Saturday— Heading North We started out this morning full of hopes that we would escape the gloom of a nor-easter in Christchurch and find some sun. Not today, however, as the gloom, even including some thunder, lightning and rain (the first we’ve seen in NZ) followed us right up to the North Coast of the South Island. Abby had wanted to do a farmstay ever since we arrived, so we had booked three nights at the
Kairuru Farmstay about 20 kms out of Motueka.
The day before we arrived, there was a rugby match of the Sevens (I have no idea what this means) between the Crusaders (from Canterbury) and the Hurricanes (from southern North Island). More than 10,000 people were scheduled to attend. When we arrived in Motueka it became apparent that people must have traveled long distances to see the match as Motueka barely had enough people to field two rugby teams let alone have 10k come to watch. Motueka is, after all, the third largest town in the district. We have discovered that Kiwis are just as competitive about their towns as they are about everything else, and while third largest sounds impressive to us; it has a permanent population of only 6000. It does, however, have a grocery store AND a gas station, so it’s big enough for just about everything we need.
Another half hour of Bob driving conservatively (so he thought) and me hanging on for dear life as he sped around the corners (so I thought), we arrived at Kairuru, and were shown to Pipit Cottage. The road into the farmstead was carved out of an incredibly steep hillside, and the home and cottages were on similarly steep hills, but they overlooked the Tasman Bay and acres of sheep paddocks. Kairuru is also home to the quarry that produced the marble for Parliament building in Wellington. There are curiously carved marble faces along the road and marble steps up to the cottage, presumably from the same quarry.
The cottage is nicely situated (that's it on the left side of the photo), with a view off the front porch, and everything you could need, including a fence all the way around the yard to keep out the sheep. And these sheep clearly subscribe to the maxim that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, as they spent innumerable hours with their heads twisted through the fence trying to get at that greener grass. We fell asleep listening to the sheep baaing in the paddocks; and the flies buzzing in the living room. We even left a light on in there to lure them out of the bedrooms so we could sleep. But these flies were the size of robins and sounded more like B-52s.
Sunday—Seeking the beach sceneIn lieu of running, Bob took an early morning walk through the paddocks, up the ridge and back down. Abby and I, meanwhile, went to look at the kids born just last night. They were black and tiny and adorable. Mama goats make the weirdest noises. The owner told me the goats would only be in the “pet paddock” until they were done kidding. No kidding.
With a choice of exploring north or south of the farm, we chose north and headed out the end of the road at
Farewell Spit which got it’s name from Cape Farewell, the last place in NZ Captain Cook saw before he sailed back to Britain. Captain Cook played a big role in NZ history and our week.
We wound down another steep, twisty, windy road, passing Harwoods Hole (where some foreign tourists had to be rescued from the cave—boy were they vilified in the local press) and Takaka (accent on the first syllable). Along the coast again, but just like at Motueka, we didn’t see much water. This area is called Golden Bay, and as we drove we searched for the golden sand beaches we thought the area was named for. We did, however, stop in Collingwood and search out the beach. It was pretty, rough, and deserted; but not golden sand, so we had some flat whites in the coffee shop.
Bob checked out the local museum. Again, World War I is well-remembered. The memorial outside had the names of the dead, and many family names were noted more than once. 54 men from this tiny area died, which even now has a population of only 250. Bob hypothesized that Golden refers to the 1857 gold rush in this area, not golden sand. At least we could stop looking for those elusive beaches.
We drove on, determined to find the end of the road. Access to Farewell Spit is by tour only, so we knew we would only get to see the spit, and maybe find a beach nearby. We parked next to (another) sheep paddock on the Puponga Farm Park. As we ate lunch between the paddock and the beach, we watched the sheep discover that a gate was open (it could have been open for days). Once one sheep went through, the others had to follow.
We took off for a short hike to Cape Farewell and Fossil Beach. We crossed innumerable stiles, hiked up through kanuka groves, and finally descended to Fossil Beach on the Tasman Sea. It was by far the most beautiful beach we have seen yet in New Zealand. We weren’t entirely alone; there might have been 5-10 people off in the distance. A veritable crowd by Kiwi beach standards. Check out the photos on the FLICKR website.
We drove back to Kairuru, and more sheep. Abby and Bob went for a wander through the paddock, and found a lamb who had gotten his head stuck in a tree. No kidding. This lamb, who by now was more of a pre-teen than a cuddly baby lamb, had stuck his head into the crook of a tree. Because of a branch (who knew trees had branches?) that kept him from lifting his head, he was unable to move. This lamb was calling his mom, baaing, while from across the paddock and out of sight, we heard his mom calling back. But she didn’t come back, she just called.
Bob broke off the branch, and when that wasn’t enough, he lifted the lamb up and out of the tree. The lamb ran in a circle around Bob (Abby and I now call him Baab), baaing his thanks, and in that stiff legged run lambs have, he headed toward where we could still hear his mom. He ran over ridge and out of sight, a few moments later reappearing, still running and baaing. Finally, his mom figured out where he was and came running down the hill, where they met up in a touching, if brief scene of sniffing noses. They then went immediately back to grazing as though nothing had happened. We felt like heroes.
Another night listening to sheep, until they finally quieted about 930 that night.
Monday—Last Day on the FarmThis morning both Bob and Abby went for the walk to the viewpoint, up the ridge, than back. At the very end of the ridge, overlooking the whole of the Tasman Bay, they declared a rock to be Tracy Rock, in memory of our girl dog that was put down just last week after being a wonderful and loving pet for 12 years. We have some pictures of us at Tracy Rock, some taken this morning, and some in the evening when I joined Abby and Bob for our final ridge walk before leaving the farmstay for the boatstay.
The paddocks of this farm are used for goats, sheep and cattle, and some of these paddocks have bulls. Of course, the bulls hang out in the best spots, near water and shade, and often right on the road. So Bob and Abby had to climb off the road to try to avoid the bulls. When that didn’t work, apparently Bob decided to try his South Georgian “I grew up in the country” knowledge, and he waved his arms and yelled “Get it on!” Apparently these bulls understand South Georgian because they did, indeed, get it on and moved out of the way.
After a morning watching sheep eat, walk, graze, then scurry off when some sound frightened one of them, we decided to keep up the search for the summertime beach crowd, and headed down to the end of the road on the south side of Abel Tasman National Park. This meant we went back through Motueka, then turned north headed toward the beach we could see from our cottage.
As it turns out, we can’t drive to that beach because it is inside the NP and accessible only by track or boat. But we found a beautiful small beach with a respectable number of people (maybe 20 or so) and spent 2 hours working on our skin cancer. The water was turquoise blue, calm and…cold. Very tropical, except for that temperature. Didn’t seem to bother the Kiwis, but we stayed on the sand.
When we were suitably fried, we headed off looking for ice cream, and at last, found the beach crowd at Kaiterteri. Kaiterteri is a long stretch of white (maybe golden?) sand, right next to the road, with holiday parks and motels on the inland side of the road. We ate our ice cream and watched the boats and people, mostly families.
Then it was time for more sheep. This evening, we got to watch the dogs move the sheep out of the paddock near our cabin to one further away. While I have come to appreciate sheep as farm animals, and found I liked them a lot more than I expected, this display made me realize why dogs make better pets than sheep. Dogs can be trained to follow directions (sometimes, as with this farmer, they can even be trained well). Sheep mostly just follow other sheep.
Tonight we made that final hike up to Tracy Rock, and said good bye one more time. We had hoped to learn more about actual farming at the farmstay. We did learn that we have potential as farmers because we already have the shy/antisocial gene working in our favor. The farmers’ were nice and answered any question you asked if you tracked them down to ask it, but we weren’t exactly invited to participate in roundups or whatever you call it with sheep. To make conversation while they were scanning our Visa card, Karen asked what Kairuru meant. Wendy said the “kai” was an owl and “ru ru” meant food, but they weren’t sure what the original matriarch meant when she chose that name. Bob got a pleasant smile when he suggested that it probably meant that her ancestors used to eat owls. It was probably good that we were leaving for the boatstay.
Tuesday--Waianawa, the boatstayWe thought we had left enough time to get easily from Kairuru to Waikawa Bay where we were to pick up our charter boat at noon. But the roads were twistier than your usual NZ road, and who would trust googlemaps in NZ anyway? As usual, the towns were smaller than we expected. After 3 months here, you would think we would have updated our expectations to match the reality of NZ towns, but we’re still working on that.
We were headed to the Marlborough Sounds, specifically Queen Charlotte Sound for our 3 day boat charter. We left the main (2 lane) highway to travel the last 35 kms on a narrower 2 lane road, but at least it was paved. We passed Havelock, a small village at the head of Pelorus Sound, which was named for the same Sir Henry Havelock that the NC Havelock is named for. NC Havelock is much bigger, and has lots more pawn shops and tattoo parlors (it is adjacent to Cherry Point MCAS where my dad was stationed during his brief 2 year military career). NZ Havelock wins the scenery competition, but as we were there during low tide and it was surrounded by miles of mud flats, I think the NC Havelock wins the sailing competition.
It seems that this part of NZ is littered with names from British war heroes. There is Wellington, named for first Duke of Wellington, who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo in 1815; Picton, which is named for Sir Thomas Picton, killed at Waterloo; Nelson, which is named for Admiral Lord Nelson victor over the Spanish and French at Trafalgar in 1805; Collingwood, which is named for Admiral Collingwood, Nelson’s second in command at Trafalgar. Apparently these men were still being honored when this area was being settled in the mid-1800s.
Both Bob and I were nervous about the charter, while Abby surprised us by looking forward to the boat adventure. Our charter boat, a Carpenter 29, is named Waianawa (why-AN-a-wa), and while we spent some time getting the pronunciation correct (Bob used “my enema” to remember the correct inflection), I forgot to ask what it means. It is pretty much a smaller version of our Cal39 Aquila, with hot water, a shower, and a complete kitchen. Being smaller, however, meant that only the truly height-challenged could sleep in the v-berth, and Bob had to crouch down to cook in the galley.
There is nothing quite as irritating as banging your head against a bulkhead on your way to a much delayed and much anticipated trip to the head in the middle of the night. Why would one delay a needed trip to the head you ask? Other than some sleep induced optimism that your bladder will miraculously cure itself and allow you to back to sleep; this boat had an extra incentive to delay. It was the first boat we’ve been on that had an electric macerating pump flushing mechanism. While this sounds advanced, what it means is that whenever you “flush” you set off what sounds like a buzz saw cutting through the bottom of the boat. The tone and duration of the sawing noise gives everyone within 500 meters an audible interpretation of your diet for the last few hours.
We left Waikawa Marina in a 20 kt northerly, which was, of course, the direction we were headed. But first Bob had to negotiate an unfamiliar boat past the towering rocks next to the slip, and then try to revert to “drive on the right” as the NZ rules of the sea require passing left sides. God knows why they didn’t change this rule, given that NZ follows the opposite buoyage scheme (IALA A) as the US (IALA B), where it is no longer “red right returning” but “red left returning”. Surely one of the navies in these opposite scheme countries has come up with a naughty mnemonic to remember this rule, but Stephie, our charter guide, didn’t know of one. Our navy has given us such gems as “Even red nuns have odd green cans” to remind us of which markers are odd and even, or “True Virgins Make Dull Company” for “True heading minus Variation plus or minus Magnetic variation plus or minus Deviation equals Course
”.
We safely made it out of the marina, passed the interisland ferry with no conflicts and moored for the night in Double Bay. This is the first mooring for us, and while a challenge in a brisk wind, it was much less anxiety-inducing than anchoring. From our mooring we used the tiny dinghy to visit the nearby beaches, although we had to use a ferry system—the dinghy was too small for the three of us.
Wednesday-Friday --Traveling with Captain CookAnother beautiful sunny, but windy day in Queen Charlotte Sound. We unmoored (demoored?), and sailed our way toward Cook Strait. Bob did all the sailing, actually—I just wasn’t confident enough to use a tiller to steer an unfamiliar boat in a strong breeze. I really like wheel steering.
As we headed through Patten’s Passage, we saw a pod of Hector’s dolphins, but didn’t see any of the calves we were hoping to find. Hector’s are small dolphins, with rounded dorsal fins, and reverse coloring from the usual dolphins, being white on their backs and dark underneath.
Our next destination was Ship Cove, where Captain Cook had spent many months during his three voyages to New Zealand in the late 1700’s. To inspire Abby’s interest, Bob told us of the first visits to NZ by the ships Endeavor and Resolution, and of the small boat crew that was eaten by the Maori. He then mimicked Abby as a picky cannibal: “Daaaad, please not Europeans again. I hate Europeans. Europeans in NZ taste grassy. Can I just have plain noodles?”
We moored at a club mooring, not sure if we would stay for lunch or for the night. And once again, rowing the tiny dinghy in the strong breeze was a challenge, but Abby and I headed for shore to check out the Cook Monument and the waterfall. As we walked up the path to the waterfall, the bush grew darker and thicker, with ferns, vines and large tree roots. Abby came running back to me, saying she was scared. “Of what”, I asked. “Maori”. “What?” “I’m afraid they might jump out and eat me!” We had a little lesson on what has transpired in this area since the 1780s to restore her confidence, pointing out that the Europeans were not blameless in these encounters.
As became typical for this trip, our lunch mooring turned into our evening stop as Abby found friends onshore and we really had no agenda. After dinner around 8:30 we saw another sailboat entering the cove. At club moorings any club member can approach and ask to “raft-up” or tie up to your boat to share the mooring. Tony, on the tiny sloop “brown nose”, asked it he could raft-up and of course we agreed as long as he showed us how to do it. Tony is a retired artist from Foxton on the north island and had just sailed across Cook Strait. We had a great conversation, toured each other’s boats, shared a beer and then called it a night. Before we turned in we warned Tony that his sleep would probably be interrupted by our toilet and we apologized in advance.
The next morning we were up early, bid farewell to Tony and headed across the channel to Bird Island. This is a sanctuary where all exotic predators like rats and possums have been eliminated so that native birds that evolved without them can thrive. We were hoping to just pull up to the wharf, tie up during our brief stay and then leave. As we approached we saw a tour boat pull up to drop off some visitors and then we saw the sign that no one was allowed to leave their boat at the wharf. This left us with a dilemma; the nearest mooring was about a kilometer away and our dinghy wasn’t exactly blue water certified; on the other hand with average depths of 60 meters with a rock bottom, anchoring isn’t common around here.
As we approached, the depths near shore were around 15 meters and it looked sandy so we chose to anchor. The first attempt left us too close to shore and Bob got his first experience hauling in 10 meters of chain straight up by hand. Our second attempt was successful and we “dinghied” over to the wharf. We saw and heard lots of birds (including blue penguin chicks), noted the cairn marking the spot where Cook claimed New Zealand for England, and talked to a couple from Vermont about everyone they knew in North Carolina. We didn’t know anyone from Vermont so it was a one-sided conversation. We do try to get some respect in these conversations by liberally dropping the term “sabbatical” to distinguish us from the all too common tourists.
After lifting anchor using the electric windlass this time, we were off to Tawa Bay in Endeavor Inlet for our lunch mooring. The weather forecast was getting scary with the words “northerly gale” sprinkled liberally between gaps in our radio reception. Tawa Bay looked like good protection from northerly gales and as usual our lunch stop became our evening stop. We rowed ashore and saw stingrays and weka (a chicken-sized ground bird).
Next morning we left early (7AM) to try to avoid the northerly gale due in the afternoon. We had very little breeze and then a strong southerly breeze in our face as we motored back to the marina. It’s considered OK when bad weather forecasts are wrong. We saw a seal lolling about on his back in the channel, baby dolphins at a distance, and fed moldy bread to the tame fish marked on the nautical chart.
As usual anticipating docking was more stressful than the actual event. We unloaded the boat, had a great lunch in Picton and then drove home. We saw lots of seals along the coast road and made it home about 7PM. Since we were still in expedition mode we decided to try NZ Burger King drive thru for the first time. Nowhere is a language problem more frustrating than at a bad speaker in front of a drive thru menu. Pointing at the menu doesn’t seem to work. What do you do when the young woman kindly repeats herself slowly at your request and you still don’t have a clue what she said? You say “no thank you” and pull forward with authority. See the Fly Buy post to see prior success with this strategy.
Overall it was a great trip, plenty of sunny weather, fair winds, and only recreational AFGOs. Cheers -
Abt, K.L. and R. C. Abt, 2008, senior authorship not assigned.
