It is now December 2010.  Many, many months since I last posted to this blog.  I am no longer in New Zealand and have returned home to Pennsylvania.  Unfortunatley, after my laptop bit the dust in March, I kinda stopped writing so this journal really only chronicles the first half of my year in New Zealand.  I am in the process of going through my photos and trying to put together a complete picture of my incredible year abroad.   But for all intents and purposes, this blog is now finished.

Here are a few of my favorite posts:

1. The Life and Times of a Migrant Worker - Nov 2009
2. Ninety Mile Beach - The Car in Sand Story - Oct 2009
3. Tramping in the Earl Mountains with Rufus - Feb 2010
4. First Day on the Farm - Oct 2009
5. Mount Titiroa - Jan 2010
6. Merry Christmas from the Future - Dec 2009

I’ve thrown together a quick interactive map of my travels.  You can see it here.

And, here are some random photos:

View all of my New Zealand photos on Flickr

Thanks, everyone, for reading.  I can only hope I have the opportunity for another experience like this someday.

- Tim

The town of Bulls, NZ is the punniest place I’ve ever been. Unforget-a-bull. http://unforgetabull.co.nz/

After 8 months in NZ, I finally went bungy jumping. 134ft off a cliff over a river, with a half-body dip underwater! Will post video soon…

This is the real, actual, no-joke symbol of the Royal New Zealand Air Force: a blind, FLIGHTLESS bird… http://yfrog.com/j24i4j

After spending one month in Wellington interviewing for a few different web development jobs (which I didn’t get) and trying hard not to spend too much money on good coffee and beer, I decided it was time to leave and try to earn a bit more cash before my sister and friend arrive at the end of May. The easiest option was to drive north to the Bay of Plenty (the area even sounds like it is teeming with opportunity!) - the kiwifruit capital of the world - and catch the tail end of kiwifruit harvest.

Before I go any further, I should make something clear about New Zealand and the word “kiwi”. If capitalized, the word Kiwi refers to a resident of the country (much like an Aussie or a Yank). If left lowercase, kiwi refers to the beloved flightless, nocturnal bird…which ironically is the symbol of the NZ air force…seriously. However, if refering to the fuzzy fruit with the green inside, the proper word is kiwifruit…at least in this country. And it is this little fruit which has brought me halfway across the country to Tu Puke, the kiwifruit capital of the world.

I’m staying at a small hostel just a block away from a beautiful beach in the seaside town of Mount Maunganui. The town gets its name from the 236m (~750 feet) extinct volcano that protrudes from the sea - it is really a unique and beautiful landscape, and I’ve referred to it as New Zealand’s Rio de Janeiro, but seeing as I’m the only one that calls it that, and that I’ve never been to Brazil, I don’t think it is a very credible claim.

Anyhow, for the past 10 days, when the weather cooperates, I’ve headed out with a group of backpackers to the various orchards in the area to pick kiwifruit. It is not an easy job, as we have to hang large fruitpicking bags from our shoulders (like wearing an open backpack on you stomach instead of back) and continuously fill them with kiwifruit. Once the bag is full (takes about 5 minutes, and weighs about 40 lbs) we empty it into a wooden bin and return to picking. Sometimes the fruit is at eye level and easy to pick, but at times we have to reach high above our head or bend down to nearly ground level. This must be done as fast as possible, because we get paid according to how many bins we fill as a team in a day. And a typical day is about 8 hours of picking. The first few days were pretty tough on my back and knees, and Ive developed a carpal-tunnel like pain in my wrists from twisting the fruits from their stems, but it is really not a terrible job. Being outside all day really helps, and anytime I get frustrated I just take a deep breath of fresh air, look around at the palm covered gullies and strech of glistening bay in the distance and I realize that I am unbelievably lucky to be working in such an environment. Plus, I can always distract my discomfort by striking up conversation with one of the others on my team, who range in nationality from French and English to Brazilian, Samoan, and of course Kiwi. And the pay is actually quite good. My team stays motivated and can fill as many as 250 bins per day - a rate which works out to more than $20/hr.

The only problem is that we are entirely dependent on weather. And although I began with four solid days in a row, we have been cursed with rain for the past week, and I’ve had one day off for each day of work.

On my days off, it is usually raining, leaving very little to do other than play cards or watch movies, but I’ve managed to take advantage of the area by swimming in the ocean, running along the beach (when else am I going to live just one block from a long stretch of beach?) and soaking my sore body in the geothermally-heated salt water pools at the base of the Mount. I also climbed up to the top of the Mount for wonderful views of the area. I didn’t expect to like it much here, as I only came for the work, but it is a really nice area…after all, it is New Zealand…everywhere seems to be extraordinarily beautiful in this country.

I have two more full days of work (if the weather permits), and then I will head up to Auckland to meet Katie and Steve. The three of us plan to see some of the major sites of the North Island and take a brief loop tour of the Queenstown region of the South Island. After nearly two weeks, Steve will head back to New York, and Katie will stay here with me. I’m really looking forward to their arrival, and I’ll do my best to keep the site updated with our travels.

All for now.

Hello faithful readers,

I know it has been awhile since the last update, and you are all clutching the armrests of whatever desk chair, LA-Z-BOY, or toilet seat you usually sit on to read my little blog.  For this, I apologize.  Allow me to briefly catch you up on Tim Farley over the past few weeks.

After finishing work in the pizza shop in Te Anau, I hiked the demanding but rewarding Dusky Track.  I’ve yet to turn my notes from this epic hike into a proper post, but I will do this before too much longer.

After that, I met up with Brannon and Joy, two friends from Washington D.C., and here are the super-quick highlights of our week of travel:

1. Re-experiencing the comfort and delicious food at the Kinloch Lodge
2. Attempting to hike the Routeburn Track, but being forced back after only one night because of a massive landslide that closed the road from the exit of the track
3. Drinking good beer in Queenstown to make up for our inability to complete the Routeburn
4. Exploring The Catlins, a sparsely-populated expanse of farmland and deserted coastline along the South Island’s Southeast coast known for its wildlife viewing opportunities. I especially enjoyed watching the rare Yellow-Eyed Penguin clumsily emerge from the sea.  Being chased by a Hooker’s Sea Lion down an empty stretch of sandy beach was pretty cool too…
5. Kayaking Doubtful Sound. The solitude and quietness of gliding along this fiord, the third I’ve visited in Fiordland, was unforgettable.  It helped that we had a postcard-perfect blue-sky day.
6. Eating Oysters. I finally got up the balls to try a raw oyster, and these of Stewart Island variety, were astonishingly massive.  They had a briny taste of seawater and the texture of jellyfish, which sounds gross…but they were delicious.

I said goodbye to Brannon and Joy in Queenstown and drove up to Christchurch to meet Martin and Brett, two friends from college.  The three of us somehow managed to tour much of the South Island in just 11 days.  Again, in painfully concise bullet-points, here were the highlights:

1. Tasting wine in Blenheim. After leaving this area 4 months earlier, it was nice to return and casually taste wine without having to work with a firebreathing floor-manager at the factory the next day.  We camped out by the beach and continued our wine drinking while trying to cook three portions of Moroccan lamb on my tiny campstove.
2. Driving the West Coast. The curvy cliffside road along the South Island’s West Coast is really fun to drive, and the views are similar to southern Oregon or California.  A touristy but nonetheless impressive sight was the Pancake Rocks, in which natural arches and blowholes appear striated, as if composed of a stack of flapjacks.  The only downside to all this inviting coast was deciding to go for a swim, and losing the functionality of my camera in the process…
3. Glaciers. On the West Coast, two massive glaciers descend from the heights of Mount Cook and the other massive peaks of the Southern Alps and reach to within a few kilometers of the sea.  We explored these glaciers and found another great beachside campsite to spend the night.
4. Queenstown. Still fun after visiting this place half a dozen times.  This time we tried Mountain Biking in a surprisingly challenging park a few kilometers out of town.  I think I enjoyed this more than Brett or Martin.  Fergburger was, as usual, delicious.
5. Te Anau and Milford Sound.  I’ve returned a few times since officially moving out, but it was nice to show my buddies the town and park where I spent the past few months.  Great weather helps to show off the beauty of this area.  We did the Key Summit hike and were rewarded with fantastic views.
6. The Mueller Hut.  This was by far the highlight of our trip, and probably the best thing I’ve done in my 6 months in New Zealand.  I wanted to show the guys the type of lifestyle I’ve been living, so we booked some spots at the Mueller Hut, an alpine hut at the foot of Mount Cook.  The hike was steep, but the weather was phenomenal and we were graced with stunning views of the entirety of New Zealand’s tallest peak as well as the neighboring peaks and glaciers.  At night, we laid out and looked at the best stars I’ve ever seen, with the occasional rumble of a distant avalanche to add to the ambiance.  I awoke at 4:30am to find the moonlight bright enough to see by, so I decided to hike the nearby Mt Ollivier (the first peak bagged by one Sir Edmund Hillary, of Everest fame)…without the use of my headlamp.  I arrived at the summit while it was still dark and perched myself on a large boulder to greet the day.  It was an unforgettable experience, but without a working camera, I was unable to take photos…so the visual memories will only ever belong to me…sorry guys.

After returning to Christchurch to drop Brett and Martin off at the airport, I made two hasty decisions.  One, I needed to cut my hair (see photo below).  Two, I really need a job, and preferably a “real” one.  So I decided to drive to the top of the island and take the ferry back across Cook Strait to the North Island.

I’ve spent the last week in Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, and a city I really liked when passing through five months ago.  It’s charm remains; the city is sort of San Franciscan, with an artsy feel and tons of green space between the various Victorian neighborhoods.  There are plenty of cafes and bars, many of which serve really great coffee and beer.  And with a number of museums, parks, and cinemas, there are actually things to do!  More importantly, it has what I’ve been meaning to see since I arrived in this country:  New Zealanders of my age and demographic.  I’ve created a stellar resume/CV and I’m in the process of waiting for feedback.  I have an interview tomorrow.

That’s about it.  Hard to believe I’ve been here over six months now…

Also, please let me know if you’ve ever actually found a toilet with armrests…I’d love to see what that looks like.  Here’s my current ‘do:

It appears that my laptop my not have been up to the year of travel in New Zealand…it is busted.  I am in Christchurch at the moment, hoping to find a store that can tell me what is wrong and how much it will cost to fix…

But it will be even longer before I can post photos of the Dusky Track, and the rest of the travels I’ve been doing since I left Te Anau a few weeks ago. Sorry, folks.

- Tim

Sheeee-it… I just got bitten off, chewed up, and spit out by The Dusky Track! I spent the last nine days battling rain, cold, heat, mud, sandflies, tree roots, and just about everything that New Zealand’s Fiordland National Park can throw at a human, and it is good to be back in civilization again.

I will work on processing my photos and writing a proper blog post, but in the meantime, here is a super-brief recap.

Day One: Light, steady rain. Introduced to mud. Day Two: Climbed to alpine hut, more mud and rain. And then some snow. Day Three: Spent all day at alpine hut nicknamed The Fridge hoping rainclouds would part for the supposed fantastic views. No dice. Day Four: Long, evil descent down to opposite valley in the rain. Hurt my knee. Day Five: Extremely long, ardous, and absurdly muddy trek to the sea at Dusky Sound. Knee still hurt. Not rainy, but densely cloudy and very sandfly-y.
Day Five: Rained in at Dusky Sound. Rivers too high to cross. Welcomed day of rest, but cabin fever is nearly unbearable. Day Six: Stupendous weather. Sunshine! Decided to make up for lost day by doing double hut in one day. 11 hours of tramping. Day Seven: Body exhausted. Struggled up and over another alpine pass, but rain and no views. Bummer.
Day Eight: Relatively easy and painless final day, but managed to lose the track in a fern thicket for almost an hour. Weather gorgeously sunny.

The good news is that I’m alive and I’ve showered…slowly I will ease back into civilization. And I’ll start with a much needed pint at the pub in Te Anau. Check back soon for a more detailed description and some photos of The Dusky Track, my capstone to a fantastic summer in Fiordland…

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.