Sorry I haven´t written in a while. It´s been a bit of a whirlwind the past few weeks and not been that easy to get on the internet. But anyway. Here I am. Although now in South America, I´ll try and do things chronologically.
So, where were we? Ah yes, nearly killing myself in New Zealand. Twice. Well, I think you´ll be pleased to hear that there haven´t been anymore near-death experiences as far as I know. Although I´m thinking of climbing an active volcano in a day or two. But the smoke coming out the top looks very friendly, so I think we´ll be okay.
But anyway, moving back to New Zealand. We did the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, which is meant to be a pretty hard one day trek where you basically climb over MOUNT DOOM. (Go on, let me hear you say ´oooo!´). That´s the mountain from the Lord of the Rings movies to the uninitiated, although if you managed to miss the LOTR craze, God help you. Even if there´s an apocalypse you won´t know.
Mount Doom, or Mount Ngauruhoe to his friends, looks a lot friendlier without the charred landscape and evil fiery smoke. He was quite shy and hiding behind lots of clouds. Hence, quite hard to see, but when there were gaps in the cloud he was very nice.
We booked our trek and piled onto the tour bus (filled to the seams with middle aged Germans with LOTS of equipment) to be patronised for the half an hour drive to the start track.
Annoying preppy tour guide: ´Now have you got suncream?´
Louise: PER-LEASE! If you forget that, you deserve to fry. Besides, some people dig that leathery crocodile skin look.
Louise (out loud): ´Yes thank you.´
For the first hour we thought we had been ripped off, walking along nice little boardwalks with public toilets every 3km. We trotted up the ´Devils Staircase´with relative ease. ´Was that it?!´ I believe was the phrase. But pride always comes before a fall...after that things got a little tougher. We were going a lot faster than most of the group, so we reached the highest points when the weather was still a little wobbly. We literally walked up through clouds (which is chilly and doesn´t lend itself well to taking pictures or making cameras obedient, it seems), up to a plateau where you walk through the volcanoes. Awesome. It was all very peaceful and huge and awe inspiring and I felt like quoting some poetry until SQUELCH! Feet went straight through the snow, through the ice, and suddenly you´re calf deep in a shallow muddy lake. One of our co-walkers was so surprised that he tried to jump out of the hole he´d made, only to create another one on impact when he trip-landed, splattering the snow with mud. Hee hee.
The signs directed us straight through the middle of the lake. Not that we knew this at the time; all we could see was pretty white snow and markers clearly pointing out our path. Needless to say we all got a bit wet (once again, hurrah for waterproof socks). But the worst was yet to come. A steep, slippery climb up the side of the mountain to the peak, with gale force winds trying to blast us off the edge. It was freezing!! I had to cover my face with my gloves to stop my nostrils icing over. I don´t think I´ve ever been so cold in all my life. But, mercifully, it wasn´t for long. After about an hour in the wind, half-crawling up the mountain, we reached the peak! Cue big smiles and a very quick photo stop (´Look! We´re higher than the clouds!´). The downhill slope was mostly out of the wind but much more slippery. I was freaking out a bit as it all seemed a bit too familiar to the conditions where I nearly sledged off the edge last time. We took it as slowly and carefully as we could and luckily, this time, there were no mishaps.
The descent back to ground level was very scenic and warm, and a bit smelly with sulphurous steam rising out of the rocks. Mostly I was just relieved to be off the top and basically ran down the mountain in the desire to be the first female to finish. Once we got to the bottom it turned out one girl had gotten ahead of us at some point :( but never mind. I was savouring the fact that we had finished, whilst imagining those Germans all still wading through the lake at the top. We had to wait 3 hours for the rest of the tour group to catch up so we could all go home (kinda wished I´d brought a book!).
So there you go. I´d definitely reccommend doing it. Maybe on a slightly less windy day.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Death by fire; death by snow?
Never mind death by dodgy cooking appliances; I've got a whole new story to tell you. Mum, you won't like it.
We stayed in snow the other night (which, by the way, is not as good at freezing ice packs as you might think). Mount Cook is the highest mountain in New Zealand, and the corresponding village is also at high altitude. Despite this, it actually felt a lot warmer during the day and I didn't end up shivering all night (compared to the night before when I had, I kid you not, six layers of clothing on). We decided to climb the Sealy Tarns route up the mountain to some small glacial lakes and good views of Mount Cook; supposedly for 'beginners'. All well and good. After walking past a WARNING AVALANCHE AREA: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK I looked a little confused, at shrubbery and mud...and continued.
The steps were steep; well, pretty steep, but not ridiculously steep (ahem as in not Table Mountain, you old devil). But the steps were quite slippery. I was finding it pretty hard going and certainly would not consider the route 'for a beginner' (and certainly not a route for trainers which were unfortunately my footwear of choice). We climbed for about and hour and a half, up to the snowline. Nice views. Click click click goes the camera. But where are the lakes?
No lakes. The few, old footprints there are in the ground head up. The lakes must be higher up. So on we climb, up into the snow. Soft, annoying, maiden snow. We are clinging onto spiky bushes and tough grasses for leverage as we heave ourselves over the rocks. Then there are no more rocks. Just snow. We continue, still scouring the horizon for these lakes, looking back to see if we'd missed them. Great views. No lakes.
We are half-wading through snow (cue grateful me for waterproof socks, trousers and gloves), clambering on all fours. The sun is getting hotter. We climb higher. 'Maybe we should turn back' I think. But John is going faster than me; he basically at the peak of the mountain. He shakes his head; still no lakes.
So; we turn back. I am sitting in the snow waiting for John to come back down from the peak, admiring the view. Takes him a lot longer than expected; he climbed it in about 15 minutes. I look around and see him, digging his feet into the snow, one at a time, then sliding down the snow on his bum. With no gloves on or waterproof trousers. Slow going. 'It's slippery!' he shouts. And he's right. Looking at the view, I've been ignoring the snow at my feet. The sun has melted it into a semi-slush top layer. And it looks A LOT steeper on the way down compared to climbing up.
It was the best sledging slope you ever saw; except for menacingly sharp rocks and the empty nothingness of a cliff edge at the bottom.
Aw. Crap. Avalanche warnings flash in my head like police sirens. John has reached my height now, so we start slushing down the mountain together, digging the feet in and short slides. We're in trainers; we're hideously unequipped; it's slow and the sun is getting higher and we have to be patient and try not to slip. It's hard. No crampons, no poles.
I am as careful as I possibly can be; unfortunately, my foothold of snow comes loose at the critical moment and I lose control. 'Shit shit shit shit SHIT!' I am sliding down the mountain, faster and faster, completely out of control and seriously panicked. The cliff edge gashes at me, a hideous, cruel grin; the rocks, rushing towards me, drops of saliva. Luckily, instinct kicks in and I dig my arm into the snow as deep as I can, slowing my progress sufficiently to grab hold of some bushes.
'Well, that's one way to get down a mountain.' I mutter to myself. I'm alive! The problem is now I am marooned on a small tuft of bush surrounded by unstable, virgin, avalanche-prone snow. My path down to the bush islet is littered with hollow gaps where the snow was barely thick enough to support my fall, and caved in under my weight after I flew past. Sometimes there is bush underneath; sometimes rocks. Russian roulette sledging. Nice.
'Are you alright?!' John shouts, shuffling his way down as quickly and carefully as he can. 'Yeah, I'm good!' I pant, a little breathlessly. 'Kinda screwed now though...' I try kicking my way across to the original snow track, but it's no good; the snow crumbles under my feet and I'm sending mini avalanches down the mountain. On top of that, the bush I'm clinging to is fighting with me tooth and nail to make me let go, catching my clothing in all the wrong places to hinder my progress, whilst also being suprisingly slippery to grip. Savage little life-saving bitch. After a few minutes of attempted side tracking back to the original path, I give up. It's no use.
You're gonna have to sledge again, Louise.
I'll try not to shout swearwords this time. It's not very dignified.
John gets to the stable area, to scout a decent sledging path for me (i.e. avoiding rocks and edges, please). After about 10 minutes of repositioning (i.e. as far away from rocks and edges as possible, please) we're ready to go.
I look at the view. Was it worth it?
I smile.
I'm still here, and still in one piece, so I'm guessing you can imagine the rest of the story.
Never found those bloody lakes. Sorry Mum! :) xx
We stayed in snow the other night (which, by the way, is not as good at freezing ice packs as you might think). Mount Cook is the highest mountain in New Zealand, and the corresponding village is also at high altitude. Despite this, it actually felt a lot warmer during the day and I didn't end up shivering all night (compared to the night before when I had, I kid you not, six layers of clothing on). We decided to climb the Sealy Tarns route up the mountain to some small glacial lakes and good views of Mount Cook; supposedly for 'beginners'. All well and good. After walking past a WARNING AVALANCHE AREA: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK I looked a little confused, at shrubbery and mud...and continued.
The steps were steep; well, pretty steep, but not ridiculously steep (ahem as in not Table Mountain, you old devil). But the steps were quite slippery. I was finding it pretty hard going and certainly would not consider the route 'for a beginner' (and certainly not a route for trainers which were unfortunately my footwear of choice). We climbed for about and hour and a half, up to the snowline. Nice views. Click click click goes the camera. But where are the lakes?
No lakes. The few, old footprints there are in the ground head up. The lakes must be higher up. So on we climb, up into the snow. Soft, annoying, maiden snow. We are clinging onto spiky bushes and tough grasses for leverage as we heave ourselves over the rocks. Then there are no more rocks. Just snow. We continue, still scouring the horizon for these lakes, looking back to see if we'd missed them. Great views. No lakes.
We are half-wading through snow (cue grateful me for waterproof socks, trousers and gloves), clambering on all fours. The sun is getting hotter. We climb higher. 'Maybe we should turn back' I think. But John is going faster than me; he basically at the peak of the mountain. He shakes his head; still no lakes.
So; we turn back. I am sitting in the snow waiting for John to come back down from the peak, admiring the view. Takes him a lot longer than expected; he climbed it in about 15 minutes. I look around and see him, digging his feet into the snow, one at a time, then sliding down the snow on his bum. With no gloves on or waterproof trousers. Slow going. 'It's slippery!' he shouts. And he's right. Looking at the view, I've been ignoring the snow at my feet. The sun has melted it into a semi-slush top layer. And it looks A LOT steeper on the way down compared to climbing up.
It was the best sledging slope you ever saw; except for menacingly sharp rocks and the empty nothingness of a cliff edge at the bottom.
Aw. Crap. Avalanche warnings flash in my head like police sirens. John has reached my height now, so we start slushing down the mountain together, digging the feet in and short slides. We're in trainers; we're hideously unequipped; it's slow and the sun is getting higher and we have to be patient and try not to slip. It's hard. No crampons, no poles.
I am as careful as I possibly can be; unfortunately, my foothold of snow comes loose at the critical moment and I lose control. 'Shit shit shit shit SHIT!' I am sliding down the mountain, faster and faster, completely out of control and seriously panicked. The cliff edge gashes at me, a hideous, cruel grin; the rocks, rushing towards me, drops of saliva. Luckily, instinct kicks in and I dig my arm into the snow as deep as I can, slowing my progress sufficiently to grab hold of some bushes.
'Well, that's one way to get down a mountain.' I mutter to myself. I'm alive! The problem is now I am marooned on a small tuft of bush surrounded by unstable, virgin, avalanche-prone snow. My path down to the bush islet is littered with hollow gaps where the snow was barely thick enough to support my fall, and caved in under my weight after I flew past. Sometimes there is bush underneath; sometimes rocks. Russian roulette sledging. Nice.
'Are you alright?!' John shouts, shuffling his way down as quickly and carefully as he can. 'Yeah, I'm good!' I pant, a little breathlessly. 'Kinda screwed now though...' I try kicking my way across to the original snow track, but it's no good; the snow crumbles under my feet and I'm sending mini avalanches down the mountain. On top of that, the bush I'm clinging to is fighting with me tooth and nail to make me let go, catching my clothing in all the wrong places to hinder my progress, whilst also being suprisingly slippery to grip. Savage little life-saving bitch. After a few minutes of attempted side tracking back to the original path, I give up. It's no use.
You're gonna have to sledge again, Louise.
I'll try not to shout swearwords this time. It's not very dignified.
John gets to the stable area, to scout a decent sledging path for me (i.e. avoiding rocks and edges, please). After about 10 minutes of repositioning (i.e. as far away from rocks and edges as possible, please) we're ready to go.
I look at the view. Was it worth it?
I smile.
I'm still here, and still in one piece, so I'm guessing you can imagine the rest of the story.
Never found those bloody lakes. Sorry Mum! :) xx
Friday, September 4, 2009
Roadtrip in New Zealand
Right; onward and upward. I've been told off by my sister for making the blog too morose (fair comment) so let's lighten it up with a whirl around New Zealand in a campervan! And what better way to make this journey even better than by jazzing up the outside of the campervan with the work of a local Kiwi grafitti artist? Our campervan has an artistic impression of top surfer Kelly Slater ruling the waves along its side. Very stylish.
The inside of the campervan, however, is not quite so stylish. Well; it has style...just not very good style. Kinda gawky teenager-esque style. Like, do you remember that time when you though you could pull off a gothic look - with acne? Yeah. Like that kinda style.
But, hey, you can't really complain for $15 each a day now can you? And there's plenty of storage space (all of which is impossible to get to, hehe). My only real concern has been our gas cooker, which tried to blow us up yesterday. Everything was going swimmingly (-perhaps a bad place for a water pun?), then suddenly it all burst aflame. Cue action style slow motion, Bond theme in the background, running for our lives, waiting for the multi-million dollar BOOM to knock us into the air, so we could end up in the dirt with rakish grazes on our brows and artistically placed mud stains on our otherwise curiously undirtied suits/ cocktail dresses. As it was, there was a bit of running, a bit of silence (interrupted by a bit of panting and swearing on my part), and then I turned around to see that the strong wind had mercifully put the fire out. In thanks I have turned my loud mental complaining at bitter cold wind into quiet grumpy mental mutterings. Anyway, we have the gas cooker fixed again now, so we can go back to warmish tuna, pasta and tomato sauce every night. Erm...yay?
When hungry, pasta looks tasty.
The scenery here is amazing, and the roads are very scenic (albeit very bendy). It's sort of like Wales with palm trees.
Yesterday we went Whakarewarewa (no I can't pronounce it either) Thermal Village - bubbling mud pools, geysers, the worlds first (natural) steam cookers, cooking eggs and sweetcorn in a massive crystal blue pool of boiling water. Really nice people, a couple of nice walks and our guide was very informative. The only downside was that the whole place stank of sulphur. Guess that's why they can eat so many eggs...nobody could tell if you farted even if you wanted them to know...maybe I should consider sending my Dad there...
Right, have run out of time!! Will try to write again soon!!
The inside of the campervan, however, is not quite so stylish. Well; it has style...just not very good style. Kinda gawky teenager-esque style. Like, do you remember that time when you though you could pull off a gothic look - with acne? Yeah. Like that kinda style.
But, hey, you can't really complain for $15 each a day now can you? And there's plenty of storage space (all of which is impossible to get to, hehe). My only real concern has been our gas cooker, which tried to blow us up yesterday. Everything was going swimmingly (-perhaps a bad place for a water pun?), then suddenly it all burst aflame. Cue action style slow motion, Bond theme in the background, running for our lives, waiting for the multi-million dollar BOOM to knock us into the air, so we could end up in the dirt with rakish grazes on our brows and artistically placed mud stains on our otherwise curiously undirtied suits/ cocktail dresses. As it was, there was a bit of running, a bit of silence (interrupted by a bit of panting and swearing on my part), and then I turned around to see that the strong wind had mercifully put the fire out. In thanks I have turned my loud mental complaining at bitter cold wind into quiet grumpy mental mutterings. Anyway, we have the gas cooker fixed again now, so we can go back to warmish tuna, pasta and tomato sauce every night. Erm...yay?
When hungry, pasta looks tasty.
The scenery here is amazing, and the roads are very scenic (albeit very bendy). It's sort of like Wales with palm trees.
Yesterday we went Whakarewarewa (no I can't pronounce it either) Thermal Village - bubbling mud pools, geysers, the worlds first (natural) steam cookers, cooking eggs and sweetcorn in a massive crystal blue pool of boiling water. Really nice people, a couple of nice walks and our guide was very informative. The only downside was that the whole place stank of sulphur. Guess that's why they can eat so many eggs...nobody could tell if you farted even if you wanted them to know...maybe I should consider sending my Dad there...
Right, have run out of time!! Will try to write again soon!!
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