Frank's Failure

Apologies go out for the lack of attention paid to the writing lately. Something about the Kiwi lifestyle makes motivation of any kind difficult to summon and, frankly, there are many better things to do with one's time. But now, realizing I have to write about events that are just over a month old, the urgency to transform memory into word has been revitalizing.

Or so we will see.

So trying to remember where the story left off... Oh, yes.

It was the end of the day on Saturday, April 3, and the group of three had just finished exploring Fox Glacier on the west coast of New Zealand. Even after the long day, they rushed through their dinner and prepared to get back on the road again, needing to travel for several hours that evening to get to their next destination, Arthur's Pass.

Before there is anything said about that, it seems important to give one's perspective on driving in New Zealand, as it is certainly different from anywhere on east coast of the United States.

How best to summarize the experience in a concise manner?

Lawless.

While there must be long stretches of empty highway surrounded by only fields and mountains in the U.S., almost the entire highway system of NZ seems to be like this. A single lane stretching in each direction, in order for a car to pass another it must venture into the oncoming lane and quickly whip in front.

Beware the blind corners.

The lack of police presence is also felt on the road. Though the speed is marked as 100 kilometers/hour on most highways, it is not uncommon to see no more than one or two cops while covering a distance upwards of 400 kilometers. This, of course, means that for the vast majority of any road trip conducted in NZ, there are few deterrents from excessive speeding.

Well, there is one, actually.

Blue Wonder lacks the power to really take advantage of the situation. With a top speed of 172 kph (106 mph), the potential for all sorts of land speed records to be shattered will never be realized. Alas.

On the trip from Fox Glacier to Arthur's Pass, however, the car's personal record was not even threatened. This is because that shortly after the group hopped into the car, a light rain began to fall. This light rain increased to a steady drizzle, which later escalated into a complete downpour. Combined with the winding mountain roads, this made the drive slower in every conceivable way.

Arriving in Arthur's Pass well after dark, the rain had not let up at all. In fact, though it hadn't seemed possible during the drive, it had actually gotten harder. Crawling through the town in search of a suitable camping spot, spirits were somewhat subdued.

Several factors were at play while trying to find a location to camp in. First of all, there are few free camping sites within town borders, and Arthur's Pass is no exception. This means that any spot chosen to camp in must be relatively hidden. Also, because of the rain on this particular night, a sheltered location was certainly ideal.

Remote camping site? No problem.

Protection from the rain? Issues.

Pulling off the road and attempting a very small amount of off-roading, a suitable camping spot was soon secured. However, it offered little shelter as the rain continued to fall steadily. Sitting in the car, there was little to do but wait and hope. Yet the rain refused to relent.

Time continued to pass as the night slowly crept towards the day. Still they sat in the car and still the rain pounded down upon the roof.

Eventually, they realized that the consistent drops had been reduced to a steady drizzle. Knowing that the weather was more likely to be on pause than to be stopping altogether, they made their move.

Hopping out of the car, the trunk was popped and Frank was grabbed. Assembling him as quickly as possible, he was staked to the ground, had a rain fly thrown across him, and then stuffed full of sleeping mats and bags. A little bit of water had found its way into the tent, but for the most part Frank remained dry.

Slowly pulling themselves into their sleeping bags, a collective sigh was slowly exhaled. Warm and dry in Arthur's Pass, they could finally get some rest and prepare for the next day's hiking...



As soon as their eyes opened, they knew something was wrong. Moisture in the tent in the morning is nothing new or unexpected, but this amount of water was troubling. Something was very wrong.

The error was discovered quickly. Jumping out of the tent, the failure to stake out the rain fly was illuminated by the early sunlight. Because the rain fly was not pulled off of the tent, water was free to trickle down and into the side, soaking sleeping bags and clothing while Frank's inhabitants slept.

Overall, a pretty awful way to begin any day. But maybe made even worse with the knowledge that the day's hiking would be done in wet clothing.

With a wet sleeping bag waiting after a long day.

To be slept in inside a wet tent.

To be set up on the wet ground, as the rain continued to fall throughout the night and into the morning.

As a result, an audible was called at the line. Instead of camping again that evening, the group decided that it would still try to hike during the day, but then head back to Christchurch that evening. That meant fresh food, showers, warm clothing... that meant civilization. And when wet and cold in the middle of the woods, that meant everything.

Instead of one long hike, the group decided to do a series of shorter trails. Instead of narrating them all, photographs have been provided below.



The stream that had to be crossed prior to beginning on the first trail. The gray and hazy sky was a central theme of the day.


It wasn't nearly as "steep and rugged" as the sign suggested. However, it was "slick and perilous". I'm not sure which gives more of a reason to pause.


The destination of the first trail.



"I'm haunted by waters."


As the sun began to sink behind the gray horizon, the group decided they had had enough of hiking and sloshed their way back to the car. Though only gone for a few days, a lot of distance had been covered and they were excited for the comforts of home.

However, the April break was still very young. The epic adventures were only beginning. With the reunion of many students during the second week of break, the real plans could be put into action.

Sunday night the three students drove back to the University of Canterbury, excited to sleep in a warm bed.

It would be one of the few nights over April break where such a luxury was available.

Glacier Walking

Following the weekend spent climbing Mt. Fyffe, things slowed down a bit around the University of Canterbury. The next week a smaller group rented a car and attempted to drive to Nelson Lakes National Park to do a bit of hiking, but alas, the car broke down and Nelson was never reached (not to mention the inevitable conflict with the rental company regarding reimbursement).

If one can believe it, the final week and weekend of March was spent in an even more depressing fashion; several essays and one midterm were the only things that stood in the way of freedom.

See, the wonderful thing about the particular course of study being pursued here at Canterbury, other than the ease of the classes, is their Easter holiday. Or, more appropriately titled, their April hiatus.

Following the end of lectures on Thursday, April 1, classes were on break until Monday, April 26. Yes, that's correct; their Easter break nearly spans the entire month of April.

Incredible.

As a result, it is only natural to expect that trips of the most epic and grand scale were meticulously planned. And this would be somewhat accurate. Somewhat.

Accurate in the sense that while a series of fairly impressive trips were devised, to say that anything was "meticulously" planned would be a great overstatement. The most successful plans were excitedly outlined over bagged wine and beers, with infinite variations and proposals that were certain to never come to fruition.

But from the tangle of drunken whims, adventures were planned. And, most impressive of all, many were actually executed.

Following a quiet evening on April 1, everyone parted ways Friday morning, some to reconvene throughout the country and others not to see each other for nearly a month.

The first of these quests will takes place in Fox Glacier, a small town on the west coast of the southern island of New Zealand, approximately 400 kilometers from Christchurch. As the name of the township built almost exclusively for tourism implies, a large glacier is the main attraction of the area.

So, leaving late in the afternoon on Friday, April 2, with the number of travelers having been weened down to just three, Christchurch gradually disappeared from view from the rear window as the newly purchased Blue Thunder stormed its way towards the west coast.

NOTE: Blue Thunder is the name of the 1991 Mitsubishi/Nissan that was purchased shortly before Easter break for the steep sum of $800 NZD. But that was split four ways, so it really only came out to $200 NZD per person. And, again, this was NZD and not U.S. currency, meaning it really came out to about $35.64 in American dollars.

No, really.

No, not really.

Either way, the Blue Bolt was up for the challenge, transporting everyone the 400 kilometers in just over five hours. Despite the narrow and winding mountain roads, Blue Wave deftly maneuvered through every turn, avoiding the crash and fiery death that would have ensued if not for the abilities of the driver.

Arriving at Fox Glacier on Friday evening, the crew quickly sought out a suitable camping area for the evening and assembled Frank, the lone tent brought for the trip. Despite the damp conditions on this night, Frank succeeded in keeping everyone warm and dry, and when the sun began to rise early on Saturday morning, the travelers arose, packed up and ate quickly, and were then off to begin the conquest of the glacier.

As safety precautions do not permit anyone to simply wander onto the glacier alone, a guide must be booked in advance in order to traverse the actual surface of Fox Glacier. Though this violated one of the main tenets of the group's traveling philosophy - never spend money - an exception was made for this unique experience.

Gathering the gear that was provided for the glacier walk, the group was now ready to board the shuttle that would take them to the base of the glacier for their excursion. Excitement bubbled over as they stopped for a quick photograph prior to departure.



Seriously pumped.

After a brief ride on the shuttle, the crew stepped off the bus and into a valley formed by the movements of the glacier over time. In front of them the glacier loomed, daring them to take their chances on its deep crevasses and hidden dangers.



Passing beyond a rope that forbid groups without the aide of a guide to cross, the reality of what was unfolding began to set in. A poor step on a glacier would result in one slipping, which may not initially seem to be extraordinarily dangerous. However, when one considers the nature of a glacier, the risks become more clear.

If a person is to fall while walking on a glacier, they will obviously crash down onto ice. More than just ice, though, there is water constantly running down and around the glacier. This ensures that ice is constantly being smoothed over, with any imperfections or footprints erased with ease. This is where the problems can arise.

Once one has fallen onto the ice, they will inevitably slide, as Fox Glacier is basically a mountain of ice in that it rises steeply as a mountain does. And they will slide very quickly, with little to nothing to grab on to in order to slow their momentum. As previously mentioned, there are many crevasses to be found throughout Fox Glacier; falling into such a crevasse will certainly result in a serious injury, with the potential for death, of course.

In addition to the crevasses, glaciers often contain holes in the surface known as moulins. Varying in their width and depth, some moulins found on Fox are large and deep enough that, theoretically, if a person was to fall into one, they may not be seen again. Alive, anyways.

The presence of a guide made more and more sense with every bit of knowledge gained.

Instead of hopping directly onto the glacier, it was first necessary to ascend a bit through the surrounding forest. And this was bizarre.

Though there was an enormous glacier staring the travelers in the face, they disappeared into the trees off to the left and began to climb the steep path that would lead them to a safe position to finally "board" the glacier.

A dense rain forest, it was hardly what one would have expected to find next to an enormous mass of ice. Unless that person was a geologist. Perhaps then this would have made sense to them.




Finally bursting out of the bush, the glacier was once more visible. Winding up through the valley, it extended beyond the eye's ability to see, wrapping and twisting up and to the right.


One enormous benefit to springing for the guided glacier walk was undoubtedly the equipment that was provided. Fitting everyone with a pair of rugged boots and matching crampons, the prospect of walking on a sheet of sheer ice was made much easier.


Little more than a row of spikes that attach to the bottom of a pair of boots, crampons are amazing in the amount of support and traction they generate while walking on ice. Though the glacier was coated in a thin layer of water that stretched across its entirety, the crampons made it possible to walk as if it were any other mountain trail.

Finally getting onto the ice, the first thing that became obvious was the color of the glacier. As explained by the guide, because the day was slightly overcast, its true appearance was on full display.



Rather blue, no?

As Jono, the glacier guide, explained, glaciers only appear as white due to the effects of the sun; with its rays beating down on the ice, the sun's brightness is reflected off of the glacier's surface, generating the white coloring that is expected of a glacier. However, with the sun not a factor on this day, the ice was able to be observed in its true form. Very beautiful.


After a few slow minutes of adjusting to walking with the crampons, the trek up Fox Glacier began. While the glacier had appeared to be steep from its base, its texture seemed to be relatively smooth. Once on the actual surface, however, it became clear that its terrain was much more complex than anticipated.

Jono was diligent in his duties, leading the way with ice axe in hand, pausing every so often to hack up the ice in order to create more traction for the less experienced travelers. And given the daunting nature of the initial ascent up Fox Glacier, they were more than happy to let him lead.



As the elevation rose and more and more steps were taken with the crampons, confidence grew. Before anyone realized it, the group had traveled far above the initial valley and were now at a considerable height, able to view their surroundings much more clearly.

The effect of the overcast skies, the canyon walls overflowing with waterfalls, and the shocking blue of the glacier combined to produce an impressive scene.


After a brief stop for lunch in the middle of the glacier, the group pressed forward for a bit more. It was then that Jono made a great discovery.

As glaciers are constantly melting and moving, their composition changes almost daily. With this in mind, it is no surprise why Jono was overcome with excitement after stumbling upon an ice chute that he had never seen before.

Taking a few moments to ensure that it was safely navigable, one by one the group dropped down into this tunnel, slightly hesitant yet thoroughly excited.


Once through this initial slide, the highlight of the trip revealed itself.


About ten to twenty feet in length, this tunnel was not suitable for those suffering from claustrophobia. But really, simply incredible.

Realizing that the tunnel was unlikely to be topped, and that the sun was beginning its downward plunge towards the horizon, Jono led the group slowly back towards the rain forest and its path. Before departing Fox Glacier for good, however, several more photographs were taken in an effort to preserve the moment indefinitely.




Winding back through the forest, the group entered the valley once again and began the short hike back to the shuttle. But turning back for a final view, Fox Glacier provided one more memorable scene.


See the rainbow?

Thoroughly exhausted, the shuttle ride back to town was a quiet one. Lost in thought and reflection, only eye contact had to be made before a knowing smile would spread across one's face. It was truly a memorable day, an adventure that will not soon be forgotten.

Unfortunately, the shuttle ride was just about the only chance for rest these particular travelers had. After returning their equipment and changing their clothes, they hastily prepared and ate dinner, knowing they had another long car ride ahead of them.

Again whipping through mountain roads at a "safe" speed, Arthur's Pass awaited them. But while Fox Glacier was executed in brilliant fashion, they would soon learn that not all adventures can be quite as flawless.

Catching Up On Mt. Fyffe

It never ceases to amaze how time just slips away. Regardless of where you are or what you're doing, every moment seems to be more fleeting than the last. This is somewhat terrifying.

As April comes to a close and classes resume at the University of Canterbury, it is a time of rest and recovery for some. The Easter break has been long and eventful, and though it hasn't felt like three and a half weeks, many have managed to pack in three and a half months of travels and adventures. With only a few days left before Monday morning, reflection has been a central theme amongst students; how to best begin processing the sights that have been witnessed in a few short weeks?

For some, it is through writing.

But before I embark on retracing my steps through the whole of April, I must relate the final story of March. Taking place in mid-March, a group of 10 students rented a van and traveled back to Kaikoura with the intention of ascending Mt. Fyffe, a peak looking out on the small seaside town. The story begins on Friday, March 12:

It is beyond any doubt that the trip started poorly. Rising early on Friday morning, one glance through the window to the outside world made this one point painfully clear. However, this would change nothing; with the van having already been arranged and ten people excitedly awaiting departure, one could only hope for a change in weather as the group drove the 180 kilometers from Christchurch to Kaikoura.


If there is one thing that is constantly hammered into your head while you're in New Zealand, it is that the weather can always be counted on to be wildly unpredictable. For the most part this is offered as a general warning, but for this weekend's trip, it turned out to be its salvation.

By the time the group of ten arrived in Kaikoura in the early evening of Friday night, the skies had cleared. Finding a campsite just off of the road, tents were quickly pitched so that all could walk down to the beach and gaze upwards for a long while. Made possible by the lack of light in the area, the stars burned strongly across the sky, with satellites and shooting stars making regular appearances.

The next morning everyone rose early and prepared to make their way to the base of Mt. Fyffe. First, though, a devastating blow was dealt. For the first (and only) time in any of these New Zealand adventures, the group was forced to pay for their campsite. Having fallen into the habit of choosing secluded locations and departing stealthily in the morning, staying at a hostel or paid campsite had never been necessary.

This was a huge blow to our morale, but I suppose that all great streaks must come to an end eventually.

Getting to the mountain, the first thing that was noticed was the trail itself. More of an ATV track than anything, the path leading up the mountain was nothing short of a gravel road. Hardly a winding route through a forest, the terrain left something to be desired. Fortunately, though, the scenery made up for its shortcomings.


Not exactly a leisurely stroll, the road up was fairly steep. The route was made more challenging due to extenuating circumstances, however; it would be dishonest to not mention a critical component of this morning's hike. Having arrived at the campsite at a reasonable hour the night before, several members of the group decided it would be a good idea to indulge in a little bit of New Zealand's fine bagged wine. Certainly, this seemed to be a great idea.

Until the next day.

Stumbling and staggering up the mountain, distant views of the tiny town of Kaikoura and its surrounding mountains provided a bit of relief from the crippling hangover, disabling some more than others, of course.


By lunch, though, the prospect of soon reaching the summit overcame the effects of the previous night's alcohol. Following the break for food, the peak was only a few short hours away.

About an hour or so below the summit the group discovered Mt. Fyffe Hut, their resting place for the evening. Stopping to drop off gear and to refill water bottles, the ten hikers resumed their trek to the top.

Arriving by mid-afternoon and with the knowledge that the most strenuous part of the the journey now lay behind them, the group lingered at the peak and enjoyed the fruits of their labor.


Obviously, the trip would not have been complete without at least one group photograph. Great thought was put into the orchestrating of such photos, and this is but one example.


After staying at the summit for a bit, the ten turned back and headed down towards the hut and dinner, content to enjoy the nice weather while still over 1,000 meters above sea level.

As night began to creep in, the sky was set aflame as the sun slowly lowered towards the horizon. While the sun was lovely in itself, it was the effect of the clouds that made the scene worth watching.


Such an impression was made by the beauty of this sunset that a plan was formed; those willing to sacrifice a few hours of sleep would wake just after 5am and hike the hour up to the summit in the dark so that they could watch the sun rise over the ocean.

This proved to be an exceptional decision. Again, the clouds made this one of the most sensational images witnessed in New Zealand thus far.


After standing and marveling until the sun was well into the sky, it was time to head back to the hut and make breakfast, a long day of tramping still in store for all of them.

Refusing to take the same route down the mountain as they had come up, the group managed to find an alternative path that took them off the ATV path and down a steep spine marked by posts along the way. Much less of a trail than they had been used to, it was a nice change of pace to have to deal with grass, rocks and mud for the first time on the trip; if you're going to climb a mountain, hiking an ATV track is a total cop-out.

Dropping rapidly through the forest, the ten hikers eventually spilled out onto a river, which, of course, meant they were now forced to walk along a riverbed. If they were upset about the ATV track, most were nearly in tears over the riverbed.



The reason for this is simple: walking along riverbeds is awful. Yes, the scenery is always picturesque, as demonstrated by the above photo, but the terrain itself is difficult. Uneven, rocky, and often loose ground comprises most of these tracks, and if one's legs aren't tired and aching before you arrive on the riverbed, they will surely be throbbing afterwards. Not to mention the river crossings.

Often times hikers are forced to cross rivers in order to continue along the trail. While getting wet can be avoided by deftly leaping across boulders in the water (see: Fraser, Stephen; below), it is not uncommon to get a bit wet with repeated crossing. Or thoroughly soaked, for that matter.


The end of the Mt. Fyffe tramp was no different.


After traveling slowly for several long and arduous hours, the group finally emerged back at their van, tired and wet and ready for the four hour drive back to Christchurch. Though the trip had been somewhat short and the hiking relatively easy, both the sunset and sunrise viewed from the top of Mt. Fyffe will not soon be forgotten.

And when everyone arrived back at Canterbury, there was a very fitting scene unfolding outside of their windows.


After a weekend made successful in many ways by the sun, it only made sense that it should close in the same manner.

Blog on Break!!

Hello everyone!! Apologies for the lack of updates... I am on break from April 1 - 26... love NZ university life.

I will be sure to spend the time traveling and having new adventures and as soon as I return, they will all be posted!

Have a good month and check back at the end of April!!

...And Swept Away a Shoe

The next morning the group awoke at Crow Hut and quickly packed. Though the day was expected to be warm, the sun had not yet risen above the surrounding mountains. Dew covered the grass and it was cold as the three gathered their belongings and set out, stopping for one final photo.

This day's hike would seem simple compared to the steep climb and descent they faced the previous day. It was flat as they weaved their way down the path, stepping in and out of the forest as they went. To the left was the glacial river, guiding them on this day. The river would lead back to the road, back to civilization. Back to... school.


Eventually the sun rose high enough to peak over the tops of the mountains. As the temperature increased, it was as if the seasons had changed within a few short minutes.


The path through the forest eventually came to an end, leaving only the riverbank to walk along. Stopping to refill their bottles with the crisp water every so often, the relaxed pace on this day was a nice change for the three. However, there were several setbacks waiting ahead.


Along the river there was no clear path. The three simply walked along its banks and wondered when they would reach the end. As simple as this may seem, problems arose when obstructions would appear, forcing the group to attempt to cross to the opposite side.

The water was deceptively quick, but it was still easily passable. Scouting out the best locations, the three were often able to avoid getting wet by hopping on the rocks that were strewn about. But not always.

Coming up to one crossing, it became clear that there was no simple way to cross. After considering the situation for several minutes, a plan was formed. All three would remove their shoes and wade across, as the river was only two or three feet deep. Seemingly simple, things quickly got complicated.

One member of the group decided that it would be best to remove his shoes and then toss them onto the opposite bank, leaving his hands free to navigate the swift current.

He removed the first shoe and tossed it onto the other side. Success.

He removed his second shoe and threw it in a similar fashion. Immediately upon releasing this second shoe, he realized what was about to happen.

Holding on to the shoe for a second too long, it had popped straight up into the air. He watched helplessly as it remained suspended in the sky for a moment, and then...

Dropped into the middle of the river.

As the current was strong, the shoe was quickly swept away, leaving its owner standing barefooted and on the wrong side of the river.

The consequences of this tremendous screw up were clear; the group still had several miles to go, walking across large rocks. This could be difficult with shoes, but without...

Realizing what was happening, one of the travelers that had already made it across sprung into action. Dropping his bag, he sprinted roughly 100 yards down stream, desperately trying to get ahead of the wayward shoe. Eyes scanning frantically, he wasn't sure if he would be able to locate it in time.

But he did! Walking triumphantly back to the point where they all crossed, the shoe was returned to a very sheepish owner.


The remainder of river crossings were done so without the removal of shoes.

Soon after this, the scenery changed. The valley opened up considerably, leaving the three to wander through a vast flatland filled with nothing but rocks.


This is the environment through which they walked in silence, knowing that the end of their journey was rapidly approaching and having mixed emotions about it. The two days had been difficult yet exhilarating, with breathtaking views and a healthy amount of banter and laughter.

But now, with the emergence from the sea of rocks, it was all about to end. Crossing an enormous green field in their home stretch, each group member allowed themselves to get lost in their own thoughts.


Finally reaching the road, the three sat down and had lunch. It was still hours before they needed to be back at school, and though they were just under 150 kilometers away, there was little urgency in their words or actions. Instead, they sat in the sun and ate.

Finishing their meal, they looked around and decided to make their move. Though one adventure had ended, another was just now beginning.

Standing slowly, the three turned and directed their attention down the road, off into the horizon.

Lines of Verse

The folly of man is weakness,
Torn apart by inner strife.
The mass consuming his soul
Cut to pieces with a knife.

Fear and doubt consume
This feeble image of man.
Fumbling blindly with his claws
And searching for His plan.

Hope and empathy abound;
Compassion and love as well.
Laughing, though, go the strong,
Prancing through this Hell.

To care is but a crutch;
The wicked know this as truth.
And through eyes grown green,
Weak struggle and search for proof.

Power is knowing a lesson
Most difficult to learn.
That while the world is up in flames,
Best to sit and watch it burn.

The good; they will gasp, and
The mouths of men will gape.
But in the truth of harsh words,
There can be little escape.

So then, let us all let go,
And finally have a chance to see;
How little conflict will remain
Once we embrace apathy.

The folly of man is weakness,
And with the setting sun,
Leave me with my fears and doubts;
For my words here are done.

A River Ran Through...

As the journey continues, the three remaining troops soldier on towards the glacier and Crow Hut, their eventual resting place for the evening. Beginning the descent immediately, their goal dangled before their eyes.


The dangers were apparent in each step they took, as death eyed them from below. Winding down a narrow path that led towards the trail that would lead them to Crow Hut, it became increasingly important to avoid looking too far to the left or right.


Though it is difficult to gauge the true height, it should be noted that the bottom of this ravine represents a 3,000 foot drop in elevation. And it was very steep; one false step and there would be little to stop a person from tumbling the full distance.

Comforting.

This, obviously, did not lessen the amount of photographs taken. When surrounded by nothing but towering mountains and snow-capped peaks, there is little else to do but hike and admire.


Though the group was unaware of it at the time, they would soon have to descend much quicker than they imagined. About to overtake a group of students from a neighboring university, the three trampers made a point to stop and take one final photograph before the most laborious and perilous leg of the journey was to commence.



There would be time for more staged photos later; at the moment, there was but one task in store for the three.

Descend to Crow Hut without being killed.

The hike to the summit took about three to four hours to complete. The scramble down the steep cliff before the glacier, dropping over 3,000 feet, was completed in under an hour. Perhaps made obvious by this point, it should be made abundantly clear that this was a very serious drop-off.

Shimmying down the cliff, the only available footing was loose rock. Normally, this would not present any issues, but given the size of the group (now ballooned to eight with the addition of the other students), a new danger emerged.

Traveling in a tight pack, it was entirely possible for a person near the rear to jar a rock loose, and depending on the size, causing it to race and tumble into others with the potential for serious injury.


This arrangement resulted in leaving certain positions undesirable. The following is one:


Eventually, for reasons that are easily understood when considering this photograph, the tight-knit approach was abandoned for a mindless sprint down the remaining 2,000 feet. Not only was it decided that it was easier to traverse the cliff at a higher rate of speed, but after several somewhat careless incidents involving the other group of students freeing large rocks (and several bruised ankles of the three original trampers), the notion of loyalty to the pack seemed foolish.

So the sprint was on.

Arriving in the valley of the glacier considerably faster than the five random travelers, the ice-covered mass loomed larger than ever.


From the base of the glacier, the walk to Crow Hut was comparatively easy, along a riverbed that hinted at its mightiness in the height of spring. Being the twilight of summer, the only visible evidence stemming from the glacier was a faint waterfall that continuously ran from the ice.

Walking along this river, the three soon ran into a tiny stream of absolute purity. If one is not familiar with a glacial river, then one does not truly understand the icy brilliance it contains. It would be hard to find a cleaner and more serene source of water in this world, and if such a source does exist, it may parallel this river, but certainly does not surpass.


As the sun began to slip behind the walls imposed by the surrounding mountains, the three travelers finally came upon Crow Hut. Humble as it was, it represented home for the night, and the three were certainly happy to have made it in one piece.


However, demonstrating the true character of the group, all three freely elected to bypass the hut and instead pitched camp on the long wisps of grass that grew nearby. When one spends their life confined within walls, it becomes necessary to rebel whenever the opportunity presents itself.

And a happier rebellion may never have taken place.


Tomorrow promised at least one challenge: the three would still be wandering through riverbeds over 140 kilometers from Christchurch, and with little prospects of eliminating that distance.

On this night, however, they slept under the naked sky and away from such worries, swept away in the intoxicating atmosphere of stars and glaciers, of nature and solitude.