Going down South

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“Ugh… what’s that light? Who’s that rummaging about at this time of night? Is that Mike? Wait, no, it can’t be morning already can it?” But it was morning. And time to move. I wasn’t even in all that bad of shape all things considered. No headache but I felt exhausted. I hastily packed my bag and went downstairs, electing for a hearty breakfast of water and only water.

Today we would be leaving for the South Island by ferry. Hopefully nobody was prone to sea sickness, though this probably wasn’t going to be an issue as the ferry was enormous. A 10 deck behemoth with cafes and 2 movie theatres, it was the size of a small cruise-liner. Once aboard I felt the need to have some breakfast. Something horribly unhealthy with cheese and carbs and meat; the typical thing one craves when hung over. We were fortunate to have a private cabin with deluxe seats more than suitable for a hangover-curing nap. I eased back in my chair. I felt so relaxed I was ready to drift off into… “HOT BUTTERED SCONES! NOW AVAILABLE!” the public address system blared at a volume usually reserved for fire alarms and warning of incoming nuclear missiles. So much for that.

I still managed to get a bit of a nap in before heading up to the top deck for some fresh air. As the ferry pulled into the long bays of the South Island the scenery felt oddly familiar. Like Waterton National Park back home. This was a reoccurring theme over the next couple of days. This part of the island had a south-central B.C. feel to it, with the pine covered hills, wineries and fruit orchards. We disembarked the ferry en route to Nelson on the east coast. New Zealand highways on the South Island seem to all be single lane affairs carved into the hillsides, distorting my perception of how long a journey should take. A distance which could be covered in an hour back home on the flat, open Alberta prairie takes nearly double the time here over the twisting, narrow mountain roads. Kudos to our bus driver, John, for navigating them with precision in our huge bus.

We stopped at the Forrest Winery for a wine tasting before getting to Nelson. Here I reaffirmed that wine is the most over-complicated beverage in the world. As a species we’ve had hundreds if not thousands of years to over-think everything. Mineral content of the soil, harvest time, sun exposure, watering schedules… all to develop a wine with the perfect subtle citrus overtone with a hint of brambishness or some other made up word. I seem to recall reading about a test where they put different labels on the same bottle of wine and the world’s top wine snots experts claimed they all had different flavour profiles. Don’t ask me for a source on that; you know it must be true.

Dave and some other lunatics decided to hurl themselves out of airplane that afternoon, but the rest of the group hung out at the hotel. We were treated to a delightful BBQ dinner courtesy of the Top Deck staff that evening and most people called in an early night. The next morning many of us set out to explore Abel Tasman National Park. There were full day hikes or a half hike/half kayak trip available. With memories of Mount Doom so fresh in everyone minds, I was surprised so many picked the full day hike. Six of us went for the kayak trip. We were a diverse group. I could have called this entry “A Dane, a Scot, a Yank, two Aussies and Canuck wander around the woods”. The hiking spot was accessed by a water taxi which we would have to catch back to the main beach for our afternoon kayak. We had just enough time to hike up to Cleopatra’s Pool, a popular swimming hole up in the hills. Just enough time that is for Dave and me to dunk our shoes in the river and Ben to rip his shorts trying to scramble over the rocks.

Back at the main beach we took a dip in the ocean before setting out in our kayaks. These were much more complicated than the little ones on the lake back home. They had a foot peddle operated rudder for steering controlled by the rear passenger. The Scot, Ben, and I teamed up and were soon trying to race Jacob and Dave, the Dane and the Yank. We surged ahead of them shouting “FOR THE QUEEN!” The Aussies, Lara and Renae, were much more responsible, as girls often are, and stayed with the guide. We paddled to the beach nearby “Split Apple Rock” and, since it was high tide, had a chance to crash and scrape our way through a narrow cave in the cliff side. We returned after a light picnic on the beach to get ready for dinner at Smuggler’s Pub next to the hotel. We all sat together at a large stone table, which we theorized was smuggled from Split Apple Rock, hence the pub’s name. Though pricey, the portions here were rather “Amercian sized”. Many opted for what appeared to be brontosaurus ribs. I had the seafood linguine followed by a chocolate peanut butter brownie, one of my biggest weaknesses. After a brief walk I returned to the hotel to write. The time outside in the water and on the beach had been well worth the sunburned shoulders. And Ben’s hilariously ripped shorts.

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Photos

Coming into the South Island
Looked kind of like home

Split Apple Rock
Pac man rock?

Onward!
“A Dane, a Scot, a Yank, two Aussies and Canuck begin to wander around the woods”.

Cleopatras Pool
Shorts ripped and feet dunked in t-minus 30 seconds

Sea Kayaking
Ben, myself, Dave, Jacob, Renae, and Lara