Tom FrenchAuthor | Mountaineer | Skier

Queenstown, on New Zealand’s South Island, is a gateway to the Southern Alps and a scenic lakeside hub for outdoor sports. A week ago, as our plane approached the airport, the view out the window suggested I was going to like the place.

As explained in my last post, the overarching construct of this trip is to hike five of New Zealand’s “tracks” in succession: the Routeburn, Caples, Greenstone, Kepler, and Milford. Also as mentioned, I had a sneaking suspicion that, on arrival in Queenstown, I would need to rework my carefully crafted “tramping” itinerary. This proved to be the case. Heavy late season storms have created unseasonably deep snow and significant avalanche risk in the high passes. Several of the passes I plan to cross were closed, at least for the moment.

Straight from the airport, my first stop was the New Zealand Department of Conservation, (DOC), which manages reservations for many of the mountain huts. In response to a pass closure on the Routeburn, I quickly devised a new plan for the first week of my two week tramp. I would hike the Routeburn Track to the point where the pass was closed, turn around, hike all the way back out, get a jeep transfer to the bottom of the Caples Track, hike up the Caples, and rejoin the Routeburn on the other side of the pass. Then I would hike the Routeburn as near to other side of the closed pass as I could get, reverse direction again, and retrace my steps back down to the Greenstone. I don’t expect you to be able to picture all of this, but you get the idea. This new itinerary involved substantial additional mileage but would let me cover most of the terrain I was hoping to see, other than the pass itself and a short section of trail on either side.

That all sorted out, the remainder of my first day in New Zealand was spent buying provisions, then going for a short hike in the hills above the lake with my friend Martin Hirt. As part of his intriguing “citizen of the world” lifestyle, Martin has a lovely home in Queenstown. After dinner together at a great restaurant, I collapsed into my hotel bed.

First thing the next morning, I finalized arrangements for the one hut in my revised plan that is not managed by the DOC: a private hunting hut owned by the local “Deerstalkers” association. A last minute email secured a reservation, as well as the name of a small outdoors shop in Queenstown that provided me with a key.

Then, at the kind of coffee/breakfast/sandwich shop that all cool mountain towns seem to have, I had an early lunch with Alexander Hillary. Alexander is the grandson of Sir Edmund Hillary, the legendary New Zealander who, along with Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, was the first person to climb Mount Everest. In addition to being a great person, Alexander is Executive Director of the Himalayan Trust, the foundation first established by “Sir Ed” that does inspiring work on behalf of the Sherpa people of Nepal. It was great to meet Alexander in person, and to hear his views on trends in the mountain communities of Nepal and New Zealand.

After lunch, an amiable local ski instructor who works off season for a transport company drove me to the start of the Routeburn Track. In keeping with the legendary regional weather, it was pouring rain. The kind of downpour that made it hard for me to picture exiting the car. Fortunately, by the time we reached the trailhead, the rain had lightened to something more manageable. I pulled on my Goretex, shouldered my pack, and headed off.

On this first afternoon, I climbed steadily through an other-worldly mix of pines, moss covered beeches, and dense ferns. A rain swollen river crashed through a dramatic gorge below. Waterfalls spouted from the forest walls above. The trees sheltered me from much of the rain, and occasional breaks in the trees and clouds afforded views into the valley.

That night, I got my initial introduction to a DOC Hut. Routeburn Falls Hut was perched on a rocky ledge overlooking the valley, next to a raging waterfall for which it is named. It had the comforting vibe of mountain huts everywhere: the bunks, the communal dining area, the camaraderie of outdoor lovers. It also had a unique atmosphere compared to many mountain huts I have frequented. The design was simultaneously contemporary and classic: clean lines, modern construction materials, and well thought out spaces. Unlike more upscale huts along the track, where guided groups are served meals and gear is transported by helicopters, trampers here prepared their camping meals on simple gas burners, carefully cleaning up after themselves. Wet clothes were hung on drying racks above the wood stove. In the evening, people tip-toed quietly and moved their gear carefully, mindful not to disturb those already zipped into their sleeping bags. The feeling was of respectfully shared, mutually appreciated space.

The following morning, I woke early to climb toward the closed pass. Miraculously, the rain had stopped and the sun was rising into a cloud-free sky. Leaving my pack at the hut, I moved swiftly upward, ascending into an alpine zone glowing gold in the morning light. The higher I got, the more beautiful it became. I experienced a wave of euphoria, overwhelming any disappointment about my original route being impassable.

Forty-five minutes took me as high as I was allowed to go. I stopped, looked around, and drank it all in. A like-minded tramper arrived and we shared the moment. She took this photo:

Then I descended to the hut, picked up my pack, and hiked back out to the trailhead, where a jeep took me on a rocky track interspersed with river crossings to the lower end of the Caples and Greenstone tracks. This was going to be a long day, as I now needed to hike two thirds of the way up the Caples Valley to get to the Deerstalkers hut.

The lower part of the Caples Valley had an entirely different look, with verdant grasslands bisected by the Caples River:

Then I entered woodlands. After five hours of additional walking, I pulled into the Deerstalkers’ Upper Caples Hut, located in a pleasant meadow by a stream. This had a very different feel from the DOC hut. More of an old style cabin one might find in the Maine woods or Adirondacks. Ten mattresses spread across a sleeping area and loft. Worn but serviceable pots and pans and a gas stove. It also had a gun closet. Here is a photo of the hut taken from the path to the rustic outhouse:

I ended up sharing the hut with two women from the North Island and a young tramper from Israel. We enjoyed each others’ company and spent the evening exchanging views on politics in New Zealand, Israel, and the US. I was grateful for the generosity of the Deerstalkers Association in making their hut available to the tramping public.

The following day, I hiked over a pass to rejoin the Routeburn track, then headed up to the DOC’s Lake Mackenzie Hut. I passed through forest like this…

…. along ridges like this…

…. and beside waterfalls like this:

I am blown away by the scenery here. Places with great reputations generally have a hard time exceeding them, but this one does. Most of all, I am struck by the extreme diversity in landscape, scenery, flora, and fauna. An intoxicating blend of elements I have encountered in the European Alps, Nepal Himalaya, Norway’s Rondane and Jotunheimen, Tanzania’s Kilimanjaro, the Pacific Northwest, and New Hampshire’s White Mountains: all in one place! The blend changes from valley to valley, and the valleys go on for miles, most of them untracked. Then there is the variety in weather. Martin explained: “we often get four seasons in a single week; sometimes a single day.” I have already come to appreciate that.

On every expedition or hiking trip, there are invariably two high points to my day. One is before breakfast, standing outside my tent or hut with a cup of coffee in hand, savoring my surroundings. The second is just before going to bed, when I again stand outside, (minus the coffee), and do the same thing. I often linger, unable to pull myself away. Mornings on this trip have followed this same ritual. I boil water on the camping stove, stir two packs of Starbucks Via into my mug, and head outside. So have evenings. At Lake Mackenzie Hut, as I stood beside the lake for a long time before calling it a night, this was my view:

My last three days before heading out to civilization were “more of same.” All great. I headed down to the Greenstone, spent one day happily holed up in a hut while it poured rain, and then hit the trail this morning at dawn to hike through steady rain and snow, to a spot on the road called The Divide. Here is a selfie of me as I arrived:

A pre-arranged ride took me ninety minutes from The Divide to the small town of Te Anau. The driver told me that never, in his memory, have they had this much late season snow or had to close the passes at this time of the year.

Te Anau is located on the shore of another immense lake, surrounded by snow covered mountains. It is much smaller and lower key than Queenstown. I sense I am going to love it here, but my stay will be brief. This afternoon, I need to find out if the high pass on my next track, the Kepler, has opened. No matter what, I will be able to hike to the first hut. Hopefully I will be able to continue over the pass. If I can’t, more backtracking and long days will come into play. It will still be fun, and beautiful.

I also need to research options for what to do if my final track, the Milford, doesn’t open up. Unfortunately, it is looking increasingly likely that all of it will remain closed. Apparently the severe late season weather created avalanches and mudslides that destroyed numerous bridges and sections of the trail. It will take a while to open them again. If unable to hike the Milford, I will seek out one of the lesser frequented but equally spectacular tracks in the area. I am realizing they have a charm of their own; in some ways preferable to the more famous ones.

In any event, I will reprovision here, enjoy a hot shower and internet in the lakeside hostel I am staying in, and tomorrow start tramping again. In all likelihood, I will post once more from Queenstown on November 24 before I fly home. I will let you know how things shake out.

Thanks for following along. As they say here, Kia Ora!