Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The Return of the Hulk


High in the Arthur Range.  Patriarch Mountain in the background.

It has been a while since I have seen the Hulk, as I try to keep him in reserve for when he is truly needed.  However,  cramped inside our stuffy van at Siberian Flat campground on the Wangepeka River I could feel my blood boil, eyes redden and muscles tense against the fabric of my shorts.  What could possibly set me off in this paradise of New Zealand seven months removed from the stresses of my grown-up life in Seattle?  I slapped at my itching visage and smeared a dozen tiny black flies filled with my own blood across my balding forehead, repeatedly slammed my cheap plastic air mattress against the roof of the van and screamed out in curses not repeatable here on the pages of Front Door Adventures.  Jenny waited patiently outside the van for the episode to pass, my heart rate to slow and my skin color to return to normal.  Bless my poor wife.

It is true that New Zealand harbors virtually no dangerous flora or fauna.  You won't get bitten by nasty snakes or attacked by a bear tramping through the thick bush of this beautiful and unique archipelago Country.  You may however completely lose your mind trying to battle the robust populations of austrosimulium australense that make their home on the West Coast of Southern New Zealand.  The brochures of majestic peaks, white sand beaches, crystal clear rivers and rollings hills of thick native bush are strangely absent of angry red-headed tourists covered head to toe in thick clouds of tiny sandflies, swatting fruitlessly in every direction and screaming like a madman at the air; but rest assured it is all part of the authentic New Zealand experience.

As far as I can tell the only way to escape the assault is to climb out of the river valleys and beaches above the bush line into the peaks of the mountains that rise steeply out of the Tasman Sea and run the length of the West Coast of Southern New Zealand.  With this in mind, Jenny and I shouldered our packs with four days of food, followed the Wangepeka River deep into the Kahurangi National Park and climbed steeply up the wooded slopes of Kiwi Creek into the southern end of the Arthur Mountain Range.  Over the next three days, we traversed north along exposed alpine ridges of snow grass with the Marino Range towering to the south, the rugged Kendall Range rising proudly to the west and the vast oceanic void of Cook Strait expanding into the northern horizon.

The mountains are the place I feel most at ease and the beauty of this place almost made me forget the itchy scabbing red welts beginning to heal on my flesh.  Alas, all good things must come to an end and heavy northwest winds blowing hard against the aluminum walls of the John Reid Hut signaled our time had come to descend from the high country and ford the Wangepeka before it swelled into a flood and trapped us into an exposed, hungry wait on the wrong side of the River.

As expected the swarms of sandflies were eagerly awaiting my return to the valley and attacked with a renewed ferocity and vigor as I stopped just long enough at the river's edge to swap my boots for sandals.  I breathed easy however, closed my eyes and put myself back atop Patriarch Mountain in the warm sun and cool alpine breeze that I hold so dear, and managed to keep the Hulk at bay rationalizing the stinging bites as the small price of entry.  Nowhere in the world is perfect, but after a couple weeks exploring the South Island, I can say that New Zealand comes pretty darn close.

Kloshe konaway
Kloshe nanitch

Matt



 NZ does it right when it comes to backcountry access.  Swing bridges span many rivers and side creeks making travel both drier and safer.

 The thick flora of Kahurangi National Park tell as story of over 2 meters of annual rain fall and reminds me of the Olympic National Park at home.

 Over 1000 Backcountry huts adorn the landscape of New Zealand and make carrying tent unnecessary in many circumstances.


Jenny approaching the summit of Patriarch Mountain.  The high ridges of the Arthur Range extend in the background and give us a good look at the next days' traverse.

 Sorting it all out.







 John Reid Hut.  Pretty ok position looking our onto the Marino Range and Mount Owen.

Room with a view.

 Jenny contemplating the steep descent to the Wangepeka River under threading skies.

River crossings are a frequent occurrence in the backcountry of New Zealand and the leading cause of accidental death among trampers.  Weather changes quickly here and tame streams become raging rivers in a very short period of time. 

 Hints of the Hulk knocking at the door and 'the finger of death' with carnage of twenty-odd sandflies on the tip.  No mercy, no pity, no guilt and no remorse.    



Wednesday, January 15, 2014

The Hypocrisy of a World Traveler




I did it.
I hopped on a jet and flew halfway around the world spewing 2.7 metric tons of carbon into the atmosphere and doing my little part to speed the melting the icecaps, warm the planet and drown the lowland inhabitants of this fine planet.  I also left my bike at home, and after driving the narrow winding roads of Southern New Zealand in my new used van for the past couple days, I can't say I really regret it.  Don't get me wrong, my heart twinges with nostalgic longing when I pass the odd touring cyclist, but I decided a while ago to have a little different adventure in the land of the Kiwi.

It is undeniable that cycle touring opens doors to experiences that the automobile makes impossible, but the opposite is also true and the fact that New Zealand boasts some of the most pristine back country on Earth has pulled me to the ease of the automobile as a means of access.  For a good while now I have been doing my best to live small and demonstrate the joys of recreating close to home under human power, but for the next couple months I am going to burn some fossil fuels and have an adventure with my lovely wife that I will not soon forget.

I know that it doesn't quite fit the rules of the Front Door Adventure, but hell, it's my blog and if you don't like it, quit reading.

Kloshe konaway
Kloshe nanitch

Matt


In February of 2011, a 6.3 earthquake rocked Christchurch leveling much of the city's old infrastructure.  Three years later, the downtown is largely empty of commerce as planning and debate continue about the future of New Zealand's second largest city.

Concrete filled cargo containers retain many condemned, but still standing buildings.

My new Front Door, 1994 Toyota Estima.  Good to go with new front brakes, a used tire and a tank of petrol. 

Unsettled weather in the South Island convinced Jenny and I to head Northwest of Nelson to Able Tasman National Park and one of the Great Walks of New Zealand.  


Rugged coastlines thick with native bush dotted with pristine white sand beaches characterize this stunning 3-day walk.






Several tidal crossing require good timing and barefoot travel.

NOTHING makes Jenny happier than sunshine, the ocean and sand.


Rare sighting of a Blue Penguin.

Weka bird. The locals say they aren't bad eating, albeit a bit chewy.




70 km by foot over three days or an hour by water taxi.