On the way to Fox Glacier, is the Haast pass. Assuming tall mountains and crazy winding roads, it’s a easy slope. Bit of a misnomer, really. Expecting snow, we see precious little. Only on the very tops of Mt Cook and Mt Tasman. At sunset we make a quick dash to get a good view and coo at the changing colours with a handful of others standing in the same field.
By 05:30 I’m awake and furious. Those sandflies have made sleep a joke. I’m scratching, painfully aware of the futility. My dreams have unsettled me and relentless noises off from the other bed are the final straw. I’m up rapidly and jump in the car, grumpy as can be. But I have a plan. Last night’s sky was clear, so I figure the same will be true now. 2 miles down the road is Lake Matheson, a much photographed body of water which frames the mountains and, in the right conditions, reflects them in it’s surface. This is the poster for South Island. Pulling into the car park the headlights startle a hare. We make eye contact and he lopes off slowly. I’m a little less grumpy now.
There are 3 viewpoints. I choose the furthest one and set off in the pitch dark, dew on the ground, torch in hand. Still fuming inwardly I march the 45 minutes to the end of the lake, racing to beat the sunrise. It doesn’t take long to feel at peace again. Long before anything stirs, I pass an upturned tree stump, full of glow-worms. Beautiful. Everything is silent. Weirdly there is no dawn chorus. I make the platform, up above the lake. The sky is lighting up and the mountains are in front of me, reflected perfectly, mist still rising. I take endless photos of course. A pair of ducks have stirred and are now on the lake. The mirror’s cracked…
People begin appearing, cameras in hand, whispering. I find it interesting no-one speaks in a normal voice. There’s more noise in a library. Time to leave, checking other viewpoints on the way. Congratulating myself on experiencing the sunrise alone, I treat myself to a slap-up breakfast at the excellent cafe. Coach loads of Chinese tourists file past, selfie sticks in hand. I feel smug, but a little guilty to have left my friend back at the motel, even if she was snoring for her country.
Returning with my mood reset, we rendezvous and head over to the heli-tour operator. Safety brief delivered, we are issued with boots and allocated a helicopter. In a field nearby helicopters ferry an endless stream of people up the valley onto the ice of the Fox Glacier* that gives the small town it’s name. After the barren, monochrome landscape of Antarctica, this is strange to my eyes. It’s 20°, sunny and warm. Apart from the glacier, the mountains and valleys that surround it are green with temperate rainforest and lacking in snow. Cattle graze nearby. From up here you can see down the floodplain to the sea, sparkling in the far distance. It’s as if the ice is an afterthought.
A small, flat area is marked out as a landing pad. We gather to don crampons and meet our ice-guide. He’s a chatty character, axe slung nonchalantly over his shoulder and fearless in his footwork. We, by contrast, are like newborn deer ! Confidence comes quickly, though, as we drink in the surroundings.
The ice is every shade from white through to deep turquoises, with a few muddy, silty streaks. Lumpy and uneven, full of fissures, crevasses, caves, bridges, waterfalls, pools and streams. Jon is meticulous in checking every place that we put our feet. And rightly so.
Running water is everywhere, unlike my previous icy experiences. The whole surface glistens wet, melting under the harsh New Zealand sun. We discuss global warming and the significant shrinking of glaciers. It seems there’s a mix of natural recession and accelerated melting that contributes, but I can’t help wondering how long the current business model for local tourism will survive. Fox Glacier moves up to 5m per day, yet melts more than this. Jon tells us the surface changes constantly.
He encourages me to fill my water bottle. The water’s sweet and untainted. Apparently only Antarctic ice melt is purer ! With cameras clicking, we climb through fissures and explore caves, knowing they will probably be gone tomorrow.
3 hours later we are whisked smoothly down the mountain in the helicopter. Fox Glacier is a town with one purpose, so we head off to see if Frans Joseph Glacier has more to offer. Bigger, but otherwise identical, we realise sunset is approaching and head back to Matheson Lake.
Acting as guide I pick our viewpoints for the fading light. It’s over quicker than the sunrise, but the sky is still a lovely, photogenic orange behind the mountains. Cameras click, grown ups whisper. Two very small boys spontaneously start singing, lacking the self-consciousness of adulthood. Falling silent for this impromptu entertainment, we all applaud their performance.
I’m also applauding a remarkable day.
*http://glacierhub.org/2016/07/26/as-glaciers-melt-tourists-keep-on-coming-in-new-zealand/