The Wild, Wild, West Coast – Finding Confidence in Foul Winds

Confidence – everyone talks about it, or lack thereof; however, confidence is not some nebulous concept that one can simply will into existence. True confidence is built overtime by a combination of knowledge, and, more importantly, experience. Not just any experience, but being able to overcome when things don’t go as expected. Yet gaining said experience is easier said than done, but the payoffs of persevering are beyond worth it.

Join me on a turning point in building my own confidence and; consequently, the world it opened up to me as we adventure into one of my favorite places on Earth, the wild, wild, west coast of New Zealand’s southern island.

Humility is a virtue, timidity is a disease – Jim Rohn

I started my morning befuddled, working to maintain my straight face as I hid my frustration with the front desk. The night before I had specifically asked if there were taxis to the Wellington side of the Marlborough Sounds ferry, only to be informed when I went to hail said taxi that there was a free shuttle I had just “missed.”

Hopping in a taxi, the ride was only 5 minutes. Still, my driver immediately, upon hearing my accent, tried to discuss the glories of Obama, despite my informing him Americans don’t talk politics.

“That’ll be $15 dollars mate.” 15 dollars! I thought in shock. At that time a decent bite to my tiny budget. That morning, I learned two valuable lessons: the cost of being shy and the importance of asking the right questions. The guy at the front desk answered my question—they could call me a taxi—but failed to mention free transportation was available. I was too shy to follow up. Those 15 dollars forever killed much of my shyness.

The ferry was far more immaculate than I’d imagined. Ten decks high, the main deck had marble floors and brass railings like a fancy hotel lobby. A full restaurant, shops, and cinema seemed overkill for a 3-hour trip. Still, straight to the top deck is where I wanted to be where I found a bench to claim to myself.

I felt the ferry’s engines engage. Breathing a sigh of relief, it dawned on me that today was Easter. Reaching into my bag, I found a dark chocolate candy bar—the only Easter candy I would eat. That Easter was so real to me as I realized my salvation from homelessness in Wellington. But I was rescued from something else — my own fears.

The Marlborough Sounds were a splendor of nature. The crowded shores of Wellington, gave way to rugged untouched mountains cascading into the ocean. Such contrast is the best means to begin to describe the difference between the North and South Islands. I particularly enjoyed watching our finicky weather change the movement of the clouds as they rolled over the landscape. Each painted a different picture of creation.

My joy was abruptly interrupted when I checked my watch. The ferry was going to be late. I hadn’t booked my bus seat ahead of time. Making a quick call, I secured my place. However, when the ship docked in Picton, my bus was nowhere to be found. They’d left without me. Determined to learn from the night before, I called and made them turn that entire packed coach bus of 50+ people around to pick me up. I definitely was learning.

We took off on a steep, curvy, mountainous drive. The South Island was so much more grandiose than the North. Making a pit-stop in a tiny town, our driver announced, “Please ensure you have cash. This is the last place we’ll find ATMs. The grocery stores are all closed. I hope you did your shopping in Picton because if you’re staying in Abel Tasman National Park, you won’t see a grocery store for the next 3 days.” I had to refrain from laughing out loud. All those groceries—I had exactly what I needed. My failure had become my saving grace.

At Abel Tasman, our hostel was cabin camping. Wooden boxes about 6 feet square and 7 feet tall had three walls of wood and one of pure glass. Wired with outlets, we could charge electronics, watch the sunset, and lay in our bunks all at once.

The next morning, I arose early, finally caught up on sleep. I snuck off before the others awoke. Opening my door, sunlight burst forth from the near distant shoreline. Beautiful mist scattered the light beams as it gently covered the pasture and mountains. Near the shoreline, a beautiful horse grazed on luscious grass. It was a beautiful time to chat with the creator of it all.

After breakfast, it was off to my first sailing adventure. New Zealand’s sun reflected off the turquoise waters in a near blinding manner. Our captain took us on a tour of the park’s shoreline and surrounding islands. I got my first view of wild seals covering the shores—playing, fighting, and resting. We made our way around remote islands where New Zealand’s Department of Conservation had successfully eradicated all possums and invasive species. The islands were full of some of the rarest birds in the world, some only found in New Zealand. The songs and sounds were, well, wild.

The next day I decided to hike the park alone. I began looking for my palm pilot. Not much, perhaps a little out of date, it allowed me the comfort of a structured schedule and I’d loaded music onto it. Both kept me distracted. I dug and dug—no palm pilot. I pulled the entire suitcase apart. Retracing my steps, I remembered the last time I used it was on the bus to Wellington. In my exhaustion, I must have lost it. It would be a very silent hike.              

New Zealand style rainforests welcomed me along the well tread dirt path. I was happy to navigate the huge roots that decorated the journey descending from the old twisted trees. To my excitement, the trail I picked ascended the mountainside quickly. Breaks in the tree cover often gave a bird’s eye view of the course remote golden sand beaches that were scattered through Abel Tasman some of which have been ranked as the best beaches in the world.

As I walked, the silence gave way to prayer. My spirit came to rest in peace. In that moment I had such clarity—no other voices, no other noises, just God and I. Perhaps losing that palm pilot wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

The next day, I boarded a new bus with a new driver and a new personality headed for what the driver called the Wild, Wild, West coast. The ride along the steep, jagged coastline—with one-way bridges and shoulderless roads—spoke to this fact. Our first stop, Cape Foulwind.

We all unpacked and began making our way up a very steep trail only about a foot wide. I kept my distance from the others. All I could see was the grassy hill as we ascended. Slowly, I reached a peak and that grassy hill revealed the entire untouched coastline. The view was so spectacular I cannot write words to describe it. It was the first view that literally took my breath away. I gasped for air as forceful “foul winds” rushed over my body in the bright sun.

That moment I will never forget. It was the greatest moment of grace I had ever experienced. Such a place really did exist and I got to see it. But more was the realization—the deliverance of my fears, my doubts, my own limitations. If God could bring me here, I knew He could bring me anywhere. I never would have been able to do it on my own.

While I would have loved to stay in that moment forever, the reality is the journey continues.

“I just can’t believe this weather, ay,” the driver exclaimed. “I just haven’t seen weather this good in a long, long, long time.”

Interesting, I thought.

Our next destination: Pancake Rocks and Blowholes. Funny name, I pondered—until a stone path led us to rock spires that seriously looked like stacks of hundreds of giant pancakes. I took off with the enthusiasm of a child let loose in a McDonald’s Play Place.

In my zealous shimmy through the maze, I screamed and jumped back at an unexpected hiss. Curious as I am, when my heart slowed, I went closer. I saw a small hole in a rock covering about 6 inches in diameter. Suddenly, I jumped back again as a spray of water shot out of the hole into the air, just like a whale’s blowhole. Scattered between the stone pancakes were a handful of these creative blowholes.

Water, the most powerful force on earth, carved out winding caverns between the solid pillars. When the surf is powerful enough, it rolls into these caverns with no means of escape and comes surging through these blowholes. It was spectacular. As we explored, the sun began to set, covering the backdrop in a spectacular array of colors

 “Sweet As! Thet was unbelievable! Absolutely spectacular, ay mates!” The bus driver raged as we reboarded, “I don’t know if I have ever seen the blow holes that active. We have not had weather that great since December!” I just smiled to myself, coincidence, I think not.

“You may hev been to Paris, or Milan, but tonight we will be staying in an even greater city, Barrytown.” Our driver informed us. “We will be staying at the preestigious All Nations Hotel, ay. Now for those of you who would like to seek out alternative accommodation there is…” He paused as though to ponder all the options. “Nothing. Barrytown hes a whopping population of 35 people. You see the Wild, Wild, West Coast comprises 19% of New Zealand’s total land. However, it is so wild that only 1% of the population actually lives here, ay.”

The “hotel” resembled a one-room small, yellow-sided house. One had to go outside to access the restrooms. Beds were in summer camp style dormitories. The elegance of this “hotel” could be best summed up by the pink child blanket proudly displaying “Funky Fairy” and a plaid flower. Perhaps “hotel” would be the wrong word, but this was the only accommodation. Not only in Barrytown—towns on the coast were few and far between and many had no accommodation. Regardless, sleep is sleep.

The next morning, I discovered that a short walk down Barrytown’s “only drag” brought me to a beautiful stone-covered beach and mountainous countryside. I sifted through the inch to 2-inch pebbles searching for New Zealand’s infamous greenstone (to no avail unfortunately). This stone highly resembles Asian jade and is only believed to be found in the South Island of New Zealand. My sifting was occasionally broken by a John Deere tractor that looked like my dad’s rolling across the beach.  It made me laugh.

I took a moment to pause and realize how amazing it was that I was able to make it here. Being able to travel halfway around the globe to see such beautiful places was a dream I had not fathomed would have a place in reality. Yet it was dream that at so many points over the past month or so, I nearly conceded to my own fears. But that was changing, my fears and the torment that came with them was waning, my confidence was building, and little did I realized how the entire experience would change me forever.