Maybe I ought to be on that one

I drive onboard and park up, it’s a full sailing and people mill everywhere. Seats are at a premium but I manage to snag one on the upper deck where although it’s a lovely day the Wellington wind still manages to blow into the bones. The Interislander Ferry has not been the most reliable form of public transportation the past month with several breakdowns out in the Cook Strait. I notice with satisfaction that my current seat allows me rapid access to lifeboat. Not much room onboard for my Ute ‘Gerty’. Sadly she might be confined to the depths should the worst happen.

These thoughts all serve to remind me that the last time I sailed to Picton I was on my Cycle trip of New Zealand. These blogs were simply a way for me to take mum along with me and allow her to see that I was doing fine. My good mate Grant would also follow along each day and send me amusing txts after reading my days adventures. It still seems unreal that they are both now gone. I thought I was doing well moving forward but today has seen tears welling unexpectedly and uninvited.

No room for Gerty the Ute

I take a wander around the ship and not having had the luxury of a breakfast, survey the limited options provided in the onboard cafeteria. Greasy looking fish n chips doesn’t appeal for $15 and not does the butter chicken. Not sure a curry for breakfast will sit well of the wind persists in the Cook Strait and judging by the colour of the curry I would probably provide fairly competitive gusts of my own.

I opt for a soggy looking chicken salad sandwich but only take possession for around 3 minutes in the queue to the counter where I find they want to extort me $11.50 for it. I return it from whence it came and opt for an equally dodgy looking mince pie for $5.50. It’s not the very worst pie I’ve ever had … but only about half a rung higher.

Coffee turns out to be the best deal onboard and I settle for a mocha which is surprisingly hot and retake my seat on the windy outdoor viewing deck.

The Marlborough Sounds are as glorious as ever, it would be easy to just take this sailing for granted I’ve done it that many times but there’s something about their majesty and serenity that tends to draw you in each and every time. My only excitement comes when a gentleman’s black cap is blown from his head further along the side railing from me. I leap to make the catch as if reliving earlier glory days on the cricket pitch but alas age has caught up with me and I’m not able to reel it in. It just brushes my fingers and sails away to land on the deck below near another lifeboat. The man looks to be in his 80’s and a little upset at his loss, so I trek down to the level below to retrieve it for him. I’m half amazed it remained there long enough for me to get it with the wind whipping about but I’m glad I do as he seems genuinely overjoyed to have it back.

Tonight I’m staying at a long time friends in Picton. This is an unusual trip for me as for the first time I have no set plans and no bookings, I’ll just head where Gerry takes me each day and see what happens. I’m usually meticulously organised on these trips with everything organised ahead of time and so it’s somewhat out of my comfort zone to just wing it.

I’m warmly greeted by Ian and his partner Dawn and we catch up over a beer. Dawn cooks a lovely dinner of Pork spare ribs with a wonderful fresh salad and mashed potatoes. This is followed by a home made apple and boysenberry crumble with ice cream. Hard to beat the old home cooked meals. The only downside to the evening is being tortured through an episode of Married at First Sight, not my first choice in television viewing. For the life of me I can’t understand why anyone in their right mind would ever agree to appear on the show let alone people actually sitting down to watch it. Ian and Dawn are somehow hooked and to be fair I can almost see why. I doubt however that I’ll be tuning in for any future episodes.

I retire to bed at just before 11pm with thoughts of mums upcoming memorial swirling around my head and the speech I must write keeping me awake. How does one write a speech containing her 83 years of love, care, compassion and selflessness. It doesn’t seem possible. It’s now just over 2 months since she passed and still not sunk in.

As mentioned earlier, these blogs were entirely for her to enjoy and share my experiences with me, a small repayment for all the love she gave me.

R.I.P. mum, I miss you so much ❤️

My beautiful mum 21/10/39 - 21/12/22

Walking Trail to Waikawa Wharf

Jolly Rodgers

Waikawa

Incredible Night Sky

Returning from my walk we have another fine home cooked meal from Dawn and then I take yet another pic for you lucky people of the night sky.

This is possibly my worst blogging day ever but things should pick up tomorrow when I head to Kaikoura. We shall see

One of NZ’s fine band of road workers

I overtake 4 Ford Model A vintage cars and settle in to enjoy the drive. I stop here and there where there is a view and this ends up causing me to have to pass the Model A’s a further 3 times. I’m sure they think I’m taking the piss.

I pass through Seddon and Ward, obviously named after previous famous New Zealand prime ministers and start to dread that maybe some PC rural town ahead of me has changed its name to Ardern. Thankfully my fears prove unfounded and my plans to join the ram raiders and graffiti artists are shelved.

Eventually I’m out to the coast and descend down a hill to the exquisite view which is the East Coast leading to Kaikoura. It’s a stunning day and I pull in to several viewing areas to take in the splendour. The first is at a seal colony where sea lions and penguins are also sunning themselves on the rocks. It’s amazing the natural mental therapy that can be gained by simply standing in the sun gazing down at rocks with waves crashing in on them with wildlife lazing about amongst rock pools just out of reach of the spray. Varied species of seabirds circle above squawking and cawing. It’s with some surprise that I look at my watch and realise I’ve been lost in my own thoughts for around half an hour while watching the family life of seals playing out before me.

Seals on the coast

I move on to another stop where I watch what appears to be over a dozen surfers floating out well beyond the shore. They obviously know the best spots as soon they are up on their boards and zooming into the beach on tremendous waves. Several have impressive runs that only end as their boards hit the shallows.

Surfer in action

As with the previous stop, I find I’ve watched the surfers for far longer than expected. I cruise into Kaikoura at around 3.30 and check in to my hotel. Tonight it is the Lobster Inn Motor Lodge, the cheapest I could find that doesn’t boast reviews claiming rats, cockroaches or weird goings on. I was close to choosing the lazy shag but decide against it in case they aren’t named after a seabird. My room is clean and functional which is really all I require. It’s still not worth $160 for a night in my opinion but nothing these days seems worth what it’s charged out at.

Lobster Inn Motor Lodge

After dragging my case into the room I decide I’m well due some exercise. I drive around to the carpark at the tip of the peninsular and take an 11.5km walk around the coastline past more seal colonies boasting more seals, sea lions, penguins shags and multitudes of other birds species. Once again the scenery and wildlife are nothing short of stunning. The walk around the coast is over limestone rocks and pebble and at times you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d made a moon landing given the surrounding landscape.

The path winds in and out of bays and I’m expecting to make it all the way to South Bay by way of the shoreline when it becomes apparent the office lady of the Lobster inn who gave me directions hasn’t partaken of the walk herself. I round a large rocky outcrop to enter a cove overfilled with seals and sizeable (not to mention smelly) sealions. I’ve passed many glaring boards along the way warming me of the dangers of being too close to these creatures and the horrors of dying by way of one of their septic bites. After checking my whereabouts on my phone map I decide I’m 3/4 of the way there and so will attempt to push on. The sea lions obviously have an issue with this decision as several rise up and begin to roar. I’m far closer than the 5 metres minimum suggested by the signs and when a particularly large sealion roars his disapproval and turns in my direction with several of his best mates I come to the conclusion that it’s not my place to disagree with him in his own front yard. I turn back around and edge warily back past the 6 or 7 I’ve already crept bye. Each seem to stare at me as I nervously retreat. My watch buzzes on my wrist and I check it, only to be informed that my heart rate seems higher than usual. Didn’t need a bloody watch to tell me that, I’d literally smelt the big fellas fishy breath !

Somewhat luckily on my return journey I come across a local chap who points me to a track up the side of a hill which leads to a clifftop path around to South Bay. I hum and hah debating whether to just retrace my steps or push on with the full circuit, I’m rarely a quitter and so trudge up the hill and am mighty glad I did so. The views from the ridge line were breathtaking and my following pics probably won’t serve them justice.

Once down into South Bay I followed roads and a few tracks back to the Ute. Just as I got inside the heavens opened with the full works of thunder and lightening. I felt sorry for the many people I’d overtaken along the way still battling their way back and no doubt drenched. It had been a lovely day and so sign of rain.

Here comes the storm

Since Kaikoura is apparently the seafood capital of New Zealand, I decide on fish n chips for tea. I ask Mr Google who he considers the best seafood in town and head to what is recommended as the number 1. Cod & Crayfish prove to a huge (and let’s face it expensive) disappointment and a lesson that you can’t always believe Mr Google. I order 1 Blue Cod fillet, 2 scallops, 2 squid rings and a half scoop of chips. I pass on the offered tub of fresh Kina, the innards of a sea egg which in a previous encounter I nearly barfed straight back up. It resembles the texture and flavour of a mouthful of indigestible salty mucus like snot. I’ll not soon make that mistake again.

Another quick remortgage and I hand over the required $27.50 and soon wished I hadn’t, the whole lot was overcooked and yet still amazingly greasy. The batter was, for want of a better word, just plain Yuk. Way too thick and imbued with the flavour of burnt grease. I’d guess the oil has not been changed since 2022. I struggled through some of it but ended up trashing most apart from the cod.

Wouldn’t pay 25c let alone $25 a kg

They look far more appealing than they were

The best part of dinner

The rest of the evening was spent in my room with my little fan blasting the mugginess around my room and hiding my tiny rubbish bin containing the remaining fish n chips in the wardrobe. The overpowering scent of burnt geese was making me feel nauseous.

Goodnight from me, I’ll see the persistent amongst you tomorrow. I’ll leave you with a local naturist that I ran into today.

My scallops and whitebait fritter nearing completion

Hunger satiated, I decide to take a wander around Fyffe House, an old whaling families house built in the 1860s using whale bones in place of piles. The friendly elderly lady running the place faithfully tells each and every visitor that the house is literally built on the the back of a whale. It’s a $10 entry fee and it’s almost worth it. I say almost as it’s a pretty tiny place but the lady knows her stuff and rattles through the family history’s and changes over the years to the building. It’s well laid out with informative cards and displays. The poor old Fyffe family didn’t have a lot of luck with several dying young and 2 taking their own lives. Personally I feel they had to have a little craziness bred into them to be able to do the job they did. Whaling back in those days looked to be something akin to a crazy extreme sport. Rowing about in old wooden boats before hurling a harpoon into a whales side and then being dragged about for miles doesn’t really appeal to me as a career move. I can only imagine what the ACC and insurance levees would be these days, perhaps even a fringe benefit tax on the old boat.

Fyffe House

Deck cut away to expose the whale bone ‘piles’

The inland drive from Kaikoura to Hanmer Sorings is windy but enjoyable. There is an initial climb up into the hills / mountains providing many views back down into valleys and the river that twists its way among them. 3 or 4 one lane bridges are crossed and it seems no time at all before I’m crossing the Waiau Ferry Bridge across the Gorge and into Hanmer township. This place seems to have doubled in size since I last passed through well over a decade ago.

Inland Kaikoura Road

The longest one lane bridge today

I check into my hotel, tonight it’s the Glenalvon Lodge run by a chap called Dale Coburn who couldn’t be more helpful or friendly. Full of smiles he guides me to my room and provides all sorts of suggestions with how I can spend my time here. I unpack Gerty the Ute and then decide to head across the road to the old Queen Mary Hospital Historic Reserve.

My Glenalvon Room

This old heritage site has numerous grand old buildings spread over a huge gorgeously landscaped area covered in chestnuts, redwoods, Pine, Scots pine, cherry trees and oak trees. There are Apple orchards and rose gardens and many other varieties of plants. The entire area seems spellbinding and is one of those places that feels to have entirely it’s own aura once entered. It has gone through numerous incarnations during its lifespan. It has been a sanatorium, a hospital, accomodation for returning soldiers suffering shell shock etc and most recently and the reason I’m here today, it was last used as a recovery and treatment centre for recovering alcoholics and addictions.

It was here that my father spent the last few weeks of his life after finally admitting he was an alcoholic. Whilst being a beautiful setting with a wonderful vibe coming from the grounds the buildings have been let go to rack and ruin since being shut in 2003. Mindless vandals have been through with nearly every window smashed, walls tagged and most areas now boarded up. I manage to peer inside several areas and note that it would have been a grand place with beautiful wood finishing. The room however all seem tiny and I suddenly find myself in a flood of tears as I picture my father unwell, \240alone and lonely in one of these rooms. I cry for a good half hour before it’s out of my system. There are a lot of horrible memories of my father, but I’m slowly coming to terms that it was the alcohol and not him. I’m sorry I didn’t do more to help but I was very young and very bitter. I was 25 when dad died and hadn’t really known him as a father since I was 11. R.I.P. dad, I’m sorry

Queen Mary Entrance

After gathering my emotions I go for a walk around town. It really has grown, though again like Kaikoura, seems packed with tourists. Everything is 20% dearer here, food, fuel you name it. No one seems to mind though and every shop appears packed with money flowing over the counters. All accomodation seems to display No Vacancy signs. Covid appears a thing of the past apart from the odd person waking about in a mask.

I head to the top of the town and decide I’ll do the walk up to the conical hill lookout. The weather is changing and a very light drizzle appears as I begin my accent. It’s a relatively easy climb and I reach the top in just under 45 mins. It’s a nice view but I’m sure is far more spectacular on a sunny clear day.

Back down in town I decide that after another 10km waking around, I’ll go and soak in the local thermal hot pools. As with the town, this complex has grown since I was last here, but not as much as the entry fee. It’s a ridiculous $40 odd for a single entry or $65 for a 2 pass which I opt for. It’s 6.10 pm when I head in and the pools close at 7, at least they are meant to. I’m rather taken aback and more than a little angry when we are ordered out of several of the pools as the staff want to pack up early. It’s a poor look for the place and many audible grumbles including my own are muttered by unhappy patrons. The staff seem totally unprofessional and not at all welcoming. They lounge about looking bored and whispering amongst themselves. It’s an uncomfortable feeling being watched over by them. I regret forking out my hard earned and even more upset that I’ll have to be back tomorrow to use my return ticket. While the pools themselves are clean and enjoyable, the place leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.

I know we advertise 7pm but we are closing 75% of the pools at 6.20, so get out

By now it’s pouring down and I decide I’ll not go out for dinner but grab a takeaway and head back to my room. I buy a lamb souvlaki which like everything else here seems a little overpriced but at least turns out to be a wonderfully filling and very tasty meal.

Beginning of the Forest Amble

There’s no disputing that the walk itself is of an easy grade with nothing to strenuous involved apart from craning one’s neck to search for the carvings displayed along the track. This is great as it allows people from all ages to complete the walk and take in the amazing skill of the carver(s) and those responsible for putting it in place. Even though it’s rainy and not many people about, I still come across families with kids as young as 5 and other elderly people who I respectfully estimate to be happily in their 80s. All seem to be enjoying the discovery of each new carving as much as I do. Some are hidden up above in trees and slightly off the track, others are just obvious and in plain sight. There are squirrels, fantails, mice and many others but the possum is where I encounter a few completely batty, greeny elderly ladies.

As I’m lining up a photo of the possum \240a shrill voice accosts me, “don’t take a photo of that, excuse me, exxxcuuuuse me”. I look to see a small army of 5 ladies who appear to be in their 70s hurrying up behind me, their leader a batty birdlike \240looking creature is wagging her finger at me and looking full of self importance. “Sorry what” ? I ask her as she stamps up to me. “It’s a POSSUM” she spits out at me while the rest of her followers nod in agreement. “Yes I know” I assure her, whilst \240warily looking around for the men in white coats who must assuredly be out looking for them. “They are a pest, destructive to the natural habitat of other wildlife, predators and they ruin absolutely RUIN forests like this.”

“It’s just a carving” \240I try to explain to her in what I hope is a calming voice, thinking maybe she hadn’t realised. I turn and attempt to take the photo again but she is almost frothing now. “Stopppp” she shrieks, “It shouldn’t be here, it SHOULDN’T”. The others are muttering in agreement and so I hurriedly take the picture and move on as fast as I can. Thankfully I don’t run across them again so hopefully the white coats eventually found them and they are happily medicated once again. Anyway, here for your viewing pleasure is the said Possum. I didn’t dare take a snap of the nutters.

The possum carving that causes sanity loss

I complete the rest of this track with no further incidents and having only done about 3 km so far today, I decide to do the ‘Forest Journey’ trail, the longest in the immediate area. It’s another delightful walk that is well maintained and signposted winding its way between groves of various tall species of trees that each have a plaque at the base explaining its heritage and deception. Again it’s very well done and a most pleasant way to spend a few hours.

By the time I reach the entrance again it is absolutely teeming down. Given that I’m already soaked through, I talk myself into one final walk, The Woodland Walk, and head off once again. About halfway through this one, the rain is now torrential and getting beyond a joke. I head for the nearest exit path and squelch my way bark to my hotel. I’ve managed 12km and am happy with that. I’m back at my room by 2ish and take a hot shower.

After whiling away an hour or so in my room I decide that since it’s wet outside still, \240I might as well become wetter again and use up my return ticket to the pools. It’s proves to be a much more enjoyable experience than yesterdays. The staff today are most pleasant, even though most are having to stand out in the rain, not quite being protected by their umbrellas.

This place is obviously best visited in the rain. It’s far less crowded and no queues for the rides. Everyone here actually seem to be enjoying themselves which is a far cry from yesterdays experience. Even better still is the fact that all the pools and rides are actually open. I decide to make hay while the suns not shining and go down the 2 zoom tubes about 20 times with no other riders. I feel I’m starting to get back my moneys worth that I feared lost yesterday.

Just as I’m about to leave the tubes to warm up in a hotter pool, a lad of about 12 appears and begins to chat away to me as though we are long lost pals. Where am I from, why am I in Hanmer, where did I come from yesterday etc etc etc. I’m starting to get cold so say that I’m going down the zoom tube once more. He follows me up and says let’s have a race. He’s polite enough, which is a rareity these days and so I agree. When the light goes green we take off in our respective tubes and my body weight easily propels me down faster than him. The upshot is that it’s another 15 or so zoom tube rides before I suggest I’ve had enough. Have you been on the raft rides? He asks and I explain that I’m on my own and you have to have 2 riders to go on those. Oh I’m on my own too he says, so you can go down with me. You’d better go ask your parents, I suggest and he just laughs saying they aren’t here.

As it turns out, James is from Christchurch and comes here many weekends with his parents who dump him off here while they go and do whatever (he didn’t seem to know what) and pick him up at closing. Seems rather irresponsible to me but he doesn’t appear neglected and is well spoken and polite, so I guess they can’t be all that bad.

We ride the 2 other rides that require 2 people and rafts and to be honest it brings out the kid in me and I’m grateful to young James for appearing. I’d have never gone on the other rides otherwise and they were a blast. I thank him after about an hour of rides with no queues and retire to one of the hot mineral pools where all the oldies tend to sit and baste.

Half an hour later James finds me once again and chats away amiably for another half hour. I barely have to input a word as he’s content to just sit there and tell me all about his life. It’s his birthday tomorrow and he was meant to be able to bring a friend along this time but his mate got Covid just before they came. His grandparents live in a converted fire station in some small town and he loves to visit them. He’s a junior life guard (I’m guessing trainee) and on and on he went, not really annoying but rather amusing. I finally said I had to go at 6.15 and he looked rather sad. I thanked him for his company and headed back to my room for another shower and rest before dinner.

I’m a solid person myself and usually don’t like to bare my body all that often but bugger me, some of the people who have came here today simply have no shame. I was wondering if it was a convention for the morbidly obese at some point as people who really ought to be lifted into the pools by crane lumbered up and staggered down the stairs. Without wanting to appear judgmental and rude some of the sights today were beyond the pale … in every sense.

One of the board rides James and I frequented

For dinner I’ve booked at the restaurant next door to the hotel. The main reason being that it’s still bucketing down and I can’t be bothered walking far in it. It’s a fine dining restaurant which I usually avoid for a multitude of reasons. Firstly the snobs contained within, all endowed with glittering jewellery, stuck up noses, posh accents and spouting a whole lot of dribble. Secondly the meals usually come on dishes the size of flying saucers yet only containing the meanest portions that would barely satisfy a toddler let alone a full grown man. A medallion of such and such ( which is usually the size of a 20c piece) surrounded by 3 peas and a sliver of jus. Pompous gits happily push it around their plates for half an hour all so they can actually have time for an upper class dinner conversation.

I instantly lower the tone of the place as I appear in my usual shorts and shirt. I cop more than my fair share of stares as I take my seat but I don’t really care. My money is worth the same value as theirs and I bet none of them have had 2 showers today, so I must smell ok.

The waitress is a lovely young lady and seems both happy and amused that I’ve graced the place with my presence tonight. I order a local beer, pan seared scallops for entree and the scotch filet with mashed potato with truffle for main. The scallops are fantastic … all 4 of them … for $25 and the steak is divine. Thankfully there is more of that than I expected and it does a better job of filling me than the orphaned family of scallops. I’m still hungry however and not surprisingly given my 11 km of waking this morning, \240hours of climbing stairs to rides with young James and no lunch between. I order the crème brûlée with poached rhubarb and almond crumble for dessert and it’s mighty fine, if somewhat smaller than I’d like. I ponder another beer but decide to have one back in my room for 1/4 of the price and that is what I’m doing right now. Always wise to buy a dozen in a big city before coming to the likes of a tourist hotspot 👌

3 beans instead of the usual 3 peas tonight

Until tomorrow folks

Leaving Hanmer

Culverden Walk

Culverden Walk

Culverden Walk

Heading further South I am close to Amerberly when I pass a sign for Iron Ridge Quarry Sculpture Park. The name catches my attention and so I do a U Turn and head back to take the turn off. 10 mins later down a narrow road overlooking a deep gully I find the drive to the Sculpture Park. I take a park and walk up the steepish drive into a lovely setting. A tall semicircle of limestone cliff surrounds me with the opening looking out and down over an endless panoramic view. It’s a little slice of a peaceful heaven in the middle of nowhere.

For some reason I seem to have neglected taking a pic of the entire setting, which is a shame as it’s a lovely spot. The above pic only shows a smaller side area. The entry fee is $16 which in my opinion is probably about $6 over priced for what is on display. There is a walk around a grassed area and then up a path to a high point with terrific views down the valley. As you walk around both iron and stone artworks are on display in various areas. The best of these are the interactive pieces such as bikes with an attached fan and a contraption that is wound up and releases a kicking boot. (As shown in videos below)

The stone sculptures all tend to look alike to me and the price tags run to the thousands, well out of my league, not that I really want one. I head back inside for my complimentary coffee (maccona) and a chat with the owner. This tends to make up for the extra $6 as he’s an interesting chap. Raymond Herber bought the place as an abandoned quarry 25 years ago and has transformed the place with blood, sweat and a 20 tonne digger. For someone like me who enjoys a little work with landscaping it’s an impressive sight. He’s trucked in tons of top soil and planted the area out with native grasses, shrubs and trees. It’s been a labour of love and I no longer begrudge him the $16.

Photos showing the transformation of the Quarry

After the lovely chat with Raymond and his wife, I make my way back down the drive and head on into Christchurch. What a disaster this city is ! It feels like world war 3 has begun here and is still raging. Every street seems still under repair with bright orange cones lining streets reduced to one lane on almost every turn.

It seems to take forever to reach anywhere and I can’t recall ever being so frustrated behind the wheel of a vehicle. The drivers are little better, cutting and swerving in and out without bothering to indicate. I guess they are well and truly over crawling through destructed roads and detours. I head to try and find a shop to take some photos for my clock collecting friend Kevin but it feels as though I’ve been sent on a cross country goose chase. Road after road is closed and I’m detoured left right and several times centre. Eventually, hot under the collar and mentally fuming, I manage to find the right place only for it to be a barred and locked warehouse.

Great 🙄

I drive back over through town dodging craters and cones to meet Lisa, an old friend from Levin. We meet at The Old Vicarage, which bad the name implies is an old vicarage that has been converted into a cafe. It’s a lovely place with plenty of parking and a many rooms filled with seating. We have a good catch up before I once again battle the roads and traffic over to my hotel for the night, The Golden Star. This is by far the best value hotel I’ve managed so far. Though a smaller room, it’s seemingly brand new with gleaming cleanliness and an incredible powerful shower that boasts my frustrations with Christchurch away.

I take a walk into the Christchurch CBD and have to admit that an impressive amount of work has been completed since I was last here. There are still many buildings with scaffolding though and much still to complete. I ring another old friend from Lower Hutt days and meet up for dinner at a Malaysian restaurant where I have a delectable satay dish. Campbell even pays for the meal, which trust me is a big deal 😉 haha, if you’re reading this, then many thanks mate and excuse my dig at the moths in your wallet. He drops me back at Riccarton and I take a wander around the shooping district before making my way back to the hotel for a bonus shower.

Christchurch from above

Christchurch with powerlines

No time for the other side damn it -looks twice as pretty

The traffic out of Christchurch is again ridiculous. I pass through Rolleston and finally once heading inland it begins to ease. From Ashburton onwards you can literally watch the landscape changing. The plains rise up into mountains and the waving grasses in the wide open valleys glow golden. By the time I reach Fairlie I’m almost memorised and the best is yet to come. Lake Tekapo is nothing short of spectacular and more so on a lovely evening like I have tonight.

The drive from Fairlie to Tekapo

The drive from Fairlie to Tekapo

The drive from Fairlie to Tekapo

The drive from Fairlie to Tekapo

The drive from Fairlie to Tekapo

I’ve been attempting most of the day to find accomodation in Tekapo online. It’s proved fruitless and I give it up as an impossible task. The cheapest I can find is over $370 for the night and there’s no way I’m parting with that. Some rooms are just short of a grand a night, who the hell is paying these prices ? I soon find out when I pull up at the Lakefront to see that it’s been renamed Lake Tokyo, just kidding …. But it might as well be. The entire town is flooded with Asians and the odd Pom thrown in for good measure. Easy to see who’s forking out the money. I’m becoming more and more despresses at the state of this country as the trip goes on. We are ripping the tourists off as hard as we can go and yet the real cost comes to the average kiwi family who can’t even afford to see their own country as a result. This town (Tekapo) even charge $1.50 to go for a pee. No I’m not kidding ! It’s a breathtakingly beautiful spot but on its way to becoming another unaffordable destination along the lines of Queenstown. They even have a wishing well here and the Asians are feeding it like a starving dog. I watch stunned as some even throw notes down between the grate, they must be nuts !!. Wish I’d bought my fishing rod \240…

A well fed wishing well

Busting ? That’ll be $1.50 thanks

I’ve been recommended to go to Kohan, a Japanese restaurant in Tekapo, against my better judgement I decide to give it a go. Should have listened to myself, it’s expensive and not all that wonderful, not terrible, just not wonderful.

During the meal I do finally have some success with a bed for the night. Mountain Chalets in Twizel have had a last minute cancellation and I grab the room. I’d had visions of sleeping on Gertys back seat for the past few hours. We hit the road once more and my mind is blown away by the beauty of the drive. The southern alps tower ahead of me with a decent dusting of snow on the caps, below are wide valleys glowing golden, it’s a breathtaking drive and I feel almost as if in a dream. I stop several times for photos as I just can’t believe what I’m seeing, even though I’ve seen it all before years ago.

Ok, so you get the point, it’s magnificent, so magnificent that it takes me an hour longer than it should to reach Twizel and I’m late to check in. The owners seem lovely though and and brush away my apologies. My cold has now worsened during the day and I’m off for an early (for me at least) night.

My chalet

Here’s hoping

Lindis Pass

What a treat this turns out to be … and somewhat unexpectedly as I run into a couple of people walking their dog and ask them how the walk was. ”Don’t know” came the surly reply, “we only went in 5 minutes as it’s like a bloody desert, too hot and bloody boring”.

Boy did they miss out in a big way. Thankfully I didn’t let them put me off and strode on in. Another chap returning from his walk encouraged me to head to the left of the loop and go around that way. It’s the better direction to experience it apparently and he was dead right. The beauty and surprises just kept opening up before me and got better and better. I think I might not have enjoyed it nearly as much going around the other way.

It certainly feels hot and dry and I’m thankful for my cap and the water in my backpack. There are a few little climbs but nothing terribly off putting. Bannockburn is basically an abandoned old gold quarrying area and the signboards along the way telling of life here and some of the family stories are fascinating. They have done a fantastic job of creating the walk and giving enough detail to give you an idea of what went on back in the Goldrush era of the 1860s. Here comes another pic bomb for you all to enjoy, though I suggest you head down and do the walk.

So all of the previous photos were from the way up and the best was yet to come. As you’ll see, I’m surprised osh hasn’t been in and roped it all off with cones, chains and warning signs … I’m sure it will come in future years.

Ok, so you get the idea, but the photos really don’t recreate the atmosphere of the place. It’s taken me just over an hour and a half to get around the loop and I don’t regret it at all, even though I’ve still got a long drive ahead. The further South I get, the more caravans and camper vans proliferate. It gets to the point where I feel I’m the only one without one. Some of the people driving them really shouldn’t be driving at all, let alone hulking beasts like these. On several occasions I feel like I’m about to witness a fatal accident. It’s a fine line whether to stay behind then or endeavour to get past. In most cases I feel safer in front but passing areas are few.

As we near Queenstown things become crazy. Traffic is everywhere and our pace is down to a crawl. Even here roadworks are going crazy with cones and temporary traffic lights controlling single lane traffic everywhere. It’s a relief when I’ve finally skirted the bloody place and we begin to flow slightly quicker again. Frankton, where I stayed on my cycle trip back in 2020 has now exploded. New building have popped up all over with dozens more partially completed. The entire area is a madhouse.

I move into Kawarau Gorge and the scenery is a postcard perfect as always. The blue of the river never ceases to amaze me. I get to roaring meg and have to stop for a gaze. Just beautiful

Kawarau Gorge

Roaring Meg

Roaring Meg

I’ve been desperately trying to find accomodation again each time I’ve stopped today. Whoever would have guessed that Tuatapere would be sold out … crazy days indeed. I finally manage to her lucky with another cancellation at the Last Light Lodge. The (I’m guessing) Dutch lady on the phone is very patient with me as it takes 5 phone calls (4 of which dropped out) to be booked and organised for a bed tonight. “Did you want a meal tonight” ? She asks. I press her for more information but she’s a little difficult to understand on a dodgy line so in the end I just think stuff it lets do it and give her the go ahead. $50 sounds a little rich but there might not be many more options in Tuatapere at that hour anyway.

Dinner is at 7pm promptly she informs me and I manage to pull in at 7.01pm. Embarrassingly everyone else is already seated at a lovely carved wooden table outside as I drive in I have around 14 pairs of eyes boring into me as I hurry forward and take my appointed seat. It turns out they are 2 separate bunches of Aucklanders here to do the local 3 day tramp. I get introduced around and they make great merriment of the fact that 3 of them are all called Jim. “What’s your name”’they eventually as and with a straight face I say “Jim” This goes down a treat and I’m instantly accepted as a friend. They are mostly nice … but several are typical Aucklanders who feel that there is no life south of the Bombay Hills.

The conversation rambles on and I find myself feeling as though I’m back in my car sales days and just replying to please. It’s a relief when the food appears and gives me an excuse to be preoccupied. What a meal is placed before me. A huge cut of lamb loin that is cooked to perfection and as tender as I’ve ever experienced. It sits astride an enormous mound of beautifully mashed truffle potato with glazed carrots and beans. There is also a large fresh salad placed before me with a dressing that defies explanation in a good way. $50 now seems like the bargain of a lifetime, especially when the dessert is bought out later on. It’s an apple and rhubarb crumble with fruit from their own garden (as were all salad ingredients and spices) with a homemade ice cream and custard. One of the owners is a top notch 5 star chef and it’s been his dream to own his own accomodation business and provide quality meals. He did us proud tonight. I forgot to immortalise the main with a pic but here is dessert.

Post dinner I popped into town and was surprised to see the art gallery open. I got chatting to Wayne Edgerton the artist and didn’t leave until after 11pm. Here are a few of his works that the photos don’t do justice to.

I’m knackered, goodnight all

Oh and I’m still coughing but the throat has improved … now let me go and sleep

Night

Roar Coffee

I almost go back for a second but decide that toilets are few and far between out here. Just in case, I locate their public convenience which for a public toilet is outstandingly clean, spacious and odourless. As with most small rural towns down here, Lumsden leaves me with a pleasant feeling that I’d happily stop again should I ever pass back through.

Speaking of passing back through, mere minutes later I’m back in Athol and pull into the Art Gallery. There is a different lady in charge today and if you can conjure up a vision of your typical art gallery attendant, then this is her. Snooty, overdressed and layered with makeup and jewellery.

As I’m dressed I’m my usual shorts and t shirt and possibly looking a little worse for wear today, she peers even further down her nose at me than I guess to be her usual. I admit I haven’t had a shower today and I’m wearing the same shirt as yesterday but hey, I sprayed it with deodorant yesterday so it can’t be the reason she’s stinking her nose at me.

I spend a fair bit of time staring at the paintings I like and in what I presume to be an effort to get rid of me from the gallery, she finally appears at my shoulder and inquires if she can be of assistance. I ask if she can move them to a space on their own where I can view them apart and she does so with a slight frown.

I push her on price and mainly because she probably feels I’m wasting her time she comes down to a price which through having spoken to Wayne last night, I know is a fairly good deal. I think I surprise myself as much as her when I here myself saying I’ll take it. She gives a double take and then stutters something about having to check with the manager about the price. No ! I say, you’ve offered me a price and I’ve accepted, if you want to go back in that I’ll speak to not only your manager but to Wayne himself. She looks aghast but accepts my proffered Visa card and wraps the painting. It’s now residing in Gertys rear end until we get home.

The piece I bought … it looks better in the flesh

From Athol I have to backtrack to Lumsden where I resist the temptation of another coffee and head around in a semi circle to the town of Roxburgh where I’m staying at the Clutha Gold Cottages, where luckily another last moment cancellation has allowed me a bed for the night. The drive around is ok, mainly rolling hills and farmland, certainly not the awe inspiring views of the past few days until the Clutha Rivwe comes into view. The deep clear turquoise of this river never fails to bring an inner peace a feeling of wanting to jump right in. Memories of my last dip in her are enough to keep me in the car nowhere, damn that water is freezing !

The Clutha cottages turn out to be a bit of a bargain at $140. It’s basically a small 2 bedroom house to myself, complete with separate toilet, bathroom, lounge and a complete kitchen. Free cookies and jellybeans on the kitchen counter are a bonus.

I check in, dump my bags and as it’s already past 5.30pm I decide I’d better get a walk in as I’ve been sitting all day. I head down to the Clutha River trail and only then realise its exactly where I was cycling almost 4 years ago to the day. I walk my 10km at a fairly brisk pace and then head back into town for a curry. I’ve been warned off the local Chinese and this is the only other option available. I’ll probably regret it when perched on my bike tomorrow but time will tell.

Having run out of clean clothes I feed the campsight Laundry a $2 coin and throw the load in. An hour later I return and battling the room full of moths and mozzies, throw in another $2 and hurl the lot in the drier. I possibly should have checked the settings before leaving because when I return the clothes are definitely dry but almost too bloody hot to touch. Another 5 mins and I reckon they’d be aflame. I manage to singe a few fingertips getting them into my new world bag, which thankfully doesn’t melt on the way back to the room.

I’m now frantically packing in an effort to be ready to leave a little earlier than usual tomorrow morning. Should be a good day tomorrow … he says hopefully. I’ll see you then … well those of you persistent enough to make it this far.

Luckily my bike is first off the trailer. I jump aboard and pedal off furiously without even adjusting the seat height. I want distance between myself and KJ before the day is ruined. I stop 5 mins down the track, make a few quick adjustments and am away again before anyone’s caught up. Lake Dunstan is a glorious blue just down to my left and it feels amazing to be back out on a bike. I feel stupid for not having been back in mine since my big trip.

As I cycle along I can’t stop thinking of Grant and mum. Grant of course should be here enjoying this with me. It was he who alerted me to the building of this track and suggesting we should do it. It was in the pipeline for us before he so unexpectedly passed away. Mum too would have loved to hear about it and I feel vastly alone as tears come once again. My 2 closest friends, allies and confidantes both gone in exactly 2 weeks.

The trail begins easy, it’s wide and easy to follow with scenery to die for. My new AllTrails app is following my progress and alerts me should I ever make a wrong turn. Very unlikely on this path !

There are narrow stages and a couple of small climbs but in the main it’s a fairly easy ride. I love the narrow areas carved into the rock and indeed the steel bridge sections that have been clamped to the sides of rocky cliffs. Prepare yourselves for the first of a few photo bombs here and look for the videos, they are worth a watch as I took them with extreme danger to my own life as I cycled 😉

Here comes a few videos

You probably get the picture and if not, don’t panic, I have plenty more where they came from 😂

At roughly the halfway stage (I think) I come to 3 tied up boats. One with a bbq on the back, one with an entire coffee machine set up and the other laden with supplies. This is the famous coffeeafloat cafe that Grant was so keen to get to. It’s set up in a fabulous little bay and they have large speakers set up around rocks that act like a little amphitheater. The sound is incredible, even if it is Kenny Roger’s they have playing.

Grant used to joke that he would sit here drinking coffees and wait for my while I zipped to the end of the track and came back for him. He’s have been devastated to find it’s about halfway along and either way he’s have to cycle back. I’ve not had breakfast save for the coffee at Clyde and since it’s after 11 I decide on a fish burger and another coffee. Cycling should be even easier for the 2nd part as I’m now $32 lighter. It’s hard to begrudge them though as they are doing a fantastic job and the burgers do look good.

There is a substantial wait as it’s like a main highway from both directions. Of course it’s something quite novel and so every single rider stops to sample. It’s not a bad place to sit and wait though with decent enough music and a setting that is just so gorgeous.

This one’s for you RIP Grunter

Well it was a good place to wait until up rocks KJ slightly less full of beans but still dispensing advice to anyone within earshot. I cower behind a rock and listen in amazement as he reaches the front of the queue and begins to instruct the coffee lady and then the bbq man on how to best proceed with their jobs. Of course KJ entertains important people back home on the shore and always puts on the best bbq, “now what you’ll be needing to do my friend … “ he begins at the poor soul on the bbq, and I clutch my order and run back to my bike. I’m heading away to eat it in silence. It’s a stroke of luck that I do as just around the corner is the days most solid climb. I wouldn’t like to have done it on a full tummy and am doubly pleased to have waited when I see the view that greets me at the summit. It’s a magnificent spot for an impromptu picnic.

The fish burger is very very good, perhaps more so as I’ve cycled 27km on an empty tummy and just climbed a bloody switchback. Any which way, I make short work of it. I make my way off again and thankfully don’t see KJ ever again. There’s a high chance that the bbq man decapitated him with his tongs and cleaver, here hoping.

It’s mainly downhill from here with several more very narrow stretches that have me wondering how I’d have gone if fully loaded with my panniers. Several I pass have some but are nearly as kitted up as I was on my journey. I’ll admit I had far too much gear. The only other issue I have today is with a couple of reckless 20 somethings. They come hurtling from the opposite direction around blind narrow corners with huge drops off on the cliff side. I’m lucky to get away with my life on one occasion as I grab the brakes and skid dangerously close to the edge. I hurl a few choice words after them and only hope those foloeong behind me don’t come to grief. It’s just not a track designed with slows in mind given some of the sharp blind corners.

Ok ok, I know you’re videoed out now, but it really was a glorious ride, probably right up there with the very best I’ve done. This area is certainly spoilt with this track, the Clutha Gomd Trail, The Roxburgh Gorge Trail and of course the Rail Trail. What a cyclists heaven.

I make my way back to Clyde past the dam and feel almost deflated as I drop off the bike. Happy memories of days on the road followed by camping have come back to me. I wonder if I’m too old to do it again.

It’s now after 3pm and after a brief wander around town, I set sail for Timaru with a milkshake in hand. Timaru is a town I’ve driven through several times and yet know little about. I’ve never stopped for a look and so now is the time. I make a few pit stops along the way. A pint of Becks in Beck, where it turn out the publican was not only from Levin but the ex next door neighbour of a workmate. I stop at a few galleries and spy places that I’ve cycled through several years back. Alexandra. Okaukau, Ranfurly and others all bring back memories.

Once out onto the main coastal highway once more, traffic is much heavier and we crawl along with roadworks again along vast stretches. I’m simply amazed at how many roads are ripped up and surrounded by cones throughout the country.

I eventually reach Timaru and am greeted with a fabulous hotel room. I’m even upgraded to a spa room and given my day will gallium soak in it later.

I take a seat inside and check my emails where I discover one from the Interislander (I was going to say ‘service’ but that’s not a word that can be used with them) company. The upshot is that another of their ferries has broken down and they have cancelled all those booked on it for the next week including myself. This stresses me no end as I have to be back by the 21st for mums memorial. I go to ring them but ofcoarse it’s after 5 and the last thing they will be worried about is providing service. It will be watch this space until 8am.

With little else to do, I head into Timaru for some dinner. I only want a takeaway but my options seem limited to a subway or a local pizza. For some reason that still escapes me (given the fact I made them for 18 years / 7 nights a week) I opt for a pizza. $31.50 for a pizza that is about the size of my old medium ones and with tooting my own horn, ringing my own bell, singing my own praises or indeed making any noise at all, it simply isn’t even in the same ballpark as what we used to make. It’s average! Still by now I’m becoming used to everything being overpriced.

I then subject myself to just a little more torture and watch my team throw away yet another game we should have cleaned up with ease.

I try to soothe my stress with a nice long spa but I can’t relax given the worries with the ferry and my anger at my team. It’s a sad end to a great day.

Time for a snooze, here’s hoping for better news in the morning.

It’s an easy walk which follows around the coastline a little way back from the beach. It then rises above some dark rocky cliffs that appear to be eroding into the sea, before dropping back down to beach level and circling back via a couple of quiet streets.

There’s something about these small towns, the people are just friendly. All and sundry nod, smile and often stop you for a chat. It’s a nice feeling and makes one’s impression of the town a lot warmer. I don’t get anywhere fast as I end up chatting with so many people and all of whom are vastly different. It’s a wonderful part of travelling.

There are many events on in town this weekend I discover, a walk for life rally, a concert and a polo (yes the game on horseback) tournament. I ask if King Charles is competing and am immediately elevated to the ranks of stand up comedian as the lovely couple I’m chatting to convulse with laughter.” Ohhh we’re not that posh here” she assures me once recovered, I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d already guessed that .. as a boy racer continued doing smoky donuts in the adjacent parking lot.

Jane the painter has told me of another walk and having completed my 5km around the cliffs, I head to her suggested walk. To be fair it’s a slightly improved repeat of what I’ve just done, pretty much in the opposite direction. I complete another 5.3 km and discover the scene of her painting that I liked on the way. I’m impressed and call her to say I’ll take it. She kindly Nero’s sit and puts it aside. By 4pm I’m steaming hot. I buy a cold drink and head back to pick up my artworks. I really need to stay away from galleries now. That’s 4 new paintings I own from this trip😬.

The scene of Janes painting (Now mine), Patiti Point

I head briefly back to the hotel but 5 mins later I’m feeling guilty at doing nothing and head off on yet another walk. This one takes me through the close by Botanical Gardens (quite a disappointment), on through the local cemetery (quite peaceful and overlooking the ocean) and finally to the wetlands walk. There has obviously been a lot of work out in here and I actually quite enjoy it as wildlife (well vast amounts of birds) are everywhere. It’s different and that’s what I hope for when I’m visiting new towns, originality.

Having enjoyed the wetlands walk I eventually find myself back at the hotel having completed just over 8km. That’s a fairly decent effort for the day if over 18km. Feeling somewhat thirsty I recall that the lovely waitress said on visit to Timaru is complete without calling into a local pub named Hector Blacks. It’s the best advice I’ve had !!! What a fantastic place. Totally quirky and nuts, completely up my street. It’s basically an old bank that has been lovingly converted into a pub and filled with the oddest collection of antiques and, well let’s face it, junk, that you are every likely to find.

The staff and patrons make the place though. You are immediately greeted and made to feel like a local and just so comfortably at home. I order a pint and then am encouraged to walk about and take in the eclectic range of items on display both upstairs and down.

Where do I start ? 😳, there are numerous examples from taxidermy, rabbits, boars, birds and then even a giraffe and elephant head. The pride of place though, obviously goes to Hector Black himself, who turns out to be a much loved dog of the owner, a certain Tim Black. Hector was obviously much loved as there are also several portraits him strewn about the pub amongst everything from box brownie cameras to ancient suitcases, statues, paintings, books, tables, record players, you name it and I’m sure it’s here.

Hector Brown himself

Ok, so I did warn you. There a bit of everything. I demolish a beer and then they tempt me with the cocktail list saying I simply have to try them. I agree and begin with a Salty Snowman. It’s rich, sweet and strong. It’s also bloody addictive

Salty Snowman

Already swaying after the snowman, I decide to finish with an ‘Anzac Biscuit’ this is also lovely but not quite as impressive as the snowman

I take my drinks on a tour of the pub and spend at least 40 mins taking in all it has to offer. Upstairs is an amazing space with more taxidermy and a whole corner dedicated to ancient board games. Couples sit around drinking convivially while attacking each other at battleship. Connect 4, monopoly and others. It’s just brilliant. There are a load of old armchairs and I’m told that most nights these are usually filled with all types of people telling yarns as they enjoy a tipple.

A couple playing battleships

Outdoor area in Hector Browns

Rabbit with rifle

It’s with substantial regret that I depart Hector Browns, I’m offered best wishes by almost all present in the bar. It’s without doubt the friendliest pub I’ve ever been in. Almost like a NZ version of cheers and I wish it was my local. I admit I have a little bit of a sway going and so head up to the local roast shop to get a takeaway. It’s not cheap but it does do the job and soak up some alcohol back at my room.

Did I mention I’m now coming back on the 18th ? I probably did but I’m my current state I’m not checking back. Lord help us, that means I’ll have to write an extra 3 or so of rises and find something to do to entertain us both. I’ll try, but no promises.

See you on the road tomorrow

I’m sure in winter they are even more spectacular. Once again as it’s a ‘Touristy’ area the place is literally packed. There is barely room to move on the sidewalks and I’m thankful that I get lucky with a park.

I spend an hour wandering the shopping area and things have really gone backward (In my humble opinion anyway). The shops to a large degree are full of tat. Overpriced imported from china garbage with little of the arts and crafts charm I recall from my previous visit around a decade ago. As ever, everything is monstrously overpriced, fish n chips $30 odd for A FISH and a minuscule portion of chips. $5 for a bottle of Bundaberg or $4 for a can of coke … I mean please. Coffees, ice creams and pretty much everything is extortionately priced and yet the throngs queue happily and fork it over. I guess they have come this far and are pretty much a captive audience for the day. My fish n chips is nice, it’s just not $30 nice. There are cruises, paddle boards, kayaks and you name it, they all get lapped up and the money floods into Akaroa.

For me though, I head for the hills, quite literally. I look up a walk to a waterfall and take my leave from the crowds. It’s a pleasant walk up to Newtons Waterfall but nothing too strenuous or startling. The same goes for the waterfall, it’s pleasant but not startling, Infact you’d be correct in saying it’s a little deflating as a reward per effort given in reaching it.

It is an incredibly warm day and I hoo my way across to the waterfall and hang my head under the flow. It’s bracingly cold and a complete delight. I allow my cap to be soaked and then trek off back to the crowds. By the time I’m back down to the main road it feels as though a tidal wave has swept through taking all in its path. The ships have closed and the crowds vacated, a stunning transformation for just over an hour ago. It’s now locals that seemed to have appeased. People walk dogs and peer over neighbours fences talking. Akaroa has transformed. It’s actually a whole lot nicer too.

I’d booked into the silo stay tonight via phone. Yes it’s what it sounds like, a paddock full of silos that are fitted out as hotel rooms. The man I’d spoken to on the phone had promised me a special price tonight but when I pull up and try to check in, the man isn’t there and neither is the special price. Thankfully I hadn’t give a credit card number and when the grouchy counter lady refuses to honour the price I was quoted, I walk out and leave her with no price at all. It’s after 6.30pm and the place is quite remote, so good luck filling the room now !

Instead I head back the old faithful Golden Star Hotel that served me well on the way down. I save myself over $100 in the process.

After a brief wander around Riccarton, I opt for a reasonably priced satay mixed meat on rice from an Asian takeaway and it’s actually extremely good. I think the place was called the Khyber Satay house or something close.

I then just lay around the hotel room watching the nights league on tv. As I mentioned earlier, a bit of a dull day for you and me alike.

The walk itself is fairly easy, even when you head up into the hills and amongst the boulders. The big issue becomes my fingers which turn into mini popsicles as I climb higher. Damn it’s bloody freezing up here and the drizzling rain feels more like sleet. Still, it’s only a couple of km and the views make it well worth the effort.

Video amongst the boulders

The above photos don’t quite do justice to the enormity of the size of these boulders, they simply tower about you. By the time I’m back to the Ute, I’m frozen through and barely have feeling in my fingers. I push Gertys magic button for instant maximum heat for the very first time and am quite impressed at the rate I thaw out. In fact several moments later as I fumble for the off button, I have to open the window to let out excess heat.

Back behind camper vans and woeful rental drivers I go but the further we venture in to Arthur’s Pass the better the opportunities appear to get past the more painful of them and I make my way forward to the front I my to stop at most of the ’scenic’ areas for a quick look and end up back at the tail once more. Several vehicles I must have passed at least 5 times today.

I pull into Arthur’s Pass (the actual town) sometime just after 1.30pm. The dumplings have well since disappeared and I pop into the only open cafe to find it bursting at the seams collecting tourist dollars. Fleecing is alive and well here and no one (bar myself) seems to mind. It’s all so easy to wave a card over the machine and not even look at the bill. Personally it’s with a lot of pain I count out my $5.90 for a sad battered looking pie that looks like it’s been served by Rafa Nadal. It’s the last one left and beggars can’t be choosers and I’m simply not paying $11 for a single sandwich nor $4.80 for a sausage roll that hasn’t reached maturity. I briefly contemplate a $6.80 muffin …. But only briefly.

I sit in the Ute (mainly because the dining area is jam packed and looks like a Covid haven given the proximity) and half bite half lick my pie off the sides of the paper bag. It was already in poor shape before I left the cafe but by the time I get in the Ute it looks as though it’s done a few rounds with Mike Tyson and no longer resembles ‘pie shape’. I do my best but feel a spoon would have been the answer.

Another scenic stop beckons just after I leave town. Devils Falls sounds provocative and I nab a spot in the parking lot. Just as I head off up the track, the drizzle returns but it doesn’t deter me from my mission. It’s only a couple of km in but with quite a few stair climbs along the way and a couple of decent swing bridges. It’s a beautiful path with most wonderful gnarled old trees lining each side of the track. It’s like walking along in an old fairly tale, the drizzle and mist just adding to the atmosphere.

The viewing platform affords outstanding views of the falls and I feel lucky that it’s been raining all morning as the volume of water hurling itself over the rocks high above is impressive. It’s easy to stand and gaze at the non stop torrent. I’ve been there some time and turn to go when to my amazement a bedraggled family of Japanese stagger up the stairs to the platform. 3 generations are here including grandma and grandad and are are wearing their Sunday best. Suits, ties and for the women some kind of fur / suede boots that look quite a lot worse for the walk up here. They nod to me and set about taking photos as I leave to make room.

The following video will probably give the best idea of volume.

As I make my way back down I come to a school party of young kids heading up. The rather stressed looking teacher calls a halt to them allowing me to cross the swing bridge as they wait staring at me. As I each the head of their line the first young boy calls out high 5 and sticks his hand out in the air to me. I high 5 him and of course it’s the started for 20 odd more high fives as I edge my way past.

Coffee and the cold weather have done the trick again and I hold my nose as I used the precariously placed portaloo at the end of the track. I’m full of admiration and wonder for the poor buggers who come and empty / clean these things. I’d have to be quite desperate to take a seat in one.

Back on to the highway again and although there is still the odd nuisance driver, it’s not nearly as bad as earlier. Most must be throwing money at the cafe or viewing sights further back. I make a couple more photo stops before emerging out at Hokitika sometime after 4pm.

I recall missing out on going to the Hokitika Gorge when I was on my cycle trip and as the sun has now appeared with a blue sky, I decide that now is as good a time as any to rectify that. It’s about a half hour drive out of town but proves to be well worth the effort. I park and head into a well signposted track that initially appears to be like any other bush walk. Soon though I come to a long swingbridge with magnificent views down into the grey waters swirling through a wide gorge below. Apparently the water is usually a vibrant blue but given the rain today it’s not surprising that it’s a cold grey today.

It’s another entrancing South Island walk, they really are blessed with endless beauty down here and luckily still will be even after I leave….

Anyhow instead of my usual rambling, I’ll just give you some more pics of the beautiful Hokitika Gorge

There, no need for you to go now is there ?

On reaching my ute again, I notice it’s almost 6pm and I’m not booked in any hotel. Almost unbelievably I’m unable to find a single room in Hokitika, it’s sold out. I begin trying around Greymouth and eventually find Paroa Hotel which has just 1 room left. I take it and arrive 25 mins later.

Paroa Hotel is a labour of love that has been owned by the same family for the past 79 years through various generations. It’s been modernised and is now a popular restaurant / bar with good quality rooms and a whole new row of new mini studios at the rear. It’s one of these I’m occupying tonight. I decide I’ve done enough driving for the day and have a meal in the attached restaurant. $22 for the roast of the day (Lamb) and it’s a substantial meal.

The friendly owner, who checked me in, makes his way around the dining tables greeting every person at every table by name and taking time to sit and chat with everyone. It’s an impressive feat and I can see why this place is so well regarded locally and in reviews. He eventually makes his way to my table, greets me by name and sits himself down to have a little chat. He asks where I’m from , my plans for tomorrow and we chat away like old buddies. When I compliment him on his memory of names and the wonderful service, he proudly states that he has a long family tradition of friendly west coast hospitality to live up to. He’s doing an impressive job, especially as I estimate him to be in his 70s.

I can’t face dessert after such a main and take a wander on the beach before retiring to write this just for you. Good work if you made it this far, you deserve a medal, boy can I ramble on …

Night night

This old mining track has its own atmosphere today and my mind pictures back to what it must have been like back in the day when rigged miners lived out here. It’s remote, damp and darkish. It can’t have been healthy living. It would have taken a special breed to live this life. Today we have stairs and we’ll formed paths for the hikers but back then I can imagine there was many a sprain and broken bones just navigating the creeks, gully’s and rocks.

A sluice cut into rock

As you may have gathered, I’m a bit of a tree fan and this track has some beauties. Gnarled and twisted with most growing up the trunks. They really set a stunning scene. A little further in I come to some cave entrances carved into the rock walls. As there is a sign at the beginning of the trail inviting you to enter and explore if you have a torch light, I decide to give it a go with my phone torch.

Cave entrance

It’s actually fairly creepy and (for me anyway) a touch on the scary side heading into the darkness. There have been a number of earthquakes around lately and my mind does a good job of wandering to what it would be like being stuck here for my final hours in the pitch black with oxygen running out. Not the best thoughts to be having while pushing deeper into a low damp tunnel. It feels like a very long way in as I make my way forward bent over almost double to save my head from knocking on the roof. I reach up to have a feel and am not reassured when some crumbles away in my hand. It feels like a crumbly moist clay.

The above photos look bright but that’s only die to my phones powerful flash. Let me tell you, it’s damn dark in there and when I turn off my phone light for a few moments there is nothing but a few glow worms offering anything other than pitch darkness. There is more indecision as I reach a fork in the tunnel. After a shower debate I head left and then just about fill my pants as a light comes on ahead of me and an Aussie voice says BOO!!. “Haha did I scare ya mate” he laughs as he points his phone light at me. ‘Just about killed me actually’ I assure him. His girlfriend gives him an earful but they actually turn out to be a lovely young couple from north of Brisbane. They are heading back out of the tunnel I’m heading up. I search around a little longer and then feel very uneasy as I try to make my way back. It’s just so damn easy to lose your sense of direction in the darkness, even with a torch. I begin to have a rising sense of panic until I remember I have my phone gps recording my walk as I usually do. I flick it on and and retrace my steps following the little line on my phone. I just spy the light of the tunnel entrance when it darkens with the form of my Aussie friend from earlier. He’s concerned that I hadn’t reappeared on the track and was coming back to look for me. Very decent of him and I’m grateful for the thought.

My Aussie friends

The track has several more cave openings but we all feel caved out and give them a miss.

Further up though, the track passes through what feels like a tunnel cut through sheer solid rock walls. Again it’s hard to describe the feeling of walking through such a place. I’ll let the photos do the talking here.

Quite an incredible wee journey this trail and well worth the detour inland to visit. I say goodbye to my Aussie friends and head back towards Greymouth for some diesel for Gerty and some fuel for me in the form of a coffee and bite to eat.

Greymouth turns out to be crazy busy and it’s a full 10 mins before I manage to get a park. This is bloody Greymouth we are taking about, a small South Island town. It’s unbelievable. Everywhere down South is packed to overflowing with tourists. I shudder with the price of diesel here and only provide Gerty with enough of a sip to enable me to get to Westport, where I’m hoping it will be cheaper. I find a little bakery where they have the most wonderful selections of food. If you are ever in Greymouth, give Blanchfields Bakery a shot, they are great and the coffee is 👌👌👌

They have ‘loaded’ pies with peas and gravy baked on top and all sorts of various novelties in the food line. Probably the best bakery I’ve visited as everywhere else had just had the standard boring bakery fare. Having said that, I’m fairly boring myself and opt for a bacon and egg toasted sandwich and a magnificent looking stuffed sausage which tastes as good as it appeared. It had a salsa and an onion mashed potato filling with Camembert. Really good!

I’d been debating whether I had time to do another wee hike before making my way to Westport but I’m feeling so guilty at my food consumption that I have to walk some of it off. I’d saved another interesting looking walk on my AllTrails app just incase and find it around 20 mins north of Greymouth. This one is named The Coal Creek Track and once again, though it looks like an ordinary trail at the start, proves to be another fabulous trail with a glorious surprise at the end. The sign at the entrance informs me it will be 2 hours and I originally tell myself I’ll just walk for half an hour each way as I don’t have the time. As it turns out, whoever made the sign was either a 1 legged man with cramp or smoking something much stronger than a cigarette. I’m there and back with plenty of stops for photos in just over 45mins.

Love that tree

Video

What a beautiful spot and apparently a lovely swimming hole as well. I meet several locals along the track and again am struck at just how friendly and personable they are down here. It’s like a different country where people actually have time for each other.

I tell myself the next stop is Westport but upon reaching Punakaiki can’t resist a quick boat around the pancake rocks and blowholes. Sadly though, the best part at the far end has been barred of with steel gates. Apparently it needs geoengineering examinations. Somewhat parched I head into the local store for a small L&P and a single scoop ice cream. I should have known better … $14.50 yes, you read correctly Fourteen bloody dollars and fifty bloody cents. I shouldn’t have really thrown the icecream back at them and demanded a refund. Absolute rorting of the public !!! The lesson learned here is to never order anything that is not displaying a price, it’s a guaranteed rip off.

Video

I head on my way to Westport but before I get there, let me just have my moan of the day. Bloody campervans and overseas tourist drivers. Even the rental car drivers, almost without exception they are the worst living nightmare on the roads. They weave about all over the place whilst trying to take pics while driving, they crawl along with streams of angry traffic blocked behind them and they pull over in the most thoughtless roadblockung places. I even came across one today parked half to the side and half out on the main highway, effectively blocking an entire lane of the motorway from flowing, whilst the occupant climbed into the roof to take a photo of the ocean. They are without doubt the most inconsiderate and downright hazards on the road. Surely we need to be putting these people through competency tests before allowing them out on our roads.

There are not just one or two either, there are quite literally hundreds and hundreds of the bloody things down here, it’s a wonder we can move at all. … Rant over … for now

I’m in Westport to have a coffee with my lovely cousin Lee, who along with her husband Kevin, put me up for a night on my cycle trip. She’s the most lovely kind person and it’s a treat to catch up even so briefly. I then make my way to another petrol station only to have another coronary. It’s even bloody dearer again, unbelievably a whole 60c per litre dearer than Christchurch. Someone’s on the bloody take. I only give Gerty another sip and hope for the best in my next destination, Motueka. It’s another almost 3 hours of toil and exasperation behind campervans, caravans and appalling rental car hirers. It’s with no small relief that I reach my accomodation for the night, the ‘White Elephant’ … I kid you not.

It’s a sort of a hostel that also has private bungalows at a decent price out the back. I’ve nabbed the last one of these for the night and am happy with the value for money. A somewhat eccentric lady owner shows me to my room whilst babbling on about her cats along the way. I count around 5 to go along with her 2 dogs which are both delightful friendly things just like their owner. There is a massive fig tree just my my room and she picks a few for me before I take my case inside.

A friend from work who is like an older brother to me is on Motueka for a weeks holiday and I ring to let him know I’ve appeared. He kindly meets me downtown and we sit and chat while I eat my fish n chips. We have had several Roberts at work and as much as I should know which is Ron and which is Bob etc I never really do. I therefore know this one as Rob Bob Reb. He’s a top bloke who looks nowhere near his actual age of about 70. I enjoy out conversations and manage to knock over my can of drink no less than 3 times whilst waving my arms about when describing my adventures on this trip. It‘s no wonder I’m still thirsty when we leave as most of my drink was all over the table.

I offer to shout us dessert but it turns out to be a hollow offer as we can’t locate a single restaurant open that serves dessert past 8pm. We settle for a coffee at a Turkish kebab house. It was great to catch up, but sometime after 9 I head back to my white elephant for some rest and to write what you have just waded through. As I was about halfway through, a kamikaze wasp appeared from nowhere and began to run bombing raids over me while I lay on the bed typing. I grabbed the nearest weapon to hand (a bath towel) and chased it about the room swotting at it. This seemed to infuriate it more and its acceleration around the room seemed to double. I’m not sure my neighbours in the next room are too fond of me now as I crashed about knocking over a chair and dislodging the handrail. I also accidentally \240took out the bathroom lightbulb before performing an impressive backhand swoosh which laid the wasp out cold on the toilet seat. I gave it a free white water rafting trip and was finally rid of it about 10 mins after it’s initial attack.

Night night

Cheeky keas are along the path and make the effort worthwhile.

The road is much the same decending steeply down the other side into Takaka, Sharp bends with the odd switchback keep your hands busy on the steering wheel. It’s a relief to be back on some relatively straight roads.

It’s like a different world with a different pace of life over here, you can almost feel your watch slow down as you enter, it makes me feel the most calm and relaxed I’ve felt all journey. Almost the first fence I pass has be slowing down to stop and take a photo. It’s literally covered in old shoes for the entire length.

I very much love oddball things such as this and it makes me feel right at home. I never realised that there is so much to see and do over here and come up with a plan to head right out to the end of the road first and then work my way back from Farewell Spit. It’s a good plan in theory but I soon realise it’s impractical given all the things I’m passing that I want to see and the limited time I have today. I’m simply going to have to come back and spend a few days in the area. I whizz past all sorts of interesting looking galleries, museums, and a plethora of walks I’d like to tackle.

I do eventually make it out to the end of the road and after a brief judder over a gravel road for the last few kilometres decide at at a Y fork in the road to go to Wharariki first before heading to Farewell Spit. It proves to be a wise choice as others tell me the tide is currently in, making things difficult to enjoy on the spit.

There are a number of track options here and I decide on the one that leads to Wharariki Beach first. Again my luck is in as this works out to be an ideal way to do a loops walk and take everything in that the area has to offer. I’ve seen many wonderful sights among all of these hikes I’ve been finding but todays are up with the best of them. The beach is simply stunning and would be even without the added dimension of towering cliffs climbing out of the sea with a picturesque hole in the rock just made by nature for photography. As if this weren’t enough, young seal pups and their mother frolic up close in the rock pools below. It’s just an absolutely incredible place and I thank my craziness for deciding to head out here. Best of all, the crowds of tourists I’ve encountered everywhere else, don’t seem to have found this place or perhaps it’s simply too remote and not as accessible. Whatever the reason it’s a treat experience with so few people around.

As you draw closer to the cliffs towering over the beach you realise just how substantial they are, once beneath them you are completely dwarfed by them. The rock pools below are a delight, prepare for a photo and video bomb. I highly recommend watching the videos.

The seal pups are just so playful, it’s as if they are putting on a show just for us, rather than simply going about their daily lives. They frolic, tease and play with one another whilst their mum swims around lazily keeping an eye on them. I’m amongst about a dozen others when a husband and wife detach from the crowd and approach me. “Are you from Parramatta” the gentleman asks, obviously seeing my shirt and cap. I tell him I’m a long time fan having grown up in Sydney as a kid. “Oh we are from near Parramatta in a place called Old Toongabbie” he says. It’s a name I know well as a good mate and ex Director of the Parramatta club I know lives there. I mention this too them and they say not Garry Morris. I’m absolutely stunned when I find out they live next door but one to him. What are the odd at this place at this time. Crazy stuff.

Gary’s ‘almost’ next door neighbours

We wander along the beach together chatting away like long lost friends and we swop phone numbers. Great to meet such lovely people.

As I continue along the beach caves open up in the rocks behind me. It’s outrageously beautiful and I can’t believe I’ve not known much about the area before.

I know I know, you’re beach and rocked out. As I reach the end of the cove I notice another track heading up off the beach. It allows me to take a complete loop without having to double back upon myself although it’s a rather disappointing trail scenery wise. It does offer up one last view of the rocks from above however.

I stop at the wee cafe at the end of the track for another fortifying coffee before driving out down another gravel track to the next car park and walk. This one heads up a large grassed hill offering up some more superb scenery over a different cove. The climb up is along the sheer side of a cliff and not for those feint of heart. I’m mightily pleased there’s no wind today or else I’d have kept a fair way more inland. I’m amazed to see piles of sheep droppings right up close to the cliffs edges. It’s a sheer drop should they misstep or a gale rise up suddenly. I’m convinced there must be a lot of bones along the bottom on the rocks.

Sheep dung on the very edge of an extremely high sheer drop down

And finally for your viewing pleasure here is ‘Cliff’ the proud owner of the droppings further back in the photos.

It’s now mid afternoon and I’m still right out at the end of Cape Farewell with the Spit still to explore. It’s not obvious to me that I’ll have to come back again and spend more time. I follow another gravel road out to the Spit car park deciding I still have time for another hike before beginning to make my way back. I head out along the spit which was my original intention for coming out here. I wanted to reach the area as high as I could get to on the top of the West Coast. While not as spectacular as the earlier scenery of the day, it still has its own raw beauty and an aura of its own out here. I do the 4km round hike that heads up one coast of the spit before crossing over to the opposite side for the return journey. The first side is littered with driftwood, shells and dirtier looking sand but this changes completely when you cross to the other side where you wander pristine unblemished sand all the way back.

No doubt you can spot the diffences between the 2 sides.

By now it’s almost 4pm and I’d wanted to stop in Takaka on the way back to try and find someone who may know where the old vet clinic used to be. My father and mother lived here for 2 years in the 1960s after dad had completed his degree in Sydney. A brief stop in Collingwood (or Collinweed as some funny bugger has changed the sign to) along the way to grab a pie for energy as I’ve not eaten all day and am beginning to fade after over 20km of walking.

Collingweed

In Takaka I take a walk along the Main Street just before the shops begin to close at 5. I’m not having any luck until I reach the local pub where I’m sure dad would have spent an hour or two. Over a beer I’m directed to the end of the bar where an elderly gent is seated and regaling patrons with stories from days gone by. Im introduced to ‘Skeet’ by the publican and after a moments thought he reels off the address of the old vets house. He even thinks he recalls dads name but at 93 he’s not totally sure. The publican rings the new vet clinic and Skeet is proved correct with the address. I stay for one more beer as his stories are too good to miss, I wish I could stay all evening as he has me in stitches about days gone by.

I manage to locate the street and the house and let my mind wander to what it must have been like out here for mum and dad. I’m delighted with my days efforts and promise myself to return for longer.

The journey back over the hill is as arduous as this morning and I’m feeling drowsy by the time I roll back through Motueka on my way into Nelson to stay at my friend Kevin and his wife to be Claire’s house. I shout us all a large feed of Indian takeaways for dinner and we catch up on the past 4 years since we saw each other.

It’s now very late and you can consider yourself lucky I’ve managed to type this out. It’s most likely riddled with errors from autocorrect on my phone as usual. I’ll miss having mum inform me of \240all the grammatical errors and spelling mistakes in the morning. rIp mum, missing you heaps ❤️

Nevermind, I throw the next track (The Whispering Falls) into the GPS and again do battle with the local traffic. Around half an hour later I rock up to yet another gated off entrance proclaiming more danger. Somewhat frustrated now, I head back into central Nelson and take a wander through the Queens Gardens. Although not overly huge, what there is has been beautifully done. Huge trees dominate with lakes, bridges, shrubs and plants beautifully landscaped throughout.

The park has the Suter Art Gallery ensconced at the rear of the grounds and as it offers free entry I decide to take a wander through. As expected in an art gallery with a reputation, overdressed snobs wander about with their noses in the air making dramatic comments over everything in sight. There are some nice pieces but to my eyes, also a lot of average space fillers. I successfully lower the tone in my shorts and t shirt and increase the average speed of a tour as I blitz through and back into the gardens.

I decide to go for a hike at Rabbit Island which is sure to be open but briefly stop in Tahuna for an hours walk around the area where I first met the Thomson’s so many years ago when I sold Ian a car and became good friends with the family. It’s Ian’s son Kevin that I’m currently staying with. (Not that this probably interests you in the slightest) Kevin was only around 9 then and is now in his early 40s. Oh how time has flown.

After wandering around memory lane, I fight my way through yet more traffic and park on Rabbit Island. I’ve been here years ago, but it had faded in my memory. I now see why, it’s not all that memorable for the most part. However as it’s actually open and accessible I decide to proceed with the walk. It’s not the most inspired decision of the past few weeks. It’s basically a long (14km) walk around a rectangle of Pine Trees with a few views out into the harbour. It’s not overtly inspiring and I thank my good sense for bringing my headphones.

The above are the only views I saw in around 2 1/2 hours walking. I briefly consider the ferry across to Mapua but as the time is past 5pm decide against it.

Kevin and Claire are back home from work when I arrive and we settle into a few beers, followed by more than a few rums. Kevin cooks up a lovely chicken dinner and we catch up on the 4 years of happenings since we last saw each other.

Kevin and Claire eventually retire and I then put myself through the self inflicted torture of watching my team lose for the 3rd straight time.

My apologies for a dreary days blogging

I continue on to Ian and Dawns, back where this all started in Picton. After a coffee and brief catch up, I decide that I’ve been far too lazy just driving all day and discover a local trail on my app that’s not too far away. I attempt to drive to the start but almost unbelievably the road is closed and gated off. What is it with these South Island walks.

Not to be deterred, I drive back around halfway and then take a rough looking mountain bike trail up the side of the to a point around halfway along the track. Though not the official starting point of the Picton Snout Track and Kanuka Trail, I still manage to do the entire trail before heading back down the mountain bike trial to the Ute.

The heavy rain last night has made the track sodden and muddy in many areas and my usual speed is soon reduced as i career about this way and that. I’m like a drunken overweight uncle on a kids slip n slide. Several times I’m lucky to only just regain balance and avoid a disastrous crash landing.

Lush trees surround me but often give way to picturesque views our into the sounds. It certainly couldn’t be compared to the Queen Charlotte Sounds tramp but the views are a vast improvement on Rabbit Island yesterday. The top of the walk (at the snout) is a bit of a disappointment to me. I’m expecting a lovely grassy area overlooking cliffs out into splendid bay views in the sounds. What I get is a narrow grassy bank that rolls down into the water with views that I’ve seen many times over. I guess that’s a little harsh but it’s been a longish walk with a few climbs and many slips. I wanted to be wowed. The journey back along the lower ledge proves a little more narrow and yet just as muddy with some decent drops down steep hillsides. Tramping boots would have made all the difference but I’d not bought them along.

The Snout

Several mountain bikers careen past me often with looks as shocked as my own as they belatedly see me on the track and beer around me narrowly missing. I complete the entire 14km and slide my way down the mountainbike trail back to the Ute. My shoes are caked with mud but I’m pleased to have completed the 14.5km

Back at Ian and Dawns the rain has arrived with sporadic heavy downpours with gusts of strong winds. It doesn’t bode well for a smooth crossing on the ferry tomorrow.

Dawn provides yet another lovely meal of chicken pasta, potato salad and some mixed veg before we sit through ‘White House Down’ a somewhat over dramatic and unrealistic movie that having seen it before I only give cursory attention to. Later after Ian and Dawn have retired to bed, I watch a game of league but am soon rushing to the toilet several times with an upset stomach. Might be those mussels but whatever it was, it sure made an odour I’m not keen on repeating.

I retire to bed after midnight and listen to the rain pelt down outside. One day to go and in the words of old Mr Grace (click the link) https://youtu.be/p6ddSA9lrkc

I can’t believe you’ve made it this far, in all likelihood you haven’t and I’m just talking to myself.