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Since returning from our holiday overseas, we’ve been aching to dive back into some classic outdoor Kiwi adventures!  Monique’s aunt and uncle are vacationing in Australia for the next three weeks, so they have left a vehicle with us during their absence.  Monique had the day off (as did Rus), so our original plan involved taking a day trip to one of the many ski fields.  When it became apparent that most ski fields require snow chains to climb the unpaved, untreated (and, hence, treacherous) access roads to their lodges, we decided to have a day hike instead.  Ultimately, we chose to go to popular Arthur’s Pass (about two hours northwest).  None of us knew exactly which track we would hike, so we donned our layers and boots to prepare for whatever we decided once we got to the visitor’s centre there.

It was forecast to rain in Christchurch, but by the time we left mid-morning, the sun was streaming through the clouds.  We drove towards the towering snow-covered Alps, surrounded by lush, green pasture.  Since Spring is right around the corner, the sheep are lambing, and we saw hundreds of adorable little baby lambs bouncing around in the grass.

Soon, we were weaving up into and then between the giant mountains.  What a sight!  Some had snow, some did not, but all were stunning.  Over rivers and one-lane bridges, we made our way to Arthur’s Pass.  Besides the roads and the occasional utility line, and despite the popularity of the route (which goes straight through to the other side of the country), it was hard to discern humans had ever been there.

Nearly two hours later, we arrived in the tiny village of Arthur’s Pass, which basically consisted of a couple of cafes, a visitor’s centre, a shop or two, a train station, and a handful of backpackers’ hotels.  As we pulled into the visitor’s centre for a trail map, we saw several Kea - a giant forest parrot only found in the alpine and forest areas of New Zealand.   We wanted a closer look and started toward one, but we need not have bothered; it flew over to us and landed on the roof of a car parked next to us!  There, it strutted and showed off, even trying to peck its way into the car!  Kea are notoriously smart birds, apparently not fearful of humans, and it was cool to see one so close up!

After we got bored with the Kea (or, rather, it got bored with us!), we went inside to seek out a trail guide.  Once we determined where we were going to go (Devil’s Punch Bowl Falls), we proceeded to a cafe to grab lunch before setting off.

The walk to Devil’s Punch Bowl Falls is short (less than an hour); we could see the falls from the road.  It is a bridal veil-type falls, a tall, thin stream of water that mists before reaching the bottom.  We walked through a damp, jungle-like forest - full of lichen, mosses, ferns, and moulds - toward the base of the falls.  Once we made it there, we took some pictures and watched the water trip and fall over the rocks.  Rus and I teetered into the river on some rocks and tasted the pure mountain water (for inquiring minds: it tasted clean with a slight “rock” aftertaste).  I tried holding my hand under the rushing water and could only manage a few seconds because it was so cold!

After we had our fill of the scenery there, it was time to make our next move.  We walked back the way we came and went back to the car.  We chose another trail a few kilometres up the road.  This one, called “Bealey Valley River Track”.  The signs said it would take four hours, which was about as much daylight as we had left, so we went for it.

I found the first part of this walk very interesting.  Again, the forests seemed almost tropical, as they were positively dripping and covered with all sorts of moisture-loving organisms.  What struck me as odd, however, was the fact that such an ecosystem could exist in such a cold climate (the temperature that day was about 7C/45F).  The difficulty level of this walk was harder than the first, with many steep “steps” and tricky climbs down.  Eventually, we made it to a river, flowing rapidly from the snow-melt.   We were in a giant ravine carved by the river, with the mountainsides tall and commanding above us.  There was an “Avalanche” warning sign, and we could see distinctly where previous avalanches had stripped the areas of trees and rocks.  In spots, the snow actually covered the rushing river.

Negotiating giant boulders and crunching through knee-deep snow, we made our way to another bridal-veil falls in the distance.  Clearly, no one was here before us as we would have seen tracks.  We had long since passed our last trail marker; however, we were only about 60 minutes into a supposed four-hour walk.  Or so we thought.  A light mist started to fall, and Monique - who was not wearing waterproof tramping boots - was falling behind.   We had been walking in frigid mountain water for the last hour; her feet were surely cold.  I was beginning to tire as the walk was borderline-treacherous.    Was there water rushing beneath the snow?  Would the rocks shift under our weight?  Could the melting snow give way in the higher altitudes and put us in danger?  It was beautiful up there, and I could not get enough of the fresh air.  Monique and I both agreed that we could easily sit and simply watch the rushing water for hours.  All of that aside, however, daylight (and our energy) would start fading soon, and it was best to turn around.  We abandoned our journey to the second water fall and made our way back.  As we we were descending, the sun shone through a cloud onto the mist and treated us with a colorful rainbow!

Once back at the car, we removed our gear and prepared to head back to Christchurch.  On our way through, we decided to drive up the access road to Mt. Cheeseman (our previously-selected ski field), to see just “how serious” they were about snow chains.  The road was one-lane, winding for kilometres, with no guard rails.  It was wet and muddy, and I was happy that we had a four-wheel drive vehicle.  We continued to climb until we saw snow and Monique felt uncomfortable proceeding any further; I supposed we needed snow chains after all!  We took some amazing pictures, turned around, and drove back down to the highway to go home.

Later that night, Rus discovered that the last sign we saw on the trail was actually the end of the trail; we had completed it in about half of the estimated time and were tramping up the river in unmarked territory.  Oops!