Bored of 360 degree spins, David Whitley leaps overboard for a mini-canyoning adventure between Taupo and Rotorua.




You don’t have to go far in New Zealand to find someone willing to take you for a spin in a jetboat. The bloody things are everywhere, but that’s hardly a surprise given that they’re a proud Kiwi invention.




They’re the baby of Bill Hamilton, who came up with the idea of powering a boat by sucking water from underneath and using jet propulsion to send it out of the back. It’s ideal for New Zealand’s fast-flowing, low depth rivers – traditional problems of striking rocks in shallow water become less of an issue.




The first time you go on one, it’s tremendous fun. It powers down the river at high speeds, the driver taking you as close to canyon walls and potentially perilous rock islands as he or she dares. The thrill is in not quite knowing how much you can trust the person behind the wheel. Just how many times have they done this? And, jeez, that was a bit close for comfort…




You’ll also get a few tricks thrown in, such as 360 degree spins. And more 360 degree spins. And more 360 degree spins.




It’s on your second jetboat trip that you realise that there’s pretty much only one trick that can be done with jetboats. And, once you’ve experienced it a couple of times, that quickly gets boring.




Thus it is that I find myself trying to stifle yawns on the Waikato River as the 6th sharp full turn is signalled. I feel like saying: “It’s OK. You’ve shown us this one already.” The wind in the hair rush is perfectly fine on its own; everyone seems to be enjoying that more than the supposed special treat.




But it’s not the high speed ride back through the Waikato’s forested gorges that New Zealand Riverjet’s jetboat trip is all about. The highlight actually comes when you leap over the side of the boat and leave it behind for an hour.




As New Zealand’s longest river flows out from Lake Taupo towards the sea, it is joined by hundreds of tributaries. Some of these pump cold water in – you’ll always find trout hanging around where these hit the big river – but others come from hot springs.



It’s by the confluence of one of these warm streams that we stop. The warm and cold currents are immediately obvious as we wade through, but the stream soon disappears into a rock wall. “That’s where we’re going,” says the driver, pointing at the rock.




On closer inspection, there is a narrow gap. A very narrow gap. There is, apparently, a reason they call it “The Squeeze”. Even breathing in, my chest is pressed against one side, and my back against the other. To push through would draw plenty of blood.



The call goes up to duck down lower – where there’s more room – and attack it head first. It’s a claustrophobic dive into something that looks rather painful, but it works. The even bigger bloke behind manages it as well.




We timidly step along the stream bed, feeling the way ahead in case any submerged rocks attempt to snag us, and stop just before another dark passage through the rock. “You’re going to love this,” says the driver. “This place is special”.




We walk through and encounter a waterfall. It has carved out two seats beneath where the water – at perfect morning shower temperature – is thundering down. And sitting down beneath it, inside a long narrow crag cut into the earth, is far more impressive than any number of jetboat spins.




Disclosure: David Whitley was a guest of Destination Great Lake Taupo. He stayed in Taupo as a guest of YHA Taupo.


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David Whitley pretends to follow in the footsteps of Scott and Amundsen on New Zealand’s South Island.



During the winter months, it can get a little chilly in New Zealand – that white stuff on those mountains isn’t paint, you know. But for a taste of something really cold, you have to venture further south, to the frozen wilderness of Antarctica. However, if being surrounded by scientists, having to wear a gigantic coat all the time and having only penguins for entertainment doesn’t seem like a sustainable barrel of laughs to you, then Christchurch has a brilliant cheat’s option.


The International Antarctic Centre is a little more than a cool tourist attraction. Sitting by the airport, this giant complex is the base not only for New Zealand’s Antarctic research missions, but for their American and Italian counterparts too. 70% of visitors to the Antarctic go there from Christchurch, so the centre is really as close as you can get without actually being there. The serious work is done in the gleaming white buildings set back from the visitor’s centre, but most people don’t come here for research and training – they come to feel ice storms and look at thoroughly loveable penguins.


The visitor experience begins with the science part, explaining what all those duffel coat-fancying geeky types are doing lolling around on the ice. Or more importantly, how. There are no permanent runways in the Antarctic, so people are constantly having to fashion one from the ice. As you can expect, the Dreamliner won’t be landing there any time soon, and the planes are horribly cramped. They make Jetstar look like full luxury first class, but are instantly supercool purely because they have skis as part of the landing gear.


Next comes a mock-up of an Antarctic scene, complete with sleds, plastic penguins, and a massive Snowmaster truck. And the snow starts falling as you wander through, which is a taste of things to come. The atmosphere is built with booming readings from Captain Scott’s diary, which get gradually more pessimistic and doom-laden. Well, I guess the famous South Pole explorer can be forgiven for not being overly cheery, given the circumstances. A clear highlight of the Centre is the Antarctic Storm, which gives a proper idea just how nippy it can get. It takes place inside a large, glass-panelled room with an igloo and tent to shelter in (and, incongruously, a slide for kids). The floor is covered in fake snow and the temperature is a parky minus five degrees. 


It’s only going to get worse, and that’s why we’ve been given snow storm coats and overshoes to don. Gradually, the temperature drops and a wind machine ramps up the chill factor. As it gets down to minus 18.7, a mental note is made that the Scott Base is not an ideal spot for an idyllic beach holiday.

Still, the Russian scientists get it worst – a sign nearby says that it’s currently a scarcely credible minus 48 degrees at their Vostok base. And that sort of temperature requires a little more than a scarf and electric heater in the corner of the bedroom.


Next comes the cute bit. There’s not been a single person in human history that doesn’t go “awww” at the sight of a penguin, and the Antarctic Centre has its own colony of the adorable furballs. The ones kept at the centre are incapable of living in the wild – they all have disabilities. They’re Little Blue Penguins, which can also be found on New Zealand’s South Island as well as Antarctica, and all have been given names. This is presumably to increase the attachment factor before you’re fed information on how they can be choked by plastic rings from drink can packaging or savagely mauled by pet dogs taken for a walk along a beach.


There is also a bit of a penguin stat barrage, and it’s great pub trivia weaponry. Did you know that penguins have a small gland above the eye to filter the salt out of sea water? Or that Pingu and pals swim the equivalent of 1,000 laps of an Olympic-sized pool every day? To offset the cute factor, the centre also offers the chance to get a bit of an adrenalin rush with a ride on a Hagglund. Understandably, the average Nissan Micra doesn’t quite do the trick over frozen wastelands, so special vehicles are needed. 


The Hagglund looks like a truck and a tank have had a baby with growth deficiencies, but its tracks and general sturdiness mean it can handle most terrains. Very slowly, admittedly, but its creators were evidently quite into Aesop’s tortoise and hare yarn. The 15 minute ride goes over a specially designed course outside the centre, and has a touch of the fairground about it. Passengers are strapped in (rather uncomfortably), and then thrown round corners at precarious angles, up and down steep hills and through large murky brown puddles. All jolly good fun, unless sat next to a fat American woman who continually moans that it seems a bit dangerous.


More photos here