Hiking Fox Glacier (Or, The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done)

For the purposes of this story, it doesn't matter what you do or don't believe about climate change and global warming: whatever the reasons, glaciers around the world are receding. These ancient remnants of the planet's last Ice Age are tucked away in the steep valleys of mountain chains or stretching in ice sheets of the polar seas.

In New Zealand, the really cool thing is that the proximity of the Southern Alps mountains to the country's western coast means that a few of its remaining glaciers are no more than 15 miles offshore, and are only 250-300 meters above sea level. This makes them quite possibly the most accessible glaciers in the world... Which means that people who aren't skilled mountain climbers and hikers can visit them. Good thing I fit that bill!

There are two main glaciers in the area that are toured by visitors. Franz Josef Glacier and Fox Glacier are snuggled right along the northwestern side of New Zealand's tallest mountains, descending from those peaks and ending amidst temperate rainforest. That's another unique feature of these glaciers, and it means that visitors are comfortable hiking to the glaciers in shorts and t-shirts.

Which is a good thing, because you're going to get warm hiking to Fox Glacier. Why, you might ask? Well, friends, that's because you're going to have to hike up 800 stairs. EIGHT. HUNDRED. STAIRS.

Quick, stair comparison stats! The Empire State Building has 1576 stairs. So, you know, I did the equivalent of half the climb of arguably the world's most famous flight of stairs.

I believe my previous stair accomplishment was climbing the 320 steps up to the cupola of St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. I didn't remember this number before I started the Fox Glacier hike. So when I heard "800 steps" I assumed, true to my complete lack of spacial awareness, that it probably wasn't that much different than St. Peter's. And hey, at least walking the stairs to the glacier wouldn't be like a claustrophobic fun house:

Climbing to the St. Peter's Cupola

Besides, here was the fitness/activity level information suggested by the brochure: Moderate fitness and agility is required. Involves steady, well-graded uphill walking for 45 minutes.

Now I'll be the first to admit I'm not in great shape. I don't do a lot of exercising. I could stand to lose some poundage. But still, to my ears, "moderate fitness" means, okay, I don't weigh 300 pounds, I'm not a grandma. (Though as it turned out there was a grandma on our hike and she was in way better shape than me.) But I'm 26. I'm young. I'm on the vacation of my life, and I'm certainly not going to let a little "uphill walking" stop me from the experience of climbing on a glacier. Sign me up! 800 stairs, what is that, like... well, whatever I can do it.

Off we go!


Start of the hike, and hey, we're actually going downhill. Thumbs up for that.


I didn't get many pictures while I was on the stairs, because I was more concerned with not dying/passing out/crying/being laughed at by fit Europeans, but here's one we snapped from nearer to the top.


And one of our awesome guide Cole looking, well, awesome.


There's one section that involves creeping around the edge of a bluff, at which point we were sternly instructed to put our cameras away because it was too dangerous. I did some Google Image searching and found this one that someone took despite the warnings:


Do you see that chain the guy is holding? You have to hold that while you climb the rocks because if you let go and you fall you're going over 100 meters straight down. To your death.

There were times I thought I was not going to make it. I was reciting scripture in my head about the weary renewing their strength and soaring like eagles! And Ben didn't let me give up and somehow by the grace of God I did it! It wasn't fun. But it was rewarding.

This is the face of someone who WORKED for it!

And our reward was walking on a glacier, which has got to go down as one of the ultimate experiences of my life.

Crampons, which are metal spikes you strap to your boots for ice-walking.

Looking down a moulin in the glacier surface where water trickles down to the river some 150 meters below.

So the moral of the story is... for about $100 more a person you can take a scenic helicopter ride and get dropped off on the top of the glacier and then hike around it and there are no stairs involved. I'm just saying.

New Zealand

I've sat in front of this computer for about 15 minutes, just staring at the Blogger screen and trying to figure out how to sum up my trip. And the only conclusion I've come to is that it won't fit.

It wouldn't fit in our cameras (though we have 3000 photos as evidence that we tried) and it won't fit in my blog. New Zealand is, in comparison with the size of the world, such a small place, but it won't fit in here. The extraordinary creativity of God is bursting from the seams of the place, His glory revealed in lakes vast and mountains ancient, in the carving of a landscape by water, wind, glacier, volcano, earthquake, time. We were rendered spectacularly speechless around every turn.

So rather than try to come up with an eloquent and succinct summary that would end up being overwrought and insufficient, I'll just share some stories, and of course, some pictures! Let's start with this one.

This is a kauri tree. A teenager kauri tree, in terms relative to some that still exist in parts of the North Island. Some of the largest-growing and oldest-living trees in the world, the kauri were almost completely cleared from logging and fires in the 19th century. About 4% of the forests were spared and are now fiercely protected. In the far north, where we didn't have time to go, there is one giant specimen believed to be over 2100 years old: a tree from before the time of Christ. There are records of others, bigger and older, that existed before the massive deforestation, including one that explorers estimated at nearing 4000 years old. There are a few groves left in the Coromandel Peninsula, which we drove through, and thankfully this one and its twin behind it there were right by the road.

Also thankfully for all you fine readers, we'd been kayaking and Ben was still shirtless. Hands off, ladies. Hands off.

Lots more pics and stories to come!

A Tree Story: Introduction

This weekend I got it in my head that we were going to buy and plant a tree. So I'm trying to document the process and share it with you fine folks. This will be an introduction to our story.

I've wanted to do something different in our backyard for a long time now. It is basically a scorched-earth wasteland that gets baked into oblivion during the summer. I have hopes that a couple trees could be the answer, providing shade to the rest of the yard and maybe even allowing a little grass to grow. Plus, planting trees is a nice thing to do for the earth and hopefully (providing I don't kill them in this process) they will be enjoyed by many families who live in our neighborhood for generations to come.

I made it clear at the nursery that I was not to be trusted with plants and needed idiot-proof trees and directions on what to do with them. The owner of the nursery helped us himself, picking out two trees and giving us the details on how to get them in the ground. We ended up with a cherry tree and an oak tree. Someday, theoretically, they will look like this:

Yoshino Cherry Tree

Willow Oak Tree

I tried to buy the biggest trees I could get. Newsflash: Big trees aren't cheap! Second newsflash: big trees require digging... a really big hole.

Apparently planting a tree is all about getting the hole right in the first place. The hole is recommended to be at least twice the width of the container and as deep. For the oak tree, this meant we were digging a four foot wide and nearly two foot deep hole. And be "we" I mean mostly Ben. My back injury - instigated, as a matter of fact, by my last attempt at landscaping - prevented me from being very helpful.

One man... many shovels... WILL Ben succeed in his task? WHAT will happen to our trees? Cliffhanger! Stay tuned for more on our tree-venture, next time with pictures!

This Land is My Land

The other day my coworker asked me, in a serious sort of way, "Do you like Kansas?" I'm not sure exactly what he was hoping I'd say, but in a nutshell, yes. Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas... I love the area most commonly known as the Midwest, running over into the Great Plains, up to the foot of the mountains, dipping a bit into the Southwest. I love the fierce, flat beauty of the parts of the country that everyone else is pretty content to just fly over. I'm sure it's mostly because I've lived and grown up there, and if I'd been raised in the lush Northwest or the genteel Deep South I'd be singing their praises instead. But I wasn't and I'm not - I'm here to show a little love to America's Heartland.


Something extraordinary most people who've never driven through the area don't realize is how breathtakingly big the sky looks when unobstructed by hills and trees. I know Montana is "Big Sky Country" and to be fair I haven't been there. But I've driven through the Flint Hills of Kansas and the open prairie of North Texas and I am telling you, that sky is huge. From horizon to horizon, nothing but blue. And to watch a line of thunderheads advance across that open sky, slowly covering the landscape in shadow and rain... there's really nothing like it in the whole wide world.



Here's some other pictures online I found that made me think of all the natural beauty to be found in middle America.

Kansas Sunflowers

American Bison

The Flint Hills

Snowstorm

Tornado

Rare

I saw the most extraordinary thing today - a completely white deer. It was grazing amongst its herd-mates on the slope of a golf course at the country club where GMA was having an event. It was starkly and solidly white as snow, and it was so stunning I could hardly bear to look away. I'd never even considered that albinism could occur in creatures. When I got home I looked up online to discover that an albino deer is extremely rare - one estimate I read guessed it happened perhaps once in 30-40,000 births. An adult albino, like the one I saw, is even less common, as the albino condition often manifests with other deformaties and hearing or sight loss. With no camoflauge to defend itself against predetors, an albino deer is an easy target. So to see this one alive and presumabley well, just munching away at the grass with its fellow deer, was really, really cool. Of all the days not to have my camera...

Seeing something so rare felt sacred. Like it was somehow a blessing or a sign. I don't want to pretend it means something in a superstitious sort of way; there's nothing of true faith in speculating on omens and portends. But God has this odd and purposeful habit of revealing himself in the strangest of ways, and I'm not going to say what he can and can't count amongst all his many signs and wonders. Maybe a white deer can be one of them. At the very least I'm so humbled and grateful that he shared this very special bit of his creation with me today.

Observations from a Long Drive

Yesterday I drove myself home from St. Louis to Nashville. It was a beautiful fall afternoon and I had a good six hours to myself. Well, Scruffy was in the car with me but he's not much for conversation. So I listened to all the music I wanted to and came up with some very random observations which I will share with you now.

***

1. Heartland
There is something really spectacular about rolling fields of wheat and corn and how it all glows and moves under fall sun and wind. Green and gold and brown, just folding out in squares across the landscape, dotted with a farm here, a little pond there...

When my sister was younger, she had this fascination with running in a field. Every time we passed an open pasture area she would sigh and say how she wished Dad would stop the car so she could just go run in that field. Yesterday, driving under an open sky of brilliant blue and through the beauty of the American Heartland, I totally know what she meant.

2. Airheads
I really love Airheads candy. This is odd because I am not a fan of fruity candies usually, and I don't really like taffy or anything like that. But I love Airheads. I could eat about a hundred red ones and still want more.


3. "Stand By Me," sung by Ben E. King
I decided after listening to it for the millionth time that "Stand By Me" is one of the greatest love songs ever. It is utterly simple - the words, the instrumentation, the structure. But good grief is it romantic - and even a little sexy, with the "bum, bum, ba-da bum bum" rhythm. Stand by me, no matter what else happens, and we'll be okay. Man, that's good stuff.

4. National Dead Deer Weekend?
I don't know what the deal was, but yesterday I saw probably - no exaggeration - more than 15 deer and/or partial deer carcasses lining the highway across my 300 mile drive. In my nearly eight years of driving back and forth between Nashville and STL I have never experienced this. One dead deer laying by the side of the road, unpleasant but it happens. But halves of deers and decapitated deers and bloody smears formerly known as deers... ugh. It got to be really gross and had me wondering what was going on with the deer population's sudden and tragic love affair with my particular stretch of highway?!

5. Vampire Weekend
I had Ben load their much-ballyhooed debut album up on my iPod and around Paducah decided to have a listen...

I give them an "A" for interesting instrumentation and a creative different sound. I give them a C- for how much I actually liked the album. I listened to at least 30-seconds of every track... unfortunately it was often because I could only stand 30 seconds at a time. After the hundredth repetition of a kooky staccato riff I just couldn't take it any more. I did like some of the string sections.

6. Cello
The cello is my all-time favorite instrument. It is so powerfully emotive - subtle, almost an undercurrent in many songs, but totally shouldering the weight of moving and feeling. Fun fact: my husband Ben played the cello for seven years growing up. Even now when he plays guitar he moves his fingers like he is playing the cello. But, despite the fact that it is my favorite thing, despite years of begging, he has never once played the cello for me. He claims he doesn't remember. I think he is a big fat mean liar.

7. How Did I Get to Be So Old
At the wedding I was in this weekend, we reminisced about how the couple had gone to the Homecoming dance together our freshman year of high school. I was stunned when someone mentioned, "Who would've thought eleven years ago we'd be here now celebrating their wedding." Woah woah woah. Do you mean to tell me it has been ELEVEN YEARS since I was a high school freshman?!!?! (Silent mental calculations...) But that means... I. Am. Old.

I thought about that for a good while in the car. Being a grown up. Shudder.

8. Names
I think it is cute when girls named Charlotte are called Charlie. I'm thinking of using it in a story I'm writing.

***

And that, my dear readers, is a glimpse into what I think about and do while on a solo six hour car ride. Fascinating, I know.

It's Like Regular Kayaking, But Less Fun

This Saturday, my friends and I invented a new sport. We call it "hikaking." Hikaking is like regular kayaking except instead of paddling happily down the river you spend half your time hiking through knee deep cold water dragging your boat across slippery rocks. It's about as awesome as it sounds.

We intended to spend the brisk and sunny fall morning doing a short run of river near Murfreesboro - a little over 6 miles, which, according to the book, should have taken us about three and a half hours.

It took us over six.

It was supposed to be cool - we dressed accordingly - but sunny. And for part of the trip it was. How refreshing, to be outside in the beautiful fall weather! The water was clear and we spotted fish, turtles, a snake, and maybe possibly an otter-type creature.

But a few hours in and suddenly the sun was gone, obscured by a sky full of fat clouds, a few of which threatened rain. Practically everyone was wet to the waist with cold clingy clothes. The injuries were mounting - a bruised tailbone, blistering hands, a bloodied knee (that one was me). The effort it took to dislodge your boat from its perch on yet another rock seemed overwhelming. Around literally every bend we were crushed to discover not the bridge that signaled the end of our journey but just... more... river...

The camraderie of paddling as a pack gave way to the efficiency of desperation as we split up, sending a pair ahead each time to scout out what awaited us and then direct the other boats through the trecherous waters.

But we survived, somehow, as evidenced by the fact that I am here to recount the story for you. On the back end of the trip, I can say I'm glad we did it. As an utterly non-adventurous and non-outdoorsy type of person, it feels kinda cool to have this story to tell. And I feel a little sense of pride at my gnarly knee wound which must be explained with something a little more exciting than, "I fell down."

Nope, this time it is more like, "I fell down... while dragging my kayak across jagged slick river rocks after hours of hikaking. My knee was totally dripping blood. I had to dig some rock fragments out of it. It was awesome. Wanna see?"

PS. My friend Lila who was there wrote a post about our trip as well... she posted some of our pictures too. Click here to read her version!

A Bug. In. My. EYE!

Ben and I were out walking Scruffy last night after we got home from work. I don't usually go on those excursions, but it had cooled down a bit after the rain we got, and it was a generally pleasant sort of evening. We walked side by side by side and everything was going fine.

Then I realized there were these nasty little gnats flying around everywhere. One even flew into my mouth. Gross, I know, but who hasn't had that happen? Just spit it out and keep your mouth shut.

And then it happened. One of the little buggers flew into my eye. My eye! Not just ow-that-bug-hit-my-eye but ew-ew-ew-that-bug-is-stuck-in-my-eye! I abandoned Ben and Scruffy and started running down the street towards my house, covering my one eye and squinting considerably with the other to prevent a second eye-invasion. Let's not even talk about how ridiculous I looked to any neighbor that might've been watching.

Tearing open the front door, I ran to the bathroom, pulled out my contact, and stuck my open eye under the running faucet. I figured the same rules for rinsing a household toxin from your eye might apply in this situation.

And here's just the thing... what else besides rinse it out and blink a lot can you DO when something gets in your eye? Not much! You can't exactly stick a q-tip in there and get it out... as far as I know you're not supposed to poke anything into your eye, or even rub on it for that matter (as Heather often scolds me). I was left perched on the bathroom counter with my face a few centimeters from the mirror holding my now burning from tap-water eye as open as I possibly could. And though I could not see it, I KNEW that bug was still in there, up on the top of my eye. Ben peered inside my upper eyelid with a flashlight (yeah, that was bright) and insisted that it was gone. FALSE. That bug was still in there! At this point my imagination went into overdrive. What if the bug was carrying a disease? Would I have to go to the ER if I couldn't get it out? OH MY GOD WHAT IF IT LAYS EGGS IN MY EYE.

The last thought was enough to send me over the edge, and I (predictably) started to cry. And as I looked into the mirror at my swollen and bloodshot eye, I watched as the evil demonic brutal invader of my eye, a tiny gnat bug, came tumbling out in one of my tears.

And that, my friends, is what happens to me when I go into the wilderness. And, this was just my neighborhood, which is quite civilized. Can you imagine the kind of stuff I might encounter and be forced to endure should I have to go into the REAL wilderness?!?! And it does, people, it does. I did, at one time, enjoy the outdoors, and in the right circumstances, I still do. I liked being outside in Colorado (except for one specific bug related incident - detailed here in my work blog). But good grief, if I can't even walk my dog down the street without a gnat invading my ocular space, there's no way I could be expected to survive the real outdoors without suffering serious insect-inflicted damage.

A Sad Thing

I saw a very sad thing today and I just need to write it down.

I was driving to work and going behind a slow old man driver. I was getting annoyed and thinking of how I was already late for work. Then the car in front of me swerved into the other lane to avoid something in the road. All I could see was that it was some sort of roadkill. "Gross," I thought, and followed suit in driving around it.

As I passed it I saw what it was - a tiny baby deer, young enough to still be covered with white spots on its back. It had obviously suffered a very recent death, no doubt at the hands of someone like me driving 55 mph down the curvy back road.

It just made me think about how normally dead animals in the road are either so mangled that they are unrecognizable or are so common that the sight of it doesn't bother you anymore. A dead possum or dead squirrel won't ellicit much more than an "ew" from me. But for some reason to see the little baby deer's body in the road just made me sad enough to cry. Which I did. For about the next two miles. I cried for that baby deer even though I know there are thousands of deers and that what I saw is not that uncommon. I cried for that baby deer even though I know deer aren't exactly the brainiest of animals and that the baby's mom was probably over it already. I cried for that baby deer even though I know the real world isn't like Bambi.

And even though I know that animals don't "go to heaven" in the sense of humans I prayed that God had been there and comforted it upon its death. I prayed that as a part of creation which God made to glorify Himself, the baby deer and its life mattered to God and that perhaps that baby, and animals of all kinds, will be present in eternity. I don't know if that is true, but what I know of God's character makes me believe that it is.