30.12: New Zealand: St. Arnaud Ridge Trail: steep, high and testing in Nelson Lakes.

Smiling because she does not realize what awaits ahead.




Editor reaches her goal, a delightful position.




Some of the sights from the ridge were outstanding, particularly as clouds and mist created gaps.




Jen feels relief when hiking in New Zealand. No snakes, leopards or bears. However, besides the horrible sandflies, she has been attacked on two occasions by wasps, insects not people. They left her arm and hand in a terrible condition; the swelling and rashes took time to disappear. What she does like, moving in a different direction, not her but the text. Wherever one walks in New Zealand, probably less so in Auckland, a person will see backpackers in the streets, on sidewalks, hitching and of course in the bush. It is a way of life in this country especially for foreigners. The elderly, youngsters and in-betweens, enjoy accommodation at backpacker establishments where food, experiences and stories are shared. It’s not unusual to see elderly people struggling on the trails and later climbing onto upper-deck bunks. It’s also not usual to see young people offering to give up the lower-bunks for the elderly. Whereas it no longer surprises us (sad in of itself), it reflects poorly on the younger generations.
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Returning from one of the peaks. The action on the ridge, the weather and the climb was thrilling.




On a slippery track with heavy fog, the editor acquires 3,500 feet in 2.5 hours.




Hold the line. The fog could not pass the line of the ridge no matter how often it tried to breach
the apparent barrier.




Weather permits us to take in some of the sights.




Heading toward a peak on the ridge, showing a little caution (3,500 feet down on the right, considerably less to the left.)




Reflections on Lake Rotoiti, Nelson Lakes National Park.





The editor reaches the ridge with gusto...and a few whines.




Another angle, another palette of colors.




As we were the only hikers in the 6-hour period, it would be fair to call the editor, "Queen of the Ridge".




Many languages of the world are spoken in New Zealand although the two official ones are English and of course, 'German'. Young Germans and quite a number of older ones cover the trails and tracks. We meet Germans all over the world, perhaps the most prolific hikers and travelers of all. Often, we wonder how many remain in the home country.

Perhaps the most eye-opening issue in communication is that a language spoken by so few people finds its way on many signs within the hut system—Hebrew. Generally, four languages are used and Hebrew is one of them. Continuing along this vein, on the last morning of the Abel Tasman tramp, we had returned from an add-on to Separation Point. We thus had to make up time and head to the car park at the end of the trail to meet our taxi. Before leaving though, seated on the 'patio' watching us eat breakfast, were a Scot, an English couple, two young Australian women, a New Zealander and ourselves, South Africans with some American influence. The point of this anecdote is within all these English speaking countries, each had a different word for swimsuit/'cozzie'. We had not heard the respective words before.

We continue to meet so many people that we could fill our days with aspects of social intercourse. We are currently staying on a farm where people pop in for a night. Because we identified two exceptional hikes close-by, we rested here for the Sabbath and are using it as a base for these climbs. Having a communal kitchen, lounge and dining room allows people to mix and swop experiences, ideas and in some cases as mentioned earlier, food. The other night, we had the opportunity of meeting a person whose lifestyle, personality and experiences proved to be extraordinary. This is a frequent occurrence, meeting interesting people, but Lindie R was exceptional.

A young woman, Carolyn, of twenty-three walked into the farmhouse and greeted us. She had a bubbling personality and within minutes, we were getting on like a ‘farmhouse on fire’. She mentioned that she and her friend were cycling from the bottom of South Island to Auckland, a long, long way. She said her friend was pushing a bike up the steep drive. We anticipated meeting the friend in moments, obviously another young man or woman. In walked this effervescent personality who was a mere 65 years old. ‘Hello, Lindie.’ From the outset, we all got on well and spent the whole evening conversing on a number of subjects but mainly life. Briefly, this Canadian woman has worked in a dozen African states including South Africa and clearly does not fit the mold of a typical…any type of person. This is even more surprising when one knows of her background and upbringing. Suffice to say, she is a ball of fire, a bundle of energy and probably, quite a handful.

They left the following morning in light rain and were replaced (not replaceable) by an elderly local couple who once again showed us how New Zealanders, a hardy bunch indeed, are always on the go. We love seeing this restlessness in the people, the willingness to keep moving, to live and not yield to aging.

Unfortunately, for once there was an obnoxious person from Colorado who happened to know everything there is to know about any subject. We spent 4 nights together, in a manner of speaking, although Jen and I avoided her for most of the period. That’s okay because as we frequently mention, most people we meet are pleasant and some extraordinary. She reminded us, and others too, at every opportunity of her attributes, often interrupting a conversation and taking over completely. One day I was talking with Bob while standing outside the toilet. We had sneaked away so we could have a private chat. I answered, in reply to his question, that I had slept in the communal room on a bench the previous night. From within the toilet boomed the voice, “I too had a sleepless night because of snorers.” She never stopped for a moment.

It rained from the time we arrived at the working farm, Hu Ha (that's the name, not some exclamation). Funnily, we departed from Old McDonald’s Farm, the place we stayed before and after the Abel Tasman tramp, which wasn't a farm but campsites and cabins. It continued to rain on the day we had chosen to climb over 3,500 feet and walk along St. Arnaud’s ridge. What we often find is that should one not over emphasize the effect of the weather, in most cases, it will treat you well. There are occasions in which it does make it impossible to enjoy being outside but that’s not too often thus far. So after 36 hours of rain, expected high winds and facing a difficult trail, we succeeded in very light rain, dense mist or fog and no wind to reach the ridge peaks. It was an exceptional hike, fairly strenuous and in tougher than usual conditions. We set off from the quaint village of St. Arnaud, stopped at the DOC office (conservation), popped into for tea at the local haunt and then attacked the trail. We saw only one other tramper the whole day who was in fact lost. Quiet trails away from the more famous ones are usually more challenging and more enjoyable, too.



Old Mrs. MacDonald (oops) had a farm.




Cheers,

Jenni and Jeffrey