HIT THE ROAD AND LOSE THE TRAIL

Newly equipped with a fully functioning Self-Contained campervan, the time had finally arrived for the three of us to hit the road. The first stop on our route was Arthur’s Pass National Park, which we selected for the promises of stunning mountain views and its convenient placement just two-hours west from Amberley. This meant that, after an embarrassingly (yet all too characteristically) lengthy morning of deliberating about how to best fit all of our belongings into the new van interior, we stockpiled fresh provisions (went to the grocery store) and set off for the first of many ventures into New Zealand’s famous wilderness.

However, as things are never allowed to go to plan on day one of any adventure, we found ourselves with a deflated tire as we began to ascend the pass. “No worries,” we told ourselves, “We’ll just locate the nearest gas station and fill this puppy up.” Ah, yes, but the thing about escaping civilization in favor of the middle of nowhere is that there aren’t all that many gas stations. A fool’s errand ensued as we attempted to operate a faulty air pump that only further deflated the tire, then passed through about one gazillion farm towns with just the one gas station and no inflation station. Finally, after driving practically back to Christchurch with 8 PSI on the driver’s side, our luck changed. With four tires full to bursting, we spun around and ultimately arrived at our campsite at midnight after willing Scrappy up steep grades in second gear.* Before we fell asleep, we curled up in our blankets to appreciate the cozy ambience produced by the drawn curtains and the fairy lights strewn across the ceiling.

*: Shout-out to all the Kiwi 18-wheelers and their drivers who endure these privations on a daily basis.

ARTHUR'S PASS NATIONAL PARK

The next morning we awoke early, raring to tackle the day. For Pete and Noah, this meant exploring the park’s broad network of trails by going on a little jog. For all of nine minutes, the excursion was going swimmingly; the winding gravel road snaked along the base of a wide glacial valley with snow-capped peaks piercing the horizon. Alas, all good things must come to an end, and this particular thing lasted all of one mile before the road gave way to an expanse layered with fist-sized rocks broken only by winding rivers of frigid glacial run-off. We did not come out here just to turn around, though, so we proceeded with the only option left: picking our way through the ankle-breaker field and fording the same river a dizzying number of times. Luckily, the spectacular surrounding landscape redeemed every numb toe and an adventure was salvaged from the mess after all. 

Such was our new lifestyle that we thought: What better way to recover from a half-marathon through a stone ball pit than by spending the next two days climbing a new mountain and doing it all again the day after? And, continuing the recent trend, why bother hiking someplace when you can just run it?

These were the questions we asked ourselves when we plotted a course for Otehake Hot Springs, just over the line between the east and west side of the Alps, then down a 16% grade. Conor, apprehensive of an unprecedented-for-him 15 mile run, noted that the impending return trip up that slope would be Scrappy’s greatest test of endurance, just as the run was sure to be his. It began akin to the track to Grandmother’s house, but in reverse: over the woods and through several rivers. Fun, crunchy terrain for fun, crunchy boys. 

The run itself was at times a true trail run, with Pete and Noah setting a cruising 11-minute-mile pace while Conor thundered behind in a controlled careen through root-gnarled and rock-studded terrain. However, as Noah navigated by map and Pete wayfound by vibes, the trail turned from a run into a climb-scramble-scoot up and down steep slopes. The time spent on the last mile and a half swiftly eclipsed the time spent on the prior six. After a trek through a river bed, with Pete scrambling up banks to test offshoot streams and Noah wading across in search of sulfur, we found the hot springs. We enjoyed a nice soak accompanied by a nutritious lunch of chocolate chips (and some controversial trail mix that Conor eschewed in favor of more chocolate chips) then ran back, crossing the last river and cresting the hill back to the welcoming arms of Scrappy.

The world must have recognized that we were having a little too much fun and our plans were coming to fruition a little too smoothly, so the status quo was restored when we devoured our pita wraps and Noah turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. Pete kindly pointed out that the headlight knob was set to ON, and we employed our honed deductive reasoning skills to conclude that we had left the headlights on from the morning fog and the battery had died. Following a long call to AA Roadside Service, a local mechanic arrived to jump the car and send us on our way, making sure to leave enough time to interrogate us about whether we voted for Trump (not wanting to spark conflict with an otherwise kind, helpful man, we elegantly dodged his inquiries).

AORAKI / MT. COOK NATIONAL PARK

We once again re-entered society to resupply before disappearing into the mountains, naively anticipating an efficient in-and-out grocery trip to split up a long day on the road. Tragically, as Conor and Noah shouldered the weighty task of picking out bottles of wine, Pete discovered that our recently perfectly inflated tire had completely collapsed (think pancake, but flatter. A crepe, maybe? No - somehow flatter still). Our stretch of bad van luck was conveniently met by a NASCAR pit crew of a tire shop whose members immediately identified the self-driving screw that had driven itself through our poor tire, replaced it with a fresh one, and, I kid you not, managed to find the time to interrogate us about whether we’re fans of the big, ugly orange man set to take office back home (let your imagination run wild about how we cleverly evaded this one).

We next found ourselves a couple hundred miles south, in the famed Aoraki/Mt. Cook National Park. In a desperate effort to avoid crowded, manicured valley paths, we scrambled our way up a steep mountainside (pictures redacted to allay concern from well-meaning family members). We received an immediate reward for our tricky ascent in the form of an empty three-person hut resting beneath a 10,000-foot massif speckled with hanging glaciers. We wasted away the afternoon playing cards and throwing snowballs (if you find yourself gazing down a steep snow slope with no skis to entertain you, try snow bocce!) as other tourists, who fortunately thought to bring tents, greeted us at the hut. Believe it or not, the moment was so serene that no real blood was drawn during our unusually amiable game of Hearts. We descended the next morning and plodded back toward civilization, resigned to rest and scheme up the next adventure.

THANKSGIVING IN NZ

Everyone’s favorite study-abroad student, Liam Reynolds, came back into the mix with a tempting invitation: join him for a belated Kiwi/American thanksgiving feast the following day. The three of us, having spent proper Thanksgiving day up on Sefton Bivvy with a lackluster backpacking dinner, leapt at the invitation. With enough manners to know that one can’t show up to a feast empty handed, we began brainstorming our contribution. Limited by our lack of oven and refrigeration, we landed on providing drinks for the dinner: wine gifted to us from Matt and Helen and a classy cocktail. 

While November in the U.S. brings chilly, crisp weather, here in New Zealand we’re soaking up the sun in shorts and sandals. Traditional Thanksgiving cocktails wouldn’t quite fit the vibe—enter the Corona Mojito, a refreshing burst of minty sunshine. Lucky for you, we’re going to show you how to make it right here in just 4 simple steps: 

The Summer Down Under Corona Mojito: 

Step 1: Muddle mint leaves in a Stable Bottomed Glass and add 2oz lime juice.

Step 2: Mix in 2oz white rum, 4oz soda water, and 1 teaspoon of sugar. 

Step 3: Open a Corona bottle, quickly and carefully place the bottle top down into the Mojito. 

Step 4: Throw in a straw and enjoy a self-equalizing Corona Mojito. 

The next day, four disheveled boys awoke with a plan: Head north for a relaxing weekend on the beach. We began to slowly mobilize and gather all the necessary supplies: Spikeball, boogie boards, and enough food to feed a small army. As we made our way up the coast, our group of four grew to five, then six, and eventually eight. Two of Liam's friends from the Thanksgiving dinner joined us, and along the way, we picked up two German hitchhikers for the night.

The next day, Noah and Pete, tired of their long runs being disrupted by unrunnable terrain—or the complete absence of trail—opted for a 16-mile road run on nearly flat ground. No surprises this time, we figured. 

Yet soon, we found ourselves battling 40 mph headwinds under 85-degree sun, with a UV index of 11. For two boys accustomed to Vermont's milder conditions, this turned out to be far more punishing than any steep trail. After 12 grueling miles, we returned feeling even worse than we had the morning before. 

What’s next for us? Conor is moving to Christchurch to compete in the NZ division 1 club ultimate frisbee level. Pete and Noah are brainstorming an ambitious plan for their next big adventure (more on this later). Will Pete and Noah go on a runnable trail run? Can Scrappy make it through the next couple weeks without visiting another mechanic? All these questions will be answered in a couple weeks if you stick around and subscribe to the website with your email! 

By The Numbers: 

Corona mojitos concocted: 16

Streams of Melodrama by Lorde: 5 

Runnable trails discovered: 0

Thanksgiving chickens consumed: 4 

Backcountry boy baths (please sponsor us, Dr. Bronner’s): 3

Glacial stream crossings (in shoes and socks): 26