SK and I shouldered our packs for our overnight at Sefton Bivvy. We began on what was a well-traveled day walk for most tourists, and after crossing a river began bickering over which trail was the unmarked trail we were supposed to follow to get up to the Bivvy. As it turned out, they were all rabbit trails that held no logical direction and our feet were fooling our minds into feeling purposeful direction. I had to back track a few times when my trail ended at a cliff face or drop, but for the most part SK and I were able to intuit the direction without too heavily evaluating the iphone photo directions.
Our path took us alongside a pounding river whose deep percussion kneaded our ear drums with the same ferocity as a thai masseur. The sounds fed the sense of dramatic intensity when I realized I would have to cross the sheening boulders and glacier fed ice water. At this point, the trail became more obvious with previous feet eroding a route, and we began walking up a very steep hill side trying to avoid rolling our ankles on the rocks which had only settled after a recent – minor – avalanche.
But it was all fine, the views were stunning, and the height-cliff-thing wasn’t too bad until the trail seemed to end. Rather, to all appearances it seemed to have ended at the bottom of this rock wall where some punk had drilled a trail marker into some impossible location. We were supposed to do some bouldering with our backpacks up this cliff with a god damn drop of approximately a mile. Needless to say: my indignant stubbornness over powered my fear and the compromise was to sing my “Walking down/up a cliff” song (full lyrics below) that I composed while trekking the Himalayas. A few minutes later, SK joined in with “Yellow Submarine”. We all do what we have to.
It made reaching the summit that much more thrilling: and a bivvy the colour of sunset blushed in welcome. At this point I discovered the New Zealandish word “bivvy” translates into American as “shack.” Looking inside, I realized four humans would literally be shoulder to shoulder with no room to spare across its width. There were a few mildew ridden pads and the outdoor toilet was bursting. Minor details. We dropped our packs and explored the still mountain shoulder that was entirely our own. We played in the snow patches and around boulders. It seemed the rocks had been dyed by the sun and then frozen in its rosy glow.
After eating our re-hydrated beef curry (rehydrated beef, at best, has the consistency of beef jerky), the rescue service radioed all of the various huts around Aoraki/Mt. Cook to make sure all was well. Although they were mostly concerned with the people en route to summit Aoraki/Mt. Cook, SK and I decided to answer for Sefton Bivvy. This is how the conversation went:
Radio Woman: “Base to Sefton Bivvy. Sefton Bivvy do you copy?”
SK: “Sefton Bivvy to base. We copy.”
RW: “We have you registered as five occupants. Are you all present?” [the three whippersnappers who showed up later slept in the nearby “rock shelter” — i.e. under a boulder.]
SK: “Yes.”
RW: “How are the water levels in the tank? We heard you were getting a bit low.”
SK: “There’s only about six centimeters left in the tank.”
RW: “Are there any other sources of water? Any snow nearby?”
SK: “Yup, there is some snow pretty close. Oh, and the toilet is really full.”
– silence –
RW: “Well, we’ll try not to resort to the toilet water too soon. Over and out.”
– muffled chuckles across the channel as all other huts laugh –
SK: – laughing – “Over and out.”
Again our stargazing was interrupted by a celestial diva’s lunar spotlight. But at dawn (and one must always wake up before dawn when in the mountains) the shifting painting of sunrise puts the greatest impressionists to shame. Monet should have left the lilies and ballerinas alone and gone to the alps.
We wake up in the dark. And for all the horizon you see the sun’s rays pulling our earth towards it. Spinning us closer and closer in its hot, desirous fingers. The sun overwhelms the night completely and our world is alight, we see we are above the clouds which carpets the view of the unfortunates in the valley. We shiver in the residual shadow of night and urge the sun’s ranks to reach us still faster to liberate us from residual cold. And at this last moment, I can’t help but stare directly into the 3.5 million degrees Fahrenheit (2 million Celcius) of the sun as it flashes over the first mountain ridge. I’m in awe and I can’t turn away, and I say good bye to a few years of my retinas without regret.
Of course, I did not want to leave. I never feel more at peace or more in my place than when I am in the savage rocks and bitter snow of altitude. But of course, we descended and against all assumptions, the way down was far more simple than the way up! We got in the car and drove away from the beauty of the Southern Alps, away from the rugged MacKenzie country to find New Zealand’s coast and a few amusing blue penguins.
Walking down/up a cliff
Lyrics by Jade Cincotta
Walking down a cliff,
God are you with me?
I know for certain that,
These rocks are tryin’ to kill me.
And so I step, and so I step,
and so I step with such great care.
Still I know,
I’m an inch,
From tumblin’ through the Aiiiirrr– OH MY GOD.
I just slipped.
These shifty rocks won’t stop giving me sh*t.
The trail is long,
At least it’s marked.
But if I don’t hurry I’ll be walking in the darrrrrk!
SK not twisting his ankle!
The route up to Sefton Bivvy. The Bivvy is sort of nestled up next to the glacier on the right. And the dark area in the middle of the mountain to the right are the rocks we climbs up.
Handsome. Stud muffin. (I am talking about the mountains…)
Moi.
Ignore the awkward butt shot: this is me rock climbing with a back pack on. You can see the joke of a trail marker above me.
In this photo you can actually see the tiny dot that is the bivvy/shack where we spent the night. It is only a few feet away from the cliff by the way.
SK next to the sunset soaked rocks.
Me, SUPER relieved to be at our destination.
Our little orange hut is front and center. And this was our view.
The throne room.
SK reading a book… it’s a real “cliff hanger.” Get it?
Sunset.
At Michelangelo’s live concert.
beauty.
Mt. Cook’s shoulder is on the far right. You can not actually see Mt. Cook from Sefton Bivvy, but the other view and seclusion is well worth the sacrifice. (Muller hut hosts 30 or something insane)
Sunrise.
Sunrise.
Ready to head down. We sort of had to as the evening was predicted to get extremely windy… do not want to be walking down a cliff in high winds!
SK and me above the clouds.
Descending beneath the clouds.
A nice cliff to my right. It drops all the way down to the same level as the glacier lake… approximately a mile.
A glance at Aoraki/Mt. Cook before we go below the cloud-line.
Clouds cleared by the time we reached the bottom. Aoraki/Mt.Cook: I am coming for you… with some legit climbing gear.
travelingrealblonde 