Day 27 – Dec. 29 – North Island (Wellington) to South Island (Picton) to Nelson

We sadly left the lovely cottage where we’d been staying for the past couple of days and headed out for Wellington proper to catch the ferry for the South Island. We’ve now seen everything on the North Island and it’s taken exactly one month. Everyone says to give the North Island one month and the South 2 months, so we’ll see if it works out that way.

Since we got to the ferry way early, we drove into downtown Wellington and ate some lunch, bought some books, then headed back to the ferry. The ferry lines were totally full, and people were everywhere, in all states of dress and undress, mainly in shorts or bathing suits or other warm-weather attire. It is very warm, and people are tossing sticks for their dogs into the bay for them to retrieve, people are sitting on the rocks reading books, eating sack lunches, tossing frisbees, and whatever they can think of to relieve the boredom of waiting for the ferry.

When it arrives, the first thing to drive off of it is a TRAIN!! An entire train. Then huge double semi trucks. It’s amazing how much weight these huge ocean-going ferries can carry without sinking.

I was worried about getting seasick, but the seas were calm, there was a very gentle breeze blowing, the sky was free of clouds, and it couldn’t have been better conditions for seasick-prone me. As soon as we pulled out of the harbor and got into open water, we saw the South Island. It’s not that far away, but it takes 3 hours.. The trip flew by and soon we were driving off the ferry into Picton, then on to Nelson, our destination for the night.

We’re headed for the Abel Tasman National Park, the impetus for our trip in the first place. About a year ago, I watched a documentary on tv about the Abel Tasman Park, was so smitten by the crystal clear blue-green water that I vowed to visit it before I died. And here we are almost there, long before I died (I hope, anyway).

At 9 pm, late for us, we got a room in a B&B in Nelson called ‘Mike’s B&B’, small but quiet, and adequate.

Day 28 –Dec. 30 – Nelson to Motueka

In Nelson we learned how the hiking works in the park. Because there are only paths, no roads, in the park, you can only walk or take boats around its coastline. There is one long trail, about 30 miles long, I suppose, from the south entrance to the north one, and you can break it into several parts and do one or more parts of it, in as many days as you’d like. Since we didn’t want to spend the night, and we didn’t want to hike 30 miles in one day, and we wanted to see the prettiest part of the park, we opted for taking a water taxi to a point where we could walk about 4 hours, then get picked up again and brought back to the car.

After making our boat reservation, we headed off to find a place to stay for the next 2 nights. We drove up the road toward the park and in Motueka found a B&B called Copper Beech. It was a private home with an art gallery in a separate building, situated on about 2 acres of beautifully landscaped grounds. It was more than we wanted to pay, but it was so gorgeous and the people so nice that we sprung for it anyway. Truth is, it wasn’t even as much as an average US motel, but we’ve gotten spoiled by paying a lot less than US prices, so we grumbled a bit before paying.

Carol and John Gatenby, the owners, couldn’t have been nicer and more congenial to us. We had the run of the place, and poked our noses in John’s gallery, the chicken coop (he calls his chickens ‘chooks’), the pigeon roost, walked all around the grounds (the grass is the same as greens in the US, and as meticulously manicured), washed our clothes (rather, Carol did, and even hung them on the line to air-dry!), and went off to walk around downtown Motueka. Dinner was Kentucky Fried Chicken eaten on our own private patio.

Day 29 –Dec. 31 - Motueka/Abel Tasman National Park

We had to catch the 9 am water taxi, so Carol, bless her pea-pickin’ heart, got up at some ungodly early hour of the night to make us one of the most incredible breakfasts we’ve ever had – anywhere! She’d set up a lovely table for us outside on the patio. First course (and the only one, we thought) was an entire plate of fruit – sliced kiwi, sliced bananas, grapes cut in half and laid out face down in rows, orange slices; alongside were bowls of yogurt and a huge container of her home-made muesli. We piled it on, eating all of it, ready now to tackle the long day ahead.

But that was only the beginning. After we started to get up, completely sated, she then brought out the second course – baked tomatoes topped with some delicious and mysterious concoction made of cheese, carmelized onions and several other things, plus a potato quiche. We looked at each other in disbelief, both wondering where in the world we were going to put these gourmet delights. Somehow we crammed them in, thinking we wouldn’t need to eat again until dinnertime. As we finished this course, out she came from the house bearing yet one more course – a couple of small mincemeat pies, with a dash of powdered sugar on them (to be sure Joe would eat ‘em!). When we got on the water taxi, we sat on opposite sides so we wouldn’t make the boat unbalanced, after all we’d both eaten!

Again I was concerned about getting seasick on the water taxi ride. But the day started out calm and clear, and the ride was perfect. The boat driver took us past some rocks where a bunch of seals and their pups were bouncing around, sunning themselves, chasing each other, or sliding into the water. The water is as clear as the air and of a lovely blue-green color, reminiscent of the Bahamas and its gorgeous snorkeling waters. They took us to a crescent beach of snow-white sand and we waded ashore, shoes in hand. Then we took off for the hike back towards the beginning of the park.

The trail is along the beach for a ways, then snakes inland through dense forests of lush NZ tropical ferns and trees. Nowhere is it scary or steep or bad footing, such a contrast with the Tongariro Crossing! Four hours and many stops for photo ops later, we reached the beach where the water taxi was to pick us up. We were nearly 2 hours early for our pick-up, and there was another water taxi from the same company, so we hitched a ride back with them to our car. This time the seas were very rough, it was raining intermittently and very windy, and I put my anti-seasick bands on my wrists just in case. Made it back in fine fettle, though wet and bedraggled, much to my relief.

When we got back to Carol and John’s, we found Carol sitting on a chair with a stunned wild bird in her hand. Its beak was parted, its eyes closed, and it was breathing rapidly. ‘It flew into the window and knocked itself cuckoo. I’m holding it until it feels good enough to fly again. If you leave it lying on its side on the ground, it might die.’ She then went into the house to answer the phone and handed it to me to nurse back to health. I sat there for about 15 minutes, stroking its back until it finally closed its beak, opened its eyes and began moving its head around. Suddenly it launched itself into the air, shat profusely (missing me by inches!), and flew into the nearby bushes, apparently healed.

Our New Year’s Eve was celebrated with a dinner of fish ‘n chips, wrapped in no-kidding-newspaper, eaten on our private patio again, and to bed by 10. Barely woke up for some half-hearted fireworks in town.

Day 30 – Jan. 1 –Motueka to Westport

John and Joe spent an hour or so planning how we should maneuver around the South Island. It’s not as easy as the North Island, as there is a mountain range down the middle of the island, and we wanted to go across it, as well as see everything on the east and west coasts. Once they had that done, we gave big hugs all around, exchanged e-mail addresses, hoping to be life-long Christmas card pen pals, and headed out, destination the west coast of the island. The route is along the Buller River, through a long, narrow canyon, and the road is twisty and curvy for hours. By the time we finally got out of the canyon, I was ready to get out of the car for good. My queasy stomach had had enough of that road and was ready for my feet to be planted on terra firma. We were in Westport, pretty much a nothing town, and that suited me fine.

We are now on the west coast, much different from the east coast. The storms all hit NZ from the west, so it gets a lot of rain and wind, resulting in the coastline being pounded by the waves more ferociously. The coast is therefore straighter, because the sea is reclaiming the land, eroding it and re-depositing it on the beaches. Any trees growing along the coast eventually end up falling into the sea and getting pounded to bits by the waves, then getting thrown up onto the beaches, where their trunks and branches, sanded smoother by each wave, litter the beaches with their carcasses. Driftwood is everywhere, often erected into creative sculptures by enterprising beachcombers. We walked along Westport’s gray sand beaches for an hour or so in a strong wind before grabbing yet another fish ‘n chips dinner. I’m really getting tired of fried food. They serve ‘chips’ (French fries) with EVERYTHING!

Day 31 –Jan. 2 - Westport

We’re ready for more golf, so we headed out to the Westport GC, billed as a links-type course, with 40 members. Ten of them showed up for their weekly competition, 3 ladies, 7 men, and they invited us to play along with them. We tossed our $20 NZ ($12 US) each into the ‘honesty box’, added another $3.50 each for the Stableford competition, and joined Bob, the club’s bartender, and a lady named Jo. It was a very windy day, and it rained off and on the entire round. But it was warm enough for shirtsleeves, and the wind dried our clothes almost entirely between rainshowers. When we finished, Bob unlocked the clubhouse (which had been locked all day while we played), all 12 of us went into the one room clubhouse, Bob went behind the bar and got everyone what they wanted to drink, then joined us for a rousing good time. Somebody tallied up the scores, handed out the winnings to the winners, then announced that I had set a new ladies’ course record with my 74!! ‘We day-ohnt geet min-aye lay-oh hindikeppers he-eh’, they told us. Guess not, if a 74 is their best ever.

At 10 o’clock this morning this area was hit by an earthquake of magnitude 4.0. We didn’t feel it, so we must have been in the car, but the people we played with all felt it. They said they have them all the time so it’s no big deal to them. One thing we’re learning is that NZ is one of the most volcanically active places on earth. It’s where two tectonic plates are coming together, so there’s a lot of grinding and shoving of the earth’s crust going on here, hence the hot pots, lava flows, eruptions, etc. Being a geology major, I’m in hog heaven reading and learning all about this.

Based on John’s recommendation we drove out to Tauranga Bay and, in a driving rain and windstorm, watched some young studmuffins trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to surf in the stormy seas. Down on the beach below the road were a lot of seagulls, and I remembered that I had almost a half-loaf of bread that was getting stale. I decided to go down there and toss them the bread, reminiscent of the gulls I’d had so much fun with back in Cable Bay a few weeks ago.
As soon as I set foot on the beach, which was totally deserted except for me, hundreds of the gulls took to the air and started flying right over me, mere feet away. At first I thought they might be looking for a handout, but soon I realized they were trying to drive me away. They were angry at my invading their privacy, and were swooping and diving at me. I figured if they saw that I had food, they might change their tune, so I hurriedly got out the loaf of bread and started tossing chunks of it to them. I was right. Soon they were squabbling amongst themselves for each morsel. One of them was dragging one leg while standing on the other one, and would occasionally fall completely over. I felt sorry for him and tossed a lot of the pieces his way, but the others all pushed him out of the way in their headlong dash for their share. Mother Nature can be so cruel. Survival of the fittest in action. Soon he flew off and landed in a puddle where he didn’t have to stand.

Westport is not a sleepy little town, it’s comatose, but they do have one great restaurant – Denniston Dog. The guys at the club recommended it as the only good place to eat, so, ignoring the picture of a Greyhound on the sign so we didn’t think we were eating at a Greyhound bus station, we strolled in, sat down and ordered their lamb shanks. They were delicious!!!

Day 32 –Jan. 3 – Westport to Hokitika

One thing about the people on the west coast is they have no pretentions. They aren’t slaves to fashion, they dress in jeans and sweats and tennies. Many are throwbacks to the 60’s, with ponytails on the men, beards, and ‘alternative lifestyles’ according to the guidebooks. The women have hairstyles that work – they just pull their hair back out of their eyes, put a rubber band on it, and they’re good to go. No makeup. Just the basics. It’s refreshing.

We’re headed down the west coast on the way to Queenstown and the Milford Sound eventually. This is the forgotten part of the island. Only 35,000 people live between the northern tip and the more populated southern tip. It’s rugged, like its people, mountainous, the weather is more extreme, and there are fewer ‘tourist attractions’. But the scenery is stunningly beautiful. The coast is rugged, with jagged rocks and pounding surf making for breathtaking sights around every curve. It took us 3 hours to go about 40 miles, because I was having Joe stop every mile or two so I could take a picture.

At one pullout we started talking with another couple who was also enjoying the view. By the time we both pulled away, we’d exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers, and they’d invited us to stay with them when we came back through Wellington and play golf with them. We’re finding that very typical of these extremely hospitable people.

Many years ago some enterprising Aussie had the bright idea of bringing Australian possums to NZ and raising them for their fur. They’re not the same animal as our possums; they’re not like any animal in the US. They have a face like a wallaby, or small kangaroo. The closest kin we can relate to might be the ferret, but with nicer fur. Anyway, some got loose, produced babies, and now there are literally millions of them all over the country and are considered pests. They look at them the way we did wolves 100 years ago and feel that the only good possum is a dead one. They put cyanide out to kill them everywhere. There are many of them on the roads, run over by cars (that’s the one thing they have in common with our possums).

Made it all the way to Hokitika by 4 pm, when we stopped for the night at a lovely B&B right in downtown. It is an old house once owned by the town doctor, who used the rooms for convalescent patients and in which to do surgery. The owners, Francis and Brian, were as cheerful and friendly as could be, and our room upstairs was huge and full of light and had a wonderful bath across the hall just for our use. Tried not to think about how many of his patients had died in our room.

Day 33 –Jan. 4 –Hokitika to Franz Josef Glacier

After we checked in last night, 5 Aussies took the rest of the rooms. We all met for breakfast, and we learned they are coffee farmers in Sydney. After much conversation about the dire conditions of the water supply in Australia, we headed out. There is a place here that has kiwis you can see. Because they’re nocturnal, and we aren’t, the chances of our ever seeing one are nil, so we bit the bullet, paid our $12 NZ each and went in. Most of the other exhibits were just fluff – eels, fish, frogs, crayfish, they saved the kiwi exhibit for last. Sure enough, in a large room, back in the corner we could see something dark moving around. It was so dark in there we couldn’t make out a thing about the animal except a rough idea of its size. But soon it moved closer and then was right beneath us, and we had our first glimpse (and maybe our last) of one of the rare NZ kiwis. It’s a flightless bird, becoming nearly extinct due to the possums and dogs and other things that find it so easily and kill it. It’s on the endangered species list now. While we were there, it made its unusual and very loud call about 15 times in a row. That made our day.
Stopped for lunch beside a lovely lake, and soon a family of Dutch/Kiwis joined us. Grandparents had emigrated from Holland 50 years ago, their son was born here, and their 2 grandkids in their bathing suits were splashing in the warm water. After spending an hour with them, they invited us to stop by their dairy farm a few miles down the road for some hot chocolate on our way out. We thanked them but didn’t take them up on their offer, but noted that they had many hundreds of acres and hundreds of dairy cattle spread out over the beautiful, flat valley floor.
We’re in sandfly country and getting bitten by the pesky critters on our arms and legs and everywhere we aren’t covered up. Their bites make you swell up like mosquito bites and they itch for days. Guess we’ll have to start wearing insect repellent whenever we go out.

I read a very weird book by a New Zealander named Keri Hulme, who received a Booker Prize for her novel ‘The Bone People’. Today we went to the tiny village on the coast, several miles off the main drag, - Okarito - where she lives like a hermit. There was only one house that wasn’t a shack, so we figured that’s where she must live. Would have loved to have seen her, to see what somebody looks like who writes such strange stuff.

Finding something to watch on tv is a challenge. They have lots of cricket matches (a very bizarre game, whose rules are Greek to us), as well as snooker (pool) competitions, dog racing, and rugby matches. We find it hard to get very excited about any of that.

We’ve been driving all day long (though only covered about 75 miles), and were at sea level the entire time. We’re headed for a couple of glaciers, but can’t imagine how glaciers can be at this low an elevation, as there’s no snow at all, nothing but trees. When we finally pull into town, we can see one, Franz Josef, named after the Austrian emporer. It is several miles away and is tiny!! After seeing the massive glaciers last year in Alaska, and those on Mt. Rainier in our backyard, we’re astonished that NZ makes such a big deal out of these teacup glaciers. But we’ll use it as an excuse to get out and stretch our legs and walk up to one of them tomorrow. Not both of them, though.