Sometimes, I think Chicken Little was right. When I think about the number of disasters, both natural and man-made, that have occurred over the past ten years, it’s easy to believe sky is falling. As a travel writer, I’m especially sensitive to the effects of natural disasters on tourism. Travelers who were planning to visit such a destination usually cancel their reservations and choose an alternative, depriving the country of their valuable revenue during a time when it is most needed. This is happening right now in New Zealand.

Street sculpture in Christchurch, New Zealand

Though Christchurch (which happens to be one of my favorite places in New Zealand) suffered two recent earthquakes, the country of New Zealand is sending a message that it is open for business. In support, travel bloggers are banding together for three days to promote the country by writing about their experiences in New Zealand, an effort that has been branded “Blog4NZ.” I had the good fortune to visit in 2007 and discovered that not only does New Zealand have some of the most exquisite scenery on earth, it has some of the friendliest people I have ever met. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I decided to put together a video slide show of my best photography from that visit.

Can’t view the above YouTube video showcasing New Zealand? Click here.

Christchurch may not be in a condition to accept visitors yet, but the rest of the country is waiting with open arms. If you had plans to visit New Zealand, please know that the sky is not falling. And if you’re wondering where to take your next vacation, you can’t make a better choice than New Zealand.

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A live webcast of the dissection of the largest colossal squid ever caught is scheduled for April 30th at the Te Papa Museum of New Zealand. Weighing nearly 1000 pounds and measuring the length of a school bus, the behemoth was caught in Antarctic waters in February of 2007 by a fishing vessel trolling for toothfish with long lines – single lines with many baited hooks. When the crew raised the lines they discovered the colossal squid, which was hooked when it tried to eat a toothfish caught on the line. Because the squid was barely alive and unlikely to survive if released, the fishing vessel hauled the one-of-a-kind specimen on board, froze it, and delivered it to the museum for study.

Since the colossal squid was given to Te Papa, staff at the museum have been investigating the best method of thawing it, examining it, and eventually displaying it. Because squid are delicate animals and very easily damaged, the temperature will be gradually raised over several days. It will be thawed in a saline solution to prevent decay of the outer tissue while the inner sections are still frozen. Scientists will examine it, measure it, examine the stomach contents to gather information on its diet, and determine its sex.

There is a great deal of excitement surrounding the catch, preservation, and examination of this squid because scientists know so little about the species; since they live at extreme depths in freezing water (usually 3000 feet or more) they are very rarely captured. The first report of a colossal squid was in 1925, when the head and arms were discovered in a sperm whale stomach. Since then, only eight adult colossal squid have been reported, and six of those were remains recovered from the stomachs of whales. From the squid beaks found in the stomachs of sperm whales in the Southern Ocean, scientists have estimated that colossal squid might form as much as 77% of a sperm whale’s diet, thus they speculate that the creature is much more common than the sparse number of captured specimens would suggest.

While the general public won’t be admitted into the confined space of the laboratory, they will be able to watch the process on webcams that went live today. Four different cameras show the laboratory wide view, dissection table, and thawing bath. Please note, however, that the mound of white fish on the thawing table at present is NOT the colossal squid. Scientists are still tinkering with the temperature of the thawing bath before bringing it out; the problem seems to be that no one is quite sure how much the creature weighs, and the weight dictates the temperature of the thawing solution. New Zealand TV has a great video explaining all this HERE. This news story has generated enormous, unexpected interest around the world, which is putting a strain on both the museum and the TV station’s servers, so the video may take a few seconds to load. If it doesn’t pop right up, try refreshing or reloading your browser.

If you’re interested in viewing the dissection online, keep the time difference in mind. The time in Wellington, New Zealand is 16-hours later than the U.S. Eastern Standard time. Assuming the dissection will begin at 9 AM, Wednesday, April 30th, New Zealand time, you’ll want to stat watching the webcam at 5PM EST on Tuesday, April 29th (4PM Central, 3PM Pacific)

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I’ve just finished uploading the entire collection of New Zealand photos I posted on the blog, as well as some aditional photos that were not on the blog. To view them just click on the above button labeled “Photos” and then on the link to go to the photo library. Enjoy!

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Alas, I had but one day in Christchurch, so I spent it walking around the city center. The weather here is positively balmy after the deep freeze of Queenstown and I stripped down from four layers of clothing to two. Even the flowers are still in bloom here – these pink roses hanging over blue rosemary blooms were so fragrant as I walked by that I just had to lean over and take a good long whiff. I had heard that Christchurch is the most British of New Zealand’s towns. After my walking tour I have to agree. City tours are conducted aboard the trolleys that run on rails down the center of the downtown streets, advertisements are posted on tall round cylinders on major street corners, and red phone booths scream England, as does the stone architecture with its crenelated towers and copper clad spires. Even the river that runs through the center of town is named the Avon.

Blooming roses in Christchurch

Perhaps the most famous building here is the Christchurch Cathedral, located in the center of Cathedral Square, where musicians play, high- brows play chess with giant pieces on a side- walk board, seagulls desecrate statues with their droppings, vendors hawk their wares from booths set up in the square, and Christian fanatics try to convert the unfaithful.

Christchurch street car

Arts Center

River runs through the center of Christchurch

Christchurch Cathedral

Around the city center it seemed as if every third street was a pedestrian mall. People were out in droves – many of them in shirt sleeves and one hearty soul in shorts – shopping, walking, or just people watching. The Arts Center, once the home of University of Canterbury, is now a retail center with 40 shops, art galleries, restaurants, and an art-house cinema, all set among distinctive 19th century Gothic Revival architecture. Sculptures from local artisans surround the exterior of the Arts Center, like this bronze child leaning against her “love” balloon or this fanciful jester, offering up his humor to the heavens.

Downtown Christchurch

Outdoor sculpture at the Arts Center

Outdoor sculpture at the Arts Center

I wish I’d had more time here but I leave at 4 AM tomorrow morning for Sydney, Australia. Who knows, maybe I will be back some day. If I do return, I will be sure to stay again at the Windsor Hotel, which is a wonderful place with reasonable rates, located right in the city center. Two weeks is definitely (or as they say here in New Zealand, DEE-fin-it-lee) not long enough to see this amazing country.

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New Zealand’s TranzAlpine Express is reputed to be one of the world’s greatest train rides, crossing beech forests, alpine tussock, glacial rivers, peaceful lakes, and the snow-capped Southern Alps on its 223.8 kilometer (134 mile) journey between Greymouth on the west coast and Christchurch on the east coast. Although I made few advance reservations for my six month sojourn, the TranzAlpine Express was an exception – I have had my ticket for nearly three months because everything I read warned that the seats sell out quickly, thus the schedule for my travel around New Zealand has revolved around making this train on May 30th.

TranzAlpine Express rolls into the station in Greymouth

Boarding the TranzAlpine Express

The bus from Franz Josef deposited me at the steps of the Greymouth rail station 30 minutes before the 1:45 PM boarding time. I had just enough time to check in, get my seat assignment, hand over my luggage, and buy some snacks before our departure. Right on time, the big yellow diesel locomotive rolled into the station and stopped with a screech. I was in the ‘L’ car, far behind the locomotive, sandwiched between the observation deck and the dining car. My friend, Leah, recently told me she would like to see more of ‘me’ in my photos, so I asked a fellow passenger to take a photo of me as I boarded the train. I settled into my “airline style reclining seat,” prepared to see stunning scenery from my panoramic window, and snapped this photo of myself – well, at least part of me.

Self-portrait

Leaning out the open-air observation platform

Incredible colors in the setting sun

We pulled away from the station right on time and began the gradual climb into the mountains. Along the route we passed through 16 tunnels and six viaducts, including the the 8.5 kilometer long Otira Tunnel, which is the seventh longest railroad tunnel in the world. Following the old Cobb & Co. Stage Coach route, which continued in service until 1923, we reached our highest altitude at Arthur’s Pass. In those days, it was a two day journey with the passengers having to walk up the steepest sections to spare the horses. The subsequent descent took us through the Waimakariri River Gorge, its snaking river an exquisite shade of turquoise from the glacial rock powder it carries, and into the patchwork quilt of the Canterbury Plains, where sheep and cattle dotted the hillsides and a near full moon rose over the plains in the encroaching twilight.

Moonrise as the train pierces the mountain passes

Alpine scenery along the route of the TranzAlpine

Less than thirty minutes into the trip it became clear that I would not be happy taking photos from my seat so I moved forward to the observation car. I expected to find a modern coach, replete with glass roof and wide windows. Instead I found an open deck surrounded by metal railings. This was great for photos – no glass between the vista and the lens – but it was frightfully cold, especially as we entered the Alps. Although the ride was enjoyable, I must admit that overall I was disappointed.

High alpine meadow

High mountain lake

I have seen such stunning scenery over the past two weeks that the views from the train were somewhat anticlimactic. Plus, paved roads seemed to follow our path the entire time, leaving me feeling that the train did not afford anything that could not be seen from a car window. Additionally, because New Zealand is having one of the warmest months of May on record there was very little snow on the Alps, thus one of the factors that makes this ride so spectacular was missing from the get-go. Regardless, I spent the majority of the four and a half hour ride on the open-air deck taking photos, the best of which I have include here.

Toward the end of the ride, as the sun was setting, I made my way back to my seat. In the illuminated coach I looked down at my hands – my gloves were black. I peeled off my gloves and found that my hands were also black. So was my coat. And my pants. All a result of the diesel soot spewing from the engine. Although I had been aware of the noxious fumes I was breathing, I was totally unaware that these same fumes were depositing a dense, tarry coating on everything in sight and transferring to my hands from every surface I touched in the outdoor car. I pulled a handi-wipe out of my backpack and tried to wipe it off but it didn’t make a dent in the grunge. I arrived at the hotel in Christchurch looking like an urchin who’d been living in a coal bin, the greasy black stuff smeared across my forehead and down my cheeks. I looked in the mirror and was shocked at my reflection – even my hair was coated in black. It took a very long hot shower to get rid of it all – including three shampoos and five ear washings. I’m not sorry I did the trip, but I would not do it again unless it was in the dead of winter with the peaks covered in snow.

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Let’s put this into perspective. New Zealand has a total population of 4.5 million people, 45 million sheep, and between 80 and 90 million possum. The possum is not indigenous to New Zealand. It was originally imported from Australia by the British when they discovered there were no fur-bearing animals in the country. They probably rubbed their hands together in glee, dreaming of all the money they would make from selling the pelts of the furry little varmints. Well, the possum fur business was never successful but the possum population thrived. Possum are now so prevalent that they are a danger to the forests in New Zealand, as it is estimated that they strip and eat upwards of two million tons of foliage a day. Everywhere I went I heard and read about possum. Every bus driver expounded on possum. One driver insisted there was a point system for running over the critters – ten points for an easy hit, 20 points if he has to swerve, and 30 points if he has to back up to finish the job. The government pays trappers for every pelt. Everywhere there are signs posted, telling people to kill possum in order to save New Zealand’s forests. This gives Aussies a start when they visit, as the possum is a protected species in their country.

Skinning a possum

Yesterday’s bus trip between Franz Josef and Greymouth brought home how serious these folks are about eradicating the possum population. We made a rest stop at the Bushman’s Cafe and Bar, way out in the middle of nowhere on the northern reaches of the west coast, where they are best known for their Wildfoods Festival each March. We stepped down from the bus, where the owner of the cafe was skinning a couple of possum he had trapped. He said in his younger days he could skin one in about 45 seconds flat – lovely. I wandered around the rustic cafe, reading the various hand-lettered signs:

“If you’re smoking, you’d better be on fire”

“Breakfast until 10 AM, lunch until 3 PM. If you’re here for dinner you’ll be charged with breaking and entering.”

Guess what they do with all those dead possums

The Puke Pub also serves possum...hmmmm

Outside again I discovered what they DO with the possum they trap, aside from selling the fur. In front of the cafe was this advertisement for possum pie and across the street at the Puke Pub (accent over the “e” in Puke, for the French version of the word, about which I shall remain mute), they were hawking possum delights. Ahh, I should have guessed – this is, after all, the home of the world famous Wildfoods Festival. Let’s hope the possum don’t evolve any time soon – if they do, the Kiwis are seriously outnumbered…….

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The town of Franz Josef, like Queenstown, has a love affair with adventure sports. For $350 you can take a flight in a single-engine Cessna to view both the Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers, landing on the glacier for a bit of ice hiking in the middle of the flight. You can also do this in a helicopter for slightly less money. Or, if flying is not your thing, for around $225 you can strap talons (metal spikes) onto your shoes and do a half or all-day hike on the glacier, following a most-excellent guide who will carve steps in the ice with a pick axe so you can clamber up the sheer faces of the glacier. You can skydive over the glacier, kayak down the icy rapids spawned by the glacier, or go rock climbing on the walls of the glacier-carved valleys. And on and on, ad infinitum. None of this was for me. Instead, I decided to avail myself of the many hiking trails that the Department of Conservation maintains in and around the glacier.

The previous night I had taken a short trail to the top of Sentinel Hill for a distant view of the glacier, as well as a second ‘End of the Forest’ trail that took me to the edge of the river valley leading to the foot of the glacier. Although the information sign at the trail head indicated that this was also the access to the ‘Foot of the Glacier Trail,’ when I reached the river bank my way was barred by a fence with a sign, warning that only experienced hikers or persons with guides should proceed further. I asked the shuttle driver about this and he explained that the trail had been washed out by flooding in places, but that it was perfectly fine to climb through the fence and hike to the glacier. So I did.

Twin waterfalls on the way to the foot of the Franz Josef glacier

I have seen glaciers before. In Canada I visited the glacier at Jasper National Park, where we were driven onto the ice floe by the bus load and allowed to walk around within a small roped-off area – a hundred people at time slipping and sliding into each other in the freezing cold. But I have never experienced anything like the Franz Josef Glacier. I reached the barrier and dropped my pack on the opposite side, clambered through the rope fence to the other side, and picked my way downthe boulder-strewn riverbank. I saw no hint of a trail, so I just headed for the glacier, making my way along the wide and desolate riverbed. Within minutes, the fence I had climbed through was out of sight and I was in a wilderness, with only the sound of rushing water to accompany me. I rounded a bend and discovered the source of the sound – directly in front of me two waterfalls thundered from above, parting to the left and right of a large cliff that blocked their way and spewing torrents of water into pools at my feet. I dipped a toe in one of the icy pools, letting their spray mist my glasses.

Walk right up to the foot of these waterfalls

Glacier melt river water is grey from the rock powder it carries

Red algae and green moss stained boulders litter the river bed

Along the way I met the occasional hiker – I saw perhaps a total of a dozen people the entire day. But at that moment I was all alone, bundled up against the cold with a pack on my back, feeling like a frontier woman on a journey of discovery. I thrill to this stuff. I have always believed I was a cowboy or an explorer in a previous life and I think this is why I am so drawn to this type of solitary activity.

Ethereal valley

I continued on my trek, using the glacier as a spotting point, rounding cliffs, scrambling around giant boulders, and crossing streams rushing to join the river spawned by the glacier. I surprised myself. Normally I detest hiking on rocky surfaces, especially when they are wet, because I am not terribly sure-footed. But whether I have been doing so much of this or because I have lost so much weight that I have better balance, I skipped over the rock-strewn riverbed like a gazelle, even confidently hopping from rock to rock as I crossed half a dozen rushing streams without difficulty.

Each corner I rounded offered up a different, exquisite vista. In places, lime green moss grew on red algae- stained rocks, providing an other- worldly frame for my photos of the black basalt cliffs and glacier ice.In other places, still pools of meltwater reflected the mountains and glacier. Within an hour I was quite close to the glacier. Here I encountered a second fence and signage with even stronger warnings.

Mirror image of mountains and glacier in melt-water pond

Warning to hikers

Based upon the advice of the shuttle bus driver, who is also a guide, I climbed through this fence as well – his only warning was not to get any closer to the glacier than 150 meters. I crossed another stream – this one the largest yet – and rounded the final barrier of giant boulders to see the actual foot of the glacier, with its yawning ice cave from which the meltwater generated river flows.

Approaching the foot of the glacier, boulders turn to big chunks of ice

River flows from yawning mouth at foot of the glacier

The immediate face of the ice was one big dirty snowball but further up the glacier the ice sparkled in many hues – from dazzling white to turquoise blue, where the weight of the ice pack has so compressed the ice as to make it translucent. The ground where I stood was littered with ice boulders in addition to rock boulders.

Behind me, late afternoon fog was descending, so I started back, concerned I would not be able to find my way if the river valley became socked in. Back at the beginning of the ‘End of the Forest Trail,’ I found I had about an hour to kill before the shuttle bus would return so I decided to take the Douglas Trail, a path leading through the sub-tropical vegetation that co- exists with the glacial ecosystem.

Sub-tropical vegetation along the Douglas Trail

Douglas Trail

Douglas Trail

Here palm trees waved in the breeze and giant Boston fern spread their lacy fronds across the forest floor. Moss and lichen coated every tree trunk. Wherever the hillside had been cut to accommodate the pathway, white-streaked schist boulders, scraped smooth and round by their glacial journey, poked their heads out from the glacial scree. At the trail’s midpoint I came to Peter’s Pool, a still lake of meltwater ideally situated to reflect the mountains and glacier.

Peter's Pool

Peter's Pool

Back at the car park I sat cross-legged atop a boulder, serenaded by hundreds of unseen birds while I awaited the shuttle. It was near sunset, so I asked to be dropped off at the river bridge just outside of town, where I watched the day’s last bleeding rays of sunshine silhouette the mountains above the turquoise Franz Joseph River.

Sunset over mountains and river

Sunset over mountains and river

With the possible exception of Antarctica (and I’m not likely to go there) I can’t think of anywhere else on earth where I could have such an up close and personal encounter with a glacier. Everywhere else on earth seems to have been barricade or have limited access due to damage and concerns over liability. I fervently hope that New Zealand will remain open for this type of natural experience. There is such beauty in this place and all of it was totally accessible for the cost of a $10 shuttle ride.

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I was waiting for the shuttle bus when I decided I’d better use the bathroom before beginning the three hour hike to the foot of the glacier, so I stepped inside the shuttle booking office and asked to use their restroom. The clerk directed me to the public toilets across the street. They were pay toilets – 50 cents – but I didn’t mind. During my travels I’ve learned that pay toilets are always cleanest.

Exce-LOO pay toilet in Franz Josef

Auto flushing toilet and spit shined interior

I chose a stall that showed an unoccupied green light and inserted my 50-cent piece. The green metal door slid open with a whisper to reveal an immaculate ceramic tiled room with stainless steel stool and hand-washing unit. I was impressed. I stepped inside. Immediately, a voice came over the speaker with instructions: “Welcome to EXCE-Loo.” (‘Loo’ being British slang for toilet, mind you). “Please press the button to close the door. Your maximum usage time will be ten minutes.”

I pressed the button and the door slid shut. The moment I was sealed inside, piped music began playing ‘What the World Needs Now, Is Love Sweet Love.’ I laughed so hard I had to pee twice. On my right-hand side an automatic toilet paper dispenser spit out a tidy four squares every time I pressed its button. Having completed the business at hand I looked around for a way to flush the toilet but there was no handle. Instead, a sign instructed that the toilet would flush automatically when I either washed my hands or opened the door. I stuck my hands into the stainless steel box that was recessed into the wall – the far left squirted soap into my upturned palms, the middle ran water over my hands and the far right blew my hands dry. Now done, I pushed yet another button to open the door and exited as the unseen bathroom God exclaimed, “Thank you for using EXCE-Loo.”

Auto soap and water dispenser

I laughed hysterically for a good 20 minutes after leaving the toilet. I wondered what would have happened if I’d taken more than my allotted ten minutes. Would the door have slid open, exposing my bare butt for all the world to see? I wondered if the local teenagers have figured out that they can insert $1.50 and have 30 minutes to ‘get it on.’ Honestly, what will they think of next? EXCE-Loo, for heaven sake?

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New Zealand takes my breath away. Each place I visit is more beautiful than the last. Yesterday morning I left Queenstown on the InterCity bus, bound for the South Island’s remote west coast town of Franz Josef to hike its amazing glacier. The west coast is the last frontier of New Zealand. Although there is an airport at Franz Josef it provides only flightseeing over the glacier or charter service, so the only access to this part of the country is by car or bus.

Let me digress for a moment to say that the bus service in New Zealand is nothing short of spectacular. I have purchased a 20-hour FlexiPass that combines bus service from three companies (InterCity, Newmans and Northland). With a day’s notice I can phone toll-free to reserve a seat on any scheduled bus and the hours required to reach the destination are automatically deducted from my pass. When I run out of hours I can phone them up to “top off the pass,” using my credit card to add more hours. It can even be used on the ferry running between Wellington on the North Island and Picton on the South Island. The cost for 20 hours was $214 New Zealand (about $160 US) and with the exception of my flight from Auckland to Queenstown, I have used it to get to all my destinations.

Hop on-hop off buses in New Zealand

Riding the bus here is nothing like taking a bus in the US. The coaches have comfortable reclining seats, footrests, and huge expanses of sparkling clean windows that are perfect for viewing the spectacular vistas revealed around every corner. Incredibly, the bus drivers (keep in mind that these are regularly scheduled inter-city buses – not tour buses) provide a running commentary along the way, entertaining the passengers with bits of history, local gossip, and explanations for what is passing by our windows. Regular stops are made at pullouts where the government has constructed restrooms that are maintained in a sparkling clean condition. These restrooms are always located at scenic overlooks or at trail heads, where a five or ten minute walk along a path takes you to, for instance, a stunning waterfall, and the bus stops long enough for everyone to take a quick jaunt down the path.

Frankly, I was glad to be leaving Queenstown. Although it is a beautiful city in a stunning location, unless you are into adventure sports there is not a lot to do there. Had I stayed longer my options would have been jet boating the Dart River (and being spun around 360 degrees in the rapids), bungee jumping from the top of the gondola mountain, riding the luge down the gondola mountain, skiing, heli-skiing (being dropped out of a helicopter onto a mountain top and skiing down), skydiving, or heli-biking (I don’t even want to THINK about what this might be). Plus, it is COLD there, so I was glad to finally be heading north again.

My route to the west coast traveled a narrow blacktop that snaked up and over the mountains running down the spine of the island, eventually dropping down onto the windswept coast. From Queenstown we traveled along a canyon formed by the Dart River and into the Wanaka Valley, which is rapidly being converted from farming into vineyards. (Note: when New Zealanders speak of farming they are referring to sheep, cattle and deer farming – very few crops are grown here in the traditional farming sense).

Route between Queenstown and New Zealand's west coast passes gorgeus mountain lakes

Route between Queenstown and New Zealand's west coast passes gorgeus mountain lakes

After passing through the town of Wanaka we began to climb, following the shores of Lake Wanaka and Lake Hawea, where snow-clad purple peaks peeked over the dun colored hills bordering the lakes’ indigo waters. As we entered the Upper Clutha Valley, expanses of pasture land added dimension to the palette, with flocks of fluffy white sheep and herds of deer dotting the verdant green fields at the foot of the mountains. We stopped briefly at a cafe in the tiny mountain village of Makarora, which is the gateway to Mount Aspiring National Park, and continued up the mountains to Haast Pass, where we began to get glimpses of the snow-bound Southern Alps.

Upper Clutha Valley

Upper Clutha Valley

By the time we crossed over the continental divide the majestic Southern Alps were in full view. The bus dipped down into the narrow valley on the west side of the mountains, making brief stops for photos at Thunder Falls, Lake Paringa, Murphy’s Beach overlook, and Bruce’s Beach.

Thunder Falls

Lake Paringa

Murphy's Beach overlook

Bruce's Beach

Roads into this part of New Zealand were only completed in the mid-1960s. Prior to that time west coast inhabitants were extremely isolated from civilization. Today, although there is a road, this part of the country is still remote. The nearest hospital is 4 hours to the north in Greymouth. Because a rock slide or avalanche can close the road for weeks at a time, no dairy farming is done south of Franz Josef, as tanker trucks refuse to service farms in this area due to the possibility of not being able to pick up the milk. As you can imagine, west coast folks are a hearty, self-sufficient lot. There are not a lot of women here and I have been warned to watch out because the men are always on the lookout for good wife material.

And not only the people are unique. With no more than 30 kilometers between the mountains and the sea, the west coast supports a unique sub-tropical micro-climate. A land of ice-cold rivers winding through rocky scree, their waters tinted turquoise or pale gray from ground up rock powder released in the glacial melt water. A land where miners still stake claims and pan for gold in the black sand river mouths, often earning more than a thousand dollars per month for their efforts. A land of deciduous forest, with huge pine trees towering over the giant ferns and the more than 300 varieties of moss that carpet the forest floor. A land of jagged schist and basalt cliffs and boulders scraped smooth by retreating glaciers. A land of glaciers, hundreds of feet thick and miles long, that are inexorably creeping from the mountaintop to the valley below on their journey to the sea. And, unexpectedly, a land of warm temperatures! I peeled off layer after layer when we arrived in Franz Josef.

Town of Franz Josef

I had time enough to walk the short main street of town and do a quick hike to the top of Sentinel Hill for my first view of the glacier before darkness fell. It was enough to satisfy my initial curiosity and to whet my appetite. Tomorrow I will hike to the foot of the glacier if the trail is open. I don’t think I have anything to worry about where wildlife is concerned (bears and such), but I will keep an eye peeled for the well-known and very dangerous wife-hunting west coaster.

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The good news is that I went to Milford Sound yesterday. The bad news is that it rained all day.

Located on New Zealand’s rugged west coast in an region named, appropriately, Fiordland, Milford Sound is a long, narrow fiord where sheer granite cliffs rise vertically from the ocean. The Sound was once described by Rudyard Kipling as the ‘Eighth Wonder of the World.’ Maori legend attributes the creation of the fiords to a ‘titanic mason,’ Tute Rakiwhanoa, who hued out the steep sided valleys with keen edged adzes. This explanation seems to fit, as the sheer breadth of geological events that created this gash in the landscape is barely comprehensible. Geologists tell us that this otherworldly scenery was created by glaciers that advanced and then retreated, taking the underlying rock with them, allowing the Tasman Sea to intrude 16 kilometers into the land.

The bad news is that the bus trip required 13 hours along torturous, curving roads and I forgot to take my motion sickness medicine. The good news is that the trip incorporated numerous stops into its route.

Endangered Takahe birds at Te Anau Conservation Park

At our halfway mark we stopped for coffee in the small town of Te Anau (Tee AH nee yew) and purchased our lunches, as this town is the last outpost of civilization before reaching Milford Sound. On our way out of Te Anau we made a brief stop at a Department of Conservation park that is responsible for protecting New Zealand’s endangered birds. Among these endangered species is the Takahe, thought for many years to be extinct until only a few pairs were spotted. Since that time DOC has been breeding the Takahe in captivity, from pairs that were injured and nursed back to health. These pretty birds, with their iridescent blue feathers and red beaks strutted around their cages for us, totally unconcerned with the fact they were on display as our cameras clicked.

At lovely Eglinton Valley, distant mountains framed fields of golden grasses waving in the wind….

Eglinton Valley on the way to the west coast

Eglinton Valley on the way to the west coast

while at Mirror Lakes, the majestic, snow-capped mountains were reflected in the still waters at their feet:

Mirror Lakes on the way to the west coast from Queenstown

Mirror Lakes on the way to the west coast from Queenstown

We wound ever higher and deeper into the mountains and the waterfalls began to appear:

Falls Creek

Falls Creek

At Falls Creek our driver told us that just a week ago, this waterfall had been nothing more than a trickle. With recent rains, the volume of water had increased tremendously, so that when we arrived it was a rushing, roaring cascade that spewed from the mountain on one side of the road, crossed under our feet, and continued on the other side of the road, tumbling over gigantic black boulders as it made its way down the mountain.

I noticed that the landscape began to change. The long mountain vistas disappeared and forest crept in along the side of the road. At the one-lane Homer Tunnel we were delayed for some minutes as we waited for oncoming traffic to clear the 1.3 kilometer tunnel. Once we entered, there was no light visible from the other end. The roadbed, which descended sharply, was a rough mix of gravel and asphalt – even the walls of the tunnel remain the unlined granite as it was originally excavated, giving it the feel of a mine shaft. We emerged into an entirely different ecological zone – lush green forests, mists swirling through giant ferns, and the sheets of rain through which we had been driving were replaced by big fat raindrops that spattered our windshield.

Homer Tunnel

We paused briefly at Monkey Creek, where we filled our water bottles from the icy cold, 99% pure glacial runoff water that we were assured was perfectly safe to drink. Then there was one more stop at The Chasm, a rushing river that plunges through a rock chasm on its way to the ocean. Although the water was a good fifty feet below the bridge that crossed it, several huge, polished tree trunks that were sticking from holes in the boulders at the top of the chasm attest to the fact that the water level is often MUCH higher. Finally, at 2 PM we arrived at Milford Sound and boarded the boat for the trip along the fiord.

The Chasm

The Chasm

The bad news is that it was still raining. The good news is that when it rains at Milford Sound, hundreds of waterfalls suddenly appear.

There was something ethereal about Milford Sound in the rain. Despite the fact that the weather turned most everything shades of black, white and grey, the beauty of the place was undeniable. Hundreds of waterfalls appeared. A couple of the larger falls flow year round and are a source of hydroelectric power for the country. Most of the falls were opportunists, appearing only with the rain. Some of these fell gently over rock lips, looking like satiny, shimmering ribbons falling into the sea. Others were narrow and twisted; dreadlock plaits cascading over their rock faces. Mostly we motored by these waterfalls but in the case of the two largest cascades, we actually motored INTO the falling water, where we felt firsthand the power of the water.

Harbor at Milford Sound

Cruising Milford Sound in the rain

Cruising Milford Sound in the rain

Hundreds of waterfalls emerge in the rain

More waterfalls

Motoring beneath a raging waterfall

As we neared the mouth of the Sound the captain came over the loudspeaker to tell us that normally he would take the boat out into the Tasman Sea, but since the seas were quite heavy with the storm he would not be venturing too far out into the Tasman; rather he would spend more time in the Sound itself. Frankly, had I known that the boat went into open seas I would have thought twice about going – I never have had my sea legs. And, once again, I forgot to take my Dramamine. So I was quite relieved to hear we would be staying in the Sound. I think, however, that the captain had a sense of humor, because as we approached the Tasman he took the boat on out into rolling waves that were so huge that the boat disappeared beneath the top of the next wave each time it went down into a trough. After a couple dozen of these waves he announced we’d be turning back now – then had to time the turning of the boat precisely so as not to be swamped by a wave.He got us back into calm waters in the nick of time, too, or I’d have been hanging over the rail.

Misty Milford Sound

It was an awesome day, even though I struggled all day to keep the camera dry. But I did register one last good news/bad news thought:

The good news is that when I am focused on taking photos I don’t feel the cold. Wait….maybe that’s bad news….

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Today was an exploring day. I began by taking a ride on the ski gondola that climbs to the top of the hill behind the town of Queensland and ended with a walk around the shores of Lake Wakatipu. The gondola is not for those who are faint of heart as it ascends steeply and fairly rapidly with minimal clearance between the gondola car and the rock face of the mountain, but the views from the top are breathtaking, as these photos will attest.

Riding the gondola, high over Queenstown

View from the top of the gondola ride

View from the top of the gondola ride

In between the gondola ride and my lakeside stroll I wandered up and down the steep streets of town in search of historical buildings, but other than a couple of old stone churches I found little else of a historical nature. Queenstown has an interesting past steeped in gold mining lore. Sadly, nearly all traces of this early history have been wiped out by modern development and redevelopment. However the town is undeniably picturesque – I was not disappointed with the scenery I discovered during my five-hour walk. The spectacular Remarkable Mountains that loom beyond the town were formed by faulting and folding of schist rock to the extent that many of the rock faces are nearly vertical. Lake Wakatipu, New Zealand’s third largest lake, is unique because it “breathes” – the water level rises and falls as much as 12 centimeters every five minutes. This movement is caused by the wind or variations in atmospheric pressure. Geologists tell us that during the last ice age, about 15,000 years ago, glaciers covered most of the region. A glacier coming down from the northwest was responsible for gouging out the bed of what is today Lake Wakatipu. So today’s blog is mostly about the photos I was able to capture, despite struggling with ice-cold fingers, toes, and nose in this alpine weather.

Walking along the shore Lake Wakatipu

Walking along the shore Lake Wakatipu

Walking along the shore Lake Wakatipu

Tomorrow I visit Milford Sound in Fjordland, located on the west coast. Also a glacially carved landscape, this area of the country is reputed to have the most stunning scenery in New Zealand, including hundreds of waterfalls when it rains. It rained for a couple of hours this evening and I am crossing my fingers that it rains during the entire trip to Milford Sound tomorrow morning, with the sun emerging just as we arrive, so that the waterfalls will be at their most spectacular when we board the boat to travel the length of the Sound.

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I awoke from my mid-flight snooze when the plane began its descent toward Queenstown on the South Island of New Zealand. We were flying over the red, brown and gold Southern Alps, their craggy peaks covered in fresh snow. The valleys between the peaks held a chain of lakes in their cupped palms. Formed of runoff from the Franz Josef and Fox glaciers to the west, their waters are an almost otherworldly pastel aqua hue.

Just beyond the airport, the Remarkable Mountains lurk

I was so focused on the astonishing color of these lakes directly that I had not been paying attention to our descent, so when I looked up I was startled to see just how close we were to the mountains. Queenstown sits on the shores of an alpine lake that lies at the very foot of the Southern Alps and landing here is somewhat tricky. The pilot threaded the plane in and around several mountain valleys as he made his approach to the runway. We flew so close to the mountains that the wingtips seemed to barely clear the valley walls. Although I couldn’t get to my camera as we were landing, I did manage to snap this photo as I disembarked from the airplane. The mountains are aptly named – The Remarkable Mountains.

Queenstown is beautiful. It took my breath away – not only for its beauty, but also for the temperature. Just when I had acclimated to the colder temps of the North Island I stepped into the arctic conditions of the far South Island. The high here yesterday was 15 degrees celsius, which is about 59 degrees Fahrenheit. The backpacker lodge where I am staying advertised heated rooms – one of the reasons I chose them – however they do not turn on the heat until about 4 in the afternoon and it’s turned off again around 10 AM. So, after checking in, my first stop was the local Salvation Army store, where I bought a coat, scarf, hat, and long woolen socks.

Now better equipped for the local weather, I tramped around town (in the US we call it hiking, in SE Asia they call it trekking, and here they call it tramping). It was soon raining and clouds covered the mountain peaks, turning everything to slate, but I was able to get a few decent photos of the town and wharf.

Looking across Queenstown and the lake toward the Remarkable Mountains

Downtown Queenstown

Path to the gondola

Tomorrow I will take one or two of the many tramping trails that litter the area. For the moment I settled for dinner in front of a toasty warm fire in a local pub. Following dinner I walked through the Queenstown Mall, a street of shops and restaurants closed to vehicular traffic, and strolled along the wharf, where I watched an old steamer pull up and disgorge passengers. I suspect this is a sunset dinner cruise on the lake and may have to look into this for tomorrow night.

Queenstown pedestrian mall

Queenstown wharf

Back at the lodge I plonked my butt down on one of the beanbag chairs in the toasty warm community TV room and vegged in front of the TV until around 9 PM. Staying in a backpacker lodge is really interesting. Almost everyone here is terribly young and although they welcome me I wonder what they think of me. I’m a child of the 60′s and when I was their age we thought anyone over 30 was OLD – and we mistrusted them. It surprises me when the kids in these backpacker places are so welcoming and accepting of me. They always want to know my story and I delight in hearing theirs. Some are doing gap year travel – a year between the time they graduate from college and enter the work world. One great guy I met in Thailand, Dave from Canada, decided to quit his job when he turned 28 and go travel for at least two years. Some are traveling in search of jobs. Yet others are working their way around the world – finding temporary jobs whenever they run out of money. The common thread that runs through their stories is that all of us – me included – are trying to find ourselves. Perhaps this is why they so readily seem to accept me.

Eventually I had to leave the dark, comfy confines of the TV room. I turned the heater in my room as high as it would go, took a blistering hot shower to get rid of the chill in my bones, layered sweatpants and sweatshirt on over my new (old) woolen socks, loaded the bed with every blanket I could find, climbed into bed and pulled the covers up and over my head. It is morning now and I am back in the community kitchen, writing my blog for the day, because this is so much warmer than my room. Still my hands are ice cold and I have to keep blowing on them to make my fingers dexterous enough to hit the right keys. I’m going to have to go tramping – if only to warm up. So long for now – I’m headed up into the Remarkables.

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When the Dune Rider pulled up to my hotel at 7 a.m. I knew that this was not going to be your typical tour. This purpose-built, four-wheel drive, air conditioned Mercedes coach sat atop giant tires designed to negotiate the quicksand streams of 90-Mile Beach, traverse rocky outcrops, and barrel through surf on its way to Cape Reinga, the northernmost tip of the North Island. I was thoroughly intrigued and planted myself firmly in the front seat.

The Dune Rider

Lush greenery of the Northlands

Our route took us past some of the most stunning scenery yet. The problem is that tours cannot stop every ten minutes for me to take a photo, so I did the best I could through the window of the vehicle as we were bumping down the pavement, attempting to show the lush green hills that dominated the landscape, although the photo really does not do justice to the beauty of the place.

Walking through an ancient Kaori forest

Fallen Kaori, dug up from peat moss bogs

The first stop was the Kaori Forest, the last remaining stand of these ancient trees. Over the centuries Kaori wood has been used by the Maori Tribe to build their long canoes, as well as by white settlers to produce furniture, carvings, and trinkets. In the nick of time the government realized that the Kaoris were disappearing at an alarming rate and moved to protect the remaining trees. Today, Kaori trees are no longer cut down. Instead, today Kaori tree trunks are excavated from wetlands where, eons ago, they were felled by storms or disease and subsequently sunk in the swamp. This photo shows some of the recovered stumps, stored in the yard of a factory, awaiting artisans who will turn them into tables, chairs, bowls, jewelry boxes, and a myriad of other products.

Not long afterward the pavement ended and we shot out onto the sands of 90-MileBeach. The name from the fact that camels were originally used to transport goods up and down this beach. It was believed that a camel could traverse sand at a rate of 30 miles per day and it required three days to get to Cape Reinga, thus it was dubbed 90-Mile Beach.

Cruising along 90-Mie Beach in the Dune Rider

That was all well and good until someone actually measured the beach and found it was only 64 miles long. This caused some consternation in the Northlands. Should they rename it 64-Mile beach? Finally they decided to keep the original name – because Australia has 80-Mile Beach and New Zealanders wanted to have a beach longer than Australia, if only in name (note of interest here – Australia’s 80-Mile Beach is only 72 miles long – I suppose there’s a story behind that one, too).

90-Mile Beach

Driving along this beach was eerie for me. It was so similar to the four-wheel drive area north of Corolla on the Outer Banks that it was as if I had been magically transported back to North Carolina. It really freaked me out when our driver detoured into the dunes in search of wild horses…. When there were no horses to be found we headed back down the beach and the landscape changed yet again, to rocky shoreline comprised of jagged lava – there was no doubt about where I was, now. We stopped to climb one rock outcropping for a prime view of the surf. I couldn’t help thinking about my surfer friends on the Outer Banks -they would have drooled over these swells, which batter the shore day after day, year after year.

90-Mile Beach

90-Mile Beach

The rocky landscape segued to giant dunes, beckoning to anyone brave enough to sandboard down their faces. Did I try this? No. I had to stay at the bottom to take photos – at least that was my excuse… And lucky thing I HAD an excuse. Our tour guide failed to mention that anyone who sandboarded would likely end up in the river at the foot of the dunes. Almost everyone who sandboarded was drenched and covered in sand, with no change of clothes available.

Sandboarding down the Northland dunes

Sandboarding down the Northland dunes

Sandboarding down the Northland dunes

...and into the creek at the foot of the dune

Our wet and sandy group clambered back into the Dune Rider and we continued to Cape Reinga, the northernmost tip of the North Island and site of the lovely Cape Reinga Lighthouse.

Cape Reinga

Cape Reinga lighthouse

Cape Reinga lighthouse

Late in the afternoon we stopped for a picnic lunch at Tapotupotu Bay. With its near white, sugar-fine sand, this was perhaps the prettiest beach I have seen so far on my trip. Instead of sitting down at the picnic tables, I walked to the far side of the beach and wandered up a crystal-clear turquoise stream that emptied into the ocean.

Tapotupotu Bay

Tapotupotu Bay

Back in the 4X4, we headed back south, deterred only momentarily by a flock of sheep being herded down the road. We made one final stop for dinner at a “famous” fish and chips shack in Mangonui Bay, where we filled up on fresh batter-fried bluefish, dripping in grease, but delicious nonetheless. We rolled back into Paihia around 7PM – a long day but well worth the $99 ticket. I feel I’ve had about the best overview of the Northlands I could possibly expect in the short time I have here.

No traffic lights, but lots of sheep

Fish and chips shack in Mangonui Bay

Tomorrow I return to Auckland for one more night before flying to the Queenstown in the South Island. Everyone says the South Island is so much more beautiful that the North Island, but it’ll have to go a long way to beat what I’ve seen so far.

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For the past 48 hours I’ve been burning the candle at both ends. After spending all day seeing the sites I would return to my hotel room each night and spend hours writing articles and preparing photos I’d taken that day. Most of the time this was no problem. Recently, however, I’ve taken so many photos that I’ve been up most of the night – at most I’ve had five hours sleep over the past two days. So when I got on the bus for the four and a half hour trip to Paihia on the North Island of New Zealand, I was so sleep deprived that I went out like a light.

Historic church

Paihia's waterfront

I awoke sometime later when the bus stopped to pick up passengers. Bleary-eyed, I looked out the window. At first I thought I was dreaming. I shook my head and looked again. I was staring directly into the eyes of a hairy beast penned inside a corral next to the bus stop. The strains of the old tune “Wooly Bully” echoed through my mind….surely this MUST be the creature from that song. It was the size of a large buffalo but was covered in long brown hair that grew down to the ground. Sticking straight out from either side of his head were long horns with ends that tipped upward like a Viking hat. He peacefully munched on grass, looking like a prehistoric beast if ever I saw one. Beyond him in the pasture were other unusual livestock – perhaps llamas or alpacas. Further down the road I saw horses “dressed” in coats that reminded me of the lead-lined shields used in hospitals when X-rays are being taken. These coats were draped over the horses, reaching almost to the ground and covering them from mane to tail. Weird. Welcome to the Northlands.

This is a ruggedly beautiful part of the country where the scenery alternates between soaring geologic formations and verdant hills covered in grass, grown as fodder for the sheep and cattle. Sometimes the road hugged the coast, revealing jeweled bays. Other times the mountains dipped their feet into the sea, forcing the road inland to climb up and over ancient eroded volcanoes. Each town in this sub-tropical paradise was more picturesque than the last. My destination was Paihia and the Bay of Islands, perhaps the most popular tourist destination in the Northlands. The bus driver graciously left me off in front of my hotel, The Saltwater Backpackers Lodge, which turned out to be a fantastic place – a sparkling clean room at a very affordable price, although there was no Internet connection available in the room.

After settling in I decided to walk off the bus ride and explore the town. Paihia is one of the most historically important towns in New Zealand, as it is the place where the Waitangi Treaty was signed. This document, which was an agreement between the indigenous Maori tribe and the British Government, is generally considered to be the founding document of the nation of New Zealand. Today the Waitangi Treaty Grounds house a massive collection of carvings from all the Maori Tribes within a traditional Maori Meeting House, as well as Ngatokimatawhaorua – one of the world’s largest Maori ceremonial war canoes.  My walk took me through the picturesque streets of Paihia, along its wharf, and past its red sand beaches. I rounded the town’s largest bay as the sun began to set and picked up my pace so I would reach the harbor before the sun dropped below the horizon, as I was hoping for some good sunset photos. I was rewarded with one of the most exquisite sunsets I have ever seen – the sky turned pink and violet, then to burnished gold, and finally to blood red before darkness descended.

Red sand beach

Red sand beach

Sunset on Paihia Bay turns water platinum

Sunset at the marina

Sunset at the marina

Sunset at the marina

Tomorrow I’ve booked a tour to the furthest northern tip of the island – Cape Reinga. Normally I don’t do tours, but sometimes it is the only way to see something. In this case I want to see 90-Mile Beach, which can only be accessed with a four wheel drive vehicle, so I relented. I’ve been assured that his will not be the normal cattle-driven tour, as it is conducted in a specialized vehicle that only holds 20 people. Here’s hoping. Only tomorrow will tell.

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The fast ferry made the trip from Auckland to Waiheke (Why-HICK-ee) Island in a flat 35 minutes. One of the many volcanic islands that dot the bays around Auckland, Waiheke has long been a favorite of New Zealanders (it is where they go to get away from it all) and it is easy to see why.The scenery is simply stunning. Jagged black basalt cliffs soar over seas ranging from blue-grey to midnight to aquamarine. Pretty black sand beaches tuck themselves between towering walls of lava. At low tide, pools stained with multi-colored algae offer up their micro world for exami- nation. Here and there, exposed sandstone and feldspar paint the rock walls in golds and reds. And deep, luscious green grasses have taken hold in the rich volcanic soils.

Tramping the trails on Waiheke

Tramping the trails on Waiheke

Tidal pool along the trail

What is perhaps most unique about Waiheke is that a series of interconnecting trails criss-cross the island, making its beauty accessible to anyone willing to make the effort. It is for these trails that I came to Waiheke – I hoped to complete two of the loops. I picked up a trail guide from the brochure rack inside the ferry dock and asked which of the trails would have the most stunning scenery. The man at the information counter suggested that I take the track on the north side of the ferry dock by going around the dinghies at the water’s edge, then following the bay around until I picked up the path. As an aside he added, “Ah, well, it’s high tide at the moment but I think you should make it around the rocks OK.” That should have been my first clue as to what I was getting myself into.

I followed the black pebbly bay until I reached a cluster of rocks projecting out into the water. I might possibly have been able to pick my way around them were it not for the huge Live Oak tree growing out from the top of the pile of rocks. I decide the only way to get to the other side was to inch around a narrow ledge on outer edge of the rocks until I reached the tree, then go up and over from that point on what appeared to be a vague path.

Tramping the trails on Waiheke

One of many lovely coves along the way

The only thing I hate worse than walking on rocks is walking on wet and slippery rocks – this qualified on both counts. Under normal circumstances I am not the most sure-footed person because I have a bad left knee, but at the moment I also have a sore right ankle from a fall I took fell yesterday when I wasn’t watching where I was going. My plan to hike Waiheke was turning into a disaster but I wasn’t yet ready to admit defeat. This denial is in large part due to the fact that I am getting older and I hate to admit there are things I can’t do anymore. Sometimes I attempt to do things just to prove to myself that I am still capable. Slowly and shakily I edged around the rocks, then started climbing. I was doing OK until the path went back down again – steeply. Uphill I can do, but steep downhill slopes are more difficult because of my weak knee. I would have sat on my butt and inched down except for the prickly cactus lining the narrow path. There was no going back now – I wasn’t about to repeat the rock process.

When I finally cleared the cactus the track headed up steeply. The trail was nothing more than a dirt path about six inches wide, perched precariously close to the edge of the cliff as it wound up the rock face. I could feel the panic rising in my chest as I climbed higher and higher along the sheer dropoff. Beads of sweat doted my brow and upper lip, despite temperatures in the mid 60′s. My mind was going a mile a minute. What if I can’t do this and I get stuck half way? What if I fall off one of these cliffs onto the jagged rocks below? What if I get lost? I was high up onto the headland by now and fairly rattled by the dizzying heights with no guard rails. My feet were faltering. I was unsure of every step I took. I needed to get a grip. Time for a walking meditation. I stopped for a moment to compose myself, then continued walking, whispering the mantra, “Be one with the path.” I told myself to concentrate on placing one foot firmly onto the ground in front of me, followed by the other foot. Think about the path and only the path. Feel my connection to Mother Earth with every step. See the beauty surrounding me and let go of the fear. Above all, breathe. It worked like a charm! Soon I was tripping along like an old hand and enjoying the hike.

Although the guide book said the hike would take between three and four hours, it took me about five – I don’t think they included stops every five seconds for photographs in their calculations. It was a tough track – very physically demanding – but I persevered and I am so pleased that I did because it provided me with some of the most stunning photos I have ever taken, which I can now share with you. I guess I’m not ready for the retirement home yet, eh?

Tramping the trails on Waiheke

Descending to a beach

Wildflowers at ground level

Coming around the headland

Low tide at one of Waiheke's many beaches

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