Easter Holiday

May 01, 2012

Easter Holiday

Stina and I, during one of our first days of knowing each other, had shook hands on spending the Easter holiday together. We clicked that well. And I couldn’t imagine having spent it with anyone else. She was the perfect partner to have for such a quest- spontaneous, trusting, adventurous, excited, smart, down to earth, hardy, and fun. Do those adjectives give you a hint as to the kind of things we got ourselves in to? When we returned home, people asked how my holiday was. Words can’t explain the fun that was had, the moments that were shared, the connections that were formed and the bonds strengthened, the views seen, the lifting of spirits felt, or the intoxicating feeling of being truly alive and having it throughout and well after we had returned. Those are things that will only ever be fully known to Stina and I.

But I can tell you of our adventure anyways. It had all started with a plan, as most adventures do, but that plan was quickly crumpled up and tossed out the window. As was the next, and the one after that. It wasn’t that they were bad plans, they just didn’t fit with our direction, not that we actually had one. So, last minute we decided to get as far as Christchurch since neither of us had ever been there, and figure it out from there. Stina had a paper to finish, and so I made friends with our fellow hostelers. One was a Brazilian keen to do a bit of traveling (and he had a car), so it was a piece of cake convincing him he should come with us. The next morning we departed, heading north, and eventually took the very scenic Lewis Pass Rd. to Hamner Springs. Here we found very crowded hot springs (as it was the Easter holiday) but also some nice short hiking. We hit the road again and every bend we turned met us with breathtaking vistas illuminated by the waning daylight.

We reached Springs Junction, where the road splits and you must decide whether you are headed to the west coast or up to Nelson. Paulo’s car had struggled to get up and over the pass and it looked like it was the transmission’s fault. Paulo would be heading back to Christchurch in the morning where it would be cheaper and easier to figure out automotive problems. We camped that night in a cozy little campground telling stories, singing songs, eating fried cheese and cookies and taking night shots of the mist glowing in the light of the full moon as it rose off the river close by.

The next morning we woke and hiked for a few hours so that Paulo wouldn’t feel that all his time was wasted and then waved goodbye to him. Immediately after, Ben, a Kiwi-turned-Australian-miner home for the holiday, picked us up. He was very nice and left us in Nelson with an extended invitation to visit him in Queenstown. I’ve kept in contact with him since and our spontaneity inspired him to quit his job and move back home to the people and place he loves.

We were picked up next by three hot European boys in a campervan. You’re probably groaning at this point. How lucky are we, right?! Emiele, Jan, and Martijn were headed to Abel Tasman, as we were, and we were welcome to join them! Yippee! That night we pitched our tent next to their van, they cooked for us (sweet) and we spent hours talking, joking, and laughing under the stars. I don’t know how to explain it, but from the minute we stepped foot in that van I felt right at home.

We were going to start a tramp along the Coastal Track the next day but when they asked us to come kayaking with them, our spontaneous voices told us to do it. Stina and I woke early enough the next morning to catch one of the best sunrises I’ve seen in New Zealand. Then we didn’t go kayaking, as it was too expensive, but we did go for a day hike out to a very nice secluded beach. This is quite shocking as these boys came to New Zealand to surf and nothing but surf and here they were passing the afternoon hours swimming, playing volleyball and football (aka soccer), Frisbee, lounging in the sun and playing tic-tac-toe and hangman in the sand with us. Just a side note- hangman is a fun game to play with people who don’t know how to properly spell English words.

We returned to the van and headed towards Nelson. Stina and I were going to hitch to Nelson Lakes National Park where we’d start a four-day tramp. That was definite. The boys were a little less set on where they were going, probably Kaikoura, but I could tell they weren’t overly eager to depart from our company any time soon. And I was right. They offered to take an extra day out of their trip to get us to our trailhead, with the excuse that they might as well do some sight seeing since all they’d really done in New Zealand so far was surf. Sure. Sight seeing.

We made it to Nelson Lakes National Park that night and camped out in the middle of nowhere. I made a delicious chicken korma and rice dinner for all of us (yes, I can toot my own horn) and then we spent some hours exchanging ridiculously fun and loud drinking games. We went through what little boose we had and proceeded to play hide and seek outside. It was the perfect setting for the pairs that had been forming to break off. Poor Martijn slept by himself that night.

The next morning it was raining. That night it was supposed to snow. The guys couldn’t believe we were going to go hiking in such weather, but Stina and I were stoked! This is what we’d (despite our horrible planning skills) had planned for. Weather or no weather, it doesn’t matter as long as you are prepared. We stopped in the Info Center, mapped our route, bade the boys farewell with the notion that they’d stop in Dunedin on their way around the southern tip, dawned our handy dandy packs, and started walkin’.

We were headed to the St. Angelus Lakes Hut. We took the Speargrass Trail. It was perfect for the weather, as it was dense rainforest with a canopy that sheltered our heads from much of the rain but gave it a more fitting atmosphere than a ridge or shrub trail would’ve. We weren’t moving as fast as we probably ought to and made it to the Speargrass Hut only to rush through lunch and take off again in an attempt to make our own destination by nightfall. Past this point the terrain changed. We were no longer in forest but forest mixed with shrub that eventually gave way to the vegetation and scree of an elevated ravine. It was slow going having to pick through the dense plants, repeatedly cross a swollen river (aka walking through it shoes and all) and climb the steep loose slopes while keeping to the nearly non-existent track.

By 5pm we were still in good spirits, as we were having fun and had seen a chamois (alpine deer), but we were exhausted. By 6:30 or so, it’d probably be dark. We crested the first ridge thinking the lake and hut would be just beyond it, but no. Then we crested the next and the next. Still no. I could see that the trail continued way up and beyond the next ridge. It was time to stop, settle down, and get dry before it got dark. I picked the flattest spot I could find on a hill that would block us from the worst winds and we pitched our tent, at this point shivering and with frozen fingers. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING we were wearing was wet. We got into dry clothes, stuffed our faces with food, and spent the next 45 minutes tucked beneath layers of wool and sleeping bags to fight the shivering. It was the kind of constant shivering that makes you feel like you’ll never be warm again. But, of course, we warmed up. I had started to doze and the strangeness of sweating actually roused me.

Stina, who is one of the toughest girls I’ve ever met, scares at the oddest things. I guess howling wind tearing against a tent is a good enough reason to lose sleep over, but she was worried that there were more chamois just outside our tent and that the wind was going to fling them over on us! Goodness gracious! There were obviously no chamois about as they were most likely tucked under rock over-hangings somewhere fighting off the storm just like we were; and no way would they get near a flapping human-odored tent. And what was she letting her imagination of hers do to her?

At one point I did have to rally myself out of the warmth of my sleeping bag though and go back outside to properly stake down our fly in a way that my previously frozen fingers couldn’t handle. That sucked, but it did the trick. I woke in the morning after quite a decent night’s rest (Sometimes you just have to accept the circumstances and not worry about them because there’s nothing you can do- if the wind was going to tear us apart, it was going to tear us apart) but Stina seemed to have gotten none. No matter, it hadn’t snowed and the sun was out so we could get to drying some things. It was nice to eat breakfast while lounging in the sunshine. We eventually roused ourselves, packed up our things and made it up and over the next 25 minutes of ridges before descending into the lake basin to the hut. Good thing we hadn’t kept going and gotten stranded at the top. We stopped at, literally, the perfect place. I know, women’s intuition.

We had the place to ourselves, as it was midday, the lull between when the departees from the night before had left and the next night’s residents would arrive later. We spent some time talking with the very nice host who loaned me a book on the area’s history and ecology, finished drying our clothes, read, and staked out our tent on the far peninsula, far from the hustle and bustle that would be inside the hut come night fall. The many people started to trickle in (the hut sleeps 28+) and so we retreated to our quiet abode away from it all.

The next morning we were some of the first up and out of there. We took Robert’s Ridge- which we had been advised the night before might not be the safest choice since wind speeds were expected to reach 80km/hr. Sweet. I figured the wind didn’t really seem to pick up until the afternoon anyway, so as long as we were gone early and off the ridge or nearly so by lunchtime we’d be fine. And we were. The winds were definitely strong at times, literally pushing you forward, back or sideways in a way that could easily dislodge you mid-stride if you weren’t careful, but it made it that much more fun. The ridge was also spectacular. So many great places for 360 degree views and completely different from the track we had come up.

We made it towards the end of the ridge onto a ledge overlooking Nelson Lakes sprawling before us. I am just amazed at how every step we took brought us to a completely unique and beautiful view of some of my favorite scenery thus far in New Zealand. We eventually made it down the mountain and to the edge of those lakes. There was a water-side path that snaked around to the town of St. Arnaud that we would follow, but first we had to make ourselves town-worthy. I don’t know if skinny-dipping is allowed in those lakes but we did it. We thought we were in a secluded place too, near what appeared to be an old unused dock, but while out in the shallows washing our hair, out walks this couple. They looked at us for a moment and then pretended like we weren’t there, scanning around and taking in the scenery, so we continued what we were doing as if they weren’t there to see our bare bottoms. After ridding ourselves of four days worth of tramping filth, we made our way into town, gorged on some petrol station ice cream and pitched our tent on Kerr Bay.

The following morning we woke early, threw out our thumbs, and were picked up much quicker than we had thought we would by a beekeeper and his son in the rattiest old truck with the most character you’ve ever seen. I had to sit on Stina’s lap and hold the door closed as we drove. It was a strange coincidence too, but Stina and I had been talking the previous day about craving honey and here was a beekeeper offering us some of his personally acquired stuff. The world works in mysterious ways. He was able to get us about 60k’s down the road and warned us that we might be out on it all day, as not many people drive it. We didn’t mind and were actually rearing to walk (when you get in the habit of walking so much every day you get high off of it), but it didn’t matter since we got picked up ten minutes later. The gentleman drove a Lexus and picked us up because he had a daughter about our age. You never know what you’re going to get hitchhiking, honestly. It took us two more rides to get a couple towns south of Christchurch, one of which was a very friendly and welcoming woman and her daughter. They were the only females that ever picked us up, though the mother exclaimed she never picks up hitchhikers, but did so only this once because we were girls. We were so comfortable with her too that we fell asleep in the back seat during the three hour drive.

We stopped in a little town (I don’t remember its name) because I saw a camping sign. I asked the Irish bloke driving to let us out down the street. (You never want your drivers to know where you’re staying!) We took hot showers (OMG!), cooked rice, made vegetarian sushi rolls, and pigged out on ice-cream and cookies bought from the local store. It was nice to spend the evening relaxing with my book while Stina chatted up a Greek guy that had been biking around the world for the last three years. I would usually find this utterly fascinating but I, the English speaker responsible for chatting up all of our drivers, was completely sick of talking.

The next morning we left early and, three rides later, landed in Dunedin midday. Standing on the sidewalk where we waved goodbye to our last ride was strange. Knowing Stina and I would be walking different directions was even weirder. We didn’t know what to say, just looked at each other awkwardly for a minute before breaking the silence with comments on the surrealism of it all. Even though I would see her the next day it was hard to say goodbye. We were comrades in arms. Grocery shopping that night by myself was horrible. Cooking and eating by myself was worse. I gave up trying to explain my experience to my flatmates. I was restless sleeping in my bed, not constricted by the mummy shape of a sleeping bag or being lulled to sleep by the rustling of the tent in the wind. I was hungover. Not from alcohol, but from the aftermath of being intoxicated by liquid life. As with any hangover, the cure is to either wait it out or take another shot. I’m not very fond of rehab.

Some of the aftermath of the Christchurch earthquake.

Hostel morning.

Exploring the botanical gardens.

Stina feeling up that wrestler statue and creepy old guy looking at her.

Hamner Springs

Goddesses of the grass.

One of my favorite pictures of Stina :)

We woke up to visitors...

Goodbye Paulo. Someone please take us to Nelson.

Not a bad place to consider bedding down for the night.

Early morning sunrise.

For some reason I can always find a moth.

The morning after the storm. Did we survive? Is this real life or is this Heaven? I'd wake up in a tent in Heaven.

Looks pretty good to me.

Come on Stina.

Not a front yard.

Pretty cool clouds rolling in.

Finally made it to the top.

And this is what was waiting for us on the other side...

Angelus Hut

There's nothing like tramping food.

I'm pretty cute too :)

Sometimes I obsess over things. This rock is one of 'em.

And the fog rolling in was very cool too.

Isn't she cute?

Our home.

Way better than the hut.

The Milky Way.

Early morning wake-up call.

The beginning of Roy's Ridge.

Smurfs!

At this point we hurriedly dropped our packs, removed all of our clothes but our hiking books and posed with our butts facing the camera before the people behind us could see. It was an ode to a picture I had once found of my Dad in the same pose when he was in college- tramping somewhere with his friends. Gotta keep the legacy alive, and the adrenaline going :)

Always nice to get a little energy boost.

Kerr Bay

Made it round-trip

Thought we had the beach all to ourselves. We did some skinny dipping to clean ourselves of several days of backpacking grossness only to be walked on by an elder couple. They spotted us, looked a little shocked and then pretended like they hadn't seen us so I figured we could just proceed on doing what we were doing. Pretending like we hadn't seen them either.

I love ducks.

Our first hot meal in days. People were shocked to hear we weren't carrying a stove- that you can go without hot food for so long. And you can. It's very easy, and just less weight to carry.