Unfortunately out of order as it has taken some time to get around to writing about it but this is day three of NZ trip!!!I like road trips and I am looking forward to the scenery on this one which will take us along almost the length of South Island. Shame then it starts like a mutilated line from the Ancient mariner, ‘Fog, fog everywhere so thick I cannot think.’ How do the locals survive in these low lying villages where you can’t see your hand in front of your face until midday? And yet I see houses, or do I...
When finally we clear the fog fields around Te Annau, the mountains appear again. I look out of my window absorbing them and the accompanying green fields and mats of dark brown earth; I realise I've forgotten what’ real’ soil looks like after eighteen months of the Aussie red stuff. A bright yellow bird flies across in front of the car and I shoot around to try and make out what it is but it’s gone. The bird life is plentiful and pretty here, as it is in Oz.
We see lots of churches and we chat about our travels around Oz and New Zealand. It’s curious that as areas become less populated, the numbers of churches seem to increase. The local style reminds me of something from the ‘Little House on the Prairie’: small, seating a congregation of thirty or so and clapperboard white completed by one small steeple. They are the standout building feature of these parts. The surrounding natural beauty of South Island however easily outclasses them. A friend told me you come here for nature not for the architecture or any of the other pulls of civilisation. I agree. Throughout the drive today I find the lack of signs of human habitation a joy; how glorious the land is when left to its own devices.
The few man made interruptions continue to diminish until finally we are down to the odd shed and a disappearing fence. There are few power-lines. There is no forcing of the land into artificial boundaries.
By eleven it turns into another beautiful day; the sunshine plays with the mountain faces we pass turning grey shadows of snow suddenly brilliant white as they fall under the spell of the sun’s rays. Some of the fields lay in the shade of the closer mountains snowy jags and here the grass stays frost wizened until the first glints of sunshine break through to warm them. The trees are not like home and to me they resemble their Aussie cousins with pale skeleton trunks and patches of foliage, no wide gnarled dark brown and dense broad leaf of home.
Nearer to Queenstown the mountains close in. They seem so much higher. The Remarkables range comes into view and then appears the cobalt blue waters of Lake Wakatipu. I see rainforest slipping into the waters either side of the lake and stretches of beach with large hunks of stone sometimes on the shore, sometimes peeking from the water. The colour of the lake dazzles me so at first I do not notice the small tide. We stop the car and walk down to the gravel beach to admire the vista. Here I can now see waves arriving at our feet. Grant tells me no one knows what causes them; this is not a sea lake. There is a ten centimetre rise and fall every five minutes. I love these mysteries of nature. Up close the water is a copper blue and as I look up there are so many mountain ranges it is difficult to know where one starts and another finishes. I love it here.
We drive on and overhangs of rock begin to throw us in shadow. Amongst the pampas like grass growing on the mountain edges we see sheep again climbing the steep hillside. In fact everywhere today they have been dotted like boulders, all the same variety when we get close enough to make out their features. The flocks are huge. The sheep’s wool has becomes whiter closer into town; presumably due to the decrease in swede fields we see (sheep who eat swede turn amusingly orange a bit like a tango ad).
Today we whizz through Queenstown. On the other side we stop for a break, at a Bungy jump centre and watch some of the nutters. I do not have to contemplate doing it, it isn't necessary. Caitlin says she would have a go but I’m not so sure she would if we actually said yes.
The next valley on is Roaring Meg Valley. It is filled with colour, heather in earthy purple, tanned browns in the rock and burnt orange from exotic bushes which glow in the landscape like embers in a spent fire. There are craggy crevices and, sharp leafless trees. The river ‘Roaring Meg’ is more of a whisper at the moment.
Don’t stop at Cromwell. The cafe looks good for a spot of lunch but:
‘We don’t have coke; no we don’t have diet coke either’,
‘No we can’t serve pumpkin soup the kitchen is closed now for lunch. You missed it. ’, It’s 1.30pm.
‘No I’m not joking; we can’t serve anything on that board’,
‘What have we got that’s healthy? What about those cold sausage rolls?’
Never mind, the lake that follows is beautiful and the snow fields above it pristine white with a cloud haze. As I look at the lake’s waters from the car I see another clear mountain looking back up at me.
The next town is Omarama. It is on a mountain plain and we see our first sign for Christchurch, our destination for the evening. The Wrinkly Rams Sheep Shearing is the main attraction in town. Omarama does have an airfield however for biplane flights, glider flights and parachute jumps. It would be awesome to have a go in this scenery but I can’t really see Caitlin and Ciara wanting to jump out of a plane and that’s my excuse anyway. I can see why NZ is the adventure capital of the world.
On the high plains between Omarama and Twizel , another lake this time of light blue surrounded by some small trees with more burnt orange stems. Twizel is a hydro electric town. There is a sign for a salmon farm
We drive the road between two lakes. At Lake Pukaki we can look straight up the still waters to Mount Cook, NZ’s highest Peak reigning over its neighbours in the alpine ranges. Their edges are softened by a cloudy haze. There is a house opposite the lake. It is the only one for miles. What a view to get up to every morning: I feel the need to commit a crime.
‘What’s the number of the hotel room in Christchurch?’ asks our youngest. The spell breaks for a moment.
Another mountain plain, it feels very remote up here. All the mountains are now completely white; we must be very high. The green fields have given away to dried grass and pale brown soil. We sight a beach hut on the side of the road. As we pass it we see a sign overhead, ‘Irishman Creek’, very amusing...
There always seem to be mountains in the distance but we never arrive at them. It takes another three hours of driving before we reach Christchurch, tired but glad we did it.
