She'll be coming round the mountain

First of all, my room in the youth hostel at Arthur's Pass on the South Island is called Big Tops. I see this more as a challenge to attempt one of the major peaks here, than a reference to how much weight I seem to be putting on. 

But the weather is set to close in so I decide to go up Scott's Track, which promises good viewpoints on the way up to Avalanche Peak, which I may not reach. It's relentlessly uphill on a very steep and winding bouldery track, every corner a haul up over waist-high tree roots or gigantic piles of stones.

I can see across to the Devil's Punchbowl falls, over to the Otira valley where the grey road snakes down towards the viaduct, and down to the east where the weather looks annoyingly sunny. Grrr. At the end of the treeline I meet four Spanish blokes from the hostel coming down. Sounds like they made it to the top. Double grrr. Because by now it's raining and I'm out in the open. When it gets particularly persistent I shelter under a gorse bush, then battle on.

I can see Avalanche Peak up ahead but then it disappears in the clouds and I think, this is crazy, there will be no views, I am on my own, and I only have a flimsy cagoule and a Niagara Falls style rain poncho. My dad would be most disapproving of my inappropriate clothing. It calls to mind the time I walked up a peak in the west of Scotland with him. He took one look at the wellies I was wearing and said, "I hope we don't meet anyone I know!"
Anyway, I decide to turn back. After a brief and rain-lashed detour to the Devil's Punchbowl falls and a quick look at Jack's Hut, an old workman's cottage that looks a bit like a Dalek...


...I drive on in search of some of that eastern sunshine, not quite believing the dramatic lighting effects it creates around the high country, particularly over the (very dry) riverbed of the Waimakariri.

I take a wander around Castle Hill, a strange other-wordly expanse of limestone outcrops and boulders, used in the closing battle sequences of one of the Narnia films and all the more spooky because I am completely alone.





While watching the sun set from my perch on top of a giant boulder I hear from Jon and Janine, my friends in Christchurch, the sad news that their cat Jimmy has been knocked down and killed on the road outside their house. It's a terrible shock. We decide it's best if I stay out for another day to allow them some family grieving time. Down in the foothills in a place called Springfield, I find a handy youth hostel, Smylies, run by a New Zealand / Japanese couple. The place dates back to the 1870s when it was a guesthouse serving the Bullock train that passed through town. Inside is a warren of rooms of odd dimensions featuring mismatched furnishings, an impressive DVD library and a vast collection of Manga on the shelves.
There's also one of those wooden Japanese baths where the water is kept scalding hot. You give yourself a good scrub in the shower first, then get into the tub, slowly. I manage (just) a ten-minute dook and it soothes my aching muscles no end. I check the temperature and it's 40 degrees. I'm sleeping in the Pink Room with the most blissful double bed. Also staying at the hostel tonight are Liz and Liz, sisters-in-law from Auckland, and Maggie, a muscular American chick who keeps her woolly beanie on at all times.

The Lonely Planet guide that I've downloaded to my Kindle (great idea for travellers, folks) suggests a tramp up nearby Rakaia Gorge (that's one for the Bulgarians where Rakia is the national drink). It's only half an hour away and hopefully the weather will stay dry. On the way I stop in Sheffield and stock up on comfort food for the Puentener-Kings.  

The gorge is lined with chalky cliffs and the water is pure aquamarine. At the start is a bridge that looks like a shaving mirror that has been fully extended. 

The path meanders along the gorge, up and down through thick sections of bush, then out onto open verges overlooking the chasm.
 There's a short detour down to the Snowdon coal mines, now caged off, with the tracks that took the wagons of coal down to the river being taken over by vegetation.

I'm followed by a friendly Fantail (Piwakawaka) for about ten minutes. Jon disappoints me later by saying it was only hoping that my footfall on the path would bring some tasty insects to the surface.

The walk ends at an expansive lookout on top of a cone-shaped hill. I can see Mount Hutt's ski lifts on the lower slopes but not much further up than that as Hutt has a cloud hat on.

I drive back via Methven, in winter a thriving ski town but right now the ski bars and shops look most incongruous.
On my last day in Christchurch Jon and I find a gap site filled with empty chairs, one for each of the 185 people killed in the earthquake. Visitors are invited to choose a chair and sit awhile with their thoughts. It's powerful, elegant, moving.

Finally here's my tribute to Jimmy the cat. You were adored.