Kepler
I do believe I have waxed verbose enough on the last 14 posts; let us return to the original subject du jour, the evidence that South island is one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

March 7-10 I hiked the Kepler track with three companions: Sam, the obligatory Kiwi and the card sharp; Travis, Yank and neuromancer; and Kyle who was still celebrating the Canuck win in some game in Vancouver. Travis lost the poker game so he had to carry the liter of Jameson’s.

Setting out from Dunners on a 14C day we promptly got lost.

I was asleep and I am pretty sure I wasn’t driving. We can blame our desperate desire to avoid Gore for our mishap, but just like Taco Bell you can never truly escape Gore. Gore, for my North American crowd, is the bastard love child of Nashville and Potash, Utah.

Problem resolved and Gore survived we endured a seemingly 14 hour drive to Te Anau. Actually, survived is a bit harsh. Most of South Island is better than almost anywhere else, but like the better versions of hell, the pain lies in knowing how good you could have had it if you pushed on just a bit further. Plus, you can get something other than a pint of stale Double Brown in the Te Anau pubs.

A night in the Lakeview Holiday Park passed uneventfully. There is a pie shop in Te Anau whose product would impress the Sun King (Louis XIV). A quick visit, a final shower, and a last minute gear check and we were off.


Before picture:

Day one of the Kepler involves a roughly ten klick ascent at about 14-15 degrees(maybe more). Not brutal but ungodly constant. After an hour of seaside (Lake Te Anau) walking we started up and five hours later broke through to the open country above the tree line.

See the relief?
The Luxmore hut is sufficient justification for the entire Kiwi hut system. Perched above the lake you can see for miles (14?) and after the harshest day of the tramp it is as welcoming as Florence Henderson. The fact that we had a kilo of Friday Store Meatballs Marinara and a liter of good Irish Whisky helped matters as well. Take that thou snotty German trampers left salivating in our wake. It was heavy, but it was tasty.
The hill above the hut was riddled with limestone caves. The Luxmore is the most famous but I was able to count 14 in our near vicinity and there are something like 65 known on the hillside. Apparently the world’s largest walk-through geode is nearby as well, though we did not find it.
The second day found us meatball-flushed and generally spry. The trail to the Iris burn was high alpine with stunning views and a history of being exceptionally cruel weather wise; 120 kph winds, snow in summer, etc.
Our only problem was sunburn. A 14 minute side trip brings you to the top of Mt. Luxmore and a spot no sane person would choose to leave, but our pale skins and generally northern European dispositions soon forced us back to work.


The trail continued in high alpine country throughout the morning. This is the most dramatic part of the hike and I cannot adequately describe it. I suspect the pictures could save me 1400 words.

After the hanging Valley shelter and a final glimpse of Lake Te Anau we started the descent.

Apparently the Iris Burn Hut is located in the 14th circle of hell; one Dante’s knees wouldn’t allow him to reach. I will never look forward to the downhill part again. That said, the hut itself was not spectacular. The neighboring waterfall was, and was simply unbelievably cold. Even for an Alaskan.

The night came to an end with a notably unsuccessful Kiwi hunt.
The next morning broke upon a group who felt the pain of much older men. The beautiful morning fog did not dissipate the sore groans, but it did mollify a bit.
The next two days would be relatively flat but quite long and we were nearly out of whisky; next time Travis carries two. The trail was not dull for all of that. All 14 of the great plagues were represented including the forgotten ones such as spiders:

Lichen:
Small, pretty streams to soak your feet in:
Moss:
A severe fern infection:
And finally, of course, tourists:
Motorau hut was on the shores of Lake Manapouri, a lake I am happy to report was much warmer than the waterfall, perhaps 14C compared to 4C. The scenery ain’t half bad either. It is also a wonderful place for the traditional Kiwi witch hunt.


Night fell on a group out of drink but in good form. Some were well fed, some winning at cards, some sleeping with soldiers. I was licked by a possum. I win!

Day 4 was a brutal slog. It was pretty, but long and filled with the knowledge that those with 14 brain cells to rub together could have taken a shuttle the last 9 km.

But not us, no, we were men and we would finish the trip on our own two feet, or something similar in appearance. As we did.

Then it was time for pies.
Which, of course, closed 14 minutes before we got there.