Franz Josef Wednesday 1/23/08
Little did we know when we woke up this morning.
We got up early to head to lake Mathison in Fox Glacier. It is supposed to be the fifth most photographed lake in the world (who would know that?) as it reflects the full height of Mount Cook in the background giving a unique mirror effect. Unfortunately we still had a few lingering showers and a lot of morning fog so we waited as long as we could and finally headed out at about 9:45. It was about a half hour drive and a mile walk into the lake and now the sun was shining nicely but the mountain was still covered in fog. Bummer. As it turns out, the fog never lifted from the mountain so we made the right decision to walk the mile back out (those two miles become more important later) and head back to our villa for left-over pizza.
We have a 12:30 appointment with Glacier Guides for our half day hike into and on Franz Josef Glacier. The process of checking in, going through a health check, getting the spiel on all the dangers to your life, and being outfittied with wool socks, boots, and rain coats was tedious at best and took a full 45 minutes. We piled on a bus with 50 other adventurers for a ten minute drive to the access point to the glacier. From the bus parking lot it is about a two mile hike to the base of the glacier which starts with about a half mile through some rain forest. This is not horrible but provides a glimpse of what is to come as we have a couple jumps across streams and climbs up steep steps. We pop out of the forest by walking directly down a rocky flow of snowmelt to the roaring river at the base of the glacier where we once again leap rock-to-rock to cross about a 30-foot stream. We now have another mile and a half to the glacier itself and we are told that because the riverbed has changed course we have to take the "high route." We split into two groups of 26 based on our opinion of our fitness level and amazingly this takes ten seconds as everyone seems to know where they belong. All the blonde 22 year olds with backpacks are in one group and the over thirty crowd is in the other.
After about another half mile walk through rocks and boulders along the river we have to head up along the mountain for phase one of the "high route." The guide tells us to stay right behind the person in front of us otherwise we will be hopelessly lost. The route starts up a fairly steep path that leads to our real path up which is a stream flowing straight down the mountain. We hike up the stream bed and then about 200 feet up we get to walk along a cliff edge and continue to climb scaling rocks that require a foot lift of about 3 feet. At one point Mary turned around and said, "I don't think I can do this'" and then after a 3-second pregnant pause she turned back around and climbed over the next boulder in front of her while ignoring the drop to her death to her left. Little did we know that on a scale of one to ten, this spot had a degree of difficulty of about 3 while we have 7's and 8's to come.
We make our way back down to the river slipping and sliding down rocks while grabbing branches and roots to help break our mini-falls. Thank God all we have to do now is walk through the boulder field for another mile to get to the glacier. Ha! We once again have to head up the mountain, but this time we don't have it so easy. Now we are hiking and climbing and crawling and clawing straight up the mountain with some ropes pounded into the cliff walls to grab in case we start to fall to our deaths. We then get to a ladder (first of four) which will enable us to climb the 15 feet up the cliff in front of us so we can get to another death defying path. This torture goes on and on and on crawling over boulders, sliding down mud and dealing with those damned ladders. We were never so happy to see the boulder strewn beach for our last half mile walk to the glacier. Now our group splits into two again as we get down to 13 grimacing over-50 types, being led by Carlos the Columbian, who are wondering why the hell they are here.
We put our "Talonz" on our boots for the hike onto the ice and sit for a bit while a bunch of folks coming off the ice come down the path (no one smiling) and everyone gets sorted out. We finally head up the ice path onto the glacier and again we are going straight up hill on steps cut into the ice, each one like stepping up onto a coffee table or higher, while holding onto a chain pounded into the ice wall on our right to keep us from falling down the ice cliff to our left. After about 15-minutes of this we come to a stopping point where our youngest member, a twenty-something Dutch girl is bawling her eyes out. She speaks for all of us.
We spend about an hour on the ice crawling through ice caves and oooohing in all the right places at the color of the blue ice, the 1000 foot drop waterfalls, the snow covered peaks, the speed of the glacier, yada, yada, yada. Everyone is just thinking about the hike back out. Without torturing this subject any further, we will just say that we survived the return trip made even worse by very tired legs and screaming joints (refer to the two mile "practice" walk in the morning) and a disappearing guide. Did we mention that there were periods of rain, or that it was steaming hot for our mountain climbs, while frosty and wet on the ice? Did we mention that what was described as a 4-1/2 hour hike requiring moderate fitness, was in fact a 5-1/2 hour death march? Did you hear that we are bloody, and dirty with clothes that are ice soaked on the outside and sweat soaked on the inside? Okay, maybe it's just us as the 22 year old, 6-foot tall nordic boys and girls who sorted themselves into the lead groups are still smiling and chatting. We need a beer.
We pop back to our villa for a beer and shower, and Mary the trooper throws in a load of laundry. We fulfill our promise to the person at the Blue Ice restaurant and return tonight for a real meal--Mary has an unbelievable filet on a huge portabella with mashed potatoes and Irish Whiskey gravy, John has venison leg sliced on a bed of sweet potatoes with red cabbage sauerkraut, all washed down with a Hawkes Bay Syrah, and dammit, we deserve it. Back to bed with dreams of survival and screaming muscle spasms.
Today’s Local headline: A Nation bids farewell to Sir Ed, The Press (Christchurch)
Little did we know when we woke up this morning.
We got up early to head to lake Mathison in Fox Glacier. It is supposed to be the fifth most photographed lake in the world (who would know that?) as it reflects the full height of Mount Cook in the background giving a unique mirror effect. Unfortunately we still had a few lingering showers and a lot of morning fog so we waited as long as we could and finally headed out at about 9:45. It was about a half hour drive and a mile walk into the lake and now the sun was shining nicely but the mountain was still covered in fog. Bummer. As it turns out, the fog never lifted from the mountain so we made the right decision to walk the mile back out (those two miles become more important later) and head back to our villa for left-over pizza.
We have a 12:30 appointment with Glacier Guides for our half day hike into and on Franz Josef Glacier. The process of checking in, going through a health check, getting the spiel on all the dangers to your life, and being outfittied with wool socks, boots, and rain coats was tedious at best and took a full 45 minutes. We piled on a bus with 50 other adventurers for a ten minute drive to the access point to the glacier. From the bus parking lot it is about a two mile hike to the base of the glacier which starts with about a half mile through some rain forest. This is not horrible but provides a glimpse of what is to come as we have a couple jumps across streams and climbs up steep steps. We pop out of the forest by walking directly down a rocky flow of snowmelt to the roaring river at the base of the glacier where we once again leap rock-to-rock to cross about a 30-foot stream. We now have another mile and a half to the glacier itself and we are told that because the riverbed has changed course we have to take the "high route." We split into two groups of 26 based on our opinion of our fitness level and amazingly this takes ten seconds as everyone seems to know where they belong. All the blonde 22 year olds with backpacks are in one group and the over thirty crowd is in the other.
After about another half mile walk through rocks and boulders along the river we have to head up along the mountain for phase one of the "high route." The guide tells us to stay right behind the person in front of us otherwise we will be hopelessly lost. The route starts up a fairly steep path that leads to our real path up which is a stream flowing straight down the mountain. We hike up the stream bed and then about 200 feet up we get to walk along a cliff edge and continue to climb scaling rocks that require a foot lift of about 3 feet. At one point Mary turned around and said, "I don't think I can do this'" and then after a 3-second pregnant pause she turned back around and climbed over the next boulder in front of her while ignoring the drop to her death to her left. Little did we know that on a scale of one to ten, this spot had a degree of difficulty of about 3 while we have 7's and 8's to come.
We make our way back down to the river slipping and sliding down rocks while grabbing branches and roots to help break our mini-falls. Thank God all we have to do now is walk through the boulder field for another mile to get to the glacier. Ha! We once again have to head up the mountain, but this time we don't have it so easy. Now we are hiking and climbing and crawling and clawing straight up the mountain with some ropes pounded into the cliff walls to grab in case we start to fall to our deaths. We then get to a ladder (first of four) which will enable us to climb the 15 feet up the cliff in front of us so we can get to another death defying path. This torture goes on and on and on crawling over boulders, sliding down mud and dealing with those damned ladders. We were never so happy to see the boulder strewn beach for our last half mile walk to the glacier. Now our group splits into two again as we get down to 13 grimacing over-50 types, being led by Carlos the Columbian, who are wondering why the hell they are here.
We put our "Talonz" on our boots for the hike onto the ice and sit for a bit while a bunch of folks coming off the ice come down the path (no one smiling) and everyone gets sorted out. We finally head up the ice path onto the glacier and again we are going straight up hill on steps cut into the ice, each one like stepping up onto a coffee table or higher, while holding onto a chain pounded into the ice wall on our right to keep us from falling down the ice cliff to our left. After about 15-minutes of this we come to a stopping point where our youngest member, a twenty-something Dutch girl is bawling her eyes out. She speaks for all of us.
We spend about an hour on the ice crawling through ice caves and oooohing in all the right places at the color of the blue ice, the 1000 foot drop waterfalls, the snow covered peaks, the speed of the glacier, yada, yada, yada. Everyone is just thinking about the hike back out. Without torturing this subject any further, we will just say that we survived the return trip made even worse by very tired legs and screaming joints (refer to the two mile "practice" walk in the morning) and a disappearing guide. Did we mention that there were periods of rain, or that it was steaming hot for our mountain climbs, while frosty and wet on the ice? Did we mention that what was described as a 4-1/2 hour hike requiring moderate fitness, was in fact a 5-1/2 hour death march? Did you hear that we are bloody, and dirty with clothes that are ice soaked on the outside and sweat soaked on the inside? Okay, maybe it's just us as the 22 year old, 6-foot tall nordic boys and girls who sorted themselves into the lead groups are still smiling and chatting. We need a beer.
We pop back to our villa for a beer and shower, and Mary the trooper throws in a load of laundry. We fulfill our promise to the person at the Blue Ice restaurant and return tonight for a real meal--Mary has an unbelievable filet on a huge portabella with mashed potatoes and Irish Whiskey gravy, John has venison leg sliced on a bed of sweet potatoes with red cabbage sauerkraut, all washed down with a Hawkes Bay Syrah, and dammit, we deserve it. Back to bed with dreams of survival and screaming muscle spasms.
Today’s Local headline: A Nation bids farewell to Sir Ed, The Press (Christchurch)
