Monday, February 23, 2009

Tramping in the Rain


This is more like it. I have lashed out on a night at Mount Cook village - actually it's not at all expensive by the standards of European Alpine lodging - and have a room at the Aoraki Alpine Lodge, a small, but very comfortable, hotel. Next door is the huge Hermitage Hotel which advertises itself as probably the best known in New Zealand. That it is a hideous grey rectangle, tucked in under the cliffs is not mentioned. My hotel has a large guest lounge from which I have a wonderful view of more fog. Yes, the fog has travelled with me and obscures what should be a marvellous view of the Mount Cook range of mountains. It also continues to rain.

But I just had to take a walk, so I set off on the Hooker Valley track (actually I was attempting to walk the Sealy Tarns track but somehow ended up on the other one) under a relentless rain. The brochure says it is a three hour return walk, over a couple of swing bridges (so called because when you walk across them they swing alarmingly from side to side as your weight shifts) and a lot of very rough track, which today is flooded in places. The views are spirit lifting, in spite of the low clouds. the track runs down the Hooker valley, where thin ribbons of water gush down shaley mountain sides, partly covered in scrub. Every now and again, the track snuggles up to the river, a torrent of grey green water, fed by the glacier lake to which I was walking.

Half way along the track there is a small hut shelter, whose walls are covered in walkers' graffiti - Shane and Mike from Saskatoon, Bruno from Milan - a palimpsest of historic exercise. Over the years dozens of people must have walked this track with felt tip markers - perhaps they do it wherever they go. The trail continues through low scrub, sometimes raised above boggy ground on a wooden walkway, sometimes skirting large boulders. Finally it reaches its destination, a small lake. But it is no ordinary lake because at the far end is the face of the Tasman Glacier, which calves huge chunks of ice into the water during the summer. As a consequence, miniature icebergs float on the lake's surface, melting gracefully to feed the river at the lake's end.

It was a very exhilarating trek. Three hours in the rain is not often my idea of a good day out, but today it was just what I needed to drive out the grumpiness that had been building up. I feel I have earned a decent meal (I cooked my own supper in the motel last night) and a few drinks. Perhaps tomorrow the cloud will lift and reveal the mountains; perhaps not. Right now I feel it doesn't really matter. I may not have conquered the mountain, but at least I have returned Mr Grumpy to his hutch.

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