New Zealand

            With a list of places to see and a camper van stocked with locally grown food and extra blankets we are off to explore the south island of New Zealand.  Our first trip in 2007 was a revisit to some of the places Gary bicycled through 20 years ago, with a sprinkling of new places.  Since our bags never made it past Sydney, Australia we had to get by with just the things in our carry-ons.  On the next trip in 2009, we visited some of our favorite spots and added some new ones.  Of course, there is a lot more to see of the south island, the northern and southern ends are left to explore on our future journeys. 

            With earthquakes and surprisingly severe storms possible at any time of the year, an itinerary has to be flexible and open to lots of spontaneous editing enroute.  This is part of the fun of exploring New Zealand; you never know what the trip will really be like until you’re done.  These 7 walks reflect the places we experienced and the promise of new adventures awaiting us on our return down under.

Morning coffee at the camper van

Mueller Hut

            Having a steaming cup of coffee while sitting in the chilly morning air under a brilliant blue sky is a sure sign of an epic trail day.  This will be our third time on the Mueller Hut trail.  The first two times we had weather and exertion against us.  Today we vow to take our time and the weather is spectacular.  Crossing the edge of the glacier scraped valley, past spiky grass and even spikier bushes the trail becomes a vertical series of gravel and beam steps winding up into the sky.  We stop frequently to take in the view of the valley, lakes and jagged snowy peaks around us.   

Sealy Tarns on the Mueller Hut trail

            When we reach Sealy Tarns, no one is around.  Salty crackers are delicious on a wooden bench with this view.  When people start arriving we set off for the second half of the climb.  From the tarns the trail is less obvious through rocks and tussock until you reach the orange colored scree slope where you simply aim toward the trail blaze pole at the top of the ridge and scramble up trying not to pelt your companion with splintered shards of rock.  Above the ridge an outcrop of boulders becomes a theater for watching ice falls on the glaciers across the ravine, so close you can see bus-sized chunks of ice frozen at impossible angles and wrinkly fissures of electric aqua-blue.  Crossing a small snow field, the “fridge on the ridge” or Mueller Hut comes into view.  

Snow field at Mueller Hut

            We celebrate our summit by going directly to the bathroom.  Inside the corrugated tin closet, instructions are posted requesting that you pee in the strainer cup at the front and do everything else in the opening in the back.  The pit toilet is serviced by the Department of Conservation (DOC) and all waste is helicoptered out at a high expense.  The instructions explain that pee makes up as much as 75% of the waste and isn’t harmful to the environment.  By separating the waste they can reduce the cost of waste removal.  However, they fail to explain where the pee that’s been carefully deposited into the separate compartment is deposited. 

            The weather continues to be beautiful and we have our lunch on the deck at the hut.  It’s quite large and immaculate.  Two long platforms run against the wall, one above the other for trekkers to sleep side-by-side in their sleeping bags.  A wood stove for heat and burners and a sink make up the main room, with windows looking out in every direction.  We breathe in the view that’s impossible to capture, relying on our memories to embed the feeling of this landscape deep within our brains so that we can play it over again after we’re back home, half an ocean away from here.  

The decent from Mueller Hut

            A long steep decent that seems to last forever brings us to the Old Mountaineers Club.  This youth-embracing rival of the stately Hermitage has a spectacular view of sunset on Mt. Cook.  It’s warm inside and the rustic wooden walls are adorned with historic photos and old climbing gear.  Classic rock plays while we enjoy our overpriced chocolate desserts and watch the mountain turn pink and clouds swirl around the peaks.  Today we toast ourselves, having joined the ranks of Sir Edmund Hillary by climbing the first peak he summited.  As Mt. Cook slips quietly into the dark , we make our way back to the campground at White Horse Hill.

Routeburn Track

            Saying that we “did” the Routeburn is quite an exaggeration.  We trekked from both ends and left most of the middle for another time.  At Glenorky, we camped on the banks of the swollen Dart River hoping for a break in the rain that would give us more favorable walking conditions.  When the rain slowed to a dribble we made a sprint of it.  Walking quickly without packs, we nearly made it to the flats hut before we were turned back by a stream that washed over the trail.  Without any spare clothes we decide to call it a day.  We spend the night sleeping next to cascading waterfalls listening to the rain on the roof of our camper van.  Another car is parked nearby with two guys also waiting for the weather to clear.  They sleep in their tiny car while we stretch out in our camper, falling asleep to the hum of a cozy electric heater.  Early in the morning we are startled by a car alarm.  We pull back the window cover and see a soaked hiker in the driver’s seat of another vehicle nearby fumbling with buttons and keys trying to silence the alarm.  After a few minutes he gives up and starts the car.  The sound of the alarm followed him as he drove down the muddy road.  

Routeburn Track

            At the other end of the Routeburn, we hike up a well maintained trail with goblin moss hanging from tree branches overhead and trickling seeps nourish delicate ferns and wildflowers.  At Key Summit, there are boardwalks over tarns choked with didymo – an invasive algae that floats in globular burnt red mats that the DOC has waged war against.  Across the glacial carved ravine a hanging valley holds a sparkling jewel of a lake – Lake Marian.  We add this to our list of destinations. Hiking on to Lake Howden, we drop down into a warm valley with sand flies.  The hut is small and trekkers are already arriving to spend the night.  It’s only lunch time and I wonder what they will do with themselves for the rest of the day.  Some of the hikers are already showing signs of sore muscles and fatigue.  The trail from here goes much higher through snowy passes and wind swept treeless ridges.  Their guide is in for a challenge.

Keplar Track

            From the small town of Te Anau we can see the lake from the laundry depot.  We buy souvenir T-shirts to wear while our one set of clothing is washing.  The coin operated toilets are a curious experience - pay to get the door open and do your business as usual, then press a button to get one square of toilet paper at a time.  Eventually you get enough to do the job then spend more time unraveling the secret of opening the door without any latches or handles to direct your efforts.  I eventually escape to enjoy a scone and cappuccino at the bakery while we wait for the dryer.  

Keplar Track

            The Keplar track is a loop that begins and ends at the dam at the end of the lake.  We explore both ends of the loop before deciding to take the summit.  Approaching from the lake, we wind along a pleasant flat trail with views of the lake peeking through the beech trees.  The sounds of boats buzzing around and people talking along the shore penetrate the forest.  Finally we begin to ascend.  The trail becomes a relentless zig-zag up through carpets of fern so thick you cannot see the ground, then through spooky curtains of deer moss hanging off every branch turning the view into a blue-green fog of flora.  Suddenly the trees are gone and we step into the bright sunlight on a high ridge covered with waving tussock. Finally a view, with lakes, snowy peaks, thick green ridges kissed by fluffy white clouds and streaming waterfalls.          

            A forty-five minute walk in the sun and wind brings us to the Luxmore Hut.  Ducking under the short wall around the deck to get out of the crisp wind, we bask in the warm sun and eat our lunch.  The hut is big and just starting to acquire trekkers for the evening.  The caves nearby give the idle hikers a diversion for the long afternoon before the sun sets around 9:30 pm.  After that, it’s dark with no electricity and the only thing left to do is sleep.  We move on toward the summit, a gentle winding trail then a steep scramble over crumbly slate and then we’re atop Mt. Luxmore.  I was content to stop at the hut but it was worth all the effort to reach the summit.  There is something about the top of a mountain that can’t be felt unless you’re there, a certain victory of the spirit and perspective of the Gods.

Avalanche Peak

            The second time we tried to do this trek we got trapped at Arthur’s Pass.  A huge storm came through the night we arrived with strong winds and buckets of rain.  In the morning the storm continued and the roads were closed in both directions.  The Waimakariri River was “bank to bank” and part of the road under water.  Landslides covered the road in the other direction and we had nowhere to go and nothing to do.  So, we hung out at the visitor center and learned how to weave Arakeke reeds into mats with all the other stranded campers.  That night, at the urging of the sweet young forestry girl who came to our camper in the pouring rain, we went to a very interesting presentation about caving, where we were told in amazing detail about the crazy things cavers do.  “A bit of a squeeze”, is how they describe a spot so tight you have to let out your breath to inch your body through a crevice in the rock. When the road finally opened the next morning, we took the opportunity to escape and headed for less treacherous ground.  

Avalanche Peak

            About a week later, we returned to Arthur’s pass to enjoy our second successful bid on Avalanche Peak.  We start this trek on Scott’s track, so the beginning of the walk is actually along the road, then up through scraggly trees following a trail that looks more like a stream bed.  Above the tree line the trail follows a narrow ridge, not unlike the kind you see on the Koolau’s in Hawaii.  The wind makes you feel as if you’ll be swept off the ridge at any moment with nothing to grab onto.  Climbing almost vertically you reach the outcrop of rock that makes the summit.  

Inquisitive Kea

            The Kea birds like to check in on the hikers here and sneak around looking for things to chew on.  A couple boys left their pack unattended and a Kea flew off with it scattering all their belongings and quite a bit of money all down the side of the mountain.  The boys scrambled all over the side of the steep face recovering as much as they could.  It was a dangerous lesson. 

            Coming down the Avalanche Peak trail is a bit of the scramble, with bits so steep you hold onto branches and roots to lower yourself down small drop-offs and eroded banks.  Most of the trail you can look nearly straight down onto the roofs at the village below. 

            We end our trek at the café where we watch the Keas thieving and destructive antics over cappuccinos.  One ambitious bird has his head stuck all the way into the bottom of an overturned milkshake glass and has a white cream beard and mustache on his bright green face.  Their antics are a burden for the café, they’ve posted signs everywhere warning not to fee the Kea and further that the café is not responsible for food left unattended.  “Items will not be replaced or refunded.”  Eat quickly and guard your goods from invaders.

Lake Marian

            It’s late afternoon, but we decide to go for it.  The track is a 4 hour return, we’ll be back by 8pm and it will still be light.  The excitement kicks in right away when the trail turns into a balcony boardwalk over a tumbling stream.  Suspended over the quickly moving water you gain an appreciation for the power just beneath your feet.  Turning away from the stream, the trail narrows becoming a scramble over roots and rocks up through the thick forest.  The roots become ladders to grasp with hands and feet as we reach the edge of the hanging valley.  The light is only on the highest peaks now, their bright snowy faces reflecting in the mirrored surface of Lake Marian.  

Lake Marian

            It would be spectacular to wake up here at the edge of this lake with the sunrise pouring in through the open end of the valley.  I might even venture for a swim, but today it’s chilly without the sun so we soak in the view instead.  When we return to repeat this track the trail is closed because the storm that stranded us at Arthur’s pass caused landslides and windfalls that make the trail impassable.  They’ll need heavy equipment flown in to clear the debris.  I guess that means we’ll have to come back again.

Alex’s Knob

            We coasted into Franz Joseph on fumes.  The fuel light was on for far too long before we were able to find a gas station.  The one we found wasn’t even open, but allowed you to purchase premium gas with a credit card.  Extremely grateful to fill our tank with overpriced fuel instead of walking into town for a refill, we drive to Lake Matheson with the sun low in the clear sky.  We are lucky and experience the famous mirrored reflection of Mt. Cook in the glassy lake surface.  

            On the west coast the weather is fickle and prefers raining more than anything.  It’s dark by the time we check into the Rainforest Holiday Park.  A bartender gives us a spot for the night and on our way to the bathroom we accidentally frighten a possum out of a tree and then proceed to blind it like paparazzi with our cameras.  Our first wildlife experience.  

            “Don’t bother going to the top, it’s completely socked in, nothing to see there.”  An older couple warns as they descend the trail in their soaked rain gear.  Ignoring the visitor’s guide that urges an early start for better weather, we sleep in and don’t start the trail till noon.  By the looks of these hikers, we didn’t miss any window of opportunity, which is great for us since our only foul weather gear is a plastic garbage bag.  The dry weather seems to be holding though so we press on.  

Alex's Knob trail

            Further up, we carefully make our way over orange mats of leaves that look like banana peels.  The leaves are falling from trees that could be straight out of a Dr Seuss book.  Above the tree line it’s chilly in the wind and clouds swirl around us.  The view we’ve earned through our uphill efforts is hidden in the mists.  We sit among the tussocks with a boulder blocking the wind and eat some lunch.  Suddenly we hear helicopters below us.  The sun brightens and the clouds part like curtains to reveal the Franz Joseph Glacier from top to bottom.  We stare in disbelief as the clouds shift to expose pieces of the valley and ridges around us.  Then just as quickly the clouds flood back in to conceal the view again.  It was a magical show, just for us.  One of those unexpected gifts that feeds the addiction to travel.

Gertrude Saddle

            Our first attempt on this trail we only went about fifty feet before we encountered an underwater bridge.  The waters rise and subside so quickly here, we could have come back the next day and walked through easily.  The second attempt we had beautiful weather and a dry bridge.  

            Walking across the valley, large boulders lie among wildflowers where they’ve tumbled off the cliffs above.  Making our way up out of the valley, we follow a stream and use cables to pull our way up the smooth rock face.  Half way up, a small lake sits on a plateau below the saddle.  We have our lunch here, watching helicopters fly through the saddle and hug the cliffs.  One of them was quite a kamikaze, just the kind we’d hire for a tour.  If you drop a few hundred bucks for a 20 minute tour it better get your heart pumping.  For people with pacemakers the next helicopter was a more gentle flight, gliding smoothly along the same route without the wild dips and turns.  

            We spend more time up at the saddle because the weather is so fine and we’re enjoying the helicopter show and the visits from the Keas.  On the summit above us, we make out 3 moving dots – climbers descending across an ice field.  We watch until they are invisible among the rocks.  As we descend, the weather quickly changes.  Clouds move in and the temperature drops.  Rain threatens as we climb back into the camper and head for Milford Sound to eat dinner in a thunderstorm.

(All photos by author unless noted)

Parkour

Sweat dribbles down my back and I pant like an old dog.  My legs wobble and threaten to collapse.  I hit the ground feeling heavy and awkward.  This is nothing like the videos of lithe young men pouncing effortlessly onto walls and leaping between rooftops.  It would be hard to convince anyone that what I’m doing is Parkour.

 A Red Bull commercial started this whole thing.  The ad is an impressive display of running and jumping through the spectacular landscape of a Greek village on the island of Santorini.  It looks like stunt work but the movements are Parkour.

Ryan Doyle in Santorini  Photo by:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivbOMXDRb8E

But what exactly is Parkour?  Enthusiasts describe it as a physical and mental way of overcoming and adapting to whatever obstacles you encounter.  The principle ideas behind Parkour have been around since the beginning of time.  Early hunters knew how to move quickly and efficiently through their environment to capture prey or escape from danger.  A more organized approach to the movement began in the early 1900’s.  During a trip to Africa, Georges Hébert was inspired by the indigenous people’s physical abilities, noting that their strength and resilience was conditioned only through physical interaction with their environment.  Hébert incorporated this principle in the development of a training program for the French military.  The movements were simple but demanding - jumping, running, climbing and balancing through a set of obstacles. The modern military obstacle course common in many countries is based on the Methode Naturelle (Natural Method) developed by Hébert. 

It wasn’t until the 1990’s that Parkour officially came into existence in Lisses, France.  Inspired by his father (a French soldier trained in the Natural Method), David Belle worked with a small group to develop the movement of Parkour.  Belle became the lead, projecting Parkour onto the big screen through many roles in films and promotions.  Belle describes Parkour as “a method of training which allows us to overcome obstacles, both in the urban and natural environments. We train and when one day we encounter a problem we know that we are able to use it.”  Parkour is about freedom of movement, self-improvement, concentration and overcoming fear.  It’s not competitive, one person’s energy reacts to another’s, encouraging progress.

Ryan Doyle in Mardin  Photo by:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUTXXMdQnio

“Boot camp starts next week, you should come,” suggested Ozzi.  I offer a polite refusal, imagining myself battered like a drumstick in sand and sweat on a public beach amidst a group of military boys pounding out effortless pushups. Six weeks of intense training sounded more than a little intimidating.  Ozzi Quintero founded Parkour Hawaii in 2007 as a link for paceurs to share ideas and provide awareness - a unified space for the discipline in the islands. As a hyperactive kid in Venezuela, Ozzi embraced all sports and movement including acrobatics, breakdancing and martial arts.  His love of motion led him to Parkour.  Ozzi now coaches at the Hawaii Academy, runs training sessions at Ala Moana Beach park twice a week and holds boot camps throughout the year.  His philosophy is that regardless of any dialect, movement is our very first language.  Ozzi gave me the link to the PKHawaii website which provided lots of information, videos of drills to practice and training session footage.  I studied the videos and began to practice on my own to build up some skills and strength.

Ozzi Quintero  Photo by:   http://hawaiipk.com

Facing the wall, I crouched down low and jumped up onto the wall landing on both feet.  I looked down, perturbed that it took that much effort to jump 6 inches.  At the beach where I stretch in the morning, a short cement wall angles away from the water gradually getting taller until it reaches about 3 feet high.  I’m at the shortest end learning how to jump, something I did every day as a kid.  My body doesn’t remember that right now, but it will.  Once I master a move at the short end I move down the wall progressing to more difficult moves at the higher end. The moves are a lot harder than they look.  My first session lasted 10 minutes.

A month later I gracefully spring onto a low wall. I do five push-ups, not the knees-on-the-ground type that I started out with – the real ones.  Jumping back down to the ground I’m still sweating and panting but stronger and more confident.  My wall has become an inspiration instead of an obstacle.  I’m ready for the next step, a sequence of moves through different obstacles.  

Beginning Parkour

Cement is hard.  I remembered this fact one night during an impromptu Parkour session. All week I had practiced linking moves together, at a new location with more obstacles and more challenges.   When my family had a picnic dinner at this new location I couldn’t resist busting out some Parkour.  I jumped from a low bench to the rim of a cement trash barrel. I missed the rim by a bit and hit the metal doughnut-shaped lid on the top.  The lid was purely decorative and slipped out from under me. I crashed to the ground.  The cell phone in my back pocket took most of the impact and luckily, I walked away uninjured.  Falls are inevitable, especially when you are just beginning, this was a good reminder to practice controlled falls so I’m more prepared next time.

Every landscape holds potential for Parkour.  I’m beginning to see familiar things as new possibilities.  Yesterday, some 8 year-old's were jumping over bushes at school and I immediately thought of all the different ways I could do the same and how I would also use the benches and the tree next to them.  It may be a while before I’m ready for boot camp or precision jumps, but for now I’m happy to see a playground in every landscape.  Look out Santorini.

Island of Santorini, Greece

(All photos by author unless noted)

Pebble

pebble - a small round stone that has been worn smooth by erosion.  A little smooth rock.

            Pebbles gather on the beach, softly clicking when waves shuffle them about. Their surfaces smooth as glass from rubbing against each other. Where did you all come from?  Tiny offspring from the boulders in the cliff above me. Hundreds, maybe thousands of years of rain washing them down, down, down, slowly to the ocean.  Their colors are rich in the water - rust, lime, cream, lead, peanut butter and gold. I choose three and put them in my pocket. In the sun on the beach, the pebbles are all grey and too hot to touch.  They are too small to skip across the water, small enough to stick to my skin like sand, but big enough to press hard against my feet when I walk. I have to bend my body to even the pressure. They swirl around in the water for just a moment when I lift my foot, gently tapping against my ankle as they settle back to the bottom. In the winter, they will dance and bounce along the beach while storm waves crash. New pebbles will arrive with the rain.  When summer returns, I will choose three and put them in my pocket.

(All photos by author unless noted)