At Least This Time I Didn't Get Sunburned

En route to Taupo, we stopped in Waitomo to go Black Water Rafting, so called because it happens underground. It also happens on inner tubes, but Black Water Tubing doesn't have quite the same cachet. Sadly, and practically, we couldn't take our own cameras and I wasn't about to throw down $20 for someone else's souvenir photos of me, so you'uns will have to do without. The two guides, Alen and Chad, were inveterate trash-talkers who spent the entire introduction and wetsuit fitting trying to soak the other when he wasn't looking.

The tubing itself wasn't quite what I had expected. There was a lot more crawling and walking than I had figured, and one tunnel that was perhaps a cubic foot larger than I am. Right after that, though, we came to a little waterfall off of which, as we had been thoroughly trained, we jumped onto our bums. Once the last of us had landed with a mighty noise and a crash of chilly cave water, we linked up, foot to armpit, turned off our headlamps, and floated along under a canopy of glow worms. Glow worms are a sort of maggot that angles for lost flies, dangling its mucus in gossamer strands and pooping them out as bioluminescent poo. They look like pale blue-green stars scattered across the ceiling, which is exactly as cool as it ought to be. At the end of the trip Chad and Alen took us up to a 3m high ledge and had us butt-jump off. The ceiling was at most 4 feet high above the edge; I'm unconvinced I cut a dignified figure as I inched backwards to the edge, doubled over completely with an inner tube encircling my bum. The landing was cold, wet, and resounding. It was more or less a perfect end to the afternoon.