#Battle of Queenstown Heights | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

half-elfdisaster · 5 years

Text

Aelen Panterra

Age: 188

Race: Wood Elf

Alignment: Lawful Good

Class: Level 6 College of Swords Bard / Level 3 Oath of Devotion Paladin

Height: 5”10

Appearance: Aelen has tanned, coppery skin with bright green eyes and dirty blonde hair which he has mastered the “just got out of bed”, perfectly tousled look with. He has a short beard of neatly trimmed stubble. He wears the commanders armour of the Order of the Ruby Rose which is a set of intricate detailed rose gold plate armour. He wears a cream sash over it embroidered with the symbol of the Ruby Rose, a red rose. He wields a singing great sword, an item specially made for him.

Aelen was born in 3341 AT under the rule of Queen Ivana II, however living in the small forest village of Oak Vale he grew up with little concern for the politics of the outside world. Aelen was born to Erendriel and Maylin Panterra who were two of several rangers who protected the village from the wilderness surrounding it. He grew up admiring his parents and looking up to them as his heroes, one day wanting to be able to fight to protect like they did.

When he was 52 his younger sister Artemyste was born, and although the pair got on tremendously, he regretted having to be stuck on babysitting duty a lot as he parents went off into the forests to deal with threats. As he grew up he pestered his parents to bring him along on their scouting missions as he had been training to become a ranger when he was old enough too. However, more often than not, he would be left behind with Artemyste. In their time alone the pair would very often sneak into the woods where Aelen would practice and Artemyste would enjoy the surrounding nature.

They were returning from one of these trips when they heard a commotion in town. While their parents were out on a scouting mission they had encountered a group of pillagers and engaged in battle. The other rangers had run in to help them, however the battle was hard and they were too late. Erendriel and Maylin, as well as a couple other rangers, had been killed, and due to the remainder having to retreat they were unable to recover the bodies. This devastated Aelen and Artemyste as the people they looked up to the most were killed. However, after being taken in by Erendriel’s brother, Petnan, who owned the local bakery, and the town preformed a memorial for the fallen rangers, honoring them as heroes who protected their people to their last breath, Aelen came to the realisation that he was privileged to be the son of such people and knew he must honor their memory.

Still underage at 91, Aelen became one of the towns rangers. He served the town for 38 years, protecting it with the others from anything that may threaten his remaining family. However, he still made time for those trips into the forest with Artemyste. After all those years Aelen felt his ambitions had grown bigger then the town of Oak Vale and he longed to journey to the closest city where he hoped to be trained as a true knight. Although, he loved his uncle and sister and wanted to be there for them, he knew that there were other people out their that needed help and he wanted to push himself to do anything in his power to aid them, just like his parents used to.

With the help of his uncle he wrote to an authority figure at the closest town of Halivaara who informed him that any citizens wanting to be trained as guards must travel to the House of Tolerance, a fortress temple of Dol Dorn and Dol Arrah to the southwest of Oak Vale. Knowing that when elves leave home it can be many years before they ever think of returning due to their long lives, he said his farewells to Artemyste and Petnan, who wished him the best on his journey.

At the temple he was trained with a large group of men and women from surrounding towns such as Halivaara, Alverton and Queenstown. Coming from a small town Aelen had never been surrounded by so many new people, however found that he could thrive in such situations. Being the trainee with the most experience, having served as his towns ranger, he quickly got to showing off and became quite popular, always able to enthrall a crowd with tales of the things he had faced in the wilderness around Oak Vale. A travelling aasimar bard of Dol Arrah, who was currently at the temple, noticed his growing confidence. She introduced herself as Marsih, and told him she wanted to mentor him to use his spirit to further his training. Aelen soon learned how to use magic and how he could inspire others and himself to push themselves beyond their limits.

At the age of 133, he decided to leave the temple with Marsih and join her on her travels across the continent, working as a guard in various towns and cities as they went. They spent many years together, however after so long they felt their feelings were getting too mixed up and complicated as emotions were getting hurt. They had worked well as friends however the second it started to go further, differences came to the surface. They parted ways after 28 years travelling together.

Aelen thought it would be best to travel to another Dol temple where he would hopefully be placed in a more permanent position within a city. As such, Aelen found himself at the House of Honor when King Rolland II came into power in Hegeahend upon the death of his father and the split of the nations. The King, wanting to clean up and improve the nation, asked for the best guards from the temple Aelen to move into the capital, Khaggon. Aelen, gratefully for the opportunity, quickly settled into his new home within the mountain city where he was placed as a guardsman in the Sune district.

After Dol Dorn and Dol Arrah opened his eyes to the religions of the world, Aelen had been increasingly interested about learning as much as he could about as many as he could. Unfortunately, until now he hadn’t felt like he could connect with one as he did with Sune over the next few years. Believing what she taught of cherishing the people around you and the value each of them can bring to the world.

Outside of the mountain however, war raged on as the four rulers pushed against each other, and although Aelen loved his job for all the new people he met within the massive city, the feeling of being trapped only increasingly grew as the war got worse outside. He couldn’t help thinking that his talents were being wasted when he could be out fighting to protect people in smaller towns, like his sister or uncle. His frustrations grew until one day he learnt that Marsih had been killed in one of the battles. Struck by grief and guilt he planned to approach his superiors about being repositioned outside of the capital, however he was too late, as before he could the disappearance of the king finally reached the public.

Aelen saw it happen as the priests from the Truesilver temple ran out and started to spread the rumour, the panic washing over the city like a wave as the public started to turn on the guards for not protecting their ruler. For the next three days of the riot, Aelen tried his best to stay hidden while helping as many people he could who were in danger or injured. On the last day he witnessed a priestess of Sune, a girl by the name of Faymer, get trapped by a cart on fire. Wanting to do all he could, he freed her before escorting her and her sister, Orala, to the temple of Sune to be healed. Not wanting any further harm to come to them Aelen stood guard overnight within the temple. This act of bravery drew the attention of the Goddess Sune who granted him a vision, appointing him as her champion.

The council of priests, now in charge after the disappearance of the King, recognised this great gift and their need for a true policing force after the events of the riot, decided to designate Aelen as the new commander of a specialised force of Sune champions called the Order of the Ruby Rose. In his new position of authority, he swore he would never let the devastations of the riots happen again to his people.

Now with the war on pause Aelen asked for one thing as his reward for service; to visit his sister and uncle, hoping they’re safe after the 48 years he was gone. Unfortunately, he arrived in Oak Vale only to find it in ruins with his sister and uncle nowhere to be found. He asked round at the neighbouring towns hoping someone would know what happened to the people of his hometown, however most said the town had been gone for over 30 years now. Feeling like he had failed his parents by not protecting Oak Vale only made him more determined to do good by succeeding in his new job within Khaggon, defending an entire city and its people to make up for the losts he’d endured throughout his life.

#dnd #Dungeons and Dragons #bard #paladin #dnd 5e #npc

2 notes · View notes

rememberthattime · 6 years

Text

Chapter 43. New Zealand

What a phenomenal run to get to this point. 3 out of 4 posts done -- how’d we get here, you ask: First, “The Fellowship” of my family’s visit down unda. Next, “An Unexpected Journey” to London & Paris. Finally, “The Return” to Hawaii, celebrating Christmas on the North Shore.

Now, to wrap up this four-part marathon, the epic conclusion to our holiday story: Middle Earth.

This post was always going to have heavy Lord of the Rings references. I get especially excited when I can tie movies or TV shows in my writing: Ireland & Star Wars, Croatia & Game of Thrones, Iceland and… space. New Zealand will be no different, as the landscape is intimately associated with the six-part series filmed in its undulating fjords, lush green meadows, snow-capped peaks, brooding basins, and turbulent climate.

Thank Gandalf, Chelsay & I had a day in Sydney between Hawaii and New Zealand. I hadn’t been home for 20 days, and desperately needed to switch my London/Hawaii clothes for more Kiwi-appropriate adventures. Not only was laundry a big benefit, but Chelsay and I were also able to wrap up the Hobbit & LotR trilogies. I just looked up the run times – in total, the six-part series takes 19 hours to watch. Jesus…

After arriving in Christchurch, Day 1 of our journey through Middle Earth would take us past Mt Cook to the South, into the lakeside village of Wanaka. It was a five hour ride, but Chelsay put together a killer playlist from the best Kiwi artists: Lorde, Flight of the Conchords, the LotR soundtrack. That’s about all the best Kiwi artists. We also had a sunny day, extremely rare in New Zealand’s turbulent climate, so our trip included frequent stops admiring the teal blue waters of Lake Pukaki and Mt Cook’s shy peak.

I say shy because one does not simply “see” Mt Cook’s peak – it’s so high that the top is normally covered in clouds. To exhibit how rare it is to see an unobstructed Mt Cook, I’ll share a small anecdote from my parents’ NZ trip. They stayed at the base of Mt Cook, and were similarly lucky to see the top from their table at dinner. At the next table over, a woman shed a tear as she gazed out at the mountain’s snow-capped peak. I’m not sure why this prompted a conversation, but my parents talked with her and learned that this Kiwi woman had visited Mt Cook six times and that night was the FIRST time she’d gotten to see the peak! I’m not sure how much of this comes down to bad luck or poorly planned timing for her visits, but contrary to Frodo’s acting, Kiwi’s are not a dramatic people... The fact that she cried at this sight gives you an idea of how lucky we were to see Mt Cook on our first day.

It was similarly tame weather when we arrived in Wanaka, which meant it was a perfect day to climb Roy’s Peak. Now, all I’d really read about Roy’s Peak was that it was a five hour round trip. I knew it had immaculate views, and given it was five hours, assumed it would be a long climb. (I later found that it’s 10 miles!) Ill-informed but blissfully ignorant, we hit the trail and immediately experienced the slope. This was pretty steep… Maybe just at the base but then it evens out?

Nope, it was steep the whole way up. We brought two, full, bigger water bottles, but had finished them within an hour… and this was supposed to be a five-hour trip! So many similarities with the Quiraing in Isle of Skye. First, the scenery: heath-filled slopes, gusting gales, and wild waters beyond. Second, the sheep: bahhh. Third, we were again woefully underprepared in terms of water. (Fourth, my solution to the limited water was filling up my bottle in a mountain stream. Fifth, #4 was risky both times, but I have a stomach of steel).

We weren’t-not making it to the top though. We’re taking these Hobbits to Isengard, if you will. We pushed all the way to the peak, and the epic views were absolutely worth it. From a mile up, the surrounding mountains and fjords were dwarfed. In the distance, Mordor loomed over The Shire.

youtube

Battling the decline, the descent took a while, but we still finished the hike in 4 hours (20% faster than average). Not bad given we were water-less for the last 3 hours.

The next day, Chelsay & I grabbed coffees in Wanaka and stopped at the Cadrona Hotel for a bigger breakfast (like hobbits, we know about second breakfast). We needed a full base for this day’s activity: Queenstown’s human catapult.

For some reason, Chelsay had pegged this activity almost immediately after we booked our flights to NZ. She’s never been interested in bungee jumping, but I think the novelty of a catapult got her. This Queenstown Catapult is the world’s first and only of its kind, opened just a couple months before our trip. Rather than bungee jumping where you go straight down, the catapult works like a slingshot, launching you forward 500 feet, reaching 60+ mph in 1.5 seconds , and pulling 3Gs of force ... For reference, an average human can blackout at 4Gs.

Chelsay and I arrived and were the only ones that had signed up for the catapult. Apparently most people weren’t trying to blackout. We walked down a suspended bridge on the way to the platform… you know, the platform that they hurl you off… The platform staff were very strategic in their conversation, trying to distract us from the heights as we were strapped into the harness. “Where are you from?” “What have you done so far in NZ?” “Did you have a good life?”

For chivalry reasons, I let Chelsay go first. She really didn’t show any fear as they fastened her harness to the catapult and asked her to step out onto the ledge. It was only once the catapult pulled her flat that you could see a bit of distress – she was now staring straight down at a 250 ft drop to the canyon base. It isn’t really terror, but you can see her anxiety: just look at how straight her arms and hands were.

Then, literally in the blink of an eye, a *high-pitched* “WWAAAAHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” – she was already 500 feet away from me, leaving nothing but a trailing scream as she flew across the canyon. My leg started to involuntarily shake from nerves.

youtube

After her initial launch, she reached the end of the line and experienced some big counter “bounces”. It’s like a really extreme Tower of Terror – there’s the first big drop, and you think you’re done and it’s okay. Then surprise, there’s another drop no one told you about and it completely flips your stomach. After a few of these bounces, Chelsay finally came to a still position and the staff pulled her back to the platform. She came back with a look in her eye. It was certainly a joyous look, but there was something kind of crazy there too. …She might have pooped herself.

That was a joke (because we were told we had to use the bathroom before doing the catapult).

I was next up, leg still involuntarily trembling. They laced my harness onto the catapult, then asked me to step onto the ledge… Great idea with my leg visibly unsteady. Probably from Chelsay’s scream, a crowd started to form on the catapult platform. Thank Gandalf they made us go to the bathroom, or this could end up as a grim memory for everyone involved.

In the background of my video, you can hear a woman from Northern England. It’s truly A+ color commentary. Better than Colinsworth, Aikman, or even Romo. In her heavy Northern accent: “Oh m’guwd – No! Wudn’t do that!”

I think the staff gave me some pointers or told me what was going to happen next, but I wasn’t listening. (Dude, shutup, I’m standing with half my foot dangling over a 250 ft ledge). He probably told me the catapult was going to pull me flat, but you can tell I hadn’t listened from my desperate arm flail to grab onto something. Good to see those survival instincts still work.

I was now parallel to the ground, staring directly down at the base of the canyon. Maybe there was a countdown to launch? I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention to anything but how high I was off the ground.

In a split second, I heard a mechanical release and then a WOOSH! Everything was moving SO fast. 0-60 mph in 1.5 seconds! I had the GoPro to film my face, but I wish I had one to film my view. Staring down at the canyon below, it didn’t feel like I was the one moving – it felt like everything around me (the canyon base, the trees, the river, the wind) was moving past me REALLY fast. Like Earth had a random “Matt”-shiver and rotated much faster for one second. In the background of Chelsay’s video, our Northern English colour commentator yelled, “Oh, SHIT!”

youtube

After the initial rush, and like Chelsay, I also experienced the Tower of Terror counter bounces – you can see my surprise as I flail my arm to grab the harness. Again, great survival instincts. This was an absolute rush – one of the most unique (and certainly the highest adrenaline) activities I’ve ever done. Although it only lasted a few seconds, the buzz sticks with you for days. Chelsay and I were giggling like Frodo and the other hobbits at the end of LotR.

youtube

I think the catapult or adrenalin or our flipped stomachs must have triggered our appetite, because the only way we could follow our flight was with a massive burger. Chelsay and I braved the world-famous Fergburger’s 30-minute queue to grab two burgers, onion rings, and fries, and took our feast to a lakeside picnic bench with views of the surrounding Remarkables range.

We spent that night in Te Anau, having scheduled a crowd-avoiding early morning cruise through Milford Sound the next day. Small aside: in the months leading up to NZ, overtourism on the South Island was a major concern of mine. NZ now gets 4 million visitors per year (the entire population is only 4.5 million!), with a large portion of tourists coming over the holidays. Chelsay and I were visiting in peak season, so like Bali, we had to be very strategic in how we avoided crowds. Through decisions like the early Milford Sound cruise, overtourism turned out to be a non-issue for us. Despite being (or possibly because it was) an early concern, Chelsay and I didn’t have a single experience where we felt crowded. Well, except Fergburger.

Anyway, back to Milford Sound. The morning drive from Te Anau to Milford was beautiful. It rains almost constantly here, so it’s more of a mysterious, brooding beauty, but beautiful nonetheless. This drive is supposed to be tough given one-lane roads and tourist traffic, but again, because of our planning, we enjoyed unobstructed views of rushing waterfalls instead of the back of a tour bus.

We arrived at the Sound in a wet foggy blanket. I was a little concerned that we wouldn’t be able to see anything on the cruise, but our last two days had already been shockingly sunny. The odds were against three straight. Plus, if you don’t get rained out of an activity, did you even really go to NZ?

We came well-prepared with ponchos, umbrellas, waterproof boots… and coffee. The weather therefore didn’t impact our seat choice on the cruise: we were sitting outside no matter what. Given the time of the cruise, we were the only ones on the back of the boat. The wind was whipping, our ponchos cracking in the breeze, and the occasional gust would slap Chelsay and I with rain, but thanks to our rainproof planning, we stayed mostly dry.

The boat pulled out from the dock and journeyed into the foggy abyss. Mitre Peak, which is Milford’s most famous slope, was entirely hidden by the clouds.

Once we got past Mitre though, the setting became clearer. There was a mysterious feel to the fjords, with mile-high peaks briefly appearing and then disappearing behind fast-moving fog. Dozens of waterfalls plummeted down the steep slopes, as bursting gales guided the frigid South Tasman Sea into the Sound. It felt like sinister Smeagol might be prowling the mountainside, veiled in the shadows as he suspiciously stalked our visiting vessel. (What a description). To give you an idea of scale, that’s a boat in the third picture!

youtube

On a less brooding note, we also saw some furry seals chilling under the waterfalls.

After our cruise, the boat returned to the dock and Chelsay & I warmed up with beef pies and soup. We knew we’d be going on a hike next, either Lake Marian or preferably Gertrude Saddle, so needed to build up our energy.

Now, about the hike options. Lake Marian is a cool walk, an alpine path gradually leading to a larger elevated lake. Gertrude Saddle is dope though. Incredible views of the Gertrude Valley, the trail crosses a waterfall and passes an eerie, small black lake, requiring steel cables to assist in the vertical ascent. The Gertrude “tramp” is classified in NZ’s hardest category, Expert, and the trail site describes the hike as being suitable for “People with high level backcountry (remote areas) skills and experience, navigation and survival skills required. Complete self sufficiency required.” …So me & Chels. Adding to the apprehension, the route is difficult to distinguish, and missing a marker has proved fatal. Gerty herself has been the heart of controversy, after two deaths called into question NZ’s obligation to maintain and more exhaustively mark these previously wild tracks.

I’d done exhaustive research on the routes and still wanted to do Gertrude Saddle, but the trail is challenging enough when dry. Eating our pies in torrential Milford, it didn’t seem remotely possible that we’d be able hike it. The park ranger reiterated our concern (Ranger: “Yeah, nah, yeah mate, don’t do it” – Me: “What?”), so we set out for Lake Marian. Gerty IS on the way though, and I couldn’t understand that park ranger to save my life, so maybe we’ll just stop by?

As we drove away from Milford, the rain subsided. The worst weather had clearly been caught in the fjords. As light grey clouds began to replace the heavy fog, we pulled off into Gertrude Valley with a sliver of hope. Correction, I pulled in with a sliver of hope. Chelsay was still very skeptical. The trek starts with a hike through the Valley, arriving at the base of climb. I convinced Chelsay to at least walk to that point, where we could evaluate whether it was safe enough to continue. If we were uncomfortable at all, I’d happily turn around… I’d rather test out Gerty and not end up climbing than embark on the less exciting Lake Marian, but it wasn’t like I’d leave her and try it myself. Gandalf said: “Don’t you leave ‘em Samwise Gamgee.”

We set off through the colourful Gertrude Valley, stomping through babbling streams in our waterproof boots, crouching through dense beech forests, tramping through waist-high heather, and taking in the steep enveloping slopes and waterfalls. We arrived at the base of the climb, looking up at the powerful waterfalls cutting through the snow still settled on the mountainside. Far above, we could see a few unnatural colors zig-zagging up the hill. Pink and highlighter yellow. These were other hikers! It now hadn’t rained in over an hour and the grey skies were only getting light. If these other hikers could make it up there, why couldn’t Chelsay and I?

We started the climb, which wasn’t as physically exhausting as Roy’s Peak, but was far more mentally tolling. We were focused and careful with every single step. Every foot placement. Every ounce of weight that we placed down. Any rock that we relied on. Always. Always. Slow. And. Careful.

We eventually made it to the river crossing, which was just 15m from a waterfall edge. Hmm. It wasn’t obvious which rocks to use. I’d start down one path, but it would fall just short. I tried another, but this one stopped about 5 ft short. I think we need to jump? This was a fairly long ordeal, but we ended up making a short leap from the last rock to the other side of the stream. Challenge 1: conquered.

The next challenge wasn’t much further: ascending a set of slick bluffs using a steel cable bolted into the boulders. Oh, and the climb is only about 5 feet from a rushing waterfall. We gripped the cable tightly as we carefully made our way over the cliff’s edge.

youtube

Now at the top, we’d reached the waterfall’s source: a mysterious, small black lake hidden just beneath the clouds. This was the biggest reason I wanted to hike Gerty, and the exact view I’d hoped to find. When we were first planning NZ, I’d looked into visiting Lake Quill in the Fiordland. I’d seen it in the Prometheus movie series, but the only way to access was either a several day hike on the Milford Track or by custom helicopter flights… which was $1,000/person. It was so lucky to come across the same feel with Gertrude Saddle, and even luckier that we caught a day where it was remotely possible to make it up to the black lake.

youtube

The hike continues a bit further, but we already bumping up into the clouds. Any higher views would have been blanketed in fog. Chelsay & I hung around the black lake and rehydrated (we brought enough water this time), before descending the same path we’d come up. In some ways, the hike down was harder than the ascent. First, it’s less stable to place your weight below you as you descend, as opposed to above you and leaning into the mountain while ascending. Second, and more plainly, we were tired. We were still extremely careful as we made our way down the slick boulders and across the waterfall, eventually arriving at the car after 4.5 hours (and just 4.5 miles return). I think that trip time, especially relative to Roy’s Peak (10 very steep miles in 4 hrs), exhibits how mentally taxing each step was on this hike.

We returned to Queenstown and our favourite AirBnB of the trip, where our suite looked out over Lake Wakatipu and the Remarkables (and our host made chocolate chip cookies). We’d also picked up takeaway Indian from a place my parents recommended, Taj. Holy shit. It was so good. “Messy” black dal mixed with jasmine rice, some spicy Murg Chettinad (South Indian chicken), a coke and The Hobbit on the side. It was bliss after a water-logged Milford Sound and tolling Gerty Saddle.

How could we possibly follow this day, one of our best ever? Hmm we really didn’t try actually. We slept so hard that night, and woke up extremely slow the next day. It was New Year’s Eve, but our only plans for the day were dinner reservations in Wanaka. With another big day of hiking still to come (Mueller Hut in Mt Cook), Chelsay and I decided to take it easy as we made our way out of Queenstown.

I did some “live” research that morning on quiet things to do around Queenstown, and the options are surprisingly limited in this adrenaline junky town. That said, I found most of the LotR & Hobbit (and Wolverine, and the Chronicles of Narnia) filming locations were right outside Queenstown, in nearby Glenorchy and Paradise. Having just finished the series, the sets were still fresh in our minds so we decided to visit Middle Earth.

First of all, the road from Queenstown to Glenorchy is jaw-dropping. Look at this damn view!

The picturesque settings continued driving through Glenorchy. I’ll let the pictures do most of the talking here (especially because I’m on Post #4 in a holiday series that’s nearly rivalled the length of my wedding post). I’ll just write that I want to remember the vibrant and contrasting colours, fording through several small streams, and the dramatic juxtaposition of the green, cow-filled pastures nestled below towering plateaus. This was literally Isengard.

After a few hours in Middle Earth, we began our two hour journey up to Wanaka, passing “that” lonely tree along the way. I mentioned our NYE dinner was at an Italian place – no better way to ring in the New Year. Francesca was the top-rated restaurant in Wanaka, and despite making the reservation several days before, the only table available was at 5:00.

We’d have to last quite a while to make it to midnight, but the meal was phenomenal. Chelsay and I got three pasta dishes… and it wasn’t like this was a tapas-style restaurant. Asparagus carbonara, beef gnocchi, and tortellini ragu, all washed down with carafes of sauv blanc & shiraz. Mmmm.

Even only a few days into the trip, Chelsay and I were really tired at this point. We were also a little tipsy. This meal could be considered “loopy”, as we couldn’t stop giggling, similar to past “loopy” meals in Innsbruck and Western Australia. On this occassion, we thought we were being pretty smooth with our jokes to the waiter, but his responses suggested maybe our delivery was impaired. (“Ok… cool guys… Well… Have a good night…” *polite smile*)

Afterwards, we tried to sober up a bit by placing our feet in the chilly Lake Wanaka. Midnight was a long way off and we needed a perk. We also grabbed sorbet from Patagonia Ice Cream, which we definitely didn’t need, before heading back to the hotel to regroup. As I was drinking a coffee at 9:00 PM, I started thinking about our next two days, the last of our trip. We were heading to Mt Cook, and I’d planned one big hike (Mueller Hut, which was probably bigger than either Gerty or Roy’s Peak), then a few smaller options. Initially, I planned to use New Year’s Day to drive from Wanaka to Mt Cook and do a few smaller walks, then use our last day for the bigger trek. I checked the weather to confirm, and although the conditions can change dramatically, 1/1 actually looked like a far safer bet for Mueller. With a longer hike, we’d need to leave earlier though, which meant we’d need to get to bed earlier. Again, I was drinking coffee at 9:00 PM on New Year’s Eve, but an audible was the right call. I managed to knock myself out by 11:00 PM.

Alright, the next morning. “It’s New Year’s Day here in … Wanaka” (Charlie Robison song reference). “Robert” Mueller Hut day. An early start and beautiful drive into Mt Cook. The peak was out, another lucky day, just as the weather forecast prescribed. There were inbound sheets of clouds, but we’d already gotten to see ol’ Aoraki’s peak twice now. No worries.

We set off at the base of Mt Cook, heading up the adjacent Sealy Range. Now, I’d done some reading on Mueller, and I knew it would be a tough climb. The trek begins with a 2000 step up the Sealy Tarns stairs. It’s literally a staircase… and not like one of those gradual European staircases. These were the type of stairs that are higher than they are deep.

This was hard climb, and I was sweaty. But I also didn’t want to stop because I knew that Chelsay and I would be the quickest up the mountain. If we let someone pass, we’d inevitably just be stuck behind them 2 minutes later. I was like Gandalf on the way up: “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”

After a gruelling, knee-shaking, butt-burning climb, we made it to the top of Sealy Tarns. DOPE views of Mt Cook and the Tasman Delta abound.

youtube

That said, the weather was starting to turn. At elevation, it was cold, and Chelsay and I didn’t have gloves or hoods. …At least Chelsay had a shirt that she wrapped around her head. The clouds had also enveloped us by now, so it was raining pretty hard. Luckily, we still had our ponchos from Milford Sound, and looked like legends braving the elements in these bright yellow and blue trash bags… Again, Chelsay still had a shirt wrapped around her head.

We were only halfway up at this point, but we’d made it through the worst, right? Wrong. The next half is known as “the scramble”, navigating an essentially vertical scree (which must be Kiwi for loose shards of rock). To make matters worse, the weather was getting really bad. Halfway up the scree, we passed an American guy on his way down. We asked what the weather was like at the top, and he said the Mueller Hut warden had just sent everyone down. The wind was meant to reach 50 mph at the top (genuinely considered “gales”), with the rain turning to snow, and the possibility of thunderstorms. WTF? The forecast said today would be clear… Remember we woke up early to hike Mueller on 1/1. Why did I go to sleep on NYE after a 9:00 PM coffee if the weather would prevent us from making it to the top?

Then, the shorts-clad bro said something that lifted our spirits: he complemented Chelsay’s tee-shirt head warmer. No, just kidding, that still looked ridiculous. He actually told us that it was only another 45 minutes to the top if we were quick. Now, this hike was supposed to be 7 or 8 hours, but we were already ¾ of the way up and had only been hiking for 75 minutes! My “You shall not pass” policy had worked!

Status check though. We were cold and tired and sore and wet, and it was probably safer (and easier) to turn back. On the other hand, it was only 45 minutes to the top… Should we keep going? Let’s do it! FOR ROHAN!!

Hiding our pruned hands in our pockets & under our ponchos (aka “the turtle”), we scrambled the rest of the way to the scree’s peak. Despite conquering the ascent, the Hut wasn’t quite in sight. We still had an 800m trek over rock, through snow, and past glaciers that were genuinely cracking as we walked by. Chelsay and I heard the booming sound and thought the thunderstorms had arrived early, but found it was solid ice slipping from the glaciated mountainside. At this point though, we couldn’t be bothered by glacial movement – we just needed to make it indoors. You can actually tell how cold it was because I took very few photos or videos to capture the last few paragraphs.

youtube

Luckily it wasn’t long until the Mueller Hut came into sight. We turtled our way across the remaining snow fields and rumbled to refuge in the Hut. We quickly removed our wet ponchos and sweaters to let them dry, and realized just how much work it was to get to the top when my back was still steaming in the cold air.

While we were in the Hut, Chelsay and I read through the numerous warnings our bro-friend had shared earlier. The message: the weather is going to get worse so head down asap. We ate a quick lunch and rehydrated, before grabbing our still damp gear. To get our temperatures back up, we started our descent by literally running through the snow fields we passed on our way into Mueller Hut.

youtube

We retraced our scramble down the scree, and were back at Sealy Tarns’ 2000 steps (aka Mt Doom) in no time. Like, genuinely no time. This was supposed to be a 7 to 8-hour hike… After finishing the steps, we checked our phones and had gone door-to-door in just over 4 hours. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you’re cold and wet… and riding for Rohan.

We were really tired. Actually, we’d already been “really tired” the day before when we visited Glenorchy and had our loopy NYE dinner. Now, adding what had to have been a record time with the Mueller Hut, we were pooped. For the next 24 hours, Chelsay and I were like chewed-up gum: a boneless glob just sticky enough to pick up tasty foods and picturesque views as we rolled towards our departing flight from Christchurch. On the way, we enjoyed hot chocolate while finishing The Hobbit in our Mt Cook chalet, mouth-watering steaks from the Hermitage Panorama Room, breakfast from Poppies in Twizel, strolling through heather and lupin fields along Tekapo’s Cowans Hill track, beef pies and apple strudel from Fairlie Bakehouse, and finally, with a little extra time before our return flight, Mary Poppins Returns. The last one was payback for forcing Chelsay to hike Gerty Saddle.

WHEW. That’s it. That was the trip. More broadly, that was the past two months. What a run. I want to just briefly recap the marathon that was these past four posts. First, we spent a month down unda with the Kerns. Then, I took a quick surprise reunion trip to London & Paris. Next, we celebrated Christmas with Chelsay’s family in the North Shore. Finally, New Zealand.

My conclusion won’t focus on the past four posts though. I’m only going to write about New Zealand. Although this fourth entry came at the end of this marathon, it absolutely demands my undivided attention. The past week was right up there with Iceland or Jordan as our best trip ever, so I need a similarly fitting conclusion.

What made it so great? Let’s break it down.

First, I’ll start with the superficial: the accommodation. I call this superficial because it’s more a circumstance of my planning. That said, Jordan’s accommodation was fine. Iceland’s was… supply-limited. For New Zealand, every place we stayed had plenty of space, incredible views, and a comfy bed and warm shower (critical on this trip). Also, our Queenstown AirBnB made us chocolate chip cookies.

Second, the food. No trip will be able to compete with Bologna for food… well, maybe Lake Bled & Sova. Regardless, Taj & Francesca were phenomenal. Those two alone made this a better food trip than either Iceland (hot dogs) or Jordan (???), and it only rounded out the trip to have tasty breakfast and coffee each day.

Third, I’m a sucker for a story. I had no real interest in seeing LotR or The Hobbit, but watching them before this trip absolutely enhanced my experience. Not only was it cool to see Isengard in Glenorchy or Mordor from Roy’s Peak, but at the end of the day, after a massive day’s hike, there’s nothing better than plopping in front of the iPad as we rested our legs.

Fourth, and most importantly, New Zealand might have been the most beautiful country we’ve ever visited. Iceland had a darker, blacker beauty, but New Zealand had so much diversity. From the snow-capped mountains surrounding Roy’s Peak, to the mysterious fjords of Milford Sound, to the alien setting of Gertrude Saddle, the pastoral beauty of Paradise, the heath and lupin fields of Tekapo, and finally, the turbulent slopes, glaciers, and deltas in Mt Cook. How can so much be packed into a single country? Actually, a single island of a single country! More broadly, how did this climate and geography end up in this part of the world!? It’s like a combination of Iceland, Scotland, Switzerland, and Scandinavia… but it’s somehow located in the South Pacific. I think Chelsay summarized New Zealand’s beauty best. She said that a lot of places can look pretty in pictures, but they don’t hold up when you actually visit. New Zealand is almost the opposite. Pictures don’t do it justice… They can’t capture the size and scale and strength. Other places require very precise conditions to get the same view you saw in the picture. No matter the weather, season, or camera filter, New Zealand is always both stunning and intimidating.

Now, I’m only writing this four days after I returned from NZ so I’ll need more time to truly say it was our best trip ever. For now though, I’ll try to describe our past week in Middle Earth with just one word… “Preciousssss”.

0 notes