Category: Uncategorized

After a quick shopping spree at Hokitika’s premium merino-and-possum-wear shop we set out on our last car ride, this time time to Christchurch. We paralleled for a while next to the TraNZ Alpine train, a ride I’ve always wanted to take.

We then stopped at an old stagecoach hotel stuffed with amusing curiosities. Any place that features a Laurel and Hardy set of figurines is my kind of place, but there was much more.

Note the Maxim Gun tossed in a corner along with its accompanying belt. Maxim, of Hugenot descent and born in 1840 in Sangerville Maine, ended up in England.

But wait, there was more.

We wound through high passes and sharp curves while the stunning scenery rolled by.

We dumped the car at the airport and started in arranging our luggage for tomorrow’s flight to Auckland.

The day wrapped up with another milestone: Lester’s first time in a Japanese restaurant where we were served by a lovely waitress who explained that she was half Chinese and half Maori. Quite a combination! And Lester liked the food!

Unaware that today was out last day in FJ Glacier (see below), we made a leisurely start down to Fox Glacier where Lester and I stepped off for a hike around Lake Matheson (my third go round on this hike). Len turned back after a short stretch with a sore muscle. The Lake walk was beautiful as always.

Lester examined the bridge construction with care as he had been involved in various bridge building efforts over his career. He was a bit surprised that the bridge loading level was not stamped into the metal but maintained his composure as always. We paused for the classic make-your-own postcard shot enabled by a labeled frame thoughtfully provided by the Lake maintainers.

After lunch al fresco at the cafe where the hike starts and ends we headed to the Fox Glacier valley trail and hoofed it up to the nice viewpoint about 1.5 miles from the parking lot,

returning by the Moraine Trail which parallels the main trail. Here moss and ferns overgrow everything near the trail .

Then it was back to the car taking in the glacial flour that turns the roaring river grey .

Returning to our rental, we found that we had only rented the place for 2 nights and not 3 as I had imperfectly remembered . Hastily packing our stuff we drove an hour and a half north to our next stop – Hokitika – and bailed into our rooms a bit after 8. What a gorgeous sunset over the pounding Pacific surf.

It was steak all around at dinner, and then I had a ringside seat for Lester and Leonard’s ice cream face-off.

I judged it a tie, and so to the earlier foregone showers and bed.

Yesterday’s five hour drive from Queenstown to Franz Joseph Glacier yielded the usual quota of dramatic scenery.

We stopped at the Hard Antler bar and grill for a slap-up lunch. I was tempted to ask for a pint pulled via antler horns but resisted.

Franz Joseph Glacier is the hometown of Chris Monson, son Peter’s Exeter roommate, who received us in great good spirits. We spent time with him when here with Steve and Leslie two years ago. He lined up a free half day kayak expedition today and came along. Lester again opted for a nice nearby hike,

At dinner last night, Chris told us about his year off from the New Zealand Department of Conservation which he spent in Japan. Chris took Japanese at Exeter and kept going, ultimately spending 7 years there. I advised that his old roommate was poised to visit there and Chris promised to follow up and with some travel tips for Peter and Jackie.

This morning, waiting around at the kayak place, we struck up a conversation with Heinz and Ursula from Zurich Switzerland. “Gee,” I remarked, “we had a lad stay with us for a year at our home in Maine.” Figuring I had nothing to loose I said his name was Nico Henzi. Heinz’s eyes went wide: “He is my godson!”

Turns out he is Bea’s brother, Bea being Nico’s ma. Well we had a good laugh over this amazing coincidence and Heinz sent a picture of us to Bea and Nico.

They both wrote back that they recognized me and sent along their best wishes. Nice to know that I look enough like I did 30 years ago today to be recognized. Heinz and Ursula had canoed the Alagash 6 years ago, so lots to talk about.

I settled into the kayak and found zero back support, and then the sciatica really kicked in so I turned around and went back early. I thought it was going to take the Jaws of Life to get me out of that thing, but with Chris’ help I eventually wriggled free.

Leonard took over Chris’ kayak thinking it would be easier, but things don’t always go as one hopes: Leonard overbalanced and went into the drink, but not before nailing some great bird photos which he has very graciously allowed me to post. (His Nikon survived the dunking, thank God.) This means blog followers will at last get to see what a real photographer can do with the material New Zealand serves up.

Alison’s sister Jill will recognize rhe white heron in the picture.

Meanwhile, I wondered over to the nearby beach which was lovely.

The last 2 photos commemorate visits by Captain Cook and Abel Tasman to the area, with Mr. T showing up a good bit earlier.

Our rental house a short drive from downtown is quite nice.

We dined again with Chris and he and Lester were able to exchange park ranger stories.

He renewed his promise to offer Peter some Japan tips and gave us a nice jar of his special honey. Maybe Steve Champagne remembers it from last time – I’ll let him take a few dollops when I get back.

Woken by the gentle lowing of the neighboring cattle,

we breakfasted, packed up and hit the road around 10:30 for the 2 hour drive up to Queenstown marveling as always at the roadside scenery.

We cruised the Queenstown scene and settled in at the same quayside restaurant that the Kenways and the Champagnes frequented when last we were here.

After that we headed to Moki Lake where Steve Champagne and I went hiking two years ago. This time we set off from the campground at the far end of the lake. About 15 minutes into the hike, Leonard turned back tempted by the prospect of a swim in the lake. Lester and I continued along, with Len picking us up at the end of the hiking trail so we avoided the dusty road.

As before, the scenery was fantastic.

We were looking at a long day Friday so we hit the hotel restaurant for dinner, then headed for our rooms. I must say pondered over the room the Ramada assigned me

Lester was itching for a hike so we dropped him off to do a portion of the Kepler Track while Leonard and I headed south to Manapouri for a trip to Doubtful Sound. This is a surf and turf and surf and turf and surf trip where you take a boat across Manapouri Lake, then board a bus to go over Wilmot Pass, then its on to another boat to explore Doubtful Sound, reversing the process to get back.

For those of us in the utility business, the highlight was the Manapouri Power Station. You can see the switchyard, the intake and the trash racks from the boat, to say nothing of the high voltage lines carrying all 850MW of rompin’ stompin’ dynamite to an aluminum smelter near Bluff.

The facility where the boat docks has one of the original turbines, a model explaining rhe operation of the turbine generator and penstock, plus a scale model of the unit.

This baby has seven penstocks and over 590 FEET of head sending Lake water to an underground power house,thence into Doubtful Sound from an outfall ten meters above the Sound. No submerging this unit’s tailrace, by crackie.

Of course, seeing this hydroelectric masterpiece reminded me that by a 60 – 40 margin, Maine voted to consign the minority residents of Bridgeport, New Haven and other black and brown communities to continue choking on the effluent generated by the fossil boys who went all out to kill the line bringing hydro power from Quebec. That line is, or soon will be, displacing 1400 MW of the dirtiest power plants in New England for each of the 8,760 hours in a year. We’re the whitest state in the union so I guess the fact that these communities incur emphysema, lung cancer and numerous other respiratory illnesses at a rate far higher than white communities as a direct result of the discharges from these grossly inefficient pigs could be safely discounted. (Studies verifying this from Harvard’s Chan School of Public Health available upon request. ) After all, the line goes through 50 miles of oft-clearcut working forest land criss-crossed by logging roads. Can’t have that!

And we sure as Christ don’t need the millions of dollars of energy cost savings likewise resulting from its installation.

Did I mention that Maine ratepayers will not bear a penny of the cost of the line in our rates?

But I digress.

In contrast with yesterday’s steady downpour at Milford Sound, it was shorts, tee shirts and sunscreen today in broad sunshine with temps in the mid 70s. The boat across the lake had a lady skipper as in Milford and the scenery was lovely with mists drifting about – the photographer’s friend.

The bus taking us over Wilmot Pass (no relation to the Proviso of the same name) stopped a few times in part so we could feel the moss. We were advised that there is no soil of any kind in the Sound, but rather mosses grow everywhere and the trees take root in, and derive all nutrients from, them. Urged to take a feel I found the bright green moss to be quite like a sponge: wringing wet.

Then Doubtful Sound came into view.

A few interesting facts. Its name derives from Captain Cook’s naming it Doubtful Harbor when, sailing to its mouth in 1770, he considered it Doubtful whether he could safely navigate into it. Also, a “sound” is created by riverine erosion, whereas glaciers carved out Doubtful, which makes it a fjord. It’s part of Fjordlands National Park, as is Milford.

My Dear Cousin Oyvind, a faithful blog follower, will be happy to hear that Norway still takes the kake, as they say in Norsk, but this didn’t stink for views.

Then it was back to the dock, over the pass, back across the lake, scoop up Lester and off to dinner with a charming couple we met from London where the wife was Turkish and originally from my son-in-law Baris’ hometown of Istanbul.

I hope to get some pics from Lester’s 8 hour hike tomorrow for supplemental posting.

We head to Queenstown tomorrow for a night. I bought some postcards to send to Alison’s postcard list and will compose en route.

The day opened with a steady rain giving way to clearing skies and a lovely rainbow.

We packed lunches and headed north for Milford Sound for the day. Alison and I had been there twice before, the second time on an overnight sleep away boat with Steve and Leslie where we spent the night in the Sound.

We made a few stops along the way including a lakeside stroll.

Then we walked a bit through billiard-table flat Eglinton Valley running between high mountains.

Lester identified the grass as red fescue. We avoided munching on any as it had been freshly poisoned by the New Zealand pest eradication folks looking to eliminate rats and stotes.

The rain picked up as we drove north generating numerous streams of falling water tumbling down from the high Cliffs.

Then it was through the long tunnel and down to the boat terminal area.

Huffing and puffing down, we were the last party on the last boat of the day, a smallish catamaran with an engaging and quite youthful lady skipper.

The rain picked up and the streams of white water broke out everywhere and intensified the permanent falls.

As we approached the mouth at the entrance to the Tasmin Sea the wind really got going with rain too hard to face into, gusts to fifty and dramatic waves.

Back at the dock we started back to Te Anau amid gradually clearing skies that gave us some nice views.

I must say I ran into one real head-scratcher today in the men’s room at the Sound boat terminal where this notice was affixed to the wall.

Sorry for the repeat pic, but as noted in an earlier post I have not found anyway to delete a pic once uploaded.

But back to the men’s room notice: I can’t understand why the authorities posting this became so concerned that users might take it into their heads to chew gum in a urinal, let alone rubbish, that they needed to post signs (there were several actually). From what I can tell, very little gum chewing occurs in a urinal – I’ve never seen it done and don’t expect to.

But never mind that, who in Christ chews rubbish in a urinal?

After 25 days at sea we sighted New Zealand yesterday afternoon and rounded Taiaroa Head, enjoying a warm evening topside on the Mawson’s Deck 8.

Alison and Steve and Leslie Silk Champagne will recall Taiaroa Head as the location of an albatross spotting facility at the very end of the Otago Peninsula.

As the ship eased in to a fuel dock for the night we had our last dinner aboard and said adios to the many friends we made over the last three plus weeks.

As instructed we had our bags packed and outside our cabin doors by 6 am. Then it was breakfast, customs, immigration, disembarcation, a bus ride to the car rental at the airport, jamming the luggage into our car (quite full especially since Leonard and his original luggage were reunited at last) a quick coffee break with Howard Scott (our dinner host during our pre- cruise Dunedin layover) and hence to the road to Te Anau.

You can’t beat the scenery on this stretch .

And it wasn’t too long before we pulled in at the Lost Gypsy, an amazing art installation that we visited two years ago on our last trip. Lester came close to smiling twice!

Still photos don’t do the place justice so I recorded a bunch of short videos of the various gadgets. The blog format doesn’t like videos so you’ll have to wait until I get home to see those. Here’s a few more of those extraordinary place.

From there we went through the rest of the Catlins admiring the scenery.

And dodging the sheep.

Arriving at Te Anau, Leonard and I tucked into the blue cod at dinner while Lester went for the steak. We were seated next to a lovely couple and the husband was part Maori. A minute into the conversation Leonard was showing them his video of his little league grandson hitting a grand slam. I had only seen it 4 times by then. They had been to Boston and volunteered that their visit to Fenway Park to see rhe Sox play the Angels was the highlight. Naturally, I had to show them these.

After drying their eyes – they we wept freely, of course after seeing Fenway again – the husband explained the meaning of the tattoo his brother had done for him.

We are now settled into a nice vrbo in Te Anau with the clothes washer humming away. Looking to do some hiking tomorrow and then Doubtful Sound on Wednesday. Each of us has his own room for the rest of the way, which I guess means that Lester can forego rhe noise canceling headphones he deployed to handle my snoring on our little cabin on the Mawson.

Today we boarded the MV Douglas Mawson, named after Australia’s most famous Antarctic explorer./

He claimed to have fallen into a crevasse and was dangling at the end of 14 feet of line and with frost bitten hands and with his skin peeling off in sheets, but went hand over frost bitten hand up the line a few times before extricating himself. Great story but considered unlikely.

The ship was commissioned in December and really looks brand new.

Cousin Lester and I are in the cheap seats on the 3rd deck. This is Lester’s first time out of the site of land and he is handling that and the deck heaving under his feet with his customary aplomb.

Meanwhile, Leonard’s luggage didn’t get out of Auckland in time for our departure and he went on quite a shopping trip at American Airlines’ expense.

Forgot to mention that we had a nice predeparture walking tour of Dunedin with its most impressive giant murals. We even encountered a muralist at work.

So as the sun sinks behind the south end of the South Island we bid a fond farewell to Dunedin

A few years ago I was hiking on the Eyebrow Trail on Old Speck, a 4,000 footer quite close to the New Hampster border. Near the top we had to ease our way along a thin traverse and then head up a steep pitch. Iron handholds had been sunk into the rock easing the way along the ledge, and then a set of two or three wrought iron steps had likewise been affixed to the rock. At the top of the steps you gripped onto a wire rope threaded through a series of stantions drilled and fixed into the rock to help yourself up and across the steep ledge.

Think a minute, if you will, about the planning, skill and sheer effort involved in constructing all of this. I was exhausted just climbing to that point, and here obviously a party had lugged this stuff up a few thousand feet plus the rock drill and cement it must have required to install.

Back home a few hours later I called my Cousin Lester to tell him what I’d encountered. “I built that,” he said, then quickly amended that he had formed part of the Maine Conservation Corps crew that had pulled it off.

Here on the Mawson Lester has been working on a series of stories chosen from his long and, among mountain types, much celebrated career. For a Bates chem major (who, as he acknowledges with a chuckle, really majored in Outing Club), he does a nice job getting his thoughts down, but has appreciated having his English-major-turned-lawyer cousin punch up his prose a bit. It’s been fun turning his verbs from intransitive to transitive, and through the process I’ve had a rare opportunity to learn more about his work building and maintaining trails in Maine and across the US.

I first met Lester in the early 1960s. My parents had always wanted to sail our 32-foot ketch “Psyche” into the little harbor on Gotts Island about 3 miles off the coast south of Bass Harbor, Maine. My father’s cousin Northwood and his wife Rita maintained a house on the Island, and a fog-free day and workable tide conditions at last came together. I remember hiking around this remarkable pink granite island with Lester, just a year younger than me. We’d been cruising on the Psyche for weeks and we welcomed a day ashore.

Lester has been kind enough to invite me and mine out to the Island over the years and Leonard has joined us the last two times.

The Baxter Park Authority had the good sense to hire Lester in 1978 as its first Trail Supervisor with a commission to get the Park’s miles of trails into good shape. Here he is with one of the many trail crews he lead over the years getting ready to install a series of stepping stones to allow hikers to cross a muddy portion of a trail.

It wouldn’t make much sense for me to recapitulate his storied career – interested parties can Google him and get the full story, including the twenty-odd years he spent installing about 450 granite steps on the Hunt Trail. But here’s a few vignettes.

Inspired by an operation he saw in Alaska, Lester set up an apparatus for moving large, heavy rocks over significant distances using a wire rope, a grip hoist and tripods. No more rolling rocks over very sensitive high alpine plants to clear and build trails.

Often called upon by organizations throughout the US to consult on trail matters, Lester put together an informal catalogue of trail building/maintaining equipment to respond to frequent questions about where to get the right rock drill, etc. In 1993 he launched Trail Services LLC, has published a catalogue annually and runs his trail equipment sales business from his home in Bangor. Where else would you go for a grip hoist?

Towards the end of his 13-year tenure as President of the Maine Appalachian Trail Club (please, don’t get the MATC mixed up with the Appalachian Trail Conservancy) Lester spearheaded the effort to construct a proper permanent Trail Center to serve as a headquarters, training facility and gathering point for MATC trail crews. (I served on the Capital Campaign Committee.) Raising over $3 million about killed him, but I was pleased to attend the dedication of the Center, located near the midpoint of the Maine section of the AT in Skowhegan, in September of last year.

Lester kept careful records of his activities in Baxter so when he says he hiked Katahdin 200 times, he can back it up.

We arrive back in Dunedin in two days and then begin our tour of the south part of the South Island of NZ. I’ve been there and am excited about showing Lester and Leonard around.