The Sands of Time...

...or something like that. Maybe the lame sand metaphor was inspired by the crunchy bits atop half a pan of hot peach crisp that Natalie and I just consumed. However, these particular sands of which I speak seem to have gone quite quickly the past couple weeks (hence the lack of recent postings or photos). Since the last installment we headed further south into Fiordlands National Park for four highly anticipated days on the Kepler Track. However, due to unusually cold temperatures (near freezing at night and snow down to 1000ft), we decided to bang it out in three days instead, using the extra time to head out to the coast and explore Milford Sound. While the Kepler was a little colder than would have been ideal, and almost in a complete whiteout for the entire day in the alpine, it was still a gorgeous walk. Inspired by an American born Aussie hitchhiker who was working in the area, we drove out to Milford Sound to see what all the fuss is about. The weather cooperated just long enough for us to have a fantastic evening on the beach, surrounded by dramatic peaks plunging into the ocean, accented by waterfalls pouring from their heights. Oh yeah, another highlight was the delicious (and free) pizza that our friend the hitchhiker served up at the only cafe at the end of the road. The next day, after being kept up half the night by screeching Kea´s (the worlds only alpine parrot), we took another of the pizza maestro´s advice and day hiked up Gertrude Saddle. While it was too cloudy to see all the way back into the sound, we still got spectacular view of the glacial carved Gertrude Valley and the snowy, glaciated peaks towering over it.

The next highlight of the trip was a stay at a hostel in Queenstown, where we were treated to not only our first showers in almost two weeks, but a soak in a spa and getting to do LAUNDRY! That´s right folks, the first laundry stop since Puerto Natales Chile, nearly two months ago. Oh how fine clean long underwear feels! Mind you, while we (semi) frequently rinsed socks and underwear in streams and lakes, its not quite the same as good old hot water and detergent. One more driving day took us up to Christchurch, the second largest city in New Zealand, located on the semiarid east coast. There, we spent a couple of days working on selling our trusty Subaru wagon, the Silver Bullet. Unfortunately, at this time of year there are about four times as many sellers as buyers. Not good. So, after spending one night with Diego, a new friend we met in the Los Angeles airport on our flight south, we left the car in the city and headed inland for what would be a fantastic final tramp to bid farewell to the backcountry of New Zealand.

The Waimakariri-Harman Pass route took us through two alpine passes and three river valleys in Arthur´s Pass National Park in the Southern Alps. While the daily mileage was not nearly as long as many of our tramps over the past months, this particular route proved both challenging and rewarding. Much of the track follwed rocky river beds and included several steep climbs up slippery, rooty, sometimes shale covered slopes, necessitating the use of hands to haul both tramper and pack up their dripping green walls. Additionally, we spent the three nights of the tramp in huts with very good company, one transplanted Swiss man, a girl from the Czech Republic, and two young and enthusiastic Germans. The second night, after climbing Harman pass and scrambling for three hours down and over boulders in the pouring rain, Natalie and I stole out of the hut with towels, chocolate, and the remaining St. Patrick´s Day whiskey to find the hidden hotsprings next to the Taipo River. After searching for only 15 minutes, we found the steaming, sulphurous pools, nearly drowned out by the swollen river. With only a little rock and shovel work, we had one pool dug out and barricaded from the fast flowing cold water--spending the next few hours soaking while the rain fell upon us.

I could continue about what made this particular tramp so enjoyable, but the final tidbit that´s worth sharing now is that we got to use a fantastic little device called a cable car to cross the Taipo River the third day. It is basically exactly what it sounds like. A little metal box attached to a cable across the river, which when released with rider inside, zooms down to the middle, high above the water. A fellow tramper then cranks away on a pulley wheel from the bank to finish the second half of the journey back up to the station on the other side. It is possible to use it solo, but appeared to be very hard to work and according to accounts in hut log books, almost left some trampers stranded in the middle.

Returning to Christchurch on the fourth night, we met back up with Diego and his friend Amandine. Much to our relief and joy, the ball and chain that the Silver Bullet had become was taken off of our hands early the next morning. This allowed us to join the two of them on a day trip to Hanmer Springs where we took a nice walk in the coniferous forest while they mountain biked (lucky bastards). After spending a couple of hours in the mist and rain, a soak in the very commerical, but still fantastic Hanmer Hotsprings finished off a great day.

We are now spending our last few days in New Zealand in and around Christchurch, exploring the coastline, saying goodbye to our new friends, and letting the experiences of the past 4.5 months soak in. I feel as though it would be appropriate to make some closing comments for what will surely be the last entry for los dos gringos en paraiso, but I realize that none of it can be summed up. In fact, we have seen so much and experienced so many places, people, foods, customs, mountains, rivers, lakes, and every space in between that I struggle to comprehend them myself or how they will shape both of our futures. On March 24th, Natalie and I will fly back to the states, back to our families and friends we have missed so much, our beds, familiar things, and summer jobs. While this journey is nearly over, its stories, memories, and pictures will surely remain longer after the jet lag has gone.

No time for laundry

No time for showers either, but we realized last night that we have not done laundry since we got off the Torres del Paine circuit in Chile. Yikes. Since we got to the South Island, we have been on tramps with no more than a day or two of travel in between. At least we've been getting good rinse-outs in the rain, though now the car smells like wet clothes- all the time. We had a sunshiney day to dry out after the Inland Pack Track- making pancakes at the Pancake Rocks, spending a few hours on a beach, and camping next to a fantastic lake- fantastic because it was warm and crystal clear for swimming! The next day we took a long day hike to Franz Josef Glacier before continuing South to a lovely river valley, where we camped, ate curry and planned our final three treks. Our most recent trek in Mt. Aspring National Park was a three-day out-and-back with two lovely day hikes- all planned around camping (rather than staying in expensive huts) and the forecasted rain. The first day went as planned- 18 km through a mountainous river valley of golden fields, mossy forests and several swinging bridges, to a rock bivy at the head of the valley. Well, it went as planned until we saw the rock bivy. With a drip-marked ceiling no more than three feet above the rain-guttered dirt floor, and barely space for the two of us to lay down, it would be a rough sleep (or no sleep) with the sand-flies. More importantly, having learned from experience on our last trek, the forecasted rain would rise the mountain steams we had crossed on our way up, and most probably keep us in that night's shelter for at least a full day after. So, after dinner, we repacked our packs and used the last our of daylight, as well as an hour of headlamp light, to hike back though the dark forest to Pearl Flats, where we set up camp. As rain begin to spatter the tent late that night, we praised ourselves for making such a great decision to night-hike back down. Because we were not in a legal campsite, we ventured out into the downpour that morning to make camp outside one of the huts, which was actually the day's plan. After making lunch and tea under the cooking shelter, a fellow hiker ushered us into the hut to warm up. That night and well into the next day, as silver sheets of rain continued to blow down the valley, we chatted and played cards in the hut with a Kiwi man and a Dutch couple, all also camping to avoid hut fees, but enjoying the warmth of the hut's woodstove in the meantime. The hut warden was very kind to allow this, and even more so to encourage it, as she and her partner joined our games and even brought us fresh-made scones. Both of the day-hikes were aborted, but as we hiked out in a light drizzle the third day, observing how the valley walls were now striped with ribbons of waterfalls that had not been there before, Sam and I agreed that it was a lovely three-day tramp, even if we weren't tramping for most of it. Anyways, it was a lovely way to spend a couple of rainy days. (Especially not being stranded in a tiny rock bivy!) From there, we headed to Queenstown, where we found a secluded little lake very close to town to camp for free. Today we climbed the local peak, 5,100 feet, with a glorious 360 veiw over mountains and lakes. Tonight we will probably return to our lake, and tomorrow we head south to Fiordlands to hike our first New Zealand Great Walk (meaning popular and expensive). It will certainly be beautiful, with an entire day of Alpine, and the weather forecast is even looking alright! `

The long wait

I'm watching Natalie washing boots and gaitors in a flowing stream. I've seen this before, the only odd thing is that its dark--and 4:45AM. Yet, because of the past 3.5 days, I've never been more relieved. I'm relieved because two hours ago, triggered by the sound of raindrops on the the tent, I jumped out of my sleeping bag, pulled on raingear and ran down to the Fox River to try and cross it by headlamp. Being successful and feeling hopeful, if not a bit frantic, I race back to the tent where Natalie and I furiously pull it down and pack our packs. By 3:30AM we're arm in arm, headlamps pointed down into the rushing water. Thirty minutes later we have to ford the same river again, this time much easier, but have to search for the trail on the opposite bank by headlamp in the thick bush--wading downstream 100 meters before finding it. Once found, it was a relatively easy, if not slippery, 45 minutes to the Fox River bridge, where we planned on being Sunday afternoon after a short two day trek--its now Tuesday morning. The middle of the the night rush was set in motion by the possibility that it was our only chance to get out while the river was low enough, and before more rain came. Knowing that this track was prone to flooding rivers, we packed an extra night and day's food (sort of) and the tent, even though the only planned night would be in the shelter of a cave. The first night, sheltered inside the Ballroom, a 75 x 50 meter rock overhang, it began to pour. Being prepared for this, we spent most of the next day waiting for the swollen river to subside. By 2PM, it was barely crossable, so we broke camp and headed downstream. However, 25 minutes later, where the Fox and Dilemma Rivers met, we had another ford. And this one was completely unpassable. We set up the tent amongst the ferns high on the river bank to wait for the next day. To our utter dismay, it rained again at night, swelling the torrent higher than the day before. Not knowing how many days we would have to wait, we began to ration food, eating only 1/2 cup of trail mix each for the entire day. I had never felt so trapped, so anxious (or so hungry). We tried many routes, but the limestone cliffs were too high and the river too strong. That is why at 2:45 this morning, we took advantage of the low river, rather than wait and be trapped another day--or more.

While it was indeed a scary situation, not knowing when we'd be able to get the final couple of hours out of the bush, we were always warm, safe, and with our two heads firmly on our shoulders.

Many lessons well learned,
Sam

South Island Adventures

After a much needed (well, maybe just for me) rest day in Picton on the South Island, we headed just south into the Mt. Richmond Range for a four day wilderness trip that took us over countless (only because we weren't counting) peaks and connecting ridges. We didn't really have much information on the route, because our original plan was foiled due to "impassable" trails. However, good map in hand, we set out hoping to do the route in 3-4 days, with enough food for 5 or 6. After the first day, we realized that "tramping route" definitely did not mean TRAIL, so we thoroughly enjoyed the solitude of not seeing another soul for 4 days. Although there wasn't always a definte trail, the route was indeed well marked and route finding was never a problem. The un-anticipated challange for us was that the going over wet, slippery, rooty, rocky, terrain with frequent down trees was a little slower than we're used to hiking. This didn't create any problems, but seriously altered our actual vs projected hiking times based on looking at the distances and elevation on the map.

The very next day after getting off the trek, we hired two single kayaks out of Marahau, on the border of Abel Tasman National Park, and headed up the coast for two days of paddling in the Tasman Sea. Before the trip began, we had a 60 minute kayaking "lesson" from Mitch, the Independent Guides owner, who wanted to make sure we were spot on before sending us off into the great wide open. While very informative and usefull, for for safety and our paddling form, it sometimes felt a bit like being barked at by a drill instructor. Natalie (Netty, as Mitch called her) seems to take the brunt of the barking. The weather held well for us, with only a little rain the first day, along with some decently sized swells. We paddled among drippingly green islands with sandsone bluffs and caves, past seal colonies, and over glowing blue jellyfish floating in emereld green water. The second day the tides were in our favor on the way back, and we were able to explore way up an estuary at high tide.

After a night camped next to gypsy wagons headed for the Marikou gypsy fair, we continued south and west to the coastal city of Westport from where we'll try to embark on another trek if the weather decides to change its mind....

Sam