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.