Awaiting departure from Wellington

At least it is a fine day, the weather forecast wasn’t too reassuring but it look fine as we despart. The days for the tramp over the Queen Charlotte Track (which from now on will be referred to as the QCT) isn’t looking at all flash. Apparently I will be walking amongst thunderstorms and gale force winds. Let’s hope the weather forecasters are as out of touch as usual.

The crossing is uneventful, not exactly a glass sea but also not too rough. I wander about the decks and eventually settle into a seat at the front and watch people come and go. The scenery is pretty but it’s a trip I’ve done many times now and I’m the type of person who likes to see new sights and head to new places. The 3 1/2 hours passes quite slowly.

Goodbye North

Hello South

Picton ahoy

Arriving in Picton I quickly find my pack and am one of the first to leave. A short walk up Auckland St and I find my accomodation for the night, The Villa, which is a backpackers, although I’ve taken a private room. Long gone are my days of sharing a room with 5 others in bunks snoring, farting and whatever other noises they choose to make during the night.

The Villa in its glory

I pay my $70 and head to check out my room, it’s really not too shabby for the price although quite tiny. As I’ve not eaten all day and it’s now closing in on 5pm, I throw my pack in my room and head out for a wander about town.

My room

With ensuite

I wander down to the waterfront to make sure I know where I’m headed in the morning and then begin to scout restaurants. Several seem closed down, whether due to COVID or some other reason I’m not sure. Many though are still open and there is no shortage of choice. Having scoured TripAdvisor, I opt for Oxley’s and it proves to be an adequate choice. I treat myself to a Salted Caramel Margarita and then order the calamari as an entee. Both are wise choices and the calamari in particular is delectable.

For mains I choose the fresh gurnard pan fried with seasonal veges. It’s nice but not startlingly so, nor $36 worth. Desserts look nice but at $16 I choose instead to get an ice cream from the local supermarket before hitting the Picton nightlife. 8 minutes later, the ice cream is completed and so is the tour of Picton and its nightlife. I walk around a second time to extend the night and then take the long way back to my room via the waterfront. It really is a pretty little town, there’s just not anything to do in the evenings short of drinking at the Irish pub. I pass on that tonight however with the staff of my tramp in mind tomorrow morning.

Back at my room I try to connect to the complementary wifi with absolutely no joy. The signal is too feeble to reach me and I end up just using my mobile data to connect my laptop and watch Apple TV for a few episodes of long way up with Ewan McGregor. I close my curtain sadly losing the amazing rooftop view which I will provide you below.

My gorgeous view

Shower and turn in at 11pm ... before midnight is a miracle for me

Where is the handle

Who knew what a noise a handle can make at 3am

By 6.45 I’ve given away the idea of further sleep after only managing to fitfully doze the rest of the night. I’ve decided that single beds are not designed for a gentleman of my size and will avoid them from now on. Rolling over can be rather treacherous, especially on one that’s side springs seem to be missing.

Right next door is a bakery and in need of a coffee I head down and order a cup with a ham & cheese croissant. The croissant is fabulous, the coffee much less so. It arrives via one of those machines where you push a button and leave it to do the rest. Sadly the machine seems in a similar state to myself this morning, dishevelled and not that happy to be moving at this hour. It groans, grinds and spews forth the worst cup of coffee I’ve experienced in the past decade, the only saving grace being that it’s actually hot.

I return to my little room taking extra care with door handles and finish my breakfast before packing up. I hand my key back in and wander down to the harbour to check in with Cougar Lines who are my water taxi company taking me to the start of QCT and ferrying my pack to each nights accomodation (yes I’m old and yes I’m lazy)

I’m early, so take the opportunity to head across the road and order a decent coffee. Chalk and cheese, this one is wonderful as is the $50 ginger cookie. Nice to have a bargain this early in the day. Returning to the boat I sit and watch the others to join me on the cruise out to the track. I identify a group of 7 snobs as definitely Aucklanders (correctly as it turns out) and from the way they are dressed, have doubts they will not be walking the track very far, if at all.

Said snobs

One puffs away artistically on his vape and all compete to impress with loud conversation about past achievements., I make a mental note to avoid at all costs.

We board at 9.50 and are away promptly at 10am. It’s a little choppy today but I’m happy with that. I much prefer a roughish trip than a gentle sway from side to side. A refreshing light spray catches me from time to time and I happily watch the bays and coves sweep past. On an impulse I ask the captain whereabouts kiwi ranch is and he says we are just about to pass it. Kiwi ranch is where my 3rd form camp was held for a week back when I was 12 and I have a sudden wave of nostalgia as I see it in the distance.

Leaving Picton

Kiwi ranch - the site of my 3rd form camp

Memories of Greg Barnes and I emptying the cordial jug whilst my classmates closed their eyes in prayer flood back to me as we sweep past.

An hour after departing we arrive at Ship Cove, apparently a favourite spot for Captain Cook to park up in the Endeavour back in 1770. A large monument to him adorns the cove just alongside the beginning of the track.

Disembarking at Ship Cove

Yours not quite so truly at the Cook Memorial

Happily the snobs stay aboard, not that it really would have mattered, in that garb I would have left them in my dust, even in my present out of shape condition. I wander about the ship cove taking in the signs and memorials to Cook and Maori tribe leaders of the time before it begins to spit and I decide I best be on my way. It’s very dark overhead and the cloud look most threatening. Surprisingly though, the most I cop all day is very light and brief showers which I don’t mind in the slightest as they refresh and cool me down.

Ship Cove Wharf

The beginning of the track

A local sees me off

The beginning of the track is a winding slow accent up a ridge that continues far longer than I think fair for someone unfit and trying to break in new boots. However I soon have a sheen of sweat on the brow and am I my element with a challenge ahead. It’s a very pleasant climb with a decent track and wonderful native forrest about me.

Off we go then

After a decent climb the track bends around to the right with wonderful views down into the sounds away to my left. Let me warn you now, if you don’t like photos and many of them, then bypass this days blog. The best way I can describe the days walk is its like wandering along in some sort of heaven. Having cycled the length of the country a few years back, I’ve seen many wonderful views but I assure you that the first day of this track is up there with the very best of them.

Initially I have an audiobook playing through my AirPods with Jack Reacher taking care of the world but all too soon I can’t concentrate on the book with such scenery before me and switch to music to accompany me instead. I have it in random but Dire Straits and Finlay Quaye go beautifully with the wonder that unfolds like an art gallery as I march along. It’s obviously had plenty of rain about here lately as parts of the track are boggy and puddly. All the better for wearing in the boots. A little ways down the road and I have my 2nd bout of nostalgia for the day when ‘The Swingers’ hit my AirPods singing Counting the Beat. It’s the exact same song that we played as nauseum all the way over on the ferry back in 1982 on the way to Kiwi Ranch for the camp I mentioned earlier.

Ok ok, but I did warn you there would be a plethora of photos. It seemed as though each time I rounded a bend I was reaching for my phone. Damn good thing I upgraded to an iPhone 12 Pro Max isn’t it mum !!!? What an incredible photo they take (there’s your plug apple, how about a free iPhone 13 Pro Max Plus supersonic this time next year .. you must owe me at least 1 by now)

The colours of the water are stunning, I thought New Zealand ... or is that aotearoa now, I’d hate to be politically incorrect ... had lost most of its clean / green reputation but some of my faith is restored today. The various blues range all the way through the spectrum from turquoise to rich navy. I can’t decide which I enjoy more, the splendour of each new cove and bay that opens up before me around each bend or the periods of rich green darkness with the twisted knarled kings of elderly trees that look as though Boy Scouts have been practicing for their knot badge upon them. I decide it’s a combo of both when I get to look through the intertwining branches into a sparking bay below me.

The track continues to rise and fall and bend back and forth both left and right. The new boots have been good so far but early on the track I slid in a boggy patch and have been nursing a slight niggle in the right groin. It’s nothing huge just a slight annoyance that reminds you it’s there every now and then. I push on at my usual speed (full ahead) Hoping I will walk it out. I’m not sure what it is about me that drives me forward but I’m the type of person that once I’m underway in any task, job or challenge, I’m loathe to stop until I can move no more. It is with huge willpower and mums harping in my head that I reign myself in at just after 1.30 and stop to eat my filled roll and take on some much needed water. Another local stops to watch me and I rip off a few bits of bread which are happily accepted by my guest pictured below.

Lunch ... for 2 as it turns out

My guest

Yes, I know !!! You’re getting sick of pictures ! Bad luck, it’s my blog, deal with it.

There are a few gates to go through that pass through private land. I’m left wondering what would happen if the person who owns the land decides he/she no longer wishes to have people passing through. Will the track cease to be ? Will there be an opportunity for a new business to open up and shuttle people around the private bits ? Or do the government have a deal sewn up in perpetuity ? I guess I’ll never know but for now I’m thankful to be able to plod onwards. You’ve probably gathered by now that I love trees, and for someone such as myself this track is tree heaven. Apparently some of the trees at the beginning of the track date back to the time when Captain Cook drove on up in the endeavour which is a lovely thought as you gaze around. So many of the trees here are as every bit spectacular as the sea views. It’s lovely that no gorse or blackberry had yet penetrated the area.

Even dead trees are beautiful here

After waking for hours with not a person nor house in sight, it comes as a shock when I lower into a valley and begin to pass cottage after cottage with rough driveways hewn up to them. I can’t help but think that if I were to buy a place in such a lovely area, I’d hate to have a dozen neighbours plonked almost right on top of me. It almost beggars belief and feels quite strange to walk past a little area that is like coronation st for the sounds.

Towards the end of the day and I’m tempted to nick it

No better spot for a swing

Finally I come to Fernaux Lodge, my accomodation for the evening. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved. For all the beauty of the journey with its coves, bays, waterfalls and trees, my feet are telling me that it’s time to take off the new boots and give them a breather. I’m shown to my quarters, take one look and head back for an upgrade. Now most days I’d have happily accepted the room I’d booked but after 22 km in new boots I felt like a room with my own toilet and shower and with a little more space than just the bed with 2 inches either side and front & back. I wouldn’t be stretching the truth to say that my pack may not have squeezed in. Look away here mum !!

So I pay my extra $100 and upgrade to a nice room with a lovely shower, wifi, fridge and toilet. It’s a whole day of making panels at work, but of Adele makes lasagne, it will be worth it !

Welcome back mum, don’t worry all’s well and I didn’t spend a cent ... cough cough

I dump my pack in my room and toddle off in search of the fabled hot tub (or small spa pool to us menial types) it’s rather smaller than expected to I linger around the area before 2 elderly ladies finally exit. There are only 4 jets blowing in the spa and so I strategically place myself in a position to take most advantage and have them pounding the most aching areas. After a while I am struck by the wonderful idea that perhaps a well placed jet could do wonders for my groin niggle. Now let me tell you right here that it isn’t such a wonderful idea. Firstly you have to contort yourself to an unnatural position something akin to being midway through a game of twister and then you need to prop and balance yourself to maintain said position, nearly causing further injury in other places. I can’t be certain but it could be just the lack of jets and awkward positioning of them in this particular pool. However, I digress, the main problem with this technique comes when being observed by other people. Unfortunately for me I was in mid treatment when one of the elderly ladies snuck back up to retrieve an item she’d left behind earlier and I only noticed her too late. She grasped her shirt and giving me a puzzled if not confused and dismayed look, hurriedly backed away before I could explain why I was contorted the way I was.

Hallelujah it’s home for the night

My upgrade

The hot tub

My room bottom right

After just over an hour in the hot tub I head back to my room and finish with a 20 minute shower. By now I’m feeling almost back to normal but one hell of a thirsty as I’ve only had a small bottle of water all day apart from my coffees. I wander over to the bar and with little convincing needed am prodded to try a local craft beer at some 6.5% Its a rather large glass and on an empty dehydrated stomach I soon see why it’s named hazy something or other. My mind begins to float and by the 2nd I’m feeling somewhat hazy myself. I order dinner, recommended blackened Hapuka fish burger with rosemary fries and garlic aioli and consider a 3rd. Luckily I don’t order one as no sooner is my meal ordered than a family I met earlier in the ferry sit down at the table next to me. Within seconds they have insisted I join them and one has hauled my table over to join theres.

It’s a nervous beginning for me as the haze inducing hazy beer has slightly impaired my usual clarity of thought and conversation skills. They don’t seem to notice or perhaps they were just polite as we are soon chatting like old friends. I take back most (not all) of my previous comments about Aucklanders as this bunch also turn out to be from that part of the world and are one hell of a lot nicer than the other bunch that were on board the ferry.

As is now becoming routine for my trips, it turns out that the father of the group, a lovely man called Dr Raza, just happened to know my sister in Auckland and actually worked with her once upon a time. They are a lovely family, Dr Raza, his wife, 2 daughters and a son in law to be who is an opera singer of all professions. It makes for a splendid evenings conversation and I forget to take a pic of the food which is quite a tragedy as it was magnificent (though again that could be the haze) the fish burger was mammoth and without doubt the finest I’ve eaten. The following deconstructed banoffee pie was also a thing of beauty in both appearance and taste.

I finally drag myself away at about 9.20pm and any remnants of haze are blown away when I’m charged $5 for a can of sprite to take back to my room. I’m still damn thirsty but $5 is criminal. They have a captive audience out here I guess and I grudgingly part with the coins.

I’m now back at my room and having consumed said sprite have decided to take my revenge by having another 20 minute shower and using the 2nd towel. I’ll have my $5 worth somehow !!!

https://strava.app.link/igDruHsX1bb

Above is the link to the days hike

Goodnight all

Off we go

I’m reliably informed that today will be the easiest on the track and so it proves. Very little climbing and mainly good easy walk. The views again are lovely though possibly not quite as startling as yesterdays. Perhaps I’m now just taking it for granted as there is just so much natural beauty here.

There must have been quite some rain last night as the track is decidedly more boggy today. It give the new boots a decent workout and they look after me well. Not a spot of dampness after ploughing through mud and puddles. I’m wearing a new pair of merino icebreaker socks today and never before have my feet been treated to such comforts. They feel encased by cushions and I highly recommend them.

In a few places the track passes through streams and light waterfalls.you are given the choice to jump across stones or in most cases follow the track up a little higher and cross a bridge above. Ironically Paul McCarney has just been singing to me as I reach the first of them. Paul warns me “Don’t go jumping waterfalls, please keep to the lake, People who jump waterfalls, sometimes can make mistakes”

https://youtu.be/YbvdQBz65tM ⬅️ you click on it mum 👌

As much as I like Paul, I’m actually much more a Lennon fan and given that today is December 8, 2020, exactly 40 years to the day that he was murdered, I think to myself what would John do. Never one to take the cautious approach he would have definitely jumped the waterfall and so do I ... successfully as it turns out, sorry Paul ... good song though.

Decending down to the bay I wander through a large grass field before passing several more baches and holiday homes. Serveral look more polished and are probably full time residences given the sheep grazing in surrounding paddocks. For about a kilometre several small old tractors are abandoned almost as exhibits in an outdoor museum. They certainly don’t look out of place and make an interesting sideshow to the views out to the left.

I pass a few groups of people who obviously left a lot earlier and still have a few years on me. They have a billy out and cups of tea are brewing. The first group are a friendly bunch of 6 who offer me a cup which I politely decline. I stop for a brief chat before moving on again and leaving them to their cuppa. A little ways on another group of 4 can be heard before being seen and are having an obvious disagreement about walking pace. There’s an awkward silence as they suddenly see me approaching and I’m given a few surly nods in response to my cheery greetings. I move on past without stopping.

Jumping waterfalls against Pauls advice

The forested parts of the track today are lush and relaxing. I can actually feel myself unwinding as I go and opt to take out the AirPods and instead listen to the birdsong and squelching of mud beneath my boots, it’s very therapeutic in its own way. The sun bursts through every now and then and once again I’m lucky to have no rain.

I stop briefly to eat my apple turnover bought the day before in Picton. It’s still fresh and makes a lovely makeshift lunch along with my tasti trail mix. Highly recommend this stuff also, it’s full of dark chocolate, coconut flakes, pumpkin seeds, nuts and cranberry pieces. Damn good and energy giving. Another slight climb up and around a curve and then I branch off onto a little side trail that leads to Mahana Lodge. This track is not in such great repair with a few recent slips probably caused by the rains of late. It continues for around about half a kilometre before opening out to Mahana Lodge.

Track to Mahana Lodge

Washout

Up we go then

I’m given a warm greeting at the lodge by Dave and taken up to my room which is both spacious and comfortable. No upgrade needed here ! Sadly no wifi either and so will have to upload this later tonight at dinner.

Mahana Lodge herb garden

Mahana Lodge

I have a relaxing hot shower and change into some fresh clothes. Given that it’s not far past midday, I have a lot of time to fill in until dinner which is at 6.30 Dave informs me. Dave is a very likeable character who has led an interesting life by all accounts. He’s in his mid to late 60s (I’m guessing) and been a successful chef in his own award winning restaurants in Auckland before throwing it in and heading to Fiji for several years where he set up and ran a yacht chartering company. He packed that in and moves back to Auckland before heading down to Picton and eventually out here to run Mahana Lodge. These days he tells me he works part time and is an alcoholic full time. It is he who will be cooking tonights meal.

The view from my room

During a long chat with Dave out on the beautiful wooden deck, a neighbour arrives and introduces himself as Al. Al it seems is the local handyman fixit gardener lawnmower and all round helper. He is another wonderfully likeable friendly character and soon offers to take me on a guided tour of some of the local bach’s. Having nothing else planned I readily agree and we head off a steepish narrow path that winds up past several wee cottagey type houses. 95% \240he tells me remain empty for all but 2 weeks of the year. “A real shame and a waste” he says with feeling. He puts it down to many factors, some are too busy working to pay the mortgage, some are so rich they forget they own them amd others come for a few weeks and discover they have let the place become so overgrown that it takes them the entire 2 weeks to get some sort of order restored and the hard work puts them off returning for another 12 months. He obviously knows all the owners and where the keys are kept as he lets me in to a few and shows me around. In some he even takes notes on what needs doing, presumably for the owners. In 1 a toilet is leaking and he turns off the water and removes it. This’ll have to be replaced he says, grab us a picture on your phone and you can email it to me so I know what to get, he asks of me. And so now for your viewing pleasure, I offer you an old, no longer working, genuine Marlborough Sounds toilet

We complete the tour and head back down to the lodge where I assist in moving the deck chairs so he is able to mow the lawns.

One of the bach’s I visit with Al

Lawns pre mow

Mowed with deck chairs restored

While Al is working I entertain his dog Sophie for a while, a large lovable mutt who’s boundless energy reminds me of my own Maggie. Apparently Sophie used to be a hunters dog but kept running away for days at a time, so one day she was offered to Al for $100 and he took her in the spot. She still disappears from time to time and causes him all sorts of grief but always tends to arrive back eventually. Sound familiar Maggie ?

I’ve been told there’s a waterfall at the end of the track up behind the lodge and head up to take a look. I’ve put on my normal runners and very soon find out just what a help my boots have been. The track up is both narrow and slippery. Several times I go for an extended slide that has my heart in my mouth and my ankles at unnatural angles. Thankfully I make it up in 1 piece and take a photo of the rather meagre waterfall for posterity’s sake.

The err waterfall ..

Back to my room I lie for a while on the extremely soft comfortable bed listening to my audiobook and almost fall asleep. Deciding that’s not on, I head down to the waterfront and take a walk along the foreshore. I sit at the end of the jetty for a while and take it all in. Looking back over the bay to Fernaux Lodge where I left this morning, I reflect suddenly that it was the site of the double murder of Ben Smart & Olivia Hope some 20 years back. It just doesn’t seem the right setting for a murder, not that I guess there is any correct setting for one. This place just seems more unlikely than most others. I’m glad I didn’t think of it last night when staying there. Dave tells me later that the locals still discuss the events to this day and have little doubt Scott Watson did it, even if he didn’t, Dave puts in, he was a nasty piece of work and deserves to be where he is regardless. He goes on to tell me that both the Smart & Hope families still live locally.

6.30 finally rolls around and I head down to the indoor courtyard for dinner. It’s a chefs table and Dave explains the concepts behind chefs tables and the origins of them. Apparently they began in Louisiana back in the early 80s by a chef (who’s name I forget) who was responsible for introducing blackened fish to the mainstream public and then the whole creole food movement. Dave is a wonderful story teller and revels in delivering us the tale. I actually forget I’m hungry and listen with rapt attention. The idea of a chefs table is that the chef comes to the table prior to the meal and explains the menu before service. There is no ordering, you get what the chef provides. In addition to this, he takes you through each item on the menu, where it hailed from and how it has been prepared for you this evening. It may sound boring but it’s actually fascinating, especially when presented by Dave.

For entree we are served whitebait fritters, with whitebait fresh from a little stream in Fiordland and personally delivered to Dave by his close friend and owner of the whitebait produce that is delivered to the finest restaurants up and down the country. Dave assures is the only way to cook whitebait is in fritter form with nothing more than free range eggs and fresh churned butter in a searing hot pan. It’s served with a home pickled cucumber.

Whitebait Fritter

To follow is an incredible meal of succulent lamb that can be traced back to grass fed and spring water. This is accompanied by slow baked beetroot with fresh local creamy feta and lightly toasted sesame seeds, slow roasted potatos that have a flash name and were sourced from a special potato patch amd baked in boiling butter with rosemary, and possibly the best carrots known to man that have been soaked in an incredible sauce of orange and other things I’ve since forgotten. He explained the process and the orange juice they were cooked in itself was a performance in artistry. Apparently 1 litre of freshly squeezed juice was slowly reduced down to little more than a couple of tablespoons before other ingredients were blended in. The upshot is a sensory delight that remains with me hours later. The red wine jus for the lamb he tells us, started life this morning as a fairly decent bottle of Merlot and has been slowly reducing all day, “not by me” he adds, “I used the spare bottle for that”

Never have I eaten such magnificent food, the red wine jus is worth the price of admission alone.

Simply Magnificent

I won’t bore you with the construction and ingredients of dessert, mainly as I can’t remember them all, surfice to say that it was essentially a mini pavlova with alcohol frozen berries on top and a special passion fruit filled centre. Never has a pavlova been so wonderful.

Meet chef Dave and some random old guy at the table

There are only 3 of us at the table tonight, myself and a lovely young couple from Ohakune. We are spoilt really as Dave assures us it’s the only night for months that hasn’t had at least 10 booked in and they are booked solid for the next several weeks. I can see why ...

Post dinner I go for another walk along the beachfront to let the meal settle. I’m now back to my room and will turn in early to try and sleep before the big walk tomorrow.

Mahana Lodge

Here is today’s easy walk -:

https://strava.app.link/TYDLin0O2bb

***R.I.P. John Lennon - 40 years today 😢***

Night all

Up the drive

Back on track

The weather forecast today hasn’t been encouraging, storms, gale force winds, driving rain etc none of which come to pass. I may have mentioned before that I’d like to be a weather forecaster. Easy money that. They can predict bloody anything, usually cover their bases and more often than not get the entire lot wrong and still get full wages. I am willing to have a go and no matter where you are reading this, here is my forecast for you for the next week, month, hell .. however long you need it for. Hrrr hmm Your day will be mainly fine, possibly overcast during parts of the day with chances of showers and maybe heavy rain. It will be mainly calm with possible winds rising from north south east and west that may linger for longer in some areas. Slight chance of a storm in exposed and not exposed areas with lightning and thunder for some. Some of you in low lying areas, mid range areas and high areas could see some hail or even snow. Other than that your day will be fine and sunny unless it’s not. For those of you wishing to pay for my daily forecast please apply for my PayPal account and you will be updated.

Anyway, the superlatives. How does one describe a walk like today’s ? I guess the word would be breathtaking in both senses of the word. It literally took my breath away at times, probably due to my current lack of fitness and also breathtakingly spectacular.

From the onset it felt like a different track this morning, the scenery changed offering some farmland views as well as the expected sea vistas. Another change was that today I enjoyed views from both left and right and at some lucky stages a complete 360 degree view was on offer.

The vivid colours today are spectacular and in a way I feel lucky that it’s not the bright blue skies and sun that people usually long for. The moody overhanging clouds give the place an aura and mood all of its own. The waters again delight with the various shades of deep blue and turquoise on show. Today when I weave inland ar times the trees overhanging intertwine creating an effect like a jungle tunnel. This happens over and over and as with all the other views on offer, it’s easy to become blasé with it all. For me the ‘tree tunnels’ and lovely native forests with the gnarled and twisted trees are an attraction all of there own. Once again, if you aren’t a photo fan, this isn’t the right place for you today.

A few hours in I come across a side track leading up to a lookout point. Given that I’m heading into a day in excess of 20km a lot of which is in ⬆️ that direction, I debate with myself before deciding to clamber up.

The 360 degree panorama that greets me at the summit of what felt like a near goat track up makes the effort all worthwhile.

Given that I’m 2 hours in I decide to have a short break and take a drink of water as well as a muesli bar. The inevitable wekas turn up at the prospect of food and put on a real show for me. The 2 fish arrive this time I christen Lisa and Alvin in honour of a friend. Alvin proceeds to put on a show and chases Lisa around and around the table all the while making a croaking type of sound. Lisa gamely tries to get away but eventually Alvin leaps aboard and begins what I presume is the weka way of doing things. Alvin it seems is an excitable bird. Lisa is not overly impressed and eventually manages to break free and run for the cover of bushes. I would hereby like to offer Lisa Weka my services as a witness if she should be reading this and wish to throw up her beak and squawk ‘me too’. I saw the entire thing.

Alvin Weka ... still on the prowl with a wary Lisa Weka in the distance

I decend back down to the main track and continue onwards, soon catching the young couple from Ohakune I’d dined with last night. They are having a snack by the side of the track and look up in surprise as I wander up. Bloody hell mate, I’m greeted, are you running the bloody track ? I laugh and try to explain that I only have one pace and that if I stop I may not restart. He laughingly admits that he and his girlfriend had thought I was joking when I’d told them I’d cycled the country last night night at dinner. I take the compliment when he says ‘you’ve got a good motor mate’. I agree with him that my motor may indeed be good but the body needs a lot of panel beating and I wish I could throw away my spare tyre.

Infact, if we are going to use car analogies on me I think I’m somewhat of an unserviced old Toyota Corolla. Battered and worn, but still reliably going forward, though I have to also confess that after last nights meal added to by this mornings breakfast, I’ve been blowing a lot of smoke this morning with the odd major backfire. Diagnostics would probably also show a lot wrong with the circuitry. May need to book me in for an overhaul Grunter.

Anyhow, I digress as usual. With newfound praise ringing in my ears, I set forth again with renewed enthusiasm. Soon after I see (and barely miss feeling) the first mountain biker of the track. He rounds a corner at full noise and swerves around me before I even knew he’d passed. Bloody crazy to be going that fast on what is predominantly a walking track. I only meet another 2 cyclists all day and both are going more casually giving everyone a chance pass safely.

Yes another dose of photos, enjoy because more are on the way.

Several times after 11 I pass by people who have stopped for their lunch, all at spectacular viewing points. I tell myself I will hold out until after 12.30 or until such time I feel faint, whichever comes first. 12.30 comes and goes and I make a mental note to stop at the next picnic table I come to. To make me just that little hungrier a txt comes in from my Dave, my boss. They obviously have just sat down to one of Adele’s fabulous lunches as this photo appears on my phone -:

Adele’s special Lasagne ... needs to be tried to be believed

How dare they indulge without me present 🤬

Up and down I go, mainly up it has to be said until finally just after 1.30 a table appears up ahead. In typical style I’ve picked the worst table for views on the entire track. Situated underneath a power pylon with views into rare dense gorse. I’m told later that the only gorse on the trail is on the private land areas we pass through to connect the track. Anyhow I’m starving by now and demolish my packed lunch. Not nearly as spectacular as last nights meal it must be said but a damn good sandwich all the same. Can’t say the packed lunch justified its $25 price tag however.

The track dishes up all sorts today and without doubt it’s the most scenic of the 3 so far. At times I’m walking on gravel, then stoney ground, boggy mud and even hard light coloured clay. Like the scenery in passing, it’s forever changing which is one of the things I love most.

Around an hour after my pit stop I hear an engine up ahead and round a corner to come across Steve. Steve is a full time worker on the track and drives a John Deere all in one mower, path clearer, mini digger and whatever else it needs to be to keep the track open. From what I gather he drives back and forth over the track clearing fallen rocks, mowing the king grass and basically making sure it remains walkable. I can picture my boss being happy with this position and probably doing it for free. He’s often mentioned he loves mowing the lawns on his ride on. What an upgrade this would be, especially given the views. Best of all Steve tells me is that he takes smoko with a new view every day. Bet he doesn’t get Lasagne though ....

Steve approaching

Steve isn’t alone working out here and I pass a couple of other workers with chainsaws and weedeaters shortly after.

There is a lot of false starts to the decent when it finally comes. Down for a bit before another sharp rise and repeat. Eventually however the track begins to wind around and steadily down. Somewhere past the 20km mark my feet finally begin to ache a little. The stoney ground is the worst as it pounds the feet and I look forward to the boggy muddy patches which cushion the shock. I really can’t complain though as for a new pair of boots they have worn in fast and comfortably.

Yes I know, too many photos ! You have fingers ... click past them if you must ...

At times to my left during the decent the drop away below is sheer. Whilst I’m not too bad with heights, I’m also not wonderful and at times have an odd flutter inside. I think because it’s at the end of such a long walk and I realise it would be so easy to stumble and head down a long way at a rate of knots. Similar to not being easy to show you by photo the glorious blues of the water, it’s also just as hard to show the height and sheer drops away. I guess you’ll just have to take my word or head on out here to see for yourself.

Perhaps you can take their word for it

The end of the day on the track comes suddenly and unexpectedly. I found a corner and before me stands a large monument to those from the area who died during WWII. It takes me a moment to realise I’m almost done for the day ... but not quite. I’m staying at the Portage tonight and it’s still another 800m down the fairly steep road, which I instantly realise I will have to trudge back up in the morning. For the price of a room at the Portage I feel they ought to have a cable car down. My feet by now agree whole heartedly.

The dark whole is where I emerged from the track

And across the road is where I head tomorrow

9 hours ... pffft I knocked it out in 6.5

The Portage is quite an old and famous place. My mother was here some 20 odd years ago and raves about it. I too am delighted when it finally looms up in front of me but sadly things have changed.

I’ve been prewarned by quite a few people during my time on the track that things aren’t as they once were with the Portage and sadly this proves to be the case. Ownership has changed several times over the years and in all honesty from what I’ve experienced, the current mob just don’t care.

The staff on arrival are pleasant enough though seemingly young and inexperienced, often the sign of low wages offered. I’m given a key to my room but decide I’ve earned a cold beer first. I head to the bar which is vacant and the bartender can’t be found. Eventually he is tracked down and appears to be only just legal to be serving in a bar. I ask about the beers on tap and he has little if any knowledge of them. I’m not even offered the usual tasting given by most bars. I decide on one and he hands it over. The same process is followed by the next hiker in shortly after me. He’s a little older than me and it’s apparently taken him around 8 hours today. (I assume he must have left at 6am 😳). He seems a decent chap and we fall into conversation. It’s around the 4th time he’s been here over the years and this will be the last he tells me. Each time the place has dropped its standards even more he reflects, he’s heard that 2 or 3 of the other places now have much better ratings. Why did you come again I ask ? It’s where my wife and I met he tells me. I darent ask where she is.

Number 18 is my room and although clean with a decent looking bed, it’s a tired room. The curtains are stained and mismatched (only one keeps lit the light). One of the power fittings hasn’t even been covered (illegal) and whoever ordered the shower unit obviously wasn’t either large or planning to actually ever use it. It is most definitely the smallest and worst shower I’ve ever entered. Actually entered is an over statement as I can barely fit myself in. Do me a favour here, go ahead and place one of your feet directly in front of the other. Done it ? Then congratulations because you wouldn’t be able to achieve that in my shower tonight ... and no I’m not kidding. I go to bend to wash my legs and bash my head on the wall. There is literally no way to do it short of opening the curtain and leaning out. Speaking of the curtain, is there anything worse than a tiny shower who’s cold wet clammy curtain keeps attaching itself to you no matter how you position yourself. Speaking of which, to turn around and have the hot water on my back instead of front takes a 5 point turn. It’s an intricate manoeuvre that involves the curtain wrapping around you once again and plenty of water on the floor outside. I would happily provide photographic evidence of my showering but we can’t have you all getting excited can we ...

Not looking quite so new

Can you tell which aches more

Meet the universes most pathetic shower

Just for the doubters .. note the bent toes not fitting in

Finally showered (I had to keep edging the water up to it’s maximum heat as it got colder and colder) I decide to try the bar once more. Several others I passed during the day are slowly arriving in and a group of 5 wave for me to join them. I enjoy a beer with them before heading to dinner.

The portage was once famed for its fresh and tasty cuisine. Tonight I’m sadly disappointed. I order the scallops for an entree and barely has he left my side than they arrive before me. This isn’t a good sign, it immediately tells me that the dish has been preprepared and quickly reheated. Whilst they look ok, my suspicions are correct and they aren’t great.

Much worse is to follow, I’m hungry after my nearly 30km walk and I order the ribs. What a tragedy ! Within seconds they are once again before me. This time they barely even look appetising. 2 stack of ribs are surrounded by what can only be described as 3 day old supermarket coleslaw, limp and soggy. I try to cut off a rib with my knife but am left in need of the track workers chainsaw. Giving up on that idea I pick them up and manfully manage to rip one off. Fatty and chewy and obviously reheated. Worst ribs in history. They are so bad that I fear my boots have been stolen basted and microwaved. How will ever complete the track barefoot. I peer down to see if the laces are on my plate, perhaps I can still strap these ribs to my feet.

Very sad

Look, I’m not a snob, I can accept poor food ... if it comes with a poor price tag. The scallops were $22 and the microwaves boots with soggy mess $36. In anyone’s reckoning that has to be a joke !

The sad part is, I was hungry, ate it and even ordered dessert, a forzen piece of chocolate cake, barely thawed and with a 1/4 scoop of ice cream. I won’t mention the price because poor mother has already fallen off her chair. I also couldn’t even bring myself to take a picture of it. Yes that bad. Moral of the story, never stay Otterbox recommend portage. Below I will give you another wee selection of portage quality

The ladder could be put to use ...

The adorable picnic table ... would actually suit the restaurant food

Hope it doesn’t rain tonight

Although the gutter plants may like rain

Hmm wiring needs work

My 2 tone curtains, half block the light anyway

Heater could use some love

I could go on about the constantly running toilet and leaky old fridge and bolted in coat hangers (no I’m not kidding) obviously a security reaction to the great coat hanger robbery of 1912, \240but hey, you get my point ... now if the room were say $80 then you know, I’d be ok with all that. But at $189 a night ... yea naaaaa

A quick walk along the waterfront to settle the dinner (fat chance) and I’m back to my room. The sad part of all this is that it could (and used to be) so much more. It’s a prime location, stunning surrounds and from what I can tell, many people coming past. For now though, they are taking the proverbial.

The portage ... perfect location

Yes that’s the last photo today, below is the link to today’s hiking effort for those interested

https://strava.app.link/3vXeD3Kv4bb

Let’s hope the bed doesn’t break ...

night all

Watch me disappear 😮

Well my vanishing act takes around an hour unfortunately as I prefer to perform it in the dry. It’s a bit of a gamble whether the rain will stop as storms, gales and heavy rain has been predicted around here for days now. It turns out the wait is worthwhile and as soon as the rain eases to a dribble I step out at about 8.50am and begin the trudge back up the road to where I left the track yesterday. It’s a steep beginning to the day that only becomes more arduous as I hit the track. It’s up up and up solidly for the first 3 - 4km of the morning.

I slip and slide my way upwards with water from the earlier rain running like a small stream down the track toward me as I climb. It makes the footing a little unsure for the first time. Several times one foot or the other slide unexpectedly sideways causing little heart flutters. My groin also reminds me that the minor niggle is still present.

Final day - 8 hours they reckon

Shes a little wet

Ok she’s a lot wet

I’m sure you get the point

My calves are feeling the climb this morning, it feels a lot steeper than on previous days climbs and this one doesn’t let up for well over an hour. I’m tricked a couple of times with little beginnings of dips that soon turn back into steep rises.

While the climb may be harsh, the views back are, as ever, spectacular. By some miracle the low cloud has pushed away leaving a brilliant blue sky behind me.

As you can see by the above photo, it’s a day of 2 halves in the morning. Whilst behind me it’s clear and sunny, ahead cloud still drifts threateningly, hovering just above as I continue to climb towards it. All of a sudden there are a few whisps of mist ahead, then within seconds I become totally enveloped by it. I know I’ve been climbing steadily but have I really reached the clouds ? It sure feels like it.

First sign of mist ahead

In it comes

The next half hour or so is a little unnerving at times as the trail is still boggy and I can’t even see where I’m stepping. So much for views, all I see is a pale gray. As a result my pace drops right off as I concentrate on not wandering off the path. I climb on further and then at last the slope evens off. I’m completely bathed in sweat. My entire shirt is sopping back and front and my pack feels glued to my back. I peel it off and begin to revive as the air hits my back. I reach for my water bottle and give it a good guzzle in the knowledge that Portaloo have supplied a bottle of drink with my $27 packed lunch currently residing in a large paper bag in my pack. Feeling dehydrated I tip back 3/4 of the bottle before feeling sated.

After winding slowly back and forth taking care where to place my feet, eventually I begin to decend. Visibility is restored in patchy floating waves. It’s a totally weird feeling to see the most spellbinding views drift in and out of consciousness as if they are a mirage in the distance.

It’s a relief to be able see once again and as an added bonus the track, though still wet, is not nearly as boggy as earlier. Normal pace is resumed which today for the first time is a factor as I have a ferry to meet at no later than 4pm. If the sign is actually correct at 8 hours, I could be running a little behind now. I’m also the only one I know of this morning who has set off for the final trek. The others I chatted to in the lobby before leaving were going to take the water taxi around to the next cove to avoid having the big climb this morning.

I step up my pace a little and within an hour feel I’m well back on course. My watch tracks my progress for me as I walk, showing me how far I’ve traveled, my heart rate, average pace and other data which has been a real motivation for me during the tougher moments. It’s a real boost to see the kilometres click past on your wrist and be able to budget my time.

It’s this data that allows me to make the decision to climb a side track that leads up to what I’ve been told is a breathtaking view. It will add an extra kilometre to the day and another bugger of a climb but what’s life without a challenge huh.

30 mins each way they reckon

Just as I take the U turn onto the trail up, Mr McCartney (no not you Ron, although he is singing a Scottish song) reappears in my earbuds, this time belting out Mull of Kintyre. Being a ‘Gordon’ my Scottish heritage rises to the fore as I manfully stride up the side of what could be Ben Nevis. I agree totally with Paul as now on full volume his voice rings out ‘far have I travelled and much have I seen”. By the time the bagpipes begin to ring out I’m ready to drop my trou and don my towel as a makeshift kilt of Gordon tartan. (Nothing wrong with bagpipes Dave, they’re a cracking instrument 😉 just click on the link below before you assemble the next shed and see how fast you whack it up)

https://youtu.be/EH7I-WV0LZA

In all honesty though, the song helps me power up the hillside like a mountain goat. So much so that I keep hitting repeat. I can now proudly tell you that it takes precisely 3 full plays and 1 verse of Mull of Kintyre to climb up the Onahau Lookout track, or in layman’s terms just over 13 minutes. It’s a bit of a goat track up but it’s definitely worth it once you stagger out to the exposed summit. I several photos (shock horror, yes I heard you all gasp) and yes they are about to be posted.

I also took a panoramic one but as yesterday’s panoramic pic I posted crashed my app for over an hour before I could resume writing, I’m not prepared to post it. You’ll just have to ask me to see it in person and if you live overseas send a self addressed envelope and plenty of cash. I did take a video however and here it is below

It’s such a wonderful vista that I decide on the spot that even though it’s only around 11.30 I’m stopping right here for lunch. After eating lunch yesterday beneath a power pole staring at a bush, I’m not willing to risk it again. With no little trepidation I pull out my packed lunch from the Portaloo. Surprisingly enough, it’s not a bad tasting sandwich and I laugh as I pull out what is obviously the left over slice of last nights chocolate cake dessert. At least it’s has time to thaw against my overheated back in the pack. I’m also thirsty once again and reach for the promised fruit drink with my lunch. I reach further and then worriedly further. Oh don’t panic dear reader, it’s there alright, all 250mls of it, buried below a muesli bar.

This then is the drink that Portaloo expects to last \240you for an estimated 8 hour walk. It’s smaller than my glasses case as you can see. I stare disbelievingly at it for a full minute before taking less than 5 seconds to leave it emptier than a politicians promise. It was actually lucky I took the full minute to regain my composure as my first instinct was to hurl it in anger. Belatedly I feel I should have taken 2 minutes as I then realised I only had 1/4 of a bottle of water to last me the rest of the day.

Somewhat grumpy now my mood is placated by Lisa Weka who turns up alone looking much more sure of herself today having given Alvin the flick she wanders happily about me cleaning each and every crumb left over from my sandwich.

The return of Lisa Weka

Wishing Lisa Weka all the best in her new found single life, I move back off down to the main track. Fairly soon after I come to where the trail crosses a road and standing there is Dr Raza and one of his daughters. Apparently they have come around to the jetty at the bottom of the road by water taxi as a few of their party have food poisoning this morning. Before you ask, yes they stayed at the Portaloo last night and yes they ate dinner there. From what I’m led to believe, it’s a good thing I didn’t have the fish. They also were far from complimentary about The Portaloo and won’t be back. They continue to wait for their stragglers as I head back onto the track.

Got to love these trees

A little ways on I abruptly come to a stop worrying that I’ve made a wrong turn and ended up back at the hotel because there before me stands this

An easy mistake to make.

I almost open the front door to demand a decent sized drink before I realise my error.

Once more the scenery feels different today, perhaps it’s just the freshness after a heavy rain but the native forest areas all feel more dense and a deeper shade of green. Many areas feel like a lush tropical rain forest. Without a doubt the last 2 days offer the very best in scenery. The regularity with which the views change keep it interesting, not allowing the mind to become complacent.

Love these parts

Yea I see you

Into the black hole of forest

Fancy running into NZ’s old batting coach Craig McMillan here

As I near the last few kilometres of the final day I have to admit they begin to drag. It’s most likely a mental thing but my feet are begging to ache and the day has now morphed into a furnace. The sun beats down relentlessly and I find myself slowing through the shaded areas while trying to belt out the exposed areas where I’m getting fried. I drain the last of my water and it’s nowhere near enough. I feel my body beginning to wilt but the mind is still strong. I repeat, it really is quite incredible just how long the final 3 km seemed to take.

The last ... and longest

Ahhh the Anakiwa jetty at last

Made it !!!

As I emerge from the track unshaven, bathed in sweat with a ringing wet shirt, I’m greeted with a round of applause and cries of well done. I look up to see around 15 people that I’ve come to know on the track and at accomodation over the past 4 days. Most have water taxied part of the last leg today although a few intrepid old ladies apparently took off at 6.30 in the pouring rain to ensure they made it in time. I feel as though I’ve won the New York marathon the way they are carrying on and give an embarrassed wave of thanks. It’s a strange but wonderful feeling that this little group of hikers who have done the trail together, learnt about each other’s lives and families, shared experiences over coffees, beers and the odd stronger drink these past few days have become almost like a temporary close family. Hugs are shared and congratulations continue to flow as a few others straggle out of the track. Each is given the same reception as myself and you can see that each is grateful for the recognition. It’s by no means the most difficult track I’ve ever done but it’s definitely the most scenic and it has drawn a bunch of strangers close together for a week.

Suddenly I spy a little wooden shack with an ice cream plus cold drinks sign. By this I’m im nearly faint with dehydration. I order a can of sparking lemon, promptly drain it getting brain freeze in the process and order 2 more which head the same way just as fast. Out of sparkling lemon now, I change to a coke and after this I start feeling back to life. It’s without doubt the fastest 4 cans I’ve ever downed in my life. I finish off with a delightful passionfruit and yoghurt ice cream while sitting in the only shaded area I can find. At this point Dr Razas party emerge to their round of applause and several of them still look pale. 2 head for the loo’s and the others clean out the drinks lady.

As it turns out we’ve all timed the walk fairly well and the water taxi company arrive promptly on schedule at 3.30. We pike aboard, each rushing for a shaded seat. It has turned into an incredibly hot day and my suncream is buried in my main pack not expecting to be needed.

We hiked along that ridge line

The end of the hike

Back at Picton wharf there is another round of hugs, handshakes and pats on backs before we disperse in our different directions. Some are headed straight to the ferry, some off to Christchurch, Dr Raza & co are off to Nelson for a few days before flying back to Auckland. Myself and a few others head to our respective hotels.

Tonight I’m at the Picton Beachcomber as the Villa was booked out. To be fair it’s not a lot dearer here but it looks an impressive sight as I wander up, smelly, unshaven, soaked with sweat and generally looking like crap. Not much change from usual really. I don’t really care about anything the room offers as long as it has a decent shower. I open my door holding my breath and am met with the god of showers for a hotel room. I mean after last night, just look at this !!!

Now THAT’S a shower !!!

Its bloody enormous and wait for it, the bloody thing even has a seat. I mean they are just begging me to stay in there for an hour .... and I do. I’m a little worried it will all prove to be a joke and the merest dribble will emerge when I pull the lever. But hell no, the water pours out like the Niagara Falls and blasts me into submission. I flash back to my 3 point turns of this morning and perform a waltz for the hell of it before taking a seat and happily washing my legs with getting a bruised forehead. It must be an hour before I emerge and the water was still pumping hot and hard. Ahh pure bliss.

Sadly this blissful state doesn’t remain. Within half an hour my insides are starting to cause issues and the woes of Dr Razas group decend upon me. I rush the toilet and put it through it’s paces like never before. It’s the first of many visits and I can hear the toilet groan each time I appear and open the door. A few hours at 7 I’m finally feeling a little better and a lot lighter. I debate returning to my original plan for the night which was to enjoy live music at a local pub before another rush to the loo dissuades me from attempting such a bold move. At 7.45 after another roll of loo paper and paint stripping from the bathroom ceiling I decide to attempt a few fish n chips in my room instead. Whilst I’m not feeling much more than 60% I’ve not eaten much today and am a little peckish without being starving. I duck a few doors down and order a couple of fish and half a scoop.

Kiwi Takeaways Picton ❤️

One is Tarakihi and I’m not sure of the other but my goodness they are the best tasting fish I’ve had in many a year. I only manage a few of the chips though before the by now familiar I welcome feeling in the bowels returns. It’s now midnight as I complete today’s blog and unfortunately things are no better. Each time I feel I can’t have anything left inside I’m proven wrong even if in a minor way now.

I’m convinced it was the bloody Portaloo although I didn’t have the fish. I’m thinking it may have been the rusty water as they also mentioned their taps producing it. Luckily for me it’s only a sore tummy and regular toilet trips as they also had vomiting. It may also have been a touch of sun stroke as for the last hour there was little cover and the sun fair beat down and I had no water. Here’s hoping I’m repaired after a sleep. I’ll let you know tomorrow. Oh and mum, I’m fine, DON’T PANIC !!!

For those who made it this far, hi again mum, and those interested, which would be no one, here is the Strava of the days walk

https://strava.app.link/tjQdCH3k6bb

The Beachcomber ... good value 👌

Night all, my apologies for a longish uninteresting entry today, health issues you know, blame the Portaloo

It proves to dislodge the stalemate of the past 35 mins with my bowels and my day of toilet assessment begins. I wander around to Omega car rentals and negotiate for the cheapest old dunger I can get. $50 gets me a Mazda Demio I name Sally, for no other reason that she looks and feels like a Sally to me. While Sally has definitely seen finer days in her past, she is by no means the worst vehicle I’ve taken seat in. She’s automatic and has enough get up and go to suffice me for the day. Her brakes tend to grind and grip when nearly stopped causing one to come to an abrupter than expected halt which in turn caused the odd nervous shudder from inside but aside from that she’s a little beauty.

I set my phones GPS for the Omaka Aviation Heritage Centre and Sally whisks me there within 30 minutes. This is a 2 part museum with a large hanger dedicated to each of the world wars airforces. I’m told that the WWII museum has unfortunately just closed to accomodate a private function later in the day. I pay for the WWI hanger and am just about to head in when an elderly gentleman with a badge stating ‘Guide’ approaches me and asks of I’d like a quick peek at the WWII hangar. Never one to look a gift horse powered engine in the mouth, I gratefully accept and for the next hour and a bit (minus impromptu toilet break) I get a personally guided tour and all the best stories and exhibits pointed out me. I regret I didn’t get the chaps name now as he was the most kindly and knowledgeable man I could have hoped to have show me around. He even sits me in the impressive movie area and runs the short film with impressive effects provided by Weta studios. It provides a 1st person perspective of what it would have been like at ground level in London during one of the German bombing raids. At the end a detailed rundown of lives lost during the conflict is presented in a humbling thought provoking way. I never realised before the incredible loss of life Russian troops suffered in comparison to all other countries. The displays are awe inspiring, most especially for me the Lockheed Hudson crashed in the depths of a Pacific island jungle.

As usual, photographs won’t do the place justice and I fully recommend taking the time to visit if you find yourself close by.

Some of the stories of courage, dispair and triumph are fascinating from a bygone era that will not be seen again. Most of the stories involving kiwi pilots and their courageous actions I’d not before heard of having mainly been taught and bought up with the British versions of events. Even more interesting were the numerous stories from the German perspective and the fact that so many adversaries became fast friends post war.

I thank the gentleman profusely before taking a coffee break in the cafe and then heading into the wonderland of the WWI exhibition. What an incredible collection of planes, uniforms and all sorts of other paraphernalia they have on display here. From what I’m told the majority of this is owned by Sir Peter Jackson who also funded a great deal of the construction of the museum. It’s awe inspiring in its size and depth of coverage. I expected to be in there 30 mins and was well over 3 hours. Even more heroic stories line the walls here and some of the aircraft simply have you wondering how they ever flew let alone faced combat.

Everything is covered in here from the famous battles to the even more famous aces including the Red Baron and his 2 brothers. Almost unbelievably part of the red barons plane and artefacts from the man himself are in our very own museum in NZ. Below I will list just one of the stories and accompanying display of one of our very own kiwi heroes.

There are hours worth of treasures in here and again I encourage anyone with a day spare near Blenheim to take it in.

The Red Baron

The demise of the Red Baron

I’ve spent so much time here that it leaves little time to experience anything else in Blenheim, even if there is something else. I spend an hour wandering the main town without finding any other thrill than Harvey Normans staff toilet. I also sample the countries (possibly the worlds) most expensive milkshake for its meagre size. I grudgingly hand over $9 and am expecting a flagon of milkshake to be placed before me at my table when the lady arrives with an eggcup 3/4 filled. I’m too stupified by it’s paltry size to even make a facetious comment to her. Admittably it a a fine tasting sip but it’s also a total rip !!

Blenheim by all appearances seems to be a nice place but unlike other towns such as New Plymouth or Napier, it doesn’t give me the fuzzy feeling that I could move here. Perhaps that could be the town slogan and I offer it to them here ... Blenheim ... it’s pleasant enough

Stuck for ideas I google best things to do in Blenheim and the first 6 offered up, aside from the aviation museum, \240are walks. I pass on those and head for the 7th, a German craft brewery where they have around 18 in-house brewed beers on tap. I take a tasting tray and am suitably impressed, especially with the odd sounding but fine tasting cucumber beer.

Cucumber beer too centre

Having taken my fill of Blenheim, Sally escorts me back to Picton where I feed her with $7.20 of fuel which fills her up. I then park her outside my room amd wander into town for a meal. I settle for a steak which is delectable, followed by a fantastic Lemon cheesecake.

Great Steak that

As it’s my last night, I can’t resist the live music eminating from the door of the local Irish Pub ‘Seumus’ and head in in for a nightcap with the locals. What a blast !! Such a friendly mob both patrons and staff alike. I pay for 1 beer and then am bought another, from who ?, I’ve no idea. A chap just walks up and plonks it down with a clap on my shoulder. I hadn’t planned on staying long, but the atmosphere and music (even if it’s not Irish) is intoxicating. The local brew isn’t half bad either

A brief glimpse into Friday night Seumus

At this stage I’m still here and if the ‘vibe’ (how cool am I with the hip words) remains the same, I may be here for sometime

Goodbye Picton, it’s been a blast

The boarding experience jars me awake as I’m assaulted with the crashes, clangs, honks and bangs of ship workers loading containers, trucks and carriages. Diesel fumes waft over me as I scale 3 flights of stairs that this morning feel the rival of anything encountered on the Queen Charlotte track. Annoying Christmas songs blare from the internal ferry sound system and can’t be escaped until out on deck. All I want from Santa right at this moment is a strong coffee and some earplugs, perhaps also a couple of matchsticks to prop up my eyelids. The one bonus is that it’s clear skies, no wind and dead calm water laid out ahead of me.

Merry Christmas mum ... get in the spirit!

After a sampling of the interislander special brew, Dieselato Mochacino, it’s time to inspect the ships toilets. It’s with a little trepidation that I take my seat but this Captain is happy to report that all is well below decks so far this morning 👌

Feeling hungry I wander to the onboard cafe and soon wander back out empty handed and empty stomached. Some dry looking over priced rolls or a $19 breakfast plate consisting of runny looking powdered eggs, anaemic looking sausages, greasy overcooked bacon and soggy looking hashbrowns is not what the Dr ordered. (nor anyone else as far as I could tell)

On the improve my health may be but a plateful of that and I feel I’d be back on toilet duty. For most of the trip I take a seat and half doze. I’d have often wished I was one of those people who can just sit or lie down anywhere and fall instantly asleep, but the best I can ever manage is a half doze.

We arrive into Wellington early and I txt Grant who is on the motorway and not far from collecting me to head to my first live cricket game in about a decade. I’m pleased as it seems we will not be late to see the start of the day. I should have known better. I’m one of the first off the ship and hasten on down to the baggage collection area to retrieve my pack. In Picton on the way over it was already circling the bay conveyor belt by the time I got there. Grant appears just as I enter the bag claim and together we wait 1 then 5 then 15 minutes for any sign of any bag. Nada. Several frustrated passengers myself included begin to mumble grumpily. After 20 minutes we wander over to a group of confused looking workers (or should I say ‘meant to be workers) milling around with vacant confused looks. The problem we are told is that the ships main door has jammed and nothing can be taken off, including the carriage with the baggage. Not even the cars and bikes etc can drive off the ship and they are effectively captives onboard. At least I manage to get off the damn thing. I supply my baggage number to the man who writes it down along with my phone number on a piece of paper assuring me he will ring once they have reversed the ferry back out turned it around and bought it back in the other way to try the rear door. As this is going to take some time, Grant and I decide to go to the cricket and return later for my pack. I can only assume the man threw the piece of paper with my own and several other passengers details away as I never heard from him again.

Grant kindly donates me a fresh filled roll and stops for a coffee enroute to the cricket. We do a couple of laps trying to find a park before snaring an expensive 2 hour one close by that needs to be continually fed throughout the day. (Which reminds me I owe you some cash mate)

Things have changed at the Basin since last time I was here and the entry system is now a lot more convoluted, not to mention expensive. One of the other major changes is that people now attend test cricket and the place is packed with people of all ages and both sexes. The bank is quite full but we spy a little gap, squeeze in and then gradually make a bit of room for ourselves.

It’s an unusual day in Wellington (in my experience), a cloudless sky and no wind, not even a breeze. So the saying goes, ‘you can’t beat Wellington on a good day’, the major problem being of course that you only have 3 or 4 opportunities each year to even find a good day to compete with. Today is one of the 4 and we absolutely swelter up on the bank.

Nice shot Henry

I slather on Grunters 50 plus suncream regularly but somehow still end up burnt in a few areas. The day starts well for NZ and we slap on some fast runs and mow through the West Indies top order before a couple of their batsmen put their heads down and bore us silly for an hour and a half. We decide to leave a touch early to beat the rush and have a second attempt at collecting my pack. This time we are successful and the last retrieves it from a pile stacked behind her counter.

I’ve organised a restaurant voucher from my unused air points to be be delivered to Grants while I was away. The plan was to have a flash meal out somewhere to celebrate his moving to a a new job and as a thanks for running me to and from the ferry. The voucher covers a selection of 3 restaurants and I call the most expensive and exclusive one to make a booking. All booked out. We walk to the second most exclusive and just as expensive and they take one look at the pair of us, not quite dressed for a flash place after sitting at the cricket all day and we are semi politely told to go away (they said they were booked but empty tables begged to differ). And so we end up at the third and last choice, The Crab Shack, who I doubt would turn down a naked drunken tramp with used cigarette butts as payment. That’s probably a little unfair as the staff were very nice and the food was adequate. It just wasn’t in the same league as the other restaurants on the list.

My stomach has been feeling off and on all day but I manage to eat far more than I need and quite bloated by the time we head back to the car with Grant forcing another mocha on me and losing his battle to entice me into a scold looking Krispy Kreme donut. It’s a rather sickly looking thing in the shape of a Christmas tree, filled with custard and splattered with lurid green icing. Quite possibly the last thing I feel like eating and still making my stomach churn at this moment.

I set out for home (or actually mums home where I’m currently ensconced waiting for my new section to be signed off by the council) at about 10pm, which has been a very long day since my early start way back at 6am. What is usually just on an hours drive turns into some form of nitemarish marathon as it seems that every roading crew in New Zealand has decended on the route between Wellington and Levin. I’ve never seen so many road cones and detours in my entire life and at times it felt as though I was driving a route I’d never travelled before.

I finally arrive home somewhere just short of midnight and there is mother (who’s bedtime is somewhat religiously around 9pm) still waiting up to make sure I’m back safely. Somethings never change I guess, though it’s nice to be cared about.

My apologies for a boring days events folks, but the day is what it is. Never quite sure where to end off these blog things but back where I started seems logical.

I also apologise for any spelling and grammar mistakes. Mother apparently has a list of them being the long serving chief of grammar police that she is. The thing is, I am not a professional writer, never read back what I have written and often don’t pick up on the autocorrections made by my phone. I tap these blogs out on my phone with bleary eyes, often in the late hours of an evening after a long day. It’s all down off the cuff and is what it is.

Until next time, assuming of course there is one ...

Stay safe and thanks if you followed along