South Island Summary

NZ is unfortunately lacking in much swashbuckling adventure, being a rather calm and civilized place. It all feels a little like visiting an alternate reality where the state of Washington was actually a British colony which had been adrift in the pacific for a few million years, leaving evolution and a big band of Polanesians to alter the land to their liking. So lacking many riveting stories to tell, and having much of my time taken up by driving instead of typing during long bus rides, I'd better alter the narrative to a series of short sketches, rather than bore everyone with tales of tall ferns and high gas prices. On that note, Ian and Magda's travel association presents to you: Highlights From the South Island (to be followed up by the equally dazzling, I'm sure, Highlights from the North Island):

Lake Pukaki

Before we saw the water, the radiation blue color of this lake actually reflected onto the low clouds, giving the sky the color of a beautiful nightmare. It wasn't until we reached the crest of the hill and saw the lake that we could explain the phenomenon. Glacial runoff from Mt. Cook, which peaked through broken cloud at the end of the lake, picked up millenia of 'stone flour' fine silty sediment ground from the rock by glacial movement and was deposited into the lake via milky rivers. The light then bounces off these particles to give the lake its un-natural luminesence. We drove up the shores of this lake to the foot of Mt Cook where we labored to find a cup of coffee, all the cafe's at the Hermitage Lodge being suspiciously closed until at least ten in the morning. At the Sir Edmund Hillary Center I learned that the famous mountaineer was both a Kiwi (who had famously conquered Mt Cook before being the first to top Everest), and was still alive. Or at least he had been until this January we would learn later. You'd think that the Sir Edmund Hillary center would be the first place you might learn of his recent passing, but then again you also might think they'd sell you a cup of coffee before 10 am.

Queenstown

Our first trip through Queenstown found us staying at a backpacker's called the Deco Backpackers. It was located in a house that may have at one point had some art deco features but had long since traded them for additional rooms and added outbuildings. Like most of Queenstown, any charm it may have once held had been compromised to accomodate a flood of tourists, ironically searching for New Zealand's charming center. We left Queenstown as quickly as possible but would return soon enough.

The Milford Track

We left Queenstown and headed directly for the town of Te Anau, which is the launching place for many of the South Island's greatest tracks, or walks as they like to say. A Walk is essentially a kiwiism for a hike, typically understated. Several months ago we had reserved places on the most famous Walk in NZ, The Milford Track. It is known here as "The Greatest Walk in the World!" but I was a little skeptical. Milford Track leads from Lake Te Anau, up an inspiringly deep valley, over McKinnon Pass and down to Milford Sound. It is famous for the amount of rain it gets, and the views when it isn't raining, competing hallmarks. Somehow, some way, we got incredibly lucky. After leaving the car at Te Anau Downs, the ferry pick-up for the track, and heading into the valley, burdened with all our food for four days, we never saw any rain and the valley was bathed in warm sun during daylight hours. After the sun dropped behind the ridge of course, the shadows descended and warmth turned to cold Autumn evenings.

Another hallmark of Milford Sound and the entire West coast of the South Island are the clouds of "Sand Flys" that plague the air. They unfortunately aren't restricted by their name and live deep inland, anywhere they can find some bare flesh on which to feast. Unlike mosquitoes they are clumsy and incredibly slow witted, but their bites, when they can attack unmolested, are vicious. It is now two weeks since we visited the coast and I still have tiny purple welts where I'd left my guard down. So tenacious and numerous are they that the Maori even have included them in the creation myth of Milford Sound. The particular god who created the sound found it in retrospect to be so beautiful that she cursed it with the tiny black flys to discourage hoards of people from settling there. It worked. Despite acres of fertile land and dependably enormous amounts of rain, the area is reletively uninhabited. The curse of Milford sound can be thanked for that, partly, also the seven meters of rain they received each year probably disuaded settlers as well.

But by the end of four days we hadn't gotten a drop. The views were spectacular, it was unseasonably warm, and the track was free of the waist high wades they were slogging through the week before. Was it the Greatest Walk in the World? I don't know. Probably not. Whoever named it that I imagine hasn't made it up to the Himilayas yet. But as a marketing ploy, it certainly worked on us, and I have to say, walking down into Milford Sound surrounded by towering cliffs shooting straight up from the sea floor, waterfalls gushing from valleys high up and falling through space to the ocean below was pretty spectacular. We also made some good friends along the trail, defrosting by the nightly fire and sharing snacks next to panaromic views. In the small things, the details, yes it might have been at least one of the Greatest.

One question for the Kiwis though, if the Nepalese can organize hot showers at their little huts along the Annapurna Trek, why can't the New Zealand Dept. of Conservation? I was actually surprised to find there weren't even cold showers, which would have greatly reduced the odor in the communal huts.

After we made it to Milford Sound, and had a comfy night's sleep and several hot showers, we hitch-hiked back to our car in Te Anau Downs. We then cruised south, almost all the way to the very south of the Island, Invercargill, and camped at a little beach called Monkey Island. No monkeys to be seen. The views continued to impress, every part of New Zealand has some different way of eroding, uplifting, being carved out, erupting and the effects are all on display from a thousand roadside vistas.

On Magda's 30th birthday we drove North from Monkey Island all the way back to Queenstown where it was starting to really get cold. We found a backpackers called, The Butterfli, which was so comfortable, and had such very friendly people staying there, that we decided to treat ourselves and stay for two nights in relative luxury. We had a cozy birthday dinner by a sputtering fire in central Queenstown and walked through the narrow, still slightly charming streets of this overdeveloped town.

We finally headed North to Lake Wanaka, stayed in a beautiful, peaceful campsite by a river surrounded by electric orange tree leaves, set ablaze by sunlight, and in the morning headed North again to Franz Joseph Glacier.

Franz Joseph Glacier

This is the second and most famous of two glaciers in the area. Fox Glacier is Franz's little brother, and gets no respect. It is lovely, Fox, but in a world where name recognition is everything we opted for its more famous companion. We camped in a rain soaked site by a lovely, but already dark lake and tried for an hour to get a fire started with waterlogged chunks of wood. I was horrified to realize I had failed, and as the billowing smoke from my attempts was slowly killing the non-complaining group of British youths next to us, I stopped trying and we ate sandwiches in the dark. In the morning we arrived at the tour office having signed up for the full day tour of the glacier. We piled into buses, dressed in the company's warm clothes, and headed up to the face of the ice flow. The hike was amazing. We climbed, slid and walked through building sized shards of blue ice, pushed ourselves through little opalescent caves and lept over crystal clear streams of water, gushing downwards as the Glacier slowly melted. It was easily the most interesting terrain we've scrambled over on the whole trip, all the while with views of the carved granite walls, and the valley below. By the time we returned, we were wet, dirty and exhausted. And exhilerated. We had booked ourselves at a backpackers for the night and practically fell asleep in front of the TV watching our old Kenyan stomping ground in "Out of Africa".

Over the next few days we drove further north to the Northernmost park on the South Island called Abel Tasman. The AT. Suddenly, we had emerged from Middle-earth into a Thailand like environment, clean orange sand and azure waters. We stayed at what might be the second most amazing Backpackers so far, "The Barn" where we were treated to a cottage with a view of the water, the mountains across the bay, and rise of the full moon through violet colored sky. Our first full day in AT we took a water taxi to one stage of the fine Great Walk that the park boasts. This trail winds through the hills above empty beaches where you can hike into, or kayak into, and camp. The water taxis function as a service to pick up and drop off so you are never far from comfort. We hiked for six hours, stopping once to wait for the water to drain out of a bay with the tide so that we could cross. When it looked safe, we hiked our pants up to our knees and waded across what had an hour before been a shallow body of water, navigatable by boat. We returned to our little seaside bungalow exhausted and along with a few other fellow travelers, read by the fire and watched the day turn to night, heralded by the rising white face of the moon, huge next to the mountains.

We camped again in Marlborough Sound, the windiest roads we'd attacked so far. It was physically tiring to negotiate the hundreds of tight curves, and by the time we reached our campsite we were tired and cranky. One of the few spots left overlooked a burnt out camper van, a black heap of upholstery, chasis, and still dangerous looking propane tanks. We opted to move further down the road. As we pitched out tent a friendly Aussie couple invited us over to their illegal campfire which lifted our spirits and warmed us greatly for the fridgid night ahead. In the morning the parks deptartment was already cleaning up the blackened remains of some poor German kid's holiday.

In the morning we drove through Nelson, Picton and finally back south to Kaikora. Kaikora is a small Penninsula that juts out picturesquely into the Pacific, with high cliffs and the stepped remains of Maori fortresses. We hiked a ways along its cliffs and then slid down a slippery trail leading to the beach. There seals rested and played, and generally paid us no mind. The next day we arrived at the 'Dolphin Encounter', where they promised to take us out on a boat, find a huge pod of Dusky Dolphins, and throw us in to swim with them. It sounded too good to be true. But that is exactly what they did. Before we knew it we were in the chilly water, surrounded by hundreds of dorsal fins. As soon as I put my mask in the water I was face to face with a dolphin. They seem to regard the humans that visit them as some kind of retarded seal, unable to swim properly and worthy of their pity. Dozens of dolphins passed within arms reach over and over again, sometimes, if they pitied you enough, they would make eye contact and swim around and around, investigating or protecting you from harm. Then they'd be off. The Dusky Dolphin is an acrobat, and they shot out of the water to do sommersaults, back-flips and side plunges, but not near enough to land on anyones's head. Thinking back, the dolphins were quite considerate. When they tired of us they moved on and we got back in the boat and followed them, jumping back in again when we re-entered the center of the jovial pod.

As awkward as we looked, flapping and bubbling next to these streamlined creatures, the whole experience was beautiful. I couldn't have imagined how amazing it is to make eye-contact, and hold it, with one of this squeeky sea beasts. It's just too bad that they frown upon you riding them. Or at least the would if they could frown.

After a quick trip up Hanmer Springs where we dethawed from another near freezing night under the stars, well, in the car under the stars, we headed back down to Christchurch. We spent another night with our friends in Christchurch, then spent two peaceful evenings on the Akaroa Penninsula visiting the small town of Akaroa which thinks it is like a small French town. It was settled by the French originally, but by the time they had named the streets the English showed up and moved in with them, having officially claimed New Zealand. France lives now only in the streets, and in the kitchy names of the souveneir shops.

We finally dropped the car off with Warwick, spent a final evening in Christchurch, and then hopped on a bus early back to Picton for our Ferry up to the North Island. The South Island had been amazing. Especially the landscape, the uninhabited miles of mountain, forest and beach that we camped for free on. We had also gotten absurdly lucky with the weather, we had almost no rain in a area known for its wetness. Our luck would run out on the North Island.