The Good, the Bad and the Unexpected

Final Thoughts on New Zealand

Well, this is it. We have been back home in Blighty for a few days, the jet lag has (largely) gone and it will very soon be time to return to work.

For our final post we have decided to sum up our experiences in New Zealand. It would have been nice to have used the proper Clint Eastwood film title but, to be honest, we couldn't really think of anything Ugly.

The Good

Monteith's Golden Lager. You have to be careful where you buy it though; the very best stuff is only sold to weary walkers at the end of a long, hot day.

Coffee. The flat white is the best coffee I have ever had. If you are lucky, you get a nice fern motif in the foam; if you are going to be really lucky you get a heart, apparently.

Friendly people – and not too many of them.

No litter. That really is no litter.

No louts or ladettes – and virtually no swearing.

The roads – interesting and empty. This is slightly nuanced by the fact that the (rather low) speed limits are enforced.

Beautifully-tended vineyards. These definitely added to the enjoyment of drinking the fine wine.

Wellington. As the nation's capital this seems to be disproportionately endowed for its modest population.

Queenstown. With its lake and surrounding mountains this lovely (if touristy) town has a setting that is as good as you can get.

Tramping around Mt Cook, with its associations with 'Sir Ed', in glorious weather.

Jet boats. The jet boat rides are fun but the jet-boat concept (an NZ invention) is brilliant. Practically every boat in NZ is a jet boat whether it declares itself to be or not.

The Bad

Hut toilets – there has to be a better way. The cloud of flies that sometimes emerged when you lifted the cover makes you realise that you can't apply the inset repellant to every bit of exposed skin.

Sandflies. Enough said.

Scoria on the volcanoes. Depending whether you are going up or down , this is possibly the most heartbreaking or treacherous surface that you can imagine.

One horse towns. Like the American mid-west. Our friends in Auckland joked that some of the towns were so small that they had 'Welcome' and 'Come Back Soon' painted on the same sign. We laughed a lot and it took us a week to realise that this would always the case, irrespective of the size of the town.

The lack of birds and animals - away from the coast at least. This is a bit of a puzzle. We know that the Maori ate everything that was slow enough to be caught, and that pests introduced from Europe saw off a lot of the rest, but it is surprising that some things didn't flourish. It is my uninformed view that the sandflies would provide an excellent start to any food chain.

The Unexpected

Half-hearted recycling. For a country that prides itself on its green credentials, the recycling seemed to be very patchy. Perhaps it was just organised differently to the UK and that an army of workers separated the potato peelings from the plastic bottles. It didn't look like it though.

Sheep jams. This is not entirely tongue in cheek. Most of the fields and pastures in NZ seem to be empty but when you do see sheep or cattle there are vast numbers corralled into a small area. This particular crowd were clearly being taken somewhere but this wasn't always the case.

Finding two 1950s Maserati Grand Prix cars in Wellington. Shame they were in a museum rather than a hayseed farmer's barn.

House moving. Always a stressful experience but not usually for motorists. This desirable residence was heading South from Queenstown. A small convoy of outriders made sure that all oncoming cars were securely parked up in roadside ditches before the house came past.

So that's the end. We've had a great time and lots of experiences. Hope you've enjoyed reading the blog – and well done if you've followed it this far.

Milford Sound & Doubtful Sound

As we now know, Milford and Doubtful Sounds are not true 'sounds' but 'fiords' because they were formed by glaciers. These are some of the 'must do' sights of New Zealand and we were keen to see one or the other. Advice from others suggested that Doubtful Sound is more remote, and therefore less touristy, but also 10 times the size of Milford Sound, so we decided that was the one to do. However, the Routeburn track finished only 30km from Milford Sound, so it seemed crazy not to see it. We managed to book into the only lodge in Milford Sound and got a morning cruise before the tour buses arrived.

It had been raining all night, but as we ate breakfast, there were tiny breaks in the cloud and we were hopeful.

Mitre Peak with the top still in cloud

In fact they proved ideal conditions as the rain and cloud cleared but the waterfalls were still full, so spectacular, and the sun gradually appeared.

Waterfall in spate following rain

Milford Sound has really steep sides and is awesome! Unfortunately the photos don't do it justice, and I don't have the vocabulary to describe it – all I can say is that I'm really glad we didn't miss it out.

Mitre Peak in sunshine

We drove down to Te Anau to camp for the next (and final) 2 nights, but the clouds reappeared. However, after a freezing night (yes, really), a perfect day dawned for our trip to Doubtful Sound. To get there involves a boat trip across Lake Manipouri, followed by a bus trip over the Wilmot Pass. Doubtful Sound is huge and all the hills rising out of the water are covered in bush. There are many hanging valleys and the place feels very remote.

View from the stern

We had a perfect day for it with clear blue skies – an unusual sight apparently as it rains for three days out of five.

The mountains round here are beautiful – it's a real shame that none of the Great Walks goes over them! Never mind, we are on wind-down now. We only really have the jet-boating to go.

A Note on Maori Carving

The Maori go in for elaborate carving on the door posts of their Mare (meeting houses) and similar carvings are to be found on things rather like totem-poles at many of the visitor centres. The first one of these we saw was in Titirangi in Auckland. Amongst other things the carvings depict naked warriors and are big, shall we say, on manhood, none more so than in Titirangi. Elsewhere they have been very much emasculated, probably because most of the visitors are in school parties.

In fact I have seen more stuck-up pricks in Auckland than anywhere else in New Zealand. I have shared this observation with a number of people we have met on our travels; without fail they have slapped me on the back and offered to buy me a drink.

Queenstown and Beyond

We'd been warned about Queenstown by various people – it's brash, loud, busy and a real party town – not the sort of place we'd like! We tried to avoid it but in the end just had to go there to sort out a few activities, including the white-water rafting that we didn't want to miss. What no-one told us, is that its setting is one of the most beautiful in the world.

It's on a lakeside, but the lake twists and turns and there are magnificent mountains in every direction. There's even a range called the Remarkables, and they really are. They had the benefit of a light dusting of snow when we arrived. We had two hours to spare before we needed to be in the centre of town for our rafting trip, so we parked the car (easily and cheaply) strolled into town, eyed up the gear shops, stopped for a coffee and fell in love with the place before turning up for our rafting trip.

The rafting was brilliant -lots of fun and fairly adrenaline inducing, although in retrospect we wondered how much of the 'safety' instruction was just hype. We're convinced that by far the most dangerous aspect of the trip was the bus ride to the start along Skipper's Canyon, a gravel road cut into the cliff face and just wide enough for our bus and raft trailer. We had a S African bus boy who was a real wit. Here's an example :

Bus boy: “Where you from?”

Us: “England”

Bus boy: “I'm sorry?”

Us: “England”

Bus boy: “Yeah, I heard you, I just said I was sorry!”

Here's another:

Bus boy: “Driving the bus today will be Shirley, one of our most experienced drivers. Shirley is actually going to be leaving us tomorrow and we are all going to miss her a lot”

Sucker on bus: “How long has she been with you?

Bus boy: “ Three days”

Anyway, we enjoyed the whole experience and managed not to fall in, and we're really looking forward to returning to Queenstown!

The next day we set of to start a 3-day tramp on the famous Routeburn track. It was only a 3-4 hour walk to the first hut, so there was no hurry to start. We set off at lunchtime in glorious sunshine and arrived 3 hours later at the hut in sunshine. Ian went to investigate a fantastic viewpoint with a view down the valley that he had been told about. Apparently this was another 250m above the hut and could be found by following a goat track; Maggie enjoyed an hour in the sun!

Looking back down the Routeburn Valley

The second day dawned with an ominous red sunrise.

Red sky in the morning........

Our route involved a climb to the Harris Saddle and a further climb without rucksacks to 'Conical Peak' – with views not to be missed!

The summit of Conical Hill - our high point

Four hours later we arrived shattered at Mackenzie Hut. This one had a wood-burning stove, so Ian was in his element lighting it and keeping it going. The huts are fairly rudimentary, offering shelter, a mattress and gas for cooking -you still need to bring your sleeping bag, food, cooking pans etc.

A dorm inside the Mackenzie Hut

The final day dawned with rain and wind (we knew that the forecast was diabolical but the hut booking system on the Great Walks does not allow for second thoughts) , and after breakfast we set off fully clad in wet weather gear. It was only a 4-hour walk to where we hoped our car would be waiting! The walk was wet and our gear showed its inadequacies, but it was quite exciting crossing some of the un-bridged streams. We passed several cascades running down the mountainside, and one very spectacular waterfall. Unfortunately, having already wrecked one camera in the rain, we were reluctant to risk another one!

At length we arrived at the Howden Hut, just an hour from our final destination, but for some that we'd been walking with, this was their stop for that night. It was already full of very wet people travelling in both directions along the route. These DOC huts don't have any facilities for drying wet gear – they're barely more than a shelter really, and we were glad we weren't sleeping there.

We finally arrived at the car park and were delighted to see our car. We then drove the final 33km to Milford Sound where we were able to spend the night in extreme comfort ( indoors, showers and bed!) and celebrated by drinking our expensive 'Maggie's Block' Pinot Gris bought in Nelson.

We now have a couple of easy days in store, cruising around Milford Sound and Doubtful Sound before getting back to Queenstown for our final tourist thrill - a jet boat excursion on the Dart River.

My Story so Far

My Story so Far

By A Stick

I don't know how long I had been lying on the grey tarmac of the factory car park. I had fallen quite heavily but I didn't think that anything was broken; I just couldn't move. The shadows were already lengthening when she came out to her car and noticed me. She quickly looked around to to see if anyone was watching and then unceremoniously scooped me up with her shopping and bundled me into the car boot. 'Out of the cupboard and into the loft', as we sticks say. Yes, that's right, I'm a stick, a walking stick. “That's ridiculous” I hear you say, “sticks can't walk”. Well, how about a man eating chicken? You can see one of those every day at KFC. The kids fall for that one every time. After that they never have the nerve to question whether a stick can be self-aware.

When we reached our destination I was hung up behind the front door, and my heart sank. My finder turned out to have more walking sticks than you could, well, shake a stick at. What was even worse was that they were upmarket Lekis. I have to admit, that I don't come from a good family and if I told you my name, it would mean nothing to you.

Her husband on the other hand was definitely one stick short of a load. He even told Her that he “wasn't really a stick person”. Good God, doesn't he have a mirror? I don't know how I kept a straight face.

Things did not start out too well. She nagged Him to take me out for a walk. Initially he also took one of her snooty sticks but the three of us never really got on. Then he took me out on my own for a bit; he would play with me for a while but I could tell that his heart was never really in it. I would usually come home, clinging on for dear life to the back of his rucksack. She continued to take the Lekis for walks but increasingly I found myself left hanging around behind the front door.

Then one day He appeared carrying a much bigger rucksack than usual and looked at me with renewed interest. And my life changed. Since then I have come to know the Malvern Hills very well, not to mention Snowdonia and the Lake District. Once he even said that I was what his right arm was for – nowadays. He gave me a sly look as though there was a joke hidden in there somewhere, but if there was, I didn't get it.

He has even started taking me on long haul trips. At first the very thought of this made me go weak at my telescopic joint and I desperately wished that I could screw myself together. In the event, I found the velvety blackness of the hold and the distant mutter of the engines, strangely comforting. I think that perhaps it reminded me of my shipping container. This is such a sticky concept that it would be hopeless to try explaining it to Him. I mean, where would I start?

Our first long trip together was to Nepal, where we reached Annapurna base camp. I was up for a summit bid but He is getting on a bit now. Since then we have tramped over a large part of New Zealand. We have both had enough of walking up volcanoes though; that rough pumice wore out his boots and completely took the edges off my ferrule. It is no longer the fashion for sticks to wear badges but I know where every dent and scratch on my paint has came from.

I wouldn't say that he is a considerate keeper. He uses me to point at things, which is rude, and sometimes pokes me into things that he would prefer not to touch. I know that I am wanted though, if not actually loved.

And that's my story so far.

SP by author. Ballpoint on [unidentified]

 

Back on Bikes - at last

“Get a bicycle. You will not regret it, if you live” was was the advice given by the immortal Mark Twain (d.1910). We took his advice and hired a couple of mountain bikes today to explore the tracks around Wanaka.

Yesterday had been largely taken up with trying to organise our final couple of weeks in NZ. Surprisingly few of the Great Walks end up where they start and it's quite difficult to co-ordinate transport and accommodation.

Anyway, back to today, We had chosen a route that started off skirting Lake Wanaka, before heading eastwards along the bank of one of the rivers flowing out of it. 

Lake Wanaka

The trail, I am sure, was described in the DOC guide as 'family friendly'. I can only assume that the average family in New Zealand is a lot tougher (and braver) than its UK counterpart.

Last night a storm sprang up from nowhere and threatened to blow our tent away. The weather had been so calm since we arrived that we hadn't bothered to peg out the guylines. It was no joke having to do so in the pitch dark and in the teeth of a howling gale and driving rain. During the night the wind died away but, periodically, we would hear a squall approaching, seemingly from miles away, When it reached us, there was about 30 seconds of uproar and thrashing tent fabric, followed by another eerie calm. After a rather disturbed night, we awoke this morning to bright sunshine and a tent that was still standing. It might all have been a dream except for the twigs and small branches scattered around the campsite, and the fresh snow on the surrounding hills. We had been told that it is the Southerlies down here that bring the storms and cold weather. I guess that this must have been one of them.

It was good to be back on bikes today though we both felt a bit rusty. The track we were on can best be described as a Camel Trail with attitude. There were wonderful views of the implausibly blue-but-crystal-clear waters of the River Clutha but these were sometimes 100 feet below us, over the edge of a precipitous and unfenced drop. 

Overlooking the River Clutha

Likewise, the gentle backdrop of North Cornwall had been replaced by jagged snow-capped peaks. It really was quite stunning, though requiring a certain amount of concentration. The track itself was also very varied, at times being very narrow and weaving between trees, elsewhere crossing quite bleak grasslands. Once we had left the immediate environs of Wanaka, we hardly saw another soul, something that we are starting to get used to over here.

Maggie trying not to notice the big drop on her left

We had to return the bikes to the hire shop by 6 pm so, having reached our planned finishing point, we decided to take the main road back to Wanaka to save some time. The cold wind had freshened in anticipation of our return and meant that we needed to pedal hard even when going downhill. To celebrate getting the bikes back on time we treated ourselves to a couple of Danish's and ate them back at the tent, accompanied by steaming mugs of tea. The sun was shining and we were able to sit outside, but not for long as the wind was cold.

Mount Cook – Proper Alpine!

The weather, which had been overcast when we left Christchurch, improved steadily as we drove towards Mount Cook. The last 50km or so involves driving straight towards the mountain, alongside Lake Pukaki. Although Mt Cook is 'only' 3754m high, it towers above its neighbours and looked absolutely majestic with its glaciers, mantle of snow and a blue sky behind it. 

Approach to Mount Cook

The valley level here is about 700m so for the same height above sea level, the mountains look about 1000m higher than their counterparts in the European Alps. Climbing the Mt Cook itself was impossible; we had not made the necessary arrangements or brought the necessary gear. It it probably far too difficult for us anyway, even with a guide. Instead we called in at the DOC (Department of Conservation) visitor centre and picked up some walking guides. A number of the suggested walks seemed pretty dull and involved trudging for miles along glacial moraines. That's OK if you haven't done it before – maybe. Instead we chose to climb up to a ridge to the W of Mt Cook with the prospect of some grand views. Ian also had an ulterior motive.

The morning (Monday) dawned calm and sunny. We had set the alarm for 07:00 but as soon as we saw the weather, we realised that it should have been at least an hour earlier. Even so, we were away well before 09:00. The path up soon became a literal wooden staircase; DOC are very fond of these. I shall give my views on these elsewhere. We didn't count the steps but these must have been thousands. Just when we felt that we couldn't stand another step, they petered out to be replaced by a steep, rocky track. Aah, this was even worse! Soon though, we were missing even this, as the path reached sliding scree before finally reaching the ridge and a boulder field. The view at once made all the effort worthwhile as we were staring straight across the Mueller Glacier to a huge rockface beyond, which was itself hung with smaller glaciers.

Rock Face above the Mueller Glacier

The path continued to the Mueller Hut, which is at 1800m, and had been our target for day. We had both found the walk up pretty gruelling and we did not expect the walk down, in the heat of the afternoon, to be much easier. Maggie was therefore happy to let Ian go on a bit further on his own to climb Mt Olivier. This would have been a piece of cake when we were 30 years younger but now required some careful footwork as there were some big drops and loose rock. The attraction of the peak was that it was the first mountain that Ed Hillary had climbed but Ian could not believe that it had been his favourite peak, not for very long anyway!

Ian at the summit of Mt Olivier 

We met up again just below the scree section and continued on down together. There had been well over 1000m of ascent so it was a long way to go down and we were even pleased to reach the staircase section. As we trudged back, hot and thirsty after nine hours on the hill, we debated whether we should return to the hostel for a shower and a cup of tea (the sensible option) or call into a bar for a pint of cold beer (the attractive option). We decided to leave it to fate: if we passed a bar we would call in. Maggie's route took us past the Chamonix Bar and that was it: 'Two pints of Tui, please”.

Just in case you might think that we hadn't enjoyed the day, let's put things straight. The scenery was as impressive and beautiful as anything we have seen over here, the weather was glorious all day long, we saw Southern Eidelweiss (its Northern counterpart seems to be restricted to gift shops).

Southern Edelweiss

Mt Cook filled our camera lenses for most of the day. You don't get much better than that. The Tui tasted bloody good too.

Mount Cook

The following morning Maggie found that her feet had not completely recovered. We were moving on to Wanaka anyway so time was a bit short. The swankiest (and only real) hotel in Mount Cook Village is called the Hermitage. A few years ago it opened a new Sir Edmund Hillary Centre, which we were keen to see. The centre is very glitzy and offers various 3D and and 'planetarium' movies, which might have been interesting had they not put gimmickry at the top of their list of priorities. Fortunately they also offered a 'straight' film about the life of 'Sir Ed'. This contained some footage and stills that I had seen before and some that I had not. The narrative was provided mainly by Hillary himself but also by the (then) surviving members of the '53 Everest expedition. Maggie and I found the whole thing very moving.

Hillary's first words (to George Lowe) on returning from the summit are well known ('Well we knocked the bastard off!'). Perhaps less well known was Sir John Hunt's much later comment: 'We had hoped for something a little more spiritual or uplifting' It was said in a genuinely affectionate tone though.

Hillary was very frank about his harsh upbringing (his father had been traumatised by the First World War in a way that changed his personality) and the subsequent difficulties that this gave him in his personal life and, later, when bringing up his own children. He was at the same time driven and compassionate. He became world famous of course, the moment he reached the summit of Everest. I think that it was the way in which he dealt so sensitively with the issue of whether he or Sherpa Tenzing had been the first to reach the summit, which became a huge nationalist issue at the time, and, more importantly, that he spent much of the rest his his life trying to help the people of Nepal, that has raised him beyond the status of a hero or a superstar for so many people, and not just in New Zealand. The Kiwis are fortunate to have such a role model.

A note abut staircases on mountains

Erosion is a problem for all heavily-used mountain paths and perhaps the problem is exacerbated by the high rainfall in the Southern Alps. In our adult lifetimes many of the worn paths in the Lake District and Snowdonia have been re-made using large, roughly-dressed pieces of stone. DOC have not taken this route in NZ. From the earliest days, the tracks seemed to have been stabilised with large baulks of timber placed across the paths. As time has gone on, the aim seems to have evolved into providing substantial wooden staircases for every steep mountain path. Perhaps DOC have just been taking advantage of the skills of unemployed immigrant carpenters; there is little demand for staircases in New Zealand houses.

Another DOC staircase

On the most popular routes, DOC are now even providing hand rails. This fills me with misgivings because where there are hand rails, the mandatory 'Hold the Hand Rail' signs will surely follow. How long will it be I wonder before we see signs like:

'Did you know that many accidents in mountains are caused by slips, trips and falls? Ask yourself, “Do I really need to climb this mountain?” Why not watch the DVD instead?'

Ages I hope.

Arthur's Pass and Christchurch

We left Kaikoura in sunshine and had a beautiful five hour drive along the coast and then inland towards the mountains. As we approached Arthur's Pass we could see the cloud and rain ahead and were glad that we had phoned the youth hostel in advance to book a room! By the time we arrived, there was also a howling gale.

Some of you reading this blog may wonder how Ian & I can possibly be considered 'youths', but nowadays, we're probably only slightly above the average age for youth hostellers and all the ones we've stopped in over here have been excellent.

We had a short walk to see an impressive 120m waterfall called the Devil's Punchbowl before returning to cook dinner. The wind and rain continued through the night, shaking the windows of the hostel. The next morning the wind had dropped but it was still raining so we decided to cut our losses and head for Christchurch and civilisation (Ian had also seen a leaflet about the RNZAF museum, which had a DH Mosquito flight simulator).

As we headed down the pass, the weather very quickly improved, so a quick change of plan saw us heading up the Bealey Spur to its first summit at about 1500m. The sun came out and we thought our luck was in, but as we made the final push for the summit, the heavens opened. Never mind, we made it to the top and the mountains around us were certainly impressive.

Some of the mountains viewed from our walk up the Bealey Spur

Maggie heading up the track with our summit in the distance

We returned to the car and headed on to Christchurch, but as we got nearer a storm seemed to be brewing and we thought a motel or a hostel would be a good plan. It was too late for many places to answer the phone, so we made for a 'Kiwi' holiday park, knowing that we could always camp if we had to – we had to! Since the major earthquake just over a year ago, Christchurch has lost around half of it's beds for visitors and accommodation is hard to find.

We struggled to get the tent up in the pouring rain and strong winds, but finally did it shortly before dark. This was my lowest point of the holiday so far. At least in a tent we would be pretty safe if another earthquake struck.

In the morning, the sun was shining and Ian headed off to the aircraft museum. I had a cleaning blitz on all the walking gear, and even the car, although you couldn't tell afterwards. The museum turned out to be OK but the flight simulator turned out to be nothing more than a PC game hooked up to military aircraft cockpit. Ian was bitterly disappointed, partly with himself for having been so naïve.

In the afternoon we took a bus into the city centre. The devastating earthquake occurred just over a year ago but there is still an awful lot to do. In the cordoned-off 'red zone' they are still pulling down the tall buildings damaged in the quake. Some of these are visibly leaning but the condition (or fate) of others is not obvious. Rows of big-name shops and businesses stand empty. The cathedral lies within the red zone but there are other fine masonry buildings outside the zone that have suffered badly. These have been shored up, not only to prevent them collapsing spontaneously but also to allow them to ride out the aftershocks that are still occurring.

Earthquake damage in Christchurch

On a more positive note, great efforts seem to have been made to keep the city centre alive. A 'mall' of brightly-coloured portable buildings has been set up on what, one assumes, was the site of demolished buildings. Flowers and shrubs have been planted in tubs. Banks, shops and cafes are all there and seemingly well used. It's very different but by no means unattractive.

The container mall

As we were dozing off later that evening another small tremor shook our campsite. Nothing unusual apparently but the longer it goes on, the more it plays on the nerves of both the inhabitants of Christchurch and their insurers.