South Island Adventure - Part 2

I forgot to mention that a fellow resident was an elderly Kiwi who arrived in a bright red 45 year old Packard which he had purchased new. He certainly took a lot of care of it. He had paid more so that his car could be seen from his window. He also covered the whole car with a sheet. He had driven from Auckland down North Island, used the ferry and drove down from Picton. He was headed for the Nelson Motor Museum which he enthused about.

We did not share his enthusiasm and our destination was to be the Abel Tasman National Park. More precisely, we were headed for Kaiteriteri which is the base for the Abel Tasman Shuttle. The purpose of the boat was to take passengers to any of a number of bays where they could sit around and wait for the shuttle back, or they could walk through the park or back to base.

The beach was golden and the sea clear and bright blue. There was no resisting a paddle after coffee and cake. We walked to the end of the bay and spent time watching tiny fish swimming near us.

The shuttle proved too expensive for us but we spied a pea-green boat which offered coffee and a cruise. I counted our money and found that we did not have the $50 needed to catch the 12.30 sailing. I called out to pilot that I would like to book for the 2.30 sailing but needed to go back to town and collect funds from the ATM. He asked my name and the deal was done.

I forgot to say that the road up from Motueka was decorated with road works. It is rare to see lights used. It is more common for workers to have 'Stop' and 'Go' signs. I think that these men must have begun to recognise us, given the extra times that we passed. I should mention that it is quite common to see women road workers.

Having collected our supper from the super market and our lunch from the bakery and, of course, our money, we got back to the boat. We were invited on early. It was the first time we had paddled to board a boat. Once settled down at the rear of the boat Dave, the boatman, collected our money. He told us that four other people had booked places and asked if we did not mind waiting a few minutes. The outcome was that the three of us set sail.

The wind was quite strong so Dave asked us if we would like to join him at the front of the boat. We sailed along the bays and headlands until we came to an unusual rock formation known as 'Split Apple Rock'. Here the boat headed towards the beach. The anchor was thrown out and Dave bought out the selection of teas, coffee and biscuits.

A house on the beach. It has never
flooded but will not get sun until October 

Dave and Irene

Split Apple Rock

  

Dave was a character. He was two years younger than us. Before starting his boating business he had been a prison officer and a teacher. As are most people, here and in the UK, he was cynical about politicians and government. He told us about the last time his boat licence was due. He had sent his application off in good time, the office had lost it and ask him to reapply. He now had to say that he had no sailing experience for the last six months. This meant that he would have take a course at his own expense. After heated exchanges his original application turned up.

He also had a view about the Mauri and trotted out the man in the street's version of how the Mauri removed the original Moriori people by eating them. He told us that he was racially prejudiced. He trotted out some facts which if true would not make him prejudiced. However, he was honest enough to confess to that kind of prejudice which makes him judge all Maori in the same jaundiced way.

Dave had warned us that we would not be able to land back in the same place. As we cruised back the shuttle boat passed us and then we saw it run aground and back off. Both boats landed around the headland. Everyone paddled ashore and across the streams that were running across the beach. 

A bit windswept but happy

Dave returning us to shore

Dave waving us goodbye

 Our evening meal was fish pie and I had doughnut ice-cream.

March is the start of Autumn here. It is not usual for snow to fall as early as it did. There was a marked temperature difference between 28th Feb and 1st March. So, at the start of Autumn, we headed into the mountains. After stopping for morning chai at Murchison we then went on to what was called the longest swing bridge in NZ. I actually thought that it should be 'swinging' not swing.

We were at the Buller River. This area is important to the history of NZ as it was an early source of gold. http://www.teara.govt.nz/en/photograph/8625/spoon-dredge-buller-river-1895. The car park was at Buller Gorge and two means of crossing were on offer. Most people used the swing bridge, but a brave few used the 'Cometline'. Although I chickened out of crossing the bridge Irene felt perfectly safe and stood to pose. This lack of fear of height took me by surprise.

After having lunch by the road we drove on until we came to another bridge over the river. This was a steel girder bridge over a very beautiful part of the river.

Just before lunch we arrived at the tiny town of Reefton. When we first came to NZ eleven years ago I had read that its population was just over 1000. There was no change to this. You could almost imagine the town clerk regularly updating the number on a board as babies were born, old people died or others moved away.

The main street was wide and lined with wild west looking buildings. Little was open and by mid-afternoon it was mostly deserted. We had a little walk up out of town and looked to cross its own swing bridge. This time I was the brave one. Although it was shorter and had thick wooden boards to walk on Irene was not happy out the number of boards that were broken and the use of three ply to repair them.

Irene stopped at the broken planks. I can't think why.

Inangahua River from the bridge

Next to the bridge I spied one of those amazing Kiwi licence plates.

Having had a walk out of town we headed for the Alfresco Villas. In this place we had a shared kitchen. The whole place was open to the air. Our room felt like an ice box. It was here we learned about the dramatic temperature change. We were told that the previous day the temperature was 30 degs but the day of our arrival had started with fog at 3 degs. The room was quite small in an Edwardian House with high ceilings. Our room was not going to get any sun. The bathroom was a shock. It was well equipped. Heating came through two radiant light about 10 feet above. The then disappeared through the two inch gap at the bottom of the outside door.

We had the room with the centre window

Fortunately we were only going to be here for one night. Before going off to explore more of the town we switched on the little heater. It proved to be quite effective. Opposite the shops was a replica of a gold refining workshop. The 'bearded miners' were not to seen, but there was nothing to stop us wandering about.

On the other side of the street was an art gallery. Three artist used it to work, display and sell there work. They took turns to man the place and we entered in to a good conversation about art as she explained how she found inspiration in the things about her. We talked about the colours of autumn in the mountains. She preferred to use the word 'passed' rather than 'died' about some of the pictures that she had done.

From there we walked to the other end of town to use the road bridge to cross the Inangahua River and walk along the opposite bank. One of the houses looked very derelict and rusty cars littered the front 'garden'. Eventually we came to the swing bridge and crossed safely.

Being Saturday we had decided to have a sit down evening meal. This we did at the 'Alfreso Eatery'. We even ate it out side. The meal was 'Prohibition Pork' (named after a mine in the area) which was washed down with a bottle of Monteiths Summer Ale. While we sat we read about the owner who had come to teach in the town about 25 years ago.

The meal ended somewhat embarrassingly. The waitress came to tell us that card payment machine was not working. This was strange because earlier we had paid for the accommodation with it. This reminds me that this motel was the only one that we could not book in advance. Paula sent me an email which simply said the room is booked just come to the eatery to pay.

So what to do about paying for the food. I said that I did not have enough money and I did not feel like walking to the ATM at that very moment. The solution that the waitress came up with was that I went to the machine in the morning and put the $64 through the mail box before we left. There are no locks on mail boxes.

We had quite a warm night's sleep. I found the cash in my purse and some paper to wrap it up with and write on it what it was before putting it in the box.

We then drove up to the mining museum. It was further out of town than we thought. The first visitors (a posse of American tourists) were already inside. So we just tagged along with them. It was fascinating to hear Pete talk about the history of the town. As the Americans gathered to make their way up to the 'Gold battery shed' I found a moment to ask about paying him. He did not seem too bothered and invited us join the rest of the tour at no extra cost.

The stamper is a set of steel hammers which pound the gold bearing quartz. The powder is washed down and treat with cyanide and mercury to remove the gold. Up until 1970 the bank manager had a furnace to melt the gold and pour it into moulds. Pete also took the opportunity to show us one of the generators which made Reefton famous as the first NZ town to have electric lighting.

We followed Pete back to the museum and he expressed the cynicism about politicians that seems to be so common. Because we were showing so much interest he took us into the holy of holies; namely the archives. In a properly heated dry, secure room. There were the original documents from the beginning of mining in the area. He had a sad tale to tell about the historian who had been using the archive to write history books. Apparently, the sixty year old man had gone off to North Island on a tramping holiday. Unfortunately he had not told anyone where he was going. After a few days an alert went out on the media. A postie then spotted the man's car and alerted the police. But it was too late.

At least the containers were sealed as the cyanide was
extracted.

His particular cynicism was reserved for the way that the government were handling the closure of the large mine. Very soon it would close, prematurely. Already people were leaving town. But he was convinced that life for Reefton would carry on.

And so we left sleepy Reefton with a mixture of sadness and hope. Our next destination would be the thriving holiday resort of Hanmer Springs with a population of 800.