A couple girl friends and I have been planning a get-away weekend for a while now. But weather in the winter here can be a bit “dodgy” and at the last minute we decided to scrap our hut-hiking plans. One day of rain for one day of passable weather is alright, but two days of straight rain….what’s the point of that? Instead, Jen and I headed to Hamner Springs, the little resort village at the foothills of the southern Alps. The place is know for the….wait for it…. Springs! Hot springs, to be precise. Saturday the weather was beautiful, chilly but with blue skies, so instead of sitting around we hiked a short loop in the beautiful snow-fringed beech woods.

Milo likes pink skies and he’s enthralled by the moon, along with its changing phases and time of appearance. I must admit that I didn’t really miss him this first short weekend that we’ve been parted, but I still thought of him fondly and took a photo of the moon just for him.

We stayed at a YHA hostel Saturday night. Not fancy, but they had this endearing habit of keeping the wood stove well stoked. We spent a couple pleasant evening hours basking in the warmth and reading our books….I even shucked the long underwear.

I suppose the up side to a nasty cold is that I could hardly smell the sulfur in this hot pool. Hanmer springs are completely built up– no digging out a stream bed to find the natural hot spring here. But in the hottest pools the water is still piped directly from the underground source. The water is about 41 degrees C, around 106 F.

We used to have a pop-up book as kids that had one page of Japanese snow monkeys soaking in hot springs with snow dusting their heads, and I’ve always wanted to try that. After enjoying the snow falling in the air I still wonder how those monkeys ever get OUT of the water and dry off without the benefit of a heated (somewhat) changing room.

What do you think? Do we look like these Japanese snow monkeys?  Now guys, that’s actually just a RHETORICAL question!

What do you do while sitting in hot water for hours? Fool around with a water-proof camera, of course! Fish must think the above-water world is strangely proportioned indeed.

Jen is also American, and we had the exact same gleeful reaction when her large mocha came out–“Wow, that’s an AMERICAN sized coffee!” Needless-to-say, NZ portion sizes are significantly smaller than their American counterparts. If only the cost were also smaller….

Milo and Jeremiah had a good father-son weekend too. Sunday they went with two other families up to the port hills to the Sign of the Bellbird shelter, where Jeremiah impressed them by making a fire to cheer the chilly day.

This weekend was a “Westerly,” meaning the Southern Alps and the West Coast of NZ get torrents of rain. But as the front drops down from the mountains it becomes warm and dry, meaning the Canterbury plains get blustery sunny skies and unseasonable warmth, yet all weekend we can see the thick clouds hovering over the mountains…..and you’re just glad you aren’t up there!  Sometimes even the huts get blown off the mountains in a Westerly. We headed for Hinewai Preserve on the Banks Peninsula, just over the hill from Akaroa in the photo.

Hinewai preserve fills the valley from the summit to the ocean. We parked our car at the top, gave Milo a bit of scramble time on the boulders, then headed off down the trail to the end of the bay where we spent the night in a cute little red hut.

Most of the peninsula is now grazing land for sheep, but once upon a time it was all wooded “bushland.” Hinewai preserve encompasses some big native trees like beeches, kahikatea and totara (the last two are podocarps, for the few of you interested in plant lore). It was set aside nearly 30 years ago, and since that time has been managed by Hugh Wilson, a “Tom Bombadil” character if there ever was one!

Hugh sports a thick white beard, a cheerful weather-beaten face, shorts in all weather, and an encyclopedic knowledge of Banks Peninsula flora and fauna. He has been Hinewai’s caretaker and chronicler for almost 3 decades as the valley has turned from invasive gorse (that pretty yellow-flowered thorn bush) into regenerating native forest. And, as you can see, he is both eccentric and humorous.

The red little cabin on the right was our spot for the night. Red is such a cheerful color.

Nothing fancy about the hut interior, but after we had swept the moth wings from the mattresses and encouraged the resident lizard (the messy eater who dropped the moth wings like so many crusts of bread) to head outside for the night, it was suitable. The lizard startled me because it scampered so unexpectedly quickly. I must have let out a little screech, much to Milo’s delight, and he recounted the incident in Milo fashion with relish repeatedly that evening (“Mommy, Aah! Liz move”).

At least we knew we were welcomed by people, whatever that lizard might have to say about the matter.

That porch gate was just Milo’s size, and he was careful to close it behind him as we left.

You could actually drive right to this hut if you wanted to, but we chose to walk down through the forest instead. I think that fierce looking fence behind Milo is simply guarding that cabbage tree from disturbances by animals.

The land at the tip of the ocean bay is actually privately owned by farmers, but they allow walkers to access the beach over their land. There must be paua (a big one-sided shell fish that cling to rocks) in the bay because their iridescent shells were common on the beach, and Milo thought the were perfect for scooping sand.

During the summer Hinewai boasts a nice new visitor’s center for guest accommodation (you can see the grassy clearing where it is perched on the shoulder of the hill on the left), another good spot to bring visitors if ever someone decides to make the trip to NZ!

“Moon, wet?” Milo asked. We were on our way to work yesterday under clear dark skies, a novelty after weeks of rain. We had just passed some horses for whom we routinely feel sorry when they’re standing out in the weather, and maybe that was the connection in Milo’s mind with the moon being wet. It’s a good question. But no, Milo, the moon is very dry, way up above the wet clouds. “Moon, dry” he intones. That’s right, you’ve got it.

After a full week of miserable sniveling cold winter rain (as fitting as that is for the winter solstice) we were hungry for exercise and craving SNOW. News clips were full of impressive white drifts in towns closer to the mountains so we set out on Sunday in search of some fluffy white stuff. About an hour of driving through sodden green pastures towards the blazing white southern alps had us at the crusty foothills, but Arthur’s Pass road was closed to vehicles without tire chains (including us, in our ‘new’ 1996 Isuzu Bighorn 4×4), so we had to turn around. We settled for a picnic pull-off with the other non-chained reject cars, donned our equipment, jumped the pasture fence, and plodded out into the not-so-far-out wilderness.

“Mommy, I can’t put my arms down!” Milo’s layers rivaled Randy’s in A Christmas Story, minus the swaddling scarf, but he was a good sport about it. It’s not that the temperature was all that cold, but the wind was blowing and he would be just sitting in the pack instead of working up a sweat trudging through the snow.

We have yet to meet a Kiwi with a pair of snowshoes (they don’t even know what they are) but we still think they’re a good invention. They’re probably like central heating–a technology well used and loved in other parts of the world, but considered “pansy” and unnecessary by the no-frills Kiwis. We were glad to have them today, at any rate, since the snow varied from waist deep drifts to knee deep powder.

Cool cats! Well, the chewie in Milo’s mouth kinda ruins the effect, and Jeremiah would like to add the disclaimer that those sunglasses really aren’t his style. After loosing/breaking three pairs since we’ve been in NZ he found this pair on a hiking trail and adopted it for “car only” use. Sun on white snow made them “car and snow only” use.

We weren’t the only animals relieved to see the storm end. The hillside was crisscrossed with hare tracks, and we saw three running across the snow surface, much to Milo’s delight. The hillsides had areas of matagouri bushes (mean thorny legumous shrubs) that held up snow umbrellas, making deep pitfalls for hikers or good hide-outs for hare. As we approached one clump a hare ran out the top, and we could see the little niche where it had spent the last few hours nibbling on dry grass.

Another highlight for Milo was peeing on a bug in the snow. Don’t ask me why it’s Mommy’s job to assist with this process, as Daddy undoubtedly has more experience in this department. But we hit our target nevertheless, and the insect didn’t seem any worse for the wear.

We took lunch in the lee of a big rock, not in the sun but at least out of the wind and deep snow. Milo sure knows how to turn on the toothy grin when the camera comes out!

The sunglasses and palm-like tree look like they belong in Florida rather than in fresh snow. These are “cabbage trees,” iconic NZ natives, and apparently quite cold tolerant too.

After a sunny day the snow at the bottom of the hills was quite packable and slippery. We threw loose snow balls at each other and Milo’s squealy giggle was infectious.  He thought sliding down this little slope was the cat’s meow. On our way back home we saw dozens of cars lining the road next to a little hill in a farmer’s field where kids were out sledding. If the snow sticks around until next weekend we’ll have to acquire a sled and give it a go.

Aw, another family shot. Behind us are the beginning of the southern Alps. Though we didn’t make it to our original destination for hiking, the snow at the foothills still presented enough of a challenge to be fun and give us a good excuse to curl up on the couch and relax this evening.

Keas are usually parrots that we see higher up in the mountain peaks, but this one must have wandered down to get some respite from last week’s storm. It stood there quite photogenically but didn’t follow us or offer to steal our belongings like Keas usually do, so maybe it was still catching its breath and wondering when it had last seen this much snow dropped at once.  Perhaps it’s birdie grandparents had told it tales of walking to school in deep wintery drifts back in the olden days….

Look past that bit of Maori-style “tatoo work” on Milo’s chin (washable marker), and you’ll see he’s learning another favorite Kiwi past-time. Home brew. This batch Jeremiah made is ginger beer, and it lives for its fermentation life behind the chair in the living room where Milo can monitor its bubbling activity. This particular batch might not be reproducible despite careful following of the recipe, because right at the end Milo dipped his markery hand in the otherwise-carefully-controlled yeast colony, no doubt adding a bit of “local”  fauna.

If you’ve never had small children under your care, you won’t understand the momentousness of this photo. Milo told us he had to poop, sat on the potty calmly and did his business with a minimum of fuss and mess…..though he did request a book, as you can see. This is after 29 months of poopy diapers–averaging one a day that makes a conservative estimate of 850 brown gooey stinky messes. (And I’m sure Nathan and Marguerite would say that’s very conservative, considering the diaper-soiling abilities of a new born!) “Mommy, happy?” Milo asks. Yes! Mommy is VERY happy!

We had such a good time out hiking last weekend that we planned another trip for this weekend, despite predictions of rain for Sunday. Mt Somers (the snowy one in the photo) is only about 1.5 hours from Christchurch, and on the drier side of the Southern Alps, so we hoped to avoid the snarly purple and red area on the rain radar, west of the divide.

Thumbs up PB&J! That sandwich definitely pegs us as Americans, no one else seems to have the peanut butter fetish. Milo actually walked quite a ways up the trail (including almost 100 stairs) from the car before climbing in the backpack.

We spent quite a bit of time scrambling around the banks of this beautiful stream. I kept thinking of my Dad, who loves pretty streams with lush greenery. This stream reminds me a bit of the Opalescent south of Flowed Lands in the Adirondacks.

The stream is in a valley that never sees sun in the winter and we hit lovely patches of snow from time to time. This bit of snow looked like it had grown furry hoar frost on top of it, it was all sparkly. As NY natives, we were happy! Some of the banks were icy, so we took it a bit slow.

See this bridge? It also made us happy! We weren’t sure if the stream was bridged or not and I was steeling myself for a cold wading crossing.

Check out this neat waterfall! The path goes behind it, and the vegetation above breaks up the water making this nice (cold!) shower below, as well as a lovely moist place for verdant mosses.

See that white patch of snow among the dark trees? Look closely and you can spot Pinnacles hut where we spent the night. It’s mostly used by rock climbers in the summer (“Pinnacles” is the name of the rock formation behind the hut, a climbers paradise).  We hadn’t looked at the map very carefully to realize how much climbing the day would entail, so the hut was a welcome sight that afternoon.

As we climbed up to the hut we got more snow, never enough to need snowshoes but enough to reflect that refreshing white light that to us means Winter Wonder.

The hut hadn’t been used for a few days so the fire was cold, but being a serviced hut there was a good stock pile of chopped firewood, some of it even dry. Milo thought helping Mommy start the fire was fantastic, and blew with gusto. Of course he didn’t always blow at the right time or in the right place….but that’s a learning curve. Maybe in a few years we’ll have him running up the trail and starting the fire so his slow old parents are welcomed to a warm hut.

Speaking of childhood learning curves, Milo made a big step forward on the potty training track this weekend. That cookie he’s triumphantly holding is the reward for pooping on the outhouse potty (seen in the background). He kept his diaper dry for the whole hike in, announced his need for the facilities soon after we arrived, then actually sat on the “long drop” potty and produced something within a reasonable amount of time. For those of you without children or whose potty training memories are a distant past, this constituted a major victory on the battle against diapers. Mommy even did three separate styles of “potty dance” (celebration dances that seem to really communicate to Milo how HAPPY Mommy is when he uses the potty). Just be glad I spared you the picture of the long drop potty and all its contents.

Yikes, what’s that?! Jeremiah brought his rifle along and went out in the late afternoon to see what he could see, and to my vast surprise he returned just after dark toting a big set of hindquarters slung over bloody shoulders. That man has the most remarkable success with hunting! We shared the hut with a father and 10-year-old son, not vegetarians but also definitely not hunters. The son’s comment was “Wow, I’ve never seen a real live deer before,” to which I had to reply that those hindquarters were certainly real but no longer live. They were good sports, but declined to share our fresh venison steak.

Here are our hut friends. It’s always fun to have company at a hut, and the German dad with his Filipino son made for good-humored interesting company. 

Trophy legs? No, we didn’t leave them on the sign to startle other hikers arriving at the hut.  Incidentally, meat is really heavy in the pack.  I could hardly pick up Jeremiah’s pack on the way out, and he estimated that the meat alone added 35 lbs to his normal load, which already includes almost all our gear except Milo.  And our freezer is already full of game, so why did he go through the effort?  I don’t really understand, but I’ll hypothesize that it’s something to do with family tradition coupled with a drive to be rugged and self-sufficient.  “Ug, me man!” 

In the morning while Jeremiah took care of his meat I took a walk up to the ridge above the hut, examining possum tracks and admiring mountain lichens as well as oogling the winter scenery on a lovely windless morning.

Here’s a little up-close look at the tiny alpine plants huddling among the rocks on the ridge. Why is the moss orange? I actually don’t know, but I’m curious. The scene looks like a photo of a coral reef.

A special hot drink at a cafe seems to be our standard after-hike winter treat, and today was no exception. This cute little place has been open since 1869, and the amount of traffic then get on a quiet Sunday afternoon out in the middle of nowhere (farming country) was startling. They make quality hot chocolate too.

Milo cracked his first joke the other day. Well ok, it’s a 2-year-old’s version of joke, but I laughed nonetheless. We were sitting eating breakfast with the milk jug and orange juice jug on the table. Milo was kicking his heals on his chair. “Me, kick!” Yes Milo, I hear you. “Mommy, kick?” No, I don’t really want to kick my chair. “Daddy, kick?” Nope, Daddy isn’t interested in kicking his chair either. Then Milo, with a big grin on his face, looking at the milk jug, says “Milk, kick?” I cracked up. Gratified, Milo tried again. “Juice, kick?”
Well ok, so it’s not a huge side-splitter, but his sense of humor is growing.

That’s right, there are baby seals in this stream. We drove back from Marlborough Monday and stopped mid-way near Kaikoura at Ohau bay, where a freshwater stream runs into the ocean. It’s the nursery for the many seal mama’s that are out fishing and gossiping on the rocks. All the seal pups come here to play where the Orca wales can’t eat them, hundreds of them splashing in the water and posing on the rocks. It’s even more dramatic than an Alaskan salmon run, if that’s possible.

Every 3-4 days the pups go back to the ocean, somehow locate Mommy seal, nurse, then make their way back up the stream.

They move like Amazonian mud fish, humping along on their fins and back flippers. They play in pools all along the stream, but their Mecca is a big pool with a waterfall, just a ten minute walk up from the ocean. It’s absolutely writhing with baby seals. They’re fabulous little fellows, cavorting about, playing with leaves, jumping over one another, playing king of the waterfall. And the wonderful thing is that they’re not shy. Dozens of tourists gawk at them all day long, and they just go about their astonishingly cute baby seal business.

It sleeted and pelted wet snow Tuesday night in Chirstchurch, but up in the Port Hills it snowed. Thursday was gorgeous sunny so Milo and I took a drive up Dyers Pass. I had been feeling pretty grumpy about winter and it’s associated goose bumps, but as soon as we saw snow it all changed–now I hope we can plan a weekend snowshoe trip somewhere in the mountains. Amazing what a bit of white will do for the spirits. Milo like it too, and it’s quite a novelty for him.  Plus, the day was calm and sunny and really quite warm for winter. 

We spent a few minutes chucking hunks of snow over the bank. “One, Two, Three, Boom!” Lyttelton Harbor is in the background.

Stamping on Mommy’s shadow is a new favorite activity for Milo. He giggles while I squeal and run away. Summit Rd is perfect for this–open and quiet.

“Under!” Milo declares. It took me a minute to compute, but he was the bridge and the water was going under him. Ah, the simple joys of a two year old!

Yup, this is our yard the same week, no snow down in Christchurch city. Milo was a good helper for raking leaves and squishing them down in the compost bin. Plus he’s a fun little companion, all the more so since he’s become so chatty. Still just single words strung together, but you get a window into what he’s thinking.