Mount Cook

One of my abiding memories of New Zealand from 1990 was turning a corner on the road from Christchurch to Queenstown and being gob smacked by the beauty of my first glimpse of Mount Cook. Here I am again looking across the blue-grey glacial lake bordered by evergreen forest and the eye is drawn up towards the snow-capped triangle of New Zealand’s highest mountain. The beauty is undiminished and this time rather than carry straight on to Queenstown we’re going to take a closer look. After a dodgy lunch in a ‘one sheep’ town, a Harley-from-hell to contend with and the temperature dropping by the minute, Karen is understandably less enthused, but she kindly lets me indulge my mountaineering fantasy. We get to the Hermitage hotel in just over an hour, a trip that used to take two days before the era of the paved road. Karen got an excellent deal on the Internet for 175 NZ$ as opposed to the rack rate of 760 NZ$ and just as well because it’s not that luxurious. Still it’s the best hotel in town with the best views of the mountain, if only the inconsiderate clouds would get out of the way. There are only a few wispy ones but Mount Cook seems to drag them all towards itself, rather like a selfish sleeper on a chilly night hogging all the blankets.

Rather than leave in the morning we decide to ‘stay another day’ à la South East Asia and follow in the footsteps of the recently deceased Kiwi King of the Mountains Sir Edmund Hilary. After a substantial breakfast we set off with a packed lunch and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in a custom made cooler bag (Sir Edmund celebrated his ascent with a bottle of claret so we’re sort of following tradition). We take the 4WD for the first few kilometres which saves a couple of hours and soon after the start of the walk proper we pass the memorial to more than 50 people who have died on this dangerous mountain over the years – a sobering thought. It’s an inauspicious start as the kids’ pace is slow, especially when we have to negotiate a narrow pass where it’s raining small pebbles blown across from a nearby ridge. I consider turning back but the kids soon calm down and seem ready for more punishment so we press on.

The pace soon improves dramatically and the children are excellent walking all the way over ankle-twisting rocky paths, slippery swing bridges and thorny scrub to our destination: a freezing greyish-white glacial lake at the base of the mountain itself. At the far end of the lake is a solid ice wall from which chunks drop from time to time. These icebergs are naturally sculpted by the water that has created strange, animal-shaped statues. Transfixed by these floating beasts, I forget how freezing it has become. Luckily we are prepared with extra layers as well as an excellent lunch of fresh bread, local blue cheese and a delicious apple and rosemary chutney all washed down with the above mentioned bubbly – bloody marvellous. I’m proud to say that the children walk all the way back as well (apart from two 10 minute carries for Harley) and we all arrive back knackered at 5pm. We may not have reached the summit like Sir Edmund but a five-hour hike must be practically the equivalent of climbing Everest for a four-year-old so well done Harley. Granny would be proud of Ruby too who didn’t complain once. I’m proud of Karen too who didn’t whinge either, despite it being far from her idea of a perfect day. Thank you, family.

Before we leave the next morning we just have time to check out the Edmund Hilary Museum including an attached 3D cinema. This shows great bird’s eye views of the mountain (literally) as well as a skier’s view (what a nutter!). The cinema then converts into a mock observatory as a giant screen rises up above our heads and informs us how incredibly small the earth really is in comparison to the universe as a whole. There was I thinking we did something really impressive as a family, but it’s all immaterial in the greater scheme of things…..