A Southern Send-Off
With a tear in my eye, it’s my last post from New Zealand! Good thing I got some powdery turns to help me get over it.
These Snowy Alps
It's here ladies and gentlemen. The end is nigh. Meredith and I are officially clinging to the last threads of our yearlong visas and plotting our next moves. So we'll be packing up our lives here in Wellington in just a few weeks and jetting off for a summer in the true down under, Tasmania. But before then I had to get out on one last, epic trip to ski some snowy southern mountains.
While I by no means moved to New Zealand for the skiing I've been sniffing out the most promising areas down south all year, and my travesty of a time skiing on the North Island had to be redeemed. Fortunately, I had a string of friends down on the South Island ready to play host and help me put together a whirlwind ski vacation. I loaded up what few pieces of ski gear I've lugged along with me and took my first flight- in almost a year!- to Queenstown.
Things got off to a buttery smooth start as I jetted down to QT and was fueling up with a local staple, Fergburger, when who walked in but (my host) the one and only Preston Gene Penny, cut early from a day's work. Preston was living over in Australia and has decided to extend his southern adventure and is now living in Queenstown with a gaggle of Aussie flatmates in a house that reminds me so much of my friends' places in Vail it's cracks me up. Ski bum accomodation is the same the world over. It was great to have a warm welcome and get to know a crew properly living the southern winter dream. To cap off a great start: a sunset stroll looking across Lake Wakatipu up towards my destination for the next day, The Remarkables.
“The Remarkables solidified my general opinion of NZ ski fields: they’re all basically A Basin.”
The Remarks (as they call it) is one of two local fields outside Queenie and sits up in the iconic Remarkables mountain range just north of town. With all New Zealand ski fields, you start your drive off in a verdant valley below and turn off onto a purpose built road that climbs dramatically up to the snow line above. It's a foreign concept for a Colorado boy who's accustomed to skiing right out of town, but driving up those windy roads is a hoot nonetheless. Each one I hit seemed crazier than the last, but little did I know what I was in store for down the line. After my trip to Turoa, The Remarkables solidified my general opinion of NZ ski fields: they're all basically A Basin. Above tree line, wide open, laid back, and begging to be explored. Fortunately this first day gave me basically peak A Bay, clear blue skies, incredible views in every direction, and some soft turns still to be found in the surrounding hike-to terrain. I especially appreciate that The Remarks has dispensed with all illusions of a mid-Mountain lodge. Instead in their main bowl you'll find a packed down picnic area with some guys flipping burgers, beers flowing, and tunes pumping. Not a bad way to get my legs under me.
From there it was straight up and over the Crown Range and into my favorite NZ ski town, Wanaka, to see an old friend. Kevin Fleuger has been a friend for years, and I've long known him to be an ambitious skier. He's living a dreamy ski bum life moving from Aspen to Jackson and now chasing the endless winter down in Wanaka. It's funny that we never actually hit the hill together in Colorado, but no matter he had some epic terrain he wanted to show me at his local hill, Treble Cone.
“With no trees anywhere you get the fully blind skiing experience of Vail’s back on a stormy day everywhere you go.”
My first day at TC did bode a bit on the ominous side, rain in town and a socked in hill up the valley. But what of it? I'm a well accustomed storm skier, and if anything I was hyped for some freshies. In keeping with the increasingly crazy ski field road theme, TC did not let me down. This one's wholly unpaved and on my first day they wouldn't even let me attempt it in my little rental, so we jumped on the bus with some other rambunctious skiers and drove up into the clouds as Lake Wanaka faded away into the distance below. We arrived to a nearly empty ski field (despite some great snow) and it soon became evident why. Kiwis don't storm ski. And with (arguably) good reason, with no trees anywhere you get the fully blind skiing experience of Vail's back on a stormy day everywhere you go. Fortunately the clouds were blowing in and out and we had some patches of good visibility as we warmed things up skiing hot laps on the front side, which- with its rolling, open terrain- felt a lot like hitting Ricky's Ridge at Vail over and over. Not too shabby.
We eventually moved on to the rowdier back side for some fun little cliff lines and untouched turns. The real treat came the next day, however, when the snow gods gave us a solid 6-8" overnight and clear skies in the morning. This brought out the masses for sure, but we had a plan: head straight back to the easily accessible Motatapu chutes in the TC side country. Back in the chutes things are fully pinned. Steep slopes, soft spines, and cliffs abound. We hit it just right sneaking in some killer laps on some untouched southern pow, even getting a few cheeky face shots before the clouds came back in and had us running for more central slopes.
“Each turn felt laden with memories.”
After two killer days in Wanaka I left on high for a bittersweet drive across the island to my next destination, Christchurch. It's a considerable haul over some high mountain passes and through some of the island's most beautiful country. I got a bit misty as I cruised past the beautiful high mountain lakes Ohau, Pukaki, and Tekapo on a dramatic afternoon as a storm moved over the mountains. Each turn felt laden with memories of all the adventures Meredith and I had over the summer on this stunning island. But as I drove on the rains set in earnest, boding for great things ahead.
In Christchurch, I met up with some friends from Dunedin: Harriet and Charlie. The report looked great, so we were up early and sunrise found us, pedal to the metal, heading for the central Canterbury ski fields. Now, if you do research on skiing in New Zealand you'll likely come across all the mountains I've described to you thus far, maybe even Turoa up north if you're really looking. Which makes sense, they're the biggest hills with the biggest budgets. But the best terrain may pass right underneath your nose. That's because central Canterbury is home to some of the most prominent mountains in the Southern Alps; indeed, visiting the area gives the truth to that name, these crowded snowy mountains are nothing if not truly alps.
“The most lovable, renegade ski area I’ll ever visit.”
The hills in this area- lovingly called 'club fields' as they're all run and supported by registered club members (but are still public access)- are ragged operations with not a single chairlift between them. They all serve to provide a home base and basic access to extended areas of side country surrounding their respective peaks. Based off the near foot of fresh that fell overnight we headed about two hours inland from Christchruch, way up Arthur's Pass, to Temple Basin. In keeping with the crazy ski field road trend, this one wasn't even a road. Instead, you pull off the highway and toss all your gear onto a sketchy goods lift that carts all your shit up the hill as you hit a hiking trail. Half an hour of huffing and puffing up from the valley floor gets you to snowline, and probably the most lovable, renegade ski area I'll ever visit.
A couple huts provide rooms, food, and shelter for what have to be some of New Zealand's most ambitious skiers. You can really cut the chaff with a hike to the base of a mountain. We piled into the lodge and geared up for an epic day as the sun crested the peaks in a cobalt sky. With no chairlifts you're conveyed up the hill on two rope tows at Temple Basin, but not tows like I've ever seen them.
“It’s so cheap, it’s so minimal, it’s so contrarian to so much of what the world of skiing has come to stand for.”
I'd been well forewarned of "having to learn to use a nutcracker" but the reality was so much rowdier than I'd expected, it cracked me up. No handles or pomas on these tows, that's much too fancy. Instead, you ski up (usually completely alone) to a speeding rope and grab on. Once up to speed you take a two-piece metal device -the "nutcracker" (attached to a harness around your waist)- flick it artfully around the rope and clamp down on it with your free hand. All this has to be done before you hit the first pulley tower though, or you risk losing a finger. It's so cheap, it's so minimal, it's so contrarian to so much of what the world of skiing has come to stand for. I loved every second of it.
Once up on the hill, Harriet and I positively redefined hot laps all morning in Temple Basin's main bowl. With sunny skies, deep snow, and thinning crowds (as they headed to the hike-to terrain) we crushed an epic morning. I'd be curious to know the speed of one of these rope tows vs a quad, they are not slow. With no lines at the bottom, and no rest at all on the full throttle ride back up, skiing at club fields is not for the faint of heart or weary of leg.
“I didn’t move to New Zealand for full-throttle side country lines, but I will always jump at the chance.”
After a lunch overlooking some of the world's most dramatic mountains, I headed off for the afternoon to explore some of TB's side country with Charlie and his big mountain fiending friends. A boot pack up a knife ridge brings you to the summit of Mt. Temple proper, from there stable snowpack and tasty chutes call your name in every direction. Out back here though it was all self-serviced getting back up, so hiking all out I was able to get in three killer big mountain lines off various aspects of the mountain before sundown. I didn't move to New Zealand for full-throttle side country lines, but I will always jump at the chance.
Night at the club fields is almost as fun as the day of epic skiing. With the hike in most people are loathe to schlep down mid-weekend, so everyone crams in for the night. Two huts positively packed with frothing skiers, including the rowdy ski club from a college in Christchurch; spirits were high as we sank some beers, and laid a plan for the next day.
“With sights set on a real beast, Mt. Phipps.”
By this point, my legs were moving on towards fully cooked and I knew I only had one real hike left in me, so we figured why not send it off in style. I met up with a crew in the hut common area that the morning with sights set on a real beast, Mt. Phipps. It sits towering just west of Mt. Temple and with no real tow access up it, we were looking to be the first group to ski it for the season.
Naturally, the pictures have a tough time doing the climb justice as we moved from open powdery bowls to steep chutes to knife ridges over the course of a nearly 5-hour hike up the imposing mountain. I've done some backcountry skiing in my life, but never true ski mountaineering. Indeed, it was the track of a couple of climbers that had us thinking Phipps in the first place. Boy, was it a whole different ball game. I'd never climbed with an ice ax before but was sure glad to have it as we worked our way steadily up the steep face of the mountain. Only the stable snowpack and the sunny skies kept us fueled on the long trudge up. Once at the top things hit a crescendo as we were faced with a harrowing traverse along the sharp upper ridge to access our scouted chute.
Having finally conquered the beast there wasn't much to do but build a little drop in platform and steel ourselves to send it into a chute that took us almost halfway down the mountain in one go. It all looked so simple from the lodge. Dig a couple pits, get through that throat, then up that ridge, and you'll be skiing this epic chute. Well, it proved more challenging at every turn and the descent kept pace. I pushed off the platform second in line and held on. The extreme pitch of the chute only just balanced out by the encouraging, soft, marine snow. I worked my way down the chute one jump turn at a time with the Southern Alps stretched out all around me. Easily one of the most challenging, beautiful lines I've ever skied.
“The stoke was high as we rolled back in sweaty, exhausted, and victorious first descenders of Mt. Phipps for the year.”
Once we'd all conquered the line from the top we were in for more of a treat as the mountain opened up wide powder fields below in steadily improving snow. By the time we worked our way to the bottom we were ripping fast turns through plenty of fresh with grins from ear to ear. Throughout the whole expedition we were watched by folks at the hut- on "TB TV" as they say- so the stoke was high all around as we rolled back in sweaty, exhausted, and victorious first descenders of Mt. Phipps for the year.
Not a bad way to send off my final New Zealand adventure.
On One Year In New Zealand
As I sit here on a rainy day in Wellington closing in swiftly on the end of my year down south it seems as good a chance as any to wax poetic on my time here on these incredible islands, adrift in the southern ocean.
“I doubt if there’s anywhere else in the world I’d have rather gone.”
If I'm being totally honest I didn't really know what I was signing up for when I booked my tickets to the other side of the world. Sure, we all know some stuff about New Zealand: there's mountains, there's sheep, they've shot some ok films down there, they know how to play a game of rugby. But I was far from an expert on the place. A driving desire to get out and explore the world, and an easy visa, guided my hand. Looking back though, I doubt if there's anywhere else in the world I'd have rather gone.
“All that, and there are still 20 places I’d love to visit that we won’t get the chance to hit.”
This time last year I was enjoying a family trip out in Maine just before departing, and while on one hand this year feels like it's flown by on the other that vacation seems impossibly far in the past. And it's no wonder. I stagger a bit thinking about what this one year has held, I've: hiked world famous trails, surfed with dolphins, canoed through misty jungles, flown around the Matterhorn of the South, fallen asleep to glaciers rumbling down a mountain, drifted through glowworm-filled caves, skied fresh southern pow, kayaked through a tempest, snorkeled golden beaches, ridden more sweet trails than I can count, gazed in awe some of the world's greatest natural wonders, I've been able to call two of the coolest towns on the face of the planet home, and I've made some incredible friends along the way. It is truly hard to believe I've done all that and so much more on a couple of islands which together are smaller than my home state. All that, and there are still 20 places I'd love to visit that we won't get the chance to hit.
As you can imagine, times have not always been as breezy as my posts may make it seem. There have been breakdowns and tight budgets, rain ravaged camps and frozen hikes. We've always known that we're out here making the most of our time but have been haunted by the thought that somehow real life is out there passing us by. Living abroad can be stressful, and at times outright unpleasant, but somehow around every corner New Zealand left us a silver lining to make things more than worth it. Having a steadfast partner in Meredith, with whom to weather the tough days (frequently tough weather!), and to share in the splendor has made the journey all the sweeter.
“I’ll be a proud Coloradoan first and foremost, and when I’m away I’ll miss my people there every day.”
There's not just experiences here, but lessons as well. I've learned the value of friends. You don't really live somewhere until you've made some friends there. In the end it's the people that make the place. It's the perennial traveller's woe, you may choose to stay but many others will choose to move on. It's in keeping your friendships that you keep a place, at a time, alive. After all, you need some folks to trade tall tales with. I've learned a whole new lesson about work. It's too easy to feel untethered in life if you don't create some value in the world. I guess there's a reason why it's called a "Work and Holiday" visa, you need a balance to make them both more valuable. Hell, I've learned lessons about politics. That when you're looking after 5 million people problems become so much more manageable, rather than hoping to solve the problems of 350 million people in one fell swoop. I've learned just how unnecessarily difficult it is to actually live and work in another country, guess that's why only 3% of the world's population live away from home. I've learned the value of stripping back, of how much you really need to call a house, home...it's not much. I've learned about home in a more abstract sense too. Home will always be Colorado, no matter where I journey or where I hang my hat I'll be a proud Coloradoan first and foremost, and when I'm away I'll miss my people there every day.
“I think that’s what counts in life, how much of the world we’re able to soak up in our time on it.”
Most importantly though, I've learned about seeking adventure. It's funny what having such a fixed timeframe on your time in a place does to your priorities. Every day counts. It's driven me out to blunder through frozen mountains, and driven Meredith insane. But still there's an important lesson to be learned here: you can always seek adventure out. Even if it you can't journey far there is always a new way to go, something new to see, a new experience to be had. And in the end I think that's what counts in life, how much of the world we're able to soak up in our time on it.
So, what's next? Mere and I are getting the boot from NZ in just a couple of days, and we've decided to keep the traveling dream alive while we can. In two weeks, we'll be heading to Tasmania to make a new home, make some new friends, and make a whole heap of memories. Word on the street is that Tassie is like New Zealand part 2, so we're excited to get out and explore this new island and our new hometown (we'll be shacking up in Hobart for at least 6 months). From there, who knows? Melbourne seems appealing, and I'm sure we'll get wind of all sorts of must see things around Australia that we won't be able to resist.
That's where we'll be, so if you've never had an excuse to visit Tasmania now you do, and the next post you'll read will be from the true down under!
My Route:
Tips For NZ Travelers:
- If you're looking at skiing near Wanaka you may come across the "Ski4Free" promotion from Jucy for tickets at Treble Cone. This is totally legit, and got your boy two free days on the hill at TC. Do it!
- Seriously, ski field roads can get pretty hairy in adverse conditions, and if you're renting it's probably worth upgrading to proper a 4wd.
- Arguably the best burrito on the island is done out of a food truck in Wanaka...or maybe my discerning taste for Mexican food is just disappearing.
- Christchurch gets a lot of shit, but it's a totally legit base if you like to ski, surf, or mountain bike. Don't discount it.
- Don't skip the Canterbury ski fields. Seriously best value for money on the planet!
- The locals say Temple Basin for side country access, Mt. Olympus for rope tow serviced terrain.
Familiar Faces In Faraway Places
Things have been an absolute whirlwind as we wrap up our time on the South Island. In this edition: solo tramping, a visit from Mere's family, and one rainy trip with our friend Matt.
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!
Our Route:
Queenstown & Down
We're really getting in the swing of things down here in New Zealand. Over the past couple weeks, we've visited the Silver Peaks for a power backpacking excursion and Queenstown for a little city shopping.
The Silver In These Near Hills.
After our success on the Kepler Track, Meredith and I wanted to keep the good backpacking mojo flowing-and put our newly purchased hut passes to good use- but we weren't quite ready to line up another big trip. Thankfully, in New Zealand, a good hike is never far away. A coworker of mine recommended we check out the Silver Peaks wilderness, which for a reserve that's just 15 minutes north of Dunedin is startlingly rugged, uncrowded, and secluded. It seemed like just the place to do a quick overnight trip.
The seclusion and lack of traffic made themselves known early on the trip as we had more trouble finding a place right in our own backyard than we've had to find anything else thus far. So much so that some bad directions from Google Maps and a few questionable decisions later we found ourselves stuck in the mud in the middle of a sheep paddock and waving down some friendly farmers for a tow out. Thus we learned a valuable New Zealand lesson, not everything on the map is there on the ground.
Once we got pulled out and got some proper directions we shot right up to the start of the trail. There's not enough traffic in the area for a real trailhead so we just left the car off the side of a logging road and put the packs on. From there we embarked on a true Kiwi hiking experience.
The Silver Peaks are not a high mountain range, but they are steep, rugged and covered in thick bush and slippery mud. For all that, they offer incredible vistas out to the ocean both east and south of Dunedin (with some handy mountains blocking the view to town to help you feel extra remote). Pair that with the fact that we were the only people on the trail, and this was shaping up to be quite the adventure.
Our plan was a simple out and back to the aptly named Jubilee Hut, under 10 km each way, just enough to have a little fun. Sounds easy enough right? The trail began by winding along through thick, overhanging bushes as we climbed higher into the mountains before we passed up onto the more exposed (more silver you could say) peaks. It seemed to be a cakewalk of a day until we came across the final ridge and upon the ominously named "Devil's staircase".
I've wondered quite a bit in recent days how many Devil's Staircases there are in the world, and which one is the most difficult to contend with. Well, this one certainly makes a strong case for itself. After a day of winding along gently sloping ridges and over low peaks the trail plunged seemingly straight down a steep valley wall, all the while Jubilee Hut shone proudly hanging up on the far side. The angle of the trail must deter most hikers because not only did things get steep, they also got pretty undeveloped with a fair amount of bushwhacking to be done. Nonetheless, with some careful negotiation and sore feet, we arrived at Jubilee (both physically and metaphorically).
One of the reasons we were interested in an obscure out and back trip like this was to see if we liked backpacking more than car camping, given the right conditions. Jubilee may well have been the ideal conditions. It's a small hut (10 bunks all in one room with the kitchen and lounge) but quite new, with good facilities and killer views up several valleys. That we were the only people in the joint was just the cherry on top.
The next morning we awoke to a significant change in the weather; low clouds had moved in overnight and began a slow drizzle in the early hours. We didn't mind much though as we had no firm agenda and the low clouds made for some very cool views up the valleys. It was awesome to feel a world away in a place that's so close to home.
Once the rains passed we hit the trail, appreciating cool temps and misty views along the way. About halfway up the Devil's Staircase we hit cloud level and started one of the most otherworldly stretches of hiking I've ever experienced. You see, Silver Peaks is known for its rugged vistas but also for its wind-sculpted rock outcroppings (the locals call them obelisks, even though they're all naturally carved). So, as we hiked along one strange and foreboding rock formation after the next loomed out of the mist as we trekked our way through the still silence of the clouds. It's the sort of outdoor experience you can't really plan or pay for, and after all that we still made it home in time for lunch.
Not bad for a week of sticking around the new hometown.
Feels Like Home.
While we are loving our new city we do know that we won't want to spend the whole year down here in Dunedin. So we're taking a proactive approach and doing a little city shopping here on the South Island to see what other towns have to offer. A natural place to start, if only to check it off the list, was the adrenaline (and tourist) capital of New Zealand, Queenstown.
As is becoming the norm on our longer trips we took off Sunday morning and headed off inland. In a straight shot, Queenstown is only about 3 hours away (it is in the same Otago region after all) but we really weren't in any rush and central Otago is actually Rohan, so we decided to take a longer route. We turned off the beaten path out into farms and rolling hills, quintessential tussock, and stony outcroppings soon surrounded us. It turned out to be a bit of an adventure to get to the actual LOTR shooting locations, as while all the landscape around us looked like Rohan the film crew needed big panoramas without any roads off in the distance. A few closed roads and an encounter with Meredith's new bearded farmhand crush later we reached the lake where several scenes were filmed (you'll recognize it in the pictures). It was pretty interesting to see shanties built around a lake in such a remote area without much to offer, but there they were, living the New Zealand countryside dream.
That evening we headed off to the quiet town (if you can even call it a town) of St. Bathans, which readily supplied a nice camping spot and a photogenic lake (Blue Lake for the curious) for a quick morning stroll. From there we hopped on the highway to complete our journey checking out the mountain towns of Alexandra and Cromwell on the way. From Cromwell (which we loved for its small-town vibe and killer lakeside locale) things take a turn for the scenic as the road heads up the Kawarau Valley, the mountains rise up, vineyards cover every inch of arable land, as the river carves an ever-deepening gorge below. We had hopes of finding the shooting location for the Pillars Of The Argonath scene, but had to settle for watching some bungee jumpers just down river from the spot as the depth of the gorge makes it pretty inaccessible. The bungee jumping operation, however, was just a little taste of what was waiting in Queenstown, it was thrill-focused and very well run, but completely tourist centered and expensive as hell. At $260 a jump we decided to keep our wallets in check for now.
Once past the gorge, it was just a quick jaunt into the heart of Queenstown, a bustling outdoor mecca that represents the core of the South Island to many tourists. It's nestled up in the mountains right along the shore of the stunning Lake Wakatipu with views up to drastic, bare peaks in every direction. It's a busy resort town with more luxury packed in than we've seen anywhere else in the country. Take Frisco make it a bit bigger, right on the lake, move the mountains a little closer in, add a dash of Aspen flash thrown in for good measure, and you've got Queenstown. Basically, it felt like home.
We quickly learned that there is no real offseason in Queenstown its low elevation means that town dries out and gets relatively warm well before the ski season wraps up. We arrived mid-week, early spring and town was absolutely hopping. What can you expect for a place where you can ski, mountain bike and swim in the lake all in one day? We battled the traffic and grabbed some lunch downtown, where we learned that the bar scene has most ski towns beat by a long shot. After a quick stroll around the Queen's Gardens overlooking the lake, it was time to jet out and find our camping spot just outside of town.
Since Queenstown, naturally, is insanely expensive to stay in we were psyched to make the nearby, and incredibly scenic, Moke Lake our home for the next couple nights. Just 20 minutes away from all the bustle and congestion of town the campsite was welcome refuge sitting on a small lake ringed by mountains. It was so pleasant that we actually stayed two nights there, that's a first!
From Moke we packed up and headed out the next morning towards the small town of Glenorchy for another of New Zealand's most iconic drive. From Queenstown the highway dips, swerves, and teeters on the edge of the lake as the mountains rise up and grow more drastic all the way. It's dubbed the "road to paradise" for a reason (pay no attention to the fact that there's a little township called Paradise along the way). It was a stunning drive but paled in comparison to what we had on deck next, a powerhouse day hike on the Routeburn Track.
Routeburn is another of New Zealand's great walks and like Kepler is known for its high mountain scenery. The whole area is ripe for extended backpacking trips with countless fiords and hanging valleys in every direction, even if the Routeburn itself does get a bit overrun. With no packs to hold us back, we took off like lightning and made short work of the distance to the first hut. It's amazing how fast you can hike with just a daypack. The trail switched back and forth through unspoiled beech forest offering only brief glimpses up to the towering peaks all around. That was until we hit the first hut where the forest gave way and offered jaw-dropping views up three different glacier-carved valleys.
Since we'd made such mince-meat of a whole day's worth of backpacking trail we decided to push on and tackle the climb to Routeburn Falls Hut. We left the open valley floor and wound our way up to perhaps the most audacious hut in New Zealand. It's a Great Walks hut so of course, it's large and well equipped, but the audacity of the hut lies in where it sits. Perched on the edge of a cliff with its namesake Routeburn Falls rushing right by and plunging into the valley below the hut offers spectacular views down the valley. Once more we were treated to the benefit of springtime runoff as every cliff face seemed to have a waterfall streaming off it. Overall, not a bad spot for lunch.
Also at Routeburn Falls, we had our first peek at the infamous lodges for the guided "Ultimate Hikes" that have brought a whole new dimension to the Milford and Routeburn Tracks in recent years. Basically, they took these iconic hikes and pimped them out with upscale lodges and made it so that (for a couple extra grand) you can do a multi-day trek with just a daypack. The lodge at the falls did not disappoint. It was a sprawling complex located right next door to the DOC hut, and from what we could see looked pretty swanky inside. That said, we left feeling like not having to cook, clean, or haul packs would take a bit of the adventure out of the trip and would result in a lot of downtime in the lodge each day. I'm sure I'd be singing a very different tune if I could actually afford one of those trips though.
The next morning we began a busy day as Queenstowners with a steep, yet rewarding, hike up Queenstown Hill to overlook the town and surrounding mountains. We then tried on some of the local "Mexican" fare only to continue to be disappointed once again in our hunt for good Mexican (I don't blame the chefs, legit Mexican ingredients are next to impossible to come by down here), took a stroll around historic, nearby Arrowtown, and took a dip in the cleansing waters of Lake Wakatipu. It's funny how we're staring to feel like 72 degrees is super hot and calls for a dip in a high mountain lake.
Since we were city shopping we decided to pony up and stay one night in town to get a little bit better feel for the nightlife in Queenstown. It felt a whole lot like Vail, with touristy places clearing out early and the local holdouts filling right up even on a Wednesday night. That said, we had some killer cocktails and saw how a good life could be made in Queenstown. In the end though, we've got a couple more spots we need to check out before we decide where to hang our hats next.
Our Route:
Tips For Prospective NZ Travelers:
- In hindsight, this is quite obvious but in New Zealand there are many paper roads (read: not real roads) that show up on Google Maps if you ask it for specific, obscure directions that you need to watch out for. You may need to cross farm gates occasionally, but if it looks like you're going into a paddock, you probably are. Consider rethinking your route.
- AA membership does not cover getting your car stuck, just be aware if you're thinking that's a plus of membership. It's not.
- Related to the above, many roads in New Zealand are seasonal and may be closed due to winter weather or to let ewes lamb. Just be ready to revise your route when you run into inconvenient closures, also I've been surprised at out-there, backcountry roads I've been able to find closure information on just by googling.
- Moke Lake is the silver bullet spot you're looking for to camp close to Queenstown. It may be $13pp but that beats any price in town by a long shot, plus it's beautiful...all just 20 minutes away.
- Not sure why you'd choose the Routeburn Flats Hut over the Falls Hut, but the Falls Hut is far superior and seriously audacious in its construction.
- There's not really a meaningful off-season for Queenstown (yes, Christmas will be the busiest), if you go it will be hopping, just be prepared.