Crickey, I've been slack recently. I've been meaning to write this for about a month and a half now, but considering my hugely niche audience of, well, me, I figure it's not such a great loss.
I was intending to check out some more of the lakes in Rotorua, but storms hit and we had to leave early. C'est la vie.
Tikitapu, the blue lake in Rotorua is renowned for it's crystal clear waters that are an unusually vibrant shade of blue, much like a sodalite crystal. It's a small fresh water lake surrounded by lush evergreen hills in the throes of no cell phone reception with the exception of Telecom in some areas.
However, you won't want to be attached to your phone or near the Wi-fi while you're here, especially if you're used to the big city-scapes.
A serene setting, with the exception of the jet-skiiers, who seem to shatter the zen-like tranquility with exuberant ignorance. My distaste for jetskis aside, this is an excellent place to paddle, day or night.
The sun shrinking away over the hills, leaving us to put the tent up in darkness. Why we chose an 8 man tent for three people, I'll never know. We managed to put it up with little difficulty, all choosing our own specialisations: The engineering student constructing the poles and placing them in the needed places with careful precision; the paramedicine student holding things up and checking for tent rips and me, the information systems student jamming the tent pegs into the ground with such chaotic brutality, it all seemed to work beautifully.
A mere few metres from the lake, my excitement to paddle on it could hardly be contained, especially seeing as the weather had appeared to hold out. Only, I had thought too soon. Rain pelted us all night, but thankfully the freakishly large tent kept as dry and warm.
About 6am, it's drizzling and I figure that's as good as the weather is going to get. Without disturbing the others, I grab my gear and go out for an early morning paddle. The beach isn't the most inviting out there, as it jabs and stabs your feet, but the minor annoyance is worth it for the paddle.
When facing away from the campsite, looking directly at the lake, everything is so natural and unspoiled, save for a few buoys on the water.
A bit disconcerting, though are these really rusty old pipes that lead from the beach right into the water. No doubt they are safe and not leaky, but they aren't the most aesthetic.
I couldn't tell whether the sun had risen as it was light enough, but this dense fog had settled amongst the trees, creating an eerie Cabin in the woods type feel. It was mysterious and so quiet. Brilliant.
The water was cold, far colder than the sea, and it gets very deep very quickly. You don't quite notice it, but then you're 4 metres or so out and you're up to your neck in refreshingly frigid water (if you're as short as I am). On my first lap, I looked mainly around at the trees; near the shore, palms and tropical type plants, all a vibrant green, which, as your eye skirts further up the hills, transcends to a deep, chlorophyll rich hue of the evergreens.
The fog, completely blanching out some nearby hills and fading others, gradually shifting around and clearing to reveal a glorious grey sky, threatening more rain.
I've never seen such flat water, it's a cliche indeed, but the water was glass. Untouched, unrippled, static, but not stagnant. With no wind and no tides, paddling around felt frictionless, though I did notice a current that got stronger, pulling you away from the beach, the further you went out. Nothing that couldn't be handled while swimming, though. The low resistance from the water and negligible wind would make this an excellent place to train for races and beating personal records. I found that without constant cross-waves and boat wake to contend with, I was able to focus solely on technique, which was a refreshing bonus.
Paddling back to shore and out again, I noticed this time, the change in underwater scenery. Starting off with the volcanic shale-like beach, to some ominously dark plants, almost black in colour. So deep under that it took a while to be able to differentiate the dark mass and identify it as plant. Then, without warning, these plants disappear into rich blue and that's all you ever see from then on. It's a bit disconcerting at first, as it's like looking down into a solid wall of colour, with no definition, debris, anything. Just blue. I stuck my paddle completely under water as a depth test and found that it was very hard to see the end of it, which was very peculiar, but intriguing nonetheless.
So serene, no sounds but that of the birds and the awakening cicadas. The gentle lapping of water as my board glides through the water. Then the sound of a raspy engine, screams, hooligans? No, just jetskiiers enjoying the last of the summer holidays. Blisteringly shattering the slumber of this previously unfettered lake.
It's worth a trip to paddle on and it's great to explore with a few others. Watch for the boats and jetskis and also for the swimmers. There are areas for swimming only, but as long as you're vigilent, it's okay to paddle. I'd be wary of going into the boating area, just as they do seem to come out of nowhere.
It's the only freshwater I've paddled on and it was awesome. A different feel to salt water, you do notice the slight lack of buoyancy while swimming and even on the board, but you adapt pretty quickly.
I hope to return there, soon.
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