THE HIGHEST MOUNTAIN

For tonight, I have my eye on a B&B that's on a working sheep ranch, but I've put Ron on notice. No private bathroom, no deal, charm notwithstanding. He spent an hour or so talking with Thomas this morning about all the goings-on at his property and found out that when T. came to New Zealand, he bought a horse, rode it all over the county, living off the land for elevan months. "Oh, I could never do that!", per Aunt Sonia. More to the point, wouldn't want to. We left Glenorchy and sped along to Queenstown and Starbucks. Yes! We realized that since we left home, we've seen nary a coffee maker. It's either instant or the one-cup-at-at-time espresso method. We've finally gotten the ordering down. We're long flat black or is it flat long black? Poor Ron has a pretty long haul today driving through the middle of the South Island. We stop several times, the most productive of which is at a merino wool shop where Ron buys socks and wonderful fleece-lined slippers and I get some yarn and a great Ice Breaker brand tee-shirt of the lightest washable wool. Nice goods. Back on route, I spot a fabulous river and tell Ron to slow down and I realize there is a bridge and a bungy-jumping platform. I say, "Trun, turn!", and we see it's free viewing and, sure enough, some freakazoid is getting ready to jump. Keep in mind it's 40 degrees around 9 A.M. and he's wearing shorts and a tee shirt and will be jumping into a river bed, dunking optional. We get some great photos. The jumper opts out of the dunking, but has to grab a long pole that's extended from the rubber rescue boat awaiting him on the river. This is done while he's hanging upside down. Post jump, he's lowered into the boat and unceremoniously dumped onto the dock from which the poor bastard walks back up the hill in his skimpy clothes to where the rest of us have been observing his foolhearty ass in our warm jackets and hats. We get along to Twizel (long I) and check out the B&B. There is an unobstructed view of Mt. Cook from our lovely room with an attached bath and, because we are not staying for breakfast, our rate is reduced to about $60 US. Big bargains on rooms, if not foods. We drive up to Aoraki/Mount Cook National Park, enjoying the unbelievably blue water in the adjacent Lake Pukaki. The closest to the color I've ever seen is Lake Louise. The turquoise color of this and other lakes in the region result from "rock flour", sediment from a stony-bottomed glacier that passed through, leaving us the richer for it. At the Park Visitor Center, we decide on one of the walks that takes us across a long suspension bridge over a raging river. Although there is no one behind us, a guide on the other side sees fit to being over his 4 charges so that we meet mid-way. The guide has on a backpack as do we, and the bridge is definitely not made for passing. Idiot! Mt. Cook is almost 12,400 feet in elevation and is well-covered in snow when we're there. Maybe always. We walk on the Hooker Valley Track. Our walk reveals a few birds, an ice-blue glacier, and lots of friendly trekkers. The only places we've felt even a little crowded are in the cities, and we mostly have the outdoors to ourselves so long as we arrive before or after the ubiquitious tour buses. We go to Twizel, population 1015, in search of food but find open only 2 fish and chips places which smell strongly of old cooking oil. We find a nice coffee shop where the owner is willing to make us pizzas even thought it's a bit before the dinner hour. We head back to Omahau Downs and our lovely room. Here, at 8:30 P.M., the sun is illuminating Mt. Cook and his brothers. The sheep seem to have left our front yard. Perhaps they've found a windless area for the night. Hope so.