A Wild Night Out

I spent several days between the little towns of Wanaka and Queenstown, visiting Milford Sound during this time too. I really enjoyed these quaint little mountain towns, with their goofy little ski resorts (never more than four chairs) and outdoor shops. With my time in T-Rex coming to an end, I started making my way north again, to Mt. Cook.

I camped in Mt. Cook National Park for my last two nights. The campsite here had awesome facilities, with potable water and dish washing stations, and was situated right next to the main trailhead into the park. I was lucky during my two days to have dramatic views of Mt Cook with completely clear skies, and even my drive into the park at sunset was magnificent.

These same clear skies persisted through both nights in the park too. Thus far, I'd had pretty mediocre impressions of the stargazing in New Zealand, which didn't seem quite right. Finally, under the eye of Mt. Cook, I realized I hadn't been anywhere dark enough yet. The stars here were so numerous that at some points it was hard to see the space between them. The universe had taken our northern hemisphere milky-way and just smeared a great celestial handful of new constellations all over it, and I was impressed with her work.

In the daylight the trails here were moderately-difficult at best, so of course they were also crowded. At some point during my hiking, I again muttered, "excuse me, excuse me" and slipped around another family of seven taking pictures in the middle of the trail, I thought, this would be an excellent journey to tackle at night. I would have an incredible view of the stars and Mt Cook, would still be close to T-Rex, and I'd have the trail to myself. Or so I thought.

I hopped back onto the trail with my tripod and headlamp as dusk settled into nightfall. Really, New Zealand was the perfect place for night hiking, I lectured myself internally. They have no snakes, large predators, dangerous bugs, etc. My resolve faltered a bit as I reached the suspension bridges. What had been a delightful view during the day was now a pitch-black cavern. The cascade of the river some 70 feet below me seemed distinctly angrier, and I gripped the cables more tightly than I had that morning.

By the time I had found a good spot for my camera, I realized the peak of Mt. Cook was halfway across the sky from the thickest stars of the milky way. It made sense that to get the galaxy positioned above the mountain would take a bit more planning (later I would find a photographer in Wellington who did manage to do this, and the result was just incredible).

I was several shots in when I heard an unmistakable rustle in the bushes. Not wanting to ruin the photo, I clutched my knees in (what some might call) terror, and waited an eternity for the 23 remaining seconds on the camera. As soon as I could, I turned my headlight on full blast and scanned the surrounding area. Empty and quiet.

I turned the headlight off and started a new photo. The sound came again- the obvious movements of some curious nighttime creatures.

I'd had enough. I was feeling stupidly afraid at this point and was severely questioning my judgement. I quickly packed my things and made to route back down the trail. Around the first corner, a sighting of my suspected perpetrator. It sat in the middle of the trail, easily the size of a raccoon with large, mouse-like ears and gleaming eyes. It looked like someone had shrunk a bear, and put an extra long tail on it. It didn't seem much intimidated by me at all, so that made one of us. My brain said, do they have lemurs here?

I advanced slowly, talking to it and kicking pebbles in it's general direction, trying to get it to scurry away. Eventually it started to lumber around the corner, not concerned in the slightest. I leaned forward, trying to see it's path around some large rocks. I got to the bend in the trail and was eyeing down my original buddy when another raccoon/lemur ran out from the bushes directly by my feet.

I couldn't help it. I screamed. I screamed and pranced around the racoon/lemur who seemed equally dazed and confused at my reaction. I took the trail at almost a jog until I reached the suspension bridge.

The enemy had sent a patrol ahead to guard the exits.

The little soldier sat coyly on the other end of the bridge I was trying to cross, staring at me caught in the middle. I felt the need to look over my shoulder. Was an army of lem-coons advancing towards me at this very minute? I took the end of the bridge with some more stomping and pebble-kicking, and the animal scurried away.

I saw at least eight of these creatures on my walk back. They stared at me from the trees with their large nocturnal eyes. I came across one pair of night hikers who seemed completely unbothered, and I came so close to stopping them to ask if these night demons were only plaguing me. I stopped a few hundred feet from my campsite to attempt some more photos, and they honestly turned out pretty good. I even got some hints of the southern lights in there, with absolutely no animal intervention.

When I was safely snuggled in T-Rex, ChatGPT informed me that the animals I had encountered were in fact, possums. I was appalled. Compared to my mental image of possums, these things were massive! More internet searching confirmed that yes, evolution on New Zealand had made these possums quite large, in addition to making them carnivorous. Allegedly, they prefer bird eggs. But I saw the greedy little hunger in their eyes. Thank goodness I hadn't panicked out there.

honestly, wix might not have the resolution to do this justice. here are some stars!