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22nd November - 8th December, 2005
world to New Zealand in one piece, arriving into the picturesque 'Bay of Islands' on the northeast
coast of the North Island. But our initial destination was at the other end of this twin-island
country…
As soon as we had cleared customs, and the officious quarantine men had nicked every scrap
of fresh and unsealed food aboard, we tied Skardu up in a marina, said a quick hello to Q’s
parents Gerald and Terry who were waiting dockside to greet us, and then jumped on a plane to
the South Island to rendezvous with local tour-guide Molly McDaniel for a quick two-week hiking
and camping tour around the highlights of this beautiful island.
Molly greeted us at Nelson airport, having freshly arrived back in her adopted homeland for a
pre-Christmas visit to see her family. First stop: the beautiful Marlborough Sounds, home to
Molly’s mother Caroline who’s welcome consisted of feeding us like long lost sons! Heaped
plates of delicious home-made food using the freshest local produce kept appearing from her
kitchen: pancakes and baskets of fruit form the garden alongside a full cooked breakfast; freshly
caught scallops straight out of the Sound in front of us; banana-cream pie; a vast array of home-
made jams, preserves and wines; the famous local green-lipped mussels steamed in a
Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc; and home-grown lemon-meringue pie... after months at sea, the
sight of such succulent fresh food made our mouths water, and our belly’s full!
Caroline’s home was nestled in a delightful spot with 180-degree views along the Pelorus Sound,
with a garden that tumbled down her hill to a beach at the waters edge, from where we launched
her little dinghy to go exploring: a half-hours ride took us to an uninhabited headland which we
hiked up for a glorious sun-soaked view. What a place this would be to explore on a yacht –
perhaps next time!
After a morning cruising the Blenheim vineyards on a wine-tasting hunt for the best Marlborough
Sauvignon Blanc (‘Cloudy Bay’ topped our list…), we were suitably lubricated and stocked with
an assorted case of local vino for the fortnight ahead, so piled our kit into the back of a beefy 4WD
and set off southwards. Taking the east coast road, the vineyards were soon replaced by the
rugged wind-swept landscape of the exposed coast, where seals frolicked in the pounding
waves, and whales are a regular sight (and major tourist draw) offshore. We made the requisite
stop for a “fush und chups” lunch at Kaikoura, where we discovered that the standard English
fish serving of ‘cod’ is here replaced by ‘shark-meat’… who’d have known!
With Thanksgiving upon us it was time to converge on Molly’s Father in Christchurch, who
upheld his American roots by holding a big Thanksgiving party every year. Dale and his second
wife Malvine prepared a huge feast for the 50 guests, which alongside the turkey included such
home-prepared treats as smoked trout and venison, which Dale and his buddies had hunted in
the wilds of Stewart Island.
Loading the 4WD up with Dale’s camping gear, it was now time for us to head out and find a bit of
that legendary South Island wilderness ourselves. Driving out of Christchurch across the
Canterbury Plains we immediately left the cars behind and found ourselves in sheep farming
country: put it this way, the roads were pretty deserted from here on in, and we saw a few
hundred sheep for every vehicle passed! The vast scenery soon imposed itself upon us as we
drove towards the Southern Alps, with snow-capped mountains jostling the horizon for our
attention. We were following the scenic road towards Mount Cook, NZ’s highest peak, and it led
us to the spectacular blue melt-waters of Lake Tekapo and Lake Pukaki. Every corner seemed
to herald another dramatic view, and here, as throughout the South Island, we were struck by
how quickly the landscape changed character as we moved through it: from deep glacial valleys
to pastural plains; from gently undulating hills to rugged steep granite mountains; from lush to arid;
from sub-tropical rainforest to icy glaciers; from mirror-still lakes to bubbling sulphorous-vents;
and all huddled together cheek-by-jowl, like nowhere else on earth.
Mostly we had all this to ourselves, and we were spoilt for choice when it came to picking the
day’s picnic lunch-stop with a view. But as we pulled up at the tip of Lake Pukaki we found
ourselves alongside other tourists for a rare moment: a busload of Japanese tourists disgorged
beside us, following their tour-leader to the stunning viewpoint with cameras clicking as they
posed their ‘V-signs’ in front of each captured snap. For three scary minutes we watched them
in their choreographed roles in desperate support of Fujifilm; they came, they clicked, then just
as quickly we were alone again: demonstrating that our philosophy of travel is the polar-opposite
of theirs!
That evening as we snaked along the edge of the lake towards the mountains we had a stroke of
luck, finding the perfect isolated campsite: trying to avoid the few official campsites where we’d be
just another pitched tent, we decide to head off down a dirt track into a local farmer’s property,
ignoring the ‘Private - Keep Out’ and ‘Danger – Vicious Dog’ signs and pulling up at his front
door! An eccentric old gent soon appeared on his porch, and a swift 10 minutes of our best chat
won him over, as he kindly offered permission to stay the night on a remote corner of his
extensive property. Thus we were blessed with a dreamy lakeside spot beside a gurgling
stream, with a dramatic view of Mount Cook framed from our tent, as we huddled together and
stuck into a couple of bottles of local grog! …and not one of those Japanese tourists would ever
appreciate a sight like this: it’s simply not on their tour map!
The next morning we were up early to strike camp and hike up towards Mount Cook amongst
its snowy foothills. This is an area of grand beauty and we would have loved to spend another
fortnight here exploring high up into the mountains. But sadly it was time to press on towards
Queenstown and Lake Wakatipu, the heart of NZ’s blossoming adventure-tourism industry, and
home to skydiving, AJ Hackett’s bungee-jumping, white-water rafting, canyoning, jet-boating,
winter skiing, and an extensive network of hiking trails. It was the latter we were most keen to
pursue, so we drove through the central mountain range and took the road via Te Anau into
Fjordland National Park on the west coast. Of all the places we visited in this land of spectacular
landscapes and real wilderness, this was our favourite, despite Fjordland’s infamously high
rainfall and lethal sandflies, both of which warrant their reputation!
Here we found a couple more isolated and memorable campsites, thick in the midst of lush
natural surroundings, although we were somewhat alarmed one evening when our tent blew out
its stakes and tumbled into the adjacent Cascade Creek, just as we were stoking the campfire!
Fjordland offered us the opportunity for some memorable hikes through thick forest to brisk-
flowing streams and tumbling waterfalls. But none was a special as our 3-hour hike up alongside
a forest stream on a rough steep boulder-strewn path to reach the stunning Lake Marian. We
broke out of the forest into a clearing to be confronted by a vast glacial melt-water lake nestled
placidly before us just beneath the snowline in a hanging glacial valley. And finding ourselves all
alone in this remote spot, we decided to cool off with a skinny-dip in the icy waters of the lake –
the chill fairly struck the breath out of our chests as we hit the water, and I shan’t describe what it
did for our manhood! Nonetheless it was a unique champagne-moment as we popped one of
our special well-traveled bottles of French bubbly to celebrate: it had been almost 12 months
since Molly had offered to show us around her adopted homeland, and here we were soaking
up a pristine example of its’ untouched wilderness, so Mark bravely returned into the waters for
the requisite photo-shoot as the cork was sent skyward… and thus are stories made!
A pre-dawn start took us through the mountain tunnel to reach the renowned Milford Sound
before the hordes of day-tripping tourists could descend and spoil the tranquility. It was worth the
effort to catch the early-morning cruise out into the Sound with only a handful of other early-birds,
and we were treated to a rare blue-sky day and the sighting of some endangered penguins that
inhabit these waters. As we were departing back up the valley mid-morning, we realized just
how wise we’d been, as we passed a virtual camel-train of buses ferrying their backpackers
and Japanese hordes down into Milford Sound for the requisite stop.
Back on the road and we put our foot down to make it back to Queenstown that evening; this
rural land is so sparsely populated that we saw only 3 cars in a four-hour drive through the heart
of the countryside! Diverting to nearby Arrowtown we arrived at a campsite just before dark to
surprise Q’s parents who were just finishing off their steak dinner, and were delighted to gain our
company for the evening! Leaving them to their more leisurely touring pace, we pushed on via
Wanaka and drove over the Southern Alps again via the Haast Pass to reach the rugged wind-
swept West Coast. On this side of the divide two great glaciers course their way down towards
the coast, and are easily assessable for exploration, so we signed up for a day's guided hiking
on the Fox Glacier. The pace proved a bit slow for us seasoned glacier-boyz, as we repeatedly
waited for the guide to laboriously cut steps into the ice on sections we’d have trotted up (no rope-
ups needed here), but the scale of the dramatic ice formations and blue-holes were impressive
nonetheless.
Onwards back over the mountains via Arthur's Pass and the 'Castle Hill Rocks' (another bit of
‘Lord of the Rings’ territory) to camp at isolated Lake Coleridge, where Molly's father Dale joined
us the following morning for a day of trout fishing. He is a bit of an expert, and was keen to teach
us deep-sea fishermen a thing or two about inland fishing on fine spinning tackle, but sadly we
had a disappointing result with only 1 bite and NO fish caught between all four of us!! Such a
shame as the setting was quite special and it had all looked so promising… you win some and
lose some, and that’s the nature of fishing! Back to Christchurch that evening for some more of
Dale and Mal’s hospitality, before rising at 4am the following morning for a hot-air ballooning treat.
We rose silently into a crisp clear dawn over the Canterbury Plains, with clear views to the
mountains on one side, and the city and ocean on the other, and glided across a patchwork quilt
of farmland beneath us to crash-land some 20kms away in a field of startled but curious
bullocks! As we sipped our celebratory champagne we all agreed it was a wonderful experience
on which to conclude our guided-tour; Molly departed that evening back to the Caribbean with a
bag-full of memories and a wry smile.
Mark and I were left to have a quick look around Christchurch city-centre and really liked the
atmosphere there: a civilized sense of order amongst the old colonial buildings, and punts on the
leafy-banked river, gave a mild imitation of Cambridge. Leaving Dale to savour a bottle of
Glenmorangie we then high-tailed it back up via Lewis Pass to the north end of the island to
explore the Abel Tasman National Park.
That night we found a deserted spot alone beside a stream near Motueka and slept out in our
sleeping bags under the stars, without tents; up early the next morning to catch a water-taxi along
the coast in order to hike two-thirds of the Abel Tasman 'Great Coastal Walk' north-to-south in
one day, zooming past everyone on the track! (it's supposed to take 3-5 days to complete, but
we speed-hiked 30kms up-and-down the hills in only 7 hours, and have the blisters to prove it!).
The Park encapsulates an exceptionally pretty stretch of coastline and turquoise waters, but we
reckoned it would be better to fully appreciate its beauty from aboard a yacht or a kayak on the
water. The weather for once wasn't perfect, with heavy rain in the night, but it felt like a good
accomplishment to round off our South Island tour.
We finished with another night sleeping out beside the car under the stars, before driving back via
Nelson to Blenheim, concluding the circuit in time for one last wine-tasting in a local vineyard
before returning the hire-car and catching our flight back to Auckland, and thence a 4-hour bus
ride back to Opua and a reunion with ‘Skardu’.
In conclusion, the South Island landscapes are truly spectacular and it was especially rewarding
to be camped out in the middle of real wilderness, far from any human development. The ‘Lord
of the Rings’ landscapes really do exist, and look as impressive in real life as they do on the
celluloid screen. There are bits that look like the Scottish Highland’s, the Swiss Alps, the
Norwegian Fjords etc, but no-where else on earth are all these geographical caricatures
crammed so close together in one place. And we were lucky to be blessed with gorgeous
weather while we were there, although it was certainly colder and wetter than we’d expected in
summer!
went for a swim
