Arthur's Pass

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The name somehow made me relive vivant memories of Scotland. Experiences I’d be more than eager to duplicate, triggering imagery of unpolished nature in its wildest form.

I wasn’t disappointed.

I traversed to the core of the forest by getting into the car with a strange man with lots of candy. Yup, didn’t learn any lesson my mother taught me. Yet, safe and sound I knocked on the door on the Air BnB “batch” I booked myself into, the cheapest option on the net. And the most basic one.

As usual, my timing was unimpeachable. The result of winging every single turn on the travel path, avoiding anything coming slightly close to any structure of planning. A blizzard shook the poorly built condo, menacing deluges and wind bursts pushing against the squeaking windows. So far the plans of doing any of the many multi-day tramping trips passing the extensive network of hiking huts scattered around the mountain pass. Also that arduous Avalanche Peak Track I basically came for was off the agenda for that day.

But out I must.

There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing... some asshole once said. Hidden under an impressive amount of layers, plastic and GoreTex I stepped outside. I was entirely soaked in an approximate 10,008 seconds, the wind gusts not leaving any part untouched. I proceeded to the Millennium Track. Which is a really gangster name for a walk of literally ten meters.

I little but more challenging – but not much – is the short stroll through the Devil’s Punchbowl waterfall. Real thug coming up with those names! There’s not much to this weather, but at least it lets the water stream. Proper cascade, this one. Of all the thousand-and-one waterfalls you’ll come across during your South Island trip, this one will probably be on the upper end of the list.

As the weather escalated even further the day to follow I couldn’t ascend any peak that day either. So low-level day walks it was, once again. That said, I did every single one of them. Make the most of your opportunities, however limited!

I kicked off with the Arthur’s Walking Track towards the West Coast, noticing rivers had formed that weren’t there a day before. When the trail split I moved up towards the Bealey Valley Track, offering pleasuresome panoramas. Hidden under a hedge I devoured my lunch from underneath my ripped poncho, chewing as fast as I could to not allow the freezing cold to turn my knuckles blue. Then it started hailing.

Yet, I gathered my courage and turned off my brain to conquer the wind during my climb up the Temple Basin Track. The steepest and most mind-boggling of all. Queen of the short day-treks.

Via the short Dobson Nature Walk I made my way into the Lake Misery Track, which surely lived up to its name. I mean, the lake bordered by a freeway isn’t the most scenic imaginable to begin with, but when its swampy trails are so flooded you sink in ankle-deep the fun is literally miles away. GoreTex won’t help you when the frosty water streams into your boot top-down, unable to ever leave your shoe again. The miserable lake had expanded for meters sideways, overflowing the entire end of the trajectory, forcing me off-path into the marshland. Bad idea. Really really bad idea.

Let’s say I swore a lot.

For reasons unknown I nevertheless still continued to the Otira Valley Track, to properly check off all hikes west of town. The rain never ceased to soak me all day long. Until I finished that last hike, that is. Of course. Thanks Arthur’s Pass, I don’t need your warm welcome, I’ll force myself in.

There were HEAPS (yeah yeah – turning all kiwi on you) of other shorter treks, but I couldn’t get this Avalanche Peak Track out of my system. I couldn’t physically leave this place before having even tried. It was already midday when I left the cosy Couchsurfing house I moved into (with Ranger Ryan!), because well... that’s how I roll, I guess. I passed by the Visitor Centre to gather some advice with regards to the weather conditions, kind of wanting to hear out loud what I already knew: Yes, the weather finally cleared up down below, but no, that wasn’t the case mountain-high. I don’t really know why I went in there, I made up my mind already, whatever that guy was gonna tell me: I was going to be that one loon going up there against all recommendations.

I informed ‘home’ about my whereabouts and provided some indications as of when the alarm bells needed to be rung, just in case. I didn’t tell them about the warning signs referring to the severe risks of avalanches on this specific trail, but I guess the name gave that away already. This simply had to be done, I’ll see how far I can take it.

Not far.

Fair enough, the unrealistic project launched off rather promising. Whistling I went up. And it for sure it wasn’t easy. I think vertical is the only appropriate way to describe the pathway leading up there. And not by matter of speaking. Actually vertical. You know these toys, tiny men made of jelly that you throw against the window, upon which they stiffly move downwards. That was me.

The weather was truly lovely though. For about half an hour.

Then the sun turned into mist. The mist turned into rain. The rain turned into hail. And yes, the hail turned into snow. Can it get any worse? Yes. Yes, it always can.

I was quite close to the peak when the uninterrupted snowfall decided to turn into a blizzard. Within a minute I couldn’t see my hand anymore when stretched out, the snow blasts slamming into me horizontally. Did I tell you I forgot to bring gloves? Ducked down slowly turning into a yeti I tried to turn my aluminium emergency blanket that I somehow did bring along into improvised mittens, cutting it with my pocket knife, the wind force simply not allowing me too. Terror-stricken I concluded the paths were rapidly disappearing under a thick blanket of white, complicating my continuation and/or necessary return.

I looked down on my purple hands that I now also couldn’t move anymore and ignored my brain’s tendency to panic.

“Think, Steph! Think! You made brave decisions this morning, don’t let that decisiveness let you down now either.”

Time for self-evacuation. One foot in front of the other, eye on the compass. Breathe. Breathe. Don’t stop, don’t ever stop. Out.

That was close.

I slowly let the fear escape out of my longs and leaned back into the moss. People had died up there. Not tourists, advanced mountaineers. But at least they tried. At least I tried.

Moral of the story: Visit Arthur’s Pass in sunny weather.

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