We started before day break and scuttled out of the trailer park having compiled a monstrous lunch and packed the nessecery items for 48 hours away from the Enema.

We arrived at the kayak base to receive a very thorough briefing from a lovely kiwi called Friesia (not Friesian as I initially thought) . This involved equipment stowage, capsize drill, weather reading, chart use and most importantly how to avoid sand flies. There was a lot to take in, and the language barrier proved too much for a young group of dopey Belgian batchelors who still had no idea what their rudder did and spent their entire time ramming each other's kayaks. Meanwhile Bob and I were getting to grips with our lefts and rights and brushing up on our communication skills... We got there in the end.

We packed all of our gear into a range of plastic, duffel and dry bags and boarded the water taxi which arrived still on its trailer, driven by a bit of a hero. Not only did our medium sized speedboat contain 10 passengers and all their gear, our captain also stacked on 8 double sea-kayaks! Launching was done single handedly off the tractor and trailer off the slipway, leaving the old ford idling in the surf before jumping aboard and accelerating us to warp speed, skimming our way north through the beautiful bays of Abel Tasman.

We were dropped off at Onetehuiti bay in the scorching heat, sadly waving goodbye to our transporter. We swiftly packed and victualled our vessel before setting out into the serene calm of the opal blue water, trying desperately to co-ordinate foot pedals and paddling.

What a team, we flew across the water, and at regular intervals we were heading in the right direction as well! We passed the Tongan arches, visited sandfly bay for lunch and took in the white sand, solitude and stunning surroundings of the national park/playground. We should have focussed a little more attention on our local surroundings as we headed in to land at Mosquito bay. The small patch of rough water ahead of us suddenly lifted up, and Bob disappeared into a ferocious riptide. A few intense seconds of paddling later and we emerged a little damp, but grinning like idiots.

We paddled on to Bark Bay, a long bank of sand with a hospitable shoreline of well spaced firs, between which we pitched our rather odd shaped rental tent. The weather was stunning and we enjoyed our tepid L&P and Tui on the beach with our books. Tiring of this, as soon as my beer ran out, I swam round to Merchants bay and back, desperately hoping that it would be an acceptable time to start cooking when I returned. It wasn't, so a few more chapters were read, Bob swam and we decided to move our kayak further up the beach away from the incoming tide, making friends with a French couple in the process. We both decided that we were both dreading the prospect of sleeping in a tent, surrounded by biting things which had enjoyed a starter of Bob's ankles and were ready for main course.

Finally it reached 630pm and the pasta boiling commenced. Frustratingly we were interrupted by the park ranger, 'Steve', who was a characature. Khaki clad, nut brown, short shorts, leather boots, utility belt, winning smile, full head of hair, needless to say Bob 'booked us in'.

We ate our own weight of pasta before enjoying a decadent cup of tea and reading until the light faded so we were forced to turn in. As my sides went numb in turn I was under no illusion that this was going to be a restful nights sleep...