Back in the fall of 2000, my dad and I took the most amazing trip that a girl could ever take. See, my father is quite the travel buff and I have reaped the benefits of it because my mom preferred to stay close to home. I always said she was like milk, she didn't travel well.
Our planning began about a year prior, my parents as you may know, ran a restaurant at a golf course. Come fall, we would pack up our things and head out to some remote location and spend weeks exploring great spots such as New Zealand. My father loved this area and was convinced that it would be the most amazing experience for me. He started to talk about us taking this trip and I quickly applied for my passport and pulled my backpack out of storage. We were to take a 27 day excursion which would start us out in Aukland than by plane we would travel to the south island of NZ and visit places like Queenstown and Christchurch. 27 days...that was about what rehab was. But this would be a different type of rehab...a chance for my father and I to detox from our stressful lives back home and "lick our wounds".
The trip would start out with us making a stop in Las Vegas. We would first travel there with my brother and mom and grandfather, have some family time there, then take a plane ride to LA, then off to Aukland. This trip would be just for my father and I, as I would (to this day) still give my brother shit about how he was left behind as dad chose his favorite child to accompany him. The trip to LA from Las Vegas is not very long at all, it was the trip from LA to New Zealand that would surpass any trip I had ever taken by air. The trip was over 12 hours by air on a plane unlike any cramped American Airlines flight I had been on. The coach seating was like sitting in a recliner and you had your own personal television and enough leg room to make this nearly 6' girl quite happy. Flying Air New Zealand, the flight attendants bring you fresh squeezed orange juice ever few hours, keep you fed on wonderful foods and spoil you constantly. I am sure that my father enjoyed the flight, as his ass was up in first class. At one point, the flight attendant brought me a glass of champagne and said in her kiwi accent, "this is from your father in first class, he wants you to know he is having a great time up there." I grabbed the glass of champagne while my mouth hung open in shock and I embarrassingly looked over at my seat mates. This would be one of many times my father would embarrass me in life.
I won't bore you with the flight details. We landed about sixteen days later in New Zealand, my father rested and relaxed from the trip, boasting about the in flight massages by Greek Goddesses and the live Broadway show that supposedly first class people get to enjoy. I, on the other hand, was exhausted and ready to lie down horizontally. We first took a cab to a place in Aukland and stay there for two days. I have been to Aukland before and feel quite comfortable roaming the large city on my own. It is there that my father looks through a book on New Zealand and says to me "you wanna go on a cool adventure?" The last time my father said this he booked me on an Outward Bound trip to Seattle where I did a 12 day survival. To me, this would entail something along the lines of hiking to the top of a mountain with 14 sheep and a man the size of a four year old pulling a goat while he sat in a spa and sent me dinner mints.
"uhm, sure?" I said with quite a bit of uncertainty. "There is something called the Milford Trek. It is a 33.5 mile walk that I have been reading about. It is supposed to be one of the most beautiful walks you can ever take." Of course I was intrigued. I looked over the information he had in his hand. There was a photo of a couple with a fanny pack laughing as they strolled through the green and deciduous trails. It looked like a commercial for granola bars and I was automatically intrigued. "yeah, let's do it."
My father called the number on the phone and spoke to a woman about the walk. She explained there were two different walks we could take. One was called the guided tour, obviously the one that was represented in the Nature Valley photo of the couple holding hands. In the guided tour, you were able to have your back packs carried from hut to hut for you, while you walked with a guide and were given the narration of the land by a man that looked like Crocodile Dundee. Your huts had electricity and warm home cooked meals when you returned from your hike. There were showers, beds with pillows and roaring fire places in the huts. My dad was more interested in the independent walk. This walk was simply you and your back pack walking at your own pace without a guide, and the huts had no electricity and no running water. Of course, my father chose the second over club med.
I was game for it, and we signed up for the trip. The first leg of the trip was quite challenging...and that was just getting to the place where we needed to start the walk. We were to travel from Aukland to the south island to a town called Christchurch. From Christchurch we would travel by bus to a town called Te-anu and purchase all our supplies for the three day hike. In Te-Anu, we would board a boat which would take us through the Milford Sound and the fjiordlands to where the trek began.
My father bought us a "best of New Zealand" travel pass. It allowed us to travel anywhere we wanted by bus, train or boat for the entire month we were there. Our backpacks were stuffed to the gills that morning we stood outside the hotel to catch our bus. The first one never arrived, the second one merely waved at us while we stood on the corner like a lost child left behind. A phone call to the tour bus group told us that they were full and they were happy to get us an alternate form of transportation to Te-Anu, but how much did our back packs weigh? "What does that have to do with it?" I asked my dad. Their "alternate form" turned out to be a small four passenger plane. We took a cab to the airport and they looked at my father and I, split us up between the two planes. A moment of terror filled my mind as the theme from "La Bamba" started playing in my head. "The day Wisconsin died". They packed our back packs in the back of the plane and I sat in the front with the pilot, as two gentleman from south africa sat in the back. The pilot looked at me calmly and said "see those pedals on the floor by your feet? It is really really important that you don't touch those." It was a moment I will never forget. What happened if I touched them? Was it the ejector button for the plane and I would go shooting out the windshield? I was terrified and looked at my father as his 6'2 frame was folded into the back of the plane like a grizzly bear into a volkswagen bug. I waved at him and thought "oh crap, is this the way I am going to die?"
The flight was amazing. We took a one hour trip over Milford where they were filming Lord of the Rings at the time. I think I did see an Ork at one time, but that could have been my imagination. It was at that moment that I realized my camera was in my pack in the back of the plane. CRAP!!! This was the most amazing scenery I have ever seen, and I had no way to prove that it even happened. When we landed, my feet were so cramped from being afraid to put them anywhere near the pedals, and as I hobbled out of the plane my dad asked if I got some good pictures. I explained to him that the pilot was not in favor of "pulling over" at any point so I could get my pack and we both wanted to kick ourselves.
Our gear was handed to us by the pilot, I bent down to kiss the ground and hiked the 50 lb pack onto my back. We went to a hotel in the city and dropped our stuff off so we could go to the office and pick up some supplies before the trek. One of the items they gave us was a large yellow trash bag. This was to put inside our packs so that the rain would not drench our belongings. (a large amount of rain falls on the trek every year. We were almost guaranteed bad weather on the trek) We asked the woman at the office what to expect. She had a strange way of telling us everything but absolutely nothing. We left just as confused as we arrived and in a daze returned to our hotel. The walk would start in two days, and we needed to go to the grocery store to purchase food and other supplies. I will say it is amazing how much you value something if you are forced to carry it on your back. My father and I had left things in two different hotels in Aukland, one in Christchurch and another pack of items was shipped back home. I parted with things like make up, hair spray, and hand lotion, just to make room for warm clothes, comfortable shoes and a toothbrush that was also a comb and a swiss army knife. (not true, but that would be cool) We walked to the grocery store and roamed the aisles. If you have ever been to a grocery store in another country, you know that everything looks weird. There is no Nabisco shredded wheat or Lays potato chips. The biggest thing is to stand there in front of the dehydrated peas and MRE's (meals ready to eat) and think "what am I going to be hungry for two days from now?" We settled on ramen noodles, a number of MRE's, granola bars, oatmeal and something called Trempers Bread. This bread was extremely dense and weighed the same as a bag of flour. We stocked up on hot chocolate, dehydrated fruits and nuts, and bought two water bottles. On our way back to the hotel, our fingers turned white from holding the bags in our hands. We were going to have to carry this stuff for three days...what were we thinking? Back at the hotel we unloaded our bags and attempted to stuff food on top of our sleeping bags. My sleeping bag would not fit in my pack so we had to have my father carry both sleeping bags in his pack and I carried all the food. I looked like a traveling wilbury as I teetererd my way to the first location. We were to take a bus to the boat that would ship us off to the Glade house. This would be the first stop of the guided tour, and we, the independent walkers would hike off to the first hut, the clinton hut. I looked around the boat after five minutes of walking with this pack on my back and contemplated setting up an all you can eat buffet for the rest of the tourists. What was I thinking buying apples? After refitting my pack, we started the hike to the hut. The first sign we saw stated "Milford Trek...Glade house 20 minutes. The timing, of course, referred to how long it would take to walk there. Underneath it showed "Clinton Hut, 1 hour 30 minutes." Are you crazy? We have to walk an hour and a half in the first leg of this thing? My shoulders were on fire and my feet hurt already.
As we came to the first hut, the guided trekkers would disappear one by one into a warm inviting hut that looked like a five star cabin in the woods. Smoke escaped from the chimney and the silouhettes of happy people were portrayed through the steamy windows. It was cold and the path that started out as a calm highway had slowly turned into an obstacle course of large rocks and knotty tree roots. We walked slowly, talking about what we expected on our first day. As we made our way after an hour of this trek, we saw an arrow that pointed upward to the hut. It looked like a wall in the middle of the forest. We had no climbing gear and my buffet of a backpack was just a nusicence by now. We put our hands in front of us and climbed the steep incline to the hut. We were the last of the 40 something walkers to reach the hut as we let our back packs slide off our backs and land with a thud at our feet. Hands on our hips, hunched over from the lack of air and elevation, we both looked at each other as if to say "what did we get ourselves into?"
The rest of the trekkers are sitting in the hut in their circles of friends. My father and I enter the bunk house and choose a bunk. I take the top bunk which is just a mattress pad and a ladder. We slowly walk over to common house where others are making dinner. I sink into the table and place my face in my hands and sigh. Holy Crap my legs hurt. Can I leave now please? I look around the hut at the groups of people. Today, we are strangers. In three days I will have learned all their names, where they are from and what crazy foods they have packed for this trip. My father and I clutch our food and check out the cooking facilities. A dozen burners are against one wall with cigarette lighters attached to the side. We are to light our burners and cook everything we want in one pot. On the menu tonight is ramen noodles, dehydrated peas and half a block of cheese. My father opts for Mexican food night in a bag. Add water, and there is some type of random bean and cheese enchilada delight. I want to vomit then go to sleep, but we begin to talk to the other hikers. One of the guys from Denmark has a tube of what looks like toothpaste. I glance over at it and notice it says "Nestle coffee and milk" Just add boiling water and voila..starbucks in a tube. "Is it good?" I ask him, he pauses to take a sip and thinks for a moment "NO". Then laughs.
The funny thing about these trips is all the people that surround you are strangers, but you all have one thing in common, the sense of adventure. This common thread begins to pull you together in mysterious ways. We meet a man named Hank from Australia. He is 79 years old and carries a walking stick and looks like Gandolf from Lord of the Rings. He speaks in a way that makes me want to sit indian style in front of him while he tells me stories of all the walks he has taken in his life. Hank is in phenomenal shape and will be seen many times kicking our asses throughout this trek. All of us get to know each other and begin to acknowledge our common grounds, yet respect our diversity. There is another father child team that is from the states, but most of them are from Europe. There is a couple that annoys me right off the bat. They are from England and have been nicknamed the "done everythings" The done everythings have been everywhere, done everything you have or haven't and are actually going to do the second leg of the walk tonight then walk back to the hut just so that they say they did it before everyone else. I plot to stuff the bottom of their packs with rocks and vow to never speak to them again.
As we finish dinner, we are introduced to the tour guide that lives at each of the huts. Though we are not guided...so to speak...we are accounted for at each hut by the guide. The guide tells us stories of the people that have passed through and tells us of the next leg of the trip. On day two of the trip, we will head up 12 switch backs to McKinnon's pass. This is a pass that is 1154 meters high...I would translate that into miles but all I know is it was fricking high as hell. We reached the first zig zag or switch back and glanced up to the top. The "done everythings" have already reached the top and told us "you are going to love it up there, it is beautiful." I imagine pushing them off the end of the cliff if I see them during another leg of this trip.
We turn in for the night, the first to fall asleep in the hut and I find myself awake before sunrise. I stumble down the ladder and to the bathroom. There is no electricity and I pry my eyes open with dirty fingers and shove my contacts in my eyes. Back at the hut, my father is the only other one awake. We have moved all our stuff outside so as not to awaken the other walkers. I look at my dad as he balances on one leg in his attempt to put his boot on and I say as I motion over at the other sleeping walkers "funny thing is, these people will pass us at sometime today." We make breakfast and head out to the pass. The sun is just started to rise and our stomachs are filled with oatmeal and hot chocolate. I shove a couple of granola bars into my pocket and set out in front of my father.
The first glance of the switch backs is intimidating. The "done everythings" describe it as a paved walk through the park. I see it as if I were standing next to the empire state building and looking up. The weather is beautiful and starting to get warm. It is not too often that the rain is not relentlessly pelting you at this point of the trip so we count our blessings and start out on the first switchback. There are 12 total and I figured this would be the toughest part of the trip, but they have told us the true challenge is on the way back down from the pass. They have nicknamed it "the roaring burn" due to the pain it causes in your calf muscles from walking down hill for 4 hours. Today's walk will take 6 hours in all....think about the last time you walked 6 hours....I know I couldn't imagine it.
At about switchback 10, you can see the monument of McKinnon, this rock based formation with a cross on top. For one moment, the pain in your body goes on hiatus and you feel your breath escape you. The day we took the walk, the clouds had disappeared and nothing but clear skies and keas were in sight. The Kea, a small parrot like bird that can be known to attack your stuff and consume your food, are also affectionately referred to as the welcome wagon of the pass. They sit perched on the mountain side as if to say "we are very happy to have you here." They follow you everywhere you go and stare at you with a quick cock of their heads. We stand at the top and see the sign that states the elevation and toss our back packs on the ground and take in the panoramic view of the mountains. For me to explain it would not do it justice. All I will say is that you reach a moment when you are standing there, amongst these majestic mountains and curious birds and realize how small you really are in this world. My father and I just gaze around the scenery, our jaws dropped in awe, fighting back tears. Tears of pain, tears of awe, tears of joy. Another couple comes behind us and takes our photo near the elevation sign. This picture still hangs on my wall today, a reminder of one of the greatest moments of my life. Daily I look at that picture and remember how long it took us to climb, one foot in front of the other, up jagged rocks and turns, only to reach a point where we felt we were on top of the world.
After a few moments at the pass, we make our way toward the roaring burn. We are to make our way downhill 6 hours, but will not reach the next hut until 8 1/2 hours later. The wind is rough and tenacious. We are freezing and hungry. We stop at a pass hut and have lunch, saying very little to each other as the trip has said enough already. 30 minutes later, our packs are hoisted back onto us and we descend down the hill.
This part of the trek is the most pain, aside from childbirth, that I have ever endured in my life. The slow burn of your legs down the path is dibilitating. I feel like my legs are going to buckle after 2 hours and my feet feel like they are going to give way under me. But my father...my father is the one that kept me going. He introduces me to phrase called Pule Pule....it is a word the African tribes use to tell people to "keep going keep going". He chants it behind me as I slow my pace to a crawl.
After more than 6 hours of walking downhill, we make our way to the last hut. "Tomorrow I will be sleeping in a hotel" I tell myself. We make our way across swinging bridges, through narrow passage ways and hope to God we are going the right way. Signs giving caution to "avalanche zones" do not make me move faster as my body is so fatigued I think a falling rock may only allow me to rest upon it for a while. A long winding path has shown an arrow to the next hut. We are walking for what seems like forever and my father is taking more and more breaks by now. We have packed walkie talkies with us and I grab mine and dart ahead of him to see if I can see the hut. We check in on each other as I am only a few minutes ahead of him..."pule pule dad...you can do it." I say to him over the radio. About one hour later, and a full days worth of walking, I see the hut. I grab my radio and say "mayday mayday...the hut is in view the hut is in view." His weary voice answers "be right there." I fall to my knees in front of the hut, almost as if to pray to the hut Gods. There is no chance IN HELL this moment will ever be forgotten.
The last day of the trek is short in comparison to the other days. We wake up early as usual and make our way back to civilized paths and the trail begins to look more like a park than an episode of "survivorman". My feet have little feeling anymore and my pack is no longer a hinderance...almost like it has become a part of me. We take a quick break at a stopping point where other walkers have gathered. We sit and chat, almost afraid to end the most amazing trip we have ever experienced in our lives. The gentleman next to me is a hair dresser from Japan. He looks like a comic book character and sets his pack on the ground and pulls out a gallon of milk. A GALLON OF MILK. I was like "milk...seriously? This is the last day of the trek....you have had milk this whole time? Yuk!!" He smiles and takes a swig out of the gallon. I look over at my father, his face covered in scruff and sweat. I have a wide rimmed safari hat on and my hair pulled back into a pony tail. He looks at me as if to say "wow, this was tough...." I smile and think about how much we have experienced on this trip. We slowly rise and say goodbye to our friends and make our way the last leg of the trip. The last point, after four days of walking is called Sandfly point. We reach this point of civilization and collapse into a small hut with the others that have finished the journey.
It is a very emotional moment when you end the trek. It is amazing how much you can experience in four days. I started this trip with someone that I only saw as my father....and somewhere along the way we dropped the father daughter title and became friends. We had some really great talks during those hours on the path. Our feet shuttling us from one point to the next. We laughed a lot, we cried some, we told each other things we probably never would have thought you would tell each other....but mostly we shared moments that bring to people together in a way I never thought possible. As we stood in front of the sign at Sandfly point, a sign states 33.5 miles from Glade House, Lake Teanau via McKinnon's pass, a huge smile plastered on our faces. The look of accomplishment and absolute exhaustion in our eyes.....but mostly just the memories that fill my head when I think back on that journey.
Sitting in that hut on the last day...we said little if anything to each other. The "done everythings" of course have been there for hours and cannot wait to return for a fourth time. I vow to push them off the end of the boat on the way home.
For months after the trip, after our muscles have healed and our blisters have gone away....people will ask me about the trip that a girl and her father took one November. I will look at them and say "a girl and her father took a trip down under, and ended up on top of the world." There are moments in the twelve years that have passed since that trip, moments where I felt exhausted and almost sure I could not move on, and I call my father and he will say nothing more than "pule pule Sarah."
I love you dad.
