Uh-huh. Thought that’d get your attention. Gather round, children, gather round. It’s time for Uncle Jon’s Story Time. This is a story of deception and woe, of adventure and beauty, kindness and reciprocity, of perseverance and reward. It takes place in one of New Zealand’s most awe-inspiring and diverse regions, the province of Fiordland. The stage thus set, let us begin the tale. Maybe it’s because it’s a long story, or maybe it’s because I’m an overly verbose windbag, but the four-day peregrination will be separated into two parts.

Our story begins last Thursday, when Christa (German flatmate), Geri (international student from Hungary), and I set out from 10c Moat Street, and headed west towards the tiny town of Te Anau, which serves as a nice gateway to many of New Zealand’s best tramps (hikes). After a scenic drive through the rural Southland province, we arrived in Te Anau (tee ah-now), which was a well-manicured but small town. We spent the night in one of the several lakefront hostels, and a quiet evening.

The next morning, we loaded up our backpacks with clothes, basic toiletries, and headed for the Department of Conservation office. The DOC handles the vast majority of hikes and natural sightseeing around the country, so if you want to go on a hike, you purchase hut passes and check in with them. Christa was a little wary, as she had had a bad experience with this particular DOC office before, and this time was no different: the woman behind the counter cast a disdainful eye around us, lingering contemptuously on my Rice hoodie, and told us that we looked underprepared for the hike, that there was a massive rain/hail/snow/windstorm coming, and that at least thirty-five other people would be at the first hut, reducing the chance that we’d even get a bunk to sleep in. However, after listening to her deal encouragingly and politely to several other incoming hikers, and a few people over the phone, we decided to risk what she clearly thought was certain death, and since the hike was a huge 67-km circle, we’d just do the track backwards. As we walked out of the DOC office, I snapped this picture purely out of spite, though it turned out well.

The first day’s hike went well (pics below). It was a fairly easy jaunt through the woods, though by the end of the day, I felt like I was carrying at least fifteen and not more than seventeen large bowling balls. We finished at Moturau Hut situated on a beach overlooking Lake Manapouri, and spent the evening battling sandflies and talking to the other two hikers in the Hut, a Canadian guy named Jamie and a Welsh woman named Julie. Both had incredible stories, Jamie travelling around the South Island, and Julie travelling around the world. I taught Geri how to play the card game War, and was absolutely humiliated when he beat me in fifteen minutes. As anyone who has ever played War knows, this is not a game in which someone is supposed to win—you just play and play until someone gets bored and gives up. So, after much more trash talking on my part, something about Geri being an insane Hungarian, I went to bed.

Pictures from Day 1







I awoke just before sunrise on the second day, and was stunned by what I saw. The previous day’s hike was nice, but I hadn’t seen anything earth-shaking. However, here, in front of me, stood the first fruits of our journey.


Mountains overlooking Lake Manapouri. You can see a faint rainbow over the mountain peak.



We continued our hike through forest, playing peek-a-boo with glimpses of the beach, the lake, and the mountains beyond. In time, our course veered away from this little bit of heaven, and our terrain became a little more diverse, the forest occasionally giving way to rivers, meadows, and, finally, The Big Slip, the site of an enormous landslide several kilometres in diameter (the size of the town of Te Anau) that took place in 1984.



Eventually, we arrived at Iris Burn Hut, tired, hot, and smelly. We had spotted a freshwater river a ways back, so we all grabbed a change of clothes and headed back.

I hate the cold. You know this. I know this. But after seeing Christa and Geri jump in without hesitation, I told myself that I came to New Zealand for experiences like this, I inched my way to the water. The water lapped over my feet and instantly turned the blood to ice. I grimaced, but plunged ahead anyway, furiously scrubbed my arms, chest, and back, and hopped out. Or rather, I stumbled out, as I had no feeling from the knees down. Afterwards, I had what I suppose could be called that “spring clean” feeling, and felt like I should be advertising Irish Spring soap. But we all felt much better afterwards, and the grins that spread over our faces began to stay in place longer and longer.

While Christa and Geri had coffee (blech!), I took a short walk in the woods, following a trail to a waterfall. It was fairly nice, but it kept spraying water over my camera, so I could only take hurried photos, like this one.


As the sun set, a DOC warden collected our tickets and explained to the medium-sized number of hikers that the surrounding forest was home to a large number of kiwis (the birds this time, not the people). Kiwis are fairly large birds, around the size of chickens, and are nocturnal, which means that it’s fiendishly difficult to see them. But great mother of all things woolly, they make a heck of a racket, and woke me up later that night. I remember thinking that endangered species should be quieter, but oh no, they called to each other, chatting about food and what this kiwi had done to that kiwi and the deplorable state of kiwi culture or whatever it is they were saying at the top of their tiny kiwi lungs. If you ever meet me in person, I’ll be glad to do a kiwibird impression for your inevitable delight.

Shortly before bed, and after a card game of Canasta (which had ended in Geri and Christa vehemently proclaiming that their own rules were better for playing the game), Christa slipped on her head torch (flashlight), and we went out into the woods a little ways, and found glowworms in the trees, hundreds of them twinkling in the ebony night. We stood in silence and watched them for a few minutes before heading back to the hut for bed, the stars twinkling above us like a million glowworms.

The best part, and the hardest, was yet to come. Gather round in a day or two, and you’ll hear tales of mountain-dwelling demons, fjords, snow, and toilets dangling in the void.


One last picture, taken from Iris Burn hut near sunset.