Since I arrived in town, I’ve had one thing on my mind¸—the Franz Josef Glacier. I drove around town, looking for it. I didn’t find it. I drove to the next town, Lake Matheson, hoping to get a glimpse of its blinding white reflection. Still nothing. The only way to see the glacier was by helicopter, so I boarded a helicopter. I thought for sure I would be able to see the glacier from the helipad—still nothing. The pilot informed me it was just around this mountain, pointing at a monolith mountain in the distance. At this point, I was questioning the size of the glacier. Doubts settled into my thoughts. I’ve seen photos of it. I know it exists, but I wonder just how magnificent this glacier is. The helicopter lifts, floating us to the top of the mountain. We sweep by it, getting a glimpse of its waterfalls, trickling down the crevasses like tears down a cheek. A thin layer of cloud hovers over its middle section; not even the clouds can touch it. Then it appears in the front window, the magnificent white glacier. As soon as I saw it, I realised something this raw and beautiful couldn’t be seen from just anywhere. You need to climb out of your comfort zone and see it.

Climbing out of my comfort zone is something I’ve been doing a lot recently, diving into shark-infested waters in Port Lincoln. Although, this time, I was literally climbing. Hiking a glacier requires some strength, a moderate level of fitness, and an open mind. My first steps started at the Franz Josef Glacier Guides base in town. Here, they fitted me with a pair of waterproof pants, a jacket, and a big pair of heavy-duty boots. They handed me a small red bag for my personal items and crampons. “Think of it like wearing a pair of high heels,” said the guide. “Toes first, then heel.” A harness was then strapped to my legs and tightened around my waist. I was slightly uncomfortable, but safety comes first. After a quick safety briefing, we were escorted to the helicopters for our thrilling and quick five-minute ride to the top of the glacier. The helicopter landed on a patch of grey rocks, packed together to look like a helipad. Two guides ushered passengers off one by one while the helicopter rotors spun above our heads. The wind, the noise, it’s all daunting at first, but the moment I caught my breath, the stark reality I was standing on the edge of a gigantic mountain settled in. The path to the glacier is uphill and windy. At the top, our guide helped us strap crampons to our feet, handed us our poles, and showed us how to attach our D-clips to the safety rail.

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The lady was right; walking with crampons is like walking in heels. You must dig your toes in the ice with every step, especially when using the steep icy stairs. It’s difficult to recall just how many steps there were overall, but it was enough to make my muscles ache the following day. I recall my guide shouting to the rest of the group, “Don’t worry, this is the hardest part,” he said, referring to the steep climb up to the glacier’s base.

I was halfway up the staircase, about to clip on my secondary safety clip, when a rumble of thunder rolled through the valley, only it wasn’t thunder. Franz Josef Glacier is the steepest and fastest-moving glacier in New Zealand. According to Kane (my guide), the glacier moves up to four metres daily, which is a substantial difference considering the average glacier moves around 50cm daily. I turned around to see where the noise was coming from. Chunks of ice had broken off from this sheet of pointy ice, rolling down the side of the mountain. “Don’t worry; we call that bowling alley, said Kane. “It happens more often than you’d think.”

We reached the base, clambered our way over steep, narrow cracks, squeezed between ice walls, and climbed a few more stairs. Kane, ice pick in hand, was carving stairs as we manoeuvred our way through the glacier. He stopped the group at a clearing, pointing to an example of blue ice. The thick boulder of ice looked as if it had been cracked in half and dug out to create a glowing blue portal. Kane explained the ice wasn’t blue. Instead, the red part of white light is absorbed by ice, and the blue light is transmitted and scattered, which is what we see. The longer the path light travels, the bluer it appears. He pointed to an example in the distance. It looked like white snow had fallen on a large glass sphere. If someone were standing on the other side of it, we would be able to see them clear as day. Sometimes, there are ice caves you can explore, but because the glacier is always moving, no two climbs are ever the same.

Franz Josef Glacier (Kā Roimata o Hine Hukatere) was first known to be explored by local iwi (Māori Kinship Group) and in 1865 by geologist Julius von Haast, who named it after the Austrian emperor. The glacier is five kilometres from the town of the same name, which spans one street lined with restaurants and tourist operators. Nearby, visitors can take advantage of the natural attractions of rainforests, waterfalls, and lakes—all reliant on the glacier, like a lifeline.

Kane led us to a lookout of sorts, where we could safely sit on the slope of a hill on the Glacier, giving us a direct view of the plunging valley below and beyond. Here, we stopped to take photos, walking poles and ice pick in hand for some— as if we were about to plant a flag as a symbol of our conquest. We turned the corner and came face to face with the famous features you hear about: tunnels, seracs, crevasses, and giant pointy daggers protruding from the Glacier. Now, I can see why the Franz Josef Glacier is the third most visited spot in New Zealand—with a record 700,000 visitors a year (pre-pandemic).

Kane interrupted my thought. “German explorer and geologist Julius von Haast named the glacier after Franz Joseph I, the Austrian emperor, back in 1865,” he said. “But legend has it…” He continued to recall a Māori legend, where the Glacier bears the name Kā Roimata o Hine Hukatere, which means The tears of Hine Hukatere. Hine Hukatere loved climbing in the mountains and convinced her lover Wawe to join her. One day an avalanche swept Wawe to his death. Hine Hukatere was left broken-hearted, and her tears flowed down the mountain and then froze to form the Glacier, solidifying her love for him forever. I prefer this creation story.

We continued our journey through the 7,000-year-old Glacier, carving through its glossy white surface when needed. At some points, the towering mountains in the background faded, leaving a sheet of white as far as the eye could see. Then you enter a narrow tunnel; ice is on either side, curving around you like a frozen wave, framing the rocky mountain in front. Every five steps revealed a new awe-inspiring scene. The one constant is the awareness of being surrounded by the blinding white ice, feeling its frigid temperature pinpointing any slither of exposed skin. I touched the ice; I breathed in its air and, with it, the ice age, its history, and its present, which remains unclear.

From 1865 to 1985, it gradually thinned and retreated, with some minor advances. From 1985 to 2006, it generally advanced and thickened, with minor retreats. Although, analysis by the National Institute of Water and Atmospheric Research revealed that from 1977 to 2014, a third of the permanent snow and ice was lost from the Southern Alps. A new analysis of more than 200,000 global glaciers found that those in New Zealand showed record thinning of 1.5m a year from 2015-2019—a nearly sevenfold increase compared to 2000-2004. Scientists expect the Glacier to be lost by the year 2100 if global warming continues at the rate it’s going. A grim reality, but rest assured, hiking the Glacier does not contribute to its melting. Instead, other human activities, such as carbon emissions and greenhouse gases, are to blame.

After three hours on the ice, we descended the same staircase we first climbed. I had just unhooked my D-clip and stepped on the rocky granite when the same thunder rolled through the valley. This time, I witnessed pieces of thick ice roll down bowling alley, tumbling over each other as if they were in a race to the bottom. We unwrapped our crampons, boarded the helicopter, and floated down the valley, leaving the Glacier behind us. It will always remain a vivid memory in my mind—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that will never disappear.

Plan your trip

Franz Josef is a scenic five-hour drive from Christchurch—without stopping. We suggest planning an entire day for the road trip as you will want to stop more than once. There are scenic lookouts along the highway and small towns, such as Arthur’s Pass Village and Hokitika, to grab a bite and stretch your legs. You can take two different routes on this road trip, but the best one takes you through Castle Hill Conservation Area, home to world-famous limestone rock formations. After exploring the caves and crevasses, and climbing the rocks, jump back on the highway, which will take you through Arthur’s Pass National Park, an extraordinary landscape laden with shingle-filled riverbeds, beech forest, gorged rivers, and dense rainforest. The road trip itself is an engineering marvel, with viaducts, bridges, rock shelters, and waterfalls redirected into chutes. Add the Viaduct lookout as one of your unmissable stops.

After Arthur’s Pass, the next major town you will drive through is Hokitika, home to the Hokitika Sandwich Company, where you can wrap your hands around the best sandwich on the South Island. The beach is mere steps from the shop and a great place to enjoy your sandwich. Don’t forget to take a snap in front of the driftwood Hokitika sign. If you have some spare time, stop into Bonz n Stonz studio to check out the hand-carved Pounamu (Jade) jewellery. Continue along the highway, winding through palm trees, before the landscape changes to the alps, where towering mountains are blanketed in snow, and glacial rivers flow.

Where to stay

Franz Josef is a small town spanning one street. There are select accommodation options, but if you’re looking for something cosy and romantic, you can’t beat a room at Westwood Lodge—a prime example of alpine lodgings, with wood-panelled rooms, in a charming bed and breakfast setting. The expansive lounge and communal areas encourage guests to interact and bond over a roaring fire and a pink sunset. It’s a five-minute drive to town, but far enough away to elude to a remote setting surrounded by dramatic mountains and dense forest.

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