Paragliding in Queenstown - 'Sweet'

The first time I heard the term 'paragliding' was whilst I was at Charlotte Mason College in the Lake District. The landlord of the pub I worked in, the Golden Rule, was a passionate paraglider - and would happily jump off any peak in the Lakes for the pleasure of spiralling down. He often said he would take me one day, but we never got around to it (and secretly I was rather relieved.) 

Years later, whilst on holiday in Switzerland, I watched hundreds of paragliders descending into the centre of the town at Interlaken, and knew it was something I wanted to try, but I did not know if I would have the nerve.

Whilst I was in Nepal in October, I had the good fortune of staying in Pokhara for a couple of nights (either side of my trekking in the Annapurna region) and it rekindled my desire to try paragliding as they were everywhere. Unfortunately, when I tried to book in, they had no spaces available for me. I made a mental note to keep an eye open in the future and thought New Zealand would probably provide my next opportunity.

Therefore, when I checked into my hillside room at Queenstown (the home of extreme sports in NZ), looked out over the amazing vista before me and watched a paraglider sail past - I took it as a sign.

I promptly walked into town, went to the nearest activity information centre and enquired about paragliding. Before I could stop to think about it I paid up. I now had a date with a paraglider at 9.00am the next day.

I slept well, but with a sense of excitement that was tinged with anxiety. This morning I found my thermal leggings, vest, gloves, hat and neck buff and wrapped up ready for my adventure. As usual I arrived early and waited for my transport. Queenstown has two paragliding outfits. One launch from the peak behind the gondola ride over the city itself, whilst the other, the one I had chosen, head up a nearby mountain (Coronet Peak) to a height of 2,500 feet (nearly double the height of the Queenstown central jump.)

I was aware of two women sitting at a nearby bench as I waited, and it crossed my mind to ask them if they were waiting for the paraglide transport too, but I was too wrapped up in my own building sense of concern. When the minibus arrived the three of us got up. It looked like I would not be jumping alone.

                                

Three pilots, three passengers and one driver. We all introduced ourselves and soon we were speeding to our launch site. The view as we pulled up was outstanding, but it was so high! My mouth was dry and my smile was strained.

                                

    

They weighed me and assigned me to my pilot Omar. Quietly and professionally we all started to get kitted up and into our harnesses. And then we waited. Linda's pilot saw a change in the wind direction and before we knew it she was gone. Simple as that.

                                

      

Omar told me to come over and get attached to his tandem harness. I said a quick prayer, looked at the stunning views ahead of me and calmed my breathing. Omar reminded me "remember, I'll ask you to walk - you must keep upright. Then I'll ask you to run and you run. Don't hesitate. Are you OK?" I assured him I was and I waited for his command. The seconds passed. The minutes passed and we stood there. "I am sorry Paul. I do not like having people clipped in and waiting, but the wind is not right." I assured him I was still alright and said another quick prayer. He then said "no, no, no," as he came to some internal decision and he unclipped me and then himself, "we will not go just yet Paul."

                                

I went for a short walk to the edge. It was not a precipice, but rather a very steep hill - very steep. I rehearsed the drill. We walk towards the edge, we run, we hit the steep down hill and we really run! The steep hill ended 30 metres in front of me and then there was just sky. I looked at the area Omar had said we would be landing. It was miles away and 2,500 feet below me. I was hypnotised by the view and was suddenly aware of my name being called. "Paul, Paul, we go now. Come."

We clipped in in seconds. I looked out into the distance. Omar said the word 'walk' into my ear. I did. He then said 'run'. I did. He then shouted "run" and I did. My legs were like those belonging to a cartoon character as we took off. They were still running in mid air as the ground disappeared below me and suddenly we lifted up and shot over the edge. 

It was amazing. It was exhilarating. It was tremendously exciting. I was flying. Omar told me to relax and sit back into my seat harness. He then started to take photos and videos and point out the features of the landscape below. I grinned from ear to ear and babbled with excited chatter abut the speed, the wind, the land, his flying...I think Omar enjoyed my enthusiasm. Over the wind I heard him say we were travelling at 40km/hr.

                           

As we neared our destination Omar asked me if I was up for a little aerobatics? He gave me the camera and told me to lean in the direction he commanded. When he shouted "left" I swear the ground vanished from my eyeline and was replaced by sky. On the command "right" we swung insanely back in a spiral and I am convinced we looped the loop! My laughter had a slightly hysterical quality to it as we weaved through the skies, twisting and turning with ever increasing speed. Just as suddenly we straightened up and the landing place raced to meet us. "Prepare your legs Paul, when I say stand - stand." I nodded. Our landing was inch perfect. It was like stepping off the bottom step of flight of stairs and there I was - simply standing. "That was a 10 Paul," said Omar. "Perfect."

       

I laughed, shook Omar's hand and knew I was addicted. Paragliding is fabulous. If ever you get the chance to do it somewhere scenically stunning - do so. The initial fear of running down a hill towards a drop is fleeting and it is then replaced by euphoria and spectacle.

Thank you Tandem Paragliders - Queenstown. Thank you Omar - you were an excellent pilot. And thank you Linda and Neassa, the two lovely ladies I shared the experience with. We had all thoroughly enjoyed our flights and after a tea back in town, they invited me to join them on a road trip to Glenorchy, and we spent the next few hours chatting and site-seeing south of Queenstown. 

What a day!

Paul

       Omar - my pilot

                                   Linda and Neassa  

                               

                               

                                          So high - just distant spots up in the clouds!

Christchurch Devastation & The Cardboard Cathedral

I first learned of the devastation of Christchurch following a tremendous earthquake on UK news back in February 2011. The news story told of some loss of life, many people injured and damage to buildings. It became more of a reality when subsequently a New Zealand family joined our school in Crewe. They had lived in Christchurch through numerous smaller quakes, but after this major one, they decided to emigrate rather than stay in the country.

When I planned my visit to NZ, the vague recollection of Christchurch made it to my 'to go and see' list - partly because I had heard it was a quaintly English part of NZ, partly because it was a principle location in the south island, but also (for reasons which I know are rather voyeuristic) I wanted to see for myself the extent of the damage, the scale of the rebuilding and visit the cardboard cathedral I had heard so much about.

I was not remotely prepared for the bombsite which is Christchurch 2015. Huge areas of the city have been flattened and buildings everywhere are closed and unsafe for use. As a result, it has the feel of a town without amenities - a ghost town - a town populated by carparks. 

But look a little deeper and you find Christchurch has a strong pulse. On weekdays the sound of construction and building work reverberates. City planners talk about a rejuvenated centre coming back online by 2025. 

And the cardboard cathedral is inspirational. Using a Japanese architect (named Shigeru Ban) famous for helping to quickly rebuild parts of Kyoto after their quake, the structure took less than two years to erect, can seat 700 people and is guaranteed until 2050. 

                               

      

                          

  

      

It is sad to see the majesty of the old cathedral, unusable, unstable and derelict, but plans are in hand to build a new cathedral and eventually give the transitional cardboard one over to the local parish. It is rather impressive to know that this 'temporary' cathedral is made from cardboard tubes, local timber, steel, a concrete footprint and a polycarbonate roof. 

      

                                                      What is left of the Cathedral

Punting has resumed on the River Avon, a temporary tourist information hub is up and running, the Museum and Botanical Gardens are both outstanding and rebuilding priorities include the art gallery, Christ's College and regenerating the commercial heart of the city.

On a more somber note the 'empty chairs' art installation is a haunting reminder that 185 people lost their lives on the day of the quake.

                                   

Visit Christchurch. Put tourist dollars into their economy and take time to visit the Quake Museum. Appreciate the efforts of the district and national government to rebuild the city and offer up a prayer of thanks that you don't live in an earthquake hot spot.

The Mikhail Lermontov

Always on the look out for new diving opportunities, imagine my surprise at finding a possible wreck dive in the straits between the North and South islands of New Zealand. I had never heard of the Mikhail Lermontov, but I booked myself a couple of dives and then decided that I needed to do my homework!

                             

This luxury passenger liner sank in 1986 in rather unusual circumstances. After ripping open it's hull on a reef, it began to quickly take on water and the captain decided to beach the vessel in the Marlborough Sounds at Port Gore. Contradictory accounts then say that electrical failures meant the vessel drifted back out into deeper waters and sank - others suggest that following rapid consultation with mother Russia, the captain was told not to beach and reversed the ship back into the deeper channel.

Despite sinking at night only one crew member died, though a number of elderly passengers were injured. A large scale rescue operation saw over 700 people successfully evacuated before the Lermontov sank. It now lies on its side at the bottom of a remote inlet. Salvage teams took out the oil and diesel, valuables and retrievable items, but it is now a recreational dive museum.

                              

GoDive specialise in diving the wreck and have built a modest guest lodge for those divers skilled and foolish enough to want to try. Three divers have lost theirs lives over the years, so it is a dive not to be taken lightly. I found the fact that two bodies have never been recovered from the wreck quite sobering too.

                                              

Brent junior picked me up from Picton after the Interislander ferry had transported me across the straits from Wellington in stormy waters. We then drove for over three hours around the amazing fjord-like land which makes up the coastal region of the Marlborough Sounds - absolutely stunning views. My companions for the next 36 hours were two Germans, Andreas and Martina, and we were soon travelling along mountain tracks before we finally reached the top of the pass and the descent to our base camp.

    

                                                      

Once we had arrived at the lodge, we were introduced to a group of 6 other divers and instructors, who would  be diving the wreck the next day with us. They were all extremely hyper when we arrived, partly due to the fact that they had been at the lodge for two days without any communication with the outside world and were suffering from a degree of cabin fever, but mainly because they had just had the dive of their lives that morning and couldn't wait to tell someone about it. Apparently, as they were down on the exterior of the Lermontov, they were joined by a curious and playful killer whale. Two of the divers were terrified and immediately forgot how to scuba (and had to be reassured and stopped from bolting to the surface) two were nervous and hung back to see what was happening and Brent Senior approached the orca and sang to it! He then proceeded to do a horizontal roll, which the orca copied and an underwater tumble, which she again copied. He gauged her to be an adolescent female measuring about 8 metres in length. For 20 minutes she swam with and around the divers before approaching each one individually and looking them in the face from a distance of 5 feet, for about 30 seconds each person. Then she swam away. Needless to say all the divers were ecstatic, relieved and amazed. They captured it all on video using a GoPro camera, so we got to see the footage of the interaction. I can tell you that my degree of jealousy was huge. We all knew this was unusual orca behaviour and rare, but it took Brent Senior to sum it up "a once in a lifetime diving experience" he said - and he has been diving for more than 30 years.

                                

That night, after an excellent tea of steak, salad and mussels, the three of us watched a video about the initial salvage work on the Lermontov after it sank and then familiarised ourselves with the ship, looking at plans, photos and artefacts. We discussed the sea conditions, probable visibility and dive goals for the day ahead and then went to bed feeling both excited and a little scared.

    

       

                                                        

       

The Lermontov is lying on her side, as depicted in the model above. At her deepest point she is some 39 metres (120 feet) below sea level and at her most shallow, she is 17 metres down. We had two dive plans. Dive one would take us down the anchor line and onto the exterior of the hull near the front of the ship. We would then swim the length of the vessel towards the stern. At the back we would enter into the swimming pool area before exiting onto the Winter Garden exterior companionway. When we reached the funnel we would check our air supply and make our way to the wheel house. The whole time, Brent would be assessing our relative dive strengths and abilities and we would become orientated with the wreck. We would then surface and have a break on a nearby beach, drinking hot tea, eating biscuits and dozing in the sunshine whilst we allowed nitrogen levels in our bodies to decrease. 

Whilst dive one was a reconnoissance dive, dive two would see us entering the ship - 'recreational penetration of the hull' as Brent junior defined it (I don't know if he was aware of how that term could be construed!) We would again follow the anchor line, head back to the stern and then enter the ship through the pool stopping at the bar for a cocktail, before entering the inner passageways. We would swim along a deck using our torches to navigate, pass the cinema/theatre, cabins and stairwells before  changing levels and exiting at the main funnel. We would then swim the exterior of the funnel and the crow's nest (antenna mast) before returning to the wheel house. 

The following underwater pictures are taken from various sources and are not my own, but they document the trip step by step. We began at first light with overcast skies, but by our second dive the sun had come out and it was much warmer and brighter.

                             

                                  Heading out to the dive site, marked by a buoy to the right

    

             Descending to the the exterior of the hull and following a row of rectangular windows

       

 

                          

                        Up the antenna mast (crow's nest) approaching the front of the wreck

       

              I followed Brent up this exact corridor and my view was identical (a diver and a torch)

       

           The bar - everything was at 90 degrees to the vertical, but we stopped at the bar stools 

                       and we 'drank' from a bottle that has been down there nearly 30 years!

       

       

       

                                                                 A carpet shark

Both dives went perfectly according to plan. Each lasted about 45 minutes. At my deepest I was 28 metres below the surface. I saw a few carpet sharks as well as plenty of fish life who have been making this wreck their home. The water temperature was 16 degrees, so we were wearing thick 7mm wetsuits, boots, hoods and gloves. We took powerful torches for the internal elements of the dive and we had checked and double checked our exact dive plans, vessel orientation and all pertinent signals and actions in the event of an emergency. 

Whilst I didn't see an orca, I did have a most excellent dive, particularly the penetration dive. I was definitely quite scared in this most eerie of environments. The Lermontov is a silent graveyard of a ship with the only sound I could hear being that of my own breathing. There were shadows everywhere, the sudden movements of fish and the billowing of curtains and materials on the wreck. When we disturbed the silt and sediment with our fin kicks, things became gloomy and even more eerie so it was with a sense of relief that we exited into the open water.

                            

               Port Gore - the Lermontov is 39 metres down at the far right and around the corner

                            

         

                         One of the surviving life boats, now stationed in Picton as a reminder

If you want to see more about this ship, I found an interesting documentary on Youtube which may be of interest (see the link below) - or look up: 'Destination Disaster - the final voyage of the Mikhail Lermontov' or 'The Lermontov Sinking 01'

                                                       http://youtu.be/G_c2yV8GF38

Or you could check out this 8 minute video from a diver who returned an item to the wreck which had been removed two years earlier. Very well made documentary.

 

                                                       http://youtu.be/_lMH7SDh67c

My thanks got to Brent Junior - who was an excellent dive master, buddy and guide and to my two diving companions - Andreas and Martina. Many thanks to GoDive - a very professional organisation. I will never forget diving the Lermontov.

Paul

Paul and Mark's Long Way Down (or is that up?)

In 1987 I arrived at college riding a Honda c90. A lovely little motorcycle that took me over 2,000 miles in three years before it died. In that time I was stopped for speeding once, achieving a record breaking 66 miles per hour in a 40mph zone (my defence being it was 4.00am, a wide carriageway and there was no one on the road - except the police of course!) Not bad for what my college friends had christened 'the hair-dryer on wheels.' Seeing it now brings back an incredible feeling of nostalgia and a desire to buy one again!

                                  

Fast forward 20 years and I decided to get my full motorcycle licence. This decision was partly due to the fact that I had thought (and procrastinated) about it for years, a good friend in Chester was contemplating it too and someone we knew in Skipton, who had always been mad on motorcycles and had encouraged us to get ourselves licenced, had had a stroke and was no longer able to ride them himself. That sad event pushed me over the edge and I started motorcycle lessons (thank you John - I am forever in your debt.)

Once I'd passed my tests, not something that was straight forward I can assure you, I promptly bought another Honda - this time a 700cc Transalp. A group of us have since had great fun touring Scotland, Ireland, Wales and parts of England on them. I must confess to exceeding the speed limit once or twice on mine (I wanted to see if 117mph was indeed achievable as the top speed of the Transalp - it was!) but for the most part, we have all ridden exceedingly sensibly and often rather slowly.

                                             

You will know from my blog, that in Vietnam I bought another Honda, (a Honda Win 110cc) for my epic north to south adventure over 2000 kilometres. I had figured that if Clarkson, Hammond and Captain Slow could ride the length of Vietnam - so could I. During my five weeks riding, I was stopped by the Vietnamese police twice - once for speeding (they said I was doing 60 km/hr in a 40 km/hr zone - news to me as the bike had no working speedometer or gauges of any description!) and once for making an illegal manoeuvre at a junction! Now if you have ever seen Vietnamese road users, the second would have you laughing hysterically - as every manoeuvre by every road user is usually an illegal one. I was fined for the first and cautioned for the second. That little bike coped with everything Vietnam could throw at it: storms, bees, road works, buses, a 2,200 metre pass, blistering heat - you name it, the bike chugged on regardless.

                                  

When my friend Mark said he was coming to New Zealand with a work commitment for the 'Around the World Yacht Race' and asked me if I was up for a little biking - my answer was a loud yes, even though I had to change my New Zealand travel plans to meet him at Auckland. I hoped the expense and alterations would be worth it...they were.

 

                                 

                                 

      Mark's R1200 GS monster

                 My more modest G650 GS

No Honda this time. Mark and I chose BMW's. Mark had always wanted to ride the 1200GS, and I chose the considerably cheaper 650GS. He fell head over heels in love with his machine and now wants one (so if anyone has a spare £12,000 lying around - please contact him); I liked mine enormously, especially the slick gears, but I still prefer my Transalp (but only just).

       

                                

On day one we rode from Auckland to Paihia, getting used to the feel of the bikes and the New Zealand roads. We covered 235kms at a leisurely pace and drank in the coastal scenery before stopping for the night at the Bay of Islands. What a stunning place. We made the effort to get up early the following morning so we could watch the sunrise which we estimated would do so above the harbour waters in front of our hotel. It did and it was spectacular.

                                

                                

                                

                                                     The views at Paihia - Bay of Islands

After the sun had dutifully done it's business and was shining down on the world around us, we had a quick breakfast and set off again. Day two was going to be our most challenging riding day and would see us heading to the furthest most part of the north island of New Zealand - Cape Reigna lighthouse. I made the mistake of saying to Mark I wanted to touch it and give it a good natured pat which turned into the phrase 'Oh I could slap a lighthouse' for the remainder of our time together!

                             

         

                                 

Once again the views on route were amazing, but the rapidly advancing cyclone Pam, meant that we had no sooner arrived, than the clouds and squalls closed in and it started to rain heavily and blanketed the land and sea in thick cloud. With nothing for it but to ride away, we got onto our BMW's and blasted back up the 100km peninsula, buffetted by strong winds the whole way. We averaged 95km/hr on the winding roads and eventually came back out into the sunshine and blue skies of the northland. After filing up with petrol at the first sign of civilisation, we covered the remaining kilometers with tired determination. That night, after riding a total of 465kms, we ached all over and were ravenously hungry. Can you tell?

                                     

                                 

Day three was also our final day. 360kms across the top of the country to the west and then down through the Kauri forests and along the coast back to Auckland. As with all days spent riding, the first hour or two was simply bliss. Man and machine in perfect harmony, buttocks are not sore, roads are clear - everything feels great and you are convinced you can ride all day - chatting and singing over the intercoms full of joie de vivre. It is only when you enter hour three and four on the road that the fairytale begins to crack. Your bum hurts, your arms ache, the road and winds becoming increasingly challenging, conversation dies and you simply want to get where you are going. Don't ask me about hours five and six!

Fortunately, the views were again spectacular and after a stop for brunch around 11.00, we raced on to see the kauris (Agathis Australis).

    

       

                Great place for breakfast   

    

These trees are thousands of years old and we saw some of the last remaining ones in New Zealand, as they were systematically felled for over a century. However, it was the road leading out through the forest that gave me most pleasure. Miles and miles of twisting, turning bends through dappled forest sunlight - no wind, no great speed, just the absolute pleasure of riding. I leaned over so far on my bike on some of the corners that I scraped my side stand three times - a fact Mark chose to disbelieve, until the metal part that helps your foot to move the stand up and down came off in a carpark later in the day and the wear and tear was clear to see! We visited the Kauri museum as we neared Auckland, but had a rushed tour as our bikes were due back at the garage we'd hired them from by 6.30pm. We made it for 6.10. Another epic and long day. 1061 kms in 3 days - what a road trip! I kept having to remind myself that Mark and I were not only riding together for the first time since August 2014, but we were riding in New Zealand. 

                                          

Thank you Mark for a great road trip and please accept my apologies for the fact that I talked so much. 

Mark and I spent the next two days in Auckland as he completed his Around the World commitments. With the cyclone upon us, the more ambitious plans for the Alvi Medica team were abandoned and the departure of the boats was put back to mid week. This meant I was unable to board a vessel or see them all leave on their next leg to Brazil, but it was good to see Mark in full lecture mode, stay as his guest in a posh hotel and be invited to a delicious lunchtime reception afterwards, before we finally went our separate ways. Mark is now back in the UK whilst I flew to Wellington for my next Kiwi adventure.

        

                                        The Alvi Medica boat (orange and black livery)

        

PS - Did I mention that the landscapes were stunning?!!! LOL

Paul

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