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Otaratara

December 10, 2010

Andrew A, Renja, and I were hiking in Fiordland. It was very crowded because of Spring Break. Some people were walking along the path, others in the narrow canal. There were a lot of humpback whales in the water. The canals were very deep. Dare devils were riding their mountain bikes into the canal and onto the tails of the whales, to see if the whales would back-flip, sending the riders high into the air. Some people died, but everybody was having fun.

There was a roped off path that lead to Otaratara. It was closed. I told Andrew that I once went there with my dad. “It’s illegal to go there now,” he reminded me. “I know,” I said with a nostalgic sigh, “I was just saying.”

As soon as we entered the forest, tiny yellow bee-looking mosquitoes started biting me. There were all over my body. It was extremely itchy. We ran back to the start of the path as fast as we could. “I had forgotten about these bugs,” Andrew said.

He asked if I had brought any bug stuff. “I’m prepared,” I said, “Do you need some?”

“No,” he said, “Renja’s mum brought loads of cold-sores.”

I smeared a bunch of cream, silver face paint, and avocado all over my face. “It looks like the bottom of a toilet seat,” he said.

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