Glowworms

Glowworms can be found throughout New Zealand, not just in Waitomo. You have a good chance at seeing them during nighttime bush walks as long as you know where to look. They don't always reside in caves, but definitely prefer to be sheltered, either by overhangs or within hollowed trees. If you have never seen or heard of glowworms, then it might interest you to know a few things.

Glowworms are not worms, they are larva.

Glowworms are the larva of an insect called a fungus gnat which looks like a very large mosquito.

They are bioluminescent creatures that hang sticky, silk threads in order to catch bugs. Their eerie green glow attracts the bugs which are then paralyzed in the glowworms strands of death. The glowworms pull up the threads to eat their prey. The hungrier a glowworm, the brighter it glows.

The adult fungus gnat has no mouth so it must mate and lay eggs before it dies of starvation.

They are extremely hard to photograph and the pictures attached do not do the little guys justice.

Christmas in Summer and Other Crazy Occurrences

They say that Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. I respectfully disagree. Suicides skyrocket, domestic violence soars, financial destruction wreaks havoc on the people and still they plaster on their plastic smiles and hang their cheap pathetic tinsel off the boughs of their atrocious plastic trees. The fact that Christmas is no longer really about Christ doesn't bother me nearly as much as having rampant consumerism shoved down my gagging throat. The whole idea of Christmas has taken such a dark and twisted turn, I doubt that even Tim Burton could portray the holiday more scathingly and sordidly than we present it year after depressing year.
A trip away from the cold and snow and holly jolly facade sounded like a wonderful way to spend December 25th. Imagine my surprise when nary a tacky house did I see nor a kiddie fiddling Santa did I read about nor a painful pop star rendition of “Silent Night” did I hear. Imagine a place where Christmas was less about presents and ostentatious houses and more about bbq's on the beach and camping with friends and family. My friends, that place is real, It exists. It's New Zealand.
I spent Christmas Eve preparing a gargantuan salad for Swampy's hostel while all the forty other guests busied themselves with dishes representing their own cultures. Swampy himself prepared venison, ham, chicken and wild hare. Although many people talked about home and what they would have been doing, not one unsmiling face did I see and not one embittered remark did I hear. We feasted. We had a white elephant with a ten dollar limit. We drank Jim Beam well into the night. It was simple, beautiful and perfect.
The next day we cured our hangovers with sun and surf and laughter and naps in the shade. We spent Christmas night camping on White's Bay beach, eating cold cheese sandwiches and drinking lukewarm, sun-drenched beer, blaring anti-Christmas tunes from the speakers of a campervan. At midnight we ran down to the beach and jumped in for a swim under the moonlight. We laid out in the sand and watched the Milky Way and its myriad of shooting stars.
They say that I hate Christmas, I don't, I just hate Christmas the way I've always known it not the way it could be.

'Tis the Season

Nicholas Was...

older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.

The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.

Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves' invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.

He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

-Neil Gaiman
Smoke and Mirrors

Milford unSound Part 2 of 2

Day 1
Entering the Milford Track is like stepping into another world. The ferry ride guides you through dense fog that drapes the mountains like rabbit fur coats. The air carries rich smells of decomposing plants and rain. The mountains huddle around you clinging tightly to their verdant, richly green forests. Waterfalls clamor down cliffsides into the sparkling blue water. It's a land untouched, oblivious to the impatience of the modern world, its tranquility is palpable.

The first day the walk is 1 mile to get to the first of 3 huts, you get a head start from the guided walkers (for double the price you get showers, catered meals and fancy titanium walking sticks) so you don't sully their experience with your stick-free walking and immense clumsy backpacks. The walk is completely flat and extremely well maintained. The track winds through tightly wound ferns and psychedelic mosses that blanket the ground and trees. It was during this 20 minute stroll that I got to thinking that I might just enjoy the 4 day hiking trip. However, my next thought was that I had only just completed 1/33 of the journey.



Day 2
The second day begins the slow ascent to the mountain. The walk is largely along a large stunningly clear river that twists and turns through the trees. Eventually the forest opens up into a beautiful savannah like plain. It was here that we listened to the shockingly loud gunshot rumbles of avalanches cascading down the mountains. The day ended at the base of the mountains, nestled in valley wedged between steep cliffs. Keas and wekas darted across the porch threatening to carry off shoes, backpacks or anything that they can drag off between their beaks. The end of day 2 felt really good, I had made the hike with energy to spare and watched the sunset's glow off the mountains with a glass of wine and a sleepy smile.




Day 3
Day 3 is spent arduously hiking to the top of Mackinnon pass and then perillously navigating the way back down again. White mountain flares peak through the snow, the sun sets the mountain ablaze with a shimmering sparkle. The ice and slush demands that the ground not be taken for granted. The summit is blustery and cold. Katie hands me a chocolate bar in the hopes that I won't cry. When asked what I think of the view, I callously respond that I've seen mountains before and I prefer to view them from my seat in front of the fireplace. The top of the mountain has an outhouse with arguably the best view in the world. So while I clumsily undo my many layers of clothing, I laugh, the view from the toilet is stunning.

As a result of the increasing avalance danger we are instructed to take the emergency path down the mountain. This “safe path” is actually the dried up remains of a riverbed, so the next few hours are spent treading atop smooth river worn stones. By the end of it my knees feel like they have just been icepicked by tiny midgets for the last few hours. My ankles are tired and wobbly and my legs feel like jello. Despite the cold I have been sweating and panting. I am dirty. I am tired. I am done with this walk.
After lunch and a few cigarettes we had the opportunity to take our packs off, change into sandals and take a detour to Sutherland Falls (arguably the fifth highest waterfall in the world). The thundering waterfall sprays icey mist into my face and I have to admit silently to myself that the Milford Track is exquisitely beautiful.



Day 4
Day 4 is exciting because the end is in sight. My body is sore and I am grumpy. I do not want to eat any more canned tuna and I yearn for a scaldingly hot shower. The walk out is flat and easy but at just over 10 miles it is the longest single stretch of the trip and it has to be completed before the last ferry leaves at 2pm. An hour into the hike I can feel my ankles bleeding, I don't dare take off my shoes because I know that once I do I will not put them back on. By mile 5 I pick up the pace despite my throbbing knees and smarting ankles. A swarm of sandflies gather around my face and as long as I don't stop they will not eat me alive. The end of the hike looks exactly like the beginning and I don't even bother taking out my camera. The last two miles are torturously long and never have I beamed like I did once we reached Sandfly Point. The walk had finally come to an end.

Looking back on it, I don't regret walking The Milford Track, it was absolutely incredible, it was dramatic and stunning and never have I been anywhere so blissfully undisturbed by humans. In fact, I am proud of myself for embarking on what may have been the dumbest idea I've ever had. However, the best part is that now that I have the distinction of walking the “most beautiful track in the world”, nothing will ever rival the experience so I will never again have to bother.

Milford unSound Part 1 of 2

Dear reader, if you have ever met me personally then you will know that I am not the stereotypical Coloradan. I am not a hardcore nature enthusiast in any sense barring my absolute adoration of daytime porch drinking. I am a smoker, I am a drinker and if I had my way I would sleep fourteen hours a day. That being said, I am about to embark on the 33.5 mile Milford Track. Did I mention that I have to carry in all my supplies and there are no showers? Yup, this promises to be one hell of a beautiful disaster.

The week before the track I was already upset. We had spent over two hundred dollars just to have the privilege of walking around with a heap of shit attached to our backs. Why do people do this, I wondered? I cunningly fooled myself into believing that my holey New Balances and my definitively non-waterproof coat would suffice, I also held fast to the false idea that all those lunges in the vineyard would have my body prepped for grueling wilderness trekking. Yeah, no problem, piece of cake, all the while shaking my head. I was utterly fucked.

During the week prior, I made minor mention about my worries and tried my best not to break down and tell Katie that she was on her own. I actually found that the best strategy was not to think about it at all. I mean, the brochure does say that the walk is suitable for those aged 10-70+, so if grandpas can do it, so can I. All was going well until we made out stop in Te Anau, the last town before Milford Sound.

Our first stop was the Department of Conservation to pick up our tickets (yes, that's right, we had to have tickets, front row seats to the arena of suffering) the lady at the DOC told us the weather was going to be nothing but rain and snow. SNOW! Katie had never mentioned the s word and I had not conceived that we would be walking through that cold, white powdery substance sent directly from Lucifer's wings way down in the center of hell. Then in a most condescending tone she added, “you do have rain jackets, right?” And, “you aren't planning on hiking in jeans?” Excuse me lady, I am from Colorado! Demoralized and insulted we went to the outdoor equipment store since I needed to rent a backpack to carry my gear. Katie insisted that we rent waterproof pants, then she added that I should get a coat. Then to top it all off, in a manner most practical, she suggested that we rent boots as well, which of course meant that we had to buy appropriate socks.

It was here, in front of Gareth, our friendly teenage salesman that I was on the verge of bursting into tears. In fact, finding socks was the perfect excuse to walk away so that I could dry my eyes and pull my shit together. Below pretty much sums up why I was crying

$70 gas to reach the fairly inaccessible fiordlands
$110 renting equipment
$40 fancy wool water wicking socks
$65 tuna, crackers, cheese, trailmix and apples
$135 three nights of deluxe accommodation with 40 complete strangers in a barrack
$61 ferry to start of track
$30 ferry back to mainland
$53 bus back to where we parked our car
Grand Total : $564

To put it into perspective in two weeks of dreadful vineyard work I made $718. So, not only was I about to be physically pillaged, but my bank account had already been plundered. What the hell am I doing? Next stop: Painsville.

900 K's in 5 Days- A Photo Essay

Day 3- Mt. Cook Glacier


Day 4- Wanaka, Lake Wanaka


Day 5- Queenstown, Lake Moke

900 K's in 5 Days- A Photo Essay

DAY 1- Blenheim, Kaikoura, Akaroa




DAY 2- Lake Tekapo, Lake Pukaki, Mt. Cook