A little luck always helps

This Side Up

Posted 2/3/15

Some things just work out.

That surely was the case in New Zealand with the exception of the giant trout, where a two-pound fish is considered small. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

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A little luck always helps

This Side Up

Posted

Some things just work out.

That surely was the case in New Zealand with the exception of the giant trout, where a two-pound fish is considered small. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

For those who haven’t been following my accounts, I returned last week from a 10-day trip to New Zealand, where I joined my son, Jack, and his family midway through a month-long tour of that country while he’s in the process of switching jobs.

I connected with them in Queenstown on the South Island. Getting there was a 35-hour ordeal of catching connections in Houston, Los Angeles and Auckland and catnapping while being wedged into the economy class with some really interesting people.

I heard the South Island described as the “Southern Alps.” It is like that, only erase all images of villages nestled in the valleys, castles perched on peaks and kids running about in lederhosen singing tunes from The Sound of Music. Dispel any notion of spotting kiwis running across roads or so many sheep that hillsides appear to be powered with snow. The kiwis are nocturnal, and the only ones we saw were behind plate glass in a preserve. But yes, there are a lot of sheep. I was told 36 million, although they didn’t appear to be excessively abundant. There are many cows, too. Dairy products are a huge New Zealand export.

In the western portion of the South Island, there are a lot of mountains. For the most part, they appear to be uninhabited, although I would imagine, from all the literature, there are trails for hikers and mountain bikers. We saw a fair number of both. And, as you would expect, they’re a youthful group.

In fact, New Zealand caters to youth. It’s a smart policy. As I discovered from talking to service personnel in local restaurants, hotels, vineyards and on guided tours, fresh college grads can obtain one-year visas to work in the country. They come from all over the world. A young woman from California gave us all the details at Rippon Vineyards in Wanaka, from the age of the vines to the “bouquet” of the pinot noir. To my amazement, she had been on the job for only a week. I encountered South Africans, Germans, Britons, Chileans and a few Asians but, for some reason, no blacks.

Their stories were remarkably similar. They were delighted to find employment that enabled them to see the world. I didn’t find many who hoped to live in New Zealand; they hadn’t planned that far ahead.

One of those guides, a Canadian, worked for Heli Hike at Franz Josef. She had been in New Zealand for a couple of months and wasn’t yet cleared to take us onto the glacier, as we were scheduled to do. Her job was to get us ready for the helicopter to the glacier and the trek though the massive field of ice. We were outfitted with jackets, waterproof pants, boots and a fanny pack containing crampons. The fact that we were actually going to do this had my daughter-in-law, Jen, grinning with a smile that wouldn’t stop.

On the schedule put together by David Hall, managing director of New Zealand Encounters, there was no guarantee that we could get on the glacier. Low clouds and rain had forced cancellations of most tours the week before. The evening we arrived in Franz Josef, the mountains were completely obscured.

Jen called Heli Hike and was informed they hoped conditions would improve by morning for our scheduled departure at 9. That was one of those things that worked out.

We got off, but the afternoon tours were cancelled because of weather. That brief window had helicopters buzzing. Six of the machines, each carrying six passengers and a pilot, flew counter-clockwise up into the glacier valley and deposited their passengers on tiny landings hacked out of the ice. The valley echoed with the whack, whack of helicopters that faded to a subdued and eerily frozen landscape, which occasionally rumbled as massive, room-sized blocks of ice snapped from the face of the glacier and skittered down the face of a cliff that the guides and pilot called “the black hole.”

Our guide Ron, wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt and carrying a heavy-duty ice axe, demonstrated how to strap on the crampons, and in no time 9-year-old Eddie and 11-year-old Lucy were right in line behind Ron as we hiked upward. I tried to keep up and not be outdone by my grandchildren. Crampons are truly remarkable. They’re like glue and I soon lost all fear of sliding, which is something you don’t want to do. Ron reminded us to follow in his footsteps. There was no telling what holes lurked to either side of us. Ron guided us through some blue ice holes that were wet and slippery. Water was everywhere and under your feet there was constant gurgling, as if you were walking on a babbling brook. Ron told us the glacier moves at five meters a day so, day to day, guides need to scout safe routes.

At one point, I caught Eddie kicking the face of the glacier with his crampons. I thought he was trying to free a rock or something frozen. Instead, he cupped a handful of ice granules and took a bite. Later he joined me catching drops of water in our mouths from an overhanging chunk of ice.

“Now I’ve done it: eaten ice and drunk from a glacier,” he said with delight. It was a goal he had looked forward to achieving.

A concern of mine was, what would happen if bad weather rapidly filled in? Without helicopters, would we be able to hike out? Ron reassured me.

“We have a plan, don’t worry,” he said.

I didn’t press for details, and after traipsing about on the ice for two hours we were airlifted out.

More things came together later, like the four-hour train ride though the mountains, watching the Patriots wallop the Colts on Jack’s iPad while overlooking a beach on an island not far from Auckland. There was a zip line ride above the forest canopy; joining the crowds on hot beaches; and, perhaps most extraordinary of all, obtaining the visas for Jack and his family for their next home in Hong Kong, even though it was a local holiday and the DHL depot that had them was locked tight.

Oh yes, and those giant rainbow trout. I won’t forget that story, either. More about that later.

Comments

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  • patientman

    " I encountered South Africans, Germans, Britons, Chileans and a few Asians but, for some reason, no blacks"." "No blacks" New Zealand is home of the All Blacks. There everywhere down there.

    Wednesday, February 4, 2015 Report this

  • Norm88

    All Blacks are a Rugby team... Around since 1870

    Thursday, February 5, 2015 Report this

  • patientman

    Norm88 gets a cracker.;-)

    Thursday, February 5, 2015 Report this

  • Justanidiot

    patientman is a cracker

    Thursday, February 5, 2015 Report this

  • patientman

    That's racist

    Thursday, February 5, 2015 Report this

  • Norm88

    No just got my but handed to me by there mid 90's team....

    Friday, February 6, 2015 Report this

  • patientman

    Ouch, did you tackle Lomu?

    Friday, February 6, 2015 Report this