River deep, mountain high

Thursday, 16/08/2012 - 62 A.D. 

[35 years to the day since Elvis died.]

The little port of Picton houses the final resting place of the Edwin Fox, the last ever convict ship in operation. However, we had no time to go and see it because first thing this morning we had to have a massive dump. Our waste tank was full because we hadn’t been able to empty it at the previous campsite and we could hear it sloshing around when we navigated the hairpin bends. Also, the less powerful of the gas hobs on the stove has stopped working properly and the blue flames come out at irregular intervals. Prior to visiting the dump station, I took the hob off the stove and blew out all the crap that collected beneath it, but still to no avail. If it’s still knackered when we take The Chariot to Christchurch then I’ll just say a kiwi bird got inside during the night and pecked at it `til it worked no more.

I hear the Olympics are finally over. Given that I got to see the opening ceremony and about 15 minutes of highlights, I have to say I’m glad. Sounds like they were a tremendous spectacle. Now when  we meet people and say we’re English they’ll stop wondering why we’re in their country and not back home watching the games! Not that the New Zealanders are anyway near as surprised to hear our accents as the Americans were. So far we’ve only been referred to as “poms” on one occasion, and that was by an old, angry petrol attendant who was speaking in the third person plural. I thought only the Aussies called us by that name, but I lives and learns.

If you head west out of Picton you travel on Queen Charlotte Drive, a windy coastal road that is famed for its scenic views and regular lookout points. The 35 kilometres stretch to the small town of Havelock can take half a day if you keep getting out to take in the visual wonderment, but we only stopped off a couple of times as we wanted to get to the town of Nelson in good time.

[You can never get enough pictures of hills and lakes, can you!]

Nelson is apparently renowned as a vibrant arts, crafts and festival centre with a superb climate, and by the time we rolled up it was almost cracking the flags.  The old cinema across the road was showing Fritz Lang’s 1927 masterpiece Metropolis, which I probably would have gone in and watched had it been lashing it down.  But as it was so nice we headed over to the Botanical Reserve, a playing field where the country’s first ever rugby match was held in 1870. Leading up the hillside from this are several walks that overlook the town.

The above is a kouri tree, native to NZ and probably their equivalent of our great oak. In the Wellington museum we learnt how there were once a million hectares of these trees across both islands, but since the Polynesians arrived in the 1300s they were reduced by a staggering amount to number just a few thousand hectares. Today those remaining are mostly in protected reserves, but the one above was planted in 1951 and had its own little fence around it.

At the top of the hill, after quite an arduous walk, was a lookout point that claimed to be the geographical centre of New Zealand. You can never really be sure if these claims are accurate – Dunsop Bridge in the Forest of Bowland is allegedly the geographical centre of the UK – but wherever it was, the views were fantastic. I’m not sure how close Nashville was to the centre of the USA, but I doubt we’ll make it to the middle part of Australia, though that’s a tale still to be told.

It was so much easier heading back down to Nelson. Nelson…that’s one thing I’ve immediately noticed about the south island – much fewer Maori place names. It certainly makes navigating a lot easier! Okay, so we still come across the odd Motupiko and Wakapuaka, but on the whole it’s the likes of Marybank, Redwood Valley, Foxhill and, errr, Stoke.  Somewhere around here there must be a Birkdale…

The rest of our time in Nelson passed quickly when we got distracted by something shiny (a supermarket) and those good old rain clouds suddenly appeared on the horizon. It was our turn for camping out in the wild tonight, but we’d found a DOC campsite that was free, the only facilities being a water tap and a hole in the ground for dumping in (that is humans, not Toyotas). Given that we’d surely be the only people there, it would still feel like camping in the wild. However, shortly after driving out of the car park we realised that we hadn’t tightened the gas canister after making a brew. This sits in its own little cupboard on the outside of the van and you can technically drive with it loosened, but Mrs. Health And Safety would go nuts if she found out. When we pulled over to get out and sort it, we almost accidentally picked up a scruffy-looking hitch hiker with a guitar, but fortunately we weren’t going the same way as him. In America hitching was an absolute no-go given the amount of nutters out there carrying personal firearms, but apparently in NZ people do it all the time in total safety. In some towns in summer you can find people queuing up to get a ride! Anyway,  taking on board a hitch hiker was not something we planned to do. Unless they were female and a fan of Liverpool F.C.

We got to Clerk Valley just before nightfall, but missed our DOC site, so instead we parked up in a general recreation area – the same level of isolation, but a little closer to the road. And, for probably the first time ever, we parked on a level piece of ground, which meant I didn’t have to guard against my peppered steak soup slopping over the edge of the bowl and into my lap. Speaking of which, I’ve never eaten so much tinned meaty soup in my life – certainly keeps you warm on the cold evenings out in the open! And we also finally got our original laptop back up and running, so for the first time this evening we sat at our table and both worked independently on our computers without having to huff and puff because someone was hogging the machine and taking too long. We really are living the dream now!

[I should point out that the glass to the left contains white wine. It’s out of the way so it doesn’t get knocked over.]

Friday, 17/08/2012 - 63 A.D. 

We got up this morning to some potentially distressing news – Tim is thinking about taking a berocca because he can feel “something coming on”. Due to our close living proximity, if Tim gets it, I get it. I expect to get everything from Ghandi’s Revenge to green parrot fever when I travel through Asia, but was hoping to get through Australasia unscathed. We shall have to play the waiting game on this one and hope the berocca works its magic!

So, what was on the agenda for today then? Mostly driving, unfortunately. Due to catching the ferry a couple of days later than planned, we had to make up some time if we were going to get as far south as we could. Therefore we zoomed westward through the windy roads towards Greymouth on the coast. As the forested peaks rose high above us, it felt like we were properly entering Middle Earth, specifically…I dunno, Gondor. And we had to stop The Chariot when, far away in the distance, we got our first glimpse of snow…

“I am NOT going up any mountains!”

“Shut up, Pip, you go where we take you!”

Upon switching onto, ahem, Highway 69, we came across our first livestock obstruction. The guidebook said it’s quite common to be held up while sheep are driven across the road and I was quite looking forward to going through the experience. On this occasion though, the blockage was distinctly bovine in nature:

Shortly after that great thrill, we arrived in the small town of Greymouth and parked up for a look around. Thank goodness it was a gorgeous sunny day, because it would have been our gloomiest experience so far if the rain had been coming down. There just wasn’t anything to see. The “Great Wall of Greymouth” as mentioned in the guidebook was a flood bank that paled in comparison to Southport’s sea wall. Even the restoration of the old dockside was a work in progress and looked an aeon off completion. As we walked past the local skate park, the merry teenagers enthusiastically asked if we were having a good day. When I asked where the best place to go in Greymouth was, they instantly answered, “Here!” I’m too much of a lanky git to step on a skateboard!

Sorry, Greymouth, I’m sure you’re a lot of fun in the summertime, but for now we had to be moving on. We stuck true to our course south west along the coast, going through quite an experience when we crossed a combined road and rail bridge. That’s right, you drive along a single lane bridge with a set of rails beneath you and the threat of a train appearing in front of or behind you before you’ve got across. So far every other river has been crossed by separate road and rail bridges, so why combine the two here at Kumara Junction? As Tim rightly remarked, “Was the town planner on acid when he designed it???” Please accept a stock photo below, as we were too shocked to snap away as we crossed. 

Journey’s end today was the coastal town of Hokitika (which means “strong curry”). A lot of the places in this area grew up as a result of the gold rushes of the mid to late 1800s and Hokitika is no exception, though it’s since become an art and crafts town where the jade gemstone is very easy to come by. Just outside the town limits is a place called Glow Worm Dell…guess what hangs around in there? Unfortunately we didn’t get to see any glow worms because it was…well, not night. Might go back there after dark. Might also check out The National Kiwi Centre tomorrow – the title is rather grandiose considering it only contains the one kiwi.

But for now we like Hokitika (anywhere is better than Greymouth!) and we’re on a campsite with at least three cats. That’s two more than we normally get. And at least I can’t catch anything from them…errr, besides rabies. In light of that potential (though unrealistic) threat, I might just settle for Tim’s cold!

Saturday, 18/08/2012 - 64 A.D. 

[One third of the way through the trip.]

My brother does not have a cold, but he might just be a genius. A couple of days ago I thought I had an ulcer developing and the conversation went something like this:

James: I think I have an ulcer developing. Remember those four I had in Niagara Falls?

Tim: Yep. We don’t have any salt.

James: Oh woe is me.

Tim: I had an ulcer developing the other day when we were in the Museum of New Zealand, but I chewed it off.

James: You what? You chewed it?

Tim: Yeah. I didn’t take a massive bite out of it, just nibbled away at the essence.

And for the past couple of days I have, schedule permitting, been nibbling away at the “essence”. And I think the ulcer has died before it even got to live and cause me pain! This may seem trivial to you, dear readers, but I’ve been plagued by these pesky little blighters for years. I had no idea they could be chewed. From now on I’ll be chewing all my ulcers-in-the-making, and you should too. Take note, Brookers!

Anyway, on with the show – we left Hokitika in high spirits and headed a few kilometres down the road to the historic gold mining town of Ross (just past the village of Chris and a few kilometres east of the hamlet of Sebastian). It was a strange but pleasant feeling to drive with mountains to the left and the beach to the right. The largest gold nugget ever discovered in New Zealand was found at Ross in 1909 and the area is said to still contain lots of the shiny stuff. The town itself contains an excellent heritage museum with plenty of reconstructed buildings from the golden era.

Chief constable James gets a call that there’s a drunken gold thief loose in the town…

…Deputy Cardboard Cut-out brings in the roguish character…

…and he is duly given his punishment of 27 seconds in the pillory. You can be sure he  won’t do it again!

After messing about in the old buildings and trying on the hats for a while, we headed off on the hour long circular trip around the old gold mine workings. The cracking weather made it all the more enjoyable as we climbed the hillside and considered trying our hands at “fossicking” for the odd nugget or two.

[“There’s gold in them thar hills!”]

Although gold mining in Victorian New Zealand was a gregarious industry that moved on to a new location once a town’s supply was exhausted, some prospectors preferred to remain as loners near the former hot spots and build small shacks like the one pictured below, which used to belong to one Old Geordie Wiltshire. And apparently these guys mostly lived on something called “damper” which consisted of flour and water mixed together. Bet they would have killed for a Pot Noodle!

After hanging around the dramatic hillside cemetery for a while (mostly full of prospectors originally from Ireland), we hiked back down to town. Or, as they say in NZ, we “tramped” back down to town. Time to move off again along the coast, taking in the stunning scenery. I know you’ve seen lots of pictures of lakes so far, but just look at how mirror-like the one below is (no wonder there’s a town called Stillwater not far from here!)

You may have noticed from the endless shots of The Chariot parked up that the company we hired our vehicle from is called Happy Campers. We’ve had no problems at all with our Toyota Hiace and (touch wood) she runs as if she’d go on forever and ever and ever. What’s vexed me is why we haven’t seen a single other Happy Campers vehicle. There’s been lots with the Britz logo plastered across them and Kia Campers also seems quite popular, but this happy camper just couldn’t understand it. However, while parked up for lunch today and watching How not to live your life, we heard a vehicle go past and beep us several times – at last another Happy Campers van, and the exact same model as ours to boot! And we saw another a little later in the day, though this was the chunkier Ford Transit version with its own toilet – posh bastards!

Where was I? Oh yes – the afternoon. We’d been driving parallel to the southern alps for some time and were now officially in glacier country. The first glacier along the road was the Franz Josef glacier. The woman in the tourist info place (who thought we may have been twins because we have the same mouth) told us that the car park was only a few minutes down the road, but the closest we could get to Franz Josef was 500 metres because it is too unsafe to walk on – even guided tours don’t go there now. Plus there’s a risk of rocks and ice falling from above.

The weather was still being kind, so we headed out on foot, wondering if we’d be able to sneak over the fence at the 500 metre boundary and touch a bit of snow. Unfortunately our consciences got the better of us and we decided against it. Plus there were other people around. Two of them were a young couple from the USA who we chatted to for half an hour about our adventures crossing the USA – how long ago that all seems now! They were from Utah, to be precise, and we shared a joke about the state policy of limiting the strength of beer to 3.2%. Pausing to take a shot of Pip with the glacier in the background, I forgot to get their names and a picture for the blog, so here they are far away in the distance, walking back to the car park, forever unknown to us.

Looking forward to Franz Josef…

We couldn’t get much further than this…

…and the close-up doesn’t really do the big icy fellah justice…

Oh well, never mind, it was still a fun walk, and tomorrow we’re going to check out Fox Glacier, which is the bigger of the two. And tonight we’re parked up halfway between the two glaciers, on a patch of gravel just off of Highway 6. I’ll save the obligatory shot of The Chariot sitting patiently in its outdoor paradise until the morning / tomorrow’s entry.

Sleep well, all.

Sunday, 19/08/2012 - 65 A.D. 

I awoke suddenly in the night to hear Tim come up with this little cracker:

Tim: James!

James: What?

Tim: We’re rolling backwards!

James: [Remembering that we deliberately parked up on level ground.] No, we’re not.

Tim: Oh, I thought the van was moving backwards.

[He then goes back to sleep (if he was even awake to begin with).]

And he had no memory of it come the morning. I’m getting worried about that boy! Even when we stay at legitimate campsites, he wakes up in the night thinking that we’ve camped somewhere we’re not allowed to. However, he was in full waking consciousness when he came up with his new first-thing-in-the-morning-nickname for me - “Sonic”. It’s not because I’m fast. 

I’m afraid to say that I got up feeling a bit ropey this morning. I figured it was just from sleeping too heavy (when I wasn’t being woken in the night by shouts) and that it would pass once we got mobile. And it sort of did by the middle of the day, but I still felt that something might be lingering. Two months in and I’ve opened my first sachet of Morrisons Max Flu Strength – not done too badly, have I? Still no sign of illness with young Timothy…probably because his germs have jumped to me!

As mentioned yesterday, we were heading to Fox Glacier, but this morning we stopped off at Lake Matheson, which is meant to be beautiful on a fine, sunny day…only we didn’t have much sun. Well, any really, but nor did we have any rain. Now as you know, we’ve seen quite a lot of lakes on our NZ travels and, as beautiful as they all are, I fear saturation point may not be too long in coming. Is it perverse of me to tire of such beauty? Nah, I’ll just blame it on feeling ropey!

Quality moment of the day – as we were driving down highway 6 we got, not just a wave from a fellow camper van driver, but a whole salute! He must have been Scottish.

Mr. Rain continued to show mercy as we made our way to our second glacier in two days. We’d considered booking on to one of the guided tours, but then discovered they don’t take you a great deal further than you can get on your own. Helicopter rides to the top are also an option, but there was no way I was going to go for that, and you know why.

All around us were crystal clear waters of a perfect shade of blue…

…but then we came to the following sign…

…which we ignored like everyone else did…

And that really was as close as we could get to it. On the notice boards they print copies of newspaper reports where people have snuck up to the glacier to touch the ice and the situation ended very badly indeed. Plus there was no way I was going to get past this rough `n` ready bloke…

We were due to spend the night at a campsite in the small village of Haast, a settlement mainly used as a stop-off point along highway 6. But before we arrived we made our own stop-off at Bruce Bay, where the custom is to write down your details and a message for the world on one of the white stones that lie upon the beach.

Haasta la vista, baby!