Note To Future Self

As previously reported, last month we escaped the disaster zone for a trip up north to Golden Bay, the northerny-most bit of the South Island. The timing wasn’t entirely coincidental, we hoped to journey just far enough north to return to summer’s good graces before it left the Southern hemisphere altogether.

Overall, I’d say we succeeded admirably. Twas sunny enough many days for a splash in the ocean, though the wind was often quite cool.

Also, there was tramping.

Golden Bay is a bit of a land apart. By road, it’s isolated from “civilization” by the Takaka Hill, a steep 800 m plateau serviced by one steep and winding road. For whatever reasons it’s developed a near-perfect mix of hippy backwater, grumbling old farmers, and family vacation playland.

It also hosts two National Parks (Kahurangi and Abel Tasman), two Great Walks (the Heaphy and Abel Tasman) and two towns

We exercised the proper Kiwi option, renting a “bach” (someone else’s beach house) for the whole week. The perfect place to unpack, assign rooms to all involved, cook in the kitchen, relax on the porch and just sprawl without worrying about other vacationers.

We traveled the length and breadth of Golden Bay (all 40 minutes top-to-bottom), sampling many tasty treats, and our chief beach tester sampled many sandy beaches.

Golden Bay is one of those places where families decamp for months on end during the summer holiday. I think it would be near over-full in January.

It certainly wasn’t over-full for us.

I’ve got a photo backlog and a creativity block, so with minimal commentary here are some photos from our recent trip to the Kura Tawhiti conservation area (aka Castle Hill).

After a week of tension and anxiety, we finally succumbed to “the shoulder season” and escaped from Christchurch to find the last dregs of summer. Nine days later, we’re back from Golden Bay and, sigh, must remember to boil the tap water before we can use it. Sigh.

Step one, cup of tea. Step two, sort the photos.

aka A Grand Day Out
aka We now return you to our regular service.

A recent walk in the Port Hills with family friends (and their dogs) seems to have kindled a wanderlust in the sprouticus. We’ve gone on three long tramps since the weekend.

To celebrate a fine day, we took a chance on a more ambitious journey, with a drive into the hills for a walk up the Otira Valley.

It was a cracker of a day and good reminder of how nice things are once you’re out of the city.

Even if you’re scrambling over boulders that are bigger than you are.

Another dreary June, another Sir Edmund Hillary Day. We decided to celebrate with a visit to the wild, wet West Coast.

There was bush-bashing

and waterfall watching

beach browsing

and tussock tromping

and eating lots of sometimes foods.

Key lesson learned?

“Wow” cannot be overused.

Fin.

With fall just around the corner, we carpe’d some diem last weekend to take a day hike to the Packhorse hut from the trailhead at Gebbies Pass. This tramp is well-known in the area for being pretty easy (guidebooks note “a gentle introduction to tramping for the very young and the infirm”) and also just about the simplest way to stay overnight on the Banks Peninsula. In fact, the hut is accessible (from a different trailhead) via public transportation. Amazing.

We didn’t exercise the overnight option, as I didn’t think our nighttime routine was particularly hut-friendly, what with the screaming and atonal warbling of lullabies. And reading six or seven books over and over. Perhaps some of the trampers might be interested in Rosie’s Walk once, but after a few readings, it does lose some of its magic.**

In any case, the walking was nice, the gorp was tasty, and all toddler transport was in our fine (and exceedingly heavy) backpack.

Will there be more tramping? I hope so.

** I just noticed that one of the Powell’s entries for Rosie’s Walk is an audiobook. Then again, I’m pretty sure our library has theVery Hungry Caterpillar book on tape. Sigh.

Those few brave souls who’ve attempted non-baby-related communications with us lately have probably received an earful about how abysmal the weather has been this winter. To wit, it’s been unusually wet and the Tasman Sea’s famed seven-day weather cycle has resulted in three straight months of bucketing rain every Saturday and Sunday.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, so last weekend we pulled chocks and took a wee overnight to the local resort town of Hanmer Springs.

A scant hour and a half away, nestled at the base of the mountains, Hanmer is pretty much that mountain town in central Colorado/Washington/California with it’s one natural draw (hot springs), insufficient skiing to be a luxury destination, and a maybe-next-week property boom.

I will say, after a winter of huddling in our living room, desperately wishing the insulation genie would appear, soaking in the sulphurous waters of Hanmer was much appreciated. And we et some good vittles.

Sadly, whatever Hanmer’s restorative powers, it also seems to cause near-complete desertion by ones meager photographic skillz.

Much to my surprise, we’re starting to see holidays for a second time. Hard to believe we’ve been here a full year already.

I connived to take a work trip to the wee burg of Motueka (“Gateway to the Abel-Tasman”) right around the four-day Easter weekend. The perfect setup for a little work-play holiday, with work footing the petrol bill. Of course, I had long since forgotten the key lesson of last year’s Easter holiday. Given a long weekend, everyone goes to Nelson and Motueka. Don’t even think of going up there.

In lieu of the sheer madness of trying to find Easter weekend accommodation in Motueka, I opted for the slightly more unrealistic goal of a weekend in St Arnaud (aka the Nelson Lakes). Staying in Motueka is cake. There must be dozens of motels and holiday parks. Why not set your heart on staying someplace with just two lodges.

Heck, why not?

Much to my surprise, I was able to clinch a last-minute cancellation. Throw off the stress of the city life and take in the mountain airs! Never mind that you’ll be hauling around enough inertial navigation and photography gear to quintuple your car’s value.

St Arnaud is a wee little town, nestled at the foot of Lake Rotoiti. Paired with its partner Lake Rotoroa, you have Nelson Lake National Park. St Arnaud bills itself as “the gateway to Nelson Lakes National Park” though it’s more accurately “the only petrol and fish and chips stop within an hour of the lakes.” Fair enough.

I have to admit, it’s a beautiful place. A pleasant little town, a few hotels and a large campground on the shores of the lake. Lake Rotoiti is the “fun” member of the duo, open to boating water skiing and the like, while Rotoroa is the “natural” site. We spent the entire weekend around Rotoiti and I’d say the boaties and campers did little to disturb the natural beauty of the lake. Maybe on a hot summer weekend, but it sure isn’t Lake Mead.

Our travel plans were a little too impromptu to get up to any serious tramping, but we undertook the two premier walks around the lake. First, the obligatory near-vertical tramp to the ridgeline above the lake.

‘Twas a bit cloudy on the tops, but it cleared measurably as we descended, affording us a view over the lake and the valley below.

Though they’re typically heart-achingly aerobic, we’ve grown fond of these sort of “above-the-bushline” (treeline) hikes. For whatever reason, the trees of eNZed have an (er) unnaturally low ceiling. 3000-4000 ft perhaps, which means many hilltop hikes are in the open, providing even modest hill climbs with a chance to show off a long view or vista..

On the second day, we did the around-the-lake track to recover from the previous day’s exertions. As promised, the track traded slope for length, taking 6-ish hours. I have to admit, it was a bit dull. Trees with glimpses of water or the opposing shore.

At the far end of the lake, however, the incoming river had opened an attractive grassy plain.

A pleasant respite from all them darned trees.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end. On Monday we drove into Nelson and I traded Anna for James, my co-worker. Then on to Motueka with work to be done….

As previously hinted, Anna and I recently took our turn at the Milford Track, one of NZed’s Great Walks. Unlike in the States, where the “great walks” tend to be epic in length and preparation (Appalachian Trail, Pacific Crest Trail), NZed’s Great Walks are universally short (under a week) and typically more catered than the typical backcountry experience. The Milford is the pinnacle of this accommodation: four days and three nights of easy walking.

Unlike just about everything else in this country, the Milford Track actually fills up. Reservations for the Great Walks open on July 1st and the Milford was largely full by the end of July. The walk itself is 33.5 miles long, and trampers (limited to 40) stay in a pre-ordained sequence of huts. You aren’t allowed to go any slower, nor any faster, nor backwards, nor spend two nights at a hut. It should be mentioned Milford is pretty much the only Great Walk with this many rules.

Four days is actually a long time to think about blog posts (really. what else did you think I’d be doing? enjoying the view?), so I’ve got grand plans for a series of posts. Maybe. If we ever get around to it.

Before things get esoteric, though, we’ll start with a basic travelogue and photo post:

First, here’s the overview topo map (courtesy of DOC):

The walk actually starts with a bus ride from the tourist mecca of Te Anau to Te Anau Downs, then a boat ride to the start of the track on the shores of Lake Te Anau.

And winds its way up the Clinton River valley to the Clinton Hut.

The huts themselves are palatial by kiwi standards (though I will say the hut system makes backcountry travel radically different from tent-camping in the states). The first night is a good time to get to know the 39 other trampers you’ll be sharing the trail with for the next few days. Better hope none of them are snorers….

The second day continues up the Clinton River, passing through forest, clearing, rockfalls and avalanche paths, while the valley walls get closer and closer together.

Finally ending at the Mintaro hut:

The third day is the “challenging” day as you light out early from the hut to ascend McKinnon Pass. The ascent is something like 600 m, followed by a short walk across the saddle, and a 900 m descent down the backside.

(the pass is that notch in the ridgeline to the right)

We had the slight misfortune of heavy fog on the ascent, so we didn’t see much of the Clinton Valley behind us.

But once descending, the sun came out and we were able to enjoy the Arthur River valley before us.

Finally reaching the Dumpling Hut.

The fourth and final day is spend on a rather lengthy tromp down the Arthur river to Sandfly Point. The day’s walk seems specifically designed to enrage the Type-A personalities, as the tramp take about six hours, and each tramper must meet their pre-appointed boat (typically at 2 or 3PM) to get off the track. This leads to perpetual watch-checking and shuffling of feet at the slightest suggestion of rest breaks or flagging of the pace.

Despite that, everyone reaches the end of the trail and meets their boat.

Which takes you across the final bit of wet stuff to the town of Milford.

Well now. Another week, must be time for another work jolly.

I’m fresh back from a quick trip to the beautiful burg of Westport, whence I visited Solid Energy, the NZ coal company (side note: “Solid Energy” is perhaps the best … name … ever for a coal company). In the grand old tradition of exhausting natural resources before developing other industries, NZ is still mining coal like it’s going out of style, though I’ve been told it’s largely very pure high-carbon coal which goes over to Asia for steel, rather than power production. Technically speaking, SE is an SOE: a state-owner enterprise. It’s run like a company, but Wellington takes a big chunk of the profits, and the rest are reinvested.

Solid Energy actually has a number of interesting problems which are, er, geospatial-ish.

For example, Solid Energy is busy mining on the ridgeline above Westport. It’s not really “mining” as you imagine it, rather it’s “open cast” mining, aka scraping away the earth and hauling away the bits which happen to be coal. Long before Solid Energy started gnawing away at the earth with their 100-ton excavators, however, the hills above Westport were worked by more traditional miners, who turned the hills to a swiss cheese of poorly-mapped tunnels.

So the problem is simple. When you drive a 100-ton truck over a 100-year-old mine shaft, bad things happen. It’s worth Solid Energy’s time to make a really good map of the old mines. There are some historical maps, but without precision satellite navigation and all that, they’re only so accurate.

There are basically two ways to go at the problem. The traditional method is to drill a bazillion holes and see which ones hit solid rock and which ones go through open space. At $15,000 a hole, it’s also a good way to flush a lot of time and money down the loo.

The alternate proposal is to have teams of surveyors actually explore the old mines with a rather pricey laser scanner and make a map as they go. Of course, it’s not a perfect method. Large portions of the old mines are inaccessible due to cave-ins, raging waters, smoldering fires, foul humours, etc., but the sections which can be reached safely can then be mapped quickly and inexpensively.

One major obstacle to mine exploration is a “stopping,” a cement-block wall built by the olde-timey miners to block off parts of the mine once they were done with them. A stopping could be used to wall off an area which was unsafe, unloved, on fire, full of water (there’s that fire and water theme again). Or they may just stand between one perfectly safe portion of the mine and another.

So the Solid Energy surveyors need a safe way to cut a small hole in a stopping and judge whether it’s safe before they go through the trouble of actually cutting a man-sized hole in it.

Enter the GRC. With our proven hjistory of bodging, hacking-together and camera-misuse. We’ll be working with Solid Energy to make a “camera-on-a-stick” for cheap inspection through stoppings. Should be interesting.