The lesser-travelled winding coastal route between Invercargill and Dunedin passes through the enchanting Catlins. Stretching from Waipapa Point in Southland to Nuggett Point in South Otago, this is a coastline of sweeping wildlife-filled bays with exceptional views on which we joined a small touring group for a day of exploration.
Endangered Hectors Dolphins and Hoiho, the yellow eyed penguin will be spotted by a lucky few whilst sealions and seals are abundant on the beaches and offshore. It was on the beach at Waipapa Point that we had an encounter with a sealion that was basking on the beach. He was absolutely huge, lying on his back in the sun and he just opened an eye and raised a flipper before going back to sleep whilst another kept an eye on us from the water nearby. We had been warned beforehand that whilst it is safe to approach seals and sealions to within a distance of 10 metres, we should never stand between them or the sea as it is their escape route and also never to turn our backs on them - they have a good turn of speed and a nasty bite if the mood took them. Soft drizzle was falling by the time we arrived at Porpoise Bay where a small pod of Hectors Dolphins was swimming around a bunch of surfers. Our guide told us that they are curious little creatures who like to swim and play very close to the shore around swimmers and paddlers. A girl already on the beach had obviously heard the same story and was busy stripping down to her underwear as we arrived. In she waded, in the wind and the rain and just as she dunked under ... the dolphins turned and swam off! She was later spotted, shivering and clutching a mug of tea in the caff on the clifftop - sans underwear no doubt.
At Curio Bay we walked across part of a fascinating 160 million year old petrified forest. The logs and stumps had been perfectly preserved exactly where they fell and the rings in the trunks were clearly visible. It looked exactly as if a storm had blown through just the night before, but fossilised species in the area indicate that it dated back to the time that NZ was part of the ancient supercontinent of Gondwanaland and was attached to somewhere like India or South America before it broke up and bits drifted off in different directions.
Following a bit of exercise with a scramble up to the pretty McLean Falls, our last stop was at the lighthouse on the cliffs at Nuggett Point. When the sun shines on the rocky outcrops around the headland here, they shine with a soft golden glow, giving the place its name. Although we couldn't see the seal colony on the rocks below us, we were in no doubt of their presence as the wind blew a distinctly fishy whiff up to the clifftop!
One last ditch attempt at spotting a yellow-eyed penguin took us to a hide above Roaring Bay. Incredibly shy birds, they come ashore after a days fishing about an hour before dusk and hop up the incredibly steep cliffs to their nests. Other people came and went within five minutes but we persevered and within half an hour I saw something darting across a wave near the shore - a penguin! It stood by the waters edge and was quickly joined by another. They both had a good look around before starting to waddle their way across the beach like a pair of old pensioners then they disappeared into the undergrowth at the foot of the cliff and we caught glimpses of them as they hopped effortlessly up the cliffs to their nice warm nests for a night in front of the telly.
And so we arrived at Dunedin for an overnight stop before completing the loop and arriving back at Christchurch. On the outskirts of 'Edinburgh Downunder' we stopped at an increasingly popular NZ phenomenon - a shoe fence! It only takes one pair of shoes to be tied to a fence for a couple of hours in the middle of nowhere before it is joined by another, then another, then before you know it there are hundreds of them for no reason at all. This 50m length of fence had a fine selection of footwear, old and new, hanging from it. There were trainers, high heels, boots, slippers, flipflops - you name it. It was as much as Marc could do to stop me trying on a nice pair of strappy sandals!
There used to be a bra fence just outside Wanaka a few years ago. Apparently it was a wonderful sight - a rainbow of colours fluttering in the wind that was the subject of media attention worldwide. Men would post bras to the town post office from all around the country requesting that they be hung in memory of wives they had lost and the fence raised a lot of money for charity. Alas someone complained that it was in bad taste and after a storm in a D Cup, the farmer was ordered to strip the fence on the grounds that it had no planning permission! He did so reluctantly, after mastering the Art of the Clasp ...
Monday, 26 May 2008
Saturday, 24 May 2008
THE BOTTOM BIT - part 3
Stewart Island is a one-hour, notoriously rough boat journey across the Fouveaux Straight from Invercargill but as luck would have it, it was like a millpond the day we crossed for a four day stay. The Maori name for Stewart Island is Rakiura or Land of Glowing Skies and it's easy to see why after witnessing one of its fiery red dawns or sunsets or catching an occasional flash of Aurora Australis.
Home to 30,000 kiwis (birds) and 420 kiwis (people), the feathered type are still difficult to catch a glimpse of, unless you are prepared to go and stand still in a forest for a very long time in the dead of night. Having said that, trampers out walking in the Rakiura National Park which protects this island that is brimming with native birdlife, isolated sandy coves and scenic tramping tracks have almost stumbled over kiwis in the daytime and they have carried on snuffling and poking about for food around their feet regardless.
We were staying at Oban, the only village on the island nestled in Halfmoon Bay. On our first night we had supper at the famous Kaikart, the only chippie on the island, followed by a couple of drinks at the South Sea Hotel, the only pub on the island, then had trouble finding the B&B because we were out of range of the only lampost on the island and this place was real dark!
One of the highlights of our trip so far was a visit to Ulva Island - bird watchers have been known to go all woozy after 5 minutes here. A short water-taxi ride from Stewart Island, Ulva is completely free of predators and grazing animals so the birdlife and vegetation is exactly as would have been found on mainland NZ before deer, stoats, rabbits, possums, rats and mice (all introduced by Europeans) started munching their was through all the native species. After checking our bags and turning out of pockets for any seeds or stowaway rats, armed with a booklet listing all the different species present, we spend a magical day wandering around the maze of tracks at a snails pace being followed by curious little robins and beautiful fantails flitting from branch to branch above us, feeding on insects disturbed by our footprints. We were stalked by a few weka, large flightless birds that would think nothing of rummaging around in your rucksack and running off with your sandwiches!
Until 1921 there was a postal service on Ulva, and Postmaster Traill would hoist a flag to signal the arrival of mail and hopefuls would row in from surrounding islands. Apparently no-one was really bothered if there was mail for them or not as these were great social gatherings that lasted for hours on end. After the flag was raised for the last time, Ulva was declared as a bird sanctuary. By the end of the day we had ticked off just about everything from our feathered list - all except one and no prizes for guessing ...
Home to 30,000 kiwis (birds) and 420 kiwis (people), the feathered type are still difficult to catch a glimpse of, unless you are prepared to go and stand still in a forest for a very long time in the dead of night. Having said that, trampers out walking in the Rakiura National Park which protects this island that is brimming with native birdlife, isolated sandy coves and scenic tramping tracks have almost stumbled over kiwis in the daytime and they have carried on snuffling and poking about for food around their feet regardless.
We were staying at Oban, the only village on the island nestled in Halfmoon Bay. On our first night we had supper at the famous Kaikart, the only chippie on the island, followed by a couple of drinks at the South Sea Hotel, the only pub on the island, then had trouble finding the B&B because we were out of range of the only lampost on the island and this place was real dark!
One of the highlights of our trip so far was a visit to Ulva Island - bird watchers have been known to go all woozy after 5 minutes here. A short water-taxi ride from Stewart Island, Ulva is completely free of predators and grazing animals so the birdlife and vegetation is exactly as would have been found on mainland NZ before deer, stoats, rabbits, possums, rats and mice (all introduced by Europeans) started munching their was through all the native species. After checking our bags and turning out of pockets for any seeds or stowaway rats, armed with a booklet listing all the different species present, we spend a magical day wandering around the maze of tracks at a snails pace being followed by curious little robins and beautiful fantails flitting from branch to branch above us, feeding on insects disturbed by our footprints. We were stalked by a few weka, large flightless birds that would think nothing of rummaging around in your rucksack and running off with your sandwiches!
Until 1921 there was a postal service on Ulva, and Postmaster Traill would hoist a flag to signal the arrival of mail and hopefuls would row in from surrounding islands. Apparently no-one was really bothered if there was mail for them or not as these were great social gatherings that lasted for hours on end. After the flag was raised for the last time, Ulva was declared as a bird sanctuary. By the end of the day we had ticked off just about everything from our feathered list - all except one and no prizes for guessing ...
Friday, 16 May 2008
THE BOTTOM BIT - part 2
Marc totally lost the plot in the aftermath of a Super 14's rugby match one afternoon in Queenstown and signed up for a skydive early the following morning. Not content with leaping into oblivion at the usual 9,000 ft, he went for the Big One - 15,000 ft, officially a high altitude jump that needed oxygen masks on the way up in the plane and a crash helmet as protection against any passing jumbo jets. Strapped tightly to his tandem diver he free-falled for over a minute, posing for his personal cameraman whilst hurtling to the ground at 200km/h then drifted down, doing twists and turns with the parachute before landing with a whoop. For the next week, I had to stop him from wearing his underpants over his trousers!
We based ourselves at Te Anau to explore the unique landscape that is Fiordland. Part of a World Heritage site, Fiordland National Park is a vast untouched wilderness of lush forest-covered mountains and plunging fiords of deep, tranquil waters, which stretch like bony fingers towards the sea.
The first European explorers called them sounds, believing them to be flooded river valleys instead of the glacial carved valleys, or fiords, that they really are. Access is permitted to only two of the fiords and we took an overnight cruise on the largest and deepest of all - Doubtful Sound, so named by Captain James Cook, who took a peek at it in 1770 and declared it a "Doubtful Harbour" and sailed right past. Access to Doubtful is by organised tour only which involved a bus journey from Te Anau, a boat trip across Lake Manapouri where there was a bus waiting for us (can't imagine how it got there) for the journey on the most expensive road per metre in the history of NZ over the Wilmott Pass with stunning views down into the Sound below, then finally onto our ship, Fiordland Navigator.
Trying to describe the beauty, tranquility and remoteness of Doubtful is impossible - people stood silently on the deck as we weaved out way through towering mountains and sheer rock faces, trees and shrubs clinging to the slopes and hanging over the waters edge. We moored after a couple of hours and were given a choice of things to do - I chose to go on a small tender craft with another dozen people for a wildlife trip into the shallows and Marc went kayaking. Once everyone was back on board there was an opportunity to dive off the edge of the boat like lemmings and go swimming - no prizes for guessing who was one of the first to go ...
Doubtful Sound lies at 45 degrees latitude - halfway between the Equator and South Pole and winds called the Roaring Forties whip around the coastline here making the trip out to the open sea later that afternoon a very up and down, white-knuckle affair. One of the many small islands we passed at the mouth of the sound is a recent wildlife success story. Introduced predators such as rats, stoats and public enemy number one, possums (they make excellent slippers) have had a devastating effect on the native bird population as have deer on the vegetation of NZ, and on many islands projects are in place to eradicate all pests (deer are given a free ride in a boat) and re-introduce native species. The latest success story is Secretary Island at Doubtful which has been declared predator-free and saw the re-introduction of the NZ robin this year.
Anchored at the end of Precipice Cove for the night, after a fabulous dinner we took a walk on the deck in inky blackness and utter silence before retiring to our 4-bunk berth which we were sharing with a French couple, one of who wore bright blue nail varnish on the toes of one foot - it suited him! The boat left Precipice Cove at 6.00am and after breakfast it turned into the Hall Arm where everyone sat still on the deck for ten minutes as all engines and generators were turned off and we drifted to the sounds of birds and a distant waterfall echoing around us. We arrived back at Te Anau by lunchtime and packed our rucksack for our day trip to the smaller, steeper Milford Sound the next morning.
We had enjoyed glorious weather of the trip to Doubtful but it tipped down on us in Milford Sound which was great as we were able to enjoy the complete contrasts. Grey days here create a spectacular scene of rainy-day waterfalls cascading down over the clifftops like ribbons, but they never reach the water below as they are caught and whisked away by the wind. It felt just as if we were on the set of a ghostly movie, sailing into the swirling mist, not knowing what was waiting for us around the next corner.
The road to Milford is fraught with danger - people get stranded at the only hotel at the tiny settlement for days at a time in winter because of avalanches, which are largely managed by controlled blasting high in the snowfields but the danger is always present. Tree avalanches are also a problem. These occur when big chunks of vegetation and trees growing on rocks with little soil cover lose their grip and come sliding down into the valley, closing the road for days at at time.
But I guess that the biggest spectacle of the year is the Homer Tunnel Race which attracts dozens of runners and hundreds of spectators. The Homer Tunnel is a single lane, rough-hewn tunnel, about a mile long linking the Te Anau Downs to the Cleddau Canyon on the Milford side. It is controlled by a set of traffic light that change at 15 minute intervals and it is during one of these intervals on 1st April every year that the race takes place. Open to men and women it is a free-for-all dash to the other end. There are three rules - 1. Proper footwear 2. A torch must be carried (no lights in the tunnel) and finally 3. No clothes whatsoever ...
We based ourselves at Te Anau to explore the unique landscape that is Fiordland. Part of a World Heritage site, Fiordland National Park is a vast untouched wilderness of lush forest-covered mountains and plunging fiords of deep, tranquil waters, which stretch like bony fingers towards the sea.
The first European explorers called them sounds, believing them to be flooded river valleys instead of the glacial carved valleys, or fiords, that they really are. Access is permitted to only two of the fiords and we took an overnight cruise on the largest and deepest of all - Doubtful Sound, so named by Captain James Cook, who took a peek at it in 1770 and declared it a "Doubtful Harbour" and sailed right past. Access to Doubtful is by organised tour only which involved a bus journey from Te Anau, a boat trip across Lake Manapouri where there was a bus waiting for us (can't imagine how it got there) for the journey on the most expensive road per metre in the history of NZ over the Wilmott Pass with stunning views down into the Sound below, then finally onto our ship, Fiordland Navigator.
Trying to describe the beauty, tranquility and remoteness of Doubtful is impossible - people stood silently on the deck as we weaved out way through towering mountains and sheer rock faces, trees and shrubs clinging to the slopes and hanging over the waters edge. We moored after a couple of hours and were given a choice of things to do - I chose to go on a small tender craft with another dozen people for a wildlife trip into the shallows and Marc went kayaking. Once everyone was back on board there was an opportunity to dive off the edge of the boat like lemmings and go swimming - no prizes for guessing who was one of the first to go ...
Doubtful Sound lies at 45 degrees latitude - halfway between the Equator and South Pole and winds called the Roaring Forties whip around the coastline here making the trip out to the open sea later that afternoon a very up and down, white-knuckle affair. One of the many small islands we passed at the mouth of the sound is a recent wildlife success story. Introduced predators such as rats, stoats and public enemy number one, possums (they make excellent slippers) have had a devastating effect on the native bird population as have deer on the vegetation of NZ, and on many islands projects are in place to eradicate all pests (deer are given a free ride in a boat) and re-introduce native species. The latest success story is Secretary Island at Doubtful which has been declared predator-free and saw the re-introduction of the NZ robin this year.
Anchored at the end of Precipice Cove for the night, after a fabulous dinner we took a walk on the deck in inky blackness and utter silence before retiring to our 4-bunk berth which we were sharing with a French couple, one of who wore bright blue nail varnish on the toes of one foot - it suited him! The boat left Precipice Cove at 6.00am and after breakfast it turned into the Hall Arm where everyone sat still on the deck for ten minutes as all engines and generators were turned off and we drifted to the sounds of birds and a distant waterfall echoing around us. We arrived back at Te Anau by lunchtime and packed our rucksack for our day trip to the smaller, steeper Milford Sound the next morning.
We had enjoyed glorious weather of the trip to Doubtful but it tipped down on us in Milford Sound which was great as we were able to enjoy the complete contrasts. Grey days here create a spectacular scene of rainy-day waterfalls cascading down over the clifftops like ribbons, but they never reach the water below as they are caught and whisked away by the wind. It felt just as if we were on the set of a ghostly movie, sailing into the swirling mist, not knowing what was waiting for us around the next corner.
The road to Milford is fraught with danger - people get stranded at the only hotel at the tiny settlement for days at a time in winter because of avalanches, which are largely managed by controlled blasting high in the snowfields but the danger is always present. Tree avalanches are also a problem. These occur when big chunks of vegetation and trees growing on rocks with little soil cover lose their grip and come sliding down into the valley, closing the road for days at at time.
But I guess that the biggest spectacle of the year is the Homer Tunnel Race which attracts dozens of runners and hundreds of spectators. The Homer Tunnel is a single lane, rough-hewn tunnel, about a mile long linking the Te Anau Downs to the Cleddau Canyon on the Milford side. It is controlled by a set of traffic light that change at 15 minute intervals and it is during one of these intervals on 1st April every year that the race takes place. Open to men and women it is a free-for-all dash to the other end. There are three rules - 1. Proper footwear 2. A torch must be carried (no lights in the tunnel) and finally 3. No clothes whatsoever ...
Sunday, 11 May 2008
Cyrraedd Christchurch
Roedd Wncwl Alun (WA) yn disgwyl amdanom yn y maes awyr pan cyrraeddom Christchurch (Ch.Ch.) ond am rhyw reswm, ynta gan mae fi oedd yn cario'r bagiau i gyd, Nia welodd WA yn gyntaf ac wrth i'r ddau groesawi eu gilydd mae WA yn holi "Ble mae'r bachgen? Ydyn nhw wedi ei ddal e o'r diwedd? Mae gyda fe olwg euog fel drygi". A dyna fel oedd hi tra yn ei gwmni, tynnu coes drwy'r amser a chael llawer o sbort. Fel y ffordd gosodwyd y bwrdd am ein brecwast cyntaf yno. Roedd popeth ar y bwrdd yn barod i ni - bowlenni, platiau, cytlyri, bocsys sirial, bara, menyn, jam, tomatos ... a dwy potel o Speights, sef cwrw enwog Seland Newydd.
Er fod WA yn 85 mlwydd oed, doedd dim amser i fod yn segur ac roedd ef o hyd yn mynd a ni o le i le. Bod mynd a ni am ddiod yn un o nifer o Working Men's Clubs, mynd a ni am dro i Akaroa am y pysgod a sglods gorau'r byd neu mynd a ni i nofio yn y pwll adeiladwyd ar gyfer Gemau'r Gymanwlad yn 1974. Hefyd roedd yn mynd a ni i gwrdd â rhai o'i ffrindiau fel Alistair a Megan a'u meibion ifanc Charlie a Sam ar eu tyddyn bach, Hayden a Mandy a'u meibion William a Timothy yn eu gwinllan neu mynd a ni i swper gyda Henry a Trudy. Ond y cwpwl cawsom ddod i nabod orau yn ystod ein cyfnod yn Ch.Ch. oedd John a Joy, neu Y Pipes fel roeddent yn cael eu galw. Naill a'i bydden nhw yn dod draw am swper ac yna am gêm o gardiau neu bydden ni yn mynd atynt hwy. Yn aml byddai'n hwyr erbyn i ni orffen chwarae gêm o Joy's Rules a byddai John wedi pendwmpian a cwympo i gysgu sawl gwaith yn ystod y noswaith ond bydden ni wedi mwynhau.
Ar y nos Wener ar ôl cyrraedd Ch.Ch. fe'r aethom i'n gêm gyntaf o rygbi Super 14. Roedd tymor newydd yn dechrau ac roedd y tîm lleol, y Canterbury Crusaders, y tîm gorau wrth gwrs sy'n cynnwys nifer o sêr y byd rygbi fel Dan Carter, Richie McCaw, Leon MacDonald, Andy Williams a Brad Thorn, yn chwarae tîm o Awstralia, yr ACT Brumbies. Er mae'r Brumbies yw'r tîm mwyaf llwyddianus Awstralia dros y blynyddoedd diwethaf cafodd y Crusaders fuddigoliaeth weddol rhwydd a'r dechreuad gorau i'r tymor. Cawsom fonws bach y noswaith hynny. Wrth i ni giwio i fyny i brynnu tocynnau ar gyfer y gêm cefais dap bach ar fy ysgwydd a rhywun yn holi os roeddwn eisiau dau docyn ar gyfer y gêm. Yn edrych bach yn syn dywedais ein bod a dyma'r boi yn rhoi dau docyn yn fy llaw. Dywedais diolch a bant ag ef yn gadael Nia a finne yn edrych yn ddwl ar ein giilydd yn methu a chredu beth oedd wedi digwydd. Troeodd y ddau docyn allan i fod yn dau sedd reit ar lein hanner ffordd, yn y stand gorau o dan dô a hithau yn noswaith wlyb hefyd. Noson wych.
Er fod WA yn 85 mlwydd oed, doedd dim amser i fod yn segur ac roedd ef o hyd yn mynd a ni o le i le. Bod mynd a ni am ddiod yn un o nifer o Working Men's Clubs, mynd a ni am dro i Akaroa am y pysgod a sglods gorau'r byd neu mynd a ni i nofio yn y pwll adeiladwyd ar gyfer Gemau'r Gymanwlad yn 1974. Hefyd roedd yn mynd a ni i gwrdd â rhai o'i ffrindiau fel Alistair a Megan a'u meibion ifanc Charlie a Sam ar eu tyddyn bach, Hayden a Mandy a'u meibion William a Timothy yn eu gwinllan neu mynd a ni i swper gyda Henry a Trudy. Ond y cwpwl cawsom ddod i nabod orau yn ystod ein cyfnod yn Ch.Ch. oedd John a Joy, neu Y Pipes fel roeddent yn cael eu galw. Naill a'i bydden nhw yn dod draw am swper ac yna am gêm o gardiau neu bydden ni yn mynd atynt hwy. Yn aml byddai'n hwyr erbyn i ni orffen chwarae gêm o Joy's Rules a byddai John wedi pendwmpian a cwympo i gysgu sawl gwaith yn ystod y noswaith ond bydden ni wedi mwynhau.
Ar y nos Wener ar ôl cyrraedd Ch.Ch. fe'r aethom i'n gêm gyntaf o rygbi Super 14. Roedd tymor newydd yn dechrau ac roedd y tîm lleol, y Canterbury Crusaders, y tîm gorau wrth gwrs sy'n cynnwys nifer o sêr y byd rygbi fel Dan Carter, Richie McCaw, Leon MacDonald, Andy Williams a Brad Thorn, yn chwarae tîm o Awstralia, yr ACT Brumbies. Er mae'r Brumbies yw'r tîm mwyaf llwyddianus Awstralia dros y blynyddoedd diwethaf cafodd y Crusaders fuddigoliaeth weddol rhwydd a'r dechreuad gorau i'r tymor. Cawsom fonws bach y noswaith hynny. Wrth i ni giwio i fyny i brynnu tocynnau ar gyfer y gêm cefais dap bach ar fy ysgwydd a rhywun yn holi os roeddwn eisiau dau docyn ar gyfer y gêm. Yn edrych bach yn syn dywedais ein bod a dyma'r boi yn rhoi dau docyn yn fy llaw. Dywedais diolch a bant ag ef yn gadael Nia a finne yn edrych yn ddwl ar ein giilydd yn methu a chredu beth oedd wedi digwydd. Troeodd y ddau docyn allan i fod yn dau sedd reit ar lein hanner ffordd, yn y stand gorau o dan dô a hithau yn noswaith wlyb hefyd. Noson wych.
Saturday, 3 May 2008
BOTTOM BIT OF THE LOOP - part 1
Queenstown is the adrenaline city of New Zealand. Set on the banks of lovely Lake Wakatipu and in the shadow of the craggy and truly Remarkables mountain range, people come here to scare themselves witless doing things that involve great heights, springy rope or the sensation of falling - sometimes all three at the same time. Given my firm footing at the bottom of the daredevil scale we booked ourselves onto a 'Funyaking' Day on the Dart River in nearby Glenorchy. This small village of around 200 inhabitants is set right in the middle of world-famous Lord of the Rings country. Its remote and unspoilt river valleys, towering mountains and forests have also been used as film sets for X-Men, Willow, Narnia and a few other box office hits. First of all we were kitted out for our adventure - on top of swimming togs went a thermal top, wetsuit, thermal fleece, waterproof jacket, life jacket and stretchy rubber booties which were still cold and wet from the previous day - nice. Cameras, water bottles and other personal bits and pieces went into a bright yellow dry bag and we were away - shooting up the river in a jet boat for a 2 hour white knuckle ride. At this speed, what had been soft rain now stung our faces and it was difficult to breathe let along open my eyes! We weaved our way up the river, skimming the rocks along the bank and doing 360 degree spins, drenching the people on the sides in the process.
The jet boat dropped us off by a big heap of red rubber which turned out to be a dozen deflated 2-man kayaks which we had to blow up with pump with footgrips and a t-bar handle that made everyone look like meercats as they bobbed up and down. The task was not made easier by the cloud of flesh-munching sandflies which had descended on us two seconds flat after landing. Maori legend says that the most beautiful of places are cursed / blessed with these stinging little critters to make sure that no-one stays too long and they remain uninhabited and unspoilt. It works. A little practice paddle took us into a narrow ravine of deep clear water and sheer walls created when an earthquake split a rock many centuries ago. Lunch was served in a clearing in the bush by the riverside where we wedged fillings between doorsteps of bread so thick that we made possibly the world's thickest butties ever. Over a steaming cup of Milo (a chocolately Ovaltine) we watched the mists starting to swirl then a duststorm enveloped us giving our sandwiches a light dusting of grey grit. Lunch was over and quickly cleared away and the winds grew stronger as we climbed into our FUNyaks. Normally, and as the piccie in the brochure shows, we would have sat on the wooden bench seats across the boat but because of the conditions we had to kneel on the bottom of the boat, just leaning on the seat, legs tucked under to lower our position and make us less of a target for the wind. And so we were off on our 6km maiden voyage down the Paradise Valley ...
I can't say that I wanted to come down the river backwards and sideways but there wasn't a thing we could do as the wind caught us and spun us around despite our best efforts to stay pointing forwards and steer a straight course - the wind whistling in our ears making us shout loud to be heard, just three feet away from each other. At one mercifully shallow point we were spun again and there were a couple of seconds when we thought "will it or won't it?" It did and over we went. Marc managed to stay standing up to his knees in it with me on my back up to my neck in it with a good whack across the chops for good measure from the wooden oar as the boat came over. We clambered back in and continued our helpless and hapless course down river, the leader suggesting that we should now start thinking of lashing the boats together for increased stability. By now the wind had us scraping our way down the right bank and we spent all our time furiously trying to push off the bank and not running aground. I was like something possessed - steam coming from my ears from the sheer frustration of it all and digging my oar into the gravel so hard that I split it up the middle! I shouldn't have been worried about what they'd say about the oar though as a couple of seconds later it wasn't an issue as we capsized again, this time in deeper water and by the time Marc had lifted the boat off me and untangled my foot from a rope, the oar was long gone. I found my feet just in time to see our dry-bag containing the camera and more importantly, a bar of chocolate bobbing away from us and made a diving lunge to grab it just in time. I'd completely had it by now and we waded ashore to where the first boats had been taken out of the water, just pulling the boat behind us which still had ideas of its own. We deflated the boat (and I gave it a good kicking) and threw it back onto the trailer as we waited for the last four boats to come in. Eventually they appeared around the corner, lashed together like a huge raft, zooming down the river as fast as they'd gone up in the jetboat. With four steering and four paddling like mad they turned and shot out of the river and up the bank. All safe and sound, some wetter than others, we got back on the 4-wd bus where our guide told us that they'd never seen such strong winds in all the years they'd been running the trip! Despite the grit in our hair, ears and hair, the blisters, aching muscles and the dunkings it had been a fabulous day and I'd do it all again.
Oh yes, apparently there is a woman downstream who has a garden fence made entirely of lost oars.
The jet boat dropped us off by a big heap of red rubber which turned out to be a dozen deflated 2-man kayaks which we had to blow up with pump with footgrips and a t-bar handle that made everyone look like meercats as they bobbed up and down. The task was not made easier by the cloud of flesh-munching sandflies which had descended on us two seconds flat after landing. Maori legend says that the most beautiful of places are cursed / blessed with these stinging little critters to make sure that no-one stays too long and they remain uninhabited and unspoilt. It works. A little practice paddle took us into a narrow ravine of deep clear water and sheer walls created when an earthquake split a rock many centuries ago. Lunch was served in a clearing in the bush by the riverside where we wedged fillings between doorsteps of bread so thick that we made possibly the world's thickest butties ever. Over a steaming cup of Milo (a chocolately Ovaltine) we watched the mists starting to swirl then a duststorm enveloped us giving our sandwiches a light dusting of grey grit. Lunch was over and quickly cleared away and the winds grew stronger as we climbed into our FUNyaks. Normally, and as the piccie in the brochure shows, we would have sat on the wooden bench seats across the boat but because of the conditions we had to kneel on the bottom of the boat, just leaning on the seat, legs tucked under to lower our position and make us less of a target for the wind. And so we were off on our 6km maiden voyage down the Paradise Valley ...
I can't say that I wanted to come down the river backwards and sideways but there wasn't a thing we could do as the wind caught us and spun us around despite our best efforts to stay pointing forwards and steer a straight course - the wind whistling in our ears making us shout loud to be heard, just three feet away from each other. At one mercifully shallow point we were spun again and there were a couple of seconds when we thought "will it or won't it?" It did and over we went. Marc managed to stay standing up to his knees in it with me on my back up to my neck in it with a good whack across the chops for good measure from the wooden oar as the boat came over. We clambered back in and continued our helpless and hapless course down river, the leader suggesting that we should now start thinking of lashing the boats together for increased stability. By now the wind had us scraping our way down the right bank and we spent all our time furiously trying to push off the bank and not running aground. I was like something possessed - steam coming from my ears from the sheer frustration of it all and digging my oar into the gravel so hard that I split it up the middle! I shouldn't have been worried about what they'd say about the oar though as a couple of seconds later it wasn't an issue as we capsized again, this time in deeper water and by the time Marc had lifted the boat off me and untangled my foot from a rope, the oar was long gone. I found my feet just in time to see our dry-bag containing the camera and more importantly, a bar of chocolate bobbing away from us and made a diving lunge to grab it just in time. I'd completely had it by now and we waded ashore to where the first boats had been taken out of the water, just pulling the boat behind us which still had ideas of its own. We deflated the boat (and I gave it a good kicking) and threw it back onto the trailer as we waited for the last four boats to come in. Eventually they appeared around the corner, lashed together like a huge raft, zooming down the river as fast as they'd gone up in the jetboat. With four steering and four paddling like mad they turned and shot out of the river and up the bank. All safe and sound, some wetter than others, we got back on the 4-wd bus where our guide told us that they'd never seen such strong winds in all the years they'd been running the trip! Despite the grit in our hair, ears and hair, the blisters, aching muscles and the dunkings it had been a fabulous day and I'd do it all again.
Oh yes, apparently there is a woman downstream who has a garden fence made entirely of lost oars.
Thursday, 1 May 2008
LET'S GET LOOPIER ...
The approach to Mount Cook is breathtaking. To paint the picture across Lake Pukaki where Aoraki 'The Cloud Piercer' and the Southern Alps are silhouetted on the horizon, you would only need the palest blues, the softest greys and a few dabs of white for the snowcaps in your paintbox. Mount Cook village is a tiny settlement of mostly tourist accommodation of varying degrees of luxury ranging from our own cosy woodcabin hostel to the splendour of The Hermitage Hotel overlooking the village. The hotel is the hub of village activity as it's the only one there! This is the third Hermitage to be built at Mount Cook, the others having been washed away and burnt down but presumably they did their homework and installed a sprinkler system this time round.
The weather was just perfect for the four days that we spent there so after lunch on day one it was boots on and we headed up the valley towards Aoraki and Mount Sefton to the start of the Sealy Tarns walk which promised spectacular views into the valley and around. The walk started with a pleasant stroll up a gently sloping path then after an hour we got to the signpost for our walk which directed us off the beaten track - to nowhere it seemed, until we looked up and saw orange markers rising sharply over what looked like a stream of huge boulders tumbling down the side of the bush covered valley. Nothing for it, so onwards and upwards we went, clambering and scrambling with upward glances to see the top getting closer by the minute. After about an hour a real killjoy coming down to meet us burst the bubble when he said that it was a false horizon and that we weren't even halfway there yet and he'd turned back as he'd had enough! Sure enough he was right and it took another hour and half to reach the top, my legs and lungs screaming by now and how glad (and surprised) was I to see that some considerate soul had placed a bench at the top. The views were superb - snowcapped Mount Sefton across a valley to our left, Sealy Tarns glacial lakes shining like jewels in the sun and the Hooker Valley snaking along below us. The only sounds to break the silence were the distant rumbles of snowfalls as they broke away from high slopes and thundered down mountains far behind us. The only thing that slightly marred the otherwise perfect view was the long grey shabby-looking spit extending back up the valley from the tarns. We found out later next day that was the magnificent Muller Glacier - oops!
Our walk the next day took us all the way up the Hooker Valley to the lake at the foot of the Hooker Glacier. Icebergs floated in the water as we watched three young backpackers stripped down to their Mickey Mouse boxers standing at the water's edge egging each other on into the ice bath. There was a lot of giggling, shoving and false starts before the pact kicked in and they waded in together to their waists, gasping for breath before a quick dunk over the shoulders and out again like shots. It was a beautiful walk through the last of summer alpine flower meadows and across swing bridges in lovely warm sunshine, Aoraki looming above us all the way. A howling gale at the summit whipped snow off the peak which looked just like smoke pouring out of a great big hole at the top.
It had been clear blue skies throughout our time in Mount Cook but on the last morning as we left the sky was dotted and streaked with the most amazing array of clouds of different shapes, textures and colours. A huge cone-shaped cloud above Aoraki looked just as if it was wearing a wizard's hat - maybe it had been smoke after all ...
Wanaka is Queenstown's less commercialised little brother. Quite why they changed the town's name in 1940 from the perfectly good name Pembroke, I don't know. We did another one of our mystery marathon tramps around Wanaka. The fact that there was no scale on the map we had paid good money for should have served as a warning, but the walk we estimated as being a 7 km, 3 hour round trip, linking a hike up Iron Mountain with panoramic views of Lakes Wanaka and Hawea and Mount Aspiring National Park turned out to be twice as long and we were almost fed up with the sound of gravel crunching underfoot by the end. But it was another wonderful walk - we sat on the banks of a wide blue river in the middle of forest, watching salmon rising before us and I imagined that being in the Canadian Rockies would be just like this. We made it back to town just in time for doors open at the cinema. This time there was a wider selection of seats - we could have sat in bog standard big theatre seats, a couple of rows of old fashioned train seats, some aeroplane seats, four rows of sofas or in a bright yellow Morris Minor parked by the side of the screen! We took the comfy sofa option with cushions which came in very handy for the scary bits in the film. During the intermission we joined the impatient queue for white chocolate and ginger cookies, as big as saucers, fresh from the oven.
Lake Wanaka was the location of our first foray in a two-man kayak which was great fun once I'd mastered the highly technical job of steering the thing. We spent an hour zig-zagging our way across the lake, singing the Hawaii Five-0 theme tune, during which a Catalina sea-plane swooped in right above us, touched down and took off again immediately, circling round for another go. It did this about a dozen times and by the end we were exchanging waves and smiles with the guy in the back seat!
Marc spent a day canyoning at Wanaka. He was picked up from the hostel after a gargantuan breakfast and spent the day abseiling and flinging himself off high rocky ledges and sliding head-first down rocky chutes into into small deep pools. Apparently this was a 'world class gorge' and that evening I had to wait ages until he'd stopped talking about it to tell him about the 'world class shoe browsing' day I'd enjoyed in his absence.
The weather was just perfect for the four days that we spent there so after lunch on day one it was boots on and we headed up the valley towards Aoraki and Mount Sefton to the start of the Sealy Tarns walk which promised spectacular views into the valley and around. The walk started with a pleasant stroll up a gently sloping path then after an hour we got to the signpost for our walk which directed us off the beaten track - to nowhere it seemed, until we looked up and saw orange markers rising sharply over what looked like a stream of huge boulders tumbling down the side of the bush covered valley. Nothing for it, so onwards and upwards we went, clambering and scrambling with upward glances to see the top getting closer by the minute. After about an hour a real killjoy coming down to meet us burst the bubble when he said that it was a false horizon and that we weren't even halfway there yet and he'd turned back as he'd had enough! Sure enough he was right and it took another hour and half to reach the top, my legs and lungs screaming by now and how glad (and surprised) was I to see that some considerate soul had placed a bench at the top. The views were superb - snowcapped Mount Sefton across a valley to our left, Sealy Tarns glacial lakes shining like jewels in the sun and the Hooker Valley snaking along below us. The only sounds to break the silence were the distant rumbles of snowfalls as they broke away from high slopes and thundered down mountains far behind us. The only thing that slightly marred the otherwise perfect view was the long grey shabby-looking spit extending back up the valley from the tarns. We found out later next day that was the magnificent Muller Glacier - oops!
Our walk the next day took us all the way up the Hooker Valley to the lake at the foot of the Hooker Glacier. Icebergs floated in the water as we watched three young backpackers stripped down to their Mickey Mouse boxers standing at the water's edge egging each other on into the ice bath. There was a lot of giggling, shoving and false starts before the pact kicked in and they waded in together to their waists, gasping for breath before a quick dunk over the shoulders and out again like shots. It was a beautiful walk through the last of summer alpine flower meadows and across swing bridges in lovely warm sunshine, Aoraki looming above us all the way. A howling gale at the summit whipped snow off the peak which looked just like smoke pouring out of a great big hole at the top.
It had been clear blue skies throughout our time in Mount Cook but on the last morning as we left the sky was dotted and streaked with the most amazing array of clouds of different shapes, textures and colours. A huge cone-shaped cloud above Aoraki looked just as if it was wearing a wizard's hat - maybe it had been smoke after all ...
Wanaka is Queenstown's less commercialised little brother. Quite why they changed the town's name in 1940 from the perfectly good name Pembroke, I don't know. We did another one of our mystery marathon tramps around Wanaka. The fact that there was no scale on the map we had paid good money for should have served as a warning, but the walk we estimated as being a 7 km, 3 hour round trip, linking a hike up Iron Mountain with panoramic views of Lakes Wanaka and Hawea and Mount Aspiring National Park turned out to be twice as long and we were almost fed up with the sound of gravel crunching underfoot by the end. But it was another wonderful walk - we sat on the banks of a wide blue river in the middle of forest, watching salmon rising before us and I imagined that being in the Canadian Rockies would be just like this. We made it back to town just in time for doors open at the cinema. This time there was a wider selection of seats - we could have sat in bog standard big theatre seats, a couple of rows of old fashioned train seats, some aeroplane seats, four rows of sofas or in a bright yellow Morris Minor parked by the side of the screen! We took the comfy sofa option with cushions which came in very handy for the scary bits in the film. During the intermission we joined the impatient queue for white chocolate and ginger cookies, as big as saucers, fresh from the oven.
Lake Wanaka was the location of our first foray in a two-man kayak which was great fun once I'd mastered the highly technical job of steering the thing. We spent an hour zig-zagging our way across the lake, singing the Hawaii Five-0 theme tune, during which a Catalina sea-plane swooped in right above us, touched down and took off again immediately, circling round for another go. It did this about a dozen times and by the end we were exchanging waves and smiles with the guy in the back seat!
Marc spent a day canyoning at Wanaka. He was picked up from the hostel after a gargantuan breakfast and spent the day abseiling and flinging himself off high rocky ledges and sliding head-first down rocky chutes into into small deep pools. Apparently this was a 'world class gorge' and that evening I had to wait ages until he'd stopped talking about it to tell him about the 'world class shoe browsing' day I'd enjoyed in his absence.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
