Today’s kilometre coverage was relatively short since we wanted to spend time at the Fox Glacier. We needed, but failed to get, an early start, in case the western highway was still blocked. Luckily, it was open – the diggers had been out shovelling the landslip over the edge of the road, helping it on its way to the sea. “No loitering on the roads.”
On the way we stopped at Skip Creek to take two boardwalks through a rainforest swamp and round a dune lake. The first was like an alien planet, with tree ferns, dinosaur trees, bromeliads, and every conceivable form of mossy growth. Primordial shapes and ancient forms loomed out of the tea-coloured waters, gargling and dripping.
At last, it stopped raining and whilst the leaves dripped the undergrowth steamed and shafts of sunlight turned submerged ferns to copper filigree and unevolved primordial mosses into sequinned cushions. In the stillness, a few birds called across the aeons, pearls of sound on a string of silence. Not a creature moved, the only evidence of any fauna at all being the dew-flecked webs, huge, intricate and undisturbed. The American driver of a campervan had recommended the walk to us as ‘nifty’. Whilst not the adjective I’d have chosen, I know what he meant. The dune-locked lake creates a rich wetland between the rainforest and the wild coastal habitat of the Tasman Sea. Whilst the vegetation is diverse, two ducks and a few gulls graced its shores. In a couple of thousand years, it will be silted up and reclaimed by the forest anyway. The beach is made up of flat pebbles, sculptured driftwood and wind – all in all, an invigorating 90-minute interlude. Further up the coast, we saw fur seals, but the penguins really have gone out to sea.
At Fox, the first road to view the glacier was closed due to landslides and flooding, but the second was open to the car park. The footpath to the nose of the glacier was roped off, and the reason was clear – unusually high water levels had eroded the banks, so the route was no more. A couple of guided groups were on the ice from another route and a trio of scouts in shorts and calf tattoos impressed the female observers by their speed and confidence descending the ice. More awesome by far, however, was the river: in full spate, a giant iced coffee cataract filled the valley and capered in hectic fury carrying its lode of brash ice and scouring rock. Standing in isolation on an ancient narrow suspension bridge the awesome power of the water is intimidating. Even the adrenaline-junkies don’t attempt the river in this condition.
As we drove to Lake Matheson for dinner, the sun made a watery showing and the cloud lifted a little to allow us to dine with a view of Mounts Cook and Tasman, on a very well-cooked turbot. The bars we were recommended by the receptionist at the motel were rather tame, whereas the ones she warned us off were more fun and didn’t charge the 20% excess for it being a statutory holiday. What a rip-off! We watched the All Blacks slaughter the French 39-12 and Adrian tried to teach me the rules of rugby. We nearly joined the ‘Handle Club’ where for $15 you get 25% off all your beer for a year, in a larger pot and your first one is free! Must tell Mary at the R & C.