This morning I underwent one of the most surreal experiences I have ever had - and that's saying something.
I now understand why so many people come to Waitomo to see the glowworms doing their stuff. Of course, I couldn't just go to the main glowworm cave 500m from the campsite. Instead I went to a slightly less commercial area and went on a guided underground thingy. After going through the initial limestone cavern, everyone apart from the guide switched of their torches and we went on in the near pitch blackness. We came to an underground river where one we got on board an inflatable boat, the guide switched off his torch as well and we floated down the river with the only light coming from the glowworms which covered the roof of the tunnel.
It is impossible to explain what the experience is like, you have to do it to appreciate it! Once your eyes become accustomed to the dark, you actuall only need the glowworms in order to see where you're going - as we discovered after getting out of the boat and continuing on foot, with all torches still switched off.
Despite some concerns I had about it being claustrophobic, it was all easy going and very, very well worth doing. I have to say that the fact that we could hear a very noisy waterfall ahead when we were floating downstream was somewhat disturbing though. Not quite sure that I'm ready for the black water rafting though (racing through underground tunnels in the pitch black on a rubber ring). Maybe if I had company with me, but not on me tod!
So, if you come to NZ, come to Waitomo and go to one of the less visited caves . . .
1 comment:
Dear Dr Bell-Amy
your strange tales of glowing worms has warmed the hearts of your regular readeship here in the chilly Eastern Anglia. Could you bag a couple and then bring 'em back. Save a lot on batteries for lights around town/evening blasts through Lee Woods (who he)?
A cold wind had been blowing right up from the Urals (I blame the spicy fajitas consumed Saturday last, but when were things any different) making for crisp, frosty mornings – ideally suited to the consumption of cake. Of the Christmas variety of course. Now repeat after me in a mock Joe Dolce kinda way 'Christmuz Kayge'. Very good. My my, I may have bigger for you.
Other than that, Christmas is still the commercial, binge-drinking, hugely forgetable experience it always has been since; well for this reader anyway since the age of 9. Nothing comes close to the thrill of a newly emptied cider barrel in which to invent schemes of world domination with the compulsory consumption of pickled herring at evey meal time. Everything else just pales into . . . er, pale things. With the possible exception of . . .
Riding a full susser with cycling chums at Glentress and then stuffing your chops with black pudding in the Hub after an epic day in the forest. We had it all. Vertical ganny's ring climbs, bermy hair pin full-throttle decents, mechanicals, quite a lot of dabbing, cake, pocket coffee – see http://www.ineedcoffee.com/01/04/candy/ – oh yes and we did some cycling too. Infact we did so much, this weekend past I couldn't be arsed to sit on a bike so just cleaned it instead. How dull.
Bring us more news soon.
Dr Beanskins III
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