New Zealand '17, Part 2

(A click on any photo will enlarge it to screen size.)

Sculpture marking the geographical center of New Zealand in Nelson.

ABEL TASMAN NATIONAL PARK

We came down from the mountains on Friday and headed for the Tasman Sea.  Our home for the next two nights was the Awaroa Lodge, accessible by a ninety-minute boat ride or by a long trek along the  Abel Tasman Track. 

Our boat made several stops along the way, mostly to pick up or drop off hikers.
A few hearty souls in our group chose to disembark for a four-hour trek to the lodge.  Some of us stayed with the boat to Tonga Quarry Bay, from where the hike was only two hours.  I wanted a hike, but I also wanted to get to the lodge in time to check out the surroundings and perhaps have a frosty Kiwi beer before dinner. 

We hiked through the beach campground and up into the hills where we made our way through the forest along the Abel TasmanTrack.  It was very warm.  At one point, the trail descended to a lovely beach, where we took off our boots and allowed the surf and sand to massage our feet.

On the trail toward Awaroa Lodge - one damned beach...

...after another!

Carol and a couple others had taken the boat all the way to Awaroa.  When we arrived and dropped into cushioned lobby chairs, I said to the others that all I needed right then was to have my wife appear with a cold draft beer.  And then, Carol appeared and asked if I wanted a beer!

Awaroa Lodge is a bit of isolated luxury, offering gourmet dining, full bar and grudging internet.  From the balcony of our room we looked out over a marshland ringed by thickly forested hills and listened to bird songs, the only sounds to be heard.

Morning Coffee on our Balcony at Awaroa Lodge

Things began to get interesting after dinner.  Carol and I passed by the bar as we left the dining room, where we encountered Matt, from Redding California, and a few of the others.   Six shot glasses were lined up on the bar and Matt was directing the bartender in making duck farts.  Matt was buying the round, so I said why not?  A duck fart might be one thing in the marsh outside our room.  In a bar, it is equal parts Kahlua, Baileys, and whisky.  No sipping.  Throw your head back and down it like a hearty Kiwi.  The concoction was silky and sneaky smooth.  At that moment it would have been easy to have another.  And another.  But we had other things to do that evening. 

At ten p.m. we gathered  for a walk in the forest.  First we stopped at a platform over the marsh where some rather healthy-sized eels made their home.  Jan said we could return in the morning with some bacon saved from breakfast and lie on the deck to dangle the bacon above the water until an eager eel rose to take the treat.  I chose to skip that particular highlight, although a few of the group  participated.

Then it was into the darkness of the forest, where we gathered at a stream and turned off our flashlights.  On the hillside across the stream there appeared hundreds of pinpoints of lights, the first glow worms I’ve ever seen.  (I don't think that the United States has any of these mysterious sparkling creatures, but we once did have the Mills Brothers, who entertained Americans in the ’50’s with their version of “Glow Little Glow Worm.")

Finally we walked to a clearing where the sky opened up and we looked for the Southern Cross.  Jan explained where to look and what to look for.  It was a bit too early, the sky still a little too light a week before the summer solstice and the constellation still partially hidden behind the hills.  In the northern sky, however, Orion the Hunter dominated the sky, looking a little silly standing on his head.  I was quite surprised to be able see Orion on this island south of the equator.

Much later, I awoke in the darkness of early morning, dressed and slipped out of our room to search for the Southern Cross.  Down on the pier, with eels swirling in the black water (or sleeping or doing whatever eels do at four a.m.),  I looked up and saw the Southern Cross directly overhead.  Below it and to the right were two bright stars that pointed to the Southern Cross, just as Jan had described.

Totaranui Beach

The next day we boarded the shuttle boat to head up the coast to Totaranui Beach.  We disembarked at a beach campground to begin a lovely hike through the coastal forest.  There were a handful of sunbathers on the beach.  Jan and Elysia informed us that in a week, right after Christmas, the campground and beach would be packed with Kiwis on holiday.  (This beach was unique in that it is the only one accessible by car in Abel Tasman National Park (or camper van, a preferred Kiwi form of vacation travel).

Rest stop on the Totaranui Hike

 We descended from the forest to another lovely beach where we settled in the shade of a massive pine at the edge of the forest for our lunch.  But first, a plunge into the Tasman Sea, pretty chilly early in the season, but a good break from hiking.  After lunch, it was time for beach cricket!

The view from our lunch spot

Beach Cricket - more fun than building a snowman

After a quick introduction to the rules, we started the game.  Jan produced a tennis ball and a bat.  The bat was a piece of bark from a palm tree that Jan and Elysia had discovered on a previous hike.  It seemed to be perfect for the job, although I've never actually seen a cricket bat up close.  Jan and Elysia hide it in the woods for use on succeeding hikes.  Clever women.

Timing is everything on this particular hike.  To get back to the comfort of our lodge, we had to cross a channel at low tide.  Good thing we didn't get too caught up in the game.

Low Tide at Awaroa Inlet

After Abel Tasman NP, we were off to the Marlborough Sounds.  Our destination was Raetihi Lodge on Kenepuru Sound.  The last leg of a long day's journey was on the mail boat to the lodge.  Along the way, we stopped at a mussel bed, where Pete, the owner/farmer of the bed, treated us to a taste of green-lipped mussels right from the sound.

Pete, mussel farmer, boat taxi operator

I was expecting a delicate black-shelled inch-and-a-half mussel like the kind we get served in curry sauce at Mill Valley Kitchen back home, but these guys were huge, almost as big as my open hand.  They were tasty enough that I ordered them a couple times in the next few days.

My first New Zealand green-lipped mussel, fresh from the water

Raetihi Lodge is another place that would be easy to settle in for a long stay.  Highlights of our time here were more mussels, a great ten-mile hike along the Queen Charlotte Track and...
...bocce ball!  When Carol and I heard that the lodge had a boules set (so not exactly bocce, but close enough), we recruited Grant, Sarah, Bob and Barb for a game.  I found a stretch of lawn (okay, not a bocce court, but close enough) large enough to accommodate a game.  We taught our friends the rules and proceeded to have a good old time.

For a good while, Gwennie the Border Collie watched our game with rapt attention, sitting obediently each time we threw out the pallina, although she quivered with the itch to chase it.  The owner of Raetihi Lodge told me that Gwennie has a quirky relationship with a kingfisher.  Gwennie will spend her afternoons near the beach, where the bird will dive bomb the dog and the dog in turn will run wildly in pursuit of the bird. 

Bocce Players Down Under

Gwennie took a break from chasing her kingfisher to watch us toss the pallina.

Room with a View, Raetihi Lodge

A quiet spot at Raetihi Lodge

A deck with a chaise longue outside your room with a view provides strong motivation to laze away an entire day, but I turned my back on temptation and joined the group for a ride on Pete's water taxi across the sound to the starting point of our hike.  I was rewarded with many sights like the one below. 

Kenepuru Sound as seen from the Queen Charlotte Track

Our last stop was in Hanmer Springs, a charming little town in the mountains that boasted thermal springs smack in the middle of the town.  To get to Hanmer Springs required the second of two long days in the van.  Even traveling the highways between destinations in New Zealand, the scenery is stunning.  There were some other distractions to make our two travel days a little less tiresome.

We stopped at a couple vineyards on our travel days, just enough to pique my interest in the wines of New Zealand.  There are numerous small vineyards that produce excellent sauvignon blancs and pinot noirs.  A wine tour of the south island, I thought, would make a very nice vacation.

We had lunch and a wine tasting at this vineyard, with buildings bedecked
with bougainvillea, reminiscent of Tuscany.

Elysia told us early in the trip that a popular ice cream in New Zealand is hokey-pokey.  She promised that we'd be able to taste it at some point.  We finally got our chance on the road to Hanmer Springs.  Hokey-pokey is speckled with dots of crunchy candy bits and, I decided, worth the wait.  Is it better than dulce de leche?  Better than raspberry chocolate chip?  Hmmm.  Reasonable people could argue about this.

Everybody loves hokey-pokey ice cream.  The hokey-pokey is what it's all about!

Also on the road to Hanmer Springs, we stopped for a lovely walk through the open fields of the Alpine Nature Walk, high above the sea.

Intrepid Trekkers on the Alpine Nature Walk

Lone Pine Along the Alpine Nature Walk

HANMER SPRINGS - TAI CHI AND A LAST  HIKE

Carol was chatting with Jan at some point and happened to mention that we take Tai Chi classes back home and that we do Tai Chi regularly.  Jan asked if we would lead a morning session, and Carol agreed.  So on our first morning at Braemar Lodge, six of us gathered in the lounge outside the hotel dining room before breakfast.  With the mountains before us framed by floor-to-ceiling windows, I led the group in Tai Chi Chih and then Carol took over and led them through some movements in Tai Chi Yan.  Stepping out of the role of student to become the teacher was a great experience.

A Perfect Setting for Tai Chi

Our last hike was on gentle paths through Hanmer Forest to a final climb up Conical Hill.  Carol and I were feeling a bit under the weather, so after the stroll through the forest we slipped away from the group at the base of Conical Hill and headed for a grueling afternoon trying out the thermal pools under sunny skies.

On the trail in New Zealand

A place for contemplation, Hanmer Forest

Near the End of the Trail

Tree Pose - Our Sterling Guides, Elysia and Jan

We boarded our plane in Christchurch for the return home on the summer solstice in New Zealand.  Many hours later, we landed in Minneapolis on the winter solstice.  A week ago I swam in the Tasman Sea.  As I type these final words, the temperature outside is -12 degrees F.  Hot chocolate, anyone?

Until next time, safe travels, everyone.  May your New Year be filled with love, good health and peace.

New Zealand 2017, Part 1

Springtime in the Southern Hemisphere

WEDNESDAY, 12/13/17, NELSON, NEW ZEALAND

Walking.  Hiking.  Trekking.  Tripping.  Tramping.  Call it what you will.  We've gotten a good night's sleep after the long flight and are ready to go.  We meet our guides, Jan and Elysia, and the rest of the group and then we'll set off for our adventure.  Nelson is a comfortable, walkable, small city, with inviting coffee shops everywhere.  Carol said that she could settle here and be happy.

We ate dinner last night on the outdoor patio of an Indian restaurant.  After dinner, we chatted with the staff person who was lowering the flags in front of the hotel, first the American flag, then the New Zealand and finally a flag we didn't recognize.  It had a cross and a bishop's miter.  I was curious and asked about it.  It is the flag of Nelson, the man said.  Long ago, the Queen of England bestowed her official recognition on Nelson and it received various privileges, signified by the flag.

The gentleman, about our age, moved here decades ago from Amsterdam and has never looked back.  He has found his paradise in Nelson.  His kids are grown, he told us, and now he works for just enough money for food, shelter and travel, the latter his passion.

Christ Church Cathedral, Nelson

They speak English here, but they phrase things their own way.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 14, NELSON LAKES NATIONAL PARK

St. Arnaud is a small village of about 300 people in what feels like the middle of nowhere, otherwise known as Nelson Lakes National Park, a place of stunning beauty.  The town is nestled on the shore of Lake Rotoiti (Maori for Little Lake).

After we arrived yesterday and settled into our rooms at the Alpine Lodge, Jan and Elysia led the group on a short warm-up hike through the woods.  Both Jan and Elysia are well-versed in local flora and fauna, and we stopped often to learn something of the local ecosystem.  They warned us of the wasps of the region and told us to be alert as we walked in the woods.

The view from our room at the Alpine Lodge in St. Arnaud

Today was our first full day of hiking.  The day featured what might be the most demanding hike of the trip, a seven-mile trek that included a climb up Mount Robert.  The climb entailed a 1,700 foot  elevation gain.  Neither Carol, I nor our new friend, Sarah, were quite up to the challenge and opted instead to hike a path along the shoreline of Lake Rotoiti.  It was a lovely walk in the woods, just what we needed.

The Trail Head for the Day's Hike

Frequently during our hike we were serenaded by some of the loveliest bird songs I've ever heard, loud and beautiful.  It was difficult to spot the birds, but not difficult to enjoy their melodies.  Our friend, Sue Keator, is an avid bird watcher, and found a book on birds of New Zealand, which we brought along on the trip.  I can't say we've been real good at spotting birds and identifying birds, but thanks to Sue we're much more attentive and always listening.  We know the weka, a flightless bird that wanders into our path, seemingly unconcerned by our presence.  The kiwi is nocturnal and rare and thus not easy to find, but we keep hoping.  

Lake Rotoiti

We hiked to the West Bay Campground, where we came across a women's college rowing team that was busily loading their sculls onto trailers after a week of practicing for a competition this weekend in Nelson.  Sarah told us as we settled ourselves at a picnic table that she had rowed competitively all through high school.  I chatted with one of the coaches, Trudy Keys, who told us about the team.  I noted that each boat was named after a woman.  She said the boats were named for women who had played a role in the history of the team.

A busy scene greeted us after a tranquil hike through the words.

Gillian Simpson is the current principal of the school

Trudy pointed out the scull named after her "because I've been around so long."

After we rested and snacked, we headed back toward St. Arnaud through the forest, trading the hustle and bustle of the rowing team's work for the the solitude of the forest.  We emerged later at the edge of town, where we encountered a reminder of our guides' warning of the previous day.

New Zealand has no poisonous spiders or snakes, but...

Next, we're off to Abel Tasman National Park.  In my next posting,  you'll read about glow worms, the night skies of the southern hemisphere, duck farts and beach cricket.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park, October '17

Day One - Leaving the City Behind, Embracing the Wilderness

 (A click on any photo will enlarge it to screen size.)

Feeling the need to step away from it all for a while, I enlisted my friend, Eric, for a road trip to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, the North Dakota Badlands.  We were on the road at 6:30 a.m., armed with hot coffee and tea.

It's a long, long drive across the prairie of North Dakota to Medora, the gateway to the park.  We passed the miles with lively conversation encompassing family, baseball, politics, books, movies, the state of the world, the state of our own lives.  We remembered aloud our trips together to Big Bend National Park and to the great national parks in southern Utah.

I brought along my copy of the newest Terry Tempest Williams book, "The Hour of Land," so that Eric could read the chapter on Theodore Roosevelt National Park.  As he read, I played a CD of piano music, and for a while my need for silence was satisfied. 

Mark Settergren, owner of our local hardware store, was excited to learn of our upcoming trip.  He recalled a trip to the park a few years ago and told of waking up one morning and looking out his tent door to see several bison right in his campsite.  This, I thought, is what I want.

We arrived at the park late in the afternoon, with the temperature an un-Octoberlike 81 degrees.  I always like to talk to park rangers to get their ideas and insights about the park, so our first stop was the visitor center.  It was too late to get in a good hike, so we found a campsite and set up our tents. (We each brought our own tent, a luxury of car camping.)  Then we set out on a mini-hike along the road.  We hadn't left the campground before we encountered wild horses, mule deer and grazing bison!

The view from the Visitor Center

Teddy Roosevelt's first cabin in the North Dakota Badlands

Feral horses grazed just steps from our campsite.

We had dinner in the dark, thick strip steaks, potatoes and broccoli accompanied by a Santa Barbara County pinot noir.  We decided as we ate that this would be our last dinner in the dark.  As we fried the steaks on our camp stove (no fires permitted in the dry grasslands), we heard wild movement in the dark prairie surrounding out site.  I grabbed my flashlight in time to see fast-moving shapes which we determined to be deer.

The one downside of our campsite was that, even though we were five miles from the entry point, we could hear the faint hum of the long-haul trucks speeding along I-94.  We were eager to visit the North Unit, sixty miles closer to the Arctic Circle.

That night I reread Terry Tempest Williams' chapter on Theodore Roosevelt National Park until I fell asleep.  I awoke sometime in the middle of the night, shivering.  I had not put the rain fly over the tent, wanting to look up at the stars before I went to sleep.  I now reluctantly crawled out of my sleeping bag to put up the rain fly, which made a surprising difference, and then added layers of fleece and wool on top of my polypro long johns.  A polypro balaclava topped it all off.   I fell back to sleep to the sound of nearby coyotes howling and barking, a good welcome to the wilderness.

Although I knew we would not have long hours of summer light, I was still a bit surprised by the short days and long nights.  Eight a.m. was still too dark to crawl out of a warm sleeping bag.  And we needed to be back in camp by five pm. to meet our daylight dinner goal. 

Day Two - The South Unit

We woke up to find our water bottles topped with ice.  That night was supposed to have been the warmest of our stay!  After breakfast, we drove the 36-mile loop road, which offered great views and a few interesting short hikes along the way.  The day quickly warmed, and by lunch time the temperatures were back in the high 70's.

Along the way we encountered prairie dog towns that spread over vast, empty acres, pockmarked with countless dwelling entrances.  Everywhere the little critters chattered back and forth before diving beneath the surface.  I think they were alerting the community.  Humans!  They appear harmless!  Still, be careful!  A few remained above ground, close to the safety of their tunnel entrance, to watch our progress.  One fellow wandered through town, his head down, searching for whatever prairie dogs search for.  He came within just a few feet of us, heedless of the warnings from the others.  He never even gave us a glance.

Hundreds and hundreds of prairie dogs!

We stopped in tiny Medora (winter population about 120) to purchase some supplies, including four gallons of water.  We had been warned by the rangers that there was no water to be had in the North Unit at this time of the year.  At the store, the woman behind the counter told us we had to try their breakfast sandwiches.  She gushed with enthusiasm.  They are made right there, fresh each day.  It was clearly a point of local pride.  We promised her that we would return for a sandwich.

Our afternoon hike required a short drive on I-94 to reach a gravel road that we followed north along the border of the park for about ten miles to reach the Petrified Forest trail.

A sight along the park road, South Unit

A common sight

Magnificent Creature

Badlands of the South Unit

The hike took us over rolling hills of wild grasses and a few scattered, tiny, persistent wild flowers.  Eric was excited about a surprise he had for our lunch.  I couldn't guess what it could be but was amused by his enthusiasm.  Finally we crested a hill.  Before us lay badlands that seemed to stretch to infinity.  A stray Park Service timber provided good seating for lunch with a view.

We sat, and Eric revealed his secret.  His backpack opened to become a portable picnic basket, complete with cloth napkins, plates, utensils and a bottle of Argentine malbec (stemware included).  The wine was good enough to finish off right there, but we still had miles to go.  We corked the bottle for further use at our campsite and set off down the trail to the petrified forest.

Our lunchtime view

Eric's Surprise

Along the way, we encountered a few groups of riders on horseback.  We chatted for a while with the first group we met.   The group moved on, except for Pete, a local who was happy to talk about this and that for a while longer.  In the distance, his friends had halted their horses on a hilltop, waiting for him.

Petrified forest.  Those rocks scattered about were tree trunks eons ago.

Badlands

Pete and Novotny.  The badlands are popular with horseback riders.

Days Three and Four - The North Unit

That night, big winds rolled across the open spaces.  Lying in my tent, I heard the winds break the stillness, growing louder as they approached until they hit my tent like a heavyweight's best punch.  My tent caved in on me, popped back up, then collapsed again under the next gust.  I had experienced this before on a mountain top in Nevada, in Death Valley and in Arches National Park.  I knew it could go on all night.  So I crawled out of the tent, took the tent down and took my sleeping bag to Eric's tent, which was sheltered by trees.

In the morning, the plan was for a breakfast of eggs and bacon before heading to the North Unit.  Chilly temperatures, gray skies and lingering winds put that idea to rest.  Eager to get on the road, we thought of those breakfast sandwiches the woman spoke so proudly of and had our new plan.  We packed up our gear and were off.  A different woman was behind the counter, with the same friendliness we had encountered the day before, and the same enthusiasm for their breakfast sandwiches.

Soon we were on Highway 85, heading toward the North Unit, hot coffee and muffins filled with eggs, sausages and cheese in our hands.  Those sandwiches were as advertised, and we both regretted not buying two each.  After all, we had to fuel up for hiking later.

Back in 2014, when the Bakken oil fields had been the center of a drilling frenzy, Highway 85 was a dangerous road.  In "The Hour of Land," the park superintendent at the time, Valerie Naylor, told of a constant stream of "big, fracking trucks and oil carriers" barreling down the highway.  There were frequent obituaries of people killed in crashes.  These days, the boom has died down quite a bit.  We had an uneventful drive.
  

At the North Unit, we found the remoteness we were seeking.  No highway sounds here.  Not even a town.  (Watford, the closest town, lies eleven miles to the north.)  The terrain is much more dramatic than the terrain of the South Unit.  At this time of year, ours were the only tents to be seen.  Far from us in the campground, there were a few RVs, but we never saw their occupants or heard them.  That was on the weekend.  When we departed on Monday, we were the only humans in the campground.

Climbing to the river overlook along the Caprock Coulee Trail.

The Little Missouri River, which over time created much of the topography of Theodore Roosevelt National Park, is more prominent at the North Unit.  Bison roamed everywhere.  The weather while we were here was, like the land, untamed - winds blowing clouds and changing the texture of the sky most of the time.  Fierce gray clouds gave way to startling sunshine.  Temperatures changed with the changes in the sky.  On the Caprock Coulee Trail, which we had all to ourselves, we were continually adding or subtracting layers of clothing according to conditions.

The Little Missouri as seen from Sperati Point

The Little Missouri, looking north from the River Bend Overlook on the Caprock Coulee Trail

Eric is quite an amateur astronomer.  On this trip, he introduced me to the pleasures of stargazing through binoculars.  One of the joys of wilderness camping for me is staying up late to watch the night skies that come alive with stars in the wilderness far from the lights of civilization.  My knowledge of the heavens is pretty much limited to the Big Dipper and Orion's Belt, however, and I am content to look for shooting stars and satellites.

Eric is also a pretty good teacher when it comes to the night sky.  He helped me find Cassiopeia and and Pegasus easily enough.  Then he used them as reference points to find Perseus, Pleiades and Andromeda, all strangers to my eye.  The surprise came once I had found Pleiades and Perseus with the naked eye and then looked at them through binoculars.  Both star clusters burst into brilliant arrays with seemingly ten times as many stars as I could see with the unassisted eye.

I wanted to see all of Orion, but it rises too late at this time of year to be seen before bedtime.   Eric described it to me, and when I awoke later in the night, I left my tent to look up and see Orion in its entirety presiding over the night sky.  My grandson, Orion, died in infancy ten years ago.  Standing alone on the prairie and looking up at the constellation Orion, a sadness came over me at the great loss our family experienced.   Soon, however, the sight of the Hunter in the night sky began to comfort me.  I found Orion when I returned to the Twin Cities and found the same comfort at seeing it shining above the city.

The trail head of the eleven-mile Buckthorn Trail was just across the road, a short walk from our campsite.  Although we didn't attempt this big time hike, we did visit it before dinner on our last evening.  Eric went one way; I, another, for a last hour on wilderness trails.

A stream seen from the Buckthorn Trail

Looking west from the Buckthorn Trail

Theodore Roosevelt National Park is a small park in comparison to many of the grand national parks of the west.  Over dinner on our last night, I said that I thought we had seen all there is to see and that I didn't feel the need to return, beautiful as it is.  After a few minutes, I corrected myself.  This wonderful, wild refuge is only a day's drive from my home.  The next time I feel the need to "get away from it all," I know exactly where to go.  There are still some trails I haven't hiked.  And there are those breakfast sandwiches!