Upon leaving the Haymans' farm, we drove to the gorgeous village of Mount Cook for an overnight hike up to Meuller Hut. During the day slabs of ice launched off of the surrounding cliffs, giving us a nice avalanche show every couple of hours. In one instance, I was staring intently at an overhanging patch that had some direct sunlight and pointed it out to the others. "I'm just waiting for that patch to go... whooaaa there it goes!" And thus I found out about my psychic abilities. We watched the alpenglow slip slowly from the broad face of Mt. Cook, New Zealand's tallest peak, and sipped wine from the deck. A spectacular sunrise followed the next morning. On the hike out, I wondered out loud if we were going to see a Kea, a New Zealand mountain parrot, on this trip. One subsequently glided overhead and further proved my clairvoyant abilities.
In 3 days or so we sped up the South Island east coast, hopped on the Interislander ferry, and made it up to Auckland in the far north. During this period we went deep-sea fishing in Kaikoura, caught a rugby match in Wellington in which my Wellington Hurricanes 10 dollar beach towel finally made it to its homeland, and once again got rained out of the Taupo area, canceling our hike through the volcanos of Tongairiro National Park.
In Auckland we stayed with Alex and Jenny, our hosts from the start of our trip. They gave us the code to their beach house in Mangawhai heads and we picked up Tobey and Riley who happened to be on Easter break and hour away from there. In a week that was supposed to be nothing but rain, we got blue sunny skies for our day on the beach boogy boarding in the same place that we spent our first full day in New Zealand two and a half months earlier. A fitting end to the trip, and this time we did not come out so sunburned.
We celebrated my 20th birthday thursday in Auckland, eating dinner by the harbour and spending a night downtown. We sold our faithful but sometimes cranky vehicle, Big Jolly, and flew out the next monday for a 6 day "layover" in Fiji. Bittersweet would be a fitting word to use. I think we will all be back to the beautiful little country of New Zealand.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Hakataramea Valley
(To my Mom and sister and other non-hunters out there, apologies for the killing of animals described in the next few paragraphs)
After some aimless wandering and rainy days in the Southern tip of New Zealand, we headed for the Hakataramea valley. With snowy mountains, flat farm land, and braided rivers, we suddenly felt like we were in a familiar place: Montana. Dan’s fly fishing boss back home connected him with Gerald Hayman, a man who owns a Sheep station in the valley and plays host to fly-fisherman and hunters who come to stay on his farm and experience the gorgeous mountains and rivers abound in the area. We arrived at the Hayman family home and piled out of the van trying to look as respectable as possible. This was Easter Weekend after all and we were not exactly family.
After a few firm handshakes from the farm-grown rugby-playing sons, introductions to the girlfriends, and the mom, Bridget, the self-proclaimed cook (certainly perked us up), and we were off with Gerald touring the farm. Another few hours and the boys took us on a speedy jet boat ride up and down the Waitaki river. Then it was a sit-down dinner with wine I wouldn’t know a thing about, a gourmet main course, and dessert. This little side trip was starting to seem like one of our better ideas.
The next day we went hunting for Wallaby which is pretty much a smaller version of a kangaroo. New Zealanders view nearly all mammals as pests so a lot of times, the only hunting rule is to not have rules. Shoot away. The only native mammals were bats so the introduced animals usually wreak havoc on the native ecosystem and wallabies are a huge detriment to sheep grazing land. What I’m trying to say is, there was a reason we were out there crawling up mountainous farmland in a flatbed, us Americans in the back armed with a .22 magnum, a shotgun, 7mm-.08. The buggers are speedy though and Jonathan was got one early on, but that was our only luck.
That night the grandparents arrived and we were still apparently in good graces with our hosts, so we ate another delicious dinner with the family.
We planned a day of fishing on the small river next to our cottage for the next day, but Gerald, always a planner, came barging into our rooms early next morning with grand plans of driving to a river 11/2 hours away and getting dropped off by jetboat for some fishing. There were no objections. We spent an unsuccessful day fly fishing in the strong wind in which I only succeeded in hooking myself. And just for reference, both these days out, we were given homemade picnic lunches consisting of mutton sandwiches, a sort of flaky pie with bacon and egg, and cookies or cake. We were just getting spoiled at this point.
On Easter Sunday, Dan and I did some more fishing and at one point I was musing about Jonathan being bored back in the cottage. Dan replied, “Oh he probably weaseled his way into some turkey hunt or something.” Sure enough, we got back to an empty house and before long, Gerald and Jonathan pulled up with two turkeys in the back of the truck. We had another dinner with the family and as we sat there digesting the meal, Gerald decided that he would take us on a night shoot. This once again had us driving around on the back of a truck, armed with spotlight and gun, this time shooting hares and rabbits that jampacked the fields, trying to put a detriment in the quickly-reproducing “pests.” (I remind you that this was Easter and we were shooting rabbits)
We left the farm the next day with full bellies, two turkeys in tow, and grateful for another experience of kiwi hospitality. For Jonathan and Dan, hunting had been checked off the New Zealand checklist. And for me, a non-hunter, in these two days I got quite an introduction to hunting and in many ways that would be highly illegal in the states. When in New Zealand, do like the Kiwis do, I guess.
After some aimless wandering and rainy days in the Southern tip of New Zealand, we headed for the Hakataramea valley. With snowy mountains, flat farm land, and braided rivers, we suddenly felt like we were in a familiar place: Montana. Dan’s fly fishing boss back home connected him with Gerald Hayman, a man who owns a Sheep station in the valley and plays host to fly-fisherman and hunters who come to stay on his farm and experience the gorgeous mountains and rivers abound in the area. We arrived at the Hayman family home and piled out of the van trying to look as respectable as possible. This was Easter Weekend after all and we were not exactly family.
After a few firm handshakes from the farm-grown rugby-playing sons, introductions to the girlfriends, and the mom, Bridget, the self-proclaimed cook (certainly perked us up), and we were off with Gerald touring the farm. Another few hours and the boys took us on a speedy jet boat ride up and down the Waitaki river. Then it was a sit-down dinner with wine I wouldn’t know a thing about, a gourmet main course, and dessert. This little side trip was starting to seem like one of our better ideas.
The next day we went hunting for Wallaby which is pretty much a smaller version of a kangaroo. New Zealanders view nearly all mammals as pests so a lot of times, the only hunting rule is to not have rules. Shoot away. The only native mammals were bats so the introduced animals usually wreak havoc on the native ecosystem and wallabies are a huge detriment to sheep grazing land. What I’m trying to say is, there was a reason we were out there crawling up mountainous farmland in a flatbed, us Americans in the back armed with a .22 magnum, a shotgun, 7mm-.08. The buggers are speedy though and Jonathan was got one early on, but that was our only luck.
That night the grandparents arrived and we were still apparently in good graces with our hosts, so we ate another delicious dinner with the family.
We planned a day of fishing on the small river next to our cottage for the next day, but Gerald, always a planner, came barging into our rooms early next morning with grand plans of driving to a river 11/2 hours away and getting dropped off by jetboat for some fishing. There were no objections. We spent an unsuccessful day fly fishing in the strong wind in which I only succeeded in hooking myself. And just for reference, both these days out, we were given homemade picnic lunches consisting of mutton sandwiches, a sort of flaky pie with bacon and egg, and cookies or cake. We were just getting spoiled at this point.
On Easter Sunday, Dan and I did some more fishing and at one point I was musing about Jonathan being bored back in the cottage. Dan replied, “Oh he probably weaseled his way into some turkey hunt or something.” Sure enough, we got back to an empty house and before long, Gerald and Jonathan pulled up with two turkeys in the back of the truck. We had another dinner with the family and as we sat there digesting the meal, Gerald decided that he would take us on a night shoot. This once again had us driving around on the back of a truck, armed with spotlight and gun, this time shooting hares and rabbits that jampacked the fields, trying to put a detriment in the quickly-reproducing “pests.” (I remind you that this was Easter and we were shooting rabbits)
We left the farm the next day with full bellies, two turkeys in tow, and grateful for another experience of kiwi hospitality. For Jonathan and Dan, hunting had been checked off the New Zealand checklist. And for me, a non-hunter, in these two days I got quite an introduction to hunting and in many ways that would be highly illegal in the states. When in New Zealand, do like the Kiwis do, I guess.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Gone Missing
Besides the obvious fact that we are having too much fun over here, a prominent reason we seem to have gone missing for large periods of time is because well, we have been. We have been missing in a good way, missing from civilization, but certainly not missing out on the mountains and rivers. In the month of March, we were on the trails for twenty days. Rest days were few and far in between, usually with time spent eating, sleeping, showering, and drinking a few beverages.
After Nelson Lakes, we scrambled up to Avalanche peak with still sore legs, literally climbing up some parts of the "trail." At the top we looked out up hanging glaciers and jagged peaks and valleys stretching into the distance. From here we spent a day sightseeing the massive Fox and Franz Josef glaciers but knowing Queenstown was ahead, we saved our money and bypassed the guided hikes. Then it was time for a hike to Welcome Flat Hot Springs. What isn't relaxing about a hot spring, right? Thats what we thought too.
So there we were, staring across a muddy and flooded river 10 miles into the wilderness. Due to the six inches of rain that decided to grace our hike with its presence, I was so wet I couldve jumped right into the river and not have noticed the difference. The trail we had come in on had literally turned into a flooded stream bed. Twenty minutes from a hot spring after a ten mile hike in torrential rain and we were stumped. Earlier in the hike we had crossed countless other flooded streams, many of which were bridged. Here was the worst crossing of all and the Kiwis apparently decided no bridge was necessary. There was nothing to do but turn around in utter misery and tramp three or so miles back to the sign we had seen for Architect Hut. This is when the rain decided to turn off and show some blue skies purely to mock us. A little while later I trudged into the tiny hut behind Jonathan and Dan who quickly noticed the number of bunks/mattresses (two) and quickly I was without a bed. After a relatively nice evening, hot spring not included, we settled into bed and in my case, onto as many articles of clothing we could muster for padding. This was about the time when 50,000 mosquitoes and sandflies filtered into our hut through some sort of hole. So we spent a night slapping our faces and tensely waiting for another one to come slowly buzzing by our ears. The next morning we tramped out in foul moods.
From here we headed to the already described Queenstown which is surrounded by some of the best wilderness and mountains in the world.
The Rees- Dart
Day one had us hiking up the Rees valley through boggy river flats and through beech forest to our intended hut. Once we arrived though, we decided to continue on and make the two days of hiking into one. This turned out to be one of our best decisions on the trip. So with already tired legs we set out and climbed over Rees Saddle and made the long painful descent to Dart Hut.
Day two- A day hike through a wide, glaciated, and rocky river valley draped with glaciers with a steep climb up to Cascade Saddle. This saddle has some of the most beautiful views in New Zealand which is saying something. We had beautiful blue skies and overlooked the gigantic Dart Glacier the churned down the mountainsides into the the river flats. Rumblings of rock and snow slides echoed from the mountainsides regularly. On the other side of the saddle we looked out to Mt. Aspiring, a gorgeous pyramid shaped peak covered in snow and windswept clouds. We sat on the sheer cliff edge and ate our well-deserved pita sandwiches in the most beautiful spot I have ever been to. If we had taken the usual two days to get to Dart Hut, we would not have seen any of this because the weather moved in the next day.
Another rain-soaked day and we hiked out. Jonathan caught the bus out and came rumbling down the road in our 4wd van, splashing through the ten or so stream crossings. On the way out we engaged in an easter egg hunt for Big Jolly's hubcaps which apparently decided to fall off one by one on the rocky and wet road. So we drove the 10 miles searching the landscape until somebody yelled "theres one!" and jumped out to retrieve it. We are now down to two which we have strategically placed on the left side so when we pass backpacker vans with girls in them, we can still look slightly classy.
We concluded our backpacking with the Routeburn Track combined with the Greenstone Track. The Routeburn is a Great Walk so we stayed in gigantic huts that resembled hotels with all of the people milling around. A day above bushline, some swimming in the frigid Mackenzie lake, and we entered the Greenstone valley, which is famous for its trout fishing. With Dan drooling at the fishing possibilities, we spent two days backpacking with rod in hand stopping to fish the green pools and riffles. The fish were big and stubborn. I got a big rainbow on land only to see it snap my line and wriggle back into the water as I sprinted after it. Dan, who had been stumped the day before, finally got some luck and pulled four sizeable fish out of the water before we headed out.
This completed our backpacking section of the trip. With some beautiful mountains, glaciated valleys, long calf-burning climbs, frigid rivers, and friendly hutmates seared into our memories, we set out to be van gypsies once again.
After Nelson Lakes, we scrambled up to Avalanche peak with still sore legs, literally climbing up some parts of the "trail." At the top we looked out up hanging glaciers and jagged peaks and valleys stretching into the distance. From here we spent a day sightseeing the massive Fox and Franz Josef glaciers but knowing Queenstown was ahead, we saved our money and bypassed the guided hikes. Then it was time for a hike to Welcome Flat Hot Springs. What isn't relaxing about a hot spring, right? Thats what we thought too.
So there we were, staring across a muddy and flooded river 10 miles into the wilderness. Due to the six inches of rain that decided to grace our hike with its presence, I was so wet I couldve jumped right into the river and not have noticed the difference. The trail we had come in on had literally turned into a flooded stream bed. Twenty minutes from a hot spring after a ten mile hike in torrential rain and we were stumped. Earlier in the hike we had crossed countless other flooded streams, many of which were bridged. Here was the worst crossing of all and the Kiwis apparently decided no bridge was necessary. There was nothing to do but turn around in utter misery and tramp three or so miles back to the sign we had seen for Architect Hut. This is when the rain decided to turn off and show some blue skies purely to mock us. A little while later I trudged into the tiny hut behind Jonathan and Dan who quickly noticed the number of bunks/mattresses (two) and quickly I was without a bed. After a relatively nice evening, hot spring not included, we settled into bed and in my case, onto as many articles of clothing we could muster for padding. This was about the time when 50,000 mosquitoes and sandflies filtered into our hut through some sort of hole. So we spent a night slapping our faces and tensely waiting for another one to come slowly buzzing by our ears. The next morning we tramped out in foul moods.
From here we headed to the already described Queenstown which is surrounded by some of the best wilderness and mountains in the world.
The Rees- Dart
Day one had us hiking up the Rees valley through boggy river flats and through beech forest to our intended hut. Once we arrived though, we decided to continue on and make the two days of hiking into one. This turned out to be one of our best decisions on the trip. So with already tired legs we set out and climbed over Rees Saddle and made the long painful descent to Dart Hut.
Day two- A day hike through a wide, glaciated, and rocky river valley draped with glaciers with a steep climb up to Cascade Saddle. This saddle has some of the most beautiful views in New Zealand which is saying something. We had beautiful blue skies and overlooked the gigantic Dart Glacier the churned down the mountainsides into the the river flats. Rumblings of rock and snow slides echoed from the mountainsides regularly. On the other side of the saddle we looked out to Mt. Aspiring, a gorgeous pyramid shaped peak covered in snow and windswept clouds. We sat on the sheer cliff edge and ate our well-deserved pita sandwiches in the most beautiful spot I have ever been to. If we had taken the usual two days to get to Dart Hut, we would not have seen any of this because the weather moved in the next day.
Another rain-soaked day and we hiked out. Jonathan caught the bus out and came rumbling down the road in our 4wd van, splashing through the ten or so stream crossings. On the way out we engaged in an easter egg hunt for Big Jolly's hubcaps which apparently decided to fall off one by one on the rocky and wet road. So we drove the 10 miles searching the landscape until somebody yelled "theres one!" and jumped out to retrieve it. We are now down to two which we have strategically placed on the left side so when we pass backpacker vans with girls in them, we can still look slightly classy.
We concluded our backpacking with the Routeburn Track combined with the Greenstone Track. The Routeburn is a Great Walk so we stayed in gigantic huts that resembled hotels with all of the people milling around. A day above bushline, some swimming in the frigid Mackenzie lake, and we entered the Greenstone valley, which is famous for its trout fishing. With Dan drooling at the fishing possibilities, we spent two days backpacking with rod in hand stopping to fish the green pools and riffles. The fish were big and stubborn. I got a big rainbow on land only to see it snap my line and wriggle back into the water as I sprinted after it. Dan, who had been stumped the day before, finally got some luck and pulled four sizeable fish out of the water before we headed out.
This completed our backpacking section of the trip. With some beautiful mountains, glaciated valleys, long calf-burning climbs, frigid rivers, and friendly hutmates seared into our memories, we set out to be van gypsies once again.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
GO BIG or Go Home
69 kilograms. This number is scrawled in red on my left hand as I shuffle forward with bound feet. Hopefully they got this contraption dialed in for my weight I mutter to myself as I head towards the so-called "meat platform," a 10 inch metal diving board hovering 440 feet above the canyon. The huge metal structure sways swightly as I look towards the far mountain side. Pick a target. Don't look down. Well, maybe just one peek. Nondescript techno music blares in the background, but from what I remember, I don't even hear it anymore. I scoot forward, toes on the edge. "Okay wacko jacko, big leap and look out there. 3, 2, 1..." At this point its fight or flight. I choose fight which also means I am now in flight. The people above now only see a speck as I hurtle at 80 some miles per hour from the perfectly good platform dangling at the center of Nevis Canyon. This one had us chattering excitedly for days afterwards.
The Nevis bungy jump was the finale of our adrenaline extravaganza because like good tourists, we fell for the package deal because three bungy jumps must be better than one. We started out on the Kawarau bridge, the first commercial bungy site in the world. I stepped onto the platform peered over the edge at the green water below and thought to myself, "there is no way," When you look down from something you are supposed to jump off of, you suddenly realize that such a distance is very, very far. At this point your mind tells you that you can't do it. But you step out to the platform, the carefree man behind you counts down as a crowd of 40 or so tourists stands on a viewing platform to your left, and without fully knowing what you are doing, you jump. I tensed my legs and went airborne. Dan and I both requested a water dunk up to our shoulders and Jonathan wanted just to get his hands wet. So luck would have it that Jonathan came up soaked to his shoulders while Dan and I had a few wet fingertips. Just for reference, the previously described Nevis Bungy is over three times higher than the Kawarau Bridge.
Later that evening, we proceeded to the next bungy. The Ledge. This one juts out over Queenstown and looks down on trees and rocks, which certainly is less comforting than a nice deep river. With a waist harness and a running start, squirrel dives, front and back flips, and any other shenanigans were possible. We took full advantage of this, as well as the unlimited jumps, and ended our day with 4-5 bungies under our belt. The next day was the Nevis, one of the highest bungy freefalls in the world, so in two days we descended, in a very fast and airborne fashion, around a 1000 vertical feet.
And why were we jumping on off of so many different platforms in the span of two days? Well, this was Queenstown after all, the promised land, and a place routinely called the adventure capital of the world. This mountain town sits next to lake Wakapitu, with outdoor stores, tourist traps (we were happy victims) offering any and all adrenaline pursuits in exchange for your money, and hostels packed with youthful hooligans such as ourselves. In addition to the pricier activities, Queenstown is a gateway into Fiordland and Mount Aspiring National Parks. We spent two weeks backpacking the surrounding wilderness as I will describe in the next post when I stop surfing facebook and begin writing some more. At least I'm honest.
The Nevis bungy jump was the finale of our adrenaline extravaganza because like good tourists, we fell for the package deal because three bungy jumps must be better than one. We started out on the Kawarau bridge, the first commercial bungy site in the world. I stepped onto the platform peered over the edge at the green water below and thought to myself, "there is no way," When you look down from something you are supposed to jump off of, you suddenly realize that such a distance is very, very far. At this point your mind tells you that you can't do it. But you step out to the platform, the carefree man behind you counts down as a crowd of 40 or so tourists stands on a viewing platform to your left, and without fully knowing what you are doing, you jump. I tensed my legs and went airborne. Dan and I both requested a water dunk up to our shoulders and Jonathan wanted just to get his hands wet. So luck would have it that Jonathan came up soaked to his shoulders while Dan and I had a few wet fingertips. Just for reference, the previously described Nevis Bungy is over three times higher than the Kawarau Bridge.
Later that evening, we proceeded to the next bungy. The Ledge. This one juts out over Queenstown and looks down on trees and rocks, which certainly is less comforting than a nice deep river. With a waist harness and a running start, squirrel dives, front and back flips, and any other shenanigans were possible. We took full advantage of this, as well as the unlimited jumps, and ended our day with 4-5 bungies under our belt. The next day was the Nevis, one of the highest bungy freefalls in the world, so in two days we descended, in a very fast and airborne fashion, around a 1000 vertical feet.
And why were we jumping on off of so many different platforms in the span of two days? Well, this was Queenstown after all, the promised land, and a place routinely called the adventure capital of the world. This mountain town sits next to lake Wakapitu, with outdoor stores, tourist traps (we were happy victims) offering any and all adrenaline pursuits in exchange for your money, and hostels packed with youthful hooligans such as ourselves. In addition to the pricier activities, Queenstown is a gateway into Fiordland and Mount Aspiring National Parks. We spent two weeks backpacking the surrounding wilderness as I will describe in the next post when I stop surfing facebook and begin writing some more. At least I'm honest.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Travers-Sabine Circuit - Nelson Lakes
This was the “high country” as my late godfather Mert would call it.
Day 1... 15 mile hike on the shoreline of Lake Rotoiti and up the Travers River.
Day 2... Shorter hike but with decent elevation gain to Upper Travers Hut nestled below the Travers Saddle. As the rain came pouring down all day, we kept the wood stove going, played hearts, and chatted with our hutmates – Jock the 76 year old kiwi and an American couple, Jake and Allison. Jock jokingly says he gets one month leave every year when he leaves his wife in Auckland and tramps around by himself, hearing aids included. And when one these devices had a problem 20 miles in the backcountry, one of the five other people in the hut happened to be a trained audiologist to diagnose the problem. Strange how these things work out sometimes.
After a few rounds of hearts in which I finally defeated that evil queen of spades and managed to not get stomped by Dan, we went to bed with the rain still coming. Jonathan mentioned something about hoping it would snow. The next morning the valley was coated in the white stuff as we set out to cross a high mountain pass with wind and snow in our faces. We said goodbye to the diminutive Jock who was chopping wood and busily stoking the wood stove to wait for a better day to climb the arduous pass. Hopefully the Ball and Camisa family genes, along with other amounts of luck, will allow me to be doing the same at that age.
Day 3... Over the Travers Saddle in a snow squall and down the other side over slippery rocks. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. It was a blast.
After relative quiet in the other huts, we were in for a shock at the next hut, West Sabine. It turns out we stumbled upon a tramping crew of 10 Australian mothers who decided that they loved us. Their male guide seemed glad that someone else could entertain these wild women for a while. Dan caught two rainbows in the Sabine river, and in exchange for a little red wine, we shared the fresh fish with everyone in the hut. Before long we were playing the card game Spoons with 10 semi-drunk moms. The game of spoons involves a mad dash and grabbing the spoons at the center of the table. If you don't get a spoon you are out. 10 shrieking wine and rum drinking australian women competing for a limited supply of spoons certainly got the adrenaline pumping. By some stroke of luck, Jonathan and I made it to the final showdown before I won it all. Our new moms then decided that we would take a family picture so, if you are curious, you can see this amusing piece of evidence. There was a bedtime story read by one of the mothers and then before I knew it, I awoke to giggling and cackling women at 7 in the morning. These gregarious women never quit. They were constantly laughing and cracking themselves up. Now I know what ten middle-aged women are like when they get in a group.
Day 4... Caught my first New Zealand fish in the morning – 4+ pounds, 22+ inch rainbow out of the Sabin river. Jonathan hiked ahead while Dan and I stopped and fished the beautiful river. Stayed at the Sabine hut on the shores of Lake Rotoroa. The hut seemed oddly quiet after the events of the night before.
Day 5... There was no warm up on this one. Walk outside of the hut and go up, and up, and up. They don't really believe in switchbacks here, taking their early math training seriously. (that one about a straight line being the shortest distance) A mountain goat trail really. But the views rewarded us as we looked out over the peaks and valleys we climbed the previous days and with sore legs, made it to the beautiful Lake Angelus Hut. Unfortunately though, this hut is one of the most popular huts on the South Island and only takes a day to reach from town. We were on our fifth day of hiking and had just climbed 4,000 feet to get there. Lets just say I was could smell my self at this point whereas the people that crowded into the hut later in the afternoon had just left civilization. Makes you slightly self-conscious.
With 20 some people sleeping the same room, you are bound to run into some problems. The girl next to me seemed to change what noises she was making every five minutes, often throwing in a few whimpers just for good measure. An orchestra of various snorers and general noisemakers carried throughout the night ruining any hope of good sleep.
Day 6... Along the high Robert Ridge above the clouds. Team America (us three) as usual outstripped any other competitors in the speed hiking event (an event only we knew about) despite ailments such as Jonathan's bum knee and me happening to sweat sunscreen in first the left eye, then the right, and then just stumbling bleary eyed over rocks for the rest of the hike. Dan hitchiked to BJ and rolled around the corner beeping 20 minutes later.
It is a strange thing when you start thinking about a stinky overloaded van as home, sighing with relief when you are back in her comfy, bobbing seats. And except for the extreme presence of powdered milk, peanut butter, and noodles in my life, on the road and in the mountains is becoming addictive.
Day 1... 15 mile hike on the shoreline of Lake Rotoiti and up the Travers River.
Day 2... Shorter hike but with decent elevation gain to Upper Travers Hut nestled below the Travers Saddle. As the rain came pouring down all day, we kept the wood stove going, played hearts, and chatted with our hutmates – Jock the 76 year old kiwi and an American couple, Jake and Allison. Jock jokingly says he gets one month leave every year when he leaves his wife in Auckland and tramps around by himself, hearing aids included. And when one these devices had a problem 20 miles in the backcountry, one of the five other people in the hut happened to be a trained audiologist to diagnose the problem. Strange how these things work out sometimes.
After a few rounds of hearts in which I finally defeated that evil queen of spades and managed to not get stomped by Dan, we went to bed with the rain still coming. Jonathan mentioned something about hoping it would snow. The next morning the valley was coated in the white stuff as we set out to cross a high mountain pass with wind and snow in our faces. We said goodbye to the diminutive Jock who was chopping wood and busily stoking the wood stove to wait for a better day to climb the arduous pass. Hopefully the Ball and Camisa family genes, along with other amounts of luck, will allow me to be doing the same at that age.
Day 3... Over the Travers Saddle in a snow squall and down the other side over slippery rocks. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. It was a blast.
After relative quiet in the other huts, we were in for a shock at the next hut, West Sabine. It turns out we stumbled upon a tramping crew of 10 Australian mothers who decided that they loved us. Their male guide seemed glad that someone else could entertain these wild women for a while. Dan caught two rainbows in the Sabine river, and in exchange for a little red wine, we shared the fresh fish with everyone in the hut. Before long we were playing the card game Spoons with 10 semi-drunk moms. The game of spoons involves a mad dash and grabbing the spoons at the center of the table. If you don't get a spoon you are out. 10 shrieking wine and rum drinking australian women competing for a limited supply of spoons certainly got the adrenaline pumping. By some stroke of luck, Jonathan and I made it to the final showdown before I won it all. Our new moms then decided that we would take a family picture so, if you are curious, you can see this amusing piece of evidence. There was a bedtime story read by one of the mothers and then before I knew it, I awoke to giggling and cackling women at 7 in the morning. These gregarious women never quit. They were constantly laughing and cracking themselves up. Now I know what ten middle-aged women are like when they get in a group.
Day 4... Caught my first New Zealand fish in the morning – 4+ pounds, 22+ inch rainbow out of the Sabin river. Jonathan hiked ahead while Dan and I stopped and fished the beautiful river. Stayed at the Sabine hut on the shores of Lake Rotoroa. The hut seemed oddly quiet after the events of the night before.
Day 5... There was no warm up on this one. Walk outside of the hut and go up, and up, and up. They don't really believe in switchbacks here, taking their early math training seriously. (that one about a straight line being the shortest distance) A mountain goat trail really. But the views rewarded us as we looked out over the peaks and valleys we climbed the previous days and with sore legs, made it to the beautiful Lake Angelus Hut. Unfortunately though, this hut is one of the most popular huts on the South Island and only takes a day to reach from town. We were on our fifth day of hiking and had just climbed 4,000 feet to get there. Lets just say I was could smell my self at this point whereas the people that crowded into the hut later in the afternoon had just left civilization. Makes you slightly self-conscious.
With 20 some people sleeping the same room, you are bound to run into some problems. The girl next to me seemed to change what noises she was making every five minutes, often throwing in a few whimpers just for good measure. An orchestra of various snorers and general noisemakers carried throughout the night ruining any hope of good sleep.
Day 6... Along the high Robert Ridge above the clouds. Team America (us three) as usual outstripped any other competitors in the speed hiking event (an event only we knew about) despite ailments such as Jonathan's bum knee and me happening to sweat sunscreen in first the left eye, then the right, and then just stumbling bleary eyed over rocks for the rest of the hike. Dan hitchiked to BJ and rolled around the corner beeping 20 minutes later.
It is a strange thing when you start thinking about a stinky overloaded van as home, sighing with relief when you are back in her comfy, bobbing seats. And except for the extreme presence of powdered milk, peanut butter, and noodles in my life, on the road and in the mountains is becoming addictive.
Abel Tasman Coastal Track
So for those wondering, (Judy you asked) the South Island of NZ is a whole different animal from the North. The North is more about the coastlines, beaches, and cities. The South is much more sparsely populated, rural, mountainous, and well, the place everybody wants to spend their time. We spent about 20 days on the North Island so that we can spend as much time as possible on the larger South Island.
After the ferry ride we drove to Nelson to prepare for the four day Abel Tasman track. We spent the night at a free campsite and did a day hike to the top of a steep river gorge. We got a bit excited by the views at one point and decided it would be a great idea to scramble over knife point rocks up to a higher summit. “If we get up there we have views of valleys on either side and be able to see all around!” This glorious and fairly arduous quest resulted in views of some trees and more sharp wavy rocks. Back down we went along another trail and peered down the deepest vertical hole in New Zealand where no signs or ropes are available to stop the trusting American tourists from walking a little too far down the trail. Apparently they believe in good ol' fashioned natural selection here.
The next day we set out for our first real backpacking adventure though it is really a warm up for what is to come. The Abel Tasman track is a moderate hike along the coastline of the Tasman sea. The area is named after the first European guy to discover New Zealand by anchoring off these shores before being attacked by angry Maori tribes and saying “I'm getting the F*!$ out of here!” He never set foot on land.
But anyway, the track is a Great Walk, meaning that it is one of 10 or so such tracks around the country that are the best of the best. We looked over green, “are we in the carribean?” water and white, sandy beaches. At the end of each day, you could find us lounging on these beaches in the bright sun. I'm pretty sure this hike cannot be classified as roughing it. To add to our comfort, we camped in 20-30 person huts that are common in this country. They supply drinking water, mattress pads, a kitchen area, and plentiful views. Because pretty much everyone in the huts have the same agenda, we stayed with mostly the same people for the trip. As you can guess, this can be both good and bad. Unfortunately for us, we are already stuck with Dan, who snores like a freight train, for every hut trip in the next 2 months. I apparently have the ability to sleep through it but Jonathan hits Dan with any object in reach about 4 times a night. This usually results in some snuffling, snorting, rearranging, and more snoring. The first time I woke up to it, I was stifling laughter because it was so unimaginably loud.
Because the Abel Tasman is relatively tame compared to some hikes, we usually took it easy with our morning time. We were some of the last to leave the huts, often asleep when gun-ho families and trekkers made their departure. But we made up for our laziness by being the first group to the next hut every time.
On the last day, the good weather finally turned and we were pounded by rain. The water taxi ride we were supposed to catch out was cancelled and we were thrown on a bus. Two hours later, after the bus in front of us went off the road, and our bus driver guided us, slip sliding up muddy roads, to safety. Two rest days and we embarked on our next hike.
After the ferry ride we drove to Nelson to prepare for the four day Abel Tasman track. We spent the night at a free campsite and did a day hike to the top of a steep river gorge. We got a bit excited by the views at one point and decided it would be a great idea to scramble over knife point rocks up to a higher summit. “If we get up there we have views of valleys on either side and be able to see all around!” This glorious and fairly arduous quest resulted in views of some trees and more sharp wavy rocks. Back down we went along another trail and peered down the deepest vertical hole in New Zealand where no signs or ropes are available to stop the trusting American tourists from walking a little too far down the trail. Apparently they believe in good ol' fashioned natural selection here.
The next day we set out for our first real backpacking adventure though it is really a warm up for what is to come. The Abel Tasman track is a moderate hike along the coastline of the Tasman sea. The area is named after the first European guy to discover New Zealand by anchoring off these shores before being attacked by angry Maori tribes and saying “I'm getting the F*!$ out of here!” He never set foot on land.
But anyway, the track is a Great Walk, meaning that it is one of 10 or so such tracks around the country that are the best of the best. We looked over green, “are we in the carribean?” water and white, sandy beaches. At the end of each day, you could find us lounging on these beaches in the bright sun. I'm pretty sure this hike cannot be classified as roughing it. To add to our comfort, we camped in 20-30 person huts that are common in this country. They supply drinking water, mattress pads, a kitchen area, and plentiful views. Because pretty much everyone in the huts have the same agenda, we stayed with mostly the same people for the trip. As you can guess, this can be both good and bad. Unfortunately for us, we are already stuck with Dan, who snores like a freight train, for every hut trip in the next 2 months. I apparently have the ability to sleep through it but Jonathan hits Dan with any object in reach about 4 times a night. This usually results in some snuffling, snorting, rearranging, and more snoring. The first time I woke up to it, I was stifling laughter because it was so unimaginably loud.
Because the Abel Tasman is relatively tame compared to some hikes, we usually took it easy with our morning time. We were some of the last to leave the huts, often asleep when gun-ho families and trekkers made their departure. But we made up for our laziness by being the first group to the next hut every time.
On the last day, the good weather finally turned and we were pounded by rain. The water taxi ride we were supposed to catch out was cancelled and we were thrown on a bus. Two hours later, after the bus in front of us went off the road, and our bus driver guided us, slip sliding up muddy roads, to safety. Two rest days and we embarked on our next hike.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Wellington and Beyond
Note: I am a little bit behind as I will be for much of the trip so when I say yesterday, tomorrow, speak in present or past tense, and tell you we are somewhere, I am probably lying to you.
And for the second order of business, Happy Birthday Jason... hope you are enjoying it old buddy ol pal.
We arrived in Wellington to a party already going on. The Cuba St. Carnival, unbeknownst to us, was in full swing as the biggest weekend of the year with concerts, fair rides, parades, and people, lots of people. Tobey had no idea we were coming because neither of us owns a phone over here and we had made the decision to come three and half hours before. Armed with his address, we showed up to his place only to realize we didn't have his apartment number. After loitering in the lobby and trying to figure out how to dupe the security guard into divulging Tobey and Riley's information, we decided to walk around New Zealand's capital city in the midst of a festival, and find our two short and blond friends. After a few hours of futility with plenty of entertainment and people watching, we headed back to the van. We changed on the sidewalk, looking raggedy and trying to straighten suitcase clothing to venture into the night looking half respectable. Once suitably changed, I was peering at Tobey's apartment building down the street, racking my brain for options. Yelling TOOBEYYY! at the windows had already failed. At this moment, resigned to failure, I saw two people in the distance walk out of the front door. I went to preschool with the kid so I knew immediately who it was and began running down the street yelling. I swear Tobey has a knack for showing up at random times.
They were just as surprised and happy as us and we proceeded to downtown wellington, next to a beautiful harbor, and saw what the festival was all about.
In our haste to get the heck out of palmerston north and excitement to get to wellington, we travelled a bit further south than we needed to with a week left on the North Island before our ferry. In short, we ended up doing a backassward route and headed back north along the east coast to Napier and fiddled around in this country. We stayed in two hostels, usually booking a two man room, and having the third stay in the van. No reason to get a bed when you have a perfecttly adequate mattress outside. We beached it one day in Napier, took a 12 mile day hike along Cape Kidnappers the next. The hike ended where a massive nesting Gannet colony sits atop a plateau overlooking the ocean. Jonathan the biologist geeked out over this while Dan and I just enjoyed the beautiful coastline with sheer cliffs and green ocean water. The last two days were spent in the Tararua Forest park which is filled with thick vegetation and the Otaki river with deep pools and cold mountain fed water. We spent our time alone at our campsite tossing the rugby ball, fishing the up and down the river, and taking in some starry nights. Our ankles and legs were the casualties of this campsite due to some harmless looking gnats that pack a mean bite. I now spend my time alternating between itching madly and applying bug bite cream.
We arrived in Wellington again and showed up unannounced at Tobey's door to his amusement. Wellington, we were told by our guidebook, is the undisputed party capital of New Zealand. We carried out a test (the second in a week) of our guidebook's accuracy and I would say we all agree 100%.
Now I am sitting in the back of Big Jolly (itching my ankles) awaiting the Interislander ferry to the South Island, listening to her new sound system. Jolly, by the way, does not have a working stereo so we just purchased some portable ipod speakers and slapped them on the dashboard. Its starting to look like I will be a certified country music expert by the end of the trip. The other two are currently belting something cheesy and Dan just beeped and waved at some more random girls with a big ol' goofy grin. He is certainly dependable in that regard.
Over the car ramp and on our way. Jonathan and Dan catch up on some sleep that Wellington stole and I find myself wandering around the empty and rainy decks of the ferry looking back at Wellington and staring over the choppy seas of the Cook Straight. The rain splashes and drops off the railings as the ferry churns along past misty coastlines. Goodbye to one island, a happy hello to another.
And for the second order of business, Happy Birthday Jason... hope you are enjoying it old buddy ol pal.
We arrived in Wellington to a party already going on. The Cuba St. Carnival, unbeknownst to us, was in full swing as the biggest weekend of the year with concerts, fair rides, parades, and people, lots of people. Tobey had no idea we were coming because neither of us owns a phone over here and we had made the decision to come three and half hours before. Armed with his address, we showed up to his place only to realize we didn't have his apartment number. After loitering in the lobby and trying to figure out how to dupe the security guard into divulging Tobey and Riley's information, we decided to walk around New Zealand's capital city in the midst of a festival, and find our two short and blond friends. After a few hours of futility with plenty of entertainment and people watching, we headed back to the van. We changed on the sidewalk, looking raggedy and trying to straighten suitcase clothing to venture into the night looking half respectable. Once suitably changed, I was peering at Tobey's apartment building down the street, racking my brain for options. Yelling TOOBEYYY! at the windows had already failed. At this moment, resigned to failure, I saw two people in the distance walk out of the front door. I went to preschool with the kid so I knew immediately who it was and began running down the street yelling. I swear Tobey has a knack for showing up at random times.
They were just as surprised and happy as us and we proceeded to downtown wellington, next to a beautiful harbor, and saw what the festival was all about.
In our haste to get the heck out of palmerston north and excitement to get to wellington, we travelled a bit further south than we needed to with a week left on the North Island before our ferry. In short, we ended up doing a backassward route and headed back north along the east coast to Napier and fiddled around in this country. We stayed in two hostels, usually booking a two man room, and having the third stay in the van. No reason to get a bed when you have a perfecttly adequate mattress outside. We beached it one day in Napier, took a 12 mile day hike along Cape Kidnappers the next. The hike ended where a massive nesting Gannet colony sits atop a plateau overlooking the ocean. Jonathan the biologist geeked out over this while Dan and I just enjoyed the beautiful coastline with sheer cliffs and green ocean water. The last two days were spent in the Tararua Forest park which is filled with thick vegetation and the Otaki river with deep pools and cold mountain fed water. We spent our time alone at our campsite tossing the rugby ball, fishing the up and down the river, and taking in some starry nights. Our ankles and legs were the casualties of this campsite due to some harmless looking gnats that pack a mean bite. I now spend my time alternating between itching madly and applying bug bite cream.
We arrived in Wellington again and showed up unannounced at Tobey's door to his amusement. Wellington, we were told by our guidebook, is the undisputed party capital of New Zealand. We carried out a test (the second in a week) of our guidebook's accuracy and I would say we all agree 100%.
Now I am sitting in the back of Big Jolly (itching my ankles) awaiting the Interislander ferry to the South Island, listening to her new sound system. Jolly, by the way, does not have a working stereo so we just purchased some portable ipod speakers and slapped them on the dashboard. Its starting to look like I will be a certified country music expert by the end of the trip. The other two are currently belting something cheesy and Dan just beeped and waved at some more random girls with a big ol' goofy grin. He is certainly dependable in that regard.
Over the car ramp and on our way. Jonathan and Dan catch up on some sleep that Wellington stole and I find myself wandering around the empty and rainy decks of the ferry looking back at Wellington and staring over the choppy seas of the Cook Straight. The rain splashes and drops off the railings as the ferry churns along past misty coastlines. Goodbye to one island, a happy hello to another.
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