The Tussockland Tussle
With the impending arrival of the Tousignant family, Mere and I were very excited to have our first visitors down south. As a bonus the action got started a little early when Mere's mother, Lisa, came down ahead of time to do a luxury tramp on the Milford Track that had us all very jealous. She was down for a few days to acclimatize, so I decided to leave them alone for a little mother/daughter time and I headed out to tackle the Motatapu Track.
This 3-day tramp traverses the rugged, tussock-covered high country between Wanaka and Queenstown. It's much less popular and much less built up than many of the hikes we have done thus far. It falls into the category of a "marked route" which means they don't so much build a trail as put up orange markers and let you figure out your own way. This route was particularly tough as it was 3 days of constant vertical change. The trail eschewed the valleys below and wound it's way around barren peaks, down to beech laden canyons, and back up over windswept ridges. Up and down, up and down the route went through some of the toughest country New Zealand has to offer.
Suffice to say, I'm glad I didn't drag Meredith along with me on this one. The constant up and down was grueling enough but the lack of a real trail made this hike one of the most challenging I've tackled to date. That said, it's difficulty drives away the masses handily so those who soldier on through it are rewarded with trails and valleys and mountainsides all to themselves.
If I thought this was tough, some Brits I bet along the way really put things in perspective for me. They were hiking the Te Araroa trail that links up trails from the tippity top of the North Island all the way to Bluff down at the bottom of the South Island. Motatapu was just a blip on their radar as they crushed one of the world's great trails. They had been walking since early October...I met them late January, with another quarter of their journey left to go. Neither of them looked to be in stunningly great shape, but none the less they both kicked my ass up and over the next pass on the third morning without breaking a sweat. It just goes to show you, hiking's about the love of the game not about one particular physique.
At the end of the tramp, wound up getting a bit more than I bargained for as well, after battling the passes and stomping my way for kilometers down a river to the ghost town of Macetown (where I planned to meet Meredith) I learned that the road was unpassable for our little RAV. So I had a little lunch, laced back up and sloshed my way through the river the extra 15k to Arrowtown, to find Meredith and Lisa drinking coffee, playing cards, and waiting for my dusty ass. There's my lesson hard learned for poo-pooing 4WD advisories.
The Coolest Thing I've Ever Done
After sending Lisa on her way to her epic trek, we headed out on likely the coolest experience either of us have ever been a part of. A helicopter tour around Mt. Aspiring. Pictures will utterly fail to do the experience justice, and my words probably won't do much better, but here goes.
With some generous Christmas contributions to the NZ fun fund from my parents, a heli-tour started looking like a real possibility, and I knew just where I wanted to go, Mt. Aspiring. Known as the "Matterhorn of the Southern Alps" Aspiring may not be particularly tall, but it is undoubtedly one of the most dramatic peaks on the planet. I mean they literally used it in the goddamned lighting of the beacons scene in LOTR. It was a natural place to want to zoom around in a helicopter.
With a no-fuss pickup at the Wanaka airport, Meredith and I were off on the fastest, most expensive, most jaw-dropping, most worthwhile ride of our lives. We cruised over the low fields to pick up another group at the top of a nearby hill (how did I miss that option?) before soaring over the town and the cobalt blue of Lake Wanaka. Within seconds we were at a better vantage point than I had achieved in hours of hiking on our last trip to the area. Our first stop dropped us atop a craggy outcropping right next to the lake to look back over the waters and dramatic peaks off to the east. It was all just a taster for what came next.
We loaded up and shot back into the air and over the next ridge to enter the domain of Mt. Aspiring proper. While it tops out at only 9,950 ft. the mountain is still the highest by a good margin in the area, and it was immediately awe-inspiring rising knife-life in the distance above the glaciers that carved its upper reaches. We swooped down into the glaciated valley that climbs the peak's western side. As we edged closer to the mountain the sky disappeared behind the blades of the heli leaving us to try and fathom the true scale of the glacier that carved it's way inexorably down the mountainside to the warmer climes below.
The scale is was truly gets you on a trip like this. Each crevasse in the glacier is large enough to swallow you, no swallow the whole helicopter, without thinking twice and as we soared over the glacier we passed them by the dozen like so many cracks in a loaf of bread. The cliffs. The cliffs towered so high that literally, you couldn't see the sky. Only the countless waterfalls provided any true sense of scale on these edifices of rock as they gushed millions of gallons of water down to the valley below. Meanwhile, the pilot grinned and swooped as our whole group was struck absolutely speechless.
We encircled the mountain by heli, shooting up over ridges and back down to the glaciers below, each new valley offering a more staggering view than the one before. Then we cruised across a high hanging valley to a lower glacier that looked back on the mountain. This was our second stop. The group piled out onto the snow of Isabell Glacier in our shorts and t-shirts hooting and hollering like maniacs at the beauty of it all. This is what you come to New Zealand for, unspoiled mountains glacier-carved in their beauty wrapping around you in every direction as far as the eye can see.
After tossing a few snowballs, and taking pictures of every single angle we could think of, it was time to load back up for our bittersweet flight back. The mountain faded away like a memory behind us as paragliders swooped off of the peaks below (there was a competition on, who knew that was a thing?) and we tried to soak up every last vista we could on the way back to Wanaka. In true heli fashion, our pilot nonchalantly set us down back at the airport on a trailer barely big enough for the skids like it was nothing. Talk about a dream job.
The Tousignants On Tour
After soaring through the peaks it was time to boogie on back to Queenstown to unite with the rest of the Tousignant clan as they came into town. Michael (Mere's dad) and Lisa were in from Colorado, while sister Davis and main squeeze Jason were visiting from Brisbane. Let's just get this out of the way off the bat: spending a week in Queenstown as a proper tourist was a whole other ball game.
Michael generously put us all up in a stellar condo looking over Lake Wakatipu with mountains wrapping 360 degrees around. We were situated just a short walk into town which was a huge upgrade from our first QT experience. So take note, if you're ever in QT know that you need to ditch your car as soon as possible so you can explore the town as a relaxed tourist and not a stressed-out driver. We shopped, we ate, we made merry, and just enjoyed the hell out of every last minute. Each day started with a mountain bike ride on the world-famous trails of the area, moved on to a casual lunch, worked in some touristy activities (but not too much, you don't want to be stressed out on your holiday from holiday for god's sake), included a solid nap, and closed with some great dinners around town.
The highlight had to be the vineyard tour Mere and Davis took us on. A decked out Sprinter bus picked us up at 11 am sharp and took us on a whirlwind tour of the finest vineyards Central Otago has to offer. At each cellar door (the kiwi wine version of a tap room) our helpful guide walked us through a diverse tasting making sure to highlight the wines that set the vineyard apart. We cruised down the Gibbston Valley to our new favorite little farm town of Cromwell and got a solid earful about why Otago is such a great region for Pinot Noir and walked through how each vineyard brought their own twist to the varietal.
Taking a yearlong vacation is just exhausting work, so it's always nice to have a holiday from your holiday. But not quite as nice as finally seeing some familiar faces way down south.
Tackling The Tempest
Speaking of familiar faces in our land, right after the Tousignant's took off we had another visitor. Matt Cohen, congratulations you officially win the prize for being the first friend to find your way to New Zealand and visit us!
Now Matt was going to be visiting a part of the country we'd visited briefly (even considered moving to) but definitely wanted to spend more time in, Nelson. Specifically we wanted to tackle a highly recommended tramp in the national park just north of town, Abel Tasman. Now this whole region is known as the sunshine capital of New Zealand for it's relative lack of precipitation and mild, mediterranean climate. That is not the story I have to tell you today however.
Abel Tasman National Park takes those sunny days and makes the most of them with a string of pearlescent white-sand beaches flanked by aquamarine waters and towering green jungles up it's length. Due it's beachy nature many visitors tackle this tramp not by foot but by kayak, an option it took us all of two seconds to jump on. So we signed up for a two day kayak one day hike through the park camping on the beach along the way.
Now, weather forecasts were swirling in the week leading up to our trip, but as we headed up the island one thing became clear: with out a doubt we were going to get pissed on. Specifically, the tail end of a cyclone was expected to dump rain on the region for the entirely of our second day. When we showed up for our kayak safety briefing the guides could only shake their heads and chuckle at our misfortune. In spite of the forecasted rain, the seas were supposed to be fairly calm and wind was supposed to be a non-factor, the two things that will make them cancel trips. So, we were on as planned.
We loaded up the kayaks (Mere and I in a two man, Matt going solo) with way more provisions than we could have conceivably fit into our packs at the outset, and shoved off. With a wave so long from our safety instructor we were free to go forth and explore the park. Now despite the forthcoming onslaught, weather the first day was actually pretty great. It was solidly cloudy but there was not a breath of wind and the sea looked like a sheet of jade glass. We cruised easily across to have a spot of lunch on a nearby island before heading around to go check out the local seal colony. With the lack of wind and beating sun we redefined "leisurely kayaking"; we'd take a few strokes then relax, splash each other, go check out some blue penguins bobbing along in the water, then maybe paddle a few more strokes.
After a couple hours of lolling along we pulled into our first campsite, Te Pukatea, which even on a cloudy day was as pretty as could be. It was a tiny crescent shaped beach flanked by jungly headlands, crystalline ocean filled the basin to complete the scene. There aren't a ton of palm trees in that part of the world, but that aside it was every inch of tropical paradise. So, we made camp alongside a select few fellow kayakers, had a leisurely dinner, and generally thought about how splendidly our trip was going.
And then the rain began.
Just as we were headed to bed the skies opened up, and continued with no abatement all night long. In the morning we were still all reasonably dry, but knew that from the second we got out of our tents we were going to be drenched for the foreseeable future. Nonetheless, the ocean looked reasonably calm, the wind was down, so we soldiered on out, packed the kayaks, and shoved out to sea.
At first things still looked pretty bright. We were wet, sure, but we were making good time seeing some wildlife and even waved hello to the only other kayakers foolish enough to head out on that day. Then the squalls came in. Bands of thick cloud passed overhead taking us from wet to more drenched than we'd ever been. The seas began to rise, and visibility faded in and out with the rain as we muscled our way northward. Before we knew it we were out beyond a very exposed headland as the seas continued to swell. We would lose sight of young Matthew in the channels between the waves, and to make matters worse our navigational point faded in and out of visibility off in the distance. With our bums tightly clenched and arms beginning to tire we had no choice but to paddle like hell in hopes of finding calmer seas in a bay to the north.
After what seemed like an eternity of taking on the full brunt of the tempest we finally, mercifully, made our way around the final headland and into the calmer waters towards our destination: Onetahuti. Total time paddling, two hours...sure seems like a lot more when you're in the thick of it. Now this beach is truly a marvel of nature. It's white sand crescent extends for miles, with great waters for snorkeling and swimming, and just the perfect number of trees for shade. But on this particular day nothing looked so sweet as what we first saw, a kitchen shelter.
Not all campsites have them (Te Pukatea sure didn't) so we were elated to see that despite the fact that all our things would continue to be drenched and we had virtually no chance of sleeping very dry, we could at least huddle out of the onslaught in the meager shelter during the day. We set up our tents as quickly as we could and headed to the shelter for one of the most serendipitous afternoons of our lives. Naturally, everyone hiking or kayaking wanted a piece of shelter as they came by. So we packed under the modest roof, traded tall tales, taught (and learned) new card games, marveled at the weather (nobody had seen rain even remotely like that), and thanked our lucky stars that we'd hauled some whiskey along to warm us up.
All told it's estimated that 120 millimeters of rain fell on Abel Tasman park that day. For you Colorado folk that would convert to about 5 feet of snow. Every time we thought it was raining as hard as it could mother nature took it as a challenge to hose it down even harder. Mercifully, right around the time we headed to our damp beds the rain abated, and the next morning we were treated to one of the most magnificent (and rewarding) sunrises I've ever seen.
Our final day on the tramp was an absolute stunner. What visiting Abel Tasman is all about. The sun shone down turning the ocean a jaw dropping aquamarine inviting you to step in for a dip at every turn. With about 5 minutes of southern sunshine we were able to dry our stuff more than we had all of the previous day. So we swam, ate a slow breakfast and set off down the beach by foot. This is what every day of hiking would've been like if we'd opted not to kayak. Down along a huge sandy beach, up over a jungly headland, and on to the next beach. It really is a trip like no other that I would highly, highly recommend to prospective NZ travelers, we just didn't get an ideal experience. But we gained an unforgettable experience with one of our best friends. Thanks for making it look easy Matt!