The Great Adventure Continues. . .

April 11:

We left for Mt. Cook from Twizel at 9:00 AM. I cried, because at 9:01, I was no longer a Twizler. Ouch, yeah, I'm sorry, that was a bad one. The drive looked really formidable on paper, but turned out to be far more straight, and straightforward, than anticipated, so we got to Mt. Cook early. The best thing about this day, however, was that the power of the rain and weather was inversely proportional to the distance from Mt. Cook. In other words, by the time we got to New Zealand's tallest mountain, it was pretty crappy out. I also hadn't planned on bringing any real rain garb with me.
Rain resistant pants. No.
A poncho. No.
Hooded jacket. No.
Doing a couple of tramps regardless. Check.
So we started by going to the information center, learning which hikes were going to be the best, then we got back in the car, and I drove a small distance along a gravel road until we found our way to the Hooker valley hike. Theoretically the hike takes approximately 3 hours to go there and back. We decided, Hell, we're here, we'll probably never be back, let's go for it. It took less than 15 minutes along the tramp before we were both soaked. I was loving it. The weather was perfect-the clouds cloaked the mountains, lending an air of mystique and intrigue to the whole experience. My rain-soaked garments clung to me like a sweet promise from long ago, and the rumbling of the mountains as lightning flashed and avalanches fell lended a further supernatural flair. Honestly though, it was awesome. So, soaked and happy, we returned to the car, ready to continue along with our journey.

Unfortunately for Ben, I was not about to let that happen. Shortly after getting back on the main road, I took another offshoot, this time taking us down a somewhat more dangerous gravel road to the Tasmin Glacier View hike. Our clothes still clung to us from our last tramp, but dampness has never been enough to diminish the spirit of adventure in man, so we walked up this hike as well. About halfway through the hike, the nice, steep, muddy trail turned into a nice, steep, rocky trail, thereby making the hike somewhat more dangerous. As we walked, we saw a flash of light, lightning, that was shortly followed by a loud sound, thunder. These were familiar sensations, and not troubling. What was troubling, however, was the fact that after the initial rumble of the thunder had died away, we heard a loud cracking, breaking sound. Avalanches. The sound of avalanches followed us throughout our little tramp until we reached the summit of the Tasmin Glacier View hike. It was well worth it, because the sight of icebergs on an inland lake is not one that many people are privileged enough to have seen:
You guys get the next best thing.

This is the trail we hiked up:

Following the wet adventures of Mt. Cook, we drove to a little town called Wanaka, visited the isite, and stayed the night. Now, many people prefer Wanaka to Queenstown, which is quite easy to see. Wanaka still clung to the illusion that it was a small, natural little resort town, while nonetheless possessing the facilities and opportunities of a much larger city. And it was pretty too.

That night we were pretty lazy, we went to Puzzling World, did a little maze they had outside. Naturally, Ben being the boyscout that he was, lead us without fail straight to the end of the maze.

In front of the restrooms, they had this little relief that looked like a continuation of the bathroom. I almost got kicked out when I failed to notice the existence of the real bathroom right next to these ones:

We had pizza at a pretty good pizza joint, returned to our Hostel, and went to bed.

But before we went to sleep, Ben decided that it was time to conquer the WeetBix again. With BBQ sauce. Apparently the Bix won again.

April 12:

We left Wanaka fairly early, and arrived at Queenstown after a short 1.5 hour drive. To those who don't know, Queenstown is the NZ (and mayhap world) capital of extreme sports. Bungee jumping, sky diving, jet boat riding, pretty much anything your little Xtreme heart desires is within short walking or driving distance. And it would have been truly awesome to do any one of the three. Unfortunately, the weather had followed us from Mt. Cook, and the prospect of jumping off of something in a rainstorm and not being able to see where I was jumping did not appeal. Likewise, jet boat riding was out of the question; when it's cold out, the last thing you want to do is ride on a boat in water. Nor would I skydive, when (not if) I skydive, I don't want it to be in tandem, unfortunately, the only way that they would let you jump solo was if you were certified, which, of course, I'm not. Thus skydiving didn't really appeal. Naturally, the next logical step in this progression of Xtreme sports is visiting a bird sanctuary, which is what we did.

We went to the Kiwi and Birdlife Park, and saw birds. Normally this would have been really boring to me, but I wasn't really going to see a bird, I was going to see a Kiwi. They're like Platypuses in that you can tell that God was having a joke on the scientific community when (or if) He created them. Honestly, they're like little fuzzy mammals, not birds. Instead of having hollow bones, like most birds, their bones are marrow-filled. Instead of having wings, like normal birds, they have little nubs that posses all the attributes of wings, but with none of the flying abilities and with more of the cuteness than normal bird's wings. And, most interestingly, they have the highest proportion of egg-size to body mass of any avian member of the animal kingdom. Normal Kiwi weight is 20Kg, their egg is 5Kg. Think of that, having a quarter of your total body mass in egg form inside of you. That sounds painful to me, and I don't even have a uterus. I'd love to show you pictures, but the birds were stored in a dark hut, and flash photography was strictly forbidden. For good reason too, when we met the wife of the progenitor and owner of the park after the Maori cultural show (which I felt bad taking pictures of; it put them on the same level as the birds), she told us that one of the Kiwis in the bird house simply dropped dead after somebody let a flash loose in the Kiwi hut. I'm just glad I held back the impulse when I was in the hut.

While there we saw another of God's practical jokes. Ben and I saw a Tuatara, the only surviving member of the Dinosaur family. A fully matured Tuatara looks exactly like any other lizard on the outside, all green and scaly and lizardy. But, unlike other lizards, it has a third eye on the top of its head. When they're born the eye is fully visible, and, as they mature, the eye is gradually covered up with skin, leading scientists to believe that it's used to sense when there is or isn't light. It's believed that the reason that tuatara survived the multiple ice ages since the age of the Dinosaurs is because they can put themselves in a near-permanent catatonic state. They can slow done their heart rate to 4 beats per minute, which brings their metabolism to zero. The oldest Tuatara in captivity's name is Henry, and he's 125 years old and still going strong, so we have no idea how long the lizards can actually live.

After meeting three generations of the owners of the park, we drove from Queenstown to Te Anau on our way to Milford sound. We stopped by the isite, got accommodation and advice from the old lady behind the counter, and Ben booked us a bus&Cruise tour for a sweet price. "A Bus?" you may ask. Yes indeed, a bus. It wasn't that much more expensive than booking the cruise on its own and the old lady behind the counter had scared us away from driving to the sound.
"You'll need snow chains for you tires, yes, the authorities say there's going to be snow on the road to the sound tomorrow. Oh, and be sure to follow the signs that say 'no stopping,' those happen in avalanche areas, and it takes us a while to get around to clearing away snow during the avalanches."
So, Yes, Bus.

April 13:
Bus indeed, in order to disprove all of our fears and predictions, the bus actually picked us up just outside of our hostel. In order to further prove to us that there are no Kiwis in the scenic areas of their country, we boarded a small (well it was more of a large van) bus with 2 girls from the UK, Another American, and 3 people from South Africa. During the bus ride I got to speak with one of the South Africans; what we talked about wasn't important, but the fact that I could still tell that she had a South African accent after living in NZ for 12 years did interest me. Nobody picks up the Kiwi accent. These people were here for 12 years, yet you could still tell in half a second that they began their lives elsewhere. I've met Americans that have been here for 6+ years, but they still Sound American. Anyways, this is just my rationalization for not returning home with an accent.

Our bus driver was awesome, something like a Kiwi Mr. Moses, and stopped over at all the really quick, touristy places so that I could bring you awesome, beautiful pictures from across the ocean. Our first stop was at:



We then pulled over at the side of a road just in front of a tunnel. Let me tell you, I don't know how big these mountains were, but they were impressive. Steep, tall, foreboding, with glaciers hidden in all the little crags and crannies, it was really an awesome sight.



After all that, we drove onward to meet up with our cruise. It was impressive. The waters in the sound looked very murky, extremely brown and deep. Later, the captain told us all that the reason the water was brown, as opposed to a more commonplace clear blue ocean, was that the many rain waters that fall upon and around the sound collect and form a 3 meter section of potable fresh water that floats on top of a much deeper section of salty ocean water. If you walked to the back of the boat, you could see this in action, because the rudders churned up the salt water layer, so you could see a line of blue where we had been.



We saw fairy falls, so named because according to Maori legend, you can see a rainbow in them at any time of day, even if the sun is behind clouds. This, of course, is complete and utter crap. When the sun was behind the clouds, we saw no rainbow, but when the sun was out, Bam, rainbows.
We also saw Sterling falls, which, supposedly, is five times taller than the empire state building and larger than Niagara falls. Ben and I aren't sure where they were measuring from, but it certainly didn't look THAT big.

So, after the cruise we took the same van/bus back to Te Anau, where our car was parked. Along the way, Ben and I got a chance to talk to our bus driver. Here's how the conversation went:
"So, you two are Americans?"
-"yep."
"You guys have those Blooming Onions over there, don't you?"
It took everything I had to not bust up laughing. Somewhere along this man's life the word "American" became synonymous with "Blooming Onion." Wow. Just, wow.
Later along in the tour, we caught him talking with the South African lady. Here's what we heard: "You could throw a shopping trolley into the Thames because there's already a lot of them in there. You wouldn't do that here."
Yep, you sure could.

Again, one would think that a bus tour and a cruise would be enough to satiate two Americans, but I'm afraid that's simply not the case. Ben had picked up this strange habit of asking people he barely knows if we can stay at their house/apartment. Somehow, even more miraculously, it always works. Ben's dorm-mate Blake lives in a city called Invercargill, and Ben barely knew him, therefore, we had to stay the night with Blake. So we did. With Blake, his mom, dad, and three brothers in their home. I was expecting a flat with 3 other college aged people, not an intimate dinner with the Blake family. Nonetheless, they were awesome, warm people, and cooked us the best dinner we've had since coming to NZ, and later on Blake took us out for a night on the town with his mates. They were great people, foils of choir kids that Ben and I know back home, Ben got smashed again, and I got to be DD. Oh, and I did the best pool shot Evar, somehow, magically, we were two balls behind, and the other team was chasing the 8 ball. I closed my eyes, struck the cue ball, and watched as I hit our two remaining balls into two different pockets in one shot. It was poetry in motion. Here's a picture of that night's Crew:

April 14:

We got six hours of sleep that night, and woke up at ten O'clock. Well, I got six hours, Ben got seven because he didn't join me in playing Guitar Hero 2 before going to sleep. On a plus note, I can clear the first two tiers on expert now. So, when I finally elected to wake up and shower, I scared Blake's parents by utilizing my Butkonian tradition of not actually putting clothes on until after I've showered. It didn't bother me, but their faces were priceless. Oh, and by no clothes, I mean that I just had on my boxers. There, better?

From there Ben and I took our leave of Blake's great family and made our way down to the Invercargill museum to have a look at Henry, the 125 year old Tuatara. Like the Prima Donna that he is, he decided that today was not a good day to view his adoring public, so Ben and I left there somewhat saddened by the lack of a Henry. But, to perk up our spirits, just outside of the museum was a:

I believe that I can honestly state that the last thing I expected to see in Invercargill, New Zealand on April the 14th, 2007, was a Gypsy fair. It was nothing really impressive, but just the existence of the Gypsy fair confused me. So, with stars in my eyes and incense in my nostrils, I followed Ben to the township of Bluff.
What's in Bluff? The answer is simple, nothing. But it is the furthest Southern point that one can reach in New Zealand short of Stewart Island. Oh, and it had this really nifty signpost:


Oh, and it had a little bit of a hike. To tell you the truth, it had a lot of bit of a hike. It had a 45 minute earthworks stair climb followed by a very wet hour and fifteen minute descent. Not that I'm complaining, it was actually a rather magical and surreal sort of hike. It was a rather crappy day out, rainy and cold, but, after reaching the summit of the hill, we followed a rainbow to the coast of the sea. It was like searching for a pot of gold at the Southern tip of the World, and I rather enjoyed the experience.


From there we drove from Bluff through the Catlins to a little town of Balclutha. The Catlins, some assert, are the most beautiful place in New Zealand. I'm afraid that I have to disagree; in the days leading up to the drive through the Catlins, I had already seen Abel-Tasmin and Milford Sound, so the Catlins, to me, just seemed to be another mass of pretty, green forestland. My point of view may be entirely wrong, I may have just been on Green overload, but there it is anyways.

So, we spent that night in the only place we could find with vacancies, the Happy Inn Backpackers in Balclutha. It was owned by a little Swiss guy, who, I apologize if you've not met the following chap, reminded me of Marcus Bosshard. He was as nice as the day is long, and, like a hummingbird, never stopped moving around. Also, there were more people there than he was accustomed to, so he was quite obviously stressed. Nonetheless, he was a great guy, and would go to any lengths for his customers.

While we were there, Ben and I met up an Englishman and three other American girls, who played Canasta (thank you Jim) with us for a few hours until we decided, independently, to crash.