Beattys Overseas

On the West Coast of New Zealand's South Island exist two very special glaciers; they are Fox Glacier and Franz Josef Glacier.  A glacier is a large, slow moving river of ice, formed from compacted layers of snow, that slowly deforms and flows in downward from a mountain's snow-capped top.  Franz Josef and Fox Glacier in New Zealand are unique glaciers because they descend from NZ's Southern Alps to just 240 metres above sea level amidst the greenery and lushness of a temperate rainforest.  A glacier running into a rainforest?  Yes!  Like I said a few blogs ago, New Zealand seems to cramp all the world's ecosystems on two small little islands. 

So, while the rest of you watched the Super Bowl (remember, we are one day ahead and six hours behind you, here in NZ), we drove the very windy road from Westport to Franz Josef, site of this amazing glacier.  On the 5 hour drive south, we stopped at the Punakaiki Pancake Rocks, another very unique NZ piece of nature.  The Pancake Rocks are a heavily eroded limestone area where the sea bursts though a number of vertical blowholes during high tides. Together with the 'pancake'-layering of the limestone (created by immense pressure on alternating hard and soft layers of marine creatures and plant sediments) and the spectacle of the sea water blowholes, this made for an excellent rest stop during our long drive.

Our arrival in Franz Josef was a little trying.  Finding a motel with solid wifi was out of the question, so we found a cheap little university/backpacker place with a en suite room available for only one night.  It turned out that the Rainforest Retreat was quite fun, with a bar & pool table on the premises that provided a good few hours to relax.  We went to the finest restaurant in town later that night and enjoyed some yummy food and went to bed early -- we had a big day to prepare for! 

Glacier Climbing!Heli-hiking is an expensive day-long adventure, but totally worth it.  We were lifted in a six-person helicopter from town to a high-spot on the glacier where a guide waits for his group to arrive.  Once we're all out of the chopper, we're given ice spikes for our company-provided boots (the company also provided parkas), and we're suddenly walking around on this massive river of ice.  Crazy!  The ice spikes were awesome, making it easily to walk on a slick surface of hard ice at a nearly 50-degree angle. Our group wandered along the glacier, mostly taking photos and marveling at the little canyons and caves and pools that develop as this huge mass of ice moves down this hill.  Did I mention that Franz Josef moves at the astounding rate of 12 meters a day!  While we were up there, we saw a few huge chunks of ice fall and roll down the hill, proving that this glacier is indeed moving, and we should take our steps wisely!  It was an amazing experience, to climb atop one of the world's most unique glaciers, and to enjoy thrilling helicopter rides at the start & finish of the trip. 

                                  During the hike up the glacier we came across a pool of the freshest coldest water you can imagine.  Our guide asked if anyone wanted to jump in, as he was about to do.  John realized that it would be a while before he'd have the opportunity to jump into a deep pool on top of a glacier in NZ so he stripped off his jacket and prepared to jump in.  He was feeling much like the great explorers who had come before him.  Rare, he thought to himself, is the brave soul who can say he has swam in a glacier pool in Zew Zealand!  Watch footage of this swim here.   Fact: Did you know that it is very difficult to make your muscles function properly in ice cold water?  Tasks as simple as doggy paddling to the icy shore are nearly impossible.  But being wet on a glacier while in woolen socks wasn't as bad as expected.  John dried off rather quickly, and has officially been listed as the zillionth guy to have jumped in this very pool, as evidenced by all the youtube clips he found on the internet afterwards.  So much for breaking new ground.

- John and Whitney 

The view of pretty little Queenstown from our apt. balconyWednesday we arrived in Queenstown, the adventure capital of New Zealand, and home to the world's first bungy jump.  We rented a 1 bedroom apartment and were given a great 3 bedroom overlooking the lake and mountains. With WiFi.  Hallelujah for free upgrades!  We spent the day getting some staples for the house and checking out the town.  We visited the tourist info center and immediately booked a combo-River Rafting and the "Canyon Swing" adventure package at the info centre in the village.  Then went out to a local pub, met some great folks and ended up staying out quite late.

Early this morning we woke up quite weary.  After a 45-minute bus ride through old gold mining hills, we were brought upon the Shotover River Rafting Company, who take tourists like us on the clearest, coldest river.  Thank goodness wetsuits and booties were provided!  After our previous whitewater adventure in Rotorua, this river left us a little disappointed, so we spent more time floating out of the raft than we did inside it.  Whitney the rule-follower paddled like a trooper, even yelling at our lazy shipmates to paddle when necessary - and at John, who can't really paddle, and had no interest in doing anything except falling out of the raft at every opportunity to refresh his tired and hungover body.

At one point when floating down the river, we saw these huge wire cords stretching across the gorge with a few other cords tied to the middle. We asked our guide if that was telephone wire and he excitedly replied, "No, mate, that's the Canyon Swing. Scariest thing in town. I love it!"  We told him that we had signed up to do the Canyon Swing later that day and he enthusiastically told us how terrifying it is.   Ummmm.  Let the tummy-rumbling fear commence.  

The jumping platform at Canyon SwingA few hours later, after a hot shower to get the cold river water and rent-a-wetsuit germs off us, and we were on another bus trip to a steep gravel parking lot at the Canyon Swing site.  It's a small operation, with only 3 instructors (aka Torturers), and 6 guests in the group who were jumping.  We all volunteered for a number in which to jump (Whit chose #5, and John was the group's caboose at #6), then were fitted with heavy, intricate harnesses and belts. 

The Canyon Swing is like a bungy jump with a 60meter freefall, but instead of a sharp pull & bounce-back like a bungy, there's the added element of the swing, which brings the jumper in an arc over the river at nearly 100mph.  All this in a matter of seconds before a crank pulls you back up to the jumping platform, where you thank the guys who stood there and messed with your head before you went over the edge.

The Canyon Swing offers a variety of different positions that you can chose to go over the edge.  With funny names, they are: Forwards, Elvis Forwards, Backwards, Cutaway, Pin Drop, Indian Rope Trick, The Chair, and The Gimp.  We both chose The Chair, which the company measure a 3 on the scary scale 1 to 5.  The Chair seems and looks weird; you're in your bungy harness, and they seatbelt a white plastic patio chair to you.  You sit on the chair on the edge of the jumping platform, and tip back on your toes.  The same way you'd do so while relaxing on your patio.  But, you play with gravity as you rock back far enough to go backwards, turning head over heels many times as you freefall to the canyon, then swing in the arc.  All the while, screaming your head off. 

Me and the mind-messers, pre-fallThe guys running the jumping platform - ours were Nick and Pinky - are evil little geniuses.  They hook you up to the bungy cord with all the safety and precaution in mind, but meanwhile talk you into a mental tizzy.  They've got a large stereo system up there and play songs for the jumpers to hear as they plummet towards Earth.  For me, they played the Pointer Sisters' "I'm So Excited," which I claimed was a horrible song to hear before one's own death.  But the guys got me out of my shell and had me singing along with the lyrics ('cause you know I know all the words!).  Nothing like a little 'performance' to relax me!  With John, they gave him hell about his fuzzy blonde hair and refused to push him over the edge when he begged them to, saying, "Mate, you gotta do this yourself."  Then, just as we each got up enough courage to push back on our tippy toes and go over the edge, both guys scream at you "Wait, wait, no no no, WAIT!" while reaching towards you, but then watch you leave the platform wearing a facial expression of panic and terror. 

Stress, the silent killerIt's mean-spirited and all in good fun, and man, does it mess with your head. 

Personally, I have never known fear like those first 5 meters of freefall, and could be heard in the canyon screaming "I can't believe I'm not dead!" while I swung back and forth.  The video shows that I did a bunch of flips during the freefall, but I barely remember a thing.  It all happened so fast, and the swing was a such an entertaining aftermath to the horror of the fall that I laughed and smiled during the speedy arc trip. 

John's drop was clouded in a state of panic (see above blog by John), but during his swings in the canyon, he was heard hollering "Confront your fears!"  Our videos by the evil geniuses at Canyon Swing on here on Youtube, but please keep it on MUTE if you are offended by foul language.  I'm talking F-bombs, here.  Our apologies go out to our parents and kindergarten teachers who would gasp at the language used atop that platform, but certain extremely petrifying circumstances grant a little leeway in the censorship department, don't you think?

- Whitney 

As you may already know (from Whitney's blog below), we woke up early yesterday to do another white water rafting gig.  I was, in the immortal words of my dear friend Steve Johnson, "very tired" from our night out.  Nonetheless we went on a crowded 45 minute bumpy bus ride on a road that no rental vehicle is NZ is contractually allowed to enter upon.  My legal training tells me it has something to do with the 600 foot high cliffs that lay mere inches from the buses tires-- the entire ride up the mountain then back down to the river  was Spooky stuff. 

The river itself was icy cold and refreshing and just what the Doctor ordered for my tired bones.  So I swam and floated and did some weak rapids then floated along some more for 2 hours.  Even with the wetsuit I was more than chilly when I got out of the water.  Now I was both cold and even more tired than when I woke up.  We called and tried in vain to reschedule the canyon swing, but they were fully booked and it cost a lot to do it and so off we went.

I must admit that it wasn't just the late night that had me tired.  Between my lack of sleep, (i.e., several days of driving 5-7 hours daily, our climb on the glacier and my plunge into the icy icy cold waters up there, then another 5 hours of driving immediately after) all contributed to my exhaustion as well.  

We had also decided to be as adventurous as the million other Trampers in New Zealand...  We pulled over 3/4's of the way towards Queenstown and slept in the car overnight.   So as to be ready for "any crazy people" (as I think Whitney put it) I slept in the drivers seat.  Not too comfy, my friends, with no pillow and the gas and brake pedals in the way.  So no sleep help there either.  Upon awakening to six Japanese senior citizen tourists surrounding the car (we parked at a scenic overlook) we brushed our teeth and I completed the last 2 hours of driving into Queenstown.

The point of all this is that we went out the first nite in Queenstown till very late and then were up early to raft again, so you can imagine  that I wanted nothing more after rafting than a warm, safe bed to sleep in for 12 hours or so.

Instead, we did the canyon swing.  I was super proud of Whit as she volunteered to go swinging before me.  She really really impressed me with her demeanor up on the ledge.  My wife is no Punk!  And I chose to fall last out of our group because I was really really really scared.  My pal Chris Dowd said it was one of the greatest things he ever did - but I was still scared.  Very much so.

Soon I find myself sitting up on this platform 109 meters above the river and rocks that we had rafted just hours before.  Fresh in my mind was the fact that the river was only two feet deep in spots, and was actually more rocks than water under the drop ledge.  Let's see, 109 meters I think... That is 357 feet up, almost 36 stories high.  I am quickly harnessed and seated into 3 white plastic cheapo lawn chairs all duct taped together.  There is an old car seat belt somehow attached to the chairs that goes over your lap.  It looks cut out of a junkyard wreck.  The last time I sat on a chair like this was on the scuba dive boat in Cairns.  I got up from the ship's dinner table and as I turned the chair twisted and the rear two legs snapped off as I crashed to the ground in front of 30 scuba divers enjoying their supper.   I had little faith in the chair to start with.

The Canyon Swing boys working up top have mastered their psychological torture skills and immediately proceed to joke and bust chops, starting with my golden yellow labrador head of hair.  I am feeling EXTREMELY STRESSED at this point.  EXTREMELY STRESSED.  When I refused to set up my own bungee cord locking system because I physically could NOT concentrate, Nick insisted on doing it without looking at what he was doing.  He then asked me if I was comfortable with what he did.  His attitude was (seemingly) that if I didn't care, then neither did he.  Errrrrrrr.   I sat up there for at least 5 minutes.  My head was pounding, with my mouth dry as dirt, I literally begged these guys to just push me over.   They would not.  They said, "Oh no, mate.  We don't do it.  We don't do a thing.  You do it." 

"I'm #^%@& terrified", I quietly replied.  "Please, dude, I'm begging you guys.  Just $^&*#@ push me".  Silence.  Or so it seems.  When you're up there, with people waiting for you to go watching and yelling, and the music is loud and the guys are talking to you and making jokes about potential mishaps, the seconds pass like hours.   Quiet scary hours, if that makes any sense.

After the first 5 excruciatingly long minutes or so passed the encouragement began.  "You're just making it heaps worse for yourself, mate" said Nick.   "Yeah mate, go on push your head back a bit more, get up on your tippy toes" said Pinky.  I rocked back and forth on my toes both but could only make sqealing sounds.  They lean you back over the ledge for a photo, and I shamefully did not conceal my discomfort.  Pinky pushed my forehead back for the camera above, then quickly withdrew his hand while noting with some unhappiness the quantity of sweat on my face.  I think that was the second time I made squealing sounds.  "Get your man-stones together, mate" added Nick.   "Yeah really" chimed in Pinky.

I continued to sit.  And sit.  And sit. And sit.  And the fear was building in my heart with each moment that passed till I finally stepped across that mental portal, said "I'm ready.  @$#* it"  out loud, and rocked back with a good push.

Just as I broke over the edge the guys screamed in unison, rapidly reaching out for me with extended arms as though there was a problem, "Whoa whao wait wait!!," perfectly sending me into the psychological zone of terror that nightmares are made of as I was already falling backwards upside down holding onto this crappy plastic chair and going for a seriously phenominal ride.

The reason that this 180 foot fall was different and more challenging than the skydive from 15,000 feet was that it was all on me to get 'er done.  True, I had to spider walk to the open door of the skydiving plane and roll out the open door feet first, but Albert the Jumpmaster was attached to me then and, as most cops and Army guys will tell you, it is always comforting to have someone go through a door with you, even a door 3 miles above ground.

So when the guys on the canyon swing ledge said, "Oh no, we don't do anything. You do it," the truth of my life became crystal clear.  Fear that limits me cannot be broken by cajoling or encouragement.  Not really, anyway.  At some point, I must push back by myself.  Go through that door by myself.  Alone.  And even when my fear is one conquered by 20 somethings all day everyday it is still my fear to conquer.  And when I did conquer it with eyes WIDE OPEN, there was no greater feeling to be had.  Except that of free falling towards the earth in a crappy plastic chair.

- John 

Mid-way thru the cut, a 30-second mowhawk!With much less pain but almost as much fanfare as its arrival, John's blonde curls were eliminated this afternoon. 

Thanks to the expertise of a little Irish girl working at the Queenstown barber shop, and her electric trimmer at the #1 setting, John went from blonde to buzz-cut in less than 11 minutes for 11 dollars.   As soon as we entered the shop, she took one look and said "Want your head shaved?"

John also got his long desired Mohawk, though only for a 30 second photo op, not the 3 days he'd originally planned on having it.

His head feels like a sharpei doggy.  He hopes his thick hair will grow back, quickly. 

Beautiful Milford SoundSince Queenstown would be our final destination in New Zealand, we had the urge to see one more major destination before our departure. And what better destination than the famous Milford Sound, where Captain Cook sailed into from Australia and the Tasman Sea? Milford Sound is a good 2.5 hour drive from Queenstown, however, and I thought it might be a big time-saver if we signed up for a tour bus. I found the only company that left Queenstown after 8am (I’m no morning person, and the other company’s 6:50am departures were out of the question).

The tour thing is a double-edge sword, as you don’t have to worry about driving or getting the directions perfectly, and there’s built-in commentary with all the background that I would have read ahead of time, HOWEVER, you’re on someone else’s watch, and you’re inevitably going to be stuck with other passengers who are annoying. That being said, we’ve decided that tour buses aren’t for the Beattys Overseas, as we each felt restless and rushed throughout different parts of our Milford Sound day trip bus tour.

Captaín Cook´s view from the Tasman SeaMilford Sound is in New Zealand’s enormous Fiordland National Park. When it was discovered by British explorers, Milford was not accurately recognized as a fiord, since the Brits had no experience with this eco-phenomenon. A fiord is a large body of water that was created by the rapid melting of a glacier (see our Franz Josef journal entry for definition of a glacier). A sound is more like an overflown river, but those poor explorers didn’t know this, so the name Milford Sound stuck, even though it’s a fiord. It’s one of the largest and most visited fiords in the National Park, and our tour bus driver provided lots of other interesting yet overwhelming tidbits that I’ll spare you from reading here. The bus delivered us to the Sound where a tour boat took us on a 2-hour cruise of the Sound, I mean, Fiord, and all its marvels. There are large and steep cliffs creating the water’s border, and seals happily lay on huge rocks that have fallen into the water during landslides. Waterfalls are abundant, as the snow-capped mountains are always melting away into the fiord. The boat took us all the way out to the Tasman Sea mouth, where Captain James Cook and his crew once laid eyes upon New Zealand via this very same waterway. It must have been a daunting journey, as these fiords are often full of heavy weather and lots of fog. Back on the bus after the tour, and we stopped in a town called Te Aunu for a group dinner that we opted out of joining.

It was a long day on a non-luxury tour bus, but thankfully we were able to sit apart and take a row to ourselves. There were only a few other people on the tour under the age of 30, and we made friends with Sara, a recent high school graduate from Switzerland who’s on a 13-month gap year. We really liked meeting Sara and enjoyed listening to her travel stories which made us feel a bit like travelling lightweights.

Upon our return to Queenstown at 9:45pm, we were wiped. Well, I was wiped, and John begged me to perk up so we could go out on the town on our last Saturday night in Queenstown. I went to the bedroom to ‘freshen up’ but somehow wound up snuggled under the covers and sound asleep for John to disappointedly find me 20 minutes later.

Brews at the old courthouse. Bar is now called GuiltySunday, our last day in Queenstown was spent on foot, cruising the town some more and checking out the Sunday afternoon scene – which is very quiet considering that Saturday nights in this town last until 6am. Again, John is allowed to be disappointed at his wife’s Grandmotherly bedtime the night prior. We did find, however an outdoor patio at a quirky bar where we started chatting with a guy named Sully. Turns out, Sully is from New Haven, CT, went to Fordham in NYC, and is living here for a few months working and hanging out. It was fun to talk to another American for a while, and we met up again later that evening at another bar where live music required us to yell our conversations into each others’ ears. Rock & Roll Mate.

All in all, we had a swell stay in New Zealand. Our 16 days here were spent seeing many different sites and meeting a few cool folks along the way. The Kiwi people are extraordinarily welcoming, and their European/Maori cultural fusion is one for other countries to mimic (we think). I, for one, am a little sad to be leaving the land of endless “Wow, look at that view”-places, the land that loves their ice cream and their beer, and – perhaps most pertinent for me, considering our next destination – their lovely English language. Latin America, here we come. Er, I mean, nostoros vamos ahorita!