Checking Out Glacier, Beating The Sun, Ms. Yak-Yak

A peek out my window at 630 AM revealed cloudy skies. I was not pleased. The bikers were up and about early and I witnessed them in the same early morning rituals I’d practiced so many times in the past: dressing for the weather; choking down some bagels and fruit; jamming gear into panniers; strapping panniers onto the bikes. Had I not come to the conclusion this country is too hilly for me, I might be engaged in the same rituals.

By 730 I was at the Franz Josef Glacier. Actually the first car there. By 8 AM the steady "wop wop wop" of helicopters reverberated annoyingly through the valleys. What a fucking nuisance! Such a beautiful place but constantly interrupted by those annoying vehicles. And it was a steady procession of them, too. As if all the helicopter companies had this choreographed. They’d come from the west, head east to the head of the glacier and then turn back west. DAMN PAIN IN THE ASSES!

I took an early morning walk to a rock outcrop where the view promised to be spectacular. Since it was relatively early, the valley was shrouded in deep shadows but on the bright side, the clouds looked like they were taking a hike out of the picture.

Meanwhile, I read about how far the glacier had retreated in the past 200 years and how, not long ago it had advanced so far seaward that it was actually up and over the rock I was standing on. Now it was at least 2 KM further back up the valley.

Different levels of vegetation could be detected which corresponded to the ebbs and tides of glacial flow. At one time a lake had formed here (photos to prove it, too) and at another, it retreated so far around the corner of the valley that the face of it could not be seen from this vantage point as it is able to be seen today.

From the promontory I headed for another trail; advertised as being 15 minutes long in the Lonely Planet. What the LP did not state was that this trail had since been re-opened and its original ending point now extended almost all the way to the face of the glacier—almost 2 kilometers. So I hiked along the gravel valley bed to the ice fall. What a beautiful hike, past waterfalls, mist laden valleys and ice scoured boulders. Many rocks were tinged with a reddish algae which, reading about it later, is a pre-cursor to subsequent and more varied growth and re-birth of that particular area devastated decades ago by rolling ice sheets. And, true to form, if one looked closely at the various levels and complexities of growth in and around the rocks, it was plainly evident which areas had been ice-free the longest. I saw moss covered rocks, boulders with small plant life clinging to it, and huge rocks with cracks caused by larger plant growth shoving its roots into any orifice or cracked surface.

Reaching the end of the trail, after leaping many a rock and crossing a creek, I found a rope blocking my path with dire warning signs of what the collapsing ice face could do to one’s ability to live to a ripe old age. So I hung back. But it did not seem to stop many others (especially foreigners) who merely lifted the rope and kept going right up to the face of the glacier. I’ve developed a healthy respect for warning signs and was not about to risk my life yet a dark side of me wanted some ice to fall off the face to scare the shit out of those assholes who thought the law did not apply to them.

I also did not feel overwhelmingly compelled to jump the rope simply because I’d seen much better while in Antarctica. The advantage here was in being able to frame the glacier in something other than blue or white!!

Fortunately I’d gone at the right time as there were very few people tramping around. I was dilly-dallying looking for the right rock to bring back with me and also waiting for the sun pop up over the tops of the mountains so I could get a good photograph. Unfortunately, the skies were very misty and variably cloudy and this did not help things.

At about 930, hundreds of people showed up. It was as if some special clock had been set off in all of them simultaneously and they decided to show up. Only after a few minutes did I realize they were all part of these groups wherein the sponsoring company, having collected an outrageous amount of money off of them, volunteered to escort them up to the glacier face and even allow them to walk up these staircases carved out for them.

Once again, I thanked my lucky stars I was fortunate enough to have returned from Antarctica, privy to much of these activities. How lucky I felt not to have to go with such a large gaggle of people!

From a distance they all looked like a bunch of ants being led by the king or queen ant who possessed the radio. There were about 20 per group and later on I checked out the prices---$39 NZ for 3 hours. Let’s see, that’s 39x20=780. Not bad haul for three hours’ work!! Good grief. The unfortunate thing is that the guides were probably making only minimum wage. What a RACKET!!!

I stopped in town for groceries and to check the Internet. No mail but the market was in very sad shape. I suspect a buying opportunity may be presenting itself.

At the Café Franz I had a HUGE latte. AAAAAH!!! Then it was off to the Fox Glacier (pronounced GLAH – see - er)

I’m getting smarter (I think.) I immediately sought and found a room at the Fox Glacier Inn and Backpackers. It’s relatively new and I got a single room for $35 NZ. No bathroom or sink, just beds. Headed to the park and took off on a hike. Fox is a bit different than Franz in that you can get much closer to the face. The canyon walls seemed steeper and evidence of a huge rock slide is still readily visible.

Two huge ice caves awaited. As I was getting ready to leave I heard a thunderous roar followed a minute or so later by huge boulders of ice gushing out of the cave face. The icy river had its exit point at the mouths and I stood there for several minutes just gawking at the immense ice cubes floating by, tumbling downstream, beaten smaller and smaller by their journey.

It was simply a spectacular day to witness all this. The sun was warm, the skies relatively clear. Being on the west coast, these sorts of days are rare. The mountain tops stop all clouds from passing over the top and usual rainfall is in the order of 100 inches per year.

It’s no wonder then, that the glaciers get so big and flow down so low into temperate areas. The snow has got to go somewhere and the steepness of the mountain range guarantee that the direction is DOWN.

Having gotten my fill of the glacier I reconnoitered Lake Matheson in preparation for tomorrow morning’s sunrise. I’d seen photos of how beautiful the lake can be when the sun comes up that I figured I may as well give it a shot myself. The Lake is one of the most photographed areas on the South Island but only if weather conditions are perfect with no clouds and absolutely no wind. What I saw was truly magnificent even considering the blowing wind marring the mirror-like smoothness of the lake. In the background were the mountain ranges, the foreground held the lake and the periphery contained the trees which functioned as a framework.

Of course, like everything else here in NZ, getting to the spot for a photo entailed considerable walking. But it was pleasant, the weather good, and I had lots of time on my hands.

Upon returning from my reconnaissance, it was time to relax. So I grabbed some chow form my room and, sitting on the Hostel café’s verandah which faced west into a warm setting sun, I had a wonderful repast. It was made even more peaceful with the soft notes of music emanating from the café’s interior. Man!! This is the life!!!

BEATING THE SUN

The 23rd dawned BRILLIANT!!! JUST BRILLIANT. That pretty much sums up the early morning. No clouds anywhere. It was still dark when I left and made my way back to the lake. On arriving I noticed I was not the only one with the same idea. 4 others were ahead of me (based on car counts in the paring lot.) The path was dark but I was serenaded by ducks, assorted birds, cows, and other wildlife. Needless to say I arrived much too early and to have arrived an hour later would have been just as good. I failed to take into account that a "sunrise" means the sun has to climb OVER the tops of distant hills to make its presence known.

The lake itself was a bit agitated by a slight breeze making my desired effect elusive and significantly reducing my ability to capture its smooth surface in a photo so I resigned myself to just being able to take in a quiet sunrise.

Then the sun rose from my left (I was facing more or less south) and bathed the peaks of these Alps in a golden light. Add to the image a little mist rising from the pastures and you have a recipe for a magnificent view. No wonder everyone praises this place.

Amazingly, the breeze died a bit but by then it was too late. At 730 the viewing platform was loaded with people. Many took one or two photos and left right away. I call them the "point and shoot, been there, done that" crowd. I shot off close to a roll’s worth. Quantity means nothing in photography. I only hope I get one good photo from my morning’s adventures.

On the way back to the car park with a patch of bushes just filled with beautiful cobwebs of all sizes and shapes. Not sure why this happened where it happened. A colony of spiders? Of course, I positioned myself to optimize the webs, the mist collected on them and the sun and made Kodak some more profits.

I returned to the hostel, got my deposit back and went for a bowl of latte. A person can get addicted to these things! The price is right, too. About $2 or $2.50 NZ for a huge bowl. MMMMMM!!

All too soon it was time to head out.

The car was pointed southwards on SH 6 towards Lake Paringa. I read there was a really good restaurant there serving excellent salmon but I was too early in the morning for lunch and did not feel like waiting around. In retrospect I should have waited but at the time had no clue how long all my journeys would take.

Until 1965 the only road link between Otago Peninsula/Southland and the west coast was the Haast-Paringa Cattle Track. Only horses and cattle went that way. Now it is a hiking/tramping route. Imagine! 1965!! Not that long ago but before a railroad was put in. The road took years to build because weather conditions were so horrid and kept washing out the workers’ efforts.

At Knight’s Point, named after a surveyor’s dog, the views of the coast far down below were unparalleled.

The road turned inland at Haast and followed the Haast River into Mt. Aspiring National Park. No lack of waterfalls easily accessible on foot only minutes from the roadway.

Which brings up a point: there are many times I feel like I am the only one on the roads. This whole area is even less developed than Big Sur and far more huge. Not only is it sparsely populated but almost every attraction is devoid of masses of tourists. The reason? You need to walk quite a bit to take full advantage of the sites. I could only imagine how this sort of feature would thin the crowds in our state parks in the US. It is not unusual to have to walk 15-45 minutes one way to see anything in this country. The US mentality, meanwhile, is "If I can’t see it from my car, it is not worth seeing." Arm chair tourists. Lazy bastards. In that respect, NZ is a tramper’s paradise.

From a cyclist’s perspective (and there are a shitload of cyclists out here) the road from Fox Glacier to Queenstown is great. Albeit rolling with flat bits and a couple of nasty 5-12 km climbs. The road goes along Lake Wonaka. Absolutely beautiful. The lake itself is about 30 miles long, 1000 feet deep and at 910 MSL, the deepest part of the lake is below sea level. Millions of years ago, huge glaciers rolled through here at heights over 3000 feet. Hard to imagine.

Stopped at Cameron Creek and took a 10 minute walk to the view point. I also had my first nasty experience with sand flies. Pesky little buggers. Vicious little bastards. Tiny insectorial predators.

I quickly got out my deet and kept them at bay. The nasty little shits don’t actually sting but, in fact, bite off chunks of a victim’s flesh while their mouths drip an agent that dissolves the skin like an acid and this causes incredible itchiness.

The geology of the area here is changed as well. Even along the coast. Near Westover it is subtropical. Here it is more like southern California—the high desert type of land. Much fewer ferns, drier, too.

Hitchhiking seems like a safe thing here as I was able to see quite a few people engaging in it. I passed three young girls today (all traveling separately) but saw no male hitchhikers. Maybe they were hiding in the brush waiting for their cute lady friends to get a ride before they showed their faces??

Being the seemingly unexplored and wild area it cracked up to be, it is no wonder the guide books say to fill the gas tanks before venturing into here. There really is little habitation.

At about 1430 hours I stopped at Wanaka looking for the Tekana Café having read about it in a pamphlet or guide book. I scoured the streets up and down with no success. The shop must have been out of business. However, the little walkabout was worthwhile as I scored 4 rolls of ASA 200 film for about $13 US. CHEAP!!

The day was beautiful, sunny, and warm. I stopped in for lunch at the Sweet Retreat. YUMMM!

Done with my screwing around I headed straight for Queenstown and checked into the Wakatipu Lodge YHA Hostel. Took advantage to also book my boat ride in Milford Sound. Since the boat ride isn’t until Friday night I have time to relax in Queenstown before going to Te-Ana.

MEETING MS. YAK YAK

Out of necessity I did laundry (yech) and took a shower (not so out of necessity!) I wandered around town until about 9 PM and then headed back to my room to catch up on my journal. I checked out the lounge but it was dead so I had no reason to hang around there.

The Hostel is very nice. It has a huge modern kitchen, a TV room, great views of the lake, etc. Earlier I observed I’d be having about 3 roomies but I was able to get a bottom bunk since none had shown up. As I walked in a girl walks out. No big deal, I thought, probably a friend of a guy in there. Walking into the room, however, I see two other girls in there. I say to myself, "OK, what’s going on here?" The look of confusion on my face must have been very obvious. One of the young ladies says, "It’s OK, it’s a mixed room."

"Mixed room?" What the hell is that? But hey, what the hell, I’m game!

Then in walks a tall blond gorgeous Dutch gal. DAMN! She’s beautiful. But she can’t SHUT UP!!!

YAK! YAK! YAK! Me, me, me. I, I, I. She LOVED to talk about herself.

Something about taking a year off, traveling and working in Australia, vacationing here, returning there, how she got a car fairly cheaply, how she gets free accommodations everywhere she went (duh!! I wonder why? Damn, I’d give her free sleeps, too!), how everyone was so nice to her.

All I could think of was, "what if she were short, had a hairy lip, armpit hair, ugly, or fat? Would she have received the same treatment." Ah, well. It was entertaining.

Did I mention how beautiful she was?

She chatted (not we) until 1045. I hardly got a word in edgewise and that’s a major feat considering how I love to blab.

The other two girls arrived so now there were three. I wondered if they found this amusing ore unusual. Or were they already used to having totally strange men sleep in the same rooms with them. I felt like a fox (albeit old, grey and unwanted) in a hen house. VERY WEIRD!

HEADING TOWARDS MILFORD

Morning dawned fairly free of clouds and I was out of the Hostel by quarter after 7. I didn’t want to get up any sooner plus there was no rush. In the lobby I said goodbye to the lovely Ms. Chatterbox (never did get a chance to ask her name!) and went downtown to the Naff Caff for my morning jolt. It was closed until 8.

Rather than waste time sitting around I went to the dock area and caught a scow unloading thousands of sheep arriving at the end of their "Death Cruise" bound for the abattoirs and soon to be chops, stews, and what not.

Well, that vision still in my head I headed back to the café which was quite good and well recommended by the receptionist at the Hostel. Then it was time to find a cheap Internet kiosk. My wanderings via local advertising took me to a place in a mall-like building but no sooner than I sat down, logged on, got my mail and began reading it than the fire alarm went off scattering everyone to the winds. Scare over I went back in to be depressed about the market being down again. .

Queenstown has a population of only about 7500 people which swells, of course, with tourists but the town felt bigger. It used to be a mining town and the road to Glenorchy, 42 KM away, was only finished in 1962. Really undeveloped around here, that’s for sure.

Queenstown is also the center of any adrenaline activity you can think of: bungee jumping. Jet boating, para-sailing, parachuting, rafting. Basically anything that can go higher, faster, wetter, deeper, farther, harder, etc. is found here. Lots of of young kids spending atrocious amounts of money.

Got some shopping done, booked a room for the evening and tanked up the car headed towards Te-Anau. Magnificent scenery and godawful winds. I was so glad I was not on a bike! It was so bad that when I pulled off the road I had difficulty opening the car door. Thank goodness I was facing into the wind as had I been the other way around the force of the wind might have ripped the door from my hands.

On the way to Te Anau I skirted the Remarkables Range of mountains that girdle Queenstown. And they are truly that—remarkably beautiful. Wound my way along the coast of Lake Wakatipu.

Clouds moved in and I moved on arriving at Te Anau Downs and Grumpy’s Backpackers Hostel. Each room sleeps 4 to 6 but has an en suite bath, fridge and TV. All for $8 NZ each. The arrangement of the suite was such that there were two actual room with one having 2 beds and the other 4. I chose the room with 2 beds which was closest to the door so I could make my escape without waking anyone up.

I took a walk around the area and admired the views from the hostel itself overlooking a lake. When I got back a nice crowd was evident. All were crammed into the kitchen area: two Ozzies, some Germans, some that may have been Dutch by their accents. Quite humorous to watch them all trying to make dinner. Pots boiling, knives cutting and chopping veggies, dishes being washed, kids yakking.