather who was a wonderful trout fisherman. Whilst backpacking everything comes down to price and this activity sure was pricy so we shall saved it for a rainy day in Scotland! Taupo is also a great place for to make a leap out of a plane, though we chose Queenstown for all our crazy adventures.

Lake Taupo is a wonderful place in sunshine but when the rain sets in, which it did for 5 days after we arrived, it is time to seek drier climes. The East coast is the right place to hole out in with its potent vineyards, art deco buildings and dry coastal air and so we returned to the region a few days later.

Volcanoes in North Island come in all shapes and sizes, from lake-filled to snow-capped. But none more iconic or famous than the cone-shaped volcano of Mt Ngauruhoe encapsulated forever in Lord of the Rings as Mt Doom. Tongariro National Park is home to three impressive beasts of volcanoes; Mt Ruapehu, Mt Ngauruhoe and Mt Tongariro itself. When the clouds and rain hugs the towering slope of the mountains you would be fooled into believing there are not mountains here at all. Even with a fine mist of persistent rain crossing gently over the peaks this is an impressive place to be. We arrived to just such a mountainless landscape and Whakapapa DOC campsite (pronounced Fakapapa in Maori) was a great place to reside in bad weather. We recommend it for its location, wilderness feel, well stocked shop and pleasant staff.

My Ruapehu behind the clouds

The Tongariro Crossing from Mt Ngauruhoe to Mt Tongariro is talked about by everyone here. “Have you done it?” “Are you doing it?” But the main concern is not your laziness level it is the weather conditions. Sadly for us it was still in the realms of experienced trampers with all the gear in early spring. Skiing is still possible in September, but not a patch in the European Alps so we opted for a beautiful tramp through heathland to an impressive waterfall to take in views of the three mountains.

 

Our three hour tramp and for James that meant “Scroggin’ time” again.

On the southern slopes Mt Ruapehu, Ohakune is another lovely spot within the National Park. The town has a Verbier vibe about, with shops aimed towards the moneyed crowd. There is a decent DOC site and a lovely Holiday Park with carved wooden basins in the amenities, luxury. The walking track to Waitonga Falls has impressive views of this mountain and great reflections on a still day. The LOTR location for Gollum’s waterfall was filmed in these parts.

Mt Ruapehu mirrored in the water near Ohakune

The volcanic heart of North Island is both impressive and intriguing and makes you feel small and powerless. You again an  understanding of how much we take the ‘soft side’ of nature for granted. Here you do not have this luxury as the hostility of the environment is all encompassing. Ultimately it gives you an new perspective on the world we live in and its ultimate prowess.

Cesca

I have always loved mountains.  Either looking up to their framing of the valleys below or being able to stand on their summits and view the distant vistas they offer.  New Zealand has offered some of the most amazing mountains I have seen outside the ski fields of Europe and I share with you now some of those discoveries here.

North Island - Mount Tongariro

Mount Tongariro is actually an entire volcanic complex and World Heritage site.  It is located 10 miles southwest of Taupo, and comprised of three active volcanoes dominating the landscape of the central North Island.  We first saw the complex from the van on our arrival at lake Taupo.  Its snow caped peeks were visible in the far distance over the lake above the shoreline.  The park itself is roughly split into two parts.  The main mountain town of Whakapapa is half way into the mountains and the base of the ski fields that sit atop its leading road.  It has all levels of accommodation and comfort but we made tracks straight for the DOC campsite that sits between the road and a river.  The average DOC site is a simple affair, but this one was much more.  It had hot water – one of the few! – powered sites, a laundrette and a shop.  All unlikely findings in a DOC camp.  It also had one of the greatest views in the world. 

Or at least it should have…

The fog was in the day we arrived and not a mote let alone a mountain could be seen. 

“There is actually a mountain around here?” Cesca asked the DOC shopping assistant as he took our camp fee’s. 

He laughed, “Yes, usually, its the big one just behind this building.  You’ll see it tomorrow!”

We did see it the next day… through the incessantly strong rain. 

The DOC have a large information centre in the middle of Whakapapa that dispenses advice about the famous Tongariro Crossing.  This crossing is actually part of a much harder 5 day walk around the base of the entire mountain range.  It is famous for two reasons, firstly it is possible – and recommended – to do the crossing in one day, making the walk the most tramped in the country.  The other reason is that because of the numbers of walkers (sometimes 2000 a day) many people drastically underestimate the difficulty.  High alpine walking is always dangerous as the weather is very very changeable.  The DOC info-centre has a sign board keeping the scores; 5 rescues, 2 broken limbs and 1 death already this year.  Given the numbers that undertake the crossing this was not a high percentage, but it was perhaps the reason for the moodiness of the DOC official at the info desk.  I asked her the weather and she almost sighed,

“Have you got mountain gear, ice axes and crampons?” she asked.

“Erm, no”

“Then its not possible today”

“How about guided?” I asked.

“There will be no guides who can take you, the weather is too bad”

She gave me a stern look, but I merely shrugged.

“Never mind then, we will do another walk, perhaps the waterfall.”

I moved off to the side and the very next man in the line  – who had overheard all of this -  said,

“What is the weather like today?”

The lady sighed again… She probably answered this question many many times a day. 

So instead of the crossing, we walked the fantastic waterfall route through the base of the mountains.  This was a 3 hours walk around a loop of very varied landscapes and well worth the effort.  Across the remains of prior volcanic flows we walked, over fast running rivers, past amazing plants and wildlife.  As for the falls themselves; they were lovely.  High in the distance the mountain played hide and seek with us and our cameras.

The crossing remained impossible the next day and so gave up on it and moved on to the other side of the mountain and Ohakune; another small village at the base of a road leading up to a ski field.  There we undertook the 3 hour Waitonga Falls walk.  This was another notable walk that passed many different types of view and terrain.  After a climb it opened over a sunken lava flow, which had a long snaking walkboard placed up on it.  It was a very clear day and we had great view of the mountains to our left as we crossed.

At the end of that section we again entered a forest and walked down for about 30 minutes before the path came to a end at a fast running river.  This river was fed by the large and beautiful Waitonga Falls.  But from our vantage point we couldn’t really see it as it was obscured by trees.  Cesca then had a brainwave and finding some timber (presumably put there to be built into a continuing path) threw it across the waters.  I looked at it balancing on two rocks.  Han Solo’s words came back to me;

“I have a bad feeling about this!” 

Falling in would not mean drowning (probably) but would certainly screw my camera and mean a one and half hour walk back while wet.  I placed a foot on the board, drew a breath and ran across.  The board twisted with my weight and then slipped!

I just made it.  Looking at the boards new position – it had somehow not fallen in – I knew that it would be a big challenge to get back.

But the better view was definitely worth it with the sun in a perfect position to highlight the spray coming off the rocks.  We stayed for lunch whilst we looked at the possibility of getting back over the river.  In the end we just went for it and my left foot only got a little wet, which was very lucky!

South Island.

Mount John. 

South island is almost one giant mountain range.  Or at least that’s how it felt to me driving around it.  We drove up to Tekapo, which lives at the base of the mountain, through the wilderness of Burke Pass.  This leads up to a large beautiful lake surrounded on all sides by mountains and forests.  On one edge is the closest of these; Mount John.  Atop this stands the Earth & Sky Observatory, which is New Zealand’s largest and most impressive.  By this point in our journey we were joined by Francesca’s older sister Arabella and had picked up a small camper to squeeze ourselves into.  Arabella has more get up and go than perhaps her small size belies.  It was the work of a few moments for her to have found a bike hire shop and have hatched the plan of getting to the top of the mountain where there lay a nice cafe in the observatory.  The bike hire guy gave us an appraising look,

“Bike much?” he asked.

“Not many mountains in the UK, but I do bike around Epping forest.  I have a Marin and Cesca has a Specialized Rockhopper” I answered.

He nodded, “Cool, ok you can take these two for the ladies and you yourself can have my bike.”

He wheeled out a very nice bike and I eagerly jumped aboard.  Then he gave us some advice about tackling the mountain,

“Head out along the rivers edge,” he said pointing to my map, “then it gets a little steep.” He looked at me.  “Then it gets bloody steep and you’ll have to walk for a few hundred meters until you meet the main road heading up the mountain.  From there its a ride to the top.”

“Sweet!”

We started the journey as proscribed by zooming down through town and passed the campsite at the mountains base.  Thence we were into the track leading around the lake. 

The colour of the water amazing.  Still waters here all exhibit some levels of volcanic residue and this lends the most beautiful spectrum of colours and hues.  I had often thought that – in this photo shopped world – New Zealand could not be the colours the adverts portray, but I was wrong.  It is.  The greens of trees and fields are brighter than in the UK, the blues of waters and lakes are either crystal clear or a wonderful mixture of blue and cyan.  Mountains are many shades of white and silver.

We made our way up to the road.  This was as windy as hell and made the ride up to the top quite dangerous and almost impossible as the many winding turns all played close to a serious drop off.  However, once to the top we all found the challenge had been worth it.  The top of the mount breaks into a collection of domes that house the telescopes.  These were amongst a low set of buildings and, up a small wooden path, the cafe.  This was a fantastic place to have lunch and we tucked into our scroggin’, which was much deserved after all that exercise. We eventually ran out of scroggin’ and so went inside to have a coffee. Our server turned out to be a university student who was one of the guides for the nightly star gazing tour.  I love star gazing and the chance to gaze through telescopes of that magnitude was not to be missed.  We signed up to the 10pm tour.

Coming down from Mount John was a contrast to riding up and took mere minutes on the tarmac road all the way down. At one point I got up to 55Kph on my odometer - breaking the speed limit!  We then rode around the base via the road and back into town to hand the bikes back.

That night we met up with the bus in town that took us up to the observatory.  Lights are banned at night due to the work of the telescopes, which are looking for new planets around distant stars.  We were driven up the same dangerous road that we had biked that day in total darkness.  We all exchanged worried looks but our Japanese driver had the measure of the feat. Atop we had a fantastic glance through the lens towards such delights as the Tarantula Nebula and Jupiter (I could count the brown rings!).  For me – perhaps more than for the others – this was a magical visit.  After - I swapped news of the possible discovery of Dark Matter (which I had read in New Scientist that morning) with the staff.

Mount Cook

This tale of New Zealand mountains has saved the best till last.  Mount Cook is the highest mountain in the country and a famous sight with its curved peak.  Generations of Kiwis have visited the mountains base, which is all DOC controlled parks, and wondered how you could possibly climb such a large mountain?  One such brave soul was Sir Edmund Hillary who used the Cook as a practice for the big push up Everest.  It is set amongst other large mountains all carved by the many glaciers that have retreated up the valley.

Getting to the park is good looking enough as you have to drive along lake Pukaki.  This lake is stupendously large and leads into one of my favourite parts of New Zealand.  Its amazing colour being a natural part of its glacial beginnings.

As any self respecting fan of the Lord of the Rings movie will tell you; the film’s climatic battle between the forces of Humanity and the Orcs of Mordor happens outside the gates of the city of Gondor.  Here the wizard Gandalf leads the Gondorians to defend their white city against 50 thousand Orcs and worse that are hammering at the gates.  It is here that the people of Rohan ride their 8000 horses down the mountain side to lift the cities’ siege.  It is a great moment in the film and it was filmed in this valley:

The Pelennor Fields themselves!

Once up to the small town of Mount Cook Village we ran into a serious rain storm and so spent the day investigating the Sir Edmund Hillary museum, which is based in the local hotel.  It had a short movie playing tribute to the Everest climb as well as the actual snow vehicles he used to race across the south pole.  Surrounding all this were many books written about the great man and smaller exhibits of his equipment.  Also on site was a small 3D cinema, which showed an interesting film about the stars (that the girls fell asleep in!) and a really cool movie about climbing the mountains (which used 3D glasses).  All in all, the museum was worth the visit – especially on a wet day - and got us all fired up about the possibilities of visiting the mountain.

The DOC information site here was especially large and took bookings for the many backcountry huts one can visit in this area.  It surprises me that DOC are so happy for people to just go wandering off into serious mountain wilds, but I guess this is the Kiwi way of things.  If you get lost and die, well, you were at least warned and given all the information you could have needed.  Arabella loves information sites like this and we spent 30 minutes or so checking that the walk we had planned was the best possible use of our time.

Braving the rain again we hunkered down at the local DOC camp site – at the start of the walk – and awaited the morning with the hope of a clear view.  When I awoke I tore back the curtains to see that our wait had not been in vain:

The walk up to the best view of the mountain is 4 hours easy.  known as the hooker Valley walk it meanders up the side of a river, crossing it once, and passed all sorts of special geological features.  We packed up lots of water, food and scroggin’ and got going.  Amazingly we received a phone reception on the walk and so I was able to call my brother back in London and describe the view.  As if my words would be enough.  I have felt small against the backdrop of nature before, but the extreme wilderness of this walk was intimidating as much as it was heaven.

It was about an hour into the walk before the river turned to face Cook itself, lending us a photo opportunity not to be missed.

The mountain holds sway over all others in this range as if it is lord over them.  Its great height is almost all in the face and so it imposes just as much as Everest would do.  As we regarded it, its peak was constantly being hidden and revealed by fast moving clouds.  Surely at the top it must be intensely windy! 

Our final destination was the iceberg rich lake at the base of the retreating glacier.  This opened up the view and gave us breathtaking vistas of the clouds playing across Cook. It was almost impossible to take a bad photo and even the iPhone’s 2 megapixel camera managed this shot:

We sat there and ate our lunch while gazing at the mountain.  To our right some kids played a game of trying to hit the small floating icebergs with the shore stones.  Eventually we went up to the glacial edge by wading through a scrabble of stones and pebbles, the pile up of which is the slope wall of the lake.  I found there some fantastic flat pebbles and took the opportunity to demonstrate my life-long passion for skimming stones.

This was not my first time at seeing a glacier, after all I have skied on top of three or four in Europe – but it was my first time of seeing the end wall of one.  They are extremely dirty at the ends – the mud and rock being crushed by its slithering splays across its face like chocolate cake on the face of a small child – but you could still sense the strength that bends nature to its will and carves whole ranges in its passing.  After seeing it I was looking forwards to visiting Fox glacier (a coming post).

Finally, having eaten our fill and taken our time – we started back along the path, back towards the starting point of our day.  Many a rearwards glance to Cook and many stops to take reflection photos in the pools lining the river broke the journey. 

However, I arrived back at the van both tired and happy.

The next day was great sunny weather and we headed back along the road we had driven up and thence off into the East of New Zealand.  Leaving the mountain behind us we could see it for miles and miles such was the clarity of the weather. 

I think Cook was my favourite mountain visit and one of my highlights of the entire journey to this wonderfully wild and very big country.

Regards,

Basho.

The journey down took the best part of the day and it was getting dark and raining hard by the time we got to the road leading to the Kohu Kohu ferry.  As we drove down the access road I heard the sound I had been dreading; the sound of a flat tire.  We managed to limp onto the jetty and look at the time table.  A ferry was due in 5 minutes – no way to change the tire by then – and the last of the day was due 20 minutes later. 

The ferry did arrive and the crew offered their apologies but insisted that we must change the tire before boarding. I could hear a slight chuckle in their voices and they whistled and shook their heads.

Thus we had our challenge: could we change it before their return?

Bloody right we could! 

Putting on my rain coat I lay in the wet and loosed the spare tire, while Cesca found the jack and started on the nuts.  I had never changed a large vehicle’s tire before, but luckily for me the enormous 10-ton jack had diagrams explaining where to put everything and a helpful picture showing that dropping the van on my head was not a good idea.  Getting the nuts loosened took every ounce of my strength and pulled skin from my hands.  Then the jack went in.  The winding of the jack was geared so that maximum effort gave a smooth but deadly slow lift.  Cesca could see the ferry in the distance, making its way back.

“Go put a cup of tea on!” I gasped as rain seared down my face.

“What? You want tea now?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes please, and get a towel ready!” I called back.

I wound, and wound, and thought of all the Goju Karate lessons I could.  My heart pounded and my clothes were sodden with rain.  Eventually the flat-tire came off and the new wheel went on.  Damn my hands!  The cold was freezing my fingers making it harder to tighten the nuts that Cesca was passing me.  The ferry was almost back and I could hear the pounding of its engines clearly.  Rushing as fast as I could I rolled the flat tire around to the back and into the brace under the rear and then sped into the cab.  Coat off, face towelled, soaked trousers changed, tea in hand - all in under ten seconds.

The ferry arrived and we smoothly drove down onto the ramp.  The crewman from earlier came up to the window,

“Get it done then hey?” he asked smiling.

As nonchalantly as possible I looked up from my paper and across at him,

“Of course, old boy” I smiled and sipped my tea and then dunked a biscuit.  He smiled back through the rain and nodded – a small sign of respect.  Well, at least the English reputation around here was up a few notches!

The next day we stopped to get the tire repaired and made it to Hokianga.  The harbour itself is very very large and not at all like its name suggests.  This isn’t a Newcastle-like hive of activity.  This area of the the country is amazingly underdeveloped and graceful curve of the coast is nestled by age old Marui villages and few locals. The quiet drive to the mouth of the inlet was very peaceful.  The mouth is where all the action lies and is stunningly beautiful.

We stopped at the head of the harbour and marvelled at the meeting of the waters

It was a bright and clear day and the walk did us good.  Standing on this headland gave us a great impression of the scale of things here.  Many people rush the Northland, or even skip it – deciding instead to head straight down from Ackland.  Truly, these people have missed out.  As is usual at these times, Cesca and I continued our deeper discussions.  This was the beginning of a theme for us: “What sort of place do you want to live?”  This deceptively simple question brings up all sort of others and like all great questions requires a long time to decide. I suggested to Cesca that she try reading some Buddhism texts of mine.  Little did I know how she would take this advice to heart…

We ground away a hour on that subject while watching the sea grind away the sand dunes.  Then we headed into the forest.

This is called the Kauri coast for a very good reason, all along the 110km of exist a superb forest sanctuary.  The last remains of even larger ancient Northern forests and containing the largest of trees you will ever see; the mighty Karui themselves.  These mighty plants have been holding court here for over 2000 years and are increasingly rare.  Unsurprisingly, the remaining ones are very protected.  Tane Mahuta (God of the forest) was marked as a short walk from the road.  We parked up and made our way in, slightly sceptical that we would see it clearly amongst all the other trees in the canopy.  The path lead around and Cesca asked, which one was the God?  I professed a mocking laugh that the tree was hiding and then, as I turned, I saw it,

“Fucking hell!” I exclaimed.

At 51m tall and 13m round, Tane Mahuta is the largest damn tree I have ever seen.  It dwarfs the trees all around and they were not short.  A simply enormous trunk leads up to branches the size of lesser trees, like trees growing out of a mother-tree.  Everyone is awed by it and the conversation is muffled and quiet around its basin.  Majestic indeed. 

Cesca was glad to have a wide angle lens for this one!  We passed on still talking about the trees size. 

It was a few days until our 4th wedding anniversary and we had plans to spend it somewhere romantic.  So we pushed hard passed Auckland and around to the Coromandel.  I felt sorry to leave the Northland because, as a starting taste of New Zealand, it was a great deal of fun and not a little romantic already.

(Now passing you over to Francesca)

New Zealand’s Northland holds many gems for the wide-eyed traveller, but it is The Coromandel Peninsular that is held in particularly high regard by both Kiwis and tourists alike. Evidently this is due to the rugged wilderness and beach life-style, which suits us down-to-the-ground. So as we drove through the night to get here we realised this new place had much to live up to.

We spent five lovely days wandering around the wonderfully curvaceous but narrow coastal roads and inlets in our 2 berth abode. There are plenty of remote locations complete with DOC (Department of Conservation) campsites to explore, which we did despite not being allowed on unsealed roads. Our journey took us from Thames up the West coast to Colville, across the unsealed road to Waikawau Bay and then back down the East coast via Hahei, Hot Water Beach and Waihi to the Bay of Plenty.

Driving our 6.6m campervan over the mountainous pass between Colville and Waikawau Bay was unnerving to say the least due to the amalgamation of road quality, narrowness and steepness. However this was a highlight of our trip due to there feeling of isolation and remoteness. As rain beat down on us over night we lay awake wondering if we would make it out of this soggy DOC 250 pitch camping field. We inched off our pitch in the morning all the while expecting to get stuck and yet we made it.  Our new found happiness vanished around the first corner - as we attempted a manoeuvre around a vehicle on the track our back wheels span creating a fine spray of mud cascaded behind us. We were stuck! Embarrassingly we asked for help from the burly Maori owner who pulled us out in 5, with typical Kiwi ease. Relieved we returned over the mountain pass and gladly joined the sealed roads again! 

We travelled south to Hahei, our destination of choice for a spot of romance, to enjoy our wedding anniversary. It was a luxury to debunked from the campervan and check-in to ‘The Church’ accommodation. The private huts with en-suite bathrooms were delightful and a luxurious in comparison to foam mattresses on top of a campervan table! The huts were thoughtfully appointed although the shower was a little small for two and had no light! We were made very welcome by the delightful staff. Here we indulged ourselves with a candlelit dinner at ‘The Church Restaurant’ in the converted church building. The food was delicious and the local wine equally so.

Walking to Cathedral Cove on our anniversary there was a beautiful view across the blue ocean which buffeted against the surrounding islands with a white foam. My mind began to unwind just that little bit more. Cathedral Cove is fabulous. The clear sunlit water ebbs and flows under the arch with each wave smoothing the sand in its path. I enjoyed paddling my feet in the not so warm water and admiring the sculpture it had created. The small neighbouring beach has lovely clean sand and some amazing rock formations both on and off the beach. At the end there is a high waterfall that must be a delight in summer. Visiting this area is a must.

Close by is the wonder that is Hot Water Beach where really hot water bubbles up under the surface of the sand and you can challenge yourself with digging a pool. As we discovered this is quite a challenge in Spring as the tide keeps washing any semblance of a pool wall away. Amazing fun though.

Hot Water Beach with it’s bubbling sand and J trying to keep the perfect pool from the endless tide

I’m not really in favour of the whole Holiday Park experience myself, but it seems to be a necessary evil when campervaning around New Zealand. However, there is an exception at Waihi Beach Top 10 Holiday Park. there was all the standard facilities in pristine condition but the highlights were all the extras; including spa, pool, gym, waterslide, barbeque, sundeck with parasols and sun-loungers and beautiful gardens. We awoke there to glorious sunshine so I graced myself with a dip in the outdoor spa and enjoyed my usual 50 lengths in the pool. What a truly wonderful way to wake up.

We did our usual thing of arriving a full day ahead of the booking and yet somehow wangling ourselves a free upgrade and not being charged for the extra day.  I think that this is something to do with the puppy-eyed faces Cesca can pull when things seem not to be going her way.  People all around rush to her aid, anything to protect the innocent gentleness behind those eyes.  In another time such a power would have been called a mighty and terrible witchcraft - and perhaps I would have agreed with this Inquisition were it not for the fact that Cesca simply does not know that she does this! (and, of course, she has those eyes ready for me too…)

Anyway, after a little haggling we were given this:

[Cue A-TEAM intro music] “De de de… de de de… de-de-de-de-de… de-de-de-de!”

“Ten years ago, a crack commando unit was sent to New Zealand for crimes they didn’t commit. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as backpackers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire…

…a campervan?”

The Britz Campervan – or “The Mammoth” as it became known – was 6.6 meters long and almost 4 meters high.  It was a monster of design, the insides replete with a full working gas hob, a fridge, a shower, a toilet, a sink, a microwave (!) and a double bed.  It was also, unfortunately, painted in the most terrible bright white colour that made us stand out for miles around.  Hundreds of miles could pass for the cost of one one tank of diesel and its batteries had enough electrical power to keep the inside lights going for 3 nights.  Finally, it stored 120 litres of fresh water and could tank 30 litres of waste water before needing emptying.  It was therefore more a sort of house on wheels than a simple conveyance.  A kind of mobile country, as after all it did have “Britz” emblazoned on the side. Livery that I took to be some sort of dire warning to all and sundry that there were English people at the controls of this beast and so they had better watch out!

Parking this thing was going to be fun, I could tell.

We stocked up at the supermarket and headed north out of Auckland towards the simply named “Northland”.  There is something in that name that suggested to me that the Kiwi’s were not totally enamoured of the “north”; like it was a different country.  This feeling was seemingly confirmed when the motorway out of Auckland quickly petered out and we were suddenly travelling along the Kiwi version of main roads.  These are all over the country and somewhat scary. At any one moment they could sling around corners well over 180 degrees with only a few inches of road before a heart shattering drop, or they might have given way to large slips that have taken 6 meter wide bites out of road.  Amazingly these slips were old enough to be marked by line painters.  That is to say they had got line painters to draw lines around the missing road sections, but had not actually repaired them!

We wound our way up the coast heading towards Waiwera and our first overnight stop.  Camping in a van is not as easy as you would think.  New Zealand has quite definite rules about where and when you can camp overnight and your options are limited to finding a quiet road away from the cops, a rural DOC (Department Of Conservation) camp – basically a sliver of grass and a long-drop toilet - or a “powered site” in a holiday camp.  These powered sites are parcels of parking space alongside many other campers that come with drains for your waste and water taps to fill the tank.  Their main benefits are the 240 volts of power they provide, the hot showers, the laundry’s and the internet.  Their drawback is the cost.  Our first night was a wallet crunching $36.  This shocked both Cesca and I and we laughed that this night was our “one extra expense”, but the joke was on us.  Little did we know at the time but $36 was about average for the entire country. 

Suddenly New Zealand was over budget and we had only just arrived.

After that night we drove to Pahia and the Bay Of Islands via small hills and winding countryside roads.  It was at Pahia that we came across the ubiquitous iSites for the first time and booked a journey out onto the water that was departing in the next hour.  But where to stay that night?  The iSite worker came up with a novel solution,

“Why not park overnight in the town’s carpark?  Nobody checks it anyway.”  This information meant a camping cost of only $8 that night.  Perhaps New Zealand would not be so financially bad; we just needed to be smart about it.

Soon we were upon the deck of the “Kings” cruiser heading out through the bay. 

The islands are everywhere; soft lumps of trees rising out of the distant waters like giant green whales.  Their great number seemed to me as almost unfair.  How could such a blessed country exist that had so many beautiful islands so close together?  All other countries would love to have such an aesthetic abundance. 

I suddenly recalled a Kiwi I had met back in Australia.  He had been most unimpressed by the Australian fuss made over the Whitsunday’s and its majestic, but packed, beach.

“Ha!  We have a beach 20 times as long as this and no body on it!”  He had sneered derisively.

Could it be that New Zealand would be like this all over?  A supra-blessed country that all others would pale next to?  The wind blew into my face as I wondered about all this, its passing blowing in my ears, a sound only disturbed by the ever present clicking of Cesca’s camera.

Soon we reached our voyages destination: the Hole in the Rock.  A somewhat touristy point, but the natural hole in this small island attracts hundreds of thousands of visitors each year.  This is mainly because you can pass right through it. Our captain skilfully directed his vessel into the hole on one side, through the tunnel and out the other side.  Obviously this was all in a days work for him but it was impressive for us none the less.

The next day we left Pahia, awoken from our carpark campsite by the next door Fire station setting off its mind bendingly loud alarm, and headed straight up the coast towards the mythical “90 Mile Beach”. 

This beach is actually only 75 Miles long, but believe me when I say that this is long enough.  It is a straight large beach stretching from the beginning of Hokianga Harbour to the very top of Cape Reinga.  The journey to the top of the cape is 104km by road and not undertaken lightly. 

One solitary road wends up the narrow peninsula through logging country, low rolling hills full of sheep and little towns with very few places to refuel.  Eventually the road gives out and you are on some of the roughest gravel to be found in New Zealand.  This being our first time on it we found it a very sobering experience, as a flat tire here could be very nasty to deal with if it were on a tight corner or a steep slope.  We picked our way through wishing we could take the other route.

The other route was of course to drive along the beach itself.  However, as much as this was a straighter line and therefore shorter, it was only to be attempted by the brave, the foolish and those with 4×4. 

As the tide recedes a short time-gap exists where the beach is hard enough to drive on.  Correctly timed the hard sand will not dry into dunes before you get to the other end.  Fail to time it correctly, falling prey to the quicksand-like sand slips or simply get your engine or wheels bogged, and your vehicle will be claimed by the sea and become part of the legend.  All campervan hire agreements stipulate avoiding it on pain of being uninsured, but I realised that this was due to peoples’ poor timing and not because it couldn’t be done – I saw on a flyer that a few coach trips do it.  The beach has only two entry points roughly speaking at the top and bottom.  We parked in the lower one and considered the beach.

New Zealand beaches have something weird about them and it took us a few moments to realise what it was.  It’s the waves.  The beaches are constantly buffeted by waves, as are all beaches, but only here have I seen so many at a time.  Line after line of white crests stretch back into the sea and the crashing of so many waves so close together on a beach of such prodigious size is a loud sound indeed.  It possess an animalistic unrelenting roar that sticks in the mind and, for us, led to an intense feeling of peace. 

People love beaches as they love all of natures boundaries; where the land meets the sky, where the mountain meets the valley.  This is why we climb high mountains and walk long beaches, why we love harbours and forests.  Humans love to stand on one side and look out at the other; towards the majesty of nature.

As you can imagine a 90 Mile Beach is a consumet place to engender such emotions.  It is where the mind meets the body, where the soul meets the mind and where questions of oneself can be asked.

We loved it and went for a walk along the sands.  After a few hundred meters we came across someone else enjoying the view; a snoozing seal.  We approached thinking that he may have been hit by one of the many 4×4’s that race along the beach, but he raised his head and fixed me with a look that simply asked us to leave him alone.  Apart from the photo’s we took we did.

Leaving the beach we drove up the hills towards the far north point of New Zealand; Cape Reinga lighthouse.  This was where the road became rougher than I had hitherto experienced.  The final assault was up a narrow “road” that led to the complete letdown of a building site.  The terrible road was in the process of being properly tarmac’ed and this car park was being rebuilt.  We didn’t let that stop us but parking in the middle of such a place made me want to reach for the hardhat just to leave the camper. 

We walked out of the car park, to the peak, and suddenly saw what all the fuss was about.

The lighthouse clings to the end of the cliffs a couple of hundred meters down a hill.  The beauty of the vision – all 180 degrees of it – was worth every penny I paid to come to New Zealand.  On the left a few brave looking cliff walks led down to the very end of the beach and sand dunes.  Ahead sat the hill leading to the shear cliff drop into the Tasman sea.  This spot was traditionally the point that the Maori brought their dead.  Presumably, being the most northern point, this meant that their souls went back across that water to the Polynesian Islands of their ancestry.  A moving story when presented with such a view.  The light house was on the right down a well paved path that swept into the side of the cliffs. 

I remember thinking that if this had been England then a lot more would have been made of this place.  More roads, more people, some shops, a chippy, etc.  New Zealanders on the other hand seemed to have a grasp of leaving things “wild and woolly” and giving you a sense of the remoteness, the isolation and the peace from people.  I cast a glance over my back at the building site behind me and wondered how long that would last?

Cesca bounded up, a big smile on her face, she grasped and squeezed my hand, “Ready?” she asked.

I squeezed back and together we walked down to the lighthouse.

Part two coming…

Regards,

Basho

See both events from multiple angles including a wrist camera (the Bashocam! put into new service!) and set to a combination of Wings and U2.

The excellent wrist camera used by both jumpers is the OREGON Outdoor ATC 2K Digital Camera

Total running time is about 10 minutes

Hope you enjoy and, please, leave a comment!

Basho

Having vested ourselves of the plane to New Zealand from Sydney, and having made it through the somewhat mercurial Australian security check points with its “explosive smelling device”, we came to Auckland in the grip of a rain storm.  Fat welts of rain pummelled the pavements outside the airport doors throwing up a fine mist and risking localised flooding.  Well, this is New Zealand in winter!  As (Father-In-Law) Nick put it,

“If you can hack NZ in Winter then you’ll love it in summer!”

Not surprisingly we skipped the bus – a run through the deluge to the stop and a soggy bus ride was not appealing – and hailed a transfer from the airport.  This all seemed very civilised until the second hour of the thirty minute journey.  It seemed that the driver (a loose definition here based solely on his position in the car being behind the wheel) did not know his way around Auckland, which is always a good start for a transfer.  He also couldn’t find our hostel and eventually announced that it didn’t exist. 

“You have old copy, not up to date,” he proclaimed when Cesca showed him our Lonely Planet entry for our hostel.  That was his defended position until, eagle eyed to technology, I spotted the hostel’s location saved as a favourite on his GPS! 

After that he attempted to charge us double. 

A shockingly short journey to the later we arrived at Lantana Lodge and were dumped unceremoniously on the pavement outside.  Our “driver” raced off into the rain and he is possibly still circling Auckland trying to find the motorway interchange.

As we considered our fate the rain stopped and so we trudged up to the hostel.  Lantana Lodge was initially selected for its free WIFI, but I was most impressed by the entire experience as its host was a very nice guy and the hostel had a good homely feel.  Such things are important after the cramp, ever buzzing, “cattle class” bowels of modern airline travel. 

We immediately went out looking for “real NZ food”.  When we found it (soggy chips and meat pie floaters) we quickly decided to forget local fare and have a curry. Over the meal we made ourselves a solemn promise,

“I promise to see New Zealand, to meet its people, drink its wine and spy its creatures.  I promise to enjoy this opportunity to the fullest!”

The next day I awoke eager to get out into the wilds and experience the countryside, but first came the now obligatory city visit.  I don’t quite need dragging around a city but, since I come from one of the top cities in the world, it takes a lot to impress me. 

Auckland has the bustle of a real city and the skyline to suggest money but it seemed at first to lack some of the soul. It would not actually be until I visited Wellington’s Tae Papa museum that I would get to see Auckland’s soul properly and its very strong community spirit.

We swung around the centre and enjoyed a fantastic cafe and a good bookshop then we headed into the shopping district and purchased me a new pair of sun glasses (“sunnies” as they are known here).  So far so normal.  I was just finishing this blog post off in my head when Cesca suggested a trip form the bay.  We boarded the ferry from the south harbour and departed.

Then Auckland got me and I got it. 

The trip we took across the bay to the Devonport township on the far side of an extinct volcano was an eye opener and no mistake.  The Auckland skyline that had been so uninspiring when I was in amongst it suddenly looked majestic and modern from the water.  The bridge, which is a shadow of Sydney’s, suddenly looked like an elegant bracelet spanning the arms of the bay.  Not vulgar but understated: the jewellery of a lady not the chunky penis extension of The Goldern Gate.  My memories of the city now all hark back to that journey.  Once arrived at Devonport the entire feel changes.  This is much more of a wide and gentile suburb, seemingly a world away from the city, as the car access was miles around.  It sits invitingly across the bay tempting you to commute such a distance.  I bet Cesca that the house prices were astronomical and they were.  Such water front loveliness costs the earth. 

Up the dead-volcano we walked or more accurately climbed.  From the top the sheer size of a fully fledged New Zealand city (and there is only really three like this) came to view.  Nature is just bigger over here.

But I was not sated by only this view.  After an afternoon of relaxing in Devonport we headed back and went up to the SkyCity’s highest viewing platform.  This was a great experience at the sundown and I loved watching the cars race back along the roads far below our feet. 

So, again, we are in a city and again I cant wait to leave for the mountains.   But as before I find that Auckland contains some serious aesthetic beauty and for that I enjoyed it.  Even a human city as big as this cannot swallow of majesty of the New Zealand’s countryside upon which it lays and that is its saviour and blessing over lesser cities.

Regards,

Basho

Words: Basho – Images: Cesca

Mount Cook

New Zealand is a country Cesca and I have longed to visit for many years.  Tales speak of this island and its seemingly unique people.  That they are more friendly than the most sociable of Australian’s, more “outdoors-loving” than even Scottish highlanders and more into extreme sports than anyone outside Cirque-de-soleil!  Moreover, all of the “Kiwis” I have met have been the most persuasive of ambassadors as they have a deep and abiding love of their country, a great love of sporting life and and all of them stand a pint.

Then Lord of the Rings came out and that, as they say, was that.

Auckland’s SkyTower

After watching LOTR for the first time I started a long journey of the heart.  The first steps were the reading of the book itself, now and forever with the New Zealand landscape in my mind, followed by many years wondering if the real country actually looked like that.  Many steps, down this long road, later I have actually stood on the Pellanor fields and I can tell you that yes, in fact, New Zealand does look like Middle Earth.

But it also looks so much more. 

Hole in the Rock – Bay of Islands

Whatever it was that brought me here I finally came to see this whole country and its people for myself and not rely on a vision encapsulated by a (albeit very good) series of movies.  One of the main reasons is that New Zealand itself has finally awoken from defining itself in terms of the LOTR movies and is now returning to some semblance of normality in regards to its own identity.  Indeed the LOTR tours and attractions have retreated firmly into their geek/AD&D and high-brow literary roots and everyone seems all the happier for it.  The movie makers have returned the countryside to its original form and apart from a few smaller operations the whole “scene” is over.

Just in time for “The Hobbit” to start it all up again of course.

As a country in the political sense New Zealand also has much to offer the refugee from Europe.  It has told America to bugger off for starters by denying them the right to have warships in their waters and thumbing their nose at the USA even when Uncle Sam subsequently threw them out of the southern version of NATO (ANZUS) and said that New Zealand was “a friend, but not an ally.  It has also relented from totally destroyed its natives; the Maori.  The Maori may not have the full rights yet, which they undoubtedly deserve, but they are not getting anything like the raw deal being handed out to the Australian Aborigines’.  My feeling on this is that it is due to the Maoris being a fairly up-to-date society/tribe and therefore much better placed to integrate into modern western style society.  The poor natives of Australia simply cannot integrate and at the same time keep their 40,000 year old societal structure intact (something Cesca and I have discussed at great length). 

Further to all this is the feeling of being home.  Kiwis may be more like the hardy South Africans in terms of their work ethic, but their country has the indelible thumb print of Britain on its structure.  Road and town names hint at a deep fundamental connection with my home island and, for example, we have been found driving out of the town of “Epping”, towards “Brighton”, clutching maps of “Chingford” and surrounded by Scottish architecture.  This deep connection is also in the people who – to a man and women - love the country, loath politicians and basically want to live in peace.  All precepts you will find in the hearts of those dwelling in England.

Of all the “children” born by Britain’s empire, all the ones I have visited thus far of course, I sense that the Kiwis don’t hate England in the way the Australians do, nor have they grown into something else all together like the American’s.  Rather they are quite comfortable, on the whole, to be part of the Commonwealth and rightly feel that they gain many benefits from inclusion while avoiding many of the downsides by virtue of their far distance from their birth-mother.

As you can tell, in my short time here, I have come to respect the people of this land a lot. 

The stunning endlessness of 90 Mile Beach

Not that there are that many people here in the first place.  The entire stock of Kiwis is less that the population of London and most of them are firmly situated in Auckland.  Huge tracks of land are given over to the wilds, farms and mountains and all are governed by the all powerful Department of Conservation.  DOC is simply a moniker for the Governments power and not all like the Australian National Parks (the National Trust with more teeth).  Rather DOC are pure silent power as old as the hills and not taking any shit from anyone.  Whatever DOC do is right.  It is this strength that stops the march of globalisation and tourism from squashing the inhabitants of this land, for while the country has much more than its fair share of moneyed-tourism (coach companies, bungee jumps and lots of sell-sell-sell on the tours), the DOC simply undercuts the entire lot and offers a more “do it yourself” experience.  Most walks start in a DOC campsite and DOC will let you walk into the mountains with nothing more than advice on equipment and a well thought out grading of tracks.  A grading that here means anything from a wheelchair friendly waltz along a river bank to a 5 day long hike over mountains and up waterfalls that a ninja would struggle with. 

The grease between out and out commercialism and DOC is the excellent government run chain of iSight information centers that litter the islands.  These are uniformly brilliant and something for lesser countries to adopt forthwith.  Moreover the Kiwis have developed a relaxed attitude to tourists in general.  A great example of this is how they have dealt with a rampaging infestation of Possums; they simply shoot them and make them into jumpers which are sold to tourists everywhere as a “fine wool”.  Another example is the fact that you cannot buy trout in New Zealand.  No, here you have to go catch your own.  Thus, everything is designed to take out of the towns and into the country.

Essentially then New Zealand is made up of huge tracks of open wilderness the likes of which you have never seen.  From beaches to mountains all sprinkled liberally with people, the occasional town and even – like the shilling in a Christmas pudding – the odd city.  It is often said that there are more sheep than people here and frankly that isn’t hard to imagine.  There is more of everything than people here and that is all to the good I say.

The view from the front of the InterIslander ferry

This following series of articles about New Zealand will track our journey up and down this fair country.  Into all its special nooks and crannies and past all its sights.  We will talk of high mountains, dangerous passes, isolated beaches, craggy cliffs, highly volcanic geysers and majestic glaciers.  We will also highlight the people we have met and divulge the nature of the canny Kiwis as best we can.  We will to do this in the most entertaining way our meagre writing skills will allow and we hope that you will come along for the ride. 

At the very least you will get to see me jump off a 145m high-wire bungee!

Our New Zealand adventure started in late August with our landing in the largest of the cities of the North Island and kicked off with a celebratory dinner of that most British of foods; the curry!

Kapiti Sunset

To be continued…

Basho

Maxpedition are a company with an aim.  I don’t think that this is an aim written on their literature or website.  Instead it is written large – very large – on every product they make.  The aim is this: A Maxpedition product must never stop working.  To this end they over-engineer everything and refuse point-blank to cut corners that would have a lesser company’s accountants snapping their pencils in half and issuing a “seal all exits” alert. 

I rather think I like this approach!

I have a quite a few Maxpedition products: Gear Slinger, Key Fob, Proteus Bag, Wallet and Gear Clips.  Every single one of them, despite years of abuse in daily life and hardcore airsoft, look brand new. If any of the above list have faults at all it is that they are so over-engineered that sometimes they are not easy to use.  For example the Maxpedition key fob is almost too big for my pockets and has enough Velcro on it to stick to an wild boar.  We will hear more about Velcro in a moment.  To this list I have added the Rolly Polly Extreme and it is that product I will be reviewing now.

I am on a world tour at the moment and my packing needs are very clear.  Firstly, I need a bag that will store away.  Secondly, I want a light bag that I can use as an occasional day sack.  Thirdly, I need something that I can hike/bike/ski/ride with all around New Zealand’s mountains.  I already have a good city bag – what I call my tech bag – in the Crumpler Sinking Barge.  This bag holds my laptop, camcorder and everything needed when visiting a city.  It does not do so well in trekking the wilds as it is too heavy and not so well endowed in storage space.  So the cry went up for an ‘occasional’ bag that would not be used every day and not take up much space. 

After searching the web and my favourite gear-haunts I came up with the Maxpedition Rolly Polly.

Basic Facts and Figures

This bag continues the high-end build quality that Maxpedition aspire to:

Product Materials

• 1000-Denier water and abrasion resistant light-weight ballistic nylon fabric
  
•  Teflon® fabric protector for grime resistance and easy maintenance
• high strength zippers and zipper tracks
• UTX-Duraflex nylon buckles for low sound closures
• Triple polyurethane coated for water resistance
  
• High tensile strength nylon webbing
  
• High tensile strength composite nylon thread (stronger than ordinary industry standard nylon thread)
• Internal seams taped and finished
• Paracord zipper pulls
• Stress points double stitched, Bartacked or “Box-and-X” stitched for added strength

Product Features

• Folded size: 5” x 5” x 4”
• Main: 16” x 12” x 2”
• Frontal top pocket: 8” x 5” x 1” with 8” x 2” loop fastener field
• Frontal lower pocket: 10” x 8” x 1” with inner divider, key retention and 4” x 6” loop fastener field on the outside
• Slip pocket: 7” x 7”
• Hydration sleeve: 16” x 12’ with grommet drainage
• Total volume: Approx. 500 cu. in.
• Empty weight: 1 lb 8 oz
• Belt: Integral closed loop, fits up to 3.5” belt
• Hydration: Accommodates up to 3L / 100 oz. reservoir
• Shoulder straps: Included, adjustable in length; elastic hydration tube loops and adjustable sternum strap with built-in emergency whistle
• Handle: Integral, made from 0.75” webbing
• Attach: Short Malice clips (optional accessory), Siamese SlikClip (included)

The Rolly Polly range from Maxpedition is designed more or less as a backup bag or “bug out” bag.  Its main feature is that it rolls up small when not in use.  How small? Lets look:

Rolled up and ready to rock

The bag rolls up very small indeed.  A mere size: 5” x 5” x 4” in size when folded.  On the outside comes a few options for storing the bag in this mode – either by the hoop, the clip on the top or the molle loops.  Its closure is held by the strongest of Velcro, but a single hard tug on the grip below the label will pull it open.  Once pulled the bag rolls out revealing the straps.  The straps are then pulled around to the rear of the bag and the Velcro flap (that held the Rolly Polly shut) becomes the top closing mechanism.  This Velcro is the main thing holding the top closed.  This is both a good and bad thing as the insides are quickly accessible but the flap cannot be secured by a lock.  The other thing holding the top shut is the way the straps are designed: by wearing the bag the straps pull the top closed.  I would have preferred a zip here, but I guess it is a question of weight and space for a bladder.

That top closing – notice how the straps hold it closed

Rolling it back up is not hard and I was able to do it without practice.  To quantify that last sentence consider this: I have a “three second” pop-up tent and, sure, it takes only three seconds to put up.  To get it down and back in its bag is like practicing Judo on Zebedee from Magic Roundabout – its not easy!  If putting a three second tent away is a level 10 (on the scale of “bastard’ness”) then rolling up the Rolly Polly is only level 4.  The procedure to restore ‘packed’ mode:  You empty the bag, fold in the sides, fold in half length-ways and then roll it up and Velcro closed.  Finally, sit on it and adjust.