Antarctic Center and Homeward Bound

We go to the airport hotel, and as we approach, the driver recommends the Antarctic Research Center.  Located next to my hotel and across the street from the departure terminal, it is a perfect destination for me before my flight home on Monday.

Kate, Gary, and I have our last dinner together.  They will be leaving the hotel about 4 AM.  I will be sleeping in.  It seems weird to be saying goodbye, and I feel a little emotional and sentimental.  

The Antarctic Center is just yards from the hotel, and across the street from it is the United States Antarctic Research Center.  

US in NZ :  Another touch of home so far from home.  

As I head for the Antarctic Center I think what a good idea to put this kind of tourist attraction next to an airport.  How often do travelers have time to wait but not enough time to really *do* something?  I realize it’s here because the US Antarctic Program is here, but it works well for me.

The first thing that grabs my attention is the penguin refuge (surprise, surprise).  I see blue penguins, I see the same ‘Faerie Penguins’ I saw on Phillips Island nine years ago.  All have been rescued, tagged, and have a safe haven here.  The setting simulates their natural habitat while allowing visitors to see their nests, feeding habits, and underwater antics.

rescued NZ penguins, above and below

On my way out, I see the ‘blizzard simulation room’. That sounds cool (I think, for a minute) After donning a full weight winter parka and rubber boots, I join others inside, awaiting the countdown to a ‘real’ Antarctic summer blizzard.  

We take turns photographing each other in the cold space as we await the storm.

The temperature drops, the wind picks up, the lights dim, people giggle and laugh and nervously watch the tents blowing, and I think,  “What am I doing?  I’ve seen blizzards.  I'll see them again.  Real ones.”  

I realize a summer blizzard in Antarctica is more severe than any I’ve seen, even after the winter of 2015.  But still---a blizzard is not new to me.  I leave for the warmth of the real world.  

I make a quick stop for coffee and find myself seated near some US troops stationed at the center across the street.  Again I feel the ‘smallness’ of the world.  Yesterday-- Starbucks and the Sox capped-tourist, today, the U.S. troops next to me.  Thus ends my trip to New Zealand…with a taste of home and a taste of the winter that is waiting for me in Arlington.

View of South Island of New Zealand from plane bound for home

PostScript

I leave sunshine and fake blizzards, 75 degrees and spring in late October. I arrive in San Francisco 7 hours before I left Christchurch. I get into Boston 8 PM on Monday but I think it’s 2 PM on Tuesday.  I sleep through the first snow of the season—real snow. I see the vestiges on my car when I finally get up. The flight has me confused but the memories are very clear. 

It’s great to see the world.  

It’s great to be home.

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Original Tales from the Trail (Places I've Been) will  be taking a brief hiatus until late January or early February.  

I continue to welcome feedback here, on Twitter, Facebook, and elsewhere.

On http://originaltalesfromthetrail.blogspot.com/  I will occasionally highlight selected posts that have drawn the most responses, and will try to share these on Gatehouse Media's blog sites as well (arlington.wickedlocal.com/section/blogs01?taxid=1963  or any of the other 50 town papers that post Tales from the Trail on their web sites).  

Happy Holidays to all, and thank you for following Tales from the Trail.  See you in 2016.

Home Away from Home; Red Sox Nation

I enjoy cities, I enjoy history, I enjoy the history we can find in cities.  But with our shrinking world--multinational corporations, global manufacturing, the ability to travel half way around the world in less than a day-- I’ve noticed that often I see familiar things that almost make me forget I am not home.

At this point there are some things we’ve just come to expect.  MacDonalds is everywhere, although they may adapt their menus to regional tastes.  Starbucks is everywhere. 

Starbucks in Christchurch, NZ

As we stroll through the area, I see a juggler in the center of the square, and for a minute,  looking at the building behind him, I think I’m in Boston, at Faneuil Hall Marketplace.  Home away from home.

Not Faneuil Hall

The moment passes, I realize it's only a faint similarity, and we continue our stroll. We come to a statue honoring Queen Victoria,

HRH Victoria

and another honoring explorer/navigator James Cook

James Cook

Whenever explorers reach outposts and civilizations previously unknown to them, they lay claim to the territory, (re)name the natural landmarks, and create tributes to (newly arrived) adventurers and their rulers.  And as has happened elsewhere in the country--in the world--acknowledgement of the native population joins tributes to newcomers.  In Alaska Mt Denali was/is Mt. McKinley.  In Australia, Ayers Rock is Uluru.  In New Zealand, Mt. Cook is also known by its Maori name,  Mt. Aoraki.  And in Christchurch there is a Maori carving acknowledging the brave early settlers...

Maori carving in Christchurch

As we wander, a uniquely decorated bus catches my eye. Advertising the Antarctic Center near the airport, the bus has several penguins on its roof.  I’m guessing there are no low bridges here.  I'm also guessing, given my fondness of penguins and the time I'll have before my flight, I'm going to visit that center.

Bus advertisement

I mentioned at the start of this post that often I see familiar things  in unfamiliar places.  What I didn’t realize was how far-flung Red Sox Nation is.  Red Sox fans, take note. When Kate and I were exploring the mudpots and geysers of New Zealand’s North Island, we were crossing a footbridge and I saw a man in a Red Sox hat.  I was wearing my championship Sox t-shirt.  

‘Hey, Red Sox,’ I said, almost without thinking.  

‘Go Sox!’ he replied just as automatically.

If you are rolling your eyes here, you’ll be pleased to know I heard Kate say,  ‘What IS it with you people?”  Only Red Sox Nation would understand.

I saved that story for the end of the trip because, when we return to await the airport shuttle, I see a bus of Japanese tourists as they disembark. One is wearing a Red Sox cap.  I grab my camera and ask ‘Can I take your picture?’  She looks confused; obviously she does not speak English.   I point to her cap, to my Sox t-shirt (yes, another one), and to my camera.  She breaks out in a huge grin and holds up a New Zealand tourist handbook.  

I am over 9,000 miles from my home, and here are all these things that take me home.  It is a small world.  Go Sox!

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Next: The Antarctic Research Center and Homeward Bound

Aoraki/Mount Cook National Park, The Church of the Good Shepherd

After our adventures on the mountain, we rejoin our tour and head for Aoraki/Mount Cook National Park.  

View of Aoraki National Park as we go to the hotel

As Kate and I enjoy the views from our balconies at the Hermitage Hotel , I see a nearly invisible bus going through the park. It’s in the lower third of the photo below (I circled it to help you see it) on a narrow road that cuts across the flat area at the foot of the mountains.  Gives ya some perspective, doesn’t it?

The bus helps give an idea of the size of the mountains.

In the morning we depart for the last leg of our trip.  En route to Christchurch, where our flights will take us home, we stop at the Church of the Good Shepherd, a humble house of worship built  from stones found in the region.  The Church is at the edge of Lake Tekapo and the contrasts are arresting:  the simple stone church,  the placid lake surface, and the regal mountains beyond.

   Church of the Good Shepherd on Lake Tekapo

 

Mounts Aoraki (Cook) and Tasman from the edge of Lake Tekapo

To bring me back down to earth,  Kate provides the following photo of Gary....Look--the mountain is smaller than his hand. 

The Church of the Good Shepherd is aptly named not only in a religious sense, but also as an acknowledgement of the importance of  sheep in the country’s economy  (remember the raves over New Zealand lamb?).  It’s only fair that  near the church there is a tribute to the dog, whose services are critical to the shepherd. 

Honoring the dog without whom shepherding would be---impossible.

And then it’s on to Christchurch, where the tour has arranged for us to stow our luggage while we take some time to enjoy the city before leaving for our accommodations near the airport.

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next: Home Away from Home

Helicopter to Mt. Aoraki (Mt Cook)

Mount Cook National Park is home to many of the ‘Southern Alps’.   The largest mountain was named in 1851 for explorer James Cook.  In Maori, its name is  'Aoraki' , which comes from an ancient myth in which the Gods turned a wrecked canoe into hills (this seems to be the Maori explanation for a lot of natural phenomena). The 'tallest' of the canoers was a child named Aoraki, who was sitting on the chief's shoulders.   Another account says that the mountain was named in honor of Aoraki, the first-born son of the Sky Father.  I would welcome any more detailed information or clarification if anyone is inclined to share it here in comments, or on social media.

Whatever you call them, the mountains are majestic.

Mt. Cook National Park

Our Helicopter

I’ve been in helicopters before--- several times when I went hili-hiking,  and again when I was getting to know the polar bears up close and personal.  I remember the first flight vividly.  I was nervous and really didn’t get how this little thing with the noisy propellers was going to get us up safely into the sky, much less land us on a mountain.  I remember sitting behind the pilot and, (as if this would help) using my hands to create an upward motion, the way you might do to a child who was learning to walk and had stumbled.  ‘C’mon,  up,  up,  you can do it....’  I so desperately wanted helicopter to get us safely above the mountain that was looming directly in front of  us.  

I don’t think the waving helped.  The pilots in all of these flights and the helicopters--they didn’t seem to need my assistance at all.  

heli-happy me

Mt. Aoraki, which has three main peaks, is more than one-third permanent ice and snow.  Aoraki is the highest peak at 11,290 feet (over 2 miles) above sea level. Twenty-two other peaks exceed 9,100 feet including Mt. Tasman, the second highest in the country at 10,490 feet. 

One hundred forty climbers have lost their lives on Aoraki’s slopes-- this is not the place for a novice to try hiking. These peaks have been the training ground for notable New Zealand mountaineers, including Sir Edmund Hillary and his son Peter.

Hell-happy Kate

I don’t know if Kate has been in a helicopter before--I know Gary has.  The headphones you see in the photo above the passenger to hear anything the pilot; that would be impossible otherwise.  Helicopters are very noisy.

We’re going land on a fairly level area of the mountain--no hiking, no records to challenge.  I’m just going to let mountains do what they always do -- mesmerize me  The view and understanding of these natural wonders put everything in perspective. I realize how great the grand scheme of nature is, how small our roles, how insignificant I am.   These peaks are billions of years old.  They shift and change under the weight of ice and snow, the ice thickens and thins with the altering earth and its environment, and here they still are.  Blllions of years old.  
What was it I was worried about?  

Oh, yeah… 

Nothing.

Where clouds meet mountains

We exit the copter and leave our insignificant marks---a few footprints in the snow.  In a matter of days or even hours,  our prints will be obliterated by wind and more precipitation. 

In some areas you can see some of the blue unique to glacial ice.  Compression by the weight of accumulating ice and snow squeezes out air bubbles below; the deeper layers of ice then reflect more blue.   

At some points you can see the blue ice seen only in glaciers

At this point I think the photos of our helicopter excursion speak for themselves, and make clear why we waited so anxiously throughout the trip for the weather to clear so we could fly.

Mt. Aoraki

Really, there is nothing words can add to the beauty of these mountains.

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Oamaru Heritage Week

We depart the giant Moeraki boulders of the beach and proceed to Oamaru, a normally quiet little place that is in just the right spot to break up the ride to Mt. Cook National Park. The first thing I see when I step off the bus is people dressed in Victorian clothes.

They seem to be having an argument about a woman’s right to vote....

....a very heated (and very staged) argument.

Police on a penny farthing

There are policemen patrolling the streets on ‘penny farthing cycles’. I’d never seen these ‘live' before.  This means of transport goes back to the 1870s, and the only explanation I can find for the name 'penny farthing' is that the two drastically different sized wheels reminded people of the two coins.  

The front wheel has a diameter of about five feet.  The large size offered greater speed.  Speed is good.  Getting around fast is good.  All I can think of is,  the front tire is taller than I am...how would a person get on that bike to take advantage of the great speed?

Apparently, with a step or stool, a little practice, and good balance, the owner--often a policeman-- could get on and off with ease,  Relative ease. Maybe. But being that high up on a narrow-wheeled bicycle creates a unique set of hazards, like flying over the handlebars when you hit a hole in the road.  I like modern cycles better.

All of the costumes and fun mark the culmination of Heritage Week in Oamaru.  There’s a parade...

a chance to ride an old steam locomotive,

 and a real sense of the period celebrated.

We skip the train ride, enjoy the celebration while dining at a pub, and then learn that the bright, clear sunny weather is giving us our longed-for chance to take a helicopter up to Mount Cook. This adventure has been postponed several times because of weather...We’re not going to miss this long-awaited opportunity.

The recently released movie ‘Suffragette’ addresses the British version of the fight for women’s rights that these people were staging for us in New Zealand.  I haven’t seen the movie, only the trailers, so I can’t offer any critique,  but it is a reminder of the freedoms and liberties so many of us enjoy -- and take for granted.  

Moeraki --My What Big Stones....

First stop today is Koekohe  Beach on the Otago coast to see the Moeraki boulders. These are giant spherical rocks that Maori legend says are the remains from the wreck of the Arai-te-uru, one of the large canoes that brought the original human inhabitants to the island.  Maori believed the eel baskets, calabashes, and sweet potatoes washed ashore;  the rocky banks reaching out to the sea were thought to be the petrified ship hull, and a nearby headland was assumed to be the ship’s captain.

Scientific analysis is less intriguing but does nothing to reduce the unique nature of these giant round rocks.  X-rays and electron probes reveal the boulders are made of mud, silt, and clay, held together by calcite (a major part of sedimentary rocks, often formed when a life form begins to decay). 

 It’s the calcite that gives the appearance of yellow seams. 

Calcite gives the appearance of yellow seams holding the boulder together

To give you an idea of the size of some of these boulders, here is a rare photo of the writer pushing (hah!) a boulder demonstrating its size and her need for vitamins and a good workout regimen.

The writer trying to move a boulder 

The Moeraki took about four million years to grow.  Our guide tells us the spherical shape has nothing to do with the erosive power of the sea, but that the sediment and ‘calcite cement’ just grew equally in every direction.  Some, like the one I’m trying (pretending?) to push are six feet or more in diameter

Geologists think the Moeraki formed in a layer of mudstone  far below the surface of the water, and about fifteen million years* ago that layer was lifted above sea level.  Gradually the breaking waves released the giant spheres from the rock and cliffs that held them.  You can still see some of the boulders ‘trapped’ in the cliffs.

A boulder still trapped in a cliff

The large seam-like calcite ‘cracks’ radiate from a hollow core lined with calcite crystals.  The inside of the boulder seems to be weaker than the outside, so when one does break down,  it looks almost as if collapsed, like the one below.

the 'inside' of a Moeraki boulder

The boulders appear on the beach both individually and in clusters like those in the photo below.

Over many years, people have managed to take some of these marvels for souvenirs, etch their initials for posterity, and otherwise tamper with the unique formations.  Since 1971 this area has been a legally protected scientific reserve to secure the unique Moeraki. 

This video--https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rMV3PH-wio8--  from http://www.moerakiboulders.com/ provides some good 

images and info on the boulders, as well as additional history.

*"'Fifteen million years ago"   I know I've said this many times throughout my blog, but when I am reminded of the vast history that came before me, I feel a sense of awe.  Just the number 'fifteen million' can do that to me.  Yeah, yeah, they're big round stones.  But what amazing stones they are.