riverECHO

We arrived in Dunedin on Saturday evening to a very quiet and somewhat deserted downtown. BJ had spent 6 months of his college career studying (a.k.a. kayaking) in Dunedin and remembers late nights and busy dance clubs. The stranded streets surprised us as we toured the University of Otago campus and the octagon. But after emerging from a leisurely evening of dinner and a movie, the sidewalks were filled and the bars were bouncing. We had loaded our camping gear and bikes for the weekend and planned to explore some of the city’s well known trails. We spent the first night in a city campground under bright lights and actually woke up in the middle of the night to a car cruising (with their music bumping and everything) the campground. A little sleep deprived on Sunday morning, we drove up the Otago Peninsula to see the ocean and to try to spot an albatross. We stopped for breakfast and the farmer’s market in the very small town of Portobello, but didn’t catch a glimpse of any of the enormous birds.

We spent the afternoon on three bike rides. The Switchback Trail, although it sounds grueling, was perfectly built with banked turns and steady inclines . . . it was fun both up and down. Bethunes was a series of trails that left and came back to the same city park. On the last section of Bethunes, BJ went for the “expert” but short drop back to the park while I took the long and cruisy “sport” track back. We were loving the trails so far and after grabbing a small bite to eat and a beer at an Irish Pub just down the street from BJ’s old house, we were very excited to hit up Whare Flats, what we had read as a technical haven for mountain bikers. We were floored . . . or should I say thrown to the floor, or in this case the rocky ground. The ladders and bridges were way over my head and I spent most of the time either walking or asking BJ for a hand to pull me out of the bushes. Not our favorite trail, but it had been a great day so it was hard to complain too much.

That evening we drove up the east coast to camp next to the Moeraki Boulders, a geological formation along the beach that from afar look like a bunch of car sized soccer balls. I still don’t fully understand how they were formed but as the ocean erodes the shoreline, more and more “soccer balls” are exposed and slowly roll onto the beach. The nearby town has flourished on this tourist attraction. Walking back to our camp along the beach, we stopped for a swing in a small park. The “climbing structure” in the park was actually a small replica of the boulders.

On our drive back toward Queenstown, we read a description in our mountain bike guide book that lured us to a trail in the forest outside of the small town of Naseby (picture the movie “The Village”). The book had warned that sometimes the forest service closes the forest for fire risk . . . and it was Closed when we arrived. A local told us that sometimes they flip the sign at mid-day, so we parked the car, pulled out our books, and laid down in the grass to wait it out. After an hour or so with no sign of a ranger, we hopped back in the car and drove the final two hours to Queenstown. To subside itch to get back on our bikes, we road a trail around Lake Wakatipu to Jack’s Point. There was a surprising amount of technical areas along this city trail and with its proximity to our house, we are sure to return many times. It feels good to be off the feet and back on two wheels.

This was the first week, since we arrived in New Zealand two months ago, that I would classify as a “typical” week for us. We returned from a weekend away . . . in this scenario, hiking the Kepler Track. We’ve worked a regular schedule from Tuesday through Saturday . . . one day of which we spent in a very busy internet café in town as our house had its quarterly inspection. I spent two afternoons volunteering . . . in this case, tasting samples I had pulled last week and pulling new samples from lots that still need sulfur. We cooked at home every night . . . chicken tikki masala, pasta with garlic, mushrooms, and homemade rolls, pasta with recently killed venison from our roommate Steve, and grilled chicken salad. And yesterday afternoon, we went on our first ride on our new-to-us mountain bikes. I guess this last activity isn’t so “typical” for us down here, but because we spend so many summer afternoons at home in Victor biking, it is in fact very “typical.” The part about the ride that was atypical was that I took a huge digger within the first 20 minutes of the ride. Let’s hope taking diggers like that one do not become the norm for me.

Here’s a kiwi lesson for the week: Although they may drive on the left side of the road, they certainly don’t have any rules about walking to the left. BJ and I have tried to fit in by making a point of veering left while walking on a sidewalk or passing someone in the grocery store. In our efforts to act like the Kiwis and walk left, we have been faced with sidewalk standoffs and confusing moments. I wouldn’t say this really bothers me, since the solution is easy . . . veering right, but it confuses me. I’ll report back with findings for next week’s research project . . . walking right!

On another note . . . my dad and Fran just arrived in the country. They are travelling around the north island for a couple weeks before joining us in Queenstown. Welcome to New Zealand!

We were off to a slow start on Saturday afternoon and still had to drive two hours to Te Anau and then walk five hours to the Luxmore Hut along the Kepler Track. We had spent Friday evening in downtown Queenstown. Let’s just say the night started with BJ helping me with a bit of my “homework” (see the previous blog) in Queenstown Gardens and, after dinner and live music, we didn’t make it home until the wee hours of the morning. But we were still determined to get our hike on. And we had already reserved the two nights in huts along the track, so we didn’t really have a choice. We were walking it no matter what.

We started hiking mid afternoon and followed a very well maintained and flat trail around the south side of Lake Te Anau. It was a beautiful afternoon and almost on the verge of being too hot. After about two hours we began our ascent to the Luxmore Hut. Because this is considered one of the “Great Walks,” the ascent was nothing like the trails we have experienced over the past few weekends. This track was wide enough for two people to walk side by side and gradually ascended the mountain side. I was still sweating profusely but this was a breeze compared to the root and rock maneuvers we had battled the previous weekend. Just 30 minutes before we reached the hut, the track reached treeline and we were rewarded with views of the surrounding mountains and Lake Te Anau.

We arrived to a very full hut . . . 56 people sleeping in 56 bunks in the same room. Other than our 6 person hut last weekend, we had yet to experience the livelihood in a Great Walk hut. You really have to be prepared for a social evening and we met some really nice folks and even bumped into Klaus, our roomie from the previous weekend at the Liverpool Hut. The forecast was pretty grim and we awoke many times throughout the night to wind gusts banging the walls of the hut. It was raining pretty hard the following morning and we decided to wait it out until early afternoon, hoping that it would clear. There is a cave close to the hut where limestone deposits have formed a bunch of stalactites and stalagmites and we scurried up the 10 minute trail to take a peak. We didn’t make it too far inside the cave but apparently it goes on for about 2 kilometers. We returned to the hut completely drenched and spent the rest of the morning drying out, eating breakfast, playing cards, eating brunch, reading our books, eating lunch, and finally putting on our rain jackets and packs to start walking.

Perfect timing! It was still misting a bit but as we reached the summit of Mount Luxmore, the rain stopped and the clouds began to part. The track continued along a mountain ridge for the next couple of hours and although the track was pretty wide both sides of the ridge seemed to just fall away to the deep valleys below. We would get an occasional glimpse of the lake or a peak in the distance, but the most amazing part of the track was the movement of the fog over the ridgeline. The track followed the ridgeline until the end and then descended about a million “zig-zags” (what they call switchbacks) to the Iris Burn Valley and Hut. We took an evening stroll to an enormous waterfall and spent the rest of the evening indoors escaping the sandflies, eating dinner, playing cards, and laughing with our new funny friend, Collin, from Wales.

The temperature this morning and today was perfect for hiking and the track was mostly flat through beech forest and fern groves along the Iris Burn (burn actually means stream in German?). We came upon this sign that gave us a few laughs: It reads “Native Falcon nesting area close to track. Beware of low flying bird, wear a hat or hold a stick above your head.” After 5 hours on the track we had the option to pay $8 and get a shuttle or continue walking another 5 hours to Te Anau. Although it was a beautiful day, our feet were sore and, without thinking twice, we hopped on the shuttle back to town. The kiwis would refer to our tramping style (warm huts, food in a bag, shuttle buses, etc.) as “soft.” I don’t feel the least bit ashamed.

One mountain bike has arrived and we are waiting on another. Currently we can take turns on the one, but neither one of us has been motivated to leave the other person behind. The other bike will show up soon enough and we can’t wait. The bikes are exactly the same year and model . . . would you expect anything different from two people who dress alike and have the same of everything? Although they have a little less travel than the bikes we left at home, I don’t think we will be complaining too much once we are riding them. We already have a list of biking trails that we want to explore.

Meanwhile, I have taken up a bit of volunteer work at a local winery called Mount Edward. Kind of random I suppose, but I thought it would be fun to learn a little bit about how wine is made since it is such a big industry down here. I’ve only spent two afternoons there so far helping add sulfur to all the ba rrels of pinot noir. We also sampled some chardonnay yesterday (as this is their first year making chardonnay) to see how the lot was coming along in barrels where they had used different techniques. Don’t think I was drinking on the job though, we all spit it out after smelling it and swishing it around in our mouths. Duncan, my “boss,” is helping me in my ability to describe wine, a skill which seems to take either years of experience or some real bull$#!^ing. All I have been able to do so far is say what I like and what I don’t like. To help me learn, Duncan sent me away with a homework assignment . . . 3 bottles of pinot noir, all from different vintages (2005, 2006, and 2007) . . . hardly homework. I am supposed to come back next week with a short speech prepared on their differences. If only we had homework like this in college.

By Saturday afternoon we had our car packed with food, backpacks, and warm clothing. Because the weather forecast was changing about every hour, we didn’t have any details planned other than we were going to start walking at the Raspberry Flats Carpark at the end of the Matukituki Valley outside of Wanaka and we needed to be back to the car by Monday evening. If it was pouring then we would stay in the Aspiring Hut for two nights, only a 2.5 hour walk from the car, and spend the layover day reading and playing cards. If it was sunny, we would travel further up the valley or up Cascade Saddle. But as we pulled into Wanaka Saturday evening, we were greeted with a huge crowd directing bicyclists and cars. Challenge Wanaka is an international Iron Man race that takes place every year and we had arrived just in time for the first racers to cross the finish line. We decided to postpone our hike and enjoy the festivities in Wanaka for the evening. That night we camped along the Matukituki River about half way to the trailhead.

On Sunday morning, we began hiking under partly cloudy skies with a chance of rain. We felt a few rain drops but no downpour like we were used to and decided to continue past the Aspiring Hut and further up the Matukituki Valley. The waterfalls were raging and as the sun started to come out we felt like we were in a rainforest paradise. Toward the end of the valley I had spotted a bright orange dot high up on the south side of the canyon. According to our map the orange dot was in fact the Liverpool Hut. It didn’t look too far away and our feet were only kind of damp. We continued up the valley, over a few swinging bridges and across a couple flats, to the turnoff. It was here that we read “Liverpool Bivy: 2 hours” followed by a sign that warned how steep, slippery, and exposed the track was, especially in wet or icy conditions. We weren’t really sure how a bivy differed from a hut but we were sure it would be cheaper than the $25/night they were asking at the Aspiring Hut.

The description of the track wasn’t kidding about the steep and slippery climb. It was straight up the hillside and we used roots and rocks as handholds to assist us to the top. The bivy, despite the very faded orange paint job, was actually nicer than we were expecting. There was one window and the door was sized for a person half my height. Inside there was a small shelf where you could cook, two wooden stools, and a loft that divided the room vertically into two. Three people could sleep in the loft and three could fit under the loft with enough room to sit upright and not much more. We spent most of the afternoon and evening (except a brief stint of playing gin rummy inside when it rained) outside of the hut, staring out across the valley and waiting for Mt. Aspiring to reveal itself. At times we were able to see the very top, but never the whole thing until the following morning. Later in the afternoon we were joined by a German named Klaus. I am guessing he was probably in his late 50s and although he was tired from the hike up, he was in great shape. We spent a quiet but enjoyable evening with him and he convinced us to come to Munich, his home town, one day. At one point he sneezed and without thinking I said “ghezuntite,” what I always say after a sneeze. Klaus spun around and said, surprisingly, “That’s German.” All I could think of in response was “yes it is.”

The following morning we had a very loud wake up call (see video below) by a local kea who came screeching and flying right to the top of our bivy. He walked across the roof squawking until we came outside and paid him a little attention. About 15 minutes after our “alarm” went off, the clouds disappeared and Mt. Aspiring stood bright and clear. The kea apparently knew this was going to happen and thankfully woke us in time. We spent a relaxing morning sitting in front of the bivy, drinking coffee, reading, looking at the view, and talking with Klaus. Waving goodbye to Klaus, we began our steep descent and very hot valley walk back to the car. It was a short adventure but our feet were thankful for flip flops at the car and we were thankful for a cold beer back in Wanaka and, of course, another evening with Indian take-away.

It didn’t take long after our evening riding the downhill trails on Coronet Peak for BJ to find and bid on two mountain bikes on the Kiwi version of ebay. They have yet to arrive and we are very excited to start riding but, in the end, what may hold us up is the delivery of a box marked “Bike” that BJ’s mom just took to the post office in Victor. We left three ready-to-ship boxes in our closet at home, each marked appropriately . . . Bike, Ski, Climb. The big items like bikes and skis obviously didn’t fit very well in the boxes so we decided before we left that we would buy and then sell those items down here.

We spent another evening, with a movie at the Dorothy Brown’s cinema and dinner at a restaurant called The Stables, in Arrowtown on Tuesday. We just can’t seem to get enough of that place. The one detail we noticed this week while sitting in our enormous reclining theatre seats with a glass of wine and cheeseboard in hand, was that we were surrounded by more-than-double-by-age women. There’s just no classy way of saying it . . . middle-aged. But it was the realization that we were there enjoying the film with them that actually made us laugh. The film was Vicky Cristina Barcelona, a Woody Allen film that I thought had a somewhat disappointing ending until, over dinner, BJ pointed out the message about passion that it was trying to convey. I won’t spoil it for you.

On another note, yesterday my Aunt Kate sent me a link to a job she thought I should apply for . . . The Best Job in the World . . . which thoroughly distracted me for most of the day. If you are unemployed (actually even if you are employed), and looking for some quality time writing on the beach, this would be a great opportunity. I think the job requirements say “must be willing to snorkel, sail, or kayak as needed.” I know . . . really demanding.

We started our weekend on Saturday afternoon with a good session of rugby. The Rugby Sevens is a national tournament where all the national teams have a chance to play each other for only seven minute halves. This year the tournament was held in Queenstown and just happened to land on our roommate’s birthday. Ali and Steve were already with a crowd of friends at the rugby field and Steve was already well on his way to a good sunburn and hangover the following morning. Saturday was also Alan and Lily’s last night in Queenstown, and all of New Zealand, before flying to Australia. We met up with them at the entrance to the Rugby Sevens and spent the afternoon drinking Speights (which they only sold in 6-packs at the games), eating sausage rolls (a sausage served in a slice of regular sandwich bread), and trying to understand the rules of the game. For their final evening in town we went out to dinner at The Cow, a small pizza restaurant that we have become very fond of, and out for a mandatory-last-night-in-Queenstown-dessert at Patagonia Chocolates, another favorite. Thanks for spending the day with us Alan and Lily and have a great time in Australia. After saying goodbye to them, we made our way to Monty’s where we were supposed to meet Steve and Ali for the rest of the evening of birthday fun. There was no sign of them and we quickly found out that the birthday boy decided to call it a night a little early. We were bummed to have missed him but decided to enjoy some local beats by the band Pass the Sauce before making our way home.

We’ve spent the majority of our weekends and time off in New Zealand exploring the country’s trails by foot. This changed on Sunday afternoon. Coronet Peak, a local ski area, maintains a few downhill mountain biking trails with lift access and although neither one of us had ever been on an official downhill bike* (despite BJ’s very skilled past on a motorcross bike), we decided to rent downhill bikes and spend the evening playing on the trails. (For those who need a little explanation: a downhill bike differs from a cross-country bike (what we ride back in Idaho) in that the center of balance is slightly farther back, the shocks are much larger, and it is very difficult if not impossible to actually ride a downhill bike up a hill.) Although we’ve been relatively dedicated bikers for the last few summers, it took a couple runs of slowing down through the banked turns and rolling over the small jumps to really feel stable again. And then we couldn’t get enough of it . . . gaining speed in the turns, going fast, and jumping (well I only hit the small ones). By the final lap, our butts were sore and our hands and forearms were cramping. But damn it was fun. Still grinning and giddy, we met Steve and Ali in Arrowtown for dinner at the New Orleans Hotel. They had been graciously waiting for us for an hour and were excited to see us so we could all finally order. Once we returned home, BJ quickly hopped on the computer to check the latest bike listings on trademe.co.nz (basically an ebay for New Zealand) while the three of us watched a classic . . . The Lost Boys.

Today, Monday, was the perfect Sunday. We slept in (although it’s very unlike us, I am really starting to enjoy this habit), looked at more bikes online, went for a short hike that overlooks the Shotover River, and played some frisbee by the lake. The Shotover River (or as Gretchen likes to call it, the Shootover) is a hub for many adrenaline seeking visitors. We didn’t realize our hike would be overlooking some of these activities. We watched a handful of people doing a giant canyon swing and watched a jet boat do 360s through tight canyon walls . . . see for yourself.

After wrapping up a work day on Saturday, we popped over to the Queenstown Events Centre, an outdoor venue for cricket and concerts, for the first annual Peak Music Festival. The festival featured a few local bands like dDub and Salmonella Dub, a popular Kiwi band called Kora, British DJs the Utah Saints, and headliner Ministry of Sound. We heard news around 6pm that the Ministry of Sound was still in London and Utah Saints would be appointed the new headliner. Oh well. In the end, we both agreed that the two local bands, dDub and Salmonella Dub, were by far our favorite and perhaps we should have saved the cash and just seen them at a local bar. A majority of the music we have found down here seems to be electronic and Salmonella Dub, with acoustic guitar and bongos, was a live version of what you would normally hear a DJ spinning at a club. They had a lot of energy on stage and we look forward to seeing them live again.

We got a late start on Sunday. Sleeping in to 10am is a rare occurrence for the two of us but with such long days, we hardly noticed. We spent a leisurely morning at home and headed into town around noon for a hike that we have been talking about since we arrived in Queenstown. Ben Lomond peak sits about 4,500 feet above Queenstown, offering views that overlook ALL surrounding mountains. Although a popular trail, we hit it on a beautiful day and enjoyed a late lunch on the peak looking out over Lake Wakatipu and the Remarkables.

Probably the highlight of our weekend in Queenstown was a somewhat unexpected visit from two very close family friends. Alan and Lili Penkower have known my dad since the 60s and are very much a part of our family. Their son, Jonathan, spent quite a bit of time living and working in Queenstown about ten years ago and they have been planning a trip down here ever sense. It was a pleasure to show them around during their first visit to Queenstown. We met up with them right before lunch and didn’t stop talking and catching up until we said goodnight just before midnight. We were only able to squeeze out a few stories from them involving my dad and some sort of riot or political march. We had quite a full day as well . . .we went to lunch at Brazz, took a stroll through the Queenstown Gardens, visited the Chinese Settlement in Arrowtown immediately followed by a delicious ice cream cone dipped in chocolate, and after a quick visit to our house, we spent the remainder of the evening enjoying dinner at Fish Bone. They are spending the next few days in the Milford Sound and we will hopefully be able to see them off on their way back through this weekend.

The rain settled in Queenstown during the afternoon on New Year’s Eve and we quickly altered our plans to head downtown for a series of outdoor concerts and fireworks to spend an evening of apps, Indian food, and wine at the house with Gretchen, Brad, Steve, Ali, and some family friends of theirs from the UK. But as the rain lightened around 10pm Gretchen, Brad, and the two of us quickly changed our minds and decided to ring in the New Year in downtown Queenstown under a small display of fireworks. We arrived in town an hour later only to feel the rain start to pour down again. Luckily we found a semi-broken umbrella in a trash can and walked to the nearest pub that wasn’t charging a hefty cover fee. We never actually heard anyone start the countdown but when the fireworks started we knew it had struck midnight and we scurried outside to celebrate with the rest of New Zealand.

On New Year’s Day, we said goodbye to Gretchen and Brad until we see them back in Jackson. It’s been so much fun sharing and laughing about our first experiences and adventures in New Zealand and we will surely miss their company. We pulled out of the car park at the same time. They headed to Dunedin and up the east coast to Christchurch to fly home in a little over a week. We drove north towards Mt. Cook to spend a day under the shadow of the tallest mountain in all of Australasia. The forecast warned us that it would be “Fine during the day with rain developing in the evening.” We have learned to pretty much ignore the weather forecast down here, plan for rain, be glad if it is fine (what they refer to as sunny, partly cloudy, warm-ish), and assume if it is fine that it will probably rain sooner than later. It is still technically spring here and very much like home in that sense.

We arrived in Mt. Cook Village to beautiful views of a cloud covered Mt. Sefton and the Footstool Glacier and the sunlit peaks of Mt. Cook, which towers over the valley at 12,313 feet. The Hooker Valley sits at 2,400 feet making the climb to the top of the snow and glacier covered Mount Cook look like quite a feat. The mountain has actually already claimed three lives just this spring. The wind was already starting to howl through the campsite and we decided to set up our tent in a somewhat protected grove of tall pine trees. We made several attempts to heat up our Indian leftovers as the wind kept blowing the flame out, even after we built a barricade with water bottles, bags, and our own bodies. After a luke warm meal, we contemplated escaping the cold wind and retreating to the tent to play cards. But the skies were still very light and realizing we were just 1k from a café, we hopped in the car and drove down the road to the Old Mountaineer’s Café to enjoy two pints that came with complimentary warmth and stunning views of Mt. Cook. Our night back in the tent was a bit more interesting. We fell asleep after a mean game of gin rummy and at about 1am awoke to our tent collapsing in on us as stronger and stronger gusts blazed through the camp. The tent would spring back to its normal shape and then collapse in on us again with the next gust. Like the fear of bears sometimes overwhelms us in the Tetons, we were suddenly overwhelmed with visions of our tent ripping and of pine boughs breaking off and crushing our tent . . . like I said we found a protected site under the only tall trees in camp . . . good one. Our car was only about 100 meters from our tent so as I stayed put to keep the tent weighted down, BJ made three trips to the car with all of our stuff. We waited until there was a lull in the wind and very quickly disassembled the tent and scurried to the car under, of course, crystal clear skies . . . the most stars I have seen in days. Other than waking up a few times to the car rocking in the wind, we enjoyed a very nice slumber in the back of the car. The morning brought rain and after coffee and a huge bowl of oatmeal, we told Mt. Cook we would see it soon, and started to drive back to Queenstown. Although a quick trip to the mountain, less than 24 hours, we do hope to return and do a bit of tramping with our parents this summer.

On the drive home we were nicely surprised with blue skies and took a quick detour to a mini Bryce-like formation in the side of a hill called the Clay Cliffs. The rain caught up with us again and we continued down the road with plans to enjoy a great rainy day activity . . . wine tasting. There are two wine regions just outside of Queenstown, Gibbston Valley and Cromwell , and both are well known for their pinot noir varieties. We sampled a few in the Gibbston Valley at Peregrine Winery as well as at Gibbston Valley Winery, which also had a cheesery . . . yum. We of course planned our dinner of homemade pasta and salad to go specifically with a bottle of Peregrine Chardonnay and Gibbston Valley aged goat cheese.

The four of us began the Routeburn Track at around 3pm on Christmas Day. The Routeburn Track is one of New Zealand’s “Great Walks,” which are very busy in the summer for good reason . . . beautiful locations, huge huts, and although lots of elevation gain, the actual trails are so well maintained that any level “tramper” could complete the track. It was a bit of a late start, but since the sun wouldn’t set until 10pm and we only had 3 hours to walk until we reached our first campsite at Lake McKenzie, we weren’t too worried about time. It was cloudy and misty when we left the trailhead and it actually didn’t clear up until the following afternoon once we crossed the saddle at Harris Pass. We set up our tents in a little bit of rain but enjoyed cooking dinner under a large shelter located at the campground. Our Christmas dinner: brie and crackers for an appetizer, freeze-dried-meal-in-a-bag “Chicken a la King” for an entrée, a chocolate bar for dessert, and box red wine for drink. We then strolled down the trail to the hut where we were invited to partake in singing Christmas Carols by candle light. Although we didn’t join in, we sat outside to listen while we watched the skies clear and the stars start to appear.

The following morning we awoke to rain drops hitting our tent and decided to stay “indoors” until it passed. By the time we crawled out of our tent, everyone else in camp had packed up and left except for Brad, Gretchen, the two of us, and one other camper (who packed up his tent and backpack while we were cooking breakfast and before starting off on the track, popped open an umbrella!). Our destination for day two was the Routeburn Flats campsite, a five hour stroll up and over Harris Pass and down the Routeburn River valley. Although we knew the views into Fiordland National Park from the trail were spectacular, our powers to part the clouds were squashed by the wind, fog, and rain. The skies finally lifted in the afternoon as we made our way down to the Routeburn Falls and Flats. Brad and Gretchen, with a wet tent and sleeping bag in tow, continued on down the track to their van that was waiting at the trailhead. BJ and I enjoyed the evening at the Flats campsite staring up at the enormous surrounding mountains, cooking another delicious dinner-in-a-bag, and getting to know our new friends from the Netherlands.

We met Brad and Gretchen at the trailhead the following morning and before heading back to Wanaka, they drove us about 30km down the road to the beginning of the Caples Track, which meets up with the Routeburn Track about an hour from the trailhead, where our car was parked. We had decided to save $100 bucks on a 225km bus ride back to our car and walk the 30km over the mountains instead. The Caples River meanders through a wide open green valley until the mountains tighten and the green pasture land turns to thick rainforest. A side note for any anglers that may be visiting us (ahem…Steve!): Every time we just looked at the river we saw another huge fish just below the surface; I don’t fish but seeing the size of these things sure made me wish I knew how. The day was beautiful and warm, some of the best weather we had experienced on the trail yet, and after about 4 hours on the trail we camped at the end of the wide green valley in sandfly heaven. We actually retreated to the tent very early just to keep the “flying teeth” away . . . so early that after we realized we forgot our deck of cards we played a game of “Can you name all the 50 states and capitals?”

Today we woke to experience a similar system that is hitting Jackson Hole, although while it falls in feet of snow there, it falls in feet of rain here. It was a soggy long day on the trail, through the “rainforest flats,” up the “don’t-get-your-foot-stuck-under-a-root” ascent, over the “damn-I-bet-there’s-a-really-pretty-view-over-there” saddle, down the “slip-n-slide” ravine, and across the “I-know-it’s-just-around-the-corner” valley. During the final hour on the track, BJ asked “So, what Great Walk should we do next?” Tired and wet, I replied “I suppose we should get on the waiting list for the Milford Track . . . what do you think?” BJ giggled and said “My next Great Walk is from the dry car to a bar for a beer and some good food.”