Southern Thailand to Auckland and down to the South Island: Feb. 23

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Don and I flew out of Phuket one week ago to enter a dramatically different world. This entailed putting all the culinary and sensual delights of southeast Asia behind – the ambient warmth and birdsong, the fragrant flowering trees and plants, the sun as central character – to head to a country of volatile weather and vast, austere landscapes. In five weeks’ time, the unfamiliar had become the familiar, yet we needed to move on, so I let go my grasp and entered a new, expectant phase. Physically, I could feel the weight of gratitude crushing down on my chest at this transition.

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I have missed writing and will not have time to tell all the stories here, about: the older NZ couple from Wanaka who encouraged us to add the climb up Conical Peak yesterday; running into Linda and Ted Johnson who were being shown around Mrs. Woolly’s and Glenorchy Camp by the philanthropist Seattle couple – Paul and Debbi Brainerd – who developed Islandwood and then moved to NZ to build this state-of-the-art eco-friendly (compostable toilets!) and upscale, comfortable campground, renovate the more basic Mrs. Woolly’s campground and construct a new school across the street; running into Jenny from Wales, Jonathan and Tracy (the “sleeper” rapid hikers on the Milburn Track), and mother-daughter team Lissa and Karen from San Francisco; hiking behind the poor woman who left a lot of blood on the rocks when she fell and hit her head coming down from Conical Peak.

I had a fascinating conversation with Bruce Rauner, who just lost his re-election bid for governor of Illinois. He and his wife, Diana, who is equally talented and friendly, have 6 children (4 of them went to Dartmouth, as did Bruce) and love to camp. They were just one of the gang, only standing out when they and another couple left the rest of us suckers on the bus after the guided boat tour to take the pricey helicopter back to Queenstown. Bruce is a Republican who spent months when he was 17 hiking in Arizona for the purpose of recommending new public land to set aside. He and his friend got the majority of hikes they suggested approved and turned into preserved wilderness. He is pro-choice, pro-environment, and vehemently opposed to the state workers’ unions that he says are bankrupting his state. He does not like Trump, wrote in his buddy Mitch Daniels (past Ind. Governor) for President, but defines himself as an economically conservative Republican (I thought they had disappeared). He took no money for his campaign (contributed 65 million of his own $) and no salary as governor. 

Our entry into New Zealand was underwhelming. The Air Singapore flight went better than expected – 12 hours in an economy seat, but with the courtesy of a hot towel before dinner, decent food, and clean toilets. Yet we spent our first night at an airport hotel full of large, loud people and weird, offensive in-room messaging (“blow me” on the hairdryer, “it’s okay, you can swallow” next to the sink, “open me up” on the guide, etc.). It helped to vent in the negative review I posted on Trip Advisor.

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The next morning, we took the two-hour flight to Queenstown and a short taxi to our friendly hotel (QT) which sits on Lake Wikitapu. Queenstown is like Chamonix, a four-season hub for all sporting and outdoor activity. Bungy jumping originated here, for one, and paragliders float down all day from the top of the gondola ride on the “hill” behind the town. The next morning, Don and I “walked” Queenstown “hill,” a steep, high climb to a gorgeous view of the mountains ringing Wakatipu Lake. Halfway up, when I called ahead to Don to stop because I couldn’t breathe, Don muttered something about leg exercises being important, and I mentioned my low blood pressure. (Since Don does not tire on uphill climbs, I always look forward to group hikes where I do just fine). Our first week in New Zealand would be a wee bit more strenuous than the previous five weeks in SE Asia.

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The Milford Track is one of the nine “Great Walks” in New Zealand (nice wide trails in dramatic, spectacular places). Great Walks are incredibly well-maintained, considering that the rain and wind constantly change the course of streams and down many of the beech trees, whose root systems stretch out wide like arthritic fingers on a gigantic hand. There are latrines along the trails and picnic huts. After high season each year, the suspension bridges over the rushing water are taken out by helicopter. Only one group (of about 90) is allowed at a time on each segment of the trail, split between “independent hikers” who reserve a bunk at a hut and “Ultimate Hikes” trekkers who stay in exclusive lodges with laundry, meals, and private or shared rooms. We did the latter.

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Our hike took 5 days: Day 1, we took a 2 ½ hour bus ride, followed by a 45-minute boat ride up Lake Te Anu and a one-mile hike through the forest to Lodge #1. Day two, we hiked 10 miles on fairly easy terrain to lodge #2; Day 3 was the most strenuous, including a climb to MacKinnon Pass, “discovered” in 1888 by Quinton MacKinnon, a hardy explorer who stood 5’2” tall, followed by a hike to Sutherland Falls, at 450 metres, the highest waterfall in NZ (10+3 miles for the falls); Day 4 was a long, flat walk out (13 miles). Day 5, we took a boat ride around Milford Sound, which is truly spectacular. The captain maneuvered us close enough to feel the spray of one huge waterfall and next to rocks with sunning seals; every turn, we encountered a new vista of the mountain range; we motored right out to the Tasman Sea and back. Each day, the routine was up at 5:45 or 6, pack lunch, eat breakfast, pack up, on the trail at 7:30, usually back by 2:30-3:30; on the longest day, hikers in our group were out 13.5 hours! which delayed our 6 pm dinner until 7:30 with a late end of day. Yet our hiking lodges were wonderful, with fun-loving guides (one, a Kiwi woman about my age), excellent food and drink, hot showers, washing and drying rooms, and lots of laughter and card games with the other West Coasters on our trip (Ashland, Oregon, San Francisco). In addition, we had Swedes, Japanese, English, Irish, New Caledonians (again!).

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We have lucked out with the weather. Day 1 and 3 of the Milford Track, we had clear blue skies, 45-65 degrees. The sun is intense, as are the biting sand flies that swarm next to any stream. Day 2, it dumped rain (98 mm or 4 inches), but because it wasn’t cold, it didn’t matter that we were drenched and our boots squishy all day long. [As you ascend, you encounter more rain, up to 20 feet of rain per year, 240 inches. They say it rains 320/365 days here]. The water seeped in our boots as we forded deep streams and splashed through creeks along the way. I couldn’t see with my raincoat hood up, so I just took it off and let my hair get soaked, then my wool cap later on; when I sat down for lunch, the water that lay hidden in my jacket pooled on the floor. The air smelled clean, like sod and sweet grass. The rocks – blues, greens, and purples – come alive in the rain, like a watercolor does when you dip in a wet brush. So do the ferns, the tall tufted grasses and mosses, the trees. In the valleys, the huge, sloping mountains seeped water, in rivulets that look like icing on a lemon cake, in storming waterfalls that crash down from the heights.

It felt primeval. The Creator had made the earth and the seas, but these elements had not yet separated, with each creating a surfeit of life for the other. At times, the light on the path would get murky and trees that look like madronas (with the peeling red bark) would glow. I half-expected to see a wood nymph peeking out. Late afternoon that long day, I looked out our window at the lodge and saw glints of silver, red, and green, in the trees as the water droplets refracted the sunlight.

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The mountains in Fiordland are geologically young, so the contrast of jagged peak and blue sky is spectacular. The scale is so vast – like Montana on steroids. At the same time, because the island is also young (20 million years since it re-emerged from the ocean), there are no endemic mammals besides birds. Isn’t that amazing?

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True to the Edenic analogy, the South Island is a predator-free zone – no large mammals, no poisonous snakes, no raptors, nothing, only sand flies. This explains why NZ contains the greatest number of flightless species in the world. Ten years ago, a campaign was launched to revive the greatly depleted bird population. There are countless traps set for rats, ferrets, and possums. As you hike, you encounter alpine parrots, yellow-painted birds, robins, and the odd falcon. The parrots are inquisitive, smart, and playful. They will chew off the rubber siding on car doors and fly away with shoes or other things left outside. Their call is distinct and melodic, with a knocking sound in the middle. The robins show up everywhere, alighting on a branch or trunk, and move closer to you, with no fear. The guides taught us to dig our heels in to give them a strip of fresh soil to search for grubs and worms. This region also has some of the cleanest, bluest water in the world. You can actually drink out of the waterfalls as you hike and fill up your water bottle as you go. I’ve never seen streambeds so transparent and pure.

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Camper Van! We’ve had two nights so far to establish our groove in our compact Mercedes campervan. Our bed is quite cozy, though exhausting to take down and make back up, with all the tucking in of sheets and blankets. We just learned that we can set up a table at the front, which would allow us to leave the bed alone. But then where would we plug in the toaster and water heater for coffee? As I said, we’re still figuring this all out. Our first night, we dutifully shopped and made dinner. Unfortunately, the tomato sauce we bought tasted like sweet ketchup, so instead of spaghetti, we made something resembling Sloppy Joe mix on noodles. We’ve slept really well and woken up freezing cold. Tonight, I’ll put my wool hat and a sweater close by and wear wool socks to bed. This morning, we dumped our wastewater and our toilet for the first time. Easy peasy! Truly, we are here at the perfect time, towards the end of peak season, with the temperature still warming up to mid-60s and the tourists thinning out. Because internet is spotty, we are old-schooling it with maps and guidebooks.