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Published: December 21st 2006
5th to 20th December 2006
As I said at the end of the last blog, the adventure continues. The road to Milford Sound was and adventure all its own; The mountains of the Darrau and Humbolt ranges provided the back beat to a symphony of scenic splendour. A perfectly clear day (with a little less wind than usual too) allowed me to see every snow-capped peak of every Granite monolith along the way. Trickling waterfalls, snaking their way down the craggy grey slopes formed mini glaciers at certain spots and lush Birchwood rain forests founded an emerald earthbound base in contrast to the towering turrets of the peaks above.
The spectacular scenery I had been promised in South Island, like an eagerly awaited postal parcel, had at long last been delivered and it did not disappoint. Sadly, the same could not be said for Nubies performance on the gradients of the Southern Alp approach roads. His steering wheel juddered like a navvies JackHammer every time I braked hard on a downward section and his pace slowed to that of an asthmatic Snail with a lead shell on every incline. Why, when the latter occurs, do we think it
will help us get to the top of the hill quicker if we take a vice-like grip on the wheel, lean forward as far as possible (in my case with Nubie, actually having my nose against the windscreen on occasion) and then proceed to rock back and forth like a nutter in the corner of a padded cell of a nineteenth century mental institution? I can promise you that it is no help at all.
As for Milford Sound itself, I struck it lucky with the weather. It is said to be a spectacular sight when precipitation creates a myriad of waterfalls on the mountainsides. But, I’ll take the perfectly clear, sun-filled day I had on the sound. The waters at the inland end of the fiord were a motionless mirror in which to admire the magnificence of Mitre Peak. The permanent waterfalls provided a shocking white stripe on the dark, moody cliff faces which, in turn, contrasted against the crystal clear blue skies. So, regardless of the lack of rain, which it is said to do two out of every three days there, it was a picture perfect day at Milford for me.
The scenery was not
The Icy Waters of The Dart River,
and some of those bank bound obstructionsquite as dramatic on the drive to Queenstown but, there was more to come after. I hadn’t come here specifically for the adrenalin fuelled activities or the drunken debauchery the town is famous for but, I ended up sampling a bit of both. The former was more by design than the latter which was the usual unplanned party night. I was out for a “Couple” on my first night in town, minding my own business, trying to string some words together for the previous blog when I bumped in to a pair of Brits and before I knew it, it was four in the morning and I was slightly the worse for wear. I’ve lost count of the amount of times this has happened on this trip but, I suppose it’s just the price I pay for being a super sociable, and not to mention, profoundly popular chap!
The adrenalin rush was provided by a Jet Boat safari up and down the Dart River. And you do dart along it too- at up to eighty kilometres an hour! It is slightly disconcerting to be travelling at such a speed when you can see all too clearly through the glistening
glacial waters, the very solid looking rocks of the river bed just inches below the bow of the boat. And the heart does beat a bit faster when passing any protrusions from the banks but, it is still not as big a buzz as skydiving.
This excursion was an informative one too as it included a walking tour through the woods with a very knowledgable and entertaining Maori guide. We learnt lots about the local flora and fauna but also a tadge too much about The Lord of the Rings. At the risk of seriously upsetting some of my younger relations, I’m afraid being shown half a dozen scene locations and having the productions back stories explained in depth didn’t overly impress me. I saw all three films and enjoyed them but without the sets being in place, the pieces of land that were pointed out to us were just part of the far more interesting natural beauty of New Zealand to me. I’m sure if you’re a buff and can relate to the explanations of “When this character did that there...” then it would be far more fascinating but, I had already had an overdose of Tolkein’s tales
on the ferry from Wellington to Picton;
I met a guy who had been an extra (hasn’t half the population?) and he took great pleasure in telling me everything about every scene he’d been in (and, by virtue of them being left on the cutting room floor, all the ones he hadn’t), every actor he’d stood near or nearly talked to, every set he’d sat around and every Ork he ought to have been. He was a nice bloke and it was interesting to learn about the experience but, it got a bit much when, during a conversation on an unrelated subject, he would cut me off mid-sentence to say something like;
“Oh, and do you remember that scene at Mount Doom when Orismear (or Vladimir, or whatever his bloody name was) says to Frodo- BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH and Frodo bounces the ring off his head (or something like that) then runs and hides behind the right leg of a walking tree?”
“Yeah” I say, lying through my back teeth.
“Well” He says “I was standing next to the bloke who was operating the trees left leg which, (wait for it) was just out of shot.”
Feigning awe
I say “Wow” or “Cool” or something, which is all the encouragement he needs to share with me yet another story of how he very nearly played a non-vital part in cinematic history. It did get a bit tiresome after a time which is probably why I wasn’t all that fazed by the additional information offered on The Rings trilogy on the Dart River tour. I did, however, take plenty of snaps for the sake of my Neices and Nephew so; I hope they appreciate them even if I don’t.
After a couple of fairly sleep deprived dorm room nights in the Queenstown hostel (due to the after hours antics of my room mates) I was glad to arrive in the tiny, three-streeted hamlet of Fox Glacier and get a good night’s kip. The night of undisturbed dreaming was essential for topping up my energy levels for yet another first time in my life, time of my life experience; A Heli-hike up to and on to the villages namesake. In case you haven’t got a scooby what that means, it’s a helicopter ride and then a two and a half hour trek on the glacier.
The flight up
only took a few minutes but my very first vertical take off was very exciting. The endorphin count doubled when we circled over the ice flow and whipped past a waterfall cascading down the cliff-like mountainside that had been carved out by it eons ago. Then, as we approached the landing site, the sheer scale of the glacier revealed itself. Because of the massive proportions of the surrounding peaks and the smooth ride in the chopper belying the speed at which we were actually travelling, the scale wasn’t appreciated until this point. As we descended, the whiteness below seemed to expand all around us. From altitude, the ice looked a featureless, Blanc blanket, deceiving the eyes as to its true dimensions. This had my untrained senses believing that we were closer to the surface than we actually were. But, nearing touchdown, I spied another helicopter and the ant like forms of Humans milling around thus confirming Fox as a truly immense expanse to me for the first time. It IS awesome, as the locals would say and for once, the use of the word would be justified.
Once landed and having been kitted out with Crampons, we spent an
amazing afternoon traversing crevasses, admiring crystal clear reflections in glacial pools, circumnavigating Seracs (ice pinnacles) and clambering through caves formed by frozen snow (twice, sliding through on our bellies water slide styley). Yet again, I was lucky with the weather and the cloudless azzure sky exaggerated the opal-esqueness of the ice as it flowed down through cobalt moraine to the verdant green of the rain forest in the lower valley. Fox Glacier is one of only three in the world that terminate in such a landscape (one of the others is its neighbour, Franz Josef- which I viewed from a short distance- and the other is in Argentina) and it is spectacularly picturesque.
En route to Punakaiki to visit the strange strata formations of Pancake Rocks (further up South Island’s west coast) I stopped at Hokitika to enjoy “The New Zealand Eco Centre.” Despite the name this is not a state of the art, government funded animal sanctuary but rather a run-down private enterprise. For my fifteen bucks it only took me twenty minutes to wander through its limited exhibits- mainly incarcerated sea creatures being kept in unnatural habitats. You may have guessed from that statement that I have
a distinct dislike for Zoos etc. However, I am always fascinated by being able to see weird and wonderful animals that I would otherwise never have had the chance to see. It’s a conscientious inquisitor’s catch twenty two you might say.
The one thing that persuaded me that I was morally correct in visiting this particular facility was the presence of kiwis which the owners, to their credit, re-introduce to the wild as part of a national programme. The specimens numbered only three and one of those only had one leg! (I made a complete prat of myself at a later date when trying to be all authoritative and amusing in front of others by stating the same but, came unstuck when I over anxiously blurted out that the unfortunate bird “only had three legs.” To which one of those assembled quipped “wow, that must be RARE!” In response I said nothing. However I did, ever-so-graciously, remove my foot from my mouth and place it firmly back on the floor where it belonged). But, if I thought the one legged, flightless bird was an unlucky creature then the Deer in the photo on this entry must have been even
more unfortunate- Poor old Bambi got run over by a boat. Now that’s REALLY bad luck when you live on a hillside miles away from the ocean!
After Punakaiki I ventured inland and upwards to Arthur’s Pass, high on the spine of the country in the Southern Alps. My ambition there was to sit atop one of the surrounding mountains surveying all below me. Following my ill-fated and near fatal attempt to ascend Huaynu Picchu in Peru, I was determined to reach a dizzying height without coming over all dizzy again. Despite my fitness not having improved (in fact, it’s probably substantially worse now than it was then) I had resolved in my own mind that I WOULD do this. The weather on the day in question was certainly an improvement on that which very nearly helped me to end my adventures prematurely in South America and I started the ascent of Avalanche Peak in blazing sunshine and high spirits. However, thirty minutes later, with a sweat soaked back, burning quadriceps and calf muscles screaming for a stretch, I came to a mental and physical pause with the thought crossing my mind that I had, yet again, bitten off
Above The Snow Line,
Looking across at Mt Rolleaston on the ascent of Avalanche Peak a bigger hill than I could chew. I purposely turned around to face the giddying gradient I had just got up, perhaps subconsciously hoping that the vertigo I had contracted momentarily above Machu Picchu would strike again, providing me with the perfect excuse to give up and go back down. Thankfully, it didn’t kick in and I gave myself a metaphorical kick up the back side (only metaphorical because I wasn’t physically capable of doing so at that time- I couldn’t have lifted my leg that high) and I resumed the climb. And what a climb it was;
A steep, rocky trail gave way to a snow pole guided route along a broad ridge above the tree line. The ridge got steadily steeper and nerve-wrackingly narrower until, after crossing a small patch of snow, it was nothing more than shards of sharp, glistening rock pinnacles to be carefully picked over or around with eighty degree drops on either side. This final scramble to the summit was strength-sapping and scary to say the least but, when I finally took what I saw as my rightful place at the peak, all of the weariness and worry slipped away down the slopes
on all sides and I inhaled the sweet, thin air of achievement.
A minute or two later I heard voices and wondered if the vertigo had finally come back to claim me as a victim at the top of my vertical victory. But, no, this was not the case and there were in reality two other intrepid trampers approaching the summit. Bloody typical! You climb for over three hours, seeing very few others the entire time (all on their way down) and then, in your moment of triumph, when you, for once in a fairly unselfish life, want to bask in your own glory, in your own individual way, what happens? You get company! Ahh well, at least they took a photo for me that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.
Job done, mission accomplished, ambition achieved and all that, I started to descend using the world famous, "Knackered knees, stumbling like a seventy-seven year old" technique. This is affective (to a degree) but is also very painful, and so was walking (or even just moving, really) for the next few days. But, every time I lamented at the amount of lactic acid in my legs, I just closed
my eyes and pictured the image I have permanently in my mind of myself at the top of Avalanche Peak. The pain faded pretty quickly- that memory will be with me forever. Not a bad deal as far as I’m concerned.
That was my last action packed, (sort of) planned adventure in Aotearoa. I’m currently residing at my cousin’s house just outside Christchurch while I try to sell Nubie. Once the old workhorse has wandered off in to the sunset with yet another intrepid traveller, I shall be making my way across the Tasman to Australia. I have no idea how and when as yet so, just in case it’s not possible for me to get to a pc around the upcoming festivities, I’d like to take this opportunity to wish all of you and yours the happiest and most peaceful of Christmases and all the very best in life for a fantastic New Year.
I’ll see you some time during it.
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jules
non-member comment
did u see our footprints...
......i am loving this part of your trip - you are literally following in our tracks, (although some of your pics are better than mine so will be needing copies - after all i have been so its not my fault that i a am rubbish at taking pics !!!!!) beers in The Boat very soon mate!!!!!