When I woke up to
torrents of rain pouring down outside my motel room, I was irritated. My mood
plunged to the depths quicker than I could bat a sleepy eye.
This is the wrong day
for lousy weather conditions. I have come to view Franz Josef Glacier and I am
staying in its namesake village.
Yesterday as the bus
drove into town, I saw a glimpse of Mt Cook, New Zealand’s highest mountain,
and the one on which Sir Edmund Hillary trained for later climbs eventually
leading him to conquer Mt. Everest. The snow-covered peaks dipped in and out of
sight thanks to being surrounded by its own microclimate.
I am psyched to be in
this part of the world.
Along with springtime winds come rain in the western part
of the country, and it is the natural order of life here I am told by residents
‒ speaking of which, New Zealanders are the friendliest people in the world.
One fiber artisan in
nearby Hokatika laughingly remarks that she reads lots of sturdy books and
forgets about the slight inconvenience of the never-ending drizzle.
Franz Josef is
a tiny town in the West Coast of the South Island of New Zealand with a population
of 330. The 7.5-mile temperate maritime glacier is named in honor of the
Emperor of Austria and its terminal face is about 5 kilometers from city center.
Our motel is bustling
with international guests and one language after another spills out in the dining
room like a percolating coffee pot. It’s pleasant to hear the blending of
sounds and laughter while each of us fortifies on a hardy breakfast. Over 250,000
people travel to Franz Josef each year for the glacier alone.
I vacillate between taking the three-mile
guided hike lasting about two hours along the riverbed, or not. As of 2015, the
valley walk ends at a lookout about 50 meters from the main terminal face
of the glacier and the viewing is decent on clear days.
I’ve seen magnificent glaciers in Alaska. Each
is quite a sight and not easily forgotten.
The length of the walk
doesn’t concern me, and I have nothing to prove to myself.
Clothing is not the
issue. My dependable hiking boots have demonstrated they are waterproof-worthy on
numerous other adventures. If they could get me through Ireland, then they
would function here as well.
Did I need to spend a
couple hours in the rain sloshing through the uneven pathways? It could be very
slippery, too, on the volcanic rocks scattered along the trail.
I am uneasy bringing
my cell phone along for pictures. I should carry a waterproof pouch on trips
for just such days.
On the other hand, it
might be informative listening to the naturalist point out the geological
history of the moving mountain of ice. The glacier was still advancing until 2008, but since then it
has entered a very rapid phase of retreat. As is the case for most other New Zealand
glaciers, which are mainly found on the eastern side of the Southern Alps, the
shrinking process is attributed to global
warming.
It is a once in a
lifetime opportunity.
I climb out of bed and observe
the view from the window. I can’t
see beyond the road across from the motel. What’s the chance once I get to the
viewing place that the glacier will be visible?
Back into bed I go
for a few more minutes. I snooze a little longer before checking my email. Still
I haven’t made a decision.
When I appear for breakfast
the 14 others in my group are hemming and hawing so to speak, too. For various
reasons most are going to start out, and see what the conditions might be
further along the route.
I decide to give it a
go. I’ll rely on an umbrella and a walking stick, although I realize that both
will be cumbersome.
One thing I will not
do is complain to others, or to myself, if I get damp, chilled and second-guess
my decision.
As I start out in the wooded section of the walk, the
knowledge I am hearing from the guide keeps me occupied. Well, I will admit I
drift in and out of his words, and I blame it on the poor conditions.
After his talk the
guide tells us to follow the path and finish on our own. The terrain is out in
the open now and clearly marked.
What none of us
realize is with the heavy rain, the river has changed course and our walk will
turn out to be 5 miles instead. It’s probably a good thing I don’t check my
pedometer.
I walk and walk. I join one
or two others for a bit, and then go on my own.
Around the last bend
a couple people returning tell me to don’t bother going further. I won’t be
able to see anything. My immediate thought is that if I have come this far, I
will do it to the end. That’s my nature. Almost is not good enough.
Over one last low hill, up
over rise and I make it with an extra huff and puff.
For a brief couple
minutes the rain lets up and the clouds open my view like an answer to prayer.
I am one of the few
on our trip who sees Franz Josef clearly. It is worth it. Fortunately, I get a
trip buddy to take my picture to prove it, too.
