The Virtual Reinhard
Created | Updated Apr 6, 2006
Auckland From The Harbour
A Letter from the Franz Josef Glacier Part One
Blackwater rafting, Waitomo caves
We just happened to be on New Zealand North Island, where we had
been Blackwater Rafting. This entails poking your bottom through an inflateable rubber ring, chucking yourself into a nearby river, and allowing it to take you underground through a dark hole.
Apart from being entertaining in itself, the main point is to see the glow-worms which make their home in the cavern roofs. The worms, encased in silken coccoons, emit a ghostly green light as they try to attract food in the form of newly hatched insects flying up from the water below.
As you drift along in complete darkness, rubber ring bouncing harmlessly off the occasional rock, a stunningly beautiful constellation of green stars passes by overhead. It is weird, it is wonderful, and it is thoroughly to be recommended.
Once back out into the outside world, we towelled off and considered our next task, which was to climb the Franz Josef glacier. Not only was this on the other side of the country, it was on the other island and several days' travel away.
Wellington Cable Car From The Botanical Gardens
Nevertheless, from Auckland at the northern end of North Island it is possible to catch a train to Wellington on the southern tip. From here you can catch a ferry to Picton at the northern tip of South Island, then another train to Christchurch on the east coast, yet another train clear across the country to Greymouth in the west, and finally a bus to Franz Josef. Since these trains between them comprise some of the most beautiful scenic railways in the southern hemisphere, we weren't too upset about it.
South Island Looms Across The Cook Strait, Salt Flats On The Way To Christchurch, Heading Westward, Ever Westward
The Franz Josef Glacier
Finally, then, after stopping at a roadside cafe that sold Possum Pie (In Australia, possums are cute furry animals; in NZ, they are introduced vermin and have a nice rich flavour), we arrived in the little backpacker town of Franz Josef. With something of the air of a cheap ski town, it is a place to party, but not a place to dwell on the millions of tonnes of ice set to roll over the town if the climate changes. After a celebratory beer or two, we dropped off to sleep in our slightly dodgy hotel, unsure of what the morrrow might bring.
In fact, the dawn light saw us trudging through light drizzle up the terminal moraine of the eponymous glacier. As we walked, our guides split the group of fifty into more manageable segments of ten; our own guide was Imogen, a chatty little New Zealander who was fairly new to the glacier, but who turned out to be an excellent guide...
The Long Trek To The Foot Of The Glacier
