Easter on Ice

Getting to Mt. Cook wasn’t easy. Looking at the map, Mt. Cook looks to be a hop, skip and a jump away from neighbouring Franz Josef glacier. And it is, technically.

But there’s a pesky mountain range in between, and it’s not a normal one.

The area between Franz Josef and Mt. Cook is glacial country. A massive, unrelenting landscape of snow-capped peaks and breathtaking views, left largely untouched by modern life.

No, Mt. Cook is not easy to get to. But it’s so, so worth it.

A week ago, I waited out three rain-soaked days in a hostel without hot water hoping for the chance to get up close and personal with the glacier. Franz Josef did not heed my call.

A week and three bus rides later, I finally got my chance as I rolled up to the tiniest settlement I’ve seen thus far. So tiny even that no church exists in which to celebrate the Easter holiday. Too small for even a minuscule grocery store to operate in town.

In Mt. Cook you’re fed either by the ritzy Hermittage Hotel or the cans of weenies and beans from the hostel cache. Good thing I have Cadbury on my side…

I also found Berliner, Anna, driving along the road I was walking on within minutes of checking in here. My roommate from the night before in Twizel, Anna is the kind of traveler I love to run into. Funny, sweet, smart and just wonderful to spend a day with.

She picks me up in her beloved car, packed tip to tail with every camping accoutrement one might dream. Anna is prepared and I am the lucky beneficiary.

We travel to the trailhead leading to the terminal face of the Hooker Glacier and a stunning view of Mt. Cook, a 3,754 meter peak towering over the valley below.

Of course, no tramp may begin without a feast and we enjoy sandwiches and Anna’s date scones in what looks like the most idyllic locale…until I look at my pictures the next day and realize how mundane our starting place is in the scale of what’s to come.

We head off down the path and are quickly into stories of jobs, families and dreams pouring out along the road. Travel friends like this are so precious. We stop our conversation long enough to enjoy the beautiful memorial to those who’ve lost their lives in this beloved range. More than 200 have lost lives young, trapped so often in the avalanches that are ever-present in the area.

  

I’m lucky enough to spot an avalanche myself and spend the rest of the day straining to find another so Anna can see it too. The sound of the crack comes often enough, but the ability to see what’s happened seconds before is a difficult thing to catch in the blink of an eye before it’s over. Thank God for a far off lookout and the chance to witness such power from a safe locale.

  

The road to the glacial lake that marks the terminal face is hot and sticky. And then, as in so many hikes these past weeks, one turn of the corner finds us in winds strong enough to take our hats – and our breath.

  

We freeze for a few moments near the lake that laps against the glacier’s terminal face before scuttling back to the trail and the sunburns we’ve been collecting throughout the day.

 

  

The return trip passes as quickly as the start and in what seems like minutes we’re back at the car park pulling treats like crazy out of Anna’s crazy-crammed car for a proper coffee.

 

Organic, fair trade beans, UHT milk, cinnamon and a tiny French press make this afternoon’s tea a feast and we bask in the afternoon and our luck with such a gorgeous, gorgeous day.

With the Easter holiday coaxing the kiwis out on the road – and into the hostel beds and bus seats my journey relies on – I’m “stuck” in this tiny town without a grocery store for a few days to come. And I can’t wait. Morning call to these beautiful mountains is something I’ll happily wake up to any day.

And you never know what kind of roommate you might find along the way. Maybe someday the one I’m waiting for will pick me up along the road. And life will never again be the same.