Mueller, Hooker, Tasman, Ball

First, an announcement. I managed over one kilometre of front crawl in the pool last week! 

Second, our weekend away, a Mueller, Hooker, Tasman, Ball epic that John le Carré would have envied. We arrived into Christchurch on a ‘Koru Hour’ flight: a 40 minute hop in which the flight attendants frenziedly dish out wine and beers to those who enjoy necking their beverages. Sculling a Pinot Noir while landing in an A320 is a unique experience.

Our stomachs were settled by some excellent soup and crumble at Diana and David’s house. Refreshed by their hospitality, on Saturday we took off across the Canterbury Plains, snatching an underwhelming quiche in Tekapo before heading into the heart of the Southern Alps, Mt Cook Village.

We spent the afternoon walking up to the terminal lake at the bottom of the Hooker Glacier. Aoraki/Mt Cook towered above and below us – the tallest mountain in New Zealand and a pretty cool reflection respectively.

Dora below Aoraki/Mt Cook, in front of
Hooker Glacier, holding a bit of it

We got back to the car as dusk arrived, driving to the nearby Glentanner Holiday Park, where a well-insulated cabin awaited. I was unsure what had attracted Dora to this particular accommodation, until we ‘discovered’ it had Sky TV on which to watch the Lions v NZ Provincial Barbarians. The game was great fun, as the ‘Baabaas’ demonstrated phenomenal determination to be only narrowly defeated by a decidedly shaky/jetlagged Lions.

Ball Shelter in red

The next day some cloud hovered threateningly atop the surrounding peaks. Our planned flight (more on this later) was unsurprisingly postponed, so we took off to the relatively low-lying Ball Shelter, which sits at the foot of Ball Ridge which is next to Ball Glacier. 

Dora peers at dirty Tasman glacier

The walk took us along the lateral moraine of the Tasman glacier, which is partially accessible by 4x4s but then degenerates into a fun windy path through scree-scattered wilderness. We then made a short ascent up Ball Ridge before being sensible and turning back – the remaining four hours of light wasn’t nearly enough to attempt the 2-3 day Ball Pass.

Our return was relatively easy. This may have been because it was largely downhill, or because we were lured by the temptingly-sounding Chamois restaurant/bar/mess hall in Mt Cook Village. Once there we dined out on hot chocolates and meat, as the snow came down almost as fast as our eyelids.

Monday morning was a bank holiday for the Queen’s Birthday (thank you Liz). Nature celebrated with blue skies, a perfect backdrop for a helicopter out  onto the Tasman glacier to do some ice-walking! We were led by the friendly Kirsten, and joined by three affable, if wobbly, Chinese women. While it was somewhat disheartening to travel the entire length of the walk of the previous day in about 3 minutes (by chopper), the view more than made up for it.

Once landed we donned crampons and set off across the snowy ice, poking through the fresh powder to the ground for bottomless crevasses as we went.  Kirsten occasionally wielded her ice pick to cut steps in the folds of the glacier for us. She also took us into an ice cave, hollowed out by one of the myriad streams than run through the Tasman. The compact glacial ice was eerie blue and smooth. We also bumped into some climbers who were making their way down the glacier having spent the night further up where “they used to ski in the 60s” (Dora’s Mum included!).

The helicopter picked us up, generating a mini-snowstorm as it landed. We were whisked back to the small local airport, where we de-donned our gear and set off for Mueller Hutt.

Mueller Hutt sits atop Sealy Ridge, where it overlooks the Mueller glacier. It is reached via 1846 steps (yes, we counted on the way down), followed by a couple of kilometres of scrambling. The steps end at the Sealy tarns, where some large boring puddles contrasted with a small exciting man who threw himself off the side of the mountain as we arrived!

Luckily he was wearing a parasail, and landed safely near the car park far below. We continued up to the top of the ridge, passing through an increasingly white landscape and passing by some increasingly judgy people wearing crampons and the like. However, our cheapo walking boots kept us well gripped until we reached Mueller Hutt, which was well worth the exhausting hike. It sits on the ridgeline, a hard red box on a soft white background.  Some friendly Eastern Europeans (we presume because they were friendly) took our photograph.

The descent involved purposeful bum-sliding and step-counting in equal measure, before a drive back to Christchurch, punctuated by (takeaway) pizza and (petrol station) ice cream! A ‘Jucy Snooze’ hotel near the airport recharged our batteries enough for us to make an early morning flight, for a coffee fuelled day of ‘productive’ work.

Next weekend we’ll be resting up in Wellington, sorting through a thousand photos of snow-clad peaks and researching the cost of crampons for our next winter adventure!