First Thomas and me set off on a track that I used for my fieldwork. It is debatable whether it is a track or a route, the latter being somewhat more adventurous than a track. Adventurous it was. We were still adjusting to the time change (NZ wintertime or non-daylight savings) and calculated we would be at the bivvy/camp site with at least some daylight left to set up the tent.
The story with the tent: we don’t have a tent. We borrowed Martin’s tent. Because a bivvy only fits 2 people (at most) and it was Easter and good weather, we decided to bring the tent, also to see how we would manage before we buy our own tent.
We had to cross the river some 7 times, back and forth and back and forth, and the track/route, although well marked, asked for a lot of climbing, clambering and crawling. At the car park (or the ditch along the highway) we had counted 4 cars and us and another car stopping, so we never imagined when we reached the flats that there would be … nobody at all. Eerie silence. Orange sunlight glowing on the surrounding mountains. Some rare blue duck quack-quacking in the tarns. A little stream of ice-cold clear water silently flowing through the grass. An empty and still warm from the sun little bivvy.
So we cooked our couscous, discovered that several of my colleagues had stayed in the bivvy over the years (from notes in the hut-book), made a fire, watched the stars and the full moon. The next morning we had our tea and porridge and set out again. Absolutely amazing experience. Although we still don’t know how to tent.
It got cold at night. It was the first time I wasn't too hot in my super fancy down sleeping bag
We drove on to Hokitika and met Sandra and Martin who had taken the train there. We explored Hoki, finally, FINALLY in time to visit the sock-machine-museum (an anticlimax for sure, but nevertheless). Watched the sunset at the beach.
Easter Sunday we drove past another 5 of my fieldsites and started another tramp, this time through a river bed and over some serious landslides, to cedar flat hut.
Still on track apparently
crossing the river without getting bots wet ...
Discussing the finer details of our seemingly identical shirts
What my colleagues like to call "a fine pile of schist"
After nearly 4 hours adventure tramping, this swing bridge has a little too much swing to it. After claiming the last four beds, we had an invigorating cup of tea and then took our bathing suits to the hotpools. In fact I had forgotten my bathing suit, my towel, my pajamas and a whole heap of other not-quite-essential things, so I had the pleasure of hot-pooling au naturel. Which was fine, except that au naturel the sandflies have even more skin-area to bite. Nevertheless if you ever find yourself on the Westcoast with a few days to spare and a pair of hiking boots, go up here and enjoy the hotpools. The temperature is perfect, and in the lower pool can be adjusted with cold water from the stream. The scenery is brilliant. And after half an hour in the hot muddy water, a splash-and-wash in the cold stream actually seemed like a good idea. Rosy and smelling of sulphur we went back to the hut and cooked some delicious couscous. (in fact, even after a rigorous shower Monday night, during Zumba class on Tuesday as soon as I started sweating the sulphur smell came back.)
Peppermint algae where the hot water flows out
shooo, sandflies!Next day again same way out. You could walk around here for days, going over mountains and passes and doing some wilderness reconnaissance, but we had to get back to the real world. Indeed the time in NZ lately seems more like a dream than real life.
