Where my feet have been...

one year ago today...

2009-07-27T17:57:00.002-05:00

...New Zealand was an open book of adventures and new possibilities. A year long trip that had only just begun by the mere fact that we had stepped onto that first plane.

Maybe that's why I've had this strange hurt inside today. A deep longing.

I have been so busy living in a very un-adjusted situation for the past month and a half, planning and preparing myself for what is to come. New job. New apartment (the hunt for which took longer then expected). Starting up my NPO. Re-visiting the life I left behind a year ago. Simply trying to catch up and then keep up.

I haven't had the time to really sit and think about the trip. I have found myself feeling as though the trip never happened - an entire year felt like a dream.

Until today. And now I have this feeling inside my gut that seems so hollow and sad. I looked at a familiar photograph, and my heart sank...wishing I was there, in the heart of that beautiful landscape, surrounded by mountains all around me.

I miss being there.

But it's because of how wonderful the country was. How beautiful and perfect the hiking was. The adventures and the memories. The people we met along the way. The new friends and family we made.

New Zealand is but a dream. A dream I very much miss.

A change of season

2009-05-20T00:42:00.003-05:00

In 14 hours we embark on a Cathay Pacific plane destined for Hong Kong.

That means we have a 4.30am date with the 24hr international airport of Auckland.

We leave behind New Zealand.

A dream I have had for over a decade.

A country thoroughly travelled. A back country greatly enjoyed.

When I see a picture of the south island mountain chains, my heart still leaps. Clearly my tramping days are not over. I long to be back in the huts at night admiring the remarkable landscapes of untouched beauty under a clear night's sky filled with the southern hemisphere's constellations. Sparkling. Quiet. The night belongs to the Rurus who call out to one another.

This trip was amazing.

There was so much that we wanted to say before leaving Auckland, but time quickly escaped us as we hastely planned the next stages of our trip. So, it will have to wait until we get home.

Hong Kong.

A polar opposite world both in population and pace. Vibrant colours, created more so by the culture and the neon lights doning chinese characters along the building sides. The beautiful bustling world of Hong Kong.

To have the opportunity to travel throughout the world is a wonderful gift. The world was created for us to discover. We are so blessed to have been able to spend such a dedicated amount of time exploring New Zealand.

This trip is only the beginning of a lifetime of discovery.

Kia Ora New Zealand. It's been fun.

That was fun

2009-05-11T23:34:00.008-05:00

Nine days from now, we embark on a new adventure. Hong Kong. Which is an entirely different adventure from the hiking in New Zealand.

Unfortunately, for those who actually do follow this blog, I'm about five months behind in blogging. That's due to a lack of a laptop or internet access at a steady interval. That's where my wonderful journal steps in and captures parts of my thoughts. When we return, that's when I'll actually have time to recap our hiking adventures in New Zealand from January to the end. It was amazing, and if I was asked to say only one thing about New Zealand, it would be how fantastic their hiking is. The system put into place by the DOC is superb and something I wish we had back home in Canada.

A bonus about being at home while blogging will be that I can actually post pictures at the same time! :)

Anyway. So we're in Auckland now. Completely unplanned. We should actually be enjoying life on a beautiful sheep farm in the Waikato district. Unfortunately, on the way out of Rotorua yesterday, Sgt. McClaughwd had a heart attack. I guess that might be the best way to put it for a car. On the busiest street through Rotorua, right smack dab in the fast lane in the middle of traffic.

Kaput.

Since we were blocking traffic when we placed the AA call, it was marked as an urgent callout. Luckily, a kind gentleman pulled over to help us push the car out of the way. The side of the road...where we spent almost six hours that day.

The first AA representative was a mechanic who was sent out to assess the situation.

Two words we didn't want to ever hear again.

CAM BELT

You've got to be joking me. It felt like we were about to relive the entire Owaka garage experience all over again. Our cam belt had seized.

Having bought the 'extension' package with AA (we have AA plus), we were allowed a few key perks. One of which being that we could be towed anywhere in NZ as long as it wasn't further then towing it to your home address in NZ. Our home address in NZ is in New Plymouth, which was 299km from our breakdown. The car's medical condition meant that plans were changing, so we requested to be towed to Auckland to deal with the car and I guess just get ready to fly home. Auckland = 235kms away. Bingo!

Despite AA trying to save themselves some money by trying to talk us out of our plans, we were allowed our long distance tow, as stated in our agreement.

And so began our long wait for the tow truck driver to arrive from Auckland. This gave us the perfect opportunity to clean out the car and sort ourselves out. But then came the biggest decision we would have to face...the decision to save Sgt. McClaughwd or to let him go.

So close to the end of the trip. Is he worth saving at this point? A solid little car with, albeit surprisingly, a lot of life left in him. But is he worth the cost to us?

Decisions we had to discuss once we arrived in the city.

Feeling closer to home then ever before, we sit and ponder the current situation and the changes we are now facing.

Sadly, this setback means no more farms, and no more sheepies.

My heart is broken.

Minute hiccup

2009-02-09T19:09:00.002-05:00

Lack of internet access.

The result: A slight delay in stories on our blog.

We've had a very busy month tramping up the West Coast of the South Island, and are currently basing ourselves out of Nelson for our last bit of tramping in the south island and some freedom kayaking. Also, we're excitedly awaiting a reunion with our friend Anton from back home, who has been in Australia for a month and now NZ for the last week. A taste of home.

Hope everyone who reads this blog is enjoying winter in the northern hemisphere or summer in the southern hemisphere, wherever you may be.

We'll be back, as soon as we can, with tales of river trudging, getting lost on a hike in Arthur's Pass, risking our lives on old cableways, climbing up waterfalls unwillingly, being trapped at a hut due to heavy rain and flooded rivers, and even more brushes with rat infestation.

The joys of travelling.

Loving every minute of it, but feeling the pangs of seperation as we start to leave the Alps behind. *sigh*

Who knows what lies ahead. Seeing how our trip is going so far, I'm sure there are many more adventures to come.

We just wouldn't have it any other way. :)

Sweet Home Otekura!

2009-01-11T15:22:00.002-05:00

I remember the second time. It was only two days since the last incident.

I was standing by the window folding laundry when Gordon ran through the living room to open the back door. He had heard sirens once again. With the back door open wide we could hear the vehicles approaching, their sirens ringing over the hills. We stood there silently trying to piece together where the emergency vehicles were traveling from.

Something felt different this time.

Two days ago, a fleet of emergency vehicles had been down this quiet gravel road. Traveling almost independent from one another, and possibly from three different township areas, three fire engines, three ambulances and three police cars all made their way down the gravel road to turn just before the McLay farm at the Cannibal Bay road turn off.

Gordon and Reuben took the quad bike to investigate the situation which would bring these emergency personnel along their paddocks. The kids were noticeably alert from all the excitement. This never happens out here. Coming from a metropolitan city, you tend to forget what it’s like without a siren echoing through the skies every 10-15 minutes. My curiosity is always peaked when I hear a siren or pull over for an emergency services vehicle, but I usually spend my time praying that no one is severely injured or dead. You almost forget that it’s happening all around you all the time in a place like Toronto. In the farm country, a land owner may be the first to respond to an accident scene. Most emergency response teams are volunteers in the country, so it takes time to respond to any situation.

Out here, in the quiet hills of Otekura, you notice something like a fleet of emergency vehicles.

Two days ago, it was a van rollover. A 12 seater van had slipped off the gravel road and began to roll down a very steep embankment. Luckily, a tree stopped their plummet, and they only rolled onto their roof. It was a van carrying elderly people who were out on a day trip in the area. Thankfully, nobody was seriously injured. All passengers were rescued from the vehicle and checked at a nearby hospital before being released.

But their fate could have been much worse. The hillside they were about to plummet down is steep and very deep. The original call to the volunteer emergency personnel was that people were trapped in the vehicle. This lead to the deployment of two helicopters from the Dunedin hospital, fearing the worst. They were eventually turned back when the situation was reassessed and there was confirmation of no serious injuries or deaths.

There was a hustle and bustle in the air. You wanted to see it due to curiosity, but you didn’t want to interfere nor be disrespectful to those directly affected.

The second time was different. The sirens came and everyone was a little more sullen this time around. This time the car accident was further down the road, closer to the beach. This time a tree did not stop the single vehicle from rolling down the hill. This time, the driver (sole occupant) passed away from his injuries.

The road would be closed off for a good part of the day.

These narrow, windy, gravel roads. Roads with only 1 ½ lanes, barely wide enough for two vehicles. Roads traveled on by large transport trucks (stock trucks especially), inexperienced camper van drivers, tourists, young drivers who think they are invincible, and locals. A deadly mix, especially when you see some sections of these roads. Speed, inexperience, tiredness, apathy, the roads. I’m surprised I haven’t heard of more accidents since arriving in NZ.

Watching the fire engines with their lights flashing, traveling down the gravel road, kicking up the dust behind them. A moment that is embedded in my mind.

Everything Happens for a Reason

When I was four, I wanted to live on a farm. To be precise, I wanted to live in a barn. I remember this book my parents bought me for my fourth birthday. I think it was called “I Am Four”. It’s about this little girl and it follows her as she says all the things she can do now that she’s four. At one point, she is sitting on a big comfy chair and it says underneath “Now, let’s talk about farms.”(or something to the thought). I remember my mother telling me that it was one of the reasons they had bought me the book. Growing up on the Earlton Airport, I had a lot of friends who lived on farms. The stories they would tell me would build the basis of my farm fascination. Then there was this barren land on the other side of the road from the airport and it had a run down barn on it. I don’t know where the owner of the property was, but I remember being told that there were bear traps all over the property, so I was scared of ever hopping the fence to explore. So I stood, on the other side of the fence dreaming and wondering about what life would be like if I lived on a farm.

Then I came to New Zealand, and following a series of events, Brent and I found FHINZ, which led us to the McLay family, who we then left, and through a stalled series of new events found us traveling back to the McLays – for a quick hello, which turned into a month long farming adventure.

I might never have moved into that one barn that I dreamt of during my childhood, but I was blessed with an incredible farm experience that changes every day.

It’s been almost a month since our return to the farm. Detained by car troubles, we’ve been blessed with every moment shared with this family. We sincerely love this family and are so grateful for their generosity and hospitality.

How do you capture every laugh, every inside joke, every dinner table conversation, every game of “I Spy”, every time we are spoken to in “Canadian”, every tear, every morning story read, every evening Milo, every towel whipping adventure – which always ends in injury, every sheep symphony, every piece of lolly cake, every special moment. You can’t. Not with pictures, not in blogs. And we can’t remember every moment while we sit here thinking back on the last month of our lives. The stories will come out when different adventures spark the memories. Forever embedded in our thoughts will be this family and everything that we’ve shared.

Where do we begin?

Being back on the farm. That has been mint.

Sudoku competitions. Especially the one time where three of us got car sick while solving a Sudoku puzzle while en route to Milton for a meeting. I will miss the younger ones learning to play and how they always wanted to help with the five star puzzles (the hardest ones in the Otago Daily Times). I’ll miss Reuben, Brent and myself helping each other out, or messing each other up trying to solve those uncrackable 4 & 5 star challenges.

The hand slapping game – I have never lost so quickly at a game in my life. Every joke the kids would come up with. Reuben’s camp antics brought home. Chinese whispers. Our elaborate games of charades, some of which were videotaped. Pictionary. Monopoly Junior. NZ Monopoly. Cadoo – especially those combo cards.

I still love the lambs more then anything. Now with a greater affinity to those lambs going through puberty, meh’ng with their raspy changing voices. I just want to hug them. Or Lambchop, one of the 7 pet lambs remaining in the small paddock, and one of the pet lambs that was brought to the hay shed on our first trip to the farm. Soon enough, half of them will end up at the Freezing Works, which is a part of raising lambs. Just listening to them calling out for milk and attention in the mornings. Yup, never going to get over loving the lambies.

Working with the sheep and lambs in the sheep shed. Brent had an experience at the killing shed. He also had an opportunity to drench some lambs (you have a pink medicine-like mixture strapped to your back a-la-ghostbuster, and you feed a tube into their mouths and squirt out an exact measurement of the medicine to keep the lambies healthy). Dagging sheep (which is a nice way of saying shearing off the poo from their bums – this is done before they are shorn). Using sheep shakers to round up the flock into the pens. Watching the drafting of the animals.

Working on the farm and around the front section of the house. Pulling nails out of the boards, cleaning the spouting, gardening, and picking red currants and gooseberries.

If people think that farming is inhumane, they have never met Mr. McLay. Watching him work with his cows, calves, sheep and lambs is a wonderful experience. He genuinely cares about the welfare of these animals and gives them greater attention when he works with them, then I see a lot of people give to other human beings they work with. He is passionate about his work, and it’s a real pleasure to what him do his work. I love hearing him speak to the stock, calling the animals ‘mother’. We spent an evening trying to shift a cow that had been in labour for an extended period of time. We walked it all the way down a gravel road with a dead calf hanging out of her backside. He had to bring her to the cow yards to assist her in extracting the calf. We couldn’t save the baby, but could save the mother. Watching him work with her and try to calm her was wonderful.

Sitting on the back of the quad bike, looking through the shepherd’s crook attached to the front of the bike, I sit and think about how things used to be in the land of Israel with the shepherds working in the fields and living amongst their flocks. The art of shepherding is almost lost in the modern world. Almost all but forgotten.

The animals.

Shadow tag on the beach at Cannibal Bay.

Eating outside in the summer months.

Attending the Conference in Green Island on the 1st of January. The MAF meeting in Milton.

The smell of ammonia under the wool shed. On the first morning of shearing that Brent and I were on the farm, Isabel and I were underneath the wool shed chasing out the sheep that were placed in this area overnight. You basically had to walk around like a crab as it was only tall enough for a sheep to stand beneath, and crawling on your hands and knees would mean slushing through a whole lot of fresh sheep droppings. So we slowly got them out. Slowly. Man, the fumes down below were my first experience with what I would call “strong sheep odor”. I can’t describe it, except that it was so potent, I felt like I couldn’t escape the smell from my nose for at least an hour.

The two days we helped with shearing. On the first day, Brent was in the sheep yards penning up with Reuben, while I was in the wool shed working as a rousy in training, along with Isabel and Esther. The rousy’s job is to sort out of the wool after the sheep has been shorn. I stood alongside one of the two rousys and followed her instructions as much as possible, as well as her actions, pulling the wool out from under the sheep at specific times for the one shearer I worked below. It was a pretty neat experience. Separating the wool, hoping you’re doing it properly, and then sweeping off the platform with a flat plastic brush. Then comes the part where you carry the blanket of wool (that has been shorn off the sheep) to the wool press area and you become covered in the sheep’s oil. Yum. When I looked down at my shirt and arms, I felt like I was experiencing something similar to being tarred and feathered. Sheep oil, followed by wool fibers, followed by more sheep oil, then more wool fibers. You became a white wooly human. Funny.

The shearers are a part of a shearing gang. It’s just what they are called. It’s the group that travels together and work at the different farms. There are ‘x’ number of shearers and ‘x’ number of rousys and sometimes a wool presser (I think). After the second day of shearing, where I spent my time on the farm penning up the sheep, we decided we would form a penning up gang. Brent, Reuben, Isabel, Josiah and I were working in the back shooing the sheep and lambs into the pens and counting down the numbers as the shearers worked away. It was the ‘behind the scenes’ of shearing. Another unique experience.

I’ll tell you something you’ll never forget. What it feels like to have a sheep or a lamb stomp on your foot when you try to shift them into the race or a different pen. The pain rippling through your gumboot. We found some pretty interesting bruises on our bodies following the drafting and shearing days. Then there are moments like when Susan banged a sheep shaker on the back of a lamb and the lamb got its revenge. It bucked against her foot before moving away.

When the lambs start bucking as they hop towards freedom. When you open up a gate and let a mob go, it’s almost like watching a series of victory mid air kicks. So strange. I still don’t know why they do that.

The red fleet shifting a herd of cattle. Brent and I were returning from Balclutha when we came over one of the last hills before the McLay farm and found ourselves facing stock on the road. From the side road, out popped Mr. McLay on his red quad bike and Reuben on his red dirt bike. Then there was us in our red Sgt. McClaughwd. Three in a row, we slowly moved along behind the stock as they made their way to a new paddock to feed. A red army marching behind the animals. It was perfect timing, and amusing.

Making my first Christmas turkey with Susan & Isabel just after five in the morning. The screams we squealed when washing out the turkey with water and taking out the innards of the dead bird. My first time handling raw meat without gloves on. Yuck. But we survived. Trying to figure out temperature conversions after finding out that the NZ ovens are set in Celsius, and realizing that we cook in Fahrenheit back home in Canada. Stuffing the turkey. Ms. McLay saving the turkey from being dried out.

Eating the turkey. : )

Brent learning to drive the quad bike. We were on the farm alone one afternoon trying to get some stuff done around the front section of the house for the family. Mr. McLay gave Brent a lesson before they left for a church picnic. When we were alone, we loaded the trailer and then Brent would drive us to our drop off location to offload everything. It felt like we were farmers when we would ride around the paddock just beside the wool shed. Mind you we would be farmers who might not run a very successful farm. We were passing off an appearance today, but don’t really know what we are doing. If we actually owned a farm, Brent and I could share the work load, but I’d probably just end up petting lambs all day while Brent would be out enjoying his newfound interest in motorized farm vehicles. But we’d both be smiling.

Camping out in the tents. Every night for a wee while a few of the younger ones would hop out in the evening to sleep in the tents. They wouldn’t all last through the night. It all depended on who was outside with them. One night I slept in the grey tent with Susan, while Isabel and Naomi slept in the orange tent right beside us. Ladies giggling and enjoying the outdoors. Susan, not letting me live down an early slumber. The rubber ducky. The two girls who slept in the orange tent, whose walls do not connect with the ground sheet; Harold the cat crawling into their tent at night.

The Christmas Play – The Son of God rode on my back. The behind the scenes preparations. The arts & crafts. The rehearsals. The wardrobe. The special effects and sound effects. The curtain call. The fun. Little donkey. The laughs. The bows.

Christmas in New Zealand. What a blessing it was to be with a family and experience a true NZ Christmas. We met so many people on the McLay family tree. Christmas dinner (lunch) was a wonderful feast! Followed by a Christmas barbecue for tea with more family. A Rugby game (what else could you ask for?). A play featuring the McLay kids and foreigners (us). A game of NZ Monopoly. We’re so kiwi! But simply sitting outside for an evening barbecue on Christmas day, knowing that back home there were reports of “Stormegeddon”. Calling home and finding out about my brother’s adventures in trying to make it home for Christmas. Looking over grassy hills and remembering what would be waiting for us back home during the winter months.

A green Christmas. Very strange. You really do miss the snow. But we wouldn’t have asked for a better Christmas away from home. Being around six children on Christmas morning, it was so wonderful to be around such excitement!

The two Christmas trees that Mr. McLay brought home on Christmas Eve. The decorations the kids had painted to decorate the tree with. Snowmen decorations, in a land with no Christmas snow. We loved that!

Hearing that the NZ Public Health department has sent a questionnaire back home to Canada for us to complete regarding our Cryptosporidium episode. Oh well. Can’t do much about that now until we get home.

Our car breaking down 5 minutes from the house, while we were on the way to the Owaka museum with Esther, Naomi and Josiah. Meeting the Leslie family while we waited to hear back from AA about our callout. Inadvertently, spending the afternoon with the Leslie family – which was so much fun.

Running into serious problems with a garage in the area that did heaps of unauthorized work on our car. Paying off a bill that was double the price of the car, even though it was a “cheap and quick fix”. In the end spending close to $1500 to fix a $500 car. It’s just as expensive to be sick in this country when you’re a foreigner as well!!

Car troubles and the people we met through the ordeal. Thanks to Gordon and Coralie who were able to point us to the right people. Paul Goatley. Balclutha motors. People who listened and treated us like customers.

Failing our WOF. Just the timing of it was all wrong – during the holiday, everyone in New Zealand shuts down. We were at a stand still for a good amount of time. Luckily, Paul knows people – so he had the ability to truly help us out and get our car up to standard to pass the WOF.

Finally passing the WOF. Our dear car is good to go until the 7th of July. So, he’ll be WOF ready for selling at the end of June. Doing a servicing and NOT hearing about any further repairs required. Phew.

The puppies at the Goatley house!!! We spent a few hours at Paul’s house, even having lunch with his family, while he worked out the kinks in our car. Their puppy Teka had given birth to four pups one week earlier. They were so precious.

Veggie tales and the songs that get stuck in your head after you watch a video. I ain’t got no belly button. You are my cheeseburger.

Sunday evening, December 21st. Helping Mr. McLay shift a few cows. On a part of the farm that I had never visited before. High atop a hill near the hay barn. Just remembering the amazing views. And lamenting the fact that I did not have my camera (which is unusual for me). That perfect sunset with a glowing sky, God rays pouring through the clouds. Sitting on the back of a four wheeler atop that high hill, overlooking the wonderful hilly terrain that is the McLay farm. Trying to take it all in. Gorgeous!

My amazement over how the goats don’t even bat an eye when the quad bike drives near them through a paddock. They take no notice to the vehicle, while sheep on the other hand make a mad dash for their lives.

Spittle bugs in the field. Walking through a paddock, Gordon sometimes stops to show us something new on the farm. These WEE little green skink like bugs were so cute, living in a cocoon of spit bubbles. Being in a cow paddock, I would have simply assumed the bubbles of white stuff were cow dribble, and I never would have explored it any further.

Hopping off the quad bike and being left alone in amongst a herd of cattle. Completely surrounded by large creatures who have been riled up by the motor bike bopping around. Gulp. We still don’t trust cattle.

Drafting the sheep and lambs to prepare them for shearing. Sheep shaking them into the race. Listening to the symphony begin as the sheep and lambs are separated for the evening before shearing. Watching those special few who freak out and barge into the fences and gates. Having a lamb charge at you and almost kick you in the face as it leaps for freedom.

The Gore mystery bus trip. Susan, Isabel, Esther, Naomi and Josiah (Reuben was away at camp). The drive into Gore with the kids singing in the van. The entire day, spent with over 70 other children. That dreadful steep hike down the hillside that was the ‘shortcut’ to the lunch site. Collecting tired and children on the way down the hill. The boot camp like activities. The view from the farm’s hills. The music at the end of the day that quieted down the rambunctious group of kids in the front of the bus. “Whoa, what you do to me…” The day spent with the McLay kids on the bus trip. Mystery tea at KFC. Ice cream treats in Clinton. Playing in the park. Playing games in the car together on the way home.

Sitting on the back of the quad bike. Gumboots dangling off the side, kicking through the long grass.

While we were shifting cattle, I almost put long grass in my mouth. Thinking twice about my fate. Crypto was too recent for slip ups around any stock.

The greenest of green hills, the bluest of blue skies, and that black & white cow who popped his head into my view over the side of the hill.

Tire tracks from the bike left behind in the long grass. Looking at the tracks left behind by the cows, and the body prints that they make when compressing the long grass in the paddocks.

That cow paddock’s terrain. Rough and steep.

Shifting cattle – you can’t always trust that they won’t charge you. Or at least Brent and I don’t.

The classic bull with the gold ring in his nose. Seeing breath being blown through a cow’s nose, like in a cartoon.

Brent losing his gumboot in the mud and gunk in the cow paddock. Trying to rescue the boot, fighting against the suction without sacrificing his sock or foot to a momentary loss of balance.

The retro rusty tin can rattler – I love this one. Making new milk jug sheep shakers for Gordon for Christmas. Chasing sheep up ramps and into pens. The crazy ones that jump the fence and break their legs.

Brent busting his knee on the motor bike. Susan brought him out to learn how to ride the motor bike one day in the paddock behind the hay shed. He fell off the bike on his first time, which those of us watching could confirm occurred due to the fact that he didn’t bring up his feet once the bike started to go. His feet precariously hung out both sides, bouncing off the ground periodically as he tried to preserve his balance. Then, bam. He met the paddock. After a new lesson from Susan, he got back on and tried again. Success. Unfortunately, the first fall banged up his knee a little bit. A good bruise. I reckon he looks more comfortable on a quad bike.

Reuben flinging sheep feces at Naomi. Naomi's response: “It’s just poo”.

Day trips to Balclutha, Milton, Mosgiel and other places.

Oral tests of the NZ Road Code with the kids. You know it’s a NZ road code book when you read questions relating to what you would do if sheep/stock were on the road.

The food – simply cannot be topped.

A day in Dunedin. We love Dunedin.

Walking in the paddocks. Lying in a field of grass and embracing the quiet solitude this environment can offer.

Jem. Ty. Kate.

Treasure in an Oatmeal box. Kevin didn’t have to die. : (

Meeting so many new people.

The semi-permanent sleep over with Susan and Isabel. Every morning, being joined by Naomi, Esther and Josiah in the bedroom. And again, Susan who will never let me live down falling asleep on her one night. ONE night.

Living in our gumboots again. Ahhh such a nice change.

The open arms that invited us to stay when our car broke down, and again when we failed our WOF and were slightly stranded.

Washing dishes. Their water is significantly hotter then we’ve ever experienced.

New Year’s Eve with the McLays. Watching the Sound of Music with the family on television. Brent, Reuben, and I staying up to ring in the New Year, only Brent and I were fast asleep on the couch. Brent fell asleep on the couch at half past eleven, and I followed soon after near quarter to twelve. Just after midnight I think Reuben said something to us, which woke both of us up, prompting me to look at my watch, wish Reuben a quick Happy New Year, and fall right back asleep. So, Reuben sort of rang in the New Year alone. Outlasted by a teenager…must be getting old.

The 6 POP campervans that arrived through our time on the farm. We were excited to see even just one.

Tiki tourist day on our last Saturday with the family. We spent the day driving around and being tourists by visiting amazing locations throughout the Catlins. FINDING A LIVE CRAB!!! Thanks to Naomi’s sharp eyes in murky water. He was too big to scoop up without a net. This was a wonderful way to end our trip on the farm and in the area.

Harold the cat’s victory kills – which he doesn’t eat. The mice, the rats, the birds. The one mouse I caught for Harold by stepping on his tail. I guess that isn’t as much fun, so Harold lost interest in him as soon as I stopped him from moving.

Visiting the Owaka museum on our last day in the Catlins. That museum has so much information, and it’s amazing to see photographs of distant relatives of the McLays in the early 1900s.

Spending two nights alone with Reuben, Esther, Naomi and Josiah. The fun we had together playing games, watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, creating kitchen adventures, working around the farm and in the house, the septic tank mishap. You were all gems.

Gordon, Coralie. Susan, Reuben, Isabel, Esther, Naomi, Josiah.

To Gordon. Your love and passion for the farm and the work that you do are incredible. You are a great man, and we have been so very blessed to spend time under your roof and in your paddocks. We have loved every bit of information you have shared with us and all the things you have taught us while working with you. Like searching for a pregnant cow, yet learning about spittle bugs. Or walking in the bush and finding out about all the different trees and flowers. Thank you for all the extras that you put in to make our stay so memorable.

To Coralie. What can we say? You have been such a blessing in our lives. You have opened the doors to your home and welcomed us with no questions through all the problems we had during our ‘short’ visit to see you all once again. Thank you for everything, for every word, for every laugh, for every tear, for every moment. We cannot thank you enough for loving us. You are an incredible woman and mother, and we wish nothing but true blessings to you throughout your life.

To Susan. My wee little sister. The eldest of six. Oh the laughs we have shared. The one who just couldn’t get enough of leaving us behind. : ) Why do we have to say goodbye more than once? Thank you for being our wee sister and for everything that you shared with us. Including cleaning the race out in the sheep shed. : ) For our talks, for our giggles, for our fun and games. You are a very special person, and we very much look forward to seeing where your life path will lead you. Good luck and be safe!

To Reuben. Our little instigator. You have a sneaky smile about you, and we’ll miss it. You always made us laugh, whether motivated by you or something you missed out on. Your sharp wit and sense of humour will be missed. You are going to do great things in life. You are smart, determined and have so much potential. We look forward to hearing about your future on the farm. Reuben’s so cool, he’s mint.

To Isabel. Thank you for reading to us in the mornings, however, I would choose a more uplifting book next time! For all the time we spent with you in the sheep yards and the wool shed, thank you. I would also like to thank you for always trying to include me on your farm excursions; you always made me feel very welcome. It’s been fun spending more time with you on this second trip of ours. Thank you for all the good times we shared and for the adventures you created. We look forward to watching you grow up (via photos and emails) and are excited to see what lies ahead of you. Bless you.

To Esther. The inquisitive one. You are very bright. We’ll miss your inquisitive nature. We’ll miss your helpful hand around the kitchen and the house. For the times you shared with us while feeding the animals. For all the jokes you would tell. For my super horse mask for the play. That rocked! For your smile and that twinkle in your eye. In Canada…we’ll miss you.

To Naomi. I will miss your infectious laugh. Your joix de vivre. Your musical cucumbers. Especially the songs you would play on my knees. No, I won’t actually miss those. : ) But we’ll miss you. You were an excellent pictionary partner and crumble maker. Thank you for letting me sit on your knee. Don’t worry Breeeeennnt will miss you too!

To Josiah. Our little pup. Thank you for being a super helper whenever we asked. We very much appreciated that. Both inside and outside the house and during the shearing days. Sorry we won’t be around anymore to sit beside, thankfully you have 5 other siblings to love around the table as well as two parents. Be careful as you grow bigger, don’t get stuck in the hay traps when hunting for the hen’s eggs. Thank you for the games of snakes & ladders and for the fun in the playgrounds we shared. Be good while we’re gone. ; ) We’ll miss you.

In the end, everything happens for a reason. Even though we were delayed in our travel, we leave now with our car fixed. We’ll probably be avoiding the Rees-Dart track, which would have been in flood had we arrived on time in late December. They have had torrential rain fall in that area, with the rivers and streams all flowing at 10x the normal levels (as reported by DOC). There is still a search on for a female tramper who is presumed drowned, after possibly negotiating a swollen river on her own near the Dart Hut, a hut found on the Rees-Dart track. And more recently, there has been two deaths at the Fox Glacier after an unstable ice shelf fell on two Australian brothers. The two individuals crossed a “DO NOT CROSS” barrier to get a closer look at the phenomenon, and in doing so risked their lives and eventually led to their untimely deaths. These two situations mentioned above have taken place in two areas where we would have been tramping/touring at the same time as the mentioned incidents if we had not stayed at the farm. That would have been freaky. Everything happens for a reason.

Canadian words vs New Zealand words – the never ending saga…

Facecloth = Flannel
Hallway = Passage
Tumayto = Tomaado
Think outside the box = think outside the square
Counter = bench
Cool = Coo
School = Schoo
Garage = Gahridge
Bathroom = Toilet
Pants = Trousers
Sweater = Jersey
Rubber Boot = Gum Boot
Flip Flop = Jandal

There’s heaps more, but they escape me at this time…(kids you can add to this list...)

Our time is coming to an end. Driving back to the farm from the Owaka museum felt sad yesterday. Seeing the sights one last time. The rolling green hills of the Catlins. The multitude of sheep farms. Pulling onto the McLay’s road one last time. Tomorrow we leave a family who took us in and made us feel like one of their own.

It’s hard to say goodbye. It was wonderful to come back to visit. Returning to the kids and the smiles. Enjoying our time with Gordon and Coralie, and watching the kids being kids. They are a riot! I can’t wait to see these kids grow up - mind you it will be through pictures, but I’m excited to see where each of their lives will lead them. They are truly like six younger siblings. We only want the very best for them. To our friends and family, which we have found under this roof.

Thank you for the memories.

Love your shepherd and shepherdess in training

Rahdy rahdy rah.

Approaching the muddy finish line – NWC (part 3 of 3)

2009-01-06T04:20:00.003-05:00

Twelve days of hiking. Sounds like a long time. Then again, we’ve met a lot of people who have hiked much longer then that, and carried much heavier packs. That one Bavarian guy from the Routeburn; he was a true hiker!

While on the NWC, Brent would often let me know how proud he was of me. Not because I was doing anything extraordinary, but to remind me that despite feeling discouraged from the back pain and how I’ve been feeling guilty for holding us back (ie: our hiking times not coming to par on this track), there are a lot of people who wouldn’t be out here continuing to live their dream if they had suffered the same injury.

I remember that first day hiking in South Auckland, when we both felt utterly discouraged that this concept of hiking the entire country wasn’t going to be feasible, but we still tried. The trip was altered quite a bit, but we didn’t stop. We feel happiest in the mountains, on the tracks, in the huts. This is what we came here to do. When we realized that this injury was worse then originally thought, a similar discouraging feeling came over me. But I am blessed every day to be reminded by someone who loves me that the effort we are putting forth is the most important demonstration of determination. I’m determined to finish this trip and get on all the tracks. Without trying, we would have missed out on the beauty that is hidden in these hills, preserved from the townships and the cities. The hidden treasures of New Zealand. It can take 11 hours to reach a clearing, and a millisecond to forget everything you just went through. That beautiful moment makes it all worth while.

Thank you Brent.

And from afar, I can feel my parents’ love as they encourage me from North Bay. I am a very determined person, and would probably continue this hiking trip despite the pain, however, their love and support helps me through every day. I’m very thankful for you guys. And for my brother, who I know thinks about me and is excited about this opportunity.

Every day, we write a new page in the story of our lives. Every day we wake up in a hut, a new adventure begins.

Evolving landscapes – the Stewart Island experience

A photograph cannot capture the verite of an environment you experience. Experience is sensing your surroundings. Smelling the trees, feeling the mud, the weight of a pack on your back, the uphills, the down hills, the taste of your sweat, the blisters on your feet, the sandfly bites on your hands, the war wounds. The triumphs and the tears. The life is never in the pictures you take. The sound is lost. Its how every step you take shifts the perspective and exposes a different shade or aspect of an unseen world. The evolving beauty of a special place.

DAY NINE – Thursday, December 11th – to Freshwater Landing Hut

Today’s hike was not a good reflection of what the North West Circuit entails. I’ll be perfectly honest, it was flat and boring. Quite frankly, we were shocked. And this is a stretch that a lot of people hike, flying into Mason’s Bay and only hiking out to Freshwater Landing hut before being picked up by a jet boat. They must think the hikers rounding the circuit are full of baloney when they talk about all the ups and downs and the MUD.

Today was a break from the undulating world of the island, but after eight days of it, you begin to miss it rather quickly. The ups and downs are a real challenge, and the effort is always rewarded. Whether it be a hot meal at the end of the day, a kiwi sighting along the way or simply a warm hut and sleeping bag to climb into at night. Today, I felt as though I didn’t deserve a reward.

There was no challenge. It was almost entirely boardwalked, and since there hadn’t been any rain in the last few days, the water levels were reasonable, so we weren’t negotiating any difficult flood areas. (The area is prone to flooding, which is understandable considering the type of soil – even just the mud takes a long time to absorb any water.) Apparently the water (which stood 3-4 feet below us today) can rise to levels leaving hikers on the boardwalks to trudge through waist deep water. I don’t know how it can get that bad, since the land is so flat and it’s a very, very wide valley, but maybe it’s possible. That would have been hilarious to walk through. Can you imagine the pictures?

The most exciting thing today was seeing a bird chase a moth and eat it mid air. He swooped right over our heads, and as we tried to figure out what he was doing, he perched himself upon a branch just in time for us to see a moth fluttering nearby. In one swift swoop, the bird flung itself off the branch and snatched his snack. It was quite fascinating.

I can’t explain how much we missed the physical challenge today. It almost became a huge psychological challenge, trying to encourage your body to keep on going, despite everything looking the same everywhere we turned. Long corridors of trees draped over a wide cleared path. You could see a good kilometer down the track in both directions, and it looked like a mirrored image. You were moving forward with every step, but you felt motionless. Every step was rewarded with a repetitive perspective.

At one point we were atop a high boardwalk, surrounded by tall grasses and low water levels. This was in a clearing surrounded by small hills. That was nice. The muddy parts made the walking interesting, and I laughed thinking about those who might not be expecting (nor come prepared for) this type of terrain on such an easy walk. Along the river, there were eroded parts slipping into the waterway, which were the first signs of slips we noticed on the island. Maybe we should walk along the edge, slipping into the river would be funny.

Another highlight of the day was spotting a skink in the bush near Mason Bay hut earlier. I went for a walk alone to look for kiwi, and after stopping to listen to a nearby bush rustling, I noticed a motionless skink. He almost looked like a snake, but they don’t have those in NZ. As I stood still, I noticed his feet slowly start to crawl around. It was wonderful. No kiwis today, but there are still a few more days left to spot another one. I did spot a few more footprints in the sand, but they were all empty leads. No treasure.

The track was a fluctuating combination of a flat root system, mud, flat and compact dry land, boardwalks, and puddles. You walk through the repetitive patterns of the track counting down the minutes. We spent our time playing I Spy and the country alphabet game. Oh, how we spend our time wisely. The hike was simply too much of a cake walk. Suddenly, we came upon the hut. It was like it appeared out of thin air. One minute we’re trudging along, the next minute there is a swing bridge just around the corner and suddenly the entire landscape changes. That might be why it felt so sudden. The vegetation and feel of the area shifted abruptly. The feeling of change could also be attributed to the presence of a defined river, since we had been walking through a wetland area for the last few hours.

Boy, did I ever want to jump off the jetty when we got to the hut. It was a warm day, and that water looked so refreshing.

We met up with Grace Tiao today, an American hiker who we’ve been following in the hut books over the last 8 nights. She works for a scientific organization in Antarctica and had two weeks to kill before her next deployment, so she decided to hike the NWC. She was really interesting to meet. An English and science major from Harvard University. We exchanged tramping stories and memories from back home. A bonus when we meet anyone from North America.

That night we hung out with Grace and the group of four from Auckland, who we shared a hut with the night before, but hadn’t really met until tonight. There are some nights where you don’t want to be social, sometimes it’s you, and sometimes it’s the other party. Then there are some nights when everyone just clicks so well. And FWL is probably the best hut to discover if you click, cause it is a wee little hut. There are bunks for 16 people, but the kitchen area and table could only sit 7-8 people max (comfortably). We all sat around and laughed the evening away.

Today’s hike was probably a nice break for our bodies, after two long hiking days, four hours was a blessing (we might have taken five hours due to our prolonged breaks – the track was simply too monotonous to hike through in one go). I had done some foot repair work with Duoderm (what a BLESSING!!!) to cushion my toes and my steps. Man, did that ever help!

With day nine coming to an end, we celebrate the NWC, as it is now the longest hike we have been on in NZ (however, Hollyford will always be the longest consecutive hike with no rest days – sitting at 8 days total). Tomorrow we will stay at this hut once more, taking in a side trip in the morning. Only two more hiking days to go after that!!

The reality of the hike coming to an end really started to sink in; especially since we started to hear the planes and boats once again today. That snapped us out of our wilderness isolation very quickly.

DAY TEN – Friday, December 12th - side trip to Rocky Mountain //another night at Freshwater Landing Hut

Late at night, I couldn’t get to sleep very well. So, I pulled out my iPod and started to listen to some music in the dark when an untitled song came on that caught my attention. It was one of the songs my brother had composed and passed along to me before I left Canada back in July. I loved everything about the instrumental song. The style of music and the instruments he used matched my mood so well. It hit me today how much I was going to miss being at home for Christmas. How much I miss people. Not enough to rush home or cry about it, but experiencing that feeling where you can’t wait to be around these people again to share in your smiles and each other’s company. To hear their voices and see their faces. How much I would miss snow. We still didn’t know what we were going to do for Christmas yet.

Listening to the music in the dark, I was thinking about how amazing this experience has been. Carefree travel. I can’t imagine that we’ll have a similar experience ever again. There’s so much to see and discover on this planet. I know that Brent and I both feel that we want to spend a lot more time exploring the world that was created for us to experience. I feel a great sense of wanderlust when I am back at home. Exploration is such a great blessing. If it’s meant to be, we will be doing this again.

Day ten was a day of rest. We woke up when we wanted to and organized breakfast (finishing off some porridge we didn’t really enjoy) before setting off for our side trip. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful morning, with a storm front moving in later on, so we hurried out of the hut to catch the sunshine. Since we missed out on good weather for the Mt. Anglem hike, we thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to see a mountain view of the island. We had already been so fortunate with some of the views we experienced on this track already, but were excited to spend some extra time (without a pack on our backs) and enjoy the scenery.

We hiked up to Rocky Mountain today. The view was nice, but not as spectacular as our previous experiences had been. (That one view a few days ago over the sand dunes was mint.) From the mountain peak we could watch the clouds and weather patterns moving around the island. It began to rain a little as the wind swept up with a mighty strength. The weather encouraged us to seek tree cover once again, as we quickly hiked back towards the tree line. A rather quick side trip sitting only at a 3 hour return time. Not a hike that will leave a tramper bored. It was an undulating and muddy track with a lot of climbing up and down tree roots and slick pockets. A welcome return of a challenging hike – oodles better then yesterday’s tramp. The outcome was as expected, a rocky mountain. : )

As we slowly made our way back to the hut once again, I noticed a rustling in the bush to my right. I thought it was one of those small green birds (that were flying around us) simply taking off from a branch. In my eye line was the area where the supposed bird flew away from. As I hiked down a few more steps staring at a tree trunk near the rustled branch, I noticed a shift in the trunk’s position.

Trees don’t move.

I had been staring at this trunk for a few moments, and then it moved along the track. That truly took me by surprise. Before us was a mighty large kiwi bird, like really big. We enjoyed this last moment with a live kiwi in close proximity. Noticing the little things about the way they sniff their nose, about their size and their feet and their beak, about the way they move through the thicket. About everything beautiful that makes them unique.

We returned to the hut in time to see the Auckland group off in their water taxi. At almost the exact same time, two older kiwi trampers made their way across the bridge to the hut. It almost looked like they took the water taxi in to the hut; however they had actually finished walking part of the southern circuit (a four to six day hike).

Tony and Paul, they put us to shame. Two Christchurch trampers well into their sixties. Two hikers who love being on the trail. Still hiking as often as they can in their later years in life. Both of them still hiking the trails in less time then the DOC times suggest. Yet they talk about hanging up their boots and retiring from the sport.

Maybe we should retire! These two gentlemen show no reason to hang up their boots. They are as fit as anything and love being in the huts and outdoors. And they are funny as. It was like sharing a hut with a comedy show, the type of humour that can only come from people who have known each other for as long as they have. Retiring. Please! I mean, we’re happy leaving the huts later then everyone else, in order to eliminate being bypassed by others. Otherwise we feel rushed. These two could run laps around us almost. It’s quite sad.

The evening was enjoyed with a Roast Chicken dinner, a few card games and puzzles. Tomorrow we hike to our last hut of the circuit.

DAY ELEVEN – Saturday, December 13th – to North Arm Hut

There was a great quote in the hut book the other day, written by a girl from Toronto. It went along the lines of “leaving your country and traveling makes you appreciate what you’ve got, does not apply to cities”. I understand where she was coming from. When you wake up in these huts to some of the most incredible views, you often wonder if you’ll be able to return home. Canada is fantastic and I love it there. I just wish they had a hut system like NZ is able to offer. That would be amazing! But leaving this world to return to Toronto will be challenging. You can breathe out here, you can move freely in the country. It will be difficult to say goodbye to the rolling hills of New Zealand.

Today was a longish leg from Freshwater Landing Hut. The two older gentlemen said they did it in less than 5 ½ hours. It definitely took us longer. Bummer.

Nothing too special to report. The day was undulating, steep and muddy as expected. Typical gullies awaited our arrival with mud to jump into. One unfortunate part of today’s hike is that for a portion of the track you are hiking alongside the North Arm water inlet, then suddenly you deviate onto this long detour hike uphill to the Rakiura track. The problem being that the hut you are hiking towards is around the bay/inlet that you were just hiking alongside, and suddenly you wander through the bush to meet the Rakiura track inland before turning back towards the waterway. It just doesn’t make sense.

Strange reasons that we will probably never know, nor understand.

We are tired and it’s beginning to show. We have reached a point where we just want to be done hiking. Could be related to our time prior to this hike and being sick for two weeks. We did hop onto this track immediately after the symptoms of our crypto faded. We were probably in need of a bit more time and rest before setting off on this type of journey. Our bodies are becoming a little sore from the hiking, which might be slowing us down a tad.

One more hiking day to go. : )

Had our first up close and personal experience with a possum at the hut today. Just after 10pm. Well, technically we did see one on the Forgotten Highway that one night in our head lights, but we didn’t know that their possums looked like cuddly mini teddy bears with furry tails. Very different from an opossum from NA. Anyway, our little possum friend was just down the steps from the hut’s porch. I decided that he looked like he would be soft to pet, so I chased him down the pathway to the beach, asking him to wait for me and explaining that I simply wanted to pet his soft fur. Didn’t work this time, but I’m sure I’ll have another opportunity.

No kiwis today, and we think that our chances of spotting one are officially behind us. We have hiked through the thicket of NWC kiwi presence, and were really lucky to enjoy the moments we did spend with live kiwis.

The last forty-five minutes of the track today was boardwalked, almost making it harder to hike, as the area presented a lot of stairways. It’s almost more comfortable to walk up and down the soft soil on the incline then use the hard stairs. The end of the day was a definite preview of what will be our last day on the Rakiura track tomorrow.

The hut was pretty empty. Four parties of two people each. Since we arrived a bit later then others, we were the only ones cooking once we arrived, so it was nice. We spent some time with Tony & Paul, who made the hut in under 6 hours (DOC predicts it will take 6-7 / we took somewhere between 8 or 10) – and they stopped for a 30minute cuppa AND an hour lunch. Oy. Why retire? They are certainly out-hiking us.

The North Arm hut was our first Great Walk hut, and no warden was there to check our ticket. Thus far, we’ve never been asked by anyone to see our annual hut pass. We were really hoping for a warden. Maybe one day.

Tonight is our last night on Stewart Island. Tomorrow, we cross the finish line and earn that certificate!

DAY TWELVE – Sunday, December 14th – the end of the NWC, return to HMB

We departed from the hut early in the morning. I think we left around 6.30am. The goal was six in the morning, but when others are sleeping in close proximity, we take extra care in being as quiet as possible. We wanted to get back to HMB as early as possible to try and get onto one of the standby flights back to Invercargill. We had the extra motivation of trying to avoid being bypassed by any of the other hiking pairs. When you are bypassed and you finally make it to the hut HOURS after that person, there are usually a lot of questions that make an appearance in the evening’s conversation. Sometimes I don’t want to have to explain that I was injured. I already have to live with the outcome, and I feel silly saying that I fell down a set of stairs twice. That seems so ridiculous. To avoid the big question and answer periods that might arise, we simply leave as early as possible or last in the day.

Today was not a day to be last. We had a plane to catch.

The great walk trail. A book ending hike. We started our first day on the first part of the Rakiura track, and we spend our last day on the last leg of the Rakiura track. A good portion of the trail was boardwalked, which was welcomed today. We were prepared for it mentally. Lots of bridges and stairs. It’s like a completely different hike. Today, the sound of the planes and boats were more predominant, drowning out a lot of the lovely melodies coming from the natural creatures of the forest. We were ready to be done. You were no longer one with nature. Everything felt different today.

The day was spent trying to find a rare kiwi so close to town (no dice) and trying to figure out how the DOC signs worked today. They were plagued with mismatched timing information. We simply just carried on, ending with a road walk back to Half Moon Bay, a road that led us straight to the DOC office.

Our time spent at the DOC office was a riot. There were two men who greeted us at the desk and it felt like they knew us from the moment we exchanged words. “You survived! How was it?”, one of them asked almost immediately. We had never met them, nor did we know if they knew we were on the NWC, but it almost felt as though they were old friends. I received the best compliment from one of the guys at the desk too. He said he couldn’t recognize our Canadian accents, and told me that I could be a kiwi. I mean, I probably couldn’t be – but he saw potential in me. : ) That made me excited. After spending some time chatting with the fine folk, we were on our way, laminated certificates in hand, off to the Stewart Island Flight centre to see about getting back to the mainland.

Well, there was a wedding on the island last night. And that meant that people wanted to fly back to the mainland today. Brent and I lined up at the office to speak to someone, only to find out that there was only ONE seat available to fly back to Invercargill today. A thought and possibility we hadn’t actually taken into account. What if we don’t fly back home today?

The gentleman informed us that we could see if anyone would cancel their flight today – which we were informed doesn’t happen often – and return to the office later in the day to see about any new openings.

We did just that, leaving our packs (thank goodness) at the flight center and hiking through town in our muddy Goretex attire. We stuck out like sore thumbs around the locals. Funny.

We had a ‘feast’ at the local fish & chip cart, with one order of chips, one battered blue cod and one cheeseburger – to split between us. It was an unfortunate disappointment. We had such a wonderful order of fish & chips from the local pub on our last night prior to commencing the NWC, yet this cart was supposed to be the best on the island. We just felt that the value was terrible and the food was mediocre. Oh well. We decided to have an ice cream to make ourselves feel better. : ) It worked!

We spent a good amount of time sitting on a picnic bench just outside the town’s Four Square. It was a cold and windy day, but we really had nowhere else to go. As the day progressed, we started to feel like locals. We actually bumped into two of the four Auckland people we had shared two huts with a few nights back. They were heading to the Four Square to pick up some items and came by to say hello. That was nice. We felt like we were from HMB once again when we bumped into Tony just outside the same store, after he finished the tramp. It was a funny feeling.

We did have an amazing offer today. Shortly after leaving our spot on our picnic bench outside the local market, we were called back by one of the members of the Auckland party we had hiked alongside. She wanted to catch up with us to let us know that if we didn’t make it out on the afternoon flight today, that we could join them at the house they had all rented. They had planned this trip a while back and rented out the house as part of a holiday in Half Moon Bay. She threw in a few selling points, including an offer of a hot shower. We were blown away. We were still strangers at this point in time, despite spending an evening chatting with the group. We were so grateful over their kindness and generosity. When she noticed how blown away we were, she humbly said: “You are visitors to our country; it’s the least we can do for you.” Those words really make me want to re-evaluate how we lead our own lives and hospitality back home. The kindness of strangers is incredible. We have been blessed with meeting a lot of amazing people in this country. These four people are amazing examples of kindness.

It was settled. If we were meant to stay in HMB tonight, staying with kiwis would prove to be a great experience. We settled on meeting at the local pub for quiz night should we miss out on the last flight.

For the rest of the afternoon, we did everything we could to kill time. Unfortunately, we had no more interest in walking around, so we read all the free local newspapers and simply sat and enjoyed the small harbour of the town.

We entered the Four Square once again and started to look around when we bumped into the gentleman from the flight centre. He came up to us and let us know that there might be an opening coming up on the afternoon flight. He couldn’t make any promises, but wanted us to know that there was hope. Again, we achieved the feeling of being a local.

Tired of killing time, we eventually made our way to the flight center once again to see about the potential cancellations. Getting on a flight tomorrow will be easy, but it would be best if we could duck out today. Low and behold, a few booked seats are suddenly available as those who attended the big island party the night before are no longer well enough to fly today. : ) Bad news for them, good news for us.

The only catch is that we would be on separate 1630 flights – both of which would be taking off around the same time, and Brent’s flight would have both our bags. We had our bags weighed (and ourselves – I think this is to evenly distribute people’s weight or something) before checking in. I believe my bag had come in at approx. 16kg. We unfortunately don’t remember Brent’s pack weight, but it might have been somewhere between 19-20kg. We both boarded our separate vans and were loaded onto our separate planes.

My return flight would put me on another six-seater (incl. Pilot) plane. My fellow passengers were two Philippino women and their hungry baby, an older woman and a young boy, and the pilot. We had quite a rough ride in our plane. Could be the clouds around the island or simply just a very strong headwind. None the less, I found great entertainment with the older woman sitting beside me in the middle row. She was holding on for dear life, clinging to the handles above the window, as the plane teetered around in the air. If I wasn’t used to smaller planes, I probably would have been freaked out as well, but I grew up around planes this size and smaller. The view today was fantastic. Once we were airborne, we could see the entire island behind us. Stewart Island is so much bigger then you expect it to be. HMB is the only settled community, the rest is pure wilderness. Rugged and without equal in its own regard. The clear view from over Stewart Island was an excellent way to end the trip.

Brent on the other hand was placed in a ten-seater plane. The wings sit above the plane instead of below. He somehow managed to have a smooth flight. Could have been the bigger plane.

After hunting down our backpacks (they offload your bags near an easy access garage outside the building), I walked over to Sgt to say hello and bring him back to the airport’s entrance to round up our stuff (the flight centre had stored all of our extra gear to keep it safe from our vehicle over the last two weeks). The goal was to make it to the i-Site in time to find out about accommodation specials in the city.

Now, I was expecting the car to be a wee bit funny, because every time we leave it alone for an extended period of time, it tends to hiccup a bit when it starts. But it’s usually a simple hiccup. Today, it was a ‘hic’ and then a pffffffffft. Followed by a ‘click, click, click, click’. ‘Click, click, click, click’. I tried one last time before popping the hood open. Looking under the ‘bonnet’ of the car, I couldn’t imagine what could be wrong with the car. It’s a foreign world under there. Lots of connections and car parts that I understand, but can’t repair. I only prayed it was a simple fix.

Our wonderful car decided he was a little bit upset about us leaving him for two whole weeks, and he pulled the best hissy fit a car can have. A weakening grind, followed by a complete halt.

I met back up with Brent at the airport terminal’s entrance, grabbed the mobile and rung AA. This would be our first callout! They let us know that they would be arriving within the next 40-60 minutes. Our only problem is that we had already paid for parking and only had 20 minutes to exit the lot (you have to pay before heading back to your car so that you can exit via the automated gate). And the airport was shutting down. When I went inside to seek help, all of the counters were dim and vacant. I headed over to the canteen/coffee shop and spoke to the only people I could find. We were blessed to find them as they provided us with an ‘all access’ limitless parking ticket, in exchange for our $20 ticket. This meant that we could leave the airport at any time. Thank you!!

AA didn’t take long to arrive. Better yet, it didn’t take long to fix our dear car. Dead battery. Good times. We were instructed to let it run for at least 20 minutes to get the juices flowing again. So we set out on all of our errands, leaving our car running the entire time. Picking up our ubber cheap dinner at Domino’s ($4.90 Hawaiian pizzas), did a long drive around while waiting for the pizzas to be ready, swung by the Kelvin Hotel once again and booked a room for the night. They remembered us. That was nice. We were able to get a special rate. That was even nicer. Full tummies and a hot shower later, we were set to retire for the night, falling asleep to the films playing in the background on Sky Movies.

The next day, Monday December 15th, we were heading out to the Catlins once again to visit the McLay family who we missed dearly. Only Bluff, free hotel laundry, city errands, and one last trip to the hospital were left to do before setting off. We needed a written document with our diagnosis for Cryptosporidium to complete our insurance paperwork. Simply saying that we got a phone call wouldn’t have been enough. Besides, being sick cost us over $1,500.00 NZ. Being sick while traveling is NOT cheap!!!

In the end, we can reflect on the beautiful trip we were able to have on Stewart Island. A magical place. The North West Circuit is worth the incredible challenge. A hike that will be impossible to surpass in terms of diversity and texture. We ran a gamut on the island and on that track. It was worth every mud puddle. It was worth every uphill. It was worth every slip down hill.

It was captivating.

We’ll miss the birds, the soundtrack of the environment, and the ever changing faces of the terrain. We’ll always have the memories, the pictures, and of course, our certificates. : )

There’s mud…then there’s Stewart Island Mud – NWC (part 2 of 3)

2009-01-04T06:09:00.002-05:00

The thud was hollow. Memorable. Thinking about it now, I can remember everything so clearly.

We had found ourselves in overgrown vegetation once again, no more then 15 minutes from the hut. The rain had delayed us a bit, but I believe there was a reason for it. I spun around to check to see if Brent was okay. The thud echoing in my head, I thought he had fallen.

My head was down, paying close attention to my trecking poles parting the long grass away from my footsteps.

“Did you fall?”

“No”, Brent replied.

I thought for a moment. I couldn’t have imagined the noise.

Trying not to spend too much time thinking about it, I started to lift my head to take my next step. My movement sparked a jostle 2 meters ahead of me.

I froze.

Awkward beauties

The sounds of this undisturbed world and the smells of the forest. The richness of the environment after the rain. The birds’ calls. The lush colours. The mud…everywhere. The clearings that reveal unspoiled and protected land. These are the moments that make the challenges worth while. The moments that make it easy to explain why it is that we do this hiking. The moments that erase the idea of pain from my mind.

DAY FIVE – Sunday, December 7th – to Long Harry Hut

The last 20 minutes of the hike today was classic. Two tired and worn out hikers arrive at a clearing as they ascend above the tree line and get a spectacular view of the rocky cliffs overhanging the ocean. Beautiful. The sun is starting to fall on the horizon. The breeze is beating against our sweat stained foreheads. The air is so crisp and the weather is wonderful.

And across a deep ravine is Long Harry Hut. Only, the trail doesn’t take you directly to the hut. You skirt around. As you start to follow the track, you quickly realize that you are approaching a descent and also that the track is beginning to veer towards the ocean, the complete opposite direction of the actual hut. A tease at the end of the day. You hike in a massive detour fashion to descend to the water’s level, only to shoot straight back up a steep and overgrown grassy patch. There lies the hut, perched atop a wonderful cliff, with a panoramic view of rolling grass gullies and the sound of the water beating against the rocks below. In the distance we could catch a glimpse of the mountains from the mainland, as well as the periodic beam of light from the Bluff lighthouse shining bright across the ocean. Tonight, we sleep alone. I will never grow tired of being in a hut alone, listening to the roaring ocean and taking in the incredible vistas that surround us. A personal paradise. Undisturbed by other trampers, the soundtrack of the world around us comes alive. Long Harry probably became my favorite hut on this track. Newly built, small and cozy. The atmosphere couldn’t be surpassed at that moment; the location was memorable, overlooking the rocky beaches below. Dinner tonight (satay rice & tuna), came with a view.

Then again, we were really tired.

We are as south as it gets in New Zealand. Summer has only begun, and already it doesn’t get dark until after 10pm. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to be trudging through the bush past 8.30 at night, I reckon it’s pretty dark under the canopy past then. Nonetheless, the longer days provide a great way to end the day. Knowing that you will probably not run out of daylight hours, and encouraged that even if you don’t make the hut until eight or later, you still have plenty of time before the sun goes down to relax and enjoy the scenery.

Memories of today:

There was a mysterious rumbling in the distance at the beginning of the day. We were on a major ascent and the noise started. Neither of us figures it was a plane. The thought that it was an earthquake did come to mind. It was a loud noise that lasted a wee while. To this day, we have no confirmation as to what it was.

A new tree. The grass tree (our name for it). It literally looks like a tree with grass tuffs growing out of the branches.

Experiencing sand dunes for the first time. The kiwi we met in Yankee River hut told us about this wonderful and long beach walk we had to do today. He neglected to mention the sand dune portion of that hike. The sand rolls right into the forest floor, not allowing much transition from mud to soft and sinking sand below your feet. Not only that, but you find yourself immediately put to the test with a sand dune uphill climb. And if you’ve ever hiked up a rather steep sand dune, you might understand what we were facing. With every step you take, you risk slipping back at least two. Sliding down the dune might not have been the worst thing, but some of the times we hiked horizontally we were faced with pretty steep drops that surely would have wounded even the most prepared sand hiker. Interesting change in traction. A reminder that this hike would never be anything less than challenging.

Once we were surrounded by the sand dunes, we discovered our first evidence of a kiwi bird. Massive footprints along the ridges of the dunes. They are so much bigger then you would expect; something we learned from Janine in New Plymouth. Some were partially eroded by the wind. I couldn’t tell you how old they were, but they had to have been created sometime within the last three days. Wonderful. A short-lived moment of hope; shattered by the presence of feral cat prints in the sand, keeping on track with the kiwis’ own.

By the ocean front, after our battle in the dunes, we found ourselves following a clean and barren sandy beach for a good distance. I spent my time popping what I would call ‘sea balls’. They are fragments of sea life (either seaweed or something similar to it). Bulbs or balls that have been washed up from the ocean. The colours range from white to dark brown, depending on how long they have been drying on the beach. Once you jostle them, the wind can shift them for miles down the beach, leaving you behind, helplessly watching them roll away. They are free agents. I spent my time walking past undisturbed balls and trying to peg them with my trecking poles. They make the most incredible popping sound. It became a game for me.

Watching seagulls, who are standing on the beach and slowly walking towards the ocean, suddenly make a 180 and start running away from the tide. That was quite entertaining.

The sound a sand layer makes when it falls into a beach river.

Not crossing at the mouth of the river, and then being sent on a major back track to the only available shallow location.

The memories of the thick vegetation, overgrown and taking over the track. The footsteps of previous trampers lost below the intertwined blades of long grass and fern leafs. Tripping hazards galore. The NWC is in need of a good vegetation clearing. The thick vegetation hides the mud below your feet, leaving you with no choice but to slip and slop around. Squish, squish, squish. The thick and sticky Stewart Island mud. The memories of yet another bad mud day. Mud is a part of life on the NWC. Boots caked in multiple layers of dried mud over several days, also a part of life.

Always the birds. I will truly never grow tired of talking about the birds. Their songs are so glorious. Every day it feels like we are experiencing new species and new songs. It’s so wonderful. The soundtrack to our hiking is orchestrated by these creatures who follow us as we tramp through the wilderness.

Once we arrived at the hut, I spent some time searching for Mr. NB, ON Canada. Low and behold, a hiker from North Bay, Ontario was on the North West Circuit not more then eight months ago. I just thought it was hilarious, as I sign all my hut intention entries with my hometown of North Bay, ON instead of Toronto. I figure I’m not really from Toronto; and North Bay needs some representation in New Zealand. Then on this hike I find someone from Powassan, and now an actual person from North Bay!! A guy named Josh Plant. I don’t know him, but thought it was amazing. Investigation complete, hypothesis has been confirmed. We continue to flick through the pages to find out about other Canadians who have traveled the circuit, as well as keep up with the progress of those hikers just ahead of us who are walking the circuit at the same time as us. One girl from the US (her name is Grace), is someone we predict we will bump into at some point in our travels as our due out days are only one day apart.

Tomorrow will be our half way mark. Such an exciting moment in this long hike.

Motto of the day: A dead sandfly, is a good sandfly.

We’ve become addicted to a new trip snack. A small fruit snack called “Marine Mix”. It’s actually quite a terrible rip off. Each box contains eight packets, which each have a mere four pieces in them. Delicious fruit snacks in the shapes of a shark, dolphin, fish and crab. You get one sample of each shape, and one sample of each of the four flavours.

Claude is now traveling in a Ziploc freezer bag at the moment. Despite his snazzy yellow rain hat, the rolling rain showers on this island do not bode well for our dear beanie baby friend.

Descending our final ridge of the day before arriving at the hut, we entered a dark canopy and barren-like forest section of the track; I took special notice of the different types of trees that surrounded us. Not only did it feel as though the mud didn’t have as much of a presence on the trail, it also felt as though we had entered a forest rich in brown tones that felt especially unique, yet familiar.

We had seen pictures of this type of forest before.

I noticed a rustling in a nearby bush; which stopped me dead in my tracks. I had been waiting for moments like this all day. I whispered to Brent to be still and quiet.

I let out a quiet and excited gasp. “A kiwi!”

You really don’t know what your reaction will be until it happens. My reaction to seeing my first kiwi was probably similar to some people’s reaction to seeing a new baby. I was surprised and in awe. Feeling excited about having the opportunity to see this endangered bird in the wild. Although, the kiwi is not as endangered as let’s say the Kakapo is (we figure, unless you’re a scientist studying these birds, the chances of you seeing one of the approx. 90 Kakapos remaining in the world (they might only exist in NZ) is pretty slim). While we were walking, we were trying to understand the appeal of this awkward looking creature. Is it because the people of NZ are named after them? Is it because there is such a widespread conservation project through the country trying to protect them? Or is it simply because they too are curious and amazing creatures?

There he was. Trotting through the bush on his two feet; a creature so difficult to spot as it perfectly blends in with the forest floor.

People told us that you can hear kiwi birds when they are near, stating that they sniff really loudly. But this bird was silent, releasing not even the closest semblance of a sound as he pecked away at the forest floor.

I couldn’t get my camera out fast enough for this moment. I slowly rolled the Velcro off my pouch to retrieve my camera, but the sound must have startled the bird. It took off running into the forest. Like a bad little tourist, I followed him through the trees, periodically stopping to listen for his movements. Don’t worry – I kept a safe distance (for the bird’s sake) – but knowing better now, I would never chase another kiwi again.

There was more then one kiwi near us at the time. As I rustled my way through the bush, two kiwis ran away from me in opposite directions. One of the kiwis ran across the track to hop onto the other side of the trail. Brent was able to get a good look at that one as he entered the clearing. I wasn’t having as much luck with them. I ended up in thick bushy areas immobilized, trying to locate where they had run to. They are smart birds. They run into a thicket and simply stop moving, creating a protection from people like me.

At one point I managed to hop onto a fallen tree log, simply to stay out of their feeding areas. There I stood for a moment or two before one of the kiwi birds popped its head out from underneath the log I was standing on. I didn’t even want to breathe. He was assessing the situation before making a move. He was so beautiful to watch.

Taking pictures proved to be a challenge. Under the dark canopy, the exposure time was longer, which leaves a lot of room for blurring error – especially with a moving subject. They also blend in so much with their surroundings, creating a natural camouflage. Needless to say, we have some blurry photos as well as many kiwi bum pictures. Those are all the pictures of the kiwis running away from us.

Their features appear to be so awkward. They have such a long beak and huge feet in relation to their body. It’s something you need to see to understand. It’s truly incredible. They are quite timid creatures. Awkward looking as they run around on the ground, unable to fly. Kiwis are incredibly beautiful in their own way, a unique creature that lives its life in the shade and darkness.

I left the poor birds alone, in the end seeing the one kiwi (Brent saw two different ones we think) and hearing the two others. If God wanted me to see the kiwi up close and personal, He would make it happen.

I really hope to see more kiwis. : )

End of day five: Success. One kiwi spotted. More sought.

DAY SIX – Monday, December 8th – to East Ruggedy Hut

We woke up this morning to a dismal state of affairs. The sky was slate grey. Sheets of rain were pouring down onto the hut as gale force winds tried to move through it. The world around us…blanketed, lost behind the miserable weather. I didn’t want to get out of my sleeping bag for the life of me. I was too cozy.

Our original goal was to leave at seven in the morning, but we were fortunate enough to have the opportunity to wait out the weather. With the hiking track ahead of us, this is the worst weather to have to contend with. We had a lot of steep climbing through overgrown vegetation in quasi-exposed areas, as well as steep mud ascents and descents and slick rocky boulder beaches to cross today.

Today is estimated to be a six hour hike, but we have to prepare for a minimum of eight to nine hours. Add to that, my desire to stop with every bush rustling I hear in the near distance. I’m working on my kiwi tracking skills.

Everything happens for a reason.

Around eight in the morning, the rain was still heavy but the winds had started to die down. We slowly started to gather our items to pack up. We left the hut near ten in the morning, when the weather suddenly started to clear just enough. The storm rolled over, leaving us with a predominantly overcast sky. The uphill climb led us through familiar overgrown vegetation and dark canopy. It felt damp and dark. A draining way to start the day.

Thud.

I replayed this thud-like sound over and over again in my head.

Looking behind me, I could confirm that Brent was still upright. He didn’t make the sound.

And then I saw him.

This precious little kiwi bird trotting on the forest floor only a few feet ahead of me. He hopped off the track and into a darker canopy area to our right. I contemplated not even trying to grab my camera this time, wanting to enjoy the moment more then anything.

And then our little kiwi friend did something rather peculiar. After spending a moment hiding beside a nearby tree trunk, this most curious kiwi returned in our direction and began to sniff as he approached me.

My camera couldn’t have come out any quicker I would say. I began to videotape this kiwi’s actions as he approached my feet more confidently with every step. When I would look down at my feet, shifting my camera to see how close he was getting to my feet, he would scurry away and make a bit of a half circle detour. But then, he would quickly return and start sniffing out in my direction once again.

I will never know how close he would have come to my feet (fearful that he might plant his beak into my shoe). His beak was quite daunting, and if it could pierce my boot, I didn’t want to become a statistic. Canadian tourist attacked by kiwi. Although, that would be an amazing story to tell.

Three times the kiwi approached me. Three times getting closer and closer to my feet as he approached me head on. Each time getting closer then the last. It felt as though I was holding my breath the entire time. I didn’t want to make even the slightest sound. This moment was so precious. This curious little kiwi was incredible. I fell in love with him as he awkwardly approached me pecking at the ground as he sniffed ever so quietly.

Magical.

After about 10 or 15 minutes of time together, the little kiwi continued on his journey to find food, disappearing among the long grass on the marked track behind us. And then, he was gone.

I didn’t want to move. I was speechless. This incredible moment from God. This precious gift of wonder. It was so beautiful. I didn’t want it to end. I knew we would never meet another kiwi as curious as that one was. He was a special bird. That was a special moment.

Parts of which were captured in video files and digital photos.

Memories from today:

The route marker saga revisited. If you don’t pay close enough attention to the route markers, you can easily go astray on this track. Either you start to follow another person’s footprints in the mud and end up in the wrong direction, or you simply hit a dead end and suddenly find yourself backtracking until you DO find a route marker, which are sometimes few and far between. Other times you hit a triple fork in the road with three obvious possible branches. Only one is correct, yet your next route marker isn’t for another 5 minutes down the track. Good luck.

This is quickly becoming a medically tainted trip. Our hip and knee injuries (between the two of us, there are far too many) are all starting to come out, my back is starting to fade more every day, Brent has developed a new medical concern, and we’re monitoring my new ‘heart’ condition.

Bush bashing. The track is so overgrown, there are no other options.

The rainforests of New Zealand. Being under a fern canopy in the rain is great for shelter, but also to watch the life of the NZ rainforests take the front stage. Lush, green, scented, glistening.

Avoiding the mud traps of Stewart Island. Which basically means avoiding the whole track. Squeezing through trees on the side of the track, away from the mud. You find yourself holding onto the tree trunks and swinging through the closely knit forest, as long as your bag fits between the branches, vines and various trunks. Sometimes even swinging like a monkey around the treacherous mud. Grasping tightly onto the branches while swinging and leaping across massive mud puddles. Eventually, coming to terms with your reality, that this mud is never going to end, and embracing the mud. I mean, we aren’t like kiwis. We don’t like wet & muddy boots (except on the outside), but we’re getting there.

The different kinds of mud. There’s the mud puddles that just get wet, so it’s usually sloshy and liquidy mud. Not fun to get into, as it moves like water. Gaiters can’t protect you. Muddy water goes up and into your boot. It’s quick and dangerous. Then there is the quasi mud. This is a mix between the thick Stewart Island mud and a lot of water. The mud is so thick that water takes a long time to sink into the ground, leaving a good amount of water sitting atop the sticky and thick mud. Dangerous combination. Then there is thick and sticky Stewart Island mud. The famous mud. This is the mud we actually PREFER!! With this type of mud, you know that sinking through the surface might be a tad slow. You can take more chances walking through this type of mud as you find a bit more protection in your step. That being said, your boots tend to get stuck a bit more often in this type of mud. This leaves the hiker to shrug away at the now trapped extension of his foot. A few puddles later, and your boot laces have started to loosen from the constant pressure of the tugging and boot extractions.

No two muds are created equal. Thick & sticky mud is very different from the wet mud. And sometimes, it just plain old sucks!!

Watching the mist lifting from the hillside in the mornings.

The slick tree roots we’ve been climbing up and down over the last few days. This of course leading to some interesting slips and falls throughout the trip. Today was particularly frustrating for Brent who could not get a break from the roots and mud. I was the first to succumb to our fate today. I slid down a tree root right after one of our snacks. Right into the mud. I began rolling down a hill, but a fern stropped my demise. I felt like a turtle or a crab. I was on my back and unable to move, because the weight of my pack was below me (similar to having a shell, being flipped over and being unable to shift). My head was in the direction of the downward slant I was facing in my situation. I had to remove my pack before trying to get back up on my feet.

Then Brent had a few goes on the slick track. He originally fell uphill (due to an evil tree root) and then later fell down a mud slip. No awkward landings for Brent though. Just some extra mud running up his already gummed up rain pants. In the end, we figure it might have been the muddiest day yet, which adds to the complications with moving around injury free.

Failing gear. What looks too good to be true when you first buy it, can sometimes lead to disappointments. It’s been interesting to see what is lasting and what is failing miserably. MEC will be receiving a heap of online reviews when we return.

Finding egg shells on the forest floor (from bird nests). Sadly, on the first day, I spotted a dead little chick in the middle of the track.

Watching the kelp and seaweed flowing with the tide, as the water rolls in over the rocks and shore. It almost looks like hair blowing in a slow and rhythmic fashion.

Realizing that sometimes, our aversion to DEET has proven to be detrimental. The coastal sandflies here are TERRIBLE and hungry. They swarm you in the hundreds & thousands, keeping up with your pace, finding any opening to attack, even up your nostrils. On some of the most picturesque beaches, you wouldn’t even dare contemplate the idea of stopping to take a picture. You’d be eaten alive. Although I sometimes test my fate when stopping for a quick picture, and I usually walk away unscathed. Brent, on the other hand, did succumb to an onslaught of sandfly bites this one day, leaving his hands swollen from the multiple bites’ inflammation. The swelling went away after a few days. He has taken my advice and is now wearing gloves during the day, leaving less skin exposed to possible attacks.

Boulder hopping along a boulder beach. Watching the one sea lion that was perched along the water. Inspecting sea scraps brought in by the tide that resemble dead octopi. A poorly marked beach that left us trudging through thick and tall vegetation as we struggled to stay on path.

Fighting with a slanted track. As you carefully walk along the ledge of a cliff on this askew pathway of mud, you find yourself continuously fighting to stay upright. The slick mud, angled footing, overgrown vegetation up to your chest, tripping you as you slide further off the edge of the track. There’s no winning here.

Splashing in mud puddles. Realizing that it’s almost easier on your knees to hop into a thicket of mud at the bottom of a drop then it is to try to climb down it. There’s cushioning in the mud pile.

Brent bent his pole today.

Marveling at the vegetation growing in the sand dunes. You walk through a forest until you come upon a clearing that leads you to a beach hidden behind a sea of sand dunes. The dunes are covered in grasses and shrubs. It’s almost as perplexing as the plant life that can grown along sheer rock cliffs. As you finish your beach walk, you slowly transition to more sand dunes that gradually blend into lush green rolling hills. The ground beneath your feet shifting from loose sand to the eventual mud of the hills.

More kiwi footprints in the sand.

The daunting river crossing today. There was no mention of a detour leading to a footbridge or three wire bridge or swing bridge today. From atop a ridge we could see the river in the distance among the sand dunes on the beach below. It was massive. The widest I have ever had to contemplate crossing. Better yet, there is soft sand/quick sand on the river bed and along the banks. This could be interesting.

As we approached the water crossing, I could feel panic coming through me. Brent didn’t want to cross at the mouth of the river (where it meets the ocean) as it was a bit of a detour. I wasn’t keen at the vision in front of us, a river that spanned easily 15-20meters. So I did the logical thing, sent Brent out first. This was to see how deep the water became. The water was brown and it was hard to see the bottom, but it appeared to be shallow enough. And by shallow enough, I mean at least it was below our thighs. Oh, and I sent him out first cause he can swim. : )

The river crossing was well above our gaiters, so needless to say, once the water took over your boot, it was quite cold and wet. The chills slowly faded as our feet adjusted to the new boot environment (puddles in your boots) and the merino socks’ warming ability kicked in. Then came the quick sand. Slowly my boots started to sink as I took my time with each step, ensuring that I was following Brent’s original path (so I would know how deep the water was). That was scary. Brent didn’t seem to be having the same problem with the riverbed as I was. Then my feet started to get stuck in the sand beneath me as I tried to pick up the pace. We were told about this quick sand (not knowing we had to trudge through it) by the DOC staff prior to our NWC departure. They mentioned that it could sink you past your knee. If that could happen, that would put the river water level mid chest or higher – and create a mean challenge for escaping. I didn’t waste anymore time, almost running across the river to escape a sinking fate.

The still water behind us, I walked away with a souvenir. Squishy boots. Listening to the sound within my boots for the remainder of our hike, which wasn’t too long since the hut was within a half hour’s walk from the crossing. The pamphlet said 15minutes, but that was definitely a lie (and was confirmed by other hikers who also took 30minutes to get to the hut from the crossing).

We couldn’t get the fire hot enough to dry out our boots that night (it took several nights). Again, the GORTEX keeps the water out (yay!), but also keeps it in as well, taking forever to dry. We would hike for two more days with noticeably wet boots, which then lead to a gamut of foot problems.

We met a Bavarian in the hut at night – his name was David. We would spend two more nights with him.

I sat in the hut by the fire thinking about the day. About our most precious moment with our curious kiwi friend. Thinking about how gloomy it was after the rain started to go away, but how the showers probably made it easier to get bugs from the ground. This is probably why we were blessed with this wonderful encounter. I have a new love for this awkward and peculiar little bird. The experience only made me want to find more kiwis, understanding full well that we might not ever have a similar encounter again. But the prospect of seeing another kiwi is there. So precious.

As I watch the daylight falling behind the tree line I revel in the fact that it is so late in the day. The sky will still be bright for an hour yet. The longer hours of daylight are so important right now. When the clocks change back and we begin to approach fall, this could have a serious impact on our tramping choices. We will have to be more choosey when it comes to which tracks to hike. I don’t know how much longer I can do this for.

My spirit is broken. My body feels tired. This has several factors, with the heavy pack and such a long hike, and the terrain of the island (up and down), and the state of my body. I’m not even carrying food anymore. That’s a changeable weight, but I could no longer bear that extra load. As we started to eat food, and clear room in Brent’s pack, we were able to shift some of my contents to his bag. I was taking on all the pressure of not meeting the DOC times, which was self induced pressure, but I was beginning to be quite discouraged. Could this truly be the end of our hiking? I felt so broken. There was nothing I could do to change what happened to my back, but learn to embrace its new future. Simply imagining what that meant was so difficult. This back injury which seemed so simple at the beginning has slowed us down. Once the days start to lose hours of daylight, we will be close to hanging up our boots and succumbing to my new reality. This could spell the end of this trip that I’ve imagined for so long. And even now, we don’t know how bad it really is. The codeine has been almost a blessing, disguising the pain for the duration of the hike. But what effect will it have when I go back home.

The things that plague my mind during the day.

We’re half way there. Tonight is our sixth night on the trail.

End of day six: Our wonderful kiwi friend.

DAY SEVEN – Tuesday, December 9th – to Big Hellfire Hut

The most memorable finish line. A massive stretch of winding uphill and treacherous downhills, through the thickest mud patches you can imagine. No hope of skirting around the path. Succumbing to the mud. Becoming one with the mud. Your fate, your immediate reality.

I didn’t sleep well last night. It was quite a broken slumber. Brent was finding it difficult to sleep due to all of his sandfly bites. I coaxed him to try some ‘afterbite’ ointment in the middle of the night to help him fall asleep. His hands were so hot and swollen. We didn’t know if it was all from the sandfly bites or if there was a plant we were climbing through yesterday that also contributed to his hands’ fate. I spent my night waking up to Brent’s tossing on the mattress beside me, worried about him. I was also startled awake by loud screaming and intense crying in the middle of the night. The Bavarian was experiencing extreme night terrors. I have never been around anyone who has done this before in my life. Lying in my sleeping bag with my eyes open only to the darkness of night, I was terrified myself. What in the world was going on? It carried on for over 20 minutes. I couldn’t fall asleep again after that. The critters crawling around just outside the hut kept me company as I thought about the day. I wish I could have known what was nestling in the pile of branches just outside my window. I listened to our ‘car alarm’ bird once again (this one bird literally sounded like some sort of car alarm whistling out this song in the evening we spent at Long Harry Hut) as well as another bird that I believe might have been a kiwi bird. : ) Without knowing their actual sound, I have nothing to base my theories on.

Looks like an overcast day ahead, but a dry one. These are the memories that stood out the most on this seventh day.

Watching the waves rolling into each other. We were on the most beautiful beach today with rocky cliffs surrounding us. It was deserted and free of anyone’s footsteps outside of our own and the marks left by the birds. The water was so blue and the waves were just perfect. It felt so quiet. You could lull yourself to sleep with the sound of the waves if you let yourself. The tide would pick up from two different sides of a wave, and we watched as the tops would curl over and then slowly roll into each other as the wave would approach the shoreline. It was calming.

Listening to the sound our boots made while walking on the sand. Like running our boots over corrugated plastic (might be the best description). A distinct whooshing sound.

Walking along side washed up kelp and sea weed, watching the beach bugs hopping around the plant carcasses like they were pieces of popcorn popping ecstatically.

Just follow the track. How hard could that be? Thinking about what we would do if we truly got lost in the woods here on Stewart Island. The Canadian girl we met on our first night on Stewart Island told us about these big search and rescue stories from LSAR people in NZ. Some people really go astray while hiking the Stewart Island tracks and never seem to find their way back to the marked path. I can see how that is possible. Following a track is easy, but a lot of these sections are so overgrown that you would miss it if you blinked. And with the route markers sometimes being a little scarce, it becomes like a guessing game. Areas appear to have more then one track option. Those simple little orange triangles are as good as gold out here. That and a PLB. Something you could use if you were desperately lost and your life depended on it.

Brent burnt his finger on a branch last night while stoking the fire. It has left this branch whip scar on the side of his finger. A kiss was applied to ease the pain.

Remembering the frothy covered water crossings from the day. Hiking through some waterways and then shaking off foamy bubbles from your boots.

The long hauls uphill with the cool breeze welcoming us with great relief. I will never grow tired of expressing my gratefulness for these breezes. When you’re hiking with Gortex on, it’s a welcome relief to be blessed with a breeze that passes through the zipper openings below your arms and allows the wind to travel through your body. Ahhhhh!

Again with the mud. You try hiking in it for 10+ hours a day, then you will understand why you will read about it more then once in these entries. How does one describe Stewart Island mud? Several kilometer stretches presenting a mix of wet and sticky mud. Sometimes thick; other times slushy. Always waiting for its next victim. Like a trap, it entices its prey to take a leap of faith. Chameleon mud. Sometimes, you find spots where grass is growing on top. You don’t want to be deceived, but you are. Trusting that you will find a more solid step, you stretch out your leg, and plunge into the knee-deep pit. A mask pulled off to reveal its true identity. Tricky little thing. Trapped logs in the mud are also traps, enticing you to want to use them, but they are only surface logs and quickly buckle under your weight, sinking you into the sloshy mud once again. They aren’t always able to keep you afloat. Then you spend some time trying to skirt around the mud, successfully enjoying your ability until the ground beneath you gives way, sending you crashing into the mud.

That hike to Big Hellfire Hut was just that…hell. The final stretch was winding, undulating and mud. ALL mud on mud on mud. Stupid mud. I can’t even start to explain how evil this mud is. You reach a point where you really can’t take it anymore. You’re trudging through the mud (forget even trying to think about skirting it), desperate to make the hut, and then you face a 3-4 km stretch of winding, hilly mud piles. You lose all your strength and ability to walk through it, your legs become tired of digging themselves out of the thick mud traps. Your laces loosen under the strain of pulling out your boots. You spend an hour hiking through hell to reach Hellfire hut. How fitting. But thank goodness for gaiters. They save your boot heaps during mud hikes.

Our boots. Still very wet from the river crossing the day before. And this is where we start to run into issues with foot blisters.

The last little bit of the hike to the hut brought our mud covered selves (cause that stuff travels up and down your legs as you walk) onto what felt like random sand dunes (much higher altitude then the beach) momentarily before crossing back to the tree canopied muddy track once again. It is in this moment where we were blessed with the most incredible view of the center of the NW part of Stewart Island. That perfect moment where the sun was sitting at just the right place in the sky, not too long before sunset. This wonderful clearing pulled aside the curtains to this breathtaking island, allowing us a snapshot of the world we’ve been hiking around. Suddenly the last hour didn’t seem so bad. One of those moments that you wish you could live forever.

To the hut. A late arrival, so we decided to only eat and filter water. Dishes will have to wait until tomorrow morning.

DAY EIGHT – Wednesday, December 10th – to Mason’s Bay

I’ve never experienced insomnia before. When I’m at home, I don’t sleep much, but I can putter around and do other things late at night or work out early in the morning. So I’m never just sitting in a dark room bored. I’m finding that sleeping in the huts can be challenging sometimes. Once my body is done sleeping, it wakes up too much. I don’t think I had this much trouble sleeping when there were more hours of night at the beginning of our NZ adventures. No matter what the cause is, I can’t sleep through the nights for some reason. I wake up to a pitch black hut. Tonight, there were no nightly critters to keep me company. Silence. Luckily, our fellow bunk mate didn’t suffer from any night terrors to scare the crap out of me during his slumber.

Slowly but surely, the sun started to make an appearance, although slightly masked. The day is a bit overcast at the moment, but bright as. It could be a good day for hiking.

Yesterday was a long hiking day. We are preparing for another long day, as this hike is also supposed to take 7 hours (same as yesterday’s hike). Knowing full well that a seven hour hike in DOC time could easily translate into a 10-11 hour hike in Alison & Brent time, we have to prepare our minds for this task. Our bodies are super soar from the pack, the path, and the activity. Something that isn’t helping is the lack of drying action from our boots. Walking in wet socks (we decided to shed our dry socks for the soaked pair in order to preserve our dry socks – not enough plastic bags for our feet) and boots for 11 hours straight sucks. It really does a number on your feet in the comfort and odor departments. Drying and cracking. My feet have never looked so battered.

The memorable moments of today:

Once again, knee deep mud. Camouflaged underneath a grassy layer. Tricky. Embracing the suspension capabilities of the mud and jumping through puddles as I hop down a hillside.

The ridge we traversed that overlooked the inland part of the NW section of Stewart Island, little Hellfire beach and Mason’s Bay. Being able to see the finish line, even though we had only begun the hike for today. The ridge was so open and clear right up to the descent. It was an enjoyable part of the day.

Observing strange bugs in the forest. Listening to (and freezing for) kiwis rustling in the bush. The increased weight of our muddy gaiters. Soon after leaving the hut, enjoying the ever loose boots syndrome (due to the mud’s stickiness). Brent’s still swollen hands from the cluster of sandfly bites. We’re still not able to determine if the swelling is solely due to the bites or if stingy needles might be involved. Blisters on my hands caused by the way I hold my trecking poles. I put strain on the bottom of my thumbs and the outside of my hands. Strange blisters have been welling up to protect me.

Today, we had good cheese for our crackers and cheese lunch. Since arriving on Stewart Island and starting the NWC, it has become a hit or miss situation with our lunches. Home Brand has failed us. We have decided to no longer purchase their crackers and cheese snacks for our hiking lunches. Somewhere along the way, they have decided to change the formula to their cheese. The consistency is very strange now, and it is pretty much devoid of any taste. We are quite sad about this since we have grown to enjoy them so much (especially the smoky bacon flavour). For their size and taste, they were tops for our lunch options. We have now decided to switch to the “Le Snak” brand, which offers three round crackers and velvety cheeses. They are a bit dearer in terms of cost, but at least we’ll be eating the cheese again and getting the ever important protein we need midday.

Wondering why certain pockets of the forest are covered in a thick layer of black moss. Is it from salt spray? Is it a tree infection? You walk through different types of forests as you follow the track on this island; sometimes it becomes very dark when you are surrounded by the black moss trees. The moss stretches along the entire tree trunk and extends through the branches.

The walk along the ridge seemed so quick, but we were significantly slowed down once we started our initial descent. It took several hours to cross over the bush saddle separating the main ridge from the Mason’s Bay area. Once the trees started to clear, we finally got a glimpse of the rocky passage we had just climbed. This island is so incredibly diverse and beautiful. Breathtaking. Every turn opens a new world, providing us with beautiful new scenery, colours, textures and sounds.

Mason’s bay was a long hike. The beach’s landscape fluctuated between sand and rock. At the beginning, it felt like the rocky beach was never going to end. The rocks weren’t big enough to hop from one the other. They were, however, small enough to teeter with every step you took, creating a big challenge for two tired trampers. Mind you, the break from the mud was nice.

Being close to the ocean was a nice change as well. This circuit has provided a good balance between bush walking and beach hiking. Listening to the waves crashing next to our feet as we negotiate the rocky shoreline. Taking note of the sound the water makes on the rocks as it pulls away, rolling back into the ocean once again. The sound reminds me of some of my favourite fireworks. The white ones that explode with the most brilliant glistening display, followed by the tails that start to shoot off in opposite directions making a sort of ‘screaming’ sound. The screamers. I could hear them popping in the sky as I listened to the water slowly scraping across the rocks.

Observing the sand layers that are ever present beside us. Sandy cliffs tower over the beach, displaying the most prominent layering system. The colours shifting from white to various shades of brown.

Walking through the seashell graveyards. Areas on the beach with thousands of marooned seashells all in one location, all empty. The mass graveyards spanning large areas of land that are impossible to walk around. Remembering the glassy sound that the shells make when you walk on them, slowly breaking their outsides, the material collapsing into their hollow centers.

Knowing how fortunate we are to still be without any major ankle or foot injury. It is so easy to injure yourself on this track. Not only due to the slippery mud, but also due to the slippery roots as well. It’s quite easy to lose your footing and slip down an embankment. Along the rocky beaches the danger is ever present. I think about it as I’m walking it. Brent and I roll our ankles quite a lot back home, and are so lucky that our boots are protecting us so much. We have the occasional semi-ankle roll, with no major outcome. Yesterday was quite an injury packed day. I semi-rolled my left foot (it was tender for the day), my right knee blew out, my back was acting up and Brent semi-rolled his left ankle and has been having problems with his knees as well. Despite our minor body annoyances, we’ve been without any major setbacks. We hike through some pain, but manage it with a day’s hike’s payoff – the view! Without our boots, our ankles would probably be wrecked though, and we acknowledge that.

Pointing out all the kiwi footprints we can find in the sand, trying to assess how long ago they were placed there. I’ve never sought out an animal so much in my life. It was a goal on this circuit to find just one. After spending some time watching the marvelous creature hopping around, you want to watch them more. They are so peculiar and interesting to observe. Back home, I usually hike hoping and praying that I don’t run into the wrong type of wildlife on the trail. Bears might be cute at a zoo, but 10 feet ahead of you is not what I would call an ideal situation in a bush setting. Kiwis…they are a challenge to spot and so wonderful. Mind you, I still don’t know if he would have dug his beak into my boot or not that one time. My fascination with them is growing, and I hope we do have an opportunity to see them in the wild outside of this island. They are much more scarce and harder to find throughout the rest of the country, but they are out there.

As the sand dunes roll into lush green hills once again, we find ourselves hopping across a river before our final stretch to the hut. Through the sand dunes, we follow kiwi footprints to our destination. We traveled with the river to our left the entire time, and we were waiting for it to branch off so that we could turn towards the hut. Funny enough, it never did, and the track crossed the river once again. This time it was really deep and there was no DOC bridge to aid the crossing. We couldn’t figure out why we had to cross the river initially to only have to cross it once again at a dangerous depth. It was probably almost over my head. It wasn’t moving very fast at all, but the depth alone didn’t encourage me to jump right in. We had crossed the river at the mouth where it meets the ocean, enabling us to have the shallowest option. Thank goodness someone took a plank of wood and tossed it across the waterway. It was definitely someone who independently decided to create a footpath, since it barely fit and wasn’t anchored in any way. We hobbled across to the other side, thankful and DRY!

We hiked through a massive corridor of canopy trees, which would be ideal for kiwi spotting. This area is a hot spot for kiwi experiences, and when you walk through it, you can see why. There is a large population of kiwis around here and a lot of good canopy for them to feed under. The darker canopies allow hikers to see the kiwis during the day, as it creates a good shade for them to hunt for bugs. It saddens me to read in the hut books about some people hiking the NWC who don’t ever spot a kiwi. They might hear them at night, but seeing them in the day is ideal. A lot of people come to Mason’s Bay (via plane) and do night time hikes to spot kiwis. However, you’re not really going to see them much, as they would scurry the moment you blast them with a torch (which you’re not supposed to do anyway). They might run circles around you though. They are fun little creatures.

The hut was busy. When we arrived, we circled the hut looking for the outside tap, as we were being observed by other trampers sitting in the kitchen area. A gentleman from one group popped open the window overlooking the outdoor sink to let us know that there was plenty of room in the bunks. We thought that was nice, he was concerned that we were going to skip the hut perhaps because it looked full. We were just looking to get cleaned up.

We unpacked our bags in the bunk rooms after dusting off the sandiest mattresses we have ever encountered. What in the world do people do with these mats? Sleep on them or sand surf? We packed plenty of snacks, dinner and our water filtration equipment and sink, and hobbled our way back into the kitchen area (separate room) to feed our hungry bodies.

Our poor feet. Today was a day for blistering. We started the day with dry socks and liners, but damp boots. They are starting to dry out, but we still had one more day with a bit of moisture (this is drying them alongside a solid fire last night as well). After walking in wet boots and socks the day before (thus, wet feet), our feet became super dry and sensitive today. We had a 10.5 hour hike yesterday (only 3.5 hours longer then expected), and then another 11 hours today (4 hours longer then expected). Our feet are now throbbing as we hobble around on the outside step of our feet and our heels. The underside of both my big toes were inflamed and in need of some repair. Time to pull out the first aid kit and start building up some protection.

In the kitchen area, we barely said a word, even to each other. We were exhausted. We simply followed our routine and looked through the hut book and studied the map for tomorrow’s hike. We met up with David once again, who decided to hike with another German gentleman and take the jet boat out the next day. He was running out of food; probably a wise choice to bail out now.

The night time hikes to the long drop toilet proved to be exciting. You walk alone down this long path to an isolated toilet. Famous horror movie scenes play through your head as you make your way further from the comfort of the crowded hut. At night, all the animals come out to play. You walk along and a rustling bush grabs your attention as an unseen animal scurries away. Could be a skink, a cat, a kiwi, or a possum. Could be anything really. No matter what, that rustle in the dark is startling.

Two long hiking days has certainly done a number on our bodies, but we won’t have a rest day until we arrive at Freshwater Landing hut. Tomorrow should be easy. A lot of people who actually come to Mason’s Bay to do kiwi spotting fly onto the beach and only hike in a few minutes to the hut. They spend one or two nights at Mason’s Bay hut, after which they hike to Freshwater Landing Hut (a flat terrain that is almost entirely boardwalked) where they meet a jet boat who will take them back to Oban. That or they boat in to FWL hut and do the easy 3-4 hour hike to Mason’s bay, then hike back out to meet the boat once again.

Pshhh. That’s taking the easy way out.

Tomorrow’s hike sounds like it will be a real treat. How can you go wrong with a three hour hike through flat terrain?

- TO BE CONTINUED -

Footprints in the mud - NWC (part 1 of 3)

2008-12-27T01:19:00.002-05:00

Isolated. Untouched. Ever changing. Challenging.

Ultimately rewarding.

This is the North West Circuit on Stewart Island. A long sought after tramp – one that we had been mentally preparing for since our arrival to New Zealand. The longest circuit track (over 125km) in NZ, located in the Rakiura National Park.

I would have to say that it was the most memorable hike. A title that might not be lost as we continue our tramping. Twelve days of hiking. What Brent once called a right of passage in the NZ hiking world.

After two foiled attempts due to illness over the last two and a half months, this is the story of our biggest (well, at least it will always be the longest) New Zealand hiking challenge.

Bird Sanctuary

The moment you step foot onto Stewart Island you notice a strong presence of bird life. Kakas, which we had never seen in the wild prior to this trip, are flying all around you and singing through the trees. There are birds everywhere you turn. The birds are simply incredible. If I haven’t said it before, I’ll say it now – you cannot spend this length of time in the backcountry of NZ without truly appreciating and falling in love with their birds. You can’t help but be captivated by these animals. They are such curious creatures. Truly amazing. They showcase so many personalities, they are incredibly clever, cheeky (sometimes), beautiful in colour and in sound. There are just so many interesting species. I didn’t give birds back home as much attention as they deserved. I notice the robins when they first make their return in the spring, and I always notice the loons on the lakes in the countryside in the summer. But I’ve never found myself so incredibly drawn to them. Yet they sing to you every morning and provide this incredible soundtrack to your step as you hike in the bush.

These birds, they rule the island. And it’s incredible to see the work that has been done to preserve them. Rats, stoats and feral cats are major problems in this country. On Stewart Island, it’s mainly the cats and the rats that are the major threats to the native birds. But the perseverance and dedication of the DOC and other organizations to preserve the native wildlife in this country has allowed places like Stewart Island (a habited island) to see an increase in the population of their native birds over the years; and even more still with the predator-free islands that have been set up as bird sanctuaries (some not open to the public).

Oban. Half Moon Bay. The locals simply call their town HMB, and laugh at the people who call it Oban, stating that’s a tourist thing to say. Yet, half of their signs have it as their main name. This is the small town on Stewart Island. The only populated section of the entire island. The island itself is quite an extensive mass of land, with some incredible vistas that are almost untouched by man. Only the keenest and most experienced tramper would step foot in some parts of the island. Others might only fly overhead to capture a glimpse of the island’s natural beauty.

We flew into Stewart Island. It was cheaper by about $20.00 for both of us, and parking at the airport was super cheap. $10 for the first 3 days and $1/day for every day afterwards. I think two weeks cost us like $20. That probably wouldn’t even cover a day in Toronto’s parking lot! Heh. This would be Brent’s first experience in a small plane. Not too bad I would say, but growing up on an airport, you get to see some small planes. This one was a 6 seater. We had a couple in the back with their dog, Brent and this Canadian girl in the middle, followed by the pilot and yours truly as co-pilot. The trip was quick and smooth. Unfortunately, it was quite cloudy so we didn’t get to see a whole lot of the island flying in. A great quick trip. Beats an hour on the ferry.

On the island we settled our sleeping arrangements and ended up at this terrible hostel called “The View”, which stood at the top of a steep hill. Although it did provide a view of the harbour and town, it offered nothing more. The house was completely devoid of anything. The rooms had the bare necessity – a bed. The kitchen had a stove that was disconnected and the elements were removed so that backpackers wouldn’t use it. You were only allowed to use the microwave. There was a pool table on the lower level, but you weren’t allowed in that room. Luckily we were with the other Canadian girl from BC (who we met at the Invercargill airport) and spent the night chatting together and enjoying Fish & Chips from the local pub (where we met a girl from London, ON working in the restaurant).

A tour around the island saw us walking in circles by the end. We were trying to spend time outside the hostel as we had landed earlier in the day. We spent a good amount of time at the DOC office, signing our intentions, buying our map, purchasing one night at a Great Walk hut (which will be our last night on the track) and sorting out our locator beacon hire. Here we are, the North West Circuit, finally!!

The next day’s hike seemed daunting. Prior to flying over, our packs were weighed for the plane. Mine sat at 20.4kg and Brent’s was locked at 24.2kg. My happy back didn’t enjoy this hike so much after about three and a half weeks of no hiking, so Brent and I had to unpack everything and try to shift a wee bit more weight around to try to lighten my pack a bit more. In the end, on the first day, my pack might have been able to drop half a kilo. As the hiking would progress through the next two weeks, the hope was in knowing that our packs would get lighter. By the time we set out however, I was carrying most things that are carried throughout the tramp (non food items). It would be interesting to see where the days would take us and how much we could shed through our time on the island.

DAY ONE – Wednesday, December 3rd – to Bungaree Hut

We set out from the town’s centre early in the morning. It was a clear day, so we were expecting some nice weather along the way. The first hour and a half would be spent road walking to the start of the Rakiura Track – a three day/two night Great Walk that we spend time on before branching off to circle around the NW of the island. Aside from an oddly placed old-school phone and phone book, both disheveled from the weather; a few ducks that took a liking to us and some kiwi road signs (which was rather exciting and encouraging – maybe we could spot one!), there was nothing too exciting about the first part of our walk. Our bags were very heavy, and with the hilly nature of the island, it doesn’t take long to notice the weight on your body. Packed for 12 nights and 13 days (one day longer then expected – as a safety), and this being our first pack hike since Greenstone-Caples, this was a lot to take in at once. Adding on top of that, only recently recovering from our bout with Crypto.

We were passed by a tour bus near the end of our road walking, to watch a bus load of people step off and take a two minute hike into the park to take pictures before returning to their vehicle. That appeared to be the sounder option.

This felt like the start of our journey.

We spent the next three hours hiking on a Great Walk track, which really is quite a treat sometimes. These tracks are maintained to such a high level, and are easy for anyone to hike on (young/old). The goal of the GWs is to open up the doors to a broader spectrum of tourists. We sometimes refer to the tracks as ‘highways’ because of how wide and groomed they are. Streams and water crossings are almost always bridged, and a great deal of time, there are boardwalks to both preserve the fragile soil and also to facilitate a more ‘enjoyable’ experience. It just never feels like real hiking. Some other trails we’ve been on you almost feel like you’re lost in the bush when the overgrown vegetation takes over the track. You’re bush bashing. It was a real treat to start our hike on this type of terrain. Even the stairs are nice. The wooden steps are filled up to the top, unlike some hikes (*clears throat* - Egmont National Park). There are these hollow wooden steps (I know I’ve talked about them in the North Island), that are normally filled with sand or rocks to maintain their ‘step’ status. Unfortunately, a great deal of the time, these wooden steps have hollowed out and become empty wood frames providing easy access for pooling water or mud puddles that are sometimes difficult to avoid due to the slippery nature of the wood that is used (when raining) or the terrain doesn’t allow you to walk alongside it. They often become more of a hindrance while hiking then a help. Again, this being one of the real treats about being on a GW track.

Walking along the beaches through the track, I spent my time, as usual, hunting for live crabs. Mind you, I can’t imagine the best place to find them on a sandy beach (I would imagine them more in pools of water on a rocky beach) but I’ve always seen them walking on sandy beaches in pictures, so I figure it shouldn’t be too difficult to find. I always find a few washed up and scattered crab pieces, including tops & bottoms of body shells, but still no live crab.

Now, I don’t have the slightest clue as to why I get so excited about these things. It might be that crabs just seem exotic that they excite me. We don’t see them running around in my hometown. I could also be influenced by the presence of Claude on our trip – I am planning a family reunion for him. But I truly do express the most genuine glee whenever I see one on the beach – albeit they have all been dead at this point in time. But today, many deceased crabby creatures were fully intact, which is a step up for me. There are tons of empty shells and legs kicking around. I don’t let Claude see the dismembered crabs.

Every time I would see a bigger crab, I would get so excited. It could just be my love for nature. I’m genuinely excited about the wildlife here in New Zealand (actually, I love wildlife just about anywhere). None the less, the hunt continues for either a live hermit crab or a shell crab.

What does stand out on the sandy beaches is the multitude of holes through the sand, created by the birds as they peck into the ground to find their food. It’s amazing to see how many holes are all along the beach. As I walked along slowly, paying attention to the holes in the ground, one seemingly social bird surely peaked my interest. A lone Oyster Catcher. Sharply contrasting the sandy beach with its full black body, his orange beady eyes and long orange beak.

One way to really tick off an Oyster Catcher: approach its nest.

For a moment I was surprised that this single Oyster Catcher started to approach us when we emerged onto the beach after crossing a stream. This one was different, calling out to us to get our attention and then trying to lure us to walk along the beach with him. I always try to photograph these birds but they fly away so quickly, you never get a really great shot (well, not without a really good zoom lens). So it only took me a moment to clue in that this bird probably had a nest nearby and that it was trying to divert our attention. We followed the beach alongside the Oyster Catcher for a wee while before he turned around and lost interest in us. I decided to turn around and see where the bird was going to stop. Low and behold, he sat down in the middle of the beach. Curious me started to hike back to his new location, just to see if it truly was a nest. Immediately upon my return, the bird swiftly hopped up and walked away from the nest, quickly resuming his singing to grab my attention.

Standing nearby I looked at this inconspicuous sand nest and three camouflaged eggs. I was amazed at how big the eggs actually were. There I was; sitting in one of those perfect National Geographic photo opportunities. The three beautiful eggs blending in with the nest’s materials in the foreground and the adult bird standing in the background. It was this classic moment that you only get once in a blue moon. I set up my shot, keeping a fair distance from the nest and before I could press the button, I took notice of the movement in front of me. Then I noticed the movement on the LCD display on my camera.

I guess the bird decided that I was too close to the nest and before I managed to snap the ultimate picture, I noticed el birdo running towards me and he began to take flight. Maybe it was the camera – it didn’t want its young photographed. None the less, I luckily noticed what was going on. The bird gave itself a running start to begin the chase and before I could blink, the wings were flung out and ready for take off. I did what most people would do, step away and duck. He barely missed me as I scurried out of the way before he was able to dive bomb me.

At this point, Brent was still down the beach, watching the scene take place. I asked him to distract the distraught parent so that I could at least snap a quick photograph of the sandy nest before leaving the poor thing alone.

And this is the story of how I was dive bombed by an Oyster Catcher. Look at their nests, but don’t you dare take your camera out. This bird came so close to my pack when I turned away. That National Geographic moment that I couldn’t get in time, is gone forever.

After surviving my bird attack, we continued along the beach, making special notice of our breath – which we could actually see in the air, despite the fact that it wasn’t that cold outside. At least to our knowledge it wasn’t. Maybe being hot and sweaty from the hiking counteracted the cold sensation.

We stopped in for lunch at the first hut on the circuit, which we intended to skip – Port William Hut. We met four DOC staff members at this hut and ‘hut book’ spied on some friends who had done the Rakiura track within the last two months (that would be you Rosie and some other American and Canadian friends we have met along the way). Brent decided to ask them about the famous Stewart Island mud – and the one guy scoffed at the question saying that there was only one bad patch just past the sign posting, but that the rest of the track was okay. Now would be a good time to mention that in the NZ tramping world, we’ve discovered that Kiwis like having wet and muddy boots. We don’t mind cold – cause that happens in Canada, and here, they don’t mind mud and water. Wet boots are typical.

Wet boots back home is usually associated with something that isn’t as nice. A soaker as you’re walking down the street in a downpour. Taking a step into deeper then expected slush in the winter and it turns out to be a giant wet puddle. You know, uncomfortable wet. Give me gumboots, I’m all for jumping in the mud. But hiking boots - not if we can avoid it. Gortex doesn’t dry very nicely. The mud and water is fine and dandy on the outside of our boots – but once it gets inside, we’re in trouble.

After walking back a short distance to the junction with the North West Circuit track turn off, we bumped into two other trampers who had come upon the junction and appeared to be carrying out an inspection. They originally thought about doing the NWC, but then decided to stick with the Rakiura. They told us about how they walked on the NWC track about 300m and were ever so glad that they had decided not to hike the terrain. The wee bit of mud scared them off. They wished us well, yet said that they might see us if we became discouraged by the track. If the first 300m towards Bungaree Hut are going to scare you off, you were probably never meant to hike the NWC.

It was an evident shift into a less groomed trail, which was expected. And in the end, today’s mud was not that bad. It might be because we only had to spend about 4 hours hiking on this terrain with an additional 4 hours on a GW track and then 1.5 hours on the road. I guess spending close to 10 hours trudging through mud could be discouraging, but today is day one. Besides, this mud was easy enough to skirt around if it seemed too sloshy. The mud wasn’t exclusive to low lying areas, but was ever present on both the up hills and the down hills. Brent did have one brief encounter with the ever famous Stewart Island mud, as he tried to show that there was nothing to it. Walking through the middle of a mud hole, he began to sink through the thick, sticky layer and in a panic pushed through to safety.

A taste of things to come perhaps. Maybe even a warm up for future hiking days. We had no idea. What we did know is that this track was going to be hilly, and in turn, was probably going to be quite slow going.

Oh, and the sandflies, yeah, they are terrible out here too!! I mean, you really have to come to NZ to understand what people are talking about. Mosquitos and blackflies are bad back home – but only in the backcountry, and I don’t even think the words ‘being eaten alive’ in Canada can sometimes compare to being eaten alive in NZ. Luckily, the worst spots are only in certain pockets. But when they’re bad…they are BAD. You will find yourself being swarmed by a massive mob.

The DOC recently introduced these track certificates over the last few years. It’s something we saw in the huts on some of the GW tracks we hiked during the off-peak season. Namely the Routeburn and Kepler. We kind of laughed at them, thinking they were amusing. Every hut had one on display as an example to encourage people to perhaps think about purchasing it, if and when they successfully complete the track. None the less, we never once thought about ever getting one of them because we thought they were kind of cheesy.

Well, when we were at the DOC office in HMB, I noticed the display under the glass on the counter and there were two certificates. One was for the Rakiura, and surprisingly, one was for the NWC. Originally we thought they would be for Great Walks only, but the NWC certificate was available for hikers, citing itself as the longest circuit track in New Zealand (which is true). Well, suddenly our tone changed, and this certificate was somewhat of a goal. Successfully completing this hike was going to be a big accomplishment, and we were excited about it. Earning that certificate after a long two week hike was a bit of a boost at times on the trail.

The sound of the ocean’s roar all around you started to be our soundtrack as we distanced ourselves from the busier port town area. The water’s presence filled the air with a rolling background sound as we looped around the northern shores of the island. Some of the bays were rougher then others, leaving the water to crash into the rocky beach or cliffs, while other bays provided gentle sounds.

Today was about ten hours of hiking. It’s supposed to be 7.5 – 8.5 hours. So straight away we saw what might become a pattern. At this point in time, we don’t know what could be influencing our timing. Either the DOC’s times are a bit short, our packs are simply too heavy just yet or I’m slowing us down. Time will tell. Today was a hard hike in terms of weight – as our packs were at their heaviest (especially for that type of terrain), but its 11 nights and 12 hiking days – and food for that length of time is heavy. Our time might be due to the longer breaks we have been taking as well. I mean, in the winter months we really didn’t have a lot of time to waste – due to the shorter hours of daylight, so our breaks were spent standing, while lunch was reserved for the special ‘take off your pack’ break. With the longer days and nicer weather, we are now able to simply take off our packs and enjoy the moment while relaxing (and not worrying about time). Oh yeah, and we also had a super long break for a mysterious piercing chest pain that I had after we stopped for our afternoon snack. Which is just what we need right now, more mysterious medical conditions. Being day one, it kind of freaked us out. It came and it went, and once it was gone it felt like it never happened. So strange.

We came upon a deserted beach near the end of our day before a short ascent (10 steps or something) to our hut for the night: Bungaree Hut. We were alone on the first night with our own private beach. It felt surreal. It was a nice beach which offered the sand for people to enjoy but also a lot of shells scattered along the sand and washed up seaweed, so it felt like there was a lot of life around. The area was also a fair bit rocky, allowing for cave formations and rocky paths and cliffs. A very interesting landscape. For dinner, Beef & Pasta Hotpot. Yum. Oh, and I spotted a person in the hut book who was from Powassan, ON. : )

End of day one: No kiwi sighting yet.

DAY TWO – Thursday, December 4th – to Christmas Village Hut

The fresh air of this island (well, of the whole country actually) feels rejuvenating. My lungs are happy being here. And after climbing uphill for a good amount of time, the breeze that greets you at the top feels like one of the most rewarding blessings in a day’s hike. The air simply smells wonderful. Today, it smelled a lot like pine trees.

We packed up early and headed out to the beach (before leaving the hut) to explore this one rock formation which apparently had three tunnels hollowing out the inside. A map was drawn in the hut intentions’ book, so we decided to go exploring. It was an interesting climb around, and we were lucky that the tide wasn’t too high, allowing us to access the tunnels inside.

The day was going to be interesting. Not mundane. I actually don’t think hiking on Stewart Island could be mundane. Every day was going to be a challenge, with the ups and the downs of the actual terrain, and the ever changing texture of the soil.

And today’s first challenge was a patch of overgrown vegetation that was hiding the actual track, and to top it off, not enough route markers were posted on the track. A lot of times we were hiking blindly hoping we would be able to spot an orange marker eventually, either ahead of us or behind us heading the other way. Even our GPS wouldn’t work in the thick bush at times. As it tried to collect data from the satellites, it would get confused and not know where to guide us. Real useful. There were a lot of hidden track sections on this day.

I wouldn’t really want to blame the DOC, but a lot of people would. Your immediate thought would be directed at them, but it truly is incredible what they do for this country. They have such a large mandate. They head conservation in the country, with more land every year transferring hands to become parks. And on top of that, they are expected to maintain the tracks and provide huts for all to use, yet probably about 75% or more of the people I’ve met on the tracks don’t even pay their hut fees (which could be anywhere from $5.00 to $15.00/night during the off peak season). Which is frustrating when you read about people camping out in a hut for over a month while they do white baiting in the rivers, making the huts their home for the duration. Yet they don’t want to pay their fees. It’s a blessing to have this type of hiking system in NZ, something that we would never find in Canada. Back home, you either go full on luxury or you tent it. Nothing even comes close to these huts. I just wish others understood. DOC is under-funded and being stretched very thin.

The forest hiking is interspersed with beach walks every once and a while. For lunch, we came upon a long sandy beach. The weather was beautiful when we arrived, which made for a great invitation to stop. The beach felt isolated and somewhat tropical. Dark storm clouds brewed over the mountains on the island, yet by the water, only puffy white clouds floated overhead. Once our packs were off, the wind started to beat down on us, and so did the sand. It almost felt like a low lying sand storm as the dry sand dusted across the more compact parts of the beach. And it got everywhere, even working its way up the rims of our water bottles through the day.

Lesson learned.

Further down the beach there were small streams that weaved through the sand. The edges of the waterways left unstable ledges of sand layers that were slowly breaking off. Keeping a safe distance, I used my poles to break off large parts of the sandy overhang and controlled their collapse into the creeks. Brent on the other hand stood right alongside his poles as he poked away at the unstable sand, eventually leading him to fall into the streams. Luckily he stayed upright. He learned his lesson. Well, at least after the second time he did it.

I rather enjoy stream crossings because it gives you a great opportunity to clean off your boots, or at least keep the mud moist. Now, that might seem like a strange desire, but if the mud on your boot stays moist, it won’t dry up against the leather and be such a challenge to clean off at the end of the day. It’s the little things that make your day easier once you arrive at the hut.

The first day hiking was great because of how many junctions we hit on our track. Anytime you hit a junction you are privy to a DOC sign. If you’re lucky, there is time information or a kilometer count provided to you. This is always nice to see where you are at in relation to what is expected. Today’s hike did not have any signs that I can remember. You almost see them as signs of hope, which are huge encouragements on those hard days. The signs can also be discouraging if you are falling behind when you compare your time to the DOC’s expected time, or if they list the huts that are in each direction but not say anything about distance or time. That sucks.

A new type of plant that has started to appear on this hike is this one type of vine. I can’t quite figure out what trees they come from, and even if I did figure that much out, I still probably wouldn’t know what the tree was actually called. These vines have taken me by surprise as they are quite rigid, and I always envisioned vines to be supple. They are a welcome part of the NWC challenge, as they create quite the road block at times. You can move through a location, but the vines are going to stop your pack (the top of which is over your head at times), leaving you to struggle as you entangle yourself up more and more. As long as you’re having a good day, you probably won’t even notice these plants. The moment you have a bad day, you could probably take it out on a vine if it happened to come upon you at the wrong time. Funny things.

Trudging and skirting through the mud, I decided to take the option provided to us by the DOC on this length of the track. Walking on the tree stumps placed in the mud for leaping. It does facilitate the hoping around. Some of them have three independent wires stapled down into them to create part of a thread to keep people on top of the trunk instead of in the mud. However, most of them have started to either rust away or simply have lost their metal beams through the years. But the ones with the three metal pieces stapled onto them for stability are as good as gold. If no stumps are planted for you, you can generally get across the mud bogs by following fallen tree limbs that have made their way into the mud through the years.

Up and down the hills we went. In and out of the Rimu forests (I love Rimu – and it’s not something that can be explained, in fact I also have a favourite fern tree – just because). Hoping around the tree roots in the mud, when possible. Some parts of the hike were very challenging though, offering slippery tree roots and slippery mud climbs. The track received your full attention. At other times, parts of the track seemed so different from the rest of the track, almost making it feel like a different hike altogether, providing flatter terrain with no mud.

The rain moved in and out, followed by the sun. It was a long hike today. We followed an historic tramline for under an hour today, showcasing both original and upgraded parts and sections. A welcome breeze always came at just the right time. Normally a 6 hour hike, I think we took 8 or 9.

I said goodnight to the Tuis who have been singing to us throughout the day. They have such a variety of sounds; they are wonderful to listen to. Still listening for kiwis, even though we don’t know what they sound like. We really should have bought that sound effects card in the DOC office which belted out the sound of a kiwi once it was opened. Then at least we could figure out what we were listening for. (Upon our return to the DOC, we found out that some people buy the cards and then in the middle of the night, they walk outside the hut and open the card, and the real kiwis will respond to the card’s sounds, as if it was one of their own.)

The end of our hike brought us to a rocky shore which you hiked along before discovering Christmas Village Hut. We arrived at the hut mid-evening, to what I would call a quite unsocial lot of three others. There was a Danish couple who were rather giggly and loud throughout the night as well as a guy from Oregon. Three other people. You wouldn’t know it if you saw the state of the hut. They spread out like they owned the place. This hut had two 6 bunk areas, and the one American guy made his side look like at least 5 hikers were bunking in the area. We needed him to shift his gear around so that we could access the upper bunk area. The atmosphere felt unsocial, and it appeared people were going to be obnoxious and loud.

Some people just don’t know how to share huts.

This hut is where we spent a good amount of time noticing who was on the NWC at the same time as us (with the help of the Intentions book) and who we might cross paths with on the trail. For dinner, apricot chicken (yummy). And for desert, scroggin. Although, this version is a wee bit sugary. Salted peanuts, sultanas, apricots (which we’ve decided to not include anymore, since I bring them as my dried fruit anyway), chocolate buttons (wafers), chocolate buttons (like smarties), chocolate covered raisins, yogurt covered raisins, and sunflower seeds. I think Brent also wanted to include chocolate covered peanuts, but we had enough sugar. And this time around, instead of trying to eat all the yogurt covered raisins, we kept putting them back because we had too many in our hands. Next time around we’re increasing the peanut content and lowering the amount of sugar. We found that we started to simply crave the nuts and fruit. Sugar is important, but I think we went a little overkill.

And in the end, we invented a new type of Euchre; you know just to keep things exciting. We even came up with two versions of it. Basic two person euchre, but the cards you discard are not selected by you. After you pick up your ‘helper’ hand of three cards, your opponent gets to choose three cards (face down) for you to discard. Now, they aren’t allowed to look at your cards until after the hand is played, but you could have called trump on the top three cards and have them plucked from your hand instantly. It’s challenging. Scoring two points can be quite the endeavour.

End of day two: No kiwi sighting yet.

DAY THREE – Friday, December 5th – stay at Christmas Village Hut, attempt Mt. Anglem side trip

It’s my NZ birthday today! And what a day it is. The skies are pretty yuck at the moment and it’s actually pouring rain outside. Today was the first of two rest days, which were scheduled for specific side trips near the huts selected. Unless the weather clears, we might be hut bound today. The rain is actually quite strong and heavy. None the less, we got ready as though we were going to head out the door.

Once the three other hikers set off in their respective directions, we decided we had waited long enough for the weather to clear. Slipping out of our sleeping bags, where we were playing cards (trying to stay out of the way from the others who were all over the main area), I started to feel a familiar chest pain creeping into my system. Stabbing and piercing pain took over my chest as I tried to figure out a position that would lesson its impact. Breathing hurt so much. It was excruciating. Two days ago, we thought maybe this chest pain was a one time thing, but today it came back with a vengeance. One attack lasted between 25-30 minutes, followed by another attack less then three hours later which lasted about 20minutes. If it happens again we may need to investigate our options. It could mean turning around from the NWC, but I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. We have the PLB for any worst case scenario (this time only costing us $40 for 12 days), and after my second attack, I had a conversation with Brent about what to do if anything did happen. We figure, I’m young and healthy, so it shouldn’t be anything too extreme, especially some of the options we found in the first aid book, and it could still be related to our cryptosporidium – as gastro-intestinal illnesses can lead to chest pains. What couldn’t be ignored was the general malaise I was in for the remainder of the day. I felt awful.

We still ventured out of the hut that day to see about getting up Mt. Anglem. Full rain gear on to protect us from the pouring rain, we left with only our water bottles and trecking poles. Approximately thirty minutes into our side journey we were met with mini hail and simply more rain. We stopped in our tracks and looked at one another with a similar face. Is this even worth it? We will hike in this torrential rain for three hours to arrive at the summit, and if it doesn’t clear up we will be devoid of a view. It had been raining all day already with no clearing in sight. Soaked and broken spirited, we decided to turn around; mutually sharing the feeling that today…it just might not be worth the hike.

Instead we sat in the warm hut with Claude and celebrated my birthday by blowing out a match and enjoying a bag of gummy candies instead of cake (it was easier to transport). I stood the birthday card that my parents had sent me on the table as I scratched the OLG ‘cash for life’ ticket from home. I won $6.00, but will have to send it home to claim the prize. Mom, Dad – you can buy yourselves something nice with the payout! :) We spent the afternoon playing cards and working through puzzles together from a magazine pullout we permanently borrowed from the bopping hostel we stayed at in Oban/HMB. We dined on Beef Teriyaki in the evening before calling it a night after our clean up/water filtration routine.

Like most nights, I didn’t sleep all that much. I simply wasn’t tired. I spent my time listening to the yellow-eyed penguins calling out to one another throughout the night, before focusing my attention on the water rolling in over the rocks. The night mirrored the relaxed day we just had.

Then there was our new friend, Mr. Rat. You count on knowing about a rat problem through hut comments left by other users, but this rat might have only recently dug his way into the hut through the box of firewood by the stove. Then there was a guy from the Czech Republic who left his bag of rubbish on the lower shelf of the hut, on OUR side of the room (meaning near our bunks, and not the ones he was sleeping on). Well Mr. Rat rather enjoyed the easy access dinner, and found himself rustling underneath of our bunk over the next few hours.

On my belly, my eyes sitting just above the wooden slat along the upper bunk, I spent some time watching this rat running around the hut aided only by the moonlight. Then I made it into a game, flashing the rat with the torch every time he got close to the rubbish bag. I was the only one awake, and in the end, this kept me entertained. At the same time this allowed me to keep tabs on where our rodent friend was at, especially with knowing that he was creeping closer to our gear with every whirl he did around the hut.

End of day three: Still don’t even know what a kiwi sounds like.

DAY FOUR – Saturday, December 6th – to Yankee River Hut

7:15am NZ time – I was born in Kirkland Lake, ON Canada 28 years ago.

Throughout the day things come to my mind as I’m hiking. They never seem to appear in a logical order, they simply arrive in my mind as though today is the day I should be writing about them. This morning, I found myself thinking a lot about kiwi birds. As we make our way around the circuit, I keep thinking about everything people have said about the best “kiwi sighting” locations. The further we get from the town, the closer we get to an opportunity of spotting one of these flightless birds. Or so they say. That being said, Stewart Island is quite large and only a small part of this island is actually blessed with a tramping track. If the kiwis were smart, they might stay at bay. Then again, the NWC does cycle around the island, leaving a mass of land in the centre untouched.

We are trying hard to identify kiwi birds. Thinking about the sound cards in the shops, we try to imagine the song that this bird makes. Maybe we’ll just remember it once we hear it again. A thought you might expect, but shouldn’t depend on. It feels like there are a lot of new songs in the forests of Stewart Island. New birds, new music, new life. None of which take me back to the memory of opening the kiwi card in the DOC centre in Te Anau. No recollection of any similarities to what we hear around us. Currently, we’re relying on sheer luck and a blessing to spot one of these in the wild. Needless to say, our hiking is quite quiet these days. I’m always listening for the rustling in the bushes and the supposed ‘loud sniffing’ the kiwis do while they hunt for food.

Through this trip I have also found a new friend. Mr. Codeine. Boy, does my back ever enjoy this little white pill. Our discovery of its effect on my back pain in Queenstown helped us a lot on this hike. Every morning before we go on the trail I complete a cycle of my back exercises and pop a codeine pill. This helps alleviate the pain of hiking uphill for at least the first four hours, after which I simply deal with the discomfort. We figure I could keep using the codeine for my back (once a day, only while hiking) until we run out of our prescriptions. That being said, it doesn’t speed me up any. It’s almost like there is something clicking in my back while I push uphill that slows my pace now. The only bonus is not really feeling the strain, which is something to be careful with as well. You don’t want to push yourself too far.

The map saga. We purchase the DOC maps of the parks to use as a guide while hiking the trails. Mainly as a reference, since the tracks are usually well marked, and also as a souvenir, since the DOC maps have a lot of park information on them. That being said, they aren’t always the best scale to be using. Our Fiordland map was a 1:250 000 scale, which is almost rubbish when it comes to information that might be useful to a tramper – as in how high is the ascent, how many streams are we crossing, how far is the hut really? Even when you purchase a better scale, say 1:50 000, we still find we would be in the same position in terms of water crossings. What’s a stream? What makes it worthy of being drawn on a map? Every day, on every hike, we find ourselves hiking in and out of gullies and crossing stream after creek after river after trickle after waterfall after waterway. What determines whether or not it will appear on our map? We can count the streams on a smaller scale map and set off in the morning, but with every water crossing you have to determine whether this was a marked stream/river/creek or not. A map could indicate 7 river crossings, but we only cross 15-20 streams, all with similar shapes & sizes. Counting streams can be discouraging at times.

We have also become the prey to a significant bully on Stewart Island. The mud. Literally, there is no winning in this game of war. And it isn’t even about skirting around the darn mud puddles. This mud wants to eat you alive, or at least steal your boots and legs and spirit. One minute you’re climbing steep mud hills with mud so slick it can slide you off the side of a cliff – and there is no alternate route. Even on your hands and knees, there is no escaping the challenge and potential of a slick slip. Sometimes, it’s important to find a path to skirt around the mud, if for nothing more then remaining on the mountain you are climbing. Today was a very muddy day. : ) It was actually quite brutal. We fought many never ending battles with the slick mud sliding us beyond our progress every time. I reckon we hiked at least an extra kilometer or two with our mud sagas.

Undulating. Our new favorite word. If one word could describe Stewart Island, it would be that. Undulating. There is no escaping the ups and downs of the track. In the daily descriptions that the pamphlet of the hike provides, you will find a variety of ways in which the NWC escapes being called ‘hilly’. Some days there is no mention of an ‘undulating’ track. That usually means that it is a typical day. When the word ‘undulating’ appears in the pamphlet, be afraid. If it’s bad enough for them to mention, it must be a wee bit more grandeur then on a daily basis.

Noticing trees in the forest. I don’t think I could say enough about lichens, mosses, birds and trees from New Zealand. It could be something to do with the fact that we are traveling as hikers, and spend a good amount of time surrounded by these things. We can spend a good amount of every day appreciating these gifts. You really do start taking notice of the smallest details. While hiking today, I had a moment where I looked up and spotted a single tree standing in the foreground of several familiar trees. It popped out to me like it was on display. It was a new one I had never seen before. It was alone. Standing in a forest, surrounded by hundreds of trees at one time, I have no idea how this tree came to be so significant.

On the NWC, you also spend some time noticing the vines. I always pictured vines to be in the jungles of Africa. Strong enough to swing the likes of Tarzan, but supple enough to sway in the wind. They are completely opposite of anything I ever imagined. They create a tangled web of solid mass. I know I mentioned them before, but they were quite significant today. Vines falling from a certain type of tree, all slowly growing in and around one another until they start to touch the ground. A web of thick and hard vines. They are more like tree branches with their strength and durability, and less supple then a blade of grass would be. Best part, they pull you back hard as you’re hiking. If you find yourself just below one, you’re usually able to get it over your own head in time to pass the solid heavy mass, but then it has a tendency of catching onto the back of your pack just behind your neck. And if you’re not careful enough, it can yank you back so hard you fall into a mud pit on your bottom. My two impressions: they are not pliable, they come from everywhere.

While skirting the mud, we usually find ourselves walking through fern plants as we quickly zip through the medley of their leaves draped over the track. While walking through the bush, you can quickly forget that you are walking alongside fern trees that are starting to grow. I’m still trying to figure out if they will all grow up to become trees or if some of them are a different variety of ferns and are meant to be low lying bush plants.

Brent’s muddy dig. Not the best day for Brent and his trecking poles. He had an intense battle with a muddy tree root at the end of the day for the walking tip of his pole. He previously lost his other walking tip earlier today, and didn’t want to give the mud the satisfaction of taking both his tips in one day. The first one lost was his previous replacement tip, after losing another battle with wet mud in the North Island. Not the best of luck. It took some digging, but the rescue was a success.

Charlie Brown Christmas trees. Apparently they are called Lancewood trees. A new name for our vocabulary, although we enjoy the CB Christmas tree name better. They are such funny little trees, you would think a 4 year old designed it; but they end up changing a lot before growing to full maturity.

Still no kiwis yet, but there was one new bird that sounded more like a cackling child. It felt like it was laughing at us/mocking us. Tuis were singing all around us throughout the day. They have such different sounds and are incredible to listen to. The sandflies found during our beach hikes were quite aggressive. They must be hungry. It truly is incredible how quickly you become swarmed by these insects. They were especially vicious at the hut, leaving Brent to desert the idea of washing down his boots after being attacked at the outside sink.

At the end of the day, you enjoy the first moment you are able to strip your pack off your back and are encouraged knowing that you will lighten your bag once again with the more food you consume through the night. Yankee Hut was wonderful. And the weather was simply gorgeous all day. We met a tramper from Hamilton, NZ who had completed the Southern Circuit and was combining it with the NWC. We spent a great evening talking with him about his hiking experiences and enjoyed our Cooked Breakfast meal for dinner. From the window, we could see a Yellow-Eyed Penguin coming in from a day’s hunt close to 9.00pm. Slowly he waddled up the sandy bank across the river from our hut.

We spent some time outside, following a path to a small rocky beach by the ocean. Recounting the hike of the day, realizing that our 6hr hike took us 9 hrs. Ouch. When other trampers ask about our hiking, we simply say ‘Oh, we took our time’, so they know we can’t be examples of how long it will take them to hike the same distance. Now we figure we might as well just say it took us a ½ hour longer then the DOC pamphlet says. Otherwise we are greeted with a multitude of questions, which all end up pointing to the injuries which are holding us back a wee bit. Repeating the stories over and over can be quite discouraging. And right now, we need the encouragement.

We spend our time eating dinner browsing through the hut intentions book. It’s really interesting to read the comments, to see what others are thinking about as they hike through the NWC. What they think about the huts and the trail, did they have good weather, where they are from. The comments can help guide you on your next hiking day, preparing you for things you might come across in the section ahead. Today, something peaked my interest. An entry from two people journeying together; one person from Scotland and one from NB, ON Canada.

NB, ON. This sounds very familiar. This must be investigated.

- TO BE CONTINUED -

Echoing Thunder

2008-12-26T05:42:00.001-05:00

The sound ripped through the valley floor. You couldn’t even fathom where it came from. It could be from anywhere around us.

The night was cool. Our sleeping bags were toasty (yay -12 rating). Lying in our tent late at night, I couldn’t sleep. This is normal. Once I put in about 3-6hours, my body simply gets tired of sleeping.

I imagined the outline of the tent around me, painting it in my imagination in the dark night. It must have been cloudy, there was no moonlight aiding with my eyes’ adjustment to the darkness. Silence all around me, you wouldn’t know we were surrounded by campervans and tents.

Birds were cackling outside the tent, from somewhere in the bush. Although there were Kea warnings posted around, they didn’t sound like those birds. Probably a good thing, cause they are notorious for shredding camping gear.

They were the only other sound keeping me company that night.

Another crack draws my attention as I strain to shift in my sleeping bag and listen to what appears to be originating directly behind me. Glacial ice cracking and shifting in the night. The sound was echoing through the valleys and over the mountains. Even if there was an avalanche, we were sheltered enough to never know it.

But the sound. So crisp and so memorable. I felt like I was experiencing it on my own. Once the sun comes up, the world will wake up, and a good amount of the glacier’s music will be muddled.

Lying awake, I felt like the symphony was just for my ears to hear. Beautiful music. Natural wonder.

Camping in a tent outside glaciers in the Southern Alps. A must do in New Zealand.

Making the most of a bad situation

Tired of being sick (something we can’t change) and growing even more tired of Invercargill, we decided to drive away from the city and head to Curio Bay. This was a destination we hadn’t yet visited, sitting about an hour outside of Invercargill. We figured that a change of scenery might boost our spirits, and we were feeling well enough to relocate. Mind you, we still (at that point) didn’t know what it was that made us sick in the first place. We still weren’t eating enough – but decided we needed to start building up our strength and energy for the upcoming 12 day hike on Stewart Island.

So we drove out of the city that has jinxed our travels twice now and headed east down the coast.

Unfortunately, we can’t remember too much about this side trip we took. I could imagine we were still a wee bit fuzzy from everything. This was the first major ‘move’ we had made in over eight days.

We ended up at a hostel near the beach, and although the view was wonderful (outside of the extensive construction site about to block the oceanfront), it was a pretty run down place, and it was our first hostel experience outside of a BBH. Unfortunately, there were a few unfriendly guests, and in a small place, it can suck a lot of life out of others. The water at the hostel was Brent’s favorite part. It was a very inviting brownish colour. So inviting that I don’t think we actually drank any of it. Slowly surviving the crypto (which we didn’t know about yet – but we still weren’t that thrilled about water at that time), nothing off-coloured was really being sought after by our bodies. No more thank you. We simply enjoyed the water already in our water bottles.

We dropped off our bags and headed on our scenic tour of the area. We visited the Niagara Falls – which we truly don’t see the joke to. It was so disappointing to drive all the way to the area to come upon a mini rapid/river bump. We were expecting at least a mini waterfall – maybe even shaped like our Niagara Falls back home perhaps. But no, just a river bump.

We continued on our tour to Slope Point – to see the southern most point on the South Island. You hike through a farmer’s field and find your way through tussocky grass to the signpost. The view from this area was incredible. Ocean side and windy as ever! The rain was pounding on us and the wind was so ferocious, you were wobbling around trying to keep upright. Not really the best feeling when you’re standing above a very tall sheer cliff. Especially when the shape of the rocky cliff is creating intense blowholes, shooting the water straight up into the air, spraying above the cliff’s top. But incredible. On a calm day, you could really enjoy the area a bit longer. We started to journey towards a few more areas, but were kind of turned off on account of the weather. And sadly, we did not see any dolphins in Porpoise Bay. One of the reasons I wanted to visit this area is due to this one pod of dolphins that is known to come close to shore. It might not have been the right time of year, and they also might have been affected by the weather. We’ll never know.

On a plus side, I did spot two wild Pukekos while driving past a long grass field. We turned around and hopped out of the car so that Brent could spot them. I was actually quite shocked that I even noticed them.

In the morning, we realized we weren’t showing improvements in our health (at least not enough to justify trying to cross over to Stewart Island just yet), so we did the only thing we could think of to make the most of our time; we migrated north. We couldn’t justify simply sitting around and waiting to get better. We truly didn’t know how long it would take. Besides, there is so much to see in this country outside of just hiking. So we opted to travel to some touristy hot spots and hang up our packs in exchange for the tourist look. Probably a look we’d rather avoid, but none the less, we donned our best tourist image together with our sickly faces and got on the road again.

Destination: Queenstown. A town we actually thought we might avoid altogether. We never had an interest in this town. We have no interest in paying the high prices to participate in the adrenaline activities (although, at a lower cost, I might just be jumping onto the bandwagon) and really wanted to avoid tourist hubs. And if Queenstown exemplifies anything, it’s that it truly is a touristy town. Beautiful indeed. The drive up to the town is nothing short of remarkable, which is fitting since it sits alongside the Remarkables Mountain chain. The windy road that travels along the coast of a massive blue lake takes you up close and personal to a rocky mountain chain. Although pictures might not impress most due to its flattening effect, to see these mountain tops in person is stunning. The word ‘texture’ is the best thing I can think of to describe my impression of the area around Queenstown. The texture of the environment is incredibly picturesque. I couldn’t help myself from staring at the mountain chain as long as it was in my line of vision. I knew I could never fully express the beauty of the unique rock faces. It felt like the perfect spot for us to be. We needed the boost. Back to the mountains we drove. I enjoyed every second of the views.

The town is busy as, and you couldn’t help but thank God that it wasn’t the peak tourist season, that schools were still in full swing and that we weren’t there on a weekend or in their winter (skiing season is really busy in Queenstown). Visually, it is probably the cleanest town around. And perfectly groomed – if that can be said about a town. It almost feels like it was a town built for the tourism industry.

After hitting up a few hostels with no vacancy, we opted to stay at a place called the Queenstown Lodge. A quasi-lodge and quasi-hostel type location. It was great though. Every room had an ensuite (still an important selling point for us sicklies), their own TV and mini fridge, and the accommodation came with free breakfast every day. Hot and cold breakfast! This might not seem like a big deal, but every place we’ve stayed at with ‘free breakfast’ serves only cold breakfast, which is yum, but it’s a real treat to get a hot breakfast too. It’s funny, because continental breakfasts from back home even look better to us now because you can get danishes and muffins for breakfast. In Sussex, my family and I even had waffles for breakfast one morning on a continental spread. We can’t seem to find that here in New Zealand. It’s actually quite difficult to find a place that does a nice brunch spread. (my favorite meal!)

For some reason, I suggested that we go to Fergburger on our first night in Queenstown. This is a burger joint that is supposed to be extremely delicious. We have heard people raving about this place, so we were excited to taste it. Mind you, we normally only buy burgers after a super long tramp, so we’re usually ready to eat just about anything. I have to say, we didn’t find it all that flash. It could be that we were still a little bit sick and quite frankly our tummies were so tiny at that point, the smallest amount would have made us full. But we were kind of disappointed. We had a burger at a place called Burger Fuel up in New Plymouth, and I have to say it was one of the best store bought burgers I have ever had. It might be the Aioli sauce they put in their burgers, but it was yum. None the less, Fergburger was a must try food tasting. And boy, were they ever big burgers. One really could feed two people quite easily. We didn’t know that, but have since learned our lesson.

On our second day in Queenstown, we hiked up to the skyline just above the town. Funny enough, it was our first real hike since falling ill, which was quite important to start rebuilding as well. About halfway up the mountain, I got really excited when I realized that my back wasn’t hurting with all the uphill trudging we were doing. I truly thought it might have miraculously healed over our sickly time. Then, unfortunately, I realized that I had taken a codeine (the prescription was given to us after our second hospital visit to subdue the stomach pain properly) just before our hike, and it was only masking the back pain. None the less, it was information that I could soon take advantage of.

At the top of the skyline, we spent some time watching a few bungy jumps; then we took a free trip on the lift to the top of the luge hill and watched the lugists speeding down the raceway and sat down at a picnic table to watch the paragliders taking off just beside us. We weren’t feeling well enough to participate in anything on this day, but found great enjoyment in the environment, especially alongside the paragliders’ take off area. Watching the people setting up for their tandem jumps reminded me of skydiving with my dad back home. But the view was much better in Queenstown! Unfortunately the mountains will always win.

The bungy jumping was unfortunate I found. The ones jumping from the skyline complex had the shortest bungy jump distance available in the Queenstown area, it was over so quickly. Yet it was priced very close to the Nevis jump – which stands at 134m I believe. You bungy down from a cable car that rolls out into the middle of the gorge. After the ‘ride’ is done, you have to wait as they pull you back up. That would be the terrifying part. Unfortunately, you cannot access that site location from the road, as it travels through private land. You have to pay about $30 to be able to go watch people jump out there. So we settled for the smaller jumping experience.

After hiking back down into town, Brent and I shuffled through the two supermarkets to pick up some food and some dinner ($5.00 shepherds pie at the four square – surprisingly delicious), before catching the lodge’s courtesy shuttle back to our accommodation.

The next day we didn’t start off quite as early, almost having a lazy morning. Breakfast in the restaurant was delicious with gorgeous views of the Remarkables and the lake they stand before (which was also a view we were blessed with from our room). We ended up driving out of town to watch bungy jumping from the original AJ Hackett bungy bridge just outside of town. That was a highlight. We saw all sorts taking the plunge, from young to old, single to double jumpers, and the one guy who just didn’t want to throw himself off that platform. I mean, that’s the best part about bungy jumping, realizing that you have to go against your natural instincts that are trying to encourage self preservation. You have to override what your mind is telling you. “Don’t jump, you fool. This body don’t fly like the birdies.” But that one guy, he was classic, and he had the crowd rousing him!

After spending some time at the historic bridge, we continued our travels to Arrowtown, with the sole purpose of visiting the quaint little cinema in the heart of town. Like in Wanaka’s Cinema Paradiso, Arrowtown’s Dorothy Perkins theatre offers a unique experience of viewing your favorite movie from the comfort of a couch or a lazy boy recliner or a posh uppity chair or just about anything. The theatre seating is unique and never offers the same seat twice. With that in mind, the theatre is also not very big, and we couldn’t get a seat in the movie we had hoped. Instead, we enjoyed a quick tour through the lolly shop, each picking out our own packet of unique lollies and headed back to Queenstown for a quiet evening.

That was our last night in Queenstown, Friday November 28th. The same day when we got the phone call from the hospital in Invercargill. So we finally knew we needed to buy more time before heading back towards Stewart Island.

The next morning, after our last hearty and delicious breakfast and a quick pack up, we were en route for Mt. Cook. We figured it was a major detour we were going to have to face at some point, so we might as well do it now. The road to Mt. Cook is just outside of Twizel (the small town where we purchased Sgt. McClaughwd). The last time we drove through the area, we missed out on seeing the mountain. So we opted to travel further north to see this impressive peak. And today it paid off. Clear skies and a view that would draw your attention to the horizon from anywhere. Mt. Cook, standing far off in the distance, was stunning. We could finally see the mountain. Better yet, we could see it from Twizel. We spent over an hour right near the mountain the morning Huntington went up in flames, but it was as foggy as anything. It was great to finally see it.

The drive to the town was beautiful. Windy roads passing along side the bluest water I have ever seen. This was Lake Pukaki which sits just down stream from the Southern Alps, slowly collecting water from the glaciers through the Tasman River. The weather was gorgeous, blessing us with an incredible view of the mountain chain.

Now when I say that there is nothing to the town, that’s a big deal for New Zealand, because Mt. Cook didn’t even have a Four Square (a food store kind of like Mike’s Mart/Mac’s back home with a bit more grocery aisles – but they are everywhere here, and sometimes the main source of groceries). You could purchase food at the YHA hostel or the Hermitages gift shop, but even then it wasn’t that much and it was ghastly expensive. I truly don’t know how people can afford to live out there. But the town was also really neat, because DOC signs were laid out everywhere to point out almost every location and track. The signs even pointed out what roads were private residences and those that were not.

The price of isolation and a uniquely beautiful location to live in is quite high. Accommodations were no exceptions. Apparently, it was a busy night. Everywhere was booked up for the night, or at least our top three cheapest options in town. We even went to see what the bookings were like at the Hermitages and they tried to sell us on a $500 room. If you saw us in our tramping clothes, I don’t think you’d reckon we were living examples of $500 chic. We decided to book a place at the YHA for the next night and spend tonight camping at the DOC campsite just outside of town. $12 fee, not too shabby. With evening approaching, we didn’t want to rush our hiking through the area, so we opted to spend two nights in Mt. Cook.

Before setting out of town, we returned to an area where I had noticed a Paradise duck and a few ducklings waddling alongside the road. We parked near a DOC public shelter (nicer then any I’ve seen on the tracks), which was the closest location to the last duckling sighting. Walking up to the shelter with bread in our hands, we slowly and patiently watched the duck family sneak around the shelter’s corner as they snacked on the grass around the footpath. They were mildly interested in our bread donation. Nevertheless, it did keep them around, enabling us to enjoy some extra time with them. It was mainly the adult ducks who would come around for the bread pieces. Brent tried everything to lure the ducklings closer with a goal of having one eat out of his hands. They weren’t as keen. After one duckling isolated itself from his family, Brent tried to approach the lone animal (not to snatch it per se, but I do think he wanted to pet it) which was met with screaming parents flapping at him as they swiftly waddled across the grass. Needless to say, Brent quickly backed away.

After a failed duck-napping attempt, we headed back to the campsite where a lot of day hikers were starting to return from the trails. The lot looked very busy. We found a nice site where we could park near our tent (because of the kea warnings, we wanted to know if our car was going to be eaten alive through the night) and began to work on some of the hardest soil you’ll ever meet. Each peg was met with a new type of rock surface challenge. Some pegs you couldn’t go much deeper then an inch, while others barely gave much room to wriggle beyond the grassy layer. I could imagine that it appeared as though we were novices at camping if you had seen how long it took us to set up camp that night.

A trickling of rain came and went several times through the night. I spent the my time listening to the pitter patter against our tent’s fly, hoping that all those pegs would hold through the night as the wind picked up. Although, our tent has been through some pretty awful wind and rain conditions before, so this was nothing.

Thundering cracks pierced the night sky over several hours. Isolated cases echoing through the mountainous valley floor. It was such an interesting thing to be surrounded by. Mammoth glaciers sitting high upon the biggest mountains in New Zealand, slowly melting away, shifting and falling with no acoustic competition. The sounds dominated. A loud, thundering, dominating symphony.

The clouds had come in overnight. We woke up to a very cold and damp morning. With nowhere really to go until closer to noon, when we could shift into the YHA, we simply decided to sleep in. Ideally, the clouds would roll out as the day progressed and Mt. Cook would once again be visible, making our afternoon hikes more picturesque.

We chose a four hour return hike for out Mt. Cook experience. After offloading at the YHA, we returned to the DOC site to park our car and begin our chosen track. The day turned out to be gorgeous. The clouds eventually lifted and shifted out of the valley floor. We spent the day crossing alongside steep rock paths that are fenced in with “no stopping” zones near falling rock areas, crossing over some pretty rapid and blue rivers and simply walking in the valley floor being dwarfed by Mt. Cook and Mt. Sefton, completely mesmerized by the blueness of the cracks in the glaciers high near the mountain tops. It was quite a stunning sight.

One thing that I don’t really understand is the fact that glacial lakes, feeding straight from the glaciers that are running off the mountains themselves, usually have a grey and murky look to them. Yet the ice glaciers appear to be so blue and the rivers are quite clean.

On the return part of our hike, we just missed out on seeing a small avalanche in the distance. The sound is quite delayed and the way it thunders through the air can be quite deceiving when trying to locate its source. After hearing the shifted ice break (which my ears had been tuned in to locating), I searched the mid section of one of the ice glaciers, while Brent followed the top of the mountain chain thinking the sound came from further up. It did sound grandeur, so I understood his logic. Unfortunately for Brent, this cost him seeing any of the action. I caught the tail end of the avalanche falling over a waterfall location. Snow rushing down the rocks with big dusty snow clouds keeping up pace not far behind. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realized one of the waterfalls I was looking at was actually part of the avalanche. It was snow debris being thrown over. Just as quick as the waterfall had appeared, it also vanished. Incredible.

We spent the second night at the YHA, where we had dinner with a Canadian couple from Toronto. These were the first people we met from Toronto since being in New Zealand.

The next morning, we woke up early to go for two shorter day hikes before unpacking our belongings from the YHA. We drove out to the Tasman Glacier before any tour groups made their way over to the location. This was a really great experience to have without any other tourists. You hike for about 15-20mins before arriving at Tasman Lake, where you are greeted by varying glaciers floating through the water. It was amazing to see in person. Free standing white glaciers, floating around the murky grey waters. We then hiked over to a lookout that was supposed to provide you with panoramic views of the area. Unfortunately, the weather was overcast with mild rain on this particular morning. It did offer a great view of the Tasman Lake and accompanying glaciers however.

Driving away from the head of the trail, we slowly climbed up and down the windy gravel road as I took a moment to enjoy the views of this location. Driving to the Tasman Glacier from Mt. Cook felt like driving in the savannah. The low lying grass throughout the entire valley floor hosted scattered plants and shrubs. The morning mist was only starting to lift from the lower areas. The sun was bright behind the clouds casting hope of direct sunlight onto the rocky cliffs later in the day. With daylight sitting just behind the hill, the moment offered great photographic opportunities. I felt like I was in another world. Now I wait to see if a wildebeast will appear among the vegetation. They would be in the savannah.

The Tasman River slowly winding through the NZ savannah, branching off into several windy streams, gradually slipping away. In the distance, the snaking waterway appeared more like a mirage. Until all the branches reached Lake Pukaki. The poetry of the NZ savannah suddenly blurred into a mish mash of swampy land.

The rain starts to fall. Today, we drive in the bad weather with the hope of enjoying good weather in the near future. Back down the familiar highway, back through Lindis Pass (this will be trip #4 through that area), back to Invercargill once again (crossing our fingers), where we will spend one more night before crossing over to Stewart Island.

We’re so close, you can taste it.

Testing Positive

2008-12-18T04:19:00.003-05:00

It was Friday morning when the call came in.

8.33am to be exact.

November 28th.

An unfamiliar voice greeted me on the other line; yet friendly and informative.

Flashbacks came rushing back to me. Remembering November 23rd.

It was early Sunday afternoon. Day seven of our mysterious medical ordeal. Pale, faint, dehydrated, and completely malnourished, we dragged ourselves back to the Southland Hospital. This time, we needed answers.

This couldn’t be food poisoning. It’s been too long. I couldn’t even stretch out this morning; I was in sheer abdominal agony.

There we were, mutually sharing an IV stand, staring at the fluids dripping into our veins. It was a race to see who could go through the 1L bag first. The speed was out of our control. It was a new experience for both of us.

Four days after our initial hospital visit.

Our conditions were worsening. Eating little. Keeping even less of it in our bodies long enough to enjoy the thought of food.

Food.

Ugh.

Food became the enemy. The simple thought of anything made you nauseous. I thought I would never want to eat again.

I ate a carrot for dinner one night. That was all I could handle. It was the best carrot I ever had, probably the most I had eaten in five days.

Both of us, limp and Brent turning green. Both confirming this was the worst stomach pain we had ever experienced in our lives.

When is this going to end?

Cryptosporidium: The New Tannin

“Well, I have some news for you.”

“That’s good”, I replied.

“You have both tested positive for Cryptosporidium.”

A huge relief. We were actually infected with something. The worst thing is going to see a doctor and hearing you just have a simple cold or a flu. It’s even WORSE when you are dealing with an insurance company while traveling abroad. They make you feel like crap every time you need to contact them to seek medical attention. They definitely don’t make it easy – and most international hospitals do not enjoy dealing with North American Travel Insurance companies – and after the few times I’ve had to interact with my own, I can see why. It’s a frustration that you simply don’t need.

But a diagnosis – what a relief.

Well that’s good. Not the diagnosis, but the fact that they found something.

The doctor consulting us over the phone explained a bit about the condition. It’s a parasite, a quasi-relative to Giardia – in so much that you get a similar type of stomach parasite. Parasite = not bacteria, so antibiotics won’t help us. In fact, we were told there is no definite solution.

“If you’re healthy, which you both appear to be, it should only last up to two weeks.”

We were two days away from the ‘two week mark’ when the diagnosis came in. We could start counting down the days until we might experience full relief.

Now, we become a statistic in New Zealand. Two reported cases of Cryptosporidium in the Southland area. Public Health had to be notified by the doctors at the hospital.

We’re such shit disturbers over here.

Twice we visited the same hospital. The first time we didn’t know what was wrong, and how could the medical staff have known? It had been just over 50+ hours since we first fell ill. We thought it was food poisoning, yet had to be treated as though we had the Noro-Virus, a highly contagious virus that has affected a good amount of NZ hospitals recently. Isolation and drugs to cure the symptoms.

Nothing worked. Everything was getting worse. Food was sought after less and less. And at the end of each day, we were lucky to drink 1L of water. I was lucky to keep 500mL down.

We met an American doctor during our second visit to Southland Hospital. We talked through our symptoms and he grew concerned that we might have Giardia – a stomach parasite that travelers can pick up through contaminated water sources. Since we filter our water in the back country, he was puzzled, but didn’t want to rule it out. He ordered some tests for us, which started with a simple blood donation to a few vials.

This is where we lost Brent. Entering the hospital, I was the sickly one. Keeled over as I walked around, trying to control the intense abdominal pain. Brent, he looked healthy as. But once they put that needle in his vein, his colour was ripped right out of his face. I have never seen anyone look so sickly in the face. He really did look green. The nurse grew really concerned. He was told to stay lying down as she finished collecting his blood and taping down the plastic port kept in our arms in preparation for the IV.

She then moved to me. She couldn’t even find a good vein on my arm – and I’m usually told how great my veins are by nurses. My mom says that dehydration and being sick can do that to you – collapse your veins, which must make a nurse’s job that much more challenging.

I donated my three vials, and in turn, started to feel really faint and dizzy. I guess we weren’t the perfect candidates for blood donations that day. We were not well at all.

Lying limp in our separate positions, we became more and more lifeless as we waited to hear what would happen next.

I must admit at this point, that we were both relieved that the nurse treating us on this day was the same nurse who assisted us on our first visit to the same hospital. Actually, we recognized a lot of people – and they recognized us too. All the workers would stop by to see us. They would show their concern and try to find out how we were feeling. That definitely made us feel a wee bit better. It felt like people cared. They knew we were from overseas and that this must not be the most enjoyable experience.

When they took our blood pressure and pulse on our first visit, Brent’s recorded pulse of 833 beats per minute broke the machine. It didn’t fail the second time around, as the machine once again didn’t work with his body. Same nurse. Same problem with Brent. We think she saw the pattern as well.

Fluids. The thought sounded heavenly.

I felt lifeless in the hospital. Dead tired, even though we had just spent the last week lying in bed. Living in the hostel for five nights before moving to the Kelvin Hotel. There we spent four nights with Sky Movies, and at least found entertainment during our bed ridden stage. None of my sleep was restful. I couldn’t sleep through a single night. I would be woken up from the stomach pain. Sharp stabbing pain with no comfortable position available to lessen the aches, I was helpless in the dark. I just let it run its course and hoped that I could fall asleep once again. Either that or watch the late night movies.

As the nurse affixed the two IV bags to our ports, hooking them onto our shared stand, the doctor walked by and chuckled. He had never seen two people come into a hospital and be simultaneously hooked up to IV. Usually there’s only one patient.

And we waited. Drip by drip. Over the next hour and a half, we started to show a bit more life in our faces. It’s amazing what a little fluid can do to your body. I felt better as I sat there, halfway through the fluids. Mind you, when the doctor sped up my ‘drop’ near the end, I was in agony. Forcing fluids into your veins can really hurt!!

Four and a half hours later, 1L IV fluids, blood work, take home testing kits (yay) and many conversations later, we were on our way home with new prescriptions. This time for Codeine and antibiotics. We still didn’t know what we had, so the doctor thought that starting us on antibiotics wouldn’t be a bad idea, just in case. We only had three days worth.

We returned the next day to settle our ‘tab’ with the hospital. Another $202.71 each for this check up. We experienced this truly rare ‘local’ moment. We walked into the billing department to speak to the woman who oversees the international and ACC clients, and were warmly greeted by the five staff members who work in that office. They remembered us from our first visit earlier in the week, and they had all heard that we were back in over the weekend. They expressed their concern for us and asked if we knew what we had. We didn’t have a clue. Then the woman walked us over to the information desk so that we could pay with EFTPOS. When we turned around, the doctor who looked after us over the weekend was standing right behind us. He had seen us in the line and wanted to see how we were feeling today. He was just running in to drop something off in the ER and wasn’t due to start work until later that afternoon. Everywhere we turned it felt like we were greeted by familiar and warm friendly faces. It was really nice.

Cryptosporidium.

When filtering our water on the North West Circuit following our medical stint, we could happily answer why we used our filter to all those who asked. Most people, I have to admit – the “most people” were the kiwis – thought we got Crypto from back home and no longer trusted ANY water source. Our reply was “No, no – we got Crypto in YOUR country”. It’s not just in North America. And we’re officially a Public Health statistic for New Zealand.

Good times had by all.

Now, on our fabulous version of the Hump Ridge – which can be found a few blogs back, we had the unfortunate opportunity to share a hut with some very disgruntled and terribly rude trampers. When we found ourselves in a discussion with a kiwi, about why we filter our water, there was a woman in the background freaking out as she eavesdropped on our conversation. The water on this track was particularly brown, and I don’t know too many people who would dip their cups voluntarily into any creek or stream displaying such a hue. This one woman didn’t seem too pleased of our precautions and started yelling “It’s just the tannins!!!” in the background of our conversation.

To these types of trampers, please be nice to those simply cleaning their own water. They do you no harm, and find that they enjoy their water supply as it is refreshing and tasty. And please, if you choose to drink NZ water in its natural state, do enjoy. I can imagine that this country has some of the finest water in the world. But never harp on someone more precautious. It only takes one time drinking out of the wrong water source to make you regret it.

Unless crypto is the new tannin staining the water supply from the nearby forest, I wouldn’t be too harsh on anyone who chooses to filter out the parasites.

Keeled Over

2008-11-20T00:50:00.003-05:00

We're off. Tomorrow. We can't take this hostel anymore, so we're checking into a hotel. If we're going to be cooped up indoors a day longer, we really needed a new environment.

At the rate we're "healing", we don't know if we'll be off to Stewart Island before Monday.

After a frustrating experience at a terrible pharmacy in town today, we consulted with the hospital to find a suitable pharmacist to provide us with our prescription medications for our ailments. Fizzy anti-sickness drugs (some sort of wafers) and stomach calming drugs. When Brent walked inside to pick them up, the pharmacist asked what we had to eat.

This hostel has run its course. We are next to a room they are renovating, so have been dealing with terrible paint thinning fumes, burnt wool carpet fumes, early morning drilling and hammering - none of the above helping with our sensitive tummies or noses, nor our headaches (which are probably motivated by dehydration amongst other things). We're packing up, and heading out. One night in 'luxury' - which really just means spending a day in a different bed, sleeping away the illness.

To cheer us up, we waltzed over to the Post Shoppe to see if the package my parents and I coordinated had arrived. We were pushing our luck seeing if it would be here - they only sent it last Monday. It was our last time to be able to coordinate a package exchange with them, knowing that we would be housed in this area for at least a few weeks with the island trip and some farm work. They were sending us some much needed supplies that we couldn't replenish here (there's an explanation for this) - and some items we had sent home out of desperation to downsize our packs at the beginning of our trip.

Low and behold, the package arrived in 8 days - 6 business.

It was like Christmas.

So a big thank you to my mom & dad for all the wonderful supplies; for Claude's one and only item that I could never find before I left home - a rain jacket so he could be protected; MY DOWN PILLOW - which Brent made me part ways with out of desperation for weight loss; Pop Tarts for Brent (after meeting our friends Dave & Christine, this is the one thing he asked for from home - and JUST in time for Stewart Island!!); all the extra fixings; just everything, I couldn't name them all - but everything is much needed, appreciated, and we laughed at some of the things we sent home and got back today. Our spare shoelaces - why would we have ever sent them home, why would that have ever saved us any weight, I don't know. Pure desperation - and I remember that day in South Auckland like it was yesterday. First day of an impossible journey, dying with the weight of our packs, bruised and bleeding from the pressure, and sitting in a bus shelter, crying on Brent's shoulder, feeling like a complete and utter failure. Four months later, a new type of adventure.

It was a box full of supplies, which would probably bore the average person, but it was like a hug from home. The moment the woman walked around the corner with the box and I could see my mom's handwritting on the brown paper, it was like I was back in North Bay watching her prepare all her Christmas shipping boxes.

Thank you for this. I love you guys so much. xo

Despite all the pain we're feeling today, we had our moments of sunshine.

After tomorrow night, we might just tent it somewhere in Bluff until we feel better. We're tired of being sitting ducks.

Isolation

2008-11-19T17:29:00.002-05:00

Unfamiliar sounds resonating beyond our door.

Beeps.

Thuds.

Your mind wanders.

What's going on in the room just beside us?

Alone, for two hours. Periodic visits from different people, all doning gowns and gloves. All in timely intervals to check up on us.

Bored.

What are we doing here anyway?

Not an hour after posting my last blog entry, did I not succumb to the same fate as Brent. And there we were, for 48 hours, lying down, helpless and terribly ill. Stricken by sharp and strong stomach pains and unable to keep any food or fluids in our system. No fevers, so it couldn't have been the flu.

Food poisoning was our best guess. But after spending the last 48 hours in a vertical position, we were determined to find out more.

After another fabulous phone encounter with our insurance company - which I must say, is always a frustrating experience - we hobbled our way to the Southland Hospital for further investigation. I had only had about 500mL of liquid in the last three days, we were beginning to grow concerned over possible dehydration. Brent's been able to keep more liquids down, but is still consuming much less then is normal for him.

Immediately, we are ushered into an Isolation room - over concerns that we could have the Noro Virus, a virus that has shut down other hospitals in New Zealand over the last few months.

A doctor looks us over and gives us instant disolving tablets for 'anti-sickness' and two pills to take in 20minute intervals, which should calm the stabbing pain in our abdomens. A pitcher of water each, and two hours of observation.

That's what the NZ doctors prescribed.

In the end, we found ourselves to just be bored, and more then ever hungry. A good sign, I guess, as we really haven't eaten anything in at least 24 hours except for a few Ritz crackers. Everything else was definitely rejected by our bodies prior to that.

A stomach bug. That's their best guess.

But why isolation for 2 hours then?

We felt a bit better leaving the hospital. Probably because the pills we had taken were masking our real pain.

We jetted out to get some much needed food. We were so hungry.

And tired of just sitting here in Invercargill waiting to get better.

It didn't take long for the mask to wear off, and the illness to come creeping back into the picture. Not long after our triumphant small lunch, did we not both keel over with stronger stomach pangs and dizzy spells. Fuzzy heads. Angry tummies.

Back to bed we go, for another day and night is wasted in this country.

Four days into the ordeal, and a $405 hospital bill later - we're really not better off. Still battling nausea and fuzzy head syndrome, now fully equipped with cabin fever, we sit and continue to wait for our bodies to recover from our 'stomach bug' and find strength and a will to eat again.

One cup of soup at a time.

Hoping that it will just stay down this time.

Four months into our trip. Our third medical visit. Our second bout of illness.

Currently too weak to depart on our 2 week tramp through Stewart Island.

Boo.

There's something about this city...

2008-11-16T19:27:00.002-05:00

...that doesn't quite agree with us.

And I blame the city of Invercargill.

Brent is in bed sick today.

Poor thing. Showing signs of nausea and a congested head. No fever, which is good. But he's pretty put out right now.

The last time we were in Invercargill, my original coughing cold turned for the worst and I started my downward spiral to complete nausea, chills and sweats, high fever and the lovely sport of upchucking.

So I've deduced that we were never meant to be here.

We were going to be on the 1pm flight to Stewart Island today, but I postponed it until further notice due to Brent's illness. I think we'll spend another two nights here to make sure he's 100% before we set out for Stewart Island. It's a long hike, and we're going to be carrying the heaviest packs to date - and we need to be feeling our best.

In the meantime, I'll just be sorting through the massive collection of paperwork we have collected along the way and maybe even going in for my lumbar xray. And McClaughwd needs an updated registration, so I might deal with that.

This definitely isn't our favourite city, so its a bummer to be detained here.

On the bright side of things, this city does link us to the wonderful Island down south. :)

Got Drench?

2008-11-15T08:32:00.004-05:00

You could feel their eyes staring at you. Nobody was brave enough to say anything to our face. They just watched us as we walked by, peeling off our work gloves. Then came the whispers, all around us. And you know they were talking about us.

“Who are they?”, a young boy whispered to another classmate as he stood almost stunned by our presence.

“I think they’re the Canadians.”, the other replied.

“Ohhhhh.”

Lanteglos ~ A new FHINZ experience.

We left Te Anau en route for the Waituna Lagoon to spend a week with the Hall family; Martin & Jane and their two daughters Catherine and Nicola. The week flew by and we leave later on today to start preparation for our two week trip to Stewart Island. It’s early Sunday morning, November 16th.

We had another wonderful FHINZ experience and are saddened to be leaving this wonderful farm. I could spend my life living on a sheep farm. I don’t think I can get enough of these half brained animals. As dumb as they can be, they are so wonderful at the same time. At one point I was in a pen full of sheep and became surrounded by the herd as they pushed around trying to avoid the race on one side and two of the dogs on the other side. They pushed me around quite a bit, but I just pet them on their heads as they bumped around.

Moments that I’ll remember on this farm.

The medley of sheep calling out to their young. At any point when you move sheep and lamb around from paddock to paddock or into a sheep shed, they all just run in one giant mob. This inevitably leads to mother-child separations. What you get in the end is a colossal symphony of the sheep. All the moms calling out to their lambs; shifting their heads around sharply as they try to listen for their young. The lambs trembling from being out of breath and slightly frightened by the separation from their mothers; calling out to find comfort. I was watching over the gate to a paddock yesterday and just couldn’t help but enjoy this moment as a hundred or so sheep and lambs fought over each other’s cries to locate their offspring. These white speckles shifting in endless green fields.

Oyster catchers running in the paddocks.

The bloody lamb that probably bashed his head into a fence while he was being shifted. He started marking the sheep with fresh blood as it trickled out from the corner of his mouth.

The stupid lambs that decide that the open gate is not a feasible exit point, so they start ramming into the fences and either barely squeezing through an opening or getting stuck altogether. I had one lamb that couldn’t comprehend that he had to walk around the gate to get into the other paddock with his mom. He was the only lamb that didn’t cross over into the other paddock, cause he kept cornering himself behind the gate that closed onto the fence. When I went to shoo him around the corner, he bashed into the fence and got his head and one leg stuck in one of the fence openings. I had to yank him out to free him, and he still didn’t go into the other paddock until the dog came around.

The four dogs that the Hall family has – Bess (the top dog), Jake, Meg and Kate. They herd sheep with their barking, which was different from the McLay’s dog that used its eyes. These dogs quite often would come alongside me to get some love when they weren’t working.

I found a sheep that was cast and helped it back up. They can kick pretty hard, but I’ll never know which bruise that one painted me with.

After moving a medium-sized herd of sheep into the sheep shed, we went inside for morning tea. When we returned to the paddocks, we shifted one more herd to the shed for drenching. After sorting out the sheep, we noticed that it was really quiet inside the shed. One look inside and you could see why. Our original herd disappeared. Apparently they pushed open a wooden gate and started to make their way down the road. Martin had to go down the road to retrieve the silly animals.

The drenching of the lambs. You line up the animals into the race (which Brent and I had recently cleaned out), and Martin walks through with his Ghostbusters-style pack to feed the lambs their share of the medicinal fluids (to keep them healthy and fight off bugs). Their mouths were lined with bright neon blue moustaches and dribbles. After being drenched, the lambs could be seen smacking their lips together as if they were enjoying the flavour and smiling just a little. When I asked Martin if he knew any farmer who had tasted the drenching fluids before to see if it tasted good, he let me know that he personally hadn’t tasted it before, but that it didn’t taste awful. He mixes the fluid with other things, and has found a formula that the lambs will at least swallow. Before, they used to spit it out.

Riding on the back of the four-wheeler. Competing for space with Bess. Enjoying the wind blowing in your face, and enduring the dust and grit. This farm is on a flatter part of the country, and is a very fast ride.

Moving two cows and their calves. One calf which was 4 days old and so awkward on his feet. His two front legs seemed shorter then his hind legs. A common trait for calves; slightly disproportionate at the beginning of life. But they really are adorable creatures. There are a lot of dairy farmers out here and you find a good amount of paddocks with just calves – who are taken off their mothers almost straight away.

Tailing and earmarking the lambs. Martin has this great trailer contraption that holds a portable pen that you bring out into the paddocks to corner off sheep in their environment (instead of shifting them into a shed). We round up the sheep into one corner and slowly close the gates in onto their group. From there, Martin separates the ewes (who are freed into the paddock) and the lambs (who enter a separate gated area). Needless to say, you get a lot of screaming mothers and children for a good amount of time. One by one, Brent would hoist a lamb onto this cradle contraption that would hold the lambs still while they were being tailed. Then I was supposed to ear mark them, which is basically clipping their ear (think of it as ear piercing – it’s not cruel) to identify them as boy or girl. When I couldn’t find the right spot and just felt horrible for even trying and possibly hurting a poor lamb, I was demoted to ‘earmark tool holder’ and I also managed the counter by clicking it every time we did a lamb. I think I was also promoted to ‘lamb calmer’ as I would pet the lambs who would start to buck around in the cradle. They buck out of frustration with the unfamiliar (again – they are not in any pain). Most of them would calm down the moment I laid my hand on them. How precious. I could stare into their sweet little faces all day long.

Spending part of an afternoon sprinkling weed killer in the family’s second land property, where they have 17 cows grazing in one paddock and 2 heifers in another. The cows were going nuts. At first, I think they thought we were there to shift them into a new paddock. They came right up to the fence and the gateway to the new paddock. A few of them started to huff and make loud sounds, almost donkey like, which may have been mating related, but we’re not sure. They were literally galloping towards us all at the same time. Even with several electrified wires in the fence, we weren’t convinced that they wouldn’t get through. We don’t trust cows after that one white one charged at us.

Working on fences. Digging a trench to bury a new electric wire, only to fill the trench back up again. Scooping lamb droppings and wool in the race. Loading fire wood. Pruning a rose bush. Tidying up around the house.

Living in a hut in the Hall’s backyard.

The beautiful garden Jane has created. She didn’t have a view – due to the flat nature of this part of the country – so she created a view with her garden. There is a different perspective and collection of plant life from every window in the house.

Our afternoon trip to Riverton with Jane. She is the principal of her school and was researching an upcoming field trip. A nice quiet town. A yummy cafe.

Deep South Ice Cream.

Home baked food. So delicious.

Spending two days helping out at Woodlands Full Primary School. We did a bit of grounds work tidying up around the place. I gotta tell you, when you spend hours sweeping outside a school, to then just have the kids spend their break running around the place and dumping their rubbish literally around the rubbish bin and kicking all the rocks and soot you just removed right back onto the pavement, it makes you want to cry. We were the ‘Canadians’ who most were afraid to even say hello to. If you said hi to a school kid, they might recoil and run in the opposite direction. Amusing. We spent the second day cleaning out their sports shed – which is my type of nerdiness. I love organizing; and this shed was in desperate need. The school was enjoyable; so small and intimate. The kids run around without shoes most of the time, a trend we have seen throughout New Zealand – kids walking around in bare feet, even in the heart of the bigger cities. We were mentioned in the school’s weekly newsletter and we even triggered a frantic phone call to the principal (Jane) from a concerned parent who thought we were detentionees from a prison/detention centre working on the school grounds. I guess one of the children told their parents an embellished story of our arrival at their school. Caused a bit of a stir, but you’ll always get at least one parent like that.

Building a Wasgij with the girls.

Sitting alone in the home on a few occasions where Martin was out of town and Jane was in town working late. Being trusted with their home, even though we are still strangers to them. I even drove Jane’s car home from her school on Friday, when the family had to head over to a farm they were looking at an hour and a half away. Trust.

The incredible moonlight that lights up the yard like a streetlight.

The paddock of sheep right outside our hut.

Just being back on a farm. I don’t think I could ever grow tired of being on these sheep farms.

A big thank you to the Hall family for their incredible hospitality and warm environment. We had an incredible time and will treasure our memories from your farm for years to come. We wish the family all the best as they will be moving away from their farm mid-December. We hope you find the perfect farm to call home, if not right away, then in the near future.

Good bye once again lambies. Thank you for all the smiles you bring to me. :)

Waning Wonderland

2008-11-15T07:18:00.002-05:00

Fiordland National Park.

A substantial protected land area that hosts some of the most spectacular vegetation and landscapes I have ever seen. A large national park that covers the south west corner of New Zealand’s South Island. Uninhabitable untouched wonderland. Just add water, and it will all come to life in a way no other land could. An alluring beauty. Sheer cliffs that have an incredible dwarfing effect, something unable to be captured with a lens or with words. Even experiencing it is hard to believe.

I am but a peon on this planet next to this land. I feel so small here. I can get lost.

I feel like I can breathe again.

Then I went to Milford Sound. Suddenly, I felt like I was suffocating.

The night before we made it out to Milford Sound, Brent and I went out for dinner with Rosie, Alistar and their eldest son Ben. We enjoyed a lovely meal at La Toscana, a small restaurant in their home town. The meal was delicious. The company was like family. Our time in Te Anau was coming to an end. It’s hard to believe we have been here since the 29th of September. We leave this town on the 9th of November. Our longest leg of this trip is almost over. Conquering the massive National Park and enjoying this precious little town surrounded by the mountains. There is a feeling you get when you arrive in Te Anau. I could have stayed longer.

Our final mission: driving the entire Milford Highway and enjoying some time in the small town.

A random snow storm held us back an additional day. It snowed through the night before we were originally going to set out to Milford Sound. We woke up to a fresh blanket of snow on the ground in the town, while the mountains donned new colours and character in the distance. Snow in Te Anau was a concern further up the highway. The Milford road was shut down the night before, bracing for a great deal of snow on the highway overnight. Luckily, not a lot fell in or around Milford. However, chains were required for all vehicles heading in that direction.

So, we waited. What’s the rush? We wanted to enjoy the drive up the highway, and I probably would be pretty nervous if I had to squeeze our car’s tires into chains to enable it to drive any further up a roadway.

We woke up early two days later and headed out for our adventure. Scraping off our car’s windows with anything we could find. They don’t have snow scrapers in New Zealand. When I inquired about their existence in NZ, I was asked why they would need them. They simply pour water over their windshields to get rid of the frost. Back home, that wouldn’t be your best option considering it would probably freeze over pretty quickly.

Morning frost. Empty highway. We set out just before 7am. We decided to book a boat cruise in the town that would take us around the fiord over the course of 2.25 hours. We opted out of kayaking this time, we’ll probably try it in the north island again or in Vanuatu. Our cruise left around 10am, check in at 9.40am, and it took roughly two hours to drive the 120km stretch from Te Anau to Milford. Mostly because of the scenery, but also because of the terrain. Once you pass the Divide, that road changes into something very special.

The start was magical. The early morning sun glistening over the fresh frost on the grassy tussock. A single tree sitting alone in a clearing, atop a frosted mound, created a stark colour contrast against the white peaks surrounding it. We drove through the familiar. The tree coverings draping over the road with the sun shining through the trunks, with moments offering a sliver of a view of the freshly snow capped rock faces. As we climbed higher, I noticed a cloud sitting just above the road, over a lake to our right. You forget how high you really are sometimes.

We drove straight through to the town without stopping in this direction. We would spend more time exploring the area on the way back. But living it even in the confines of your vehicle was something else. The rock cliffs come right up to the road. Massive mountains, sheer rock faces, towering over you as you drive through the winding and narrow road, sometimes narrowing down to only one lane. You experience a significant dwarfing effect from the sheer magnitude of this land. And you’re surrounded.

Magical.

Driving through the homer tunnel was something else. It was darker then I thought it would be, despite having my high beams on. This tunnel was blasted through a mountain to gain access to this area. It sits approx 1.2km long. When you exit the tunnel, you are brought into a different world. You can’t imagine how the mountains could get closer to the road, but they do. And they’re bigger and more beautiful than the last. You enter a new rock valley as you continue your journey and begin your massive decent to the town. It’s all downhill from here.

We passed by the major landslip area that occurred just before our arrival in Te Anau. To see a slip up close is incredible. I have taken many pictures of landslips from afar, but to see the claybed and rock face wiped clean was incredible. It was virtually spotless. The slip; tearing into every piece of vegetation that clung on for dear life along the sheer cliff. Immense.

Immeasurable.

That is a good word to describe this area. Immeasurable. Colossal. Incalculable. Endless.

Captivating.

Without warning we were in the town. A town that I could barely agree is actually a town at all. There was a hotel, a cafe, a very large parking lot, and a walk to the very stylized and ‘airport terminal feeling’ visitor centre at the start of the dock down the road. I imagine there is a town hidden somewhere around here, since there are a lot of workers in Milford, and the next closest town is Te Anau. Not an ideal commute.

And here begins our realization of the waning wonderland that is Milford Sound.

Our initial impression was similar to what we felt in Lake Tekapo at the church of the Good Shepherd. Kind of like when you go to an overhyped movie and end up being very disappointed with the screening.

This is it?

The murky and drab water front of Milford Sound was still. The cruises weren’t up and running as of yet. Only the overnight cruise ship was bustling as the crew started their big clean up. Slowly the realization that this is it! This is what people come here to do. Park their car and walk to the dock to get on a boat and see the sound before leaving once again.

The drive is an adventure in itself. The rock cliffs on the highway pulled on my heart strings. I felt saddened to be staring at Mitre Peak in the water and not being bowled over. It’s beautiful, in its own way, and quite frankly you can’t take away the beauty that is Fiordland, but I was expecting so much more.

This is a tourist hot spot. And in my opinion, has robbed this part of the national park from some of its beauty. Doubtful Sound feels untouched. It sits in peace away from the everyday tourist in their campervan. Milford is overrun. The boat cruise companies are everywhere – I believe there are 4-5 main ones who work out of the visitor centre – and some have more then one boat and cruise option. There are boats all around you when you get out on the water. The helicopters are flapping above you, as are the smaller aircrafts. Different ways to experience this land. In the end, it’s all just noise pollution, and visual pollution. I couldn’t imagine competing for water space in a kayak. You’d be thrust around in the wake of the other boats.

The cruise was nice. We had prime standing places at the front of the boat on the upper deck. It was a small boat, so it moved slowly allowing you to have a lot of time to enjoy the views. The size of the vessel was also a bonus when approaching the shores and rocky cliffs to take sneak peeks at different wildlife.

Clearest day at the start. Blue skies. No rain in sight. Which also means that the cliffs of Milford did not come to life. They were dry as a bone. Only the permanent waterfalls lathered the rock faces on our cruise. Almost an unfortunate situation. You want to be in Milford immediately following a massive rain storm. The water would be rushing off the mountains in every possible way, bringing to life the sheer rock cliffs as the water starts to gush in every direction using any trail possible.

The grandeur of the Sound is still impressive, even without its signature rain. One of the only places on Earth where rainfall is calculated in metres, not millimetres or centimetres.

We cruised alongside the cliffs in a way where even looking straight up, you couldn’t imagine the height of these enormous mountains. Solid rock. Vegetation struggled a little bit more to grow in this part of the National Park. The terrain offered a different challenge.

We were fortunate to see a small pod of dolphins today. Three of them swam towards us and dove underneath our boat, only to follow in our wake for a short distance before drifting away. I couldn’t capture these creatures. They are so wonderful. I have been looking forward to seeing them all day. I spent a good part of the Doubtful Sound cruise trying to see dolphins in the water, and never once came across any. It was wonderful to catch a glimpse of a few of these precious creatures today.

We also had a lot of seal and penguin spottings throughout the cruise. At one point, I indicated to Brent that there was a penguin swimming just under the water alongside the boat. He couldn’t see the darn thing, which left me puzzled. Everyone was shouting how adorable the penguins on the rocks were, yet here was this single penguin so close to our vessel and nobody took notice to him.

It was only until later on that Brent made the connection. I was wearing my polarizing sunglasses, and could see deeper into the water, as the sunlight’s reflection on the top of the water is filtered out with my lenses. When I was watching the pod of dolphins swim underneath the boat, there is a chance that I might have been one of the only people able to see the event take place.

By the time we docked, the storm clouds had moved in. It was for us on the entire cruise. With the wind so strong and the rain coming, the early afternoon cruises may be interesting.

We set off for our leisurely trip back down the highway. Spending time to pull over when we could to take a moment to enjoy the environment. Soak it in. Unfortunately, most of the earlier pull over locations didn’t offer much for views. It was once we were driving that the mountains appeared more clearly from the tree line. There is a large area along the highway where you are not supposed to stop your car due to avalanche concerns, so a good deal of the sheer rock cliff area is a no-stop zone. I figure the passengers are alright, but the driver misses out. Boo.

Approaching the Homer Tunnel we came to a stop. At first we thought the driver two cars up simply stopped and got out of her car. In the end, it was a traffic signal that stopped us. Between 9am-6pm only one direction of traffic travels through the tunnel at one time. Although it is wide enough for two vehicles, I guess due to the dim lighting and other factors, they find it safer to work on traffic light intervals. Preventing more accidents between foreigners. Each traffic light lasts up to 15minutes. Coming from Milford, you approach the tunnel on a steep and winding uphill climb. We had to stop on the uphill. While on the other side of the tunnel, there is a car park you can turn into, which offers a flat terrain to park your car.

Once we drove through the tunnel, we turned off to enjoy the view on the other side. There was a 15minute nature walk that you could do, but there was also a great number of Keas surrounding the area. These birds were being fed by stupid tourists who would then get upset when the Keas wouldn’t leave their cars alone as they tried to drive away; usually leading the birds to begin snacking on their vehicles. And since we were blessed with two really dumb tourists feeding these birds some bread right beside our car, it was best not to take the 15minute walk while the Keas have a feed on our car. They eat rubber and really just pull the darn things apart. And they have powerful beaks. If you were outside your car, you could shoo them away from your vehicle. But once you drove up or returned to your car, these birds would swarm you. Sitting on your side mirrors or walking up your hood. A few of them would land on your roof and start to walk along the top of your car as their claws tapped on the metal; from time to time they would peek their heads over the top of the car and look into your windshield to keep a watch on you.

We drove along the highway and enjoyed little pockets of views and interesting history and facts. Interacting mostly with Kea birds along the way.

One last stop at my favourite spot on this highway, a grassy tussock valley set against snow capped mountains. I loved this one spot from the moment I first saw it. It just looks like a field where you can run and get lost in. Every step taking you deeper into the wilderness, and further from the highway and the general public. A place where you just wanted to jump around and do cartwheels.

Milford Sound is a beautiful place, but a good part of the magic was missing for us. So we didn’t enjoy it the way we expected to. But the drive up the highway was quite magical.

You can’t take away the magnificence of the natural beauty that exists in this part of the country. You can mask it, and maybe that was the impression we had of Milford Sound. There is a haze over the place in our eyes. Something is lost when you can’t find a quiet moment to breathe and take in your surroundings.

Maybe in the middle of the night in a row boat, one could experience the fiord by moonlight and get lost in the sounds of their surroundings.

Silence is what's missing.

And birds suddenly appear...

2008-11-14T14:06:00.002-05:00

I saw a clearing through the trees and veered off the trail. Time wasn’t a factor today, so I let my heart do what it wanted to. At that moment in time, I needed to find freedom from the track, from the world, from this life. I led us to an isolated tree in the clearing which provided shade for us as I put down my backpack staking this land as our lunch site.

I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to enjoy the reality of the situation. This earthly Eden. Sitting in a valley surrounded by a deep forest and mountains. The river can be heard in the distance. A clearing, to clear my own mind.

It’s sad to think that one day this trip will end, and we’ll be back to our “real lives”. Back to living in the big city, back to work, back to a different kind of routine. On the overnight cruise, the nature guide made a comment to all of the occupants about the ‘real world’. Asking us how we could leave such an oasis to live amongst the skyscrapers, as if they are naturally occurring things, while the mountains are a mystery and a treat.

Why do we? It’s almost like we’ve lost touch with reality. This reality. Nature. Natural. Separated from the world that we know back home, yet it’s never that far away in your mind. We’re only three months into the trip at this point, but you can still feel the time ticking away. The minutes, the hours, the days – they just fly by when I’m out here on the trails. The concept of time goes out the window, but the consequences of its disappearance stings. I stand before this beautiful land; no amount of time allows me to truly soak it in. I want to be saturated. When I’m off the trails, I dream of those moments where the valleys opened up to the world around me. The heights, the colours, the smells and the sounds.

I veered off track to soak in the moment a little bit more.

You spend so much time looking down while you’re hiking that you can miss out on the world around you. But the world around me is why I am here. A spectacular display of life. A world painted for those adventurous enough to take to the trail.

The Greenstone/Caples – The valley hike that Hollyford should have been

Day 1 – Friday, October 31st

It was a cold day today. The kind of cold that makes you want to take out your winter woollies all over again.

We started out our day at the DOC office to hand in our intentions. The peak season is upon us, and this office is at a point where it is always super busy. Worse, the team now grills you over every move you make on the trails. They ask you about everything. Do you have survival beacons/mountain radios – why not? Do you have waterproofs – and they ask you this as you stand before them in full gortex. Do you have a cooker? Do you have food? “You know that food is not available for purchase at the huts, correct?” SERIOUSLY? Who thinks that you buy food at the hut? Do you have a sleeping bag? Do you have a change of clothes? Then they grill you on water crossing safety, and hypothermia, and getting lost, and so on and so forth. It’s our fifth hike in this park, and if we had spoken to any other DOC staff member, they would have let us just walk – cause they are starting to know us there. But this woman was new. We don’t mind the questions and we understand why they ask a majority of them, but some things they ask are just ridiculous. Today, it took about 20-25 minutes to complete the grill session. And this is why it was annoying. I know that they bump into some uber inexperienced and just plain dumb people, but come on. That’s a long time to go at one group setting out on the trails.

Soon after, we were on our way back to the Divide, where we had started our Routeburn adventure a few weeks ago. The Greenstone/Caples circuit is really two hikes that you can do together to create a loop track. Most people start on the Caples side of the hike because of the big climb on the first day, which people say is really steep and that they would prefer to go up it then climb down, while the other direction provides you with a flatter valley walk. We chose to start on the Greenstone side because it was a shorter first day hike in this direction then it would have been to the Caples’ first hut, and the drive to the Divide is long enough. If you don’t set out super early, you risk ending the hike in the dark. On top of that, the weather wasn’t all that nice today, and the Caples’ hike brings you at the highest point and crossing a saddle. We wanted to have better weather for that crossing. It would be nice to see the valley from above after spending so many days walking through it.

Now that the tramping season has started, the first part of the track was much busier then the last time we hiked the first hour and a half to Lake Howden Hut. This part of the track is shared between the Greenstone/Caples hikers and the Routeburn (a great walk) trampers. With the season upon us, there are now hut wardens about – clearing and maintaining the track, and just a great deal more people doing day hiking in the area and spending the nights in supervised huts. Unlike the $45/night you would pay at Hump Ridge for a possible lack of service, the $45/night you put forth for a DOC hut is understandable. The cost helps to keep the tracks clear for the great walk hikers, covering maintenance, paying for the hut wardens who live at each hut along the great walks, pays for wood and coal – which is fully stocked up during the peak season, FLUSH toilets (a luxury that are only used due to the amount of people who use the tracks – too busy for a long drop), a guaranteed bed, gas provided for the gas stoves. You are given things so that all you have to bring are the bare essentials. “Easier” tramping. You’re taken care of.

We have walked this first part of the track twice before, once to the hut, and once back to the divide. This direction was all uphill. Our track starts at a junction found just outside the first Routeburn hut.

The rain came and went all day long. A misty fog sat in the valley, setting the mood. It was beautiful in the clearings, but wet. We walked up and down some hilly ridges as we skirted around two separate lakes and walked through a flooded tussock clearing before reaching McKellar Hut. Creaky McKellar hut.

We started a fire, and got it nice and hot. A good coal fire. These huts are used by hunters in the area, who leave their marks all around – including shooting out junction signs near the hut, and this depletes the coal and fire wood supplies. The DOC has clearly dropped a recent load of coal at the hut, cause there were so many bags at the hut. A lot of people said there wouldn’t be any, but I gather that this track’s proximity to the Routeburn may have helped in recent coal deliveries.

Exploring the area, you will also find meat safes. You can tell these huts were made with hunters in mind. Today, no hunters. Just us and our creaky hut. Sitting quietly in the hut, we fine dined on our Chicken Satay Wraps – so delicious.

Signing into the hut intentions book, we found yet another tramping club sticker posted alongside the names of the members who hiked the track. We find these through a lot of different intention books. This has since sparked the idea that WE should have a tramping club name for the two of us. We were thinking we could make stickers and start posting them after our names each time we get to a hut.

Now all we need is a tramping club name. And if you have any suggestions, we’re open. : )

The winds picked up in the evening and the rain moved in even harder. Lots of rain all night. Strong wind all night. The hut whining with every blow.

Day 2 – Saturday, November 1st

An interesting day. A spectacular hike. This truly is the valley hike we thought the Hollyford would be. The Hollyford track takes you through a valley for four days until you open up to the ocean’s coast. Yet, the views are shielded by the trees and you’re never in a valley, you’re really only skirting along mountain ridges. Which in its own regard is beautiful. But the Greenstone/Caples walk is proving in its second day just how much we were expecting the last valley walk to be just that, a valley walk.

We waited out the heavier part of the rain this morning. But the rain brings out wonderful moods of the environment. The forests were gorgeous, with what would have to be my two favourite trees in New Zealand. The uber mossy moody trees that are stark and rigid, sharp and full of character and life. A classic ‘scary movie’ type of tree. The angles are rigid and the colours are haunting. And the Jurassic park trees. Like a curtain, these trees hang over you and hide your surroundings as moss dangles by your side and creates its own spectacular world, only to pull back and reveal a tussock valley floor and gorgeous mountain views. Wetlands all around you, as you walk through the valley; every turn, new vegetation, new life. We took our time to enjoy this hike. It was spectacular and ever changing.

Walking through the first clearing, we finally understood this one comment that appeared in the intentions book at the first hut. “No one told me I needed a boat!” Strange comment. Until you realize you are going to be walking through wetland areas that have been flooded, especially after rainfall. Long grass hid the few poles marking the trail as well as the water wonderland under your feet. Skirting around deeper bogs that sink your feet as you try to pass through. A very wet track all around.

The fishermen were out on the trails as well. Testing their luck in the rivers (the Greenstone and the Caples rivers are apparently world renown for their fishing – especially fly fishing). Today was the first day of the season.

Also making an appearance today, was the didymo. Rock snot. An algae that is in North America, but isn’t a problem the way it is out here. Something to do with the temperature of the rivers and freshwater which doesn’t allow the didymo to cycle through. It’s just rampant. This stuff is nasty to look at. It’s like brownish slime that clings to life on the rocks in the water. When you enter a didymo area in NZ, you have to be diligent in removing it from your gear (especially fishermen) before stepping foot in fresh water in another park. The weed like algae was brought to NZ by some people fishing in the US who didn’t wash their gear properly. So the story goes.

Paradise ducks called out around us, flying in pairs as they scurried away. Throughout the day, bunnies’ ears popped up among the tussock grass before the animal rapidly made their escape. They were much better off in the tussock where they were hidden. Instead they chose to run up hills that were devoid of any vegetation or safe hiding spots. And we may have spotted one deer. A black deer. A small fellow deer. So many people went on and on about how many deer there were in the area, and how we’ll just see them left, right and centre. But that’s not completely accurate. There may be deer in the park, but they don’t just live in the valley out in the open. One deer, from really far away, that was our contact with the ‘heaps’ of deer. We’ve seen more deer presence on other tracks like the Hollyford, where their tracks walked in and out of the forest area to access the lake water and to simply use the track to facilitate movement. Why bush bash when there is a cut out trail? The deer even think that way.

The walk was ever changing. The forests, the valleys, the rocky gorges. It smelled so fresh. It was so wonderful to spin around in the open areas to take it all in. Every turn would alter the perspective, and it was much enjoyable.

We arrived at the Greenstone hut mid afternoon. Two people’s equipment was left in one of the two rooms just off the main area. That all belonged to two kiwis who were out in the rivers fishing today. They joined us in the hut while we were eating dinner. Today, two minute noodles (we had the fancy stuff the day before) and this time we added instant mashed potatoes to the menu. Way too many starchy carbs, but it was good. This company Maggi makes flavoured mashed potatoes. Today we ate the vegetable infused option. This stuff is like a balloon with its ability to rehydrate. It soaks up water mad fast. The best part of NZ food, at least for now, is that there are NO GMOs!! Such a change from back home.

Our gear is starting to show its true colours as we get further into this trip. We are going to be doing some mighty reviewing on the MEC website one day. Some of the items are crap. Our wind gloves are garbage. Tiny holes have been appearing in the strangest places, discounting any ties with the idea of ‘wear & tear’, and they just keep growing...tearing through all the layers. Not so wind proof anymore. And our crank lantern, sadly is poo. It’s a great concept, but its life span isn’t as great as we thought it would be. At the lowest setting, you have to hand crank the lantern over 300 times for it to last even 15-20minutes. At the lowest setting you are using no power. 300 cranks will not get you 5 minutes at the highest setting. This a significant drop in the time from when we first started to use it. We used to crank it 100 times each (200 total) and at the lowest setting it would last at least an hour. Its true colours are shining through, yet its ability is fading fast. Thank goodness we have the wind up flashlight my brother bought me for Christmas. Life saver. It lasts, and that’s what you need!

Later in the evening, one of the two kiwis decided to start a fire to warm up the hut. He set up a good amount of firewood and kindling in the stove and then used some fuel to light up his concoction. A fiery start to the night. As he stepped aside to collect more wood suitable for this stove, I noticed something fall. A loud thud. Staring into the fire, I couldn’t understand what had just happened as the wood hadn’t toppled over. But there was a mass just in front of us.

Suddenly, it started to fly. A bird that had started to nest in the chimney dropped down into the stove after he lit the fire. That bird is so lucky that the stove’s door was open, otherwise he would have been toast. Now we have a black bird going berserk flying into windows and walls in a dark hut, lit only by the two kiwis’ headlamps and our wind up lantern. It was a mission to get this thing safely out of the hut. Traumatized already, this bird wasn’t leaving without a fight. After a few minutes and multiple attempts of guiding the bird into the many open escape routes, and his endless attempts at breaking through the solid wall structure, one of the guys managed to get the bird into his hands. Squawking for dear life, the guy escaped being pierced by the bird’s beak and tossed him out the door.

Never a dull moment.

Day 3 – Sunday, November 2nd

We didn’t see deer in the clearing this morning, like the kiwis had the day before. One of them was actually woken up in the middle of the night by a deer chewing on a bush just outside his window. We slept on the wrong side. That would have been amazing.

We set out for Mid Caples hut today, a hike which would see the conclusion of the Greenstone track and lead us back towards the Divide. Today’s hike was just as diverse as the previous day. The tussock valley floor opening up the views to the mountain chains surrounding us. The crisp blue river swiftly travelling in its rocky bed, being fed by the creeks and streams flowing through the valley and the marshes. Rocky patches on the track opening up the mountain side to interesting views of strange vegetation. Valley tussocks, followed by subalpine scrub, then trees sitting further up the mountain. A reverse of what you would normally see. Rocky gorges with no water meant to be flowing through. Staccato rocks along the hillside overshadowed by the sheer rock faces that make up the peaks. Picturesque waterfalls roaring down bouldery drops into pools of crisp water.

When we stopped for lunch, I started to whistle to a little grey bird (which may have been a NZ robin) who took a mutual interest in me. He approached me as a small worm dangled from his mouth. I guess we were both dining at that point. He continued to approach me as I whistled but eventually flew away. I sat down on the ground to keep eating my crackers & cheese. After a short rest I was about to get back up, when suddenly my little grey friend flew towards me and landed just at my feet. I started to whistle at him once again and he approached me without caution. It was interesting. He was beautiful. Brent tried to shoo him away, but he kept coming back. I don’t necessarily trust birds, because I have heard of people enduring impromptu bird attacks. They are quite agile and able to hop around pretty quickly. But there was something special with this bird. It even got the attention of other passing day hikers, who couldn’t believe he was perched so close to our gear and interacting with us.

We crossed paths with more day hikers and fishermen today. None of which were spending the nights. Apparently this track is usually packed solid during this first weekend of fishing, but we didn’t experience the rush. It was pretty quiet out on the rivers this weekend.

Through a fence we walked to find we were in a ‘wild’ farm. Sheep and cows that live in the private lands around the park who are unsupervised and live wild in the area. No farmers live here, and the animals are only mustered 2-3 times a year. Freshly shorn sheep were running around, rushing by us on the track, not wanting to be caught between the river and us. Skittish little creatures, more so then ones you would find on a farm. After circling a few herds of sheep, we came upon the cows. The cows that parked themselves alongside our foot path. Cows that make us feel a little more hesitant since being chased by that white bull near the McLay farm. I just don’t trust cows. They have the ability to harm people. Sheep can’t win that fight. They don’t scare me. But cows are difficult to trust.

If the cows pacing along the track weren’t enough, we also had a herd of about 12 or more cows walking the track with us. Only, once they discovered they were sharing it with humans, they didn’t make following it very easy. They would stop and stare us down at several points, which led us to put our poles in the air and blow a giant “WHOOSH” from our mouths. Just like when we were moving cows at the McLay’s farm. We had to herd them from their paddock and walk them down the road. Sometimes these cattle beast stop and stare you down. Give them a little movement and loud noise, and they’re off running once again. You either keep them moving or endure lengthy staring competitions.

The track led us through the farm land and over a giant gorge, before climbing up a short hill to the hut. Mid Caples hut. One we would share with a fisherman and another hiker. A hut with a gorgeous elevated view that looked over the Caples’ river and the valley. A hut with a bench to sit on and enjoy the view. And one that was not overcome by sandflies.

A sheep meanders by the hut to snack on the grass sitting below the single bench. A true New Zealand moment. Tramping meets farm life.

Day 4 – Monday, November 3rd

Another fine day is upon us. And sadly, a very short hike. Today’s lesson is not to just push through to huts that are under two hours away from another one. We wanted to spend one night at each of the four huts, but the Mid Caples and Upper Caples huts are too close together. We took two hours to complete the journey, and that was being lackadaisical about things.

I found joy in the simple things today. Trying to infiltrate a small herd of sheep in the valley. As I called out to the sheep in my best ‘meh’, I found that they didn’t immediately run away. Probably confused as I could sound like them, but definitely didn’t look like them. The wildlife came out to play today. I saw a pair of fellow deer running in a rocky clearing on the river bed. They fled before Brent could spot them. Mind you, he almost unknowingly walked off a ledge to see them. The birds were flying all around us. NZ has the cutest little green birds that are so small, they can’t help but be adorable.

The track markings were pretty poor on this trail. We came across larger wooden signs that literally said “TRACK” and arrows pointing in both directions in the most obvious areas. And the route markers were terrible. You were in open forest with what appeared to be several path options. Areas where you depended on a little bit of guidance were devoid of any track indications. Suddenly you hit a patch where 5 or 6 markers were all visible all from one standing point; sometimes, within 2-3 trees of one another. On our last day, we hit a ‘dead end’ with no indication of which way to scale down the cliff. I literally walked down an additional five minutes on my own to see if I was following the trail before I hit another route marker. You could walk in any direction, and without a clearing to place yourself on the map, you have no good way of tracking your progress. We deviated from the track several times before realizing we had gone astray.

Resting in a valley clearing was the most enjoyable moment of the day. And I must confess; my backpack is comfiest thing in the world on a break. The back is padded and makes a great pillow. Enjoying the world around me, while musical tracks loop in my head; songs that are lost in my thoughts.

Short hikes are no good. If there was a side trip you could take, that would be amazing. But today was pretty straight forward. It’s difficult. We arrived at the hut around half past one. I spent some time exploring the river bank on my own, trying to capture the little views that were supplied in this clearing. The clouds started to roll in as the day progressed. A clear sign that the following day would be just as rainy as when we first started out.

The sandflies were really aggressive and plentiful near Upper Caples hut, which make it difficult to stay outside and enjoy nature. You can only really do it in short spurts to avoid being eaten alive. We are now beginning to understand the woes of the sandfly attacks. To flee, we hide in the hut and play cards to pass the time. Today’s treat, time with our iPods. But it was much too early to be off the trails. We kept going out to see the river, walking up and down the riverbank a few times before calling it quits and staying inside. My arms couldn’t take any more bug bite attempts.

From the hut, we could watch the rabbits coming into the clearing to hop around and enjoy freedom. And just as predicted, a deer finally made an appearance in the clearing around the hut in the evening. Brent was disappointed that he missed the deer along the river, but I told him that we would probably see one later in the evening. Right on schedule. I tried to get closer to the deer to take a picture, which meant tip toeing along the veranda and freezing any time the deer looked up. I got pretty far along the veranda before the sandflies preformed a full on assault and I couldn’t take it anymore. As I started to slowly back away, the deer took notice and made a mad dash for cover.

The rain rolled in during the night.

Day 5 – Tuesday, November 4th

Last day. The long hike back to the car. According to the DOC, it should take us up to 10 hours to complete. And we’re ready with an early start. Leaving behind the last hut on a track that posted bed bug notices in all of its huts. Ew. With the plastic covering over the mats, I thought problems like that disappeared. Apparently not though.

We’re officially 18 hours ahead of our family and friends back home, as they hit their daylight savings on the 2nd. We’re really living in the future now. As we get back down to 16 hours, we’ll know our time in NZ is coming to an end.

So far, Brent and I have escaped serious blister problems on this trip. I owe it all to sock liners – thinner socks that you wear under your wool socks. They shield your feet from the rubbing that causes blisters. My heels look worn down, but nothing has officially become blister like. However, our big toes are starting to show a bit of wear and tear. Brent has built up a callus on his one tow, while the other is starting to show a mix between callus and blister...as are my poor toes. It’s just strange that nothing would have become more significant as of yet.

As we quickly approach the summer months and we continue to travel further south, we are really enjoying long periods of daylight. Evening twilight sits in the sky until long after 9pm. And we’re not even at the peak yet. We’ll be further north in the south island by the time the peak summer hours hit, but rumour has it that the south of the south island can be lightish beyond 11pm with twilight sitting for longer periods of time. Also with the arrival of summer, comes the increasing UV index. We’re already sitting at days of 9+ UV warnings. I live in my Buff which spans over my entire scalp, cause I burn really easily on my head, which just leads to a lengthy shedding period. Brent wears his Buff like a Pirate would wear his bandana. The sun is very hot here, and sitting under a hole in the Ozone layer doesn’t help. Sunscreen is a must even on overcast rainy days. Yet, most kiwis we know just don’t wear it. They are more used to their sun, but skin cancer must be a HUGE problem down here. 11+ is the highest indication on the UV scale down here...and it sits in the 11+ zone almost all summer long!

The hike back to the car was nice. We spent the first part of the day walking around a forest, following the smaller parts of the Caples river, before starting to scale the rocky boulders that were overrun by moss and lichens. Moss covered tree hollows were like traps spread across the forest floor. One second your poles are nose diving into an abyss, while another second your body sinks through a moss covered root that is hiding a deep crevice. Tree hollows which would be like condos for the animals that live here. There are so many all around one another. Complex shallow tree root systems extend across the forest floor. Creating challenging yet convenient steps for the track.

The vegetation was once again ever changing and truly enchanting. I know nothing of mosses and lichens, and really would never have given it a second thought back home. But here, I just want to stop every two seconds to capture this life growing all around. The colours are spectacular and the diversity is breathtaking. After a climb to the top, we followed boardwalks that snaked around the saddle, built to protect this fragile vegetation. Glowing in the fresh rain. The clouds covered any view we might have had on a clear day. Exposed and damp, this was a very cold part of the trip. Not the best day to not have worn your fleece under your rain coat.

A long steepish descent was upon us, as we hopped down tree roots and boulders, fortunate that they were not slicker from the rain. Thank goodness for good boots, or we would have rolled our ankles a few times. Rocky, rooty, and the never coming clearing. We could see our destination through the trees from pretty high up. As we slowly approached the lake and the valley floor, we were being teased with opportunities to cross over. I was officially dubbed as accident prone on this day, as I made a hobby out of bashing my knees and cracking my ankles. You roll them with our boots it seems, but you can still put some pressure on them. Only temporary pain thankfully. Meanwhile, Brent spent the day with a rock in the arch of his foot. Quite the pair.

We deviated from the track several times today, due to the lack of markers. The worst part was when we finally crossed over to the clearing, which we had been travelling alongside for a good 20minutes at this point. The DOC trail passes right through the deepest swamp you could imagine. Here we are skirting around smaller puddles, and they choose this location to make you cross. A location very much worthy of a boardwalk.

We chose to hobble over a fallen tree trunk that was barely sitting over the water’s top. With both poles taking favour to a side along the tree trunk, I watched as Brent’s poles found themselves almost fully submerged in the swamp. If you fall off this narrow trunk, you are going for a full fledged swim. So I took my time with every step, guiding my poles along the trunk with me. I could picture the fall into the water, but couldn’t bear to think of how cold I would be if that was realized. Deep pool of water. I wish I had a hammer with me, I could shift the track just a wee bit and let others avoid this situation.

We quickly made our way across the long grass clearing and back onto the hilly ridge. A quick snack stop at Lake Howden Hut preceded our final stretch to the Divide – 15mins uphill followed by 45mins downhill. Not a bad deal in this direction.

We ran into two women on the track further down, who had asked us how long it was to Key Summit, a popular day walk on the Routeburn track. It isn’t until you walk away that you realize that they were North American. When you meet people with North American accents, you don’t necessarily notice right away, because that’s a normal accent for us. If it’s been a while since we’ve been around kiwis, we tend to return to our ‘normal’ state, I guess; meaning that we don’t notice accents until a bit later. Hostels aren’t always run by native New Zealanders, which means you have a mix of accents all around you...and you barely ever meet kiwis in a hostel. Same thing at the campsites too, they could be run by foreigners. In Te Anau, most people we know are kiwis with wonderful accents. I’ll still notice their accents though. It’s not normal to me yet, if that makes sense. It’s still flagged in my mind. Whereas speaking to a Canadian or American, most of the time it’s a wash; takes me a moment to take notice.

Bookend weather for this hike. Rain, fine, fine, fine, rain.

At the Divide shelter, there were two Keas being fed by tourists. They truly are very beautiful birds, and they sound endearing with their cawing. But they are cheeky and work in pairs. We high tailed it to our poor car to see if they had eaten him. Keas are known for ripping apart vehicles. We had never seen them at the Divide before, but now that there are more tourists around, I think they have started to flock to the public areas once again. Luckily, the Sergeant is unscathed. We pack up and head back to Te Anau.

The last hike for us in Fiordland National Park – and most of it wasn’t even in this NP. We veered off into the Greenstone Conservation Area.

A wonderful way to end our time in this part of the country. A spectacular hike with an abundance of stunning views and an extensive display of native vegetation and varied landscape. The valley walk which put you right where you wanted to be.

In the heart of the world around you.

Unwelcome tramp

2008-11-13T00:37:00.003-05:00

It’s like we were never meant to do this track. Everything was working against the feasible realization of completing the circuit. Actually, we never even set out to complete the circuit. Thanks to the Hump Ridge trust’s new rules. With a winter storm moving in the night before, it was unknown if we would even be able to set out the next day. In the end, I almost wish it was too snowy to leave Te Anau that day.

A bitter taste was left in our mouths after this tramp. How people could be like this is beyond me.

The Hump Ridge – our own style

Day 1 – Sunday, October 26th

It was Saturday when we found out that the Hump Ridge trust was under new management. The Hump Ridge track was built by a private group of individuals over very beautiful and difficult to manage land. It starts alongside the DOC’s south coast track, then loops over a ridge before joining up with the south coast track once again to finish as a circuit. The fact that it loops with the DOC track means that there are DOC huts along the way that trampers may wise to use as accommodation.

Problem is that the Hump Ridge trust also built two lodges. One at the top of the ridge and one near the DOC’s Port Craig Hut. And these lodges cost a penny to spend the night. $45 per person to be exact. The price of a great walk hut for one night. It took me a while to want to pay for this particular track, because at that rate, you have to be choosey as to which tracks are most worth it. That nightly cost is more money than we would ever spend for a night at a hostel in town. And we have to pick the right ‘great walks’ to do with a cost of $90/night for the two of us.

The change that occurred once the new management took over is that it is now mandatory for hikers to pay for both lodges, even if they want to spend their second night at the DOC’s hut in Port Craig. Therefore turning what could have been a $45 night + a DOC annual hut pass night into a $90 night + $90 night. In the short term, yes, not too pricey. In the long run of things, when tramping is ALL you are trying to do in a country, that $180 is a lot of money. When we found out that the trust would no longer allow hikers to only spend the one night, we decided to do the tramp our way; following the south coast track until the first hut, then spending the second day doing a day hike up to the ridge, and return to that same hut for the night before returning home.

Some people who have done the walk and loved it tried to convince us that paying for it would be worth it, but again, in the long run, it’s difficult to justify every costly hike. We hike for free everywhere we go. A start up of $90 for the pass and then cost of food for every day on the track, and petrol to get to the track. The selling points for the lodges are that they are much spiffier then the DOC huts, and apparently you can shower and get free porridge in the morning for breakfast. Well, Brent and I agree, after one day of hiking, we aren’t going to rush for that shower like its gold. We have done much longer with no shower. It’s part of the deal on the trails. And porridge is not a selling point for me. Can’t say I’m much of a fan. For $45, I would love a cooked breakfast...yum.

So we left for Tuatapere in the morning. A fresh coat of snow rolling across the hills in the area. The mountains are whiter than normal after last night’s southern storm. It’s roughly an hour and a half from Te Anau through farmlands and along the Southern Scenic Highway. It was a crisp morning and the sheep were full of life in the paddocks. Welcoming the sun that is starting to shine through the clouds. We started to climb up the elevated part of the road to find a lot more snow had fallen to this point. I couldn’t tell you how high we were at this point; I didn’t have an altimeter with us in the car. The road was frosty and some parts even slushy. But mild compared to what you would encounter back home. And only on the highest point.

After a short run down a few gravel roads (which the Sergeant survived this time), we found ourselves at a makeshift parking lot near a white bait beach. It’s Labour day weekend in New Zealand, and this beach is packed. Many people fish for white bait – a delicacy here, but tiny as. You need a lot of these fish to make a patty, but they are apparently simply delicious. The beach was busy. Unfortunately, this was not where we should be parking for the south coast trail, but the road that takes you to the official parking spot has been washed out by a storm. Go figure. A mound of sand and rocks stops any vehicle that isn’t a 4x4 truck from crossing.

Luckily, "Uncle" Jeff came to save the day. A farmer and his blue tractor. It was his birthday today, and he drove to the car park in his tractor to pick up his family who had driven in from Invercargill for a celebratory bonfire at his house. Perfect timing. He offered us a ride to the head of trail which is literally at the bottom of his driveway. No complaining could be heard from us. We thanked him for the offer and hopped into the trailer that was attached to his tractor. We were joined by his brother-in-law and adorable niece.

Road washout was an understatement. There was nothing there. A washout would make me believe that there was even a little semblance of some sort of road. There was the mound of dirt and rocks inhibiting vehicles from crossing and then the road just drops and disappears completely. It was a drive over the rocky beach all the way to the farm. Sergeant would have died on the beach somewhere, and if we had left him, he probably would have been pulled out to sea at high tide. A ‘road’ that could only be conquered with an off road vehicle. And it’s been like this for months apparently. There are enough people who live out in this direction and who depend on this road, or lack thereof. Worse – this isn’t the first time this road has been washed out. The municipality is building a new road that will climb up the hillside instead of along the ocean, a move to take out the washout factor. This one should last much longer.

We hopped out as the farmer and his family tooted their horn and waved good bye. And here, we start the South Coast track to Port Craig.

This track was flat for a while and winding through the forest. Rosie taught us what a Rimu tree looked like, so we started pointing them out as we walked by. We walk these forests a great deal, but have no idea what any of the vegetation is properly called. Needless to say, we were excited with our identifying talents on this day. After a easy ridge walk, it was all downhill to the beach through deep mud and water puddles. The weather was clear today, however it rained a great deal the night before. So freshly soaked mud. Add to that a busy weekend with a lot of people trudging around in their 4x4 vehicles and ATVs. Our dear track followed an old logging road for a good amount of time. The entire road was submerged 50% of the time. Not nice puddles like in the forest, but oil stained and gas globs throughout the dirty mud piles.

And the water on this trail – brown. I actually felt like I was back home in North Bay walking in the Ducheney Falls area. Apparently they are from the tannins. I guess it’s like a brown moss or lichen. I know it’s not bad for you – but I don’t see these advocates for “drinking straight out of the creek” dipping their cups into these waters. It just looks dirty. Maybe North Bay’s water colour is due to tannins as well. Hmmmm.

Once we parted ways with the first long beach hike and the 4x4 road, we found ourselves climbing up and down hills with intervals of short beach walks in between. The parts were so interesting. They presented really poignant rock formations along the coast and further out into the ocean, with the waves crashing in against the black bodies. It was a nice contrast to the forest walks.

The zig zagging was repetitive after a while. It was a climb up, before you follow a ridge to the right, a strong descent, cross over a footbridge that brings you over a waterfall (a brown waterfall), then you curve to the left before climbing up once again and following the ridge. There was an alternate option of taking the beach all the way around, but should only be tempted before low tide. You need a good amount of time to cross this area even at low tide. And even better, you still have to scuttle and jump across the rock formations between waves. The rip is really strong in this part of New Zealand, and there are warnings everywhere. Since we don’t know the tide tables here, and they change every day and everywhere you go, we opted for the forest walk.

Our evening oasis was the Port Craig hut. An old school house from the area, from a time when there was a lumber yard and I guess you would call it a timber community. The only original standing structure of the village. The DOC converted the one room school house into a hut for the walk. A charming little hut indeed.

We walked into the room to find 8 other kiwi trampers had already settled in for the night. Thinking the evening would be entertaining, we started to scan the room where a tri-levelled bunk bed towered to our one side. Interesting.

“There’s a much nicer hut about an hour down the track. You could spend the night there if you’d like. It should be empty.”

The first words spoken to us when we entered the hut.

“Um, thanks, but we were planning on spending the night here.”

“It even has hot showers. You would have so much more room.”

Thanks asshole.

This hut did feel crammed, even though it was at less then half of its capacity. But it was the tone that stood out most to me. This guy wasn’t joking. He was being dead serious. He didn’t want us here. And all his little hiking buddies said nothing to stop him.

“No thanks. It’s our first day out hiking, we really don’t need a shower.”

All these guys dramatically started smelling their armpits and laughing amongst themselves saying that they would want one. If you can’t live one night without showering on the trails, you shouldn’t be hiking.

“Brent”, I replied loud enough so that this group could hear me, “I’m getting the feeling that we’re not really welcome here.”

I quickly followed up my statement with the unclipping of my last buckle and placing my bag firmly on the ground.

The nerve. That’s all I could think. How is that the first thing you would say to someone, EVER? And to know it was coming from a tramper, was a worse feeling.

We slowly made our way around the tables in the middle of the room and pretty much concluded on our own that this night was not going to be very fun, and decided it might be best to keep to ourselves.

The hut was taken over by six members of the Southland Tramping Club and two other kiwis hiking for the long weekend. We sat down and chatted with the one couple, and that was fine, but it was this one group who literally ruined this track for us. Rude and obnoxious humans, doing things that just blew my mind. Some members were showing a complete lack of ability to interact properly with human beings. All older adults. Mind boggling.

We just kept to ourselves as we ate dinner in a small area on the table. They were pretty spread out, and nobody appeared to be in a hurry to make room for others. Whatever. We ate and then decided to just filter a bit of water before wasting away the evening by playing cards between us.

This is when the finger pointing and whispering started. I can’t really paint the picture as well as I would like. This room is pretty small. Picture a tri-bunk bed made for 18 people (6 across), a small space before your leg hits a bench to sit on right in front of a table, followed by another bench on the opposite side, enough room to open a door and then two bunk beds placed along the wall opposite from the tri-bunks. That’s the east to west perspective. On the south side of the room was a small kitchen which only had a few counters and a sink, and then the fireplace before the wall curves to the edge of the bunk beds. On the north side is the door and the table’s edge is butted up against the wall. Tiny room with 10 people. We are taking up about 2% of the room, while the club is taking up about 90%. No counter space for others, no room near the fire (not that you needed one, it was a nice day outside), the tables and benches and walkways were full of gear. An old schoolhouse made of wood that echoes and creeks with a life of its own. Wonderful place, terrible company.

So here we have the visual of the room. Then you have the sole female component of this tramping club’s posse. An woman in her 50s or whatnot. Staring at us. No, no...gawking at us. I was noticing her in my peripheral on several occasions. We were keeping to ourselves trying to get through filtering two water bottles full of water. That’s all we wanted to do, and doing it in peace would have been amazing!

She turned her back to us and faced two guys in her group and started to whisper loud enough that we could hear, and point in our direction, trying to poke fun at the fact that we were filtering our water. Now, I don’t like people like this. I actually despise ignorance. I do think that people who have no ability to behave like a proper human beings in public settings should really stay at home. And this was like living grade 5 all over again.

Pssst psst pssssst pssssst psssst, they’re filtering water, psssst psssssst psssst psssssst psssst pssst who does that?

I looked towards the group who were now staring at us over her shoulder.

“Yes, we are filtering water over here, is there a problem with that?”, I called out to the group of ignorant trampers. It was like we were foreign or something. We couldn’t believe it. But I also wouldn’t stand for that. If you have a question or a problem, be ‘man’ enough to confront the person. If not, then bite your tongue.

The woman didn’t respond to us at all, but two of the guys came to sit by us and started to question why it was that we were filtering our water. These questions, we are used to. The blatant rudeness, we are not. If you want to know about it – just ask. We hear the same thing everywhere we go. We know we can drink the water. We just choose not to take risks. Giardia is present in NZ, and quite frankly, I don’t want to be sick and lose any more time on the trails. Not all huts are used frequently, and some do have stagnant water and can run into problems with bugs in the water. If you’re not used to certain water, you can also get sick from it. And besides, we actually like the way the water tastes after we treat it. It’s delicious and so super crisp. We pump it through our MSR filter and then stir it for about a minute with our UV pen light. No chemicals. No bad taste. Just pure water. Filtering water is normal in Canada. If you go into the backcountry, you just know to filter your water.

And besides, does it really matter what other people do. It wasn’t the conversation that bothered us, it was the way this woman was spying on us and at times eavesdropping on our conversations and making comments to the others about what we were doing and saying.

We are RIGHT HERE, you ignorant human.

That’s all we wanted to scream at her. How could you be so blatantly rude to someone? In front of their face!!!

The guys asked us about the filtration system and the woman was listening in, from afar, heaven forbid she tried to communicate to our faces. When we said we wouldn’t be dipping our cups into the brown water she started shouting that they were tannins. The water is brown because of the tannins.

SO WHAT??? I really don’t see anyone else drinking it either – so why harass us?

Out came our wind up lantern and flashlight when night started to fall. We needed a bit more light for our card playing, and once again, right in front of us, but not even remotely at us, comments about our methods were swirling out of this woman’s mouth.

I just wanted to go to bed, wake up and leave these people. It was too small a hut to be dealing with people like this. Worse, the guy who was super rude to us when we stepped inside the hut sat across from us and tried to ‘bond’ with us later in the evening. Starting off the bonding session with asking us why we didn’t continue to the next hut. We informed him that we were aware that the next DOC hut was 5 hours away. He followed that up with a classic comment, stating that the hut an hour away wasn’t the DOC’s hut. It was private. I didn’t understand why he would even suggest it then, but he asked us why it should matter who owns the hut. Nobody would see us.

Who are you? And why are you bothering us?? Cause you are really socially awkward and not assisting the situation with us by trying to speak to us. He really didn’t seem to want us around. And then again, I wondered why he was trying to talk to us. We were doing all we could to stay out of their way and keep to ourselves. Never have we ever had to share a hut with such rude people. It truly left a bitter taste in our mouths.

The DOC huts all contain a ‘code of conduct’ for hut users, which explains how everyone should share the hut amicably. This tramping club was failing with flying colours. Worrisome. If they did this to someone who was sleeping in a hut for the very first time, they could thwart their opinion of DOC tramps altogether.

This guy who was trying to ‘bond’ with us, who kept on and on about how he was ‘mates’ with Anthony Hopkins because he was an extra in the film ‘The Fastest Indian’, parts of which were filmed in Invercargill, informed us that their tramping club would be going to Stewart Island mid-November and told us their itinerary.

And so we push our trip to Stewart Island. Factored by my back recovery (it needs a longer break from tramping before doing that 10-12 day hike – and one day in between hikes just isn’t cutting it) and just not wanting to run into these people again – and we figured it out, we would have bumped into them and would have to spend three nights with them – we decided during this hike to postpone our cross over to the small island and spend another week on a FHINZ farm before travelling back to Invercargill.

Day 2 – Monday, October 27th

Big hike up to the top, or as close to it as we can.

We spent the first two hours following old train tracks. It was pretty neat. The wooden slates were under a layer of mud and water, but affected your every step. At points you were walking through areas where you can imagine they did some blasting to build the tracks. Blown out hills surrounded you as the trees grew in alongside and started to drape the track. You could almost imagine the trains still travelling here.

The tracks led to three old viaducts that have since been through rigorous maintenance work to preserve them. Giant train bridges that cross over massive gorges with trickling rivers down below. Very impressive engineering.

After the third viaduct we arrived at the Hump Ridge junction. We followed the track up the mountain ridge, a good part of which was board walked to preserve the vegetation around and also to make certain tricky areas feasible to walk through. Beautiful forest, but no views of the ridge or the ocean. We walked for a long time up and down the ridge, with splinter glimpses of the surrounding area. You have to clear the forest and enter the sub alpine area to see anything. But today I just couldn’t do it. Even though we took everything out of our bags for this tramp, my back just wasn’t strong enough today. It’s the uphill that does me in. And really, my entire body is misaligned now, so everything shifts and feels funny and works improperly, which is leading to increasing problems. Not even arriving at luncheon rock, we decided it was best to turn around. We’ve seen great views on other hikes, and even though today would be magical, it wasn’t worth the pain.

I am disappointed with myself, because I don’t like giving up, but there is nothing I can do anymore. And this is why the mood is different on our hikes. It’s a lot harder for my body at this point, and a lot of times we have to look into the future. This back injury may be a reoccurring problem for me, and the more damage I do to it now, the more I will be paying for it later.

Back down the track we go to the hut once more.

We bumped into a few trampers who are on the last leg of their hump ridge adventure and found out some interesting things. The lodges, that you pay $45/night for, which provide cooking facilities and nice lounging areas and porridge in the morning for breakfast – well, they didn’t live up to their end of the bargain. This group, who we would have been hiking with if we had done the circuit, arrived to the lodge and the gas had been shut off (so no cooking facilities), the lodge warden had left (so no access to other rooms or showers, just bedroom and kitchen tables) and there was no breakfast. So what did their $45/night cover? I would have been so peeved if all the things you were paying for were NOT available.

Another reason not to regret our choice for avoiding the official Hump Ridge walk. And besides, I clearly wasn’t going to be able to make that climb. The first day is 3-4 hours straight up. Oooph.

We returned to the Port Craig hut for a second night (as planned). Not a soul to share it with this time, and I must say, it was much nicer the second time around. We spent the evening walking around the village site and to the beach, learning more about the history of the area. Fine dining on two minute noodles and flavoured tuna (flavours which did NOT pass the test – blech). Cards, of course. And nightfall. The old schoolhouse, rickety in the wind, howled through the night as the winds grew stronger.

Day 3 – Tuesday, October 28th

Our return to Sergeant McClaughwd. A nice day, but the clouds are moving in. But it sure is hot outside. First hike where we actually did not wear our gortex jackets. We omit the fleece when the weather warms up, but usually walk around with our jackets protecting us. It rains without warning in NZ, so it’s best to just stay dry.

Along the beach, I spent my time avoiding an uber aggressive bread of sandflies and trying to find live crabs (a goal I hope to one day achieve). I was super excited when I saw a fully intact crab on the sand. Unfortunately, he was dead. I took one quick picture after I flipped him right side up, and before I could grab the close up picture that I wanted, a wave swept him away. The rest of the day we found pieces of crabs, upper shells, legs, pinchers. We didn’t let Claude know about our findings. Although, I would like to take a picture of Claude with a live crab. First things first – finding that live crab.

This was also the first time we found pink seaweed. All along the beach, varying shades of pink vegetation from the water was washed up. All at varying stages of drying. Some were hot pink, while others supported a duller magenta hue.

The beach along the logging road was barren this time around. The long weekend behind us, everyone had long since packed up and left the area. It was nice and quiet. You could enjoy the sound of the tide roaring in, and rippling over the rocky beach as it fell back onto itself. Like seashells rolling over each other. Such a wonderful sound.

We finished the hike to a rain storm that had finally made a stronger appearance. It was spitting on and off on the trail, but it was refreshing. We now had a few additional kilometres to get to the car, that road wash out area. There was a group of five women who had completed the track around the same time as us who had a 4x4 truck parked near the end of the track. They offered to drive our packs to our car, but we declined. Surprisingly, they never offered us the same ride (the one our bags would have taken) in the back of their truck. That was strange.

One guy drove past us shouting out his window “have a nice walk”, followed by a loud enough chuckling fit. That’s nice.

It was the final stretch. We weren’t too concerned.

Suddenly a white van pulled up to us and a guy rolled down his window. Even though his accent was a little harder to understand, we knew that he had offered us a ride. I couldn’t help but notice his massive black eye. After letting us into the back of the van I asked him what had happened. A fight broke out and someone decked him. Brutal. He had a beautiful dog with him, his name was Storm. He would pace around the vehicle switching from the passenger seat to the back, to come play with us in the cargo section. It was a very rough drive back out to the river’s mouth. His vehicle was not a supped up 4x4 van, and often gets stuck on the beach. It’s a rough beach with giant rocks and stones. You also have to avoid the tide when it comes up over the sandy patches or you could sink your tires in deeper. Fun times. But he was a life saver, shaving off at least an hour and a half from our final haul.

We returned to Te Anau, via Manapouri, dreaming about the next day when we would be starting our Doubtful Sound cruise. Tonight, we did not eat burgers & chips, but opted for a simple vegetable stir-fry which we cooked up at Rosie’s; followed by some delicious Hocus Pocus ice cream, garnished with a biscuit provided by the wonderful hostess herself. Can’t have ice cream any other way! We feel spoiled at this hostel. Fresh baking every time we return from a tramp. It feels like we’re coming home when we return to Rosie’s after a tramp. Somewhere familiar; a place that we have enjoyed over the last month.

Hump Ridge done-ish. No regrets on this one. We were just never meant to do it. We finish our time in Fiordland National Park with the Greenstone-Caples circuit after the overnight cruise. Shouldn’t be difficult to top this experience.

I just hope that our future fellow hut mates are a bit more enjoyable next time around.

under 1/2"

2008-11-06T10:57:00.006-05:00

As I stood half way across my situation, slowly lifting my left foot over the cross wire and firmly planting it back on this so called bridge, I wondered how many people before me perished in this situation. Has anyone ever thought of that? I bet if they had found themselves in our situation, that thought would be running through their head.

What if I slip?

It isn't even a viable option. The outcome, which I am staring down at, was not a positive one.

Factors. Things that can add favour to or work against you in a situation.

Weather. Height. Speed. Distance. Support. Ground level obstructions. Tripping hazards.

Could I bear the weight of myself and my pack should my feet fail me? Or would I simply dislocate my shoulders on the way down, impeding any chance I had at surviving in the water?

Each step mattered.

Focus mattered.

Motivation to complete the task mattered.

Releasing your mind from the situation.

Your ability to complete this crossing depends on your sheer will and balance. In the type of situation where you dream 'don't look down' would apply, your only hope is focus as you stare down at raging rivers and rocky drops below you. All at varying heights.

What monster invented this contraption? What joy did they find when others found out this was their fate?

Do you trust less than 1/2" of steel?

The only thing standing between you and that water.

Gliding across a slick cable. One foot bearing your whole weight as your other one spins from behind to find the wire as quickly as possible in front of the other. A slow journey. A calculated fate. Your trekking poles dangling from your wrists, also fighting for survival as they get caught in the crossbars, inadvertently becoming tripping hazards and adding to your dire situation. But don't think about them, cause that could spell disaster.

Every turn, a new one. A bigger one. A longer one. A taller one. Just when you think you mastered the situation, BAM!

The Hollyford Track - Our longest hike which will only be topped by the North West Circuit on Stewart Island

Day 1 - Friday October 17th - The journey starts here

We packed for this trip in the early morning hours. We weren't in a huge rush today as we had only a short 2 hour hike ahead of us. A few errands around town including picking up our rented PLB - a 50$ insurance plan for this trip (so costly!) and setting up our intentions at the DOC office, started the day off. Still burdened by a never ending sore throat that started to worsen, I decided to pick up some throat medication from the pharmacy as well. My treat I would say. Brent had to buy a merino shirt the other day, and I was blessed with medication. :) Not the type of treat that wins your heart usually, but a necessary purchase.

Another drive down the Milford Highway. Today we would go a little further then the Divide, to meet up with Lower Hollyford Road, a long gravel road that takes you 20some kms to the start of the Hollyford Track.

The day started out with a bit of a concern. I was sucking on one of these lozenges, a Difflam, raspberry flavour. Suddenly, my throat started to feel funny, almost like it was sealing up. It was similar to an allergic reaction. As I was driving, I reached into the back seat to find the lozenges' packaging and asked Brent to find any ingredients it might have that I am not familiar with. We ended up pulling over in Te Anau Downs (a 20mins drive from town). I started guzzling water to try to figure out if it was a numbing effect from a medicinal ingredient or if we would need to turn around to seek medical attention. It was really scary. It was like discovering I was allergic to Basil all over again. Having your throat seal up on you is never a fun thing.

We waited for a while and when it stopped getting worse, I figured we'd be good to go. Worse case, I have an epi-pen. Thank goodness.

The drive was just as wonderful today. Winding in and out of the tree covered areas. Once we passed the Divide car park, we were in new territory. The road literally changes from that moment as the sheer cliffs come right up to the highway and you begin climbing at a steeper incline and winding around corners with sharper turns. Oh the drive to Milford Sound is going to be interesting.

A long gravel road brings you to the car park at the end where we pulled out all our gear and tried to enjoy a pre-hike snack of a carrot and some cheese. Your enjoyment depends on how well you can evade the pesky sand flies. You spend your time walking in circles to avoid them landing on you. If you stand still, you're toast. We were right beside a large river. They live around moving waterways. Better yet, they are attracted to sweat we found out from someone. That's how they track down hikers. Great!

Just before setting off with our packs on, we noticed a little gift that we would have to deal with upon our return to the car. Poor Sgt. McClaughwd has flattened one of his tires. Poo. What can we do now? I have physio on the 24th - our due out date, which means it will be an early morning start so that we can deal with this situation and make it back to town in time. Fun times had by all.

Our Tilley hats made their hiking debut today. And possibly, for myself at least, maybe their last hiking day appearance. Brent's Tilley lost its shape and didn't affect him in the same way, but my long brim was blocking any vision that I had in front of me. I could see the ground beneath me, but nothing in front of me. When you're pack is full to the brim, you can barely lean your head back all the way. So I couldn't cock my head enough to see in front of me. I had to flip up the front end to make it to the hut safely. From here on, I live with just the buff, which is a UV buff for a reason. The Tilley will get to hang out on my scalp after the hikes are done and I find time to leisurely stroll around the huts and side tracks.

The walk to the hut was quick and quite simple. Up and down some river beds as you bounce up and down the hilly parts, then a flattish final stretch to the hut's junction before a 10 minute turn off to a hidden valley. But the water... so blue. Some of the bluest we've seen yet. The river was beaming. It almost looked like the kool-aid mix we make. This surreal blue. Some of the cleanest water in New Zealand was zipping by us down in the river. And the water was everywhere, in typical Fiordland fashion, cascading down the sheer cliffs and across the track in front of us at points.

Once we reached our last swing bridge, we were able to get a rough glimpse of the base of Hidden Falls. A side track must be followed to actually see this powerhouse, but you could hear it roaring from far away. A pounding waterfall, falling into the deepest blue cove.

Hidden Falls hut was the type of hut we like to stay in. 12 bunks. Small space. 6 people can sleep on the bottom, and 6 on the top bunk. All confined to one room with the fireplace, cooking area and table & benches. We like the smaller huts, especially when we're alone. We don't like these huge spaces when its just the two of us. It really can be quite creepy at night. A massive hut built to accomodate 30-40 people with only two tennants. Too big. So we enjoy these smaller huts. And tonight we did find ourselves alone at this particular hut, just like old times in the winter months.

The hut sits in a huge valley. The river can be heard in the distance across some tussock like grass. Surrounded by mountains. Giant snow capped peaks with their own waterfalls created by the snow melt. The clouds started to roll into the valley floor. A light drizzle began before strengthening through the night. Back inside we go to enjoy some spaghetti with meatballs, a Mountain House dinner from back home. So delicious.

A quick look through the visitor's log in the hut and we found AK1662 & AK1663. The two trampers who bought their annual hut pass directly before we did in Auckland. AK = Auckland. And Brent and I are AK1165 & AK1664. Something that pretty much will only matter to us. But worthy of being remembered. :)

Today was a 'bad back day'. With the extra long hike (8 days, so pack for 9-10), we were carrying a lot more food weight. Post dinner exercise time is always fun.

We sat and played cards as we listened to the pitter patter of the rain on the hut's roof and the veranda's cover. It was nice to be inside and dry, and it was a warm evening even without the fire. The weather is starting to turn for the better.

Day 2 - Saturday, October 18th

The clouds roll in from all around you. Sneaking into the valley covering. Climbing over the mountains' peaks and dropping into the valley floor. Hiding the lush green rolling rainforest that covers the lower part of the mountains. You understand why they call this place shadowland. The mountains in the distance fade in their own shades of gray. The clouds clinging onto the valley walls as they dance around, changing shape and storm.

I love the valley huts the most. Surrounded by the mountains. These rocky beauties, with their own scars and ever changing face. Above the tree lines, the rock faces pierce the clouds, yet with snow coverage, they blend in just as much. There is still so much snow left on some of these peaks. The snow element changes the way the mountains look. It gives them a certain depth that is lost when they are devoid of the white stuff.

The intensity you feel while looking up at these mountains sends shivers through your spine.

Quiet. Sheltered from the outside world. Spinning around to find you are completely surrounded. I could stare at these peaks for hours on end and never get bored. They change every second. With the clouds, with the snow, with the sunlight, and as darkness falls.

My vocabulary does not do this trip justice. I guess I didn't read enough as a young adult (my own fault). I feel that I can never find the right words to describe the scenery around us. This park is beyond words, but if I had the talent, I imagine poetry may do it justice.

I should also apologize to our blog followers for the repetitive nature of these blog posts. Since the trip is all about hiking, there's a lot of walking that happens, and some days pass by without any special happenings, which could be a good thing for us - cause at the beginning the drama was never ending. :) In the end, a lot of the posts end up being about the zig zagging trails, the ups & downs, the river crossings, the waterfalls, the bridges and so on. Every hike brings something different to our lives. I just hope every new adventure will be of interest to our friends & family back home.

Today was a long hike. We completed two days worth of hiking in one. From Hidden Falls Hut to Demon Trail hut, bypassing Alabaster Hut. We set out early to compensate for what was to come, however it felt like a never ending battle with the DOC trail times being off all day. It could be due to the fact that we are carrying more weight then normal, and we're trailing behind a bit, but we're not quite sure.

This is the type of hike where you're in bush 95% of the time with only brief glimpses of the mountains against the blue sky popping up here and there. Being a valley walk, we weren't expecting this. It was a like a curtain of trees were teasing you with every turn. You could see an opening and think 'when I just turn this corner, I'll be able to see over this ridge', only to be blocked by another obstacle. You want to clear cut the trees in front of you just to see what it is they are hiding.

But the bush was nice too. The birds were chirping all around us from the moment we set foot outside the hut so early in the morning. Happily making music for us throughout the day. And the butterflies are starting to make an appearance with spring, floating in the air around us, landing nearby and dancing in the morning light. I spent a good part of the day just enjoying the flora. I love the fern trees and seeing how they grow. Pushing up from the centre, the adult sporophytes roll out draping the old leaves that slowly lower themselves against their trunk before they die off letting the new branches and leaves to blossom and beam bright green while new sporophytes start to grow from the center once again. Beautiful.

Shortly after the Lake Alabaster Hut junction, you cross a long swing bridge. A DOC warning sign is found at the foot of the bridge, warning trampers that the track beyond the bridge is not maintained to the same level as the parts already hiked. How bad could it be?

It was like night and day. Smooth, wide, gravel trail turned into steep, slick, rocky obstacle track, followed by a maze of mud and water. You could only laugh at how different the track was, and wondered if the next few days to the coast would be like this. Stark differences. Climbing up and down giant boulders, teetering on the edge of a cliff's ridge like walking a tight rope along the river's bank, only you're anywhere from the a rocky beach up to hundreds of meters above the water, with very little supporting you below. In fact you can see the turquoise green water beating on the rocks directly below you. Not a good place to slip.

After about an hour of this, we arrived at a patch of relatively flat land.

A muddy kind of flat land. We skirted around a good amount of muddy bogs through the day, sometimes only to land in a massive puddle running up your boot & gaiter. Wet feet. A part of tramping for a kiwi - and something that the NZ tramping magazines make fun of North Americans about. We don't like wet feet. But for those who live and tramp here, it's part of the trip. But Gortex, really doesn't dry out nicely at all. It's just too good at its job. Keeps the wet out, but once water gets in, it keeps the wetness in as good as it was keeping it out before. Bugger.

But today, no soakers.

Just dancing and jumping in and out of deep puddles. All part of the fun. This is where tramping poles become useful. Once you start to lose sight of your pole in the water/mud, beware!

This continued until we hit the beginnings of the famous Demon Trail. This was a preview of what was to come during tomorrow's hike. Steep climbs up slippery, moss covered rocks, quickly followed by a mirrored descent on the same terrain. It was challenging. This being over 9 hours into our hiking day, we were starting to wonder when the hut would appear in the horizon.

At last, a junction. McKerrow Island hut - 30 mins / Demon Trail Hut - 1 hr 30 mins. Odly enough, we continued on this roller coaster trail to the Demon Trail Hut. The Island hut is only accessible if the flood channel has a low water level. We figured we would lose an hour on the trail if the water was too high to cross, and at this point in time, the sun had already set behind the mountains. The light was slowly melting away on the tree covered track.

Oh, and we later found out that the island hut IS currently inaccessible, except by boat. Cause that flood channel that once was there, is now a full fledged river at least 12 feet deep. Thank goodness we didn't even try.

Light fading. Tired bodies. Challenging day walk. Last trail snack of the day consumed, and already thinking about dinner. You would think that things would be peachy keen all the way to the hut.

You would think that if you hadn't met our next friend. The questionable 3 wire bridge.

Three wires.

All less then 1/2" thick.

All dangling over rapid water ways.

All questionable. All absurd.

And unfortunately, our only option.

Unless giant boulders are your friends and would promise to support your body as you paddle through white frothing water that is ripping down at high speeds, peeling away minuscule layers of rock on your boulder friends, making them an even bigger challenge to hang on to, all the while quite possibly providing enough of a water pooling effect to dip you into pockets of ice cold water just over your head.

Three wire bridges. Not three, wire bridges. But, three-wire bridges.

The wires held together by a small collection of V shaped crossbars. The wires spun around trunks of trees on either side. Trees that I really can't trust, because I've seen enough of them in this country easily thrown to their sides with the rapid change of water levels and the fact that these trees are shallow rooted and clinging to life on clay, limestone or rock surfaces, supported only by the mosses and lichens that allow life to actually grow on inhospitable terrain.

Trust the trees. The trees that are constantly rejected from the ground they grow on. Because technically, they should never have been allowed to grow there in the first place.

Give me a wire to cross 6 inches above the ground, over a nice patch of grass in my backyard back home. No problem. Consider it done. Maybe on a windy day, I'll have to give it a few goes, who knows. But realistically, what could go wrong? I trip and get a grass stain on my pants? I'll make sure to wear a scruffy outfit that day.

Add to that a 35 lbs backpack; two trekking poles; a very real fear of heights; a raging river below that provides not only a sound distraction, but a visual one as well; significant height between the water and the level of the lowest wire; and a major swaying effect that is heightened by even the lightest wind - and you'll get a new dreadful bridge situation. Swing bridges are no longer something to be bothered by. They have been usurped tenfold.

If you slip, your arms will not be able to hold your weight and that of your bag. A thought that runs through your head as you perilously take that first step, followed by an even more uncertain second step. This is so not worth the mental image of a surely limb-crushing fall. We reckon that should your arms be able to comprehend the fact that you may slip and fall and even try for a moment to stop the unfortunate situation, the pressure would snap against your limbs so hard that you would dislocate one or both of your shoulders, causing you to complete your fall into the waterway below. Then you would be left helpless as you would no longer have your arms to assist you in keeping afloat. You think about the potential of a fall.

It's a pretty nasty fall.

This is not my own vision, but one that was shared by many people (who we met on this track) I asked about the evil 3-wire bridges.

Just when you think the trail will never end, an oasis in the evening light. The hut. Late into the evening, but there at last. We were greeted by six other kiwis, two tramping parties, all wanting to share their day's experience and hear about the others. A nice evening that came and went so quickly, as we rushed through our evening routine of water filtration, dinner and setting out our bunks.

Day 3 - Sunday, October 19th

One of the points of interest on this track has to the history behind the trail. In every hut a snapshot of the area's history is captured with information for trampers to read about, both in books and on large scale posters on the hut walls. The story of the trail and the settlement, original tramping adventures from the early 1900s. They were incredible to read about.

Another thing to note about this country is how litter-free the tracks are. It's quite impressive. I think I saw my first thing of litter on the trails today - a candy bar wrapper. Mind you I couldn't pick it up, as it was below a 3-wire bridge over a river bank.

Ah the three-wire bridges, trust me, they just kept getting better and better with every passing day. I wish I could actually take a picture of where my feet are teetering when I am on these things. But you couldn't pay me to remove either of my hands from the upper wires even for a second, nor would I risk my digital camera. It would surely be a gonner, and I wouldn't be holding a rescue mission for it.

To mask the sound of the rushing water, and ultimately try to forget the fact that I'm also staring down at it as I focus on every step my feet are taking on this dinky wire, I start to sing out loud whatever song that's in my head at the time of the crossing. The most random music. Half the time the lyrics make me laugh because of the irony they create with my situation. Then I start to lose focus and realize that maybe singing won't be of much help.

To avoid tackling more slick rock problems on the trail, we opted to cross one river while straddling a giant log that had fallen across the gorge. Unfortunately I bummed my knee on this treefall. What a day. All the uphills were straining my back. All the downhills were straining my knee. I am 80 years old!!

The Demon Trail. Demon cause of its reputation, the terrain and I would add due to it being devoid of any view. You can't really imagine how they used to walk farm stock up and down this trail. Over the slick rock path all day long.

We only bought a general Fiordland National Park map to save on money - leaving us with the horrible scale of 1:250 000. This provides you with zilch information. So needless to say, we never really knew how far from the huts we were. At one point, we were passed by two kiwis we spent the night with at the last hut and they showed us their 1:40 000 map and figured we were about an hour from the hut. I looked at David and asked why we couldn't be more optimistic and pointed to the last water crossing hoping that we were at that location, which would only be another 15mins to the hut.

Funny enough, that's exactly where we were. But we didn't know it at the time, so we had stopped to have a snack on the trail, while the other two continued on their way. Once they got to the hut, Christine was going to send David back down the trail to tell us we were almost there. But we were eventually on our way, to join them shortly after.

Hokuri Hut. Another small 12 bunk hut. Tonight, with great company. Dave & Christine from Auckland and an Austrian guy who they had met on another trail weeks before.

Today also marked the introduction of real fruit bars to our food intake on the trails. And a fabulous addition it was. We packed a lot of extra food on this track, due to our constant cravings. We each brought a dried fruit of our liking (apricots pour moi, bananas for Brent) and these bars. We wanted to up our fruit intake on the trails.

And for those who ever question why we filter water - today's flavour of the hut is the perfect example as to why we will not stop. Due to some technical glitch of the chimney at this hut, the smoke has a tendancy to fall into the rain gutters, which is where the water supply to the hut comes from (rain water), flavouring the liquid just a tad with what some would call a smokey flavour. Others call it bacon water.

Inviting. Can I have another glass of bacon water?

Great company. Good conversation. Great laughs. Good night.

Day 4 - Monday, October 20th

The final stretch to Martin's Bay, where ocean and a new kind of wilderness await us. An interesting mix of trail. The tail end of the Demon Trail, followed by a few hours of walking on rocky beach, then into a forest for a flat trail, topped up with a climb to the finish line through both sand and bush.

A light morning rain storm started the day. Thank goodness we had completed the demon trail the day before. That track does need the assistance of water to be a challenge.

But what could be better then starting off the day with a 3-wire bridge. Are you beginning to see a pattern with this track?

This is by far my favourite 3-wire bridge moment.

Half an hour into today's hike, we encounter the emergency bridge junction. Should the Hokuri river be too high to cross, it is advised to take a 20minute detour. Even though it was raining, we decided to go check out the river's mouth down the track, following the start of the beach walk, before making a judgement call of the crossing. It's about a 15 minute walk further down before you reach the mouth of the river. Probably a safe place to cross a river, considering the worst that will happen to you is that you will be pushed down into the shallow end of the lake. Not a bad turn out - one of the factors you have to look at when crossing a river - where will you end up? Colour, depth and speed are other key factors to determine if you should tempt a crossing or not. General rule of thumb, toss a stick into the river and walk along side it. If you can walk faster then the stick, you're probably good to combat the current. But if that stick is kicking your ass as you walk alongside the river's bank, don't be stepping foot into that river unless its like ankle deep. Not worth it.

We arrived at the river's mouth which was rapid and wide and deep. But clear as day. The water here really puts waterways in Ontario that I'm used to seeing (exception - water at Tobermory) to shame. But it's also quite deceiving. The water is so clear, you don't always have the right concept of its depth. Most people look down at the rocks at the base of the waterway and judge a good 2-3 feet too shallow. Suddenly you step in and that 'thigh deep water' is under your arms. A factor you need to take into account.

None the less, the mouth of the river wasn't looking too sharp for us today. Further up the bank, the river found its way around obstacles and at certain points had split up to four times, making crossings more likely, yet today still very deep. And at the start of a rainy day, neither of us wants to assist our bodies in getting any wetter. That could just make the day miserable.

So, logically, we decided to pull back and opt for the "20 minute detour" instead of trudging through thigh/waist deep fast moving, swirling water. I mean, we were three-wire experts at this point in time, and we figured that's probably what the emergency bridge would turn out to be. How bad could it be?

Best advice: when those five magical words ever pop into your mind or out of your mouth, may I suggest spending a moment to re-assess the situation before setting on a new course of action? Those famous last words usually precede something bad.

Today, bad came in the form of probably the longest three-wire bridge I will ever step foot onto. 150-200 meters long. Not only that, but quite substantially higher above the large rapidly moving river then other bridges we had taken. Oh, and on top of that, it was still raining when I started my crossing. Oh, and it was windyish. Oh, and you also had to climb up a LADDER (that was weaved through the lowest wire) to get onto the wire.

A ladder.

Getting onto these bridges can be just as dangerous as crossing them. We have had to do some aweful climbing earlier on this track. From ground level, the wire might be up to your neck, or even over your head. One of the bridges didn't have any assistance to hop onto the wire, yet it sat at my shoulders when I was standing beside it. Again, hop onto these things without a pack - no problem. Become back & top heavy, and you can't get your foot anywhere. Some of the bridges you had to climb over giant boulders and then sort of slide down onto the lowest wire and hope you landed right on target. Other ones only had one support wire as you walked the first bit, so your balance was off. And then others started off being taped off by electrical tape-like black covering. Add a spritz of water to that and your foot is flying off that thing. I remember trying to hoist myself onto one of the bridges on a previous day and slipping straight off when my foot connected with this black stuff. Great bode of confidence right there.

Cause that makes me want to cross. Eep.

But today, this was our everest. These bridges just keep getting better and better every day. And the best part, knowing that we have to repeat every one of them on our way back out of this track. Ugh.

The crossing. I couldn't even muster up a song. This giant bridge was too long and I didn't want to lose focus. Literally, it took 10-15minutes each to cross. It was massive. And that's moving at a reasonably fast-ish pace.

What in the world do people do if someone in their party freezes up and just stops in the middle of the bridge? Cause I can see that happening once you're half way out there. Especially on this bridge. You just count the crossbars that you have to cross over to get to the end. But this one was never ending. It just felt like the bank was growing further and further away from you. And you can only cross one person at a time. Mind you, once you get out to these big bridges, there is no way you would WANT anyone else to step foot on this thing with you. It sways far too much on its own to warrant a bouncing buddy.

They just sway so much.

At one point I really started to get dizzy on the bridge. You have to stop and refocus your energy on the walking and not the spinning. I was concerned that I would fall into a spell of vertigo. That would just add to the challenge of the crossing. Brent also suffered from a dizzy spell on this bridge. It might be the fact that you're focusing on a solid object that is so small, while the world under your feet is speeding by you. I could actually imagine that some people could get motion sickness from these types of crossings.

Another perk to these bridges are your new friends. The sandflies. You are just a sitting duck for them on these bridges. You are walking at a slower pace then you would on the track. Usually, you could out walk them. But here, you are sitting over their territory. Water. And you are just a slow moving target. Worst, if they do bite you, what are you going to do? You can't just start swatting them away, you would set off your balance and fall off the bridge. Jerks. They know you can't do anything.

Usually, you're pretty okay with these things. At least with some of the species (I think there are like 7 or more types of sandflies). They swarm you, yes, but usually they suss you out before they start to bite. So you have a bit of time to react and get out of a situation before it gets too bad.

Not on these bridges.

Following the first swing bridge, was a shorter one just down the track. All of this followed by a good long hike through the bush, back up and down tree roots and steep rocky drops, before re-joining the beach track.

20 minute detour. What they really should write at that junction is: maybe 20minutes to the emergency walkwire, followed by a very lengthy crossing, and another half hour at least through bush before joining the track JUST on the other side of the river.

All we had to do at the river's mouth was get across to start the bulk of the beach walk. This was a good 1.5 hour detour, maybe more. To emerge literally on the other side of the river's mouth was quite a blow. We lost so much time.

When we first turned back from the river crossing, we crossed paths with Dave & Christine who have been keen trampers for years. They decided to look at the river themselves before taking the detour. They definitely crossed the river, or else we would have seen them at that ridiculous 3-wire bridge. And they kicked our butts with travel time to the hut that night.

The long beach walk led us right into the arms of a group of hikers doing a guided walk of the area. I don't know why people would pay thousands of dollars to be guided on this track, but they do. They fly into a certain point, have their packs carried for them, jet boat around when there is water, and only walk two very small parts of the actual trail. This is almost something that is expected of you on the tracks in this country. If its not a circuit, you are expected to either bus from one side to the other, or fly into one side and walk out, or hire a boat to get to the start of a track. When people hear that we are walking into a dead-end track and then turning around and walking back out, they are dumbfounded.

Why would you do that, they ask.

Financially, this option agrees with me. If we spent all our money on getting to and from our car, we wouldn't last very long in this country. These bus rides are NOT cheap. Multiply that by the number of times we are tramping on incomplete loops. We are broke after a limited amount of tracks.

After a gentleman sent off his group of hikers on their fancy jet boat ride across the lake (the one we would spend 2 hours or so skirting around), he found some time to try to sell us on their jet boat. Its one thing to have a friendly chat, its another thing to stall hikers to try to sell them on things.

He stopped us straight away to ask us about our trip and find out what we were doing once we reached Martin's Bay. "Oh, we're walking back out starting tomorrow.", we replied to his querie. Puzzled, he didn't understand why we wouldn't be flying out, or why we had started on our end in the first place. Why do this track twice was really what his face and 'pitch' were saying. We explained that we were in the country to tramp, and found that if we decided to take the easy way out on all the trails, we wouldn't be able to financially fund our trip the way we wanted to. It just wasn't the direction we wanted to be focusing all our money. We like to hike. This back and forth doesn't bother us. There might be some days that you wish you didn't have to repeat, but you deal. Besides, more days on the trail means you are saving more money because our DOC pass covers our accomodation. All you have to do is deal with carrying that much more food weight. Then again, as the days go by, your pack gets lighter.

Go in. Go out. Or pay mega bucks. The life of the non-circuit tramps. But we have a lot of time to do the tracks that we want, so we can't be bothered by this unnecessary cost.

Obviously, not really paying much attention to our actual story, this guy started to try to sell us on a jet boat ride. "Well, tomorrow, on your way back, you should stop in at the lodge. We could run you down the river for a really good price. $110 per person. That's a really good price deal right now. You know, with petrol and all."

Brent and I just looked at each other and tried to get away from this guy. Clearly, he didn't quite get our reasoning. I mean, I know the tourism industry is hurting, but after someone explains to you why they have to be choosey about what tracks they spend money on return transportation for, you really shouldn't try to be 'selling' a ridiculously expensive 'ride'. And besides, we knew that this 'really great deal' would only save us a day of walking. They don't bring you down the trail very far.

And we were being eaten alive by the sandflies at this point, cause he wouldn't let us go. Sitting ducks. All the while, he's caked in DEET.

We continued our walk and found our way around the lake, through the bush and over sand dunes and steep sandy cliffs that led into even more bush. All to reveal beautiful Martin's Bay. I reckon this is what Stewart Island will be like. A hut overlooking the ocean. The sound of the roaring tide moving in and out. The wildlife coming to life as we shift into the evening light. The wildlife is so rich and wonderful out here. The shags, the seals, the penguins. All basking on the rocks as the ocean roars around them.

We dropped off our packs in the hut before enjoying some fine dining. Two minute noodles, fruit sticks, scroggin' and another new food addition: a can of tuna. A Brent test. He claims he didn't like tuna before, but I'm beginning to wonder if he ever gave it a chance. Cause he really like it today. We have been on a quest to incorporate more food into our hiking, especially protein. I could just eat crackers and cheese all day on the trails, purely because of the cheese. Even though the silly thing is processed, it's exactly what I need in the hiking day. That protein. So we thought we would test out some tuna on this track. And thank goodness, it was a winner. I have been craving tuna for a while now. As we pass it in the supermarket, I can't help but ask for its incorporation every time. Its so easy and portable. And yummy.

We set out further down the track to explore the wilderness in the area. We cut through some tall grass to come upon what we suspect is a seal nursery. There was a large number of young seal pups and only one larger one. Suspecting that it might have been one of the mums who I guess could be babysitting while the others are out hunting. They were everywhere. We tried our best to keep our distance, but there were moments where you would turn around to find yourself face to face with another seal pup.

I climbed on a few rocks in the opposite direction from the big group of seals and heard a noise. Looking back at Brent, I thought it might have been him grunting or something. Then a loud slapping water sound. As I peared over a giant boulder I noticed a lot of water moving down below. I thought that it might just be from the tide coming in. Just as I was about to hop up onto this last boulder, a seal pup comes splashing out from underneath me. I jumped back so quickly to try to keep away from him. He was so small. I just didn't need a bigger seal thinking I was getting too close to their young. These things are a heck of a lot faster on these slick boulders then we could ever be. And they can be quite ferocious if alarm bells are raised.

They were just everywhere. In typical seal fashion, they blended in with the rocks perfectly. You had to survey an area before approaching, cause you needed to know where they were lounging.

Further down the path you crossed a penguin trail. As the Fiordland crested penguins returned from the a day of hunting in the ocean, they slowly hop their way into the bush line. Not expecting too much straight away, we were quite surprised to see a penguin right in the path around a bend just a short walk from the hut. Trying not to make a sound, I grabbed for my camera, but it was too late, this penguin already caught a glimpse of me. These penguins will scoot right back into the water if they see people. It doesn't matter how far away the water is.

Our goal wasn't to scare the poor things. A strong evening storm rolled in as we stood at the front of the penguin zone. A heavy yet quick downpour. Enough to keep us from moving forward as we contemplated a return to the hut. But the storm moved out just as quickly as it appeared. Leaving us with a beautiful and clear evening sky.

We spent some time photographing a few penguins that we found hopping around on some boulders. And just enjoying the view. The peaceful and beautiful view. Devoid of people. The ocean tide pulling back, but still crashing in strong against the rocks, as the freshwater from the lakes and rivers roll out to the salt water. An interesting mix.

Back at the hut, we all tested our luck with the ferocious and man hungry coastal sandflies, as we tried to snap pictures of the gorgeous sunset we were blessed with on this night. The stars started to shine, and soon after started to take over the night sky. This was our fourth day of hiking, and so far only had rain the first night, this morning for a short bit, and that freak rain storm in the evening. Other times, it was clear and sunny. Beautiful.

Tonight would be our last night with the Pop Tart loving couple Dave & Christine. We have been with them since the Demon Trail Hut. They were amazing to share time with. They have so much experience on trails, as they have travelled around the world to do hiking. Amazing people to share a hut with. It's been a lot of fun, and the conversations and laughs have been great.

Tomorrow, we begin our return.

Day 5 - Tuesday, October 21st

Happy Birthday Father!! : ) Our blog’s biggest fan. Was thinking about you!

Tonight, our record will be broken. Spending five nights out will be the longest hike we have yet to do. We will spend a total of 7 nights and 8 days on this track. Only to be usurped by our two week stay on Stewart Island.

Our return. A leisurely pace today. We know what to expect with every part. And we once again, are blessed with a mighty fine weather day. We said our good byes to Dave & Christine, and also to the seals in the nursery. This alarmed one of the sleeping pups, who literally tapped his buddy on the shoulder to alert him of our presence. The second seal pup looked up at us and just went back to lounging. He didn't care.

We made our way back through the sandy dunes and bush before coming up to the airstrip once again. Part of the track is actually a grassy air strip in the middle. One runs north/south and a second one runs east/west. A single windsock sits at the intersection of the two runways. Today there was more activity as we walked through the area, with planes taking off and landing down the southern strip.

Now there are these trees. Couldn't tell you their real name even if I wanted to. But I can tell you that we call them the Jurassic Park trees. They just really look like they are from the movie. These giant trunks towering over the tree line with this bushy top that pierces the sky. You have to see them to understand what I mean. None the less, there was a lot of them that were visible over the trees near the airstrip. You can't help but start singing the Jurassic Park theme song, accapella style of course. A moment that has repeated itself several times throughout this country.

We have since decided to rename all their trees as we are inspired.

Greenstone is present in the area, but our beach walk turned up nothing. My head was down in the rocks the whole time. Mind you, I have no idea what unpolished greenstone looks like.

A joy of being the first in the day to walk part of a track would be the natural delicacy of spiderwebs. Every day. You are just eating spiderwebs as you walk around. You turn a corner, whap. Yum. Not talking is sometimes a good idea. Or, if you're lucky, the cobweb is over your head or taken out by your lower body.

Jerusalem creek was hilarious. This is our second time crossing this waterway, or lack there of. We really want to know what it looks like when there is water running through it. It's a long and wide rocky bed. Yesterday there was a trickle at the end, today there was nothing. A sign warns people who might cross the river of certain dangers. The first note, as you stand on the bank: if your shoes are wet, it may be too deep to cross. A sign post then marks all the different water levels and what water activities could be undertaken should the water be that high. From the doggy paddle, to kayaking, to jet boating, to the ark.

It's quite funny.

But Jerusalem creek was not the concern today. Once again, we would come face to face with Hokuri river. And today, we aren't going to be taking the emergency walkwire. Not only do we not want to waste our time on the crossing and detour, but we don't have a particular desire to relive that 3-wire bridge.

So we decide we will cross the river. Dave & Christine said it was only thigh deep, and with the dry evening, we figure it might have since dropped. But we were prepared to get wet none the less.

We got to the waterway only to find it was no longer raging at the mouth. Could a river recede this much? I figured it was a permanent river and wasn't greatly affected by rain levels. None the less, we were face to face with a small challenge, that meant nothing more then getting your boots into the water. We scooted along a rocky trail that topped a rapid area. It was quick and we were dry. We celebrated with smiles.

The celebration didn't last long as I turned to Brent and said that I didn't think that was the river. We had crossed two bridges the day before, and that must have been the small river that was crossed by the short bridge after that super long bridge. Which meant that we still had the Hokuri river to cross. I don't think Brent wanted to believe me. It didn't take long for the sound of the river to appear. We stood atop a bank, completely discouraged. We were misled.

This river was just as swift and just as deep today. But we were on a mission to avoid that one bridge and really to avoid wasting our time, as that detour was a sham. So, we took out our keen sandals, took off our boots and socks (bad idea - always keep your wooly socks on!!!) and hiked up our long johns. It was time to dip our feet into the river.

We took our time sussing out where best to cross each section. We followed the river up stream for a while to where it splits into four distinct sections. Choosing the right spot to cross was a challenge. We couldn't cross too close to the rocks. There were never enough to get all the way across, and the rocks created traps, holes with fast moving water. The current was too strong to risk. My frame is a concern for the current we were crossing. It's best to find slower moving areas that are deeper, then to risk falling prey to these water holes.

Brent crossed first each time, so that I could find out how deep the water really was. Again, the water is so clear its deceiving. You would think it might only be knee deep, but turns out to be waist deep.

The moment your foot steps into the water, you start to lose your fight to cross. Open toed keen sandals. Feet without the safety of our merino wool socks. Ice cold water from snow melt and just classic NZ cold. Their rivers and lakes never really warm up through the year.

Ice cold.

Every step was hard work. It didn't take long for your feet to stop working properly. But the crossings were quick enough. They were short distances. Once your feet were out of the water, you were golden. They warmed up so quickly. But that third crossing almost did me in. It was the longest period of time that our feet would be in the water for. I was literally trying to convince my feet to keep moving forward once we hit the half way mark. The cold just shuts down your system. Even though the rest of my body was fine, it was hard to muster up the lower body strength I needed to keep my feet moving. Remember, we're in deep water with a strong current. Your focus is on maintaining balance and moving forward without stepping in any deeper. When you lose full control of your feet, that sucks.

Anything to avoid crossing that giant bridge again. No regrets.

Especially once I put my socks back on. That felt great!

We found our way back to Hokuri Hut, this time without our fellow hut mates (Dave, Christine & the Austrian). Fine dining on Back Country’s Cooked Breakfast meal. Decent. The baked beans didn’t hydrate properly...er...at all. But the egg, hash brown and beef bacon scramble was edible and filling. The food is really good, the only problem with these dehydrated meals is the emulsifiers and sulphates that are used as preservatives. You can smell that there is something off in the food right after cooking it (ie. Adding boiling hot water).

I miss my kitchen.

As always, we’re snacky. Always hungry – which is a result of the hiking. It’s the fact that we’re missing key things. If I’m craving something and just snack on other things, I could binge on food until I get it right. It’s the protein that we’re missing. Once we figure out the right foods to bring on the longer hikes, the better we’ll be. My weight has actually stayed pretty consistent since arriving in New Zealand, which is a good thing (I hope). Then again, lately, I haven’t been eating the best. We’ve become bingers. When we’re off the trail, we just want to eat everything. We give ourselves allowances for eating a bit more then we probably should. To make up for the calories lost on the track. I think it’s having an adverse effect on us. Brent on the other hand, has lost a good amount of weight since arriving in New Zealand. Mind you, a great deal of the weight loss is muscle loss. When you’re used to working out every day in a gym, pumping iron, and then turn around to not lifting weights in the same way or consistently, your body will start to change shape.

Don’t worry, he’s healthy.

During the evening, we enjoyed a quiet time with a nice view and the company of a bold little fantail that kept perching on the veranda nearby.

Day 6 - Wednesday, October 22nd

Happy Birthday in Canada dad! : )

Our first time reaching six consecutive days on the trail. I think Brent was pretty proud of this moment.

Today, we hike back to the memorable Demon Trail hut. Actually the hut isn’t very memorable. And really, the track isn’t fantastic in the least. And it’s not the worst thing in the world we’ve ever done. It’s just slick. I actually enjoy the up and down. It makes me feel like I’m actually doing something. A lot more interesting then the flat hikes we end up doing on some days.

Demon Trail take 2. To truly appreciate this part of the track, you must hike it in both directions. Those who only do it once have no grounds to complain.

We once again decided to take a bridge detour on this day. This was a decision made to avoid a pretty steep climb up and down a valley gorge we had done two days prior. Nothing terrible, but really something that you don’t want to do more than once. Once you crossed this one river, you literally hit a wall. And you had to scale this tree root wall. An amazing physical challenge if I was sporting a day pack. But tossing your poles vertically and hoping they remain on the upper ledge as you try your luck at this natural vertical madness...not really something I want to try to jump off of. And that would have been today’s direction. Down.

Alternate bridges come at a price. But when you don’t know what to expect, anything seems possible. When you know what you are avoiding, a solution is welcome.

The alternate route. Not a detour, as both directions took about the same amount of time. One climbs up, crosses and drops down. The other drops down, scales over and winds upward. And today, we found ourselves about to cross the highest 3-wire bridge yet. Not as long as the last one (thank goodness), but definitely the highest. Best sign of that was the double support wire system. So you have your initial “V” structure. Base wire is where your feet go. The upper wires are where your hands glide across. Today’s bridge had a second run of wires between the hand wires and the foot wire. So I guess, if you fell, you might only become tangled in a mess of pack, pole and wire. A bit of assurance I guess.

But it was a clear sign. These things were ever changing.

Most people we have met on this track think these bridges are madness. These things are completely nuts. What is their purpose? Do they need to really be dangling this high above the ground? Do they really save money by not adding a second foot cable and running mesh in between? You have to get passed the idea that the sand flies OWN you when you’re crossing and you also have to get passed this ever wobbling effect that always pulls you to one side of the bridge. You would think you could fight your way to keep this thing stable and straight. In your dreams. Most times, it sways harder to one side and you are left crossing it while on an angle. Fun times!

They clear the Hollyford track once a year. A big spring cleaning you could say. Around the end of September or early October a team hikes through the track and cuts down the tree fall over the track. This just means that they come in with their chainsaws and try to hack away at the trees that are trying to hide the marked track. I figure that if a major storm struck the area and the DOC received a great amount of complaints about large tree falls, they might just go back out a second or third time to do some investigating and track maintenance. That means this track is not due until September 2009. I would hate to be on this track in August right before they have cleared the darn thing out.

Well, we had recently found out that the DOC had been on the Hollyford not too long ago. Brent met a DOC track worker at my physiotherapy clinic and got some inside information. Since that clearing however, many wind storms had swept through the area. The results were a good amount of large tree falls on the freshly groomed track.

The end result of a tree fall depends on a few things. How big is the debris? Is it one tree or a mass of vegetation? How wide is the tree fall? Is the track passable on either side or do you need to scale the mass?

We found ourselves face to face with a lot of tree falls. Some which we had to crawl underneath (this is why you wear rain pants – they are the better mud pants), others we had to straddle over, some we just scooted around, while others forced us into “bush bash” mode. Bush bashing was required when several trees had fallen in the same area, along with a lot of other vegetation, where climbing around the darn mess was possible, and climbing over it was not. This one pile was so high, and would have meant hiking up and down massive tree trunks and avoiding black holes in between.

The black holes. The giant gaps. Discovered when you are walking over a tree fall area and suddenly your weight snaps a dead tree branch below you, sending your leg into an abyss. You find yourself proportionally challenged as one leg has plummeted into a dark hole up to your thigh. All the while, your trekking poles (which are looped around your wrists), are lodged in smaller holes pulling your arms in cockeyed directions. You’re stuck. Today, in a very awkward state.

The hut. Once again. We sit, eat, play cards, and enjoy the view. Later in the evening two Irish girls joined us in the hut. One of them went to bed early while the other joined us for some card games. We taught her how to play crazy 8s, and she taught us how to play shithead. Now, I remember this latter card game from high school, but it was called something different. None the less, it was a new card game to add to our much needed game sampling. We cycle through only 2-3 games regularly. New additions were always welcome.

Through the night, we listened to the morepork owls calling in the night (people say that the owl sounds like its actually saying ‘more pork’...and I guess you could imagine how it could be those two words that it’s shouting out. It’s definitely more than a hoot), and the possums running around.

Day 7 - Thursday, October 23rd

Our repeat performance of the long treck from the first day. Just a long haul kind of day.

The water was truly wonderful to look at through the day. It’s kind of hard to miss when you’re on the edge of the rocky cliff and the river is the sheer drop to your side. But the water is incredible. Fluctuating in hues from turquoise green to light sapphire blue. So crisp. So clean. So varying.

A nice change from the dry creek beds we were hoping over throughout the day. A good amount of dry weather was a blessing for this hike. Although the Hollyford track is the one people recommend when the weather outlook is not so good. Kind of strange knowing how challenging some of the river and creek crossings would be when they are in flood.

You can rest assured however. The waterways may be nonexistent, but you can always count on those mud patches to be well hydrated and slick, slimy, thick and sticky. I can’t believe how many times I lost sight of my feet and shins. The poles were sinking in everywhere, so there wasn’t always an alternative option. At one point, Brent and I got lost in a maze of mud bogs, and missed our route marker (which by the way, were few and far between in this direction for some reason). We were lucky to spend an additional 20 minutes hopping around these sinking sand pits of muck as we found our way again.

Only three 3-wire bridges today. Out of a possible 18 bridge crossings (9 each way), we crossed 15 times. Each bridge was completed at least one time. The uber long and uber tall were never repeated. For good reason.

The forest was blooming today. The moss covered trees were spectacular as always. The draping mosses looming over the track and glistening in the sunlight. The wind howling through the forest as the birds competed for a moment to sing. The views over the homer saddle were still lost behind a wall of trees, but there were moments where the snowy peaks made brief appearances. Still so impressive. Wonderful to imagine, as I paint the missing pieces in my mind.

On today’s walk, we were supposed to get a view of the tallest mountain in Fiordland National Park, Mt. Tutoko. I wouldn’t be able to point it out to you if I was standing on the track. I blame perspective for that. Where I stand in relation to the other mountains in these giant chains can sometimes dwarf the giants in my eyes. Judging heights is not my specialty. I probably captured it with my camera however.

My pictures can sometimes be quite amusing. How many mountains can one capture in a digital world? You keep trying to get that one amazing photo, so I never delete them. One of them will be just right; while the others will all closely resemble it. But the moments that they represent, those are forever engraved in my heart and mind.

After a long traverse over hilly terrain, we cross the long swing bridge to the Alabaster junction and find ourselves on a groomed track, that I would call a cake walk compared to the world on the other side of that bridge.

At the hut, after a long hike, a well deserved back stretch and our boots earned a nice bath. Complete with sand fly infestation. Hidden Falls hut. Our last night on the track. Flying solo in the hut once again. By far my favourite hut on this track, and definitely in the top three for NZ thus far. It’s all about the view. Sitting deep within the valley walls, surrounded by the most surreal landscape. I can hear the waterfalls trickling down the rock faces. I can smell the fresh air. I can see the colours merging together on the horizon. I can feel the dry tussock grass and the wind against my face. You feel life in a different way. So much freedom. You’re alone with nature in a way that I have only ever dreamed was possible.

Day 8 - Friday, October 24th

Good bye Hollyford.

I leave you with a new appreciation for swing bridges. I move much faster on them now, feeling more secure in the perma-meshed fenced in bridge. I can even overlook the rusty patches of wire that are starting to wear down on the sides of the mesh, or the parts that are detaching themselves altogether, the boards separating from one another and clapping up and down as you walk across the structure. I can surprisingly love you now.

I’ll even forgive you for the bad route markings in this second direction of the track. The lack thereof which left us walking over the land slip danger area that one day. Nothing more than an inch or less of decaying soil beneath our boots. A rapidly moving waterway batting against the soil beyond our steps. A healthy drop of 6 feet or so. It was like walking on thin ice, only we didn’t know about it until we reached the other side.

A quick side trip to visit the Hidden Falls before high-tailing it out of that track to go deal with our flattened and defunct vehicle.

Forever grateful for our boots, without whom we would surely have rolled our ankles several times on this track. A necessary item to survive hiking in any country. We leave with a true appreciation of this track, having seen it in both directions, in different lights.

Remembering the hidden gems on this trail; even though we could not capture a clear picture of the mountains at times, the still water would reveal wonderful and poignant mirror images of the majestic land.

Eight days of good weather. To have such consistently good weather, especially in Fiordland, is pretty remarkable.

We arrived at the Sergeant to perform minor surgery. The culprit for the decrepit tire, a screw drilled into the rubber from the gravel road. The first time I’ve ever participated in the changing of a tire. Cool as.

An adventurous and speedy ride home. Dealing with pretentious twits who don’t know how to drive on a gravel road, unable to move their cars to their respective side and almost sending us into the forest. Stupid drivers. Learn to share the road.

Surprisingly, driving on the left is normal, and has been for some time now.

Twenty minutes late for physio. We never fell into mobile reception until we hit Te Anau’s town border. Thank goodness for a forgiving doctor who understood it was our due out date.

Physio never felt so good!

Blustery

2008-11-05T11:54:00.003-05:00

We woke up yesterday to a true winter wonderland. It was so beautiful. Te Anau sits at around 200m above sea level, and it was covered in a few inches of soft snow. The mountains glowing with their different shades of white. The peaks piercing bright while the lower parts were speckled green and white as the sun started to melt the snow on their branches.

Our road trip to Milford Sound has been postponed until Friday, as more snow is expected today. As wonderful as the Sergeant is, I don't even think carrying the mandatory chains on our tires would help us get up the windy and steep highway. So, we wait and spend a bit more time in our homey Te Anau hostel.

I feel like we're back home. Snow in November.

We've since decided we need to be in the mountains on Christmas. It would be wonderful to be around snow capped peaks with a fresh coating on the 25th of December.

I've completed my physiotherapy. Sadly with more then usual back pain, and now a busted right knee - which I guess is normal for me. But some of the exercises that the physiotherapist gave me now utilize my entire lower body. I looked like a turtle on its back yesterday when I couldn't muster up the strength to pull my body up when required strength was lacking from my right side. Oy vay.

Oh, and I had acupuncture for the first - and most likely the last time of my life. I did not enjoy that at all. And it was only 5 needles. Three in my back, one in my left hand and one in my right foot. Just too freaky. I never saw the needles in me, but could feel them. And knowing how deep you actually have them sitting in you, makes me queezy. But it was an experience, and I received a parting gift. One acupuncture needle as a souvenir.

The physiotherapist reckons it'll be at least 3 months before I can strengthen my back to a safe sturdy level. Should be fun. More entertainment for me as I teach Brent further exercises that we get to do together at hostels and in huts on a regular basis. Heh, heh.

Special note for our Hocus Pocus Ice Cream. We actually bought 2L of ice cream two weeks ago, since it was cheaper then going to the ice cream shop. We kept it in Rosie & Alistair's freezer and munched on it regularly after tramps. Hokey Pokey & Chocolate ice cream with chocolate covered hokey pokey pieces in it.

YUMMY!

Now it is all gone.

But man, was it ever delicious. :)

One more night before we leave to Milford Sound for one night, then we return to Te Anau for our final evening in our latest home. Then we'll be back to living out of the car. We truly were spoiled. Spending close to two weeks with the McLay family, followed by only two nights in Invercargill before settling in Te Anau for the last month. It's been so wonderful feeling like you had a home. We've had that three times in NZ, with the Pearce family, the McLays and our lovely friends Janine & Sarah in New Plymouth.

On the road again. Life as a backpacker. Can't get too comfy or we might never go back home.

Which, by the way, I'll be happy to return to. Thank you US citizens for not messing up the elections this time. This will be an interesting time in North America, and in the world. Obama's victory speech last night was a welcome and joyful moment for a lot of people staying in the hostel. None of which were American.

Funny.

As Routeburn As

2008-11-04T12:01:00.004-05:00

The Fiordland National Park is truly a special place. One that is best experienced in person. Photos will never capture the true beauty that this place holds, nor words do it justice.

One of the wettest places on Earth. Many meters of rain a year. Large places are left untouched by humans. Inhospitable. But ravishingly beautiful. This is the beauty of this park. Sheer rock cliffs that dwarf you as you walk below, never ending waterfalls that multiply in the rain, moss covered forests that come alive after the rain, and the sound of foreign birds singing every step you take.

Why would you ever want to leave this place?

The Routeburn Track

Day 1 - Monday, October 13, 2008

A beautiful day. The forecast is not looking the best for us at this point, but today is a fine day. "Fine" is the best forecast you will ever get in NZ. That's considered a good day. Today was our first taste of the Milford Hwy. We still have yet to make it all the way to Milford Sound (that will be in a few days from actually posting this blog post), but on this day we drove about 80some odd kms of the highway. What starts off as a normal road with nothing more then the already impressive views of the Kepler mountains and the Sounds across from Luxmore winds into a tree covered highway that is quite delightful and spectacular. The trees come right up to the highway side and shelter you for long periods of time before opening up like curtains to divine valleys exposing the bluest rivers, turquoise lakes and the grandest mountains. Sheer cliffs plunge all around you, and the best part is that the closer you get to Milford, the closer the cliffs get to the road. I'll talk more about them once we get passed the Lower Hollyford Road, which will be soon enough.

Beautiful none the less, a great start to the day was our drive to the Divide, which is the main stop and car park for the Routeburn track and the Greenstone/Caples circuit. We took our time today. Our first hut would be Lake Howden Hut, which is roughly 1.5 hours from the Divide. An hour up the track is a popular day walk to Key Summit, which we decided to do today, as the sky was clear and the views must be spectacular.

A simple day. That's what we expected. But the first hour of the track to the Key Summit junction - is all up hill. Pretty much a dead on steady climb. I got to tell you, I feel like I'm 80 years old taking on the world sometimes. At first I thought having knee and hip injuries was bad. Both of us are slowed down periodically with our knee troubles, but man, add a back injury into the mix and you feel like you are falling apart. We were huffing up this hill at probably the slowest rate in the world. All the day walkers zipping by us (mind you they aren't carrying 1/3 of their weight on their backs). But you feel terribly out of shape. Our goal now is to keep a nice slow steady pace to do the least amount of aggravation to my back as we walk. The nicer we are to it, the longer it lasts on the trails. But yeah, 80 years old. This is not what we signed up for.

Once we hit the junction, we were facing a zig zagging climb to the top of Key Summit. They love the zig zags here. They can make you feel a little dizzy after a while, but it helps keep the climb steady and less steep, opening up the trails to more people I would imagine.

We met a strange little creature that fascinated us like we were 5 years old all over again on this part of the trail.

Grasshoppers.

I'm telling you, it's like we didn't have them back home or something. But we were actually quite surprised to see them in New Zealand. We knew they had Wetas, which look like Grasshoppers only freakishly larger, but had no idea they had the real deal. And these ones were like super grasshoppers. These things could jump higher and farther than any other grasshopper I've ever seen. And they were quite large. So these little critters kept us entertained as we winded our way up through the sub alpine scrub into the tussock clearing on Key Summit.

What spectacular views!!!

Unfortunately, we don't know the names of all the mountain chains we look at, so we don't do the area as much justice as it deserves. From the top of the mountain, you can take a one hour nature walk circuit, which we did, that leads you around the mountain's ridge and opens up unobstructed views of all the surrounding mountains.

Snow covered beautiful mountains.

Without snow these mountains are still incredibly impressive, but there is nothing more beautiful then seeing these peaks with snow cover. I truly believe it allows you to capture a better impression of their grandeur. And the snow makes the sheer rock faces more striking, and accents the deep blue alpine lakes that sit above the world. Beautiful Lake Marian. Probably as blue as other glacial lakes would be. Sitting high above the Milford Hwy, as you drive by it might be nothing more then another majestic waterfall trickling down the mountain face, but from across the highway on Key Summit, an untouched waterway that is so pure.

Any struggle you experience on any climb on a tramp is worth every huffing breath the moment the world opens up such a view. An untouched world that was created for us to discover. A masterpiece hidden in the carved mountains. I could never spend enough time on a mountain top appreciating the perspective and the views all around me. I look forward to so many more in this country, but you could never grow tired of these moments.

After a leisurely stroll around the summit, we decided to make our return to the junction before a nice downhill climb to the hut.

We always wondered what it would be like to share a hut with a lot of people. With peak season around the corner, our days of nights alone in huts was coming to an end. Which is nice, cause it can be pretty freaky to be the only two people in a 45 bunk hut. And then again, after spending so many nights with so many people, it can be a real treat to have a one night break with only the two of you. The Kepler track was a nice taste of sharing huts. Lake Howden Hut would be the extended experience, and pretty full on. The hut felt almost full with 14 or 15 of us. It houses 28, but would probably feel terribly crowded with that number. Especially if everyone decided to cook at the exact same time or try to nestle around the small stove/fireplace.

This hut sits alongside a small lake (guess what its name is?) with a bench set up with the best view across the water.

A group of 7 kiwi trampers took a liking to us and through the evening we got to know them a bit better and spent the evening playing euchre with four of them. 6 person euchre - possible because they play with cards as low as 7!! (I thought a hand of just 9s & 10s was bad, but you think that's golden when you've experienced a hand of 7s & 8s!) It was a lot of fun to play cards with PEOPLE! Brent and I are always playing together in the evening, but you really grow tired of the same games with just two people. This was a nice change. And we taught them the rule of 'screw the dealer', which they had never heard of before but thought it was the funniest term you could ever use. These are middle-aged men we're talking about here. They didn't wear that term down all night.

A highlight of the evening was also a Viggo Mortensen look alike in the hut. You couldn't stop looking at him, he really was a spitting image of Viggo in his LOTR days. Craziness. A down side to the evening was experiencing the back country meal that I thought was going to rock - the Pad Thai. It was the most disgusting thing in the world!!! I literally stopped eating it, I just couldn't continue. Brent tried, but also pushed it aside in the end. How unfortunate. It's really hit or miss with the back country foods - but we truly are lucky that the brand in NZ is really good, otherwise we would always be eating 2 minute noodles. :)

Day 2 - Tuesday, October 14

And the rain moves in. The view across the lake was wiped clean this morning as clouds rolled in the middle of the night and the rain started. The face of the mountains change in the rain, but they are no less spectacular. Clouds roll in and out so quickly, allowing glimpses of what might stand above you. It's a different kind of beautiful. In Fiordland NP, you have to expect rain all the time. It's just how things work here.

Heavy rain. We were not in a hurry to cross to Lake Mackenzie Hut today. Especially with so many people around, we try so hard to be quiet for others while they sleep in, which just means that it takes longer to pack up.

After wishing our new kiwi friends safe travels to Milford, we were on our way. Today, a 3-4 hour hike around a mountain chain into a valley. We are scheduled to cross two of the 32 avalanche paths on the Routeburn track. We are only hiking in two days on this track due to the risks over the saddle further down the track. We'll revisit the Routeburn from the Glenorchy side (a town that is near the other end of the track - near Queenstown) in a few weeks once the weather has settled down. But today, we pass two paths, one which is at the Earland waterfall and the site of freak avalanche a few weeks ago, and the other a known path that had fallen just after we arrived in Te Anau. We didn't feel there was a concern on this part of the track so we opted to move ahead.

One thing to note on great walk tracks is the drainage system that is put in place. These tracks are smooth and easy to walk. They are made wider to accommodate a lot of different types of trampers (from the expert to the beginner), and they are really well groomed for the most part. But the drainage system helps so much in the wet weather. None of those hollow box type steps that collect water and are more of a hassle to use then a help. The track runs over a lot of pipes and tubes that let the known waterfall paths run down the side of the mountain without washing away the trails. I guess this is more to protect the track then anything else, because it could easily slip away if it were not protected by the drainage. But it is a big difference you notice on the great walks that you don't really see on the other trails.

Purple rocks. They kept jumping out at us on today's walk. Strikingly purple and everywhere. On the Kepler track we were running into really blue rocks, I guess each great walk has a different colour. :) Naturally occurring rocks, but none the less, it's odd to see both walks had very different yet predominant colours.

Although the fog robbed us of many views, the rolling clouds hugging the hillsides was beautiful to watch. The moss glows in the rain. Moss - something I would never take notice of back home, fascinates the living day lights out of me in this country. This incredible moss that offers life to these mountains. These sheer rock faces that defy all possibilities with these lush forests growing on their cliff sides. All because of these mosses. There are hundreds of different types in NZ. They take over the rock faces and flourish. Spreading everywhere. From these moss beds, life begins to grow. Shallow rooted trees cling on for dear life to the moss bed that has thrived on the rock face. Tree after tree after tree. It's quite incredible when you think about the harsh environment. Then, every once and a while, it all comes crashing down in a land slip. With so much rain, and no real substance below these ever growing forests, the rock face comes crumbling down. The clay. The limestone. The rocks. The trees are gutted and as they fall, they take down everything in their path, scarring the mountain side for years.

Until, the moss starts to find its way back onto the surface, and the cycle begins once again.

This really makes you appreciate what the moss does in this country. But its also so beautiful. So many different varieties. The colours and the textures are stunning. And in the rain, it's almost like its been raining this fluorescent green moss in some of the trees. Glowing green. The forest just shines. I've tried countless times to capture this beautiful glow in pictures, but you have to see it to truly appreciate it. Beaming green mosses. Pinks and reds, browns and oranges. Yellow hues up and down the hills. Just glowing.

So much life. Even in the pouring rain, you can appreciate these forests.

You much prefer the tree cover in the rain too. Even with great rain gear, it's hard to tramp in the rain. At the end of the day your pack is soaked, and the rain cover on your pack only does so much, which in our case can be very little (hence why everything in our bags are in dry sacks!!). Today we were in and out of the tree cover, and a great deal of time we were being pelted by strong winds in the open areas beating the rain harder on our faces.

As we passed through the avalanche paths, we were happy to see that there was no danger today. We could see above the sheer cliffs we would walk under, and only speckles of snow were found from the track up. There was not enough snow to warrant any danger today. And no snow in the near forecast, so our return would be just as safe. The rain hadn't flooded the upper trail, so we were able to walk alongside the Earland Waterfall (there is a lower track for bad weather). Spectacular. One of the permanent waterfalls on this mountain chain.

I don't know what is more beautiful. The permanent waterfalls or the ones that just spring up during a heavy rain storm to drain the water off the mountains. They are both amazing to watch. The permanent ones are usually a lot bigger. And louder. The second waterfall we passed sounded torrential. We were concerned we would have to cross an unbridged section for a moment (I have no idea why we forgot we were on a great walk track - cause you're usually pretty set up on these tracks, and protected from water crossings that are known to flood). This second waterfall was so much smaller, but because of the rock hollow it pounded against, it created such a loud sound. Giant slick rocks that have been chewed away by a massive amount of water over years. The sound running circles inside a cave like area, trapping itself and echoing around the mountain chain.

After another hour or so, and a walk through an orchard (a sign indicated we had entered an orchard - but we don't know what type of orchard it was), we found ourselves on the valley floor that led us to Lake Mackenzie Hut. A hut with an already roaring fire (thank you God!). Two Kiwis, a Scotsman and 1 Bavarian were already at the hut. The first three had crossed the saddle this morning (in the pouring rain, with avalanche concerns), and the Bavarian was sitting out the bad weather waiting for a fine day to cross over the saddle (smart man!). We all sat by the roaring fire for hours drying off and warming up.

I guess we all decided to have dinner at the same time and spread out in the main hut, and for 10 minutes, we left the fire alone and what does it go to? Die on us. Go figure. Never to be revived. Even with our fire lighters. Nothing.

It's nights like these (the damp cold ones) that you really appreciate your -12 sleeping bag. Non stop rain can really be a damper.

As the night fell, we all sat around talking, and the kiwis were teaching us non kiwis a bunch of kiwi sayings. :) Our favorites: 'flash' - something snazzy, 'sweet as' - something you see EVERYWHERE in NZ...meaning sweet as something something, you're supposed to just imagine its as sweet as the sweetest thing - it's like 'as kiwi as' - just means its pretty kiwi - and you see it even on chocolate bar wrappers! 'good as gold', 'cheap as chips', 'reckon', 'far out', 'heaps', 'chur', 'ta' - thank you. We are boosting our vocabulary. We'll be sounding kiwi in no time. Unfortunately, without the accent.

Oh, and one of the kiwis, looked exactly like Heath Ledger. It's like the movie star track!

There was a one hour lake walk we also could have done at the hut, however with the weather the way it was, we didn't feel a need to continue tramping in it. Also, we would be devoid of any views, sadly.

Day 3 - Wednesday, October 15

We woke up to heavier rain. yay!

With no signs of it letting up, we set out with everyone but the Bavarian, who decided to sit out yet another day.

The walk was even more beautiful today with the water levels higher today after steady rain for over 24hrs. The sheer cliffs were flowing with waterfalls. The track was covered in waterfalls that had appeared over night. You were literally walking through several waterfalls through the day.

It was a quick day. A simple return to the car with a pit stop at Lake Howden Hut for a dry snack before the final walk back to the car. 15mins uphill and this time around 45mins downhill. :)

The others had overtaken us earlier in the day, but once we were at the car park, we found the two kiwis still trying to hitch a ride into Te Anau. We offered them a lift and dropped them off on the highway just outside of town, where they would try to get to Cromwell before nightfall.

To end a wonderful tramp, a traditional burger dinner. I ordered a Hawaiian burger, not thinking much about it, and was surprised when all I got was a ham patty and pineapple. Everywhere else, a Hawaiian burger is a beef patty, with ham and pineapple. Still delicious. And we are smartening up, we only ordered one serving of chips this time around, but they still give you about the same as you would get for two servings.

And for a treat, Rosie made home made scones. So good.

So this part of the Routeburn was great. Unfortunate about the weather, but what can you do. It's not the best time to cross the saddle anyway. Many people keep saying there is very little snow on the track, but are still reporting a good 6 inches in most parts over the saddle.

It's not what's under your feet that matters in an Avalanche zone, it's what's sitting over head. Alistair has been commissioned to blast the avalanche path in the near future, so we were basing our decision of not crossing the saddle on the reality of the amount of snow sitting above everyone's heads.

Hopefully the heaps of snow melt away slowly with trickling waterfalls. I would hate to hear that it all decided to come down and surprise a group of hikers on a rainy day.

That would suck.

Ata Whenua

2008-10-29T20:06:00.008-05:00

The rain was continuous with these magical breaks of sun. They didn't last long, and when you really take a look at things around you, the fiords are more beautiful with the rain. Sheer cliffs. Vegetation clinging on for dear life. Shallow roots. Exposed and vulnerable. Mass amounts of rain. Clay and limestone cliffs. Overtaken by a mossy bed that has allowed such a wonderful array of plant life to grow.

Unique rainforests.

Silence.

Just the sound of the rain beating down on the hood of my rain jacket. And the waterfalls pouring down the cliffs' edges. And the rain's pitter patter on the fresh water level.

Hall arm.

Silence.

As quiet as you can get out here in the Fiordland National Park. You wouldn't even know that 60 some odd people were standing behind you or that you were on a medium sized vessel.

A moment alone with the true beauty of what the land can offer. What it used to be like before man. Untouched wonderland that cannot be captured in a picture or a movie, no matter how hard you try. You have to experience it yourself.

I spun around slowly and quietly through the 5 or 10 minutes we were given. Taking in the waterfalls pouring off the sheer cliffs and marveling at the sheer magnitude of this park. Freshly snow capped mountains. Rolling clouds circling and hugging the lush green cliffs. Rolling in and out. Lifting up. Raining down.

Magical.

Engine off. The vessel sat in the arm drifting with the current and the wind. We were all asked not to take any pictures or speak and just treasure this special moment.

One of our final moments in Doubtful Sound.

The overnight cruise was fantastic! I think because it was this little wonderful moment of luxury on our back to nature type trip. Where do you begin to talk about the moments?

The day started in a small town called Manapouri, about a 20mins drive south of Te Anau, one we have done twice before. After signing in at the Real Journey's office, we waited with the others before boarding our first boat.

In typical Fiordland fashion, it was pouring rain. :)

The first boat ride was just under an hour. A quick zip across Lake Manapouri to reach West Arm, a small road that almost feels like it goes nowhere. However, at West Arm you will find the Manapouri power station - the largest in the country. This road that leads away from the lake towards the Tasman Sea (via Doubtful Sound) was built to link the sea with this power station, so that they could ship the large parts required to build the station. Building this isolated road was seen as a cheaper option then reinforcing all the bridges between Manapouri's power station and the closest harbour town, Invercargill. In the end, the road ended up being the most expensive road ever built in New Zealand. Something like 5$ per square inch. It's 22kms long. Incredible.

The road climbs through Wilmot's pass and then descends to the harbour, where at this point in time is taken over by all the day and overnight cruise vessels.

A windy, steep, gravel road. We sat on the left hand side of the bus and there were moments where you thought the bus was going to tip over and drop down some nasty sheer cliffs you were driving on the ledge of. As the bus climbed higher, Brent stopped looking out the window. There are enough land slips in NZ to make you fearful of your fate on a windy gravel road like this. It wouldn't take much to slip away - and there were plenty of examples on this particular drive.

What untouched beauty though. The waterfalls were enormous. The valleys were stunning. The rivers were so wild. And there is an 8-10 day tramp out here called Dusky Track, but when you see what you would be facing, you understand why only experienced people should be tempting it. So wild and so isolated. It was the beginning of our adventure to Doubtful Sound, and the beginning of the reality of its preserved beauty.

Oh, and the bus driver. Funniest man around. He had this wicked sarcastic English humour. He was so dry and so funny. It made the bus ride incredibly entertaining. Rex. That was his name.

When we arrived at the Navigator, our vessel for the evening, they did not waste any time. Rounded us up onto the ship so that we could quickly set sail. We all ventured into the main hall sitting around the beautiful U-shaped booths. Once the ship started to drift away, the crew was starting to introduce themselves and walk us through the logistics, safety and get us all set up in our rooms.

It felt like the Titanic. Those who paid for the single private rooms slept on the main level in rooms with locking doors and wooden shutters. Then there were those of us who paid the lesser amount of money (heh, heh) and slept in the Quad bunk area, which I think was the way better deal! There were 8-10 quad bunk rooms, all of which could achieve total privacy from the other rooms by a green curtain. I guess you could say there was a risk of theft, but you only had a day bag, and who would waste their time buggering up other people's property - we only had 20 hours on the boat - and it was a busy 20 hours.

And the beauty of the quad bunk rooms - we all ended up having our own private quarters. Every room was only occupied by two people, most of which were couples if not just two friends traveling together. In the quad bunk rooms, which were on the lowest level of the ship (hence the Titanic feeling - pay the least, you are put in the gutter), you had a wicked view - right on the water! Literally, you got an oval-esque window right on the water's level. The water ripping and splashing as we cruised on through the sound. It was an interesting perspective.

The rooms offered really cozy bunk beds on both sides and a step ladder that leads up the back wall to both the window and to the upper bunks. It was a great beginning to this new adventure.

Brent and I wasted no time, we were off exploring every door way and every view that was available to be seen on this ship. Starting off with another pit stop in the main hall for freshly baked muffins (cinnamon-y apricot type flavor - we're not quite sure) and free drinks of course.

Oh my goodness, the food. We could never talk enough about this food. Not only had we been dreaming about this food for ions, but it was simply fabulous food. Every crumb we ate throughout the night and into the morning. So good. This was the big spoiling moment for us.

Full of energy, we started to spend time on the very front of the ship, a place I ended up camping myself most often. As close to the front and in the rain 85% of the time (with small breaks of sun, and moments where the clouds simply didn't rip open). We wanted to soak as much of this place in as possible.

You can't take a picture. You do, and you try, but what does it give you. For us, all of these pictures will be great ways to access our memories of standing on that ship looking around and being there. For others, they will never know until they experience it themselves. As wonderful as cameras are, they cannot capture the life that thrives in the environment. They cannot capture the depth of the mountains, the crisp clouds, the cold rain, the sound of the waterfalls erupting around you, the waves crashing on the rock walls, the height of these monstrous towering cliffs, the dwarfing effect that this world creates. You just cannot capture a single drop of the life.

What life!

What a wonderful gem. Untouched. Inhospitable. What a wonderful curse to have. I only wish we had more gems like this closer to home so that I could get lost every once and a while. A reminder of how small we truly are on this planet, not in a bad way, just at how wonderful and giant this amazing planet really is. What a wonderful creation!

Ata Whenua. Shadowland. The fiords. The mountains fall in and out of shadow as the clouds roll into the land. It's a beautiful reality. People complain about the rain, but that is what Fiordland is known for, their incredible rainfall. One of the wettest places on Earth. These mountains come to life in the rain. There is a unique beauty that they portray and that is hiding in the rain. The fog is so thick and creates this haunting space.

Ata Whenua.

Carved velvety lush rainforests, clinging to life on the sheer cliffs that climb all around you. The scars of slips in the past are easily spotted, glistening white and grey along the cliffs. New life sneaking its way back onto the rocky terrain, within 50 years or so, trees will be growing once again. Once the moss has taken over and created a rich base layer.

Ata Whenua.

In front and behind us, the mountains dipping in and out of shadows as we travel through the Fiord. The rain coming and going. The wind, so strong as we move forward. You had to be prepared for a cold trip.

Not too long into the trip, we were already starting our activities as two tender craft vehicles took separate groups out to do nature tours of the area (with a closer view due to the smaller boats), while the rest of us tested our luck in the kayaks.

Kayaking in Doubtful Sound. An experience to remember. Sitting on the water. Paddling alongside sheer cliffs towering easily 1000m. Waterfalls cascading down the mountainside and just outside of your kayak. Self powered, affected by the occasional tender craft waves, which brought moments which could put you on the edge as you teetered around the water (these were a different style kayak). It was magical though. What a phenomenal way to see this space. And also our first real look at the full vessel we were staying on.

We spent about an hour on the water before heading back to the boat, where people were invited to take a dive off the back end of the boat. Into icy cold water. Water running off the mountains are ice cold either from the rain or the snow melt they are bringing from the peaks. Ocean water with a 7m layer of fresh water over top. Murky brown water until you dive past the area where the fresh water and salt water meet, then its nothing but clear blue ocean. A phenomenon which I do not believe is repeated anywhere else in the world.

And a few brave souls actually took a dip. I'm getting cold just thinking about it.

After our water activities, and for some a hot shower, we were fed this wonderful soup and amazing herb rolls. The flavours of the day were Tomato & Bacon and Potato & Leek. Being a duo, we ordered one of each. They really were delicious. The food really was A+! We spent this afternoon snack time with an American couple, one of which was studying in Auckland, and her boyfriend who is in NZ visiting her for ONE WEEK! I can't even imagine trying to see this country in a week. I would cry.

On the deck once again, we found ourselves hitting amazing weather as we entered the mouth of the Tasman Sea. This is where you start to see the blue waters once again as you move out of the Fiord and into the ocean. The murky brown water that covers the top of the Fiords' waterways slowly slips into a deep blue colour.

Giant rock islands in front of us, sheltering sun bathing seals and sea lions and penguins coming out of the water after a long day hunting. The ocean water crashing against the rocks all around us. The Navigator swooping up and down as the waves grew larger. It was an incredible feeling to be at the front of the boat. The sun was out, the sky was blue, the weather was favorable. Apparently they enter the Tasman Sea with really big swells. Today, our nature guide says it was calm.

So calm that I had to hold on for dear life at times when we went over a wave.

I can't imagine what this ride is like with larger waves!

The skipper brought the boat close to a lot of the rocks to try to spot wildlife for people. We were probably the only two people on the ship not rushing out to see wildlife on this trip, as we have been blessed with up close and personal moments with these Fiordland Crested penguins and the seals. We are still super excited about wildlife and find those moments truly magical, but we wanted to let others enjoy this time as we took a moment to breathe in the ocean air.

Besides, on Stewart Island, we'll once again be in the face of a wonderful array of animals, but just as we have experienced it before, it will be within feet of the animals. In the paths in front of us. That, we truly look forward to once again.

Dinner quickly followed our trip out to the Tasman Sea. The skipper found a quiet spot in First Arm and dropped anchor for the night. A dinner buffet that conquered us. Again we sat with our new American friends, as we all wanted to really enjoy (ie: pig out) the buffet and we knew we wouldn't judge one another. Salads, vegetables, meat, meat, meat, potatoes, and this vegetarian dish that was delicious. We tried everything. Twice. :) Sadly, we could not try any more. Our bellies expanded a little too much, and apparently didn't have enough room for the 10 servings Brent and I were convinced we could take in.

Mind you, my second plate was full of salad and one piece of chicken, while Brent returned with an entire plate full of food. Good on him.

Then came the dessert buffet. Oh so good. Cakes, cakes, cakes, fruit and cheese & crackers. I tried the cake, cake, cake. As did Brent.

Brent however, did not conquer the desserts that night. They conquered him. As he painfully ate the last piece of this incredible chocolate cake, he found himself in pain for the rest of the night. While I tempted a second helping during our evening entertainment.

But we had to sit up straight for the rest of the night. Hunching over even slightly would set a pressure on your stomach that we weren't interested in feeling. I almost think our table was the only table that had it in mind to eat like a buffet. Everyone else seemed fine. The food was so good, and we don't usually eat this much (especially on the trails), but we had to make the most of it. And it was worth it.

In the evening, our nature guide Ben, who would talk over the loudspeaker every once and a while through the trip as he provided us with history of the land, had prepared a slide show for us. It was a hilarious presentation of the area and the story of the land. His humour is amazing and it really was a great way to end the night.

As evening set, most people went to bed. We spent a last moment outside, enjoying a rainless moment in the dark looking for stars and enjoying the shadows of the mountains around us. With the engine off, it truly is a different experience. It was so quiet.

We soon after found our way to bed to enjoy a quiet evening in our bunk. The beds were so nice. The sleep was very comfortable.

The early bird that I am, I woke Brent up early so we could watch the sun come up. Although not much of a sun rise, it was still amazing to watch the first day's light come into the Fiord. At 6.37am, the engine was back on as we spent time in the front of the boat watching them raise and clean the anchor before setting off once again.

Breakfast. Another buffet. :) This cruise is what dreams are made of. A wonderful spread of fresh & canned fruit, hot eats (eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns), toast, cereal, yogurts, and baked beans. Yum.

We spent some time talking to the nature guide who asked us why we didn't decide to work for Real Journeys and come on their cruises. They work 7 days on and have 7 days off, in which time we could have been tramping. Unfortunately, we didn't think about that when we first arrived. Imagine your job was to take people out into the Fiords every day, and you do actually get time to enjoy the serene environment on each trip. That would have been fun!

But this was a great way to experience it too. And we get to relax cause we're not on the clock!

Our last few moments on the boat. We found ourselves back in the front of the boat, where I honestly lived snapping as many pictures as I could. Taking it all in. One of the most untouched parts of Fiordland National Park. Rain pounding down on our bodies, Gortex keeping us dry. But skin's waterproof, and you're only here once.

These moments need to be soaked in. Literally.

Despite not seeing a single dolphin (which I was looking for on and off through the entire trip), this was a fantastic time. The crew was phenomenal. The experience was magical. And soon enough, it was all over, and we were back on the bus across the Wilmot Pass and back to the visitor center awaiting our last boat across Lake Manapouri.

When we exited the visitor center, I noticed a larger then life sign about not feeding the kea birds. The DOC has green and yellow signs in all their parks, and I had already taken a snap shot of a smaller version of this sign. I asked Brent why he thought this sign was so large. We had yet to ever see a Kea, and had been in the Fiords for over a month.

Suddenly, Brent points over to one of the company trucks. Low and behold, a Kea trying to chew into the rubber of the spare tire on the back of the truck. Everyone was snapping pictures. We stopped for a moment and thought, maybe this bird wasn't working alone. They are seldom alone and they are the smartest bird in the world. And this one, flew right over the photographers who he was posing for and straight to the luggage that had been left behind by these same people. Smart little bird.

Cheeky little bird. Johanna, a girl who is working at Rosie & Alistair's house, has taught me one line in German. Der Kea War Sehr Frech. It means - the Kea is very cheeky. :) Best line ever, even though she's always asking me why I wouldn't want to learn something more useful.

The Kea was shooed away before he accessed the luggage, but these birds know how to open zippers. They are smart birds. And surprisingly bigger then I expected. Bigger than a parrot in a pet shop. Green in colour, but a gorgeous rainbow of colours under their wings.

The second Kea did appear and they both landed on our Manapouri boat, where we all spent time taking pictures. One of the workers told us about a bus that 2 Keas had destroyed when someone accidentally left the front door open. Tens of thousands of dollars in damage. They mangled up all the seats and just chewed into everything. So destructive.

After shooing away our little friends, we set off and our trip came to an end.

It was a royal treat.

You could sum up all your time in Fiordland National Park by saying how beautiful it was - but those words do not do it justice.

This...this is what life should always be like.

Serene, untouched and spectacular.

Living the life in Te Anau

2008-10-28T15:26:00.002-05:00

So, minor set back in blog land. The computer at the hostel is fried and not living within the confines of the actual hostel at the moment. It's in the hands of a very slow going doctor.

It's been over 1/2 month.

On the plus side, we did discover free internet at the Te Anau library - which was closed when we first arrived due to a freak flood incident.

Missing in the blog posts so far are our adventures on the Routeburn track, the Hollyford track and the measly attempt at Hump Ridge. Each one unique with its ups and downs.

Life in Te Anau is quickly coming to an end. We are one tramp away from leaving the town we have called home since the very end of September. In the end we will have trecked 5 of the 6 tracks that we intended in Fiordland National Park. Left behind, the acclaimed Milford Track. What threw us from the track, outside of a plague of avalanche concerns, was the cost of actually getting to the track (boat transport both ways - upwards of $170/each) and my all time favorite, the famous quote. Milford is said to be 'one of the finest walks in the world'.

Inspiring, no?

Until you find out that the person who actually wrote that, NEVER once set foot on the track itself. Now, how do you figure that aspect of the quote was never made public?

Good times. We don't regret our decision. We have enjoyed the tramps we have been privileged to walk in the park so far. This part of NZ boasts an incredible and unique beauty that will not soon be forgotten.

Gas is finally down. Only 178.9 per liter. Want to know something really GREAT about New Zealand? On their labour day weekend (which just passed), their gas prices DROPPED by 4c/litre. Not a very common thing to see back home. But the price of oil dropped, so naturally, the pumps showed a drop as well. Still, somehow, the Canadian gas companies always find a reason to jack the prices up on a long weekend.

Our boots are starting to show desperate signs of aging. We take care of these things like no other boots/shoes we have ever owned. We're in and out of mud and water on a daily basis on the tracks. And the toll is visible as the wrinkles are setting into the once sexy new boots. They look at least 10 years old now. They are barely the same colour as they started out. Funny what a little tramping can do to a boot. Poor dears.

Did I mention that I was in physiotherapy? :)

Lately, it feels like I'm living in a medical center in a small town. So, I had to visit the doctor once before for the persistent illness that just wouldn't go away - even after antibiotics, I was battling something for another week and a half. Then I had to return to see the same doctor for my back, that started to show new signs of distress after the Kepler track. He advised me to seek physiotherapy treatment and provided me with a prescription as well as a 'script for a lower lumbar Xray once we return to Invercargill at the beginning of next month.

At this point in time, I have had two sessions of physio with the local therapist - she's really great, and a keen tramper so she wants to see me back up 100% - and I have two to go before we step away from Te Anau. This was the only opportunity I would have to seek treatment, as we will not be in another location for as long.

The unfortunate news is that this injury has seriously affected my tramping. It's now a quite painful experience, especially with any uphill action. I used to hop up and around so quickly, and now a days, find myself loathing the idea of the uphills and suffer, although mostly silently, through each agonizing step. It's been quite the downer for myself only because it really has taken away some of the joy that I used to get from being out there. It's an injury that has directly affected exactly what we came here to do. I know Brent sees how much it has affected me and my happiness on the trails as well.

We have a very long 10 day tramp ahead of us, and upon further discussion with Rosie at the hostel, have decided to postpone our trip to Stewart Island, not more than a week, to give my back some further time to heal before the treacherous tramp. It's a very hilly trek, every day high climbs and long descents. And when you tramp for that long, your start pack weight is unbearably heavy. The physiotherapist has asked me to cut down my weight, but when you look at the longer treks, you both need to carry a full pack, as one person could not manage the heavier items alone. After our last tramp, we are looking at doing a short term FHINZ (farm helpers in NZ) stay before crossing to the south. These one day breaks in between tramps has not been beneficial to my back problem.

It's nice though, because Brent lies down and does the exercises with me at the hostel so I don't feel as silly in the living room while others are around. My next appointment is tomorrow afternoon, where there will be discussion of a strap that puts pressure on my back that might help subdue some of the pain while we are on the trails.

Good news, today is the day we have been waiting for since October 2nd!! Tonight is our overnight Doubtful Sound cruise. We have been dreaming about this cruise on all of our hikes, and were hoping to have completed them all before this treat, but you can't rush healing. We will set off shortly for Manapouri, a small town just south of Te Anau, to meet up with a boat that will take us across the lake to meet a bus that will take us to our glorious cruise ship. We have heard amazing things about the buffet dinner and breakfast. On every tramp, we talk about what food we will eat first. Number one - SALAD. Something we both miss SOOOO MUCH. Followed by chicken and veggies. Sadly, food is a big focus on the trails - as you're burning off so many calories in a 8-10 hr day (on average) - your tummy really starts to take control of your brain. The wonderful views & food. Number one priorities on the trails. :)

Mind you, we have started to eat a lot better - not just soup and pasta between tramps. We have been making stir-frys and steamed vegetables. Yummmm.

None the less, these two buffets have been keeping our spirits up on the trails when we are most hungry. :)

And today is the day.

I hope to post soon about the last three tramps we have enjoyed. Worse case, I'll try to type them out within my 30mins time slot at the library.

Wishful thinking.

The Kepler track: A tramp in two takes

2008-10-11T12:03:00.001-05:00

We were the first to set out on the alpine crossing in the morning. The weather was terrible. The gorgeous view that was offered the night before was blanketed in fog in the morning. The weather was rough. It was sleeting at the hut, and only turned worse the further up the mountain you tramped. We wanted an early start to test the waters.

It took us about an hour. We were about 20mins from the Mt. Luxmore junction - a side trip to the peak, in good weather you could probably enjoy beautiful panoramic views of the park. The sleet turned to snow as we climbed. Slowly there was a dusting on the ground. Then a thicker layer. Suddenly you're crossing an avalanche path in boot deep snow. My gut was turning as I looked up the mountain at the first of nine avalanche paths. There was a lot of fresh snow. The biggest concern for an avalanche occurs during or directly after new precipitation.

When we turned the corner, it was like hitting a wall. White out conditions. We could no longer see above us. The snow quickly turned to hail as the wind beat down on us with a mighty force. We couldn't face one another to speak. If you tried, you would be pelted in the face by the gale winds and the hail. It was like a blizzard from out of nowhere.

We had 8 more avalanche zones to pass through higher peaks. One alpine crossing along the ridge. Who knew how much snow had fallen that night. We weren't expecting it until the next day.

It had been just over a month since our last tramp. The mighty Queen Charlotte Track. One month and a bit since my fall and back injury, something I thought was behind me, until I started hiking this day. Plagued by illness, Brent and I just decided to hike no matter what. Neither of us feeling 100%. He had started to show signs of a nasty cold (not the flu though - so yay!). I was still on antibiotics and showing up and down signs of recovery. But we were tired of waiting, so we decided to make our way through the Kepler track. It was Monday, October 6th. We had a three night tramp ahead of us, and we were looking forward to it.

We actually lucked out quite a bit with the weather. It was a nice day on our first day of tramping. Clear views worth every agonizing footstep up the steep track to Luxmore Hut. Agonizing for both of us in different ways. Taking a month off of tramping was hard for the two of us. We are in the country for that exact reason. So needless to say, taking a month off then slapping a heavy pack onto your back is almost like the first hike all over again. You kind of remember all those muscles you had forgotten about over the last little while. By the end of the day they are screaming out to you for attention, yet you have to look past the pain, as you have several days of hiking ahead of you. No pain, no gain. At the same time, I was being re-introduced to back pain that I suffered on a fall on the QCT. At first, we both thought it was simply a bad case of bruising on the lower spine. Now, we suspect it might be more.

Needless to say, I now once again have an appointment with the Te Anau medical centre on Monday morning to have my back looked at. We both fear I may have done some deeper damage and thus far it is affecting our tramping. We just finished up a 5 day hike, but it wasn't an easy walk for me lower back. We'll keep you posted.

Despite any pain you might feel while tramping in New Zealand, there is no better pay off. The views are beyond spectacular - that is when the weather cooperates and allows you glimpses of your environment. This being our first tramp in Fiordland National Park, it surely didn't disappoint.

The ground was buoyant. There were times where you would step on the track and it would cushion your footing and bounce you right back up into another step. Amazing. Day one was a pretty big incline. After a 45minute hike from the long term car park (which we partially spent with another girl from our hostel who was out on a day hike) you enter the first part of the track. A lowland beech forest walk by lake Te Anau. Simple and easy. For an hour an a half you had a pretty easy day.

We stopped at Broad Bay, a camp site just before you start the incline. This was our first introduction to sandflies. The infamous fly, kind of like a black fly from back home, except possibly more annoying. If you are walking, they can't keep up with you. The moment you stop moving, they swarm you. We were to get used to these insects, as they enjoyed living in the park, and are found near moving water - which on the Kepler track is all around you. Also, they are a day time problem. They start to fade around dusk, which is kind of nice.

The track was beautiful and challenging. We crossed paths with a large amount of people, a mix of day hikers and possibly people just coming off the track from the other direction (it's a circuit track). We started to wonder if we were alone traveling in our direction towards Luxmore.

We pushed through from Broad Bay until just after these amazing Limestone Bluffs before we ate lunch. At the top of a set of stairs and ladder, we decided to stop and snack on our fabulous crackers and cheese. Up the stairs came another couple, Hadas & Adir from Israel. They were carrying large packs, which is our only indication if someone is going to do a day hike or an overnight tramp. They stopped to chat for a bit before heading down the trail ahead of us. Brent and I looked at one another. This is our first great walk (there are nine in NZ), this would be our 6th hut (which Brent says makes us break even - cause the hut pass is $90, and huts are generally $15/night) and it would be the first time that we have ever shared a hut with another person.

As the tramping season approaches, the trails are starting to show more signs of life.

We powered through the rest of the ascent before bumping into Hadas & Adir once again at the last sign before the hut. An indication that we were 45mins out. An unusual sign for a tramp. You don't usually get updated information as you hike. You usually only get timings for your hike at junctions.

This sign was situated at the very edge of the forest. An unusual boundary between the forest and tussock. Nothing gradual. You almost walk through a doorway of trees and bam, tussock. We're used to sub-alpine scrub or shrubs or something. This was an interesting boundary.

A windy walk through rolling tussock hills was the last leg of the tramp to Luxmore Hut. The views were stunning. The Murchison Mountains across the South Fiord were absolutely phenomenal. The view was striking and breathtaking. You hike for views like this. Pinching yourself everywhere you turn. People honestly pay a lot of money for views like this. All we had to do was buy an annual hut pass. (At least until Oct. 28th, when we can no longer tramp on the great walks without buying hut tickets - as the prices sky rocket for huts on great walks during the tramping season.)

Velvety emerald green ripples. Trees clinging to whatever stretch of limestone or clay they can find before slipping to the ground when their life can no longer be sustained. The scars of landslips left behind can be spotted from a mile away. Brown and grey rips through the green waves of the mountains. You can't put into words the way the fiords look. Sheer beauty. Tranquil world. Birds singing all around you during the day. It's quite spectacular.

And cold. It was very cold on the mountain.

We got to the hut, only to find another two hikers, Yakov and Dmitry - both from Israel (as were Hadas & Adir). This hut was quite amazing to look at. We have spent nights in great huts, but this one was constructed for a great walk. It was a two level house basically with two bunk rooms - one smaller one that held 12 people, and another large one that held possibly another 40 or so. There were porches and patios and a balcony. And the view. Well, I can't say you ever got bored of the view.

The only down side, there was no fire wood or coal. Actually, there was, but it was locked up underneath the hut - probably only to be accessed once the season started. Once the tramping season starts, the DOC puts a hut warden in every hut on the great walks. They basically live there and ensure that those paying money for the tramps are taken care of and keeping the place clean. The winter supplies had already been depleted. Probably because a lot of hikers come up to Mt. Luxmore and then return, avoiding the alpine crossing. Which means that there is a greater volume of hikers through this hut, which means no fire wood for those spending the night.

We tried, but it was a no go. Even with wind fall twigs and what have you.

Ten minutes from the hut were limestone caves that you could explore. One at a time, each group went out to explore the area. Each of us carrying torches. It was kind of neat to have a side trip/evening activity.

The sun sets much later now, quickly fading after 8.30pm. We spent the evening going through our routine. Dinner, water filtration, dishes. This evening, we spent the rest of the night with our new friends learning more about one another. That is until nightfall, where we all gave up trying to stay warm outside of our sleeping bags. We all called it a night. Brent and I stayed in the smaller bunk room, trying to keep clear or the others. I was still coughing quite a bit, and Brent was starting as well. The last thing we wanted to be was a nuisance for the others as they tried to sleep.

Morning came and we packed up as per usual. The fog was thick outside. The weather was supposed to move out of the area by 1pm. We decided we might still try the alpine crossing early in the morning.

It wasn't supposed to snow until Wednesday morning, so we thought we would just be facing rain and fog.

We were the first to set out by 9 o'clock. We like early starts to our days. It lets you spend more time resting at the hut at the end of the day. The wind had died down and it didn't look like it was raining anymore. There was frost and a bit of ice on the boardwalks around the hut and on the balcony. Signs of what was to come.

We slowly climbed up the track. Winding up through the zigzag ascent and boardwalks through the tarns. The snow started to show greater presence as we climbed. This was all fresh snow. Alarming to us. We weren't expecting it for another 24hrs. At about 1250m, we hit our white out conditions. As we always do, we stood in the situation and contemplated our next steps. Neither of us wanted to move forward. The snow was getting deeper and with the unknown above us, we didn't know how bad the avalanche danger would be.

So, we turned back. It was only 10 o'clock at this point, so we thought we could wait out the weather.

Along the way back to the hut, we bumped into to Yakov and Dmitry. Something of a side note. Both of the Israeli groups we met were young people who are either just starting school or in the middle of their studies. All have served in the army from 3.5 - 5 years. All are trained to push through any situation. All of them, not used to snow. Yakov and Dmitry are on their first tramp. Both groups carrying locater beacons and possibly feeling a false sense of security. We talked to both the boys and explained why we turned around. They decided to push ahead and see where they could reach. There are two alpine shelters on the crossing. We didn't want to risk reaching the shelter and being trapped there in bad weather. You could be trapped there until a storm pattern clears the area. Yakov was only wearing a fleece. We were worried about him.

Further down the trail, we bumped into Hadas & Adir, who after hearing what we encountered decided to turn around to the hut and wait out the weather with us. It was still quite early in the day. The hike across was supposed to only take 6 hours (that is, depending on weather). So we sat, in the cold hut, and waited out the storm.

It never fully passed. The clouds started to show signs of lifting around noon, but quickly clouded over soon after. Yakov & Dmitry never returned, so it was safe to say they attempted the crossing in the fresh snow. Hadas & Adir decided to test their luck around noon. They would try to cross, and if the weather was bad, they could still turn back and spend the night at Luxmore once again.

We decided to just turn back. The crossing wasn't worth it. Despite the fact that we would never get the view you truly want with the crossing due to all the fog and thick clouds, the risk wasn't worth making the hut.

We walked all the way back to the car, leaving the hut at 1pm. The walk was long - as it can be when you retrace your steps. The forest was beautiful. The rain brought out this aquamarine moss on the trees. The forest was almost glowing.

It's the last leg of the hikes that take the life out of you sometimes. We had the final stretch from the control gates back to the car - a 45mins walk. Dreadful when you just want to be done hiking. We had stopped at the gates to replenish our energy level. I was feeling dizzy - maybe dehydration related or just low sugar. We're not sure. So that last 45mins to the car was a heavy walk.

We spent the night in town and set back out in the early afternoon to walk the track from the opposite direction. This would bring us to Moturau hut and if the Israeli groups survived the crossing, we should be able to meet up with them at this hut. We wanted to make sure they were okay. We parked at a different spot this time, a track entry point 10kms out of town. This would cut off 4.5 hours of our hiking time on the first and last day. We had a quiet 2 hour hike on the first day to the hut.

We took our time as we knew we would make the hut by mid-afternoon. We walked across some raging rivers on bridges that I do not believe should have been that bouncy. Made me realize that I don't think I like foot bridges anymore. Took a side trip to a wetlands viewpoint, only to find Canadian Geese sitting in the pond hissing and calling out to each other. Seriously - Canadian Geese? Then we crossed over the bog and learned a bit more about bogs with an information point. Did you know that people die in bogs?? These things are nasty deep. They look just like wet lowland grass with puddles around. Then you stick your trekking pole in and it just keeps sinking. The information board said that this bog in particular had plants that grew up to five feet below. It's almost like quick sand. If you stepped into a bog unknowingly, you would just start to sink and probably wouldn't be able to make your way back out. Creepy.

At the hut, we met an English gentleman who was on a day hike discovering the park. We spent some time chatting with him before the first signs of trampers appeared. He stepped outside to take some pictures as Yakov and Dmitry walked up the hut's steps. They were both surprised and happy to see us. And we were happy to see them and to hear that the other two had crossed successfully as well. The snow on the alpine crossing, we were informed, was knee deep and challenging. It took Yakov and Dmitry 9 hours to hike it.

It was raining all day, and these two were really wet. Especially Yakov, who does not have a rain coat. An almost mandatory item for NZ tramping. We offered to start a fire and I pulled out our trusty book from Holly Hut and made my way to the stove.

"If that book does not work, I have a lonely planet we can try.", Yakov offered. He was desperate for warmth. It was difficult not having a fire at Luxmore because it was so cold that night. They did have fire wood at Iris Burn hut (our next hut), so they could keep warm after their snowy excursion.

We cooked up a good fire and waited as Hadas & Adir arrived, as well as two American trampers in for the night. It was wonderful to hear about the Israelis alpine experience, but we do not regret turning back. It didn't sound pleasant. We had already been through trails like that, reliving them wasn't important.

We spent the night talking by a warm fire. It was a nice evening.

Everyone pulled mats into the main room that night to sleep by the fire. It was the warmest room of the hut.

The next day, we all went our separate ways. We said our good byes and headed up the track to Iris Burn hut, the last hut for our tramp. The next day we would return to the car.

It was a quiet day. The weather was great. We didn't bump into any hikers this day.

This part of the track brought us along the Iris Burn River and other streams that fall into the Iris Burn River. It was windy as you weaved through forest and rocky river beds. Unusual for us, all the water crossings were bridged except for three. One bridge was pulled off the waterway - possibly due to flooding concerns and possible damage to the bridge. Mind you, the water flow was quite minimal at this point. They remove bridges from certain tracks in the winter months due to damage concerns - generally on the great walks and in areas where snow melt is a great risk. What these waterways look like in heavy rain is beyond me.

The track then brought us through a gorgeous valley. Surrounded by snow capped mountains and cliffs all around. Pencil thin waterfalls falling down the mountains, through the forest you can see the water rushing down. Some waterfalls have nowhere to go, falling off the cliff side into oblivion. The wind blowing the falling water into sheets of mist further down. The sun beaming down on the snow, which had fallen to 300m the night before, barely making a dent in it. Snow melt was not a concern on this day.

It was a nice hike. Typical Fiordland Park beautiful. All the way to the hut, which sat in tussock-like long grass in a valley of mountains.

At the hut, we collected and chopped fire wood before setting out on yet another side trip, this one to Iris Burn Falls.

Through our routine we spent the evening sheltered from the rain that mildly started to fall. We started a warm fire and ended the evening playing cards on a bench aided by firelight and our lantern.

There was a bang.

Unexpected.

The sun was set now, it was close to 9pm.

Another rustle. Just outside the door.

Maybe it's a possum. They sound like birds almost at night. Maybe a night owl of some sort. I can't identify all the animals by their night calls.

Brent and I both jumped up. Staring at one of three doors to the hut. In the main room, you're surrounded by glass windows. It's a classic horror movie if it so chose to be. Out in the middle of nowhere, no cell phone reception, two people alone in a hut, laughing, having fun...then WHAM.

Your mind thinks that way sometimes.

I heard a voice. And for some reason, despite having certain fears, I will always open a door to discover what is rustling on the other side.

Blinded by a light. All I saw was a giant stick.

And a gleeful cheer from the light source.

Two Israeli guys, who had just completed the alpine crossing in now waist deep snow, so happy to be at the hut and even happier to know people were already there and had built a fire.

We cleared the bench and sat them by the fire to warm up. We spent the night stoking the fire and just being warm before all sleeping in the main room to stay warm.

In the morning, we set out early enough. 8.29am. The weather was still holding out, but it was supposed to have been raining the day before and today. We wanted to avoid the river crossings in deep flood. And today, there was no problem.

The walk was quick. Stopping at the Moturau hut for lunch before the final stretch to the car. On the last stretch, crossing paths with an old gentleman we had bumped into two days earlier. I think he just walks the track over and over again.

Once we sat ourselves in Sgt. McClaughwd, the rain started. Funny.

Back to town. Back to Rosie's. Only to find out that Rosie and Johanna (a German girl working at the backpackers for the summer) had been to Moturau hut that day and were going to write a note to us in the hut intentions book, but decided not to thinking we wouldn't see it. Yet we stopped in and read the book and that would have been hilarious. The sort of thing that would make you feel special.

Two days of rest before checking in with the doctor on Monday about the back, and possibly about a throat concern Brent and I have both developed. Alistar, Rosie's husband, is now on antibiotics for possibly strep throat, something that we might also be now battling.

I'm telling you, it's just one thing right after another.

Next track on our list is the Routeburn - but only to the second hut. The avalanche concern is quite high right now. The DOC is looking into blasting some snow caps to have the track ready to open come October 28th. In order to ensure safe hiking for the peak season. Milford is also looking really iffy right now, and Brent and I might just not bother. With 30-50cm of new snow appearing over the last few days, that hike is a huge risk right now. The DOC has flown in hut wardens during the off season just to stop people from crossing through the valley (with sheer cliffs posing avalanche concerns) and going over the pass. Despite warnings, people are still going through with these hikes.

Two days ago, a woman drowned in Egmont National Park crossing a swollen river despite being warned not to. Brent and I are looking to see if the river that took her life was the same one we turned away from that dreadful day. It was in the same area.

So, despite the alpine crossing, we have completed the Kepler track. Unfortunately, this is the most dangerous time for avalanches. Not worth our lives crossing these areas of concern. We have way too much hiking ahead of us to be risking our lives all the time.

We took five days to go up and down the trail in both directions. Funny enough, there is a race called the Kepler Challenge that takes place in early December, where racers run the Kepler track in a day. The fastest time so far has been four hours and thirty seven minutes. That's an hour for every leg of the track, that should take four days if you stay in all three huts.

Kind of puts trampers to shame.

I've got me some of that Influenza goodness

2008-10-02T05:11:00.002-05:00

Right about now, I think part of me wishes I believed enough in the flu shot to have taken one before this trip.

After waking up and spending the first four hours of the day with the right side of my body in excruciating pain and congestion beating at my skull, I called home to seek advice.

Then, I listened to my parents and 'splurged' on a doctor's visit here in Te Anau (will be reimbursed by our insurance). And low and behold, influenza. But the worst of it might be over - well at least the fever, chills and hot sweats. Cause those are pleasant. :)

Oh yeah, and it's complete with an ear infection.

My prescription - antibiotics and advice to wait yet another two days before setting out on the track.

Now we see if Sunday will be our lucky day.

Fun times.

On a plus side, we've met a lot of really cool Canadians at this hostel over the last few nights. :)

And another plus - the weather is kind of crappy for the next few days - so we're really not missing out on much on the trails just yet. And we should still be able to clear the three Great Walks prior to the tramping season's opening on October 28th. But we will be in Te Anau (and area) until probably mid-November.

Tonight, more rest, and coughing. With our trusty Boysenberry Ripple Ice cream container nearby in case the coughing attacks get too strong.

Being sick at home sucks, I know. But waiting on your trip as you try to recover and gain more energy is brutal.

Each day, we wait a little bit longer

2008-10-01T05:52:00.000-05:00

So, minor setback on our tramping trip. We are in the ever so gorgeous town of Te Anau - the home of the DOC Fiordland National Park visitor centre - and for us, the town we chose to base ourselves out of while we tramp through the beautiful fiords.

Magical. You can't describe the mountain views from the quiet little hostel we are currently staying in. It's Rosie's backpackers. A place that only houses up to 10 people. This family has opened their home to travelers. Their bedrooms are right across from your very own.

It's been quite a wonderful time here already. Rosie and her husband Alistair are fantastic, and trampers themselves. Actually, both have served time with the DOC as hut wardens. Oh, and did I mention that Alistair is actually an avalanche detector - oh, and the best in the country?? Doesn't hurt to have an expert around.

It was quite amusing the first night we were here, and we got to talking with Alistair about tramping the Milford track. After about 15minutes of talking to us about all the avalanche paths that it crosses I think it gutted both Brent and myself. That was the point where we looked at one another from across the room and said 'we don't really have to do the Milford track'. "Oh, but it's beautiful. You'll be fine!", Alistair exclaims. Safe. Rapid snow blowing me off the side of a mountain is not what I would call fine.

But avalanche expert - amazing. Before each track, we'll get the most up to date information from Alistair. He's super.

Avalanches. The reality of the south island and the beginning of spring. Actually, snow fall can occur throughout the year, so can avalanche warnings. There is no real avoidance of the situation. Difference is that if you tramp these hikes in the peak season (starts Oct. 28th), you could be flown over (by helicopter) 'areas of concern' at your own cost. If you're that desperate to just avoid the last avalanche that came down yet eager to test your luck on the rest of the track - be my guest.

Sadly, this is the part of the country I have dreamed about for years. And to hear the reality that our hikes are extremely weather dependent is concerning. Water, we thought, would be our greatest concern. You know, torrential rains. But now, avalanche paths.

Kepler track - a gorgeous loop track that takes up to 4 days to hike. Beautiful mountain ranges overlooking two lakes in the fiords. One day takes you through 9 avalanche zones. Alistair says the snow will be off those peaks in a few days, so we'll be able to hike that one second.

You think 9 zones is bad. Wait until you hear about the Routeburn track that has 32 avalanche zones through the trail. We could hike in two days on one side, then return, drive around to the other end to hike in one day and back out. Thus safely taking us through the track without entering the dreadful 32 avalanche zones on the track. Zones we would have to cross twice as this is not a loop, and we would have to return to our car.

Then there is the Milford track, the winner with 56 avalanche zones crossing throughout the track. A simple three day tramp can be one of the most beautiful, and also most deadly tramps. 56 avalanche zones, NONE of which are monitored.

The highway from Te Anau to Milford is just over 100kms long. One of the most beautiful drives that they say could take up to a day. A highway which has a very long 'no stopping' zone, due to land slip and avalanche concerns. A highway that the country spends 1.5 Million dollars a year to monitor with avalanche teams to ensure that no lives are lost in the event of an avalanche.

The Milford Track has no funding for this type of monitoring. It would cost over 10,000$ a week to monitor that track alone. Funds which the DOC cannot afford. A conservancy already deeply suffering from insufficient funding. Instead, during the peak season, hut wardens are located in each hut, equipped with radios - and information can be given to each tramper as they pass through the area. That quite possibly saves lives, and is a much cheaper alternative.

The unfortunate reality to tramping in such a wild environment. You don't have to worry about the bears or cougars out here, but mother nature herself. As beautiful as that waterfall developing off the side of a rock face might be to a tour bus passenger, it could spell disaster for someone about to meet it on their path.

The reality of the risk. Not something that we are taking lightly, as we plan to start on a tramp that passes through no avalanche zones. You know, only the flooding zones. Good times!

Then there is our set back.

I am sick. Uber sick.

It all started on the farm. A simple cough. Thought I could shake it off, as it followed other patterns of colds I have had in the past. Then we get to Invercargill (nothing special to mention about this city really - dive like, we were in a sketchy part of town). The coughing worsened. The second day in Invercargill we decided to go for a day hike, which I ended up trying to bail out of up to 4 times due to body aches that were making it hard to walk. Fear of collapsing was in my head.

Hoped up with Advils (don't worry, I only had one - but that was enough), I had the energy to drive us to TeAnau, where I only got worse. Chills and hot sweats plagued my days and nights. I struggled to sleep through the nights. Everyone trying to provide me with the best remedies. One girl (Hannah) made me a special tea (with whiskey - heh heh), Rosie has been offering me several different types of lozenges and cough syrup (the smell didn't make me want to jump and drink it down) and hot liquids. All the while, I wonder if I am keeping anyone else up at night (although apparently the walls are almost sound proof, so no one has been hearing my helpless cough attacks through the night). The usual muscle aches from flu like illnesses.

But if I was going to be sick, this is the place to be sick in. A beautiful home where I feel at home, with a view to die for. A house completely surrounded by the fiordland national park. Gorgeous.

This has delayed our departure for two reasons. Muscle pains/energy and lung restriction. The coughing will probably linger for a few weeks (I'm susceptible to long term coughing), but when I carry a full pack on, I can sometimes feel restricted with my breathing. Deep breaths with a full pack can sometimes be painful. Not something you want to contend with on weak lungs. Then there is the fact that I probably haven't been able to carry my weight due to weakness.

It's a shame. We just spent 12 wonderful days on the farm with the McLay's where we were eating regularly and getting our bodies ready to set back out on the trails. Then I get sick and lose my appetite.

Boo.

So today was supposed to be our first day, but we will now try to leave on Friday, October 3rd. Two more nights. We'll see.

We'll hike out, return here for a night in between each hike, then set back out the next day to tackle a new trail. All this will take up at least a month. 6 full tramps - or partially attempted tramps depending on avalanche concerns. The Hump Ridge, Greenstone-Caples track, Hollyford, Routeburn, Milford and the Kepler track. Following this, we will splurge on a fabulous overnight cruise in Doubtful sound (on special this month) - one of many parts of this park that are inaccessible by foot or road.

That's the plan. Let's just see what adventures head our way! :)

Outside of that, some things that have crossed our minds over the last few days.

A shout out to the McLay clan. We were thinking about you guys when we watched Piha Rescue on Monday night. That also reminded us about some other things we did together that really meant a lot to us. This includes (but is not limited to): the Bird play with Naomi, Josiah and Susan on our second night. Brent playing cricket with Josiah, Isabel, and Esther. Watching Josiah and Reuben play cricket together. Coralie texting us as we drove through the Caitlins on our first day - we thought that was coo-el! Watching the sheep shearing. Singing choir songs with the kids at the bench - which is also why I have the "Talk to the Animals" song in my head an awful lot! Pumpkin Soup. Yummmm. :)

I tried out Huntington's key on Sgt McClaughwd the other day. Alarmingly, the car started. Which has led me to believe that manual vehicles are prime targets for theft. I believe they could start with a paper clip if someone tried.

Then again, maybe it's just our special car.

We finally made contact with the Primus reps in New Zealand and should see a new part for our camp stove show up by courier by early afternoon. Yay!!! It worked for about 4-5 meals, then pfffffft! It's a complicated stove with certain key parts unable to be taken apart except by a manufacturer. So if this part solves our problems, we're golden and could be eating hot meals in the Fiords!!! (something we actually weren't planning on - but with my cold/illness I also couldn't live off of dry noodles for too long - would be hard on me poor little throat)

Realizing that thus far, we have only spent money on THREE New Zealand 'attractions'. The caving trip (which was $125/person - but worth sooo much more), Puzzling world in Wanaka ($25 for two) and the trip up the elevator in Wanganui ($1/each). So, this helped us justify the little bit of extra money to take the Doubtful Sound cruise at the end of our time in the Fiordland NP. That and it was my #1 destination in this park, but I was silly and never realized you couldn't access it by any track. Oops.

We're off. To bed. Time to hack up a lung in a horizontal position.

Oh yeah - I'm at the state of heaving with the coughing. Just so you understand the severity of my problems. Ugh. Let's pray that in two days we're both fit enough to start the tramping. Thank God, Brent's not feeling sick yet. I think he might be immune to whatever I have - otherwise, I would imagine he'd be feeling it by now.

After the Fiords, we're off to Stewart Island for a ten day hike.

This time, it's all about the tramping!

I love it!!!