Chapter 19

Where did we leave you ?

Oh, yes, coming through the beautiful inter-island sound from Wellington in the North Island to Picton on the South Island, dolphins dancing and splashing in the sea at either side of our ferry, and herself unselfconsciously admiring her newly-acquired but expensive circular piece of precious metal on her left hand ring finger. As treasurer for the purchase, do I need reminding of it ? No thanks. It sure burned a hole in my pocket and I am still suffering financial scorch marks ! But it must be said she thoroughly deserves it.

Off the ferry, we made our way to Blenheim, capital of Marlborough country where many of the best-known NZ wines are produced. More about that anon. But on the way back from the supermarket to the caravan park, we noticed an orange light aglow on the dashboard. Oh,oh, trouble ahead, we thought. A quick glance at the van's manual indicated low fluid in the cooling system.

That evening we topped it up with three litres. Of water, not wine. Next morning, checked again. Same problem. Engine had developed a stationary overnight thirst. Nothing for it but a visit to the local Toyota garage in Blenheim. A quick examination by the service manager, after which she referred us to a radiator specialist 100 metres down the road. What a stroke of luck ! The owner, Tony Flood, turned out to be a 4th generation Kiwi, whose great grandparents had come from Killarney, Co. Kerry to NZ.

Because there were two vehicles in the workshop ahead of us and parts were required for our Toyota, Tony generously offered us the overnight loan of his Toyota Hiace, and after transferring our mattress, sleeping bags, toothpaste and change of clothes etc, we headed back to our Top Ten Caravan Park to spend another night. Next day, after returning his van, getting our own back fully repaired, we headed off for Nelson, a small pleasant city on the North Island's north coast.

But all this took place before Trish and I went on a day-long trip to half a dozen wineries, as they are called, and a chocolate-making plant. Incidentally, going around this country we noticed roadside signs for 'cheeseries' and, wait for it, 'juiceries'.

One winery was called Hunters, founded by a NI man tragically killed in his late thirties, but whose wife now carries on a very successful business, winning a string of awards for her wines, many of them in Europe.

In Nelson, Trish went to the New Zealand Nature Company with which we have have had some dealings in the past, via the internet. There she got herself a new silk pajamas. This company is one of the cheapest in the world for silk products. After her purchase, she confessed to feeling like, 'the cat's pajamas' !

Next day it was on to Westport, a small seaside town on the west coast. There we met Ken, a retired Canadian stock broker and his research analyst wife, Sue. After what can only be described as an enlightening and fruitful discussion, they indicated that in their view our current world financial crisis was going to last until 2010 or 2011. 'Cash is going to be king for the coming three or four years,' he forecast. 'Don't buy anything until you first see a definite upswing in world markets and prices,' he advised. 'Even then, though you may miss the first two rungs of the ladder, you will catch the next five'. Words from the wise?

Another day's travelling further south to the village of Franz Josef, which gets its name from the famous glacier in the NZ Alps. The Catholic church in the town is known as : Our Lady of the Alps. En route, Trish and I had traditional Irish breakfast, except it was known and described locally as a 'Wild West (country) Big Breakfast'. We stopped near Donovan's Creek at Lake Mapourika where we admired the snow-covered high peaks of the NZ Alps. One of these Alps is named Mount Cook – the highest mountain in NZ. It stands at 3,754 metres or 12,349 feet. A few days previously the mountain unfortunately claimed the life of a 49 year old Japanese climber, the 69th victim to die on the mountain.

It is hard to believe but at this time we are approaching high summer here and the highest alpine peaks are still covered with the powdered white stuff. In Peru, Trish went almost as high as 14,000 feet without touching snow, though it must be said the Andes mountains are much nearer the Equator and, therefore, subject to higher day-time melt temperatures.

Incidentally, the highest mountain in NZ and the Straits off the North Island are named after Captain James Cooke who circumnavigated these two islands in 1769/70 but who was not, however, the first white man to discover NZ. That distinction belongs to Dutch seaman Abel Tasman, after whom the south eastern Australian island, Tasmania, is called, and after whom many landmarks and streets in NZ are named. He became the first white man to land in New Zealand in 1642 but these islands had already been colonized by Polynesians who arrived some time around 925 AD or earlier. These Polynesians are the forefathers and foremothers of today's Maoris.

Next day, we decided to participate in a professionally-organised trek up Franz Josef Glacier. It is a 12km long field of compacted ice descending from high in the Southern Alps to less than 300 metres above sea level. But first, we were kitted out by the organisers in climbing boots, crampons to attach to the boots and without which the climb would not have been possible, water-proof trousers and jackets, and we brought our own mini backpacks containing drinks, food and energy-giving chocolate.

This glacier itself was first discovered in 1865 by a German geologist and explorer called Julius von Haast and he named it Franz Josef Glacier after the Austrian Emperor of the same name because, he said, the long tongue of compacted snow which gouges its way between the mountains before dissolving from higher temperatures and sunlight at lower levels, reminded him of the Emperor's long flowing white beard. Today a whole industry is built up around this and the other Alpine natural phenomenon called Fox's Glacier.

You can catch a helicopter flight to take you up and into either of these glaciers and avoid all the hard work of climbing up. We chose the latter option, a professionally-organised trek with a young strong NZ climber as our guide. All treks are led by experienced guides who lead their teams up the glacier wall, hacking away with their pick axes to form steps in the ice, up which the rest of us climb in a single file behind him. In the difficult parts, we held on to ropes tied to shackles which, in turn, were attached to bolts screwed into the solid ice. When these bolts become lose, as they do with melting ice, they are screwed in deeper into the ice, particularly if the hole which previously held them becomes dangerous through lack of purchase. Or, they are simply screwed into a nearby fresh new hole in the ice. When properly attached to the glacier, our guide said, they are capable of lifting or holding a truck. A small truck, he explained.

Our group of thirteen inexperienced mountain or glacier climbers consisted of a delightful group of six young Spanish and Chilean women who chatted non-stop throughout our mini expedition. There was a young British couple, An Australian mother and daughter from Brisbane, a Kenyan man, and Trish and I. The predominant age group of those in ours and other groups who climbed the glacier that day was late 20s or early 30s. Older folk generally take the helicopter route. I was the only 60-plus person on the climb in the five or six groups who were on the glacier the same time as us, and Trish was by far the oldest woman, bar the Australian mother who seemed of similar vintage.

Before the climb up the crevice-indented wall of the glacier, we first of all had to hike through a pathway in thick bush, before emerging onto a huge river bed, fed by streams of water from the melting glacier and waterfalls from the adjoining mountains. To make progress along the stones, rocks, and other debris deposited over thousands of years by the melting glacier, we had to wade through several streams, our boots, socks and trouser ends becoming saturated in the process.

All went well in the climb up the wall of the glacier. We listened carefully to our team leader, Jonathon, and heeded his warnings and advice. I was directly behind our guide, followed by Trish and the Kenyan man who, she said, followed her too closely on the ice and appeared impatient with the slow pace of the climb. Incidentally, compacted snow when it forms into ice give off a blueish-coloured hue because of the way so-called 'white' daylight or sunlight is refracted through it.

On top of the glacier but on the lower reaches of it, we stopped to admire the view and had food and drink refreshments. Pictures were taken to capture the moment. Our bodies which were warm because of the 1,000 feet or so climb began to cool, the result of wind chill effect and the lower ambient temperature on top of the glacier. It was time to trek back down.

It may seem easier to ease your way back down a glacier or a mountain than up it, but the reverse is usually the case. On the way up, one dug one's crampons toe-first into the ice; on the way down, it was heel first. One also faces out rather than into the glacier. Now, the semi-vertical nature of the climb became more apparent. To anyone with a fear of heights it could become intimidating. Trish felt uncomfortable with the Kenyan man behind her. He kept 'rushing' to fill the space she had just vacated and, on a number of occasions, bumped into her and, occasionally, nudged her forward and down. But she kept her nerve. And her grip. And did not panic.

Now, we were near the end of the descent. An L-shaped flight of steps cut into the ice lay before us. Suddenly, a shreak of panic was heard. I briefly looked over my shoulder and saw what I thought was one of the Spanish-speaking women disappear down the side of the glacier. But, no; it was the Kenyan man who had been so impatient both on the climb and descent. Below us, we heard him moan in agony. The thought flashed through our minds – perhaps he would die from his injuries. Maybe these were his last gasps. A glance at where he lay, however, showed that he was moving. Slightly. At least he had not been killed outright.

In all, he had fallen about 25 to 30 feet or about 8 to 10 metres. Trish said the man brushed passed her on his way down. Luckily, he did not manage to grab her or her mountain jacket to try and stop the fall. The remaining dozen members of our team were in shock. On the instructions of our instructor and leader, we did not move, holding onto our guide ropes and making sure our crampons were firmly dug into the ice steps beneath our feet. A team at the bottom of the glacier preparing for their ascent heard the plaintiff cries of the falling man, looked up and saw the entire incident. They, too, were in shock.

Our team leader, after instructing us not to move, quickly sprung into action to help the stricken climber as did the leader of the team preparing to climb the glacier. Through hand-held radio apparatus, the base headquarters in the village of Franz Josef five kilometers away was informed of the accident and an emergency helicopter was immediately dispatched to the base of the glacier.

Fifteen to twenty minutes after his fall, the victim was on his way to hospital with suspected rib injuries. It could have been a lot worse. A tragedy had been avoided, though how was inexplicable. Trish who was the climber nearest man says she believes he left go of the safety rope as he rounded th L-shaped flight of steps, lost his footing and slid off the glacier, feet first. His fall was broken by a ledge of 'dirty' granite particle-filled ice at the bottom of the glacier wall. He was a lucky man to survive with only minor injuries.

It was a tired, elated, but subdued group of trekkers that made their way back to base headquarters in the village of Franz Josef that evening. They were exhausted from their glacier trip, happy with their achievement but stunned by what had occurred.

At the beginning of the week we had read the reports, seen the pictures and watched the television accounts of a great tragedy occur near the summit of Mount Cook. Now it was our turn to witness a near tragedy which had mysteriously but fortunately been averted.

We were content with our achievement in safely climbing and descending Franz Josef Glacier. But we were also made acutely aware how simply we and others can so easily be touched by misfortune or disaster. The line between life on the one hand and serious injury or death on the other is, indeed, a thin one.

Stay with us. There are more adventures to come.