A Windy Place...

For those following along, you know I've mentioned New Zealand is often more than breezy. At times, the President Trump winds (read insane) are both scary and deadly. I've read accounts of huts being blown away (with unhappy campers inside), trains getting pushed off their tracks (passenger trains, not freight) and roofs getting peeled off like an orange rind. That's freaking windy.

So what did I do? 

Go for a hike up to a ridge line where Mount Holdsworth (4,687") resides, on a day when the winds were forecast to be more than refreshing. 

For a change, the trail was in amazing shape. I made great time getting to the altitude of petering out trees. With no green matter to block the gusts, I was exposed to a dramatic wind chill. I quickly donned my trusty Windstopper jacket. That helped. Eventually the only living things up on the ridge were grasses (blown horizontal) and me. The grasses didn't have a choice to be there, I did. After a Mach One gust brought me to my knees (literally). I went into full retreat. 

Later on, I discovered winds were in excess of 75 MPH. According to Summitpost.org : "65-75mph: can barely walk forward, gusts of this type will knock you on your ass! 

75+ Go Home."

'Tis better to retreat at times, to live to see another mountain. 

Another safety tip from the W W Jew,

Cheers!

Jeff

A Hesitant Mountain...

A  few days ago I left New Plymouth for the object of my desires. On the outskirts of town, I saw what I came here for-Mount Egmont/Taranaki. 

Captain Cook bestowed the somewhat dormant volcano with the Anglo name in 1770. 

The British explorer dubbed the peak after a former Lord of the Admiralty. (What a 

suck up!) The Maori name goes back a lot further then 1770. Personally, I prefer the indigenous handle more.

For a change, the sky was bearing more blue than gray. The incessant winds were taking a breather too. The stratovolcano loomed as symmetrical as a child's crayon rendition of a mountain. I liked it! 

I stopped at the Visitor Center for a map and hiking suggestions. I received both. 

I pitched some gear into my pack with no thought of making a summit bid. I headed uphill. 

The trail was fast and user friendly. In a short time, I was at the base of the summit trail. "Well, I'll just go up the mountain a bit. I'll get better pix." The trail started with stairs but quickly degenerated into a pumice scree field. The one slippery step forward, possibly two slippery steps back variety. It was pretty discouraging. Then a descending hiker wiped out right in front of me. She picked herself up, brushed off 

the grit and said, "this is the worse part of the climb. It gets easier once you get on solid rock." Good to know.

I glanced at the sky, felt for any insidious breeze and gave myself approval to continue on. I passed fellow hikers clad only in cotton and tennis shoes. I guess I was more prepared than that. Barely. I hiked in in a stuttering manner. More like a "Should I stay or should I go" mode than with any great determination. I plodded on.

Finally, I curled around a notch only to find a field of White Death below. (Remember, even the locals are bummed about the lack of summer here). I dropped into the bowl and skidded to a stop. Hmmm. The summit was about 100" above me, but through a very angled icy slope. Joy! Joy! I made a half hearted attempt. No Bueno. Five minutes later, I girded myself for one last try. It's not easy punching steps in snow while wearing trail runners! Second time was a charm. I was on top a few minutes later.

Me and many other ill-prepared hikers were fortunate the Maori Gods granted us Pakeha (White Folks) safe passage from the elements on this 8,261" Beauty. 

Was it worth it? Heck yeah! 

However, always remember these words from Mountain Man, Ed Viesturs. "Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory." 

Enjoy the pix!

Cheers!

Jeff

The Good Die...

Young. 

I met Cathy long ago on the Bike Across Kansas  (BAK) Ride. We carpooled out to the middle of a stark windswept landscape, set up our tents and waited for the ride to start on the morrow. The winds kicked up, lying our tents down low. Tornado warning sirens went off sporadically throughout the night. 

It didn't matter, Cathy woke groggily, sporting a toothy grin and joked about the scary weather. "That's Kansas! See why I left?" 

That was the essence of this tiny Powerhouse. Cathy generated smiles, hugs and laughs. She was always handy with a compliment, a favor or a welfare check. She was an incredible friend to me and so many others. 

I nicknamed her, "Legs of Steel." All that running she did gave her frog legs. Lots of power and muscle. She would win or place in the many races she participated in. I kidded her about having to build an addition in her home just to hold her trophies. Of course, she was humble about her accomplishments. "There weren't that many women in my age category!" 

Then the scourge of bone cancer attacked her. She sent out notifications to her friends and family of updates on what was going on. She admonished her fans to go out and play and have a good time. She reminded us that life is too short. She was inspiring right to the end.

Cathy, I'll miss you. The World is now at a loss that such a tiny, bright candle of goodness has been snuffed out.

RIP Legs of Steel. 

Cow Poop and Private...

property...

would have been a more apt name for the scenic sounding "White Cliffs Walkway." 

After a day of loitering around the CBD (Kiwi talk for Central Business District) of New Plymouth, I had to do something. I set off in the morning to the above mentioned hike. 

The owner of the hotel I was staying at made an off-hand comment when I told her of  my day's intentions. "The local council is having issues with the property owners along the tract. It might be a bit strange." Well, the weather here has been strange (for so-called summer) why not the walkways? 

After about an hour's drive, I came face to face with a warning sign: "Private Road. No vehicles allowed past this point. Park at the bridge." 

OK. Not wanting to cause trouble or to be an Ugly American (we already have one in the White House), I parked my tiny sedan at the bridge. Then I walked...and walked...and walked for about 1.5 miles of one lane dirt or gravel road, while pirouetting around cow poop piles. It was cold and windy too. At last, I left the road and crested a few hills before I came to a prominent point. 

From the photos, one can see the violence of the Tasman Sea AND the Irish Emerald Isle look of the countryside. There's a reason for all that green. It rains an awful lot and it's too clammy for the grass to dry out. Hence, there's heaps of shocking green. 

Welcome to my summer in New Zealand. Just outside of New Plymouth, there's a large volcanic mountain. I haven't seen it yet, but I've heard it's there. Tomorrow, I'll get closer and hike along its flanks. There's a rumor, the sun might make a rare appearance, but that's just a Weather Channel rumor.

Wish me luck!

Come on Summer!

Jeff

The trees kept getting in...

the way of the views! Is an apt way to describe the Atene Skyline Tract. The eye candy rewards are few. Those darn trees obscured the possible photo ops that beckoned below those way too narrow ridge lines. I tip toed through a few dicey sections where possible owwies or worse could have happened with one misstep. I came across ferns so huge they required their own Zip Codes. Those Jurassic Park plants kept striking me on my exposed body parts, greatly impeding my forward progress. The tract went missing a few times as I found myself off on a goat trail. I know it was a goat trail because I saw and smelled a goat. 

In other words, another day of Kiwi hiking. Oh well, I got a great workout for those 11 miles. 

Now I'm in a cozy New Plymouth hotel room while another squall rages outside. It's going to last another 24 hours. 

Good thing there's a movie theatre and bars in this town.

BTW. The locals concur that this Southern Summer of 16/17 stinks on ice. (Like our new President) Spit! 

G'Night!

Jeff

A Hut too far...

After spending two nights at the Big Bush Holiday Park, (their motto: We Welcome you 

like the Black Death) I set off uphill on my second of six Great Walks. The Lake Waikaremoana Track.

It was a 1,500" ascent to a ridge line overlooking a large lake lying amongst a series of 

rounded hills. It looked sort of Appalachian in nature except for the forest. I was hiking 

within a temperate rain forest. The trees were gnarly, misshapen and draped with green 

mossy beards. The forest type would have been an appropriate backdrop for the "Headless Horseman" chase scene. It wasn't a "Joy!Joy!Happy! Happy!" looking place. It was sort of spooky. 

Perched at the highest prominence of the ridge line sat the Panekire Hut. If you've been following along, by now you know my Hut angst.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/eight-cups-of-coffee.html

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/the-coldest-winter-i-ever-spent.html

I made entry while saying "Hello!" to my future too-cozy roommates. A quick look around 

made me realize the joint was dirtier and grimier than most. (That says a lot!) My fellow hut mates were cooking on a few backpacker stoves. Strange. Why weren't they using the hut's stove? 

Because the Lake Wiakaremoana Great Walk's Huts didn't have any stoves! Or Toilet Paper! A few huts further down the tract even lacked water! I made the Yank mistake of assuming all Great Walk Huts provided these simple amenities. Silly me! 

However, what these huts provided was a warning sign concerning a rat and mouse infestation in the hovels. The Department of Conservation politely suggested we campers hang our meager provender from the hooks provided. 

I mentioned my no stove plight to a family of Kiwis. The patriarch came through when he said, "No Worries! You can use ours for a few boils." Kiwis are very kind, generous and hospitable. 

That problem solved, I found a reasonable sleeping space with no personal space and pitched my gear on a mattress. (Eventually there were eighteen men, women and children sleeping in a 12"x16" room.) I grabbed my Kindle for a read, and took a seat outside, waiting for dinner 

time. 

My library quiet was shattered by the sound of a helicopter landing. Out of the Chopper emerged a Maori crew geared out in "Ghostbusters" attire. (Wasn't Halloween awhile ago?). The headman gathered us around and made a speech. The gist? We're from the Government and we're here to help you. Seems there's been an outbreak of Norovirus along the tract. Another apt name for this bug is the "Lose weight! Ask me how!" Virus. The crew came equipped with spray bottles of diluted Clorox to sterilize all surfaces (including the 

mattresses). They went about their business as I pondered this new development.

I decided to sleep on it and wait to see what manana would bring. 

I was up and about by 5 am. I wasn't the only one. Outside,  a westerly wind was screeching along. There were heaps of clouds scuttering by as well. I made a snap decision. 

I was still dealing with one stubborn virus, I wasn't about to go for twofers. I begged a boil of water, inhaled my trusty shot of instant Starbucks buzz and headed back down the way 

I came.

If I went on, a sixteen mile trek in wind and maybe rain awaited me. My goal would have 

been a hovel contains 39 other two-legged strangers and who knows how many four-legged vermin. Not very appealing. Was it? 

I'm in Napier hotel room which according to New Zealand's DOC would sleep about a billion campers with gear. I'm not too bummed to have it to myself, although female type company would be nice too. (I'm still  looking for my potential First Lady.) 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.co.nz/2016/11/my-2020-presidential-campaign-begins.html

Goodnight!

Jeff

Eight Cups of coffee...

later, I set off for my first of six New Zealand Great Walks. (Tongariro Northern Circuit)

Why did I drink all that Java Juice? 

I needed to gird myself for another day of cool, grey and possibly wet weather. The method behind the caffeine is to get so wired, I have to do something with all that black liquid energy. 

 Off I went at a brisk pace for a short day of hiking. My goal was to arrive before the hordes at the first hut. I wanted to score the choicest nighty-night spot in the joint.

The trail was relatively flat and uneventful. I didn't shoot one photo. I made it to the hut before the winds kicked in. Ahh...one sleeping pad sat alone. It was away from the no-personal space how-many-mattresses-can-we-cram on a platform arrangement. I tossed my ULA backpack on the loner. Mission Accomplished. 

I kicked back, read, drank tea and waited. Backpackers began to drift in. I acted as the unofficial Welcome Wagon. Eventually the lashing rains arrived with a sustained 30 MPH wind. Temperatures began to fall. The tent campers abandoned ship. Before one could say, "G'Day!" there were about 40 relative strangers crammed into a space smaller than Trump's (spit) broom closet. 

Yet, more arrived. A father and son team wearing nothing but cotton showed up in the wash-cycle wet mode.  Ironically, they were both Eagle Scouts from Tennessee. So much for the Boy Scout motto-"Be Prepared." They shivered by the fire staving off hyperthermia. 

At 7:30 pm, Marcel the Hut Ranger arrived. He gave a safety talk, told a few stories and informed us about the weather. "I think this storm will be gone in the morning. When I get the forecast at breakfast time, I'll let you know." 

We guests retired to our all-too-communal bedroom and tried to sleep. Not an easy task with a symphony of rattling windows, snoring hikers and one coughing, sputtering W W Jew. 

Next morning met us with a gentle drizzle minus the cold breeze. We packed silently while waiting to hear our fate. 

Marcel strolled in around 7, "The forecast is a good one for your crossing. It should get sunny. The winds will die down to a mere 40 KPH (25 miles/Hour). Get out of here before it changes. I don't want to see any of you back here tonight." 

I was the first out the door. 

The Tongariro Crossing was the goal of the day. An approximate 2,200" climb to a saddle straddling two still-active volcanoes. 

It's also the most popular day hike on the North Island. A whole cottage industry has sprung up to cater to these day tripper Warriors. Tours can practically be booked while you are ordering fries at a Burger King. The Crossing has apparently achieved "Bucket List" status. I shared the trail with this ill-prepared for the elements, selfie stick carrying mob. 

It was a steady climb to the first of three ascents. As I ticked off each ridge line, the wind speed turned up a notch. (A 120 MPH gust was reported within the past week). I donned my Windstopper Jacket after the first ridge. I guesstimated the winds to be in the 40 MPH range. It was enough, that I wasn't comfortable getting too close to the edge of the ridge. I shot photos, had other hikers shoot me and thought, "Now this is good scenery!" There's mineral laden lakes bearing blue-green hues,  steam vents off-gassing sulfur (rotten egg smell), one Red Crater and of course the mountains. It was all worth the physical effort. 

I descended to less winds and warmer temperatures. Once again, I was the first to make entry at the hut. Unfortunately, there were no hermit mattresses lying off to one side. I chose one adjacent to a wall. At least I would half my exposure to flailing arms and legs. Trampers arrived displaying tired yet satisfied looks. The most difficult leg of the circuit was in the books. 

I woke, saw a good window of weather and decided to walk back to civilization. I yearned for a hotel, hot shower and no roommates whose names I did not know. After 14 miles of effort, I got my wish. 

In retrospect, I would have signed up just to do the Crossing. I'm starting to get to the point where a night without a hut is fine with me. 

From a comfy Quality Inn in Napier, NZ

Cheers!

Jeff

PS. I picked up antibiotics from the local hospital. Total cost for seeing a Doc and medicine = $65.00. Why is our health care so expensive?