Up the Tasman Valley - Night 110

I set off early this morning headed for the Tasman Glacier and the Ball Hut trail. Since it was 10 kilometers (6.3 miles) from the hostel to the trail head I was counting on the good graces of fellow drivers down the dead end road. In less words, I needed to hitch a ride there and back if I wanted to keep my walking down to a manageable level. After a few Ks, I crossed the bridge over the small, gray creek and was offered a ride by a Norwegian man and his South African partner. One thing I’ve noticed is that all of the Kiwis and Aussies as well as most of the European couples I’ve met, whether married or not, refer to their significant other simply as their ‘partner.’ After dropping me off at the trailhead they mentioned that they would be leaving at 2:30 and that I was more than welcomed to a ride back to town.

The Ball Hut trail is composed primarily of

The Dirty Glacier and the Dirty Lake

an old four wheel drive track that hugs the outside, bottom edge of the five mile long lateral moraine of the Tasman Glacier. Hundreds of feet high in places (with the glacier actually an additional hundred or so feet below on the other side), the moraine itself would pass for a mountain range in the Midwest. The unfortunate side of this was that the first 60% of the trail offered no views of the glacier…but a certain amount of shade and protection from the winds that whip down the valley. Every so often the track had been rebuilt as an avalanche of snow and rock had screamed down the mountain erasing everything in its track. About halfway down the trail I met two hikers, one of whom recognized the UW-Stevens Point shirt I was wearing and stopped to talk to me. As it turns out, she is a senior at Lawrence in Appleton down here on a semester abroad. Yeah, yeah…small world, but I’ve learned that a long time ago, in fact the book I just finished, Six Degrees, by Duncan Watts, explains t

The Ball Hut

his very phenomenon in explicit mathematical and sociological detail (my wearing of the Point t-shirt is a vague example of broadcasting or, rather, a refined network search).

Anyways, two and half hours after leaving the

Gazing into the Tasman Valley

carpark I reached the Ball Hut, a small, unglorified shed perched on the edge of the moraine. The views from here are breathtaking, but it is the sounds that actually blow your mind. For starters, little to no human sounds at all, save the occasional scenic airplane flight high above Mt. Cook (and the Irish couple who was also having lunch at the hut, but they were fairly quiet). All the noise hears comes in the forms of loud cranks, booms, and rock falls as the glacier slowly advances down the valley. You can actually hear it moving…simply amazing. One sits in physical geography class and learns about terminal and lateral moraines, glacier till, striations, hanging valleys and the like, but none of it really sinks in until you sit on the edge of two hundred foot high lateral moraine and listen to miles and miles of moving ice actually sculpt a valley.

Wicked Clouds

A note about the Tasman Glacier: the lower five miles or so of it are coated with 3-5 feet of rocks that fall from the moraines, giving it a dirty appearance instead of the white and blue one comes to expect with a glacier. On the way back I stopped off at waterfall and let the cold water pour down over me. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and when the wind ceased to blow it was damned hot in the valley, despite being just feet from so much ice. Upon returning to the carpark I managed to catch the Irish couple from the trail just leaving in their van. They too graciously gave me a ride back to the town, in fact, they went so far as to drop me off right at my hostel. There is certain code of ethics among travelers and I’ve greatly benefitted from it today. My turn to repay will likely come sooner than later…keep that great karmic wheel turning in my favor.

What I Learned Today: There is a strange friendliness dynamic that occurs on hiking trails that, after some rationalization, I’ve come to find is a bit like life in a microcosm. When hiking along a deserted trail, if you happen to meet someone you almost always stop to talk to them. At some point as the trail becomes busier you are reduced to a simple hello or headnod. Again, at another subjective increase in volume it becomes acceptable to completely ignore the numerous passer-bys. Life is like this, depending on the size of the city, town or village you are in.

written by

exumenius on January 28, 2008 from Twizel, New Zealand

from the travel blog: Kiwis and Kangaroos

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