Castle Hill & Cave Stream

A friend from back in Whitehorse arrived in Christchurch last week for a visit. We warmly welcomed to our new home and stuffed him into the small space under our stairs with an air mattress and free room and board. We also excitedly looked forward to all the new exploring we could now do with someone to share New Zealand with. Since we only ever seem to get out of town when someone comes to visit there had been much dreaming about what to do this time.

We settled on doing some local exploring before heading out on a bigger trip (which I will cover a little later on). So, on Sunday, we packed up the car and headed out to Cave Stream and Castle Hill, both out in the Craigieburn Range.

The wind was howling and pushed the car around a bunch, but we eventually made it to the spot. We pulled into the relatively boring looking parking lot on the side of the road. This spot I had driven by a hundred times going to ski hills and tramps (which was always empty) was packed with people, both wet and dry. So we grabbed out flashlights and headed down the trail.

After cross the Broken River, we came around a bend and came to the mouth of the cave. A little trickle of water seeped through the gravel and out into the river, and a cool breath of air whispered out around us. I could hear the distant sound of laughing twisting its way down the tunnel. We turned on our lights and stepped into the dark mouth.

The first bit of the cave is a pool - up to my chest. This is promised to be the deepest part of the stream, but it is known as Cave Stream, so one must expect to get wet. With our breath stolen away in those first two minutes we walked deeper into the cave and out of sight of the entrance.

The stream twists and turns through the ground leaving a smooth walled tunnel for us to stumble through in excitement and awe. You can run your fingers along the walls and not hit anything sharp, they've all been sanded smooth by occasional flooding. Up waterfalls and through knee deep pools, around corners with multiple passageways and under ceilings that disappear in the darkness beyond the reach of my light.

We are not alone. This is a popular route, especially on a beautiful day such as this. We occasionally meet a group of three, trading the front with them. Though we both eventually catch up with the group of almost a dozen Chinese visitors filling the cave with laughter and camera flashes. They kindly let us by and their noise dims quickly as we wind our way round more twists and turns and up waterfalls.

After almost an hour we come to another deep pool with two waterfalls, one to get in and one to get out. We all dive into the pool to fully submerge ourselves in the cool cave waters before entering the bright world of sunshine and birds. Then it's up the ladder, along the squeeze and out into the light.

[The trail back]

[Looking back towards the mouth]

[Back to the car]

After getting back to the car, we eat some lunch and change into some dry clothes. We hop into the car and head off down the road to Castle Hill. Another neat place I've driven past so many times without stopping.

[Castle Hill Reserve]

[Large limestone rocks litter the slope]

[The trail winds between monoliths]

[Ben's limestone ship]

[Taking in the view]

[My rock bath]

We soon decide to head off home and get ready for our big trip. Off to Stewart Island!

Broken River Ski Club

Over the past week there has been a storm "the size of Australia" off the West Coast of New Zealand. It dumped enough heavy snow down in Invercargill to collapse the roof of the local sporting complex, it blew hard enough in Wellington to ground airplanes scheduled to leave from the airport and it dumped a whole heap of snow in the mountains. Just when we thought the end of the ski season had arrived.

On Sunday morning, we woke up early and decided we just had to partake in this fresh dump. And we knew the perfect field at which to enjoy it at its fullest - Broken River. Located in the Craigieburn Mountains with a parking lot for about 30 vehicles, Broken River was just hopping that day. We were lucky to arrive early enough to grab one of the last parking spots in a snow bank (despite making it to the edge of Christchurch and having to go back for my wallet and student ID - gotta get that discount). After slipping and sliding into a spot, we threw on our gear and headed for the "Inclinator".

[The jam-packed parking lot - our car is the little silver station wagon in the bottom right corner]

The inclinator is a little cable car used to access the chalets way up the hill towards the tree line. After the 10 minute rumble up the steep rails, you get out onto wooden decking surrounding the ticket house. Here you buy your tickets, grab a nutcracker and head up the stairs. Lots and lots of stairs. There are two lodges tacked to the side of the beech forested hills, with decks and stairs connecting them together.

Finally you emerge from the trees and climb one last set of stairs up the ridge to just below the first lift. Broken River has only nutcrackers. Now if you ever go skiing in New Zealand, nutcrackers are an essential part of the kiwi ski experience. They are at most club fields and are, well, a challenge to learn. You have a harness with a rope coming from the front. At the end of the rope is a hunk of metal in the shape of, you guessed it, a nutcracker. So you stand beside the rope as it's towed up the hill grab onto it with your inside hand, then use your outside hand to quickly flick the nutcracker over the rope and hold onto the handle. This allows the rope to travel through the various pulleys along the tow without crushing your fingers. A good thing really, it's just a challenge to get the nutcracker over the rope before the first pulley eats your hand.

Deep, heavy "powder" covered the mountain. This stuff is unlike any powder I have previously encountered. I'm used to the light, fluffy stuff that can easily be plowed through, not this heavy, wet stuff that constantly wanted to eat my skis. It was soft though, which was a good thing for all the falls we suffered. And the energy required to turn was phenomenal. I felt out of shape after just 2 turns and had to take a break. But the day was beautiful and the snow was plentiful, so there was not much to complain about. Despite the unusual number of falls.

[Resting at the top of the ridge. Behind me is the Cass valley where we tramped and stayed at Hamilton Hut]

After a glorious day of skiing, falling and shaking snow out of our jackets, we sat down at the chalet and enjoyed a beer (well, I had a beer, Stephen had an L&P, being the responsible driver that he is). The sun shone down happily on us and we quietly nursed our bruises and bangs with smiles on our faces. Eventually, we got ourselves together and made our way back down the multitude of stairs and into the car. We stopped at the swimming pool on the way home for a well-deserved soak and tried not to think about having to go back to work the next morning.