Day Ten - Chasing the Frost

Exiting the Aspiring Court Motel in HAAST, we pass by HAAST Beach, take the HAAST Road, leave the coast and follow the HAAST River up into the HAAST Valley all the way to HAAST Pass. Mr. Haast named all these locations personally even though he was only the SECOND person to traverse the pass and not the first. This man definitely had legacy issues and was obviously quite serious about securing his place in history. We are now in the heart of the Southern Alps and winter is in evidence by the myriad of signs telling me that ice in the mountain passes is to be “expected” today. These are those ubiquitous signs that fold up in good weather and fold down whenever some county worker remembers to warn the foolish tourists driving during this time of the year. The Toyota Puke comes fully equipped with chains in the boot (trunk) but they are locked with a security strap. For safety reasons of course, but my choice would be to leave the driving for another time and wait for better weather rather than put chains on a car. The morning sun on the Western coast is searing-ly bright white but as we climb into the mountains, first a few wispy clouds drift across and then plain old cloudy overcast weather socks us in giving the windshield wipers another workout. There are several waterfall walks and I, like the dutiful tourist, stop at each and every one. Stepping out of the heated car is a bracing event since the freezing cold wintry blasts rapidly chill one’s desire to stand about and meditate over freezing water cascading down a freezing rock cliff into a freezing river regardless of how many meters high it may be. We are still too low for serious ice on the roads but the bridges (of which there are multitudes and nearly all of them single lane) do have frost on them. The most common road sign here reads “Slippery When Frosty,” and I believe them. Passing through Wanaka, the mountain pass road we want to take into Queenstown is open but we are warned that “ice is probable.” Kris misses the sign and I do not reiterate the warning. She already has gone through an unreasonable amount of her emergency chocolate supply. It is her philosophical position that when I drive over a cliff, she wants to have had at least 10 ounces of chocolate in her mouth that will never get the opportunity to gravitate to her thighs. She reserves the chocolate for only the worst narrow mountain roads. We have been on a large number of those types in the first third of this road trip already and chocolate is in short supply.

As luck (or Karma) would have it, the clouds thin and then disappear completely as we climb the final pass before Queenstown. The roads are completely dry all the way up and we stop at the top of the pass and are blown away not by the wind this time, but by the view of Queenstown 30 kilometers away and 5000 feet below us. This truly is a country about which one can say, “A spectacular vista awaits at every bend in the road.” Having viewed vistas as varied as those from Mt Fuji in Japan, the Road to the Sky in Glacier National Park and Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, this one rated right up there with the best of them. A special thank you and shout out to Judith’s father, Ray Clarke, for charting this wondrous and all-inclusive course. We toss snowballs at one another, (I miss Wisconsin snowfalls) take a pix or two and head down the mountain at about 8 miles an hour because this side of the mountain hasn’t seen sun since last December. Black ice and hairpin switchback turns are not my favorite mountain driving conditions. More chocolate disappears from the emergency stash. The NZ road people however have spread “grit” on the surface and traction is far better than one could expect. The surrounding range of mountains named, “The Remarkables” are totally snow covered and glistening in this clear, crystalline New Zealand sunshine and appear quite benign at this distance. The ride down OUR mountain however, proves interminable as one can see the lake and the city of Queenstown in the distance but just when one thinks you’ve reached the valley floor another series of switchback turns keeps the adrenalin pumping. Thankfully the roads are nearly deserted and I am able to go slow enough to keep Kris from fainting, throwing up, or going into insulin shock from the consumed chocolate. It’s a good day on the mountain.

Queenstown is a ski town at the moment, because the slopes (called snow fields here) open tomorrow. Thus it is filled with kids and newbie skiers un-savvy in the ways of early ski runs. Usually more rocks than snow are visible this early in the year and worse, these particular mountains have no trees. Perhaps that is why they call them “fields?” Duh! Shopping is not what Kris had expected and we will leave for Te Anau, the gateway to Milford Sound in the morning, but first, one more “special birthday dinner” at a restaurant 9 kilometers out of town and, you guessed it… up a steep hill. Serendipitously, our innkeeper offers to check on reservations for me and the restaurant offers to pick us up and re-deposit us back at our motel. I jump at their generous offer. Walking back to the room, I suddenly am hit with the realization that if this restaurant is picking me up, driving me 9 km out of town, up a mountain, and then driving me back, I should have asked about the prices on the menu. Too late, Dumbo.

A cab picks us up at the appointed time and there is an Aussie couple already aboard and as the driver maneuvers around multiple sharp turns and steep inclines, suddenly I don’t care about the menu prices anymore, I am just relieved I am not doing the night driving. One less NZ hill for me to climb, be it on foot or by horseless carriage. Dinner at Gantley’s is superb, both of us enjoying NZ rack of lamb done the way is supposed to be done… perfectly. We four are their only diners this evening and my worries about the bill come flooding back to me until I gulp down another glass of a MORE than decent NZ cab. When in Rome, etc. I’m not driving, I’m merely paying and that is JUST FINE with me. Even better, Kris insists on using her credit card and I, as any true gentleman would do, give in to her heart’s desire.

When another cab driver arrives to take us back, we delay him a bit to snap a few photos of what I believe to be the most civilized wine cellar I’ve ever witnessed. They called it the ”reading room” but floor to ceiling wine racks line three of the walls and a full version of the OED graces the fourth. The world’s best dictionary, many, many bottles of wine and voila, the space is transformed into a room even our friend Peggy the sommelier, could love. (Peg, I’m sure it was temp and humidity controlled… if for no other reason than to protect the delicate pages of the OED) Later, I learn Gantley’s has repeatedly won “best wine list in New Zealand” and is rated as one of the top 100 lists in New York’s Wine Spectator magazine. Good thing I didn’t know that fact before committing to that last glass of wine. Kris refuses to show me the tab. I am grateful. Back at our Bella Vista motel, the room is small but cozy and wi-fi only costs me $6 NZ for an hour. More than worth it to cement my reputation for boring all my friends with one more inane blog entry. And far, far less expensive than that last glass of wine at Gantley’s, our own quaint and oh so private restaurant nestled deep in the steep hills overlooking a frosty Queenstown.