The rivers were crystal clear; this area of New Zealand doesn't have topsoil, so there is nothing to cloud the water. Evergreens cover the steep slopes. They cling to the mountain with an interconnecting system of roots that snake across the surface of rock. A great danger here are "treeslides," a sort of avalanche without the snow. When one or two trees are weakened by drought or wind and they lose their grip on the thin web of roots, it can set off a chain reaction that brings down a whole hillside. We saw the remains of a few slides, just bare slick rock and a tangled mess below.

Our bus dropped us at Milford Sound (actually a fiord and not a sound, as we soon learned) where a boat took us on a three hour cruise. It looked like you would expect a fiord to look: steep mountains dropping straight into the sea, cascading waterfalls, hanging valleys. The sky was bright blue, gorgeous, and although I'm not complaining we've also heard that Milford Sound is even better in the rain when hundreds of temporary waterfalls stream down the slopes.

After the cruise, a twisting two-hour drive brought us to Te Anau. We spent most of the next day relaxing and washing off the grime from our hike, but we did manage to sneak in a few sites. We toured the Glowworm Caves, interesting not for the caves themselves but for the glowworms that live on the ceilings. Each glowworm, when hungry, emits a steady prick of light, a cool little blue/green dot. The cave has a stream running though it, and in the deepest section after boarding a small raft the guide pulls you into complete darkness. Up above, a whole constellation of stars await. It was beautiful.

We also took a short flight in a little Cessna. We wanted to get an aerial view of the lakes and mountains we had just crossed. Our pilot was a nice guy, but really jumpy and excited. Some part of his body was always moving or twitching, usually his head darting back and forth like a bird. This didn't bother me in general, but up in the air as our tiny plane was being pummeled by the mountain air currents, it was a bit disconcerting. At one point he reach behind his seat and searched for something. He turned around and looked and looked, but couldn't find it. I asked if I could help, and he had me locate a map that was back there. I handed him the map, expecting him to point out our route or show us something of interest. It was just an average road map. Instead, he unfolded it in front of him, awkwardly of course because it was a large map and the wind kept blowing it back over his face. The plane bucked as he tried to steer with his knee. After studying the map for a while with a concerned look, he folded up and handed it back to me with a quick "thanks."

It was a gorgeous flight. We flew out over a beautiful lake, Lake Manapouri, then crossed over a pass to Doubtful Sound on the west cost. Then we looped back over the mountains to Te Anau. Well worth the price of admission.

The next day we returned to Queenstown, the town we had left four days earlier at the start of our trek. Queenstown is the birthplace of bungy jumping, and the world's first commercial bungy bridge is still in operation just outside of town. Since the late 80's, Queenstown has blossomed into a full-fledged opium den for adrenaline sport junkies. Everyone partakes. This is the only place in the world where as you are finishing your jet boat ride the old American couple sitting next to you says, "Excuse me, Edna and I have to hustle because we're late for our skydiving appointment."

Walking down main street in Queenstown, one is assaulted by signs advertising all manner of crazy activities. Here is a partial list of what is offered: jet boating, canyoning, sky diving, parapenting, hang-gliding, whitewater rafting, bungy, kayaking, fishing, abseiling, rock climbing, helicopter rides, parasailing, mountain biking, river surfing, and something called "land luge." Upping the ante, some companies now offer packages where, for example (and I'm not making this up) you helicopter into a canyon, raft down the river to the bungy site, do a bungy jump, then jet boat home.

The bungy companies are also trying to out-do each other. The original bridge -- which is still popular -- is a jump from 43 meters. In recent years they added another bridge at 71 meters, then a jump from an old pipeline that crosses a canyon at 102 meters. Most recently, AJ Hackett's company (the original bungy innovators) built a cable-car system across a gorge that winches you out for a jump at a whopping 130 meters. Even if you don't speak metric that's startin' to look like an awfully big number.

Despite the reek of testosterone that hangs in the air, these are very professional operations with impressive safety records. Of the millions of people that have gone jet boating and bungy jumping (the 2 most popular activities) there has only been one fatality. For all the perceived danger, these are certainly safer than your commute to work or your Midway ride at the county fair.

Sarah and I limited ourselves to just a few key activities. Jet boating was a New Zealand invention, so we added it to the list. The boats look like regular speedboats but they are propelled by a jet of water which makes them highly maneuverable. They can reverse instantly and spin 360 degrees. The ride I took was about 20 minutes long. All of it was on a narrow, twisting river in a canyon lined with cliffs and boulders. The driver rockets you along at around 40-50 mph, bringing the boat inches away from the cliff faces. Every once in a while he throws in a spin just for fun. It was a good ride, and I'm glad I did it, but I would classify it as a not-to-be-missed activity. The American tour group I shared my boat with might disagree. They thought it was just about the craziest thing they had ever done, except for maybe that time Vern volunteered for the dunk tank at the church picnic.

Our favorite activity was canyoning. We donned thick 5 mm wetsuits, Sarah actually wore 2, put on boots, helmets, gloves, and climbing harnesses, then followed our guides on a short hike to the top of the canyon. It was a narrow, small canyon, about 60-70 feet high and 50 feet wide. At the bottom was a small river. We began by abseiling down the canyon wall to the river, which was flowing quickly but only knee-deep. For the next few hours we splish-splashed our way down the canyon, at times swimming and floating, but mostly walking carefully with our hands on the rocks. At frequent intervals we came to the fun stuff, places where we would abseil down a short drop into a pool, or cliff jump, or slide down a waterfall. It was great fun. A watery playground.

I did one other activity and I did it because it is certainly the oddest invention ever dreamed up by mankind. It is called "Fly By Wire." Let me try to explain.

The Fly By Wire guys have anchored a wire across the tops of the hills in a valley just north of Queenstown. This wire is tight, spanning the valley from peak to peak. Hanging straight down from the center of this wire is another wire, and at the bottom of that wire way down near the valley floor is a sled. What you basically have, then, is a huge pendulum. A sled dangling 20 feet off the valley floor, swinging in the valley from the wire above.

It is not an ordinary sled, though. Attached to the back of the sled is a propeller powered by an aircraft engine. The propeller is hooked to a steering mechanism up front. To begin the ride, you climb onto the sled and lay face down, stretched out on your belly. Reaching out your arms in front, you grab on to the handlebars that steer the propeller. They strap you in, and then a winch lifts you straight up off the valley floor. At this point, it gets a bit scary.

A rope-tow device attached to the back of your sled begins slowly winching you up the side of the valley -- cocking the pendulum, if you will. As you near the top of the valley, you have been pulled into an almost vertical position, head down, hundreds of feet above the valley floor. It ratchets you up very slowly so you have plenty of time to feel the weight of your body against the shoulder straps and to reflect on the quality and origins of their manufacture. Finally, the rope tow stops, you pull the release, grip the accelerator, and away you go.

They boast it is the world's fastest ride at 170 kph and I don't doubt their claim. Between gravity's pull and the force of the propeller, you really get moving, with top speed hitting at the bottom of your arc. You swing right back up the other side, and then come almost to a stop at the top of your swing. With proper steering you gracefully turn yourself around, maximizing thrust and maintaining your height on the next swing. With improper steering, you swing down backwards or sideways. It was a lot of fun flying around that valley. Within just a few turns I was able to generally go where I wanted, and all too soon my six minutes were up and the engine cut.

I was near the top of an arc when the engine cut, so I had to wait another five minutes or so, slowly swinging back and forth, gradually settling back to the bottom of the valley. As I lay there, relaxed and listening to the wind whistling in my ears, I had another revelation, one of those that so conveniently hit me near the end of my dispatches.