Nomads in New Zealand (part 3)

During the cruise through Doubtful Sound, our nature guide Kimmy had mentioned a documentary called Shadowland that was playing in the nearby town of Te Anau. The documentary was created by a local helicoptor pilot and lover of the sounds, and when no one expressed interest in actually showing it in a wide release, he built a theatre in his home town in order to show it. With Kimmy's obvious enthusiasm for the documentary (she'd seen it over a dozen times) and the fact that we hadn't seen an actual film in weeks, it seemed like the perfect next thing to do.

Our return to Manapouri was filled with the trading of addresses and goodbyes at the dock that is probably typical of all cruise trips. But people's schedules march on, and within thirty minutes everyone was on their way, ourselves included. The van started without a hitch, and we were on the road to Te Anau.

Despite the fact that the sounds themselves are towering behemoths, the countryside away from the coast is actually quite level, more so than our dancing and dodging drive through the north. Te Anau is a nice town, with fairly modern conveniences, and the theatre was a delightful surprise: instead of the shack I had envisioned, complete with a single guy wringing his hands, filled with melancholy towards "the system that wouldn't play his movie," we would encounter as modern a movie theatre as you would imagine. The foyer was decked out in lush carpetting and deep wooden trip; a fireplace separated the snacks counter from a cafe with very comfortable chairs. The theatre had taken to running new releases, but the Shadowland documentary was still obviously its prime focus, and it ran a dozen times a day (only being about thirty minutes long).

We were joined by several other people from the cruise, who had clearly had the same idea. The seats were very plush, two chairs separated by a small adjoined side table. Whoever designed this theatre really enjoyed going to movies. Of course, all of these trimmings were just icing on the cake: were they up to the quality of the documentary?

I can happily report the quality was superb. Crafted from years of helicoptor aerial filmography, Shadowlands tells the story of the Sounds in images, with no narration, and careful musical accompaniment. What we were not exposed to during our time in the sounds was the rush of waterfalls, created when the usual torrents of rain collect on the top of the massifs and are summarily dumped down the sides into the waters below. Some of the shots I saw in the movie took my breath away: you'd be flying overtop of a high mountain stream, only to have the ground drop away from you as the water falls over the side, exposing a wide panorama of the sounds themselves. The film was put together by a guy with a true love and admiration of the place. The movie was filled with shots like that, as well as slow panning sequences through some of the raw forested areas. If you didn't have two weeks to spend on helicoptor "flight-seeing" and wilderness tours, thirty minutes in the theatre was about as good as you were going to get.

After restocking some supplies, we turned the van southwards towards the bottom of the south island, and the largest city in the area: Invercargill. We knew it wasn't going to be more than a stopping point to refuel both ourselves and the van, as we headed towards the next alluring location of New Zealand's south island: the Catlins forest reserve.

The ubiquitous New Zealand sheep.

As the day wound on, we stopped for the night outside of a town called Orepuki, and parked the van on a rocky promontory overlooking the ocean. The beach was called "Gemstone beach," noted for the wide variety of geologically significant stone which washes up upon it. Of these are indeed emeralds and rubies, but in such rare quantity that you'd be very lucky indeed to find one. But that didn't mean we didn't spend an hour or two walking along the beach, playing with interestingly coloured stones, and seeing how lucky we'd get.

We did pass through Invercargill, and as expected, it was a city like most others. We pushed on through towards the Catlins, which is noted for dozens of natural attractions. We visited a petrified forest, which rested in a basin overlooking the ocean; when the tide rolled in, it would be covered in water, and penguins would sneak onto land to return to their nests. The forest itself looked more like a stone quarry, but on careful examination you would see the unmistakeable wooden grain of a tree, seemingly carved into the rocky floor beneath your shoes.

A Moeraki boulder.

Our next stop was the Moeraki boulders, another natural wonder. Dozens of completely spherical rocks, ten feet in diameter, adorned the coastline, looking like marbles that the children of giants might play with. To make them even stranger, their surface was not smooth, but segmented like a soccer ball, and in some cases the segments had fallen apart, exposing a hollow core. It turns out the boulders are the result of yet another natural process of geological evolution, and these massive boulders were formed, thousands of years ago, from a single grain of sand (how geologists discover these things I am awed not to know). The best part is there are likely dozens more of these boulders, hidden beneath the sand and in the earthen shoreline, and they will one day be exposed for the world to see as they are ejected from the earth; indeed, two boulders were already visible, protruding from the shoreline.

A waterfall in the Catlins.

The next day was to be our "waterfall day," the Catlins home to over a dozen waterfalls, all accessible by short hikes. On planning our trip, we had written down a list of things that we had wanted to make a priority in seeing through the countries we visited: waterfalls had made that list. So, today was all about waterfalls. And we weren't disappointed, seeing no less than six, all in varying stages of height, girth, and power. The first, glibly named Niagara falls, was a six-inch drop with a big sense of humour; the last dropped in several segments, the first being a straight drop of over one hundred feet into a pool, which then emptied out into a rocky cliff and onto a series of channels, as it wound its way down the mountainside.

A sea lion.

We also had the opportunity to hide in a blind and watch Yellow-Eyed Penguins hop out of the ocean and waddle up the side of a hill to their roosts. It was an interesting couple of hours - as much for the penguins as for the sea lions. A sign warns you to give sea lions and seals plenty of space, never to corner them or stand between them and the water. As it happened we walked by a sea lion on the beach, sleeping away the remains of the afternoon, so we cautiously tip-toed by it. Walking up the hill to the penguin blind however, we walked not two feet from another sea lion, who gave a mighty bark and snarl as we passed unwittingly close. A sea lion is like a thousand-pound seal with a teeth of a great big dog; generally, not what you want to take an interest in you. We ran to the hide and barred the door. The penguins weren't as scary, and unfortunately, didn't get too close to the hide, so it was actually hard to make them out in the dwindling light of the day, and take a good picture of them.

On our way out of the Catlins, on our way north towards Dunedin, we passed by one of the few "free" glow worm dells you can visit in New Zealand. Glow worms are another New Zealand phenomenon; I'm not sure if they're worms at all. In complete darkness you can see them: they have the appearance of tiny blue-white pinpricks of light, seemingly suspended in midair in the various grottos and caves in which they inhabit. They are a staple for many caving tours, and it seems that everywhere we heard of them there was a price tag attached: but not this particular place, a small cul-de-sac at the top of a short hike. When it got completely dark, indeed, we were rewarded with our own private field of stars, encompassed by the gloomy forest canopy above.

The next night we drove north towards Dunedin, a city with deep Scottish roots, and the site of the first Salvation Army mission (I'm not sure if it's the first mission ever, or the first in New Zealand). The city itself is laid out from the centre outwards, surrounding a triple-octagon of streets that surround a central square. The people were warm and friendly, and we stayed at a motor park slightly north of the city. By this point I was just getting tired of the constant overcast grey, and was starting to itch a little for some sunshine. To that end, we were starting our drive north, gradually towards our next WWOOF visit in the northern Marlborough region of New Zealand.

We drove off northwards towards the glistening blue lakes Tekapo and Pukaki, which lie in the shadow of the omnipresent Mount Cook, one of New Zealand's largest and most famous mountains. As always seems to be the case in New Zealand, the landscape changes again, with a drive over a series of mountains (and back onto squiggly roads) which seems to leaves the clouds behind us. Cold-weather gear is stowed and the sunglasses come out. In addition to windy roads, something I have completely overlooked took us by surprise in the south island: the one-lane bridges.

It works like this. You're driving along, and you see three words written on the road in succession: ONE LANE BRIDGE. You then get a sign which tells you if you have the right of way or not, governed chiefly by who has the better view of oncoming traffic. If you don't see anyone on or near the bridge when you round the corner and see the actual bridge, you proceed: if you do, you decide whether to stop or go based on who has the priority. One-lane bridges: it sounds like a recipe for disaster, but it actually works quite well, given the low density of traffic, and the relatively low speeds people drive. My theory is that the bridges were around for longer than there were cars, and there simply isn't the traffic demand to expand them into two lanes. But every time we saw that one-lane bridge indication, my knuckles whitened just a little on the steering wheel.

Lake Tekapo, with Mt. Cook in the background.

We arrived at Lake Tekapo at the beginning of the afternoon, expecting to be dazzled by the reportedly piercing blue of the lake: apparently, the minerals in the water make it appear extremely blue, but to my eyes, it was about as blue as you'd expect a lake to be. Perhaps it was the strong sunlight. We decided to drive on and see if we had more blue at Lake Pukaki, but again, and perhaps I was getting a little cynical, it wasn't any more blue than I would have assumed. It did, however, offer a stunning view of Mount Cook and its associated mountain range, and we opted to stop there for the night. We had fun building a tower of rocks on the shore of the lake (which was surrounded by rocks of all sizes) and ate a feast of a meal.

A New Zealand fur seal.

We did some more sightseeing the next day on our way northwards towards Christchurch. Way back when we bought the van, we figured out that getting the Transportation department to mail us our certificate of ownership was going to be tricky, owing to the fact that we were moving around so much and didn't have a permanent address in New Zealand. You don't need the piece of paper to sell the van, but it's nice to have. So we put down the Christchurch central mail centre as our address, and sent them a post card to ask them to hold our mail for us, explaining our circumstances. Two months later, it was time to see if it had all worked out. Long story short, it hadn't, but we got a nice walking tour of Christchurch in the process. It is a very "British" city, complete with grey, overcast skies (at least, on the day we visited). One of its main features is a small river which winds its way through the city, which I'm almost positive is called the Avon, and has a sizeable number of ducks and geese swimming through it.

Our next move was northwards towards the beach town of Kaikoura, which is renowned for its abundant variety of sea life. The area is just nearby a coastal shelf, into which it seems everything comes to feed. Our objective in Kaikoura was to see (and for Amy, to swim with) dolphins. Apparently the success rate of encountering dolphins in Kaikoura is very high, so we were armed with some high hopes. We had blocked off two days for dolphin watching, as suggested by our guide book, as the trips can be called off for a variety of reasons.

The guide company, Dolphin Encounters, is the only one that holds a DoC licence in the area for tours of this sort. Their storefront is a combination gift shop, cafe and education centre, as well as being the central complex from which they launch their excursions. Dolphin swimmers get equipped with a wetsuit, flippers, goggle and snorkel, and everyone has to watch a twenty-minute educational video about how to interact with the dolphins. There is also a strong message in the video: don't be disappointed if the tour doesn't work out the way you would have wanted it to, as the dolphins are wild, and nothing is done to entice them into a given area.

As it happened, we never did see dolphins in Kaikoura. Our first excursion got us out onto the water, but even with a plane in the air, no dolphins were sighted, and after forty-five minutes of bouncing around on two-metre swells, we turned back to base. We got a refund, booked again for tomorrow morning, and spent the rest of the day bumming around the (tiny) town of Kaikoura. Apart from getting out there with the marine life, there isn't much to do in Kaikoura but shop - and even then, there's not much. The next day we didn't fare any better: the weather conditions made it such that they didn't even launch the boat this time. So we didn't see dolphins: at least, not in New Zealand.

We continued northwards, stopping in Hanmer Springs. The town is known for its proximity to a series of geothermal hot springs, and a whole resort town has developed to take advantage of them. It was a cold day when we went, but it was worth it: the resort had about twenty different pools at varying temperatures, from tepid to almost scalding. You feel like a different person when you walk out of one of those pools. Surprisingly, they didn't smell overly bad, but in the hottest pools, there is the unmistakeable trace of sulfur: that smell of burnt eggs.

It was time for us to head onwards to Blenheim, to meet our next WWOOF hosts, Anna and Chris. We had originally been in contact with another WWOOF host, an orchard, for the same period: but shortly after we had confirmed by email, they contacted us to let us know they had made an error in their scheduling and had already booked in some other WWOOFers. They did have some friends who needed some help and also hosted WWOOFers, would we want to go stay with them? They lived in the heart of the Marlborough wine region, would that be interesting for us?

It didn't take much to get things sorted out: in fact, our help would turn out to be quite welcome, as they were in the process of a number of changes in their lives which were extracting much from their personal schedules: and to top it off, Chris had recently had an accident with a chainsaw (sounds worse than it thankfully was) that had slowed him down significantly.

Arriving in Blenheim, we realized that this part of New Zealand was definitely different than most of the rest of the south is: it hardly rains here, and is usually sunny. An ideal climate for growing grapes, if not scads of other types of fruit. We toured a few vineyards before heading out towards Anna and Chris' house on Queen Charlotte drive: the same Queen Charlotte drive on which we had started our voyage across the south island, three weeks previously.

It's always deer season in New Zealand.

Anna and Chris greeted us warmly, and over the next few days, we fit right in on the homestead. The major focus for us while we were there was strawberries: they had had an excellent season (indeed, the bushes continued to produce long after they were supposed to) and now the bushes had to be trimmed back, weeded and re-planted where necessary. As well there was a lot of work to be done with the fences. We all got along very well, and we met many of their friends. I learned to play a new boardgame, The Settlers of Catan, but didn't prove to be a quick study. Of the games we played, I usually got slaughtered. While we were there we did a few walks in the area along the Queen Charlotte Track. We contemplated doing a similar tramp as we did in Abel Tasman, but quickly found out it wasn't the same thing. It was much more popular, and there are many lodges and hotels along the track. It took the wind out of our sails a bit.

While we were there one of the things that was big in their lives was getting an organic certification. We had experienced a bit of this while we were in France with Ronna and Honore, in that they were getting their annual certification audit. There are so many factors you wouldn't normally think about in terms of being an organic farm: to my mind (before I started to think about it) it was just about not using pesticides on your produce. But even things like the hay you've carted in that you use as spread over crops, was anything sprayed on that? How about the horse manure you've carted in to use as compost - what were the horses eating? The whole deal with organic certification is that you're able to provide a paper trail for your produce, to ensure that nothing untoward has been used to produce the crops. If you've ever wondered why organic foods cost more, that's just one of the reasons.

Sunset on the Queen Charlotte Sound.

After two great weeks with Anna and Chris, it was time for us to hit the road again, ostensibly back towards the North Island. But before we left we had to give it one more try with the dolphins in Kaikoura. We drove back south down the main highway to what had become our freedom camping spot of choice, and the next morning, drove in early to Dolphin Encounters. We got our tickets, saw the dolphin video (again), Amy got suited up, and drove out to the boat. After sitting in the boat for a few minutes, the word came down: no dolphins were sighted. We drove back to the cafe and got our money back. We hit the road back north.

The next day, after an uneventful crossing of the Cook strait, we hooked up with some friends from Canada, Anders and Sarah. It was a chance meeting at a wedding in Toronto before we left on our trip, that would connect us with them; after a few minutes of conversation we figured out that we would be in New Zealand at around the same time, and they offered that we could come visit them in Wellington.

It turns out Wellington has worked out very well for them, and they both work in some capacity for the federal government's library. I can certainly see the appeal of living in New Zealand, but Wellington wasn't the first place I would have envisioned. The weather is generally inclement (when we visited, at least) and the city is built upwards into the rolling hillside. That said, it's a cafe lover's paradise, with (according to our guide book) more cafes per capita than New York city. There's a bohemian feel downtown and plenty of places with great character.

After a few nights of crashing on the couch, card games and exploring the city, we said our goodbyes and took back to the open road. We drove northwards through Palmerston North and Wanganui, towards Taupo, Rotorua and Tongariro. The landscape and highway became increasingly hilly and mountainous as we entered the volcanic region of the north island. I was impressed that on the shores of lake Taupo you can collect as much pumice stone as you like, from small pebbles to apple-sized rounds.

The great Tongariro mountain came late into our planning: its chief tourist draw is a day-long crossing that brings you through an arrid, windy landscape that comes straight out of Dante's Inferno. Several scenes of The Lord of the Rings were shot here, to provide a backdrop for Mount Doom: a the steamy, craggy, otherwordly landscape. However, you can't do the crossing unless the weather cooperates, and for the couple of days we allowed ourselves to do it, we weren't so lucky. Instead, we hung out in the resort-style town of Rotorua, which serves as a trailhead for all manner of outdoor activities. On our way we visited and bathed in the tepid of waters of Kerosene creek, one of a huge number of unofficial (and free) hot springs, which we were able to locate with help of the New Zealand hot springs web site.

Wai-o-tapu's champagne pool.

We eventually caved in and bought day passes to a local geothermal park, which showcases the steamy and smelly wonders of the volcanic underworld. The Wai-o-Tapu thermal park offers acres of bubbling mud, steaming fissures, and a daily geyser. The colours of the water in the popular "Champagne pool" were quite striking: a deep emerald green, transforming to a rusty red as the water grew more shallow and you could see the chemical remains growing upon the stone. The steam filled the air and obscured the view, and it truly felt like you were taking a step back in time. I took so many photos I ran out of space on my memory cards, and we were both glad to have forked over the not-insubstantial ticket price. What would we do, wait until the next time we were driving through New Zealand?

We headed back north towards Auckland, to spend a few days with John and Karen, friends of my dad's who visited him during their tour through Canada. We decide to take the path less travelled, driving north up a parallel highway to the main one on the west side, and hoping to find something suitable to spend the night at as we go. We didn't. In turning around to head back towards something, I managed to put the back wheels of the van into the ditch, which left us helpless and perpendicular to oncoming traffic. There were a few tense moments! Luckily, there wasn't a whole lot of traffic, and within a few minutes not one buy two vehicles had stopped to help and within ten minutes we were sorted out. In addition, a fellow caravaner (in a much more flash vehicle than ours) suggested a good place for us to stay: the parking green of a local country church, St. Alban's.

We pulled into John and Karen's the next day to a warm welcome: despite the fact that their second son was getting married next week, they had insisted that we should stay with them (although it worked out well that we were intending to continue our trip through the northern part of the north island during that time). John and Karen have a fantastic property moments from the heart of the city, a house that he designed (being an architect) and built over several years. They made our stay very comfortable as we caught our breath to head out onto the road again, only needing to do one considerable task before we went: getting the van a new "warrant of fitness."

A little explanation on buying and selling vehicles in New Zealand. It's raised more than a few eyebrows in telling non-New Zealanders about the van, just how easy it was to buy and licence the van. You essentially take care of all the paperwork in the post office. The van needs a current warrant of fitness (a basic mechanical check to make sure it doesn't fall apart on the road, renewed every six months for used vehicles), and a road registration. After you do the paperwork at the post office with the former owner, you're ready to roll. Insurance isn't mandatory, but in our view, highly useful, and it's based on the driver, not the vehicle.

Our van, which we named "Pinot Blanc."

So, in preparation for selling the van, we decided that getting the warrant done now was better than rushing to get it done before selling. In addition, John and Karen knew of a good local mechanic. We drove by one morning and left the van for a while with our fingers crossed: it turned out the only work that needed to be done was an extension of a tailpipe (so the exhaust didn't sneak back into the van) and a rear brake needed to be fixed. These repairs completed, we got our new warrant of fitness and were all set to go.

John suggested a route through the north, which pretty much encompassed everything we wanted to see: forests of ancient Kauri trees; sand dunes stretching out from the ocean; small towns brimming over with character and personality.

Te Matua Ngahere, or "Father of the Forest."

The Kauri forest is a massive section of old-growth protected Kauri trees, the highest of which, Tane Mahuta, reaches 169 feet tall and 45 feet in circumference. It may seem odd that a dozen trees in various parts of the area are tourist attractions, but it's hard to describe just how awe-inspiring these trees are; they are monstrously big. Your eyes wander up the trunk, and keep on going until you are craned backwards and looking almost straight up. The Father of the Forest is 98 feet tall and 59 feet in girth, and is estimated to be fifteen hundred years old. Very, very humbling.

Te Paki sand dunes.

The weather was deliciously warm and sunny, peppered by frequent and brief showers, as we drove up the coast towards the tip of the north island and Cape Reinga. Looking for a toilet we actually encountered the Te Paki sand dunes. For about two kilometers between the vast ocean and the lush forest, a lengthy band of high sand dunes interposes land and sea. It was, as most things New Zealand, a stunning contrast. We spent a couple of hours walking the dunes, and when you're in the midst of it, it's sand in all directions and you could be in the Sahara for all your senses tell you. There's the faintest breath of the salty sea breeze that passes across the sand, but the silence is almost deafening. It was remarkably peaceful, and one of my favourite places in all of New Zealand. Desolately beautiful.

From there we drove to Cape Reinga, the northmost-part of New Zealand, and spent a little time there, watching the Tasman sea to the west crash into the Pacific ocean of the east. Cape Reinga is a holy place to the Maori people, whose traditions hold that when a Maori dies, the spirit makes its way north to the Cape to enter the underworld. They then depart the mainland by leaping off an 800 year old Pohutukawa tree.

Kiwis on the vine.

Coming back from the north of the north, we had two great encounters with local New Zealanders: Mike and Mary outside of Kerikeri, and Bryan and Maureen in Paihia. Mike and Mary we met while dining on the world's best fish and chips, and after talking, they invited us to park our van on their property for the night. Mike runs a kiwi plantation, and is a very active part of the thriving kiwi business in New Zealand. He gave us a tour of the packing plant he has a share in, which was very informative: standards are demandingly high in the business, and there's very little room for error. Bryan we had met while tramping outside of Wanaka, and we met up with he and his wife Maureen in Paihia: they very generously put us up for the night and we had an impromptu feast. They, too, are contemplating a change in lifestyle which would see them wandering the north and south islands in a camper van; we had lots to talk about and had a lovely time.

As our tour through the northland wound its way to its end, our thoughts began to weigh heavily with the prospect of selling the van. Given that we had had our pick of the litter when buying, we knew it was going to be a challenge to the spirit to be on the opposite end of the table when selling. Nevertheless, we cleaned it up, packed our stuff away, and did all our last minute stuff in Whangarei and drove into Auckland for a Saturday morning market. We parked the van next to a dozen other vans, set up the lawn chairs, and waited with books to read; neither Amy nor I expected we would have any interest. It turned out we were delightfully wrong. A young couple stopped by later in the morning, and took a shine to the van; they were recently granted residency status in New Zealand, and now wanted a vehicle for traipsing around the country. Pinot Blanc couldn't have gone to nicer people. A road test and a mechanical check later, we had ourselves a deal and everyone walked away happy. It was almost a tearful moment, watching the van drive away without us.

From there we connected with another set of new friends we'd made while tramping in Abel Tasman park, Michelle and Duncan. We had a great couple of days with them, the first marked very well with a pirate-themed costume party. I seem to recall getting into swordfights (plastic swords) and a lot of pictures being taken. Not that I know where any of them are. Haar!

We reconnected with John and Karen, and without the van to sell, had a luxurious couple of stress-free days with the prospect of heading to Australia now in our sights. John is an accomplished hunter, and on the Friday before we left, took me deerstalking on a friend's huge property. I recognize this dispatch is running a little long, so I'll relate the hunting story, and then come to a close; the next dispatch will be all about Australia.

John and I went out in the late morning to "South Head", a stretch of land about an hour from Auckland owned by a cousin of his who lets him hunt there. The area is home to black deer and pheasants primarily, but it's also populated by peacocks and other wild birds.

We had some fun finding the key to open the gate, but soon we were doing some four-by-four driving over lumpy grasslands to a find a good place to make a tasty lunch of frankfurters and coffee over a campfire. After a few test shots on his exquisite muzzleloading rifles, we set off across the country: more big, lumpy rolling hills. We would approach a vale and creep into it, so as not to let our motion attract the attention of the deer. We found two, a hind and a yearling, but they ran quickly off and there was so much foliage in between us and them a shot wasn't feasible. We trekked onward.

John enjoyed telling me stories of past shoots, showing me the exact location where a deer walked right up to him, or where he shot a rabbit with a bow and arrow. He'd clearly been here many times and knows the lay of the land very well. I consider myself in pretty good shape, especially having done a year's worth of walking, but found I had difficulty keeping up with John. I wondered how it was possible that even though he appeared to be walking, I had to jog to keep up with him. I chalked it up to his long legs.

We finally had our chance; as we rounded a large hill and approached a large copse of trees, I saw a line of five deer running away from us along a deer fence. "John," I whispered, but he didn't hear; again, I whispered urgently, but he didn't hear again; finally, I barked it out, figuring that the deer had already seen us and wouldn't be much more spooked. If anything John was spooked, pointing his rifle skyward, until he followed my pointing finger to where the deer were running. No shot was going to be possible, from our range; but they stopped, about two hundred meters away, regarding us evenly. John and I froze like statues, and then John started backing us up, foot after foot, keeping our gaze on them. They bolted again, cresting the hill and out of vision. John thought for a moment, then said, "come on," as we ran back around the hill we'd just passed. We tore off to meet them, as he had figured out that they would meet a deer fence and have little choice but to follow it along.

He was right. It wasn't long before the deer came into view, and he beckoned me to get into position. "Don't fire while they're moving," he advised, "wait until they stop." So I waited, and he whistled, which may have actually caused them to stop. A white-and-brown deer, the one that attracted my eye, fell into my sights. I tried to focus and let my heart slow down, which was no easy feat when we just sprinted the last hundred meters. I pulled back the hammer on my flintlock, pulled the set trigger and then when I thought I had it aimed right, pulled the main trigger.
A flash and a bang, but the deer didn't fall down dead. John tracked the deer as it ran on, moving himself into a position of his own. Unfortunately, while they did stop again, it wasn't long enough for him to get a good shot. They tore off into the night.
That was our one good chance; we walked back, adrenaline souring in our bodies, to the car.

It was like John had said on the way to South Head: "I can't promise you'll shoot a deer, but I can promise you'll see one."