Our last hike was a four day outing on the Gillespie Track, near Wanaka. As usual we started late in the day (3 pm for a 14 km day), and this time we were further hampered by a braided river that we needed to ford. It was all of 100 feet from the car.
This was our first ford. Wesley put on his water shoes and walked through while the rest of us winced our way across barefoot before deciding that it was worth wearing flip flops in the water, even if they made it easier to slip.
Next we had a few kilometers through a bog full of very vocal cows, then a jaunt along the bank of the river that involved a completely excessive amount of up and down to deal with boulders and creeks. Night fell and we were still hiking because we wanted to get to the hut that was at the end of the river valley.
There was only one problem, and that was the river.
Kiwis are rather casual about things like river crossings. We knew that the river was there, we knew there was no bridge, and we knew that we would need to cross it. But the ranger at doc had given no sign that this crossing would be anything to worry about.
The river was not high when we were ready to ford, but it was certainly not a gentle stream or a babbling brook. We decided that a late night crossing without even the aid of moonlight would be a bad idea, and instead settled down in our tents directly across from the hut.
In the morning Anna and I awoke to the gentle pitter patter of a hundred sandflies inside our tent and bailed to find the sandfly repellent. When we could finally stand still without being bitten we could see the hut across the river.
Wesley ate breakfast in his hermetically sealed tent-he definitely wins when there are sandflies and it's not raining-and Nathan Golshan packed up faster than he ever has. We were on the trail by 8:30 am-a feat that is much easier when you are camping a scarce meter from the trail. We didn't tell Golshan how early we were moving until we were sure he was awake, but when he found out he said indignantly, "I've been scammed!"
The next day we had a mellow seven km up to Siberia Hut. No fords, so the title of this post was sort of a lie. Golshan went fishing and the rest of us swam or hid from the sandflies in the hut and read in the sunlight. I particularly enjoyed being absorbed in a book and looking up to see snow capped peaks close enough to hike and a river close enough to swim in.
The third day we forded a river early and then hiked up to Crucible Lake with just day packs.
Darren converted the top of his pack into a stylish fanny pack while Anna wore hers as a messenger bag. Wesley took his backpacking pack but emptied it out until it was feather light. Golshan smugly pulled out his lightweight day pack, and I conveniently discovered that my sleeping bag bag turns into a brilliant day pack with the addition of a few straps for my shoulders and my tent's tyvek floor as a back sheet.
Crucible Lake was still covered in ice and had small avalanches falling into it on the opposite side of the lake. This didn't stop Wesley from jumping in for a quick swim, on the grounds that "You can't go to a lake without swimming!"
The next day was the last day of hiking in New Zealand, and we celebrated it with a long 22 km of hiking. By the end Anna said she was eating trail mix not because she was hungry but because she was bored: 9 km of cow pastures was rather trying on sore feet.
I chose to do all of the fords on the last day with my boots on to make my feet feel better. My boots are pretty amazing. I walked at least 10 km in soaked boots after the first ford and didn't get a single blister.
We ended the day with celebratory fish and chips in Wanaka and fell soundly asleep in our tents.
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