3 Weeks in 30 Litres: The Kepler Curse (Part 5)

Hey friends! 

Hope you've all been warm and well. It's so strange to see everyone's summer pictures start cropping up while it gets colder and colder by the day here. 

I've mentioned before that I've been stoked to write this post. That's because the four days I'm about to write about were, in a number of ways, a turning point in my abroad experience. (Sorry in advance for a particularly wordy post.)

Once we confirmed dates for the Routeburn and our stay in Queenstown months in advance, Claire and I decided that we would travel back to Te Anau together to tackle the Kepler Track. The hut and campsite were booked, the plans were formed, and we were stoked. 

About a week or two before, Claire heard that a friend in Australia wasn't doing too well and made plans to fly over to see her after our stay with Kim's parents in Queenstown.

This meant I had two weeks to find a hiking buddy or prepare to walk the Kepler on my own. 

I didn't mind going it alone but I figured I'd ask around for the hell of it; the Kepler about twice the length and twice the climb of the Routeburn. See?

I knew a huge group of friends from the university would be starting the day I finished, so I could push my booking back if all else failed. Huge groups aren't really my thing though, so I looked for other options. For a while it looked like Martin, the British travel blogger I mentioned a few posts ago, was going to do it with me but he found other plans while I was unplugged on the Routeburn. 

Again, it looked like I was going it alone. Until I met Lucas. It couldn't have been more perfect; not only was he a private guide in other Fiordland treks (and would therefore have heaps of random knowledge about the trees and landscape), but he also had all the gear and room in his pack that I didn't. When I flew over from the States, I had opted to leave almost all of our camping and outdoor gear behind and it didn't make much sense to buy my own cooker or pots once I got to New Zealand. 

Lucas and I made plans for me to crash at his place after checking out of the villa Kim's parents had rented and hitchhike down to Te Anau together the next morning. 

(Note: The Dept. of Conservation is really strict about start and finish dates on the Great Walks. With the high traffic and limited hut space, they have to be. Unfortunately though, if you don't get started the day you planned to, they won't let you at all.)

The day we checked out of the house, I waited downtown to hear from Luc about heading to his place. I shot him a few texts and didn't hear back. Eventually I called him and cheerily asked what the plan was. In a subdued voice he asked if I had gotten his texts; some family stuff had come up and he would be flying up to Christchurch the next day to be with them. (Don't worry -- everything's fine now!)

It was official though: I was meant to do the Kepler Track on my own. I'm not a huge believer in fate and all that jazz, but something about New Zealand is making me start to wonder.

I'm not gonna lie, I wasn't feeling too confident on the morning of. I didn't have a hiking buddy, had 173km to hitchhike before I could even start the 15.8km trek to the first hut, and would have to rent pots and pans once I got to Te Anau, slowing me down even more. Things weren't looking super bright for this 60km (37 mile) track.

Three rides later, I made it to the DOC office in Te Anau. After dealing with a few errands, grabbing a final pie for lunch, and repacking my bag, I was finally ready to start the 60km journey.

...After walking the 45 minutes around the lake to the actual start of the track.

At least the views were nice:

Just to the right of the trees sits the town of Te Anau -- the start of the track appears to be deceptively close on the map. 

Even still, it's a lot easier than getting to the trailhead of the Routeburn!

I was tired and feeling a little daunted from the start; based on the times the map gave me, I predicted the climb would take me about 7 hours, getting me to the hut after dark. Seeing the sign for the official start of the track, I finally got a burst of energy that admittedly shocked me. 

I made it to the first landmark, Brod Bay campsite, in unbelievable time. My friend Charlie would have been proud. 

          

People have asked me if walking by myself for three days was boring. Usually the answer is no -- the sights and the challenge keep you engaged pretty much the whole way, but you do find unusual ways to keep yourself entertained when walking through a relatively flat forest for a good 2+ hours. 

All I'm sayin is an empty forest is a great place to work on your freestyle rap and stage presence. If Eminem is ever too sick to perform, I've got him covered. 

It's also hard to be bored when these wacky little guys are everywhere, as well.

Stopping to snap a few shots of these crazy little things was one of the few stops I let myself take for pictures on the first day because of both time and exhaustion from the crazy forested climb that started right after the campsite. 

          

 Can't tell you how happy I was to see these limestone bluffs, which signified the end of the worst part of the brutal climb. It was only another hour to the bushline. I knew I still had to hustle to make sure I would make it before dark; I didn't know how much the trail would disappear above the treeline and leave snow poles to mark the way. Not the best conditions without daylight. 

I was happily surprised to find that I made it in great time; it was still light when I made it to the bushline. During the climb after the bluffs, I began seeing more and more snow on the ground. By the time I made it past the trees, snow was everywhere. That was another thing I forgot to mention -- there had been such strong weather in the area that the entire middle section of the track had been closed for three days. The Kepler Curse was in full swing. 

I cautiously made my way over a snowy path and made it to the hut in a quick 45 minutes. 

And I have to say, I was rewarded with the most awesome sunset I've ever seen.

The next morning was an interesting one; the next section of the trail, the one between us and the next hut, had been closed for days and still was. We weren't allowed to leave in the morning until we had gotten word from the warden (like a ranger) about conditions and whether or not it would actually be open. If it wasn't, we'd all have to turn around and go back to Te Anau the way we'd come. We'd have our payment for the next hut refunded, which didn't sound all that bad to me. Maybe this was as far as I was supposed to go in this doomed adventure.

The warden kept saying, "I'm trying really hard to get it open for you guys tomorrow." 

And I kept thinking, "If it's not ready to be opened, please don't open it."

And he kept saying, "But you'll need really good gear."

And I kept thinking, "Shit shit shit." 

The energy was tangible in the hut that morning. Groups were sitting with their heads together debating whether or not they should continue. A group I'd played a few rounds of cards with the night before had all made their decisions: if it was open, they were going. Whether turning back or pressing on, everyone seemed to have had someone else to make their decision with. Except for me.

As you can guess, the trail was opened. 

The warden encouraged us to wait to head out to give the snow a bit more of a chance to melt. He also suggested letting the more experienced/strong trampers to move out first and be the ones to break up the snow. 

At least it was a great excuse to backtrack a bit and check out the Luxmore Cave near the hut. It's supposedly a 10 minute walk, but the ice and snow on the untread path made it take about twice that to get there and back.

If you decide to check out the cave, make sure you bring two really, really good light sources

 and don't forget to tell someone where you're going! It's best to bring a buddy or two as well.

I may have also stopped to take a few pictures of the hut...

... had to let that snow melt, right? Guess after enough dawdling it was finally time to head off.

Notice how the remaining snow was basically only covering the trail itself? Convenient. (Not.)

After a steady and gorgeous climb -- yay for the sun totally pulling through -- I made it up to Mt. Luxmore itself.

Even though I was pretty winded already and knew I hadn't even made it a third of the way, I decided to drop my pack and head up the snow-covered summit. Even if it took a little longer, it was a lot faster than regretting it and coming back again some day. 

If you're ever on a DOC Great Walk and are wondering if an excursion is worth it, the answer is just about always yes. (The only time I'd say no is if you were running low on daylight or there was some other reason for a side trip to come in the way of your safety.)

Summit smiles. This was taken by a really sweet lady who didn't speak any English.

She asked (indicated) for me to take a picture of her and she took this shot of me in return.

It may be a tough climb, but the Kepler definitely doesn't disappoint when it comes to views.

I wish I could say that the rest of the day was just as fun and rewarding. Eventually, though, the snow gets old. Really old. It was slow going, trying to follow the tracks of the trampers that had already been through that morning.

Additionally, it was impossible to be sure when you put your foot down if the snow under you would actually stay put; I can't tell you how many times the snow gave way under me and left me in snow literally up to my thigh. (I'm not exaggerating guys. 10km of potentially thigh-deep snow.) 

A full day of trudging through snow along a razor ridge didn't leave me in much of a picture-taking mood, but I couldn't help but taking these next two shots:

See how there's a (snow covered) path over and around this little mountain? Yeah. Well I didn't see the option to go around before starting on the other side. It wasn't until I got over it that I saw the other path. It didn't add too much time to my day, but I couldn't help but laugh at my luck; when you're that tired, a peak like that makes all the difference.

Beyond the second shelter there wasn't much to report; the trail offers a few more stunning views before dropping sharply once hitting the bushline. 

The last shot I took before a miserable one hour and thirty minute decent to the Iris Burn Hut.

Sometimes it's easy to skim a little time off the DOC time estimations between landmarks. This one, everyone at the hut agreed that night, was not. Everyone found that the sign pictured above was exceptionally, and miserably, accurate. 

I'm no mountain goat; going uphill isn't a piece of cake for me, but after some knee trouble that's haunted me for the past few years, I sometimes find myself wishing for a climb when heading down a trail half this steep. This was not a pleasant hour and a half. 

We were rewarded with an awesome night at the hut, though. 

Despite our exhaustion, everyone in the hut was flying on adrenaline that evening. We also had an awesome hut warden from Canada who stuck around after the evening "hut talk" to join us in a few drinks of choice. (Don't worry mom, I decided to forgo the bourbon in my pack; my drink of choice was tea.)

I'm still glad I upgraded my campsite I had originally booked to a bunk in the hut. Sometimes paying a little extra for a little extra comfort is completely worth it. I'd have to say it was also worth the money to not have to carry my tent on my back the whole way just for one night -- definitely would have slowed me down (even more if possible) on the climbs.

The next morning, as I was heading out, I saw this sign at the campsite.

Might give you a bit of an idea about our warden's sense of humor. 

The only shot I took on the long, flat, third day out.

As the warden said, "From Iris Burn Hut to the end, it's essentially wheelchair accessible." (Okay, maybe not wheelchair accessible, but still.)

Pro-tip: if you have a really freaking long day of hiking ahead of you (and/or if you have really angry blisters on your feet), grab a pair of walking poles. If you don't want to opt for the lightweight ones that come with a heavyweight price tag, no worries: grab a pair of nature's trekking poles (ie sticks). Just be sure they weigh roughly the same -- otherwise you'll end up with one disproportionately tired arm. Any credit for the unbelievable time to the next hut I made to the beech tree branches I grabbed. 

Alright, here's where this long, wordy post gets good.

See how this loop trail has a few different options for start/end points?

On the Kepler, you can start/end from the town to Te Anau, the Kepler Carpark, Rainbow Reach,

or even catch a boat across to Brod Bay campsite, cutting off a few hours of flat trek.

I had planned on finishing out the loop by walking my sore little self all the way back to Te Anau (another 9.5km from the Rainbow Reach carpark.) My blisters and I were not about that.

By some stroke of luck or fate or whatever you want to call it, I dragged myself off the trail upon seeing the blessed signs for Rainbow Reach; it was another three or so hours back to town, so naturally I said "Fuck it, I'm hitchhiking back" at the first chance I got. 

Here's where the luck/fate/whatever comes in: at the same moment I was walking my sad, stinky self across the bridge to the carpark, a damn fine specimen of a guy was walking in the other direction. Upon seeing my pack and general demeanor, he asks, "Did you just do the whole Kepler?" 

This being the first human interaction I'd had all day (plus the fact that I was dead tired), I stutter some awkward response about snow and mountains and blisters. The cute Kiwi tells me he's just checking out the track because he'd heard of but never seen it, and offers me a ride back to town. HELL. YES.

We didn't get to chat much because we picked up another couple I'd seen along the trail during the day, but Te Anau is a small town. I checked into a hostel (a luxury I don't usually go for, but was totally down for after a 60km hike), dropped my pack, ditched my shoes, and headed for my favorite part of Fiordland: Miles Better Pies.

If you are ever in Te Anau -- no, if you're ever in New Zealand -- GO TO MILES BETTER AND GET A PIE. I'm serious.

This is Miles himself, who let me snap a picture of him outside the shop (after he gave me crap for needing as many napkins as I did). 

We don't have pies like this in America, okay?

After scarfing down my pie, I set off (still barefoot) in search of a cheap pair of shoes; there wasn't a whole lot of room in my little backpack for slippers. 

On my way I ran into none other than the cute Kiwi who offered me a ride less than an hour before. Well versed in the art of wooing a woman, he bought me a pie.* 

A nearly fail-safe way to my heart. 

*and okay, it's actually called a pastie, but I don't expect anyone in America reading this to know that

I'll spare you the details, but if it gives you any idea about how things went, I'm currently writing this post (three months later, holla at my procrastination game) from his mum's living room. 

Four cancelled hiking mates, three days of brutal tramping, two blister-inducing hiking boots, and one severe weather alert later, looks like battling my way through my Kepler Curse was worth it.

Oh, and help me out readers: we have a bit of a debate going on. I say we met hitchhiking. Would you agree? (This stubborn Kiwi refuses to admit it.)

Thanks for reading this unusually wordy post -- more pictures to come, I promise! 

3 Weeks in 30 Litres: The Hitchhiker's Guide to New Zealand (Part 2)

The first thing you need to know about hitchhiking -- especially if you are a woman and planning to do so alone -- is that, when you tell friends, family, and perfect strangers about your plans, you will  be met with looks of worry, concern, and a slew of reasons why your plans are stupid.

Don't let these protests deter you.

This being said, there are ways to be a smart(er) and safe(r) hitchhiker. 

The piece of advice I was given over and over again was simple: don't be afraid to turn down a ride.

Seriously, trust your gut. If something doesn't feel right, don't get in the car.

Okay, mommy moment is over. 

There are lots of benefits to hitchhiking if the country you're in is generally recognized as a safe place to do so. It's a great way to meet locals and other travelers, see the country, and (perhaps best of all) it's generally free!

There are no rules to hitchhiking when it comes to getting picked up. There are no fail-safe methods.

However, there are ways to maximize your success. First of all: pick a good time and spot. (Generally, the earlier in the day the better.)

Above: Charlie and I attempting to hitchhike out of the extremely isolated Mt. Cook Village late in the day, after a long hike. We thought we'd be walking the 54km back to the main highway, but were luckily picked up by a German couple who must've taken pity on us.

Hopefully, your road will be a little less deserted than the one in the picture above. If so, you might be able/want to plant yourself in a spot that will allow cars to pull over to pick you up. Other times, The Classic Method (walking with your thumb out) is the way to go. Again: no rules. Feel it out. 

Ask yourself if the road allows enough room for you to walk and for a potential ride to pull over safely. If no, pick a spot in front of a decent pull-off where speeding cars have room to stop. 

(Also, keep in mind that if you decide to walk that it might help to walk backwards -- people like seeing your face when they're making the split-second decision to give you a ride or not.) 

I had a lot of amazing experiences during my three weeks hitchhiking the South Island. One of my favorites was miraculously landing a ride all the way from Nelson to Queenstown with a fellow travel blogger.

Nelson and Queenstown, as you can see, are not close. Making it in one ride is nothing short of amazing. 

I had a choice here, and so will you if you try your thumb at hitchhiking: destination sign or no destination sign?

In this case, I was going so far I felt a sign might have hurt my chances of getting picked up. I had the guys drop me on the south side of Nelson, where the highway started and I started walking. (That's another thing! Make sure you're standing/walking on the correct side of the road -- you're not getting anywhere if you're going the wrong way!) I was picked up so fast that taking the time to write a sign might have meant missing the perfect ride. 

Meet Martin, the blogger and web designer transplant from the UK, who turned into my travel buddy for a solid 24 hours:

After camping with the guys for a few days, Martin joked that he "couldn't even tell if I was a girl or a boy hitchhiker" when he picked me up. Lucky he believes in karma and wanted to put out some good vibes on the road; he had just purchased his car that day and had promised himself he'd pick up the first hitcher he saw. Lucky it was me.

We chatted and got each other's stories as we drove before hitting Highway 6, which follows the west coast south. 

Here are our first glimpses of New Zealand's aptly named "Wild West" Coast:

          

This wasn't Martin's first time in New Zealand, but this was his first day back in over a year. He'd seen a lot of the sights before, but it had been a long time. 

It was my first time seeing the west coast, so he indulged me and stopped at a few lookout points and attractions, including the famous Punakaiki Rocks. 

          

           

Stopping at the Pancake Rocks meant sacrificing the free soup offered at the hostel he knew of in Franz Josef, where we would be staying that night before continuing on to Queenstown, but it was definitely worth it. 

We got there pretty late and missed the free soup by over an hour, but we knew we still picked the right place when we saw this sign:

Where can you stay in Franz Josef that offers not only free soup and breakfast, but free popcorn and unlimited wifi as well? At the Chateau Franz, that's where.

The Chateau Franz is one of four Sir Cedric's locations throughout Franz Josef and Queenstown, and definitely one of the best for value and vibes.

          

We even picked up another travel mate as we left the hostel. Meet our friend, who I regrettably can't share the name of because he didn't know how to spell it in English. (He told us, however, that it sounds like the word "Would" only without the "D" at the end.)

Remember how I mentioned that Martin is also a travel blogger? Here's a video review of the hostel we recorded as we left Franz Josef:

Be sure to check out the other videos on his channel! 

As we drove, we all swapped hitchhiking and travel advice. One of the things that stuck with me the most was less about safety than it was about smarts:

As soon as you put the bag in the car, get in. As fast as you can. You really don't want to see your pack zooming away in a car you're not sitting in. 

One way to help ensure that both you and your bag get in is to leave a door open while loading up the car. The driver probably won't be zooming anywhere with a door hanging open.

I was pretty lucky and, with my pack as small as it was, could usually fit it by my feet or on my lap.

More likely than not, you probably won't have to be too worried about this but it's always good to have in the back of your mind. As we drove on, swapping travel stories and advice, New Zealand continued to reveal its breathtaking sights to us, including the ones below.

The road also had some funny surprised up its sleeves:

With one more stop until Queenstown, we posed for a few pictures before completing the drive.

I can't really end this post without sharing one of the most common views you'll get in New Zealand: 

The back of a camper van. 

More hitchhiking stories to come! Next post: Martin drops me off to continue hitchhiking to Te Anau, where I meet up with friends for a four day backpacking trip. 

Your turn. Any funny, scary, or wild hitchhiking stories to share? Post a comment and let me know!