Banks Peninsula

Aboard the Fox II

The unforgiving grass claims many lives

I may have been taking too many pictures

!!

After two weeks ill with a feverish respiratory thing, and many days of rain, we needed a pick up. We drove north to Akaroa, a historic French settlement on the Banks Peninsula. Akaroa is a beautiful harbor vacation town, full of bed and breakfasts, French restaurants, cheeseries, and jewelry shops. The weather cleared on cue and we took a three hour sailing tour of the sound (really an ocean inlet forced through a giant exploded volcano). We saw many New Zealand fur seals, albatrosses, and shags on our way out to the Pacific, culminating in a visit by a pod of Hector's dolphins. They popped up beside the boat in bursts to say hello. We even saw a mama and her calf swimming in tandem.

Soon after, we embarked on the Banks Peninsula Track, New Zealand's first private track. Marketed in the 80s as "four nights, four days, four beaches, four bays," the track passes through Banks Peninsula farmland, which is absurdly pretty. Here are the grassy hills, blue skies, sharp cliffs, strange land formations, and clear waters that you might close your eyes to imagine while trapped in an elevator waiting for the fire department rescue. And aside from two steep climbs, it was a relaxed walk with short days, allowing us time to savor the scenery. Better still was the near total lack of sandflies. When we rested, especially at dusk, their absence became a powerful feature of the walk itself. It is hard to describe just how terrible they were farther south. It was often hard to stop and enjoy a viewpoint.

And we were the only people walking! This meant we were alone not only on the track but in the luxurious farm lodges. At each lodge we had a full kitchen, shop, shower, and real bed waiting for us. Not to mention the extremely fun extras such as a wood fire-heated bath under the stars, giant rope swing, sea kayaking trip to visit a seal colony, bocce, boogie boarding, and so on. Rather than simply a place to recover before the next day's hike, the farm huts became a high point of the trip. I'll remember sitting by the fire reading out-loud from It Must Have Been Something I Ate as clearly as I'll remember the red cliffs and dramatic coastal islands.

Oh! And of course I will remember helping to release an injured blue penguin, the smallest penguin species in the world, back into the wild. Our second farm was also a blue penguin sanctuary, and we were privileged to help feed and release one (but not before it nipped my leg). They are seriously tiny and full of personality. Adorable. The track, a fairly last minute undertaking, was perfect.

In unrelated news (it can't all be good), men wear rattails here. I don't want to make a spectacle of unfashionable people like those wretched blogs, but the tails appear very common. I've seen meaty rattails, dual rattails, and multiple tails spread down the neck like a fan. Was that a tattoo of a rattail I saw? Why is this happening? I thought I left them behind for good in the third grade, along with the taste of boogers. Am I being culturally insensitive? Is it rooted in Maori culture, like a Kiwi Mohawk? Or is it another invasive species, like the stoat, rat, or possum, here to destroy the natural beauty of this country?

Time passed quickly and last night I was surprised to read that The Pale King was released. My heart is speeding up as I write. Eep.

Southland & Arthur's Pass

Riding the bicycle at Slope Point

Climbing Hump Ridge

South Coast at dawn

Arthur's Pass

Avalanche Peak

We've been moving quickly, travelling from Te Anau to Invercargill, through the Catlins and all the way north up the east coast to Arthur's Pass. We enjoyed our first WWOOF (Willing Workers on Organic Farms) experience on a Southland sheep farm. Our host family was a Welsh woman named Sheila, her half-Maori, ex-professional rugby playing husband Rata, and their three small children. We fed the pigs and chickens and watered the garden, though most of our work was in the kitchen cooking for the family, which suited us well enough. Unfortunately I don't have any photos of our stay, and after four short nights we moved on to the Tuatapere Hump Ridge Track. The Hump Ridge is an interesting track run by a Tuatapere citizen trust, and it travels through public, private, and Maori land. In addition to the coastal scenery and many humps and ridges, it is full of history, passing through the relics of a failed logging town. The days were painfully long though, over nine hours each, and we were both broken down by the time we reached our car's trunk-full of cookies.

"If the mountain defeats you, will you risk a more dangerous path?"  -Saruman the White

The mountain did defeat me, and there was no more dangerous path. Avalanche Peak in Arthur's Pass was a walk I had circled in my mind since the flight here. It is a day walk, only about 6-8 hours return, though it climbs very steeply to the 1800m summit which promises one of the finest views in the country. I didn't make it there, though it wasn't a matter of physical fitness (we were ten to fifteen minutes from the summit). Instead I was worn down by a frightening climb hand and foot over narrow ridges and loose, crumbly rocks, with cliffs on either side. It may not have been as dangerous as it appeared, but I didn't feel safe, and after about an hour of climbing an increasingly steep route while silently running through worst-case scenarios in my mind (and the words "deathtrap in the wrong conditions" from my NZ tramping guide!), I had a minor emotional breakdown and I decided I couldn't continue. It felt silly as soon as we began our descent, but it was a tortuous state to be in. I immediately had trouble fitting it together in my mind - this was the first thing I couldn't do, and it was because I wasn't mentally tough enough, as they say in the sports world. I've considered that the fear I felt was more powerful than anything I would have found at the top, but the whole thing sits poorly with me.

Arthur's Pass still allowed us plenty of inexpensive rest, and I made it to the top of the Bealey Spur mountain route, which delivered an awesome view of the Southern Alps and the Waimakariri River.

Wildlife update: We were charged by a sea lion at Curio Bay. In Arthur's Pass we also met plenty of kea, New Zealand's giant green and red alpine parrot. Kea stories abound in New Zealand: they are fiercely intelligent and are capable of opening buckles, locks, backpacks, and car doors with their strong, manipulative beaks. They appear to consider humans a form of free food and cheap entertainment. Kea have been known to break into vehicles only to tear out the ignition wiring, to lock people inside buildings, steal and destroy tents and clothing, and so on. More frightening, the un-mated males search for food and fun in "street gangs" (the scientific term!) of up to 15 parrots. Returning from a short walk we encountered a group of kea, one of whom aggressively approached (or "attacked" as she would tell you) Christina. It was then that Christina, the animal lover's animal lover, defended herself with a handful of rocks. We lived to tell the tale.

We are now in Dunedin, a student-dominated city in Otago. We will soon head back north for more farm work and, weather permitting, two leisurely tramps. Baseball season has begun, and it sure makes me miss home. The Mariners, not so much.

Going Bush

Mitre Peak



Upper Eglington Valley campsite

View of Mt. Christina from Key Summit

??

Lake Marian

Henry Creek campsite

Before leaving the Te Anau area Christina and I spent three nights camping off Milford Rd. We took a cruise of Milford Sound, climbed Key Summit (a sidetrack of the Routeburn we skipped because my leg was then giving me a hard time), and I hiked to the hanging valley of Lake Marian, which was challenging but worth the effort. I will skip the narrative and just reveal that by the end - we smelled.

Kepler Track

For stomping Koopas

Atop Mt. Luxmore

The path to Iris Burn

The plot to poke me foiled by another perfect smile

The Kepler Track was built in 1988 to take some pressure off of the Routeburn and Milford. The start of the track is just a 45 minute lakeside walk from the center of Te Anau, and the track is a friendly loop, meaning no buses to catch at the end to bring us back to civilization. I heard many wonderful things about the walk, and after nearly a week off in Queenstown (population: ice cream), I was more than ready to stretch my legs again.

The bulk of the first day was spent climbing away from Lake Te Anau towards Luxmore Hut, located above the bushline an hour shy of Mt. Luxmore. We were humbled on the track by a speeding and stomping and jolly Australian man. Later, he passed us again, now coming down from the mountain, where he had stopped to drink a few beers before turning around. Some day walk! After reaching the hut, we took a sidetrip to the Luxmore Caves, at times crawling hand and knee, where we found stalactites and stalagmites and other cave decorations. I didn't enjoy the enclosed space, I may have even freaked out a few times, but I think Christina discovered her inner Gollum.

The heart of the Kepler is day two, Luxmore Hut to Iris Burn Hut, a full six hours spent above the bushline. We climbed to the peak of Mt. Luxmore, then through the Forest Burn Saddle and along the ridges and faces of the Kepler Mountains. The spectacular views were constant, and the weather cooperated (if it was still a bit cloudy). We were immersed in the mountains, and each twist revealed new ranges, giving us a full perspective of the incredible land surrounding Te Anau. Nothing in life is perfect, though, and this tramp we traveled alongside about 30 young and raucous Israelis, some of whom mistook the mountain path for their favorite Tel Aviv karaoke bar. The boys of the bunch were also quite taken by Christina, and did not hide their excitement to hear that we weren't married (why the Israeli girls showed no interest in me remains one of life's great mysteries).

The final two days were easy walks through temperate rainforest, following Lake Manapouri and, eventually the Waiau River, which is a popular spot for trout fishing. It might have seemed like a bit of a letdown after the great highs of the first half of the track, but the forest section was a relaxing counterpoint. We spent our final night at Motarau Hut, set against Lake Manapouri, where we swam in the clear and calm water until the sand flies chased us away.

Two things are happening here: I am experiencing much beauty and adventure, and these experiences are affecting me in some way. One of these things is much easier to write about than the other.

The Kepler concludes the portion of this trip that we planned in advance. I think we will now begin volunteering while continuing to tramp until the winter weather forbids it. But what exactly is next? In the words of Indiana Jones: "I don't know. I'm making this up as I go."

Routeburn

Unleashing the beast within

The gloomy alpine Lake Harris

The Orchard

We got news of the Christchurch earthquake in Te Anau, just before setting off on the Routeburn Track. I took it lightly at first, imagining a repeat of the earthquake that hit the city in September. It wasn't until we got to a TV that night, and again the next day passing through Queenstown, that I learned how terrible it was. It is very grim in New Zealand now. People are heartbroken. And it is strange because I am here as part of a tourist community, and alongside so many travellers going about their business, if I chose to, I could pretend nothing had happened. It makes me uncomfortable to continue to take experiences from the country during the disaster, but the Routeburn was what was immediately in front of us. I expect we will go to Christchurch, and I know the earthquake will inform our trip in ways I can't now see. We were relieved to talk to our friend Karen, whom we met on the Heaphy Track, and who lives with her family in Christchurch/ Sumner. She is fine, though her house was destroyed.

Meanwhile, we had two days between the Milford and the Routeburn to rest and recover, which was not nearly enough time (I don't know what kind of hiking boner I had when I booked that). We entered the Routeburn already sore, and while it was the shortest track yet, three days and 32 kilometers, it was also the most demanding, being our first major alpine crossing. The Routeburn crosses through Mount Aspiring National Park and Fiordland National Park.

After a short afternoon climb we made camp at the Routeburn Flats, near the base of Mt Somnus and Mt Nereus. By the morning it had begun to rain, and we set off in poor conditions for the longest day of the walk. We climbed the Routeburn Falls Hut, scenically located at a waterfall just below the bushline. Climbing above the bush my sweat-soaked shirt turned freezing in the cold wind, and I saw how the wrong materials, such as cotton, could quickly lead to hypothermia. The clouds grew thicker throughout the morning, and by the time we reached Harris Saddle and Conical Hill, the highest point on the Routeburn, the curtains were again closed on us. From the saddle we traversed the exposed Hollyford face, which would have been incredible under different circumstances. As it was I was relieved to drop back into the bush and see the beech forest interior. We camped at Lake Mackenzie prepared for a heavy night's rain.

In the middle of the night I was awoken by something being pulled away from my bag. I worried that someone was stealing my wallet or pack, but I found everything in place. But I then considered my food bag, which was missing. I heard rustling just outside of our tent, and despite Christina's (who had just woken up) helpful suggestion that I was dreaming the whole thing, I went outside to investigate. I suspected the kea, who is a notoriously skilled thief, but instead I spotted a large possum standing above my food bag in a bush! He froze in my flashlight, but fled when I clapped. He was not able to open my bag. At breakfast the next morning, however, I noticed a small chunk missing from my apple. It could have been the possum, I thought, but it was also small enough to just be a bruise from getting thrown around in my pack. But when I emptied the contents of my bag on the ground I created a pile of shredded carrot and celery chewed finely enough for a quality salad. The image of a sad possum chewing on the bottom of my bag, with no payoff, nearly made up for the shitty day before. I left the pile there for him to find later.

This visit from my possum spirit guide must have also shifted the weather, because the sun was now out and the sky was clear, and we were for the first time able to see the beautiful lake we camped beside. We climbed back above the bushline, this time enjoying the alpine scenery. The Orchard, an open area lined with ribbonwood trees at about 1000m, was one of many fine sights that afternoon. The track also took us directly under Earland Falls (174m) and to Lake Howden, where we enjoyed our lunch and tea. Christina even charmed her way to a free blueberry muffin from a passing-by guided walk group (~$1600/person!).

This final day on the Routeburn more than salvaged the walk, though I did strain a muscle towards the inside of my right thigh. We were scheduled to begin the Kepler only two days later, but by the mercy of the DOC we were able to push that back, so I now begin a Great Sit, as Ryan recommended to me. Time to eat some pies.

Milford Track

On to the track

A clear moment descending from MacKinnon Pass

Sutherland Falls: second longest in the Southern Hemisphere

The weka

Our pickup from Sandfly Point

The Milford's reputation as "the finest walk in the world" has set it apart from other walks in NZ. It books up months in advance, and there are no campgrounds: all trampers must stay in the Department of Conservation huts. There is also no flexibility once you begin the walk. You must move on to the next hut each afternoon. You cannot, say, wait out the poor weather before beginning the scenic mountain pass. These restrictions are sore points for many walkers, but they exist to meet the huge demand for space on the Milford. And if the Milford does feel more regulated than the other walks, the boat ride to and from the track, the clear all-star cast of DOC hut wardens, and the historic markers of Quintin MacKinnon and Donald Sutherland along the track also add to a special mystique about the tramp.

The track is centered in Fiordland National Park in the southwest of the South Island, beginning at the head of Lake Te Anau and finishing in Milford Sound. Fiordland is incredibly wet, with an annual rainfall near nine meters. This rain feeds the mountain waterfalls that surround, or as often is the case, flood the track (the group two days behind us spent their final day wading through waist-high water, gripping large fallen branches between them for safety!). The waterfalls are so powerful and plentiful around the sound that near the water's surface live confused sea-creatures that otherwise only live in deep ocean environments. Beyond the rain, Fiordland is characterized by the innumerable sandflies (imagine fruit flies that swarm and eat you) and mountains. The mountains of Fiordland shoot up from the ground at extreme angles, and walking through a valley at their base you feel dwarfed by the peaks that appear to stand directly above you.

The most challenging climb of the walk was up MacKinnon Pass, the top of which offers complete views of the mountains just passed through and the alpine terrain and sound to come. The fog and horizontal rain robbed us of this perspective, though, and we could barely see our hands held out in front of us. I thought the following quotation posted that evening at Dumpling Hut (warden: Ming Tsai) captured the disappointment well:

"What a grief to be doing it in this fog! We are walking on top of the world amid such company of Mountain Kings as we may never meet again, and not one glimpse of them to gladden our eyes!"  -Elsie K Morton, 1949

As Christina could tell you, I tend to mope around a lot when we find disappointment on the trail, but the descent down an excellent waterfall boardwalk and, later that afternoon, a side trip to the gigantic Sutherland Falls cheered me up plenty. Also, on this walk I made the discovery of marching to the theme of The Last of the Mohicans (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygNuRpwZqRU) when I am either upset or running out of energy. Works wonders!

The first day on the Milford was the most memorable, despite only about an hour and a half walk to the first hut. It was our one clear day, and after setting down our bags at the hut we went swimming in the pristine and frigid Clinton River. I didn't last long, but submerging myself was exhilirating. Later, our no-nonsense but wickedly-funny hut warden named Peter Jackson (!) took us on a nighttime tour of nearby glow-worms, which were more beautiful than I expected. Next he took us to the nearby heli-pad, surrounded 360 degrees by mountains, silhoutted by the moon that had not yet risen into sight, and he pointed out the summer constellations of the Southern Hemisphere. To experience so much after dark, when I am ordinarily asleep and searching for recovery for the next day, was magical.