Glaciers, (lots of) rain and some amateur caving!

We had caught a glimpse of the glacier as we rounded one of the bends in the road, after crossing (those one-lane briges again!) an icy-blue river flowing from the glacier, and that glimpse alone, out the large front window of the bus, took our breath away. But when we do the actual glacier walk across the valley to it's foot (or as close to the foot as those not on hiking tours are allowed to go), it's astounding. It's so huge it's impossible to take in - sublime, a huge river of ice snaking down the mountains, it's snowy top lit by the sunlight. The glacier valley itself (carved out by the glacier, which is now receding and growing in almost equal amounts, thousands of years ago) is a flat moonscape of grey-white rocks, the bush-covered sides of the hills cut at irregular intervals by small waterfalls falling from hundreds of feet up.

Up close the glacier seems less huge - the snowy top obscured by the bend in the valley walls. Where the river flows out there is a dark cavern in the ice - after a few minutes standing there we see a large chunk of ice detach itself from the cave roof and land with a splash in the river. It kind of reinforces the slightly comically dramatic, bright yellow signs on the other side of the fence, warning of all types of dangers from crushing with ice to drowing, if we cross the ropes. A few people have been killed in the past trying to get photos right up on the ice, or trying to touch it, when pieces the size of campervans came crashing loose at just the wrong moment.

That night we make the healthiest meal I've had this trip, an epic salad... I wish I'd taken a picture as evidence that I am actually eating vegetables, but unfortunately we ate it too fast :).

The next day we had planned to do a five hour hike around the glacier valley, while others from our bus went off to do glacier ice-hikes. But it's raining in the morning, and when we check with the DOC at the I-Site office, the woman behind the desk gives us an horrified look and exclaims that the route is far too dangerous, and has been since flooding a month or two ago which washed away a lot of the stream-sides leaving deep gullies to cross, with slippery ascents and descent.. "And anyway," she adds, frowning, "It was always a really, really nasty route!". Good job we checked then I guess!

Instead we do a short hike away from the township, to a tunnel through the mountain. We take headtorches like the map says, but when we get the tunnel it's over ankle-deep in water. Still, the promise of some amateur caving definitely outweighs having soaking wet shoes and freezing feet for the walk back. And it's pretty cool: entering the pitch-dark tunnel, our torchbeams hardly seeming to fight against the gloom, we splash into the water, flinching again the cold, following rough tunnel walls with our hands as we gingerly step forward, wary of deeper pools ahead. On the way back out we cover our torchlights and catch sight of glowworms on the cave-roof.

We squelch back to the hostel just as the rain starts. It starts at 1pm - moonsoon-style, battering the hostel roof - and doesn't stop until late that night. The rest of the day is lost to books, films and one risky sprint to the fish'n'chip shop down the road.

written by  LizIsHere on March 1, 2010 from Franz Josef Glacier, New Zealand
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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