Freedom to Roam: The Southern Alps by helicopter

by Kyle Ellison on

No, the Southern Alps aren’t in the south of France or Italy as the name may lead you to believe. Rather, they are 12 time zones away in a remote corner of the Pacific Ocean and form the spine of the rugged South Island of New Zealand. Home to National Parks such as Mt. Aspiring, Mt. Cook, Arthur’s Pass, and Fiordland, the similarities to their European counterparts are so similar, however, that when hiking amongst sections of the Southern Alps you could swear you were outside of Chamonix, France.

It’s well known that the original Maori name for New Zealand is “Aotearoa”, a phrase which literally translates to “Long White Cloud”. Seeing as the Polynesian triangle only has a few mountains tall enough to ever receive snow, it’s understandable why a narrow, snow capped mountain range could be construed as being a long white cloud. (The only other mountain in Polynesia outside of New Zealand which regularly sees snow is Mauna Kea on the Big Island of Hawaii, a name which literally translates in Hawaiian to “White Mountain”. See a trend?)

Aside from providing a picturesque backdrop for the majority of the South Island, the Southern Alps are also home to the majority of the outdoor activities in the country, which is really saying something in an outdoor haven such as New Zealand.

When it comes to the Southern Alps, even though you can hike your way through them, ski your way down them, jetboat their rivers, and fish in their lakes, the undisputed best way you’re going to actually SEE them is by getting up on top of them. Unless you plan on climbing 12,316 ft. Mt. Cook (Maori: Aoraki, “Cloud Piercer”) and are a whiz with crampons and an ice axe, your best bet is to get beneath a set of rotating blades and take a helicopter to plop you down on top of them.

That’s what I did over Mt. Aspiring, and in all seriousness, it was one of the best things I’ve ever done.

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Departing from the Wanaka Airport which lies in the foothills of Mt. Aspiring National Park, the trouble with being in a helicopter is you never know which way to look. When you have a a 270 degree view from inside a hovering glass bubble, you aren’t sure if you should focus your attention–and camera lens–on the lakes below you or the glaciers in front of you.

Either way, with the Southern Lakes region shimmering beneath our whirling metal blades, it wasn’t long before our pilot Nick had dropped us down on top of 7,700 ft. Mt. Alta, a rocky pinnacle being whipped by an alpine breeze and the type of place where you could scream and no one would hear you. Not in the scary way, but in the chest-thumping sense of freedom way.

Though standing atop Mt. Alta was invigorating in its remoteness, it was nothing when compared to the glacial flyby we were about to be treated to.

Eventually reaching the snowline, our machine hovered so closely to the melting ice fields you could practically hear the ice changing into water. Racing along ridge lines, all of that melting water suddenly made itself known in a thundering set of falls exploding off of the face of 8,600 ft. Mt Avalanche, an alpine promontory glowing in white and studded in hanging glaciers.

If ever there was a time in my life I felt like an aerial cameraman for a Lord of the Rings shoot, it was at this moment right now.

Just as Nick played a game of chicken with the approaching set of falls, he pulled up on the stick and raised the chopper just high enough above the falls to give myself and the two other passengers in the aircraft a sweeping view of a hidden turquoise lake that is among the most pristine bodies of water I have seen anywhere on the planet. And this is from a guy who grew up in Hawaii.

You can judge a good helicopter ride by the juxtaposition of adrenaline and exhaustion when you finally step back onto the tarmac, and after the 1 hour whirlwind through the glaciers of the Southern Alps there was little left to do but order up a late-morning coffee, lay down in the back of campervan, and question if what I just saw was actually a real place on this Earth.

Can’t relax for too long though, as there are many more adventures to be had in one of the world’s best countries for touring…

For the next 2 months Gadling blogger Kyle Ellison will be embedded in a campervan touring the country of New Zealand. Follow the rest of the adventure by reading his series, Freedom to Roam: Touring New Zealand by Campervan.

Bullriding Kiwis: Rodeo at the bottom of the world

by Kyle Ellison on

“These riders aren’t some dope smokers from the local pub. They aren’t some hippie who’s trying to molest your grandmother. These are real riders here. And they are men.”
-Wanaka Rodeo announcer-

As friends back home in the United States nursed a New Year’s Day hangover by sipping lemon lime Gatorades and watching Comedy Central movie marathons, the campervan had already driven straight through to January 2, which, seeing as this is New Zealand now featured a new and different way to get a hangover.

Though the lakeside town of Wanaka comfortably houses around 7,000 permanent residents, during the New Year’s holiday the visitor numbers swell to over 25,000, many of whom are in town for the 49th annual Wanaka Rodeo, one of the most popular events put on by the New Zealand Rodeo Cowboys Association.

Despite being closer to Antarctica than the Equator, the temperature is a tepid 77 degrees and the intense Kiwi sun is doing its best to melt the lingering snow patches wedged into the surrounding foothills. From the dusty parking lot you can already smell the distinct combination of rawhide and fried food wafting on the southerly breeze.

Meandering amongst the concession stands of “American hot dogs” and “candy floss” (cotton candy), I realize the Wanaka Rodeo seems to have all the makings of a rodeo found anywhere in the American west. Crowds mill, horses neigh, and events ranging from stick-horse racing to barrel-racing thump to a soundtrack of Gretchen Wilson and Tim Mcgraw.

There is even an American flag flying in the corner of the arena, a curiosity which led to me to track down a local Kiwi cowboy by the name of Mike Sanderson who later had the honor of racing the Stars and Stripes around the arena during the opening ceremony.

%Gallery-142833%I caught up with Sanderson in the competitor’s area, an unglamorous, cordoned off zone which closely resembled an infirmary. Knee braces hidden beneath chaps were suddenly revealed and taped up wounds poked from beneath rolled-up flannel sleeves. As the announcer had so eloquently stated earlier, these riders are the real deal, and they are men (although the lady riders seemed pretty tough themselves).

From the saddle of a horse set to be used for the upcoming team-penning competition, Sanderson tells me they always fly the Stars and Stripes at New Zealand rodeo events as a tribute to the country that gave the world the sport of rodeo. As I hear the clang of a steel gate and watch a man get his shoulder stepped on by a gyrating heifer, I realize I’ve never thought of rodeo as being a cultural export.

Though much of the crowd had swapped Wranglers for rugby shorts, the scene was nonetheless a very familiar affair. As a testament to the recurring motif of everything just being a bit edgier in New Zealand, however, beers at the concession were sold by the 6-pack, an option I feel exhibits a great deal of understanding regarding your clientele.

With the announcer asking any overseas visitors to present themselves at the front of the crowd for a batch of door prizes, it’s quickly apparent there are far more nationalities than Kiwis populating the Wanaka rodeo grounds. On this hot January day near the bottom of the world, travelers from Hungary, Brazil, Israel, Spain, Czech Republic, and Canada have all gathered to watch the country’s best ropers and riders take part in an American tradition.

As I stand along the metal gate to the arena and watch a 19-year-old cowboy from Invercargill tie a half-hitch around a calf’s ankles, I remark to the mustached gentleman to my left about how healthy and strong many of these horses appear.

“These horses graze some of the most pristine land on Earth” he proclaims. “Much of which you can see from here.”

With the sun tracking westward towards the peaks of the Crown Range and a sea of rolling grass hills spread out before us, I couldn’t possibly agree more.

For the next 2 months Gadling blogger Kyle Ellison will be embedded in a campervan touring the country of New Zealand. Follow the rest of the adventure by reading his series, Freedom to Roam: Touring New Zealand by Campervan.

Freedom to roam: New Zealand by campervan

by Kyle Ellison on

Well. It’s official. For the next three months I am officially living in my car.

No, this vagabond hasn’t fallen on hard times (yet), but rather, I am going to be embedded in the back of a 1995 Toyota campervan in the magnificent country of New Zealand, where, for the record, summer is just beginning.

While this isn’t my first campervan endeavor around “The Land of the Long White Cloud”, my first visit was as a single, immature 22 year-old fresh off of university touring the country with two other reckless American counterparts. Three boys, three surfboards, one decrepit 1988 Toyota Hiace, and the open road beneath our tires. It was the epitome of freedom.

Five years later, the circumstances of my New Zealand campervan expedition are decidedly different. Still immature but now a happily married 27 year-old, the reality of this contrast was brought to my attention at a supermarket where I had purchased some groceries five years prior. Gazing down at the black conveyer belt at my current purchases, I realized the 12-pack of beer and surfboard wax had been replaced by a 12-pack of toilet paper and 200 thread count sheets.

So why would a struggling, married travel blogger scraping to pay off student loans decide to up and move his wife to live in a van in a foreign country? Because in a land as scenic and rife for exploration as New Zealand, there is unfinished business to be taken care of.

So why buy a van? Why not just rent a car like most other vacations? Because even though buying a vehicle is an enormous layout of money up front ($4000 cash. Ouch.) you start recouping that money the minute you set out on the road. In the end, with a little cunning and a fair bit of luck, touring New Zealand by owning your own campervan is the undisputed most economical way to experience the somewhat pricey country.Though C- was the unfortunate bedfellow of my math classes during most of my childhood, allow me to lay out a few figures regarding the financial logistics of buying a van versus renting one during your campervan foray throughout New Zealand:

The over/under on renting versus buying is probably around three weeks; For a stay of under three weeks, flipping a van in that amount of time is simply impractical. For a stay of longer than three weeks, renting a van will incur charges through the roof, as evidenced by the $7800 quote given for my upcoming stay of two months.

Secondly, it’s a campervan, key word here being camp, an activity that New Zealand is incredibly well-suited for. Although I’m a proud American and a huge advocate for our National Park system, New Zealand’s Department of Conservation (DOC) oversees a network of huts, campsites, parks, and preserves which stands somewhat above that of the US system.

Average price of a DOC campsite? $7. With the cheapest hostel beds in the country running around $20/person for dorms or $50/night for a private room, over the course of 60 nights, you’re theoretically recouping a minimum of $40 per night, a sum which quickly adds up whether you’re renting or buying.

Finally, when you own a van, provided you don’t get it stuck in a river, drive it off a cliff, or experience any major mechanical issues (always a calculated gamble), upon leaving the country you have the option of selling the van back to the next traveler looking to drive and camp their way through the country.

So how do you go about buying/selling a car when you arrive/depart New Zealand? While the country has online classified sites such as Trade Me, Gumtree, and Backpacker Board, a decent percentage of vans change hands at the Backpacker’s Car Markets in Auckland and Christchurch. Sellers pay a fee of $85 for the privilege of being able to hawk their car on the property for 3 days, and buyers have a whole market of options to choose from.

Nearly all vans have been converted to include beds elevated on platforms to allow for storage of bags beneath, and most vans also come with a full range of camping and cooking supplies included in the price of the van. An important logistical note is that you’re going to need to place a phone call to your bank to let them know you’ll be conducting transactions from outside the country, and to also temporarily lift the daily limit on your ATM card so you aren’t left pulling out a maximum of $600 for seven straight days.

So, after three days of haggling, multiple test-drives, a curious encounter with an elderly German named Volkor, and lengthy sessions spent under the hood acting as if I actually knew what I was looking for, we finally settled on a 1995 Toyota Lucida with a nice comfortable bed already embedded into the back.

All that’s left to do is fuel her up, cross our fingers we didn’t buy a lemon, and head out on the open road.

Now where did I put those sheets…

Gadling blogger Kyle Ellison will be embedded in a campervan for the next two months touring the country of New Zealand in the new series Freedom to roam: New Zealand by campervan.