Road Tripping

One fantastic aspect of the New Zealand portion of this journey has been the road tripping. In this post I will describe a couple of our road journeys, so buckle up.

When we left Aoraki, we drove out to the nearby town of Twizel for a brunch meetup with two of Grace's friends who conveniently happened to be in the same area as we were. We met up at Mint Folk & Co., a lovely brunch spot in this small community shopping center. I went for an egg benedict with bacon on sourdough, accompanied by a flat white. We enjoyed hearing about Grace's friends' travels, which also included stints in Fiji and Australia; it was a pleasure to meet them and enjoy a nice breakfast together. They were on their way into Aoraki, so we talked about some of the cool things we had done and seen.

Also, this is where I first chatted with my gang about nice coffee. You see, drinks culture is very serious in Melbourne, where they live; I had heard much from a lot of people in Boston that I would need to lean into the cafe culture on my trip. So as I enjoyed my beautifully decorated flat white in a rounded porcelain cup, I was curious how they rated the coffee. The concensus? Very nice, but not as nice as their Melbourne favorites. To this uneducated coffee drinker, I thought it was a bit weaker than the coffees I'd had at home in the northeast and earlier on the trip, so I was confused as to what made this superior. What really makes a great coffee? According to my friends, it's a question of not burning the beans - which is different than the boldness or weakness of the cup itself. I remained unconvinced.

After a quick post office pit stop - including the friendliest postmaster I'd ever encountered (he went well out of the way to make sure my mail had the right touch for my recipients in the "Great North America") - we hit the road for the drive south.

It's hard to portray the various terrain we saw. From amber fields to green pastures; rolling hills to flat landscape, the drive evolved from one landscape to the next. There was a winding mountain pass with sweeping views and we descended to a ravine with a historic suspension bridge where bungee jumping was supposedly invented. We decided to pit stop in Wanaka, a bustling lakeside town with a famous tree offshore in the lake. We sampled "Patagonia" ice cream which tasted sublime, even if it didn't entirely remind me of my trip to Patagonia. Luxurious chocolate was a theme here, but I was also amazed with their homemade waffle cones.

Hopping back in the car, we finished our leg into beautiful Queenstown. This mountain town has a population of only around 30,000, but the tourists must significantly multiply that. It's located on Lake Wakatipu, a bright turquoise lake fed by the glaciers of the Southern Alps. Per Wikipedia, the lake is 50 miles long and a couple miles wide, forming a huge S shape. From Queenstown, you would be forgiven for thinking that the lake was actually a bay or fjord, such was its size and mysterious shape. 

The town is positioned against one of the big central bends of the S, in a location that has a natural inlet - very convenient for sheltering the few boats that run on the lake (including an old-fashioned steamer). It is on a hill slope that is only gentle relative to the surrounding mountains and the town center is dominated by a mostly pedestrianized shopping and dining area that's absolutely fantastic for visitors. Along the water, you can enjoy a small beach or simply take in a great sunset. We had ramen and went for a little walk before packing for our backpacking trip.

On the back end of the Routeburn (see last post), we had a hotel in Queenstown for two nights to recoup. We devoured the aforementioned Fergburgers on the stunning waterfront. I had also recalled hearing about "New Zealand-style ice cream" but unfortunately we didn't immediately find an option for this "real fruit ice cream" before being lured into yet another Patagonia ice cream branch. Yeah, ok, the chocolate and hazlenut-dipped cone with dulce de leche ice cream was too compelling to turn down.

On our last full day in New Zealand we had a big road trip in store. In all my research, everyone online said that Milford Sound was a must-see destination, a fjord on the coast of the South Island. What you have to understand, though, is that Milford Sound the town has almost no facilities. The road to Milford Sound is a roundabout 4-hour drive from Queenstown, passing through the smaller lakeside town of Te Anau halfway. Think of it as a clockwise drive around a significant chunk of lake, farms, and impenetrable mountains.

To make matters worse, there's irony: the one-way Routeburn Track is a miniscule 33 km (19 mi) in length, spanning the Divide. Its exit is a short handful of miles (maybe 10-15 mi) from Milford Sound. And yet, the drive from the Routeburn Track trailhead to its exit is a ridiculous 4.5 hours (324 kilometers). Stan did some research and discovered that through the years, many options have been presented for connecting Queenstown to Milford Sound. One credible option that was legitimately explored went like this:

- In Queenstown, take a ferry across the lake

- Transfer to a special all-terrain crawler to take you into the mountains

- Transfer to a monorail to propel you the bulk of the distance through the mountains

- Transfer to a bus at the Routeburn Track exit; the bus takes you through a tunnel (more on that in a moment)

In other words, Milford Sound is really hard to get to. Was it really worth an 8-hour round trip and $750 NZD in boat tickets on a day threatening lengthy downpours?

Short answer: absolutely.

So where we set off going north along Lake Wakatipu to get to the Routeburn trailhead, we setoff going south/west along the lake at 6:45 am for our long road trip. The views over the lake were great and there were nice rainbows as the sun penetrated the morning rain and clouds. We left the lake and drove past field after field of livestock, with some crop farming as well. When we reached Te Anau, we stopped for a quick pastry and coffee breakfast; Grace and I split a frittada, a breakfast pie (that was supposed to be a non-breakfast pie), and a hearty scone. But mainly we kept driving.

Three hours into this drive, we entered Mount Aspiring National Park, shortly before reaching the Routeburn Track exit. The Park road was entirely forested but as we drove into the deep valleys, we were met with strong rains and mist. The forecast was for 100 mm of rain (that we didn't think to check before booking our boat, oops!). Gaining elevation, we noticed that the valley walls were closing in. The mountains had no gaps; shear walls tumbled into the valley. The walls were riddled with "rivulets" of water. Of course, I'm sure each rivulet was, in reality, a torrent dwarfed by the scale of the landscape. 

At some point we pulled out from the trees and, looking ahead, the valley came to a dead end. The silvery gray mountain walls surrounded us. A traffic light and changeable message sign stood guard in front of a hole: the Homer Tunnel.

Completed in 1953, the Homer Tunnel was intended to be a 1.2 km (0.75 mi) two-lane tunnel. Indeed, it took them 30 years to build and at first it was started by five men with pick axes. The prospect of carving this thing with pickaxes is ridiculous however; the entire tunnel is through solid rock and explosives were quickly employed. Today, the completed tunnel implements alternating one-lane, one-way traffic. I honestly can't imagine how tight it would be to permit two lanes as it was pretty tight with just one lane.

Emerging from the tunnel revealed a spectacle straight from Jurassic Park. Vertical horseshoe-shaped cliffs issued hundreds of waterfalls from an enshrouded ridgeline. As we wound our way down switchbacks, we continually marvelled at the incredible spectacle. It's no wonder this drive is regarded as one of the best in the world; the sight was so impressive.

The road eventually straightened out as it entered the treeline. The showers continued, even as we rolled into the tiny town of Milford Sound. We could hardly see anything in the sound, as the mist was thick; even walking from the parking to the ferry terminal, we were all pretty wet from the rain. 

Though only a few kilometers wide, the sound (aka Piopiotahi) is almost 15 km (10 mi) long and has a maximum depth of almost 300 m (1000 ft). So the ferry set out along the western rim and would go as far as the outlet at the Pacific before following the eastern rim back to town.

The tea and biscuits in the heated interior would be put to good use as the only places to take photos were from the exposed roof, the exposed bow, and a covered outdoor area at the stern. As the catamaran left port, we quickly explored the small boat to scope out all the options. It was rainy, windy, and cold but as we cruised, the rain would subside and amazingly the clouds lifted a bit.

Our captain pointed out that when you visit Milford Sound - one of the wettest locations on earth - there are only two types of weather. Sunny with no waterfalls, or rainy with waterfalls. We had tons of waterfalls. Again, the cord-like streaming rivulets were on every single rock face on both sides of the mighty fjord. That isn't an exaggeration. Several wider, giant waterfalls raged from hidden overhead origins. Some waterfalls crashed into the fjord. Others were overpowered by the wind and were blown apart into drifts of water vapor. These were pushed back up and over the top of the waterfall, before finally dissipating into thin air.

And yet, the record 24-hour rainfall is a whopping 1.2 m (4 ft). A lot more than the 100 mm creating this day's spectacle.

At one point, Grace and I headed to the bow of the boat early in the journey. We were approaching a gushing waterfall. What we didn't realize is that the captain is able to pilot the boat almost all the way up to the rock face due to the steepness of the cliffs plummeting into the Sound. So as we and some other passengers enjoyed the views, the captain steered the catamaran directly toward the waterfall. The power of the water coming off the falls was literally breathtaking in its force; wave after wave of water buffeted us with its own wind. Our raincoats and pants were drenched; you couldn't even face the waterfall owing to the intensity of the spray. Such is the epic force of nature!

Thank goodness I had left my camera with Stan and Pola!

As we came back down the eastern rim (after enjoying the soaking spray of a second waterfall), we pulled into a small cove. Per the captain, it's the only place in the fjord you could go ashore - or even use an anchor. In the back of the cove, the captain pointed out three small fjordland penguins! They are quite rare at this time of year, usually having aleady migrated south for the summer. But here they were with their snazzy yellow "eyebrows", enjoying a great day at the beach in the rain. What a life.

It's impossible to portray in text how amazing the fjord was, with its "weeping" mountains and black waters. The 90 minute cruise was gone in a flash but the indelible memories will continue forever. Honestly, I would love to do it again in the rain, well-dressed, in order to capture the full force and majesty of this incredible geologic feature in all its glory. 

A weka bird met us at our car to bid us farewell after a quick stroll around the ferry landing. We drove back to the tunnel and as we waited, a small flock of Kea were wandering amongst (/on top of) the queue of cars, curiously looking into everyone's windows. Does this land ever cease to amaze?

The next day we would depart New Zealand, the magnifcent land of glaciers, fjords, waterfalls, and earthquakes. So after our four-hour drive home, we sat around at our Queenstown hotel eating leftover backpacking food (tuna on sourdough anyone?) and New Zealand snacks, admiring the sunset behind the Remarkables and Lake Wakatipu. I was curious what everyone's favorite thing was. For Stan, it was climbing the Harris Saddle on the Routeburn track. For Grace, it was Milford Sound. Pola loved the Tasman Glacier. And for me, it was cresting the knob going up to the Mueller Hut. Something for everyone. It's a shame we only covered a small smidgen of New Zealand in our week here. One senses it was just the tip of the iceberg. But I'm so happy to have done it - and that I could do it with such great friends. Hopefully I'll be able to come back again soon and see more.

Next time, I turn my attention to Melbourne, Australia, a city with a population equal to the entire population of New Zealand. And now for something completely different, as they say...

The Routeburn Track

 If you will allow me to digress from the usual chronological flow of my blog (actually, you have no choice, sorry), I will skip slightly ahead to our second great block of adventure: the Routeburn Track. I'll return to the journey from Aoraki/Mt Cook in my next post and tie it in with a recap on Queenstown and Milford Sound.

We woke up at the confusingly named Melbourne Lodge Hotel in Queenstown, New Zealand. The previous night we had repacked our bags for backpacking and so, after popping to a grocery store and finally acquiring the elusive powdered milk for Granola's granola, we saddled up and headed north out of Queenstown.

We had an hour drive to the trailhead for the Routeburn Track. The road followed along the edge of Lake Wakatipu, the serpentine, glacial lake on which Queenstown is located. The translucent turquoise water showed stunningly beautiful whitecaps in the wind. Overhead we had sun, but misty clouds lay ahead in the distant mountains. After passing the northern tip of the lake, we entered a wide and rocky river basin down which the Dart River ambled. Looking across these flats to the mountains on the other side was exciting because this was the filming location for Isengard in the Lord of the Rings films. You could picture Saruman's tower domineering over the landscape; the ents emerging from Fangorn forest and tearing down a dam to flood the plain. Only today there are no remnants of the filming from 25 years ago; Google Maps includes a landmark called Isengard Lookout, but not even a single placard marks the space today.

We parked the car at the trailhead, which had a beautiful pavillion with signboards advocating for the protection of New Zealand's endangered species. There are no native small mammals on the South Island, so introduced species of rats, stoats, possums, and cats wreak havoc on the island's native birds. As a result, around 8 or 10 bird species are threatened or endangered, including birds like the aforementioned Kea, the Whio (a blue duck), the Morepork (an owl species), along with well-known species like the Kiwi and Kaka. Throughout our trip we heard several presentations and read many signs regarding efforts to control preditor populations. The DOC has thousands of traps set throughout the national parks and checks them on a monthly basis. It's great to see how serious New Zealand is about protecting its native fauna and I hope their efforts prove successful.

Setting out from the trailhead, we immediately realized that this would be a much different environment than we had experienced in Aoraki. Rather than the dry semi-arid grasses of the Hooker Glacier valley, we found ourselves in a lush temperate rainforest. Tall beeches created a high canopy over a densely ferny understory. Every surface was covered in olive-green moss, from the tree trunks to the ground. As a very mature forest, blow-downs and shattered tree trunks filled the forest, but nothing here was freshly fallen; everything was rotting and covered in moss.

The Routeburn Track is what they call a Great Walk in New Zealand, one of several multi-day backpacking tracks through the Southern Alps. In total, this end-to-end track is a couple dozen kilometers and I believe it usually takes 3 days to complete. The trail roughly followed the Routeburn, a mighty glacial river, on its way up into the high peaks. There it followed a ridge up to The Divide of New Zealand before descending down into the Milford Sound valley. More on that in the next blog. There are 3 or 4 huts along the route where backpackers can overnight. We had unfortunately been unsuccessful in booking huts along the entire route and therefore our plan was not to do the entire Routeburn Track. Instead, we would backpack in to the Routeburn Flats hut where we would spend two nights before exiting the way we entered. We would day-hike from our outpost, covering a bit more of the Routeburn Track.

Everything in the rainforest was damp or dripping. The mist and rain we anticipated on the way in wasn't too bad, but nonetheless the wetness abounded in the forest. The track went up gently and wound through the forest until we came around a corner and were met with the first of several wonderfully wobbly suspension bridges. At each bridge, the raging and tumbling Routeburn gushed with foamy white water, bashing and tumbling violently down the forested gully. Each bridge offered me a chance to relive my doctorate as our heavy packs easily excited the structures vertically and laterally.

Before too long the narrow gully started to open up. We were on the left bank heading upstream, still in the woods, but on the right the river flattened out in a wide flood plain. A steep but short conical mountain could be seen across the flats; in this plain, the main branch of the Routeburn intersected with the North Branch prior to funneling out the way we had ascended. This was the Routeburn Flats and we arrived at the hut bearing its name.

Imagine the conical mountain at the center of the flats, flanked on the north by the North Branch and on the west by the main river. The flats were huge, yet roughly horseshoe shaped, wrapping around this conical mountain. The flats had no trees; only vast swaths of grass on the perfectly flat terrain. This was in sharp contrast to the steep, forested walls of the valley on the outside and the conical mountain on the inside.

The Routeburn Flats hut was situated just on the edge of the flats, tucked into the trees. I would say the hut was maybe just a meter or two above the level of the swiftly flowing Routeburn. The hut featured three buildings. One, a three-hole latrine with flush toilets (luxury!!). The next was the main quarters with a sheltered outdoor area for day hikers, a kitchen with steel sinks and gas stoves (luxury!!!!), a common dining room with old-fasioned iron fireplace, and two bunk rooms with cushy mattresses (luxury!!!!!!). Finally, a small building served as quarters for a full-time DOC warden (Mitch) who looked after the site and gave us lovely endangered species talks.

On one such talk, Mitch informed us that the huts used to have lead nails. The DOC discovered that the Kea population was contracting lead poisoning and, after minimal investigation, it was found that the parrots had been pulling the nails out of the roof panels. Not only was this detrimental to the parrots, but it had been causing leaks in huts throughout New Zealand....

The walk in had not been arduous by any definition (admittedly I haven't consulted my crew for their concurrence on this statement), but we settled in and made ourselves at home. We enjoyed some tea, snacks (coconut date balls, chili almonds, and Whittaker's NZ chocolate slab), and photography, opting to enjoy a casual long evening looking out the hut window rather than pursuing additional walks. With card games, crosswords, amazing window views, and fellow hikers to entertain us, the time passed quickly. Dinner evolved into nighttime and soon it was off to bed.

Where the evening had brought beautiful skies, the night brought rain. I awoke in the middle of the night to lightning and thunder powerful enough to shake my bunk. Stan and I had independently wondered if it was an avalanche or earthquake - but ultimately we decided thunder was the only cause. But thunder was the least of the impacts. With approximately 70 mm (3 in) of rain overnight, the idyllic Routeburn overtopped its banks; the Flats were awash with angry flood waters. Thankfully the hut was well out of the way, but it became obvious why the flats were as flat as they were: so much sediment coming down from the high peaks being deposited at this bottleneck in the river. The forces of nature are truly inspiring.

It came to light that poor Pola was on day one of illness, so Stan, Grace, and I would day hike while she "manned the fort". It was really sad that she couldn't join us, but there are certainly worse places to be holed up with a cold than the scenic Routeburn Flats hut.

The three of us set out after a massive granola and powdered milk breakfast. We were head to toe in waterproofs as the day promised to hit the dreaded trifecta of cold, windy, and rainy weather. In the steady rain, we headed west along the banks of the Routeburn, climbing through the forest and occasionally crossing the river by more suspension bridges. A few kilometers in, we reached the Routeburn Falls hut, a veritable hut complex next to an incredible surging waterfall. Climbing up and over the waterfall, we exited the forest in favor of a rugged yellow-brown marshy grassland. "Hills" on both sides and in front of us bounded the river valley, which twisted out of view to the right. We continued near to the still-surging Routeburn, but we wondered where all this water was coming from since we could see the ridge above us.

The trail sloped up along the walls of the rounded valley and unfortunately it had become a stream in its own right. Along the way, I noticed we were walking on some of the most interesting rocks and minerals. First we had a stretch of delightfully light green granular rock, which Stan and I agreed was likely due to copper content. Then we entered into a stretch of tantalizingly deep purple rock, similar to the color of Amythyst, but opaque. These rocks occasionally had marble seams. Also there were some sections with quartz. Finally, higher still, we found shiny grey rocks which were almost metallic in nature. As you can tell, I have yet to do the back research on all this great geology, but when I do, I'll add a brief addendum to the bottom of the post.

We have no doubt that the color of the rocks and minerals were improved by the wet conditions. It had continued to spit rain and in some sections we were met with showers. As we gained elevation, the wind picked up; I found myself persistently adding and removing a winter hat and my raincoat hood in various combinations, attempting to balance body temperature, outdoor temperature, and the inconsistent rain.

But for all that, we were having fun as we gained remarkable views. Below us we could finally see the winding oxbow path of the Routeburn through this upper valley. And ahead, we finally found the source of this mighty river: Harris Lake. Our trail did not go to the shores of Harris Lake, but above it, along some bluffs. What was interesting is that this glacial-fed lake sat at approximately El. 1000 m (3000 ft), well above the upper Routeburn valley (maybe El. 900 m) or the Routeburn Flats (El. 700 m). Similar to the Sealey Tarn, this Lake had been captured by a long, narrow outcrop, which limited the outflow of the lake to a very narrow funnel. But unlike the Tarn, which had a tiny surface area, Harris Lake was truly expansive. If we had to guess, Stan and I would say it was probably on the order of a half mile long by maybe a quarter mile wide. Under the dramatically cloudy skies in this damp yellow-brown terrain, the lake took on a dark, turbulent slate-grey appearance: mysterious and tempestuous.

Following the bluffs high above the lake was a windy endeavour, but rounding the corner, we had reached Harris Saddle. We walked up to an enclosed day shelter and, going inside, we were immediately met with a grim collection cold, soaked, and dejected backpackers. Indeed, we were fairly wet and cold too, but thankfully the fact that we were day hiking had kept our spirits high. Most of these poor backpackers had spent their way picking their way along the far side of the ridge, being buffeted by the wind, and walking entirely in cloud. No views, no warmth, no fun.

Indeed, it was warmer in the hut than outside, but it was certainly not warm. Sitting there eating lunch made us all cold and the humidity from all the steaming hikers made everything sticky. We didn't stay long.

On the bright side, when we set out again, the rain had largely stopped. We walked about a half kilometer along the ridge just to get a taste (cloudy, rugged, grassy) before turning back the way we had come. The trail back to the Routeburn Flats hut was largely uneventful aside from taking some selfies with my favorite rocks. Of course, uneventful does not mean uninspiring.

That evening, we again enjoyed dehydrated hiker meals. I had some carbonara thing augmented with more Whittaker's chocolate slab and other snacky treats. We worked on - and failed at - a crossword puzzle by candlelight. As we prepared to turn in, I went out to the toilets. On my way back, I heard a squawking in a tree just in front of me. Turning on my light, I looked up at the low branches and there were not one but two tiny Morepork owls! I suspect I accidentally blinded them but they were very patient as I took a few photos. I was super happy to see two of this amazing and uncommon bird hanging out at our hut!

The morning of the third day was getaway day. My boots were still soaked through so I deployed my hiking sandals to great effect, sloshing through every puddle and stream in utter defiance. Spirits were again high and we had a lovely walk back through the rainforest. We took a little side nature trail and saw some fantails flitting from tree to tree, fanning their tails in a showy black and white display. We enjoyed the sights and scenes, but most importantly we enjoyed being in each others' company. 

That night, as I started to come down with the same cold, we picked up venison and beef burgers from Fergburger in Queenstown and we took them to a permanently moored bar boat on the water. The scene was utterly splendid with the late day sun hitting the bright light-blue water, the undulating Remarkables mountain range providing a perfect backdrop. We also went to Patagonia Ice Cream and I enjoyed a dulce de leche scoop on top of a kind of carmel/chocolate swirl scoop in a chocolate dipped waffle cone.

This is the life!