Hey everyone! I know it’s been awhile since I last posted, so here is a super quick update.

Yesterday I finished work at the pizzeria and now I’m off to spend 9 days hiking the Dusky Track through the heart of Fiordland NP. I’ll write a full description of my journey when I return next week.

Sent from my phone while riding the Southern Scenic Shuttle to Lake Haurako.

• Tim

I apologize for the delay in posting this. The wireless internet at the local library has been inactive the past few days because of a cut wire…which I find to be hilarious. Anyhow, here’s a description of my last hike…

Me at U Pass in the Earl Mountains

The Earl Mountain Tracks are a pair of seldom used, but widely accessible hiking trails directly off the main road from Te Anau to Milford Sound. Last week, I had two days off from the pizzeria, and I figured it was about time I headed out into the bush again. I planned to hike up the precarious-sounding Mistake Creek Track until it fizzled out above the bushline, then whack my way through the upper scrub and snow tussock to cross U Pass into the Hut Creek Valley, where I’d meet up with another track and return to the car. However, after my adventures on Mount Titiroa, I thought it might be wise not to attempt this endeavor alone. I started asking around, trying to find a tramping partner, and this is how I came to meet Rufus.

Rufus, like most of the other people I’ve met in this country, is German. He is traveling New Zealand and Australia for a few months before returning home to attend university. I work with Rufus’s flatmate Niklas at the pizzeria, and when I mentioned that I was looking for a tramping partner, I was introduced to Rufus, who because of an unfortunate incident involving the “borrowing” of some swim trunks from the merchandise pile at the pub he was working at, had recently become unemployed and therefore fully able to spend two days in the mountains with me. In addition, he’s quite keen on tramping, has all the necessary equipment and fitness, and was eager to try a bit of off-track hiking.

So I picked Rufus up on Saturday morning and we drove up the Eglington Valley from Te Anau towards Milford, a drive I have done a dozen times, but which still manages to blow me away with its mountain scenery. After about an hour, we pulled into the small carpark and headed off down the Mistake Creek Track, laughing at the sign that read “U Pass is an unmarked route and requires alpine experience”.

Within meters of leaving the carpark, it became obvious that although thousands of tourists drive by this trailhead every day, very few ever venture down this track. We were sloshing through knee-deep mud before we were even out of view of the car, and after only ten minutes we reached the Eglington River. To cross this stream, there was no swing bridge as I’ve seen on most other tracks, but instead a set of three wires, which we had to use to cross the river.

Rufus crossing the three-wire bridge

Soon after, Rufus and I were on our way through the scattered sunlight of an airy beech forest, along the banks of Mistake Creek. The track was narrow and at times we were reliant on the orange blazes to find the correct way, but it was one of the nicest trails I’ve been on in Fiordland. After about an hour, the trail dumped us out in a small clearing by the creek, and we searched around for the orange blazes of the track. Eventually we spotted the large orange triangle on the opposite side of the boulder-strewn creekbed…it was time to cross Mistake Creek. We looked around to find the safest spot to ford the small, but turbulent stream, and soon found a fallen tree, which would provide us dry and easy access to the other side, assuming we could keep our balance across it. Rufus went first, making it look easy, and I followed, arms out, trying to recall games of balance along the curbs back home, and soon made contact with the opposite shore. Although we were still on the marked track, there was enough of a “bush roughness” to make this trek an amusing challenge.

Rufus crossing the log bridge over Mistake Creek

After crossing the creek, the trail became a bit steeper, and even less trafficked, but even more fun to travel on. I led us up and down steep hills, across bouldery creek beds, and through thick fern beds. At one point, there were so many spiderwebs glittering in the sunshine that I was literally sweeping one out of my way with each step…I had fun pretending I was Indiana Jones, in search of some rare archeological treasure. Rufus, rightfully so, presumed I was crazy and wished he hadn’t decided to join me…

After a few more hours, the track spewed us out onto open tussocky flats, and the orange markers disappeared. We crossed the marshy flatlands for another kilometer or so, until reaching the mouth of the South Fork of Mistake Creek, which led upwards through unmarked bush to the base of Mistake Creek Falls. At the top of these falls was a small glacial basin where we planned to spend the night before climbing U Pass into the neighboring valley. The easy part was behind us, and before venturing off into the thick bush, we decided to eat lunch.

While munching on sandwiches of fresh homemade bread, Rufus and I remarked at how crazy it was that it is likely we are the only people in this valley…how all the peaks and valleys we can see from here are inaccessible without serious effort, and how refreshing the solitude can be. Then we packed up our bags and headed towards the steep, impenetrable-looking bush…this was going to be difficult.

Panorama of Upper Mistake Creek

My guide book, Moir’s Guide South, has a characteristically brief and simplified description of the route to Mistake Creek Falls: “sidle well above the riverbed through the trees and then scrub, until the waterfall becomes visible”. As we looked up the valley, the idea of “well above the riverbed” became a note of some contention. Just how far above the riverbed, now? At times we tried going only a few meters above the river, with the sound of the cascading water loud in our ears. But this led us to find that we were not “well above” enough, as the bush was thick, the hill steep, and the cliffs many. So we headed more inland, trying to stick to a few deer tracks, but as we got further away from the sound of the river, we worried that we may be straying too far from our destination.

Somehow, after a few hours of scratching our knees on ferns and the local thorny grass known as “bush lawyer”, Rufus and I came into view of the Mistake Creek Falls. From where we were standing, it looked like an unclimbable granite wall, hundreds of meters high.

“So…we gotta go up that somehow,” I said, the optimism in my voice camouflaged with comedic indifference.

“It looks…steep,” Rufus responded.

“Well, my guidebook says that we just follow the creekbed now until we’re right up under the bluffs, and then we will find a ‘natural rock staircase’ that will provide ‘easy, if highly improbable’ travel…whatever that means.” I paused. “Worse case scenario, we just have to climb back through this bush to the clearing where we ate lunch, camp there for the night, and head back down Mistake Creek.”

“But we don’t need to give up yet…let’s find this staircase.”

We pushed on, skirting along the boulders of the creek, and at times walking directly upstream (dry boots were no longer an option), until we were pretty much under the falls. This is where the story gets interesting.

Mistake Creek Falls

I love my guide book. It has described treks that I never would have known about, or had the ability to navigate, without it. However, it has inspired in me a bit of false confidence, and although I’ve done a fair share of backpacking…I am no mountaineer, and Fiordland is an unforgiving place. Whether it was my fault, or the book’s, I’ll leave up to you to decide, but here we were at the base of a large waterfall, with nothing to get us to the top but one small sentence in a guidebook. Rufus and I just needed to find this easy, but highly improbable natural rock staircase.

Eventually, we found the beginning of a route upwards. Some rocks that, although quite steep, could possibly be construed as a staircase. Impatient, and motivated by the sun, which was creeping closer to the horizon, we began to climb. We decided not to take any unnecessary risks, and to turn around and head back to the flats if we couldn’t make it.

However, as we began to ascend the near-vertical bluffs, an adrenaline-fueled motivation to conquer these falls began to overtake our rational decision-making skills. Numerous times, after climbing a particularly steep section, we would pause, look back and think, “Wow, that is quite steep. If we have to give up and go back down, it may get a bit tricky,” but this was almost always matched with a head-swing back up the cliffs, followed by, “BUT…I think I see a way to navigate through that crack there…and it looks like it may flatten out a bit beyond that.”

Rufus climbing Mistake Creek Falls

This continued for over an hour, and as we climbed higher and higher, our chances of making it back down if we were to get stuck, became smaller and smaller. Soon, we began to realize this, and at one point, as we clung to some tussock grass above a particularly steep face we had just climbed, Rufus and I realized that here, along the crashing waters of upper Mistake Creek, we may have made a huge mistake.

I was continuously repeating the sentence my guidebook devoted to this demanding section of the tramp, angrily blaming it for our predicament. After a while, I was certain that we had not chosen the intended “natural rock staircase” and that Rufus and I were blazing our own course up this waterfall.

We weren’t stuck yet, but for the first time it became obvious that turning around and descending what we had just spent an hour and a half climbing was no longer an option. If we could not climb any further, then our only option would be to sit still, and wait for help. Before leaving, we had given Niklas a detailed description of our route, and I knew that if we were to get stuck, Search and Rescue would find us very quickly. However, we were still two days away from our “panic date” - so we would be stranded on this bluffside for at least that long before SAR would even be contacted. The thought of spending 48 hours on the steep banks of this large waterfall nearly scared the shit right out of my bowels…

Fortunately, we weren’t stuck yet. And although my confidence flickered from time to time, I wasn’t really worried. Perhaps we had taken a few unnecessary risks, but our lives were not in immediate danger. As we got higher, we also became more conservative…and we were always able to find a route to continue. In addition, the sporadic evidence of other trampers (a few boot prints and a dropped water bottle) assured us that at the very least, we wouldn’t be the first ones to get stopped by Mistake Creek Falls.

Eventually, after the sun had dipped behind the surrounding peaks and the daylight dwindled, Rufus and I utterly exhausted and out of water, I spotted a final ascent along some boulders that led to the top of the Falls. Enthusiastically signaling to Rufus that I’ve found a way to the top, I hurried along the rocks and triumphantly celebrated the fact that we had conquered Mistake Creek Falls.

We made our way along the small tarn at the top of the falls, and searched the cirque for a good place to set up camp. It was marshy, but we found an elevated spot and pitched our tents. It was obvious that we were both shaken by the unexpected difficulty of the Mistake Creek climb. In addition, I was unnerved by the fact that I could misinterpret the guide book and get into real trouble. After all, we still had another few hundred meters to ascend U Pass, and then another steep creekbed to descend on the other side. At one point, I even mentioned to Rufus that I was thinking about retiring from off-track travel in Fiordland…ready to admit that I don’t have the skill or experience to find my way without a well-tread track to guide me.

However, after rehydrating and eating supper, and soaking in the indescribable beauty of watching the sun set amongst the gnarly rock and ice amphitheater of a mountain that few people will ever see, our moods began to change. Instead of worrying about having to be rescued by a helicopter from the cliffs of a waterfall, we joked about the fact that this route could be more accurately described as U Shall Not Pass.

Sunset on the tarn above Mistake Creek Falls

I walked out to the middle of the cirque and previewed our route up the final ascent to the pass. There is a natural fault line, which is quite evident as it cuts through multiple sets of peaks, and through the middle of this faultline, sandwiched between vertiginous canyon walls in an undeniable U-shape, lies the aptly named U Pass. The next day’s route looked quite steep, but the absence of large boulders and a waterfall made it seem easily passible.

I stayed up and watched the sky darken and the first few stars appear, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sensational southern sky, which never fails to astonish me, but my eyelids were heavy and body exhausted, and I soon withdrew to my tent and fell into a deep slumber.

The next morning, we awoke to cloudy skies and a light mist, and my entire body felt tight and unready to be put through more physical discomfort. But a nice breakfast of cereal with reconstituted milk and a brief walk to stretch my legs helped prepare me for the day’s journey. We packed up our tents and set of to climb the last section of our trek.

From the floor of the glacial basin, we made our way sideways and up until we were directly beneath the high canyon walls of the pass. From there, grasping tussock grass as handholds, Rufus and I switchbacked our way up the final hundred meters to the top of U Pass. At 1395 meters, we had reached the highest point of our journey.

Rufus climbing the final meters to U Pass

The views were nothing special, with large walls obstructing much of the panorama, but along the faultline we were able to glimpse some of the rugged remoteness of the Earl Mountains. We snapped some photos and began the long, but relatively easy descent down the upper reaches of Hut Creek. As we made our way down the creekbed, it was relieving to see that we had no waterfalls to descend, and our progress was pretty rapid.

Rufus descending upper Hut Creek

After about an hour we broke out onto the vast flats of the upper Hut Creek valley, and we made our way down towards the bush where we hoped to find the Hut Creek track, which would return us to the car. Although there was no track through the flats, the walking was quite easy, and Rufus and I took our time, soaking in the sun as we talked about sports, physics, and Nazi Germany. There was one steep section on the flats, where the gravelly creekbed gave way to large, polished boulders and cascades, but we were able to navigate these easily after our previous day’s experiences.

Hut Creek flats

Before long, we spotted a large bright orange triangle, signaling the beginning of the marked Hut Creek track, and from there on, our going got even easier. It is a comfort and a relief to be able to rely on something as simple as a series of orange blazes to get you where you need to go, and we knew that if we just followed these little triangles for a few more hours, they would lead us right back to my car.

As we descended to the Eglington Valley, we talked about the excitement of off-track tramping. Perhaps it was time for me to rescind yesterday’s statement about giving up the fine art of bushwhacking in Fiordland…just like that famous hangover-induced statement, “I’m never drinking again,” which is rarely abided, I started to think that I just may have to try off-track tramping a few more times before I leave this area.

And I think Rufus would second me on that.

To view the complete set of photos from my trip, click here.

Just felt my first earthquake! Small but undeniable…what a strange feeling. The whole house just shook a bit.

The clouds had obstructed the summit as I looked back across Lake Manapouri from the water taxi.

“Did you have a nice tramp, then?” asked Mike, who was steering the puttering motorboat.

“Yeah, I just climbed Mt Titiroa,” I said, trying to sound humble and non-chalant, but secretly hoping for a response of surprise or congratulations.

“Ah, I see”, said Mike.  As the only mode of transportation from the mainland to the start of the Manapouri tracks, he was obviously used to taxiing the handful of people who climb the mountain every week.  But for me, it was a big deal.

Since arriving in Te Anau at the beginning of December, I have been enticed by one mountain that stands out from the sea of peaks that surround the horizon.  For the most part, all of these mountains share the same characteristic bush-clad foothills and tussock-covered alpine sections, with some gnarly black rock extrusions at their apexes.  Except for one.

Mount Titiroa is capped with barren white rock that glistens in the sun.  It often is mistaken for being snow-capped long after the summer sun has melted the last of the previous winter’s snow from the areas peaks.  It is this unique appearance that first attracted me to Mount Titiroa.

So in my free time, I’ve been doing a bit of research about the mountain.  It lays within the south-eastern edge of Fiordland National Park, rising almost directly from Lake Manapouri, another beautiful glacial lake just 20km from Te Anau.  A few weeks ago, I went on a day hike around Manapouri up to a lookout 300m above the lake, and stared directly at Titiroa’s bald peak from across a valley.  At that moment I decided that while I’m in the area, I need to climb this mountain.

From the Lake Manapouri Circle Track overlook.  Mount Titiroa is the peak in the foreground, center left.

After talking to a few people, I discovered that it isn’t the easiest mountain to climb.  Sure, it doesn’t require ropes or climbing equipment, and you don’t need crampons or an ice axe, but it does have one setback: there is no trail to the summit.  There is a track that leads to the Garnock Burn, a river running through a hanging valley at the foot of the mountain, but to reach the peak, you have to bushwhack.

So I picked up a topo map and a guide book and began to choose my route to the top.  Once I saw that my schedule allowed for two and a half days off last week, I decided it was time to climb it.  I packed up my backpack and set off for Manapouri on the morning of Wedesday 20 January. The weather forecast wasn’t perfect (rain), but it looked as though by mid-afternoon Thursday it would clear up.  As I drove, the sky was overcast, but I was in a good mood.  It had been a few weeks since I’d been out in the woods, and I was excited to see more of this area’s scenery.

At 10:00AM, I thanked Mike for the lift across the lake, arranged for him to pick me up in two days, and took off down the track.  It was a pleasant stroll through the verdant bush, and although it was overcast, the sporadic views across the lake were rewarding.


Looking across Lake Manapouri from the start of the trek.

After an hour or so, the track began to show signs that it wasn’t as highly used as the Great Walk tracks I had trekked last month.  It was muddy.  Very muddy.  I spent some time trying to avoid the pockets of mud, hoping to keep my socks dry, but soon I encountered an unavoidable problem.  The track was completely submerged…knee deep water for as far as I could see…I was walking into the lake.  I doubled back to make sure I was on the right track.  Sure enough, I could see the orange blazes on the submerged trees ahead. I had no choice.  It was time to lose my dry feet virginity.

I took a deep breath and splashed along the track, laughing out loud as I felt the cool water slosh into my boots.  This is real NZ tramping now!  It felt great.


The “Track”

After a few hours, I reached the lakeside Hope Arm Hut, stopped for a bite to eat and set out on the final marked ascent to the Garnock Burn.  I spent three hours climbing from the lake along an even lesser-used and muddier trail, but now that my feet were wet, stomping through the mud became enjoyable.  I chuckled every time I got slurped into a mudhole, and at one point, I slipped in past my knees, clumsily emerging like Swamp Thing with thick black goo covering my entire legs.  It was awesome.

Around 3:30, I arrived at Garnock Burn and said goodbye to the track.  This wide, tussocky river valley was similar to many others that I’ve been to in Fiordland, but as I made my way along the riverbank, staring up at the steep bushy face I would have to navigate, I realized that is was different in one way: I was the only one here.  I spun 360s and pondered the fact that, in all likelihood, I was the only person in the entire valley, as well as the surrounding peaks.  The solitude engulfed me.


The Garnock Burn Valley

But I soon snapped out of it, realizing that I still had quite some distance to cover, and that I haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet.  I whipped out my topo map and discovered that I would have to ford the Garnock Burn.  It wasn’t too difficult, being only knee high at its deepest and not too swift, but it was a reminder that I was crossing the threshold into the untracked territory…had this been a Great Walk, there would have been a bridge.


Fording the Garnock Burn

Once across, I stumbled through swamplands for awhile trying to find the small creek that I would follow through the steep bushy section of the lower North face of Titiroa.  Eventually, I found the stream, and quickly spotted a series of rough deer trails that criscrossed through the woods.  “This won’t be so bad,” I thought to myself, and I began to bushwhack up the hill.  But soon it got steeper.  And steeper.

Before long, I was struggling to find the deer tracks, and instead was crawling on all fours up the mossy hillside, the creek cascading into waterfalls the further up I went.  The bush wasn’t thick, but it was difficult to traverse.  I had a 40lb bag on my back, and at times was pulling myself up by holding on to tree trunks.  I’m serious…it was steep.

This didn’t bother me at all, in fact, I loved it.  I was exhausted, but it was a great feeling.  I felt as though I was the first to climb this hill, even though I was constantly flipping open my guidebook to see what the recommended route was.  The description was short and non-chalant. “The route climbs directly up the face through open bush to a rocky outcrop on the skyline, Pt 915 meters.  The small bluffs encountered can be easily skirted”.  I read this over and over.  Easily skirted?  Nothing about this ascent was easy, in my opinion…I’ve either misjudged my tramping ability, or I’m lost.

After three hours of steady climbing, my legs were shaking.  I was truly exhausted, it was beginning to get late, and it looked like it could rain any moment.  My spirit began to dwindle a bit.  As I climbed higher, the bush got thicker.  At times, I was thrusting myself through thick groves of small beech trees and manuka scrub, and I could feel myself starting to get frustrated.  Luckily, around 7:00PM, I broke free of the bush and out onto spongy spider-fern and tussock grass.  I was finally above the bush.


Exhausted after a full day of tramping.  Where can I set up camp?

I continued climbing, eager to find a flat place to settle down.  But the hill just kept going up.  My guidebook named a few good places to camp, and I found them on my topo map, but travel was much slower than I expected.  After another two hours of walking, I had managed to reach some of the gravelly tops I was expecting to see.  It was otherworldly.  Huge, strangely eroded boulders littered the steep hills, appearing like stone sculptures.  The ground beneath me was no longer tufts of grass, but a light white gravel, at times as fine as sand. In fact, in some places the steepness of the hill and the sand underfoot made it feel like I was traveling along a beach, which I’m sure any beachgoer can attest to being slow travel…and this beach was slanted at a 45° angle.


The steep “beach” of Mount Titiroa

I spent some time admiring the unique landscape, but I was running out of energy.  I soon found a flat tussocky cirque to set up camp.  Relieved, I pitched my tent, cooked a quick supper and collapsed in my sleeping bag, depleted after nearly ten hours of the most difficult hiking I’ve ever done.  

In the morning, I awoke and realized how beautiful that campsite was the I had chosen.  As I sat in the vestibule of my tent, I overlooked the entirety of the southern part of Lake Manapouri, as well as the sourrounding countryside, Lake Te Anau and the town of Te Anau.  I made coffee and ate breakfast and scanned the rapidly moving clouds for signs of rain.  It wasn’t the blue sky, panorama-view-type-of-day I was hoping for, but it seemed like it wouldn’t rain anytime soon, so I decided to make a go for the summit. 


My campsite on Mount Titiroa

Although my legs had the flexibility of frozen meat, I grabbed a few supplies and headed up towards the top of Mount Titiroa.  The clouds were moving in fast motion, and I felt as though I were watching time-lapse photography.  One second, it was intensely sunny and hot, and I would squint as I peered across the white gravel. The next moment, cool and misty, visibility limited to inches. 


Looking back towards my campsite from the approach to the summit.  Notice the blue speck to the right of the pile of rocks center foreground…that’s me tent!

I made my way upward, spirits high, and I soaked in the unique rock formations around me.  This mountain was truly unlike any other I’ve climbed here, and as I looked uphill towards the summit, shrouded in a mist of cloud, I pretended I was storming a medieval castle, about to battle a dragon.  Along the way, I let my imagination run wild, naming any vaguely reminiscent rock formation.


Whale or mitten?

Is that an elephant?  Or a tank?

Numerous times, I was fooled by false summits, thinking I’d reached the highest point, only to see another higher outcrop of boulders emerge from the clouds ahead.  Eventually, I ascended one of these summits and saw no higher point all around me.  Instead, I found a crooked, rusty metal marker.  The summit.  That boyish grin returned to my face.  I had conquered Mount Titiroa, and I did it all by myself.


Me at the summit

But then, I saw another pile of rocks, obviously higher than this “summit”.  Damn, gonna have to climb that too!  As I finished the last boulder scramble and stood up on the rock, the clouds had moved in, so my view was limited, but I didn’t care.  I laughed out loud and may have lifted my arms in exaltation.


Me at the true summit - the highest point of Mount Titiroa - 1715m.  Had to hurry up these rocks because the self-timer on my camera only goes up to 30 seconds!

I couldn’t spend too long on top.  It was already early afternoon, and I still had to make my way back to camp, pack up, and descend the steep bushy section to the Garnock Burn, where I would set up camp for the night.  So I did just that, saying goodbye to the gravelly tops and the nice campsite that I had.  It felt great to cross this peak off my list.

As I descended through the bush, I did have one small misadventure.  At one point, I discovered one of the “small bluffs” I was meant to skirt, but from above, and after trying to descend the mossy rocks found myself stuck 20 feet up from the ground unable to go any further.  I hung in limbo for a few minutes, all of my weight balanced between one foothold and a solid grasp on a tree trunk, and decided that if I could just slip my pack off and let it fall, I could descend the rest of the bluff unencumbered and retrieve it.

This was one of those mistakes that you can only learn from by trying.  I unhooked myself from my pack and attempted to ease it to the bottom of the bluff, but the height had skewed my point of view and it hit the ground with a loud thump.  I winced, but before I could make my way down to see if everything was okay, I realized a second fact that my point of view had distorted: the base of the bluff was still quite steep.  My pack began to tumble down the hill, gaining speed as it fell.  I watched it for a few seconds as it flipped down the mountainside, and then in an instant it fell out of view.  For another few moments I could hear it crashing through the bush out of site, but eventually that faded away to silence as well.

I hung to the bluffside in shock.  “Aw, shucks,” I thought to myself (only with a few more explitives) - did I just make a huge mistake?  I quickly scaled the rest of the cliff and started making my way down along the path of my tumbling pack.  When I got to the point I had lost contact with it I scanned the hillside, looking across boulders and fallen trees, until I finally saw it, embraced precipitously above a waterfall by some small beech saplings.  I sighed in relief, and went down to pick it up.  Other than an impressive dent in my steel water bottle, there was no damage.

I made it to the valley floor and set up camp amongst the tussock grass, which glowed a golden tint in the late afternoon sun.  After a nice dinner of rehydrated Morroccan Lamb, I settled down in my tent with a book and listened to the rain-like pitter patter of sandflies kamakazeing my tent fly.


Garnock Burn Campsite

Trekking Dinner

This is all the sandflies that were able to make it under my tent fly…I’m quite happy they weren’t small enough to fit through the mesh of that screen

The next day, I had an easy five hour trek out to the lake where I met up with Mike, and I made it home in time to take shower before going into work at the pizzeria.  Pretty nice little trek…

To view the rest of my photos, visit My Flickr Page.

Weather looked good & I had the day off so I figured I’d try to climb Mt Luxmore again. Forecast was wrong, I was still in the clouds :(

Nothing too exciting has happened since the last time I wrote a post, but in an effort to keep writing fresh content, I decided it was time to give y’all an update on what I’ve been up to these past few weeks.

There was Christmas, of course, and I assume that if you’re reading this you’ve also seen my cheesy, hastily-edited video, but if not, you can check it out below.  I had the day off on Christmas, and I spent the day video chatting with my family who, because I’m 18 hours ahead,  were having the annual Christmas Eve/Christine’s birthday dinner of macaroni and cheese and German chocolate cake.  It was a strange feeling to be sitting there virtually at the table, while they fed me cyber-cake (not as tasty as real cake), but it was nice to spend some time seeing and talking to the family. 

I spent the second half of the day baking bread and speaking broken English with an Italian guy who lives near me at the hostel.  Bruno is a middle-aged chef at the Dolce Vida, a local restaurant, and he likes to smoke cigarettes.  Because he doesn’t speak much English, our conversation was short and consisted of a lot of misunderstandings.  For instance, it took three repetitions for me to realize that “the waiter is shit” means that it is raining outside, not that his coworkers are incompetent. But he shared some wine with me and I didn’t have to work, so it was a pleasant little Christmas day, really.

I also had New Years day off, although I had to work until 10pm on New Years Eve.  Immediately after work, I decided to meet some friends from my wine-bottling days who were in the slightly larger, and more party-friendly, Queenstown…a two hour drive away.  I sped around the windy turns through the mountains, hoping to spend the first few minutes of 2010 among friends, and not in my car en route to the party.  On the way, I came within inches of hitting a sheep in the middle of the road.  And not a little lamb either…there was a full-grown sheep just wandering across the main highway, and I was lucky that my brights caught his reflective eyes early enough for me to hit the brakes and swerve around him.  After this incident, I slowed down a bit, and after my heart stopped racing, I laughed out loud, realizing that hitting a sheep in the wee hours of 2009 would have been an very unfortunate, but very New Zealand thing to do.

I ended up pulling into Queenstown at 11:55pm, miraculously finding a parking spot in under a minute, and sprinting from my car down towards the lakefront, where the entire town had gathered to bring in the New Year.  As I rounded the corner of the last block before the lake, I could hear a crowd of people counting down “three…two…one…Happy New Year!!!”.

But I was still half a block away…I missed it…by about ten seconds.  I got to the lakefront, completely out of breath, in time to see the first of the fireworks, and stayed down for the fifteen minute show, but I will always remember that I welcomed the new decade in a full sprint, by myself, in New Zealand.  Memorable in its own way, I guess. 

Anyhow, after the fireworks, I met up with my friends and went out to a crowded, modern bar.  While we were waiting outside, someone mentioned that I looked like Moses and soon half a dozen Kiwis around me were cracking biblical jokes.  I should have been offended perhaps, but I’m proud of my beard so I went along with it.  Queenstown is a much better choice for a New Years party than tiny little Te Anau, and I was happy to have made the trip.

The next day was slow and lazy, and a few of us went for a Polar Bear dip in Lake Wakatipu (it is supposed to be summer here, but it was cold and windy…and the lake temperature was frigid).  Later in the evening I drove cautiously back to Te Anau.

Since then, I’ve been making pizzas five days a week, and I must admit that I’m getting pretty good.  My pizzas are each a work of art, and I shed a small tear every time I have to take one from the oven and hand it over to someone else to be eaten…  But more importantly, I kind of like the job.  It is fast paced, so time goes by quickly, and it is surprisingly interesting to me.  I think that gaining some experience in the foodservice industry will be helpful for me getting future seasonal working/holiday jobs while I’m in NZ…and the 75% discount on all food is not too bad either.

My car is currently out of commission because it didn’t pass inspection, so I’m spending my free time doing some minor repairs to it to make it street legal again, but because I have no ride, I haven’t been able to do any big hikes on my days off.  Also, the weather has been crazy here, twice now the surrounding mountains have gotten unseasonably late snowfalls.  Although it makes my daily walk to work ten times more scenic, it has forced many of the tracks in the area to close due to avalanche danger, which is uncommon this late in the year.  I hope to get out and do some good day hikes in the next few weeks when I have a car and the weather improves. The numerous outdoor opportunities around me is, after all, the reason I’m staying in this area…about time I added another trek to my list.

Also, because I live directly across the street from the Fiordland National Park Visitor Center, I’ve begun to take advantage of their summer lecture series.  So far I’ve only been able to attend one lecture, “Above the Bushline - Alpine Vegetation in Fiordland”, which despite its enthralling title was quite boring, even for a science nerd like myself…but I’m looking forward to future talks on Electric Fishing, SCUBA Diving in Fiordland, and one on the new “self-resetting predator trap” that hopes to cut down on the number of introduced threats to NZ native birds.  If any are worth posting about„ I’ll be sure to write up a recap.

Other than that…nothing much is new.  Tomorrow I will meet with a landlord about possibly moving into a flat for the next two or three months…I’ll keep you posted.  And I’ve been busy watching The Wire, an HBO series about Baltimore crime that is as addicting as its crack cocaine subject matter.  If you haven’t seen it, you should check it out.

All for now folks, hope you’re enjoying 2010.

Happy New year from NZ! http://yfrog.com/3gwdbxj

Merry Christmas from the future!

It’s now the 25th of December here in New Zealand, and although I am having the time of my life, I sure do miss my family and friends this holiday season.

I wish you all a very merry Christmas…please enjoy my cheesy, hastily edited video…

Despite all of my efforts of avoiding it…despite running off to climb mountains and sail on ships…despite three months of almost continuous recreation, I’ve finally come to the inevitable conclusion that I need a job.

Luckily, almost immediately after completing the Routeburn/Greenstone Tracks, I was able to land a job in the tiny town of Te Anau, “Gateway to Fiorldland”, where I’ll be working in a café/pizzeria until March.  It isn’t the best job, really, I am only able to get about 30-35 hours per week, and it is minimum wage.  But I have plenty of free time, and I am a short drive from some of the most astounding scenery in the world, so I’ll try not to complain.

While in town, I am thinking about joining the NZ Alpine Club to try to get some experience with crampons and an ice axe.  I’m also considering volunteering some time to help with Takahe conservation.  The takahe is an extremely rare flightless bird (less that 200 in the world) that only survives in one small hamlet in the wild…the Murchison Mountains, which are across Lake Te Anau from where I’m staying.  I’ll write more about this later, because it is fascinating to me.  I’m also trying to pick up another job or build up my freelance web development portfolio…so if you know anyone looking for some website work, let me know.

Other than that, there isn’t much to do in Te Anau, apart from use it as a base to explore the surrounding wilderness.  As a town, it doesn’t have much to offer.  There is a line of touristy shops and cafés, a grocery store, and a Subway.  Oh, and there is a movie theater, which was built by a local helicopter pilot to show a 30-minute film that he shot with the help of some Lord of the Rings videographers.  The film is decent…stunning visuals with a good soundtrack, and no voiceover whatsoever…but it is really just a promotional piece to get tourists to pay him for scenic rides in his choppa.

Work itself is very straightforward.  So far, I’ve only made pizzas, but I may get some experience working up front as a barista, or as a server in the steakhouse next door (which is also owned and operated by my German boss).  Of the handful of other seasonal workers I’ve met so far, I am the oldest by about six years, and almost everyone else speaks German as their first language.  So hopefully I can pick up a little Deutsche while I’m here…

The other day, as I was making pizzas, a funny thought occurred to me.  When I was 15 years old, I got my first real job…working in a pizzeria up the street from my house.  Now, after ten years (and tens of thousands of dollars spent on a college education) I am working the exact same job.  Maybe that will be my plan in life…no matter what I’m doing or where I am, every ten years I will quit my job and make pizzas for a few months.