Kepler Track Fiordland National Park |
DAY 2 - March 19, 2017
This is the most important day of the trek —
the one where good weather is most important. It looks
as if we will have it, too; for the skies are fairly clear.
At breakfast, with the help of the water bottle that still is on the window sill, we actually have oatmeal instead of oatsoup. Dave also had thought to pack some extra brown sugar, which is great.
Dave has no actual water bottle after having lost his over
on the Routeburn Track. He has been using a left-over
plastic milk bottle that leaks if it is turned
upside-down. After pointing out that the one here
must have been left behind by someone, he consents to take it
along. Hooray! Now we will be able to cook without
guesswork. The only downside is the extra weight of
having to carry the old bottle also.
As we depart, a party of hikers is gathering.
It seems that the seven-year-old boy in our
group has gone missing, and a search is being prepared.
The trail ahead
The trail behind
Dave and I elect to eschew the detour up to the mountain summit. It doesn't look as if the view would improve much, and the trail looks crappy, and it's a bit windy and cold already.
The Hardy Boys
The trail winds up, and up, and up some more
At the two-hour mark, a welcome shelter
Somewhere in here Dave and I learn from a guy who has a
walkie-talkie that the lost boy has been found.
It seems that he simply opted to starting walking with a
couple of adults who were not his parents, and it apparently
never occurred to them that something might be amiss.
See? I'm not the only one doing stupid things.
Fully outfitted, I am not at all cold; but it is quite windy
There are few butterflies around
Daisies are a rarity as well
The trail continues to wind up, and up — to the ridge top
I am dressed for winter conditions. How can she do that?
It turns out that there actually are three saddle-like
traverses. On at least one of them, it is such a steep
dropoff on both sides of the trail that when the winds are fierce
enough, the DOC places a sentry at both ends to prevent hikers
from attempting a risky crossing.
Today, fortunately, is not one of those times. Although
the gusts of wind are enough to make me glad I have a walking
stick, they aren't threatening to send me into orbit.
In any case, here we are at the most spectacular portion of this
track — the place you see on all the brochures:
This is why I came to New Zealand
At some point in here, the ridge top eats my new headband, meaning that apparently I didn't stuff it far enough into a pocket; and now it is gone forever. Bummer.
Yet another ridge top to conquer
At the scheduled four-hour mark, the next shelter/potty combo is
right atop a high-point. The local birdies know all about it:
See our trail in the center distance?
This is where we start down
Before long we're back in the trees
We never would see one of these guys
My knees begin to hurt about now, because the downgrade
is so steep. We pass a couple more signposts that
understate the walking time required by mere mortals
such as Dave and me. Finally, we pass one that
tells us that the hut is just past Trap #24 —
one of some 2,000 stoat traps placed along the various
trails throughout this country.
Even when we go down, we go up
Our destination is down there somewhere
The Iris Burn Hut does show up eventually, of course. At this one we must leave our boots and any heavy rain gear outside. That is something of a problem, because there are so many sand flies present that the time spent outside in taking off a boot is hazardous to one's health.
Inside the hut there is another crisis in progress. A young man has sprained an ankle while running the trail, and he is getting it taped up. Dave offers him an Ibuprofen for the inflammation, but Mr. Macho declines. Then, when the taping is finished, Dave again offers him two pills this time, which he ultimately takes.
Perhaps this incident will help this man to learn before it is too late that the worst thing he can do to his legs is to run on rough trails and risk becoming severely hobbled in the future. In any case, now there are no more big Ibuprofen pills for my sore back; but the sacrifice was in a good cause, I suppose, and Dave did the honorable thing by offering them.
On tonight's menu is another package of Chicken Tikka Masala,
the same dish prepared when I opted for no dinner at all over on
the Routeburn Track. It is extra-spicy, but good.
Most of my sand fly bites are on the right hand
Ranger Robbie tells us of a local resident known affectionately as Grandma Kiwi, who lives nearby. Having been abandoned by her mate for some reason, she now calls out every night to the local males, but receives no reply.
Robbie also explains the two big groups of hikers we encountered
on the trail today. It seems that 36 students and two
teachers from nearby Cromwell College have split into two groups that
are tackling this track in opposite directions.
This was our most ambitious walk to date, and the rewards were more than worth the effort. Although I lost my new headband, I didn't lose my balance in the wind. I can always get another headband.