New Zealand Camping Fun

---

We were welcomed to NZ with glorious weather. After a very early morning five-hour flight, we were looking forward to being picked up by a friendly face. Shannon, who was working in our school in London had settled back home two year ago with her husband and very kindly offered us their hospitality for parts of our six-week stay. Little did they know that we were going to accept, enjoy and abuse it, Christmas included. As they were still doing that old thing we left behind called 'working,' during the day we lived in their beautiful house, ate their food in their garden, petted their kitten and used up their Internet quota (without knowing it...who does quotas anymore?) What a joy after having spent two weeks in a shack, without drinking water or electricity!
After a steady diet of fish and rice, we struggled to hold ourselves back, despite the presence of Shannon and Aaron's friends, in front of the display of barbecue food that awaited us in the garden for lunchtime. Olives, crisps, crackers, cold bier and for Matthew, heavenly burgers, sausages and steaks grilling away under expert kiwi hands.
It was goooooooooooooooooood!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monty (the kitten), Shannon and Aaron made our first week very pleasant. We took it slowly as working a tan like we did in Fiji kind of tires you out. We stayed indoors for the first two days, sleeping, eating, drinking tea/wine and catching up on calls to friends and family. We eventually got dragged out by Shannon and Aaron on an “earthquake drive.” Christchurch had been struck by an earthquake earlier in July this year: 7.2 on the Richter scale! We say massive cracks in the local park, a now undulating and corkscrewing bridge and a building whose foundations had sank into the ground so much you could only read half its name!
Aaron and Shannon were also a great help with planning our trip. After our afternoon in Christchurch's 'i site' (information office) taking enough brochures to fill a moderate country home, we were a bit dazzled by all New Zealand had to offer. Aaron and Shannon really helped sieve through our ideas so we came up with an itinerary that suited us. We also decided to move away from the bus tour idea, as recommended by some English guys we'd met in Fiji, because they were all too expensive ($699 each for the South Island, no accommodation or food included). So, we moved to the campervan idea, loosely following the bus tour routes. Road Trip!!
After lots of internet time (sorry Shannon!) and lots of phone calls (thanks Shannon!) Del found an economy campervan for $57 a day. We figured that we'd be able to save on accommodation and so make our adventure cheaper.
We were gone for 18 days. It was great!

We left Christchurch bound for Akaroa, which is on a peninsula not too far from Christchurch. After, driving around some pretty dodgy country roads of various exciting inclines, trying to find a cheap backpackers campsite, which we found but was wholly impractical, we decided we'd freedom camp. Freedom camping is where you stop anywhere you can out of sight and camp for free. The practice is generally frowned upon when you are in a campervan without toilets as some unscrupulous tourists in the past have left their mess behind and spoiled the immediate area. However, if you're clean and respect the place you're visiting, it's a decent alternative to official campsites. We got acquainted with the van, turning it into firstly our kitchen, then our bedroom, with the outisde being the dining room, with the camping table and chairs we had hired. I made Del her first campfire.
The next morning we visited the picturesque town of Akaroa, which originated from an old French settlement in the 19th Century. The streetnames, businesses and landmarks are all in French. We walked around, took in the sights of the harbour, which included a solitary penguin chilling on a floating wooden platform and found an amazing semi-precious jeweller down a backstreet and had lunch reading about the property prices in the area. Our flat in London could buy a four-bedroomed house WITH some land!
We then retraced our steps to join the main highway and went south down the east coast. We stopped for the night in Rakaia River. It was a real campsite, a 'Family Parks' brand that had hot showers, toilets and communal kitchen and dining area. For $31, we were happy. We fell into conversation with two Kiwi guys fishing salmon and trout on the river (they showed us some of their catch – the trout were bigger than anything you might find in Tesco) as well as a German couple, one of whom was interested in teaching in the UK.
We continued further south to Lake Tekapo, which is a very commercialised but undoubtedly beautiful alpine lake fed from the glaciers of of the central mountain range of New Zealand. We visited the Chapel of the Good Shepard which is a small stone church set on the banks of the turquoise waters and looks majestic. We camped for two nights in a campsite that was expensive but had a lovely view of the lake. On the morning of the second day we went for a walk to the Mt John Observatory, which had great views of the surrounding tussock-grassed expanse, Lake Tekapo and Lake Alexandrina, where we were to spend New Year with Aaron and Shannon. We found a large, flatish rock where we ate lunch and dozed in the sun. We continued down the other side of the mountain to the lake shore where, towards the end, I decided to jump in the bollock-gasping water for a brief swim to cool off after our five hour walk. That evening, overlooking the lake as it reflected the sunset, we Kiwi-ed it up with a BBQ; chicken burgers and charred courgettes (thanks Stu!).

We left for the coast again, stopping off at Omaru to enjoy a coffee and the best chocolate brownie either of us had ever had and were kindly given the recipe by the owner of the cafe. As we were munching and groaning in equal measure we saw a black and white/infra-red image of a small bird in a nest. We enquired and under the floorboards was a blue penguin chick. We watched its domestic antics for a while and then hit the road again. We stopped at a cheap, $20 campground only 40 minutes or so out of Dunedin. The city itself and its residents has lots of Scottish connections and this was made explicit by the owner of the campground, who had the broadest, most indecipherable Scottish accent I'd heard in a long while.
The next morning we made our way to Shannon's parent's house, meeting up with her hungover self, her parents, sister Steph and her nephew, Jimmy. We had lunch by the sea and took a stroll on the seafront. For the first time it wasn't warm during the day and this, together with the familiar housing style, street names and jacket huddled seafront strollers really made me think of Britain. The only difference was the surfers. Crazy bastards.
Following directions from Shan's mum, we left Dunedin and drove towards the tip of the Otago Peninsula, which juts away from Dunedin like a claymore pointing towards South America. Our destination was the Royal Albatross Centre at the very end point, Taiaroa Head; there, a colony of these most magnificent of seafaring giants, the Royal Albatross, resides and one might chance upon the sight of one as it comes seeping majestically, all three metres wide, back from hunting. The peninsula is a natural haven for wildlife, being windswept, rugged and somehow remote, even though the start of the one access road to it, which runs the length of its spine, can be found in the city centre, not more than 25 kilometres away from its ocean bashed tip. To give an idea of how special the peninsula is, the albatross colony at its end, is the only mainland colony of breeding albatross in the southern hemisphere. This road that starts in the city and ends in the Pacific Ocean, requires careful negotiation; it's a winding, mostly one-lane adventure track that snakes along the top of the narrow, central ridge of the peninsula, the tarmac clinging tenaciously, refusing somehow to yield to gravity and slide down the steep banks on either side to the verdant valley below.
The campervan was more sure-footed than we would have believed and we reached the end of the spit of land with all our limbs. The centre itself was interesting, with video presentations and information plaques, mostly highlighting the depressing cause of most albatross deaths; plastic litter. I'd heard of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch (properly called the Pacific Convergence Zone or Pacific Trash Vortex) before but I'd never realised how dreadful its full effect was. The zone itself, thanks to quirks of currents and wind, is a concentration of floating plastic debris on an epic scale. Depending who you talk to, the size of this man-made monstrosity is estimated to be between the size of Texas and the area of the mainland USA. Regardless of how large it actually is, it's huge and ugly and I can think of nothing else more grotesque as a symbol of man's disregard and lack of respect for his planet. In short, the albatross mistake the plastic for food and ingest it, with predictable results. One exhibit, a photo of a dead and decaying albatross with a belly stuffed to the brim with bright, multi-coloured and multi-sourced plastic, was particularly disagreeable and powerful. The juxtaposition of cheerful colours and easily recognizable, everyday objects, shining out of a tortured carcass of feathers was striking. Equally upsetting, the thought that these magnificent birds struggle to live for years with their stomachs slowly filling with plastic and starve to death if the plastic doesn't tear a hole through their digestive track first.
Once outside we were disappointed. Apart from Shags, still a funny name, and noisy seagulls continually circling the vertical rock faces, white with guano, there was nothing to see. A little disgruntled and far from eager to traverse the road back to Dunedin just yet, we wandered down a steep boardwalk, with rabbits hopping all round us, to a small beach where we noticed some people, apparently observing some seals lazing about on some rocks off to the far right.
Once down there we came to understand that, although some people were there to see the seals make like rocks, some others were waiting for penguins! The Little or Blue Penguin is the smallest of the penguins, being 23 – 30 cm high and not quite a kilogram in weight. They are out and about during the day but come back to their nests at dusk to feed their chicks, hidden in the steep sides of the hillside. If we stayed, the penguins would come back and walk past us to get to their nests.
We were early, we'd had no idea about it and it was getting cold. We looked at each other. It was about six and it wouldn't be getting properly dark till around nine. We had no where to stay that night. It would be a long and probably quite stressful drive back to town in the dark. We hadn't eaten since the early afternoon with Shannon's family. The wind was picking up.
We went up to the campervan to boil some water for a cup of soup. How many times do you get to see Blue Penguins walk past you?
We stayed down by the beach, the rehydrated cream of chicken cup of soup tasted like food, so you can imagine the temperature. Cars started to switch on their headlights to return to town from the albatross centre and the hamlet across the water on the other side of the peninsula edge began to resemble a fairy light.
People with improbably coloured jackets and parkas began to turn up. With coats that looked warm and with binoculars or camera lenses of a different colour to their camera. Bird watchers. A girl sitting on the concrete next to the sand since before we had arrived, and who was wearing a light hoodie and flipflops became my hero. Some people left. We pitied and envied them in equal measure. We felt superior and we felt foolish. Our stomachs groaned. We huddled together. We discussed leaving. About twenty Chinese/Japanese wearing the same brand of jacket filled with air cushions in different colours arrived, chattering like Shags. We discussed leaving again.
Suddenly, two men in official park ranger green were in our midst. We looked sideways at them, warily. The hamlet in front of us was an uneven succession of meagre lights, pathetic against the darkening and portentous, unforgiving coastline. The withering sunlight was like oil on the surface of the sea. Incandescent with cold fire.
One of the men in green addressed us all, like in a classroom. A hush fell. We all came to surround him like ducks. He fed us breadcrumbs of knowledge about the little blues. A collection of blue penguins is called a raft. A raft, containing maybe a hundred or so individuals will assemble just off shore, between twenty and a hundred metres of the coast. There it will stay, waiting for the light to finally fade. Then, oh, there's one now. All heads turned in along the line of his outstretched arm.
We strained our eyes, not knowing what to look for. The man in green taught us how to look. Then we saw it. Not dots, but small, small birds, mostly submerged, swimming together thirty or so metres away. People pointed and yabbered then fell silent in case they should jinx it. The man spoke loudly, telling us what was to happen.
The raft waits for the light to fade. Then, some brave or stupid souls will chance the watery gauntlet to the beach. They are wary of predators. Sea lions and the like will try to take them as they separate from the raft. Once on the rocks they will hurry to overhanging grass and sand bumps. First only individuals, then all at once, they will all come onto the beach.
I noticed a small bird swimming determinedly towards the beach. I nudged Del. I tried to point it out. A man with binoculars put them to his eyes. It got closer. It was a penguin but it was in miniature. The man in green interrupted himself to draw everyone's attention. As the little bird approached the small rocks of the beach we found out how small he really was. He seemed to only be able to keep his head above the water with effort. A rock I would have covered with my hand was the first one he had to clamber over. He did so, but with difficulty. He was onto the next one when a wavelet knocked him over. We all gasped. He righted himself and took a little step and was knocked over again but this time he was propelled over the next few stones. He was half swimming, half clambering, half falling his way onto the beach. It didn't seem fair that the poor sod had to do all this.
He got beyond the rocks. We were all so happy for him. No one had come to see a little penguin break his wings against the rocks and then wander up and down the beach, painfully unable to swim.
We rushed to the penguin path, mostly hidden by grass and sand, which the green clad man told us was their way of getting from the beach to the flat piece of land where we were standing. We could barely see him. A wisp of grass hid him. Cameras clicked and whirred anyway.
We all got photos of a few blades of grass with a blue wing.
He waited there.
He was waiting for the rest of his mates, said the green man.
We looked at the raft. It hadn't moved.
The man went on to tell us about what was to happen.
When enough individuals of the raft have decided its dark and safe enough they will all take the decision to swim quickly to the beach. Once on dry land they will wait amongst the rocks till night is practically here and then they will cross the level beach where we are standing. If we are to stand still and make no noise, cautiously, then with abandon, the penguins will walk between us. We tingled with excitement. A strange call went up behind us. It came from the grass banks.
“That's the chicks, calling for food.”
We looked back at the raft and then at the little penguin half hidden by the grass. Neither moved. We looked back at the raft and we noticed for the first time a huge container ship as it came into anchorage and sailed from right to left and disappeared behind a headland. The clouds were pink and the land black behind it.
Suddenly, the penguins surged towards the shore. They moved so fast they each had a mini bow wave. They reached the first rocks and tried to stand and take the kind of steps that women in restrictive skirts take. The waves washed over them. Some fell. Some struggled on. It was pandemonium. Like a scene out of the D-Day Landings but with penguins instead of men and camera clicks instead of guns. We feared for them; they hit and were rolled over the stones and rocks so forcefully. The waves would have washed round my ankle. All scale was gone.
The first batch met up with their leader and disappeared from view.
Now we would have to wait for them to move from the beach to the level ground. This could take some time. Absolutely no flash photography warned the green man. These are wild, fearful small animals, trying to get to their young. You are massive to them – flesh mountains. Don't do anything that could spook them. The chicks wailed in hunger behind us. We took up our positions. Each trying to guess the course the majority of penguins would take. We were told that sometimes they walked between people's legs. We selected our positions with the utmost and sober calculation. We couldn't move while the penguins were there.
A small, blue penguin became visible at the entrance of a rabbit hole that obviously acted as a tunnel from the beach, through the sand hill, onto the plateau. Silence. He looked around and he saw us all gathered there like trees. With the slowest, quietest movements, I tried to adopt a stable photographer's stance. The light was practically drained from the sky with little left for us on the ground. I steadied my camera, took a breath, let half out, held it and opened the shutter.
The little blue was joined by another at the entrance of the same rabbit hole. Then another one and then immediately two became visible out of the grass close to us. They appeared, ran awkwardly a few steps and then seemed to see us all staring at them for the first time and stopped. It was so quiet we could hear the sound of their pads on the sand.
The juvenile wailing went through another cycle.
Some more blues appeared and halted. I swear I took a deep breath and the one in the rabbit hole looked at me. Another took a waddling few steps and stopped. Then a couple walked cautiously, yet briskly between a group of five people. Del squeezed my hand tighter.
Over the next hour the light faded to nothing at all and no photos could be taken. The first raft moved past us. Some penguins only feet away. Another and then another raft came onto shore. The shrieking, impatient calls of the chicks only seemed to grow more urgent. In between the waves of penguins you could move about, shift your weight, speak in hushed tones about what we were seeing. We sat on a rock. A stream of penguins went either side of us. Three came and inspected my boot. An inch or less away. My heart beat so hard I thought it would scare them. Another inspected my camera bag strap, hanging loose down my elbow. Another seemed to brush Del's coat. We squeezed our hands together and squealed silently.
As the night drew colder and darker our group of penguin admirers had shrunk to only a few. When we sensed it was mostly over we walked, carefully over to the men in green and thanked them for their time.
“Be careful on the way back up to your car, don't step on one. Also, be careful when you drive off.”
We thought this a little over the top until we intersected penguins getting to their burrows. Freezing in mid-stride and conversation halting immediately. The hillside seemed alive with crying infant blues. We got to the campervan and considered our options. Reality seeped back in. We had no where to stay and not a lot of real food that didn't require cooking. Neither of us liked the idea of swinging the boot door up to cook and letting the cold air in. We'd freedom camp somewhere on the way back to town and eat crackers, bread, cheese and salad leaves. As we started the campervan up and turned on the lights a penguin, not five feet away was caught in the beam. Blinded, it waddled away. Apologising, uselessly to it, we left the dark beach that had been so wonderful to us.

---

Photos

14 Degree water...
Nice but no thanks says Delphine from the shore...

So many rabbits in this campsite!
They are actually a pest in NZ, they kill them to protect their environment.