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Published: January 25th 2012
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Sneaky scientist Our ferry to the South Island is not until early afternoon so while Kristy works, I get to sneak into Zealandia Bird Sanctuary. Heather’s flatmate, the kiwi researcher, works at the Sanctuary and she gives me her ID card. She tells me that there is a check-bag area right in front of the automatic double-gate. So when I get to the surveillance outdoor entrance with its black, barred double gate (to ensure that no flightless birds skedaddle as tourists file in and out), I nonchalantly take out my bird book, binocs, and miscellaneous items out of my purse on the metal table. This process is meant to ensure I’m not carrying mice or other invasive smammals in my purse. Truly. I beep myself in and I’m golden.
The Sanctuary is green as anything with a pathway along one side of a lake/riverway. It’s a narrow sanctuary and can take hours to loop all the way to the end and back. But I only have an hour so I dawdle and take my time to spot. I get a great look at the flashy paradise shelduck female, learn to differentiate between the black-and-white little shag and pied
Takahe
Why are NZ flightless birds so cute and round? shag (they call cormorants shags in this neck of the woods), and snap some up-close shots of more tui birds, whose foreheads are golden with the pollen from the flowers on which they’ve been feeding. I wander to a grassy knoll area at the bottom of the lake and see one of the Sanctuary’s prized inhabitants, a takahe. This plump green and blue flightless bird was thought to be extinct until the early-mid 1900’s when a relict population was found in the Fjordlands down south. My last thrill comes when I peer into dim, dirty terrariums (all outside) and get to see a baby tuatara. These lizard-look alikes are like living dinosaurs, the only one in their genus and largely unchanged for millennia. They look vaguely like a horny toad (horned lizard) with tan spikes and sharp edges all around.
Crossing over After an hour’s wait for the delayed ferry, we finally drive our car onto the behemoth ship. The parking garage level is chock-full. Wonder how often people make this trek. It’s an expensive one, especially with a car! Nearly $200 New Zealand dollars. Upstairs there are plenty of lounge spaces, with a kids play area, private
booths, a small theatre, a decent cafeteria, and coffee bar with TVs blaring cartoons and sports.
For most of the journey, few go up top since it’s grey and blustery outside but once we enter the Marlborough Sounds of the South Island, more folks brave the wet and wind. For the Sounds are as beautiful as reported. Green, craggy tendrils of land with broken, cliff coastlines, laden in pines and other tall trees. Flocks of gulls wing over aqueous salmon farms. I get excited about this side of New Zealand and pace the upper decks, often alone. Can’t wait for some beautiful camping adventure! Grey weather can’t hold me back.
Well, that was unexpected We dock into Picton, which is cute and clings to hillsides like Wellington. We decide to take the scenic route to Nelson, the nearest town to our desired destination: Abel Tasman National Park. It’s already six though so we shoot for the town, resolving to get up early for to pitch our tent and then go hiking, maybe even kayaking if the weather allows. Queen Elizabeth Drive follows the sinuous coastline and there are epic views around every tight curve, either
of the lush forest, the shallow tropical-colored ocean, or cute Kiwi villages. We get stupidly excited over two flightless birds we see crossing the road in front of us. In fact, we pull over, stop the car and run to get pictures as they cross the road. I’m ready to stop traffic. We think they’re kiwis, they’re roughly that size (we think) and brown and round. As we get back into the car, I comment, “I thought they were nocturnal…”
Eventually, mist closes in and sight-seeing is near impossible. Then we hit flooded patches of road, enough to make me distinctly uneasy about crossing them. But I see other similar cars headed our way so I plow through. Pastures are turned into shallow lakes, cows and sheep huddling along high ground. By the time we reach Nelson, it’s nearly dark
and our energy is ebbing. It takes us 45 minutes to find the hostel we want since one of the main roads is closed due to a wash-out. We get lost, turned around, and thoroughly pissed off at the tiny Lonely Planet road map. The map is great…but not for dark and lost times.
We find the place at 9:00, check into a room, and then stumble our way down to the closest open restaurant. Most places in NZ seem to close early so we’re lucky we even find one that is still serving any food. But Smugglers, a bar/restaurant that fiercely embraces its pirate theme, is open. And full of men.
As we walk in, we can’t help but notice the clumps of men standing in the bar area. And sure enough, I see heads swivel in my peripheral vision. “Oh boy,” I think. We resolutely ignore and tuck into our bar food with vigor until one man approaches and anchors himself at our table. Kristy and I exchange oy-ve glances.
Half an hour later, we’re in a van taxi with seven mechanical engineers headed toward a jam bar downtown. Turns out this
Kiwi-imposters crossing the road
We got really excited...over common, troublesome wekas. group of men, ranging in age from 20 to 60, are in town to work on planes. Some come in regularly to Nelson so they know the run of the place. Just earlier that day, I had commented to Kristy that I sure wished we could meet some Kiwis and here we are! Being female does have its perks…
The group is rowdy, raucous, but well-behaved toward us. As we near downtown, they start making sheep jokes (no joke) and then one starts bleating so all the others pick a farm animal and the van is full of noise. I’m liking this group immensely. They’ve also picked up two London girls from Smugglers and there are immediate hugs exchanged and pacts of sisterly solidarity. We introduce the menfolk to Irish Car Bombs (not a hit), jam in a jam bar, and then we four girls grab a taxi and head back to our respective hostels as the binge-drinkers take over the streets.
What a rollercoaster day!
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