High Country Cabin
Words & Photos–
Alana Potts
@alanapotts
Place–
High Country Cabin @highcountrycabin
Originally published in Paradiso Issue 13
Leave early, come late. Venture often.
The Aoraki (Mt. Cook) Valley and the rest of the southern alps fade behind us. The encasing rocky peaks that once stood high above show a way out and begin to ease into large rolling hills. The valley flattens into tawny plains, stretched by a long straight road, before it’s again lifted into gentle sloping mountains, asleep for thousands of years. We’re still in alpine country and nature is sparse. We pass the glacial lakes of Pukaki and then Ohau – both the brightest of hues – like they’ve absorbed the colour of a thousand young skies and locked them under their surface. Like a photograph, documenting a moment in time, hung on the wall in a natural museum for us. We observe.
We stop in a small remote town named Twizel, originally built to support the workers of the hydro-electricity scheme some years ago and enter into the sole (and over-priced) supermarket in town. It has all the necessities. We fill a basket with things for dinner, top it with a bottle of wine and enter the checkout where the shop assistant asks for our ID. We must look like two kids on the run, no shoes and three days without a shower. The blisters on my feet from the hike before this probably don’t help much. It isn’t enough and we have to show our passports too. She eases up – she’s lovely. Her hair takes the form of a messy bun and a laugh that reminds us of an endearing TV personality gives way to a large gap between her front teeth.
“Australia, huh. How are the fires at the moment?”
“Pretty bad. Followed us here apparently. Just saw their mark on the mountains.”
“Oh yeah, New Year’s Day had us under bright orange skies. Wild. ... Where are you guys from?”
“A small town in northern NSW – about 20 minutes up/ down ... “ (it doesn’t really matter, the next bit does) “... from Byron Bay.”
“Ohhh yeah, my cousin’s aunt’s sister’s ex-boyfriend’s living there. He was supposed to come back, but never did.”
“Oh cool, yeah, it seems to have that charm – it’s beautiful – nothing like here though.”
We genuinely mean that – New Zealand had already smacked us in the guts with beauty and taken our breath more times than we could remember. It had been three days.
We thought she might know why the lakes are so blue. She does. She knew a lot it turned out. The glaciers push through rocky valleys upstream and grind away particles of rock along valley floors and walls. The product of this is picked up by meltwater streams, or braided rivers, and feed the lakes. Since the particles are so fine they are slow to sink to the bottom, remaining suspended in the water column instead. It’s when the sunlight hits the water that these particles absorb the shortest wavelengths: the purples and indigos. Meanwhile, the water absorbs the longer wavelength reds, oranges and yellows. That leaves mainly blues and greens to get scattered back to our eyes. “Like a million diamonds, not skies.” Turns out, she’s a science teacher and this is a weekend job because she’d like to visit Byron Bay one day and the wages here are pretty shitty.
Google gets confused by a new bridge across the hydro electric river and after a few missed turns and we’ve navigated our way toward Maukatua (Ben Ohau). Bitchumen turns to gravel and we kick up dust behind us. Clouds that bring cooler weather sink into the valley around us and we turn right at
number 406. We’re greeted by a long rocky driveway and a collective of sheep that show no desire to move. With a little bit of gesturing and a successful sheep dance, we arrive at High Country Cabin. We throw our shoes off and our luggage down, and the first thing we check is the shower. It’s good. We’re happy.
We enjoy the comforts of this glass-encased home. Tom lights a fire and we dry out most of our belongings in front of it; shoes, socks, thermals, beanies. We sit, we read, we wash and we cook, enjoying the simplicity of remoteness; perfectly isolated.
We absorb the cabin for everything that it’s worth;
a welcome moment of calm and protection from the world outside. We are comforted and we are sustained for the winds and altitudes of tomorrow. Tom wins at Scrabble again and we exchange the table for the deck, letting our eyes linger over the landscape. It’s cold and still, with barely a whisper of wind to talk to. We watch the sun pass by the moon and cue the stars. It’s completely seamless. Suddenly the world feels spherical and we too, decide to sleep like the mountains that watch over us.
