Lost in the Pacific

      This collection of photos and stories began during my semester abroad in New Zealand as a way to record and process my experiences there. Since then I have continued to travel and when possible (read: the internet cooperates) record my experiences here. I am currently living in Santiago, Chile where I am writing and relaxing before pursuing a PhD in Geology, while my lovely girlfriend (and sometimes photographer for this blog), Victoria, works for a think tank.    

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Driving in Myanmar: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Trust

Driving a motorbike in Myanmar is both beautiful and terrible, like Galadriel in Lord of the Rings. When you turn 16 in the USA and society decides to trust you (perhaps naively) behind the wheel of a car, the first rule you are taught is: do not trust anyone else on the road. Because, the logic goes, as soon as you trust another driver you are no longer in control of the situation. Well one result of 40-odd years of isolation is that no one told drivers in Myanmar about this rule.

My first time driving a motorbike, ever, was in Bagan, Myanmar. Bagan is an ancient city, of which only 2000 or so temples remain. These temples are set among farm fields and a few small villages. There are no traffic lights, only 2 or 3 main roads, and a significant portion of the traffic is horse carts. The most dangerous part of driving here is getting distracted by the passing temples. As a tourist you are also only allowed to drive electric motorbikes that top out at 25km/hr. In short, it was a stress free place to drive a motorbike for the first time.

It also served to give me a false sense of security. It turns out the rest of Myanmar isn’t quite the same way. After leaving Bagan we went to Mandalay, the second largest city in the country. Since most of the sites are outside the city limits and taxi tours are pricey and restrictive, we decided to tour the area by motorbike. This was a real motorbike of course; gasoline, no speed limit (that I reached) - the works. Mandalay was a trial by fire. While there are a few traffic lights in the city, the majority of intersections have no traffic controls at all. Some places this isn’t a problem as one road obviously predominates and the cross traffic stops and waits. But in the majority of cases, two roads of similar size come together, and you just honk your horn and keep the pedal to the metal. For anyone else who decides that learning to drive a motorbike in Myanmar is a good idea, here are some basic rules:

1. The first rule of driving in Myanmar is honk your horn. If you don’t honk your horn no one knows what you are doing. If you honk your horn it could mean they are in your way, that you are passing them, that you can’t see who is coming but you’re going to run the intersection anyway, that their turn signal is still on, or just about anything else. But if you aren’t driving alone on a country road, just honk it.

2. The second rule is don’t slow down. If you slow down you are telling cross traffic that you really don’t mind if they pull out in front of you. And this could lead you to violate rule #3.

3. The third rule is never stop at an intersection. Yes, a high volume of cross traffic may be moving quickly through the intersection, but if you stop then you’ll never make it across. Better to slow to a reasonable speed of 10km/hr and work your way into an intersection until you have made it across or created such an obstruction to cross traffic that they have no choice but to let you through.

4. The fourth rule is direction of travel is optional. Sure, traffic nominally travels on the right-hand side of the road, but don’t let that stop you from making a left turn on red, or force you to detour and U-turn around a median. Just go the wrong direction, everyone will simply drive around you.

5. The fifth rule is no road is too narrow or windy to pass someone. Sure it may be a one-and-a-half lane country road with motorbikes coming both directions and a blind corner, but that doesn’t make it a bad time for the semi-truck bringing more motorbikes from China to pass you.

These are the cardinal rules of driving in Myanmar. And while it may not be obvious, one common strand that links all of these rules is mutual trust: Trust that the motorbikes around you will understand why you are honking. Trust that cross traffic will stop as you whiz through the intersection. Trust that cross traffic will swerve around as you inch into the intersection. Trust that opposing traffic won’t hit you head on. Trust that whoever is around the blind corner will pull off the road in time to avoid hitting the truck that is passing you. Without trust you would spend the whole day waiting to pull out of the bike rental shop. And this kind of trust is beautiful in its own way. Everyone is willing to place their life in the hands of others, whether they know them or not, whether than are a man or a woman, wether they are 12 years old or 75 years old. While people in the USA pride themselves on leaving their doors unlocked because they live in that kind of small-town America, people in Myanmar are barreling down the wrong side of the road without a care in the world.

(Photo credit to Victoria Richwine)

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Boogie Wonderland

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Te Papa market

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There is something very fascinating to me in the cry of a kea or the call of a Paradise duck to his mate. They seem to accentuate the hugeness of the mountains and the wide spaces of the great river-beds, which make you feel so small and solitary.

'Glissading on Four Peaks' by Jim Dennistoun

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The many faces of Mt. Taranaki

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The Lonely Mountain

As my time here in New Zealand approaches its end, there was still one place on my "Must Visit" list that I had not checked off: Mt. Taranaki. So, on the spur of the moment, I bought a bus ticket and 18hrs later I was on my way. 

I have some friends who had been up a few weeks before and they had not seen the mountain the whole time they were there because it was hiding in the clouds, so I was on the edge of my seat the whole bus ride waiting and hoping it would be visible. Finally as we pulled out of Hawera, I saw it. Out of the plain, two slopes disappearing into the clouds. As we got closer the clouds retreated skywards, and the slopes rose higher and higher, getting steeper and steeper. It was like the mountain would never end. Then finally the jagged crater materialized, and I saw Taranaki in all its splendor. From any point of view, Taranaki is an awe-inspiring mountain. But nothing captures its grandeur quite as well as approaching by vehicle and watching it rise out of the plain, solitary and commanding.

The bus dropped me in Inglewood just outside of the National Park, and from there I caught a ride up to the park with a young couple going to enjoy the snow. Apparently snow is a rare thing in Taranaki, so when it snows on the mountain everyone congregates to marvel at it. When we arrived at the visitor's center the parking lot was packed and children were sledding down the trails rather than walking them. 

At the office, I was told that the snow was knee deep and that most trails outside of a few kilometers of the visitor's center had not been tramped since the storm. But I decided to try to make it to Holly Hut anyway. I started out climbing a spur known as the Razorback. The trail had been walked and sledded on a lot so it was easy going, just a little slippery. But when the trail turned off the spur to go around the mountain to the hut, I found myself post-holing through knee-deep snow. Where the mountain shadowed the trail, there was an icy crust that made every step feel like being kicked in the shins. Within a few hundred meters I could barely tell where the trail went, and I couldn't tell when my next step might send me off the edge of the trail and down the mountain. 

By this time is was after 4 o'clock and sunset was rapidly approaching. It was bad enough that I couldn't follow the trail in daylight, I did not want to be out there in the dark. I had at least two more hours of slogging through the snow to Holly Hut, so instead of pushing on, I turned back. The people at the office had told me that the trail to Maketawa Hut, just an hour or so from the office, was well trodden and relatively snow free, so I headed that direction, and just after dark, I arrived. 

All of my clothes were soaked from sweat and melted snow, and I was getting cold, fast, so I got a fire going (with the help of some Purell), and made some ramen to warm me up. Maketawa Hut is one of the best huts I have stayed at here. Not because the inside is especially nice, but because it has the most amazing views. From the porch, it is possible to look out over the plain, see the ocean, and if you turn around, the mountain rears its head above you. While I was eating, a full moon rose over the plain, and illuminated the mountain. The snow that blanketed it seemed to glow, matching the stars that were scattered across the sky. Every time I saw the mountain in a different light it got more beautiful and amazing.

I decided that I would try a different trail the next morning, so I got up early, packed up, and went to try my luck again. Again I found the trail was unwalked and I had to plod in knee deep snow. I had a lot more time than the day before though, so I decided I would try to push on. The trail immediately descended into a rocky ravine, and the going got a lot harder. As I went down the ravine I suddenly found one of my legs thigh deep in snow and not touching the ground. I had either stepped over a ledge or into the crack between two boulders, but either way I decided it wasn't worth the risk to keep going so I turned back yet again.

I spent the rest of the day wandering the tracks around the visitor's center and taking in the views of the mountain, which was in and out of the clouds all day. Since I wasn't able to do any tramping I figured there was no point in me staying all three nights at the park so the next morning I got up before sunrise to walk down to Inglewood, change my reservation and get a bus back to Wellington. As I hit the trail the sun was just coming up, and it turned the mountain into a cone of fiery orange. It was tempting to just sit down in the snow and watch it, but I had places to be. 

But on the way down the road I realized that I had already paid for that night in the hut, and that if I went home a day early I wasn't going to study for my exam any more than if I went home as planned, so instead of walking to Inglewood, I took a side trail that led back up the visitor's center. It was low enough in elevation that it wasn't snowy and it burned a few hours and gave me some new scenery. Much of the forest on the slopes of Mt. Taranaki is what is jokingly called "goblin forest". The trees are gnarled and covered in moss, and overhang the trail making a tunnel of sorts.

I ate lunch outside the visitor's center then took the high elevation route back to the hut. When I got to the ridge where the maintenance road continues up the mountain and the track to the hut goes down, I dropped my bag and figured I'd go up the mountain some more. I had the whole afternoon to kill, and I might as well see how high up the mountain I could get. From that point up, the road is called "The Puffer", and it is a very accurate name. The road climbs at close to a 45 degree angle and truly makes you huff and puff. I'd imagine on a clear day the views would be amazing, but it was all clouded in by the time I made it up to the translator tower and lodge so I couldn't see much. 

I stopped at the top where the summit track continues up and admired how the mountaintop seemed not to exist at all. I have never seen a mountain so effectively disappear. If I hadn't known better I could have convinced myself I was on the summit. Then suddenly the clouds cleared for a minute and I could see the summit, tantalizingly close. After the clouds closed up again, I went back to the hut to get the fire going again. I had yet another warm night reading by the fire and eating ramen. Sadly the clouds stuck around so I didn't get any more views of the mountain. 

The next morning it was equally cloudy, so that the sunrise didn't really exist at all. I said goodbye to the hut for good, and actually walked down the road to Inglewood this time. I got a ride just after I left the trail and was into Inglewood well before my bus. I sat in the local library reading backpacking magazines. When I walked to the bus stop later in the afternoon the clouds had cleared and the mountaintop was visible again. From anywhere in the town, it was possible to see the mountain dominating the landscape. 

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This will always bring to mind my time here in Wellington.

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Whio (Blue Ducks) on Blue Lake. The male whistles and the female growls.

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Rangimairewhenua: The Clearest Water in the World

Upon returning to Nelson, Tor and I spent another night in the Aurora Backpackers Hostel before he left for Christchurch to take finals and I set out on my own for Nelson Lakes National Park. If you traveled New Zealand by guidebook you probably would never hear about Nelson Lakes National Park. Even in Nelson, it is Abel Tasman that gets all the publicity. But Nelson Lakes is truly a gem. I originally heard about the park from one of the DOC ladies on the Hollyford, and then again in the Tararuas. Since I had heard so many good things about it and I was going to be in the area, I decided it would be a waste not to check it out, and I am so glad I did. 

Nelson Lakes is out of the way enough that there isn't even a bus that goes by it. To get there I had to take a bus from Nelson to Kawatiri Junction and then hitchhike the rest of the way to St. Arnaud and the park entrance. To give an idea of how out of the way it is, Kawatiri Junction, the closest bus stop to the park is simply a crossroads with a small DOC picnic area on the corner. There are no houses, and the valley gets no sunlight so it is deathly cold. The people at the bus depot were unsure I would even be able to get a ride to St. Arnaud from there because so few cars drive past. 

They were almost right. I waited at the corner for almost an hour and saw only 4 cars turn towards St. Arnaud. I was about to start walking the 25km to the park entrance when someone finally stopped. They took me part of the way, and after I had walked a kilometer or two down the road someone else took me the rest of the way. From St. Arnaud I had to walk 5km down a dead end gravel road till I hit the trail head at the base of Mt. Robert. From there I crossed over and around several spurs of Robert Ridge that separate the two Nelson Lakes: Rotoiti (Small Lake) and Rotoroa (Long Lake).

The trail drops from the slopes of Mt. Robert to the Speargrass Creek which it follows for a while before climbing back up the ridge to Speargrass Hut. Speargrass Hut is situated in a beautiful tussock field which extends up the ridge until it turns into bare rock further up. It would have been a lovely place to stay but, if I was going to make it to Blue Lake and back in the 5 days I had in the park I had to keep going. 

From Speargrass Hut the trail descends in fits and starts to the shores of Lake Rotoroa. Along the way it crosses a plateau that separates Lake Rotoroa from Cedric Creek and is dotted in small beautiful lakes. Because the ridge is flat at this point, there is very little drainage, so these lakes sit completely still, hidden among the trees, perfectly reflecting the forest around them and the sky above. Even though I was in a hurry I couldn't help but sit on a mossy rock along the shore of one of these lakes and take in the serenity of the scene. 

But the quickly approaching sunset forced me to move on down the ridge to the shores of Lake Rotoroa, and Sabine Hut. Sabine Hut sits within a stone's throw of the lake, and has a jetty where water taxis drop off trampers in the summer. I arrived just before sunset and went out to the jetty to sit and enjoy the view across the lake. As I sat there, several eels the length of my arm swam by. After the sun had set I put up my tent by twilight and fell asleep to the lapping of the lake. 

The next morning I broke camp and got an early start to Blue Lake. From Sabine Hut the trail follows the Sabine River all the way to Blue Lake and Lake Constance at the head of the valley. It was over 20km to Blue Lake Hut so I had a lot of distance to cover. The day started off foggy, but as I walked the snowy mountaintops began to  emerge out of the clouds and show their heads to the sun.

Where the track crosses the Sabine River, there is a small gorge that is without a doubt the best swimming hole I have ever had the pleasure of swimming in. The gorge is small, only 50ft or so long, and about 30ft deep. Where the water flows through, the river deepens substantially making it possible to dive off the cliffs and even off the bridge. The sides of the gorge are overhung so there are little caves carved into the walls. And the best part is that the water is crystal clear. It is possible to see right to the bottom of the river and spot the trout as long as my forearm that patrol the waters. It was still foggy and cold when I passed it on my way to Blue Lake, but I promised myself I would swim in it on the way out no matter what the weather was like. 

I stopped for lunch at West Sabine Hut where the Sabine River splits into two branches. From there I followed the west branch past several avalanche paths and up some steep climbs to the famous Blue Lake. Blue Lake has been found to be the clearest natural freshwater in the world. Distilled water has a theoretical visibility of 83m, and Blue Lake comes in just under this, at 80m. The clarity of the water comes from the way the water is naturally filtered. The Sabine River valley was originally lake-less. However at some point a landslide blocked up the river. This formed the much larger Lake Constance which is just up the valley from Blue Lake. But instead of a small river forming to connect the two lakes, the water moves underground through the landslide debris down into Blue Lake. In the process, all of the impurities are filtered out. From anywhere along the edge of the lake it is possible to see straight to the bottom. 

Blue Lake has been recognized as an amazing natural wonder since before Europeans arrived. Ngati Apa, the local iwi (Maori tribe), has long held Rangimairewhenua (Blue Lake) to be a tapu (sacred) site. For this reason, swimming and other activities are banned in the lake. However the sheer beauty of the lake and its location among snow-capped peaks make it enjoyable, swimming or not.

At Blue Lake I found a pair of whio (blue ducks), one of New Zealand's many endangered native bird species. Apparently it is very unusual to find whio in lakes as they prefer fast moving rivers, but there has been a pair living on Blue Lake for some time. Though they do not have any spectacular coloring, whio have a very unique call. The males let out a long high-pitched whistle/scream and the females growl or click. I watched them as they patrolled the perimeter of the lake, but when they got close to me they started to call persistently so I took the hint and moved on. 

After dropping my gear in the Hut I also made a trip up to Lake Constance. Lake Constance is at least ten times as large as Blue Lake, and is much murkier. However, it still makes for amazing views from the boulder strewn landslide that created it. 

At dark I returned to the hut to get a fire going and warm up. As I was doing this I got the hut book out to enter my details in it and found that the last person to be in the hut was Côme! He had made it all the way from the Rees/Dart to Nelson Lakes and we had missed our fourth chance encounter by only 3 days. As usual he left a long, detailed and ecstatic entry describing the incredible beauty he has seen on his trip. I wish I could have been there a few days earlier to see him and hear it in person. 

When I had taken down my tent in the morning, I had found that one of the poles was cracked so I decided to prevent further damage and just stay in the huts the rest of the time. I carried the tent for 8 days on the trail and used it only once. If I had only known I wouldn't have bothered to bring it. However this did have the benefit of allowing me to stay in warm enclosed huts for the rest of my trip. 

Though I got to sleep early, I was up every hour or so to feed the stove and keep the hut warm. In the morning I was tired, but the stove was still going so I was able to make breakfast in the warmth. After making one last trip down to Blue Lake I headed back down the valley. This time though I stopped at the gorge to swim. After 5 days of sunshine, three in Abel Tasman and two in Nelson Lakes, it was overcast again, and by the time I made it to the gorge it was drizzling. But I could not go back to the States without at least jumping in at such an amazing swimming hole so I climbed down to the water and took a quick splash. It was icy cold but so refreshing. I hope someday I can come back and swim there when it is warm and sunny out.

That night I stayed at Sabine Hut and it poured down rain. The next morning it was still overcast but not raining, however by the time I had made it to Speargrass Hut around lunchtime it had started up again and I spent the rest of the day in the hut reading. I was worried that all the rain would swell the Speargrass Creek and I would have to wait out the weather, but it didn't seem to have much effect at all, and when I made it back to the trailhead my boots weren't any wetter than they had been on the first day.

When I got back to St. Arnaud and stopped in at the DOC office to get the bus company's number it was the first time I had seen a human being in three and a half days. It was a lonely trip for sure, but not in a bad way. Solitude seemed to amplify the grandeur of what I saw around me. After a day I got used to the fact that there was no one else to talk to, and I didn't even notice it anymore. I sang to myself and stayed busy reading at night. I began to think about and understand myself in a way that is impossible in the presence of others. Eventually the fact that I was alone didn't even cross my mind. When I returned to the civilized and populated world and others were surprised that I was alone for that long, it seemed strange to think that it felt so normal and natural to be alone. I am still surprised I was able to stay sane. 

While I would have to say that I have much more fun backpacking with friends and having lively conversation at night, being alone in the wilderness is an experience I value very highly. It gives me a sense of independence and accomplishment and self-understanding. It is a different experience entirely, and provides a different kind of reward. Less entertaining perhaps but equally meaningful. 

My trip to Nelson Lakes will be remembered as one of the highlights of my time here. It is a place of singular beauty and the fact that it is off the tourist radar only makes it better. For anyone who is thinking of traveling to New Zealand, put this stop on your list. It is well worth going out of your way to get there.

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Cloudy Beaches and Sunny Hills

Since I arrived in New Zealand, I have been trying to coordinate a trip with my friend Tor, from Oberlin, who is studying in Christchurch, and this past week, after 4 months, things finally came together. Neither of us had done the famous Abel Tasman Coast Track yet, so we decided to do that, paired with the less popular Inland Track to make it a loop. He bused into Nelson and I took a ferry to Picton and hitchhiked to meet him. After staying the night in the a wonderful hostel (Aurora Backpackers for those of you who may find yourself in Nelson. Amazing value and an amazing atmosphere), and visiting the local Quaker cemetery (Nelson had the first meeting in New Zealand), we caught a bus to the trailhead and started on our way. 

The Abel Tasman Coast Track is one of New Zealand's Great Walks and is known for its amazing golden sand beaches and swimming. While most people do it during the summer months so as to take advantage of better weather and the possibility of swimming without a wetsuit, I had put it off till the wintertime because the other places I wanted to visit had the potential to have much worse winter weather than Abel Tasman. So it was that Tor and I found ourselves under an overcast sky doing the ATCT in a light drizzle. 

Throughout the day we walked past beautiful beaches and secluded coves, all of which lacked the beautiful golden dazzle they have when the sun is out. We crossed Torrent Bay at low tide, taking off our shoes and walking through the sand and mud to cut an hour off of our travel time. The estuary was covered in shellfish shells which made walking barefoot painful, but knowing that we only had a small window of time to make the crossing lent an air of danger to the whole thing. On the other side of Torrent Bay we found ourselves, surprisingly, in the middle of a small village. Along the Abel Tasman coast there are still some small pockets of private land and it seems that they have been turned into vacation spots for the wealthy. At Torrent Bay there were two sandy streets (with names I don't remember), and a dozen or two houses, all of them sparklingly new. It looked like an amazing place to live or vacation, but the houses seemed out of place with the surrounding wilderness and the old bleached remnants of the past fishing ventures there. 

That night we were supposed to stay at the Bark Bay Campsite. It was still raining when we arrived so we were preparing to sleep on the counters in the cooking shelter rather than sleeping in a wet tent in the rain, when the ranger came by and generously allowed us upgrade to the hut. We spent the rest of the evening playing cards and trying to get the fire going. 

The next day we had several tidal crossings to do so we were in no rush to get started. Low tide was at 4pm and we couldn't cross earlier than 1pm, so we slept in and hung out at the hut all morning. It was another overcast and rainy day so we didn't get the views we could have, but it was still a beautiful walk. 

That night we stayed at Totaranui Campground, and this time we actually slept on the countertop. There was German girl who had the same idea, and between the three of us we had no room to move. Tor and I were bumping heads all night, and were both about 6 inches short of being able to stretch out completely. 

In the morning we were greeted by two wekas (woodhens) who came to explore our shelter. They were very forward, coming inside and scouting around our packs. We also had a friendly fantail who helped us to combat the sandflies, and landed on my foot. We dubbed him Buddy Holly, and he (or some lookalikes, it's hard to tell with fantails) followed us for the rest of the trip. 

The morning also brought the first clear weather of the trip. We went down to the beach and watched the sunrise. The sand turned to gold and the water was a crystal blue. But sadly it was time for us to turn inland, so those few minutes in the morning were all we had of the ATCT as it should be. 

The Inland Track is a very different animal from the Coast Track. While the Coast Track is well maintained and only climbs a few times over small bluffs, the Inland track is rooty and steep. At some points, there was no dirt to the trail at all, just a patchwork of tree roots to walk on. And somehow, the Inland Track manages to be a swamp, though it almost exclusively runs along the tops of ridges. Though it is much harder going, the Inland Track is well worth the work. Though the views are few and far between, they give beautiful panoramas from the Marlborough Sounds to the Nelson Lakes to Farewell Spit on the other side of Golden Bay. 

We got to Awapoto Hut in the mid-afternoon, leaving us ample time to enjoy the sun we had been missing for the previous few days. We hung all our wet gear out to dry and relaxed on the porch. Right before dinner two Kiwi guys showed up. They were both biologists, and had studied in the States. They were the epitome of Kiwi bros. Loud, funny, with a touch of vulgar, they kept a constant banter poking fun at each other and us. They made for lively evening conversation, and they taught us how to play the card game "Asshole". 

The next morning there was a beautiful purple sunrise over the ocean, and we said goodbye to our Kiwi friends. The trail continued to be rough and tumble, but we made good time. We stopped for lunch near Moa Park at an rock outcrop that gave us views of Farewell Spit and the Sounds. From there we only had a bit further to Castle Rocks Hut. 

As the name implies, near the hut there were several rock outcrops. From the top we could see the trailhead at Marahau and the snowy tops of the mountains in Nelson Lakes National Park (my next destination). On another outcrop we could see a pair of wild goats that sounded like they were sneezing repeatedly. I'm assuming that was some sort of warning call and not allergies. We tried to get to some of the other outcrops along the ridge by following goat trails through the underbrush, but every one seemed to end in a thorn bush, so eventually we turned our attention towards other things.

The hut was very nice but lacked any firewood, so Tor and I decided to find some. After searching the surrounding bush, we found a group of dead trees. Between the two of us, we chopped down three of them and dragged them back to camp. Then we took turns chopping them into burnable pieces, and spent the rest of the evening in a warm hut. 

Since it was clear out, we decided it was the perfect night to sleep out. At about 8pm (trail bedtime), we dragged two of the hut mattresses outside. The sky was cloudless, and the heavens spread out before us. In the mood of the moment, we discussed such weighty topics as physics, world politics and the possibility of other universes, frequently interrupting to point out the many shooting stars crisscrossing the sky. 

The next morning we woke to frosted mattresses and wet sleeping bags but it was worth it. From Castle Rocks we only had to hike down off the ridge to Marahau. With only a stop at Holyoake Shelter for lunch and the views, we were down to the trailhead well before the bus was supposed to pick us up. To entertain ourselves we tried to lure sparrows into our hands with the crumbs from our trail mix, and went out to the tidal flats to leave messages in the sand. 

While we were collecting rocks to make our messages, a crabby old man walked by and yelled at us. Apparently DOC does not want people to leave messages in the sand, and has volunteer school groups come to put all the rocks back where they came from. If this is the case the school groups are not doing a very good job. It was hard to find an open space to fit our messages in among the others. After Tor told him that we would put the rocks back when we were done, he left us alone. When we were done we took some photos and left our messages to proclaim our completion of the track until the next school group comes through. 

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