New Zealand Part II - The Rainy Days

Mice and Jugs

Our adventure continues with the onset of some truly dismal South Pacific weather.  Sitting there at the pub, warm and dry, drowning our weather related sorrows in a pint or two we were loathe to go back out into the dark and damp, attempt to find a suitable place to camp, pitch tents, and cook in the rain.  Inquiry of the bar maid revealed that accommodation could be had, for a temptingly cheap price, just one building away.  It didn’t take us long to agree to such a reasonable proposition…and thus Bill would experience his second hostel stay in so many nights.  Now, in the course of my travels I’ve stayed at many budget accommodations, ranging from a two dollar per night barn turned hostel in Nicaragua (very clean I must add), to a Soviet style guesthouse in Yerevan, to a run down, filthy, creepy backpackers somewhere in London and everything in between, however, the Springfield Backpackers ranks up there as one of the strangest places I’ve yet had the pleasure of experiencing.  We were handed the keys to the building and basically turned loose, realizing that we were the only ones there we summarily decided to explore the entire place.  Laughing like a bunch of teenagers who are doing something they probably shouldn’t we unlocked each and every room the keys would let us into, just checking things out mind you.  Finished with these explorations we herded into the “kitchen” where we discovered a huge auditorium style room, complete with stage, old piano, stacked up inoperable arcade games, paraphernalia from eras gone by, old ranch equipment, a staircase that led to more strange rooms, food so old in the pantries and ‘fridge I wasn’t sure if they were antiques and a rule list that included warnings to put all food away due to “rats and mice being hungry” and the dire injunction to keep the common areas clear or else risk the cancellation of “free jug Thursday”.  Feeling a bit slap-happy we alternated between fits of giggling, impromptu stage performances and just generally running around acting like a bunch of crazies!  As it was cold in the cavernous not-so-common area Bill and Matt decided to start a fire in the wood burning stove as Jamie and I began to cook dinner.  After a few minutes Bill waltzes into the kitchen and asks for a big knife, being absorbed in our task of cooking and conversing and giggling amongst ourselves we point in the direction of the knife block, not bothering to ask why.  Bill then peruses his cutlery choices, and finding one to his liking, grabs it and walks away.  A few minutes later there is a hacking sound next to the wood stove and Matt and Bill are giggling, curious, I walk over to discover Bill hacking up logs into kindling with the kitchen knife!  No jugs for him for at least three Thursdays if he’s caught!  The improvisation worked though and soon we had a roaring fire in the stove and pasta dinner on the proverbial table…even toasted marshmallows for dessert!  Dishes were done in the bathroom as the kitchen sink was clogged and wouldn’t drain…and we certainly didn’t want to be guilty of feeding any hungry rats and mice!

…of Sheep Shit and Boxed Wine

The following morning we checked out of the strange hostel and made our way to Queenstown via the scenic stretch of road that leads by Lakes Tekapu and Pukaki, as well as making a brief stop at Mt. Cook for a bit of hiking and sightseeing.  We arrived in Queenstown at night and made straightaway to the iconic Fergburger where we selected huge, gourmet burgers and fries (in Bill’s case calamari since something got lost in translation)…clutching our treasures we then headed up to Fern Hill and the comforts of Kristin and Matt’s place.  It was wonderful getting to catch up with them both again; as an added bonus we had the pleasure of listening to Matt and his band practice a jazz set as we devoured our food and relaxed.  Feeling thus sated and quickly forgetting the realities of the weather outside it was decided that we simply must climb tomorrow, somewhere, anywhere, rain or shine, hell or high-water.  Thus we hashed out a “foolproof” plan; we’d rent a crash pad in town in the morning and head to Jardine Boulders, if they were dry and climbable we’ll spend the day there, if not, we’d head to the east coast and a boulder area known as Hulk Hogan, a steeply overhung (and thus to our thinking dry) limestone bluff with brilliantly dynamic, gymnastic type problems.  Did I mention this was a foolproof plan?  Haha, little did we know…

The morning dawned grey and drizzly but our spirits refused to be dampened.  We gathered up our camping and climbing gear, rolled into town, grabbed some meat pies as well as a crash pad, and made our way to Jardine Boulders, about ten minutes from Queenstown at the base of the Remarkable Mountains.  It was misty when we pulled up but not out-and-out raining which we took as a promising sign and so we excitedly piled out of the car and promptly found ourselves wading through piles of water logged sheep excrement…heaps and heaps of it.  Resolutely refusing to let any amount of sheep poo turn us back from the boulders that were tantalizingly within view we collected our shoes, chalk, and crash pad and bravely waded through the wet grass and fecal matter to the first boulder.  The rock was a bit wet but we did our best to warm up on some traverses, oh, let me rephrase that, we slipped and slid around on the rock until we fell off into soft, squishy mounds of shit...talk about a soft landing.  The particular boulder we had selected to warm up on has a classic overhung line on its back side, The Virus, V3 which I had not been able to send the last time I was there and was determined would go this time.  The overhang meant the rock was dry until the top out…the overhang also meant the sheep apparently liked to congregate there to stay dry in the rain, turning an otherwise perfect landing zone into a veritable shit show.  Not to be outdone I used a flat rock to scrape and push as much of the offending poop out of the way as possible so we could lay the crash pad down.  Feeling quite excited to get the send on this problem I chalked up my hands and without thinking cleaned my feet off (in standard procedure) on the crash pad…much to Matt and Bill’s horror.  Thick streaks and chucks of viscous, brown, wet poo were suddenly smeared across the top of the crash pad where I had wiped my feet…oopppss!  At this point Bill had had enough and was willing to throw up the white flag of surrender to our furry little friends; with some mumbled words about checking out the other boulders he quietly slipped away into the fog, gingerly trying to pick his way through the mine field of defecation.  After doing my best to scrape the larger chucks of crap off the crash pad, and trying to ignore the fact that if we fell we’d be rolling in the stuff, Matt and I continued on our quest to conquer The Virus.  My first go I sorted out the beta and was confident that on my next attempt I could get the send.  Stoked, I turned to Matt, excited for his attempt only to see a look of amused disgust on his face.  I soon realized this was due to the inches of sheep shit that had rubbed off my shoes and now covered each hand hold that I’d also used as a foot hold…and as it was a decently overhung problem, that was a lot of them.  Still not ready to give up and eager for a partner in crime I grabbed my cleaning brush and gamely scrubbed and rechalked each and every shit covered hold so Matt could take his turn.  I then recleaned every hold for my next attempt, which thankfully was a send (albeit without the top out since the rock above was soaked and between the wet hands and shit covered shoes decided wasn’t quite worth it).  After cleaning the holds once more for Matt we were both feeling quite disgusting as there was now sheep poo covering the crash pad, our shoes, the rock, on our pants, jackets, hands and who knows where else so we followed Bill’s lead and surrendered our dreams of climbing at Jardine to the seething sea of sheep shit.  After 45 minutes of cleaning up everything and everyone with baby wipes we began our journey to the glories of Hulk Hogan, slowly leaving the horrors of our first climbing experience of the day behind us.

Now Hulk Hogan is about a 3-4 hour drive from Jardine and as we were getting a fairly late start we figured we’d camp in Duntroon (the closest town) and get a solid day of bouldering in the following day before we needed to head back for Kristin’s “hen” party (for you non-British folks out there that would translate to bachelorette party).  Stopping only once to pick up some bread and a three liter box of wine…dinner and entertainment for camping that evening…we arrived at the Hulk just at sunset.  There she beckoned, her gleaming white limestone prow jutting out proudly against the skyline.  Like excited kids who’ve sat in the car too long on a family outing to an exotic theme park we piled out of the Subaru, raced across the road, climbed the embankment and stared in wonder at the amazing rock and innumerable problems stretching out on both sides in front of us.  The spell was broken like a mirage conjured in the mind of a man dying from thirst in the desert, who finally reaches out to touch that precious oasis, only to find nothing more than blowing sand.  As we reached up to grab those oh so appealing hand holds our dreams of climbing disintegrated…water, water everywhere…the rock was soaked and seeping, in some places with tiny rivulets actually running down the rock face.  There was not a dry section to be found the entire length of the bluff.  As darkness descended and we huddled out of the rain under the Hulk we were finally forced to throw in the towel…between her fecally fecund sheep and her merciless mizzle New Zealand brought our climbing crusade to an end…at least this day.  We were however left trying to decide what we should do…turn around and drive back 3+ hours to Queenstown from where we had just come?  Try to find a place to camp nearby in the rain?  Drive to the coast with the intent of sightseeing in the morning?  After some debate we decided that since we were so close, and hating to have nothing to show for our trip, Bill should see the Moeraki Boulders of Koekohe Beach…yes, in the rain, yes, by flashlight!  And so we loaded back up into the Subaru, albeit slower than we had originally gotten out, and drove to the Otago coast. 

We were, of course, the only ones crazy enough to want to experience the boulders in such fabulous weather in the black of night and so we had the whole beach to ourselves. Out we marched with our flashlights and headlamps, across the wet sand through the rain until we reached our destination and gazed upon the rock spheres littered across the beach like a giant’s marble game. Gazed, snapped a picture or two, and marched right back to the car from whence we came to figure out what to do next and perhaps eat dinner.  This time making up our collective mind on a plan of action was not effortless, so instead we decided to eat.  Not wanting to break out the stoves, pots and pans we opted for peanut butter and cheese sandwiches (separately of course) and wait…we had a three liter box of white wine and one readily available tin cup…a veritable feast!  There we stood, dripping water from our rain gear, sandwiches in hand, passing around a tin cup of wine.  Before long the food was gone but the wine flowed and we were quite merry and animated recounting old stories and adventures we’d shared, laughing and telling tall tales as old friends will.  And so time passed, how much I’m really not sure, and suddenly no more wine flowed from the box when the cup was passed to me and I reached up to refill it.  Confused, I shook the box and sure enough…the three of us had just killed all three liters of wine!  For some reason it was now much easier to decide what we wanted to do, logically we would return to Queenstown and Kristin and Matt’s warm, dry house with hot, lovely showers and comfortable sleeping arrangements, never mind that it was over three hours away!  As Bill had shown some restraint in partaking of the tin cup offerings he decided that it was a fine time to drive in New Zealand, on the wrong side of the street, for the first time, and so we got into the Subaru one more time and took off towards the comforts that awaited in Queenstown.  Fortunately, I passed out in the back seat and slept the entire drive back…which was considerably shorter than the drive there as Bill, true to form, drove the Suby like a rally car and, at one point I am told, clipped the side view mirror on a guardrail as we drifted around a corner.  Thus the weary travelers returned to where they started safe and sound to take hot showers and wash off all remaining…stains…plot the next day’s climbing adventure and collapse into bed…

Bill preforming on stage at the odd hostel.

The Rules....watch them mice and jugs!

Who needs and axe anyway?

Jamie and Matt toasting marshmallows.

Clouds over Mt. Cook.

Sightseeing, Mt. Cook.

Mmmmm....sheep poo!

Matt working Virus. Bill looking disgusted.

Moeraki boulders at night!

It's alive!!!!!!

New Zealand Part 1 - The Sunny Days

I suppose it’s safe to say this trip to New Zealand had its proverbial roots in my last visit there three years prior when Kristin and I journeyed the length and breadth of the North and South Islands on a working holiday visa.  During our trek, as fate would have it, Kristin and I met Matt at a pub trivia game in Queenstown and three years later they announced their engagement.  They would be getting married in Queenstown on May 7, 2011, thus bringing the original trip full circle and me back to the land of the long white cloud to share in the joys of the wedding.  The wedding, combined with the stunning natural beauties of New Zealand and the abundance of amazing climbing there resulted in a collusion of minds between myself and long time pals and climbing partners, Bill and Matt, as we ironed out the details for a two week climbing trip across the South Island to end with what promised to be the grand event of Kristin and Matt’s wedding.  Along the way our group of three turned into a group of four as Matt himself discovered romance on the ice (he had been working in Antarctica in the months leading up to the New Zealand trip) and his girlfriend and fellow climber, Jamie, became as a member and co-conspirator on our little escapade.

Our trip commenced in Christchurch where we enjoyed the warm hospitality of my dear friends, Kay and Jaron, who have come to my rescue more than once in my journeys through New Zealand!  On that first beautiful, sunny day Bill, Jamie, Jaron and I explored the sights of the Banks Peninsula and Akaroa, a historic and picturesque French and British settlement.  That evening the whole crew got together, Matt, Jamie, Bill, Jaron, Kay, Lisa, Ben and myself, and we had quite the plentiful and tasty BBQ washed down with heaps of beer and wine.  At one point the libations perhaps temporarily distracted our erstwhile grill master, Jaron, who could be seen busily beating down the head high flames that were merrily leaping over the grill!  I am happy to report that both Jaron and the meat survived in fine form!  After a solid night of sleep and a hearty breakfast of coffee and porridge we set out on our climbing adventure the following morning.

On our way north to the limestone cliffs of Payne’s Ford, our first climbing destination, we paused for some sightseeing and lunch in Kaikoura where we sampled the famous Hine’s Takeaway fish n’ chips, yum!  We also had the pleasure of stopping at a “secret” spot Matt and Tim had discovered on their previous trip to New Zealand and watched the hilarious antics of baby seals swimming, jumping and playing all along a small stream that led to a large pool at the base of a waterfall where even more pups were frolicking...the scene was almost surreal and like nothing I’d experienced before.  Buckling down for a few long hours of driving we finally arrived at Hang Dog Camp in Payne’s Ford.  We hastily set up our tents and headed into Takaka, the colorful, free-spirited local town, to grab a curry dinner at The Wholemeal Café.  The following morning I was able to try out my shiny new Jetboil stove for breakfast…yep, it boils water in a flash so coffee was flowing into everyone’s cups in a jiff and it even did an admirable job cooking oatmeal, well, neglecting the bits that got incinerated to the bottom of the “pot” and the boiling over the top incident which was probably more operator error (read me being overzealous with my oatmeal making) than anything.  Bill was the morning’s hero as he somehow managed to scrub up the whole lot so that it almost resembled new!  Thus fortified we set out to climb…

We found an area with a number of routes to warm-up on, I use warm-up loosely here as Bill and I opted (ok, it was probably more my fault) to start right off on what I think were 5. 10’s.  Now, let me preface this by saying I hadn’t been on rope in almost nine months, having spent almost all my time bouldering, and the last time I had been on rope was at Kentucky’s Red River Gorge, known for its steep, overhanging, powerful/endurance lines.  Now here I was, suddenly working my way on lead up a technical, vertical to slightly slabby route on crap feet and thin hands, freaking myself out a whopping two feet above the last bolt, thinking to myself “I used to LIKE rope climbing?!” And yep, if you’re wondering, I managed to take my first falls of the trip on that very first lead…guess you gotta get them out of the way sometime…the sooner the better?  Yeah, let’s go with that.  Luckily, after a couple climbs the majority of kinks worked themselves out; I stopped flailing and started enjoying the sport climbing game again.  That is until we decided to attempt a series of climbs that had to be done from a hanging belay, off a tiny ledge that you first had to climb up to, then traverse across to reach your chosen anchor.  Mad kudos to Jamie for leading the technical slab section up to the ledge as well as setting up the traverse!  So following Jamie up, here we are, clipped in with our respective partners on this “ledge” with about as much room to move as a neatly trussed pig on a spit, Bill trying to give me a crash course on rope management, and trying to tick a couple more climbs off before the sun set.  It’s Bill’s turn to lead so up he goes leaving me to my rope wrangling devices.  No problems, I clean the route and we move down the line to the next set of anchors and the next route.  We get all situated and I start checking out the opening moves of the climb.  I look at the holds, or should I say lack thereof, then I turn to look at Bill, feel holds, look at Bill…who is tethered directly below my fall zone should I peel before I make the first clip with no room to get out of my way.  Now anyone who’s climbed with me knows I do not fall in the most predictable, tidy way possible, I more resemble a cart wheeling pinwheel loosed from its anchor haphazardly rushing groundward.  Studying the moves up to the first bolt I had visions of careening wildly off the wall, smashing down directly on Bills head a flailing mass of arms, legs, draws and other various gear, resulting in severe bodily injury to both of us.  Matt, realizing the problem on his rap down from the next route over, wisely decides a trip to the ER this early in the trip is not advisable and clips the first bolt for me.  Feeling better now that Bill is safe from my flailing tendencies I proceed up the most thin, technical climb I’ve been up in a long time, but somehow pull off the onsight.  All members of the team in one piece the routes are subsequently cleaned and we rap off the ledge as dusk descends.  We then head into town for some congratulatory beer and pizza from Dangerous Kitchen.

Day two dawns at Hang Dog Camp and we are all eager to get back to the rock and climb!  The first day issues (mostly) worked out we have an awesome day on some fun and classic lines!  Bill gets the days style points for pulling off one of the most desperate, terrifying looking, no feet, cross-over lunges I’ve ever seen on a route (because he didn’t like my beta) and somehow holding on!  After a full and glorious day of climbing we hit the road hoping to get a good chunk of driving done towards our next destination…Castle Hill.  We drove all the way to Westport where we opted for the luxury of a hostel, Bill’s first night in such an establishment, ever.  I was mightily amused when I learned that Bill, having no soap but desperate for a shower, apparently washed and shampooed with shaving cream because “at least it was something with a scent.”  Grinning, I offered him my soap and he proceeded to get a proper wash-up the following morning.

As fate would have it the weather gods turned against us that morning and we awoke to grey, dreary, rainy skies.  We made the most of our trip down the west coast though, stopping and exploring Pancake Rocks and Punakaiki Cavern before continuing our trip through Arthur’s Pass and Castle Hill.  Alas, our hopes that the weather would clear on the eastern side of the Pass were drowned in the puddles that lay on the road, still rippling with falling rain drops as we sadly drove past a very wet Castle Hill.  After much debate over a couple pints and a dismal local weather report at a bar in the small town of Springfield, it was decided we would stop for the night and the next day proceed to Queenstown where we would have a dry place to stay with Kristin and plenty of climbing opportunities within striking distance should the weather allow.

My pals Kay and Jaron!

Group shot somewhere along the East Coast drive.

Hanging belay!

Jamie crushing

Getting ready to do some spelunking...Kiwi style!