Daylight Robbery

Ok, so now I’m back from my swin/spa/sauna extravaganza I can tell you about my day.

For those that have been paying attention, we abandoned our planned three day hike and instead holed up in a four star hotel to enjoy the best that Queenstown had to offer. At least it was supposed to be relaxing, well according to the brochure that is. But us being us, we had other ideas. What is the point, after all, of being in Queenstown if you’re not going to get out there and see what there is to see? So, inevitably, we found ourselves getting kitted up at 8:00am (which is much later than typical for us in case you were wondering) and heading off down the road towards the trail head. 

Now at this point I feel that I should point out that we hadn’t had our usual pre-hike breakfast. We would’ve normall enjoyed a breakfast of porridge but out hastily organsised hotel room didn’t have the equipment needed to prepare a batch of steaming gloopy goodness. Instead we resorted to cold cereal served up in a hotel room mug, washed down with tea and the left-overs of last night’s chocolate. Well it was either that or pay the extortionate price for a bacon butty in the hotel restaurant. Not happening!

It was a lovely day for a walk - the sky was relatively clear, the temperature was gentle and the humidity was non-Auckland like. Plus, there was not a soul around despite it being the last weekend of summer, or the first of Autumn depending upon your disposition. If there was any doubt that this was the last hurrah for the summer season, there was a slight crispness to the air and selected trees were signalling the arrival of the cooler season as pockets of golden reds and hues of deep brown interrupted the otherwise still green canopy.

The objective for today was the peak of Ben Lomond. Despite the disorientating name, Ben Lomond is a New Zealand classic was named after Ben Lomond in Scotland by the early shepherd Duncan McAusland. The summit lies approximately 4 km northwest of the town centre, and reaches a height of 1,748 metres, over 750m taller than its northern namesake. Being only a 7km hike from the centre of Queenstown, it is one of those rare New Zealand mountains that is with easy reach within a day. Obviously ‘easy’ is an subjective term as it is a constant uphill hike from the lake level. Actually that’s not entirely true, there is a brief period of respite once you reach the saddle but it’s short-lived and pretty soon you the path kicks upwards towards the summit.

Unfortunately today, despite the early clear skies and sunshine, the weather had closed in as we climbed the last kilometre to the top. Not a complete white out but only occasional glimpses of Lake Wakatipu could be seen as banks of cloud swirled around the peak. The curse of the hill walker I suppose - I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve set off towards a summit in cloudless skies only to find myself swatted in fog with a few hundred metres of the top. Then, just to add insult to injury, it’s not unusual for the blanket to lift once were off the hill. Yes Skiddaw! I’m looking at you!. Anyway, the arrival of scattered clouds hadn’t put people off making the push to the summit and as the last corner was rounded and final boulder negotiated, a small group came slowing into view. I recognised the grounds actions immediately; they were looking for the best spot to take the celebratory photograph and decidng which was the least windy spot to have lunch. 

It wasn’t just people that had decided to perch on the summit. As well as ten or some humans, and inquisitive Kea had decided to take a look around and see what was on offer. 

The Kea in its natural environment is an impressive sight as tese endangered birds are about the size of a small cat with dark green plumage and the occasional flashes of red as they flap their wings. And they are not shy, not in the slightest. In fact, this particual Kea had already spotted a potential source of food and was making advances towards the part open backpack of a young woman.

“Oh wow! They are so cute!,” she exclaimed to her friend and started to fumble in her pocket for presumably her camera phone.

“Watch them,” I advised before helpfully adding, “they’re sneaky!”

No sooner were the words out of my mouth when there was a shriek from the young woman, “Hey! That’s my lunch”

Right on cue, the not-so-cute-now Kea had prized open the rest of the backpack and picked up a silver foil parcel in its beak. The woman made a dash to grab it back but it was too late. The Kea flapped to the rock ledge and began dismantling the wrapper to see what spoils he had managed to grab for himself. A tuna and sweet corn sandwich as we were soon to find out. 

The precision with which the bird opened the parcel was impressive. What was even more impressive was the way in which it laid out the ingredients into groups; the bread on one side, tuna in the centre and the sweet corn off to the right. Well I thought it was impressive. The woman who was going to have to contemplate walking back down on an empty stomach had other feelings. Her walking companion tried to save the day and threw a piece of her banana towards the delighted bird, presumably as a decoy whilst her friend tried to retrieve what was left of her lunch. Which was not a lot by this point. Anyway, it didn’t work - the Kea are far too intelligent for human tricks like that. Fleet of feather, the bird hopped to one side, grabbed the banana and threw it towards his pile of food. He had just addded dessert to his already sumptuous meal.

“I think that bird is also going to have to walk down,” remarked another summit companion, “not sure he’ll be able to take off after eating all that food!”

Even an attempted poke at the pile of food with a walking pole wasn’t enought to deter the bird. All that accomplished was to retrieve the aluminium foil and what crumbs were still attached to the wrapper. 

It was either pity or the concern for a fellow hiker that prompted others to offer food from their now firmly closed backpacks. There was no way the mountain parrot was going to make a fool out of them. Well not today anyway!

Me? I sat with my back to the mountain top survey marker and finished the rest of my ham and cheese sandwich, all the while keeping a beady eye on out feathered friend. Never turn your back on a Kea, especially when there is food to be had. Although I’d only been in New Zealand a relatively short amount of time, and hadn’t spent that long in the mountains, I knew enough to be wary of the cheeky bleeders. I had already seen, a year or so previously, footage of a group of Keas remove the rubber from car windscreen wipers, remove aerials and work together to get access to supposedly fastened wheelie bins. Grabbing a sandwich from a part-open bag was child’s play in comparison. 

The ease and speed with which the bird got his morning snack was impressive but did make me wonder how on earth they were endangered. Certainly, on the evidence this morning, not due to the lack of food so one can only assume it’s from a loss of habitat as human activity expands into what was once wilderness. And with those thoughts in my head, I started the slow decent back to Queenstown. Happy to have made it to the top of Ben Lomond but equally happy to have been able to eat my lunch without it being lost to a more cunning and clever foe. 

Within a couple of hours we were once again in our favourite lakeside bar and reflecting on a great day in the mountains and marvelling at the ingenuity of nature. Well elements of it anyway!

“What would you like to drink?,” Sarah asked.

“A pint of Mischevious Kea of course!” came the reply.

A Change of Plan

Thank goodness we’re adaptable, go-with-the-flow kind of people. You see, as I type this from the balcony of the hotel, overlooking Lake Wakatipu whilst watching the steamer ship Earnslaw slowly make her way across the water, I know that this wasn’t the weekend that we were supposed to have. It couldn’t have been more different.

We were, at this precise moment, supposed to be arriving at a mountain hut, somewhere along the Routeburn track, looking forward to shelter and a rehydrated meal of some description. Not that it would’ve mattered which rehydrated meal as they all taste pretty similar and are eaten not for their culinary delights but instead for pure survival. Carbs in = energy out. It was not to be, and instead of reconsituted food and a communal hut, we’re going to have to put up with chilled wine and cheese on the balcony before heading to the restaurant to see what’s on offer. Maybe then a dip in the pool whilst the sun sets before retiring to a soft queen sized bed with clean white cotton sheets. It was a tough decision, and one that we agonised over for several minutes, maybe as long as five. Could’ve even been ten. 

Way back in October last year we booked ourselves onto the Routeburn Track, one of New Zealand’s Great Walks, and were anticipating three days walking in the mountains in Fjordland. It was going to be spectacular; clean mountain air, spectacular scenery and a chance to switch off all devices and leave the hustle and bustle of modern life behind. Well on that we’d have no choice as the chance of a mobile phone signal out in the remote hills of the South Island is just about the same as England have of winning a penalty shootout, or hell freezing over if you’re not into sport analogies. 

We’d spent the previous weekend packing for the trip, agonising over choices so that week took the essentials whilst ensuring that the weight of our rucksacks didn’t top 10kg. With the responsibilities literally on your own shoulders, was it really worth the extra energy to carry a spare cardigan and a pair of slippers at the expense of the first aid kit?  Hhhhmmmm. We’re two pairs of undies really necessary for a three day trip? Surely one would do if I adopted the back-front-inside-out routine. Finally, with every nook and cranny of our hulking packs used, we could declare that we were ready for the trip. Anyway, with a full four days in work still to go, there’d be time for any late changes before jumping on the Air New Zealand flight to Queenstown.

It’s fair to say that the latter part of the New Zealand summer has been a bit..well....damp. The best way to describe it is to say it was tropical island like, only not in a good way. Very hot, wet and with a humidity that makes you sweaty before you’ve even left the house. Nowhere had escaped the dampness, not even the South Island and that was before Cyclone Gita came through. As the week progressed, the forecast for the coming weekend deteriorated with gale force winds and rain expected for a significant portion of the three day trek. A decision had to be made.....

At this point, I feel the need to note that we are not fair weather hikers. Far from it. We have spent many a day deep surrounded by mountain clouds, lost in thought with only the hammering of rain on our waterproof hoods for company. You can’t hike in Cumbria and not expect to spend most of the time wet. But those days spent in less-than-ideal conditions were suffered because of the promise of a warm shower, a drying room and a cold beer to raise our spirits. Besides there was always the thought that maybe tomorrow would be better! But in the back country of the New Zealand southern alps there is no such thing as home comforts.  The reward for a long day spent in rain and wind was the promise of another day spent in rain and wind, only this time with damp clothing from the day before and a half eaten rehydrated meal in the side pocket of your rucksack for company. 

Did we really want to spend all that time in the mountains and not actually see any mountains? Probably not. Was there really any point in wandering each day slowly towards the next hut in the knowledge that there was no warm water and just a hard bench to sit on? I don’t think so. Was it time to admit defeat and change our plans. Hell yes! So with only a few hours to go before we were committed to the trip, we organised different accommodation, cancelled what bookings we could and unpacked and repacked our backpacks. The dried food could definitely be left behind, as could the power banks, storm shelter, spare hats, gloves and playing cards. Definitely more room now for that extra underwear, maybe a change of socks and hey, how about that cardigan! 

So that is how we find ourselves in this luxurious hotel room on the edge of Lake Wakatipu, sipping chilled Sauvignon Blanc whilst we wonder what we’d be doing if we hadn’t backed out. I’d like to think that we’d be wishing we had, but knowing us we’d have been absolutely fine and making the best of it. I am wondering, as I sit here typing this, whether we’d been a little hasty. There are some clouds in the sky but the breeze is gentle and the rain that was forecast hasn’t yet materialised. There’s even sunlight illuminating the mountain opposite our balcony. But that’s here. Over in the mountains it could be a lot different. Honestly!

I know the younger me wouldn’t have cared, he’d have been very happy being soaking wet and almost looking forward to hunkering down for the night and gorging on a packet of tasteless food, all the while laughing about it with his mates. It would’ve been an adventure, an experience and something that our peers definitely wouldn’t have been doing. Or likely ever do. And that would’ve made it worthwhile. This was the youngster after all that spent the night on a small island in the middle of a lake wrapped in a bin bag because.....well I forget. Probably for no other reason than why the hell not. Maybe it’s because I’ve been there and done that, that I need more reward for discomfort. Or is it simply that spare time is much more precious when you have to work hard during the week to earn it? 

Oh blimey, listen to me go on. The mountains aren’t going anywhere anytime soon and there will be other opportunities head for the hills, leave behind the stresses of modern life and abandon personal hygiene routines. For now I’ll enjoy sitting here and thank my lucky stars for being able to do this; just be here, in this space. It might not be what we set out to do, but if you’re able to change plans then, whaddya know, things will always go to plan! Maybe a day spent idly wasting time when we should’ve been hiking in the hills is a missed opportunity. But what the heck, I’ll raise a glass to the wise words of John Lennon and others and say “Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time!”