I woke with a jolt, thrown into consciousness just before I impacted with the ground that was hurtling towards me. Normally a falling dream is considered lucky, the morning of a bungy jump it was not welcome!

In spite of this I felt surprisingly few nerves as we packed up and headed for Kawarau Bridge on the road to Queenstown. What I did have nerves about was losing the ticket, being late and having to maximise speed along a twisting, climbing then falling mountain pass with numerous switch backs.

We arrived with 5 minutes to spare and the setting was stunning. A deep, steep sided gorge curling through the mountains under a bridge from the industrial revolution which towered over the bright blue, fast flowing river filling the canyon's base.

With an insane grin on my face we entered the bungy centre and checked in. I was weighed, written on and signed my own mortuary 'toe-tag' before heading out to the balcony to watch the next jumper. Bad move. The first jumper bottled it, the second stood there for an age before pin-diving her way to being whiplashed and I didn't stop to watch the third, I just needed to do it. It was a long walk out onto the bridge, and a long wait as I watched a 12 year old nail it in a perfect swallow dive and a Japanese granny eventually topple off the edge. A pair of blonde backpackers screamed their way over, then it was me. The strapping in was a bit of a blur then I found myself standing on the launch pad, bunny hopping to the edge, smiling for the cameras, and, like a lemming, jumping.

Nothing can describe it, or do it justice. All I know is that the photos afterwards I was so nervous I put my fist up to the farewell camera, but forgot to extend my thumb... However, I remembered to jump up, I remembered not to flail my arms and I eventually remembered not to let any involuntary noises or substances leave my body, though the video documents an initial lapse in this department. All of the above required unbelievable amounts of self control not to roll forward, scream and flail like a windmill as I tumbled river wards.

The recovery by the raft was slick and I couldn't talk my heart was hammering that hard and my mouth was fixed in s monster grin. I ran up the steps where a suitably impressed Bob was still adamant that this was something she didn't need to do (unlike skydiving).

We cruised on to Arrowtown, which was straight out of a western film set though with the addition of some very trendy shops. Bob focused on the 'Remarkable Sweet Shop' which did some amazing fudge, Bob's favourite flavour being Creme Brûlée. It was almost as good as Dads creme brûlées!

We drove on and arrived in Queenstown and we were not disappointed. On our initial walk into town we were met by a bustling queue on the sidewalk. This was where the the devout waited in line, patiently and diligently, drawing ever closer, person by person to....Fergburger!

A 15 minute queue amongst a buzzing crowd with excellent music got us to the ordering kiosk. The menu, which we'd been salivating over whilst we waited was awesome, you could pretty much have anything in a bun, but bob went for a cheesy Fergburger, and I pushed the boat out with a 'Big Al'. We went for a little mooch whilst waiting for our order, no need to build up an appetite, we were starving and Pavlov would have a field day over just how much lip smacking went on whilst we counted down to our order. It arrived and after a swift commute to the waterfront it was devoured, effortlessly. Without a doubt the best burger I have ever eaten and we just soaked up the blazing sunshine, acoustic guitarists, jet boats and easy rider Harley's that made up the general atmosphere of Queenstown, making it easily one of the best moments of the trip. We elected not to move for at least an hour and just soaked up the epitome of Queenstown's culture.

When we felt up to it we started planning the next few days and decided to head over to Glenorchy, or Glen Itchy as Bob's predictive text knowingly called it so we were on a mission to make the most of Queenstown.

We toured the shops, walked up to the gondola, watched the TSS Earnshaw coming into dock and ate awesome gin and cucumber sorbet from Mrs. Ferg's before heading off as the evening descended.

The road to Glenorchy was breathtaking, and the amber hew to the evening sunlight picked up all the Scottish highland colours across the stunning vistas. We stopped numerous times before the sun finally dropped below the mountain ranges, backlighting the jagged ridge line. We soon realised that our intended campsite was 26km into the wilderness from Glenorchy and having taken an 18km detour on un-metalled roads to find a non-composting toilet (and pre-order our supper for the next evening) it was dark when we eventually pulled up at Lake Sylvan DOC campsite. Bob ate cereal, I cooked pasta by head torch whilst preparing my bag for the following day and after a cup of tea in the Enema we realised just what a show the Stars had put on. Without a cloud in the sky and with no light pollution every star was shimmering brightly, framed by the aggressive mountains, the soft forest and the calm lake. Like an excited child I lay awake, thinking over what was to come the next day... Bob scratched.