Motorhome News from New Zealand 6

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Motorhome News from New Zealand 6
19th November 2008

Farewell to South Island
Greymouth, Punakaiki (Pancake Rocks), Kohaihai, Oparara Valley, Westport, Lewis Pass, Kaikoura, Blenheim, Queen Charlotte Track and back to Picton.

New Zealand's South Island roads have been such a joy to travel; courteous and careful drivers with all the time to get wherever, whenever. Just very occasionally a car appears out of nowhere to overtake on a bend or a sleepy European visitor pulls out on the wrong side of the road. There are traces of accidents here-and-there however; crosses with flowers in the most unexpected places - drink or speed the most likely causes, or wheelies, Saturday night's twisting tyre marks left on the tarmac from hand-brake turns and high-speed swerves.

The road north from Greymouth was quiet, a leisurely drive past rocky shores swept by streaming white rollers along a western seaboard reminiscent of Oregon, every other vehicle a motorhome on this stretch, other people travelling as so many visitors to New Zealand will. There are thousands of rental motorhomes here in all shapes and sizes, driven by travellers young and old, and the country caters for them well, with ample sites and adequate facilities. An hours' drive brought us to the Pancake Rocks at Punakaiki - where suddenly, bus loads of happy tourists appeared, stopping off for the view, en route to the glaciers, no doubt. White-fronted Terns nest on the most unusual limestone formations here; limestone layered as if built as an English garden wall, playful seals on the rocks below and a gift shop for the 'must buys' that end up at the car-boot sale in a few years time. The spectacle and the gift shop are provided by the Department of Conservation (D.O.C), that marvelous government body caring for the environment, the people of New Zealand and the all important visitor. Oh! that we should have such a department in the UK. Importantly, in our view, it is the quality of facilities and conservation the D.O.C provides - and it is all for free, or a modest donation - you don't even have to pay to park your car. Sadly, much of our beautiful countryside and cultural heritage back home in the UK is in private, Trust or Council hands and we pay for it - again and again, in one way or another.

We camped a few minutes north of the Pancake Rocks with more of those feathered flying things in mind. Westland Black Petrels are normally only seen out at sea, skimming the waves with regular flaps of their sharp black wings, but at breeding time they nest amongst the trees along the shore close by. Another motorhoming couple, from Northampton in the UK, were already sitting on a sea-blown log on the beach when we arrived, telescope at the ready, binoculars in hand and well wrapped up to face the chilly wind that swept from the sea a half-hour before sunset. They were there to watch the same spectacle, as hundreds of these lovely birds left the waves and rose into the night sky, swirling and rising over our heads in vast groups towards their roost. Boy, it was chilly, but there is always that special warmth inside we gain from such an experience. We are wise enough and old enough now, to realise that these special little moments in life come quite free.

Experience also tells us that the best part of any journey is the end. Often that means home for us, that comfortable feeling of things familiar, but there have also been many occasions on our travels when 'ends' seem to be the most lonely and isolated extremities of road systems. Therein lies the magic of travelling; the 'Let's just go round the next corner to see what's there,' sort of magic. We are rarely disappointed. Our latest escapade was the long road north from Westport. It's not on the tourist route; the coaches don't go that way, but we have time, that precious commodity reserved for the retired in these challenging times. It's 100 km up a one-way road, following the deserted coast and rainswept pastureland to the small settlement of Karamea - and probably a further 20 km to the end at Kohaihai. The Irish came along this road in times-gone-by seeking gold. There were only ever 'poor diggings' here the story goes, but now there's just coal - and no gold, at all, at all.

Our D.O.C campsite at Kohaihai offered endless miles of magnificent deserted shoreline; a broad sandy shelf the colour of porridge with steep tree-clad limestone cliffs rising into the heavens from a calm grey sea the colour of the sky. We walked a while on the Heaphy Track leading over the mountains - a tidy hike of several days for those young and tough enough, which eventually joins the road down to Golden Bay, 77km, and four to five days, across the peninsular in the east. But we were leaving that for the time being, concentrating on the unlikely mission of finding the endangered Blue Duck on the river near the limestone arches in the mountains.

A recent newspaper report had tempted us this far into the wilderness, 14km along an unpaved road into the rainforest. 'Unsuitable for Motorcaravans,' the sign had read, trees dripping with moss and lichen, liverwort, and tiny ferns the size of a fingernail. We knew from the report that David Bellamy had missed us there by just five days; bad planning and preparation I guess. He was there as Patron of the Oparara Valley Project Trust to open the wonderful new facilities and tracks into the rainforest and limestone formations where cave fossils of extinct eagles (the largest ever recorded) and moa (twice the size of an ostrich) have been found. The Oparara River flows through the middle of an incredible limestone cave, 37m high, 50m wide and 200m long; brown, tannin-filled water flowing rapidly over grey rocks. We eventually found the beautiful Blue Duck; a gorgeous pair, resting awhile on rocks above the torrent of the river! You make your own luck don't you? Mission accomplished, we celebrated with a longer hike through the palms and tree ferns to the limestone caves and arches, and then, the trek back to Westport, 120 km south in the motorhome, once again down the same road, with absolutely no regrets! It might be the same road but the view is always different on the return journey. There are vast tracts of rainforest along the west coast of south Island, National Parks and Scenic Reserves stretching hundreds of km along the coast, most of it inaccsessible apart from where the few official tracks exist. Buttercup meadows stretch beside the road with rolling hills set back from the sea, sufficient to make the area significant for its large dairy herds and milk production. Few people live up here off the beaten track. It's really so far from nowhere that today's paper arrives tomorrow with a bit of luck and Nikau palm trees are left to grow in the middle of fields. That's South Island; around one million people and a chunk of land the size of England with the climate of Scotland, but sand-flies instead of midges.

As we finally left the west coast the whitebait season there came to an end. I guess it only starts because there are many lonely people who desire the opportunity to stake their claim to a piece of shore before sunrise and stand alone up to their nether parts in cold water waiting for those tiny, very tiny, innofensive little creatures to drift their frail skeletons into the net. It's not that the whitebait tastes of anything much. As an elderly gentleman at Okarito Lagoon told me, 'I've been doing this for a few years now, just to catch enough for me and the wife and a few neighbours back home in Christchurch.' I told him I'd recently tried whitebait fritters in a local restaurant. He cut in on my observations. 'They taste like omelette, don't they?' he said. Yep, whitebait fritters taste just like omelette. Better to leave the fish where they are, save all that money on nets and long wellies, get yourself a few chooks and fry a few eggs.

From Westport we dropped down to Reefton and took the wooded Lewis Pass over the Alps yet again, heading for the east coast, a moderate climb compared to Arthur's Pass our previous route a few weeks back. Once over the top the scene changed at the blink of an eye; from dense forested hills and mountains to sheep-dotted rolling pasture, barren hills in every direction, brown and sparse, wide tracts of dazzling yellow broom and a few last trails of snow left on the highest peaks. The road follows the broad grey ribbons of the Waiau River basin beyond Hanmer Springs where we stopped for the night. Hanmer wallows in the delights of hot springs, winter ski and summer sport; jet-boating, hiking and the like, and very much the Christchurch playground for the middle classes - with Ski Resort style. It was Thursday evening - the campsite was humming with noisy children and family holidaymakers enjoying a long weekend to celebrate Christchurch Show Day whilst Princess Anne was pinning rosettes on big bulls at the Showground. We didn't expect the crowds - they've only just had Labour Day weekend.

Outward bound the following morning, we drove an 80 km stretch of road, the SH70, running in the lee of the Seaward Kaikoura Mountains towards our destination, Kaikoura. Holiday weekend or not, we passed just seven cars, eight motorbikes, two tractors, 32,387 sheep, 4,321 cows, a handful of pastel beehives and half-a-dozen tucked-away homesteads. Every mile, a sheer delight. That's New Zealand.

There are many reasons to visit Kaikoura. There are the mountains I mentioned; towering, snow capped, over the town, looking down on the great arch of beach of silvery sand, a rocky foreshore and amazing limestone pavement where tourists stroll and red beaked gulls nest in harmony. There are many fine-quality gift shops along the one-and-ninepenny touristy end near our campsite - and smart houses, motels, restaurants and some pleasant surprises in terms of local culture, at the three-and-sixpenny end, where Norfolk pines and pahutakawa (the New Zealand Christmas tree, its flame red flowers glow in December) adorn the promenade. There's lots of talent in Kaikoura. Two dollars got us into the local Flower Show - a dazzling display of roses, sweet-peas, rhododendrons and annuals to delight the eye and stun the nose, and we shared a laugh with the ladies of an England past, collecting the money and selling raffle tickets on the door. The Kaikoura Art Show opened on Friday at 7.30 and we were there to sample the free cheese and wine - and admire some excellent work from local artists; some still at school and others still wielding a paintbrush at 91. Then, for those with the urge, there's snorkelling, swimming with seals or dolphins, or whale watching by boat or plane. But if you really want to know why we were in Kaikoura, it was for the birds. But you guessed that didn't you? The 'Albatros Encounter' leaves the harbour three times each day. 'The earlier you go, the calmer the water,' the young lady receptionist from Derbyshire, England, told us when we went in to book.

It was light at 6am when our little boat left the harbour, both sea and shore lost in thick fog, the captain peering towards what he hoped was the horizon, nudging the boat forwards with a few anxious revs of the engine. Not a good day to be out looking for birds! But a mile out the bait was set; yesterday's leftover fish from the local restaurant in a wire-mesh net dangling on the end of a strong line. These are the trips we love; just seven people and the skipper, all waiting, tapping our fingers impatiently, waiting for the birds to find us in the mist. And find us they did; first a Wandering Albatross, then a Royal Albatross, a Hutton's Shearwater, White-chinned Petrels, Westland Petrels, tiny Cape Pigeons, Giant Petrels, White-capped Mollymawks, the fabulously beautiful Salvin's Mollymawk......... the list goes on; all of them within and arm's length, squabbling, biting and angily wing-waving at each other for the spoils of survival. Our hearts raced, or feet were soaked as water swept over the stern and our cameras clicked furiously for half an hour or more as the rising sun finally burnt off the mist and silvery light danced on the waves. We're not too good at ocean-going birds, the pelagics as they are known, but help was at hand from Gary, our captain, who knew his stuff, and the support of a group of Dutch birding enthusiasts - there for their third outing in a week! We could be tempted to go out again too as you might imagine, but we'll save our pennies for yet another, even more desireable outing we have in mind if all goes well, off North Island in two weeks.

All too soon it was time to head north once more, off towards Picton and the ferry back to North Island. But not before a visit to Nin's Bin, a roadside stall of great renown where Nin (whatever that's short for), plys her trade as the NZ crayfish purveyor supremo. The crayfish experience was new to us, a lobster-like feast that evening with a glass or two of fine Reisling purchased that very day from a Marlborough wine house. For this is wine country, the Marlborough rolling hills laced with vines, a welcome summer pastel-blue sky, grasses blowing on the hills in the testing wind like waves at sea and the smell of salt in the air beside the foothills where road courts rail along the never-ending coastline from Picton to Blenheim, Christchurch and Dunedin.

The pleasant town of Blenheim gave us a feast of roses, gardens swamped in glorious blooms, and then we were off to see the vineyards of the region: Montana, Saint Clair, Framingham, Nautilus Estate...... The Reisling accompaniment to our crayfish came coutesy of a winery tasting - along with five other bottles. As many our friends will tell you, we're not wine buffs. We just like the stuff - and here are hundreds of wineries to choose from. Cheers! Hic!

True to form we fell to temptation yet again - even before we reached the ferry at Picton. You know how it is with temptation; not quite as volatile as love itself, but generally a little more spontaneous. With a day in hand before our pre-booked ferry, (nothing is ever entirely to plan) we rifled through the leaflets at Visitor Information looking for something exciting to fill our time and found another opportunity for a boat-ride; to Motuara Island, a nature reserve out in the Queen Charlotte Sound. It was not the greatest bird experience of our lives, but another boat later picked us up and ferried us round the corner to Ship Cove, the spot where Capt. Cook landed on more than one occasion as he cruised these waters - and where, it is said, he off-loaded New Zealand's first sheep. The objective was for the sheep to multiply before his next visit - so to feed the crew (or at least the officers). It probably seemed a good idea at the time, but the sheep are still multiplying as any New Zealander will tell you!
With little or no vehicular access around the Sound, Picton Beahcomber Cruises provide a water-taxi service, picking up post, people, parcels and bikes and taking them to remote destinations, to stay in lodges, private homes by the water, or to hike or bike bits of the three-day Queen Charlotte Track. From Cook's Ship Cove, they took us on again a short way to Endeavour Inlet and from there we hiked for three hours on a new part of the Q S Track for us, to Furneaux Lodge - where sore feet pull in to rest with a pot of English Breakfast Tea whilst waiting for the next ferry back to Picton. The Track was busy with many others following a similar trail, hikers and bikers sharing the same narrow, and sometimes muddy path. It was good for us, but summer must bring out the crowds, hikers and trampers forming caterpillar lines in both directions, attacked all too often by helmetted bikers jostling for space - pretty dangerous in my view; on slippery tree roots and tight corners with precipitous drops towards the Sound below. Maybe it will stop when somebody eventually goes over the edge and the flowers and crosses start to line the coastal track as they do the roads.

South Island has given us so much in our short time here. We leave with a stack of memories to fill a suitcase with excess baggage. There is beauty and tranquility everywhere: from deep blue oceans, deserted sandy beaches and rocky coves, to magical fiords, fern-clad rainforests, rolling pastoral hills and high, snow-clad mountain-tops - but finally, we have run out of roads. There aren't many of them. They are all worth the drive, however winding, however slow.

Distances are also seemingly longer than ours back home; they are now quoted in km on all maps, speedometers and road-signs - so come on UK Government, follow the example of your lovely little Colony; isn't it time your own children joined the 21st Century and the rest of the world? (which excludes the USA of course. They will doubtless hang on to their miles and gallons for ever).

Anyway; it's still miles between signposts as we have discovered.

'Ko wai ka tohu, ko wai ka hua?' Who can tell what the future holds?

David and Janice The grey haired nomads
Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish. But you can only spend it once.

P.S. Hands up the one who pinched our phone!

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Photos

Pancake Rocks
at Punakaikai. Our first sighting of bus loads of tourists for a while!

The Westland Petrel
Close-up!

The Beach at Kohaihai
endless miles of deserted coastline

Blue Duck - at last!
on the Oparara River

Oparara Limestone Caves
David Bellamy missed us here by just five days

Whitebait fishing
You have to be up with the tide to catch these little things

Lewis Pass
the view over the top

Kaikoura
Limestone pavement by the beach

Fabulous Kaikoura
the Albatros Encounter.............

Nin's Bin
and Crayfish for tea

Marlborough
This is wine country!

More sheep
It's all Captain Cook's fault!

The InterIslander Ferry
leaving South Island from Picton

Kaikoura again
Dusky Dolphins

Comments

[Bridget Hughes]

My mum is a Grandmother and Great Grandmother all the children call her NIN.