Where's Grayleen?

We spent our last few days in New Zealand in the center of the south island on a multi-day bike ride along the Otago Rail Trail. Picture warm, sunny days biking through a dry, rural landscape of rolling hills and nights spent in cozy B&Bs. The area looks well suited to growing grapes but is actually the birth place and home to a far more profitable crop: merino wool. Biking was great fun and all, but doesn’t compare to the excitement that ensued when we learned that the nearby town of Naseby (population 100) offers up lessons in CURLING!

We were greeted at the curling rink by Paul, a sweet gray-haired man with a kind smile and an obvious passion for the sport of curling. After watching the mandatory 10 minute video explaining the ins and outs of curling, Paul led us out onto the ice and helped us don no-slip rubber soles and handed us each a broom. The rules of curling are fairly simple: There’s a large target painted on each end of an ice alley. Players from two opposing teams alternate sliding 50lb (20kg) rocks towards the target. Points are scored by the team closest to the center, one point for each stone inside the opposing team’s best stone.

With Paul’s help we had soon mastered the standing delivery, a technique where you brace your feet against a foot hold, lean over the stone, and gently push it down the ice. This is granny-style curling. Never missing an opportunity to humiliate ourselves, we insisted that he teach us the proper slide technique used by all serious curlers. The slide involves placing a slip-pad over one foot and, instead of pushing just the stone down the ice, propelling your entire body towards the opposite target. After about 20 feet, and right before a red line, you simply let go of the stone and put down your no-slip foot to stop. After a quick demonstration, we were ready to go. Hilarity ensued. Over and over, we found ourselves sprawled out awkwardly on the ice and the stone going in completely the wrong direction. We decided we’d best stick with the standing delivery.

After Aileen trounced me in some practice rounds, the couple who’d come in after us challenged us to a U.S. vs. U.K. grudge match. Since it was a two-on-two match, we were able to try our hands at what turns out to be by far the best aspect of the sport of curling: sweeping! I absolutely fell in love with sweeping. The basic idea is that after your partner slides the stone, he/she yells out “I think it’s too short… SWEEP!”. Vigorously sweeping in front of the sliding stone makes it go further and, if you sweep really hard, you can even change it’s direction. The game became really exciting with calls of “Sweep, sweep! Sweep harder! No, wait, it’s too far!” Needless to say, we kicked some serious U.K. butt. I don’t remember the exact score but it was something like 5-0, 4-0, 6-0, 5-0. You get the idea.

On our way out, Paul cracked that we were well on our way to making the Olympic team, but lamented the fact that he’d just helped build the future generation of his opposition. Feeling the spirit on our drive back to the B&B, we chanted, “U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!”

Sadly, we don’t have any photos from curling, but here are some pictures from the rail trail.

I am afraid to report that there are no baby fur seals on the Routeburn trek. Those hoping that our next travel stop would surpass Abel Tasman in pure cute cuddliness are sure to be disappointed.. However, the Routeburn is as good a second fiddle as you could ask for in that it has the best scenery-per-mile quotient of anywhere in the world I’ve been.

Frosty, frosty Routeburn Flats at sunrise; Brrrrrr!

In two long days and two short days, we completed an almost loop by linking the one-way Routeburn with the lesser known Caples track. (While the Routeburn is just 20 miles, it’s over 200 miles by road to get back to the beginning!) The “almost” nature of our loop turned into a bit of a problem, but more on that in a bit. The trail followed the Routeburn river upstream through forest and then high alpine grassland to the top of the pass and the tiny lake where it is born. Upon cresting the ridge we were greeted by the view of a huge river valley leading off into the distance where we were able to make out the famous Milford Sound and the Tasman Sea just below the edge of the horizon – beautiful. The trail slowly meandered downhill before diving right into moss-land. Every square inch of every single thing, save the center of the path, was covered in several inches of soft, thick moss. On top of house-sized boulders, full trees grew with roots running through the moss. The trail continued and so did the sights, but you get the idea.

Aileen takes in the Caples Valley

The fun didn’t stop at the end of the trail. Trying to avoid the heavy rains in the forecast, we rushed to complete the trip a day faster than our original plan. The bus never showed up (Oops, I guess it only runs on appointment), the couple we met at the car park were also stuck (showed up a day early for their bus – who does that?), and the fishermen coming to our rescue had a car that wouldn’t start. Luckily, it was a glorious day and we passed the time playing travel Scrabble until finally some locals came to our rescue and offered a ride. It was all great fun and the celebratory dinner out with our new friends was covered by refunded bus fare. It can’t get much better than that.

More photos here.