They'll Ruin Your Week-a

After we said our goodbyes to our hobbling, USA-bound friend, Les, we hopped in the Dirty Dog and headed west toward the coast.  Because we had had such an extensive sabbatical from fishing, I thought it would be a good idea to put in a couple days of car camping and fishing a few rivers on the way before we headed to the trailhead of our extensive hike into the Mokihinui River drainage.  We were recommended a few rivers near Lake Brunner, so we set up camp at a little turn off on the Orangapuki River, which is centrally located amongst several rivers and creeks that supposedly hold trout.

We began the monotony of assembling tents, blowing up sleeping pads, pillows and pulling out our sleeping bags when Zach yelled, "Holy shit!  Did you see that?".  Not sure exactly what it was, he said it looked like a cat of some sort.  I came over to investigate, only to see nothing and to become skeptical of Zach's sanity.  Just as I was about to really unleash a tidal wave of ridicule, we heard some twigs snapping behind us and spotted a brown tail end of a cat-sized animal disappear into the briars.  Still unsure of which branch of the animal kingdom this creature belonged, we looked into it further.

Previous to this mysterious encounter, we were at the visitor's center up on Mount Cook and were doing some reading on a problem with feral cats in the area.  Not your fluffy house cat named, Whiskers, but a big, "I'm gonna tear your face off", feral cat that I want no part of.  Having this in the back of our minds, we approached the situation gingerly.  As we crept up to this animal's den, we could see its silhouette in the shadows.  We sat and watched for a minute as it rustled around in the bushes when finally, it poked its head out and stared at us with a look on its face as if to say, "Do you mind? I'm rustling here!!"


It wasn't a cat.  It was a stupid looking flightless bird, about the size of a chicken, with red eyes, a long broad beak and a sense of entitlement written all over its face.  At first, we didn't mind the newly welcomed guest.  He would walk the perimeter of camp, displaying a boldness and curiosity not usually seen among normal, wary, skittish birds.  It wasn't until we began setting up for dinner, when my acceptance for this feathery asshole started to dwindle.  When food was presented, I swear I saw the bird's eyes get wide as it scurried into the bushes.

If you paid attention, you could hear the slow creep along the bush line nearing the bins of food.  Fully aware that the bird was coming, I stood there waiting both in preparation to jump and wave my arms like a crazy person to dissuade it from stealing our food and in curiosity, just to see what this bird was capable of.  Sure enough, without even acknowledging my presence, it appeared out of its cover, head bobbing like a chicken, fully preparing for unthinkable acts of thievery.  Before it was able to snatch anything, I charged it, removing the bird from its trance and scared it off.

I thought that, like most animals of instinct, this encounter would have triggered its survival lobe in the brain to say, "I just learned from this fearful encounter, that if I pursue that plastic receptacle filled with food, then that giant animal, which I believe to be a human, will attack me, causing me much stress, potential bodily harm or in worst case scenario, loss of life."  I'm sure those are the exact thoughts that flood an animal's brain when faced with a severe fight or flight situation.  This bird continued to pester our food stocks and tested our patience. Soon enough, Zach and I were forced to up the ante and tested our aim with rocks.  To my surprise, this bird wasn't fazed.  In fact, every time we missed it with a rock, he chased after the rock as if it were food.  I've never in my life seen an animal so instinctually lacking, that even after being struck with a golf ball sized rock, will continually present itself broadside and still think we're hucking food at him as hard as we can.

There was one encounter where this bird flanked us to the east, demanding both Zach and my attention.  With rocks in hand, we turned to follow to teach this bastard a lesson.  As soon as we were pulled from our posts near the food bins and engaging our new enemy, we heard the sound of rustling plastic.  We turned around only to see a second bird running back to its cover with ziplock bag in tow soon to disappear into the briars.  Since our food was latched in our big tupperware bins, I was confused as to what it stole.  I turned to Zach perplexed and all he said to me was, "shit shovel".  The asshole stole our spade that we use to bury our shit.  Even though that is a useful tool for us and we obviously use it everyday it was almost satisfying to know that the bird was eating our shit.  I think I even yelled it at one of the birds at least once, "Eat Shit, Bird!!!!", as I hauled a rock at its face.  And that's exactly what he did.  Good on ya, mate.

As soon as we thought we were finished with this pest, as I guess they return to cover come evening, we were startled awake, point blank by its squawking back and forth.  Normally, when you hear birds calling, it's in a call and response manner, usually from across a valley or a other great distance.  These birds were right next to each other, both essentially screaming in each other's ears as if it were a contest of volume.  It happened again at day break, right before it snuck under my vestibule and pecked at my face.  I've never wanted a gun more in my life.  I'd shoot that smug look right off its stupid, feathery face.  The problem is, if it didn't die or you missed he would've thought you were shooting food at him and continue ruining your life.

Oh, since this is a fishing blog, I should comment on the fishing.  It was marginal at best.  However, there is a spring creek that held some really spectacular fish, but it winds through a farmer's paddock and we couldn't find him to gain permission.  Hopefully, on our way back.

As we continued on our way to the coast, we stopped in Greymouth, enjoyed a beer at a local tavern and then ate at a place called Billy-O Burger.  Best burger by far in New Zealand.  We were directed to a campsite by some girls that worked at the restaurant.  The campsite was right on the beach.  There really weren't any good sites to pitch a tent so we decided to sleep in the front seats of the Dirty Dog.  It was pretty unbelievable to have a fire on the beach with good company, some beers and tunes.  Plenty of drift wood which made for a pretty stellar beach bon fire.

The next day, we got some breakfast and continued onto Westport.  This drive is unbelievable.  I've never seen to much virgin coast before.  In the States, every inch of beach frontage is built up with homes or high rises.  The west coast of New Zealand is untouched and goes on forever.  Truly stunning.

When was the last time you saw a road just continue right onto the beach?

Could have driven for a while before hitting anything.  And the funny thing is, you would probably hit a cow before a building.  Unreal.

We made a pitstop in PunaKaiki to see the Pancake Rocks and Blow Holes.

It was definitely a site to see, but let's get back to the devil bird I mentioned previously.  As I was walking back to the cafe from the bathroom to finish the rest of my delicious peppered steak meat pie, I noticed a piece of paper with a photo of this menacing bird that had been terrorizing our lives for the last few days.  Its called a weka (Week-a).  The hanger described the weka, its traits, behavior and characteristics.  It pretty much nailed this bird on the head with what we put up with at camp.  We had to laugh at this new information.

When we finally reached the town nearest the trailhead to the Mokihinui, we made camp at an established campsite about 15 minutes drive from where we begin our journey.  Once we had everything set up, we began packing our packs for the next days 8 hour hike in.  Packing strategically for a week in the bush is always a bit of a cluster and definitely takes some time.  Due to the fact that this area floods rapidly after a storm and usually takes a couple days to clear, we had to account for a few days of extra food in case we got stuck.  What looked like a small creek to cross on the way in, can very easily turn into an impassible torrent after a good storm.  Not much you can do until it clears.  Meanwhile, as soon as all of our food came out, you can guess who joined the party: WEKA.

In the middle of this process, there was an impressive sunset over the ocean.  Zach and I both grabbed our cameras to try and capture this unbelievable span of scenery.  When we returned to camp, we continued packing only to find that Zach's roll of summer sausage was missing.  We searched everywhere, but with no success.  There was only one explanation:  WEKA.

Can't beat this.

I often wonder how a bird like this can survive in such a harsh and unforgiving environment called Earth.  I would have put the weka on the extinct list right beside the DoDo Bird if I didn't know any better.  I guess persistence pays off in the end.  We could all learn a little something from our feathery little friend.  If at first you fail, keep trying.  And when this world begins to throw rocks at you, don't dodge them, embrace them.  When the world wants you dead and gone, just wait until a beautiful sunset, then steal its summer sausage.

WEKA:  They will truly ruin your week-a.