I have definitely come to the realization that my partying days are over. Last night was the strangest night ever. I stayed at the Base hostel in Queenstown in a four share mixed dorm room. When I arrived there were two large tattooed guys napping on two of the beds. When I entered the room, they opened their eyes, glared at me, muttered something in a distinctly German accent and then rolled over to face their prospective walls. The one chap had the bed by the window, the other against one of the walls. Their was a pack on the other bed next to the toilet which left mine dead center in the middle of the room. Not the place that I really wanted to be.
I dropped the bag and headed out in to the city. This is my second time here and it truly is a stunning place. Imagine the cleanliness and tourist Mecca of Disney surrounded by massive and beautiful mountains that frame an aqua blue lake. It is the adventure capital of New Zealand with stores catering to all of your adrenalin junky needs. If you want to bungy jump , sky dive, ride the rapids, swing over a gorge....well you get the meaning. I intentionally stayed out quite late so I didn't have to deal with the hostile hostel situation. When I returned aroung 1:00am, I could hear the base thumping from the end of Shot Over street. As I approached a distinctly young crowd were screaming, singing, wearing red sombreros and all were feeling very little pain. Not a grey haired fellow among the crowd.
I locked my bag in a storage unit downstairs and headed up to the room. When I opened the door, I could see one shadowy figure on the bed by the bathroom and could barely make out another by the window. I closed the door, fumbled my way over to the center of the room and climbed into the bed. A very strange feeling I must say. After lying there for about ten minutes it started. In this particular case it wasn't the usual middle aged white male snoring (except for the hobbit lady of Milford), this time it was the sound of twenty something drunken and passed out snoring. Even stranger was that the loudest one was definitely a female in a room with young drunken back packers and one really uncomfortable and annoyed old guy. About an hour later I cold hear someone struggling to get the door open..."ah...great. My third roomie is home."
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Stewart Island, the Raikura Track, and Friends
When I walked out of the rain forest and the mud and stepped on to the paved road headed to the port town of Oban, I was done. I had completed my eighth and final over land Great Walk, the Raikura Track. It is still hard to process the fact that I have walked all eight of the actual Great Walk tramping tracks, with just the Wanganui river journey left to complete my goal.
Although the Raikura track may not have been the most visually appealing of the great walks, the people I met along the track made it one of the most pleasurable. There was a Kiwi couple from the Auckland area with a distinct love for their country and a passion for tramping, for each other and just life in general. Another young Kiwi couple from the coromandel area of the North Island, very much in-love and also aware of how fortunate they were to be from this amazing place. There was also a young, curious and wonderful Israli lad who had already traveled through India after leaving the army, and who's perspective on his Arab neighbors was enlightening and refreshing to hear. As we walked through the mud and out of the forest, he told me that he also spoke fluent Arabic and that he wished all of his friends would do the same. "If we all learned to communicate their would be less mistrust and misunderstanding." He said. This had not been my experience with many of the Isralis that I had met along the way, and it was evident that this was a fairly remarkable and open-minded young man. Then finally there was Robert, the American. He may well have been one of the funniest guys that I have met along the way. He was an unemployed school teacher, mid to early thirties, who buys old bikes, fixes them up and re-sells them. He meandered in to the DOC hut as evening was turning in to night, and had just walked some twenty five plus kilometers to get there. He had some of the funniest stories yet such as drinking to much wine one night in the Australian outback and forgetting where he left his pack. He finally passed out, got eaten alive by Mosquitos and later found the pack with two park rangers who had been quite concerned about where the owner was. Much like myself, he had also experienced a ride with a one legged man while hitch hiking. While traveling across the outback in Australia, an old man with a long white beard had picked him up. The man had just lost his leg and was self medicating with a large quantity of pain pills. I believe the reader can imagine the rest.
In just over two months, including several day walks around Wellington and Nelson, I have walked solo across some of the most stunning and awe inspiring places on this planet. I have transversed the vast volcanic lunar landscape of the Tongariro Northern circuit, the beautiful, exhausting and magical forests of Lake Waikaremoana, the golden bays of the Abel Tasman coastal track, the wide open and stormy tussock downs of the Heaphy track, all three of the majestic and stunning alpine tracks the Milford, Routeburn and Keppler and finally the mud pits and rain forest of Raikura on Stewart Island. If I add in the walks along the Belmont Regional Park near Wellington and the day walks of the Whispering falls track and Coastal Ridgeway loop near Nelson, I have walked approximately 437.8 kilometers so far.
When I started this insane quest months ago I thought it was simply about landscapes, physical challenges and achieving a goal. Although these aspects are all part of the whole story, it has increasingly become about the people I've met and the overwhelming importance of the actual journey. It is about the support of my best friend Bobbi, it is about my three amazing and talented kids, it is about the last words my mom said to me before she died, it is about understanding what my friend Eric felt like when he was out there on his own and it is about sitting in the nursing home and looking back and going "yup....I stepped out of the safety zone and I really did that and it was completely amazing.
Although the Raikura track may not have been the most visually appealing of the great walks, the people I met along the track made it one of the most pleasurable. There was a Kiwi couple from the Auckland area with a distinct love for their country and a passion for tramping, for each other and just life in general. Another young Kiwi couple from the coromandel area of the North Island, very much in-love and also aware of how fortunate they were to be from this amazing place. There was also a young, curious and wonderful Israli lad who had already traveled through India after leaving the army, and who's perspective on his Arab neighbors was enlightening and refreshing to hear. As we walked through the mud and out of the forest, he told me that he also spoke fluent Arabic and that he wished all of his friends would do the same. "If we all learned to communicate their would be less mistrust and misunderstanding." He said. This had not been my experience with many of the Isralis that I had met along the way, and it was evident that this was a fairly remarkable and open-minded young man. Then finally there was Robert, the American. He may well have been one of the funniest guys that I have met along the way. He was an unemployed school teacher, mid to early thirties, who buys old bikes, fixes them up and re-sells them. He meandered in to the DOC hut as evening was turning in to night, and had just walked some twenty five plus kilometers to get there. He had some of the funniest stories yet such as drinking to much wine one night in the Australian outback and forgetting where he left his pack. He finally passed out, got eaten alive by Mosquitos and later found the pack with two park rangers who had been quite concerned about where the owner was. Much like myself, he had also experienced a ride with a one legged man while hitch hiking. While traveling across the outback in Australia, an old man with a long white beard had picked him up. The man had just lost his leg and was self medicating with a large quantity of pain pills. I believe the reader can imagine the rest.
In just over two months, including several day walks around Wellington and Nelson, I have walked solo across some of the most stunning and awe inspiring places on this planet. I have transversed the vast volcanic lunar landscape of the Tongariro Northern circuit, the beautiful, exhausting and magical forests of Lake Waikaremoana, the golden bays of the Abel Tasman coastal track, the wide open and stormy tussock downs of the Heaphy track, all three of the majestic and stunning alpine tracks the Milford, Routeburn and Keppler and finally the mud pits and rain forest of Raikura on Stewart Island. If I add in the walks along the Belmont Regional Park near Wellington and the day walks of the Whispering falls track and Coastal Ridgeway loop near Nelson, I have walked approximately 437.8 kilometers so far.
When I started this insane quest months ago I thought it was simply about landscapes, physical challenges and achieving a goal. Although these aspects are all part of the whole story, it has increasingly become about the people I've met and the overwhelming importance of the actual journey. It is about the support of my best friend Bobbi, it is about my three amazing and talented kids, it is about the last words my mom said to me before she died, it is about understanding what my friend Eric felt like when he was out there on his own and it is about sitting in the nursing home and looking back and going "yup....I stepped out of the safety zone and I really did that and it was completely amazing.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
frolicking in the forest with Frederik
I recently completed the last of the big three alpine/fiord land tracks. The Kepler track is Sixty kilometers and starts at the control gates in Te Anau. The walk initially brings you through another beautiful rainforest and after about a two to three hour climb, your reach the
Luxmore DOC hut that sits atop the bluff, providing panoramic views of the Te Anau Basin, the Takitimu Mountains, and the Snowdon and Earl Mountains. The first day was completed in a fine rain with low clouds obscuring the bottom half of the mountains, giving an eery perspective of the massive peaks protruding through like islands floating on a sea of white.
Although the weather forecast was somewhat daunting, those of us who did not cancel our hike were rewarded the next day. Although foggy and very windy at times, the views from the ridge line were quite spectacular and once again different from the other alpine walks. While the other peaks were made of black granite with snow capped peaks, these had olive and beige hues that blended with the tussock grasses and mountain flowers to create a completely different mountain experience.
After several hours of walking the ridge lines, you descend rapidly and steeply in to the valley and the forest below. I had been warned by my English friend Tony from the Milford hike that this section was known as the Kepler, crippler. The way my knees felt after about an hour were ample clarification of this deserved name. Once I arrived at the Iris Burn hut, I met an Englishman from Lancashire who had had a previous knee replacement. He was in a lot of pain.
The second to last day the rain was much more intense. Although I walked much of the hike in the forest, it was pouring down, and pack cover or not, my entire pack was still soaking wet.
This brings me to my forest adventure with my Dutch friend Frederik. Once I made it to the Moturau hut, I was greeted by Frederik who had stripped down to his speedo. "You swim in lake, yes?" I declined and made the universal sign for shivering. I watched as he ran down to the lake and jumped in. After about an hour, Frederik had dried off and noticed me playing with my camera. "Come in to the forest....we take photos together." Said Frederik. It was another one of those silent moments when I felt that all eyes were upon me. I wasn't sure what he meant by take photos together, but I put aside my distinctly heterosexual thought processes and embraced this new friendship with confidence and vigor. Soon I was following my new friend through the woods in search of fauna, birds and beautiful sunsets. He turned out to be a very cool young fellow,and talked enthusiastically about his girlfriend and his life in the Netherlands, but when we finally returned to the hut about an hour later, I had this mental image that we should be skipping hand in hand up to the porch.
Due to weather and transportation issues I returned to Te Anau the next day. It was then that I learned of the earthquake that had occurred earlier. I couldn't help think of the young doctor from Christchurch that had given me a ride to Westport from the Heaphy track and of my day spent in that beautiful city several weeks prior to the event. A beautiful city already trying to rebuild, struck once again.
Luxmore DOC hut that sits atop the bluff, providing panoramic views of the Te Anau Basin, the Takitimu Mountains, and the Snowdon and Earl Mountains. The first day was completed in a fine rain with low clouds obscuring the bottom half of the mountains, giving an eery perspective of the massive peaks protruding through like islands floating on a sea of white.
Although the weather forecast was somewhat daunting, those of us who did not cancel our hike were rewarded the next day. Although foggy and very windy at times, the views from the ridge line were quite spectacular and once again different from the other alpine walks. While the other peaks were made of black granite with snow capped peaks, these had olive and beige hues that blended with the tussock grasses and mountain flowers to create a completely different mountain experience.
After several hours of walking the ridge lines, you descend rapidly and steeply in to the valley and the forest below. I had been warned by my English friend Tony from the Milford hike that this section was known as the Kepler, crippler. The way my knees felt after about an hour were ample clarification of this deserved name. Once I arrived at the Iris Burn hut, I met an Englishman from Lancashire who had had a previous knee replacement. He was in a lot of pain.
The second to last day the rain was much more intense. Although I walked much of the hike in the forest, it was pouring down, and pack cover or not, my entire pack was still soaking wet.
This brings me to my forest adventure with my Dutch friend Frederik. Once I made it to the Moturau hut, I was greeted by Frederik who had stripped down to his speedo. "You swim in lake, yes?" I declined and made the universal sign for shivering. I watched as he ran down to the lake and jumped in. After about an hour, Frederik had dried off and noticed me playing with my camera. "Come in to the forest....we take photos together." Said Frederik. It was another one of those silent moments when I felt that all eyes were upon me. I wasn't sure what he meant by take photos together, but I put aside my distinctly heterosexual thought processes and embraced this new friendship with confidence and vigor. Soon I was following my new friend through the woods in search of fauna, birds and beautiful sunsets. He turned out to be a very cool young fellow,and talked enthusiastically about his girlfriend and his life in the Netherlands, but when we finally returned to the hut about an hour later, I had this mental image that we should be skipping hand in hand up to the porch.
Due to weather and transportation issues I returned to Te Anau the next day. It was then that I learned of the earthquake that had occurred earlier. I couldn't help think of the young doctor from Christchurch that had given me a ride to Westport from the Heaphy track and of my day spent in that beautiful city several weeks prior to the event. A beautiful city already trying to rebuild, struck once again.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Nervous Anticipation
I can look out the window of the hostel and look across lake Te Anau at the distant mountains and the Kepler track. At this moment the peaks are completely covered by grey clouds and I am fully aware that the weather up there is not like it is down here.
Tomorrow I head out for four days across the sixty kilometer track that will transverse these ridge lines in what are supposed to be some fairly bad weather systems moving in to the mountains. I was somewhat comforted in the fact that I had a possible partner to hike with, but she just canceled out due to the forecast. I would love to do the same but I can't. I have come to far and have committed to do this to raise money and complete my goal. Besides anyone who knows me understands that my OCD would never let me pass this one up.
I also realize that quitting can never be a viable option. My little girl gets up everyday and checks her blood sugar. She then measures the correct amount of insulin and injects her self to keep her self alive. She has done this since she was a little girl and never complains or cries about it. She bravely does what she has to do and lives her life fully and passionately. It is for her awesome spirit and the possibility of a cure that I will keep going to the end and hopefully get back to Te Anau on the 22nd before moving onto Stewart Island.
If you have not donated to our cause (The Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation), please go to my blog and scroll down to the bottom left. There is a link to JDRF with a picture of Halley. If you click you will see a donate button. WE DESPERATELY NEED YOUR HELP...PLEASE HELP US FIND A CURE.
Tomorrow I head out for four days across the sixty kilometer track that will transverse these ridge lines in what are supposed to be some fairly bad weather systems moving in to the mountains. I was somewhat comforted in the fact that I had a possible partner to hike with, but she just canceled out due to the forecast. I would love to do the same but I can't. I have come to far and have committed to do this to raise money and complete my goal. Besides anyone who knows me understands that my OCD would never let me pass this one up.
I also realize that quitting can never be a viable option. My little girl gets up everyday and checks her blood sugar. She then measures the correct amount of insulin and injects her self to keep her self alive. She has done this since she was a little girl and never complains or cries about it. She bravely does what she has to do and lives her life fully and passionately. It is for her awesome spirit and the possibility of a cure that I will keep going to the end and hopefully get back to Te Anau on the 22nd before moving onto Stewart Island.
If you have not donated to our cause (The Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation), please go to my blog and scroll down to the bottom left. There is a link to JDRF with a picture of Halley. If you click you will see a donate button. WE DESPERATELY NEED YOUR HELP...PLEASE HELP US FIND A CURE.
Sleepless in Te Anau
On the advice of a chap that I met on the Milford and Routeburn track I decided to change my accommodations at Te Anau to a cheaper hostel that was actually closer to town. As I paid cash for the other room, I gave a lame excuse and they were fine with giving me a refund. Thanks to this move, I am now sitting in the lounge area wide awake due to the smell of vomit that currently permeates my former room. I was unable to get in to the one he suggested and ended up in a shared room at a backpacker place near the lake. There were only three of us in the room and I was actually drifting off when the incident occurred. I believe alcohol may have had something to do with the inability to contain his stomachs former contents. Waiting to find out about another room.
Over the last few months sleep has been a rare luxury that usually occurs when I am in a tent or lucky enough to get a single room in some seedy motel. As most trampers will attest, if the huts are inhabited, their will be many different nocturnal sounds that will make sleep an impossibility. This particular situation however, is a first. "Ah to be young and stupid".
Over the last few months sleep has been a rare luxury that usually occurs when I am in a tent or lucky enough to get a single room in some seedy motel. As most trampers will attest, if the huts are inhabited, their will be many different nocturnal sounds that will make sleep an impossibility. This particular situation however, is a first. "Ah to be young and stupid".
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tramping the Routeurn
I just finished walking in possibly one of the most stunning places on the planet. The Routeburn track is a true mountain tramp that travels over thirty two kilometers through both the Mount Aspiring and Fiordland national parks. The Track traverses wild and scenic mountain country between the Hollyford and Dart Valleys at the base of New Zealand's Southern Alps.
I have been fortunate over these last several months as I have had mostly great weather on many of the hikes. For these three days The weather was absolutely incredible. Bright blue skies, beautiful cool evenings and mornings and stunning light as you will see in what are probably the best photographs that I have taken so far.
There is a considerable amount of climbing in a consistently upward trajectory, but one would expect this when you are hiking in an alpine region. The first day involves a walk through the beech forests until you begin a gradual and at times, steep ascent up to the falls hut. The views along the way are breath taking and at one point you come to an area where there was a Massive land slide in 1994.
The second day was the kind of hike that you dream about. Much like some of my days of isolation on the Togariro Northern Crossing or out on the Heaphy track, I Had that same feeling of elation and euphoria. I was feeling physically strong and getting closer to the completion of an often daunting goal. To complete all nine of New Zealand's Great Walks. With the completion of the Routeburn I only had The Keppler and Raikura tracks and the Whanganui River journey left and I will have accomplished what I at times, thought was going to be impossible.
The second day encompasses the walk up to the Harris Saddle. After leaving the falls hut, you begin a steep climb up towards the Harris Saddle. Once the hut is out of sight you come in to an area that is a pristine mountain path surrounded by mountains on either side. The sun was still low in the sky and you were now walking level with some of the clouds that still hung un-moving, below the mountain peaks. Some of the mountains appeared grayish brown in color while others were the color of black granite. Looking back towards the valley, the sun was now brighter and the distant mountains were just grey Silhouettes. After several hours you reach a shelter at the base of Conical hill. Conical hill climbs an additional one thousand five hundred and fifteen meters up and many people pass it by and go on to the next hut at Lake Mackenzie. It was an extremely steep climb and quite challenging with a camera bag strapped over the shoulder but it was completely worth the effort. From the summit, you have endless views of the Darren Mountain range and can see as far as the Tasman Sea. It was a crystal clear blue sky and the white snow capped peaks were stark and bright against the black granite rock. AWESOME.
Along the way, I met some more really great people. The Australian fella that I had met on the Milford track that I talk about in my ode to the American tourist, and a very nice and friendly Australian couple who were semi-retired in their early sixties and vey fit and enjoying life. The husband is my hero as any guy that plunges into a freezing mountain lake in a speedo is OK in my book.
ROUTEBURN PHOTOS AT BOTTOM OF PAGE
I have been fortunate over these last several months as I have had mostly great weather on many of the hikes. For these three days The weather was absolutely incredible. Bright blue skies, beautiful cool evenings and mornings and stunning light as you will see in what are probably the best photographs that I have taken so far.
There is a considerable amount of climbing in a consistently upward trajectory, but one would expect this when you are hiking in an alpine region. The first day involves a walk through the beech forests until you begin a gradual and at times, steep ascent up to the falls hut. The views along the way are breath taking and at one point you come to an area where there was a Massive land slide in 1994.
The second day was the kind of hike that you dream about. Much like some of my days of isolation on the Togariro Northern Crossing or out on the Heaphy track, I Had that same feeling of elation and euphoria. I was feeling physically strong and getting closer to the completion of an often daunting goal. To complete all nine of New Zealand's Great Walks. With the completion of the Routeburn I only had The Keppler and Raikura tracks and the Whanganui River journey left and I will have accomplished what I at times, thought was going to be impossible.
The second day encompasses the walk up to the Harris Saddle. After leaving the falls hut, you begin a steep climb up towards the Harris Saddle. Once the hut is out of sight you come in to an area that is a pristine mountain path surrounded by mountains on either side. The sun was still low in the sky and you were now walking level with some of the clouds that still hung un-moving, below the mountain peaks. Some of the mountains appeared grayish brown in color while others were the color of black granite. Looking back towards the valley, the sun was now brighter and the distant mountains were just grey Silhouettes. After several hours you reach a shelter at the base of Conical hill. Conical hill climbs an additional one thousand five hundred and fifteen meters up and many people pass it by and go on to the next hut at Lake Mackenzie. It was an extremely steep climb and quite challenging with a camera bag strapped over the shoulder but it was completely worth the effort. From the summit, you have endless views of the Darren Mountain range and can see as far as the Tasman Sea. It was a crystal clear blue sky and the white snow capped peaks were stark and bright against the black granite rock. AWESOME.
Along the way, I met some more really great people. The Australian fella that I had met on the Milford track that I talk about in my ode to the American tourist, and a very nice and friendly Australian couple who were semi-retired in their early sixties and vey fit and enjoying life. The husband is my hero as any guy that plunges into a freezing mountain lake in a speedo is OK in my book.
ROUTEBURN PHOTOS AT BOTTOM OF PAGE
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Ode to the American Tourist (not to be confused with tramper)
OK, let me just get this over with and say I love my country and many of the wonderful people who live there. Having gotten that out of the way, why is it that so many wealthy Americans have never learned to keep a low profile when traveling abroad? On my recent foray in to the wilderness I had the misfortune of running in to a group of eight mid-fifty to early sixties friends who decided that a back country tramp through the world famous Milford track would be a fun little adventure.
Unlike most of the tracks, Milford is the most known and attracts the most people. Although it is so vast, you don't see anyone when you are out walking, you do eventually meet up again at the end of the nights at the DOC huts.
My introduction to this group of very loud vacationers first occurred when I was walking out of the bunk room and a young Australian that I had chatted with the day before said "bloody hell, you don't want to go in there." As I approached the communal area I could hear them from over thirty yards away. A series of shrill shreaks, followed by uproarious laughter. "No not here," I thought to myself. As I entered the room there were eight very loud people playing a card game dressed in the latest North Face tramping fashions adorned with much jewelry and wearing the latest designer hiking boots. I looked across the room and noted a separate table with various other trampers quietly eating their ramen noodles with varied looks of disdain on their faces. It was at this point that I wondered if I could do a convincing Canadian accent.
The group was comprised of four couples, with one couple ranging no more than four feet seven to possibly just under five feet. Of course, being in New Zealand, I couldn't help thinking of the hobbit analogy.
If their is one cardinal rule that I have learned on this journey it is this. Don't embark on a major hike over mountain terrain unless you are physically prepared to deal with the pain and discomfort that accompanies such a journey. Over the next several days I would have to listen to loud exclamations of how the DOC literature should do a better job of explaining how hard this is. Also, that no one mentioned how bad the sand flies were.
The worst moments came during the night. If it wasn't for all of the other tough, fearless adventurers sharing the bunk room with me, I probably would have cried myself to sleep. The female member of the small in stature couple, tended to snore as if she was six feet tall. That combined with a variety of other nocturnal and undesirable sounds emanating from her body made the act of sleeping quite impossible. One of the more traumatic moments came the next morning when I opened my eyes to find her in nothing but a bra and underwear bending over at the foot of my bunk, foraging through her pack. I looked away fast, but the image was already burned into my psyche. As I was gearing up and getting ready to head out the door, one of the other ladies with this group approached me and said, in a loud voice. "You are faster than us, so when you get to the other hut can you save eight of the bottom bunks for us?" I looked around the room and could feel the international glare from among the other trampers waiting to see how this American would respond. "No I can't do that...that wouldn't be right." I said, as I walked out the door. you see that very question emphasizes the difference between the American traveler and the American tourist. Could you imagine me getting to the next bunk house and then, as various representatives of other nations arrive, me standing there saying "sorry guys, these are reserved for the Americans." The fact that the question was even asked says a lot.
The following evening it was beginning to get darker and everyone had made it to the hut except for two of the Americans. One of their group had struggled in and exclaimed that the two short in stature hikers, were having a difficult time and that the husbands knee was hurting him and that his wife was having trouble carrying her bag. I, the Australian fella and the DOC warden headed up the trail to find them. After about a twenty minute hike I could hear heavy panting and could see the tops of two heads approaching through the moss covered forest. "I heard they were currently filming the new Hobbit film," I thought, once again, to myself.
Once we had helped them in with their packs and retired to the hut, I could hear a rather heated discussion coming from the common area. One of the American couples were having an emotional discourse about the fact that this was not as relaxing as they thought it would be. I curled up into a fetal position in my sleeping bad and quietly began to practice my newly acquired Lithuanian accent.
Unlike most of the tracks, Milford is the most known and attracts the most people. Although it is so vast, you don't see anyone when you are out walking, you do eventually meet up again at the end of the nights at the DOC huts.
My introduction to this group of very loud vacationers first occurred when I was walking out of the bunk room and a young Australian that I had chatted with the day before said "bloody hell, you don't want to go in there." As I approached the communal area I could hear them from over thirty yards away. A series of shrill shreaks, followed by uproarious laughter. "No not here," I thought to myself. As I entered the room there were eight very loud people playing a card game dressed in the latest North Face tramping fashions adorned with much jewelry and wearing the latest designer hiking boots. I looked across the room and noted a separate table with various other trampers quietly eating their ramen noodles with varied looks of disdain on their faces. It was at this point that I wondered if I could do a convincing Canadian accent.
The group was comprised of four couples, with one couple ranging no more than four feet seven to possibly just under five feet. Of course, being in New Zealand, I couldn't help thinking of the hobbit analogy.
If their is one cardinal rule that I have learned on this journey it is this. Don't embark on a major hike over mountain terrain unless you are physically prepared to deal with the pain and discomfort that accompanies such a journey. Over the next several days I would have to listen to loud exclamations of how the DOC literature should do a better job of explaining how hard this is. Also, that no one mentioned how bad the sand flies were.
The worst moments came during the night. If it wasn't for all of the other tough, fearless adventurers sharing the bunk room with me, I probably would have cried myself to sleep. The female member of the small in stature couple, tended to snore as if she was six feet tall. That combined with a variety of other nocturnal and undesirable sounds emanating from her body made the act of sleeping quite impossible. One of the more traumatic moments came the next morning when I opened my eyes to find her in nothing but a bra and underwear bending over at the foot of my bunk, foraging through her pack. I looked away fast, but the image was already burned into my psyche. As I was gearing up and getting ready to head out the door, one of the other ladies with this group approached me and said, in a loud voice. "You are faster than us, so when you get to the other hut can you save eight of the bottom bunks for us?" I looked around the room and could feel the international glare from among the other trampers waiting to see how this American would respond. "No I can't do that...that wouldn't be right." I said, as I walked out the door. you see that very question emphasizes the difference between the American traveler and the American tourist. Could you imagine me getting to the next bunk house and then, as various representatives of other nations arrive, me standing there saying "sorry guys, these are reserved for the Americans." The fact that the question was even asked says a lot.
The following evening it was beginning to get darker and everyone had made it to the hut except for two of the Americans. One of their group had struggled in and exclaimed that the two short in stature hikers, were having a difficult time and that the husbands knee was hurting him and that his wife was having trouble carrying her bag. I, the Australian fella and the DOC warden headed up the trail to find them. After about a twenty minute hike I could hear heavy panting and could see the tops of two heads approaching through the moss covered forest. "I heard they were currently filming the new Hobbit film," I thought, once again, to myself.
Once we had helped them in with their packs and retired to the hut, I could hear a rather heated discussion coming from the common area. One of the American couples were having an emotional discourse about the fact that this was not as relaxing as they thought it would be. I curled up into a fetal position in my sleeping bad and quietly began to practice my newly acquired Lithuanian accent.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Realizing A Dream
Whenever I dreamt of walking in New Zealand it was always on the Milford Track. I would always imagine what it was like to be completely on my own, walking
through Mackinnon pass on a clear and beautiful summer day. Well now I know, except for the clear and beautiful summer day part.
Although there were Many trampers at the hut that first night, I set off at around 7:30am, while most were still making their oatmeal or catching some much needed rest from the previous days hike.
The hike is a four day walk from Glade Wharf on Lake Te Anau to Milford Sound on the South west coast of the South island. Milford sound was formed by an ancient glacier that created a deep, narrow valley that later filled when the sea level rose. The track follows the upstream flow of the Clinton river, and then continues up and over the almost 4000 foot Mackinnon pass, followed by a perilous and slippery descent and then finally passing through the valley of the Arthur river.
The walk involves staying at three Department of Conservation huts all with spectacular placement that allow for incredible vistas of the surrounding mountains. Some soaring to almost seven thousand feet, covered with fresh snow melting into hundreds of waterfalls that cascade continually down the face of the granite mountains. The walk takes almost four days to complete and covers fifty three and a half kilometers, with one full day being a climb up to the top of the McKinnon pass and then all the way down till you reach the Dumpling hut.
The second day involves a walk through ancient beech forests with the constant sounds of varied bird life ringing in your ears. As you walk along the forest path, you are often given brief vistas of the tall mountains that contantly tower over you. At times the tree lines thin as they follow the crystal clear river below and one can step out in to a clearing to see massive granite peaks casting their reflections in the water.
The second day involved the realization of my dream. After leaving the hut early before anyone else, I was once again alone in the forest, and I was heading for the beginning of the famed Mackinnon pass. I cannot completely explain this to anyone who has not walked alone in such a wild and stunning place. For me it was a feeling of complete euphoria. A religious experience in the truest sense. I walked out of the forest and into the start of the pass. If their are such things as earthly cathedrals then I was in the most holy place that nature could create. I was encompassed on either side by massive granite snow capped peaks. the warmth of the sun was melting the snow and you could hear the constant distant roar of a hundred towering waterfalls cascading down the face of these giant black granite monoliths. The path meandered through a valley of tussock grasses and smaller forested areas with a multitude of rivers fueled by the waterfalls pouring down from the mountain peaks above.
I have stood before, in some awesome man made structures that pay homage to a higher power. Buildings such as the Vatican, Notre Dame and Canturbury Cathedral all have a certain iconic force, no matter what your religious or spiritual beliefs, but for me on this day, I was alone in the most pristine and awe inspiring cathedral of them all. I was surrounded by nature in it's most primal and beautiful state, untouched by man, powerful and overwhelming and capable of turning a fifty one year old man into a child filled with wonder and complete joy. whether I was trying to call over a rare blue duck, eating a protein bar next to a hidden lake or taking ridiculous pictures of myself with the self-timer button on the camera, I was in a state of complete and utter happiness.
After arriving at the Mintaro hut, I met up again with The two young men from the Czech Republic, the Australian paramedic, a young married couple from China and Tony the sixty year old diabetic from Sheffield England, who struggled along much of the track with severe cramps in his legs. Someone I would later sit with at the top of McKinnon pass as we both sought shelter from the storm at the top of the mountain.
The next day, was the toughest and most daunting part of this particular tramp. We already new what to expect as the DOC hut warden had posted the weather on the board in the hut. We were told that the climb was going to be a difficult one due to rain, fog and cold temperatures at the top. Most (sensible) people decided to wait out the storm, as it was supposed to improve later that day. Yours truly, was not so bright. Tony set off first, about a half hour before me. I soon found him leaning against the rock face about five hundred feet up. His diabetes was affecting his leg muscles and once again he was struggling with cramping. I asked him if he wanted me to stay and climb with him, but he insisted he would be fine. After several hours of going straight up the mountain, my supposed wet weather gear was soaked through. My gloves were wet, my hands were freezing and I was walking along these switchback sections at the top of the pass with misty, cloudy views of the mountains to either side and the valley now thousands of feet below. When I finally reached the peak it was hard to see anything and it was extremely cold. At first I was a little concerned as I was shivering fairly constantly and was having trouble finding the continuation of the path. I finally located a sign that said "hut 20 minutes.". After a half hour or more I had that similar feeling of dread I have had before on some of the walks. Did I go the wrong way...should I try to go back? At this point I was freezing, soaking and needing shelter fast. There was no greater feeling in the world than finally seeing the shelter in the distance. I went inside, stripped off my wet things, changed in to long underwear and put on a new fleece top. There was no heat but momentary shelter from the rain and freezing wind was a complete luxury. After sitting there alone and wondering about Tony, in he walked. "Bloody hell that was murder," exclaimed Tony. I could only agree.
After waiting for about a half an hour, it seemed that the weather was not going to get any better. On with the wet rain gear and down the other side of the mountain I went. the descent was in some ways more challenging. Murder on the knees and very slippery. There were often awe inspiring views as the clouds and mist would some times part and you would see the valley floor below.
Finally arriving at Dumpling hut was a joyous feeling. I fired up the gas cooker and Tony and I both enjoyed a hot coffee. Hours later various other trampers began to straggle in to camp. Most added the comment that they had waited for the weather to clear, and that it had been quite nice comming over the ridge. Tony and I just glared at them and said nothing. after all where was the adventure in that.
The next day was beautiful once again. Eleven and a half miles to the boat at sand fly pointe, a short cruise through the spectacular Milford sound and then back to Te Anua for a two day recovery. Then off to do it all over again.
PHOTOS AT BOTTOM OF BLOG
through Mackinnon pass on a clear and beautiful summer day. Well now I know, except for the clear and beautiful summer day part.
Although there were Many trampers at the hut that first night, I set off at around 7:30am, while most were still making their oatmeal or catching some much needed rest from the previous days hike.
The hike is a four day walk from Glade Wharf on Lake Te Anau to Milford Sound on the South west coast of the South island. Milford sound was formed by an ancient glacier that created a deep, narrow valley that later filled when the sea level rose. The track follows the upstream flow of the Clinton river, and then continues up and over the almost 4000 foot Mackinnon pass, followed by a perilous and slippery descent and then finally passing through the valley of the Arthur river.
The walk involves staying at three Department of Conservation huts all with spectacular placement that allow for incredible vistas of the surrounding mountains. Some soaring to almost seven thousand feet, covered with fresh snow melting into hundreds of waterfalls that cascade continually down the face of the granite mountains. The walk takes almost four days to complete and covers fifty three and a half kilometers, with one full day being a climb up to the top of the McKinnon pass and then all the way down till you reach the Dumpling hut.
The second day involves a walk through ancient beech forests with the constant sounds of varied bird life ringing in your ears. As you walk along the forest path, you are often given brief vistas of the tall mountains that contantly tower over you. At times the tree lines thin as they follow the crystal clear river below and one can step out in to a clearing to see massive granite peaks casting their reflections in the water.
The second day involved the realization of my dream. After leaving the hut early before anyone else, I was once again alone in the forest, and I was heading for the beginning of the famed Mackinnon pass. I cannot completely explain this to anyone who has not walked alone in such a wild and stunning place. For me it was a feeling of complete euphoria. A religious experience in the truest sense. I walked out of the forest and into the start of the pass. If their are such things as earthly cathedrals then I was in the most holy place that nature could create. I was encompassed on either side by massive granite snow capped peaks. the warmth of the sun was melting the snow and you could hear the constant distant roar of a hundred towering waterfalls cascading down the face of these giant black granite monoliths. The path meandered through a valley of tussock grasses and smaller forested areas with a multitude of rivers fueled by the waterfalls pouring down from the mountain peaks above.
I have stood before, in some awesome man made structures that pay homage to a higher power. Buildings such as the Vatican, Notre Dame and Canturbury Cathedral all have a certain iconic force, no matter what your religious or spiritual beliefs, but for me on this day, I was alone in the most pristine and awe inspiring cathedral of them all. I was surrounded by nature in it's most primal and beautiful state, untouched by man, powerful and overwhelming and capable of turning a fifty one year old man into a child filled with wonder and complete joy. whether I was trying to call over a rare blue duck, eating a protein bar next to a hidden lake or taking ridiculous pictures of myself with the self-timer button on the camera, I was in a state of complete and utter happiness.
After arriving at the Mintaro hut, I met up again with The two young men from the Czech Republic, the Australian paramedic, a young married couple from China and Tony the sixty year old diabetic from Sheffield England, who struggled along much of the track with severe cramps in his legs. Someone I would later sit with at the top of McKinnon pass as we both sought shelter from the storm at the top of the mountain.
The next day, was the toughest and most daunting part of this particular tramp. We already new what to expect as the DOC hut warden had posted the weather on the board in the hut. We were told that the climb was going to be a difficult one due to rain, fog and cold temperatures at the top. Most (sensible) people decided to wait out the storm, as it was supposed to improve later that day. Yours truly, was not so bright. Tony set off first, about a half hour before me. I soon found him leaning against the rock face about five hundred feet up. His diabetes was affecting his leg muscles and once again he was struggling with cramping. I asked him if he wanted me to stay and climb with him, but he insisted he would be fine. After several hours of going straight up the mountain, my supposed wet weather gear was soaked through. My gloves were wet, my hands were freezing and I was walking along these switchback sections at the top of the pass with misty, cloudy views of the mountains to either side and the valley now thousands of feet below. When I finally reached the peak it was hard to see anything and it was extremely cold. At first I was a little concerned as I was shivering fairly constantly and was having trouble finding the continuation of the path. I finally located a sign that said "hut 20 minutes.". After a half hour or more I had that similar feeling of dread I have had before on some of the walks. Did I go the wrong way...should I try to go back? At this point I was freezing, soaking and needing shelter fast. There was no greater feeling in the world than finally seeing the shelter in the distance. I went inside, stripped off my wet things, changed in to long underwear and put on a new fleece top. There was no heat but momentary shelter from the rain and freezing wind was a complete luxury. After sitting there alone and wondering about Tony, in he walked. "Bloody hell that was murder," exclaimed Tony. I could only agree.
After waiting for about a half an hour, it seemed that the weather was not going to get any better. On with the wet rain gear and down the other side of the mountain I went. the descent was in some ways more challenging. Murder on the knees and very slippery. There were often awe inspiring views as the clouds and mist would some times part and you would see the valley floor below.
Finally arriving at Dumpling hut was a joyous feeling. I fired up the gas cooker and Tony and I both enjoyed a hot coffee. Hours later various other trampers began to straggle in to camp. Most added the comment that they had waited for the weather to clear, and that it had been quite nice comming over the ridge. Tony and I just glared at them and said nothing. after all where was the adventure in that.
The next day was beautiful once again. Eleven and a half miles to the boat at sand fly pointe, a short cruise through the spectacular Milford sound and then back to Te Anua for a two day recovery. Then off to do it all over again.
PHOTOS AT BOTTOM OF BLOG
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Made it to Te Anau
Bus transportation in New Zealand is interesting. Whether you want to or not you will be stopping at least once for a snack and a visit to a road side cafe. In order for the drivers to get a break they pull in for regular scheduled stops in little towns with names like Bull, Harihari, Waimangaroa and yes, even Charleston. This is a good thing, as it simply means that my driver, who is operating a very large bus, is relaxed and refreshed as he drives along a winding dirt road spiraling eternally around a very steep mountain.
After departing Dunedin at 1:55pm, I arrived in Te Anau at around 6:30pm. I understand that this may be becoming somewhat cliche at this point but once you get past Invercargill, the surrounding country side is stunning. Before that it is just plain beautiful. Rolling green mountains on either side, frame a variety of farm lands inhabited by sheep, cows and oddly enough deer. (That's right folks deer farms....a very strange sight to behold). The mountains are gentle and sloping at first, as if formed out of liquid magma. they take on these undulating rounded forms that seem to intentionally frame the lower grasslands and funnel the eye forward towards the approaching Alpine landscape.
The closer you get to Te Anau, the larger the looming mountains begin to appear. On this day it is grey and cloudy with moments of heavy rain. The massive Alpine mountains seem all the more imposing as the peaks are once again, shrouded in clouds and mist. As if this wasn't enough to stir the emotions, thunder is roaring in the distance. Once again I disembark the bus, look up at the peaks and think to myself. Here we go again.
This will be my base for the next two and a half weeks as I attempt to complete three of the nine great walks. Arguably the most famous walk "The Milford Track," followed by the "Routeburn," and finally the "Keppler track." I have no illusions about how challenging this is going to be as some bad weather is inevitable and these are all difficult walks indeed.
If I can successfully get through these, I will be a very happy fellow as I will have completed seven of the nine walks. After that I plan to find my way to Stewart Island and then all the way back up to the North Island and Ohakune so I can Kayak the Whanganui.
After departing Dunedin at 1:55pm, I arrived in Te Anau at around 6:30pm. I understand that this may be becoming somewhat cliche at this point but once you get past Invercargill, the surrounding country side is stunning. Before that it is just plain beautiful. Rolling green mountains on either side, frame a variety of farm lands inhabited by sheep, cows and oddly enough deer. (That's right folks deer farms....a very strange sight to behold). The mountains are gentle and sloping at first, as if formed out of liquid magma. they take on these undulating rounded forms that seem to intentionally frame the lower grasslands and funnel the eye forward towards the approaching Alpine landscape.
The closer you get to Te Anau, the larger the looming mountains begin to appear. On this day it is grey and cloudy with moments of heavy rain. The massive Alpine mountains seem all the more imposing as the peaks are once again, shrouded in clouds and mist. As if this wasn't enough to stir the emotions, thunder is roaring in the distance. Once again I disembark the bus, look up at the peaks and think to myself. Here we go again.
This will be my base for the next two and a half weeks as I attempt to complete three of the nine great walks. Arguably the most famous walk "The Milford Track," followed by the "Routeburn," and finally the "Keppler track." I have no illusions about how challenging this is going to be as some bad weather is inevitable and these are all difficult walks indeed.
If I can successfully get through these, I will be a very happy fellow as I will have completed seven of the nine walks. After that I plan to find my way to Stewart Island and then all the way back up to the North Island and Ohakune so I can Kayak the Whanganui.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Nelson to Christchurch to Dunedin
This constant travel thing can be quite frustrating. Up early in Nelson and then five plus hours on a bus to Christchurch. Spent over an hour walking around the city looking for a cheap place. Finally....yet another hostel. Sharing toilets, showers and another dirty room. Up early again and another five hours further South down the East coast to the Otago peninsula. Once again saw many seals sunning themselves on the rocks as we drove along the coastline. Wish I had more time to stay in the area as there are many seal, sea-lion and penguin colonies. Who knows maybe on the way back from Stewart Island. This walking mission can be frustrating as I am always on the move. Another cheap room and five dollars for an hour of Internet.
I do have to say the drive in to Dunedin was once again, beautiful. It reminded me of the Scottish Highlands around Ben Nevis. Green rolling mountains and then a drive down into the Valley by the sea. Another night...hanging out with myself, watching the world go by. Oh well at least I get to get up early and head off on a bus in the morning.
I do have to say the drive in to Dunedin was once again, beautiful. It reminded me of the Scottish Highlands around Ben Nevis. Green rolling mountains and then a drive down into the Valley by the sea. Another night...hanging out with myself, watching the world go by. Oh well at least I get to get up early and head off on a bus in the morning.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Call of the Weka and other Adventures on the Heaphy Track
Before I start. I would like to give a shout out to two beautiful, and intelligent young German doctors who laughed a lot along the way, to a young male English doctor who practices medicine in Wellington and who fully understands how fortunate he is to live in a place such as this, a young adventurous fellow from Singapore who I met several weeks ago, who hikes in those rubber toe shoes that look like gloves for feet and who laughs at everything, an Irish woman who has spent years comming to this wonderful place and who occasionally talks to birds, a very cool young German student traveling alone and Rambo, the strange but likeable French speaking fellow from Switzerland who showed up at night during a storm, dressed in army wear, cleaning his massive hunting knife by the light of his head lamp.
The Heaphy Track, located in Kahurangi National Park, sits at the North-West corner of the South Island. The entire track covers almost 80 kilometers of varied landscape from forest walks filled with Nikau palm trees, to vast tussock downs filled with copper colored grasses, laced with massive boulders that seem to have been artfully placed along the endless landscape. At times you follow the track through expansive valleys, towards distant fog covered mountains, through green forest trails with enormous trees that dwarf anything that I have ever seen. Towards the end of the track, you continue along moss covered pathways that eventually bring you down to the copper waters of the Heaphy river and out to the pounding sea with waves crashing against a coastline dotted with monolithic stone formations and the bleached skeletal remains of thousands of trees that have washed up on the beach. During this long and beautiful walk, you transverse many rivers and streams, that were swollen, and at times raging, due to the day and a half of rain that happened over the four days spent on this spectacular journey.
Having given the reader a brief understanding of the topography and beauty of the Heaphy track I will now get down to why this may have been one of my favorite walks so far. Their were two main factors that made this track one of the most interesting walks to date. The weather and the other crazy adventurers I met along the way.
As with all of the great walks, you always check the weather reports before you venture way out in to wilderness. I, along with the other trampers did just that. We all heard the same thing, sunny with possibly one day of some light rain. Seemed safe enough we all thought. When I arrived at the Perry Saddle hut 17.5 Km from the start of the track a hut warden informed us that there had been a slight change in the forecast. He then went on to inform us that an unexpected storm system was heading over Kahurangi park and that they were expecting gale force winds and rain for the next day and a half. At that point the few of us that had ventured in to the park were already to far in and already committed to completing this journey. I had just walked 17.5 Km's up to the Perry Saddle hut and it seemed possible that I could get another 7 Km's done before the storm got really bad. So off I went, with the two German doctors close behind and the Irish woman somewhere behind them, as I headed through the open landscape to the Gouland downs hut.
By the time we all got there the wind was becomming quite fierce and the rain even harder. As I settled in, set up my sleeping bag and prepared to weather the storm, I heard a shrill, shreaking sound as if a bird had been run over by a mack truck. I looked at one of the German girls and finally realized that the Irish lady was outside of the hut and apparently engaged in some bird calling ritual as she tried to summon a Weka (A native bird that looks like a cross between a black bird and a hen). Once inside I enjoyed the familiar taste of noodles, tomato paste and chemically treated water as our Irish companion sang along to the song stylings of Jon Bon Jovi. Could the night become any more interesting? Why yes it could. As darkness enveloped the cabin and the weather intensified, the door opened and a very large French speaking man entered the room dressed in some type of camouflage outfit. I watched silently from my wooden bunk as he sat in the light of his head lamp cleaning a large hunting knife, before he clambered towards me took off his boots and climbed in to the bunk above me. Pleasant dreams Greg....pleasant dreams. He would later be called "Rambo," by the various park wardens as he was apparently moving through the park in rapid speed without paying any of the DOC hut fees.
The next morning it was still raining, and I set off for the James Mackay hut approximately 18 Km's away. The guide book for the park states "when the mist lowers, the featureless downs can be confusing and it is easy to become disoriented." I kept this in mind the whole way, as I navigated my way over some streams that were now roaring rivers due to the amount of rain we had received. After finally reaching the hut many hours later, a young doctor from London entered the hut. He had walked over 40 Km's in one day through this storm system and was obviously quite exhausted and sore from his journey. Also at this hut, the young fellow from Singapore, the young German student, the English doctor and myself. The two German doctors were also here but decided to camp outside as the weather was finally starting to ease. This turned out to be a great group of people and I would hike anywhere with any one of them. Anyone who hikes in toe shoes or who brings along a bag of wine and a fishing pole is cool in my book.
The rest of the journey was varied, beautiful and rugged, as we finally crossed the Heaphy river and made it once again to the coast. It is an amazing thing to be walking in a thick moss covered jungle and to hear the pounding surf through the trees. The coast line was strewn with massive rock formations, boulders and sun bleached drift wood and the ever present and relentless sand flies.
On one of the last moments of the track, I sat with my friend from Singapore, another avid photographer who would laugh at me as he turned a corner to find me covered in sand flies taking another photo. We both noted how the photographs can never fully convey the beauty of what your eyes were really seeing. It was sometimes frustrating to think that there is no photographic image that could truly define what the eye really sees and how the other senses soak in the beauty of such a primal and surreal landscape.
Once we made it to the end of the track we took a shuttle to Karamea and the young doctor from Wellington gave the two German girls and myself a ride to Westport. Last I heard the Irish lady had moved on and had spent the night in one of the open shelters. I hope the flies sleep at night. Rambo was never seen again.
The Heaphy Track, located in Kahurangi National Park, sits at the North-West corner of the South Island. The entire track covers almost 80 kilometers of varied landscape from forest walks filled with Nikau palm trees, to vast tussock downs filled with copper colored grasses, laced with massive boulders that seem to have been artfully placed along the endless landscape. At times you follow the track through expansive valleys, towards distant fog covered mountains, through green forest trails with enormous trees that dwarf anything that I have ever seen. Towards the end of the track, you continue along moss covered pathways that eventually bring you down to the copper waters of the Heaphy river and out to the pounding sea with waves crashing against a coastline dotted with monolithic stone formations and the bleached skeletal remains of thousands of trees that have washed up on the beach. During this long and beautiful walk, you transverse many rivers and streams, that were swollen, and at times raging, due to the day and a half of rain that happened over the four days spent on this spectacular journey.
Having given the reader a brief understanding of the topography and beauty of the Heaphy track I will now get down to why this may have been one of my favorite walks so far. Their were two main factors that made this track one of the most interesting walks to date. The weather and the other crazy adventurers I met along the way.
As with all of the great walks, you always check the weather reports before you venture way out in to wilderness. I, along with the other trampers did just that. We all heard the same thing, sunny with possibly one day of some light rain. Seemed safe enough we all thought. When I arrived at the Perry Saddle hut 17.5 Km from the start of the track a hut warden informed us that there had been a slight change in the forecast. He then went on to inform us that an unexpected storm system was heading over Kahurangi park and that they were expecting gale force winds and rain for the next day and a half. At that point the few of us that had ventured in to the park were already to far in and already committed to completing this journey. I had just walked 17.5 Km's up to the Perry Saddle hut and it seemed possible that I could get another 7 Km's done before the storm got really bad. So off I went, with the two German doctors close behind and the Irish woman somewhere behind them, as I headed through the open landscape to the Gouland downs hut.
By the time we all got there the wind was becomming quite fierce and the rain even harder. As I settled in, set up my sleeping bag and prepared to weather the storm, I heard a shrill, shreaking sound as if a bird had been run over by a mack truck. I looked at one of the German girls and finally realized that the Irish lady was outside of the hut and apparently engaged in some bird calling ritual as she tried to summon a Weka (A native bird that looks like a cross between a black bird and a hen). Once inside I enjoyed the familiar taste of noodles, tomato paste and chemically treated water as our Irish companion sang along to the song stylings of Jon Bon Jovi. Could the night become any more interesting? Why yes it could. As darkness enveloped the cabin and the weather intensified, the door opened and a very large French speaking man entered the room dressed in some type of camouflage outfit. I watched silently from my wooden bunk as he sat in the light of his head lamp cleaning a large hunting knife, before he clambered towards me took off his boots and climbed in to the bunk above me. Pleasant dreams Greg....pleasant dreams. He would later be called "Rambo," by the various park wardens as he was apparently moving through the park in rapid speed without paying any of the DOC hut fees.
The next morning it was still raining, and I set off for the James Mackay hut approximately 18 Km's away. The guide book for the park states "when the mist lowers, the featureless downs can be confusing and it is easy to become disoriented." I kept this in mind the whole way, as I navigated my way over some streams that were now roaring rivers due to the amount of rain we had received. After finally reaching the hut many hours later, a young doctor from London entered the hut. He had walked over 40 Km's in one day through this storm system and was obviously quite exhausted and sore from his journey. Also at this hut, the young fellow from Singapore, the young German student, the English doctor and myself. The two German doctors were also here but decided to camp outside as the weather was finally starting to ease. This turned out to be a great group of people and I would hike anywhere with any one of them. Anyone who hikes in toe shoes or who brings along a bag of wine and a fishing pole is cool in my book.
The rest of the journey was varied, beautiful and rugged, as we finally crossed the Heaphy river and made it once again to the coast. It is an amazing thing to be walking in a thick moss covered jungle and to hear the pounding surf through the trees. The coast line was strewn with massive rock formations, boulders and sun bleached drift wood and the ever present and relentless sand flies.
On one of the last moments of the track, I sat with my friend from Singapore, another avid photographer who would laugh at me as he turned a corner to find me covered in sand flies taking another photo. We both noted how the photographs can never fully convey the beauty of what your eyes were really seeing. It was sometimes frustrating to think that there is no photographic image that could truly define what the eye really sees and how the other senses soak in the beauty of such a primal and surreal landscape.
Once we made it to the end of the track we took a shuttle to Karamea and the young doctor from Wellington gave the two German girls and myself a ride to Westport. Last I heard the Irish lady had moved on and had spent the night in one of the open shelters. I hope the flies sleep at night. Rambo was never seen again.
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