It turns out to be hard to make a choice between the appealing sceneries of the coastal road and the voluptuous curves of the asphalted ribbon that opens to the mountains of the middle of the island. At the chance of a bend, we turn on the left and dip again into the New Zealand Alps for a day. A blend of wooden houses mark the boundaries of the Arthur's Pass village. A small fistful of tourists converge here, most of them tempted by the ascent of the 1000m-overhead Avalanche peak.
The next morning, we start the ascent. Some portions liken more to rock-climbing than trekking and require a high caution. The climb seems endless. The calves burn and the water leaks through our pores to cool down the machine. Our eyes look upwards and hope for a little bit of flat land at the end of the visible path. But, after a curve, the nature makes fun of us and keeps on with an even more difficult slope. The ascent goes on and on. Then, the continuity of the forest suddenly ends and a barren hill, incrusted with patches of snow rises above the clouds. The fist up, we enjoy the last meters of the ascent. The nature, after being so exhausting, cheers us up with a panoramic vista.
A tongue of clouds devours the valley, the snow softens the raw lines of the mountains and a keas' family celebrates our arrival.
Some landscapes are picked thanks to numerous aches and repeted efforts. A shooting screenplay for masochists that finishes with a happy end : an inexpressible excitement where we are perched on the summit.
Keyword - sacred mountains -
Tuesday 20 November 2007
The exhausting ascent of Avalanche peak
By dorian on Tuesday 20 November 2007, 21:14 - RTW-New Zealand
Monday 19 November 2007
The snows of the mount Cook
By dorian on Monday 19 November 2007, 02:38 - RTW-New Zealand
We leave the beach to the massif of the mount Aoraki (or mount Cook), the highest summit in New-Zealand. Cold snow and black and steep rock took the place of the softness of the blond sand, swept the waters of the Pacific ocean. It' not a matter of climbing this peak which requires good mountainering skills but dreaming and completing the kaleidoscope of end-of-the-world pictures that takes shape within our skulls. A path leads us from a lake to another one and finally ends on a viewpoint. Bewildering panorama on the rocky massif.
Yesterday, we wanted to jump into the waves and swim with the seals and today, we dream of wearing a harness, a pair of crampons and step on these pristine snows.
And, what about tomorrow?
Friday 17 August 2007
Poetic inspiration on the yellow mountains
By dorian on Friday 17 August 2007, 20:59 - RTW-China
17 hours by train from Guilin to Tunxi, beside the yellow mountains. We only have 3 berth tickets and we thought we could travel together inside the sleeping car. But the inspectors watch out at the entrance of the restaurant car, this one makes the link between the sleeping cars and the normal carriages. And inspectors prevent everybody from going from a kind of carriage to another one. We drop our idea. One of us will travel into a normal carriage trying to find a seat among the crowd and Pierre, the unlucky one, will do it.
We arrive at 5 am and take the station nearest hotel. Outside, minivans commute from the city to the park entrance of the yellow mountains, 1h30 from here. A lot of Chinese tourists arrive by train and directly carry on with the coach journey. When the last seat is engaged, the driver moves off.
At the park entrance, buses leave to reach the both ways (east or west) that lead to the top. Each of them has a cable car which allows to skip the morning and exhausting stairs stage. We opt for the west trail and for going up by cable car despite the impressive 3-hour wait. The yellow mountains massif is the most famous and the most visited in China and we experience that among the turnstile-accumulated crowd. Around 12 o'clock, we take off towards the summits of the massif.
The poets in the pursuit of their lost muse or the painters harnessing the impressions of the secret alchemy between the lifeless rock and pine trees draw their inspiration from these mountains and then spread their works of art throughtout China. At some time of the year, a stratus bed bathes the peaks and complements the symphony of the massif.
The staircases pace the place up and go towards the most majestic peaks. The peculiar shape of the pine trees and their tiered branches pop out and gush out from the rocky heaps. The opposition between the round and smooth lines of the stone and the knotty branches of the trees draw the notes of a symphony. Our eyes mark the rhythm and the cameras immortalize a few great moments. I haven't taken any easel, brushes and gouache tubes but my memory will keep the impressions of this savoury blend of colours.
Like a good movie, you cannot summarize it, you must see it and live it in. Forget the extraordinary wait for the cable car, Clear away the exhaustion of a whole night spent in a overcrowded train, the yellow mountains don't only raise the senses of painters and poets and bring serenity and happiness to anyone who paces them up.
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