On the way to Hanmer Springs, we stopped at one of the trailheads for the St. James Walkway. A complete traverse of the walkway is a five-day adventure. We opted for the 60-minute Tarn Nature Walk. We were, after all, on our way to the hot springs!
02/09/2010
Denniston
One of my favorite things to do when I visit a place is read some local literature. I particularly enjoy historical fiction as a way to get to know a place. When I first arrived in Queenstown, I asked a local bookseller for just such a book. She pointed me toward The Denniston Rose, by Jenny Pattrick.
It’s the story of a young girl named Rose who wins the hearts of the people of Denniston, a hardscrabble coal mining town in the northwest of the South Island. I must confess, Rose bugged the bejeebers out of me (the cover art should have been my first clue that she would). But I was intrigued by the town that she called home.
Denniston was built on the Mount Rochfort Plateau in the Papahaua Ranges about 2000 feet above sea level. Not a particularly high altitude, until you realize how close it is to the coast, and what a drop it is coming down. When they discovered coal here in the mid-1800s, their immediate concern was how to get it down.
Their solution was the Incline, completed in 1879 and locally described as “the eighth wonder of the world.” It was a self-acting pulley system, meaning that the weight of the coal cars coming down would pull the empty cars up. The fall from Denniston to Conn’s Creek at the bottom was 1700 feet and the grades were as steep as 1 in 1.25 (With Pythagoras’s help, I believe that means that…I have no idea. It’s steep. Think 1 meter of height for every 1.25 meter of distance.)
The Incline was pretty efficient, but also pretty dangerous. And for many years it served as the only way up and down the mountain for Denniston’s residents. Since the ride up was so terrifying, many of the townspeople didn’t come back down until a rough walking path was built in 1885.
As more efficient means of transporting the coal off the mountain became available, residents began to move away from the bitter wind and unforgiving soil of the plateau. They left behind a veritable ghost town. At its peak there were somewhere between 1500 and 2000 people in Denniston. Now there are fewer than 50.
I was anxious to see Denniston after reading the book. So much of the story deals with the harsh conditions of life on top of this hill. Just stepping outside of the car here made it obvious why. The wind was bitter cold and there was no escape from it. There is little green up here, the exception being the moss growing inside the abandoned coal shafts. There were hints of abandoned settlements, but they rose up amidst acres of barren moonscape.
Denniston’s Incline was heralded (and rewarded) for its engineering marvel, The Incline. I’m more inclined to herald the folks who were able to build lives out of this incredibly harsh environment.
Punakaiki
May 7, 2009 – As we traveled up the west coast, we kept hearing warnings about a storm front that was coming in from the south (think Antarctica) that was the size of Australia (think very large and many days to pass over). Most people would probably groan at this news and perhaps investigate ways to skirt the oncoming behemoth. Pas mois.
I think I’ve mentioned before in this blog that I love weather – particularly the foul kind. Sunny and beautiful bores me (which, of course, begs the question, Why on earth have you been living in Los Angeles for over ten years?). So, as the people around me bemoaned the first drops of rain, I found myself secretly hoping for a week-long torrent. A reason to stay put and do nothing. Don’t get me wrong, there have been plenty of occasions on this trip when I’ve done little more than read or watch a bad movie from the hostel’s collection. When it’s nice outside, though, that kind of laziness involves a certain amount of guilt: I should be on a hike. I should go talk to some locals. I should be doing something. Rain is a license to nest.
In Punakaiki, we stayed at a perfect nesting locale – the Te Nikau Retreat. It was pouring rain when we arrived (Woohoo!), so we sat in the main lodge by the fire and caught up on emails. It was here, for the first time, that I saw an end to my trip. A friend/co-worker Skyped and told me about a 6-week-long job opportunity at the end of May. Just moments earlier, I’d read an email from my mom that detailed all the friends and family members who had lost jobs and businesses over the previous few weeks. I then spoke to my former boss, who added 4 more weeks as his vacation replacement. I decided I couldn’t pass up that kind of work – not when work of any kind seemed to be more and more difficult to find. I figured I could go home and work for the summer, then head back out on the road. (It didn’t exactly happen that way, but that was the thought at the time.) That gave me roughly two more weeks in New Zealand. Never mind a week-long shut-in. I had places to see!
Lucky for me, the monster storm never developed any teeth and after an afternoon of showers, the sun poked out for a lovely sunset over the Pancake Rocks of Punakaiki. We seem to have gotten the best of both worlds: seas rough enough to create the blowhole effect that occurs when heavy swells pound against the cavern walls, and skies clear enough for a moonlight tour of the coastal formations.
01/25/2010
Lake Matheson
So, at the base of the grand Mt. Cook, I saw nothing. Hundreds of kilometers away, I saw this.
Franz Josef Glacier
The Maori legend of Franz Josef Glacier
Many years ago Hine Hukatere saw a young man walking in the foothills of Aoraki looking for cutting stones. He was very charming and she was so beautiful that they soon fell in love.
However, every time Wawe tried to touch the Snow Maiden, she screamed in pain because his warm hands would melt her skin. Wawe would spring back in shock because she was so cold that his fingers would freeze instantly.
One day, Hine asked Wawe if he would go with her high into the mountains to ask Aoraki for warm breath and pink cheeks just like his.
Wawe was overjoyed and readily agreed and so they set out across the foothills and up into the mountain.
As they climbed Wawe became afraid. His ancestors had forbidden everyone from climbing Aorangi. It was the home of the tribal guardians who jealously guarded their resting place. Higher and higher they went. The air grew cold and thin.
Hine Hukatere called to Wawe, "Isn't it beautiful? Could we not live up here together?"
Wawe was too cold to reply. His fingers and toes were numb. His face was blue and his eyelids were heavy with snow. He slowly turned to Hine and saw her skipping with pleasure over the snowy ground.
"Come on Wawe, not far to go."
"Wawe, not far to go."
Wawe stumbled towards her voice.
He heard Tawhirimatea scream in his head. "Get off this mountain, you mortal!"
He felt Hine touch his hand as Tawhirimatea pushed him off the edge of the path. As he fell Hine Hukatere shook millions of snowflakes from her fingers so that Wawe would fall into their softness. But Tawhirimatea blew the snowflakes over the mountain and Wawe plunged down to his death.
Hine Hukatere never leaves the mountains now. Nor does she seek the company of people anymore. Instead she wanders along the white river of ice peering between the thick blocks and walls hoping to find Wawe again.
And as she goes she cries and her tears are ice that fall into the glacier and move it ever so slowly towards Tangaroa.
The Road From Wanaka To Franz Josef
From Wanaka we headed north on highway 6, which skirts Lake Hawea, revisits Lake Wanaka on its northern shores, then meanders through Mount Aspiring National Park. I love that name. I often wonder, to what, exactly, is Mount Aspiring aspiring? Could she have her eye on Mount Cook, 721 meters her altitudinal superior? Or does she aspire to be something entirely different? A river or a tree, perhaps?
Highway 6 reaches the Tasman Sea at Haast Beach and then continues north on New Zealand’s famed West Coast – famed because it is here that you find all that is wild and wonderful about New Zealand: rugged coastline, awe-inspiring glaciers, and acres of unspoiled wilderness.
Just a few miles outside of the town of Franz Josef, we encountered a stretch of beach that seemed to be overflowing with cairns. They lined the road, they peppered the rocks, and they dotted the sand. Some were made from smooth white stones, others from straight-edged grey rocks, still others artistic combinations of the two.
Years ago, a good friend explained to me that a cairn was an offering to the gods (or to Mother Nature or to whomever you believed in) – a thank you for having seen and shared in the beauty of a place. The sheer quantity of monuments here seemed to be an apt representation of the amount of thanks necessary for the boundless opportunities to see and share in New Zealand.
05/23/2009
Ross
Ross is a typical gold rush town: hiking trails follow the path of the water race, mine buildings and mounds of tailings dot the landscape, and tunnels are blocked off and marked with "Danger" signs. The cemetery -- located on the highest point in town, which makes for lovely ocean views when visiting loved ones, but had to suck for the pall bearers -- is full of young men who died in mining accidents.
Settled in 1865, Ross's population grew to about 2500 before the gold reserves were exhausted in 1870. Today, Ross's population hovers around 300 and its history as a mining town is the centerpiece of the visitor center, where you can visit historic buildings, pan for gold, and pose for photographs as a dancing girl or a thief in the stocks.
Craig and I opted for the Water Race Walkway, which took us past the gaol, the cemetery, an old miner's hut, and several tunnels. And then I made him pose for goofy pictures.
One of the FEW things I DON'T love about New Zealand...
The mother-f'ing sandfly. I don't not love it, I DETEST it with every pore of my being. Unfortunately, the feeling is not mutual.
Here's what explorer James Cook had to say about the little devils in his journal:
‘The most mischievous animal here is the small black sandfly which are exceeding numerous … wherever they light they cause a swelling and such intolerable itching that it is not possible to refrain from scratching and at last ends in ulcers like the small Pox.’
Wanaka
First stop: Wanaka, advantageously situated at the southern end of Lake Wanaka with stunning views of Mt. Aspiring across the lake. I was anxious to get to Wanaka and the Festival Of Colour, a five-day celebration of the arts, but when we arrived, we were hard-pressed to find any evidence of the festival at all. If there had been fabulous events, we missed them. To assuage our immense disappointment, we took a couple bike rides around the lake. And found the real Festival Of Colour, on the banks of Lake Wanaka.
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