A Stack Of Rocks

Our arrival at pancake rocks was announced not by the iconic land formation, but instead by the numerous cars that filled the parking lots and lined the sides of the highway.  If it hadn't been for all the different rental stickers on the vehicles I could have sworn that we had just pulled into a Camper Van Rental lot.  

To be truthful my heart sunk a bit.  I knew that with so many other visitors I would never be able to fully appreciate the "sight" we were about to visit--I much prefer those private, silent moments with mother nature.

We made a quick call into to the tourist office and then headed over to the Pancake Rocks walkway.  A sealed track leads visitors through a brief section of rainforest and a forest of flax before reaching Dolomite point.  

Here visitors can observe--if they take time to slow down--limestone rocks that have been carved by the sea. The formations resemble stacks of pancakes--hence the name Pancake Rocks. 

In addition to sculpting the rocks, erosion has also left holes in the limestone.  The combination of a high tide and a heavy sea swell force the sea water through these holes, high into the air.  Unfortunately, even though we had arrived at high tide, the sea was calm so we didn't get to see the blow holes in action.

The crowds were a bit overwhelming, especially with everyone trying to get a great picture.  There was also a lot of disappointment because the blowholes were not providing a photo op.  In order to fully appreciate Pancake Rocks we did return just after sunrise the next morning.  The sea was still calm, but so was the trail and we were able to take our time and really enjoy our surroundings.  

heART Attack

It had been a long trip. Over 24 hours had passed since we had left New Mexico.  Now all that stood between us and what would be our "home" for the next 10 months was the final taxi drive.  As we zig-zagged through the streets of Murcia, I couldn't help but wonder what we would find at the end of our journey.  The director of the Teacher Exchange Program had warned us against including a house exchange in the job swap, but if Lily was to make it in the United States, on her Spanish Teacher's salary, we would have to swap homes as well as jobs.
We had met Lily and Elmer back in New Mexico and they seemed like a nice enough couple.  Their enthusiasm about the our house made me wonder what their place was like.  My curiosity was about to be satisfied as the taxi driver slowed down and announced our arrival.  We slowly crawled from the air-conditioned taxi into the dog days of summer.  The sun had set hours ago, but we were still attacked by a ferocious heat.  As my feet touched the ground I could almost hear the soles of my shoes sizzle.
We stood at the edge of the pathway and took a deep breath.  We both expressed our confusion simultaneously as we uttered, "Didn't they say they lived on the ninth floor?"  The building before us was only two stories tall.  We cautiously approached the building, and discovered that the apartment we were searching for was nonexistent--at least at this address.
There was nowhere for us to turn for help.  We didn't have a map to clarify our location and the streets were empty; summer vacation had not yet ended and the locals were still down at the beach escaping the sweltering temperatures.  We slowly melted onto the steps.  A silent anger filled the air.  After a few moments, Mark pointed out that there only seemed to be one tall building in the area and it was several blocks away.  Our journey was not yet terminated and we began to haul our overstuffed luggage down the street.  With each step the sweat stains around our necks and arms grew.  The stream of curses that came from my mouth were endless.  I was too tired and it was too hot to be wandering the streets in search of our new home.
After what seemed like hours we arrived at the door of the towering building.  To our relief, the keys slid into the lock and we were able to enter the foyer.  We cautiously loaded our luggage into the rickety elevator.  Unfortunately, we couldn't fit everything in on one trip, so we slowly went up one at a time.
I stood outside the apartment door anxiously waiting for Mark.  When he arrived and opened the door our tour began.  Just on the left was a small bathroom.  To my relief there was a bathtub--I would not have to give up my weekly indulgence.  Across the hall was a small dark bedroom.  There was not much room, but no worries we weren't really people who spent much time in the bedroom.  The kitchen was clean and tidy.  The retro dining room set was cute and a nice "toque."  
Suddenly our tour was interrupted by the ringing of the phone.  I rushed down the hall and swept the wall in search for the light switch.  When I eventually found it, I froze in my tracks and my jaw hit the ground.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  There on the living room wall was an enormous elaborate wall painting.  I'm not talking about a nice framed painting of Guernica, but a huge spray painted mural that looked like it belonged in the New York Subway.  I was speechless as I looked at the graffiti covered wall.  I shook my head in disbelief as I wondered what we had gotten ourselves into.
My shock was interrupted by the continuous shrill of the phone.  I picked up the receiver  and squeaked out a barely audible "diga."   I was greeted by Lily and a perky "Has llegado?"  I could only reply  "Don't you dare paint on my walls."

A "Fresh" Morning Stroll

This week's PhotoHunter theme is fresh.

A Milestone Crossed

It seems like every guide book, information booklet, and website that I looked at had a picture of Pancake Rocks.  It was a definite "do not miss when visiting the West Coast of New Zealand".  We don't usually plan our trips to around the "must-sees," but we were drawn by the description of Paparoa National Park: 30,000 hectares of varied landscape from lush West Coast native rainforest and mountain tops, to expansive rugged beaches and coastline.  We hoped to find a National Park where we could camp in a natural environment for several days and hit the trails.  You can imagine our disappointment when we learned that there were no DOC campgrounds and that there were a limited number of trails.
We had a choice of doing a quick walk around Pancake Rocks and the Blowholes--with the hundreds of other tourists--or of checking into the privately run caravan park and do some further exploration on one of the longer tracks.  We chose the later and headed down to the Punakaiki Beach Camp.  The caravan park does not have beach views, but you can hear the lull of the waves.  It is also conveniently located next to the Punakaiki-Pororari Loop trailhead; this 11 km loop turned out to be a highlight of our visit.

The trek starts by following the meandering Pororari River, which over thousands of years has carved a spectacular gorge.  Tall limestone cliffs dramatically drop to the boulder-strewn riverbed.  Without the broad, maintained, man-made path the forest would be impenetrable.  We were surrounded by a countless number of trees, bushes, mosses, lichens, and epiphytes. Each species of plant fights for its own space to grow.  Layer upon layer--with its vibrant, multi-hued greens--the dense vegetation creates a visual mosaic.
We didn't need to be told that we were walking through a sub-tropical forest.  We felt it in the thickness of the air.  Each deep breath brought a heavy wetness into our lungs.  Our clothes quickly became drenched with our sweat.  The river and its deep pools looked inviting, but we had to carry on if we were to complete the loop before nightfall.

The track slowly narrowed and the gradients became steeper as I walked inland.  The trail became rocky and slippery, and I had to carefully place each step.  After about 3.5 km we merged with the Inland Pack Track.  Here we began a gradual ascent over a small ridge.  With each stride the suffocating air became thinner and cooler.  It no longer felt as though I were drinking each breath.  Sweat ceased gathering on my body; instead it seeped from my pours since I had increased my physical exertion to climb the hill.
As we left the river valley and entered a temperate rain forest, there continued to be abundant vegetation, but there was a less crowded feeling.  The hills are brimming with trees, but they are taller and there is more space between them.
When we crested the ridge we had hoped to catch a glimpse of the rocky coastline.  Unfortunately, our view was blocked.  We dropped into a second valley where we were forced to ford the Punakaiki River.  I am not a fan of water, so this was not something that I was looking forward to.  The water was not fast moving nor too deep.  However, due to the very rocky bottom we decided to keep on our boots.  Besides, when reading about tramping in New Zealand we read that only novice walkers remove their shoes for river crossings.  Moments into the crossing, the cold water rushed over the top of my boots and my feet became soaked.  The river which appeared to be slow moving from the banks, flexed its power as it rushed passed my calves.  It took my full concentration to not be knocked off my feet.  After what seemed like an eternity I finally reached the other side.  A squeal of delight escaped my lips.  I felt so exhilarated.  As I squished down the dirt road any discomfort I felt was replaced by a feeling of satisfaction, another hiking milestone had been crossed.

Three Wild And Crazy Critters

This week's PhotoHunt theme is three

This is probably one of the most photographed signs in Australia.  It lets drivers know to keep a look out for feral camels, wombats and kangaroos.  The sign is located between Perth and Adelaide on the Eyer Highway.  The drive between the Western and Southern Australian capitals is considered one Australia's Great Road Journeys.  The trip includes the crossing of the Nullarbor Plain--a 1,100 kilometer drive across an almost treeless landscape.  I've done the trip twice.  Once by train and the other by campervan.

Polly Wants Some Rubber

We had been duly warned--by travel writers, bloggers, friends, and even the National Park Ranger--Keas would eat anything and everything that you left out at your campsite.  So all of our personal belongings we safely tucked away in the camper van.
We had retired early, the long drive and the several hour time change had left us beat.  The sun had barely set when our heads hit the pillow.  It wasn't long before Mark fell into the the rhythmic breathing of deep sleep and I was quickly following in his footsteps.  Suddenly there was a loud thumping on the roof of the camper van.  Just our luck, a Kea was attacking the pop up window--I couldn't help but wonder if this is why the screen was broken in the first place.  I jumped to my feet and began to beat the roof, in an attempt to scare it away. It flew to the ground and I could only hope that it wasn't attacking the vehicles tires.  To my relief it just stood below the window glaring at me with its beady little eyes.  The cheeky little guy let out a shrilling call before it flew off into the night.
Keas are a large species of parrot.  Its plumage is olive-green and it has orange feathers on the undersides of its wings.  It has a large narrow curved beak.  Its diet consists mainly of roots, leaves, berries, nectar, insects, and on occasions carrion.
The Kea is the world's only mountainous parrot and is found of the South Island of New Zealand.  The birds ability to survive in the harsh alpine environment is attributed to the birds inquisitive nature and its remarkable intelligence.  The species also has a couple physical characteristics: a long, strong,ice pick like beak, and clamp-on like feet which also contribute its ability to survive in the high mountains.
It is believed that there are between 1,000 and 5,000 Keas left in New Zealand.  Use the following link to watch an informative documentary about this mischievous bird.

From East To West

We had just crested Arthur's Pass and the view in front of us was noticeably different from where we had just come.  The drier, open landscape of the eastern  Alps was replaced with the lush, dense forest of the west.  Our drive through the Otira Gorge was made even more incredible by the impressive display of the flaming red-flowering southern ra̅ta̅.

We were on a quest for a campground.  Since we had not yet picked up the Conservation Campsites Brochure we were driving aimlessly.  We eventually decided to head towards Lake Brunner.  We figured that a lake that size--40 square kilometers-- had to have some kind of facilities.  Unfortunately, there was not a public campground and we had no choice but to stay in a caravan park--which in all fairness was very nice.  In fact, it wasn't in the distant future that we would reminisce about our stay in the Moana caravan park, a tranquil place that not only had an excellent view, but that wasn't over run by tourists in search of the ultimate adventure.
In addition to a good campground we were excited to learn that there were several hikes in the area.  So first thing the following morning we hit the trail.  From the start I knew that it would be impossible to make it to the summit of Mt. Te Kinga.  The Mt. Avalanche climb had left me extremely sore, and I could not face another steep climb.  However, we were able to make it up the Ara O Te Kinga Track as far as the second look out.
The marked trail head is located on the eastern edge of Lake Brunner.  The well formed track, which is currently being re-routed in the lower parts, takes hikers through a magnificent podocarp forest.  The forest is so dense with vegetation that it is nearly impossible to see something that is not green.  Even the trunks of the trees are blanketed in moss.  The only  time the vision of green is broken, is when there is an opening in the trees and you can catch a glimpse of the sparkling blue water of Lake Brunner.

As we made our ascent I was astonished by the tranquility of the temperate rainforest.  There was not the crunching of the dirt, that we have come so accustomed to on our Australian treks.  In fact, as I watched Mark's feet in front of me it was as though I could see the ground gently sink and rise. The sound from each step was muffled by the moisture-ladened dirt.

My attention was soon drawn from the saturated ground to the thick and heavy air that surrounded us.  Each breath lay heavy in the lungs, and droplets of water gathered on my brow and at the small of the back--not because of exertion but rather because of condensation.  Hiking in such wet and humid areas has become such a foreign experience for us that I felt as though I was somewhere exotic.  The only thing lacking was the appearance of some extraordinary animal.
Our arrival to the second look out came much too quickly.  However, as much as I would have loved to continue to the summit, I knew that I was in no condition to do so.  Instead we returned to our vehicle and set off to see what other delights New Zealand had to offer.