Lower Kaimai
Our first volunteering adventure
‘I don’t think I can do this, Mike.’ I had been cold for hours, sitting on a hard bench in the dusty common room and chatting to our hosts and the other volunteers. On the way back to our tent, I had my first wobble of the stay. Our hosts had provided the tent and sleeping bags, both filthy. The sleeping bags smelt of dog to a degree that made breathing difficult. I was so far out of my comfort zone that I couldn’t see back in. We were booked here for over a week. How was I going to cope? I was with Mike, though; surely I could survive one night?
I removed my trousers but kept every other layer on – socks, underwear, T-shirt, shirt, fleece and coat. I donned my beanie hat and crawled into the odorous sleeping bag. With two blankets pulled up high, I closed my eyes and tried to relax my breathing. Traffic thundered along the arterial road a couple of hundred metres away. One of our hosts referred to the road as the Ocean of Humanity. Perhaps he has never slept in one of the tents, where it sounds as though the HGVs are about to rip the tent pegs out. As the night drew on, I curled up into a ball to preserve body heat and turned away from the noise outside.
I must have slept eventually because I remember waking to the dawn chorus, combined with the incessant roar of the traffic.
I had survived my first night.
We were staying on some land with basic off-grid facilities. While there, we hoped to learn about off-grid living and Maori culture while contributing to some nature conservation work.
On our introductory tour, we followed a narrow path into the native forest and wound between trees into a valley. Our Maori host introduced us to some of his philosophies around energy flows and mindfulness.
‘It’s time to take your shoes off, please. We avoid walking in the river or the forest on the far side in anything but bare feet.’
We acquiesced. Our host led the way, and I followed his route across the river, feeling each smooth rock under my feet and checking that I had purchase before placing my weight down. Icy water flowed across my toes, ankles and calves.
On the far side, we continued barefoot up the slope. I could feel every twig and dead fern frond pressing onto my feet as we walked. I gritted my teeth with the discomfort, then realised something special was happening. I could feel the spring in the ground under my feet. This had been absent while I was wearing my hiking boots. I started to savour the feeling rather than fearing each footstep.
The native forest and river are special places, but the rest of the land owned by our hosts is not in such good condition. This is part of an old cattle station that was not maintained, and gorse and brambles, introduced by European settlers, are rampant. Our hosts have started to remove the brambles, which we helped with that afternoon.
That evening, my core temperature kept dropping as we ate and then chatted. Our hosts gave me a blanket, but I remained cold until we headed for bed, and indeed, for most of the night.
The following morning, when we arrived in the common room, the stove was lit, and the room was warm. The sun was shining, and the temperature outside soon rose, too. I began to relax.
After breakfast and a few yoga moves to ease my stiff back, we got to work. Over the next few days, we turned a platform with a roof into an enclosed toilet and changing space. On the face of things, Mike and I were splitting up pallets, measuring and nailing. But what we were really doing was remembering our love of making things, learning about the benefits of short working periods (we got a lot done in two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon with a long break in between) and appreciating teamwork when the others joined us.
After we finished working on the first day, we returned to the forest and valley for a swim. At the river, we walked barefoot along the rocks to a cascade with a small swimming hole at its base. We carefully set our clothes out on a rock above water level and scouted the pool for the best route in and out.
The water first froze my ankles, then my shins and my thighs. I stood for a while, contemplating. Could I bring myself to drop down into that icy water? Suddenly, the decision was made, and I pushed forward off the rocks. It really was icy! I froze parts of me that I didn’t know were freezable in the few short strokes I took into the pool and back to the rocks.
Wow - that was refreshing!
During our stay, I exercised a degree of patience I didn’t know I had. Our hosts were disorganised. Tools were not in the right place, and often not fit for purpose. Their approach to work was very different to our own, focusing on the process and not really caring too much about the end result. We like to think that we do both! Our hosts also had a high-maintenance dog who barked for long periods, expecting us to play. They had no intention of training her, and she had no idea about what is acceptable behaviour for a dog. Her bark cut through my thoughts like a scalpel, and she grabbed anything she could reach that might be of value to us. This made it impossible to air the smelly sleeping bags and meant we were always on high alert in case she took our hats, clothes and gloves. She even grabbed some of our clothes off the washing line. Our hosts seemed to think this was perfectly fine.
‘She just wants to exchange value with you.’
Or when the dog had one of the chickens firmly in her jaw, ‘They’re exchanging energy.’
When the barking became unbearable, Mike employed some simple dog-training techniques and the dog’s behaviour improved – around us, at least. She has a lovely temperament and was much more fun to have around once she started to learn about boundaries.
We spent one of our breaks with another volunteer (Kai), looking for the biggest waterfall, where there is another swimming hole. After much to-ing and fro-ing along the very unclear ‘paths’, we eventually found it, and it was worth the trek. One night, while Mike was lying in the tent sorting out a slipped disc, I followed Kai through the dark forest back down to the river, hoping to see glow worms. Standing at the water's edge, it was like we were beneath a galaxy of stars, their light reflecting off the fast-moving river. On a tributary, one of the twins showed us the crayfish, their red eyes reflecting the light from our head torches. And on our day off, we hiked in the Lower Kaimai hills through more wonderful forest.
In the evenings, we talked about Maori philosophy and sometimes played games. Our host was half Maori, half English, but identified most strongly as Maori. He blamed the English for just about everything wrong with the country (he even tried to blame invasive possums on us!). He told us how Maoris were a peace-loving people until the Europeans came along. This does not accord with anything else we have heard or read about the country's history, and many Maori we have met have been proud of their warrior heritage. It was an unusual viewpoint!
The difficulties with the accommodation, food, hygiene standards, health and dog were just about counterbalanced by our glorious surroundings and the chance to work with the other two volunteers, talented young men from Germany and Austria, which could explain why we stayed. Or maybe it was because Mike slipped a disc and then caught a bug from our host that we didn’t have the energy to leave. Who knows?
Whatever our reasons for staying, we were certainly looking forward to the next part of our trip, when we could clean up and recover in a house with hot and cold running water and a reliable electricity supply.
Before I sign off, I must apologise. Since starting our travels, I have been confused about the day of the week. And now it seems that I’m confused about what week it is… I thought I was up to date with my newsletters, but have just realised that I missed a week. Sorry! Hopefully next week’s instalment will land next Saturday, as planned. :-)
Missing a week sounds like a good holiday! You've wisely left us to imagine Mike's "simple dog training technique". 🐕🏑