June, the month of long, hot days and short, balmy nights. Perhaps that is what we have come to expect over recent years. Not this. Our walk across Devon from Wembury in the south to Lynmouth in the north was one I will always associate with rain and cool temperatures, of wearing more layers on a walk than I would in winter, of early nights, listening to the rain pattering on canvas. To make matters even more depressing I chose to go alcohol and bread free for two weeks!
Our first camp was at the very extensive River Dart Country Park, with so many amenities and activities it is possible never to leave, particularly if you are a child. But we had a mission to walk the 117 miles across Dartmoor, Exmoor and all the bits in between.
It wasn’t actually raining as we assembled on the beach at Wembury, but it was promised. Distracted by the pilates class taking place on the beach, we took the wrong path. I’m sure we went wrong so we could linger longer over the stretching lycra clad limbs. Eventually, it was they who pointed us in the right direction.
There was much debate as to how far we were to walk on this first day. The guide book said 17 miles, David Thomas said 14 miles, some discrepancy. The going was quite easy, following footpaths across farmland, despite the rain that was now falling steadily.
Although we were following the Two Moors Way, that fact was not recognised on any of the signposts; we were walking the Erme-Plym Trail to Ivybridge where the original Two Moors Way started. The start was subsequently moved to Wembury to create the Devon Coast to Coast.
Passing through the villages of Brixton and Yealmpton we missed the opportunity to take a break in a cafe. As we didn’t see anything on the trail I decided not to venture off trail in search of one. We still did not know how far we were going to be walking and sitting around in a cafe with wet clothing held little appeal. There were others who would have welcomed a coffee break!
Gradually the weather improved and by the time we reached Ermington, the end was in sight. We were to find the minibus parked close to a finger post that told us that Wembury was 15 miles away and my Strava App told me we had walked 15.36 miles, so both the guide book and David were wrong.
The second day, despite temperatures struggling to get into double figures was one of the best. Not only did it take us up on to the tops of Dartmoor, it remained dry throughout. We quickly climbed out of Ivybridge, and as we did so, the view of where we had walked the previous day opened up.
Our first high point was Butterdon Hill. From there we headed predominantly north, following occasional stones standing vertically out of the moor. They are part of the longest row of standing stones in the world, being two miles in length. These rows, and sometimes circles of stones, are of historical significance, having stood there for hundreds, or even thousands, of years, marking the way across the bleak moors, depicting burial sites and boundaries. These would have been very useful if the weather had been so poor that the upland was covered in cloud. However, today was bright and clear.
As we progressed across the moorland we came across herds of cattle, largely Belted Galloways, short and stocky and well able to withstand the harsh upland conditions.
For much of the route we were due to follow a disused railway line that crossed the moor to Red Lake where there were deposits of China clay. This was hard underfoot so, where we could, we took alternative routes across the softer grass. This was much more pleasant and took away the tedium of walking on a manufactured trail. By following this route we crossed Glasscombe Ball, Piles Hill, Sharp Tor and Quickbeam Hill. It was on the descent from the latter that I made a navigational error and everybody was so relaxed and enjoying the walk that they never noticed. It was only when we reached the Red Lake and a pyramid spoil heap half a mile later, did we realise the mistake. However, there was a good reason for going wrong, for while we were off route we came across a very lame Dartmoor pony. Simon, Sandie and Celeste were able to make contact with the appropriate authorities who would come out to see the pony and take the necessary action. So, it was worth going wrong.
Bizarrely, I discovered, about a 100m from where we went wrong, there was the only way marker on the whole of Dartmoor, a huge stone standing clearly by the path. How we all missed it, I will never know.
Back on the right track, we descended steeply to a valley with a clapper bridge over the stream. Shortly afterwards we came across the Huntingdon Cross, a 16th C Dartmoor Forest boundary marker.
Climbing again with signs of ancient settlements all around us, we passed between Hickerton Hill and Pupers Hill before making the long descent into Scoriton. We had , earlier, toyed with the idea of going on to Holne in order to give us a better chance to walk further the next day, knowing that some pretty foul weather was coming our way in a couple of days time. As it was, we wasted time going off route, so we stuck to our original plan.
On reaching Scorriton there was no sign of the minibus, so once the pub had opened we headed there for refreshment. (You will notice in the previous paragraph that I have spelt it with one “r” while in this I have used two “rr”) This is because there is some ambiguity over the spelling. Maps and the guide book use two, while the village signs use only one. Locals insist it has only one “r”. Eventually the minibus arrived and took us back to camp.
Having spent a day high on the moors, it was a little disappointing to find ourselves down in the valleys again. It’s not that they are not beautiful but I would have hoped that the walk lived up to its name.
There had also been a lack of places to stop to enjoy a coffee in the morning, but I was determined that today, we should take advantage of the community shop and cafe in Holne, just thirty minutes into our walk. Unfortunately, the shop did not open until 11.00 and the cafe until the weekend. Clearly, the Two Moors Way is not as popular as I had thought. In fact, we had yet to meet anybody walking it.
So, coffeeless, we ploughed on. Having followed a delightful section of the River Dart, we began to climb above the valley. As we did so we saw, in the distance, a figure coming towards us. It was Bobby, Claire’s husband, jogging to meet us in his rather lurid green trainers! Showers were all around us but we managed to avoid the worst of them.
Another descent into the hamlet of Ponsworthy then took us along a stretch of the River Webburn before climbing and descending a hill, by road, that took us down to Widecombe in the Moor, a delightful village surrounded by moorland. In the middle is the Old Inn, where we found ourselves settled before heading back to camp. It was so delightful there that we decided we would eat there on our last night before moving camp for the northern half of the walk.
The rain we had been expecting had arrived during the night. There was no way of avoiding it as it was set for, at least, the morning. Frantic checking of weather apps told us that it might clear in the afternoon.
From Widecombe in the Moor, there are two alternative routes, a high level and a low level one. As the weather was so foul, and the moors were shrouded in cloud, we decided to take the low level. This necessitated a long road section out of the village, which, by the time we reached the end of it, was mind numbingly boring. We had a choice. We could continue along the low level route, through wet and slippery fields, often overlooked by dripping trees, or brave the high level route, which might be more interesting. We plumped for the high level route. As we climbed the wind became stronger and, as we were walking into the wind, it became less pleasant. Enthusiasm began to wane, so, giving people a chance to say what they felt, we went back down to resume the low level route. It was pretty damp, but we were, at least, out of the wind.
Not many photos of the day were taken as it was just too horrible to get the camera out. However, we did stop for lunch in the hamlet of Lettaford. Claire, looking for somewhere dry to sit, saw a door that she thought led into a barn. Opening it, she found herself in the hallway to a house. Fortunately, only we noticed.
As the afternoon progressed the weather improved and we began to dry out. Before reaching Chagford, we passed Gidleigh Park, a renowned hotel with a Michelin starred chef of reputation. As we walked down the lane a number of chauffeur driven cars and taxis carried affluent, often overweight, clients up to the hotel, clearly to sample the fare on offer.
We eventually finished on the outskirts of the little market town of Chagford, but had to walk into the centre in order to pick up the minibus. There, we came across a delightful little cafe, the Green Man Cafe, just before closing time, where we managed to secure a cracking cream tea each. It was the best part of the day!
Now that we had reached Chagford, we had left Dartmoor behind us, and we had a few days of walking through the agricultural heartland of Devon before encountering Exmoor. The weather had improved again, but rain was never far away and we always made sure that if we weren’t wearing waterproofs, they were easily accessible.
Leaving Chagford, we followed the River Teign before climbing up the wooded slopes beneath Castle Drogo. This took us in high up into the Teign Gorge, where, from our elevated position, we looked down on to densely wooded slopes. It was very beautiful. The walking was pretty easy and we made good progress, arriving in Drewsteignton before opening time. (We only wanted a coffee). More rain greeted our arrival in the village so we visited the church for shelter while we waited for the pub to open at midday.
In the church there was an inscribed stone with a spelling mistake on it. The first word was “This” but the “s” had been missed out. After the second word “stone” had been carved the stone worker realised his mistake, or had it pointed out to him, and inserted the “s” hoping that nobody would notice.
Having had our coffee in the pub, we continued, looking for somewhere suitable for a lunch stop. We came across many fields of cattle during the course of our walk and they were always curious, particularly the young steers who would gather around, run off, gather around but never brave enough to cause us any harm. We needed to avoid lunching in fields that contained cows, not just because they were in the field but for what they do in the field. Sheep are much more accommodating and, having passed through one field of curious cattle we came to a field of sheep, with another field of cattle beyond. The sheep ran off, and we had a very relaxed lunch sitting on the sloping grass, feeling the warmth of the sun for a change.
Dragging ourselves on, we crossed field after field until we reached the hamlet of Hittisleigh where the last section was road. We had cut the distance short for the day because of concerns over the minibus coping with very narrow lanes. Hence, we stopped in the middle of nowhere.
We had now completed just over half the distance and it was time to take a day off walking while we moved camp. As we approached Yeatheridge Farm, near Withering, the heavens opened and it looked like it was going to be a very unpleasant process of establishing camp. Fortunately, the rain eased, the sun came out and the remainder of the day was very pleasant. With everything set up, people sat in the sun drinking Pimms while some of us played Kubb. This proved to be the only occasion when the weather was good enough for such relaxation and activity.
I had hoped and expected that the weather might be better in the north of the county but, in fact, it proved to be worse, with more rain. We were joined, for this second leg of the journey by Sally, Libby and newbie, Jan, who were all staying in a rather palatial fixed caravan on the site. Somewhere to go to avoid the rain.
As we set off from the middle of nowhere my phone rang. It was a call I needed to take, so I told the group to go ahead and I would catch them up. The call took several minutes, and having finished it, I set off quickly to catch up. I could not see them ahead. They had made good progress. I reached a point where I could see quite a way ahead and there was no sign of them. They had made really good progress! Then I received a message to look behind me. There, coming over the brow of a hill was the group. How did that happen? Why didn’t I see them? Had they gone wrong? None of that. They hid in an entrance to a field and watched me go by, and because I had my head down and was striding out, I never saw them. When they slowly caught up with me, they blamed Jan but I know otherwise. I would have done exactly the same thing had David taken a call!
The rest of the day was spent crossing field after field of mixed farmland, taking lunch and shelter in the church at Clannaborough Barton while a heavy shower passed over. This was the pattern; it was lovely countryside with nothing particularly spectacular about it. It was a route that had to be taken to link the two moors. As we approached Black Dog and the end of our day’s walk the skies turned very black and we just managed to get back to camp before the heavens opened and we were treated to some rumbles of thunder.
On returning to camp we learned that it had been subjected to a fierce thunderstorm with golf ball sized hail stones that tested the canvass of the shelters and tents. Fortunately, they resisted. It was also fortunate that we managed not to be walking in such extreme weather.
It rained pretty much the rest of the night and although we were dry, apart from a few drips, in the mess it was pretty uncomfortable. Thankfully Yeatheridge Farm has a comfortable bar and a games room, which we took a liking to.
Sodden earth under leaden skies greeted us the next morning and it was still raining heavily. It wasn’t far from Black Dog to Witheridge, so I suggested Angela meet us there for coffee. She could be the advance party to find the best place for us. Spirits were a bit damp and we needed a comfortable coffee break. The message came to me that there were no cafes open in Witheridge and my feelings for the place plummeted. True enough, they were all closed apart from a room that advertised coffee, conversation and companionship, a place for lonely old people I realised as I stuck my head around the door. Ideal! Not! In the end we discovered that the shop served hot drinks and, rather than coffee, the comfort of a hot chocolate, and a pasty was much appreciated.
After Witheridge, we had a long section of road, the only interest along it being the naturist caravan and camp site at Acorns. If we could have seen over the high hedges and fences, I doubt we would have seen any naked cavorting on such a miserable day.
One outcome of such miserable weather was the fact that it was very unpleasant to stop for long. When we stopped for lunch in a small copse, we soon got cold. Hence we reached Knowstone, our finishing point, in good time. The Masons Arms, although officially closed, were happy to sell us drinks while we waited for Angela and the minibus. It had, at last, stopped raining.
That night, instead of huddling around in the damp, chilly mess tent, we abandoned it for the comfort of the restaurant and bar of the camp site.
The countryside north of Knowstone was becoming more interesting. Exmoor was showing more of itself as we approached, and we were not always walking across farmland. There were still lengthy sections of quiet country lanes but they, at least allowed us to make good progress, even if the surface was boring.
Having crossed West Anstey Moor, we stopped in Hawkeridge for lunch, where we were to meet three of our group who had chosen to take a shorter walk. By the time we were ready to move on, and the cold was beginning to penetrate, they had not arrived, so, leaving David behind to wait for them, we cracked on. A steady climb, followed by a steep descent, dropped us down to Tarr Steps, a series of clapper bridges across the River Barle. I have not come across this river before, but it is a most delightful stretch of water as we followed it all the way to Withypool. After all the rain we had been experiencing the river was running quite high and the run off from the hills above turned the path into a watery obstacle course. For me it was one of the nicest sections of the whole walk.
In Withypool, we found the cafe before the minibus, so treated ourselves to a cream tea!
The penultimate day’s walk was the shortest, from Withypool to Simonsbath. A steady climb out of Withypool took us up on to the moor, the grey, damp weather persisting. No sooner had we climbed, then we descended to the River Barle again and followed it all the way into Simonsbath, arriving in good time to visit the pub. Only we were not made to feel very welcome when they asked us to remove our boots. The first three, including Claire who had carried a pair of polythene overshoes, obliged but were then forced to drink up quickly as the others couldn’t be bothered.
From Simonsbath we immediately climbed up on to the moors where herds of young cattle followed us with interest. Despite being cloudy, it was quite a pleasant day. Having reached Exe Head, the source of the River Exe, we began our descent towards the north coast. It was great walking country and it was easy, on good paths, to make excellent progress.
By the time we reached Cheriton, where we were hoping to find somewhere for a lunch stop, it was raining heavily, so we continued a little further, seeking shelter in some woods. They provided little shelter as by now huge drips wall falling on us from the canopy, as well as the rain.
We were now walking high above the East Lyn River. Mist drifted among the trees and clouds fringed the tops of the cliffs. Across the water we could make out the coast of South Wales.
The rain came and went, water proofs were put on and taken off, all the time delaying our arrival time in Lynmouth. With the end in sight, the Two Moors Way was going to have the last word and a sudden deluge hit us. It absolutely tipped it down as we walked into the small coastal town. The walk had tried everything it could to dampen our spirits, but we had overcome and completed it, remaining cheerful throughout. And to prove it, I dripped all over the Two Moors Way register that people sign upon completion in the Pavilion. There we were told that traditionally people carry a stone from Wembury and deposit it on the beach at Lynmouth. Oops!
That night we celebrated our feat with a meal in the campsite restaurant and a bar tab, courtesy of Stella who was unable to join us. On reading this, I think she might be grateful. Newbie, Jan entertained us with her ukulele, something she had been threatening to do all week!
So, that is the two Moors Way ticked off. Would I do it again? No! It is a good walk but the highlights are very much Dartmoor and Exmoor, and very little time is actually spent high on the moors. I would certainly go back to explore the two moors again, hopefully in better weather, next time.
Hats off to everybody who stuck it out, particularly Angela and Annie who didn’t have any of the enjoyment of the walking but had to concentrate on making sure we got to our start point each day, were there to pick us up, and, most importantly to feed us. On that note, despite not drinking alcohol, barely eating bread, and walking 120miles I put on half a stone! How does that happen? Oh, there was bit of cake each day, and two cream teas, and two pasties. Perhaps that is how.
The ferry across Cook Strait from Wellington to Picton is a three and half hour journey full of interest. From the moment you set sail you see the Wellington waterfront shrink in the distance and as you drift out of the harbour and into Fitzroy Bay. You are never very far from land, even when in the middle of Cook Strait. The sea can be interesting in bad weather, partly because there are conflicting currents being squeezed between the islands. Today it was relatively calm. All the time the rugged coast of South Island is getting nearer. For the last hour of the crossing we travel slowly up Marlborough Sound, never far from land on either shore. The water is beautifully blue. On the shore there are some handsome waterside homes. At the head of the sound is Picton, a lovely coastal town; the gateway to South Island.
With time to explore and enjoy Picton, Tina, Paul and I decide on an impulse, to take a 45- minute scenic flight over the Sounds. The Marlborough Sounds are a series of drowned valleys created by rising sea levels. They are long strands of water separated by long ridges of forested hillsides. The small airfield of Pelorus Air is a few miles inland. Arriving at the allotted time, the procedure before climbing aboard is very relaxed.
Paperwork done, we climbed aboard our Cessna 172, with me taking the co-pilot’s seat while Tina and Paul took the two rear seats. Flying north, we flew over Picton and over the still, blue waters of Queen Charlotte Sound. We had told our pilot that we were going to be walking the Queen Charlotte Track, so he took us to overlook places where we would be walking. Flying over the first ridge we were taken over Kenepuru Sound. Here, the water was a lighter, greener shade of blue because it is not as deep as the Queen Charlotte Sound and the water is less exposed to ocean influences. Then we flew over Pelorus Sound and out to the islands on the outer edge of the sounds. Until we reached those outer edges, the hills were heavily wooded down to the water’s edge, whilst the islands tended to be treeless.
Our flight took us to a bay on the outer edge of the sounds, named Port Gore. As we flew our pilot told us the story of the Russian cruise ship, MS Mikhail Lermantov, which sank there on February 16th 1986 in somewhat bizarre circumstances. The New Zealand ship’s pilot, who was guiding the ship out of the sounds took it through a gap between the mainland and rocky outcrops where no ship should go. The inevitable happened, and a 25m gash split the hull. At first a mayday call went out and nearby shipping changed their courses to come to the rescue. However, when the crew managed to steer the crippled ship into the calm waters of Port Gore, with the intention of beaching her on the sandy beach, the mayday call was withdrawn, and the rescue ships resumed their original courses.
The Mikhail Lermantov ran aground about a ship’s length from the shore. The captain, believing that the incoming tide would push it closer to shore, did not drop the anchors. What he hoped for and expected did not happen. Instead, the ship drifted back out into the middle of the bay, keeled over on to its side and sank in 38m of water. A Dunkirk-like flotilla of small boats came to the rescue and, all but one of her 738 passengers and crew were rescued. After that the incident became a mystery as the Russian Embassy took over and a bureaucratic cloak was thrown over the sunken ship. The ship’s pilot, who had made a huge error of judgement, was suspended for two years before resuming his job as a pilot.
From the outer edges of the sounds we had fantastic clear views and a long way to the north we could make out the distinctive shape of Mt. Taranaki half way up North Island’s west coast. We had now reached the limit of our flight, so we headed back towards Picton, revelling in the fabulous views of the sounds below.
It had cost us each $159 (c. £80), and as an impulse purchase, it was incredible value for money. Would I do it again? I most certainly would!
That night we ate at the Picton Yacht Club Hotel, which, although very quiet, provided us with a superb meal. Claire maintained that her Porterhouse steak was the best steak she had ever had. We were so impressed with the food that we invited the chef into the restaurant so that we could thank him personally. It turned out that the head chef was off that night, but we were joined by a Brazilian chef and his wife who were both on duty that evening and were responsible for giving us such good fare.
The following morning, we left any unwanted kit and the minibus at Aldan Lodge Motel and took the Beachcomber water taxi out to Ship Cove for the start of our trek along the Queen Charlotte Track, a 71km walk, to be covered in four days. While we waited for the boat to take us on the journey, we were fascinated by a stingray swimming around the jetty, among the moored boats. All we needed to carry was a day pack as our reduced luggage was transported each day by water taxi from one overnight stop to the next.
En route we stopped and circled a salmon farm. We were not the only ones circling it, for there were a number of seals interested in finding a way in to the heavily protected floating farm. We were told stories of how seals find their way in and gorge themselves. The farmers increase the defences for such attacks, but the seals never give up. The farmers and the seals play a constant game of cat and mouse. Also, standing on posts between each of the pens, waiting for any opportunity, were numerous cormorants. Before we reached our destination we also called in at Motuara Island, a scenic reserve opposite Ship Cove.
Ship Cove is the place that James Cook favoured every time he wanted to rest his crew, make repairs and restock his ships with food and water. It is where he made most contact with Maori who were eager to trade with him, and it was a base from which he explored further. There is a memorial to him at the back of the beach.
Having explored the historical site and gleaned as much information as we could take in we set off on the 13km section of the track to Endeavour Inlet. As soon as we left the beach we were in forest, and that is very much the theme of the walk. Much of the time we were in virgin forest, with only glimpses of the blue waters below, or from high points, more distant vistas. Just when we thought we might have an opportunity to go to the water’s edge in Resolution Bay, signage clearly told us that it was private land. There was no access to the sea.
All along the route we were accompanied by cicadas, with their high pitched, constant hum. Anybody who walks this trail begins to understand what it must be like to live with tinnitus! We also came across several weka, a ground bird about the size of a chicken. They blocked our path and showed no fear. If we stopped for a rest or a snack, it was not long before a weka joined us in the hope that we might drop a few crumbs.
Occasionally, between the trees, we achieved some wonderful views of the blue sounds fringed with thick forest. It was just a little frustrating that these views were so infrequent. For most of the journey we had to limit our horizons to our immediate vicinity. There was plenty of variety in the trees that we saw and although most of the flowers had gone beyond their best, there were still some to maintain our interest. Just before we reached Furneaux Lodge at Endeavour Inlet, I took a short detour, climbing up to see a huge rimu tree. A platform has been built around the tree to protect it from an increasing number of admirers. What is fantastic about this tree is that it is more than 1000 years old and has a circumference of 6.2m.
Furneaux Lodge is a former home that has been converted into an accommodation lodge. The original house where the bar and restaurant are, has the original panelled walls and décor to match. It all looks a little dated but its position on the edge of the sound is to die for. The accommodation spreads out in bungalows of varying size catering for every pocket. We learned that it has been purchased by a Marlborough business group and they have plans to redevelop the site. That includes knocking down the rooms we were staying in, to build a waterfront restaurant and bar, converting the existing facilities into a conference centre.
The walk from Endeavour Inlet to Punga Cove was more of the same, although we were not quite so much under the canopy of trees. Hence, we were exposed to the strong rays of the sun, but we did get more expansive views, and for a while we watched a couple of seals frolicking in the sound. The conditions were perfect, and, without any wind, the water was glass-like.
It did not take us long to cover the short distance of the day and we were comfortably in Punga Cove by lunch time. This gave us plenty of time to enjoy the beautiful waterfront with its beach, jetty, bar and restaurant. To be honest, once we were settled there, we did not feel the urge to go back to our rooms as it was a very steep climb to the top of the resort. The sea was warm and, diving off the end of the jetty gave a new dimension to our enjoyment. Afterwards we watched stingrays swim immediately in front of the bar and around the jetty!
The third day of our trek was the long one from Punga Cove to The Portage, a distance of about 24km. It is affectionately known as “the big day”. To get back on to the track we had to climb up from Punga Cove to Kenepura Saddle. Fortunately, our accommodation was near the top of the resort, so we didn’t have quite so far to go. From the saddle we had views back over the trail we had covered the previous two days and views into the Kenepura Valley. The waters of Kenepura Sound were some distance down the valley so, instead of looking down on the water, we looked down on late summer farmland.
The route followed the ridge all the way round between the Queen Charlotte Sound and the Kenepura Valley. Because of the density of the forest, the views were limited. However, we came across a track leading off from the main track, climbing up to Eatwells Lookout. The path up was steep, but it was so worth the effort for the views. The sun was still fairly low in the sky and the angle created a silver sheen across the surface of the sound. It was the most perfect spot to gaze upon the beauty of the area and easily made up for all the time we had spent among the trees.
The rest of the walk passed uneventfully. The last hour or so seemed to drag a little as we knew we were close to the Torea Saddle from which we would drop down to The Portage, but it was a long time coming. After about seven hours of sweaty labour, we reached the saddle and The Portage. I last visited The Portage in 2012 when Ben and Kelly got married on the lawn sweeping down to Kenepura Sound. I remember it being lively, although that could have been because of the wedding. Recently it has had a refurbishment and it all seemed a bit cold and clinical. The facilities are excellent, but they lacked soul and warmth.
To our surprise the next day was dull and damp. Cloud hung about the tops of the ridges. It did not bode too well for our last 21km of the Queen Charlotte Track. We had to make a prompt start as we were to be picked up from Anakiwa at 3.30pm. The start of our day necessitated the longest climb of the whole walk. Not only did we have to climb back up to the Torea Saddle in order to regain the track but then we had the long climb up to the summit of Shamrock Ridge, which seemed much further than its 407m above the sound. The summit had been in cloud, since we set out, but it miraculously cleared for our brief time up there, sadly views were very restricted by the general murkiness of the day. As we descended, the clouds returned to shroud the summit once more.
As the morning progressed and we got closer to our destination, the weather was improving. Much of our conversation on the last half of the day centred around animal poo. There were some examples on the track, which could have been either very tidy cows or large pigs. We never did get to the bottom of the conundrum, despite involving locals in our conversation. We saw cows in fields below the path and we were made aware that there were wild pigs in the forest. Who the culprits were for fouling on the path, we shall never know. In glorious sunshine, we arrived in good time, soon after 1.00pm. Thankfully, the little caravan café at the end of the trail opened at 1.30 and we were able to take some refreshment and wile away our time comfortably, waiting for our water taxi to take us back to Picton.
Back in Picton, I contacted Angela to see if she would like to join us in Marahau for three nights while we enjoyed the Abel Tasman National Park. It was also our wedding anniversary weekend, so it seemed like a good plan. We agreed to pick her up from Nelson Airport as we drove through the next day.
A visit to Nelson was well worth it. It was a Saturday and the main square in town was given over to a large street market, which, on the whole, seemed to sell quality items from ethnic foods to crafts and everything in between. I managed to buy a Maori jade pendent for Angela called a Rau Kumara which represents two lives intertwined in an eternal bond of friendship and loyalty. Sloppy, I know, but apt
With time to kill we tried to find a beach and a vineyard to satisfy the needs of all the group. We failed to find the beach we were looking for and the vineyard we chose did not excite the taste buds, so we returned to the airport for a cup of tea while we waited for Angela to arrive.
The house in Marahau was perfect for our needs and was a couple of hundred metres inland from the waterfront road. To make it more fun, it had a full size snooker table, at which I found Mike practising on numerous occasions.
We had nothing specific planned for our stay in the Abel Tasman National Park. Whilst I was keen for the group to see and do as much as they could in the time, I was also conscious that it was an opportunity to recharge the batteries a bit. To that end, we spent our first morning relaxing on the beach and swimming at Split Apple Rock Bay. It is so named because of the large spherical boulder split cleanly in two which sits on a reef in the bay. It is a remarkable feature and it is only when you swim out to it, that you really appreciate how big it is, and how sharp the shells are that adorn the rocks at its base. Some weeks after the visit, my feet still bear the scars from trying to clamber up on to the rocks.
Later in the day I suggested driving north to see more of the National Park. It proved a bit of an epic journey, but it did involve visiting Hawkes Lookout, more deserted beaches and a memorial to mark Abel Tasman’s visit to New Zealand in 1642, long before Cook. We had quite a late dinner that night.
We were back on the walking trail, but first we had to take a water taxi from Marahau to Anchorage Bay. For some reason there was a little confusion about our booking and, instead of boarding our water taxi in the car park and being towed to the launching ramp by tractor, we were taken to board at the ramp. There is something surreal about driving along the road in a boat, something we were all looking forward to experiencing. Before we went to Anchorage Bay we visited Split Apple Rock and then Adele Island, a haven for birds and marine mammals. There were plenty of seals and pups lounging around on the rocks by the water’s edge. Afterwards we went straight to Anchorage Bay, a very sheltered spot with a sweeping arc of a beach.
The Abel Tasman Track follows the length of the coast, but we were picking it up to walk the last 19km back to Marahau. As soon as stepped off the boat we bumped into Paul who had taken a couple of days off from the group to go kayaking and camping. He was bouncing with enthusiasm.
Although we were walking amongst vegetation it was much less dense than in the Marlborough Sounds and we had plenty of opportunity to gaze on the blue seas and golden beaches. At every opportunity we descended to the beach to take a closer look. Unlike many of the beaches we had experienced so far on this trip, they were not deserted. They weren’t particularly crowded either, despite it being a perfect beach day. It takes some effort to reach them, either by land or by kayak, so they are never unpleasantly busy. The golden sand is beautiful to both look at and walk on. We spent a very pleasant hour during lunch enjoying the beach at Stilwell Bay, the wading birds on the shoreline and the knowledge that we were in a most beautiful of locations.
As we neared Marahau we had a choice of sticking to the route or cutting off a corner by taking a short cut across the expansive beach now that the tide was out. At first, I declined the idea but seeing Tina stride out across the beach I thought I would give it a go. None of the rest were aware of what we were doing. Unlike all the other beaches we had seen during the course of the walk, this was not golden sand but grey with patches of mud and pools of water left behind after the tide had gone out. It became an exercise in navigating the driest route, but it eventually became impossible and I ended up wading through water that ensured my footwear was thoroughly soaked.
That night Angela and I took time off from the group to celebrate our wedding anniversary at Hooked on Marahau, the restaurant/café/bar on the waterfront. A great meal and the Rau Kumar was well received.
The next day, having dropped Angela off at Nelson Airport, we headed south west, eventually following the Buller River and gorge to Westport where we picked up Highway 6, which runs the length of the west coast of South Island. Here the coast is a lot wilder, with grey, sandy beaches rather than golden. What makes this coast so remarkable is the amount of woodland debris that litters the beach above the high tide mark. It is unbelievable how much there is, and where did it come from?
We had some distance to cover, so we did not delay and continued south to the Punakaiki Pancake Rocks. These are really best seen at high tide when there is a rough sea, so that the water is forced up through blow holes. Unfortunately, our visit coincided with low tide and there was not much of a swell. Also, it had become cloudy now that we were on the west coast, so the colours of the rocks were muted. It is another example of the diverse geological structure of New Zealand.
Continuing south, we reached the outskirts of Hokitika. We were staying at Birdsong YHA, an independent hostel but still under the wing of the parent organisation. The owner/warden, originally from Cheshire, suggested we eat out at the Royal Mail Hotel as they do a 2 for 1 on a Tuesday night. Looking at it from the outside, without recommendation, we would probably sort out somewhere else to eat, but the car park was full, so it can’t be that bad. It was heaving inside but as we had booked a table, there was room for us. The food was excellent, and they even had non-alcoholic beer for me, the driver. By the time we had finished our meal the pub had almost emptied. The kitchens were closed, and everybody had had their fill. There were just a few hardened drinkers left at the bar.
Before we returned to Birdsong, we walked up from the pub for a couple of hundred metres to find a small tunnel into the roadside bank. Crouching down we crawled through into a “Lord of the Rings” world, a little dell overshadowed by thick trees. Light was fading outside but in here it was already dark. Except it wasn’t, for clinging to the earth mounds and the tree trunks were hundreds of glow worms, like miniature head torches, twinkling in every direction. Magical.
The west coast is renowned for dull and wet days. We woke up to just that the next morning. Before we headed down to Franz Joseph, we wanted to explore Hokitika a little and also visit the stunning Hokitika Gorge.
In late January, Hokitika hosts a festival of wood sculpture based on the beach, using nothing but drift wood. Everything has been stripped from the wood, all rough edges, all colour, apart from grey, it having been pounded by water and wind. Despite a few weeks since the festival there were still many makeshift sculptures along the beach, now at the mercy of the strong winds coming in from the west across the Tasman Sea. There is also a boat on the same shoreline, a memorial to the victims of rough seas, which, during the gold rush of the 1860s a ship floundered on these very shores once every ten weeks.
We headed inland to the beautiful Hokitika Gorge. At least, I told the group it was beautiful. I have a very clear image in my head of pristine, blue waters passing through the gorge. How disappointing to find on a grey, damp day, the waters were also grey and silty. We had taken a detour for this. At least the coffee bought from the caravan café near the carpark was good.
Continuing south, we next visited the gold rush town of Ross, where you can still try your hand at panning in the creek that flows through the town. Ross holds the Guinness World Record for the most number of people panning for gold in the same place at the same time on November 5th 2016. The whole town is really a museum, with many buildings from the 1860s restored and holding displays – the gaol, typical houses from the period the chapel, the pub, still operating today and a very informative visitor centre. From there we took the water trail, a short walk amongst the gold mining area where there are still relics from the mine workings. It is all very interesting and, if I am to believe what we were told in the visitor centre, Ross is still sitting on a fortune. If that is the case, I cannot understand why there is so little activity.
Franz Josef was our next destination and the glacier of the same name. We arrived at our Airbnb by mid-afternoon. It was close to one of the many helicopter scenic flight centres in the area and Tina and I were keen to enquire if there was any chance of us taking a flight. The weather had improved significantly but the mountains were still shrouded in cloud. Unfortunately, the flight we wanted to take up to Mt. Cook was off the agenda. We could take a flight that headed further north into the mountains, where they were clear of cloud, but it would not have been the same. We decided to give it a miss.
Instead we drove up to the car park and then walked up to the Franz Josef Glacier. I decided that the cloud might well clear as evening fell, and we would get, probably, the best views we could expect. Who knows what the weather would be doing in the morning? All the time, as we walked towards the glacier, clouds were lifting, revealing more and more of the upper part of the glacier. I have been here before and we were getting the best views I have had, so it turned out to be a good decision, particularly, as the next morning the clouds had returned, and the views were a little murky. Nevertheless, we still went to visit Fox Glacier in the rain.
I’m glad we did, for the next day we heard that there had been a massive landslide taking out the road that led up to Fox Glacier. It is going to be inaccessible for some considerable time, and there is some debate as to whether the authorities will even bother to rebuild it. At the same time, another landslide took out 400m of the SH6, the main highway we had travelled along to get to this part of South Island. Again, it highlighted the perfect timing of my itinerary. A day later and we would have had to make a very long detour in order to reach Wanaka, our next destination.
As we climbed up towards the Haast Pass, the vegetation was green and lush, thriving on enormous amounts of rainfall. But, having crossed the pass, there was an immediate change. The ground was parched and the grass yellow and straw-like. We were well and truly in a rain shadow area.
We eventually reached Lake Wanaka, a long, crooked finger of water than fills the valley for many a mile. When we stopped to appreciate its beauty, bathed in windy sunshine, we looked up towards the head of the lake and the mountains beyond where it was full of rain. Hopefully, for the next few days, at least, we could rely on some decent weather.
Crossing a small pass, we left Lake Wanaka behind, to follow along the shore of the, equally beautiful, Lake Hawea. This took us almost into Wanaka, a town at the head of the lake with the same name.
Wanaka is a lovely town, perhaps a little sleepy, but it is surrounded by beautiful mountains. Which one were we going to climb? I had originally thought we might climb Roy’s Peak but had been put off it by someone who knows the area well. He had recommended the Rob Roy Track as the best walk in the area, but, if I am honest, having done a little research, I was not convinced. It meant driving on unmade roads and across rivers, and I was not keen to take my hired bus. Had I done my research a little more thoroughly, I would have discovered that there is a bus service to take and collect you from the walk.
Instead, I chose Isthmus Peak, a peak of 1386m on an isthmus between Lakes Wanaka and Hawea. It was a glorious day. It proved to be a long, often hard, climb but, all the time there were outstanding views of Lake Hawea below, which spurred you on, knowing that the views would only get better.
When we reached the summit ridge there was a small, insignificant peak to our left. I visited it because, at that stage, I was not sure I could be bothered to walk to Isthmus Peak twenty minutes or so to the right along the ridge. I was wearing new boots, which I had not bothered to break in, and I was developing blisters. I don’t think there was anything wrong with the boots; I had got my sock combination wrong.
As we came over the top we were hit by a fierce wind, doing its very best to knock us over. It was difficult to stand upright and even more so to hold a cameral still. Having been to this summit, common sense prevailed, and I went on to visit the summit of Isthmus Peak, where there was hardly a breath of wind. The lack of wind ensured that I could spend some time up there soaking up the view before heading back down. I’m glad I chose this walk over all others. It is an outstanding day’s walk.
It would be easy to spend a week in Wanaka, exploring all the different walking opportunities on offer, but we did not have that luxury as we headed off on a relatively short drive to Queenstown, the adventure capital of South Island. Queenstown is in the most stunning of locations. It sits on the shores of Lake Wakatipu and is surrounded by beautiful mountains with names like ‘The Remarkables’. They are truly remarkable.
Tina and Brenda left us for a few days of their own exploration, particularly of Doubtful Sound.
With time to spare in the afternoon, I decided to take a trip on a jet boat on the Karawau and Shotover Rivers. I’ve jet boated before on the Shotover River but further upstream. I could never understand why, when you were hurtling along towards cliffs and boulders in 3 inches of water, they gave you a life jacket and no helmet! By comparison, this, as enjoyable as it was, was somewhat tamer than my previous experience.
Having posted some pictures on Facebook, I received messages asking if I was OK. On the news were reports of a jet boat accident on the Shotover River, with casualties.
For the next three days we were carrying our own kit so, after a serious sort out and an analysis of only essential needs for the Routeburn Track, we headed off to the Routeburn Shelter via Glenorchy. In Glenorchy, I met the vehicle relocation people and also visited Mrs Woolley’s General store for a coffee. But it wasn’t just a coffee, was it? They sell pies and I chose the most delicious pork and apple pie, with crackling. It is the best pie I have ever had. I didn’t need it. I hadn’t long had breakfast. But I wanted it.
The Routeburn Track is a 32km. route across the Mt. Aspiring and Fiordland National Parks. It takes you through beech forest, alpine moorland and into craggy outcrops. I had chosen for us to do the walk in three days. It can obviously be done in less but the whole point was to enjoy the experience and not make it a challenge. Not knowing exactly what time we would leave Queenstown, how long it would take to get to the start, what the weather conditions would be like on the day, I chose the easy option of walking to Routeburn Flats Hut, a mere 6.5km from the Shelter.
It was easy, pleasant walking through wonderful beech forests, laden with hanging mosses above a carpet of thick, verdant moss. Birdsong filled the air. Beneath us the Routeburn, a myriad of blue and green pools between white, fast-flowing sections of river. At one bridge, we paused to watch a properly equipped group, one by one, slide down a rock into a pool of foaming water. Despite dawdling, we reached the hut by early afternoon. Still with energy to spare, Mike and I went off to explore the valley opposite the hut towards some snow-capped peaks. As I was wearing flip flops, I did not expect to get far. In the end, prudence got the better of me and I turned back.
That night, the hut was only half full and we had a room to ourselves.
The next day dawned just as bright and with about 14km of mountain walking to do, we were very grateful. From the Flats Hut it is a steady climb up through more beech forest. It was too nice to rush it. No need to worry, we were regularly ambushed by the New Zealand Black Robin, an extremely tame bird that mistakes boot laces for worms. We saw many of them on this early section of the walk and if you remained still they would come right up to you. Claire managed to get some photos of one perched on my foot, pecking away at my laces. It is so rewarding to get so close to nature.
After passing Routeburn Falls Hut we emerged from the forest on to open hillside. We were still climbing but we could see the way ahead and the slight depression of Harris Saddle, the high point of the route, we were aiming for. I scanned the hillsides for kea, but as hard as I looked I could not see any. We were now walking among tussocky grass with rocky outcrops, a favourite haunt for these fascinating, yet very naughty, birds. Before reaching the saddle the path skirts high above Lake Harris.
On Harris Saddle there is a shelter. It often rains in these mountains and the hut offers a little respite in such conditions. No need for respite today, but it does give you somewhere secure to leave your rucksack while you climb Conical Hill. It is only worth taking the steep climb up if you are guaranteed a good view from the top. Today was perfect and worth the effort. What a view. Completely surrounded by mountains, you look down the length of the Hollyford Valley to Lake McKerrow and beyond to Martin’s Bay and the Tasman Sea even further away. While Mike and I were climbing up there was a steady stream of people coming down, but when we got to the summit, we had it to ourselves. As we began our descent, so more people began arriving. It meant that our pictures were not polluted with other people in them.
All the way up to Harris Saddle we were in the Mt. Aspiring National Park. From the saddle onwards, we had passed into Fiordland National Park, and would remain so for the rest of the walk. From Harris Saddle we traversed the hillside for a long way before beginning the descent to Lake Mackenzie Hut.
Lake Mackenzie Hut is much larger than the Flats hut, sleeping 48 people in two dormitories. By the time we arrived, all the bottom bunks had gone. I could have chosen the long bunk on the other wall but that puts you in even closer proximity with your neighbours. Choosing a top bunk by the door, I prepared my bed for the night and then went out to enjoy the sunshine while sitting by the lake. Some brave, or foolish, people went swimming in the lake.
There is not a lot to do in these huts once you have eaten and socialised a little other than go to bed. It was still quite early, and I knew I would not get through the night without needing to get up for a pee. Sure enough, at 01.39 I got the message. Climbing down from my bunk I discovered noisily, that somebody had placed a metal dustpan and brush at the bottom of my ladder. The clatter reverberated through the dormitory and bodies stirred. Returning, relieved, I avoided the obstacle and climbed back on to my bunk. The mattresses are covered in some sort of shiny material that squeaks a lot when you move around on it. I could not find the entrance to my sleeping bag and, eventually, a “Shhhhhhh,” told me to give up. I lay there with my sleeping bag covering me as much as possible too frightened to move but spent the next hour listening to a constant stream of people, some of whom made far more noise than me, troop off to the loo and back. In one of the noisier moments I managed to get back into my bag and nod off to sleep. Community living!
The next morning, for the first forty-five minutes, we climbed gently up from the Mackenzie Hut, before traversing around the hillside, passing the 174m Earland Falls, which are more impressive in wet rather than fine weather. I know which I prefer. We took a short break at Lake Howden Hut prior to walking the last section up, and down, to the Divide, where our minibus would be waiting for us. We could have taken a detour up to Key Summit for panoramic views, but I was conscious that we needed to think about what was to follow the end of the walk, on to Milford Sound.
The minibus was there at the Divide. I am very impressed with the vehicle relocation service. What is most impressive is that, having taken the long drive round to the Divide, if they do not have a vehicle to relocate to the Shelter, they run back to Glenorchy over the Routeburn Track, the same journey we had spent three days walking.
The drive from the Divide to Milford Sound takes you through some amazing mountain scenery, literally as the road tunnels through one of them.
With a mean annual rainfall of 6,412 mm (252 in) each year, a high level even for the West Coast, Milford Sound is known as the wettest inhabited place in New Zealand and one of the wettest in the world. As we approached there was no sign of rain, just glorious sunshine. Wow! How lucky are we?
I was hoping that we could find some lunch in Milford to enjoy before our cruise, destined for 4.30. I hadn’t realised that there are no food outlets. Even the coffee machine was out of order. It is simply a large jetty with a number of providers selling cruises around the sound. They want to get people in, on the boats, and back out again. There is not the capacity for lots of people milling around. A brave decision, but the right one. How many of the UK’s beauty spots have been spoilt by commercialism of the wrong sort?
Visiting the cruise desk, I asked if there was a possibility of us catching an earlier one. Not a problem and we were transferred on to the 2.45 trip. This would make life a lot easier.
As it turned out there were not that many on the cruise and we were able to take prime spot on the bow of the boat. Immediately we left our birth and headed off we saw the first of many spectacular sights, the Lady Elizabeth Bowen Falls, just around the corner. They are Milford’s biggest falls with a drop of 162m. They are the only constant and reliable waterfall in the area and play a significant role in the life of Milford Sound, being the only source of electricity. In seriously wet weather they can quadruple their volume of water, while in uncharacteristic dry spells, the electricity may go off for a while. They are spectacular, particularly because they hit a ledge on the way down to give it an impressive pluming effect. Interestingly, when I was talking to a crew member, he said he preferred the cruise when it was wet because the waterfalls are so much more impressive. I could not find fault with the falls on this day.
The cruise followed the southerly side of the sound, passing under the steep slopes of the majestic Mitre Peak. We paused briefly to watch some climbers on a precipitously difficult pitch, below which lazed some seals.
Gradually the open Tasman Sea was getting closer. When conditions are less favourable, the cruise circuit tends to be much smaller, the boats turning to head back long before they reach open water. Today, the conditions were so good we headed beyond the headland on either side and turned much further out to sea.
On the return, we observed more seals lounging around on rocks, fixtures until the high tide makes it much easier for them to get off and they can embark on another fishing exercise.
One of the favourite fall is Stirling Falls, which captains like to take their boats under. Having been warned to step inside, he nudged the boat under the full force of the fall. When I last visited Milford, it was very wet, and we did not venture quite so close. Perhaps we were benefitting from the excellent conditions. Claire mistakenly left her bag on deck and it took several days for it to dry out thoroughly.
After nearly two hours on the water we returned to the quay and we set off on the long journey back to Queenstown, stopping at Te Anau for some supper. Te Anau is in a beautiful area with a lake surrounded by mountains. It is a centre from which many activities can occur and is possibly somewhere I could focus more attention on in a future trip.
By the time we reached the Lakeside YHA in Queenstown it had been a long, yet very satisfying, day and we were all ready to settle down.
More luck greeted us the next morning. Rain! No, we didn’t really want any rain, but we would all rather have it on a travelling day rather than an activity day.
Meeting up again with Tina and Brenda, we headed east to Dunedin and the Otago Peninsular. As we did so the rain eased, the sun came out, but we were left with some very strong winds.
We were booked in to the Royal Albatross Centre right at the end of the peninsular. It is the only mainland colony of albatross in the world. While we were waiting for the experience to start, the power went off. It meant we could not watch the planned film, so our guide talked to us about the life of an albatross. It was fascinating to learn that they can live up to sixty years. They are faithful partners returning to each other every two years to produce a single chick. Only if one of the partners dies does the other eventually seek a new partner.
Then we went up to the viewing hide, which looks out on to the tufty grass sloping down towards the sea. Amongst the tufts, parent birds could be seen sitting with a single chick, while older juveniles were enjoying the wind, swooping and gliding. It was magical to watch. They enjoy the winds, the stronger the better.
We moved from the hide to an ex-military lookout which brought us even closer to the ground nesting birds. When close to them they have incredibly strong beaks and they are huge. In the air they are so graceful and to watch them synchronise their routines is beyond belief.
After we had finished we were warned that the opportunity to watch the penguins coming ashore later in the evening was in jeopardy. They rely on electricity and the power lines were still down, brought down by the very strong winds.
As we drove back to Portobello, all the seabirds were huddled together facing into the wind in order to make themselves streamlined. If they had been standing sideways on they would have been blown over. Larger spoonbills and oyster catchers carried on feeding oblivious to the wind.
I received an email to tell me that the Penguin Experience had been cancelled. After a fish and chip supper we went off to Allan’s Beach on the other side of the peninsular, where sea lions are often ashore. It was no less windy on this side of the peninsular and grains of sand scurried in waves across the beach. It was very bracing, but we did not find any sea lions. I think if we had been more vigilant and searched among the sand dunes we might have found some.
On the way back from the beach I suggested that we might go down to see if we can at least hear the Little Blue Penguins come ashore. Rather than sitting around in the motel, we decided to go. When we got there the car park was full and the lights were on! All we missed was the talk before heading out on to the platform to wait and watch them come ashore. Facing straight into the wind we waited. Eventually, a couple of scout penguins came ashore, soon followed by a raft of over thirty penguins. Initially, they gather their thoughts by just standing on the beach, preening themselves, before heading up the beach to their waiting young, who, by now, are noisily calling for them. By the time they had all gone to their burrows and reunited with their chicks, we were feeling buffeted and cold. Time to go back to the accommodation for a beer or two.
Before leaving the Otago Peninsular, we gave Allan’s Beach one more chance to show us some sea lions. This time we were more thorough in our search and followed flipper prints up the beach into the dunes. There, sleeping in the dunes, was a pup, sheltered and comfortable. Realising we were there it lifted its head and looked at us with huge, doleful eyes. We decided to retreat rather than putting it in a stressful situation.
Satisfied that we had seen one, we strolled along the beach, when a female adult emerged from the sea. To begin with she rolled around on the water’s edge, in no hurry to find her young. She did not mind us being there watching her. Eventually she began to walk up the beach on front flippers but after a few steps it became too much and another roll around on the beach was what was needed. We left her to it.
Dunedin deserved a bit of our attention, so I gave the group an hour to explore the centre. I visited the cathedral, wandered about the largely deserted streets, and visited an exhibition of ambitious plans for the development of Dunedin’s waterfront. It will be interesting to see if anything comes of it.
The drive up to Christchurch across the Canterbury Plains is quick on a good road. We stopped for a break to take a look at the Moeraki Boulders. Maori legend tells that the boulders are remains of calabashes, kumaras and eel baskets that washed ashore after the legendary canoe, the Araiteuru was wrecked at nearby Shag Point. In reality they are mud balls that have hardened underground over millions of years, and, as the coastline erodes, they appear and fall on to the beach. Once exposed to the air and water they begin to disintegrate. It doesn’t help that tourists clamber all over them.
We arrived in Christchurch in time to hit the rush hour, and, almost for the first time, we crawled our way to our motel, again comfortable accommodation. In the evening we walked into the heart of the town, past the ruined cathedral and through to Regent’s Street. I said we walked through the heart of the town, but there really isn’t one any more, not since the 2011 earthquake. After eating we walked back via the cardboard cathedral and the 185 chairs which depict every life lost in that earthquake. In the light of what has happened recently, I am sure that there will soon be fitting memorials to those who were victims of such an atrocity.
We woke up on our last full day in New Zealand to more glorious sunshine. We were booked on to a whale watching trip in Kaikoura, a three-hour drive to the north of Christchurch. Kaikoura was hit by an earthquake in 2016. The closer we got, the more evidence we saw of the effects. The road that runs along the coast, and the adjacent railway line, were severely damaged and work is still going on to rebuild them. While we waited at various sets of roadwork traffic lights we watched the seals lounging around on the rocks or playing in the water.
With time to have a bite of lunch and to take a brief look at the main street in Kaikoura, we eventually checked in for our two-hour boat trip to see whales. The conditions were perfect, the sea was pretty flat, the air was clear giving us great visibility and we had a knowledgeable crew. It was not long before, about four miles off shore, we spotted our first Sperm Whale, spout blowing as it breathed deeply after, perhaps, 45 minutes feeding a 500m below the surface. It began to arch its back in preparation to dive, and in doing so, revealed its fluke before disappearing. What a fabulous experience! I was disappointed that my camera had broken, and I only had my phone to record it. The pictures were so poor, they were not worth sharing.
After some searching we found a second whale and it went through the same process of restoring oxygen to its body before diving. I decided I wanted to watch this with my eyes rather than through the camera on my phone, so I set it to video, pointed it at the whale and watched. After some time, it dived and was gone. I looked to see what the result was on my phone to discover I had not been pointing it in the right direction and I had several minutes of the sea!
Later we saw a pod of dolphins heading out to sea to feed. They were fantastic, the way they swam around the bows of our boat, coming up between the twin hulls. After entertaining us for some time they headed off. Standing at the bow, I was still on the lookout for dolphin when there was a commotion in the water. We had disturbed a Blue shark, which appeared to be sleeping and only realised we were on top of it at the last minute. It was about eight feet long and, once it was awake, was off like a shot.
Before leaving Kaikoura, we ate in one of the restaurants in the main street, and then hit the road back to Christchurch.
And that was it. In the morning we headed off to the airport, bid a fond farewell to the minibus that had served us so well for a little over 5000km and jumped on a plane to Auckland. The weather favoured us yet again, giving us incredible views of the land, the bays and the sea beneath us. The views of Taranaki were particularly impressive.
At Auckland I said farewell to the group who were transferring for their international flights home, while I went back to family for more DIY and child care.
I was really pleased with how the trip went. All the arrangements fell smoothly into place and New Zealand had delivered. I already have plans for a return trip. I know which elements I would revise and repeat, and which new elements I would include. You can never tire of New Zealand. It has so much to offer. So, if you are interested, keep one eye open on future developments with Adventure Guide.
After a couple of weeks acclimatising to a southern hemisphere summer, enjoying some fun and games with grandchildren and helping out with a bit of DIY on the house in Auckland, the group trip finally got under way. They had arrived in dribs and drabs, with the final three arriving on the 31st January. I had met up with the early arrivals on the 28th, and Tina and I enjoyed a sailing experience on an America’s Cup yacht. It may have been twenty-five years old, but it was still an awesome piece of sailing kit, demonstrating the raw, clean power of large canvases in the wind, even if the winds on our particular trip were a little lighter than we would have liked. It was certainly a contrast to the enormous cruise ship, with 6000 passengers belching fumes from its funnels, shielding us from the wind and blotting out some of the views we should have had of the waterfront. Nevertheless, the fact that we managed to get the trip at half the normal price made it even better.
We only had a limited time in Auckland. It was fine for Tina and Paul; they had had a few days to recover from their respective long journeys and during that time they had explored the city and beyond. Claire, Brenda ad Mike were still, largely on UK time. Despite this, I was keen that they should experience what I think are a couple of the best activities available in and around Auckland. So, after breakfast on the 1st February we headed into town via the Birkenhead ferry to then take the 30 minute crossing to Rangitoto Island, now a dormant volcano but one that rose out of the waters 700 years ago. It is the perfect conical island, rising 260m out of the Hauraki Gulf, almost a circle of black volcanic rock.
With only four boats a day visiting the island you tend to get concentrated clumps of people walking the 2.5 kilometre route up to the summit. There are those who race away to the summit while others prefer to take their time and enjoy the experience. We preferred the latter approach, taking time to read the occasional information boards, admiring the widening view of Auckland and taking the detour to walk through the lava tunnels.
The crater, although it is crater shaped, bares no relation to what occurred 700 years ago. Now it is lush forest and home to many birds, quail, the ever tuneful tui, the delightful fantail dancing in the branches while flicking their tails and the more familiar blackbird. All were relatively tame and were extremely comfortable to have us near them. We did not want to overdo it on the first day, so we decided not to walk around the rim of the crater, but to head back down to the jetty to catch the boat. It was quite warm and the contrast with temperatures at home, as well as jet lag, was beginning to have an effect.
Returning to Auckland, we headed to the Sky Tower where we took the rapid lift up to the 51st floor and the viewing platform. This provides a wonderful 360° view over the city, the most impressive part being the CBD (Central Business District) and the waterfront. Beyond is the blue Hauraki Gulf and its many islands. Even further afield the faint outline of the Coromandel Peninsular can be seen. Closer to us a body flies passed the window, arms and legs outstretched, as it enjoys a controlled bungy from the platform above to the ground below. Another, shorter lift, took us higher to the 60th floor at 220m above sea level. The mast above looms a further 108m, making it the tallest building in the southern hemisphere.
The following morning, we packed our bags and headed north on State Highway 1 to the Bay of Islands. As we headed north the weather deteriorated and by the time we arrived at our AirBnB at Haruru, just outside Paihia, it was raining, and a low mist hung over the surrounding hills. This is not how I wanted to show the Bay of Islands, which is very weather dependent.
Adjacent to Paihia is Waitangi where the treaty was signed between the British and the Maoris. Waitangi Day is February 6th, just a few days away, but the celebrations last for several days. There was much preparation for the festivities, which we only got glimpses of as access to the site was restricted.
It was still a bit murky the next day but at least it wasn’t raining as we set out on our five-hour boat trip out into the islands. When the sun shines the waters of the Bay of Islands are staggeringly clear and a vivid blue. Not today, unfortunately. It proved to be quite windy out on the water so our hosts, having taken us through a stretch of exposed water where we bounced and rocked a bit, endeavoured to make sure that we spent most of our time in sheltered waters.
The Bay of Islands played an important part in the history of New Zealand. Roberton Island is where Captain James Cook first set foot on New Zealand soil and encountered the Maoris. The story of that encounter varies according to who is telling it. As our boat sat in the gentle waters adjacent to Roberton Island our captain guide told us that Cook drew a line in the sand to mark a point that should not be crossed. When the Maoris moved towards the line, Cook’s crew opened fire and injured a number of Maoris. Afterwards, Cook sent his surgeons to tend to their injuries. The information board, photographed, seems to support that theory. However, another version, told to us later by a Maori, said that Cook’s crew opened fire to kill several Maoris. There are always two sides to the same story. I would prefer to believe the former, but who knows?
The outcome of Cook’s first landfall is the eventual establishment of Russell, just across the water from Paihia, as the first capital of New Zealand.
From Roberton Island we continued to Akeake Bay on another of the 144 islands in the archipelago. Here we were to spend a couple of hours, enjoying a picnic, snorkelling amongst the fish to one side of the bay, or trying, with limited success, at paddle boarding. I did get on to my feet but not for very long. I found the snorkelling particularly enjoyable. The fact that the sun was not shining meant that we were not restricted in any way and could take full advantage of our time on the island.
On our return to Paihia we took the ferry across to Russell to walk amongst the old colonial buildings on the waterfront before heading back to the house. It may not have been a bright and sunny day, but it had at least remained dry, if overcast. The colours had not been as vibrant as I had hoped but it had been a good day.
Leaving the Bay of Islands, we journeyed south again, passing through Auckland and headed to the Coromandel Peninsular and Whitianga for a couple of nights. It was not long before the grey skies were replaced with beautiful sunshine and cloudless skies. Close to our destination we turned off the main highway to have a look at Hot Water Beach where we also met up with Ben, Kelly and the children.
Hot Water Beach is a unique phenomena, where hot water wells up through the sand and mixes with the sea water. The beach is only accessible within two hours either side of low tide. People flock to it to dig holes so that they can create pools of hot water to sit in. Some I find far too hot and can only dip my toes in for a few seconds, but where the hot and cold water has mixed is far more comfortable.
So, what is so special about the Coromandel? It is perfect in every way. The interior of the peninsular is mountainous, the coastline is dramatic and very beautiful and many of the golden beaches are deserted. An example of the type of deserted beach, Otama Beach, we visited in the morning. We headed north from Whitianga, over forested hills, for about half an hour before we reached the most idyllic of beaches, and for the couple of hours we were there, there were hardly any other visitors. It was perfect for swimming, sunbathing, walking from end to end or simply relaxing. With the fierce sun, two hours was enough, particularly as there was very little shade to be found.
In the afternoon we went on a boat with Ken Henderson of Cathedral Cove Cruises. Angela and I did a trip with him in 2014. We had the boat to ourselves and Eva joined us for the trip. Ken took us south along the coast, passed Shakespeare Cliff and on to a number of interesting features, the most impressive of which is Cathedral Cove. Here, the beach had more than a handful of people. By far the best way to see the sea arch that spans the beach is from the sea, away from the crowds. After visiting the rock features that resemble a champagne glass and bottle, and ventured into a cave, we headed out to one of the islands a little way off shore.
This whole area is a marine reserve. Ken stopped for a while to show us the fish beneath. He lowered a clear bottomed tube into the water, into which we put our mobile phones set to slow-motion video to film the, largely, red snapper. He enticed them with a bit of food. The results were impressive. Later, snorkelling in the sea was a real pleasure with lots of fish to observe. It was great to see Eva, who is only five, enjoying swimming with confidence despite having several metres of water beneath her.
Sadly, we only had two nights in Whitianga; never long enough for an area so beautiful and deserving of more exploration. Angela left us to return to Auckland with the family, while we headed south to Rotorua. We made good progress and arrived too early to check in at the YHA in town.
On the outskirts of town there is a park called Skyline Rotorua. A cable car takes you up to a hub where there is a café, a number of attractions, and good views looking out over the whole of Rotorua. The main attraction is the luge run, a set of three concrete tracks of varying degrees of difficulty. The luge is a wheeled cart, not dissimilar to a go-kart operated through a central steering column. Erring on the side of caution, I took the beginner’s route first and found it a bit tame. The second run, I took the intermediate run, which was more exciting, allowing for more speed. For my third run I took the advanced route, which was great. It was fast, the bends were steeply banked and at one point, provided you had enough speed, you took off where the track suddenly dropped steeply. I wanted more, but when I returned to the top, the advanced run was closed because of a crash. I resigned myself to taking the intermediate run when, as I set off, the barrier closing off the run I wanted, was lifted. A slight adjustment to my line took me down the right channel and, knowing what was in store, I was able to let rip. Great! Loved it! Although I had a ticket allowing me three more runs, time was running out.
In the evening we went to the Mitai Maori village for a cultural evening and hangi. A hangi is a meal cooked in the traditional cooking pits the Maoris used, heating rocks up, placing the meat and vegetables on the rocks and covering so that it cooks perfectly. The pits used today are commercially built but in the early days these pits would have been very basic. Every year on 6th February, New Zealand marks the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840. In that year, representatives of the British Crown and over 500 Māori chiefs signed what is often considered to be New Zealand’s founding document. The day was first officially commemorated in 1934, and it has been a public holiday since 1974. It seemed fitting and very special that we were enjoying this cultural event on such an important day.
The evening started with a welcome. I guess there must have been 150 to 200 people in the room and there were representatives of 21 counties. Having established the different countries represented we had to choose a chief to be welcomed later by the Maori chief. Volunteers were requested. I was volunteered by my group, not something I would have willingly put myself forward for. I was up against an Australian, an American and a Frenchman. In order to be chosen as the chief, we had to make the ugliest face and the scariest noise, which the rest of the room voted for. The American and the Frenchman were immediately illiminated, so the Australian and I had a second round. There was little to separate us, and it was down to a Maori maiden to choose. With some relief, she chose the Australian, although, having seen the video replay, I was the best. I think what let me down was the fact that I flexed my knees into a squat position and I may not have been as visible from the back of the room. Paul maintained I was too pretty! I also think I may have lost the European vote because of Brexit. If I had won, I would have felt compelled to apologise to the Maori nation on behalf of the British people for the way the treaty failed them.
The selection over, we moved to the bush where a small river flowed. Through the trees we could hear a drum beating a rhythm, and chanting, gradually getting closer. A Waka, a Maori canoe, appeared carrying authentically dressed tribesmen. After the disembarking ceremony we moved over to an auditorium that looked out on to a village in the bush. It was really well set up and had everything set up for a memorable evening.
We experienced cultural singing, a demonstration of various musical instruments, weapons and, of course, the Haka. Speeches were made, including one by our Australian leader, and then we were able to return to the restaurant area to enjoy a superb meal. After the meal we returned to the bush to see the glow worms hanging from the trees and clinging to the banks of the river. We had had a good evening of varied entertainment, excellent food and, in the end, I did not embarrass myself, or anybody else, with my interpretation of a tribal chief.
The Rotorua area is where most of the thermal activity takes place. There are numerous thermal fields, some better than others and it can be a bit of a lottery as to which one you choose. Some are more commercially developed than others. One, just on the outskirts of Rotorua there is the Whakarewarewa Valley which boasts the largest geyser in New Zealand, Pohutu Geyser. Spouting at regular and fairly predictable intervals up to a height of about 15m, this is the obvious highlight.
By far the most interesting thermal area is Waiotapu, several kilometres along the road to Taupo. This is a particularly large area and has a number of walks of varying lengths that show you some, or all of the features. We had plenty of time so did the route that took in all features from the champagne lake, salt flats, small craters, sulphurous deposits, vivid blue lakes and a lurid green lake. And just outside there are wonderful mud pools gloopily bubbling in wonderfully fascinating shapes.
Just before we reached Lake Taupo, we stopped off at Huka Falls. The River Waikato, flowing out of Lake Taupo is forced through a narrow band of hard rock. It also drops about 5m at one end. The volume of water forced through is enormous, travelling with such power, so much so that it produces 15% of New Zealand’s hydroelectric power.
Lake Taupo is a huge body of water by New Zealand standards and our journey took us around the eastern and southern shores, into the mountains that form a central volcanic massif centred around Mt. Ruapehu and Tongariro, the crossing of the latter we were going to be doing the next day. As we climbed up from the lake the vegetation changed from forest to alpine scrubland.
Our accommodation for the next two nights was at the youth hostel and climbing wall in National Park, a small community surrounding a crossroads close to the mountains. In summer it hosts walkers, while in the winter it becomes a ski resort. The accommodation at the hostel was good, but what makes it so unique is the fact that in the middle of the building is a large room converted into a climbing wall with a wide range of climbs from easy to quite technical. During our stay we never saw the wall being used, which I felt was unusual, particularly as our second night was a Friday. Across the car park was a bar that served great food and beer. No need for us to self-cater when that facility is on the doorstep.
The following morning, at 7.00am, a bus service, which runs hourly between 6.00am and 10.00am, took us to the starting point of the Tongariro Crossing, a 19km walk up into the volcanic landscape and down the other side. This is not ancient volcanic country, but current. Tongariro last erupted in 2012, and there are still fumeroles and at least one active cone on the route. Having done it before I knew what to expect and was really looking forward to seeing it at its best.
At 7.30, when we started walking, it was quite cool. The sun had not yet risen sufficiently to bathe us in its rays. The going was easy for the first three kilometres, which we were covering at about one kilometre every fifteen minutes. It was a good path; it needs to be with between two and three thousand people a day making the crossing at the height of the season. As we climbed the alpine scrub gave way to a barren landscape of volcanic ash and debris.
At the crest of the first climb we entered an old crater. To our right was the perfect cone of Mt. Ngauruhoe, better known to Lord of the Rings fans as Mt. Doom. To our left is the crater rim that leads up to the summit of Mt. Tongariro. There was a constant, steady stream of walkers crossing the crater to the next steep section, taking us to the highest point of the walk, which looked down into the adjacent Red Crater with its main vent prominent. This was a good place to rest for a while, to take in the spectacular views and to have a snack. The view into the Red Crater is incredible; to be so close to the vent that created the landscape in the immediate area is one of those ‘pinch me’ moments.
The descent down the edge of the crater is probably the hardest part of the whole walk. It is steep and littered with ash and loose material. In amongst it all are hard, more solid lumps of rock, always ready to trip you up. I came across an Indian woman really struggling, so I lent her my poles, telling her that she could return them sometime later on the trail. I also picked up another girl on two occasions who was stumbling regularly. Fortunately, our group coped well with the conditions and made it down easily.
At the bottom of the steep section there is the Emerald Lake and a number of fumeroles, which we were able to safely walk among. Occasionally we experienced strong whiffs of sulphur, but on the whole, it was not too unpleasant. It was far from unpleasant; it was fantastic. We were fairly relaxed about the walk. We had covered the ground quite well, without rushing, and we would easily catch one of the available buses. It was much too enjoyable to rush. The walking conditions were perfect in every way.
Another short climb took us up to the Blue Lake, which we skirted around. As we began the long descent we could look across at the most recently created crater constantly puffing out steam. This erupted a few years ago and when I last did this walk there were emergency evacuation signs along the route in the event of there being another major eruption. Those signs have now been taken down, so I assume that it is happy quietly puffing away and that there are no major events likely. With so many people walking this route, all the volcanic activity is very carefully monitored.
Our descent was in a northerly direction and we were getting fabulous distant views of Lake Taupo. The descent also brought us back into vegetation, becoming more lush the further our descent took us, so that for the last couple of kilometres we were walking through the forest.
The same bus provides a collection service at the end, starting at 1.30pm through to 5.30pm. We were in plenty of time to catch the 3.30pm bus. They take special care to tick you off on a list to make sure that everybody who goes onto the mountain in the morning is off the mountain by the end of the afternoon.
There was a great deal of satisfaction at the end of the day. It really is one of the world’s best day walks. It is certainly a walk I could never tire of doing. I felt much better this time that when I did it in 2014. Firstly, then the temperature was 31°C, whereas on this occasion it was much cooler. We stuck to the crossing rather than taking a detour as I did last time, and I had plenty of water this time as the experience of running out, as happened before, was not something I wanted to repeat.
As we were back in good time, we spent quite a long time in the bar across the car park.
In the morning we continued our journey south, following the Whanganui River all the way to Whanganui on the SW coast of North Island. Following the line of the coast, we first stopped in the small town of Bull with its fascinating collection of signs, mostly related to the facilities of the town. I’ll let a few photos tell the story.
Continuing, we stopped again on the Kapiti coast to allow for lunch and some beach time before finishing our journey in Wellington, the capital.
I thought it best to allow people to explore the city for themselves rather than me drag them around. It is not a huge city and is quite easy to navigate round, particularly as it all goes down to the waterfront. Most people seemed to end up in Cuba Street, the old part of town dotted with a multitude of small restaurants to satisfy any taste.
One of the highlights of Wellington is Te Papa Museum on the waterfront. However, instead of working our way through it floor by floor, I arranged to meet a friend of Ben and Kelly who is one of the curators. Shane is 40% Maori, the other 60% being made up of all sorts of backgrounds. He is very proud of his Maori ancestry and is also extremely knowledgeable about Maori history and culture. He took us back stage and showed us musical instruments, weaponry, art pieces, wood carvings and the original flag used for the Treaty of Waitangi. Only about 10% of all the museum possesses is on display, so this was a real privilege. What made it all the more interesting was Shane’s commentary and story-telling, of how his father is going to donate his bones so that Shane can turn them into musical instruments. We were captivated by him for ninety minutes. It was brilliant.
Afterwards, we all went our separate ways. I spent time appreciating the vibrant nature of the waterfront. The water is so clean that there are a number of places where people can jump or dive in safely. Those facilities were well used. Some young men set up a slack line across a right angle in the quay. If they fell off, they got wet and entertained us well. It was Chinese New Year, the Year of the Pig, and a lot was going on associated with that. There was a vibrant atmosphere and it was a delight to be a part of it, if only as an onlooker.
It was while enjoying this, that I saw two people. My initial reaction was that they look familiar, like somebody I know back home. Then it occurred to me that it was them from home. The Weavers live in Worcester and all three children went to King’s, I taught them and James came on a Himalayan Club trip with me. What a small world.
In the evening some of us ate in the Crab Shack on the water front, our last meal on North Island, for in the morning we would be taking the ferry across Cook Strait to Picton and our “New Zealand, the Best Bits” adventure would transfer its attention to the glories of South Island.