The dirtbag's guide to TV stardom

Kitt Turner & Jenna Balsai are amazing.

We already knew that, but Weather Channel just made it official. Since my last #vanlife post about them, they have gone on to become TV stars.

Ok, ok, maybe they're not hosting their own show. Yet. But the Weather Channel will be featuring a segment devoted to the climbing couple and their canyoneering adventures on the premiere of their "That's Amazing" TV show this Sunday, Dec 4th, 9pm ET. We happened to be in Canada while they were filming, so we got to join in the adventure:

Kitt is the king of selfies in Oahu. If you don't believe me, you'll have to watch the episode to see for yourself. 

But because I did promise in the title that this would be a guide to stardom, I give you:

The dirtbag's steps to stardom:

Note: For the concerned or offended, as defined by Patagonia, "dirtbag" is an affectionate term used to describe devoted adventurers. Or in their exact words, the kind of person who might organize a game of hacky sack in the middle of an El Capitan ascent. 

Step One: Do awesome stuff
Like put up a lot of first canyon descents on your island. Or is it down? Put down?

Step two: Take the plunge
Move into a van on the mainland with your adventure-level-approved girlfriend and spend a year climbing, driving, and taking the inevitable breaks to fix your van.

Step three: Get discovered
Storytelling production crew discovers an article about you canyoneering in Hawaii.

Step three (b): Producers also find a #vanlife blog post and read about your adventure quest. *Cough cough* That's right, folks, if you let me write a story about you....... you might not get famous. But somebody might read it and make you famous. You just never know...

This guy carried that microphone over about 65 slippery-stone river crossings.

Step Four: Get filmed
Producers send a production crew out to follow you while you explore a canyon in Canada. Bonus points if several of your Hawaii friends happen to all be in Canada at the same time and can join for the adventure.

The Hawaii canyoneering crew in Canada

Step Five: Get famous?
While it has yet to be determined how far Kitt & Jenna's TV stardom will propel them, I'm happy to report my peppy bright red rain jacket has already been receiving casting calls since its epic three-second appearance in the feature.

Disclaimer: Guide not intended to guarantee actual TV representation. Results may vary. Please consult your local selfie coach before beginning a new TV stardom quest. 

Beauty in the storm

Of all the islands I have visited, Kauai has some of the most unpredictable fluctuations in weather. She also happens to hold a record for the most rainfall in one hour.

When Kauai is in a good mood, she's bright, colorful, and cheerful.

Waimea Canyon on a sunny day

On Kauai, 100% can mean half a day of rain, and 60% can mean rain all day. But if there's one thing I've learned from living in Hawaii, it's that the show doesn't end when it starts raining. There is a special, unique kind of beauty in the storm. 

Waimea canyon last Saturday in the storm.

Sure, there's something to be said for those bright, sunny moments. But if you pack your bags and head home the minute it starts raining, you might miss out on some of the most beautiful, tempestuous moments Hawaii has to offer.

The moonlit waves and cool saltwater breeze just before the storm begins.

The delicate strands of the spider's web shaking in the wind.

The gurgling streams picking up momentum as the rain brings more water.

The intricate features of trees uprooted by the storms.

And the ethereal, pastel colors of a sunset enshrouded in fog.

Sure, everyone thinks of sunshine and blue skies when they think of Hawaii. But I think there's a unique beauty in the storms, don't you?

Just keep dancing

Wanaka, the town that never stops dancing.

Nestled deep in the mountains of New Zealand, somewhere near Mt. Aspiring and south of Mt Cook, is a cozy little town named Wanaka. The smaller (and quieter) sibling of snowboarding central Queenstown, Wanaka is home to a lively population of Kiwis and a steady influx of working holiday visa holders, primarily French. It’s a small town, with a population of just over 7,000. The majority of tourists bypass Wanaka for the more popular Queenstown. They’ll never know what they're missing out on.

I first laid eyes on this house during a trip through the South Island in the winter of 2013. 

On the corner of the town center sat a small white stone house wrapped in red vines. Directly adjacent was a gurgling stream that snaked around from behind the right side of a small hut, the former Wanaka jailhouse. The house itself was aging. The leaking roof and drafty halls whispered stories of old, when the house was home to the jail warden, and the tiny hut held all of Wanaka’s troublemakers.

Now, the troublemakers of old had been replaced with new ones in the form of four young tenants: Wes, our old friend from Hawaii, and his three flatmates. We were planning on stopping through for a day or so. We deeply underestimated the magic of Wanaka. 

We arrived on a winter night and were greeted by cheerful music and the smell of brown gravy.

“Hello hello!” a woman pushed her way around Wes to join in the welcome. Her large, friendly eyes danced behind a web of curly bangs. Her name was Juliette, and she introduced herself with a hug as strong as her French accent.

On the side of the kitchen Chris, a young Kiwi waved from his perch in a window seat alcove. He was buried in work on his laptop, but his head was bobbing to the music that floated through the house. Wes and Juliette led us into the kitchen, where they were preparing dinner.

A note on the fridge announced the house’s current mission statement:

Things to think about

• We need to come up with a plan for wood for the fireplace.

• We miss Paz when he’s away

• When we are sober… it’s not normal.

• Our friends are awesome.

• Dancing and dishes in same times. Always.

While all of the statements were scrawled in various hands, there was no doubt who had wrote the latter. Juliette swayed between a cutting board and a pan, tossing vegetables into the pan in rhythm with “Happy” by CDC. As the song hit the crescendo, she leapt onto the bench and thrust her large wooden spoon into the air victoriously. “I need to be happy! Every, everyday! Yes! Yes!” My eye dropped from the swaying spoon to two large bruises on her legs.

“That’s normal,” chuckled Chris, as he followed my eyes, “dancing in a bar and she got a little too excited. Last night it was after a couple beers, but it happens even when she’s sober.”

By now Juliette had moved to the sink and was washing the cutting board and knife. Soap bubbles flew off her fingertips as she continued to sway in beat with the music. “Come, join!” she pulled Jamie into the middle of the kitchen and began spinning in the middle of the tiles.

A few copies of “The Wanaka Messenger”, the local newspaper, were strewn across the kitchen table.

“We mainly read it for the Crime Line section,” explained Wes, “that’s where the best stuff is.”

This seemed to be a grossly misappropriated use of the term “crime,” as the entries could hardly be counted as such. “Wanaka Gossip and Entertainment” seems like a more fitting title for the entries.

“A resident heard a knock on his door and opened it to find nobody there,” or stern reminders: “The orange cones around the construction of the new roundabout are not to be worn as hats when you’ve had one too many sherberts.”

The occasional drunken revelry provided some extra excitement. “Two miscreants took a tractor out of a barn on the previous week, and drove a few donuts in the driveway before leaving.” In a world full of tragically horrific headlines, the Wanaka Crime Line was a comforting reminder that there are still places of comparatively innocuous populations.

“I’m home!” The cheerful greeting announced the arrival of Paz, the fourth flatmate of the house. Paz was currently enjoying a month off work, playing disc golf and snowboarding on the slopes of Wanaka. He split his time between working one month in Australia, where the wages were higher, and time back home in Wanaka. He was followed in the door by Cam, his young Canadian sidekick.

“I mean, how hard is it to understand the rules of the game? You’re so f*ing stupid!” Cam exploded through the door behind him in a fury of impatience.

Paz smiled amicably until the corners of his mouth touched the fuzzy ear flaps on either side of his wooly lumberjack hat.

“We love Cam,” Wes explained as he turned to me, “because his remarks remind us just how not-normal we all are.”

Cam was a fresh high school graduate from Canada. He was staying on Paz’s couch for a few weeks before starting a job at the local ski resort, but had clearly already found his place in the house. It was explicitly understood that his outbursts of rage at the general lack of sense was actually his way of expressing of affection for this bizarre house and its residents. At least that was the general consensus.

Without warning, the music stopped. Chris hastily excused himself to the living room to address this issue. As resident DJ, Chris kept his small computer and a DJ setup in the living room. He took his job as house DJ quite seriously, and kept a steady playlist of music streaming at all times, morning and night.

“You don’t understand- it’s very important,” he admonished us as he bent earnestly over his setup, “the music keeps people happy, and when it goes off, people get antsy. I must fix this right away.”

Chris had lived in Wanaka his entire life, and spent most of his time working on his internet business. But his real love, his passion, was finding the perfect song mixture to convince even the most reluctant guest into a dancing frenzy.

Throughout the rest of the week, a slew of other people flowed through this house on a regular basis, constantly coming and going, but always present, much like the adjacent stream. The house’s warm vibes and music drew visitors at all hours of the day and night.

Over a fierce Tuesday night card game, the flatmates and their throng of friends decided to head off to the neighboring Mt. Aspiring National Park. We charged off into the mountains to spend a night in a cabin nestled within a breathtaking wall of misty mountains. Naturally, dancing ensued.

By Thursday afternoon, I was used to the drill. It started with a group of people sitting around chatting on the couches, and ended with everybody dancing; on the floor, behind the couches, on the couches, on the table. It wasn’t sensual club dancing - just fun, simple dancing. For a moment, everyone in the room became a child again, lost in a whirlwind of laughter, spinning arms, tapping feet, and literally jumping for joy.

On Friday, our last night, the town of Wanaka threw a celebration for the beginning of snowboarding season. Despite the fierce competition from Queenstown, the locals still held that their resorts had the best powder scene, and they were excited to show their spirit. Chris was the DJ at the local pub that night, so we all threw on our coats and trouped through the snowy streets to follow our music leader. The bar was small, but the tables were packed with outdoor enthusiasts, working together to ease the load on the kegs. There was no doubt another edition of the Crime Line was in the making.

After Chris’s set ended, we headed home to continue the living room dancing into the night. I finally collapsed on the couch in utter exhaustion, but a remix of Marvin Gaye’s “Sunny” came on. The upbeat mix coursed through my tired limbs and begged them to get up and dance for just one more song.

“It’s like eating potato chips,” laughed Wes with a knowing smile, “every time I try and go to sleep I’ll think to myself ‘I’ll go to bed after this last song, and then it quickly fades into another song that is just as good, I just have to stay for one more.”

Whenever I think of that house, I think of that song “Sunny.” For others, it was a different song. If there is a psychology to reading music and people, Chris must have an honorary Phd. He identified the songs that resonated with each person, and blended them together in a way that kept everyone on their feet. Paired with Juliette’s enthusiastic dance moves, it was perfectly irresistible.

Like all good things, our time in Wanaka had to come to an end. Jamie and I packed up our belongings and crawled into the camper van to continue our trip. I didn’t see them again, but the memories and happy feelings from that little town stayed with me. We drove past Queenstown on the way out, but I didn’t even care to look around. I already knew it couldn’t compare to the magic of Wanaka. I didn’t want to ruin it.

Three years later, I sat down to write this blog about the magical house of dancing. I got in touch with Juliette, who was now back home in France. She informed me the Wanaka house was being torn down.

“They will build a bar there…”

“Noooooo!” I cried.

“But a bar,” she replied, “think of it.”

It would still be a place of dancing.

But there was more. After she left Wanaka, Juliette had been in a bad car accident, and lost one of her legs. It was very hard, she admitted, but was still remained upbeat.

“I can dance, a little bit. I will always be dancing!” she added, as if she had read my mind, “I can’t live without dancing.”

 “I think often of that time in Wanaka,” she added. “I probably wouldn’t be the same way in my head without it. It gave me a lot, and it stayed with me.”

She was right. Good times come to an end, places change, and people leave. We can't hold on to a moment in time, but the joy that is created in that moment and memory is yours to keep and hold throughout life. 

And for those who have experienced the magic of Wanaka and still remember those moments of joy….

…they will still be dancing, too.

#vanlife

 When Kitt Turner lost his job of ten years, he decided to turn the unfortunate event into an adventure of a lifetime.

 He and his girlfriend Jenna Balsai left their homes in Hawaii to embark on a climbing trip across North America. This past January, they began their trek in their new home – an emerald green Sprinter van. The lifestyle comes with some unique challenges. But Kitt and Jenna have found a way to renovate the typical dirt bag vanlife in fresh, luxurious style.

White. Tan. Cobalt blue. If you don’t pay attention to the colors, all the Volkswagen Westphalia’s in Joshua Tree National Park start to look the same. The Sprinter’s tall shadow streaked across the rows of campervans as we rumbled down the campground road. A light cloud of dust stirred behind the back of the van, and settled across the pop-up rooftops. Few heads turned to watch our entry. Most were too engrossed in their own activities. It was 2pm on a Thursday afternoon, but not a single soul was doing anything that could be remotely confused with work. Most were climbing, the rest were creating. Their heads were bent over easels and paints, their fingers tickled handmade flutes. Life is a song, and they were busy writing their own lyrics. Restless souls that refused to submit to the bridle of societal responsibilities.

We pulled into the last campsite at the end of the road and came to a stop. The emerald green door slid open to reveal a luxurious mansion in the dirtbag world of van nomads. Enter Kitt and Jenna. The stylishly disheveled climbing bums – proof that you can embrace the van life and still have nice things.

Their van is equipped with a big screen TV, full solar power, running water, hardwood countertops, swiveling captain chairs, a spacious refrigerator, a real bed, a heater at night, even a remote controlled ventilation system. The best part? You can walk around freely inside the van without having to hunch over.

You can only understand their rendition of van life by understanding Kitt and Jenna. As adventurers, they’re walking oxymorons. Savage yet classy.

On Oahu, Kitt was a mild mannered financial consultant, and Jenna was a sweet nurse. But on the weekends, they were rock climbing, thrill-seeking waterfall maniacs, plunging over 600ft drops in torrential downpours. Kitt was always looking for the next first decent, and is responsible for a majority of the development of canyoneering on Oahu. Together, Kitt and Jenna pushed the limits of adventures, but always came out of it looking annoyingly well put together. I’ve seen Kitt charge into a jungle and bushwhack through 12 miles of dense foliage and raging rivers and still emerge with the hair of James Dean.

And while Jenna's personality may initially seem sweet and demure, she’ll suggest trekking across South America with the same casual demeanor a person might suggest brewing a cup of tea.

So when it comes to van life, it only makes sense that they would decide to be responsibly irresponsible. Kitt liked his job, and he didn't have any intention on leaving. But when his firm closed down, it seemed like the opportune time to go explore climbing in other places. Climbing on Oahu is limited, and they had been wanting to check out other areas with more climbing options for awhile. But they spent a while working and saving up first. They spent $10,000 on the van, and estimated they spent another $10,000 on improvements. In addition to the initial costs, they budgeted an adequate monthly allowance and savings to start over at the end of it all. And Jenna is on a year long leave of absence, so she can return to her job if they decide to go back to Hawaii at the end of their trip.

Kitt and Jenna first met three years ago while climbing at the Mokuleia rock crag on the North Shore of Oahu. Jenna distinctly remembers the first time she saw Kitt, viciously chopping down tall California grass with a large machete. Kitt doesn’t have any recollection. “It wasn’t love at first sight!” laughs Jenna. But a spark slowly grew during the first year of friendship, and the climbing partners finally started dating.

Now, two years later, they’re taking their partnership on the ultimate relationship test. Van life isn’t for everybody. Tensions can run high when you’re together 24/7 with another person in a small space. You have to work through problems without taking your frustration out on each other.

Even with all the van's luxuries, there’s still plenty that can go wrong. They have to keep an eye on water supplies. The portable toilet isn’t fun to set up in cold winter nights. Even with an atlas, directions can still be controversial. Sometimes the van has mechanical difficulties. They’re still working out a few details inside the van- like a system for keeping the kitchen supplies above the sink from falling out while they’re driving. And it’s not just van problems – frustrations can rise from things like a rope getting stuck on a climb. It’s a lot of partner work, and it takes a lot of patience, trust, and understanding.

But they seem to be figuring it out. When we met up in Joshua Tree, they had just completed their first month of van life, unscathed. They had been staying at a free campsite outside of Joshua tree, but they shared our camp spot inside the park while we were there.

In the early morning light, Jenna prepared a healthy breakfast. Her kitchen supplies are housed in ample shelves, drawers, and a handy spice rack next to the water tank.

Part of the counter lifts to reveal a deep chest refrigerator and freezer. It’s one of the luxuries that makes a healthy breakfast of Greek Yogurt possible. The device is powered by the internal electrical system, rigged by Kitt and his dad. They have two 155-amp hour batteries that are charged by solar panels on the van roof. They also have a 2000-watt inverter for running anything that uses 120 volts, like their blender, hot water kettle, or crockpot.

Next to the control panel is a switch for the external diesel heater. The inside of the panels along the walls of the van are lined with three different types of insulation to retain heat inside during the cold winter night. But there’s one drawback of their heating system – it smells like diesel when the heater is on. That’s where the remote control ventilation fan comes in handy. Next to the sink is a stack of books – climbing locations, maps, and crockpot recipes for two. The crockpot works well, Jenna explained, because it uses lower levels of power spread out over the day. That way the solar panel can keep up with these energy demands without completely draining the battery.

Entertainment is ample in their new life. At night, their mounted Mac computer swings down and functions as a movie screen. But during the day, there’s no time for movies - they have places to climb. 

The back of the van has a second storage compartment, stuffed with ropes, shoes, cams, carabineers, and other adventure accessories.

We loaded up a pack and headed out to a nearby crag to check out the attractions.

Back at the camp site, Kitt and Jenna reclined in their comfortable bed and talked about the transition. So far, the rewards have been worth all the hard work. They’re looking forward to the next 11 months as they continue to check out canyons and climbing crags across California, Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, Washington, Oregon, Alaska, Kentucky, Canada, and wherever else their itching feet take them. At the end of the year, their plans are open ended. They’re hoping to figure out where they want to settle down during their travels. But for now, they’re just enjoying the good life on the road.

“The best thing about van life…” ponders Kitt,

“is doing whatever we want,” Jenna fills in.

“Just being able to go anywhere you want and…” Kitt continues,

“…climb wherever you want,” Jenna adds, “Wake up whenever you want.”

“And I think we planned it with enough luxuries so it doesn’t always feel like camping.” says Kitt, “It feels like…”

As if on cue, Jenna and Kitt finish the sentence together.

“we’re home.”

Want more? Follow their adventures online:

Kitt- @kitt1047

Jenna- @jennabalsai

Blog: http://northamericanvanlife.tumblr.com/

Dog Sledding in Whistler

When are animal rides cruel?

Last month, I had the opportunity to go dog sledding in Whistler, Canada. I was excited, but tentative. There's a certain childish appeal to animal rides, and I love dogs. But I’d heard mixed reviews on the subject. Some people said it was cruel to the dogs. How do you know?

In some cases, it's a no-brainer.

I remember my first sheep ride like it was 18 years ago.

Like most young girls, I was afflicted with the curse of horse-lust. I was born in the thick of the 80’s My Little Pony craze. As a young girl, I joined the throngs of wide-eyed gremlins clutching rainbow-colored rubber horses with heart freckled rumps. All I wanted was my own little real pony. 

When my family moved to a farm, my siblings and I barraged my parents with the ineluctable plea.

"Can we get a horse? Pleeeeeeeeassee???"

“Horses don’t bring in money,” my parents said, “Goats give us milk. Sheep give meat and wool. Horses don’t provide income.”

My brother Dan and I were not to be dissuaded from our burning need to ride something. We were all about improvising. Pearl was a strong, stocky Suffolk sheep. If you squinted your eyes halfway, her inky black face almost resembled the majestic Black Beauty. A Black Beauty with an oversized, white, wooly saddle. The perfect solution to our horse-lust woes.

Dan and I approached our newly appointed trusty steed, armed with a handful of her favorite treats. I clenched and unclenched my free hand behind my back while she slurped up the grain from my outstretched left hand.

In one swift move, I wrapped my scrawny legs and arms around her woolly back like an octopus attacking a cottonball. For a moment, Pearl paused, stunned.

3, 2, 1...

My brother started to say something, but his words were drowned by the pounding of hooves against the ground. Pearl launched us into the air at rocket speed.

... BLASTOFF!

In my nine-year-old memory, it was an eternity of rushing air and thudding hooves. The lanolin coated my already sweaty palms and I felt myself slowly slipping down towards her thudding hooves.

In reality, it was actually probably only about 6.2 seconds before Pearl put things to an end. She pulled a fast tight turn into the fence, slammed her side against the panels and sent me flying into the alfalfa.

“No thanks!” I thought I heard her mutter under her breath as she trotted away indignantly.

For Pearl, it was obvious she didn't enjoy our little rodeo. She gave me dirty looks for two weeks straight.

But for dog sledding, it wasn't quite as straightforward.

Whistler dog sledding got a bad rap after a mass killing of 56 sled dogs went public. Many claimed this cruel act exemplified the horrors of dog sledding. Conditions of the working animals were brought into question. And a slew of articles advocated banning dog sledding altogether.

But other sled dog owners spoke out against the occurrence, upset to be grouped with the event. Did the actions of one cruel man justify placing all dog sledding companies into the same group?

Dog sledding has a rich history in Northern America transportation. The story of Balto tells the tale of the heroic sled dog that saved a village by delivering medicine to a village when other transportation methods failed. In today's modern society, however, dog sledding is primarily recreational. Using a dog sled to save a village of people seems a little more justified. The topic begs the question: "When is it ethical to use animals for rides?"

In this case, it may be something that can only be decided on a case by case basis. In this case, my tour was set up through Canadian Wilderness Adventures. They contract through Trappers Run, a kennel run by Jamie Hargreaves. Jamie is an advocate for ethical dog sledding. I can't speak for other dog sledding groups. But a few things stood out to me about this particular group of dogs and mushers.

The biggest thing I noticed was a respectful relationship between the handlers and the dogs. Around these parts, Jamie is known as the “dog whisperer.” Rumor has it she can silence sixty barking dogs with one word. But the effect doesn’t appear to stem from fear. Jamie’s dogs wag their tails and perk their ears forward when they see her approaching. When she lets a couple dogs out, they rush to cover her in kisses.

I don’t speak dog-ese, but the dogs seem to hold Jamie in high regard. And the respect is mutual. Jamie can't say enough good things about her dogs.

“People say I’m so incredible with dogs, but to be honest it’s the dogs that teach the dogs. I just facilitate the process.” Jamie says.

It’s a process that she calls Can-ology, much like sociology.

“We work on dog’s personal confidence. We want them to be a part of something, and they all come together for a common goal.”

Her mushers share these sentiments. To start our tour, we met up with Addison, our musher for the day. Addison's team of dogs for the day approach him with a full on body hugs and soft nuzzles. Like Jamie, he knows every single dog's name. The best part, he says, is when the dogs learn your voice and start to respond. It's a group effort, and there's something special about that feeling of belonging to the team.

At this kennel, quality of life seemed high. The mushers knew each little nuance about each dog -- who needed what, and when. Some of the dogs had blankets to keep them warm while they waited outside. Another wore booties because her paws were more sensitive.

When they aren't working, the dogs are kept in kennels.  During the summer, Jamie says they’re allowed to run free on the expansive property.

The kennel grounds were a frenzy of barking as we approached. The dogs who were set to pull waited on tethers near the sled. They jumped up and down, barking eagerly. Addison introduced us to each of the dogs, and then let us help him hook them up. Some of the dogs practically dragged us to line to be hooked up.

Once they were hooked to the sled, the real racket began. The dogs leapt forward in their harnesses. You could almost hear them yelling eagerly:

“Aww yeah! Let’s go!”

Addison gave the command, and the dogs tore down the trail like a pack of kids that had just spotted a blowup bouncy house on the distant horizon.

As we went up the hills, Addison stepped off to help push the sled up. On the way down, he applied a break to keep the sled from gaining too much momentum and careening into the dogs.

Every fifteen minutes we took a break. Addison explained that running makes them have to poop. After they relieved themselves, the dogs dove headfirst into the snow, rolling and shaking.

Once the pack had cooled down, they began leaping in their harness, eager to run again.

“Let’s get this show on the road!”

We pulled back into home base a couple hours later. The dogs lapped at a high-calorie soup while we passed out treats to reward them for a job well done.

The change in behavior was remarkable. Dogs that were rioting just a few hours ago now lied down, content and calm. Can they invent some form of dog sledding for hyper energetic children bouncing off the walls?

For some of the more energetic dogs, Addison said they would get to run one more time later that day. For other dogs, once was enough.

For these dogs, they seem to be enjoying their lives. They’re happy, they’re having fun, and they enjoy being part of a team.

But what happens afterwards? Will their careers as a sled dog ruin their chances at a happy life after they can no longer pull?

At Jamie’s kennel, her dogs aren’t all just the traditional Huskies. Her team is a diverse assortment from a variety of backgrounds. The majority of these dogs came to her as rescue dogs. And Jamie has no intent on sending them back to the lives they escaped.

It’s why she adopts her dogs out early. While most are happy to work up to 13 years, she works with an adoption agency to find them homes long before then. That way the dogs have more time to bond and enjoy quality time with their adoptees after their sledding years.

As happy as they seemed to me, I wondered- how do you really know if a dog enjoys pulling sleds? “No dog is here if they don’t want to be here.” said Jamie. “If they’re not enjoying their days and it doesn’t seem to work for them we adjust and we find new homes for them.”

For Jamie, reading dogs is like reading humans.

“You have to know your animals and know what they’re feeling." she said.  "Certain dogs are more sensitive and need more attention; other dogs need a lot of positive reinforcement. Every dog, like humans, has different needs. And if you know that animal, you know if it’s going to be happy or not. You just know.”

Jamie smiles and nods in the direction of her tail-wagging clan.

“It’s the connection with them.”

Personally, I'd never try to ride a sheep again. But dog sledding? If the kennel is anything like Jamie's, I would definitely give it another go.

Ngakuta Bay: Of People and Places

Sometimes people ask me why I got into photography. It wasn’t planned. Actually, I’d say my journey to becoming a photographer began with a series of plans going really wrong.

I was terrified when I quit my job. I didn’t know what I was going to do next. I just knew that I wanted to travel and see mountains. I used some of the money I had saved to buy an introductory level DSLR camera that I had absolutely no idea how to use. I set off to spend the summer in New Zealand. As it turns out, June is actually winter in New Zealand.

So winter. I set off to spend the winter in New Zealand.

Living in a van, by myself. What could possibly go wrong?

 It was during this winter (summer?), that I realized I loved capturing stories about people.

At the time, I was enraptured with Henry David Thoreau’s poetic reflections on solitude and nature, and planned to spend most of my trip in New Zealand solo backpacking in the mountains of the South Island. It was, as my friends would call it, “Hippie Liz Phase.” Ok, I was kind of digging the whole hippie vibe. I even had a multi-colored hand-knit beanie and I thought I understood yoga. My head was full of Saltwater Buddha, Siddhartha, and my latest book- Walden. Theme of the year: self-discovery in nature.  I was on the verge of illumination. I could feel it.

“I experienced sometimes that the most sweet and tender, the most innocent and encouraging society may be found in any natural object, even for the poor misanthrope and most melancholy man. There can be no very black melancholy to him who lives in the midst of Nature and has his senses still… I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

After a week in Wanaka with old and new friends, I was restless to begin my spiritual journey. My friend Jamie tucked a little slip of paper from her fortune cookie into the cup holder of my van and hugged me goodbye. I raced towards the hills in pursuit of enlightenment.

My idyllic visions of soul searching in the mountains were quickly trampled.  A torrential downpour, overflowing rivers, rockfalls, and landslides blocked the passage to natural nirvana. A crippling case of contaminated water was the final blow, and I found myself huddled on the side of the road, retching my guts out. Only three days later, I limped my way along the coast towards Picton, crushed and defeated.

I called the parents of a kind kiwi I had met in Wanaka, and asked to spend a night and recover. The directions were simple. Follow a winding road until I saw a beautiful bay filled with sailboats. Turn near the bridge. I wound through the roads along the Marlborough sounds and found myself tucked away in the heart of Ngakuta bay.

"Welcome!” boomed a deep voice. I was face to face with a man with sharp blue eyes and a mustache that would have made Einstein jealous. He embraced me in a big hug. The rough wool fibers of his sweater were spattered with flecks of fiberglass.

“I’m a bit of a mess, I’ve just been sanding my kayak. Lent it to a boy that’s off to be the first person to walk around the entire coastline of New Zealand. He had to navigate the coastline of the sounds by water. Took a little beating, but what a story, eh!”

His name was Pip. His wife, Anne welcomed me a warm smile, and gently led me to the house. Her hair was soft waves of gingerbread and honey and everything sweet.

“Are you hungry?” Pip was right on her heels. “Of course you are, you’ve been driving all day. Let’s go get some fish for dinner then, eh? Anne, we’ll be back shortly with dinner!”

Within 20 minutes we were rowing out to his fishing boat anchored in the bay.

“Look at us, rolling on the river just like Fogerty and Tina Turner!” he cried. His white hair flittered in his face as he lustily belted out the lyrics.

Left a big job in the city

Big wheel keep on turning

Proud Mary keep on burning

Rolling, rolling, rolling on the river!

Marlborough sounds is a lake within an ocean. It’s an area of sunken valleys, consumed by the sea. An expansive network of peaks of land rises, and welcomes the tumultuous ocean into their calm arms. They rock the swell to sleep in their channels, and by the time the ocean reaches Ngakuta bay, the water lies as still as a milk drunk newborn.

There was no wind to speak of, so Pip started the engine and we slowly putted our way through the sounds. The water rippled softly away from the boat like folds of iridescent silk smoothing under a hot iron.

“Now then, a visit to Ngakuta Bay wouldn’t be complete without a glass of the homemade spirits.” Pip poured a glass from a bottle filled with deep amber.

I eyeballed the glass tentatively.

“It just wraps itself around your tonsils and screams ‘I’m here, ho!’” He assured me, and raised his glass to the sky.

A colorful printed label on the bottle explained the warmth filling my belly:

“RICOCHET” Ngakuta Gold RUM

This finest quality B.B.O.P.* is guaranteed to increase ones libido and general sense of being whilst at the same time titivating the taste buds and liberating the inhibitions.

Aprox 40% alc. (Give or take 10%)

*Bloody beautiful old plonk

While we waited for a nibble, Pip filled me in with the triumphs and struggles of bay life; thrilling summer boat races and fishing with dolphins; polluted waters and damages from increased logging.

Between stories and sips, the sun sank away. We returned to shore at dusk with hands as empty as our bellies.

The table was prepared. The kitchen smelled of gravy and mushrooms and meats and buttered sweet corn. Somehow, Anne just knew.

Something had finally calmed my stomach, whether it was the rum, or the time on the water, and I took a small bite. Heaven.

“This is the same as one of the first meals Anne cooked for me!” beamed Pip. He looked over at Anne proudly. “You know, it’s a miracle I even got her to agree to a second date!”

Anne smiled sideways and shook her head.

“I was the principal of the school, and so I knew most of the parents. When I took her out to dinner for our first date, the waitress said ‘You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?’ It’s a small town, you know, so I replied ‘I don’t know, maybe you’re the mother of one of my children.’”

Pip shook with mirth. “I didn’t realize how bad it sounded until I had already said it!”

“Swept me off my feet,” laughed Anne. After dinner we sank into warm brown corduroy armchairs. The black wood stove crackled as Pip strummed on one of his handmade ukuleles.

While Pip was more vocal, Anne asserted her voice in her own ways. She approached my chair with a book. “This is the book I wrote,” she handed me the book as Pip played in the background. “It’s my autobiography.” She settled into her chair, as I flipped through the pages of Anne's carefully constructed memoirs. Pip had spontaneously switched to a flute, and was now piping along with the singer performing on the TV behind him.

The next day, Pip introduced me to the best bakery, where we gorged ourselves on meat pies. Anne brought me along to school where she taught in a one-room multi-grade schoolhouse where tree climbing is still allowed. Back at the house, Pip sang songs and acted out history lessons of his own.

“Do you know Ernest Rutherford went to the school we taught at? The father of nuclear physics, from our little school!” Pip beamed.

“More importantly, New Zealand was the first country to allow women to vote,” Anne added.

My one night stay melted into four days. As I drove towards the ferry in Picton, I realized that my experience in the beautiful South Island would not have been as rich without the people.

I did eventually find some peace and quiet solitude in nature. But I also began to realize I wanted to capture stories of people, not just nature. Just as places shape the people who live there, the people shape the places where they live.

I didn't find a way to make money capturing people's stories until much later, after I learned how to properly use my camera, lost the rainbow beanie and started taking showers again. But as I continued to travel, my journals and photos became my way of capturing the essence that I felt in the places. And when I ran out of money for traveling, meeting new people with different perspectives became my form of traveling.

As I left Pip & Anne’s house, I propped up Jamie's fortune cookie slip on the dash of my van and left it up for the rest of the trip: