In the fading light of a winter afternoon, I wind my way up from the rugged west coast into the Southern Alps. Arthur’s Pass will be my home for the next few days as I chase photographs of alpine birds. The land rises steadily around me until it’s sheer on either side, snow-dusted massifs glowing in the evening sun. The valley shade is a cold bite – a different kind of cold from the blustery, salty west coast. It’s quiet and icy, with the smell of damp tussock and the singing of the Otira river below. I’m staying at the Rata Lodge Backpackers, which is cozy, friendly, and entirely my own for the next few days. It’s a little sanctuary of warmth that I love returning to in the evenings when the light is gone. Out of the bathroom window I can hear roa – great spotted kiwi – calling up the hill.
In the pale light of dawn I’m up at Death’s Corner Lookout over the Otira Viaduct. The second I step out of the car I’m caught by a frigid wind and the high laugh of a kea. Despite the cold, I can’t help but grin – I’m in the mountains. Two young birds spiral down out of the gale and start to toss rocks at one another next to the lookout. They’re full of cheek and curiosity, and impervious to the chill wind that has frozen my fingers into useless bone-white claws.
I spend the next few days exploring the area, wandering wet beech forests, scrambling up rocky slopes, sitting by the churning rivers. Mike Ashbee and I have one clear day hanging out with tītipounamu – rifleman, and ngirungiru – tomtits, but the rest of my trip is sodden with winter rain. But every day I fall more in love with this place. Most of my time is spent alone but for the birds, in silence, appreciating being out in this wild place.
I spend a lot of time watching the behaviour of a trio of young kea that hang out at Death’s Corner Lookout. They’re all carrying alpha-numeric bands so I know they’re the same three every day – surfing on camper-van roofs as tourists pull down the steep access road back to the highway, nibbling on aerials and wing-mirrors, tussling and swooping out over the precipitous drop into the valley below. Their yellow eye-rings and ceres mark them as young birds, and occasionally adults show up to join the play. You can see the wicked intellect in their eyes – kea are tool-users and problem-solvers, one of the most intelligent bird species in the world. And they know how to have fun!
The mountains are a steady, massive presence. The light is something else – ethereal as it strafes across solid rock, snow and wind-torn scrub. There’s a clarity to it, but a softness as well, and I’ve never seen shadows so blue.
I’m a coastal person – made for islands and oceans. But the stillness of the mountains is so calming, the play of light and shade so clear and intense, that I can’t help but feel at home. The call of the mountains becomes stronger, and I return to Arthur’s Pass three times over the next few months. I can’t wait for my next adventure to take me back there.
