Kaikoura

Following a night of heavy rain, we decided to follow the coast road south from Picton and head for our next destination, Kaikoura, dropping in at a first world war aviation museum on the way. The museum had several interesting planes and some Red Baron memorabilia, all presented in thoughtful displays. As with many attractions over here, Peter Jackson, the director of LOTR, was credited with the displays. Whether he actually designed them or whether he simply inspired them we don't know. Almost all the aircraft were actually replicas - I suppose that there are many more museums than surviving aircraft from that period. Ian's favourite was the pre-WW1 Taube, which was astonishingly bird-like. Sadly, I don't think that it flew very well.

Taube monoplane

The drive down was lovely as the weather improved and we got great views of the Kaikoura mountain ranges which come close to the sea. As we approached the town we were able to pull off the road and view one of the NZ fur seal colonies at close quarters and watch the pups playing in rock pools.

NZ fur seal pups at play

Adult fur seals sunning themselves

Having found a great campsite and dealt with domestic matters such as laundry and washing, we booked for a trip called Albatross Encounter. The next morning we went out to sea on a smallish boat with about a dozen people on board – but only after I'd taken some sea sickness tablets! We travelled out to where a fishing boat was working, and very quickly we were in amongst amazing birds – principally albatrosses and petrels.



Wandering Albatross, Giant Petrel & Cape Petrels - note the Cape Petrels are about the size of pigeons.



Our boat carried some fish livers to entice the birds away from the fishing boat (a good arrangement for both parties we think) and we were able to see these huge birds flying around, landing on the water and feeding.

Albatross landing on the sea

There was a fair bit of squabbling between them for the food, but as far as we were concerned, they were completely docile and almost close enough to touch.

Complex wing folding

Albatrosses have a three-part wing which folds up in a complicated looking way – but they seemed to cope OK. The whole trip lasted three hours and we also saw some dolphins and a blue shark, as well as more NZ fur seals. All in all an amazing experience.

For nerdy types, the launch and retrieval system was also fascinating. Like a lot of boats we have seen over here, this one had a welded aluminium structure and water-jet propulsion so there was no prop to catch or tangle. On return to the launch ramp the boat was powered straight onto the waiting trailer until it latched in place. Simultaneously the tow tractor pulled it up the ramp and a minute later we stepped off onto dry land. Very neat indeed.

In the late afternoon, we went on a sea-kayaking trip around the bays and in amongst more seals, with a view to trying to see them catch fish, which we finally saw at the end of our trip. The kayaks were very smart 2-seaters. This was Ian's first time in a 'real' kayak and in spite of some disagreements over paddling technique we really enjoyed ourselves and might try and do some more when we get back home.

The following day we went whale watching. This is a much larger scale operation and has bigger boats and coaches to move people around. After a load of safety briefing (unusual for New Zealand) we sped out to the deep water trench where the sperm whales feed. The boat had 2 levels where we could view from, and having briefed us that everyone must be in their seats when the boat was moving, they proceeded to let us all stay out on the decks for almost the whole trip.

We managed to see three whales during our trip. They spend about for 5-10 minutes on the surface (though not that much of them shows above the water) before diving again for food. They can stay down for up to an hour. Getting a decent photograph is very difficult.

Whale tail disappearing - the best photo we got!

We're glad we did it and it was exciting to see whales for real. Maybe all the amazing wildlife photography that we have been accustomed to has raised our expectations too much, but the albatross trip was really much more involving and memorable.

Next stop - Arthur's Pass.

Queen Charlotte Track

The Queen Charlotte Track lies to the North of the Sound itself on land that is only tenuously connected to the mainland. The Sound is a system of flooded valleys and is hence different to a fjord which is, well, we'll tell you when we get there. Many (perhaps most) of the small settlements in the Sound have have no road access at all and are hence dependent on a boat to bring in supplies and mail. This has incidentally provided a great opportunity to deliver walkers as well, and, for their gear to be dropped off at their overnight stops. The whole area is beautiful beyond description with azure blue water, picturesque coves and forest-clad hills.

Simon taking a rare rest on the first day

Our friends Diane and Simon, lately from Auckland, had managed to arrange a long week-end to come and do some walking with us, so we'd settled on doing some of the Queen Charlotte Track. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), because our plans had still been uncertain, there were only expensive room options left – hence we were booked into a couple of swanky double rooms at the Punga Cove Resort!

Diane and Simon arrived in Picton shortly after 10am on Friday. Ian and I had got down to the Town Wharf at 8.45 to try and sort out the water taxis but it really was quite complicated as our accommodation required us to start in the middle of the walk. In the end, a very helpful lady sorted us out and we settled on splitting up so that the guys could do the arduous and hilly 25 km walk to the resort, whilst the girls took the mail boat! This is actually a very interesting option as it visits several remote villages and homesteads, and for some bizarre reason, sees fit to feed all the dogs, goats and even pigs that come down to meet it.

The guys still managed to be in the bar before the girls arrived. Simon is intensely competitive whereas Ian says that he is not competitive at all but very much dislikes coming second. The result had been a long, hot, fast walk, with a casual photo finish, and each of the guys subsequently blaming the other for the excessive pace. The resort itself was idyllic and we spent a couple of nights there in paradise.

The bar at Punga Cove

The second day we had a 4 hour walk on fairly level going but in scorching sunshine, to another bay where the mail boat picked us up again and whisked us back to Punga Cove. A long-abandoned tractor provided a bit of fun.

On the third day, we had about a one hour boat transfer to our starting point. Diane had not felt at all well when she got up that morning, probably a result of too much time in the Sun the previous day. Fortunately she gradually felt better during the boat trip so we all started together. The guidebook time for the leg was four hours , which was also the time interval between being dropped off and collected by the water taxi. Ian had spotted that the pick-up point was actually somewhat beyond the 'end' of the walk but decided to keep this to himself. The weather had changed and was much cooler and misty (we were lucky not to get rain), but this probably helped us as we needed to make good time. The additional part of the walk turned out to be a steep descent through mixed beech and podocarp forest (no, we didn't know what it meant either). This led to numerous hilarious jokes about root finding, keeping to the root, being off-root and so on. It was a great relief to arrive at at our pick-up point at Mistletoe Bay, if only to stop the awful puns. We actually had 10 minutes to spare, but the water taxi was already waiting for us.

Logistically the whole operation seemed fairly fraught. The organisation of the taxi and mail boat people was excellent. Luggage and people were transferred separately, and all ended up back at Picton, at the right time, without the need for the jet boat.

Jet boat on standby at the water taxi wharf

Diane and Simon still needed to be ferried back to Blenheim Airport however but having dropped them there and having confirmed that the flight had not been cancelled, Ian and Maggie returned to Picton and declared the whole week-end to have been a great success.

Cousin John

My second cousin once removed lives high above downtown Nelson in a beautiful house on a steep hill. From below the house appears to be built on stilts and to be cantilevered out from the hillside. In this respect it is not very different from its neighbours but we had heard (and seen) that unprecedentedly heavy rains before Christmas had caused a number of landslips in Nelson and this added to a rather precarious air. In exchange for this, the house enjoyed stunning views of the town below and of the hills to the South.

John last visited the UK over forty years ago, though you would not have guessed this from his accent, which was quintessentially English. As far as we could remember, we had not met before. John has keen interest in his UK roots however and it did not take long before we had found common ground in our family history. He has built up an extensive collection of family photographs and correspondence, including pictures of my parents and sister that I have never seen before. In exchange we provided some photos taken at my Mum's 90th birhtday party and promised to do better when we returned to the UK.

John had spent much of his working life in the hotel and restaurant business and was a impeccable host, producing food and wine for us at regular intervals thoughout the day.

We were back at John's the following morning to be taken on a whistle-stop tour of some of the vineyards, wineries and farms. We also visited the start of the Abel-Tasman Trail and half regretted that we had decided not to walk it.


The Nelson area is renowned for its favourable climate (the weather was certainly beautiful that day) and it is the most lush part of NZ that we have seen so far. The vineyards particularly have an almost picture-book quality and immense care seems to be taken in both the nurturing of the crop and maintaining its appearance. The number of vineyards and the variety of wines produced, made any sort of systematic tasting impossible but we sampled a few and bought a good bottle of Neudorf Pinot Gris for a special occasion - I am hoping that this will be my birthday!

We had discovered the previous day that John is also a keen collector of local pottery (Nelson seems to have been something of a centre for this), which he keeps, catalogued according to maker, in storage cupboards. 

John with a small part of his pottery collection

Our tour included some bargain hunting in various charity shops and a 'recycling centre'. The latter is a place where anything unwanted but not worthless, can be bought for resale at a nominal price. Its a bit like a charity shop I suppose but included bulkier stuff like building materials,wash basins, bikes and garden tools as well. John found several items to add to his collection.

John and Ian at the recycling centre

Maggie was concerned that I would identify some rare part for our old Saab - like a back axle for instance - but I settled for a couple of trashy books. I had been trying to read Madame Bovary in French but had been finding progress painfully slow.

John had warned us that the coast road from Nelson to Picton was twisty but this hardly prepared us for the final 10 km, which was probably as twisty as any I have come across. There were frequent big drops and crumbling verges as well, and the occasional section of white wooden fence offered only psychological protection. Great!

Maggie and the amazing Toyota on the road to Picton

After a bit of scratching around we found a campsite in Picton and negotiated a reasonable deal to leave the car and tent there while we were away on the Queen Charlotte Trail. It was getting quite late in the evening and we were pleased to find a small supermarket open to buy enough food to make lunches for three days and four people.

A feature of the campsite was that the railway line to Picton approached it on a viaduct before descending quite steeply and running within about 50m of our tent. Big freight trains with two diesel units ran periodically through the night. If anyone with a morbid imagination has wondered what the last thing they would hear if a Boeing 747 crashed into their house, I can provide details.

Picton - Gateway to the South (disputed with Balham, S London)

We came over to South Island on Sunday. There was a bit of a cock up on the booking, and somehow we'd managed to get the time and day right, but were two weeks adrift on the date. Fortunately there was space and the kind gentleman doing the checking-in let us on once everyone else was loaded. As someone who gets seasick on any ferry crossing over an hour, I wasn't really looking forward to it as I'd heard that the Cook Strait can be a bit rough. Apart from a bit in the middle, it was fine and the last hour involves coming along Queen Charlotte Sound by a fairly tortuous route and close in to the shore - glad the captain hadn't been taking lessons from the Italians.

Rocks near the entry to Queen Charlotte Sound

Nearing Picton

We drove inland throught the Marlborough winegrowing region without stopping - (we hope to do some wine tasting later) - along the Wairau River valley - Sarah's and my favourite wine is Wairau Cove, but we didn't see it - it must be a small part of Cloudy Bay.

We camped at a campsite at the edge of Lake Rotoiti in the Nelson Lakes National Park for two nights. We were virtual prisoners in our own tent due to the biting insects. See Ian's comment below on sandflies!

Lake Rotoiti

It's a fairly rugged area, reminiscent of parts of the Lake District (but higher mountains) and the Alps. Some of the hills had suffered pretty dreadful erosion as a result of deforestation by sheep farmers in the late 19th C. This is now being gradually being reversed by new planting but the appearance of some of the hills is strikingly similar to parts of the Lake District, which made us think that the same thing had probably happened there, but a couple of thousand years earlier.

The first day we climbed a peak called Mount Robert with good views of the lake. We did rather wish we'd booked a hut and gone for a 2 day walk which would have taken us deeper into the region, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. Mt. Robert is a tiddler in these parts but still as high as Ben Nevis.

Ian with Lake Rotoiti behind during Mt. Robert ascent

For scenery and good paths, the walk compared well with anything in the UK and probably in the European Alps. If it lacked anything it was something at the beginning or end. By 'something' I am thinking specifically of a little hamlet of houses, nestling in a valley and a friendly pub offering food and drink to weary walkers. Having taken off my rose-tinted glasses however I can now see that the cottages are mainly holiday lets or second homes, the home-made-style cooking means burger and chips, and the beer has not been kept as well as it should have been. We'll call it a draw for now.

Today we were moving on to Nelson so had only half day to play with. We decided to take a look at L. Rotoroa, which is set in another beautiful valley surrounded by even bigger mountains than the previous day's. We will have to take the Lonely Planet's word for this though as the low cloud refused to lift. The sandflies by the lake surpassed even those at the campsite and we were pleased to get away though they got ito the car wth us and continued to bite as w drove away.

Tonight we are sleeping in a bed in a really nice backpackers' lodge in Nelson. Previous plans to camp in S Island are now under review!

A Note on Sandflies

The life of a sandfly is mean, brutish and short. OK, I made up the first two but I am pretty certain about the third. In a typical New Zeland sandfly family the chance to suck human blood might come up every thousand generations, so they could be forgiven for being so eager to bite. Could be forgiven, but haven't been, at least not by us; they have made life on the campsite in St Arnaud a real trial. If I had my way, I would seed the place with some voracious carnivorous plants and teach the little bastards a lesson. That's not the way things are done in NZ though, at least, not any more.

Visiting Aussies as well as an Auckland barrister, have made light of our plight. According to them if a bite doesn't feel like you've just stopped a bullet, then it wasn't a real sandfly. Having said that, Bushman, which claims to be the most effective sandfly deterrent is made in Australia. Clearly they are not all Crocodile Dundees down under. Anyway, the real hard men of old didn't have this stuff and rubbed on paraffin instead - and we are not talking about the white, waxy emollient used in skin cream. It crossed my mind that 'Don't play with those matches round Daddy, Son' may have been the last words for many Kiwis. Makes a change from 'I think I'm feeling a bit better, doctor' I suppose.

Wellington-by-the-Sea

As some of you know, I have a bit of a weakness for things that go fast; that's probably because I can't pedal my bike into that territory. Anyway, as we were heading into Wellington, I spotted a sign to the Southward Motor Museum. I had never heard of this place but as we had some time in hand, I decided to drop in for a fix. My co-driver wasn't quite so keen but as I was driving at the time, that wasn't going to matter, well not until later anyway.

This must have been one of the biggest motor museums that I had never been to. In the foyer was a pre-war Alfa Romeo 1750, seemingly showroom fresh. It was red of course and I wanted it desperately. Inside, it was even better (or perhaps worse). Alongside gridlocked American cars from the 1900s to the present day, there were some racing cars, including two Maserati 250Fs.

I had watched Juan Manuel Fangio driving one of these cars at Silverstone in the 1970s; he was by then well into his 60s (for some reason that seemed very old at the time) and was a living legend. He could certainly still drive magnificently, drifting the Maserati from curb to curb in a way that must have made Grand Prix racing so exciting in the 1950s.

Elsewhere in the collection was a pre-war Mercedes 540k that had been bought from Bernie Ecclestone when he was feeling a bit short. The $4M would no doubt have boosted his finances, if not his height. Actually there were two of these cars in the collection. Would Sir like the fixed-head or drop head coupe?, The total value of the collection must have run into billions.

Just in case your taste for exotica had become jaded , there were all sorts of more ordinary cars there too, which I can only suppose must have had some sentimental appeal to the collector. These included examples of unusual cars that I had owned or remembered from my youth, including a Messerschmitt 3 wheeler and a Reliant Kitten.

At the very bottom end was an Austin Allegro. Now, who would want to collect one of those I cannot imagine but maybe Sir Tom fancied owning something that, within a few years, would probably become truly unique.

There was also an extensive collection of motorcycles and bikes , including a Pedersen. This will be meaningless to most people but was designed and built by a man in Dursley, Glos , who had made his reputation and money as the inventor the first commercially successful cream separator. In the early 1900s it looked as though his 'bridge-truss' frame could be a serious rival to the diamond-frame that is still used on bikes today. Pedersen was a poor businessman however and both he and his novel bike design died in obscurity.

We've been in Wellington (New Zealand's capital) for a couple of days, visiting the wonderful Te Papa museum and also riding the cable car and walking down through the botanical gardens. It's a compact and attractive city with a huge harbour and plenty going on. We've been staying at the Youth Hostel which is excellent and within walking distance of everything. Tomorrow we're off on the ferry to South Island where we hope to pack in loads of activities as we're aware that we're running out of time already!

Mount Taranaki

Mount Taranaki

We were disappointed not to have' topped out' on Tongoriro and felt that we had some unfinished business with volcanoes. The obvious answer, it seemed to us, was to to climb Mt Egmont (which the Maori call Mt.Taranaki). At 2518m this is substantially higher than Tongariro and better still, in Maori lore, the two are related mountain deities. Taranaki lies on a pensinsula on the west coast, north of Wellington. It rises pretty much straight from sea level but fortunately there are a few roads leading to the lower slopes which make it possible to climb it in a long day. Like Tongariro it has its own weather system and we decided to spend an extra day in Stratford for clear weather to arrive.

After much studying of the route description, Maggie decided to leave the climb itself to me. As it turned out this was a very wise but difficult decision.

I sneaked out of the campsite at 5 a.m. so as to be able to start the climb at dawn. Many trampers had been up much earlier than me however; some were already returning to the valley having taken advantage of the full moon to climb the mountain during the night.

The walk starts up a steep but unremarkable track but after a couple of hours this reaches the dreaded and dreadful scoria. Scoria consists of pumice 'marbles' mixed with a sort of gravel. It is exhausting to climb because you slide backwards with every step up. As I found out later, it is just as bad to come down. Eventually this gives way to a rocky ridge, which has to be scrambled up to reach the summit crater. All this volcanic rock is very abrasive - good for grip but not nice to fall against. Up to now it had been warm and sunny but those returning from the summit were well muffled up and the summit crater was filled with snow. 

Snow in the crater

All this time the cloud had been building round the lower slopes and I was lucky to get such good views from the top.

Summit view looking towards New Plymouth

Even as I as leaving the cloud started to fill the crater and the descent was made largely in cloud. The NZ Department of Conservation (DOC) mark all official trails with coloured poles but on this particular route many of the poles were broken or had fallen over. Rocks regularly roll down this mountain and I suspect that this is the reason for the damage, coupled with the obvious difficulty of replacing the poles. I am still practising with my new GPS but I found it reassuring to know that it would allow me to retrace my ascent route if need be.

I had reached the summit in less than the guidebook time, which pleased me, but the descent seemed interminable. The scoria was not deep enough to run down like a scree but equally it was almost impossible to stand still without sliding (or falling) downhill.

I was back at the start shortly after 2 p.m. so the route had taken 'only' eight hours but I now feel that I have done as much as I want on volcanoes.

Our next planned tramp will be in Queen Charlotte Sound. It will be scenic and fairly flat and, as our friends are planning it, will involve sleeping in beds and maybe even having our gear carried for us. Just at the moment that sounds pretty good.

Whanganui River Journey

As is often the case, our day's rest day was really too long. We did our laundry, replenished our supplies in a supermarket in the nearest town (about an hour's drive away) and packed all we would need for the next three days into waterproof barrels. The cooking pans went in first!

It took about an hour to reach the river along an unsealed road We travelled with the canoes and gear in a small Toyota truck. The ruggedness of Toyota utility vehicles is almost legendary over here. It is hard to imagine many vehicles being able to withstand the sort of hammering that this one got for very long so their reputation may be justified. Every Kiwi seems to remember the episode of Top Gear in which Clarkson & Co attempted to destroy a Toyota pick-up, even if they never saw it.

The pre-job brief for the canoeing was certainly brief. I can only remember three specific pieces of information: follow the river downstream, look for the 'vee' of smooth water when approaching rapids and, if you get trapped against an obstacle in the rapids, lean towards it rather than away from it. We hoped that we wouldn't need to test the last one. The supplementary written advice that we were given on River Safety helpfully suggested that we learned a few basic paddling strokes – very quickly presumably.

Setting off in the canoe

The Whanganui, or the bit that we did anyway, is a Wye-sized river that runs in a deep gorge. The walls of the gorge are almost shear, about 50m high and covered in dense jungle (the Kiwis euphemistically call this 'bush'). There is almost no road access and no paths; One you have started, that's it. It was 80 km and 3 days to our pick-up point. Fortunately we are old hands with Canadian canoes and we were soon putting all those three hours of past experience to good effect. In reality it wasn't too difficult, though there was some heated discussion after the first rapids concerning the basic paddle strokes that the other person had used.

In between the rapids, there were long stretches of just paddling. The river is and its valley are almost untouched by the hand of man. There are no settlements, buildings, power lines, landing stages or power boats. The downside of this is that each stretch of the river looks just like the preceding one. We alternated between paddling with just sufficient effort to maintain steerage, and paddling hard in the hope of reaching somewhere that looked a bit different.

The campsites are good but very basic. Buried in the bush, they seemed to be home to every type of biting insect. This included the 'long-drop' toilets, where a fresh swarm would appear as you lifted the seat cover. Drinking water is something that is provided at each site, usually rainwater. At one site a printed but faded notice said that the water was good to drink. Maggie noticed that her mug of water contained a few small wriggling worms so the warden promptly changed the notice for an equally-faded one, advising that the water should be boiled. In reality these were just mosquito larvae and relatively harmless; the invisible giardia is the real worry.

Bush rats were another problem at the same site. One of these chewed right through the tent of one of our fellow canoeists during the night to get at her peanut-butter sandwiches. These were right by her head; she didn't sleep again that night.

On our final day we were starting to get pretty bored with the constant paddling. The occasional jet-boat would come past. These were quite capable of swamping a canoe and the waves took ages to die down as they reflected back and forth from the walls of the gorge but they did provide some variety Fortunately the rapids were becoming more challenging although no more frequent. Right towards the end we came to the fiercest yet and were quite relieved to get through with only 6 inches of water in the boat. The following canoe capsized and the one behind that filled with water and foundered. Thinking back, I do remember that the brief said that we should expect to get wet before the end of the trip!