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Published: November 13th 2008
Signpost at Bluff
It's a long way home!Motorhome News from New Zealand 5
10th November 2008
Stewart Island - Milford Sound - Wanaka - Franz Josef Glacier - Lake Matheson
Beyond South Island and back, out along the Fiords in the west.
There's a signpost at Bluff, that small point of land at the very southerly tip of South Island, New Zealand. The sign reads: Bluff. 46 degrees South, 168 degrees East. It is 18,958 Km from here to London as the fly crows - but only 35 km to Stewart Island, our next destination. We're taking a short holiday from motorhoming, an overnight away, to do a spot of birding. Meanwhile, our Australian travelling companions, Brian and Kathryn, will be heading 'somewhere north' in their own motorhome. If we can find our mobile phone we'll be able to catch up with them in a few days. Goodness knows where they'll be.
A visit to Tourist Information secured our accommodation and our seats for the ferry across the Foveaux Strait to Stewart Island. Foveaux Strait is not 'straight' at all, of course, for here in the Roaring Forties, the sea, driven by fearsome winds, rises and falls in great peaks and troughs throwing ferry
passengers in all directions as the powerful catermaran fights its way across to the tiny port of Oban in just under the hour. 'This is a pretty normal day for us,' the lady crew-member told us. I would hate to be out there on a bad day! About half the passengers fled to the rear of the boat on the way over, white and ghostly as a New Zealand cloud. I'm really so proud of Janice; she showed no sign of fear - nor diced carrots. This journey certainly represents great value for money when compared to current rates for scary funfair rides and it probably beats bungee jumping, jet boating or white-water rafting for thrills!
We were offered a choice of Motel accommodation in Oban: a basic cabin for $150, or the Honeymoon Suite with views of the bay, a kitchen and a jacuzzi, for $165. We took the Honeymoon Suite - good choice!
Oban, Stewart Island, might be compared with St Mary's in the Isles of Scilly: a tiny fishing community turned tourist for the season, on an island set in the sea off the mainland amongst a scattering of smaller isles. Within minutes of our arrival
Ian's eco ferry to Ulva
Bobbing up and down like this! we were trying to find another ferry across to Ulva Island, an offshore nature reserve we were hankering to see. 'It's only a ten minute ride,' our host told us as she picked up the phone to make the booking for us.
'Charlie?' she said into the mouthpiece. 'I've got two people wanting to go over to Ulva.' Silence followed for a moment or two. 'Alright, Charlie, I'll try Ian.'
She tried not to look us in the eye. 'Charlie's not going today. Too windy, he says.' We weren't surprised, but having come all the way to Stewart Island we were not going to give up that easily. 'What about this guy Ian?' we said in unison. She gave Ian a ring and he agreed to take us if we could be at the quay in twenty minutes.
Ian was there when we arrived, breathless. He bore the smile of a musketeer, eyes twinkling with the excitement of living; fearless and adventurous. His red eco-ferry turned out to be an unsinkable bathtub with a big Yamaha outboard that roared, bashed and crashed across the angry waves like a plastic duck in the bath, to the lee of the magical
Ulva Island
Janice in the rainforest rainforested island of Ulva.
Ulva was all it promised to be. Every bird we hoped to see came out to greet us: the inquisitive Weka on the sandy beaches, noisy Kaka in the tree-tops, flocks of Brown Creepers amongst the rainforest undergrowth, Yellowhead calling us from above, the over-friendly Stewart Island Robin, black and white, ever under our feet. They say it's possible to see kiwi here during the day, but they didn't come out to meet us. Ulva is about as fauna-close to the Galapagos Islands we are likely to get.
We paid the ferryman when he got us back to the other side.
It was early evening before we returned to our motel with its wonderful view of the Oban Bay from the balcony. Photos of us in the jacuzzi have been censored by the New Zealand Tourist Board, but we have included one of a friendly Kaka, one of five that joined us on the balcony for breakfast.
In common with many of our other favourite islands, Stewart has winds of ferocious proportions as we disicovered the following morning. In common with just about every other island we have ever visited, we loved it -
Stewart Island
The kaka joined us for breakfast on the balcony despite the roaring wind. We loved it for its sense of history: of ancient whalers and drunken sealers, its close-knit community and quiet ambience. It is probably quite different in summer.
The Ulver Island Trust has worked hard to eradicate rats to protect the endemic birds, with traps and poison every 100 metres. There are now many reserves ring fenced and trapped over enormous areas of New Zealand and this policy, to protect the remaining endemics, seems to be working well. The current inclement weather and the thought of being this far south brings one to realise one of many siimilarities of New Zealand to Great Britain. We are currently in the Southern Hemisphere; the South Pole is directly below us, and if you think of New Zealand turned upside down, South Island becomes Scotland (where it's wet and windy all the time) and North Island, England, where it's mostly wet and windy in the summer.
The return ferry to the mainland was no less buffeting, but we shared a damp seat on the rear deck with another birder, from the USA, watching Diving Petrels, Sooty Shearwaters, Cape Pigeons and Shy Mollymawk (an 'Albatross' with a wingspan of 90
Milford Sound
Fond memories of Norway - where the wow meter was invented! cm) performing aerobatics, spitfire style behind the heaving boat. Back at Bluff we took stock of our options: with no phone we would have difficulty finding the wandering Aussies, and poor weather forecast ahead was likely to prevent any planned hikes. This is where motorhoming comes into its own; we decided to head north and stop overnight somewhere along the road and then drive on through the rain to Milford Sound. We would have to take our chances with the weather for the long dreamt of cruise on the Sound - and the exciting prospect of seeing Fiordland Crested Penguins! At the entrance to the pass, workers were putting up a sign. It said something about '6pm' but we forged on in all innocence. News had reached the campsite by the time we arrived at Milford Sound. 'Yes. The Pass is closed behind you, and more severe weather is forecast,' the receptionist told us. We've had our Indian Summer, now it's Antarctic Winter!
There was a hard frost overnight but we awoke to a hopeful shard of sunlight and turned on the heater. By 8 am however, the clouds had rolled in once more; it was raining and all
motorists were being warned to use chains if travelling back over the pass. Janice was not to be deterred by a little threat of snow and chains - we have been there before! Determined to justify our long journey to the Sound, she defied the Gemini in her and booked us on the 10.20am MV Friendship, 'small boat' cruise of Milford Sound, offered at an early bird discount price of $45 each from the campsite. If we were to get blocked in by snow, so be it - but we weren't about to miss our cruise. What had we got to lose? And what a great choice it turned out to be; the trip lasted two and a half hours and we had the best of all four seasons, sun, rain, wind and snow! There were only seven passengers and two crew on a boat made for fifty; the way we like it! And a Fiordland Crested Penguin came out onto the beach to preen in full view of our cameras! Never a day goes by without something to amaze us and bring broad smiles of delight.
The near-vertical walls of the fiord went from sombre and ghostly to
Lake Te Anau
It had snowed overnight bright and green every few minutes. Misty cloud swept across the mountains offering tantilisingly brief glimpses of snowcaps above us. Waterfalls splashed from rocky crevices, dripping ferns and mosses glistened in the sunlight and ancient conifers clothed the mountains, clinging precariously to the perpendicular cliffs. Our minds fled back to those great fiords of Norway and Newfoundland, etched in stone forever. There are 14 fiords along this western side of the Southern Alps: 200 km of impenetrable coastline where 10 metres of rain falls each year - and it rains on 200 days out of every 365!
The continuing weather warning prompted us to leave Milford Sound for Te Anau before we got blocked in. There was some light snow but clear roads to the tunnel at the top of the Pass and when we emerged the other side there was snow beside the road. Evidently they had as much as 30 cm of snow overnight on the eastern side! Late that evening we were back in Te Anau. Fresh snow fell overnight once again, a shaking of icing sugar on the mountains giving us spectacular views as we turned back in the direction of Queensland, following the ridge
of the Takitimu Mountains, wild yellow lupins now in flower by the roadside. Our thoughts were still on where we might find Brian and Kathryn. With no phone, we had no way of telling them where we were going or where we might meet up again.
The Lonely Planet recommended a cafe stop at Athol, another tiny South Island township of around fifty people. A strong police presence and crowds of locals suggested something special was going on. It soon became clear that a serious; very serious, cycle race had been following us. Today's stage was from Lumsden in the south to the finishing hill climb at Cardrona Pass further along our route. A poached egg breakfast later, the leaders passed in a flash, heads down, legs thrashing, the rhythmic rush of tyres on tarmac, followed shortly by two bunched groups, to encouraging shouts from the waiting crowd. We followed, at a gentle 30 - 50kmh behind a long snaking queue of bikers, traffic, and support vehicles, for almost twenty miles.
We've become accustomed to people waving to us as we pass here in South Island. I guess if you only see the same four or five faces
Lake Hawea
As blue as blue... each and every week it's essential to make some sign of contact with the outside world - however minor that might seem. At Garston - a patchwork of a handful of houses, the whole flag waving junior school turned out to watch the cycle race pass, teachers, kids, mums and dads - the most excitement they're likely to get until next years' race! Todd was so pleased to see them (he's been playing truant from school for some years now), he leant out of the window and waved back - to smiles of delight and great cheers and applause from the children. They'll be talking about that in Garston for years to come!
There are two roads on South Island: one on the west coast, and one on the east - joined together here and there where mountain passes permit. Our journey south wound backwards and forwards between the two and somewhere it was inevitable we would need to retrace our steps. By the time we reached the Queenstown turn police had closed the road over the Cardrona Pass to traffic - ahead of the cycle race to the top. With no choice, we tracked back along the Gibbston
Valley to take another look at the bungee jump over the gorge. A coach load of youngsters arrived whilst we were there, taking turns to plunge themselves 50 metres off the bridge into the river below! Nuts, the lot of them. Perhaps sixty years younger, I would have been there with them.
This road eventually took us back into delightful Wanaka early afternoon, Janice rummaging through the list of campsites for something different with a better view of the lake. She picked on the one furthest from town, out on a road to nowhere in particular with thoughts of a wilderness walk the following morning. Five minutes after our arrival another Britz motorhome arrived. Brian and Kathryn were in town! How spooky is that? They should have been much further north by then - and they had the choice of four other sites in town. Evidently they had been delayed by Pass closures due to accidents and heavy snow!
We jouneyed together along State Highway 6, leaving Wanaka at the southern end of the lake, following the highway, first beside the banks of the breathtaking vista of Lake Hawea, saphire blue against the grey, snow-topped mountains, then joining Lake
Matheson Lake
Up before sunrise for reflections Wanaka once again towards its northern tip. Both of these stunning glacial lakes are some 50 km long, both enhanced by a backdrop of mountain peaks, both as blue as the eyes of a fair haired maiden. This incredible drive follows the braided Makarora River, wild, wide, winding and heavenly blue, threading over cement-grey shale and cobbles, through dense forest of silver beech , gently wending its way east to the lakes down the Haast Pass. At the watershed at the top of the Pass, across the spine of the Southern Alps, the Haast River trundles out to the west, to the Tasman Sea through the Gates of dramatic Haast Gorge. Wow! Steep forested valley walls rise vertically above the river, sending it running wildly to the coast, waterfalls gushing from the hillsides and buttercups flashing bright beside the road.
Brian and Kathryn had yet to see a Fiordland Crested Penguin and we were quite anxious not to be seen to hold their sighting of a Wallcreeper in the Pyrenees against them forever. However, it's a well known fact that these strange and ungainly birds are most likely to be seen around their nesting sites at sunrise or dusk,
Near Fox Glacier
Welcome to New Zealand - Mt Cook and Mt Tasman in the distance. but both options were out of the question the morning after a good meal and a few sociable tipples. However, it might be worth a try.
So it was that we headed out of the campsite a little after the sun came over the mountains, chasing early morning week-end cyclists northwards over those ubiquitous South Island one-lane bridges for a hike out through dense rainforest to Monro Beach. At first sight the beach was deserted, but around the rocks at the corner, one, then two - then four more little darlings appeared, a whole Fiordland Penguin family waddling across the sand towards the surging tide, daring each other to take the first plunge, diving in, ducking, rushing backwards and forwards like little kids on their first day at the seaside! This wonderful Penguin experience left us all spellbound - and deleriously happy.
The west coast just here is truly spectacular: for its dense forest of tall trees, kamahi, broadleaf, rimu, fuchsia trees, cabbage trees and tree ferns; the verdant understorey of ferns, mosses and bromeliads, water droplets glistening in sparse sunlight and mist wafting in the warm air like cigarette smoke above the forest floor. All that and an
afternoon walk up to Fox Galcier in one day - it's too much, really! That's one of the many delights of motorhoming. You can go where you like, when it suits you, and home is always just around the corner with the handbrake on.
It rained on Sunday. It rained and rained and rained. At least we had an hour or two in the early morning to visit Lake Matheson at dawn for reflections in the still dark water and take a short walk to the Franz Josef Glacier before it started in earnest around coffee time. We battened down the hatches at the campsite in town to wait it out. True to forecast it eventually stopped in the early hours of the following morning - with enough brightness in the sky to allow us a three-hour kayak trip on smooth water on Okarito Lagoon, though things turned a bit choppy in the wind as we turned for home, exhilerated and pleased with our effort. It's good to travel wth friends, to share stories and memories, the preparation of evening meals, a glass or two of good New Zealand wine and an evening of chat and games.
But
it's time once more for change. We'll be on our own once again as Brian and Kathryn head towards the east coast in the morning and we continue up the west coast beyond Greymouth. With a fair wind we should meet up with them again on the crossing back to North Island in a little over a week, though there is still no sign of the mobile phone, making things a bit tricky.
There is change in the United States too we hear, with Barack Obama seeking to rouse that great nation from the doldrums - and here in New Zealand, Saturday's election finally unseated Labour Prime Minister Helen Clarke after fifteen years as leader.
Guy Fawkes night, the 5th November, passed without incident though there was evidence of spent fireworks here and there last week. Why ever should they want to celebrate Guy Fawkes in New Zealand? Halloween also came and went in a blink without trick and treating, and Christmas cards are now in the shops celebrating summer, with special ones for overseas showing winter scenes and Father Christmas. The wheels of economics, commerce, life and time it seems, will continue to turn, despite our nomadic
existance of peace and tranquility on the road.
David and Janice The grey haired nomads
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Linda
non-member comment
travelers all
Dear old (!) friends-- These adventures cement my intention to go where you have gone (not like in Star Trek, where NO one has gone before)-- you make everything sound so irresistible, although the frequent squally weather is a bit discouraging. We just returned from a week in Mexico, following 3 weeks in the U.S. western national parks. We are traveled out, not to say unraveling, and now will settle in for the winter (except to drive to San Fran to spend Christmas with kids). The economy dictates a bit of caution for a while. So we'lll travel vicariously, with you intrepid nomads. Tally ho! Affectionately, Linda