There are moments, like long stretches of New Zealand's Whanganui River, when time flattens out and one need do nothing but simply exist, floating along the surface and enjoying the fine day. My wife and I spent three such days on the Whanganui River Journey, one of New Zealand's famous Great Walks. To dip your paddle into the river is to dip into a perfect reflection of the deep, wild valleys and the clear blue sky. At times the river is so peaceful that these moments can stretch into infinity, and time, a construct for lesser beings, vanishes.
 Whanganui River.
There are other moments, both in life and on the river, that demand action. A canoe can be an unforgiving method of travel on rapids, all too apt to turn sideways and capsize, dumping its occupants into the roiling current. When the front of your canoe enters a rapid, the water beneath it begins to move faster, until the boat and the river are moving at the same speed. It is critical at this point to maintain the boat's momentum, and so you paddle as hard as you can, reaching and pulling at the churning water while wrenching at the river with your paddle, maneuvering your canoe around rocks and keeping yourself upright and inside the boat. It is a rush, a blur of action independent from conscious thought, and it is even fun when you spill into the river. If you do find yourself in the river, you just wring yourself out, collect your belongings, and continue on your way. The sun is warm and the water soon calms.
And if your way should include your rental car grazing a guardrail, you should laugh and try to forget about it, and remember that Kiwis are nice people. I learned this at a panel beater in the small town of Renwick, in the heart of the Marlborough Valley, New Zealand’s wine country. The owner of the local shop looked at the scratch, squinted, and said, "I think we can get that out." While he worked on the car, we told him our story. In a few minutes, the scratch was gone and we were on our way. "Just tell everyone that Kiwis are nice people," he said, refusing our money. Consider yourself told.
 There are more sheep than people in New Zealand.
There are more than 20 vineyards within a few miles of Renwick. The spectacular countryside and density of the vineyards makes the bicycle an ideal mode of transportation for a wine tour. The wineries in the region offer free or low-cost tastings and sell their wines in their "cellar door" shops. The regional specialty is Sauvignon Blanc, but slight climactic variations means that each vineyard grows slightly different grapes, producing distinct wines. You learn quickly that the bartender is the gatekeeper to each winery's finest vintages, and it is in your interest to make friends with this person, since he or she decides if you are good enough for the good stuff. It pays to speak the language: You may refer to a Sauvignon Blanc as reminiscent of an unoaked California Chardonnay, or comment on how the Pinot Noir of the region is spicier and less dusky than French or Italian varieties. We tasted many inferior vintages, but we were finally rewarded with a taste of a fine, single cask Pinot Noir at the Nautilus Vineyard, where an ex-pat American cracked open the vineyard's Special Reserve for us. It was brisk and unique, inviting and beguiling, much like the rest of New Zealand.
Queenstown is the adventure capital of New Zealand, a country famous for its adventurers. We were ready for an adventure; it is what we came to New Zealand for. Some people like bungee jumping. Some enjoy parasailing. Others are more into skiing, snowboarding, mountain-climbing, hang gliding, or jet-boating, all of which is available in or around Queenstown. Not us. We prefer trekking up a steep hill and back down the other side, preferably across streams and other difficult terrain. We settled on the Rees-Dart track, a four-day jaunt into the Southern Alps.
 Southern Alps, Rees-Dart Track.
It was great. We slept in DOC huts and walked through open alpine tundra, above the tree line, rocks and hardy plants clinging to the hills around us. When a heavy fog rolled in and enveloped us in its thick, misty embrace, it felt as if we were walking across the surface of Venus. The atmosphere was ghostly; people drifted in and out of view, and the moisture in the air absorbed sound like a wet sponge, enforcing an eerie silence that hung over the trail.
But when the sun finally broke through, peeling the gloomy mist away, it felt glorious. The warm rays slanted down, carving thick slices through the mist and awakening us from our slumber. The wet landscape glistened in the bright light, and the mountains’ snow-topped peaks winked and sparkled at us. I smiled as we clambered over boulders and across small streams, tramping through the New Zealand countryside in a local tradition as old as human settlement in the region.
 Silver Beech tree, Key Summit.
After our hike, we continued north from Queenstown, and climbed Avalanche Peak, near Albert's Pass, our final exploration of New Zealand’s astounding natural beauty. The peak overlooks a valley in the middle of the South Island. A highway and a railroad snake past the small town at the pass. As I stood there at the crest, a frozen instant in time, I felt as if I were on the shoulders of giants, with snowy peaks soaring to the sky all around me. I was born in the flat, featureless Midwest, but my grandfather is from Colorado. It is from him that I get my love of the mountains. They are breathtaking in their sheer size, and the blue-white snow that clings to the tops looks so majestic — a powerful reminder of my relative size and place in the world. I do my best to remember this and stay respectful. It is all any of us can do.
 Avalanche Peak vista.
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