No excuses for my lack of updates... I fell off the face of the planet perhaps? Anywho, I suppose the silence may partly be due to lack of the intense excitement of my past months in New Zealand. I fell pretty sick and declined some tramping trips. No worries, I plan to catch up. I’m still following my plan to “Go somewhere every weekend” rule. If I haven’t been tramping, I’ve been climbing.
My friend James is a pretty avid climber. He’s quite a character. Bright curly ginga hair that he’s recently shaved off, leaving just the beard. He is dyslexic, so functionally illiterate. No wonder he didn’t really like typical school. Instead he took courses in outdoor education and became a guide... and a climber. So he takes me climbing. After two relatively unsuccessful efforts due to my own illness and the, excuse me, shitty weather, we finally had a lovely day of climbing this most recent Saturday (the 30th of October). My first climb after I James did the lead two weeks prior nearly gave me a heart attack. I'm not sure why, but I clung to the wall as if my life depended on it. I never fell off of it, but when I got down I actually felt noxious. Thank god I redeemed myself on Saturday. It was a relief for my ego. We were out there from 11 am to 7 pm. I stopped climbing around 4. Anyways, it was nice.
New Zealand is really funky with its drinking culture. Exhibit A: Tea Party. The student association puts on a massive party with popular bands (like Kids of 88 and the Naked and Famous, look 'em up , they're good) ON the last day of school. It starts at 9 am and you're not allowed to leave and come back, which sucks. The most popular game students play is 6 before 6 where you drink 6 standards before 6 am. hmm...
To continue with the theme of alcohol for breakfast, Mark's flat joined their neighbors for a champagne breakfast, i.e. an excuse to have a barbecue at 9 o'clock in the morning. That was pretty nice actually and it was right before Band Together, the concert put on by Christchurch for their poor earthquake victims on October 23rd. I rode out to the concert for a couple of hours, just in time to catch Minuit (look her up, pretty awesome too) and Bob Parker, mayor of Chch, playing guitar with the Bats.
The next day I hitched out to the Kelly Range, on the west side of Arthur's Pass. The hike up was pretty demanding, a two hour climb straight up and then about a 40 minute alpine traverse. The view would have been great if not for the fog which made it quite a hassle to find the trail markers past the hut. Sooo, instead of the planned two night stay in Carrol Hut, I hit the road the next day after playing around the river at the base of the range for a bit. Not a bad experience all in all, but a little disappointing.
To keep active, I went out to Sumner to Barnett park with Tom because I saw this interesting looking trail there that passed through a valley of caves. It was pretty cool, a small trail led to the side to visit the Paradise caves which reveal an intense climbing area with no vertical faces. Quickdraws hang on the underbelly of the cave glistening like Christmas decorations. James informed me that he's never been able to do any of these climbs. Anywho, Tom and I took a different way down, with the main trail in sight. Unfortunately, we didn't realize that some of the hill that we were on would happen to be soil... loose soil. Tom was first to go down as I'm always a bit nervous. He slipped and caught himself. I saw this and knew to be careful. Unfortunately (once more), the solid rock I thought I stepped on was another mound of loose soil and I slipped... a little bit further. With my right leg hovering over a bit of a 5 ft drop and my hands dug as deep as I could get them in soil, I yelled for Tom to save me. He climbed back up right quick, grabbed my pants and yanked me over. Yay Tom!
ps - I'm advancing fast on sock number two. number one fits, but looks as funky as a first attempt at a sock would look.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Random
Gosh I almost don't want to post because I'm lagging sooo far behind.
Let's start simple
First off, an orange kumara (a New Zealand potato that is sweet) is a sweet potato.
Duly noted.
Next, I totally forgot to mention that I can identify plants now! I'm working in a lab with Pieter Pelser studying Senecios. The first one I named was a Senecio quadridentatus. The next one was a bissectus and then there were some other ones that I forget at the moment. He says we may go out into the field soon. Exciting!
Uni is crushing my soul at the moment. All because of one silly 4.5 thousand word essay. I'm writing it on the Convention on Biodiversity and its successful or unsuccessful presence in New Zealand. Totally up my alley, but I'm just not feeling it, too tired.
Anyway, enough of that. Let's see. In the time's that's past I fully dressed my first duck. It had been recently hit by a car which had just nicked it on the nose. I plucked the feathers, then boiled the skin and removed all the down, gutted it, and stuck it in the oven. I made a nice orange sauce to go on top, swiss chard patties, mashed potatoes, and salad.
That weekend I went on a field trip, got to hold a 3,000 year old moa bone.
That week my friend Petra made a plaster cast of my face. More recently she did part of my back, part of my face, and my left arm. Interesting experience.
I went to Kaikoura! It's the town by the sea, known for Seafest, which I went to. It's mainly a festival where Kiwis can get drunk, which they always do, but if you ignore that part, they make all these weird things with seafood, like mussel pies and crayfish pies and scallops on a stick, and have cooking demos. It was a good sunshiny day. They also dressed up in their best sea creature/related stuff outfits. Honestly, Kiwis take any opportunity to put on costumes, I love that! And I got to see seals sleeping about a foot away from me! That was probably the best part. We slept in a massive tent (three separated rooms that you could stand up in) on Ross's lawn. On Sunday morning, Ross's dad John, let me borrow one of their bikes (his wife Heather's). He had participated in the Coast to Coast, a race from one coast of the south island to the other (previously called "just a run" by Volker, a german Kiwi) three years ago having done the kayaking and biking portion and earned third place for his team! Craziness... so as you can imagine, that bike was sweet! I topped out at 42km/hr, probably going an average of 29. Mount Fyffe was looming on my horizon the entire time but I didn't quite make it there. Next time.
Hmm I also went to a salsa club and I finished a pair of baby booties that I'm sending to Tara. I'm starting on socks now. God I hate socks...
Let's start simple
First off, an orange kumara (a New Zealand potato that is sweet) is a sweet potato.
Duly noted.
Next, I totally forgot to mention that I can identify plants now! I'm working in a lab with Pieter Pelser studying Senecios. The first one I named was a Senecio quadridentatus. The next one was a bissectus and then there were some other ones that I forget at the moment. He says we may go out into the field soon. Exciting!
Uni is crushing my soul at the moment. All because of one silly 4.5 thousand word essay. I'm writing it on the Convention on Biodiversity and its successful or unsuccessful presence in New Zealand. Totally up my alley, but I'm just not feeling it, too tired.
Anyway, enough of that. Let's see. In the time's that's past I fully dressed my first duck. It had been recently hit by a car which had just nicked it on the nose. I plucked the feathers, then boiled the skin and removed all the down, gutted it, and stuck it in the oven. I made a nice orange sauce to go on top, swiss chard patties, mashed potatoes, and salad.
That weekend I went on a field trip, got to hold a 3,000 year old moa bone.
That week my friend Petra made a plaster cast of my face. More recently she did part of my back, part of my face, and my left arm. Interesting experience.
I went to Kaikoura! It's the town by the sea, known for Seafest, which I went to. It's mainly a festival where Kiwis can get drunk, which they always do, but if you ignore that part, they make all these weird things with seafood, like mussel pies and crayfish pies and scallops on a stick, and have cooking demos. It was a good sunshiny day. They also dressed up in their best sea creature/related stuff outfits. Honestly, Kiwis take any opportunity to put on costumes, I love that! And I got to see seals sleeping about a foot away from me! That was probably the best part. We slept in a massive tent (three separated rooms that you could stand up in) on Ross's lawn. On Sunday morning, Ross's dad John, let me borrow one of their bikes (his wife Heather's). He had participated in the Coast to Coast, a race from one coast of the south island to the other (previously called "just a run" by Volker, a german Kiwi) three years ago having done the kayaking and biking portion and earned third place for his team! Craziness... so as you can imagine, that bike was sweet! I topped out at 42km/hr, probably going an average of 29. Mount Fyffe was looming on my horizon the entire time but I didn't quite make it there. Next time.
Hmm I also went to a salsa club and I finished a pair of baby booties that I'm sending to Tara. I'm starting on socks now. God I hate socks...
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Spring break, the one before the quake hit
So I know I'm totally lagging behind in my postage, so this entry may be an even longer one than the last. Sorry to those of you who read this stuff. Sorry to my future self who will look to this as memory joggers.
I should probably start where I left off, before the date of my last entry on the Routeburn Track. You, or rather my future self, would be wondering why I had skipped writing about my roadtrip straight to some random three day hike a week after I would have returned. Well, honestly, I was just not very inspired to write about it. But here goes.
It started with a van. Luke, Ivana, Sophie, and I wanted to get one. Something we can drive and sleep in, yay! Mark, my faithful companion, decided to join us on the first short leg of our trip: Christchurch to Dunedin. I went in his car for that: safer because the fourth in the van didn't have a seatbelt and more fun because we drove circles around the van. Unfortunately, Dunedin was also the site I fell ill. Don't worry, nothing major, but I definitely couldn't stay in the van. Solution? I went to Queenstown early. Mark had left the day before when I didn't think I was that badly off. I came on a bus the following day.
Feeling better right away (thanks to a comfortable bed and modern medication), the next day I was determined to do something with my life and not waste my vacation. Luckily Queenstown has tracks you could walk to! The first day in Qtown I did the fernhill loop track, a lovely loop following a river that is intermittently a trickle or a roaring brook - a rainforest bordered by a city. That evening, I went to Small Planet and rented an ice ax and crampons: I would climb Ben Lomond. The next day, I was on the track by 8:30 am (even got a ride for Mark). The weather was steamy; I had already begun sweating in the car. So, I did the only logical thing: left my coat, kept my fleece.
The Ben Lomond track is noted as an 8 hour return. In the winter DOC warns of a difficult climb. Both of these things are false.
Going up that day, I skirted past the 1 hour mark in half an hour and past the 2:30 hour mark 45 minutes later. Up to this point, I'd had tree cover. I knew it was raining, but that wasn't bad. Unfortunately, I felt the full force of it as soon as the trees were behind me. Tough winds pushing water and ice flew at my face as my poor fleece, the water proof coat left behind, got drenched. I pushed forward, nearing the saddle. I don't like turning back.
Eventually, however, I did.
As soon as I let myself turn back, I ran back. I hopped and skipped down the mountain, going at lightning speed. I had gone into that trail at 8:30. I was out at 10:30.
The dissappointement was obvious on my face as Mark picked me up, soaked. He drove me back to the renting store where I shamelessly begged for another day to have the equipment... for free. Luckily people in this town are pretty cool.
The others had arrived a bit earlier from their trip to the southern tip of the south island. They were sitting in the library, charging, reading, relaxing. I needed a shower and we headed back to the hotel so I can take one.
Oh yea, the hotel. It's called Autoline. Mark's mom manages it. It's real flash: a tv in the bedroom and the bathroom, a bath with jets, and a shower with clear wall and doors, a microwave and a full set of cutlery, a table, chairs, the works. We got to stay in it for free.
Anyways, the next day, I conquered poor old Ben. It was a gorgeous day. I shunned the ax and crampons as I got to the peak. By the way, the time was grossly overestimated to the saddle. However, the peak was to take an hour. It took me that plus 45. Climbing in snow is like running in sand. I think I said that before, but it remains true.
DOC says that you could see Mounts Earnslaw/Pikirakatahi and Aspiring/Tititea from the peak. I can't say that I could name them for you, but I saw a hell of a lot of mountains from there. The view was magnificent and the wind was quiet, charging from time to time just to remind you it exists as much as you and this mountain do.
Wanaka was the next town. It's a lovely little town on the edge of a lake (Lake Wanaka) and apparently some good climbs around. We didn't check out the climbs, but we did kayak on the lake. That was nice. I was happy to get a little arm work in.
I slept in Qtown that night as well and the next. On Monday I went paragliding. It was dark and gray and we has to wait quite a while on the hill till the weather cleared up enough to jump. I spent this time talking to George, a travelling frenchman who started travelling six years ago and simply hasn't stopped. He was really cool and let me stay about 25 minutes in the air (as the fat Australians we were with hit the ground like targeted bombs) and gave me the pictures for free... basically.
From Qtown, we were off and away to the west coast. First stop? Franz Joseph! I had been waiting to see this enormous block of ice, one of the many glaciers this country is covered in and one of the two (other than Fox) most popular to climb. I got up super early to see it before the crowds got there. A barrier tells travellers not to go any further, just short of touching the glacier. My threats of simply running up to it and touching it were deterred by Sophie, my other faithful companion. I should've done it... the sun hadn't touched it yet, that block was solid. Oh wells... next time.
The whole crew went on a hike down to see the glacier from the left side. The walk was elusively long. At every corner you found yourself asking, are we there now? I must say, though, it was probably the most fun tramp I'd done to date. The track was uneven, with random climbs and stairs and stream crossings. Too bad I had a bad knee.
Oh yea, my knee. So remember how I said I ran down Ben that first time? Well, I sorta did that the second time as well - because I wanted to catch my friends before they left somewhere else. This time was not as successful and my poor knee gave up. A few kilometers of limping told me this was not going to go away tomorrow.
Limping out of the track made it unfortunately obvious to me that I wasn't going to hike anymore on this trip, hence the lack of enthusiasm I have for the memory thereof.
We travelled up the west coast, stopped at a few places. It really is gorgeous. We took Lewis Pass back to Christchurch and being tired of the van (and probably slightly of each other) we raced back to make it home around 11pm on Wednesday night. I, exhausted but hyper, went to a party.
Further installments from my missing blog posts to come soon. I promise.
I should probably start where I left off, before the date of my last entry on the Routeburn Track. You, or rather my future self, would be wondering why I had skipped writing about my roadtrip straight to some random three day hike a week after I would have returned. Well, honestly, I was just not very inspired to write about it. But here goes.
It started with a van. Luke, Ivana, Sophie, and I wanted to get one. Something we can drive and sleep in, yay! Mark, my faithful companion, decided to join us on the first short leg of our trip: Christchurch to Dunedin. I went in his car for that: safer because the fourth in the van didn't have a seatbelt and more fun because we drove circles around the van. Unfortunately, Dunedin was also the site I fell ill. Don't worry, nothing major, but I definitely couldn't stay in the van. Solution? I went to Queenstown early. Mark had left the day before when I didn't think I was that badly off. I came on a bus the following day.
Feeling better right away (thanks to a comfortable bed and modern medication), the next day I was determined to do something with my life and not waste my vacation. Luckily Queenstown has tracks you could walk to! The first day in Qtown I did the fernhill loop track, a lovely loop following a river that is intermittently a trickle or a roaring brook - a rainforest bordered by a city. That evening, I went to Small Planet and rented an ice ax and crampons: I would climb Ben Lomond. The next day, I was on the track by 8:30 am (even got a ride for Mark). The weather was steamy; I had already begun sweating in the car. So, I did the only logical thing: left my coat, kept my fleece.
The Ben Lomond track is noted as an 8 hour return. In the winter DOC warns of a difficult climb. Both of these things are false.
Going up that day, I skirted past the 1 hour mark in half an hour and past the 2:30 hour mark 45 minutes later. Up to this point, I'd had tree cover. I knew it was raining, but that wasn't bad. Unfortunately, I felt the full force of it as soon as the trees were behind me. Tough winds pushing water and ice flew at my face as my poor fleece, the water proof coat left behind, got drenched. I pushed forward, nearing the saddle. I don't like turning back.
Eventually, however, I did.
As soon as I let myself turn back, I ran back. I hopped and skipped down the mountain, going at lightning speed. I had gone into that trail at 8:30. I was out at 10:30.
The dissappointement was obvious on my face as Mark picked me up, soaked. He drove me back to the renting store where I shamelessly begged for another day to have the equipment... for free. Luckily people in this town are pretty cool.
The others had arrived a bit earlier from their trip to the southern tip of the south island. They were sitting in the library, charging, reading, relaxing. I needed a shower and we headed back to the hotel so I can take one.
Oh yea, the hotel. It's called Autoline. Mark's mom manages it. It's real flash: a tv in the bedroom and the bathroom, a bath with jets, and a shower with clear wall and doors, a microwave and a full set of cutlery, a table, chairs, the works. We got to stay in it for free.
Anyways, the next day, I conquered poor old Ben. It was a gorgeous day. I shunned the ax and crampons as I got to the peak. By the way, the time was grossly overestimated to the saddle. However, the peak was to take an hour. It took me that plus 45. Climbing in snow is like running in sand. I think I said that before, but it remains true.
DOC says that you could see Mounts Earnslaw/Pikirakatahi and Aspiring/Tititea from the peak. I can't say that I could name them for you, but I saw a hell of a lot of mountains from there. The view was magnificent and the wind was quiet, charging from time to time just to remind you it exists as much as you and this mountain do.
Wanaka was the next town. It's a lovely little town on the edge of a lake (Lake Wanaka) and apparently some good climbs around. We didn't check out the climbs, but we did kayak on the lake. That was nice. I was happy to get a little arm work in.
I slept in Qtown that night as well and the next. On Monday I went paragliding. It was dark and gray and we has to wait quite a while on the hill till the weather cleared up enough to jump. I spent this time talking to George, a travelling frenchman who started travelling six years ago and simply hasn't stopped. He was really cool and let me stay about 25 minutes in the air (as the fat Australians we were with hit the ground like targeted bombs) and gave me the pictures for free... basically.
From Qtown, we were off and away to the west coast. First stop? Franz Joseph! I had been waiting to see this enormous block of ice, one of the many glaciers this country is covered in and one of the two (other than Fox) most popular to climb. I got up super early to see it before the crowds got there. A barrier tells travellers not to go any further, just short of touching the glacier. My threats of simply running up to it and touching it were deterred by Sophie, my other faithful companion. I should've done it... the sun hadn't touched it yet, that block was solid. Oh wells... next time.
The whole crew went on a hike down to see the glacier from the left side. The walk was elusively long. At every corner you found yourself asking, are we there now? I must say, though, it was probably the most fun tramp I'd done to date. The track was uneven, with random climbs and stairs and stream crossings. Too bad I had a bad knee.
Oh yea, my knee. So remember how I said I ran down Ben that first time? Well, I sorta did that the second time as well - because I wanted to catch my friends before they left somewhere else. This time was not as successful and my poor knee gave up. A few kilometers of limping told me this was not going to go away tomorrow.
Limping out of the track made it unfortunately obvious to me that I wasn't going to hike anymore on this trip, hence the lack of enthusiasm I have for the memory thereof.
We travelled up the west coast, stopped at a few places. It really is gorgeous. We took Lewis Pass back to Christchurch and being tired of the van (and probably slightly of each other) we raced back to make it home around 11pm on Wednesday night. I, exhausted but hyper, went to a party.
Further installments from my missing blog posts to come soon. I promise.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Routeburn: My first Great Walk 9/8-11/10
A rise that comes before the fall
It’s sharp and steep
A ridge to conquer
The green fades brown and then to white
Before the ridge you have to conquer
The steep ascent becomes a peak
The fall exists on either side
And then the white fades brown then green
And falls once more to chlorine blue
The fall is steady
The valley flat
Where fake is real
And real is strange
Where green fades gray to some kind of blue
That makes more sense in heaven than earth
We had left our car at the Divide on the Milford Rd. James, who has worked as a guide on the Franz Joseph and the Milford Track, is our lawful driver. As we strap into our packs, we exchange a few words with some DOC employees who are setting out to clear up a six month old landslide on the track. I find myself worrying, as I always do before a track. I hope that I don’t hold these much more experienced trampers back, though I know that with an injured knee, I’m bounded to be their anchor.
The track, being a Great Walk, is impeccably maintained… perhaps too much so. It is a gravel laden path, flat and even. The first day was a cruise; we gained some elevation and found our hut at Lake Mackenzie around 4 pm with plenty of daylight left. The hut made me feel like I was in some high-class camp. We had a furnace and a large common area with a hug kitchen armed with gas stoves, sinks, and cleaning supplies. Unfortunately, most of this was out of commission, it being off season. Still, I could appreciate the fanciness. We built a fire, made dinner, and I went upstairs to the bunkroom to study. I read 3 pages and fell asleep – uneffective.
The next day was our big one. Still mostly a cruise, the track becomes a little more uneven, but therefore more interesting. Eventually we reach the snowline. Walking in snow is like running in sand; you always feel as if you should already be way over there, but you are still right here. Old avalanches dot the trail as if to remind us that even though man created this path, he is not in control of it. I made steps until I felt my knee twinge, so I let James continue in front. We made more stops during this day. At every stop, Nicholas, the monkey, climbed everything he could get his hands on. He made me reminisce of my childhood days when mom used to yell at me to get down off that boulder and be careful. I wish I could follow Nick now, but my knee holds me back. Perhaps another day.
We reach the Harris Saddle and the snow gets much deeper. After lunch we continue, trying carefully not to fall through the snow, though most often we end up at least knee deep. I laugh as James falls down to his thigh, then look into the hole and he had another foot or so to go. That’s just scary.
We reach our next hut, Routeburn Falls Hut, in plenty of daylight again. We stand at the falls as James takes pictures and Nick climbs all over the slippery moss-laden rocks (too nerve racking for me) for quite a bit of time. The hut is even more flash than the last, with a huge common room and a view off the front porch that isn’t even rivaled by the nearest peak. We move a couple of mattresses down in front of the furnace this time, tell ghost stories as we chow down our delicious Asian-inspired dinner, and play cards before we retire to bed. I wake up for the sunrise in the morning and the guys follow me onto the porch for our early-bird special.
A walk through the Fiordlands is always calm, but never quiet. The moss seems to pad the trees as if this was the biggest insane asylum in the world. It is quite insane; you could lose yourself in the beauty. Old man’s beard, a lichen found in partnership with an algae, hangs down from every branch as if to say that no permissible space where something can be alive shall be left empty. It also tells us that this is some of the purest air in the world, as this algae refuses to grow in any but the most pristine environments. The water flowing past tells a similar story. It is a color only before seen in Willy Wonka lollies and public swimming pools. The glacial water slides down the rivers in an aquamarine blue, as if it were heated and chlorinated. This was the Route Burn and we were walking beside it for most of the third day.
The track for the last few kilometers was flat, incredibly flat. We basically ran down, until I proceeded to hurt my knee once more, so I slowed substantially. I was glad to see the car park when we got there, but the adventure was not close to over.
We were now about a three day walk from the car and had to hitch rides to get back to it. The Routeburn Rd is a dirt path that hardly ever gets visitors, and we were at the end of it. A 10km walk brought us to a paved road and we got picked up soon after. The adventure really begins here as the car begins to shake slightly back and forth. No, it wasn’t an aftershock, just the sad rumble of an ill machine. We stop in Glenorchy to give the car a rest and I buy myself a possum tail for a dollar. A little distance away from this town, the right back wheel finally gives way and we pull over to change the tire. Unfortunately, though, the jack doesn’t have a handle and the spare is bolted with something we cannot remove. We crank the jack with a tent peg and end up having to pull over a car for help with the spare. A man, a painter, who looks like he can fix anything and everything steps out of a station wagon with a strange tool I’ve never seen before. He huffs and puffs trying to remove the bolt, and three bleeding scratches later, brings out the hammer and we beat the bolt clean off. Best solution ever.
The man driving, a visitor from the UK, is thankful he picked us up at this point and drives us all the way to Frankton, from which there is a straight road until the turn off for Te Anau (our ultimate destination). Unfortunately, the hitching gods were not looking upon us. An hour and a half later, we decide to give up and head back to Queenstown, the main town 7km away from Frankton. I stick out my thumb for the hell of it and about 4km away from our goal, a car pulls up. As I am about to shut the door we hear “Stevo! Stevo!” Two people run up, a woman about 8 ½ months pregnant and a man wearing a scarf as a hat. They explain that they haven’t seen our driver in ages and they exchange kind words. Nick tells them that we’re just staying the night in Queenstown because of our hitching misfortune and they invite us to stay at their home, though they won’t be there this night. This is awfully nice, but I think I’ll keep this as a last resort. Mark’s mom manages a hotel after all. They suggest we go to a concert that is featuring singers from Uganda, orphan children who have been taken on by a church charity, Watoto. We say we’ll see them there and head off. At Autoline motel, I brace myself for the beg for a cheap room.
Mark’s mom seems pleased to see me, and asks if I need a place to stay the night. I sigh, relaxing back into my skin. She’ll give a room to us for 20 a person, a backpacker’s fee for a beautiful room, full kitchen, lovely showers, and a flat screen television. Basically heaven without the golden gates. We settle down and head out for dinner. Pizza and ice cream = perfect after a tramp (especially if its Patagonia, mmmm).
We do end up heading to the concert, catching the last half. The children are beautiful, though I can’t help but feeling that they have only managed to trade one form of brainwashing to another. “What has Watoto done for you? They taught me to read the Bible.” Perhaps reading Guns, Germs, and Steel would be more beneficial.
We meet with the couple who had stopped the car earlier, though not Stevo, and I get their address. I resolve to knit Tara baby booties and send them. I hope her birth goes smoothly.
The next day we walk the 7km back to Frankton and wait once more. To get a bit further from town, we catch a bus going to the Remarkables ski fields a half hour into our wait. We get on because James says he used to work for one of the tour guide places. We wait another half hour on that road before a car swerves to pick us up. Do not take rides in scary cars, no matter how long you’ve been waiting. Lesson learned.
After a bit of a cry and a thank god to be on solid ground, we got another ride from a very nice lady with a dog! The dog was great, just fantastic, calmed my nerves completely. She dropped us off right at Milford road. Nick went off to walk to make it easier for us to hitch a ride to the car. We got a ride quite quickly and even picked up another hitcher along. He told me a lot of cool stories from his travels.
Needless to say, I kissed the car when we got to it. The drive back was a mix of relaxation, frustration, and delirium as we finally rolled up in Ilam at midnight on the dot.
It’s sharp and steep
A ridge to conquer
The green fades brown and then to white
Before the ridge you have to conquer
The steep ascent becomes a peak
The fall exists on either side
And then the white fades brown then green
And falls once more to chlorine blue
The fall is steady
The valley flat
Where fake is real
And real is strange
Where green fades gray to some kind of blue
That makes more sense in heaven than earth
We had left our car at the Divide on the Milford Rd. James, who has worked as a guide on the Franz Joseph and the Milford Track, is our lawful driver. As we strap into our packs, we exchange a few words with some DOC employees who are setting out to clear up a six month old landslide on the track. I find myself worrying, as I always do before a track. I hope that I don’t hold these much more experienced trampers back, though I know that with an injured knee, I’m bounded to be their anchor.
The track, being a Great Walk, is impeccably maintained… perhaps too much so. It is a gravel laden path, flat and even. The first day was a cruise; we gained some elevation and found our hut at Lake Mackenzie around 4 pm with plenty of daylight left. The hut made me feel like I was in some high-class camp. We had a furnace and a large common area with a hug kitchen armed with gas stoves, sinks, and cleaning supplies. Unfortunately, most of this was out of commission, it being off season. Still, I could appreciate the fanciness. We built a fire, made dinner, and I went upstairs to the bunkroom to study. I read 3 pages and fell asleep – uneffective.
The next day was our big one. Still mostly a cruise, the track becomes a little more uneven, but therefore more interesting. Eventually we reach the snowline. Walking in snow is like running in sand; you always feel as if you should already be way over there, but you are still right here. Old avalanches dot the trail as if to remind us that even though man created this path, he is not in control of it. I made steps until I felt my knee twinge, so I let James continue in front. We made more stops during this day. At every stop, Nicholas, the monkey, climbed everything he could get his hands on. He made me reminisce of my childhood days when mom used to yell at me to get down off that boulder and be careful. I wish I could follow Nick now, but my knee holds me back. Perhaps another day.
We reach the Harris Saddle and the snow gets much deeper. After lunch we continue, trying carefully not to fall through the snow, though most often we end up at least knee deep. I laugh as James falls down to his thigh, then look into the hole and he had another foot or so to go. That’s just scary.
We reach our next hut, Routeburn Falls Hut, in plenty of daylight again. We stand at the falls as James takes pictures and Nick climbs all over the slippery moss-laden rocks (too nerve racking for me) for quite a bit of time. The hut is even more flash than the last, with a huge common room and a view off the front porch that isn’t even rivaled by the nearest peak. We move a couple of mattresses down in front of the furnace this time, tell ghost stories as we chow down our delicious Asian-inspired dinner, and play cards before we retire to bed. I wake up for the sunrise in the morning and the guys follow me onto the porch for our early-bird special.
A walk through the Fiordlands is always calm, but never quiet. The moss seems to pad the trees as if this was the biggest insane asylum in the world. It is quite insane; you could lose yourself in the beauty. Old man’s beard, a lichen found in partnership with an algae, hangs down from every branch as if to say that no permissible space where something can be alive shall be left empty. It also tells us that this is some of the purest air in the world, as this algae refuses to grow in any but the most pristine environments. The water flowing past tells a similar story. It is a color only before seen in Willy Wonka lollies and public swimming pools. The glacial water slides down the rivers in an aquamarine blue, as if it were heated and chlorinated. This was the Route Burn and we were walking beside it for most of the third day.
The track for the last few kilometers was flat, incredibly flat. We basically ran down, until I proceeded to hurt my knee once more, so I slowed substantially. I was glad to see the car park when we got there, but the adventure was not close to over.
We were now about a three day walk from the car and had to hitch rides to get back to it. The Routeburn Rd is a dirt path that hardly ever gets visitors, and we were at the end of it. A 10km walk brought us to a paved road and we got picked up soon after. The adventure really begins here as the car begins to shake slightly back and forth. No, it wasn’t an aftershock, just the sad rumble of an ill machine. We stop in Glenorchy to give the car a rest and I buy myself a possum tail for a dollar. A little distance away from this town, the right back wheel finally gives way and we pull over to change the tire. Unfortunately, though, the jack doesn’t have a handle and the spare is bolted with something we cannot remove. We crank the jack with a tent peg and end up having to pull over a car for help with the spare. A man, a painter, who looks like he can fix anything and everything steps out of a station wagon with a strange tool I’ve never seen before. He huffs and puffs trying to remove the bolt, and three bleeding scratches later, brings out the hammer and we beat the bolt clean off. Best solution ever.
The man driving, a visitor from the UK, is thankful he picked us up at this point and drives us all the way to Frankton, from which there is a straight road until the turn off for Te Anau (our ultimate destination). Unfortunately, the hitching gods were not looking upon us. An hour and a half later, we decide to give up and head back to Queenstown, the main town 7km away from Frankton. I stick out my thumb for the hell of it and about 4km away from our goal, a car pulls up. As I am about to shut the door we hear “Stevo! Stevo!” Two people run up, a woman about 8 ½ months pregnant and a man wearing a scarf as a hat. They explain that they haven’t seen our driver in ages and they exchange kind words. Nick tells them that we’re just staying the night in Queenstown because of our hitching misfortune and they invite us to stay at their home, though they won’t be there this night. This is awfully nice, but I think I’ll keep this as a last resort. Mark’s mom manages a hotel after all. They suggest we go to a concert that is featuring singers from Uganda, orphan children who have been taken on by a church charity, Watoto. We say we’ll see them there and head off. At Autoline motel, I brace myself for the beg for a cheap room.
Mark’s mom seems pleased to see me, and asks if I need a place to stay the night. I sigh, relaxing back into my skin. She’ll give a room to us for 20 a person, a backpacker’s fee for a beautiful room, full kitchen, lovely showers, and a flat screen television. Basically heaven without the golden gates. We settle down and head out for dinner. Pizza and ice cream = perfect after a tramp (especially if its Patagonia, mmmm).
We do end up heading to the concert, catching the last half. The children are beautiful, though I can’t help but feeling that they have only managed to trade one form of brainwashing to another. “What has Watoto done for you? They taught me to read the Bible.” Perhaps reading Guns, Germs, and Steel would be more beneficial.
We meet with the couple who had stopped the car earlier, though not Stevo, and I get their address. I resolve to knit Tara baby booties and send them. I hope her birth goes smoothly.
The next day we walk the 7km back to Frankton and wait once more. To get a bit further from town, we catch a bus going to the Remarkables ski fields a half hour into our wait. We get on because James says he used to work for one of the tour guide places. We wait another half hour on that road before a car swerves to pick us up. Do not take rides in scary cars, no matter how long you’ve been waiting. Lesson learned.
After a bit of a cry and a thank god to be on solid ground, we got another ride from a very nice lady with a dog! The dog was great, just fantastic, calmed my nerves completely. She dropped us off right at Milford road. Nick went off to walk to make it easier for us to hitch a ride to the car. We got a ride quite quickly and even picked up another hitcher along. He told me a lot of cool stories from his travels.
Needless to say, I kissed the car when we got to it. The drive back was a mix of relaxation, frustration, and delirium as we finally rolled up in Ilam at midnight on the dot.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Another Lesson
Some more slang:
cheers=thanks "Cheers mate!"
serviette=napkin
napkin=tampon; yes, I made that mistake. I continue making it.
fizzy drink=soda
chips=fries; I don't like this one. They're fries damn it!
crisps=chips
flog=steal
gidday- yes they seriously say that... all the time
gumboots=rainboots
kiwifruit- you were right dad, they don't understand when the food is referred to as a kiwi... they think you want to eat an endangered bird
lolly=candy; I mean any sort of candy, not just lollipops - that would make too much sense
petrol=gas
good on ya=awesome, congrats
scull=chug
dodgy=shady
whinge=whine (you pronounce the g)
didums=a sarcastic reply to someone when they complain, as in "Aw, didums." I tend to hear that often :/.
cheers=thanks "Cheers mate!"
serviette=napkin
napkin=tampon; yes, I made that mistake. I continue making it.
fizzy drink=soda
chips=fries; I don't like this one. They're fries damn it!
crisps=chips
flog=steal
gidday- yes they seriously say that... all the time
gumboots=rainboots
kiwifruit- you were right dad, they don't understand when the food is referred to as a kiwi... they think you want to eat an endangered bird
lolly=candy; I mean any sort of candy, not just lollipops - that would make too much sense
petrol=gas
good on ya=awesome, congrats
scull=chug
dodgy=shady
whinge=whine (you pronounce the g)
didums=a sarcastic reply to someone when they complain, as in "Aw, didums." I tend to hear that often :/.
August Winter Wonderland
It's never enough. No trip leaves me saying "that was good, let's move on," no experience makes me feel as if I can simply leave it behind, no evening leaves me depressed. I've had days that haven't been the best; I've woken up unprepared for the day; I've been upset over something. But it never lingers, the air around me simply rejects it. Nothing a listen to Edward Sharpe won't solve.
I found myself frowning the other day. There seems to be some sort of cultural barrier between my French flatmate, Catfish, and myself. It is in the form of physical interaction. He tends to hit me; it is meant to be playful, but he has a pretty strong swing. Perhaps my tolerance for pain is simply small. In any case, I have asked him on several occasions not to hit me, at least not so hard, because it simply doesn't feel playful. A couple of days ago, he was explaining to me his rugby injuries. He then showed me the helmet he now has to wear and plopped it on my head. He then proceeded to clock me on the head with his fist. He does play rugby, could that explain it? So I retaliate with a few of my own girly slaps to the arm. He gets angry and throws me out of his room. I may have made it worse because when he came to apologize, I didn't want to hear it. Now, on top of everything he's sent me a facebook message saying if I am to stop acting like a coward and speak to him, he will be in his room in the evening.
Hmmm, curious. French women must be tough.
Speaking of rugby, I went to my first rugby match! I think the pre-match was actually more fun than the match itself. During the day, people were all out in the sunlight, painting each others' faces, getting excited for the game. At the game, though, the only exciting part was the haka the All Blacks did. It was fantastic, not the typical one they do; this version I believe is called the peruperu. The haka is a war dance which is meant as a challenge to the opponents. The player must do it in unison or else it is considered a bad omen. They slap their legs and chests, make their eyes bulge, and often stick out their tongues in the end after a throat slashing motion. I wouldn't want to play them. Not surprisingly, they creamed the Wallabies (the Australian team). Surprisingly, though, the crowd was completely tame. No singing, screaming, or shouting profanities. It was more like watching a television program. Seeing the haka, though, was worth it.
Sunday was quite eventful also. It was my first time hitchhiking. I know, sounds dangerous, but it is so common here that it is considered a typical form of transportation. It was raining, though. Nobody wants a wet hitchhiker. So my friend Tom and I stood at the closest part of route 73 to the city and waited for a bit, probably about half an hour. An Argentinian man finally picked us up. He was at the game too and was as unimpressed as I was. He left us half way there. The next ride we got was an American, traveling in a camper van for three weeks. He thought it was only one hitchhiker because I was standing out while Tom was fixing his pack, but when he pulled up, Tom popped up, but he couldn't say no. It was pretty slick, we did it by accident of course, but it worked. He ended up being pretty keen on our company and waited around the visitors center as we figured out what trek we could do in Arthur's Pass. He then proceeded to drive us 15k back to drop us off at Bealey's Spur, a full 30k out of his way! It was pretty epic.
The hike itself was nice. We met a group coming down and inquired about a missing person that we heard about at the center. Incidentally he was actually part of this group; he had wandered off and somehow got lost in the middle of the night and walked all the way down the mountain bushwhacking and got to the road. Mild hypothermia but overall fine. Amazing...
We had no such problems. We stayed in a hut (Tip Top) at a clearing. There was a fire place, but it was snowing outside. Dry wood? I don't think so. We decided to look anyway: after all, we may as well put the ax and saw hanging in the hut to good use. After some hard work at the remnants of a dead tree, we tried our hand at a fire fueled by moist (though not completely wet) wood. Didn't work.
The fire managed to heat the hut just that little bit, but it was still quite cold. Nobody could be squeamish in these sorts of situations: we combined our sleeping bags and cuddled. Body heat is amazing! I can't bring across how warm it was in those bags.
The morning showed us a completely different mountain. The fog had cleared into a beautiful day. Clear skies gave us a 360 painting of majestic peaks. We walked through a winter wonderland back down to the road. Hitching back we got even luckier. A dairy worker picked us up straight from the mouth of the trail. He was heading straight to Christchurch. He non-stop talked the entire 2 hours about different tracks we could do and back country adventures, even stopped to show us Canterbury's biggest gum tree (eucalyptus)! He dropped us off half a block away from my flat. Fantastic!
I found myself frowning the other day. There seems to be some sort of cultural barrier between my French flatmate, Catfish, and myself. It is in the form of physical interaction. He tends to hit me; it is meant to be playful, but he has a pretty strong swing. Perhaps my tolerance for pain is simply small. In any case, I have asked him on several occasions not to hit me, at least not so hard, because it simply doesn't feel playful. A couple of days ago, he was explaining to me his rugby injuries. He then showed me the helmet he now has to wear and plopped it on my head. He then proceeded to clock me on the head with his fist. He does play rugby, could that explain it? So I retaliate with a few of my own girly slaps to the arm. He gets angry and throws me out of his room. I may have made it worse because when he came to apologize, I didn't want to hear it. Now, on top of everything he's sent me a facebook message saying if I am to stop acting like a coward and speak to him, he will be in his room in the evening.
Hmmm, curious. French women must be tough.
Speaking of rugby, I went to my first rugby match! I think the pre-match was actually more fun than the match itself. During the day, people were all out in the sunlight, painting each others' faces, getting excited for the game. At the game, though, the only exciting part was the haka the All Blacks did. It was fantastic, not the typical one they do; this version I believe is called the peruperu. The haka is a war dance which is meant as a challenge to the opponents. The player must do it in unison or else it is considered a bad omen. They slap their legs and chests, make their eyes bulge, and often stick out their tongues in the end after a throat slashing motion. I wouldn't want to play them. Not surprisingly, they creamed the Wallabies (the Australian team). Surprisingly, though, the crowd was completely tame. No singing, screaming, or shouting profanities. It was more like watching a television program. Seeing the haka, though, was worth it.
Sunday was quite eventful also. It was my first time hitchhiking. I know, sounds dangerous, but it is so common here that it is considered a typical form of transportation. It was raining, though. Nobody wants a wet hitchhiker. So my friend Tom and I stood at the closest part of route 73 to the city and waited for a bit, probably about half an hour. An Argentinian man finally picked us up. He was at the game too and was as unimpressed as I was. He left us half way there. The next ride we got was an American, traveling in a camper van for three weeks. He thought it was only one hitchhiker because I was standing out while Tom was fixing his pack, but when he pulled up, Tom popped up, but he couldn't say no. It was pretty slick, we did it by accident of course, but it worked. He ended up being pretty keen on our company and waited around the visitors center as we figured out what trek we could do in Arthur's Pass. He then proceeded to drive us 15k back to drop us off at Bealey's Spur, a full 30k out of his way! It was pretty epic.
The hike itself was nice. We met a group coming down and inquired about a missing person that we heard about at the center. Incidentally he was actually part of this group; he had wandered off and somehow got lost in the middle of the night and walked all the way down the mountain bushwhacking and got to the road. Mild hypothermia but overall fine. Amazing...
We had no such problems. We stayed in a hut (Tip Top) at a clearing. There was a fire place, but it was snowing outside. Dry wood? I don't think so. We decided to look anyway: after all, we may as well put the ax and saw hanging in the hut to good use. After some hard work at the remnants of a dead tree, we tried our hand at a fire fueled by moist (though not completely wet) wood. Didn't work.
The fire managed to heat the hut just that little bit, but it was still quite cold. Nobody could be squeamish in these sorts of situations: we combined our sleeping bags and cuddled. Body heat is amazing! I can't bring across how warm it was in those bags.
The morning showed us a completely different mountain. The fog had cleared into a beautiful day. Clear skies gave us a 360 painting of majestic peaks. We walked through a winter wonderland back down to the road. Hitching back we got even luckier. A dairy worker picked us up straight from the mouth of the trail. He was heading straight to Christchurch. He non-stop talked the entire 2 hours about different tracks we could do and back country adventures, even stopped to show us Canterbury's biggest gum tree (eucalyptus)! He dropped us off half a block away from my flat. Fantastic!
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Mornings
My short walk from the flat to the library before the sun comes up is probably my favorite part of the day. The quiet is permeated by the occasional bus driving by with nobody in it and the sing song of a dozen different birds. I feel as if the songbirds are talking to me, specifically to me. The one whose call sounds like a blaring siren is yelling, "Wake up! Paper writing time!" and the chirp chirp of another is telling me, "Hey sweetness, it's all good." while a peep comes out from around the bushes saying how happy he is to be alive and so should I. The campus is lush, a botanical garden laden with wetlands and Eucalyptus trees giving it that sweet smell of morning dew. Crossing the bridge to get to the main campus adds the sound of rushing waters to my morning and I feel as if I should jump in and become more than simply an observer of the beauty, but a part of it.
The sun is slowly rising now, illuminating the buildings in a gray hue before it reveals their true colors. Nothing happens suddenly here, but slowly and calmly. It gives one enough time to appreciate what is there and impatience for what is to come.
I may never leave.
The sun is slowly rising now, illuminating the buildings in a gray hue before it reveals their true colors. Nothing happens suddenly here, but slowly and calmly. It gives one enough time to appreciate what is there and impatience for what is to come.
I may never leave.
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