TRAVELING AROUND THE WORLD: Our Tales of Delights and Disasters

by Shelley Row

  Mike took his turn on the same sheep. After we finished, we let her go and surveyed our handiwork. Poor sheep! All her sheep buddies are laughing and calling her names. She had a very bad hair day!

  With her on the outside and all her buddies on the inside, she was very unhappy and wouldn’t leave. Much “baa-ing” ensued so we let them all out. They were a little slow to catch on, so I had to get back in the pen and shove them to the open gate. John instructed me to grab a sheep’s head and physically turn it in the direction I wanted her to go. Once again, when one started moving, the others followed. Soon all the sheep were headed back out to their pasture for more peaceful grazing – before the next “tour” of uninformed city-slickers arrived.

  After shearing, John showed us how to see the difference in wool quality by the number of wrinkles in the fibers. Merino wool is filled with tiny crinkles and the fiber is very fine. It’s perfect for high-quality, soft garments. There was a memorable moment as John described how merino wool was prized by the fashion industry for its drape – as he tipped his body to one side to demonstrate the drape of the fabric.

  With the flat-screen television re-covered, and us back in the truck, we said good-bye to the chickens, the pig and the pet sheep. What a morning! We thanked John for a most memorable experience. After leaving the wee shed, we stopped for lunch at the Glenorchy café. Thankfully, they had a sink and hand sanitizer!

  Tuesday, March 8, 2011

  Blue Skies – Undoubtedly!

  The natural beauty of New Zealand inspires. We saw vistas across the South Island from Mt. Cook, The Remarkables in Queenstown, and Doubtful Sound; each place with its own beauty. I found myself wondering, how can a place like this exist, and why aren’t we all living here?

  Mt. Cook was our first stop after leaving Christchurch with the trauma of the earthquake. We took a bus for the four-hour ride from the plains of Christchurch to the mountains surrounding Mt. Cook, the highest point in the South Island. When Mike and I arrived, the peaks of the mountains were obscured by clouds. I took a walk through the valley to stretch my legs and was greeted by tall, purple lupine which reminded me of Texas bluebonnets. The valley floor was covered with scrubby, golden grasses that whispered in the breeze. There were large boulders sprinkled about that had been carelessly dropped by the glacier as it passed through thousands of years before. The mountains rose up in the distance. I walked across glacial-fed streams with waters gushing past, filled with fine silt from the melting ice. The water, minus the silt, was 99% pure. Across New Zealand, we would drink water directly from mountain streams.

  Our room faced Mt. Cook – or so we were told. It would be a stunning view, if only we could see the mountain (the Maori word for Mt. Cook translates as “cloud piercer”). The mountain is only visible one out of three days. And the next morning, there it was. I woke to sunlight streaming into the room with clear, blue sky filling the window. It took a minute to register that there was a soaring mountain peak there – just there. Beautiful. I photographed it every few minutes as the light changed the snow-covered peak from white to orange to pink. Clouds roll in quickly so we soaked up the view for as long as it lasted. It was invisible by noon. But the weather was beautiful for our boat excursion to the Tasman Glacier. After a walk through an adjacent valley, we came to the lake that was created – only 30+ years ago – by the retreating glacier. The water was the same murky gray from silt as the streams. But we were in luck. When the earthquake rocked Christchurch, the tremors also shook loose a chunk of the glacier. In fact, 30 million tons of ice calved that day and all of it was floating in the lake. It was the perfect time to see Mother Nature up close. Our guide took us through the small pieces of floating ice – like giant slush. We pried off an ice crystal to taste the perfectly pure, 300-year-old water. She took us as close to the new, large icebergs as was safe. They were still fragile and unpredictable. These fresh bergs were turquoise-blue from the densely compacted water. It was remarkable.

  And speaking of remarkable, we left that afternoon for a five-hour bus ride into Queenstown. This charming small city is the epicenter for outdoor activities in New Zealand. It’s situated on a large, deep-blue lake and ringed by the Remarkables. The Remarkables are a range of mountains that form a ragged, green wall protecting the lake and Queenstown. I look forward to hiking in those mountains on my next visit. This time, we were content to watch as the light and clouds morphed them from green to blue to purple. And we also enjoyed a boat ride on a hundred-year-old steam ship, TSS Earnslaw. We watched the crew shovel coal below decks as we motored along the blue water with mountains on all sides.

  One of the excursions Mike and I were particularly excited about was an overnight boat trip to Doubtful Sound in Fjordland National Park. We held our breath for good weather as conditions are notoriously changeable in the fjords. Weather karma struck and we were greeted with blue skies and puffy clouds when we arrived at the village of Te Anau. Milford Sound is the best known of the tourist destinations in the Park, consequently it is packed with bus-loads of tourists and airplanes buzzing overhead for scenic flights. We opted for the less trafficked Doubtful Sound. There’s a reason it has fewer tourists. Arriving at Doubtful Sound entailed a fifty-five-minute ferry ride and a forty-minute drive over a pass on a steep, narrow gravel road. That brought us to the boat dock. We were in awe as mountains sprang up from the lake and lush vegetation blanketed the slopes.

  Our boat was custom-made for this tour and held sleeping berths for six couples plus the crew (captain and first mate). We boarded at noon and set off through the Sound. Doubtful Sound is actually a fjord, we learned, as fjords are carved by glaciers. The day was ideal and our first treat was a pod of dolphins playing alongside the boat. They swam, jumped and spurted water so close we could hear their breath – an inhale and sharp exhale that shot water into the air. They rolled around under the bow of the boat eyeing us as cameras snapped frantically.

  Vistas were ever changing as we motored though narrow passages with valleys cutting dramatically into the water. After lunch of fresh crayfish (they looked like large lobsters) caught from the Sound, we sat back and enjoyed the ride. We went through the Sound to where it opens into the Tasman Sea. When we arrived, several giant albatross (or Mallymawk, perhaps) swooped and soared behind the boat. They had round, compact bodies attached to long, slender wings and bright-orange striped beaks. They nonchalantly shifted their bodies into graceful turns. We had a close-up view from the back of the boat.

  As we turned back into the Sound, I overheard Captain Chris talking on the radio to another boat captain. Chris remarked on what a beautiful day it was to which the other captain exclaimed, “It’s a cracka of a day.” I couldn’t have said it better! Eventually, Captain Chris got out the fishing gear and Mike was in heaven. He caught fish after fish, including some that we had for dinner that evening. A young man from Germany was traveling with us who had never fished before, so Mike became a teacher. His student caught the biggest fish of the trip!

  While Mike fished, I kayaked. So peaceful. The only sounds were the splash of the paddles and the drip of water running down my arms. Every now and again, a bird chirped from the dense trees and ferns. The sun was warm and I felt like I could float there all day.

  With a glass of wine and a seat on the back deck, we watched the water and the mountains turn dusty colors as the sun dropped. Dinner was fresh fish and venison, with a variety of vegetables. But the main event was to follow. Everyone stayed awake until 10 pm to watch the darkening sky serve up the Milky Way. There are few things as astounding as a sky full of stars. I remembered standing in the backyard as a little girl as my dad showed me that same vast swath of tiny lights. And now, there we stood on the upper deck of the boat, barely able to see each other in the blackness. We oohed and aahed at the constellations of the Southern Hemisphere: the Southern Cross and the upside down zodiac configurations like Orion, standing on his head.

  I wish I could say we had a restful night, but we d
idn’t. The berths were not the most comfortable. Still, we woke in the middle of the Sound to quiet, peace and beauty. Chris started our trip back in the early morning hours. But this day was not full of blue sky. Rain sprinkled as we traveled, making the previous day all the more perfect. Chris returned us to the ferry dock and waved good-bye as his next guests arrived.

  Doubtful Sound was all we could have hoped for, and, as for New Zealand, well, it’s a cracka!

  Sunday, March 6, 2011

  Tramping Through Gales, Mountains and Mud

  The Routeburn Trek in Fjordland National Park is considered one of the “Great Walks” of New Zealand. It involves three days and two nights on the trail. Mike and I walked it as part of a guided tour with Ultimate Hikes. The scenery was spectacular and we had spectacularly bad weather. We walked – or tramped, as the Kiwis say – through rain, snow, hail and gale-force winds. And it was still stunning.

  We showed up at the Ultimate Hikes Center in Queenstown for our pre-trek briefing and listened with increasingly sweaty palms as a perky, young woman told us how much we were going to enjoy the trek – even in the bad weather that was forecast. Prepare for the rain and cold, she advised. Hmmmm. It was the middle of the summer in New Zealand and the day had been beautiful and sunny. It couldn’t be that bad – could it?

  With borrowed backpacks and rain slickers, Mike and I showed up at dawn the next day. We met the others on our hike – twenty-four in all – and boarded the bus to the starting point of the trek outside of Te Anau. Buckled up and strapped into our backpacks (which suddenly felt heavier than they had the night before), the two of us dropped into line behind the guides – Hillary, Gina and Masa (our Japanese speaking guide) – and off we went. This would be Mike’s first overnight hike carrying a backpack – and he was doing it through the mountains of New Zealand. Lucky guy… although I’m not sure he always saw it that way. He never once complained!

  The entire first day, we hiked, gradually climbing, through mountain rainforests. A light mist hung in the air and the sky was overcast. There would be no mountain views that day, but it was okay as trees stole the show. The trees – small and huge – were encased in green moss and lichens. Rocks were blanketed with green and the ground between the trees was a mass of ferns. One of the women said it was like walking inside a terrarium. For me, it felt like fairy land. Any moment, I expected to round a bend and surprise a flock of fairies (do fairies travel in flocks?) hovering in the ferns and moss. Once we left the roadway behind, the forest was surprisingly quiet. Every so often, the chirp or twitter of a bird would sparkle in the distance. New Zealand is rejuvenating its native bird population, which was decimated by non-native predators like cats and stoats (small, vicious weasel-like animals). Consequently, birds are surprisingly scarce. Each sighting was a highlight. We walked along trying to take it all in. Photos can’t capture the moist, magical greenness that surrounded us. The air was so refreshing that I simply wanted to breathe deeply and let it clean the staleness inside. We walked past small waterfalls that had sprung up with the recent rains, and we scampered through the spray of a large waterfall tumbling down the mountainside. The only sounds were hiking poles clicking against rocks, the distance rush of falling water, and the occasional plunk of water dropping from moss and fern. It was beautiful, the pack was heavy, and we were excited to see the lodge late that afternoon.

  That’s when we discovered a big benefit of a guided hike. The tour company provided and staffed the lodge. Two happy people welcomed us to the glass-fronted lodge with drinks and snacks. We were assigned a room with a Japanese couple who were part of the Japanese tour group hiking with us. They were nice and unbelievably quiet. There was not a lot of pillow talk that night or the next! The lodge had clothes washing facilities (hand-washing and a wringer dryer) and even a heated room so that our hiking clothes were refreshed the next morning. A hot shower did wonders, not to mention the glass of wine. Dinner was hot – baked chicken and veggies – and freshly prepared. Food and supplies are flown in by helicopter. After dinner, the guides prepared us for the next day and we provided our breakfast order. The Australians were the only other hikers who did not have to translate something. The first breakfast option was “porridge.” Mike and I exchanged puzzled looks until we realized that porridge was oatmeal. The next option was Eggs Benedict. We laughed as we watched Masa explain Eggs Benedict to the Japanese group. He held out his hand and pantomimed an English muffin with a flurry of Japanese in between.

  After that, the guides gave a presentation on the next day’s hike. Despite their best attempts to assure us how great it would be in any weather, there was bad news. The weather was getting worse. Already rain was starting to fall and the wind was picking up. I confess to feeling some trepidation. Those feelings didn’t let up as the wind howled ferociously throughout the night. In fact, the guides delayed our start the next morning due to high winds. But, finally, it was time to set off. Mike read the weather forecast before we left. It said, “Heavy rain, hail, snow at lower altitudes, periodic gale-force winds; becoming fine.” Becoming fine?

  With all of our layers of clothes on (I was wearing everything but my pajamas), rain coat and hood in place, rain cover on the backpack, and gloves, we started on our all-day hike along a high mountain ridge. Walking in the rain, we climbed rocky boulders through the rain forest until we cleared the tree line to emerge on the mountainside covered with low, golden grasses. The views were obscured by clouds so we pressed on. The rain continued as we climbed, the trail like a river coursing around slivered blue rocks glistening in the rain. I was hiking in my running shoes which are mostly mesh. Consequently, I tried to step stone to stone along the trail as though it were a stream crossing; to no avail. It wasn’t long before my feet were soaked through. We climbed slowly and the rain became slush and then snow and hail. Mike was such a trooper. He kept hiking as the wind blew the hail into our face with stinging, prickly barbs. I was fighting the hood on my raincoat to keep it in place. We looked at the sky watching for it to “become fine.”

  Most of the group was ahead of us and we found ourselves alone on the mountainside. A stiff wind blew that tried to toss my backpack off the mountain with me attached. The exposed trail opened to ghosts of distant mountains visible across the valley. They were beautiful, high peaks teasing in the distance. Finally, we reached the hut where the rest of the group was already gathered for a welcome lunch.

  The afternoon was more of the same as we cleared the highest point on the trail at 4000 feet. The clouds lifted a little; the hail became a fine mist. Waterfalls, mountain lakes, and newly snow-dusted peaks made us pause and stare – even as the rain pelted and water ran over wet feet. The weather was not becoming fine. Hillary pointed out tiny carnivorous plants with sticky fingers to catch bugs – the only source of nourishment in this harsh, mountain environment. We finally made it to the next lodge where our hosts handed us the best gift ever – a warm towel. This, we were told later, was the worst weather they had experienced since Christmas. But, Hillary added, if you’re going to have bad weather, it’s better to have “proper” bad weather than just a mist. She added that we had “proper” bad weather.

  Another warm shower, washed clothes and a glass of wine made the wet, cold day take on a remarkable shimmer of accomplishment. The difficulties were quickly forgotten. Dinner was great – grilled salmon – and dessert was pancakes – and ones with a history. The original owner of the hiking company and the man who first built a lodge at this site apparently became frustrated with unruly hikers who impatiently wanted their pancakes (one of the only foods that could be easily prepared at that time). Out of frustration, he threw the pancakes at them. The tradition continues today. The guides made pancakes and while still hot in the skillet threw them overhead to a hiker holding a plate. The trick was to catch the pancake without dropping it. Shockingly, I caught my pancake between my plate and my shoulder. Mike, however, was not so lucky. He jumped and dodged but missed the pancake. No worr
ies – he ate it anyway – with the assortment of toppings (peaches, bananas, whipped cream, chocolate and syrup) provided.

  The last day was still drizzling but it seemed to be becoming fine. We hiked downhill over rocks and along an easy gravel path through more forests. Birds flitted past too quickly to identify. It was a pleasant walk and the heavy trees kept the rain off so that we no longer needed hoods and heavy clothes. Thankfully. By noon, the final hut was in view. With a tremendous sigh of relief, the backpack was removed. It is amazing how good that feels. We sat in the sun (it had finally become fine) and ate our sandwiches. As we ate, the Japanese group walked up the trail toward the hut. Our roomies came rushing forward repeating, “Roommates!” They wanted our picture together!

  We snoozed on the bus back into town with a short stop in Glenorchy for a celebratory drink, French fries, and presentation of certificates. It was a festive time in a country pub, but everyone was ready to be back and take a shower. We met many nice people in our group. Kathy and Erik from Minnesota were the only other Americans. There was a group from Australia, the tour group from Japan, and a couple of blokes, Mick and Peter, who were sheep and dairy ranchers in Australia. We shared good laughs with them and swapped sheep stories – now that we were experienced sheep shearers!

  I loved the peace and quiet of the mountains and the stunning scenery along the Routeburn Track. I’m glad for the chance to experience the wildness of New Zealand, the magic of the rainforest, and the craggy mountain tops. And I’m glad to have done it with Michael. We’ll always have this memory together as our last event before returning to the U.S. Now we turn our attention toward home with mixed emotions. But you know – it’s becoming fine.