February 21 - Auckland
It was a very good day today. Two things happened: we were able to retrieve our Australia pictures for $80 and were able to do our laundry. Kim had expressed hope that if we went to a camera shop and told them what I had done, that they might somehow be able to miraculously get back the pictures that I had accidentally trashed. I was resigned to having lost them for good, so when we went into the camera store and the man said that he might be able to do it, the warm, sunny day became a much warmer, much sunnier day. I was so ecstatic when we went back two hours later and he stated that he had had limited success that I hugged him. A second blessing came in the form of clean clothes. We were both down to wearing our last partially clean clothes, so to actually be able to put on something totally clean was a real privilege.
We flew into Christchurch that afternoon. On arriving we lined up at the I - help tourist desk, where we found out that nearly everything had been booked due to the Cher concert being in town and that traveling by the seat of our pants was going to be difficult in this country. The girl behind the counter, a cute 20 something blonde, gave us about an hour of her time in helping us to secure lodging and bus reservations for the next several days. Good spirited and fun, she informed us where to eat and finally was able to find us a $135 bed and breakfast.
When we walked out of the airport complex, we were immediately hit by the cool air of a “Southerly”, which in Kiwi means Antarctic air. I climbed on the bus, and smiling towards the driver, stated that it felt like I was home in Alaska on a typical fall day. We were soon visiting with him about his travels in the States and before we knew it, he had driven off his designated route to take us right to the door of our bed and breakfast. Bus drivers are nice in the states, but not that nice.
As per instructions from the cute girl at the Information center, we went to eat at the Cafe Valentino, which ended up being one of our best meals down under. We stood at the bar for over an hour drinking tasty Kiwi beer and visiting with a retired English couple while we waited for a table at the trendy bistro. He was a labor organizer and told tales of raging fights during negotiations in his time. After a wonderful pasta dinner, that actually had flavor and was well prepared, and a couple of beers, the world was a very good place after all. Once again I was happy to be on vacation.
February 22 - Christchurch
We awoke after a terrible night’s sleep. Even though we were in a very quaint $135 bed and breakfast and it was quiet, we were both so keyed up from our first day in the country, and the coffee that we had stupidly downed on our flight into the south island, that we had hardly slept a wink.
After a very full breakfast, I set out to find the car rental office. I walked through the center of Christchurch, which I found to be as neat as a pin and filled with character. It really is a beautiful little city. Perhaps its greatest attribute is the large green area of over 500 acres in the center of the city, where one can wander for hours near the scenic Avon River in the midst of a world class botanical garden. Kim and I , over the next four weeks, were to center all of our activities out of this wonderful city and it was always a pleasure to return to there . It didn’t matter if you were sitting at Starbucks in Cathedral Square watching one of the many performers, walking through the Rose gardens or meandering about in one the many art galleries, you never really tired of Christchurch.
February 23 - Motueka
We rented an older Nissan station wagon at Bargain Car Rental and started on a seven hour drive to Motueka, which is on the edge of the Able Tasman National Park. Initially it was a glorious drive north through vineyards and rolling green hill country that was carved up by sculpted hedges of thick pine. When we finally broke out along the coast, we found a magnificent ocean with a rocky beach surrounded by steep, green, wooded hills. The water was a turquoise color from the glacial silt of rivers flowing from the Alps. We next drove into a river valley, where we were enthralled by views of the distant snow covered mountains to the west and the breathtaking ocean to the east.
Once we left the ocean we drove through a very arid region of grass covered rolling hills around Blenheim. From there on, the drive became a “white Knuckle” experience of hugging the center line on an exceedingly narrow, twisting journey into Nelson and up and over a mountain pass of the Richmond Range. I was driving the 60-80 KM/hour speed limit on this major highway, the size of a small country road in the states, while enraged Kiwis impatiently sped by us doing slightly less than the speed of light. By the time we pulled into Moteuka I was totally exhausted. It had been a long day of endless hair pin turns, one lane bridges and driving on a narrow, roller coaster track. And to add to this stress, I had to drive on the wrong side. It was almost too much for me.
February 23 - Motueka
We stayed in an older motel ran by an charming couple in their upper 60’s or lower 70’s. John was especially colorful, as he excitedly told us all that we must do in the vicinity. Thank God we listened to him.
We started our day by driving over a perilously steep, narrow, winding road that climbed over the Takaka Range. From the top, we took a short hike to look down on the verdant country side below, which was filled with orchards and vineyards. Once we had descended the other side of the range, we stopped at Pupu Springs, which is the 8th largest spring in the world. It was interesting to see a good size river all of a sudden bubble up from ground. The water, not being exposed to sunlight, was totally crystal clear. It was easy to see why this place was sacred to the original inhabitants, the Maori people.
Our next stop was the Farewell Spit, where we got out and hiked through lush, hilly farmland and along wind swept beaches. At one point we found two seals sleeping away the day in cave along the beach. While admiring the seals, we talked to a British couple, who told us that we were in the wrong location. This wasn’t the beach that John had told us about. He stated that this was nothing; that we needed to go back down a gravel road for about a half hour and we would be on one of the finest beaches in the world.
The walk into Wharariki Beach was through a picturesque pasture land filled with sheep. Once we dropped down onto the beach, we were stunned to find ourselves in “Beach Heaven.” We looked out on huge rock islands jutting out of the surf like Oregon’s coast, only that some of these had huge holes eroded through the center of them, giving them the Target logo look. As we wandered further down the beach, we found a series of gigantic caves worn into the rocky bank. Some were so large that you could walk back into them for hundreds of feet, albeit very slowly and carefully due to the probability of waking a sleeping seal. I could just imagine stumbling around in the dark, stepping on a seal and having him take a five inch gash out of my already too skinny leg.
We didn’t see any seals in those caves, but found several pups and a few large adults in a shallow cave located near the retreating surf. It was so beautiful: the color of the water contrasted with the huge rock monuments protruding from the ocean, the sandy beach and the green hills in the background. I had to fight with Kim in order to get her to leave the beach, as it was getting late and I wanted to drive back over the Takaka Range before night had set in. Finally, after extending another ten minutes three more times, we left the magical beach and headed back for our car to take the ultimate roller coaster ride back to Motueka.
We got back to town so late that night that our only option was Kiwi Kentucky Fried Chicken, which is analogous to eating in a fine French restaurant in Kanab, Utah. It was edible and it was chicken, but would undoubtedly make the Colonel roll over in his grave.
February 24 - Motueka
Kim and I had to get up at the crack of dawn to make the 9:00 A.M. water taxi into Abel Tasman National Park. We had signed up for the longest walk, an easy 13 KM journey over a series of small coastal mountains. The well maintained path was surrounded by dense underbrush, ferns and a variety of trees. Occasionally it would funnel down into picturesque bays of snow white sand and Kenai colored aquamarine water. When this happened, you couldn’t help but stop, as it was beautiful beyond my limited powers of description. It truly was a magnificent post card at every bay.
Our first break during the hike was at Bark Bay, where I decided that I was in need of a swim. Even though it was a warm 80 degrees out and the sun was beating down on us, it didn’t take me long to find out that the water not only looks like Alaska’s famous Kenai Lake, but it feels like it, too. We began to hike again after a series of brief, refreshing splashes in the ocean’s water, only this time we enjoyed the company of a young American couple from Denver who had quit their jobs and were taking a four month around the world tour.
That night, after experiencing several nights of dreadful food at exorbitant prices in Kiwi restaurants, we opted to cook at home in our hotel on a hot plate. We went to the supermarket and bought enough groceries to last a couple of days. Sure it was still an expensive meal by American standards, and yes you had to do your own cooking and wash the dishes afterward, but for the first time in over two weeks, dinner was very enjoyable. A bottle of wine, a steak, some fried potatoes, a nice vegetable; it was so simple yet so good. From that point on, Kim and I agreed that we would try to cook the bulk of our dinners. It was not just to save money, but frankly, if we could do better with a lame hot plate and only salt and pepper for spices, why spend the time, effort and money to dine out?
February 25 - Hamner Springs
We drove from Motueka to Hamner Springs. It started as a winding trail through orchards and vineyards, wound through a rather arid, mountainous region that resembled Missoula, Montana, and then ascended over a steep mountain pass into the Buller River Valley. We traveled along side the river through an amazing canyon, lined with tropical plants and overlooking a beautiful greenish stream that alternately pooled and dropped like the Colorado.
After a million hair pin turns and white knuckle one lane bridges, we were exhausted but no where near our final destination, Hamner Springs. Therefore, we opted to forgo the recommended drive down New Zealand’s west coast, and instead headed east over Lewis Pass, a rugged, mountainous region. By the time we had crawled over the pass into the arid wastelands of the Spencer Range I was wound as tight as a clock and in desperate need to get out of the car. I needed an extra large glass of wine, a beer, and a painful loss to Kim in cribbage before I finally started to relax. I went to bed that night thanking God that I didn’t have to drive the next day.
February 26 - Hamner Springs
We spent a very relaxing day lazing about at a very nice hot springs facility. There must have been several hundred people there, but with the numerous pools it was no problem. Swimming wasn’t a possibility, since the lap pool was full of kids trashing about, so we simply found a quiet section in one of the several shallow, cement lined creeks that ran between pools, where we laid about reading our books. Occasionally we would get out and move to one of the hot pools for a change, where invariably we would strike up a conversation with friendly Kiwis. After the big drive of the previous day, I really savored this laid back respite from the Nissan station wagon.
February 27 - Christchurch
After a virtually sleepless night for me, we had to get up at 6:30 A.M. for the two plus hour drive into Christchurch. Everything worked out like clockwork until we returned our 1997 vintage rental car. The lady at Bargain Car Rental shocked us when she walked to the back of the car, and rubbing away several layers of filth, accused us of putting a dent in the back of our ancient Nissan station wagon. Since I knew that nothing had happened under our watch, and that you could see rust around the supposedly new dent, both Kim and I knew she was no “bargain.” She was trying to scam us, the unsuspecting Americans. We instantly turned into the ugliest of ugly American tourists and fought like Hell for our credit card. Ultimately, when she faced a crowd of prospective clients standing in back of us while we argued, she gave up and told us that karma would take care of it all in the end. I agreed with her, and as we left, we told the waiting customers that were lined up to be careful of her “rip off” tactics. We had left with our credit card intact; however, both of us were boiling over at what had just transpired.
The rest of our day was wonderful. We set out to walk through the city center district and found that Christchurch has the largest art district I’ve ever seen, which is located in the old university buildings next to the river. One felt like you wandering the grounds at Oxford, admiring the dignified old buildings, only here you experienced a wide range of artistic medium, street performers, a Sunday market and a food festival with music. It really was a special day.
When we tired of the art galleries and the flea market, Kim and I moved on to the over 500 acre green area adjacent to the city center. It was so spectacular. There were flowers of every description in the huge botanical gardens. I must have shot over 100 pictures in strolling through the gardens.
The highlight of Kim’s day came when she asked a guy about what was going on and she heard, “Mardi gras.” She asked if the women bared their breasts and he asked, “At moto cross?” Maybe we don’t speak their language, after all.
February 28 - Te Anau
We found out the hard way that hostels can be lethal at the Rollerston YHA in Christchurch. When we checked into the “purple room,” their deluxe version equipped with a fireplace and feather bed, we found an unflushed toilet and pubic hair staring at us from the rim of their World War II era shower stall. It was only the precursor of things to come. We went to bed absolutely exhausted at 10:00 P.M. to be awakened at 10:15 P.M. by the slamming of a door adjacent to our room. It was like Abu Graib, with the squeaking hinges of the door, accompanied by the ever predictable slam, all night long. At 5:00 A.M. I knew it had to be Rummy and General Miller. A Jack booted thug was marching across the floor above our room, over and over, back and forth, insuring that we wouldn’t sleep another wink. By the time we finally pulled our fatigued bodies out of bed to get to the bus station, I would have done anything for a couple of hours of hard sleep. Anything.
The bus trip from Christchurch to Te Anau was very long, incrediably beautiful, extremely green and uneventful. We roared over the rich farmlands of the Canterbury Plain, looking off in the distance at the Alps, meandered through lush rolling hills going into Dunedin and then finally worked our way west into the Te Anau Valley, where we looked up at the imposing peaks of the coastal range. The country side was littered with large deer farms and of course, flocks of sheep could be found on nearly every hillside.
As we drove into the small community of Te Anau, I was amazed on how it looked like Alaska. When we finally pulled our tired, cramped bodies from the bus, I found out that it not only looked like Alaska, it felt like a very cold, very windy fall day in Alaska. It was like I was home again.
March 1 - Milford Track/ Clinton Hut
After a wonderful night’s slumber, we awoke to find the wind had calmed and the near Arctic temperatures had subsided. Te Anau was actually borderline pleasant. We scurried about town, checking in the at the D.O.C., renting sleeping bags and securing lodging and rental cars for the post Milford experience.
Finally at 1:15 P.M. we loaded on a bus and were whisked down the shoreline for about 20 minutes to Te Anau Downs, where we boarded a boat for an hour long trip to the end of the lake. Needless to say, Lake Te Anau is one big body of water. The towering mountain peaks coupled with the crystal clear water make it a very special place. It reminded me of Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park, only about twenty times larger.
The trail up to Clinton Hut was an easy three mile walk. We paralleled a gorgeous river where one could count every stone and twig on the bottom. Other people claimed to have seen fish; however, I didn’t see any sign of life anywhere in this alpine paradise beyond the ravenous sand flies and a few musically talented birds.
We dined on tuna pasta with Thai sauce that night, which wasn’t bad for backpacker food, but is certainly no threat to become a regular in the home menu scene.
March 2- Milford Track/Mintaro Hut
The 16.5 KM trail followed the Clinton River up into the mountains. Simply put, it was a stunning walk, even though the weather man let us down and gave us a gray, drizzly day.
The river was pristine. At spots, Kim and I would stop and watch the trout navigating side to side in the current. The water was absolutely clear, with a greenish tint. Really, it seemed almost void of life and didn’t even seem to have any algae, yet the few trout you did see were half beluga whale. I pondered how they grew so large when there appeared to be so little feed and why there was an absence of smaller fish. Only big fish seem to prosper here.
The walk was nice, with a gentle uphill grade, and with the temperature at 58 degrees, it was an optimal hiking situation. However, our suitcase backpacks were not optimal. It was like carrying a 40 pound bag of potatoes on your back for five hours and ten very painful miles.
I had no idea prior to our hike that we were going to be walking through a rain forest. At times we walked through long dark tunnels of ferns and trees towering over our heads. Nearly everywhere moss covered the tree trunks and branches, and in places it seemingly choked the life out of its host, where the bark had rotted off the trunks leaving the red meat of the tree’s wood exposed to the elements. Even that was beautiful and seemed to almost glow in contrast to its green surroundings. The lichen laced forest floor was fluorescent. As I ambled down the trail, I wondered what this place must look like with full exposure to the sun. It must be beyond magical.
Kim and I were very, very happy to finally trudge up to the friendly confines of Mintaro Hut late in the afternoon. Thankfully, we had made it a full two minutes before a serious rain started to pound down on the hut’s tin roof. We didn’t know it then, but it was to rain so hard that we could hear the water falls thundering off the mountainside all night long. The ranger told us that it had actually caused the river level to raise 15 feet over night. Amazingly, by the next morning it was once again crystal clear and back to its normal level.
The actual D.O.C. huts are Spartan in their composition, with no frills or unneeded decorations to add character. You are packed together with 40 total trampers, sleeping between 10 to 20 hikers in a bedroom, yet you stay dry, they supply gas for cooking and large, comfortable mats for your bunk. Thankfully they also have wood stoves for drying out and warming up after a miserable day on the trail, which I’m sure happens more often than not on the Milford Track.
March 3 - Milford Track/Dumpling Hut
Today was our most arduous day. We ascended over MacKinnon Pass, which was a bit taxing thousand foot climb, and then dropped down a very steep, very rocky trail to Dumpling Hut. The views along the 14 KM trek were amazing, even through it was yet another gray overcast day. The green, waterfall dotted mountains seemed to be almost vertical in places and their rugged peaks faded in and out of the clouds through out the day.
Kim and I nearly ran up to the top of the pass, making it over the switch backed, two mile ascent in about an hour and fifteen minutes. While at the top we kept a close eye on our packs, as the rangers had warned us about keas, New Zealand’s answer to the Grizzly Bear. They are oversized, brownish parrots that have been known to puncture your tires in order to eat the rubber, so the destruction of your back pack in order to secure a chocolate bar would be child’s play.
Upon taking the perfunctory photos and enjoying a spot of tea, we had to go visit the famous “Loo with a view.” Wisely, the D.O.C. had left the door off this famous out house and one could sit perched on the edge of the mountain pass and look down several thousand feet and over miles into the distance at the Clinton River Valley. Even on a windy, cold day, where a misty drizzle seemed to reoccur every 15 minutes on schedule, I could see how a bowel movement here would be a very positive occurrence.
Downhill off of the pass was the antithesis of our ascent. We were forced to walk very slowly, carefully picking our footing, lowering ourselves from rock to rock, like we were Chinese concubines with bound feet. At times the trail followed the Arthur River as it dropped and pooled in a series of spectacular waterfalls. The government, thankfully, had put in a long and steep boardwalk/staircase to navigate through this section. Nevertheless, by the time we had made it to Quintin Hut, the guided backpackers’ quarters at the bottom of the mountain, we were too exhausted to make the additional three hour detour to see Sutherland Falls up close and personal. We labored on down the trail praying that Dumpling Hut would be around the next corner. It never was. When we finally arrived, we laid on our bunks in an exhausted stupor after I had skunked Kim in crib. I now lead the New Zealand Championship by four games.
After another pasta based dinner, this one involved dried sausage and cheese, we had a wonderful time visiting with our hut buddies, who included an emigrant couple from Ireland, a couple from Atlanta, a former pro basketball player from Denmark and a gal from Seattle. We discussed everything from Bush, polygamy in Utah, Patty Hearst and the SLA and ultimately back to George W. again. The Europeans marveled at how dumb our nation is on certain things. If it wasn’t health insurance or our law suit happy society, they were amazed that we would reelect a man who had gotten us into a foreign war for no good reason, wiped out our post 9-11 support in the world wide political arena and then ran up our national debt to a precarious level.
March 4 - Te Anau
We retired that night thinking that we would sleep the sleep of the dead. After all we had all walked up and over the famed MacKinnon Pass the day before and God knows we were physically exhausted. However, it was the night of the “Big Thunder.” Being the snore king from the previous night, I felt empathy for my Irish friend, Brian, who boomed out thunderous snores at 2:00 A.M. and again at 4:15 A.M., awakening all of Southern New Zealand. It was odd because some of the people who were complaining the most about his snoring had snored earlier in the night. Kim and I simply just laid there knowing that we weren’t going to sleep and that that was just the way it was. No argument or bitching was going to change it.
We got a later start down the trail than I had wanted, but once we hit the road it was all “kick-ass.” We averaged 18 minute miles with full packs for the first four miles and kept up a good pace all of the way to our final destination, Sand Fly Point. I was fearful that we would miss the 2:00 P.M. boat picking us up and as a consequence, miss our 4:00 P.M. tour of Milford Sound. It was a needless concern, as we pulled into our destination at 12:45 P.M. exhausted, but ecstatic that we were done with the pain of our backpacks. It was over. No more shitty macaroni mystery dinners. No more dorm living, being kept up all night by snoring or bitching about snoring. There was a hot shower, a cold beer and a soft bed in our future. We were free, free at last.
The much anticipated Milford Fiord Cruise was anticlimactic after the big walk. We were the last ones on the boat and I had to force myself out of my seat to go up on the top deck to take pictures. It was beautiful with vertical walls of several thousand feet climbing straight out of the sea, and we drove under huge waterfalls and next to sunning fur seals, but to be honest, I was really too tired care.
The two hour ride back to Te Anau from Milford Sound was breathtaking. Rugged mountain peaks, glaciers, raging rivers and to our shock, an absolutely cloudless, blue bird sky. It was the first time in over a week I had needed sunglasses. I should have felt sorry for the 30 eco-tourists who were forced to share the bus with our sweat covered, filth encrusted bodies, but again, I was simply too exhausted to care.
March 5 - Te Anau
Kim and I laid around listlessly licking our wounds after the big walk. Both of our calves on our legs were wound so tight that each miniscule movement entailed wild jolts of pain. Forget walking a stairs or hopping up into the hot tub. Too painful!
In view of our physical condition, it was a good day to catch up on the laundry and soak in the hostel’s “luke warm” tub. We cooked up the best steaks ever, seared three inch thick Porter Houses, which made it by far our best meal since leaving the United States. The dinner, quite wonderful, was our obvious choice for this slow, uneventful day’s “play of the day.”
March 6 - Queenstown
We woke up to pouring rain and a roaring wind. After breakfast, we loaded on the 10:00 A.M. bus to Queenstown, which was jam packed due to the closing of the Milford Track due to weather. Our Seattle pal, Rhonda, left us at the hostel to begin her march on the Kepler in a driving rainstorm. Honestly speaking, she didn’t look any too anxious to be starting another hike after we had just completed the Milford, and with the rain coming down in big cats and dogs the size of St. Bernards, we knew that she had a terrible day ahead of her.
Queenstown is your typical ski town. There are the required galleries on every block, espresso shops, bars, hundreds of restaurants, and of course, tourist crap/t-shirt shops galore. I must admit, however, that the city’s setting is amazing. It’s located on Lake Wakatipu, an immense body of water, and is surrounded by rugged peaks on all sides. Our $110 room at the Continental overlooked the gorgeous aquamarine waters of the lake and in the distance, across the water, we admired the Remarkables, a range that could rival the Tetons.
At the end of the day, Kim and I sat playing crib while peering out the window at the vista before us. Frankly speaking, it wasn’t the best room in the world and it was overpriced for what we were getting, but the setting made it a bargain at $110 a night.
March 7 - Haast
The day broke beautiful, with blue skies making Queenstown an utterly different place. Simply put, with the gorgeous surroundings, a guy couldn’t feel like doing anything but singing or humming.
I picked up our Mitsubushi Colt, which is actually a snappy little car, and we bolted for Waanaca, where we immediately went to the I-Center to book the rest of our vacation. An hour and a half later, and after watching $1750 flying away in the wind, we were out of there and again on the road to Haast.
The road wound for mile after mile around enormous lakes that were surrounded by rugged mountains. I couldn’t help but to stop the car and marvel at the jagged peaks and azure water.
When we finally pulled into Haast we were more than a little concerned about the YHA we had booked. Paper thin walls and miniscule, characterless rooms made it all seem a little questionable. Would it be tolerable or would it be the night from Hell?
March 8 - Haast
I woke up to the sound of rain tinkling on the roof of our old Quonset hut/converted youth hostel. After a quick trip down stairs and down the hallway to relieve myself, I again fell into a deep, almost drug like slumber. The next time I woke up Kim was staring at me in wonder. The rain fall had turned into an absolute torrent and the sound of it pummeling the roof was like being surrounded by an army of jackhammers. When we finally mustered the energy to crawl out of bed and start the day, we stared out the door of the hostel at rain like we had never experienced before. It was raining so hard that one could not see across the lawn to the other side of the complex. It was an absolute blizzard of rain.
The deluge of monsoonal proportion lasted until noon, and at that point we loaded up for a drive up to Jackson Point to look for penguins. We didn’t see anything and both of us lacked energy, being zapped by the monstrous low pressure system. Even so, Kim and I took several short walks through the woods and along the beach, but with the gusting wind and dismal, overcast day, it was uninspiring to say the least.
March 9 - Okarito
We woke up again to rain in Haast. I was quite depressed and suggested to Kim that we should check on flying home early. Belatedly, she consented to allowing me to check on the possibility. We enjoyed a rainy drive up the coast from Haast to Fox Glacier, where we got out and hiked about for a few minutes. It was quite beautiful despite the rain and one could see during good weather that it would be a brilliant setting.
When we arrived at Franz Joseph Glacier it was pouring, so I decided to take action and get us home to the land of eternal sunshine, Utah. I dialed up Clementine at Quantas and explained that I was tired of rain and we were quickly going broke. I told her I needed St. George. Clementine, however, didn’t find mercy in her hard heart and told me that we were going home as scheduled on March 20.
As we drove away from Franz Joseph on our half hour trip to Okarito the sun finally burst through the clouds. Instantly my mood went from zero to sixty and happiness filled every pore of my soul.
Kim and I spent the afternoon hiking through the rain forest and on the beach. We probably walked 6-7 miles total, but after being cooped up for two days in the Haast YHA, it was like God had decided to smile on us. I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a walk so much.
We were delighted to share the company of a young German couple over dinner that night. We talked of travel, politics and other topics until 10:30 P.M. They truly impressed us with their knowledge of the U.S. and our political situation. Conversely, we had to admit that we were mostly uninformed of Europe’s politics and could only name the German leader, not intelligently discuss his role in Europe’s politics.
March 10 - Okarito
We again woke up to the not so gentle pitter patter of rain on our roof. Nevertheless, we put on our gear and scurried over to the kayak shop with aspirations of getting on the water. We were dumbfounded, to say the least, when a Kiwi/German couple had been given our reserved spots and we were told to come back later.
The rain continued to pour and with the howling wind, we elected to forgo the kayaking and spend most of the day reading and playing cards. Finally, bored and desperately in need of getting out of the house, we geared up and walked our forest/beach trail again. This time we found a totally different experience. The first part of the excursion was pleasant, as we actually experienced sun shine for a short period of time, but once we hit the beach on our way home, the wind started howling like an escaped Florida hurricane, sending elephant sized rain drops into our rain gear like small missiles of moisture. Within seconds both of us were soaking wet, high tech outdoor clothing be damned. When we finally made it back to the hostel, we immediately stripped down and wrung out our gear before spreading it out by the wood stove to dry. We then took turns jumping into the hot shower. Never has hot water felt so good.
We spent another pleasant evening visiting with a young couple from the Netherlands and an American couple from Hawaii.
March 11 - Arthurs Pass
After a week of dismal weather along the west coast, we were shocked to be awakened by bright rays of sunshine pouring through our window. I immediately ran outside to see if it was true. Stunned to see Mount Cook and Mount Tasman in the distance, I could hardly contain myself and nearly, that is nearly, didn’t need my morning cup of joe to make the blood roll through my veins. We rushed through eating breakfast, in fear that the rain would come back, and then loaded up the car for our trip north.
The drive up the coast to Hokatika and onward into the Alps at Arthurs Pass was magnificent. Mile after mile of dense vegetation, steep mountains and rivers filled with glacial silt flashed before us. There weren’t really any real towns and you would only occasionally spot a dairy farm or hostel along the highway.
Once at the pass, we took two short hikes in the New Zealand Alps. The best one featured a climb of many stairs to stand in the spray of Devil’s Punchbowl water fall, which dropped over a thousand feet into a huge, deep pool.
As we drove our way back east to our hotel, we were met by bumper to bumper traffic of young people on their way to the Hokatika Wild Foods Festival. Apparently each year they flock to this little town on the west coast to eat exotic dishes, such as fried worms and Rocky Mountain Oysters, drink enormous volumes of beer and listen to music. They are forced to take a breathalyzer before being permitted to leave, so most simply pass out or crash on the grounds until the next day.
Our $115 a night room was the ultimate description of the word, “dump.” The Chalet at Arthurs Pass was probably built 50 years ago using the cheapest material available at the time, and unluckily for us, no one had ever thought to make improvements. To add insult to injury, the electric frying pan didn’t work, the hot plate was broken and you couldn’t cut butter on a warm day with our one knife. Kim, smoldering around the edges at this rip off, went to the manager’s office and pointed out a few of these inadequacies to the owner, which led to an uncomfortable moment before the woman forked over her personal teflon frying pan.
March 12 - Springfield
Shivering and with teeth chattering, we awoke at 4:00 A.M. in our Arthurs Pass version of Stalag 17. I haven’t been so cold at night since sleeping in the meat cooler in Peru, and as I laid there thinking about spending $115 to freeze, I became more and more miserable. The tourist economy is red hot at this time in New Zealand, and with the laws of supply and demand in full force, the lodging owners can and do charge anything that they want for deplorable accommodations. It is obvious that they weren’t putting any of their big profits back into their property, but were simply pocketing the money. It wasn’t right, but what could the tourist do about it. Leave?
Once we left the village, where the wind was blowing and the temperature was hovering around 35 degrees, and drove down the pass for about fifteen minutes, we found another world. This miracle included warm sunshine and a windless,friendly environment where one didn’t need three layers of clothing. We piled out of the car at Bealy’s Spur and started up the trail on a two hour hike to a rustic backpackers’ hut. As we crested our first hill and broke out of the trees into the grasslands, a gorgeous 180 degree panorama of the world famous New Zealand Alps came into existence before our very eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn that I was looking at Alaska’s Chugach Range. For the next hour and a half I would walk approximately a hundred steps, stop and then pull out my Minolta for just one more picture. In most cases I was shooting the same glacier pocked peaks, minutely changing my camera setting and the angle of the photo, desperately trying to find a way to translate the beauty of the setting into a 3 X 5 photo, but it was impossible. The camera couldn’t even come close to capturing the grandeur of the day.
After we completed our eight mile tramp, we continued down the valley on our way to Springfield. The leeward side of the mountains quickly changed to an arid region of shale covered mountain peaks and dried brown grasslands. There would be occasional bursts of color, as we would find a random pine hedge, guest ranch or small rivers and lakes, but this area was so different from the west coast rain forest, located only about 100 air miles due west. Honestly, after the perpetual rain forest of the last week, both Kim and I remarked on the beauty of this arid region. We could see for miles in every direction and this was a very good thing.
Overall, this may have been one of our most enjoyable days in New Zealand. It had started cold and miserable, but ended damned near perfect. Even our YHA in Springfield was a pleasant, enjoyable stay. After the Chalet experience at Arthurs Pass we needed a good night in a pleasant surrounding.
March 13 - Christchurch
Following a pleasurable night at Smiley’s antique farm house/YHA in Springfield, Kim and I reversed course and headed west towards Arthurs Pass.
Our first stop was at a spot where a creek had eaten away at its limestone bottom and went subterranean. Since we were not equipped for spelunking, we merely walked around the area a bit and then headed for an area where the hardened deposits of limestone protruded from the earth like Stonehenge. The huge rocks stood in a formation like a legion of dominos on a steep hillside. We hiked up among them, actually climbing to the top of some to peer out at the surrounding mountain ranges.
As we descended through an alleyway between two of the behemoths on our way back to our car, we ran into an Australian couple and exchanged pleasantries. One thing led to another and an hour later we still stood chatting with them about travel, politics and economics. We both marveled at the fact that we had struck up a relationship with this couple out of the blue. It’s not something that happens to a person every day, is it?
Staying at the Christchurch Stonehurst YHA proved to be the antithesis of everything we’d experienced in our hostel stays. When you acknowledged someone or tried to strike up a conversation, the young people coldly looked at you like you were a child rapist/serial killer. It was so different from the smile and stimulating conversations we’d experienced in the rural regions of the country. I’m sure much of it was your typical big city paranoia, but at the same time I think it had a lot to do with the fact that we were now dealing with your typical young backpacker whose goal in life centered on party, party and more party. We hardly fit their image who should be staying at a party hostel.
March 14 - Akaroa/ Onuku Hut
The previous night in Christchurch was another tough one in the sleep department. Not being used to the noises of the city, it seemed like the kids of Kiwi land were racing their sports cars through our hotel room. That, coupled with a mean temperature of 200 degrees fahrenheit and no air conditioning, spelled a long night of toss and turn.
After an uneventful day of turning in our rental car and wandering through the endless art galleries in search for the perfect piece, we boarded a bus to Akaroa. I immediately fell into a nonstop battle with the drowsies, where I once had to catch myself as I nearly fell from my seat into the center aisle floor. After that episode, the Aussie sitting across from me seemed a little unsettled. I wonder why?
We were met at the village Information center by another bus at 5:30 P.M. and were taken up to hut one for our first night. The Onuku Hut was a definite move up from the D.O.C., but still rather rustic in its nature. However, unlike the D.O.C. abodes, it was surrounded by a beautiful lawn rimmed with flowering plants, it came fully equipped with first class cooking utensils and they even supplied a sheet and a pillow.
Kim and I enjoyed a leisurely meal and then retired to the pastoral setting of the front porch to watch the sun go down over the bay.
March 15 - Banks Peninsula/Stony Bay Hut
The day broke with sunshine pouring into our cabin imploring us to get ready for the trail. Unlike our other hikes, where everyone seemed on their own, our fellow two day hikers patiently waited for kim and I to get our gear packed up and ready ourselves for the trail. Michel and Francis, from Holland, and Rachel, from Ireland, proved to be excellent company. Together we wandered up and down grass covered hills peering down at the glassy bays below us. We genuinely tried to make good time and fought the urge to stop and gawk, but the panoramas before us were ever changing and absolutely spellbinding at times. We viewed groups of dolphins playfully carousing about in the turquoise waters, stopped to peer at seals with their pups nervously motoring around the beach with their flippers and hiked among the ever present immense herds of sheep dotting the hillsides. One felt like you were on the set of “Sound of Music” and that Julie Andrews would break into song at any moment.
Half way to our final destination, we were forced to stop and wait for our packs to arrive by pickup truck. As we waited, laying on the grass pasture looking down on the calm waters of the bay, the sunshine bordered on actually being “hot,” something that doesn’t happen often on New Zealand’s south island. When I had had enough of the baking sensation, I elected to dive in for a swim, which more than invigorated me. Actually, it damn near stopped my heart.
Eleven miles and six hours later we finally found our way down to Stony Bay Hut, which absolutely blew us away. The farmers seemingly had brought in an interior decorator to insure that Stony Bay would be a memorable location of “character plus.” From the pool table in the front yard to the fire powered cast iron bath tubs, we found delightful little surprises around every corner. Kim’s favorite, the shower room built around the tree, was an absolute trip. She loved it so much that she posed for several photos by the door and actually snuck into the shower to take a picture of me in the act of cleaning myself, a rare occurrence for sure.
That night, after buying groceries at the hut’s supply shack under the honor system, we prepared a bacon carbonara of sorts and shared it in a potluck with our hike mates. As we sat around visiting with our new found pals over beers, a group of Kiwis brought over a large plate of abalone on toast. It was far better than what we had prepared for our dinner.
Finally, once darkness had enveloped our little enclave, and the singing Kiwis had stumbled drunkenly off to bed, Michel split enough kindling and cut enough fire wood to start the flame under the large cast iron bathtubs. It took forever to heat the water but the wait under the stars was well worth it. Kim and I daintily climbed into our tub, balancing ourselves on a large wood plank and sat in absolute bliss as the water’s heat increased exponentially every ten minutes. It was the ultimate conclusion for an amazing day. Life was perfect. Period.
March 16 - Banks Peninsula/Mount Vernon Hostel
After four consecutive days of sunshine and warmth, the real New Zealand returned. We awoke to low laying clouds and a slight drizzle. I thought that it was nothing more than a tidal induced fog and that the sun would burn it off by noon. Not to be! We hiked all eleven miles in a light drizzle, which obscured the beauty of the topography and hurried us down the trail towards Akaroa. The first part of the walk to the Otanerito Bay Hut continued to meander up and down over grassy hillsides along the ocean. After Otanerito, however, it was a steady, painful 2000 foot climb to the top of Mount Purple through a quasi-rain forest. I can’t tell you how happy I was when we finally reached the summit, and looking at my rain soaked, muddy fellow hikers, I could tell that they were ready to be done with their packs also.
A short descent from the mountain found us at Mount Vernon Lodge, a high quality, modern accommodation that would equal the best of any ski chalets in the states. Kim and I were dumbfounded that we were actually staying in such a place after the sorry collection of hostels and motels that we’d experienced over the last five weeks. Along with our friends, Michel and Francis, we built a large fire and sat around drying ourselves over a few alcoholic beverages. It was the best possible scenario for a very tired, extremely soggy group of New Zealand trampers.
March 17 - Christchurch
I awoke early to go into the lounge area in order to build a fire dry our boots. After slogging though rain on every step of our way to Mount Vernon, the boots were nothing more than wet sponges wrapped around our feet on our trip home from the restaurant the previous evening. I knew that I had to get them dry in a hurry. There was no way we wanted to wear them in their wet state for our remaining three days in Zealand.
The bus trip to the city proved enjoyable, as I sat up front next to the driver, a retired University professor, and we chatted for the duration of the two hour journey.
Kim and I returned to our favorite New Zealand restaurant, Valentinos, for dinner that night, but it didn’t seem as good as our first experience. After completing dinner, we wandered into the Bog, an Irish Pub, for the St. Patricks Day celebration, where we were supposed to meet our friends from the hike. However, it was wall to wall people and filled with an ear splitting din, so we gave up after a superficial effort and were home in bed by 9:30 P.M.
March 19 - Rotorua
For the first time in a couple of weeks, I was savoring the thought of going home to Utah. New Zealand had been wonderful and we had experienced so much on this six week adventure, but at this point, I was merely going though the motions and was no longer traveling with enthusiasm, anxiously awaiting to see what will be around the next corner.
Our day started late at 11:00 A.M. when we aimlessly wandered down the street towards the old Maori Art gallery, where we soon found ourselves in an engaging conversation with a very friendly Maori woman. It was interesting when we shared our experiences of working with the Native community in Alaska and she talked of the current struggles and gains of her Maori people. She finally let us go and we continued onward to an old community center and church. Again we found another gallery and another extra friendly Maori woman. This time, however, we elected to buy a small carving to remember our time in this country.
That done, we continued on our walk along the coast of Lake Rotorua, marveling at the numerous thermal pools, steam vents and the always persistent stench of sulfur in the air. We stopped for a short time to watch womens’ lawn bowling and then capped off the day when following raucous crowd noise, found ourselves spectators at a highly contested rugby match between two of the more highly ranked local Maori teams. Again we found another friendly Maori who patiently did his best to explain the intricacies of the game.
I nearly caused an international incident at dinner that night. The YHA kitchen was huge but poorly equipped with pots and pans, and the burners had been brought over to New Zealand on the first boat from England. I started to cook our steaks, which had been our fare more times than not during our trip, and I noticed that the young Aussie girls next to us had salt and pepper. Since we had given ours away the previous night in Christchurch, I asked if I could have a little salt and pepper. They stated that they didn’t have any. I could not believe it. I continued to ask people if they had any of the spices to share, while staring straight at the girls. Sadly, person after person stated that they didn’t have any. I finally found some, but was still smoldering that the stingy Aussie girls wouldn’t share a pinch of salt and pepper.
Moments after that, a young Aussie bloke charged up to me and demanded that I move my pots to one of the two double burner sets I was using. In a snide way, I explained that I was using two because some of the burners didn’t give off enough heat to warm your hands on, but if he wanted, he could certainly use those burners for preparing his meal. “Go for it,” I challenged. “Knock yourself out!” He charged off, appalled that the cheeky American would hog all of the precious burners in the hostel kitchen, but like Rumsfield, I stubbornly stood my ground and defended my right to cook my steaks and boil my green beans. It was nearly an international incident where I single handedly damaged the already fragile relationship with one of America’s closest allies, Australia. Thankfully, after a good steak and a cold beer, my mood mellowed and the excitement of the “The Salt and Pepper on the Steak Affair” dwindled as we retired to our four foot by ten foot room. However, I was damned glad that I was leaving the hostel kitchen circuit. My own humble little kitchen in Ivins would be a marvel after four weeks on the road in Kiwi-country.
