Thursday, August 26, 2010

Still Ignorant


Returning from touring at Fox Peak I got a text inquiring if I wanted go touring with clay. I said I was making dinner and he was welcome to come and I would consider it. He came over, I made taters, honey carrots, and pork chop, and we discussed the plan. I couldn't decide if I wanted to go rerent touring gear or not but was definitely on board.

Morning came, I took it rather relaxed, decided to not rerent gear and save the money and hassle of lugging it along. Moseyed out to yaldhurst road, after grabbing some bananas at the store, and met up with a german who was joining us before catching a ride out. Four rides and a pie later we made the trail. the last ride was a from a young couple oh holiday from Sydney and really excited to be exploring the south island, heading to fox glacier at the moment they were. Clay and Chelsea had passed us so we were all assembled at the Baly Spur Trail head and had arrived about the same time too!

We started out - HOW! - 6 km and 530 some meters of elevation later we arrived at the Top Hut. The treck up took a bit more than the 2 hour suggested time on account of the other carrying ski gear. We moved up through forest, yes it had moss but it wasn't so impressive in this area. The trees were rather thickly grown with old mans beard which blocks a lot of light and lends a sorta supressed mood, while the north facing aspect means hot dry slopes. We broke out along the ridge line, out of the manuka bush, to see down the steep valley side on our left. Down, on scree, on dirt, past some bush, and at the bottom a roaring river aptly named Power Stream. We continued up the trail that had at times been used as a stream and contained mud and rounded stones and pebbles. We passes out of the manuka bush and into beech trees laden with more old man's beard. The trees opened occasionally into nice sloping meadows. One flatter one contained numerous pretty tairns: lush colors dampened by winter frosts giving way to beautiful frozen water with outstretched spider fingers. At last we saw snow and began to have hope that the effort would bear fruit. Coming out of the forest and crossing the meadow to Top Hut we looked back out at the valley below.


Ditching our things we made a quick dash further up the ridge line to find some lines for the next day. Up through a last bit of forest, then just tussock and patches of snow. More scree began to appear as our path followed the ridge up. We looked down the first rocky colouirs with much skepticism and kept
on up tell we could look up valley along the ridge to more consistent snow. We hoped the sunny summit at right would hold a nice bowl beneath it and set that as our prsective destination for the next day. We then set to doing abit of beacon practice. As the sun went down the clouds built up a bit and as we began to go down we got a some fresh snow! an exciting prospect as long as the weather droped the snow and cleared out by morning.


Sunrise. After a terrible time trying to light the fire, even after using the MSR stove right under the wood, we at least had embers enough to make a a baked apple. We all had our separate meals and then swapped treats and liquors as we played cards before bed. Wet, nearly frozen shoes deteed us from going outside, but when we did the land was lit by full moon light filtering through the clouds. No lights were needed to navigate around the hut. When we did venture forth from the hut that night we realized how effective our
uninspiring ember fire was at heating the hut, though I was able to cope with the cold night in just my longjohns. Morning came, and with it we dashed to see the sunrise as it filtered over mountains, through valleys, into trees, over grasses, and trapped and scattered in the moss and old man's beard. ah, what light softly warmed the rocks and relieved them of their dew. After our separate brekis, my copious amounts of musli and pear, we saddled up and headed out.


This attack on the ridge was accompanied by the recreational snowcraft gear we hoped to make use of and the rescue equipment we hoped not to. Starting in tussock and looking ridiculous with skis etc. we ascended the gentel lower elevations before finding the pathches of snow that doted the right slope while the left, northern, slopes had melted away.


Uncertain how long it would take us to reach our
desired bowl and not knowing if the slopes would prove safe enough to ski, we trode onwards. Daniel bootpacking in scarpas, decided to put on his skins and move over snow patches and tussocks. Even by passed some rocks by taking some traverses. We however stayed on the ridge and did some class three scrambling to get past some of the more rocky summits. Chelsea had some problems as her board was strapped laterally across her back, but taking it relaxed and easy we made it.

Yes some 3 ish hours later we made the prospected bowl, and while another hopefull was in sight this one seemed stable and the effort of making the next one did not appeal to most. After testing the slope a bit they set out to ski the bowl while I went on to the summit above (1700m). looking back I saw them shredding some turns and was a wee bit jealous. I decided to strap on my crampons at this stage, so I found a nice rock and a good view of the destination I ideally wanted to reach: a basin with a few lakes, at about 1500m, one ridge north west and accross Jordan saddle. But reaching the saddle involves a traverse at 1700m and I wasn't going to do that alone with my ignorant knowledge of snow conditions.

Jordan saddle is just below center saddle.

So I pushed on to the peak at 1875, from there I could clearly see the saddle and the long convex ridge down to it, and my vale looked far away. Great summit though. really nice and round. Sweet powdery snow, and falling away towards power stream were gentle rolling slopes in a sweet basin. Would a been some sick skiing had the others made it. I set off again for the high summit. For this I had to take care to stay back from the cornices on my left, while the right sometimes had some deep drifted snow, not more than 30cm. Had to gingerly get my self across some obstructing rock outcrops, one of which had some sweet frost built up indicating southern prevailing winds.

This summit at 1907 was more of a peak, though unnamed and so I dub it Mt Still Ignorent, but still rounded and frustating in that you walk around trying to decide where the highest point is. But it wasn't windy! I sat up there and enjoyed some cherry pie and the view, watching the clouds come and go about the peaks, coalescing again after being ripped asunder by the jagged peaks around. The valley revealed behind the summit was deeper and steeper than the main wamariki valley that bealy spur juts into. At the bottom a river weaves it's way back and forth in fluvial patterns, steep forested sides then give way to rocky crags and many rockslides. The head waters are hidden but seem to stem from a series of colouirs on a triangular peak that just flattens out at the top, as if flattened with a hammer. The south ridge looks easy and leads down to the just described river, while beyond the mountains fade, though the canterbury plains are not visible, just fewer snow capped peaks. I can see along a east ridge to the summit at 1750 (the diagonal sun strips in a photo by paragraph four are directly below this summit while 1907 is the highest visible point) and past as it continues down parallel to bealy spur, following the flux of power stream down the valley below. I can see the peak that later is pictured so beautifully illuminated. The bowl containing my friends and I hope the curving tracks of their enlivening skiturns is hidden by a bend in the ridge I ascended. The north west is completely dominated by ever higher southern alps, up to arthur's pass. ridges, peaks, snow, clouds. of white, black, grey, sky of blue. the rocks, scree, crags, cornices, suncrusts, powder, drifts, wisps, fogs, rays of sun and paths of slushy avalanches. on and on, I did not want to leave. not while I stood there in the glory of sun, no wind, even when a cloud came and hid my own peak from me I waited a moment and was again captured and in awe by all around. Kate, I'll climb cook. For me, but with you in mind because you opened my mind to the possibility.


In time I passed on, delayered, nocked the ice off my crampons, pulled my hat over my eyes. Striking my ice axe into the snow I began the descent, over the crusts, through the powder, Ignorant. Always doubting the pack, but trusting that solid layer I had probed and examined coming up. But in awe! ever amazed and so happy, down the ridges, past the light, looking in my beautiful basin that was magnitudes more inviting than that which clay, Chelsea and daniel were skiing below (and any basin I have considered dropping into in colorado). At 1875 I stoped at the summit again to take out my kite. As I had guessed the wind was too erratic coming up the basin and I didnt have room enough on the summit to let out all the line. I had some fun coaxing it up and through a few loops, but then called it good and felt the urge to make sure things were tiptop with the others. Descending the rocky parts with crampons was less fun, though only because I am unfamiliar with how to place my weight on crampons. all comes with practice.

My mates were fine. oh I acctually took another break to sketch the view to the north west. But then I found my mates fine, and took out my shovel to bee line down through their tracks in the basin. Then hiking up to the peak they had settled on in satisfaction. Great timing really, they just finished what they considered their last run, so while chelsea and I trudged along the ridge back down, daniel and clay kept the skins on and led the way, sometimes traversing below low summits. Back at the class 3 scrambling we all packed it up. But those ski folks soon had it all back on their feet and got a few last turns while my lousy shovel plowed into the snow and
I was forced to walk. The sun was setting and the light marveous. I was in no rush and stopped often to linger with the majestic views, to soak the sun, to warm my feet in the radiating warm rock. As I said to the others later, "oh my feet have been cold, wet, numb, frozen, and frozen." I was confused on one aspect though, the moon was uspposed to be up for about 14 hours that night, and that morning had set by sunrise. I expected the moon to be up by 430 at the latest. but it was getting on 5 and beyond and still no moon, so I lingered more to find the moon and to let the sun dip lower in the sky as the Mountains vainly tried to hold on to it's lifegiving light.

That night we were smarter. As I languidly made my descent and the others split ahead, I gathered dry grasses from the tussock, along with twigs and old mans beard from dead branches. The others gathered some fallen branches and dryer wood (the box of dry wood in the hut was mislabeled). But back at the hut we were put off from fire building a scattered to a meadow below. The moon was rising. While the sun had passed from view and the sky shifted through blues, oranges, purples ahhhh. Daniel and I briefly discussed ravensburg and things german, laying on the moss/tussock of the meadow (very comfy). The moon rose red above and we recalled and shared stories of moonlight adventures.


The red of moon faded and I contmeplated sleeping under the skies, but had no pad or tarp. Back to the hut we assembled and I built a successfull fire, Teepee style with the smaller things and then stacking like a log house or layers of checkerboards to dry and bake the larger wood. we had wonderful emberes for baked apples, then I beat clay at baggemon, and closed the evening by reading letters from high latitudes aloud.


I slept in my bag and awoke refreshed in the morning. I though I would wait for others to stir before getting up, but realized I had to go to the batheroom real bad. Plus the sun was up so I got up to catch a bit of the end of sunrise. I went down to the meadow and enjoyed the view down the valley to the low mountains beyond. I examined the frost on the grasses, played with dead tree branches and roots. I sat on a cold rock and enjoyed a pair of tui flying about, calling to eachother as the dove past and then winged back around to circle a bit before driving past the meadow again. Many birdcalls hung in the air. I moved through the beech trees, noting the moss and the undergrowth. The hut was still full of sleeping bodies so I quietly removed my breki. Then moved to the tussock to sit on grass, stretch my feet out on the moss, make some food and do some sketching and writing. Peaceful quiet contemplation.

I returned to the hut as te others finished breaking their fast. We collected our things and had a fina jaunt down from the hut. Though clay decided to flip off a tree and nearly broke his neck, but he just managed to rotate and so we proceeded intact. We sayed farewell to the ridge that sheltered and entertained us, gave thanks and hit the road to try our luck with rides.


HOW

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Kakariki


The university of Canterbury's Sustainibility club goes by the name of Kakiriki. They do a variety of things and if you recall they are the ones who hosted the permaculture workshop. This past weekend they had a potluck friday night and did some volunteer work on Quail Island saturday.


The potluck on Friday had an interesting premise. Since it was friday the thirteenth we were to dress up 'in our scariest dress' and rather than bringing a dish we were to bring an ingridient and then the group would cook something yummy. I had no Idea how to dress, and my trip to the second hand store provided little inspiration (I found a pair of shiny purple jeans though...). I decided to dress up as genetically modified corn, just wear lots of yellow basically, and then had the idea of bunching up yellow shopping bags to imitate corn kernels. Kinda worked... I was more a wako yellow-bag superhero. I finished my costume off by wrapping my green tarp around my legs as the corn husks.

I biked through the light rain, en costume, and stopped by a vegetable store I had wanted to check out. Descent prices and I grabbed some avocados thought I thought people would like to augment my contribution of carrots. Not many people showed up, and the costumes were a bit lackluster. Gabby managed to turn herself into a very frightening dumpster dweller useing some shredded curtains from a dumpster. For food we had: carrots, avocado, strawberries, carrots, silverbeat... yea and then from the house we used staples and tofu. We decided to make a vegan quich. and while that cooked we baked some crackers to go with the avocado. cracker making was like christmas cooking cutting, I made a horsee!

So we dined, and chatted. And did some face painting, some scary some benign - all beautiful. crackers (eith seseme seeds) were a sucess. We started snacking on the strawberries. ANd then the quich was done and a splendid blend of carrots onions and silver beat. For desert a Carrot cack appeared which was exceptionally moist and Delicious! we didnt bother cutting it and just ate fork fulls.

Saturday and I woke up late, jammed breakfast and lunch together and got to the UCSA building late to carpool to the ferry for quail island. We drove to littleton, which took much longer than I thought, but made the ferry that took us out to the island in littleton bay. On the island we gathered tools and went to a little vale of native brush which was planted 10 years prior. We were filling gaps that hadn't survived. Dig a hole, plant a flax or other native plant (whose name I forget), cover with a scrap of rug. Flax goes in the very wet, another in somewhat wet and the third plant went on the drier slops of the vale, plus another mix of plants went in to add diversity. It was beautifully sunny and I was afraid of getting burned but enjoying the warmth. talked to a kiwi who had traveled to Brekenridge and done some of the best skiing of his life. Another person, native of South Africa, had been to Colorado and skied with people from france who said they had the best snow of their life at winter park. cool stories to hear, and makes me miss skiing. We also planted in a drainage, on a rocky slope by the sea. more rocks than soil there and we had to poke around alot before finding places to plant.

We finished around 2-230 and had until 330 to explore the island. A cove nearby had about 6 sunken ships, steel ribbs poking out of the water. The tide was low and we wandered around and in the ships. Crabs fleeing into their holes, mussels everywhere, poking anemones and watching them cringe. Shoes sinking into the mud as the tide came in. The trail goes around the island and we enjoyed a leisurely walk back in the sunshine, at one point you could almost walk to a peninsula reaching into the bay had the tide been even lower. Past a quarry, some old huts that housed lepers and quarantined the sick in the first half of the 20th century, and past a beach to the jetty. There I watched the tide, caressing rounded rocks and fitting pebbles in grooves on the rocky slab shore.

Leaving on the Ferry I talked to Colin. He's older and started the reforestation effort on Quail island. In the 70's he did research in Colorado developing techniques for dating avalanch events based on evidence in the forest (he's a botanist). He spent a bit in Boulder and then was up in silverton and had the good fortune to enjoy all the beauty of southwest colorado; and to see so many mammals. Mammals are none native to NZ and so you dont really see nay in the bush, no squirrls, bunnys, pika, or moose etc.

That evening we had another little potluck where julie cooked the mussles she/we gathered at the sunkenships. I dont know if I like em, I ate em, but the wheat and white sauce was no good for me.

a Day

Monday.

Get up and moan about the morning, branches scratching at the window and making squeeching sounds. The noise of cars going by filters in. A bus passes in a mighty diesel roar. Push the cover up, folding the duvet over the sheep skins on top. cloths? oh my cloths... uh grab the merino top for the moment as it's light, comfy and warm.

Into the kitchen to prepare some food. Simple, it's already past 10:30 (as indicated by the bus passing) so no cuppa this morning, no eggs or pancakes (oh I should make french toast sometime...). Chop a banana, pour some Musli over it, mix and enjoy. listening to some classical music on the radio as I eat. Finished I take out bread, salami, tomato, butter, greens; slice the bread and tomatoes, stack it all up to make two sandwiches and put in a very fancy tupperware. Grab an apple.

Now to really choose some clothes, bah I need to do a wash, was going to do that but I got out of bed too late, tonight I guess. hmm, these will do. Brush teeth. search around my room to assemble all my school supplies and papers; and that pesky house key that keeps vanishing. Damn, still late always late... at 11:40 class is far away, but at 11:45 it's looming and then it takes another 5 min just to get the bike out of the garage (lord knows why!).

Try and sprint, as always, but that one light at fendalton rd always takes forever. Get to the engineering building and realize I forgot the bike lock. oh well. Put the bike in the bike parking cage that only students can access with a card, and use helmet as a bike lock... Yep, late, 12:03 as I walk into my Materials Science lecture and sit in the front row as Anil continues to lecture. Yay phase diagrams, fascinating things.

Then I have a two hr break, but not really. I go to the library to tackle a frustrating Energy engineering problem: a dairy factory is considering using a heatpump and a heat exchanger to use waste heat to preheat water, but I cant solve for the correct things. Consulting a few textbooks gets me know where and an hour and a half later I still don't get it and have to get to lecture. I swing by and turn in the frustrating assignment, with a brief explanation of my frustrations.

The prior class is taking it's time, which gives me time to enjoy my lunch outside the lecture theatre. Kapa Haka, maori performing arts: today we learned about the haka kamate, which was made famous by the Allblacks (NZ rugby team). Watched some movies of the Allblacks performing it, and it's evolution through time. talking about the positive and negative effects of the globalization of the haka, and some of the disrespectful imitations that have emerged. And I still havn't started my essay for that paper...

Since the lecture started late Corban held us over a bit, and I was a bit late for my Materials Science lab on the other side of campus. Quick lab, the tutor quickly tests some materials, we quickly copy numbers, he shows us some pictures and away we go! 'Have fun writing the 6-8 page write up' he says.

Thats the day. So I head home to do some reading and eat a full meal. I edit a geology on Ice Marginal Morains, which wasn't very good. For tea I saute carrots and gorgets with some garlic etc. then add some chicken I picked up from the butchers on the way home. Bring water to a boil and the pasta's ready at about the same time. mm yummy and then was I full. crap 6:30 already? gah, back on the Bike and down to uni!

Meet at the gear shed for the university of canterbury canoe club (UCCC) where we meet and secure kayaks to cars before driving off to QEII recreation center (and getting lost). We get there early anyways and so enjoy a bit of time in the hot tub before the pool frees up and we get in our kayaks and into the water. Tonight I'm not doing so hot. I get a few decent rolls and then just fail. paddle keeps hitting the boat and slicing into the water too much... I need to find the rigth equilibrium point to place my paddle at and then I know what to do. SO I fooled around and practiced my hip snap at the wall. Did some side stroke things to practice hipsnap and balance, which resulted in a few capsizings (then I'd try and roll, fail, and get resqued or wet exit) Great time!

Back from the pool, it's 10, bike home, eat a snack. mess with this and that, send some emails. enjoy sitting on my sheep skins on my bed and reading a bit. Thats my monday. oh and the weather was high clouds but not really any rain. Go to bed again with the branches squeeching and then my door half opening and letting in a stream of too bright light that disturbs my sleep.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

snakeskin


Got it all ready at 3 am. At 6:30 I was up, had some eggs, and at the bus at 7. At 8 I was on the road. (oh and this is an epic, you may want to take it in smaller bites)

Got to where 7 leaves highway 1 thanks to a farmer returning home after a night on the town. Then went with a mother and her son towards Hanmer Springs. I enjoyed the warbles of a native bird while waiting for a last ride into lewis pass. Cars were far and few between but I snagged a nice fellow off to see his folks and maybe get into the bush to get some meat to bring home for make saucies. He also had a friendly puppy who was a joy to pet and be licked by. We discussed the bush and a certain spiky grass (which I later met in person). He dropped me off, in parting giving me his advice on where would be best to cross the Boyle river.

I started off - HOW! - up and down the bank of the Boyle I went, still a bit green on crossing rivers I was cautious about wading in. I ultimately found a wonderfully easy
spot, not much past my knees. I did however have to then cross other fingers of the Boyle and the Doubtfulitself before gaining the track on the south bank. I stumbled accross the river bed for a while before seeing the orange triangles which eventually led onto the bank itself and through tussock grass.

I was entering the valley of the Doubtful river. Around me and ahead rose 1500-1700 meter peaks. The clouds were building, but for the moment blue patches floated around and the tops appeared now and again. Rather tame they seemed, almost rounded; but I only saw the lower peaks and not the Mountain summits themselves due to the narrow valley. In shifting cloudy daylight I passed through low shrub like trees. Stretching their scraggly, twisted, arms into the space around them, they were made all the more mildly sinister by the grey green moss dripping down their every branch. This moss, that I call 'old man's beard', looks like nothing more than large tufts of wool that have been savagly torn off and now hang forlornly as the clouds lower. It was very beautiful really, but the feeling was darker, as the trees were stunted and low over the tall grasses which themselves were bent with the damp wet of rains and melted snows.

I came to a first stream, passed through, then met some mud that I shouldn't even bother mentioning, as more was to come. Ahead of me the landscape was dominated by grass before the approaching bush. I left the Doubtful's side, admiring the round polished rocks on the bank and the bush leaning over the opposite bank, and climbed onto a terrace above. Winding through, and very happy to be again in the bush, I suddenly came upon a wall of ferns. The bush went on in all directions but there off to the side of the track stood a wall of ferns, tumbling down over each other in the magnificent order that ferns tend to posses, not just a slope with many ferns but a wall. Just past this I entered the bush I love the most. A silvery wonder that hangs with a certain ethereal moss, everything almost-shrouded in mist and yet you can see forever. The trees have long trunks eteched with moss and lichens while below branches litter the ground among small crawling plants but no shrubs. Here and there dead trunks lean against their younger brothers. The light filtering down through clouds and branches, leaves and dangling moss, diffuses and helps define the ethereal nature of green grey silvers.

I would see fleeting green continuations of the bush rising onto the opposite side of the valley through the bush which surrounded me. Now and then a clearing would appear and I could see more clearly. At one many things joined together. Tussock grasses spread in a golden color that is not golden when it's cloudy; and yet still the plant puts forth such an aura of warmth. Through the grass a stream tumbled down the left slope, onto a soft bed of mossy stones to finally settle in a fine pool of healthy browns and many greens. Somewhere this pool drained into the Doubtfull, which boarded the clearing, but looking there the gaze was drawn to the cascade of rocks steeply descending in perpetual stillness. A long rock slide and the erosion slowly bring them to the valley floor. The jumping-splashing, fooling-laughing, white wash spray of water that chortled on, through, and down the rocks to meet its mother.

Through the bush a bit more, clouds showing blue and sometimes a bit of sun. I came upon Doubtful bivy; a quaint little thing with a chimney sticking out, neatly nestled at the edge of a clearing looking up valley at the peaks beyond. I went a bit further to the where my journey would cross the Doubtful to head up Devilskin stream. But first I sat me down on some grass as the sun was shining and I thought it prudent to fill up in the sun and at a warmer altitude before I began my ascent. While eating I became surrounded by tens or hundreds of small flies which took little interest in my food and didn't really attack me, but I think some of the ones that landed on my hands did try and suck on something after roaming around for a while... oh well I enjoyed my favorite peanut butter and banana.

Fording the stream I quickly gained altitude. up and up into darker bush with more moss I ascended. Very steep in places I was getting a good work out. After a time the path leveled somewhat and I began to follow the contours more closely as I traversed up valley. I was far up from Doubtful stream but crossed many feeder streams. Each of which was a complete joy and marvel in itself. Lush marvels supporting a more supple, moist green moss, and passing water over trunks and sticks so as to polish them. I was always captivated and had to pause at each. Sometimes a stream would leave enough of an opening to allow one to look across the valley but very seldom. I got a glimpse back at the doubtful river valley one last time near the third such stream, while across the valley the clouds had lowered to obscure the mountain tops.

I tramped along, occasionally plunging upwards and staring at roots soon to become footholds, and hugging the earth to my right as the slopes fell away to the left. Those roots were often red in a most magnificent way, a bright poisonous red I would say, very vibrant and earthy in the surrounding dark earth - not at all foreign. The slopes would startle me now and again with what appeared to be lovely purple quartz rocks. On
touching one however I found a soft sack of something which I didn't trust to touch again - a very disconcerting fungi. The slopes became steeper yet, though I continued to traverse more than climb (for which I was thankful), and soon I crossed some avalanche/rockslide paths covered in ferns and small trees. Here I truly saw across the valley, to the rockslides mirrored there, but could not see down to snakeskin stream - I don't think I saw it at all... I guess I saw a bit of it when I went up the saddle and there it truly was just a tiny little stream. In one of these paths I found a tiny patch of snow preserved under a fern.


I approached the end of the valley and moved up out of the brush. Here I found swaths of grasses, the stream, and poles marking a general route to the saddle. Snow was to be found in patches, and could be avoided with care. But all slopes were sopping wet! The grass would often sink underfoot and water would seep up to engulf my foot. The grass wasn't all tussock, but also that pesky spiky plant I spoke of - and I had a bad habit of stepping right into it as also kept snow at bay and so harbored dry spots. Moving towards the saddle I saw the bivy on the left and made strait for it. This meant taking a steeper and slightly more snowy route, but once in the biv I could warm up. I'll say it again - don't wear keens on snow.


Devils Den biv was sweet. and I loved the location! right on the saddle it was surround by peaks - ones I could finally see - and you could look down to the valleys on either side as well. I considered continuing on to Nina hut, I had the time, but I really wanted some snow and so decided to stay at the biv. I removed my things: sleeping bag, dry socks, puffy jacket, sheep skin and set up a cozy little space. I then did a bit of yoga to get the warmth flowing and heating up the biv a bit. I visited the toilet briefly - and decided the best part of the biv was using the john with the door open and gazing up at the peaks above. I grabbed my pen and postcard material to make a sketch of that ridge. Trying to keep my hands warm and shelter the paper from a slight drizzle I tried my best to capture it all: the cornice with its small avalanche, the jagged ridge - Devils Den Rampart is its appropriate name, the various snow covered slopes, and partially obscured rocks and cliff faces, along with the scrub lined slope on which I stood, I even threw the john in.

I somehow knew I would have company and was rather surprised, but pleased, to find the biv empty. But just as dark was descending, and I just after finished some more yoga to warm up after my drawing, a pair arrived from Nina Valley. They were surprised to find someone as well but glad that the iv wasn't already full with three! conveniently they actually brought a double sleeping bag which they shared and so no one had to brave the cold floor. They cooked some noodles and I enjoyed my spaghetti and meat sauce. We warmed the biv nicely, while outside temperatures plummeted; clouds lowering and rain slowly changing to snow. I lit a candle and read Letters from High Latitudes, a collection of letters from an Englishman's journey to Iceland and up into the arctic to Spitzbergen. We spoke a bit: the two were from christchurch, him doing a Phd at the uni, in the morning they hoped to cross sylvia tops (a ridge rising to 1600m). Soon we all slept, and my sheep skin kept my back a bit too toasty.

With morning there was more wind and ice on the windows. I regretted having no hot tea or oatmeal, musli is good food but the warmth is always nice. I shoulda brought my jetboil instead of the wisper light (which needs so many more accessories). Outside the ground was far less patchy as several centimeters had fallen and blown all around. I took a a few photographs before freezing my finger in the wind and so put it all away, packed up and headed down through the snow. This time I wore my boots, and the ground was far less slushy. None the less I still managed to step into a small stream, but wet boots are the norm in NZ tramping and I expected to be thoroughly soaked by the end of the day. The wind abated as I descended below the saddle and I said my last farewells to the rampart above and silently wised my companions of the night before good luck as they ascended the opposite ridge above me.

I love the snow, honestly It's what I came here for in many ways, and I'm very sorry I didnt bring my skis to enjoy it better. But if I can just get into a bit of mountaineering I shall have my fix. I was nervous of stepping in more water on the tussock below the saddle, but walking into the shelter of the trees all my worries vanished and I sunk into the wonder of falling snow. The bush, that ethereal bush I tried to explain earlier, is so
enhanced by a dusting of snow. The place become quieter, yet more noise is present, a slight drip dripping of the warm snow slipping off leaves to lightly plunk on others. The light changes but remains serene. 'I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er vales and hills' at once I saw no daffodils. Instead the snow was fading, turned to rain, and while above eternal slumber rested her soft face, below the vale was struggling to stay awake and shed the drops that fell from high. On this border I was sad and reflected how fortunate I was to have stayed on high at Devils Den Biv to be met at morn by that dusting of powder.

Steeply down the path descended, the clouds moving up, the rain coming as a drizzle. Again I began to see red roots, and also now on many rocks a peculiar sort of lichen was to be seen. Stiff as dried flowers with undulating - almost serrated - edges they clung to trees and rocks. Large, measuring almost a hands breadth out from their perch, they fold along - up/down - the trees and rocks for tens of centimeters in places. But on their surfaces many red and purple dots of a poisonous shade arranged themselves in an orderly pattern. An amazing artwork of nature were these lichens: both the patterning of dots and the forms of the lichens themselves.

After a particularly steep bit where the stream was roaring off to the left I recalled that the guide said the path veered from the stream to avoid a hidden waterfall. Determined to visit the fall itself I left my pack on the trail and descended a bit of scree to reach the stream itself. I then carefully hopped form rock to rock up Blind stream, and whoa there was a waterfall. I closed the last distance, carefully crossing a slippery log to cross banks, and drank in the majesty of that cascade. Some 10-25 meters it fell unhindered to a shallow pool, while around to my right the stream descended in a staircase of wider falls to empty into the same basin. I thought it farmore beautiful than St Nictan's Kiev in Cornwall.
The place was cozy as solid rock stretched up around and under the falls and a small beach of stones was dry for (me!) to stand on and enjoy it all. The wider falls roared, the taller shlooshed, between them rivulets streamed, and on the cliff face drip dripping through moss tumbled fat juicy drops refracting the light as crystals as they fell. I sang a bit at the falls, inspired by the energy of the place, moving my voice and rhythms with the movements of the various water features. I saddled back up and made my way though the now rainy bush.

Soon I came to nina hut, where I poked my head in to find the fire still warm and the place really very lovely. A great place to spend cold nights with good friends I'm sure. The trail from there got muddier and I no longer really tried to avoid it. I tried not to blatantly step in the deep bits, but anything below ankle height I slogged right into! The track at this point wandered away from Blind stream, bypassing its meeting point with the Nina river, and moved closer to the Nina valley side. I crossed some more beautiful streams and after a while on the relative flats I noticed some boulders off to the right through the trees. I figured I might as well check them out.

The first was massive itself: 7-12 m high and covered in moss. It had a roughly rectangular shape and a slight overhang on two sides. Absent of moss it would have made for some wonderful bouldering. Farther into the bush, towards the valley rim, were more boulders which I decided to explore. I scried a faint track and followed it, perhaps
it was from animals, I doubt it was from stream erosion, and if it did really exist it could have had human origins. I soon lost it, or was too captivated by the spearhead of a rock that thrust it's way up into the tree tops to care. I scrambled up where a second large boulder was leaning on this massive triangle and found myself in a moss courtyard of paradise. (I know there's so much moss, I'm sorry but I do love it!) To the north, from where I had come rose the sloped rear part of that steep pyramid of a rock, to the west a squatter but equally massive boulder formed a wall while to the south and east numerous boulders left little passages to the outside world and held back some of the forest. The floor would require much study to fully determine as it was completely covered in moss. It supported me at any rate and was probably an assortment of boulders, logs, and rotten plant matter. I found at last a true mat of moss, a carpet (true it had some undulations) that I would eagerly have slept on in dryer conditions. I did lie down, and stared up at the thin foliage spreading from a few large trees in and outside the courtyard. I enjoyed watching drops fall down, especially when the larger ones tried to bombard me and landed with a satisfying thoush in the moss by my side. The moss is so forgiving that you sink in and on rising I could see the form of my body remembered by the moss, my I would love to sleep there...

There were more boulders farther up the slope and what looked like the cliff face that once produced them. I scrambled my way there, careful not to fall through the rotten layers of vegetation. Indeed there were cliffs, and a very dirty but fun looking trad route I wouldn't have minded cleaning and attempting had I the gear and an eager partner. I made my way back down, again following the natural trails. I noticed a neat cavelike opening at the base of one of the boulders and, after throwing some sticks in to clear out any animals, went in to check it out. I could see right through to light at the other end. But realized the smaller rocks between the light and me were supporting the boulders; it would really suck if they decided that now was the time to fail and let the boulder come down to crush me. So i decided not to wriggle through and walked around and then up on top of the boulder instead. There many little saplings were integrating the boulder into the bush, continuing the succession, of fallen leaves to moss to grass to shrubs, that has been going for hundreds of years. From top I looked down into the courtyard, at my little blue backpack throwing off the green of it all; I looked up and saw the front face of that massive spear illuminated by sunlight streaming through the thin foliage. Moss turned yellow, but not quite. So tall and majestic that some little sapling on the boulder's peak reached as high as its 300 year old neighboring giant of a tree.

I reluctantly gathered my pack, again noticing the slightly unstable nature of the courtyard's center and then gingerly made my way out and down. I paused and leaning on a rock to tie my shoe I noticed minute little fungi, looking like forest spirits of princess mononoke with white tilted heads, perched on both sides of a rock. They made a little forest of their own, on the face towards me looking like little spots, while on the other face which sloped away I saw their tiny trunks supporting moist mushrooms of pearly white which reflected a sticky quality of light to the eyes.

I wasn't entirely sure where the track was, but didn't mind so much. picking my own way through the bush meant that I appreciated all it's aspects all the more (and I got to go by more lush moss!!!). Once I came to a slight precipice which flattened out in a series of pools. It was a muddy place with more strong brown colors than green and more silent than other places in the bush. A depression it was that collected the water, a marsh? no the water was clearer and all felt more ordered and beautiful, I'll call it a sump because of how the water slumps into it and the 'u' reminds me of the wonderful mud. I also ran into some thick spiky bushes that I had to go around, but I did find the track again.


Soon I came to the swinging bridge that has recently been erected (though the nina was rather low farther upstream and would have been no problem to ford). Was a really cool and interesting spot. the river narrows and rushes with great depth past 4m high walls on either side. Probably some cool cliff jumping opportunities there. Further on was another swimming hole where I stopped for my favorite lunch and some more enjoyment of the dripping sounds. I thought about swimming but didn't feel like changing or over-
analyzing the current's strength.


The path was rather flat and went slowly down hill, occasionally jumping up a side valley for a bit to cross a stream (beautiful sights themselves), and always coming across more mud. Sometimes
people had placed twigs and sticks which provided some extra surface tension but mostly you just slogged through it and washed off at the next stream. I came to a very eerie place where again the trees were gnarled and scraggly. The same moss hung from their branches but seemed dirty rather than old and sage like. The ground was of mud, water, rotted-white lichens and overlapping roots. There a cross-roads was and I walked on.

So it was full circle, I was back at the Boyle river, and here the level was low, but a bridge had been installed so I used it. I took out my comb to straiten my hair without looking too guiedo, though in the rain this was pointless. Slow traffic coming through that pass. I learned from my ride that only 30,000 people live on the entire west coast of the south island. But I didn't wait long, and she was headed all the way to christchurch. We talked of life on the coast, the health system, education, and other small things. I again marveled at the marvelous set of foothills that lead up to Hanmer springs. Boulder has foothills which merge seamlessly with the peaks behind. Here there are 3 sets with lovely lush valleys between and then the shorter mountains begin. oh and my ride pointed out a rock formation which is very clearly a frog! I marveled at all the river rocks entombed
neatly in the cut sides of the road - lined up and deposited long ago by rivers from mountains like those I had just left. And the water forces could be seen in swollen drainages, hillsides that had slid, and reservoirs where children would normally swing under a tree. In christchurch it was raining more than it had been in the bush. I cooked up the last of my pasta sauce and had a good hot meal before settling down for another early sleep.



here ends an epic. I hope for your sakes that those which come after this don't go on so long. though If there are any editors out there that want to try and make something of all this jumble, let me know!



Wednesday, August 4, 2010

A Tuesday Mistake

Tuesday rolls along and with it an adventure. I wake up early and pack my bag, make a quick phone call to check the status of my bike repair, then grab a bike and rush not tobe late. I get to the bus stop just a minute before my bus arrives, and then struggle for another minute trying to get the bike on the bike rack. I finally do but at the next stop a man takes forever tofind his change and then the bus driver takes a wrong turn and has to do a U -turn on a busy street in christchurch... that was a sight to behold. I consigned my self to the fact that things were running slow and tried to take in the sights of christchurch as the bus -slowly - made it's way to the east side of christchurch. I finally get off (a stop later than I asked due to another lapse on the drivers part) and make my way to the bike shop to pick up my Bike. Thank fully they tightened the spokes so now it rides quiet, but they didn't do to well at keeping the wheel true... oh, and let me assure you that none of these events were really mistakes. Indeed this post has nothing to do with any mistakes, except that my first destination is Talor's Mistake.

On my way at last I mounted up in my saddle and peddled onward. I took up a grin for nick (wink) as I fell into my rhythm as I passed across the bridge and came along the shore of the Estuary of the Heathcote. Passing by beaches on the left and cliffs on the right, looking out to sea - a sea of clouds above and water below that fade into an indiscernible horizon. Through sumner I went until BAM! in front of me rose Scarborough and I mashed and huffed through 1.4 km to rise 140 m (average of 10% grade) barely able to sustain in my lowest gear (thats 38:28). But I did and at the top I parked my bike, removed layers and gulped water before venturing towards Taylor's Mistake.

I then walked along the path to Taylor's Mistake, allowing my pulse and breathing to slow again. I was on the lookout for a place to enjoy the sea coast and eat my breakfast, maybe have a little spoonful of peanut butter as a protein boost. As Tourists tend to do I took the little side path that lead towards a precipice and found the path continued to pick a trail down the bluffs towards the sea. On I went, descending through layers of igneous and sedimentary rock. Pausing to admire the fluvial erosions eating away the cliff, and constantly retuning my ear to the crashing surf below - pounding, ever pounding the rocks to marbles. I realized I would reach sea level and could eat on the water practically. For a while I could not eat. I found a nice enough spot, and that was just the problem.

Just ahead of me, and on either side the ancient bones of the littleton volcano were being eaten away by the tides. Waves crashed into the sharp, serrated edges -throwing angry froth into the air. And the water wove in through the gaps and wrapped its sensual embrace around other rocks protected by. In-between, water rushed down vanishing waterfalls or rolled over ledges to eddy and skirt and run and dip and dive through channels and around corners and bend
around sharp and curved-round rock alike.


And again, after I did finally lay me down to eat and had distractedly downed musli and fruit. My attention instead was lost to the auditory exploration of the crashes - the booming - the rushing; those sounds that surrounded me. I returned then to explore the very edges of this rock water interface we call the coast. I found repeated the same wonders of weaving waves and leaping froth. But also found the pattern iterating in ever smaller nooks and crannies along that boundary until the viscous property of water simply left droplets of spray crawling down the rocks.

Alas I decided I had observed enough, and I itched to return to my bike. I skipped across the sharp rocks, through the spray, over the speckled eggs, and then back up the cliffy bluff. My map didn't extend to this portion of christchurch so by memory I explored the neighborhoods for a route to the summit. I didn't find it, though a post trip map consultation assures me there should be a walking path there at least, but that was all right for I descended (150m) instead to the true cove known as Taylor's Mistake. I decided to leave the beach for later and, once again leaving my bike, instead made my way up along the Godly Head track to circumambulate the head of the peninsula.

As the coast is steeply eroded by cliffs the track wound its way up and down, in and out. With me sprang the little white hoofs of lambs, quickly running to mothers who bleated nervously at my approach. The track would follow contours, then dive down along stream beds nearer to the coast only to once again rise up and then veer away from the coast to
approach the high rise at the end of the head. There the concrete skeletons of WWII barracks stood stark on the land scape. Below them I wandered into the, not so icy but rather warm and enveloping blackness of, storage rooms. black concrete walls provided an interesting hall to bounce echoes, trying to pierce with echolocation while continuously enjoying the sound of my voice and echos and footfalls.

I was now on the bay, near littleton harbor. I had switched to the Crater Rim Track a track I could hardly follow as my eyes lifted to the cloud shrouded hills across the water and the cliffs highlighting the undulations of my side of the bay. No sheep roamed here, and the grass was taller,
the foliage more diverse, the ground softer and less compacted. On this bayward sloping face I found a nice pad of grass to sit/lie on and have lunch - yes my favorite peanut butter and banana. After which I enjoyed my view and read up on the measurement of the planets mass and age in A Short History of Nearly Everything. It was a very comfortable and natural nest, I kinda felt like sleeping on that gray dreary sort of day...

But the track beckoned so I ambled on, across a fence and back into sheep land. Many lambs here and so full of energy. One seemed very curious, but I had simply gotten between it and its mother and it was confused and asking for her. A roll in the hill called to me as the wind blew. across many miles perhaps the same wind had called another name. I was hesitant. But new I would enjoy a bit, so I took out my kite and set up. launching I explored the power window profile. Moving laterally on the hill I found interesting updrafts and backflows to play with. I missed my true delta, but parachutes are so much fun to swoop and swerve with, and kissing the earth with them is so much safer, especially on grass where it just bounces off! I left after a while but, as i predicted, was glad I had taken the moment to fly.

I returned to Taylor's Mistake and now walked along the beach. sweet sand... my how amazing the beach is. I can do without it so well, and don't know when it's gone, but it is such an interesting, slowly evocative sort of place for me. I struggle to decide to fully surrender to the sandy mess and wonder of it and always flirt with the lapping waves. At low tide the beach here is long and flat, would be a wonder for a skim board, and is a perfect canvas.

The journey was almost over. one last climb back over scarborough, down into sumner, a quick stroll at the beach there, watching a slight rose filter through the clouds over the ocean, noting the endless horizon. then a bit of a bike back into the estuary where I caught the bus into town. But buses don't seem to like me and I had to get off before city center and so rode the last half hour home to arrive as dusk enveloped New Zealand.