Motorhome News from New Zealand 3

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Motorhome News from New Zealand 3 20th October 2008

Across the Cook Strait to South Island

That's how it was when Nick Young looked out from the crow's nest of the good ship Endeavour, back in 1769. 'Land Ahoy!' he called, pointing out to the west. When Captain Cook cuffed the telescope to his eye he would have seen a narrow band of grey-brown, lifting and broadening on the horizon above the swell, a band of rugged cliffs, ever browner, ever greener, sunlight sharpening the ragged peaks against the Pacific sky. It was our first view of New Zealand from the sea, leaving North Island from Wellington on the Interisland Ferry, leaving behind the last remnants of habitation, the gleaming white wooden houses perched on hillsides fading into the distance, as stark brown hills rise from the sea at the southernmost tip of North Island. Above the horizon to the south, the snow-clad mountains of South Island, and the hills above Picton, South Island's nothermost port, peep above the skyline to our west. We are travelling as if to another country, another land across the water.

But perhaps we dream a little, for today the grey and brown where trees once stood has turned to green where sheep now graze and golden gorse spreads its wings across the fringes of remaining woodland. It's a two hour journey across Cook Strait with fleeting glances of Albatross, Shearwaters, Petrels and Cape Pigoens off shore - and another hour chasing the narrow Tory Channnel through Marlborough Sound to Picton, past flocks of gulls and cormorants in a flurry of feeding in fish-infested waters. Picton, beautiful Picton; bathed in sunshine, a small and elegant ferry port pretending to be a village. We wandered a while in Picton enjoying its friendly ambience in glorious sunshine before taking a short drive to Momorangi where we camped by the beach, looking out beyond white yachts anchored in the harbour, heads into the wind, across the shimmering bay towards the setting sun. It takes a lot of bread to get views like that from your front window. There's building land for sale in almost every community here and the price relates directly to the view. Up front is the 'section' as they call it, a plot of land facing the water. We just rent a little land for a few dollars each night, plug into 230v and watch the sun dip below the horizon as we dine in style. That's real New Zealand Lifestyle.

Slowly but surely we're finding our feet - tucked up cosily inside thick socks and sturdy boots. South Island has been tempting us onto the tracks and into the wilderness and our daily routine gets into stride each day as the sun peeks its head back over the hills. We're hikers as you might know; setting out for the day with map, backpack, bottle of water, a chewy-bar or two, an apple, a compass and a first aid kit. There's also another kind of hiker here in New Zealand. The wide-open spaces often call for long range wilderness hiking, two, three, six days or more, 'tramping' the paths and tracks of the Nation's Parks carrying sufficient provisions for the exercise and stopping off at cabins along the route. We're not up to those extremes us wimps. But we are up for some good quality walks on a daily basis.

One of our first outings was to the Queen Charlotte Track above tiny Portage, where we walked the rising track, ever upwards. Below us tiny riplets scurried across the surface of Queen Charlotte Sound in the wake of the morning ferry, corrugations disrupting the placid waters; turqoise, blue-green, aquamarine and opal, breaking white on the sandy bays and rocky shores that make up this maze of Milford Sound, a thousand islands like an unfinished jigsaw laid below us. Along our track small streams seeped through rocky banks draped with moss, a dozen different ferns, and a hundred plants I shall never name, as we climbed surefoot upwards into the topaz sky in the shade of the red beech - with the melodious call of the Bell Bird ringing in the still air. This was to be a week of walks; following our passion for wild places and most often, looking for birds.

Eating, on the other hand, is a necessity rather than a passion for us, but when in Rome we do believe it important to try a bit of what the Romans might eat. We've tried the 'fush and chups' as they're called, the hot pies and the Chinese takeaway, but not the famous green shell mussels at the 'green shell mussel capital of the World', Havelock. It was lunchtime and we couldn't resist! This is also whitebait season along the west coast, bringing hordes of campers to the beaches with their strange box-traps and butterfly nets, dressed up in waist-high waders, big brimmed hats and gloves, up before dawn, to catch the tide and tiny fishes. Restaunts will pay up to $70NZ a kilo for these poor tiny creatures they tell us - and they are lovely when properly cooked!

By mid-afternoon we were in Nelson, a tired town - or is it just those facades on the canopy over the sidewalk, a town blessed with sunshine, grapes and fruit, looking out across the bay, a mile of sand-flats at low tide, out towards the snow-capped Tasman mountains. A young German lad we met on one of our walks was hoping to settle in Nelson. 'But I'm not sure my girl friend will come,' he said. That's love for you. The Swiss couple on our campsite were more positive, choosing to leave their home in Singapore for these shores if immigration will finally accept their application. It does seem there are still many people moving here though some do return home or pass on to Australia and the wider world of opportunity. New Zealand's population increased by 40,000 last year according to today's 'The Press' news, suggesting more people still arriving than leaving, and a higher birth-rate.

New Zealand is blessed with many spectacular National Parks and Scenic Reserves, each of them a magnet for us. High on our list was Abel Tasman on the western shores of Tasman Bay, looking back towards Nelson. We rose early to get the best of the light, watching the sun rise over a steel grey sea and set off for the four-hour hike with filtered sunlight peeping through the lacey tree-ferns, walking to the rhythmic sound of our hiking poles, click, click, click on a sandy track carpeted with tiny brown leaves of mountain beech, past tumbling streams and limestone rocks bright with moss. And far below, tiny sandy coves lapped by the gentle waves of a turquoise sea - coves you can only dream about in glossy holiday brochures. When it's that good, how could it possibly get better?

But get better it does.130 km to the north stands Farewell Spit, a sandbank 26 km long leaning out towads the east from the end of the peninsular like a dragon's tongue - a Cape Cod without houses and without people or Florida Keys before the days of man as he and his land developer is known in America. Farewell Spit is a haven for migrant waders we were hoping to see. But there is more; a lot more, to New Zealand than birds alone. At Farewell Spit there is walking and scenery beyond belief: Open pasture where sheep graze across the verdant hills, peppered with clusters of trees along the track, following red markers to a beautiful wide sandy beach where the waders were said to roost. We walked the shoreline for more than an hour with silver dunes rising like a desert across the spit before we found the roosting birds: Knot, Oystercatchers and Bar tailed Godwits crowding together under the wind, waiting patiently for the ebbing tide to expose ther feeding grounds across the dunes. We climbed the steep dunes in the hope of finding the far shore; lost again, the promised red markers nowhere to be seen, across a kilometer of shimmering white desert reaching high up into a purple sky. Yes, purple; close your eyes and look upwards and you will see it! As the tide receded, we watched a stoat scampering amongst the gorse and idled on the shell-strewn beach, picking at our picnic lunch, until eventually the sky filled with groups of waders as they left their roost and crossed the spit to join us, to feed on the watermark beside a long string of a hundred or more black swans. Magnificent!

We took on another walk later the same day - and one that topped even the last! A little way to the west stands Cape Farewell, South Island's most northerly point - and surely its most beautiful. It was low tide when we reached the shore at Wharariki Beach, 2 km or more of firm silver sand many hundreds of metres wide, islands set offshore, limestone and conglomerate rocks with arches along the beach and vast stretches of glistening dunes, all to ourselves! Surely we were in Paradise. I know we were. Janice told me so. If you go nowhere else in New Zealand, you must go to Wharariki Beach - but be sure to go around low tide, when the sun is at its peak, and don't wait for the summer - unless you like crowds. We don't. That's one of many good reasons for us being here in spring.

Another of those many reasons is the birds, though it's difficult for us to get too excited with so few different species here. Todd has joined in the fun though, with a new friend called Wiwi. Wiwi is a fluffy Kiwi of a specis not listed in any of New Zealand's books of ornithology. This Kiwi is a stuffed 'thing', purchased by the lovely arctophile, Janice, whilst my back was turned, and 'it' now sits beside Todd on the dashboard as we travel. Now we have to decide what to throw out of our baggage before we return home - and goodness knows what Suzie, Todd's floozie back home, will have to say about it when we eventually get back in December.

There are lots of things we like about New Zealand and one in particular deserves a mention. Whilst it's not a subject we often get to discuss, I consider it appropriate to congratulate the NZ Government on its provision of fine Public Toilets. There is always one in the vicinity whenever it's needed and they are always very clean and tidy. The standard of toilet paper on the other hand leaves a little to be desired. It's rather on the thin side and particularly finger-lickin' awful. Doubtless it's a 'green' issue.

One night we found ourselves in the wilderness at a Department of Conservation campsite by the river. Its appeal was the rushing river deep in the forest and free 'fossicking' for gold. Our big chance to strike it rich! Sadly, no-one else had arrived by late evening and as it is our practice not to camp alone in isolated places we reluctantly moved on into the outback in the direction of Arthur's Pass. The only other campsite for miles was at the rear of the local hotel in a township of 150 people, a garage and a general store. Outside stood twenty dusty 4X4 trucks, lifeless, engines crackling as they cooled, their owners noisily supping pints at the bar. 'Another handle, Rosie,' one of them called. 'And one for me mate here.' A 'handle' is a pint we've learned, and the guys around here get through a few after work each night before heading home to the missus, doing her duty at the kitchen stove. That's clearly how it is - us and them. The men had all gone home before we finished our evening meal. It rained heavily overnight - and it was still throwing it down next morning, rattling the windows - not good news for good views going east over Arthur's Pass.

The mountains were indeed totally obscured by cloud as anticipated and rain lashed the windscreen on the long winding road to the top, but after a brief stop for lunch and chasing off the over-friendly Keas, thin sunshine greeted us for the journey down, out across a wide shallow river valley with mountains rising dramatically on either side, white caps meeting a pale clouded sky. We'll take that for a deal on a day we expected nothing; a day of hard driving, following the route of the TranzAlpine Railway across the island from the Tasman Sea at Greymouth to the Pacific Ocean at Christchurch.

Janice had a hankering to set course for the coast at Akaroa on the Banks Peninsula where Hector's Dolphins are said to dance the waves in the turquoise waters of the breathtaking bay, settled by the French and still enhanced today by the subtle flavour of its origins: La Boucherie du Village, Rue Lavaud, Chez Fleurs, L'essence at the garage, Rue Croix and Chez la Mer - and all too easy to imagine the sound of the accordian on a street corner. Banks Peninsula rose out of the Pacific Ocean beyond the fringe of the Canterbury Plains in a flurry of volcanic activity that left a landscape of steep hills and valleys reminiscent of the Lake District - and equally enchanting. We recalled that Malcolm and Anita, met earlier in our travels, had occasion to visit their bach here on weekends and gave them a ring in the hope of meeting once again.
And so it was that we were picked up by boat early on Saturday morning, venturing out into the harbour with a sailor's eye, searching for dolphins and throwing dice into the wind. The roll was against the players that morning, the wind kicked up from the south with amazing speed bringing heavy seas and rain. We were forced to retreat to the shore, disappointingly dolphinless but delighted to have tried. It had never occured to us that Southerly winds would be cold here in the Southern Hemisphere - straight from the Antarctic! The wind had turned again by early afternoon bringing with it fresh sunshine, tempting us onto the hilly Akaroa golf course with Malcolm and Anita, to try our skills with borrowed clubs. We left Akaroa with many fond memories of a place you could retire to, and travelled to Christchurch, making ready to meet friends from Melbourne, Australia, at the airport. Jan and Trevor will be travelling with us for the coming week. With an hour or two to spare we popped into the Antarctic Centre to check out what we might be missing further south. We're never likely to get to the Antarctic by motorhome, but we were frozen and not overimpressed with the 'snowstorm experience', duly thrown about on the Hagglund (tracked vehicle) Ride - and learned that their breeding Blue Penguins, the stars of the show, had 'nists and iggs' (according to the commentary).

It's strange how life changes as we travel by motorhome. Living in such close proximity for long periods we find it unnecessary to talk to each other after a while; we have become mind readers, a nod and a smile often quite sufficient. Janice has just nodded and smiled. It's past our bed time.

David and Janice The grey haired nomads

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Photos

Picton
Lovely Picton

Queen Charlotte Track
A great hike

Green Shell Mussels!
A great experience!

Abel Tasman
View from the track to magnificent beaches below

Farewell Spit
Vast sand dunes - and purple sky!

Cape Farewell
Beautiful Wharariki Beach

Todd - and Wiwi, the kiwi
Todd with his new girl friend, Wiwi (don't tell Suzie!)

Morning
At Lake Rotoiti

Arthurs Pass
Lizzie on the way down

Akaroa
From the hills above town

Farewell Spit
Waiting for the tide to recede!