The hands of fate grabbed me from the moment we docked at the Bay of Islands Marina. Picking paths, and marionetting my movements. In a land synonymous with adventure and kindness, my second trip to New Zealand was so good it felt fictional. Ever the hitchhiker, i was outside of choice, along for the ride.
Our landing marked the close of a beautiful chapter journeying through Pacific islands with my new friend Jean, a French sailor i’d befriended in Samoa. Together we spent over a month sailing through Fiji, and down to New Zealand. Hitting golf courses, snorkelling, lazing on our own private micro islands, and sneaking into resorts.
While i was dying to get to my friends in Auckland, Jean asked for some extra help with his boat before i left. A tidy, and prep for his son’s arrival, then help sailing it around a large cape to a more comfortable moorage. Of course i agreed, happy to oblige the kind man. The extra time gave me a chance to catch up on news, emails, and wrap my head around a return to society. Over the course of my ocean odyssey, one of my favourite bands, Neutral Milk Hotel had reunited. While the months old announcement stunned me, the serendipitous discovery we’d arrived a few days before their show in New Zealand didn’t surprise me at all. Par for the course.
The aid took much longer than expected. The winds against us, our quick zip, turned to an overnighter. By late in the afternoon day of the performance we still hadn’t made it to Jean’s preferred mooring. Still a few hours drive from Auckland, he apologized that i’d miss the show.
Ever the optimist, i knew there was still time, and spied a highway hugging the shoreline. With nothing but an hour and half of easy, placid puttering ahead, i asked to be dropped ashore. It was a quick anchor, and my captain was happy to humour me. Ten minutes later we landed on a beach with my bags in his small zodiac. Claiming it was for my safety, Jean walked me to the road, doubting my ability to catch a ride to the city. Despite the fact that at this point my thumbs had taken me from New York to New Zealand- including hitching his boat in the middle of the Pacific, the idea we were ever strangers is a distant memory.
The old Frenchman chuckled as i cast my thumb out to the first passing car, and went pale as a ghost when it stopped immediately. Smug, i skipped over and asked the driver’s destination through their lowered window.
Auckland.
Of course. i opened the back door, tossed in my rucksack, gave my stunned friend a grateful hug goodbye, and was on my way to the city. My first visit had only been for a quick four day layover. i’d caught up with a few friends, skirted around some small towns, and had a great taste of the little land. It was good to be back. My ride just happened to be passing through to Parnell, my friend’s neighbourhood, and dropped me off outside their recording studio. My bags stored safe with one of their roommates, i caught a bus crosstown to chase my luck at the infamous King’s Arms.
i’d been fortunate enough to catch the reclusive Jeff Magnum when i snuck into Coachella 2012. Never did i think i’d get the chance to see his whole band reunite. Outside the venue i paced, trying to scrounge a ticket. Lo and behold, i was offered a free one for the show the following evening. A very generous man couldn’t make it, had a spare, and passed it over. We shook hands, hugged, and he wished me luck getting in that night before entering the venue himself.
By all accounts i was sorted, could go home, rest easy, and catch the gig the next day. But the club was so small, and the band so legendary, two nights back to back wouldn’t be enough. i couldn’t help but pursue onwards. The queue dwindled without much luck. i struck up a conversation with a couple of Kiwis and a few Aussies having a last smoke before entering the venue. Catching my accent they asked how long i’d been in the country. A brief overview of my adventures across the ocean, and the quick hitch into the city had them gobsmacked. One in particular had flown over for the night to see the show. Flabbergasted, he tossed his cigarette and told me he was on the guestlist, and may or may not have a plus one. He led me to the door, and told me to wait, that he’d wave me in if he could.
Sure enough i was whisked inside in time to catch the end of legendary Kiwi Chris Knox’s set, and i treated my new friend to a pint. i couldn’t believe how small and intimate the venue was. Beyond fortunate. Before i knew it the band started, kicking things off with my fuzzy favourite, The King of Carrot Flowers. From there the set was nothing short of magick. The room swelled, and my new friend and i sang In The Aeroplane Over the Sea, arm in arm. Jeff’s acoustic set in Indio brought many to tears. The show that night was every bit as moving, if not more so. (You can hear all about it on this episode of: i wuz there)
The gig ended, and i exchanged details with my new friend, who turned out to be a station manager for Triple J, the world famous Australian radio station, and told me to give him a shout when i made it over. i stumbled back to Parnell as my friends arrived back home and despite my exhaustion stayed up late catching up over gin and tonics. The next evening i was treated to the encore performance, and a different setlist. The show was phenomenal, i hung about afterwards and chatted with the band before setting off.
The next few days in Auckland were every bit as dreamy, though a little more relaxing. Catching up with my friends, jamming in the studio, sneaking into movies, hiking, downing G and T’s and making giant communal dinners. But, as always, the road beckoned.
i’d found some couch surfers south in Wellington hosting a giant Thanksgiving, and decided to make tracks. Fate spun her spells yet again. Another fun late night had me sleep in late. Well past an ideal hour to set off, i left none the less, accepting i was in for a night of camping ahead. Unfortunately, i made terrible time compared to my immediate ride up North, and sat through an hour of increasing commuter traffic by a highway entrance. My eventual lift came and we made our way to the countryside.
The driver was going a fair distance, still south, but not in a way ideal towards the capital. Headed instead to Matamata, it was an interesting twist, one of the few places i’d been to the last time i’d visited the island. My friend in Auckland had taken me to the small town and farm where she’d grown up. Instead of jumping out at an appropriate next junction to continue onwards, i decided to join for the full ride, and make up the lost ground later.
During my visit to the family’s farm i heard many stories of mischief they’d gotten up to as teens. The one that interested me the most was how they’d snuck into Lord of the Rings film sets, especially, the now touristy site of the Hobbiton. The Shire, she explained, was only a few kilometres away.
Traffic added a tremendous delay to my journey. By the time we neared Matamata i had about two hours of daylight left. Inspired by my friend’s shenanigans, and knowing i’d have to camp in the wild regardless, i asked to be let out at the crossroads leading to the site.
A closed gas station marked the intersection. i waved my ride goodbye, spun on my heel, and hopped the fence behind the shop. Safe enough, i grabbed the sleeping bag, yoga mat, book, flashlight, headphones, ditched my pack, and took off.
Strolling through the romantic winding country roads, i laughed at the audacity of my little excursion. With a rough idea where my target lay, i formulated a plan and sought to overshoot the entrance. Sure enough the signs arrived, i made note of the gates, and kept moving. Using the trees on the other end of the hill as a compass i planned to hook around into the little Shire. A few cars passed here and there, but for the most part, i was safe from prying eyes. A kilometre later i cut in, and started to cross the farmland.
On the far end of the paddock i ran into what would’ve been an unusual looking gate. Luckily, on my friend’s tour she’d shown me how to recognize, and move safe through electric fences. With a deep breath i found the rubber handles, grabbed them, clipped myself in and out, and forged onward, undeterred.
Trespassing made me nervous. As friendly as the Kiwi’s were, the last thing i’d want to do was offend anyone. i marched with butterflies, suffering little shivers whenever i heard the crackling of the fences. The Sun began to set, i was getting tired, hungry, and worried about using my light in the dark. Fearful fantasies about getting caught with no reliable story, plan, nowhere to stay, and my bag ages away began to flood.
The fields had been empty, easy- if only muddy, walking. The next paddock i jumped into housed a herd of young cows who took notice of me. Somehow the sound of me landing startled them, and they started coming my way. i paused, unable to shake the feeling something was wrong. Everything should be fine, there was no tangible danger, just innocent, sweet cows. They began to pick up speed, and numbers, thundering towards me.
i had flashbacks of Mufasa’s death in The Lion King as the herd barrelled down. Andreline pumped, and i looked to bolt. There was no real hope, i was in an open field save for a tiny set of trees between us. In a split second, for better or worse, i made my decision, sprinted towards the hurtling heifers, tucked tight between the treetrunks, and prayed i wouldn’t be trampled as they shot along the sides. The earth shook. i squeezed the rough bark for dear life. Before the dust settled, and the last calf passed instinct took over and i raced to the next paddock, flying through the basic procedures of the electric fence before i could even formulate the thought to run.
As i caught my breath, and began to settle i walked forward, safe and sound from the herd. One lone cow stood on the horizon, eyeing me with suspicion. Comfort wouldn’t come. Everything seemed fine, there was one animal who didn’t look like it would spook by my footsteps. Still i couldn’t find my sense of calm while i stepped. There was a nag, why would this one be separate from the rest? Was it bad? A bully? Why was its horns so much bigger than the others?
It dawned on me and i stopped cold. i had stepped into the bull’s pen. Slow, with shallow breaths i inched back to the fence line. The buzz of electric currents brought me back to reality and i made another plan. Going backwards seemed risky. Staying in his territory felt worse. i had to move forward. Looking to the powered line an idea came. i’d hug the barrier until the exit. If the bull decided to charge, i’d dive and roll away at the last second, and hope the electricity would stun the beast long enough for my escape.
His focus never left my body, and i was cautious not to lock eyes. It was hard to work up the moxie to move. Seconds felt like hours. The head lowered, and the brute sniffed the grass, attention waning. Slow, i inched to the left, back as close to the violent voltage as i dared.
It took well over ten minutes until i was across the field from the giant, caught in a corner. There was no exit on this side of the property, instead, the far fence line was twice the size of every other, capped with barbed wire wrapped above the electric cables above. The sun had set, and the temperature had dropped.
It was a bit too much, and too risky to keep jumping into random pens in the dark. i’d had enough and needed to get out. Through the wiring i could see a small house with a bulb on, and knew a quick knock would get the help and directions i need to get back to town. There was nothing climb on. i couldn’t touch the wires. Every six feet there was a support beam, locked in on a forty five degree angle, about two feet from the top of the eight foot high fence line.
A glance over my shoulder affirmed the bull was still tracking me. Hoping for the best i tossed my sleeping bag up and over. No choice, to keep balance i’d have to take it on a run. My feet pounded along the thin wood, and by some miracle i didn’t tip over, fall to the charged fence, nor catch a shoelace on the barbed wire. An athletic feat well beyond my capabilities, my strides calculated, my leap high. Knees tight to my chest i landed into a roll and avoided injury.
In complete disbelief i sat up, dusted myself off and looked at the bull in the last drops of light. With my bag collected i marched towards the building, until i spied a welcome sign down the drive. Adrenaline spiked again, and i bolted off the road to the shadows, moving to the signage. An enormous map of the Hobbiton stood before me.
Fear dissolved and elation shot skyward. Astounded i raced down the road, cautious for any raise of alarm. My feet skipped with my heart as i regressed to a kid, scooting about the imaginary fantasy land, touring myself around the property. i found Bilbo’s little Hobbit Hole, checked door handles and let myself into a disappointing little janitor’s closet filled with brooms and rakes. It mattered not. Marched over bridges, recited lines out of context, lapping the Hobbiton over and over, i got my fill under the moonlight. The crunch of the paths, the smell of the meadows, everything exactly like the pages, straight from the film. A scoundrel, i stepped over the gated paths, swung on the swings, ran my hand over the smooth bark of the majestic party tree, sat against it’s trunk and watched the stars turn. It was nothing short of magick. Surreal. Eventually i found myself beside the Water, and rolled my sleeping bag under the twinkling sky, in a Hobbit’s garden. i was breathless. It was tough to sleep. The evening was so enchanting. A sleepover in the Hobbiton, my inner child was thrilled beyond words.
i woke at dawn, safe and unbothered. Light fog settled across the water catching the first golden rays of the morning. It took minutes to pack my bag, and tidy my space before i set off on my own adventure through mystic New Zealand. One last brisk stroll to the Dragon’s Inn, the rolling hill to Bag’s End, the Sandy Man’s Mill, the gardens, and i was out of the Hobbiton to the High Road. A quick thumb whisked me back to the petrol station in less than ten minutes. i crept behind their gate, collected my rucksack, moved back to the highway and waited. The enchanted evening had unfolded like a dream, and i’d only just begun.
Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for the next New Zealand additions!
-Mr. Write