The Hut on Green Lake

Fiordland National Park is the setting in which the next leg of the journey takes place. Located in the southwest corner of New Zealand's southern island, it is the largest national park in the country.

Having spent the night of the 15th and a decent amount of the day on the 16th in Queenstown, a major tourist stop southwest of Mt. Cook National Park, rest and recovery were the central themes. In the days leading up to the Queenstown stop, there were many reports of the "best burger ever made" being found there, in a local restaurant called Fergburger.

Such a claim is a bold one. The best burger anybody has ever eaten? Though I love hyperbole as much as anyone, we were all pretty skeptical as we walked down the streets of Queenstown in search of this Fergburger.

Now, I'm still not convinced it was better than any burger I've ever had, but it was easily just as good. They were very, very good. And large. Food coma, no question, but totally worth it. Certainly the highlight of the visit to Queenstown.

But late in the afternoon we decided that enough of Queenstown had been seen. Continuing to head southwest, Fiordland National Park was reached with a few hours of daylight left.

The initial drive through the park was impressive. Winding up a narrow dirt road, it seemed as we were the only souls to be found in the whole park. Trees covered the landscape as enormous mountains loomed in the background.

(If you're starting to pick up on the constant theme of widespread greenery and mountains, then I suppose I'm doing a decent job with my descriptions. If you don't like mountains and forest, New Zealand is not for you.)

Parking the car on the side of the trail, we walked down to a tiny shelter at the base of the track leading to Green Lake and the hut that had been built about one hundred feet from its shores. Here we camped, deciding it better to spend one more leisurely night playing cards than to stumble through the terrain in the darkness of night.

This proved to be a good decision, as the first hour or so of the trail took us right through the heart of not one, but two bogs.


With the grass being as long as it was, minding your steps became very difficult. Systems of streams and ditches ran through the bog as well, meaning that you were always in danger of falling into water, possibly injuring your ankle, but getting you soaked at the very least. I think our shoes were dry for only the first 20 minutes of the next three days.

Walking through the bog was painfully slow. Slipping constantly and unable to see where your feet would be stepping until it was too late, the pace was deliberate. Eventually, though, the end of the bogs were reached, and into the forest we plunged.


This portion of the hike was considerably more pleasant. Except for one seemingly vertical hill (I ache with the mere memory), the trail consisted of relatively flat and simple terrain. It was noticeably cooler within the darker forest, as the sun's rays could not penetrate the thick canopy above. Birds chirped as we walked along, talking and laughing over movies and books.

After a few short hours the trail led out of the forest and onto the sandy beaches of Green Lake. Tucked away and made tiny in the enormity of the park and its landscapes, the lake and its surrounding area was beautiful.



To some extent, Green Lake reminded me of Lake Norman, an artificially created lake found in North Carolina.

For a while I stood on the beach and looked out across the water, missing two big, black beasts.

Several times we remarked at how appealing a stay in Green Lake Hut must be during the summer months, as it was situated in such a tranquil and remote location, deep within the national park.

Though the weather had cooled off quite a bit from the prime of summer, we were still brave enough to strip down and head for the icy water of the lake. After all, none of us had showered in about a week at this point. This fact, combined with the presence of a fireplace within the hut resulted in a mad dash for the water.

The term "dip" is appropriate here, as nobody was in the water long enough to say that they went for a swim. Cold, cold, cold.


As darkness fell, we retreated to the comfort of the hut and its warm fire, content to eat our fill, read, and play cards until it was time for bed. The camping lifestyle may be repetitive, but only in the most satisfying way. Some of those nights were spent with tears running down the face due to laughing so hard. It is very satisfying to sit around a table lit by candles, stomach full and body tired, playing games and talking about nothing. Very satisfying indeed.

On this night we had company. Three nurses had decided to make the trek to Green Lake and stay at the hut, arriving shortly before nightfall. They were very friendly, going about their business and giving us advice on how best to tackle the following day's hike. As we sat at that table playing cards, they even shared stories of their children and grandchildren, much to the enjoyment of all.

Sounds like at least one granddaughter will have a successful career in the world of athletics.

The next day proved to be one of the most difficult and rewarding experiences of the April break.

Leaving our packs in the safety of the hut, we headed for the peaks present in the background of the previous photographs. Not appearing to be too steep or elevated from a distance, we realized the degree of difficulty we were facing as we grew nearer.

As we carved our own route to the base of the ridge, it became a struggle to navigate through the thick brush, sharp leaves, and hidden holes filled with water. The progress was slow, slower even than the bog, and at times did not seem as if any view could possibly be worth the trouble.

Reaching the bottom of the ridge, we began to climb - straight up. The enormous hill leading to the top consisted of long, thick grass that would grab your legs as you tried to push on, driving towards the top of that ridge. Several breaks were made; several expletives were muttered. Though it didn't alleviate the burning sensation surging through our legs, it was better than suffering in silence. And we fought on.



Finally we pulled ourselves over the lip of the ridge and collapsed in a heap on the grass, chests heaving. It was brutal, but it was done. Collecting our breath and adjusting to the dramatic increase in wind, we began to marvel at our accomplishment.

Those views...



The next photograph is one of my personal favorites. I'm not sure why it strikes me in the way it does.


As we walked along the ridge and snapped photographs in every direction, it was hard to contain our excitement. How can you not smile when all you see everywhere you look is pure beauty? Untouched natural goodness? With no other humans anywhere to be found? The euphoria of standing alone, on top of the world - that is a powerful high.

The reader may recall the presence of a native bird, the kea, on the trip to Avalanche Peak. Though I would be absolutely shocked to learn that it was the same bird, a kea paid us a visit on this day as well.

And much like the kea at Avalanche Peak, this fellow was very friendly and even more curious. At one point he got so close to me that I could have reached out and touched me him without fully extending my arm. Sadly, I did not - it may have had something to do with how intimidating those talons are when you see them up close in the wild.

Soon the kea grew bored with us and moved on. We did as well, moving from peak to peak along the snow-covered ridge.

The rock formations were incredible, looking even more impressive when contrasted with the white of the snow that lay in patches everywhere.

The route along the ridge was very apparent and defined, leaving no difficulty for us in detecting the path.

I suppose this should be just have been expected...

But really, when the opportunity is there, how can you not take it? Snow angels at well over one thousand meters above sea level... sign me up.

We stayed up on this ridge for quite some time, absorbing every moment of it that we could. The view was just... hm. Words can never do these things justice. And that's not modesty, but rather the simple truth. I feel the same about pictures; some things must be experienced personally as it is impossible to translate the power of the moment into something that others can understand.

Regardless, here are more photographs from my time spent on that ridge.

This next one was taken on the tallest peak along the ridge.

The rock formations were the most awe-inspiring sights that I witnessed on this day. Though, again, it is hard for the reader to understand the magnitude of some of these boulders, they were simply massive. Often sticking out of the hill at seemingly unnatural angles, climbing on these structures instilled a mixture of adrenaline, exhilaration, and sheer terror.

As the afternoon waned and the sun began to lose its strength, being overwhelmed by a series of fast and ominous clouds, we sat on these boulders for a bit longer and savored the views.

Finally, after having fought it for as long as we could, we accepted the reality that to avoid being caught in a serious storm at the top of these peaks, it was time to descend from the ridge and head back to the safety and comfort of the hut.

Arriving back shortly before dark and successfully avoiding any inclement weather, we built and huddled around the fire to dry and soothe our weary bodies. The hut was to be completely ours for the night, with no late arriving visitors to entertain us. We sat by the fire late into the night, reading by its light and toasting our soggy socks until they were crispy and dry.

The next morning we slept late and enjoyed a relaxed breakfast. Taking our time to prepare our packs for departure, we took a last look around the hut for anything we might have left behind and then headed for the beach. Walking back along the shore, we entered the forest and said our goodbyes to Green Lake.

Back through the trees, back down that awful hill, and eventually, back across the dreaded bogs.

Getting back to the car in about three hours, we enjoyed a lunch in the sun on the side of the road before leaving. Despite a minor delay (always remember to check the roof for precious literature, carelessly left behind), we managed to get back on the road by midday.

We made one quick stop to explore another portion of Fiordland National Park. Strolling along a path in the woods to a scenic outlook, we took in our last views of the park.

Finally we decided that it was time to begin moving towards our final destination on our April quest, Milford Sound. Thoroughly exhausted and understanding that the trip was in its twilight hours, the car cruised peacefully down the highway, needing only to travel a short distance before reaching that night's camping site.

Fiordland National Park, as most other national parks in New Zealand, was mesmerizing. In a perfect world we would all have weeks and months to explore each to its fullest, revealing the full extent of its natural splendor.

Alas, time is fleeting, even in New Zealand. Our experience was but a drop of water in the sea.

But its resulting ripple will be felt for a long time to come.