Searching the South Island: Wharariki Beach

Who knows where the path will lead?

"HEY YOU GUYYYYYS!"

I searched for Joe Wellington at one of New Zealand's best beaches!

Back in December, I packed up my family and forced them to keep their eyes peeled while we went on holiday to the South Island. One stop was at Wharariki Beach near the Farewell Spit, the northernmost part of the South Island. It was a trek that reminded me of The Goonies and The Princess Bride movies, which offered a healthy dose of nostalgia.

After a slew of rainy days, we had to get out. So the five of us piled into the car and drove around the area, desperate to see some sights even if it would be through the fog. We missed the tour for the bus that goes out to the Farewell Spit (no cars allowed), but we found an awesome little farm that had a sign for a walking track to a beach. At the time, none of us were aware it was one of the best in New Zealand.

A beautiful male peacock greeted us in the parking lot, begging visitors for food. A gate led to a green hill section with a narrow gravel path to follow, one foot in front of the other. When we reached the top of the hill we were among roaming sheep and cows. I could've sworn I heard Wesley from The Princess Bride call out, "As you wiiiisssh!" but it was only my son repeating, "I'm a fisssh!".

My boys following the path.
Photo by Steve Waller

My dad meets a native

photo by Steve Waller

At this point, judging by the grassy landscape covered in steaming cow pies, I was in disbelief that a beach would greet us in the end. The sheep baa'ed and the cows moo'ed but otherwise, they left us alone. I asked one cow if he happened to know anyone named Joe but he didn't seem amused so I stayed out of his way.

Before we knew it the track turned to soft, fine sand and we were surrounded by woods. The landscape went from pastureland, to a paddock in steep hills, and now bush! Only in New Zealand. I could smell the salt of the sea and hear the crash of the waves so I figured we must be close. The others in my party went on ahead but I hung back to snap photos.

Um, wow. 

The sight was a scene from Goonies: the movie with Chunk and the scary old lady and the weird Baby Ruth-guy named Sloth. Complete with Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" song in my head, I chuckled at the thought that perhaps I am now living a life movies are made from.

The past few years have been the most enriching. And that's only because I ran full speed ahead into a life that I knew I always wanted, plus some surprises. That's not to say it hasn't been difficult, because it has. But there has been a lot of difficult things in my life that I've had to endure, and I'm grateful for those experiences that have taught me how to keep going. I guess I could say I needed the cow pies to get to the white sand beach that offers more than I ever could have dreamed.

Catching up with my whanau (family), I ran to the beach toward the sand dunes. My son, who leapt for joy and offered the sea his dance of youth, was so happy. I was so happy. This world was ours to discover, cow pies and all.

Like the movies from my childhood, I try to embrace the challenges of adventure and risk-taking. It's  about fighting the giant, which might seem impossible because of its size. But if I try with all my might I may just be able to conquer. In order to outsmart the narcissistic scientist whose poison can get the better of me, with enough training and experience, maybe I can become immune. If I take my time to calculate my way around the booby traps, I might recognise the patterns in order to find the treasure at the end. And no amount of shock treatment can keep me from the one (or what) I love if that love is true.

Returning to our car, I was again in awe that one narrow path led us through such different landscape to this magnificent beach. As someone who has taken a few different paths in her life, it's nice to know I've finally found the right one.

The seal is not Joe Wellington. Sorry.
Photo by Steve Waller

Alas, I'm still searching for Joe Wellington. But I found Wharariki Beach, which HuffPost calls, "Heaven on Earth"!

To be continued...

Searching the South Island: Rawhiti Cave

View from our bach

Previously, I wrote about my search for Joe Wellington on the Interislander ferry on my way to the South Island (he wasn't aboard). But maybe, just maybe, our paths would cross on a trek up to Rawhiti Cave? While I'm searching for my long-lost Kiwi friend (easy to forget this is a TRUE STORY), I'm discovering some wonderful places and the Rawhiti Cave is probably my favourite thus far.

If you don't remember, my parents were visiting over the Christmas holiday. The five of us traveled to Golden Bay. Our bach had epic views of the Tasman Sea, only a few feet from our doorstep. We enjoyed daily and nightly walks over the rocks when tide was out with white/golden sand that stretched for miles. Seashells washed ashore kept us on our tip toes as we combed the beach for the perfect one.

Endless sea shells

Low tide treasures

Pretty close to perfect!

The sand flies were obnoxious and their bites were not only itchy but painful. So when we'd finally had enough of the lazy beach-bum life (ok, we never got tired of that), we figured we should do some exploring. We plopped the kid into the back pack carrier and headed toward Rawhiti Cave. Locals said it would be an "easy" trek that school children visit as a field trip. If school kids can do it then so can we, aye? 

After driving a bit in circles to find the car park (a pasture), we were ready to set off. The bottom of the hike was fairly flat as we crossed the Dry River's boulders and snapped photos of the Nikau trees that cue the "Golden Girl's" TV show theme song in my head whenever I pass them.

A slight incline here and there, we managed to stick together quite well, with my husband and toddler leading the pack. We heard a lost sheep calling for its mates somewhere in the bush. I wanted to rescue it but decided to stick with my own herd. As the terrain began to get a bit more steep, a young couple was walking down. We stepped aside on the narrow path as best we could, and asked how high up it was to get to the cave.

"Aw, it's not too bad," the guy said. With no resemblance to Joe Wellington at all, I allowed him to pass. Encouraged by their not-so-sweaty state, we carried on.

The Dry River at beginning of trek

About a quarter of the way up, we navigated the trail that zigzagged as we climbed. We had to stop a few times to catch our breath- I don't know how my husband did it with our boy on his back! We snapped a few more photos as best we could, albeit a bit light headed from the altitude change. 

My parents decided to return down the trail after steep jackknifing made all our stomachs wobble. It had rained earlier in the week so part of the trail was slick with mud. Fulfilled enough by the mountaintop views, they agreed to meet us back at the pasture after we found the cave. I wasn't happy to let them go alone down the muddy slide, but they insisted we finish out the hike.

The part of the trail where we parted ways with the 'rents

My husband, son, and I pressed on, securing our footing with each steep bend. We stopped for a few hydrating breaks until all of a sudden, BAM. There appeared to be a dark hole in front of us, blocking the trail. 

Jagged, rounded spikes greeted us at the opening of the massive cave. We stopped in our tracks, unsure of where we were to step next. There was only one option: enter the cave. The signs posted warned us not to linger at the opening of the cave for fear of falling rocks. My husband was desperate to get our 35 pound boy off his back, but this was no place for a toddler to toddle. Our son, still learning the difference between loud and soft, very loudly yelled, "Is that the cave?". We laughed as his little voice echoed around us. 

One at a time, my husband and I took turns walking the path toward a wooden platform that looked to be floating in mid air, surrounded by stalactite and the sound of dripping water. My legs wobbling as I held on to the edge of the deck, I stepped into the cold darkness and remembered to breathe.

Uh, guys? Where are you going?

Trying to fight the wobblies 

Surely if Joe Wellington wouldn't pop out of there, Gollum would?

I couldn't stay on the platform for long, only long enough for a photo. Paralysed by the empty darkness surrounding me, I had to work hard to focus my thoughts and be really present in the moment. When would I ever be in the mouth of a cave again? Probably never. Especially never in one of the largest in New Zealand.

When I stepped away, stalactite longer than the size of me, hung above. Dizzy, I sat to catch my breath and take in one of nature's finest creations. I am so small. You are so much greater than I. Your magnificence is now a part of my very tiny story and I am whole again. Thank you.

In Maori, the word Rawhiti means "sunrise". This makes perfect sense. We knew the goal of the hike was to see the cave but we really had no idea where on the trail it would be, until right then- the massive opening showed itself like a "black hole sun" offering us the promise of a new day.

I exhaled into the darkness of the cave that has probably heard many a visitor's breath. I sat at the edge of its expansive opening, ready for it to swallow my fears whole.

Unable to keep our boy strapped into his carrier for much more, we steadied ourselves and left. Heading down the mountain was almost more of a challenge with the slick mud hindering the steps of our fatigued legs. We were thrilled to find my parents at the car basking in the sun with their feet up, waiting for us to tell them about it.

Yet all I could think of to say was, "Aw, it's not too bad."

Truth is, it took more than my breath away.

"Thank you for being a friend..."

And so, I'm still searching for Joe Wellington.

To Be Continued...

p.s. For anyone who wants an even better visual of this magnificent cave, someone in the cyber-world actually took a video!
p.p.s. Thanks, Chris Cornell for the "black hole sun"  image/reference.

Possible (sort-of) Sighting No. 5

The only photo of Joe Wellington (in red) San Francisco 1998

Well, this doesn't necessarily count as a sighting because I spotted him in my dream. 

I was in my hometown in the Midwest. At first, I appeared as a little girl, visiting a favourite music store with my mom. I was wandering around the instruments on the floor, much like what I actually did as a little girl waiting for piano lessons.

Like most dreams, it fast-forwarded to my current adult age. My husband appeared in that same music store and we were playing with different instruments. My hubs started playing jazz on the keyboard (not uncommon in real life) & another man in the store joined in on the guitar. Not sure what this specific part meant but I remember I loved hearing Hubs play.

At some point I wandered over to the next store- one of my favourite "has every record you could imagine" stores and recognised the owner. He said hi to me and remembered my name, something I was often impressed with in real life as a teenager. When I stopped to talk to him, he said something to me about Joe Wellington. 

He knew Joe! He thought Joe and I took a class together at the store (no classes were ever offered at this store in real life). In my dream I remembered that we attended a workshop together (the only thing close to a 'class' we took together was a visit to a psychic in San Francisco, so here's where the dream becomes really, uh, well, dream-like). I asked the owner if he had an attendance record from the workshop and while he looked for it, I became really excited. Giddy. This was my chance to find him! The closest I've been yet to finding Joe Wellington! The roster could also confirm whether or not his surname is Wellington!

While waiting for the attendance sheet, like all dreams do, I was suddenly transported to the audience seating of a performing arts theatre. Folding chairs were set up on the stage in a half circle and a handful of people sat in them. 

Who was sitting in one? Joe! He looked just like he does in the photos I have of him, only with an extremely long hipster beard. 

"That's him!" I yelled to no one in particular. "He's right there, why can't we find him?"

A news camera and reporter was brought in on the spot to cover the story about my search for the mysterious Joe. My husband appeared by my side and encouraged me to go on camera. He said that would be my best chance to find Joe. Meanwhile, the Joe I saw sitting on the stage was fading off into the distance, almost out of view now.

The idea to go on camera made me nervous and I was certain if I saw the roster for the workshop that I would find him that way. I scanned through the names on the attendance sheet and found someone with the name Joe, but not Wellington. I wasn't able to read what the last name was. Darn, so close.

But I woke up still feeling hopeful. 



Stay tuned for more about my continued search on the South Island of New Zealand... 

A Divine Guest Post

Hello, Where's Joe Wellington Friends!

Before we continue our search together for the mysterious (but real!) Joe, I'd like to share with you a guest post I wrote for a wonderful writer friend, Amy. Amy has this AWESOME blog called Divine in the Daily. She is an excellent writer and an outstanding, compassionate person. I've been impressed with Amy's talent for a couple years now. Not just because of her ability to capture all of life's experiences in written form, but because she DOES IT SO WELL.

She puts her life out there- to share with all of us- to remind us all that we are going through this together, so let's share together. Amy's wide range of topics and series always make me think, and usually cry. Her ability to make sense of the chaos is refreshing and something I only wish I could do.

I've learned a great deal from Amy's writing and the people she features. I feel blessed to be included in her "Special Mamas" series.

Click here to read my story about mothering abroad: Adventures in Uncertainty and to meet Amy, click Divine in the Daily .

Thank you followers and stay tuned as the search for Joe continues...

Cheers!

Searching The South Island: The Interislander

The Interislander ferry travels through the northern Marlborough Sound
Photo by Steve Waller

If you remember from my last post in January, my lovely parents gave me one of the best Christmas gifts ever (okay, aside from the jean jacket in third grade) by travelling to NZ for a visit. Of course the goal was to see us for the holiday, but we were fortunate to have time off to travel with them to the top of the South Island.

Shortly after they arrived, the six of us (four adults, one toddler, and our dog) were on our way to a ten-day trip to Golden Bay. The South Island is a hop, skip, and a jump, err ferry ride across the Cook Strait.

Travelling by ship is a common mode of transport. It runs multiple times a day, along with four other ferries. It’s a much more relaxed way to travel and while it takes three hours, the scenery is epic. My family boarded the Kaitaki (Maori for “challenger”) with 1600 other passengers, for the voyage from Wellington to Picton. I’d only been on two ferries in my life, both small in comparison to the size of this ship. I am not a cruise ship-type of person, so this was about all I could handle.

After waiting in line to check in (much easier than at an airport), there was a small hassle trying to find out where our dog was supposed to board, but soon we were filing up the stairs to the 8^th floor. As we scrambled to find comfortable seats together, it occurred to me that perhaps this is where I would find Joe Wellington. Of course!

Eventually we found an open space where we could all sit together and spread out with large windows displaying the massive sea before us. Sea? Schmee. I had work to do.

I scanned for Joe Wellington while I toured the two cafes (a trim flat white, please!), briefly popped into a movie-viewing lounge (is that Robert Downey Jr.?), scoured a spacious lounge with couches (I love purple!), and glanced ever-so nonchalantly around a play area for children (hey, where’d you get the balloon puppets?).

No sighting.

Numerous people braved the wild, chilled wind to find a perch on the upper deck to hear the waves, spot dolphins or birds, and soak in the overall beauty of the New Zealand shoreline. Surely, Joe Wellington could be one of them?

As I made my way up the shiny mahogany stairwell, the seasickness hit me. It’s been over a decade since I’ve drunk to the point of having wobbly knees and a churning stomach, mostly because I don’t like the feeling. The instability of the ship in the Strait was no different. So, I had to put my search on hold while this “drunken sailor” sensation passed.

Finally docked at our destination, stomach settled, we grabbed our bags and stood in line to get off the boat. Once again, I couldn’t help myself from doing a quick scan to see if maybe Joe Wellington was among the thousand.

He wasn’t.

Now piling into a rental car in Picton, we were on our way again toward the Abel Tasman NationalPark. The winding roads led us up and up, with views of The Pelorus and The Queen Charlotte Sound. Our cameras in hand, we snapped as quickly as we could, aware there was no picture that could hold what our eyes could see.

Breathtaking colors and views hypnotised us all the way up and over until finally we arrived in Nelson. The water in Nelson was a color I don’t think I could ever even attempt to describe. 

We found a restaurant along the sea so we could watch as a container ship made its way to port, reminding us of when our things came into Wellington from the USA.

Nelson, New Zealand
Photo by Lissa Carlino

People who strolled by on their bikes, scooters, or boats received a good once-over to see if just maybe I would have a Joe Wellington sighting.

I didn’t.

But what I did see was diverse landscape and a range of weather from cold rain to warm sunshine in just three hours. And, I never thought I would ever say I sailed the Cook Strait. 

I saw happy people, clearly living in the moment and enjoying their- for at least the holiday- carefree life. I saw children eager to be active and families sharing a laugh, including my son with his grandparents. 

Euphoria came over me as I glanced from my parents to the sea green, to my son, to my husband, and then to the sea again. This was a feeling I did like.

Yes, I was drunk on joy. And I stood secure.

Joe Wellington may not have been on the Interislander ship or in Nelson, but searching with my eyes open leads me to discover something that is much more inspirational than I ever imagined.

Clearly drunk on joy in New Zealand
photo by Steve Waller

That Captain Cook was onto something. 

Stay tuned to hear about my search for Joe Wellington in Golden Bay...

Possible Sighting #4: Wellington International Airport

Saying goodbye to loved ones who live halfway around the world from you is not easy. In fact, it’s incredibly painful. On one hand, you’re full from the memories you created and the love you shared, but on the other hand you’re eager to get back into your own routine again. But when you don’t know when you’ll see those people again, and when it takes about 24 hours to get to them via one long 11-hour flight, the grief can almost be too much to bear. And it can make a person feel just how far away they actually are and that sucks. The loneliness sucks. 

I found myself feeling all of that and more yesterday, as my parents left for America after a five-week visit. I’m still struggling a bit today, but only because there’s no one here to help me do the dishes (they were so fast at doing those dishes!).

But the time had come to an end so we loaded up the car with their bags and were on our way. Trust me, I drove as slowly as I could tempting them with “one last toe dip in the ocean?” or “just a quick touch of the golden sand?” but they were satisfied.

Hello, Smaug 

My son loves the airport with the ginormous eagles, Gollum, and Smaug sculptures provided by Weta workshop. Walking to their gate, my boy was racing ahead of us shouting excitedly at everything in his path, and I was dragging my feet as I felt the tears wet my eyes. 

Not wanting to linger with the goodbye too much, we hugged; knowing everything we wanted to say to one another had been said at the house.We watched them go through security easily, with no line, all very laid back with smiles mirroring the joy that was gained from the visit.

A very active toddler, my boy was wiggling about in my arms and is much too big for me to carry around. But in order to keep him from hopping on the plane with them, I chose to hold him. He wiggled and spoke in his soft, chipmunk voice, “goodbye grandma and grandpa”, waved one last time and we began to walk away from gate eleven.

With heaviness in my heart at the thought of missing them and the physical heaviness in my arms with this big boy, I stepped off to the side of the hall to compose myself. I set him on a chair behind glass that separated us from the departure lounge but still allows you to see the parked planes. As he rattled off the letters written on the side of the airplane, I spotted a man sitting a few seats over, in the same area as us.

It was Joe. I was sure of it.

Reddish-blond hair, goatee, pale skin, deep-set eyes, glasses… Could it be that I’ve found Joe Wellington at the airport?

Trying to keep one eye on my boy and one on the possible-Joe, my parents then came around the other side of the glass from their departure lounge and gave us one last wave with air kisses. A lovely gesture, I waved to them again, but glanced back at possible-Joe. It had to be him. I looked back at my parents, still waving and still blowing kisses. Preoccupied, I could not stop silently rehearsing what to say to this possible-Joe. Back and forth, I looked to my parents, then to my boy, then to possible-Joe.

I had to ask if he was my old friend. I couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by.

I envisioned what I would do if it turned out to be him: I would probably yell at my parents and pound on the glass, “I found him! It’s him! It’s Joe Wellington!” and maybe I’d get a chance to ask if his surname is really ‘Wellington’ before security would haul me away.

We waved our final goodbye to my parents as I scooped my heavy boy into my arms. My eyes were completely dry at this point as I was focused on one thing only: I may have possibly found Joe Wellington.

Shifting my son’s weight to my left hip so I could speak with possible-Joe (apparently I think more clearly from my right hip?), I leaned toward him slightly as we were about to turn the corner... 

“Excuse me, does your name happen to be Joe?”

Softly but with eye contact, he replied, “No.”

“Ok then, thank you. You looked familiar.”

“No worries,” he said unaffected.

My boy and I slipped around the corner and walked slowly back to our car, the reality of why we were at the airport in the first place hitting us hard again. Our vacation time with grandma and grandpa had come to an end. Driving away, I thought about my friend Joe Wellington, out there somewhere, and how funny it would have been had that possible-Joe been actual-Joe at a time like this.

As we watched grandma and grandpa’s plane take off from a nearby park, the tears returned to my eyes. I laughed at how distracted I was at the airport, how overwhelmed with emotion I had been earlier in the day but how not one tear fell from my eye at the gate.

So my search for Joe Wellington continues. And in the meantime, thanks for distracting me enough that the goodbye wasn’t as sad as it could have been. I managed to hold off crying until getting to the car.

Maybe I’m not supposed to find Joe Wellington right now… but maybe I’m just supposed to keep looking.

Wellington After Dark

           Happy Holidays, Joe Wellington followers!

           There has been a lot of discussion about Joe Wellington the past few weeks as 2014 comes to a close. With the holidays here, I’ve been traveling and enjoying time with friends and family. My wee family of three feels very blessed that my parents have travelled from America to visit and tour part of this gorgeous country we call home. And really, it also means we have live-in babysitters!

            A few weeks ago, my husband and I were able to have a date night (rarely do we get to go out in the dark!) and venture out for a night in downtown Wellington. It’s been a long time since I’ve really allowed myself to enjoy the nightlife- I got most of that out of my system when I was in my early twenties- but in the past eight years I’ve spent much of my time focused on education, career, and then starting a family. So when the opportunity to go out without a little toddler hopping along was presented to me, we didn’t hesitate. We didn’t really know what to do or where to go and while my husband was eager to socialize, I saw this as an opportunity to search for Joe Wellington.

            First stop to help ease us back into date-mode: Husband's office Christmas party. I was excited to attend the festivities because his company switched offices and I’d heard nothing but good things about the move. I also just plain like the people I’ve met there. Not only does my husband work his dream job, but he’s met some kick-ass people. One co-worker who he's always spoken highly of was willing to show us a couple of the nightspots we’d wanted to try. Unfortunately, Joe Wellington was not at the party so we had to continue on.

            Second stop: My husband’s co-worker and his partner met us at the Library Lounge and Bar. It was packed with wall-to-wall people and BOOKS. If given the choice, we could have picked a spot on a couch or table and still be encircled floor to ceiling by any book genre to match your mood- nonfiction, romance, and mystery, literary or even travel guides. As an aspiring author, this is my idea of the ultimate relaxation spot. 

Just one of the many books surrounding me that caught my eye at The Library Lounge

We were placed on a waitlist for a booth but there was no wait in getting a drink at the bar. We chatted and listened to the piano lounge singer while sipping our super sweet-tasting Christmas cocktails. Still, even with all the literature surrounding me I managed to scan the room for Joe Wellington. Hopeful he was hiding between a pile of books, I am sad to say I didn't find him among the pages. 

            Third and final stop: Hawthorn Lounge. We accompanied our friends through a plain doorway and up a narrow flight of stairs that offered no sign to inform us of our whereabouts. Stepping into a crowded and bustling room with a bar, I felt like I was transported back to a 1920s speakeasy.  The bartenders wore shiny silver vests with bowties and rapidly but meticulously mixed their signature drinks.

            It was here that I told our friends about Joe Wellington and led them to this blog and my Twitter page (@EWallerCarlino). A creative artist herself, my friend was instantly enthusiastic about the search and vowed perseverance in finding him. She tweeted some photos I had on Twitter that got a bit of recognition but no leads. It’s those extra pair of eyes (and tweets) that will help find my long-lost friend. 

            Most people offer encouragement, stating that New Zealand is a small country so finding him shouldn’t be too difficult. Yet, here I am a year later still searching. One Twitter follower commented on a tweet, suggesting that perhaps Joe Wellington doesn’t want to be found. While that very well could be true, all though definitely not the outcome I want to accept, I feel like I must keep trying.

            Some say his last name must not be Wellington. Truth is, since I have no documentation (weird for someone who has heaps of journals) of him, I admit that is definitely and most likely accurate. So now what?

            With bright Christmas lights lining the dark streets, laughter and chatter of the holiday season stimulating me as my beloved and I sauntered down Courtney Place, I am reminded amidst the commotion of why I continue this journey.

           Joe wasn't any place I went to on our date night, but every store I've entered this holiday season, every stroll around town, every crowded farmer’s market or restaurant I frequent, my eyes remain open to whatever is to be found.

            The gems I find along the way, the positive outlook in all of this, is that I’ve new friends who are eager about this search too, and willing to spread the word about it… and maybe (I hope!) even add a blog post of their own findings while searching for Joe to this site (contact me if you're interested!).

            While it’s easy to feel defeated once again, I continue to keep my eyes peeled for Joe Wellington because I never know what I might uncover, who I might meet, and what experiences might enrich my life while looking for my long-lost Kiwi friend.

            So... what can Joe Wellington do for you?

            Happy New Year, Friends. I wish for you a lifetime of searching, never taming the curiosity and wonderment of the day. I wish for you a year of discovery, of meeting new people who believe in your vision, and to honouring your passions. 

            As for me? I will continue to look for Joe and honour the joy discovered along the way.

            Stay tuned into the New Year as my search for Joe Wellington continues with a tour to the South Island of New Zealand!