Christmas on the Routeburn Track in the Fjordland mountains of New Zealand. Paul Marenco Dascha and Marc

1. Routeburn Track
Saturday, 31 December 2011
2:52 p.m.
Christmas on the Routeburn
2011
We spent much of our Christmas Holiday in the Fjordland Mountains which lie to the west of the south island here in New
Zealand. Much of the Lord of the Rings movies were filmed here. Coming from the Pacific Northwest, "Mountains" to me
mean the Sierra Nevadas, the Washington Olympics, or perhaps further south with those remarkable granite landscapes
in Yosemite. The Fjordland mountains are different than any of these. New Zealand lies along the intersection of two
very powerful tectonic plates and the result of the incredible pressure produced these incredibly dense, massive,
crystalline, mountains - originally thought to be around 20,000 METRES high. They are still impressively tall mountains, at
4000m. Because of their resistance to erosion the peaks are strikingly sheer and ragged at the top and because of the
fjords they seem to push straight up from the sea.
They bill the Routeburn ("rootburn") Track as one of New Zealand's "Great Walks." In fact National Geographic rates the
Routeburn as one of the eleven best walks in the world. I naively took the distinction between a "hike" and a "walk"
seriously and therefore greatly over-estimated my fitness for the, er… "walk." Within a few minutes onto the Track we
came across a party of five. Two of the five were holding up a woman with glazed eyes and a very broken arm. God
knows how long they'd been "walking…" Here's my analysis: The Routeburn Track is not a great "walk." It is a great
"hike." And it is only a great hike if you're in more or less great shape.
That said, I'd go back up there in heart beat, despite the difficulty. But I'd sure to work out a bit more and leave behind
certain items like the huge video camera round my neck and the two kilos of uneaten cheese. As I trudged ever upward,
bathed in sweat; with my world rapidly shrinking to that next spot to place my boot, I began obsessing over the items in
my rucksack, imagining them actively conspiring to push my body downward. The special stone up there is almost
metallic and I had this fantasy that the rocks had some kind of weird magnetic property that pulled all living matter
downward to its own level. Why did I bring that damned extra toothbrush?! Why'd I let Paul talk me into bringing that
magnifying glass… he hasn't used it once! And so on… Maybe you've had the experience. So the moral of the story is
simple: get in shape and take only what you know you'll use or in the case of lots of clothes… what you're likely to need.
And that's my next point.
These mountains are on the west side of the south island amongst 24 fjords. New Zealand is the closest inhabited land to
Antarctica. You can kind of imagine these fjords as great funnels for the winds and rains that come off the sea. And pay
attention to this one… the Milford Sound gets eight METERES of rain a year. 200 days of rain a year on average. And
there are a few freak spots that get up to nine metres. We were incredibly lucky because we had no rain, at least during
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2. there are a few freak spots that get up to nine metres. We were incredibly lucky because we had no rain, at least during
the daytime for an entire week. But you MUST bring stuff that will protect against wind and rain. Forget the weather
reports. Just prepare. It can all happen in a matter of minutes and as we criss-crossed the steep slope down to the
Mackenie hut for our second nights rest, we passed a plaque on a stone - a memorial to a 13 year old boy caught in a
storm in 1994 who died from exposure even though he was within sight of the hut. So I did not resent the clothes we
brought that were never used. The only reminders of the danger were the constant parade of low, misty clouds that
moved through the valleys and amongst the peaks and, fortunately for us, did nothing but enhance the beauty of the
terrain. Even though we saw no rain we saw lots of water. Paul started counting the streams we crossed on our final
day and gave up at 400 after the first hour of hiking.
Before day by day account of our experience up there, one last observation. The length of the entire track, from the
shelter in the north to the Divide in the south is only 33 kilometres. However, figuring out how to manage transport on
either end isn't easy. The driving distance from one side to the other is about five hours… There is a company that will
drive your car from one side to the other… for $250. You can also park your car in Queenstown and take shuttles… for
about $350. We thought we'd be smart by leaving our car at the shelter, hiking into the middle hut (Mackenzie) and then
BACK to the Routeburn Falls hut and then back to the car. Don't do that. Really, don't do that. First of all Mackenzie is
not really in the middle. It's more like about 2/3 the way along the track. So the hike is substantially longer and over
territory you've already seen. And the hike up out of Mackenzie to get up to the Saddleback is long and, well… all up.
We changed our minds about this and decided to complete the Routeburn from one side to the other.
There is one more much important reason not to double back… Earland Falls. You'll miss Earland Falls. Don't miss
Earland Falls. While not anywhere near the actual height of Angel Falls in Venezuela, it has that feel about it, the straight
up over the top direct from the snow fields feel. You get dizzy trying to SEE the top properly. And with all of the
vegetation along the rock face and the cool spray that feels like one of those old Lipton iced tea commercials where the
overheated guy falls back into a pool of clear clean water. You deserve that after your great "walk" along the Routeburn.
Alright, so here's a short account of our experience.
Day One. We made the drive in a borrowed 1990's Mazda, nicknamed "the mushroom." Thank you Godfrey and
Amanda... Driving from Dunedin through Central Otago to the Routeburn Shelter (just outside Glenorchy) took us four
and a half hours. We would have gotten their faster but I felt obligated to annoy my daughter (who is dying to get a New
Zealand driver's license) by going more slowly than I usually go because she hates that and I can justify it by saying I'm
modelling safe driving behaviour, etc. "Hey… look daughter o' mine… I'm driving and wanna enjoy the scenery, ok?" We
also stopped for freshly picked Otago cherries. There are no cherries that I've ever had that come close to these for just
the right combination of sweetness, tartness and sheer quantity and freshness of juice. We bought a kilo going up ($12)
and two kilos coming down, heavily discounted the second time round by an especially friendly farmer with a cute dog
who let us relieve ourselves in his own private in home bathroom. A kilo for the road and one for the coming week at
home... The second kilo disappeared and when I asked my daughter if she knew where they were she just gave me that
smile familiar to any attentive father of any teenaged girl that means, "Dad...I've been bad..."
We started up the trail at around 4pm, I with a walking stick Paul found that had obviously been carefully made just for
me over the years by some thoughtful tree out there. The first people we met were that group assisting the woman with
a broken arm. At that point any normal person would have drawn some inferences. But not me. We moved on as
though she were just part of the flora and fauna. Our game plan for the day was simple enough: hike past the
Routeburn Flats hut (6.5 km) and straight on to the Routeburn Falls hut. (another 2.3 km)
We found our stride in about a half hour and then I "hit the wall" about 30 minutes later... The track rise is from about
1800 feet at the shelter to 3400 feet at the Falls Hut. That in itself is not terribly great but the rise happens quickly and
there are many places where you literally must pull yourself up along the track to keep your footing. Also the track goes
up AND down and as hikers know, downhill is often harder on the body than uphill, especially with heavily loaded packs.
The pattern was set pretty early on. Two main problems showed up and accompanied us for the duration. Dascha had
blisters... The day before the trip my daughter managed to inflict four blisters on her feet by horsing around with some
kids while in high heeled shows. (I have never understood, not even with the help of a number of very patient women
friends, what high heeled shoes are FOR. They are the opposite of "s.e.x.y." because they are so patently "s.i.l.l.y.") So
Dascha was in pain from the beginning, and limping. I had purchased $30 of moleskin so I was feeling pretty clever.
"Dascha... don't worry... I have Moleskin darlin. Let's get some on there before they don't get worse." "No thanks,
Dad…!" as she hobbles past me grimacing and obviously enjoying the experience of "fighting pain." By the time I got her
to stop and take a look she had four bright white blisters surrounded by just as bright red skin, some of them seeping
clear fluid. Sweet...
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3. The other problem was me. I was just not physically prepared. I had been walking at least three kilometres a day with
a light backpack always strapped to me in Dunedin, and often more like 6km. But it wasn't long before I could literally
hear my heart pounding in my ears and I began to sweat profusely as I developed the ol' rubber legs syndrome. I TOLD
my legs to move but they just stood there vibrating. Because of the extra weight I also developed a grinding pain in my
hip joints, which fortunately DID go away our last day out.
Despite all that, one foot in front of the other in the right direction eventually takes you where you want to go. And so
long as I kept my heartbeat inaudible by stopping frequently enough to let it slow down below that threshold, my sense
was...we'd make it. Dascha walked in front of me, in great physical shape (from ice skating) but hobbling enough for me
to know she'd soon have other pains because of how she was compensating for the blisters. And then Paul... the "little
twerp" we call him - the carefree mountain goat with his goofy hat and camera round his neck collecting "pretty" rocks to
fill up his already full rucksack that he'd carry for the next two days... I love my son, but couldn't look at him running back
and forth on that track after awhile. He seemed to be laughing at us.
Unlike the Sierra Nevadas where you have to watch your step so as not to step on a chipmunk or some other furry
creature, there are no chipmunks in New Zealand and few little furry animals. In fact the only land based mammal native
to New Zealand is the bat... There are possum and other non-native mammals, but not many species. And if you happen
to suffer from ophidiophobia... You'll be glad to know there are no snakes in New Zealand, either. None. And only two
spiders here will cause you trouble and even with these, the worse of the two - the Katipo - has a safe and effective anti-
venom readily available. As someone who's been bitten by the North American black widow I tend to pay attention to
these kind of details.
Lots of native birds though. Because of the lack of predators there are many bird species that have evolved without the
capacity for flight. (I guess you'd call that "devolved" if you happen to think capacity for flight is an inherently desirable
trait.) We've seen some of these flightless birds, but not on the track. One bird in particular we encountered regularly
on the trail was the New Zealand Robin. Paul came upon one while leading us up to the Routeburn Falls hut on day one.
The thing had longish black legs and large claws disproportionate to its body and planted himself right in the middle of
the track and did not budge. Paul came right up to him and took this photo.
It seemed neither friendly, nor aggressive nor afraid. Just wasn't moving. We found two more up the track with the
same behaviour.
The view that first day was spectacular once we were deep in the valley and high on the ridge. The dense rock makes for
little erosion and therefore dramatically steep inclines. Photos here, by Paul.
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4. We sent Dascha ahead to locate the hut and claim our beds for the night. It did not take her long to make it to the hut
where she nabbed our beds, took off her pack, grabbed a water bottle and ran back down the track to help us. I'm
embarrassed to say that after some preliminary argument she took my pack up the last bit so we could get up the damn
hill before dark! The track was so steep and winding just before the hut that they supplied a kind of pipe handrail to use
to literally pull yourself along.
The Falls hut is really a small cluster of buildings and we took the lodging on the right as we came into camp. The view is
what you see in Paul's second picture...
Day Two. I didn't sleep much because: 1) I couldn't get my heart to slow down, and 2) I was worried about Dascha's feet
for the day two hike. We were nearly the last hikers to vacate the hut and I have no idea how I persuaded my legs to
deliberately start climbing up that rocky path again. But they did obey.
Day two involved a steep climb to Lake Harris and then a long stretch called the Harris Saddle. Right before the Saddle
we passed a section of trail that was at high risk for rock fall and were warned not to stop along that section. Once on
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5. we passed a section of trail that was at high risk for rock fall and were warned not to stop along that section. Once on
the Saddle we found great spots to stop. (After ten steps of earnest hiking out-of-shape guys like me begin instinctively
looking for the next place to stop and evaluate the aesthetic value of the scenic "views" with that in mind…) One stream
in particular looked especially clean and cold and Paul filled up our water bottles there... twice. There is nothing like the
taste of that water after the first seven kilometres up the Harris Saddle.
We came across an enormous sack with rock in it. At first I couldn't imagine what it was there for or how it got there.
Then it came into focus. The rock was to smooth out the rough track to seduce guys like me into thinking they really
were on a "walk." And the only way it was possible for it to have gotten there is by helicopter. There were dozens more.
Somebody had their work cut out for them.
At the far end of the Saddle you reach a point where the Mackenzie Hut and lake come into view. They actually appear
quite close. You can see the path below zigzagging back and forth as it descends toward the goal. The path almost looks
like a "walk." Almost. You know those famous prints by M. C. Escher; the one's where someone is walking down a
staircase and then suddenly you realize they are walking UP not DOWN… Optical illusion. That's what I thought of as
Paul and I began making our way "down." At some point I stopped, looked at the Hut and could swear we'd somehow
crisscrossed the zigzag and were going AWAY from it. It took us a lot longer than I expected. This is also where we came
across that plaque mentioned above where the boy died from exposure.
Once tucked in I was happy to sit, sip water and write notes in my diary. Paul was off to the lake before his backpack hit
the floor… He just dove in despite the water being just above freezing, from the nearby snowfields. Later we went down
to the lake together to engage in one of our all time favourite activities… skipping rocks. And Mackenzie was perfect for
this; calm, dense water as smooth on top as it gets, with plenty of good "skippers" lying around on the shoreline. They
are so protective of nature on this Track I was worried we might get yelled at for removing those few rocks and disturbing
the equilibrium of the lake. Paul - 14 skips. Dad - 18… This victory briefly restored my self-confidence.
A young woman next to us was inspired by our rock skipping and persuaded her boyfriend to skip rocks with her. She
thanked Paul for giving her the idea. Paul noticed she didn't know what she was doing and her boyfriend… well he was a
total loss; kept trying to send them out back-handed like a frisbee… (men…) So Paul went over and offered to help out. I
went back up to the hut. Paul made some friends out of it: Alex and Donald. As they came up to the hut, Alex pulled
some cards out of her bag and said, "gin rummy?"
That night was Christmas Eve… Dascha was already tucked away in her bunk deep into her diary. Paul and I were lying
on our bunks, me writing and he reading one of his "Goose Bumps" books (a kids favourite here in NZ). They began
singing Christmas carols below and so Paul and I went down. What a great image; people sitting all around the commons
in nothing but candlelight. Maybe 20 people, from all over the world. We found a place to sit. After a bit Donald came
over and gave Paul a candle, "Merry Christmas." Merry Christmas. Here we were a long ways from anywhere in New
Zealand and in a country a long ways from anywhere in the world. But Merry Christmas. We sang carols as long as Paul
could hold out and then, after returning Donald's candle to him with thanks, we made our way to the bunks and climbed
into our borrowed sleeping bags (thanks Darcy). "Merry Christmas, son…" "Merry Christmas, Dad."
Day Three. Final day. We had a problem. Our car was at the Shelter (the beginning of the trail). The trail would end at
the Divide (the end). We hoped to find a ride to Queenstown from someone with their car at the Divide. We did. A
young Welsh man and his Kiwi girlfriend offered to give us a lift. We left as early as we could so as not to slow them
down. But something happened along the way. Paul said he saw the man on the trail. He asked Paul, "did you see my
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6. down. But something happened along the way. Paul said he saw the man on the trail. He asked Paul, "did you see my
girlfriend up that way? She's blond, etc." "No, just a woman with two walking sticks." "No that's not her…." He seemed
worried and went away. Apparently his girlfriend took the wrong track out of Mackenzie… Easier to do than you might
think. So we never did see them again and once got to the Divide took a bus to Queenstown that happened to be there.
The last day's hike is the longest: 12 km. After a steep and rocky ascent that takes twenty minutes or so, the trail levels
out and is close as the Routeburn Track gets to being a "walk."
The most remarkable sight along the Track from Mackenzie to the Divide is Earland Falls. I thought it was spectacular
because of the sheer steepness of the drop over the dense rock face. With the sides covered in vegetation and the
continual cool spray from the falls pool, it’s a great spot to relax, have lunch and simply appreciate that such a place
exists. I decided to leave Earland Falls first because I knew Paul and Dascha would be able to catch up with me. But it
took them more effort than they supposed. "Dascha, look how well Dad is doing!" Yes, my hips had stopped hurting and
my heart seemed to have made the adjustments needed to actually get fuel to my aching muscles. The rest of the hike
down to the Divide was relatively easy and gave me plenty of time to think about how cool this Christmas was.
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