Feeling Foxy

With altogether pleasant memories of Wanaka, I made my way farther up the West Coast to the small town of Fox Glacier – properly named cause, well, there's this really big glacier there. After settling in at the Inn, I took an evening stroll to Lake Matheson, a picturesque spot to view the mountain range that tucks in the wee Fox Glacier. The rippled mirror view from the shimmering lake only heightened my anticipation for the full-day glacier hike I was booked on for the following morning.

I arrived at Fox Glacier Guiding (FGG) promptly at 9:10am and was pointed in the direction of the Boot Room where I met my enthusiastic guide Ruth. Ruth, by both appearance and personality, reminded me of Ms. Frizzle from the Magic School Bus – a springy, ginger-haired lady with an adventurous spirit! With my rented boots snuggly laced and my backpack packed with lunch, water, a rain jacket, hat, mittens, and, of course, my trusty camera, I was eager to hit the ice!

After about an hour of steep hiking through native bush, with a break at Kodak Point to photograph the impressive terminal face of Fox Glacier, we took a moment to secure our cramp-ons to the soles of our boots – a necessary addition for the next four hours of tramping on the glacier.

Now, prior to our arrival that morning, a crew from FGG had already hacked through the icy mass to carve out steps for the tour groups of the day – a high-energy task that needs doing every single morning to ensure safe and easy access to the upper parts of the glacier. With our wooden walking poles in hand as an extra leg for balance, we excitedly tromped our way up and over the ancient ice in single file. Throughout the hike, Ruth skillfully helped us sidestep small cracks and bigger crevasses that slowly (and I mean very, very, very slowly) are created as the 11 kilometer long ice flow inches forward, like a narcoleptic snail.

Some of these crevasses are actually big enough to squeeze through as we learned by taking a drippy detour through two giant cracks in the glacier ice. After lunch (and a numb bum from sitting on the ice too long), Ruth discovered a small, circular cave whose smooth sides were tinged with cool blue ice – the kind of blue that looks as though the sky has been trapped behind a transparent glass panel. The constant rain of melting ice and the super slippery floor didn't keep any of us from ducking in and exploring the interior of the cave. It was cool as, bro!

At our highest point in the hike, we had an unobstructed view of what I dubbed, “The Foxy Niagara.” The glacier river above fed the enormous waterfall whose icy and jagged streams stood frozen in time – as if Medusa and her writhing head of slithering snakes had decided to pay a visit.

As we made our way back down the glacier, I quietly contemplated the fact that I had just spent the last 4 hours crunching in and out, up, over, and through something that dates back 15,000 to 20,000 years ago! I mean, that's pretty remarkable, eh? And I thought being 24 was old...*

The next day, I traveled further up the coast to the sea-side town of Punakaiki where I hiked the Pororari River Track - a beautiful nature trail that follows the base of a rugged limestone gorge. I felt like I was in the greenhouse of the Minnesota Zoo. It smelt of sticky heat and was pungently sweet, the massive gray boulders had fallen into the river just so, and the insect/bird tape recording was being blasted much too loudly to the point where I could have sworn there was a symphony of cicadas perched right on my shoulder. Needless to say, I'll take the screech of the cicada over the bite of a sandfly any day.

To complete my afternoon hike, I visited the infamous Pancake Rocks and Blow Holes which is what Punakaiki is best known for. With stunning views of the turbulent sea, the Pancake Rocks are quite a site to see! I should have thought to bring along my maple syrup, as these stacks of irregularly shaped “pancakes” look almost good enough to lay out your red-checkered tablecloth and shout “Time for breakfast!” Although they're not really edible (duh...), the sea is slowly but surely eating away at the layered rocky towers. Sheesh, is anyone else hungry??


* Nah, I'm only kiddin' ;-)