About a year ago I was sat in my house looking out of my bedroom window at the gloomy sky, bare trees and ice glazed cars, and it gave me cause to wonder, 'where does the summer go in winter?' Of course we all know the answer. In winter the summer goes on its holidays to the other side of the world. I wasn't particularly enjoying that winter. It had been unusually cold and dark and, well, nasty. So, it would have been very nice indeed if I could have paid the summer a little visit. Alas, the other side of the world is inconveniently located for day trips and the practicalities of life insisted on denying me a longer excursion. This was a great pity, but it got me thinking, it may not be possible this winter, but what with the summer switching sides with such predictable regularity I could probably plan to drop in on it the following year. And so started the plan, and what a plan it would turn out to be. It was a good thing I had a year to cross the i's and dot the t's of this project because I wasn't going to settle for a quick and dirty short-haul hop over the equator to sip fizzy local beer by a pool for a couple of weeks. Oh no, no no no. If I was going to do a moonlight flit on old Jack Frost then I was going to do it right, and there was a place I had been wanting to visit ever since I first heard its name which would fit the bill perfectly. Needless to say, it was about as far away from my bedroom window as I could possibly get.
Before we get to that, there is the small matter of what I have been doing since I returned from Oz. Those of you with minds like sharpened calculators will have worked out that it's been about two years since me and my old green backpack were seen out together. Well, initially there was the rest of the house to be fixed up and finished off, and of course that took me rather longer than I had thought. I am pleased to report that it is now as close to finished as any house ever is. I still manage to fill the odd weekend with DIY but I have been spending more time living in it than renovating it. So, with the increase in spare time the reduced decorating schedule allowed me I have been rediscovering my other favourite hobby, which is walking. Fortunately last summer was far less rubbish (weather wise) than the previous several so I was able to get out and pound the hills beneath my boots. This didn't require much in the way of travelling though as Yorkshire is pretty ideal for that sort of thing, but sometimes while walking I would be planning my winter adventure.
Now, from the title of this instalment you already know that I was heading for New Zealand, and those of you who read about my most recent visit to Oz might be wondering if this was going to involve more nostalgia tripping. Well, whilst it is true that going back to Australia did show me that returning to places of travels past could work out very well, on this occasion there would be very nearly none of that at all. My first visit to New Zealand saw me visiting a decent part of the North Island and then (due to various unforeseen circumstances) had to make a bit of a dash around the South Island as my time was suddenly running out. As a result of this there were parts of the South Island and one other island that I never got to see. New Zealand (like Britain) is a country of many islands, although generally it is the North and South Islands that get all the glory on account of being the two largest. There is however a third largest island, further south than the South Island, and it was this island that was my true destination. Oh, and its name? Stewart Island [Rakiura].
NOTE: Where I have put words in square brackets after names, these are the Maori versions of the names.
After the best part of two days in transit I stepped on to the streets of Christchurch outside the hostel. It was about one in the morning and my first challenge was to get inside. The hostel didn't have twenty four hour reception and I had been given a door code to let me into the reception area. Here there was a welcome note scribbled on the back of a map showing me how to find my dorm. There was also a key and a security fob to get me through a further iron gate. It was a bit like being a secret agent. Once inside I had to creep about trying to get my bed made and my stuff sorted out without waking the other people in the room. I failed.
Once morning came I was pleased to discover that the first part of my mission had been a success as the sun was shining brightly and the forecast for the day was for 30°C, which was actually rather hotter than I had been expecting. So, with sunscreen on and camera in hand I headed out to explore. Regular readers will recall I have been to Christchurch before, and that I had liked it for its attractive buildings, lovely gardens and Englishness. However the Christchurch I had returned to did not offer the would be nostalgia tripper much cause for wistful remembering. The reason for this was the earthquakes that had hit the region several years before. Now, I did know about this and was aware that the damage had been huge but it didn't dawn on me just how huge until I saw it for myself. Many of the streets in the centre of the city were still closed to traffic and some were closed off completely. There were damaged or missing buildings everywherePIC, some held together with scaffolding struts and others in the process of being demolishedPIC. The streets were also conspicuously quiet, which for New Zealand's second largest city seemed a little spooky, but with so many buildings gone and so many people and businesses that have had to relocate it isn't surprising. Of course there are signs of regeneration and walking into these areas is like stumbling upon an oasis in the desert, they're fresh and brightly coloured and busy, but you don't have to walk far to emerge out the other side and be faced once more with empty concrete plots and fenced off streets.
From my previous visit there were three locations in the city that had stuck in my memory, one had been the hostel which I remembered for all the wrong reasons. It had been a noisy mouse infested flea pit, but it had been in a nice old building in the centre of the city, which alas no longer stood. The second was Cathedral Square and I made my way there to find it a very different place. The bulk of the cathedral still stood but there was a gaping hole in one end and a monstrous steel scaffold holding it togetherPIC. Other buildings surrounding the square had suffered similarly. It was a sad sight, so I moved on to my third memory, and this I am pleased to report had no visible earthquake damage. The place in question was the botanical gardens. Now, on my first visit here as I recall it had been a similarly hot and sunny day and I didn't arrive at the gardens until the end of a rather exhausting day of exploring. As such I only really walked the main path around the edge. It turns out that I had missed out on rather a lot, as the centre contains all manner of lovely things. There was a rose gardenPIC, a heather gardenPIC, a water garden full of ponds and little bridges PIC and an area of NZ bush with tiny winding paths through the relative gloom. I caught myself thinking as I wandered that it rivalled Melbourne's gardens, which is high praise indeed.
And on that positive note, I left Christchurch.
As I mentioned before, my main goal was to reach Stewart Island and though my two days on planes and in airports had got me most of the way there I still had the best part of 400miles left to cover, and as I would be leaving NZ from Christchurch I would have to travel a similar distance in return. Add to this that time was at a premium and I really did need to keep moving. This didn't give me much time for acclimatising or getting used to the time zone, but as I also said, fizzy beers poolside aren't my cup of tea, so shortly after dawn me and 'Old Green' were stood outside the portacabin that now serves as a bus depot waiting for my ride south.
The journey took me through a seemingly never ending area of farmland known as the Canterbury Plains. It was a lovely sunny day and a perfectly pleasant ride but if I am honest, other regions of New Zealand boast visually far more stunning coach window entertainment. Although I did see some of the hugely wide stony riverbeds that I associate with New Zealand, many having water which in the sunshine seems to glow a milky blue colour, suggesting a glacial origin. Then shortly before arriving at my destination we reached the coast, and thereafter the coastal town of Oamaru.
When I first started travelling – back in the mists of time – my hostel selection method was at best arbitrary and often appeared to be Hobson's choice. My guide book may have listed one or two and I would usually pick one that seemed to have a favourable location based on a tiny map fragment. Other times I would pick up a leaflet in a hostel reception for a place in the town I was headed for, and on a couple of occasions I wouldn't even book one at all, as in the cities the hostels were so keen for customers they would send minibuses to the bus stations to tout for business. As such it was a bit of a gamble, and I have definitely stayed in establishments that better information would have steered me away from. Well, since those ancient times the internet (which did just about exist back then) has improved rather a lot. So, during my trip planning I had access to a great many more hostels with pictures and reviews and significantly better maps. This allowed me to try and sniff out the sort of places I have sometimes referred to as 'good old hostels'. These places are generally small and quirky, often converted houses, places with personality and character, quite unlike some purpose built city hostels that make you feel like a battery chicken. I mention this here because the hostel I chose in Oamaru was a bit of a gem.
Getting off the bus, map in hand, I walked through the bustling town centre, passed the large central hostel and out the other side. Taking a turn up a rather steep residential street I arrived at house half hidden behind a garden full of flowers, hanging baskets and pot plants. As I opened the gate the owner, manager and only member of staff, opened the door. She was called Agra, was in her mid sixties and was in a bit of a flap. I had arrived moments after she had taken a dislike to an old man travelling with a group of young Asian girls and refused to let him stay. This had resulted in a heated argument, after which they had all left. It isn't often that you meet a hostel owner, and rarer still one who does all of the work; and the place was open 365 days a year. If I am honest, the day I arrived, the strain was starting to show. Whilst relating the story of her morning to me she was also stripping beds and cleaning the hostel. Once she had calmed down a bit and booked me in I thought the best thing would be for me to get out of her way, so I stuck my bag in a corner and headed out to explore.
Heading straight down the hill again I soon arrived at the Old Town and the harbour. Here I started noticing some odd sculptures, some of which were part of the children’s playgroundPIC. Apparently the town has become a bit of a centre for Steampunk. Steampunk originates in fiction, where in an alternate history technology is somewhat fixed in the age of steam. As such all manner of (usually iron) devices and machines are imagined that use steam power, including things that never existed during the actual age of steam. These sculptures are centred around the Steampunk HQPIC, which is essentially a gallery and includes various stylised sculptures made mainly of metal. Circling back via the old town I noted the narrow streets between old stone warehouses which now house boutique cafés and trinket shops.
Returning to the hostel for lunch I found it spick and span and was allowed to choose a bed in the dorm. Shortly after this more backpackers started to arrive and once they had Agra was back on hand to give us all the vital local knowledge that everyone visiting Oamaru should know. You see, as novel a diversion as the Steampunk had been, one of the main reasons people stop off in Oamaru is to see penguins. There are two varieties that can be seen, the yellow eyed penguins could be seen at a beach a little way out of town, but the blue penguins actually come into town. Agra proceeded to arrange for those of us without cars to be given lifts with those that did, and then went off in one of the cars with some of the backpackers to show them where to look so that they could explain it to the rest of us later that night. So, after dinner the penguin hunt was on. Penguins are not nocturnal but they do spend all day out at sea catching fish, then as night falls they return to land to where their burrows are. The yellow eyed penguins come home earliest so we went there first. Unfortunately, so as not to frighten off the penguins, you aren't allowed down to the beach in the evenings, so we had to stay up on the cliff top at a viewing platform. This was a bit of a shame as the beach was rather a long way down and as the light faded it was hard to see them. I did manage to spot one or two but they run from the water to the bushes quite fast so it is a bit tricky. An unexpected treat though was to be found down a secret path behind the viewing platform which was steep, narrow, and a little dangerous. It led to a ledge on the other side of the cliff from where we could see sealsPIC, and they were very close indeed.
Once the light had faded away we drove back to the hostel and walked down to the harbour where Agra had told us to ignore the warning signs up on the old jetty. Almost right away we spotted the first blue penguin, who had hopped up the rocks and was waiting next to the fence. Agra had told us about how the penguins had always come into town to nest under the buildings of old town, but the council had tried to stop them by fencing it off, and burning all the bushes. She also suggested that this was to help the penguin centre PIC at the other end of the harbour, who put on pricey shows for tourists. After our early success the penguins got harder to spot but we saw a few more. It did strike me as odd to be creeping about town at night with torches looking for penguins – I expect the locals are used to it.
On my final day in Oamaru I set out in the gorgeous sunshine to explore inland. I made my way to the gardens, which were, once again, really good. This is something that the other side of the world seems to do rather well. From there I found my way to the start of the Skyline Trail which took me up and down through farm land and bush and even past a derelict astronomical observatoryPIC, with every hilltop offering a better view than the last of mountains in one direction and the blue green ocean in the otherPIC. I have to say it was a shame to leave Oamaru, but leave I must, and as I was saying goodbye to Agra she told me it had been nice to hear an English voice again. That may seem like an odd comment, but the fact is, the number of English people backpacking these days is nothing like it was when I first started. Of course a lot has to do with economic prosperity, and I suspect that the ever increasing university fees have something to do with it too. The bulk of the backpackers I met were German, and the second largest group were Oriental. Despite both these groups generally being better behaved abroad than the English tended to be, I still feel it is a shame that whole generations are missing out on the chance to explore the world.
The 5.5 hour coach trip to Invercargill absolutely flew by. The scenery, although still largely farm based, had become less flat and more interesting and along the way I saw fields of deer and alpacas and some birds of prey circling about. Oh... and a topiary elephant next to a topiary ostrich – you often see one or the other, but rarely both together.
Invercargill doesn't have much of a reputation as a destination. My guide book was very down on the place indeed. As such I was pleasantly surprised upon my arrival to find it considerably nicer than I was expecting. There is no denying that the town centre has a utilitarian vibe, but my first impression made me wish I would be in town for long enough to look around. Early the following morning however I would be heading at last for the tiny town of Oban, the only town on Stewart Island. I would be returning later via Invercargill and would have enough time then to find out if my first impression was right.
So, bright and early next morning I was back at the bus stop outside Invercargill's white pyramid PIC that serves as information centre and museum. Here I was a little surprised to be waiting alone, aside for the sandflies. I began to wonder if I had got the time or the place wrong, surely there were more people heading to Stewart Island than just me. Eventually the minibus arrived, and it was empty, but the driver said we had to wait for the bus from Queenstown to turn up with the rest of the passengers. About twenty minutes later we had acquired our other four passengers and we set off towards Bluff and the ferry terminal. Along the way our elderly local driver regaled us with some rambling and often incomplete sentences regarding things we passed on the way, but despite this we made good time on account of there being no other traffic. I was starting to get a feel for where I was going, after all one of the reasons for visiting Stewart Island is for the remoteness and general lack of traffic (and the people that cause it). To put this into some context, the Orkney Islands have a resident population of over 20000, Shetland is also similarly populous despite being about 100miles from mainland Scotland, where as Stewart Island has a resident population of about 400. The ferry there is a passenger only catamaran, but as there are only about 13miles of roads it's probably for the best. Not only would I not need to hire a car, but once there I realised I wouldn't even be needing a bicycle.
Anyway, the ferry sped over the unusually calm waters of the largely featureless Foveaux Strait and brought me to the wharf at Halfmoon Bay in Oban, and when I say 'in Oban', there was no further transport necessary. I grabbed my pack and set off to check into the hostel where I was to be staying for six nights, which I was astonished to learn was an unusually long time. Unbelievably a great many of the people who travel all the way to Stewart Island stay only for one or perhaps two nights. Presumably just so they can say that they have been, but whatever their thinking they certainly must have missed a lot out.
So, I'd done it, I'd got there, and I wasn't going to waste any time catching my breath because I had exploring to do. I put down my backpack and set out at once to discover Oban. Minutes later, having found the shop, pub, restaurant and other assorted amenities, I had fairly comprehensively completed the task. So, if that wasn't the reason for coming all this way, what was I going to do for six days?
Well, over 80% of the island is a national park and is largely wilderness. Due to the relatively tiny population and a history that involved very little logging and farming compared to the rest of New Zealand, it is covered in forest/bush that is about as close to what would have covered New Zealand prior to man's arrival as now exists. One addition to this wilderness are walking tracks, which I planned to make good use of. Of course as well as the native plants it also has quite a bit of native wildlife which I hoped to spot as I walked.
It's probably worth mentioning a thing or two about NZ's native wildlife. Prior to the arrival of humans New Zealand didn't have any land mammals, and the only mammals at all were seals, sea lions and bats. So apart from birds, insects, lizards and a couple of frogs there wasn't much, and very little by way of predators. As such some of the birds became flightless and ground nesting, and even the bats spend more time on the ground than is usual. Of course some of the birds were birds of prey, but as they hunt by sight a lot of things became nocturnal, and started living in burrows. Then humans turned up, which would probably have been bad enough news on its own, but they didn't come alone. A whole selection of mammals came with them including cats, dogs, rats, weasels, mice and stoats and they found the native wildlife very easy pickings indeed. Of course the humans weren't any better, clearing the land for farming and filling it with sheep and cows. As well as decimating the seal population and hunting all nine varieties of Moa (a large herbivorous bird that was not only flightless but wingless) to extinction.
Stewart Island however got off fairly lightly by comparison. So, my chances of spotting some wild native birds as I wandered about were about as good as they were going to get. One bird that I wanted to see was the kiwi and Stewart Island is supposed to be one of the best places to see them in the wild, as here, I had been told, they can be seen in the day. So, full of certainty that I would be tripping over kiwis at every bend in the track I set off, map in hand, to try out one of the short tracks near to town. All the tracks have names and this one was called Fern Gully. Walking along the road to where the track started I noticed a commotion in a tree and found a couple of New Zealand Pigeons [Kererū]PIC, which resemble a large wood pigeon with a green head, I encountered quite a few of these on the island and they seem to be a bird that is incapable of sitting still, and make a strange wheezing squeaking sound as they flap about in the branches, they are also tricky to photograph. I carried on to the track and was soon winding my way through the gloom of the forestPIC. Outside it was a gorgeous sunny day and here and there shafts of light would spear down and illuminate a giant tree fern or babbling stream. All the way along I was keeping a keen eye out for birds, and all the way along I didn't see any. At the end of the trail was a clearing, so I sat down and listened to the total silence, a rarity even in the countryside back home. Peaceful though this was it did occur to me that not only was I not seeing any birds, but I wasn't hearing any either, no birdsong and no rustling of leaves. So either they have evolved to be extremely quiet, or there simply weren't any birds.
The return walk was equally birdless so instead I focussed on the great array of ferns PIC that Fern Gully has on display. What I didn't realise at the time was that what I was seeing was a fairly typical composition for native forest, so I would actually be seeing huge ferns all over the island, but that would suit me just fine. Those of you who remember my last Oz visit will recall me enjoying the Fern Gully in Melbourne's botanical gardens as tree ferns are a bit of a favourite of mine. Well, perfectly formed though it was it was necessarily small, whereas here I had an island full of them. Brilliant.
Taking a different route back to town I happened upon some of the local resident's quirky artistic displays. These included a large model of an Excalibur-esque sword sticking out of a pond, and an area that had been landscaped with bathroom fixtures such as toilets and sinks. As well as lovely bush walks the island also boasts a lot of lovely little sandy bays and as I explored I came to Butterfield Beach and Bragg Bay. There really doesn't seem to be any part of the island that doesn't have an amazing view. Anyway, all this exploring had made me hungry so I went back to the hostel to make dinner, only for the day to give me one last treat. Most evenings a pack of New Zealand Kaka [Kākā] PIC would arrive in the hostel garden expecting to be fed seeds. Kaka are medium sized parrots that are largely grey and are endangered, not that I would have guessed it from the great number that turned up. These ones certainly didn't have any fear of humans at all; in fact where food is concerned they can be quite pushy. It was great to see them so close, and also get some pictures.
The next day greeted me with more glorious sunshine and having got a taste for the walks through bush and bay, I set out to do some more. Some people may think that once you've seen one bay you have seen them all. Well, I decided that having seen one I wanted to see them all, so off I went. As the Fuchsia Trail was closest I headed along that until I emerged out at Traill Park. This is the island's rugby field and is a place where I had been told kiwis can be seen, although not at this time of the day so I made a mental note and carried on along the Raroa Walk which brought me to Thule Bay PIC where I stopped to look at the view. I also heard a couple more pigeons, but nothing besides. Then on to Golden Bay where I picked up the track through to Deep Bay which followed the coast offering regular glimpses of clear blue ocean and smaller islands beyond. Once at Deep Bay I took the road to reach the cliff top above Ringaringa Beach PIC and then along to see the monument to the Reverend WohlersPIC, a German missionary who died in 1885. Returning along the cliff top path I expected to continue on along the coast but the line on my map didn't seem to exist on the ground and the path may have succumbed to erosion. So, I went back up the road and found a connecting trail to Lonnekers Beach and then on to the pretty little Evening CovePIC, before carrying on to the most distant point I could reach in this direction, Acker's Point, via Acker's stone house PIC and Harrold's BayPIC. Lewis Acker, incidentally, was an American whaler who settled here in 1836 before Oban was established. He had nine children, so his tiny stone house had bunk beds going up to the ceiling so they all had somewhere to sleep. Then in 1864 when Stewart Island was bought by the Crown he was chucked out and left the island. Now his old house has been restored as an historic building.
After a quick pitstop for lunch I followed a signpost up a steep hill to Observation Rock to look at yet more lovely viewsPIC. Then I explored some of the remaining streets of Oban to eventually uncover the path down to Bathing Beach. Here I did see some birds, mostly gulls but also some Oystercatchers [Tōrea]PIC, who weren't especially keen to be photographed. Having had an excellent day, I decided to head back and have an early night, as assuming the weather was fine when I got up in the morning, I would be having quite a long day.
Well, when I got up rather early and crept out of the still slumbering dorm room it looked as if my luck was holding, as the weather looked fine. I should note that the weather here is usually rather changeable so I really was being rather lucky. Anyway, I grabbed a quick cup of tea in the kitchen and headed out into the cool morning air. So far the tracks I had walked on the island had all been pretty short, which is how I got through so many of them in just a day or two, but there are longer tracks and today I was headed to one of those. It's called the Rakiura Track PIC and it is one of New Zealand's nine Great Walks. The Great Walks are not necessarily the longest walks on offer but they are highly recommended and the tracks are well maintained and therefore easy to follow. They also have huts and camping grounds that you can use along the way. I, however, wasn't planning to use any huts as although the Rakiura Track is often done over three (leisurely) days it can be done in one. The track itself is 32km but doesn't start from town, so the full circuit is 39km (about 24miles). Unfortunately trying to describe walking for eight hours probably isn't going to result in the worlds most fascinating narrative, but I will briefly run through some points of note. The first and last sections of the track spend quite a while following the coast and so provided more lovely coastal viewsPIC, while the middle section was entirely through the undulating forested interior. There were soft golden beaches and tiny narrow bridges PIC to cross, many a tree fern PIC and interesting mosses to look at (such as umbrella mossPIC). There were also historical remnants of human activity in the form of large rusting iron steam engines PIC which had almost impossibly been carried deep into the centre of the forest by loggers hoping to exploit the island's timber, but with rather less success than they perhaps expected. I had also been keeping a lookout for wildlife, but once again was met with an almost complete lack of it. I was starting to find this both disappointing and a little confusing. Normally I am quite good at happening upon creatures as I wander along. I have speculated that some of my success is down to the fact that I often walk alone, which means that I am usually very quiet and am not distracted from my surroundings by conversations with other people. Well, whether or not this is the case, it wasn't working for me here. Anyway, with that one exception it was indeed a great walk, and it was also a great idea to do it that day, as my luck with the weather was coming to an end.
I woke the next day to find it grey and drizzling. In a way this wasn't such a bad thing as usually my travels involve a mixture of highly active and less active days, but I had arrived in Christchurch and hit the ground running and hadn't really stopped since. So I spent the morning writing postcards and drinking tea. After that the day looked as if it might brighten up so I grabbed my waterproofs just in case and headed out to walk one of the few nearby tracks I had yet to do. On the way there I came across Moturau Moana gardens, the name of which means 'The islands of bush above the sea', or so I was told. What I do know is that they were built by Isabel Noeline Baker, and are New Zealand's southernmost public gardens. As with all public gardens in New Zealand it was very nice, and of a size proportional to the island on which it lives. From here I picked up the Horseshoe Point Track, a lovely coastal track that took me from Bragg Bay, through Dead Man Beach and on to Horseshoe Bay. After this the weather started looking a bit suspect again so I headed back to the hostel to catch up on some lazing about. That evening it started chucking it down, and it kept going all night and into the next morning.
I had my fingers crossed all morning that the rain would stop before I had to go down to the wharf to go on a boat tour of Paterson Inlet [Whaka a Te Wera] and to Ulva Island. Fortunately crossing my fingers must have worked as just before I set off, it stopped. Ulva Island is in some ways like a miniature Stewart Island, with the advantage that rats PIC were eradicated back in 1997 and some bird species that had vanished have been reintroduced. Before arriving there we toured the inlet and I got a chance to see all the bays I had already explored on land, from the sea. We also got to see two types of albatrossPIC, some blue penguins swimming about and plenty of shags on rocks. As we arrived at the wharf in Post Office Bay we saw a Stewart Island Weka on the beach, which I wrongly assumed was a good omen for bird spotting. Anyway, our tour guide proceeded to tell us about the plants and history of the island, and we were all on strict orders to point out any birds we saw, but the sightings weren't plentiful and the rain coming back probably didn't help. Having said that I did see a New Zealand Parakeet [Kākāriki] vanishing into the canopy and later a couple of Stewart Island Robins [Toutouwai], but that was all. The plants were easier to spot, and we were shown leaves that were once used as postcards, a shrub that will easily burn when wet (we didn't get a demonstration) and a plant called Tmesipteris (pronounced mis-ip-trus) PIC which is of great interest to scientists as it is related to the first plants to ever grow leaves, and has remained the same for 400 million years. Perhaps they survived this long by being so easily overlooked.
That night I went out again to look for kiwis. I say 'again' because I had already been out on two previous nights and come away without seeing a thing. Sadly this third and final attempt also kept from me the much wanted sighting. Something I learned through these failed attempts is that although the Stewart Island kiwis can be seen in the day, this doesn't quite mean what you would expect. What it actually means is in the summer the shorter nights force the kiwis to spend some of dawn and dusk out looking for food in order to have enough time to find all they need. They are still essentially nocturnal and there is far more chance of them being about in the dark than the light. Having learned this I did go out after dark and lurk silently in areas they are reported to frequent, and perhaps if I had lurked far later into the night I would have been luckier.
My final day on the island was overcast but dry and bright so I set out to walk the one remaining unwalked track on my map. The Ryan's Creek Track was another coastal one although generally higher above the water than the others and without any bays to visit, although it did pass the picturesque inlet containing the three small forested islands of Faith, Hope and Charity. And with that, my time on Stewart Island was all but done, I had loved my time exploring it and would be sad to leave the next day. You may think that I had managed to do all that there is to be done there and walked all the tracks it has to offer, and although I had done my best, you would be wrong. The part of the island I had explored is really only one small corner, and the tracks I had walked were all the shortest and easiest to access. Perhaps one day I will return to take on the Southern or North West Circuits. Alas, I doubt I will be returning any time soon.
Arriving back in Invercargill mid morning, I had the rest of the day to explore while dodging rain showers. I quickly discovered Queen's Park and as you will all by now expect found it to be excellent. Amongst the usually excellent rose gardens, decorative ponds and native plant displays I also found a cactus house, a small zoo PIC and and aviary. At one end of the park was the white pyramid building I had mentioned before. So I went in to look around the museum, which seemed bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Highlights of this include the Tuatara enclosure. Tuatara PIC are lizard like reptiles that are now extinct in the wilds of mainland New Zealand, surviving only on the islands of the Cook Strait. They are sometimes described as living fossils, perhaps because they move about as much as fossils. Nice to see them though. Also in the museum was a display about the land speed exploits of Burt Munro about whom the film The World's Fastest Indian was made a few years ago starring Sir Anthony Hopkins. They also had a stuffed kiwi, which doesn't count as a sighting, and a stuffed Kakapo, a large flightless parrot that whilst not quite extinct, I am unlikely ever to see even in captivity. They didn't have a stuffed Moa but they did have the leg bones of one of the largest varieties and that alone was as tall as me. It did make me wish they were still around, as they really would have been a sight to see.
So, I had given Invercargill a second chance and I was glad that I did. While it may never be a prime destination, it certainly was worth looking around, and had I had more time who knows what other secrets it's hiding. But, time was once again the enemy and I had a lot of ground to cover before my departure from Christchurch. I wouldn't be following the same route back though, of course not, that would be boring. So the next day I set off in a north westerly direction to the edge of Lake Te Anau.
By the time the bus pulled up in the small modern tourist town of Te Anau the sun was back out in force and the short walk along the lake front PIC to my hostel was enough to make me glad I came. The hostel itself was a minor disappointment as it was a converted motel complex and the motel and hostel philosophies are somewhat at odds with each other, but I had chosen it due to its prime location right on the lake front and was also lucky enough to get a dorm with a shared balcony and lake view, so I put aside my reservations, settled in and set back out to town to get supplies. The town, whilst providing me with everything I needed, was unashamedly tourism based, which isn't something I seek out, however as it is still quite a small place it wasn't devoid of charm.
The next morning was sunny again and the forecast was for a hot day, so I put on my rather floppy old Australian work hat and headed out to explore. Lake Te Anau is the largest lake in the South Island and as such I wouldn't be walking all the way around it. The Kepler Track also starts on the edge of the lake opposite town and though I wouldn't be attempting the 60km walk on this visit I thought I would walk around to where it started. Along the way I wandered through the wildlife centre where there were a scattering of enclosures containing various birds. I saw more Kakas and also a Kia which is the worlds only alpine parrot and looks a little like a Kaka. There was an enclosure for a Morepork [Ruru], a type of owl, but I think it must have escaped as I couldn't see it. They didn't have any kiwis but the did have a Tekahe [Tekahē]PIC. This bird had black feathers with a distinctive blue tinge and red feet and beak. It was thought to be extinct until after an extensive search it was rediscovered by Geoffrey Orbell in the Murchison Mountains near Lake Te Anau, in 1948. There is a large colourful statue of one in town. After this unexpected treat I continued on to reach the forested edge PIC of the lake and the Kepler Track. I wandered along for a while, and it was rather lovely albeit considerably busier than the tracks of Stewart Island. Naturally I was keeping my eyes peeled for any wildlife, and I did see something, something that shouldn't have been there, as it was a stoat. This forest, like all that I had walked in, is covered in a comprehensive grid of traps, I had walked past hundreds, but all the traps I had seen were empty and the stoat was very much alive. It doesn't bode well for the native wildlife, as with the tools currently available to eradicate the invasive species, the war looks set to go on indefinitely.
The following day was cooler and overcast but this didn't matter, as what I had planned the weather couldn't spoil. Well, I say that, but the boat ride across the lake to reach it would have been better in the sunshine, but I wasn't really going for the ride. What I was going for were the glowworm caves. Once at the visitor centre we were all sat down with some disgustingly weak free coffee and shown a video about glowworms [Titiwae]. If I'm honest, it never really occurred to me that I didn't know what a glowworm was, probably always having assumed it was a glowing worm. Well, glowworms do glow, but they are not worms, and if you don't generally consider worms to be cute and cuddly then you would like glowworms even less. Glowworms are the larva of the Fungus Gnat and they live on the roof of the cave where they create a row of sticky 'fishing lines' of mucus with which to trap and paralyse insects to eat. The purpose of the glow is to attract its prey and the hungrier a glowworm gets the brighter its glow. On the upside, one of the insects they eat are sandflies. So, with that pleasant new knowledge we set off into the cave.
The entrance way was narrow and we had to almost crawl along on all fours to get in, but after that it opened up and we could stand again. I rather like going into caves, there is something otherworldly about them, and there's the cold damp air, and a different smell, and in this case the sometimes deafening noise of the river that created it rushing through. As we progressed along walkways and up steps we passed various named parts of the cave such as the Cathedral, where the roof of the cave was very high, and the Waterfall, which was a waterfall. I could imagine Gollum feeling at home here. Even before reaching the Grotto I had spotted the odd scattering of glowing green dots up above, and at once forgot all about the true nature of the beasts, seeing them instead as some kind of magical cave decoration. I was rather impressed. At the end of the walkway we came to a funny little boat that looked a bit like a super-sized tin bath with a double sided church pew up the middle of it. Once we were all sat comfortably, the lights were turned off and the boat was propelled by our guide by pulling it along on chains attached to the walls. We had all been instructed to be silent on the boat and the advantage of this method of propulsion was that it was also silent. Soon I was starting to see little green dots, and as my eyes adjusted further I saw more and more, it really was an awesome sight, and the oddly disembodying experience of floating through the pitch black in silence made it feel like floating through space staring up at a vast green galaxy. The previous day I had been in two minds as to whether or not to fork out for this tour, but I am very glad I did as it really was one of the best things I've seen in ages. One of the few downsides of having been to so many distant places and seen so many wonderful things is that as time goes on it gets harder and harder to find things you haven't seen before. Well, glowworms were new to me and they were worth every penny.
So, onwards, ever onwards, and in order to cover a decent chunk of ground it was time to crank the dial all the way up. That's right, my readers, it was time for red hot maximum overdrive. When planning this trip I had hoped not to have to stop in Queenstown, but the bus schedules didn't seem to want to allow it, so instead I would be arriving late, sleeping, getting up early and heading further north. I had been to Queenstown before and hadn't stuck around all that long the last time either, it isn't really my kind of place as it's very busy and touristy and is a bit of a self styled adrenaline activity centre. It's also expensive. On the upside however it is set in a gorgeous location, and the bus ride there offered some pretty lovely bus window viewing. At least this time I shouldn't have to put up with the terrible hostel I stayed in last time. I had deliberately picked one that was more than five minutes walk from the centre of town which I hoped would help to filter out the partying types. When I arrived I found the hostel to be very nice, and with amazing views over the lake to the mountains, unfortunately there was a problem. The girl at reception gave me an odd look when I arrived and said I had a booking. She seemed to think I didn't. But I was sure I did, so she checked the list and I wasn't on it and the hostel was full. Hmm... I suspected she didn't believe me, but eventually she looked through a different file with printouts in and discovered that I in fact did have a booking. Suddenly my problem was her problem, as the hostel was still full. She gets the manager. The manager double checks the bookings. Then she starts to do a mixture of panicking and apologising, neither of which was helping me very much and it had just started to rain outside. She offered to phone around other hostels for me, but in Queenstown in summer my chances weren't great, so option two was to see if she could borrow a tent from the hostel owner who lived next door. So, I went for option two. The hostel did actually have an area for tents, but this was fully booked too, so I ended up on a patch of grass between the hostel and a pathway. You know I never realised just how noisy flip-flops were until I had to sleep next to a path with people walking past all night in them, and they were at head height too. Oh well, it could have been worse, last time I was in Queenstown I had drunk people slamming the door all night and one guy who slept on the floor and kept shouting in his sleep.
Morning came and I was up and out early. Luckily the rain had stopped, so I took one last look at the view PIC before heading back to the bus stop and leaving town. I hope I am not being unfair on Queenstown, it probably has more to offer than I have ever found, but I doubt I will ever fall in love with the place. The bus ride to Tekapo, as well as taking me through continuously gorgeous scenery, also passed a few points of interest. There was an old gold mining area where a replica gold mining settlement had been built. We saw the bridge where the first commercial bungee jumping business runs. Our driver pointed out lots of canals and dams that are used for hydroelectric plants, and best of all was the view of snow capped Mt. Cook across the pale milky blue waters of Lake Pukaki, which was stunning, especially in the sunshine. Needless to say the journey flew by and soon I was stepping off the coach in the small village of Tekapo on the shore of the equally milky blue Lake TekapoPIC. After my less than perfect night's sleep in the tent I had though I would check in and laze about but the day was just too good, so I headed straight out to explore. Quickly arriving back at the lake I spent quite a while just staring at it, as it really is quite an amazing colourPIC. Once again the milky blue is a result of rock flour from glaciers suspended in the water, which almost seems to glow when the sun shines on it. Progressing around the lake I came to the Church of the Good ShepherdPIC, which is a small stone church of simple design. It is apparently very popular for weddings, presumable for the location, and I'm told also popular with Japanese people who having got married in Japan come over and have a second wedding ceremony here, again presumably for the scenery although I would have thought Japan had some of its own. Close by is a bronze statue of a sheepdog PIC commissioned by the Mackenzie County residents to recognise the contribution made by sheepdogs to their livelihood.
After an excellent night's sleep in the positively silent hostel I set off to walk the Mt. John Walkway, which starts with a steep winding climb up to the summit PIC where there is an astronomical observatory, and some good views all about. As usual I was keeping an eye out for wildlife, but quickly realised that the grassy alpine flora wasn't going to be hiding much so instead took to photographing the different plants and flowers growing among the rocks – none of which I can identify. Whilst doing this I was surprised to see something move, and it was a small lizard, unfortunately it was far too fast for me to get a picture but looking it up on the internet later my best guess is that it was a common skink (or possibly a brown skink). Returning via the longer gentler lake shore path I arrived at what was essentially the beginning of the end. I had one more silent night in Tekapo to enjoy before leaving behind the turquoise lake and completing the circuit by returning to Christchurch.
So there it is, a plan a year in the making all but played out. Of course there was still the small matter of two days of flights, airports and trains to get me back home. And home is where I am now, sitting next to the same bedroom window where the whole idea began. I had set out to escape some of the winter and now as I look out there are snowdrops along the verge and buds on the trees, spring is on its way and with luck summer will come to visit after that. Perhaps while I sit I will once again be inspired to seek out adventures new, although I expect I will have to endure a winter or two before then. But once the idea's been had and the plan's been made I'll be off again, me and my old green backpack. Where to? Who knows, but Stewart Island has given me a taste for remote islands so perhaps I will try out another one, although I haven't been to the desert for a while, and there are lots of animals in Africa. It's going to take some thought. But whenever it is and wherever I go the adventure will surely continue, and when it does, you, my readers, will be amongst the first to know.
David.
