Go West, Young Man ~ Derek's Travels

I had spent 3 days in and out of the Wanaka area, and, in a town of that size, I'd seen most of it, so it seemed to be time to move on and see some of the other wonders that New Zealand has to offer. On the way out, I got some gas, since you can't really find that just around the corner here when driving in the middle of nowhere, and I grabbed a family sized bag of candy, and I was on my way. I made my way up the coast of Lake Wanaka, then the road quickly passed over a small range to another large lake. The whole area had a sort of Scottish feel, particularly with the overcast day casting shadows on the dark mountains and deep lakes, perhaps harboring a few monsters of their own. I didn't see any, but if I edit my pictures a bit, I'm sure I could come up with some obscure shapes in the corners that may or may not be prehistoric beasts lurking in the depths of this land that time forgot. The winding road overlooking the water was once again impressive, though, and I had to do my best to keep my eyes on the road to avoid the tourist bus and impending cliffs coming at me. Reaching the end of the lake, the road cut back across the range to Lake Wanaka, still stretching its way North to the foothills of the mountains. Finally reaching the delta, the clouds still loomed overhead, though only a few drops of rain actually fell up to that point. From this point, the road continued to wind through the steep valley, entering again into Mt. Aspiring's massive national park, covered in beech trees and mountain peaks around every pass.

I'd read a bit about the Gates of Haast, with Haast being the city at the other end of the road and the river cutting sharply through the mountains and boulders, but I didn't exactly know what I was looking for, just that the name sounded evocative. As I came upon a tiny sign indicating Haast Pass, I figured this might be one in the same, so I slammed on the brakes, did a tiny bit of a skid, and eased into the tiny pullout before jumping out of the car to hit the trail. The trail said it was supposed to take about 30 minutes, but I knew that I didn't have much time, as I was trying to beat the rain and get a few things done before the daylight set on the coast, still a long way off. So, I locked Blanco, grabbed my bag and raincoat (just in case), and I literally began running up the mountain. The gravel path changed direction and crossed and turned back onto itself as it negotiated hairpin turns up the steep mountain, making for some slippery footing, particularly while running. I passed through more thick forest and a few walls covered in moss, then I finally hit the opening and last turn, making my way to the viewpoint, but, alas, no Gates of Haast that I could see. I did get a nice view of the narrow valley below and the road ahead, but the sight was limited to just my vicinity with the heavy cloud cover that hovered just around the peaks of the mountains. I let myself cool off for just a minute with the refreshing breeze coming over the top of the trail, then I was off again, sliding my way down the track to the car, hoping not to run over any unsuspecting tourists or kiwi in the process...luckily, I was the only one on the trail.

My next rushed stop was the only other attraction that I'd heard of on the road - the Blue Pools. Despite not having much time, I had accounted for this stop, so I took off from the car and headed into the thick forest, replete with mossy tree trunks, ferns along the edge of the path and a few streams breaking the barrage of green. Soon I reached the swinging bridge across the creamy blue river, secured by a few thick wires, though it still bounces and swings enough to make it fun/scary/annoying, depending on how you see it. I chose to make it fun, and I hope the Germans felt the same way about my bouncing along. Arriving at the Blue Pools, I was met by a few sandflies that seem to be everywhere on the Western side of New Zealand, but they didn't detract too much from the nice view below. Despite the name, the water appeared a clear green color, allowing you to see down the five or ten feet of water pools to the rocky riverbed below. When the sun shines through, the blue color is more pronounced, but the sight was still enchanting. I walked down the dirt stairs cut into the side of the bank and out onto the rocks for a few moments of peace and contemplation before the tourist bus crowd arrived, full of senior citizens. As they clambered along the rocks, I made my way to the other side of the river bank to take a break until they left me and the river back to the solitude that I desired. After another few minutes near the emerald waters, I hurried back to the van and continued West.

Passing over a steep river containing very large boulders and rock walls, I saw the Gates of Haast and a few nearby waterfalls, but they weren't as imposing as the name made them sound. Now on the Western side of the Southern Alps, I got into some typical scenery and weather of the area - huge, steep mountains covered in dark green vegetation, with bits of wind and rain pouring through the valley, cloaking the peaks in mist. The road followed the braided river valley of the Haast as it slowed and widened, still cutting into the edges of the towering peaks on each side. Soon I had made my way into Haast, which is a conglomeration of a restaurant or two, two or three hotels, and a few houses. Not quite the metropolis that I was expecting, I continued up the coast, still passing through bits of rain and cloud, clearing up occasionally, though continually surrounded by primordial forests of wrangled trees, ferns, spiky undergrowth and the intermittent black water stream or swamp. The area looked as if it hadn't changed or even been touched in millions of years, and it wouldn't have been out of place to see a pterodactyl swoop down out of the sky, other than the whole extinction thing. They say the West Coast is rugged and untouched, and that description seemed to fit perfectly, though I was thankful for the nicely paved road that cuts through the edge of it.

Not finding much in the way of civilization, I found a gravel pullout on the top of a hill, overlooking the coast for my spot to stay for the night. The spot wasn't bad, but I carelessly got in and out of the car when transferring from the driver's seat to the back seat, taking my time with the door open, and I paid for that later. When I woke up, I found hordes of mosquitoes and sandflies hanging around the ceiling of the van, so I began killing them, one by one. After about 30 minutes of slapping and flicking, I had killed about 30 or 40 of them...all that were brave enough to show themselves to me. Fortunately, I didn't have that many bites from the night, but I made a note to be more careful in areas like that in the future. The rain also poured down that night, providing a nice drumming sound on the roof of the van, coming down in sheets at times, providing more of a symphony that wasn't always quite as pleasant.