Tom FrenchAuthor | Mountaineer | Skier

When I last posted, I was pulling into Te Anau after six days on the trail, wondering if the high pass on my next track – the Kepler- would be open for my planned crossing in a couple of days.

A stop at the Department of Conservation (DOC) provided good news and bad. The good news was that the pass had just opened up. The bad news was that the weather forecast for the day of my intended crossing , two days out, was terrible: heavy rain, high winds, and poor visibility. I would likely be able to get across, but wouldn’t see much. I took solace in the fact that New Zealand’s Fjordland Region is one of the wettest places on the planet. Statistically, two out of every three days are rainy. You have to live with it. I resolved to press on, delighted that, whatever the weather, it looked like I would be able to complete my originally planned route.

The following morning I woke to cloudless skies. A stunningly perfect day. I have come to realize that this is the pattern here, at least in the spring. Fronts roll in off of the Southern Ocean and dump rain. Then it clears completely. Then the next front arrives. The sunny days are gorgeous, with the kind of clear air and bright light we get once in a while in New England in the fall. Here, the air and light have a special clarity. You can sense the absence of industrial presence, the vast areas of wilderness around you, and the fact that the closest land mass to sea, in the direction the weather is coming from, is Antarctica.

I hit the trail at 10:00am and followed it along the forested edge of Lake Te Anau, to the point where it swung away from the lake and started climbing up to the mountain plateau above. My goal for the night was Luxmore Hut, located on the plateau just above tree line. The signs said it would take 5-6 hours. As I climbed upward, I realized I was moving quickly, and my legs felt fresh. I picked up the pace. Sooner than expected, I broke treeline and paused to admire the view over the lake with snow covered mountains.

Three and a half hours after leaving the trailhead, I arrived at the hut. Suddenly, I had a thought. The weather was perfect. The forecast for the following day, when I would be traversing a high series of ridges renowned for stunning views, continued to be miserable. It was early afternoon, and sunset wasn’t until 9:00pm. I could keep going! But I couldn’t do it without a reservation at the next hut, which I didn’t have until the following night. Showing up reservation-less at huts on major tracks like the Kepler is considered extremely bad form. And the huts may well be full.

I found the Luxmore hut warden and explained my situation. She asked if I understood that it was a seven hour hike to the next hut, along steep ridges, with deep snow in places that would slow me down. I respectfully offered that I thought I could move quickly. “The weather doesn’t get any better,” I pleaded. “I have to agree with you,” she responded,” and tomorrow will be terrible.” She told me to wait on the porch in front of the hut. Fifteen minutes later she was back. “I contacted the DOC office and they were able to switch your booking. Good luck. You had better get moving.” Then she added with a smile: “Enjoy your traverse. It is gorgeous up there.”

The trail beyond Luxmore Hut ascends steadily into the alpine zone, then follows a series of narrow ridges with jaw dropping views on all sides. As the other people who were hiking this section today had departed first thing in the morning, I was alone up there. This is what it looked like:

I couldn’t believe my good fortune, and kept looking around to drink it all in. As I progressed, early evening light bathed my surroundings in soft gold. Eventually, the trail left the high country and began descending into the valley where the hut was located. The switchbacks went on longer than expected, and my legs were tiring, but five hours after leaving Luxmore I pulled into Iris Burn Hut. As I arrived, the hut warden was just about to launch into his evening briefing. He asked where I had come from. When I told him, he clapped me on the back, saying: “HUGE day mate. Congratulations. I heard about you on the radio.”

The remaining two days wound through dense forest and occasional open valleys like this one:

I enjoyed it all, despite the steady rain that arrived as forecast. My last night on the trail, the hut scene was a bit noisier than usual. A group of twenty students from Dunedin Intermediate School, led by two patient teachers, occupied two-thirds of the bunks. They were moving in the opposite direction on the track, and this was their first night out. The energy level was typical of middle school students everywhere. It was mostly charming.

At the evening briefing, the hut warden, presumably at the request of the teachers, turned it into a bit of a nature briefing, sharing stories of his encounters with bird life over the years. Then he opened it up to the group, asking; ” who here would like to share a personal experience with birds?” A young boy’s hand shot up: “At my grandmother’s house, we watched two mallards perform their mating activity. They kept on doing it.” Those of us not part of the school group winked at each other. The warden moved things along: “Well, that is interesting. Who else has a different kind of nature story?” A young girl raised her hand: “A papango performed its mating ritual right on my mother’s arm!” The nature briefing was declared over for the night.

Thanks to my accelerated pass crossing, I arrived back in Te Anau a day ahead of my original schedule. The hostel I hoped to stay at was full, and – to my surprise – all the other lodgings in town appeared to be sold out as well. The woman at the reception desk looked at my rain soaked gear and took pity. They had a room of sorts, rarely used, that they could offer. It was a garden shed with a bed in it, and it suited me just fine:

Back in town, I confirmed what my gut had been telling me: the Milford Track was still being repaired and the route would not be open in time for me to walk it. While disappointing, as the Milford is New Zealand’s signature track, this opened up possibilities. I had already enjoyed less-travelled tracks, like the Caples and the Greenstone, finding them in some ways more gratifying than the famous ones. There were many more like them out there.

When I first planned this trip, I reflected on the fact that I would be spending all of my available time, on my first and potentially only visit to New Zealand, in one tightly concentrated area. I commented to a friend that it was as if someone from New Zealand, who had spent a lifetime wanting to visit the US, finally did so and spent their entire time in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. My friend observed: “you are going deep, not broad.” I liked that way of thinking about it.

Now I had the opportunity to go deeper still. As I researched options to replace the Milford, a number of candidates were ruled out. The storms that had messed with the Milford had wreaked havoc on many other tracks. High water levels also made stream crossings problematic. I wanted something off the beaten path, but still safe to do on my own, especially as I had not brought gear suitable to more challenging circumstances. I sought advice from a young ranger at the DOC office. “How about Green Lake?” he said, “One of my favorite places. If you want to be ‘out there’, that is really out there!” Green Lake it was.

Four days ago, a man named Rod drove me an hour and a half into the mountains southwest of Te Anau. The last ten miles, a vertical climb of 2,700 feet, was on a narrow dirt road originally constructed to support installation of a cross-mountain power line. As the grade steepened and Rod ground the gears to navigate tight switchbacks, he commented that the last time he had been in this area was over forty years ago. “I love this kind of thing,” he exclaimed with a wide smile on his face.

Rod dropped me as far in as he could get, and I covered the remaining distance to the trailhead on foot. Then I started walking toward Green Lake. It was only six miles, but I knew challenging trail conditions would slow me down. A faint path wove initially over a wooded saddle, then dropped down to what would be the first of several large bog crossings. Here is a view of the first bog:

The route went straight across the bog. There was no trail, but the direction was designated by occasional orange markers on posts. The problem was finding the markers amid chest high grass tussocks, especially as I am red-green color blind. Here is a photo of an orange marker rising just above a tussock:

Another challenge was unseen drops amid tussocks into water-filled streams. After resigning myself to wet feet, it all went fine. There was a real beauty to it, especially with snow-covered mountains looming above amid swirling clouds.

After a second bog crossing, the trail re-entered woods, climbed steeply up to a saddle, then dropped down to a high, open basin with a beautiful lake in the middle of it. Green Lake! From here, it should have been a twenty minute walk along the lake’s edge to Green Lake Hut, but high water had caused the lake to overflow into a wide expanse of tussocks and gorse, making the lake edge impassable. I spent an hour bashing my way through the tussocks, many of them over my head. Stopping frequently to catch my breath, I was grateful for my trekking poles, which also were instrumental in helping me cross deep, water-filled ravines. It was hard work.

Green Lake Hut is situated amid a tundra of tussocks and gorse, close to the water’s edge. It is perfectly situated, looking across the lake at rugged mountains. There is a feeling of isolation, and of great beauty. It reminded me of parts of Alaska. In contrast to the “Great Walks” tracks, there is no hut warden and no advance booking. Just twelve bunks, first come first served. Large windows let in light and afford spectacular views from inside the hut. Here is a photo taken the day after I arrived:

The hut was empty, and I wondered if I would end up with company. The question was answered an hour later when two young women emerged from the tussock jungle. They were outdoor workers in the area, taking time off from their jobs. Lily had just been up on the Milford, preparing lodges for an eventual opening. Jen was a guide on rugged Stewart Island, off the south coast. She had previously guided on the Milford, and in that capacity walked the track over twenty times. She said she never tired of it. Both were at Green Lake seeking what I was, and we all agreed it was special. You know you are in a good spot when it is where the guides go on their time off.

It rained hard all night and through much of the following day. Lily and Jen headed out first thing in the morning, returning to their responsibilities. Alone in the hut, I listened to the rain hit the roof and watched the weather systems move across the lake. I wrote part of this post, listened to an audio book, and mostly just absorbed being in such a beautiful place. I kept going to the window to gaze across the lake. When it cleared in the late afternoon, I went outside and did the same thing. There were no signs of other human presence. It was reasonable to think that, at this particular moment, I was the only person within a thousand square miles. Vast amounts of additional wild terrain lay to my west. I couldn’t imagine a place I would rather be.

Yesterday, my last full day at Green Lake, was clear and sunny. As I stood at the lake’s edge savoring my pre-breakfast coffee, this was the scene:

After breakfast, I decided to try to get to the top of a mountain which rises behind the hut. It is named “Peak 1476” after its elevation, (1476 meters, or 4842 feet). Here is a photo of it taken from the hut:

Not knowing how long it would take, I left right after breakfast. The first couple of hours were tough tussock slogging. No trail or signposts here, just feeling my way upward, trying to figure out which ridge I should try to follow to the summit. If I were in Alaska, I would have been worried about bears, but I wasn’t, and happily there are no bears in New Zealand. About halfway up, the tussocks gave way to steep ridges and couloirs filled with moss and loose rock. A few spots were definite “no fall zones,” but they were manageable. When I arrived on top of the main shoulder leading to the summit, I could see I had some snow-covered ridges left to deal with:

These also involved a couple of no fall zones, but again were manageable. Shortly after noon, I was standing on top, with the world – including Green Lake – at my feet:

Then I headed down. I was back at “my” hut, (it had come to feel that way), by mid afternoon.

This morning, I hiked back out to the access road. After leaving the hut and navigating the tussock jungle one final time, I arrived at the spot where the trail enters the woods. I turned and looked back at the lake. Over the past three days I had been, as the expression goes, “in a good place,” in all senses. I will hold onto it for a long while.

Four hours and two bog crossings later, I was back where I started. Rod picked me up where he had dropped me, with the same smile on his face.

From Te Anau, a three hour bus ride took me back to Queenstown, where I find myself in a hotel room with linen bedsheets and a “wall of glass” shower that provides beautiful views out the window while copious hot water pours from an oversized showerhead. I’ll take Green Lake Hut any day, but it still is nice.

Tomorrow morning, I will stop by the little outdoor shop to return the Deerstalkers’ hut key. (Those of you acquainted with my last post may recall what I am referring to.) Then I will cram everything into my large blue duffle bag, head to the airport, and fly home.

Prior to leaving on this trip, I wondered at times if it would underwhelm compared to the major expeditions I have been on in recent years. Just two weeks on the trail, with no signature mountain climb anchoring it, walking along in the rain while fighting off sand flies. I am happy to report that it has surpassed all expectations. I loved every minute, and it has been immensely fulfilling. While I am disappointed not to have fit in the Milford Track, I wouldn’t trade my time at Green Lake for anything.

If any of you are contemplating a trip to New Zealand, go! If you are a mountain lover, go to the South Island. It is a magical place. If you would like input based on my brief exposure, by all means reach out. To all of you: heartfelt thanks for your continued interest in my escapades.

Kia Ora!