Stewart Island

voi

 

Stewart Island Mud

Stewart Island Robin

Kākā comes to visit

As close as we got

Injuries forced us to skip over Stewart Island on our last trip south, but the call of the wild kiwi bird is impossible to ignore.  Reachable only by air or a choppy ferry across the Foveaux Strait, New Zealand's third island (south of the South Island) is home to only 400 humans - and up to 20,000 Stewart Island Brown Kiwi.

We have heard (and been woken up by) kiwi calls in Kahurangi, Mt. Aspiring, Fiordland, and Arthur's Pass, but opportunities to spot the bird in the wild are few.  Kiwi are shy and nocturnal, and mainland New Zealand populations are quickly shrinking due to predation.  And so if we wanted to give ourselves the best chance to see the 70 million-year-old flightless icon, we knew we'd best get ourselves to Stewart Island.

The two long tramping tracks on Stewart Island are the Rakiura Track and the Northwest Circuit.  The Northwest Circuit is 10-12 days long, and much of it plods through Stewart Island's infamous mud (it is has been known to reach up to your chest).  The Rakiura Track is an abbreviated version of the Northwest Circuit, and while the three-day Great Walk skips over the most majestic sites on the island, planks and boardwalks offer protection from much of the mud, and of course, it is not 11 days long.

Our Rakiura adventure got off to an inauspicious start when the sunshine and calm turned suddenly to a downpour of pebble-sized hail.  Minutes later, the sun was out shining again, which set the tempo for the next three days.  Storms blew in over our heads and back out to sea again before we ever had time to take out our rain gear, and we began to understand that 270 or so days of rain a year on the island did not mean plenty of sunshine couldn't be mixed in.

We began the track at Halfmoon Bay, which houses the island township of Oban, and followed the coast to sunny Horseshoe Bay before entering into the bush.  Stewart Island is dominated by native vegetation and does not feature beech as do the rainforests of the South Island.  The totara, rimu, miro, and rata we walked through gave us an idea of what much of New Zealand might have once looked like, and the forest did feel like it was from another order of creation.  Christina called it Dr. Seussian.

Unfortunately, what DOC said was our best opportunity to spot a kiwi on the track, our first night at Port William Hut, was washed out by a storm that never quite cleared.  We would later hear a kiwi while searching at twilight back in Oban, but on the track the closest we got to seeing the bird was the comments by former trampers in the hut logs: "Saw kiwi at Port William.  Came over and pecked my boot!" "Kiwis spotted: four.  Kiwi fights witnessed: two."  "WHAT CUTIES <3 <3"  etc., etc.

Not all of the Stewart Island experience was lost with the hiding kiwi, however.  Because the winter repairs to the track's boardwalk system were still underway, we answered such pressing questions as: Is this mud pool I am about to step in an inch deep or two feet deep?  With little longterm damage, Christina also briefly transformed into something called the "Mud-Witch."  And we did spot and hear many other native birds, including the kākā, a wild parrot related to the notorious alpine kea, green and red-crowned parakeets, bellbirds, tomtit, grey warblers, brown creepers, moreporks, and others.  The heavy winds and rains lessened the song and overall presence of the birds, though we were satisfied by a later trip to the wild bird sanctuary at the neighboring Ulva Island.

Our search for the globular phantom continues, though, I can't imagine we'll come as close again as we have been.  This is the enchantment and disappointment of Stewart Island.

Queenstown

outerspace

Four icecreams in 24 hours.

Fox Glacier

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Terminal face of Fox Glacier

Through an ice tunnel

Surprise!

Séracs

The forecast predicted cloud and rain, but Christina had the good sense to make us climb the glacier anyway.  After some morning uncertainty, her faith was rewarded by a blue sky over the glacier, the Southern Alps, and the imposing Mt. Tasman.  What a turn of good luck!

Fox Glacier and Franz Josef glacier are the two largest of several thousand New Zealand glaciers, and they are also two of the healthiest glaciers in the world.  Whereas rising temperatures have forced most glaciers to retreat, the same heat is pushing the warm ocean air between New Zealand and Australia toward New Zealand's west coast, where it hits the alps and falls as precipitation, feeding the two glaciers.  Fox Glacier's nevé, its snow accumulation area, is a whopping 36 square kms (larger than Christchurch), and is what feeds the glacier's movement.  The abundance of snow turns to ice and gravity pushes the iceflow down the mountain.  Because it also travels down a very narrow passageway, the ice-river moves many times faster than its glacier-friends around the world.  And the 13 km long glacier falls to just 250m above sea level, and actually ends in a rainforest.  Very New Zealand!

We climbed up the glacier, beginning at the terminal face, in a group of eight.  We were given mountaineering boots, crampons (spikes that tie to the bottom of our boots), and an alpenstock (walking stick with a pick at the end).  Our guide cut fresh tracks and ice steps with his pickaxe for us to climb up, and we walked up the face of the glacier for about four to five hours.

Near the terminal face, the ice flows more like wavy hair - it is easy to walk on and features mostly simple structures.  Here we crawled through ice tunnels, stared down ice pits that fade to black, and listened to the rushing of water many meters below our feet.  And as we climbed higher, and we got quite high in a no-nonsense group, the valley got steeper and we got closer to the nevé, which means the force of gravity acting upon the ice became stronger.  This crunches the ice together, shooting jagged pinnacles of ice up into the sky, called séracs.

We concluded our climb through an intensely narrow passageway, made navigable only because the ice was so slippery, reaching a particularly dense area of séracs.  It was the most beautiful and fascinating area, and made for the perfect finale to our adventure.

Westland/ Welcome Flat

Punakaiki Pancake Rocks

Black swan at Lake Rotoiti

We left Blenheim driving at the speed of light, which means when we finally stopped in Nelson Lakes National Park, it took Christina 306 seconds to hear my exclamation of "fuck yeah!"

We stopped at Lake Rotoiti just long enough to feel the sweet itch of the first sandfly bites in months, and under the circumstances, it was most welcome.  We continued southwest towards the Punakaiki Pancake Rocks on the west coast.  During hightide these rock-stack towers transform into massive blowholes, shooting saltwater dozens of meters in the air, and when you catch a good one, all over you.

Our destination, though, was the small town at Fox Glacier, from where we would depart the next morning for the Copland Track.  The Copland Track was one of the most explored alpine routes in New Zealand, following the Copland River about 24 kms deep into the mountains, where it then climbed up the Copland Pass, all the way to the west coast.  Avalanches, landslides, and other forces have all but destroyed the track, and adventure companies no longer even offer guided tours through the pass.  You can, however, still follow the river through the mountainous valley all the way to the start of the pass, where you are stopped by this season's avalanche!

Did we remember how to move with our backpacks on?  Or did the very fine Blenheim cuisine make us soft?  Christina quickly answered the question of who would trip and fall on the trail first (face first into a puddle), as well as the question of who would fall the following four times.  Overall though, neither of us suffered worse than a few scrapes and bruises re-discovering our tramping legs.

We made a three day tramp of it, spending both nights at the Welcome Flat Hut.  This was the true purpose of our trek - the terrific alpine scenery actually a surprise bonus.  For at Welcome Flats, just one hundred meters away from the hut, are three geothermal hot springs, the largest the size of a tennis court.  Each holds a different temperature (between 35-55 C, which I am told is 95-131 F), controlled by small channels of water flowing from the source.  Unlike the pools in the North Island that are heated by volcanic activity, these pools are heated by the collision of plates at the Alpine Fault.  Rainwater falls through cracks in the earth's surface, and the tectonic energy heats the rainwater, pushing it up towards the surface, where it soothes the tired legs and backs of trampers.  The pools bubble and steam, though not because they are boiling, but because gases (often smelly gases - the pools were discovered late in the 19th century and first described as "just stinky enough to be valuable") are escaping from underneath the earth's crust.

We soaked in the pools at night, the only two people there (there was a chorus of toads), under the clearest, moonless nighttime sky, the starlight of which was reflected by the snowy peaks that surrounded us.  Spectacular!

We spent the first and third days walking to and from Welcome Flat, and on our second morning we walked the difficult route into the mountains to Douglas Rock Hut.  We returned late that afternoon to Welcome Flat to find that a larger crowd and a layer of cloud had settled in.  The previous night was unrepeatable, but the water was still plenty warm.

We arrived back at Fox Glacier worn out and completely satisfied, awaiting the weather forecast to see if we ought to get more intimate with the glacier the next morning.

The Dutch boy next to me is writing a blog entry of his own: Glowworms, Booze, and Strippers.  I think I am doing this trip all wrong.

Blenheim Blues

Downtown Blenheim

Flowered buds

Pip enjoying a mussel

Sap

Sap hat!

Christina took over the last post and wrote a paragraph about wrapping.  Don't miss it!

There are worst places than Blenheim to spend a birthday.  The salt mines come to mind.  But really it was wonderful to receive all the cards and birthday wishes from so far away.  Thanks to you all for making it special.

If this blog has quieted down over the last few months it is because our lives have as well.  We continue to work every day and save as best we can, in a city with all the charm of a gas station.  In darker times Blenheim has forced me to wonder what on earth we are doing here.  But this passes quickly enough, or it is relieved by planning for the future, looking at pictures from better days on the trip, or Marlborough boxed wine.

We have thankfully moved on from our vineyard work.  We now work on a pine tree seed orchard, which is easier work, and is at times a lot of fun.  The pine trees flower during the sunny Blenheim winter, and Christina and I walk up and down rows of tree clones looking for buds that are about to, but have not yet, opened up.  We place sterilized medical tool bags over the buds and wrap a tie around the bottom.  This prevents the buds from being pollinated by nearby trees.  Workers later come round and spray a particular pollen into the bags with a small needle gun.  This allows the business to control the genes and quality of the pine cones/ seeds that they later sell.

There are two seed orchards: Wairau, which is only three years old and so the trees are quite small, and Seddon, which features much woollier and wilder trees.  Because the trees are so much larger at Seddon, the trees take more time to examine, and so the crew is greater.  Christina and I primarily work at Wairau, but one thing about Seddon is that is I am... 96% sure I work with two New Zealand skinheads there.  Upon putting this together, the high school punk rocker in me wanted to you know break a television over their heads or something.  But is it wiser to tolerate them and continue to treat them as human beings, or to stand up for what I believe in?  Can you do both?

Anyhow, here are two older animal videos I took from earlier on the trip.  First is a seal pup nodding off to sleep.  And then there is the blue penguin we helped release back into the wild.  I cut off that recording too soon, so here is the rest of the story: He was very scared of returning to the ocean and tried to climb back into his bucket and hop back to captivity.  Eventually, someone clapped loudly to frighten him away from the beach, and with great urgency he remembered how to be a penguin and ran full speed into the ocean.

Down and Out in Blenheim and Seddon

Before the harvest

Last year's bunches and canes

Our bosses are tough but fluffy

Rows of un-pruned plants: the stuff of nightmares

Finished, wrapped product in front of a gum tree

Working as a pruner is a real kick in the pants.  Whatever romantic vision you had of growing grapes (an attractive Italian woman slowly putting grapes to her lips to check for quality... Jeff...) I can tell you it is hard, painful work.  Though it does have its positives.  It is outside, often in the sunshine, and the land is beautiful.  And we move to a new block on a new vineyard at least once a week, which helps to keep things fresh (like your TF2 map change).  The pain in our hands and wrists from the repetitive stress, though, has made life outside of work unpleasant.  Tasks like chopping vegetables and stirring a pot have become nearly impossible, and the pain and numbness wake me up in the night.  We had hoped the pain would lessen as we became accustomed to the work, but it actually seems to accumulate more each week.

A short description of pruning is called for.  When growing grapes, a maximum yield of fruit from each vine is undesirable.  Light to medium crops produce higher quality, more complex wines.  If all of last year's growth was left there would simply be more grapes than the plant could ripen.  This would make for weak, watery fruit and bad wine.  Pruning removes the excess canes (canes are the pole-like branches that grow from the head of the plant), leaving three to five strong canes to be wrapped on the wires and produce next year's fruit.

My work as a pruner involves removing last year's growth and helping to shape the head of the plant with my loppers (large garden shears).  Each plant is like a puzzle that I must solve in as few moves as possible.  We get paid per completed plant, so it is all about efficiency.  Once I tire of pruning, I walk back down my row (anywhere from 50-200 plants long) and "strip" the plants.  The pruned canes do not fall easily to the ground.  Instead they get caught in the wires, tangled with each other, and so on.  Stripping, then, is when I reach into the wires and rip out all the pruned canes.  This is violent, physical work, and often the stuck canes will snap free with the same force that I pull at them, whipping me in the face, neck, chest, balls, etc.  After stripping, I walk back over the plants with my secateurs and finely trim the remaining canes of old bunches of fruit, laterals, and tendrils.  The plant is now finally ready for the wrappers, like Christina, to pass through and tie the canes to the wires, securing them in place for next year's crop.  I wish I could tell you more about what her work consists of.  Maybe she will make a guest edit here.

GUESTY EDIT BY CHRISTINA!!!!!!!!!

So you want to be a wrapper!? Instead, I recommend smashing both your hands in a heavy door, then sitting on them until they go numb while staring at a wall for eight hours all on your lonesome. I am so glad to be writing this from a place where I am no longer wrapping. I'm not sure how we lasted six weeks. We did work with nice people and friendly dogs. Anyways... wrapping happens after pruning so that the vines are attached securely to the wires under the weight of all the grapes that are growing on them. If the cane droops, the fruit could touch the ground and rot, or the whole cane could snap off. After pruning, the vines are sticking straight up in the air. Stand in front of your plant. If the pruners didn't have to, you will need to trim all of the tendrils and old grape bunches from each cane with the secateurs. Grab a cane near it's base in your right hand. Push down on the very tight wire with your left hand to create tension. Use the palm of your right hand to also push down on the wire while simultaneously bending the cane with your thumb and cradling it with your fingers. If you do not do this correctly you will snap the cane, or have a loose wrap. Now that it is bent, wrap the cane around the wire in a tight down-left-up-right kind of motion so that the vine does not twist...otherwise it will just untwist and you will have to start over. Hold the cane in place, use secateurs to cut it to the required length, and grab a twist tie to secure it. Most plants need to be left with 3 canes, others with 2 or 4. Repeat for the rest of the canes. Finished your plant? Great, hop to the next one cuz you just made about 30 cents! Due to the fine handwork, you cannot wear gloves through all of this, not even when the vines are covered in frost. But that is no issue if your nerves are already so damaged you can't feel them anyway. You will be alone almost the entire day, use your breaks to RUN to the outhouse and back so as not to waste time = money, and are in for a world of pain. Did you know, a single grape plant produces around 7 bottles of wine! Now if only they shared that with the workers...

Now the important stuff.

- A common grape disease is named bunchitis.

- I joked about the importance of the new Burger King here before.  But how much money is in the Blenheim drive through game?  Parked every day in the employee spot outside the neighboring McDonalds is a BMW with the vanity plate "B1G MAC."  Blenheim is the worst city I have ever lived in.

- Of a carton of eggs Christina and I bought, eleven of them were double yolks.  Our flimsy research (a Daily Mail article) rates the odds of this happening at far less than one in a trillion.  Apparently, young hens are more likely to lay double yolk eggs, and in the UK you find one in about every thousand eggs.  The dozen eggs were mixed grade, though we suspect there was an error at the sorting plant, since these were all humongous (the one egg that was not a double yolk was a super single).  What does it mean?  Some folklore: marriage due to pregnancy, windfall, death in the family, birth of twins.  My failure to document this in picture or video is the major disappointment of this trip so far.

- If the author of a blog I read resorted to bullet points to express himself, I too would be insulted.

Marlborough

New Zealand... ROCKS!

The Kanuka is one of many natives fighting for land in NZ 

Chapel lives on

The Wither Hills above Blenheim

The above is a collection of new pictures as well as some older ones that did not make the cut in past entries.

We are now in Marlborough, New Zealand's man wine producing region, where we have begun work as vineyard pruners.  More on this aspect of our life when we have more experience (this was our second week, but spoiler: it is hard).  The pruning season lasts through mid-August, and so you can look forward to many pictures of my Popeye forearms and accompanying stories about us going to bed at 8pm.

Before arriving in Blenheim, the "major" town nearest the vineyards, though, we did finally have a fantastic WWOOFing experience.  For about a week we helped our host Christine clear her 22-acre Nelson property of invasive gorse, blackberry, barberry, etc. to help with the re-forestation of native trees. About 2/3 of New Zealand's native forests have been cleared for grazing, though there seems to now be a significant minority of landowners intent on restoring the land to what it might have looked like.  The work involved slashing and clearing dense growths of thorny plants on a hill that might have been too steep to ski down (though, I cannot ski).  It was satisfying work, and by the end of our stay the attractive young native trees were the dominant presence on a hill that had been overgrown by nastiness days before.

Some other bits from our stay:

- A Series of tornadoes came off the coast of Nelson and passed right through our neighboring valley!  They tore apart a steel shed and cleared a path through a pine forest.  Neighbors pointed a flood light into the forest and saw a cyclone of pine needles!  It all happened overnight during a loud lightning storm, and Christina slept through the whole thing.  In another time she might have been the deep-sleeper left behind by the fleeing tribe to keep the invading grizzlies busy.

- Our host Christine's niece, Carmen Staaf, grew up in Seattle and is now a notable jazz pianist in New York.  I may have helped write about her once or twice for Earshot events, and we had a good laugh when Christine pulled out some ancient copies of Earshot Jazz.  Who knew?

Our lives have slowed dramatically since we ran out of money a few weeks ago.  And when we aren't exploring the country it can feel like we are stuck in a collection of provincial towns, all too expensive to ever go out in.  (One example: the Burger King opening in Blenheim was literally front page news, however a meal there would cost you fifteen dollars per person!)  Work has made life more stimulating, or at least we are too exhausted to worry about it much, but I think we realized that we need to keep active this winter, if it is hiking or skiing or whatever, in order to stay happy.  In the meantime, though, Christina has emerged a fierce competitor at the card game Egyptian Rat Screw.  Only minimal bleeding from the hand so far.