AORAKI/Mt COOK - Rugged Terrain That Beckons

We thought we had been dwarfed by mountains every time we turned the corner during our time on the South Island so far.  But as we drove into the most dense portion of the Southern Alps, containing 19 of 23 of NZ's "true" mountains by definition (over 3000 meters) ...we realized we were in for a whole new level of vista. 

Snow capped black tipped peaks came into view, jutting skyward with such mighty power.  Now this...this is a real collision of tectonic plates. Wowza. 

We turned West onto SH 80 and yet again our breath stopped.

Not only was Aoraki/Mt Cook in view towering majestically in the distance, but Lake Pukaki was U N B E L I E V A B L Y turquoise.  Like how does one describe cool-aid kid blue, or turquoise of the Caribbean blue, or this-must-be-manmade-somehow blue.  SOO blue! It was wild! Turns out this "blue water" is glacial meltwater in which much of the 'glacial flour' (ground up rock) has settled. The fine particles of rock still suspended give the water its particular turquoise blue color for the way the light reflects off of it. Unreal, for an inland lake!  

[My pictures don't do it justice, especially through a bug splattered windshield, but we weren't keen on stopping just for pics, so I had to take what I could while whizzing up the drive.]

We wound up the roads along the lake, mammoth Mt Cook ever steadily in view. We took in these majestic peaks all around; jagged with sparse snow, glaciers folded over cliff edges.

We stopped for a coffee at the end of the road at a high-end hotel to take in this tallest peak in Australasia.  Kids were pretty disinterested in staring off towards a distant mountain (along with Danforth's residual fatigue from sickness)...but we couldn't help but laugh at the blatant honesty of this moment captured: the "million dollar" grand view of Aoraki/Mt Cook and...

But interest flooded right back once we were in the Visitor Center afterwards which was visually stunning, thoughtfully designed, and very helpful for prospective climbers. 

I found myself alone in the memorial room. With several booklets placed under a towering window looking out at Mt Cook.  Each book was full of photos and stories of those who have lost their lives to the mountain, whether it be avalanche, crevasse, falls, health problems, or weather. I looked through the photos and stories of these young men and women in their prime of life. They reminded me of the many pictures I'd seen of my dad's mountaineering days (the most epic feat being his full summit of Alaska's Denali/Mt McKinley in the summer of 1982).

My dad had actually attempted to summit this very mountain in 1985 when my parents & their newborn baby (my sister Elise) lived in New Zealand for a year.  He and his climbing mate decided to turn back from a full summit because of the scree (loose stone that makes for really aggravating climbing progress).  

I reflected on the many adventures my father experienced in his life, beyond mountains, from travel, sailing, backpacking, dirt bike racing, sculpture making, on and on... But it was no epic adventure that took his life in the end, but the slow brutal decay of Alzheimer's. 

I sat and took in the view of this peak.  Seemingly innocent sitting bright and beckoning on a clear summer day.  It could have been this mountain, I could have never been born.  And even though Alzheimer's was wretched to watch, we were still granted the time to cherish him, to have had a life of adventures together, to be angry and to laugh, and to say our long goodbye until that quiet morning on October 13th 2021 when he passed. (Obituary here)

I gave in then, to silent deep belly sobs. Seated under the filtered evening light of the stained glass, in company of this memorial, and the Psalm written above the booklets..

"I look to the mountains; where will my help come from? My help will come from the Lord, who made heaven and earth." Psalm 121

On our way out of the park, we stopped over to view the Tasman Lake and Glacier. A short jaunt up some steps (made just a smidge more difficult with our added backpack of Melody hitching a ride) brought us to a grey lake (grey due to ground up "glacial flour" aka rocks/sand/dirt/stones) with a few chunks of glacial ice remaining.  

Tasman is the largest of NZ's glaciers and has quite a story of when the earthquake hit (the famous one that knocked out the city of Christchurch, NZ in Feb of 2011), it caused a massive 30 million tonne chunk of ice to break off, causing 3.5 meter waves to roll into tourist boats on the lake at the time! 

The foot of the glacier is behind our heads in the photo.  It's covered in stone at the base, which happens as it travels down the mountain, which is why it doesn't look like an obvious glacier at first glance! 

Corey noted that our kids would make good Neanderthals, as they quickly found themselves a nook to "mine" for rocks out of the breeze.  After a bit, we ran down the steps, dodging thick thorns, and back to the car, the kids eagerly looking forward to some downtime. 

As we departed this national park, the unclimbed peaks and un-walked trails taunted me. I wondered at the immense possibilities and beauty left behind, but I know this isn't the trip or the time for that. I do dream of my own mountain expeditions one day, knowing life is yet young, that kids will grow stronger legs, and who knows, maybe Corey will decide on a knee replacement one day and be up for longer mountain treks.  But for now, we leave Mt Cook and all the epic glacial trails and paths behind us. Evening clouds began to roll in and cover the glorious peak in a shroud of cloud. 

Passing freedom campers perched on lakeside bluffs, along the road back Northward, there's no denying this epic land has unimaginable scope and space to experience rugged terrain. I'm grateful we got to scratch the surface.

-M