Water World

Abel Tasman has its back to the mountains and its face to the water. The bach is right on the inlet at Awaroa and life is ruled by the tides, which sweep in and out with twenty five hour cycles of the moon. High tide and low tide shift by about one hour per day. If the tide is in, you can't get across the bay to the car park to go shopping. If the tide is out, you can walk across. If the tide is half and half you can wade, but it all depends on whether the moon is full, for then the water can be deeper and wading turns to swimming.

Or you can use the little yellow boat which just about takes three passengers - Tom, Barbara and me. Yesterday was a walking trip, but as the tide was half in, half out there was quite a bit of wading up to our waists.

Some of the pleasures of the water lie in the creatures to be seen. A couple of days ago, from a track overlooking the sea, we saw an enormous creature arc out of the waves. It might have been a dolphin but looked to be too big so we are still wondering if we saw an Orca - a killer whale - pods of which have been spotted off the coast in recent weeks. But of course I didn't have my camera ready so it was the one that got away.

We were luckier today. We piled into the boat early (well before the wind gets up around midday) and set off out of the bay, in the dirction of a small cove to the east. Chugging along, propelled by the smelly two stroke outboard, we'd just got into the open sea when there was a commotion about two hundred metres away to the left. The head of a huge creature was shaking the hell out of a fish, probably one of the local Eagle Rays (the type with a vicious sting laden tail that killed Steve Irwin, the crocodile expert). The creature was larger than a seal and we think it was probably a sealion. As it thrashed about, gulls landed all around, hoping for some scraps from the meal. Then suddenly all was quiet again as the creature vanished from sight.

Towards the hidden cove where we planned to swim, shags preened on the rocks lining the coast, before dropping down to the surface of the sea. At the cove, the swimming was pure joy - water as translucent as air over a sandy bottom with a few rounded rocks to stand on. Coming back, against the tide pourng out of the bay, was hard work for the engine which whined and stank worse than ever. We made it before the water had all ebbed away, watching out for the rays which hug the sea floor where they feed on crustaceans. Waiting on the shore to greet us were row upon row of Oyster Catchers, waiting for lunch on the bay sand which would shortly be drained, leaving the small crabs and crayfish high and dry.

Takaka, Hippy Haven

As I parked the car on the main street in Takaka, I was almost knocked down by a grey bearded man on a unicycle juggling four orange balls as he streaked up the road. Welcome to Takaka, a home from home for retired New Zealand hippies. The main street is full of shops selling jewelry and various hippy artefacts. We had lunch at The Dangerous Kitchen, then passed by the village green where a girl band was singing as part of the local Mardi Gras. After that we made our way to this Internet cafe for a connection.

The trip back to Takaka was along the same gravel road, but this time, without all the baggage and supplies the car didn't ground on the exhaust pipe all the time.

Yesterday, we walked out to Tonga Beach, a huge stretch of golden sand, lapped by a warm blue sea. The wind was blowing up quite a bit but we found some sheltered shade for a sleep after our sandwich lunch - Tom's walking lunches are notoriously "a cheese and a bread", made a bit more interesting by a slice of tomato. But it does satiate the appetite at the time. After the beach we walked back via the Aweroa Lodge for beer and email. Another day had almost slipped by.

But not quite, because bizarre event took place after we returned home, when we were invited to a neighbouring bach across the inlet. Expecting a glass of wine, we were treated to a variety of cocktails, served by Georgina, the 18 year old daughter. For Christmas she'd been given a cocktail book and was working her way through the list. And of course, as is usual with cocktails, they didn't taste of alcohol but were in fact highly intoxicating. It was a somewhat disorganised trip back in the little yellow boat. I slept very soundly last night.

Come in, Major Tom

Across the bay is the Awaroa Lodge, which has grown over time into quite an establishment, with 27 rooms, a restaurant, a cafe and various other services. Everything at the lodge has to be brought in either by sea or via the road we came on. Electricity is from a huge generator and all communication is via a satellite link.

The lodge has recently been taken over by new owners, Barry, a Brit, and his his Chinese wife, Selena. We met them on the boat that brought up across the inlet. Barry was kind of complaining that the lodge cost him 60,000NZ$ a month just too keep open, with 900NZ$ per week going on diesel for the generator. Which brings me to the Internet. In the past Tom had an account to connect at the lodge, but everything seems to have been changed by the new owners. Now it costs more and apparently doesn't seem to work quite as well. But then Tom does have a habit of doing things a more difficult way than most of us (I seem to have quite a few friends like this) and has been wandering around the woods trying to find places to connect. This has been a very frustrating task for him as his computer has been crashing all time. I, on the other hand with the trusty Linux, have just wandered over to the lodge, paid 8NZ$ for one hour, sat in the bar with a beer and linked up via the wireless connection. It is slow but it does work, though I am not posting pictures at the moment because of the slow speed.

Abel Tasman

This is an idyllic place but the journey here was taxing to say the least. I met up with Tom and Barbara at Nelson Airport. They'd come in from San Francisco via Auckland - for once it wasn't me who was jetlagged. I had been under the impression that it was a quick ride in the car to the boat that would take us to Awaroa. Wrong. It was a two hour car ride, stopping on the way to have coffee with Scilla, a friend of Tom and Barbara's. They were holding up remarkably well. Then is was on the road again, to Takaka, the nearest town where we could buy food. It was then that I learned that we had to stock up because there was no place at Awaroa to buy food. I kept on saying this didn't matter because we had the car and could easily go back to Takaka to buy food and they kept on saying, you wait and see.

From Takaka, the car laden with food, we took a scenic road that clings to the hillside above the sea. It was windy and a bit slow but not difficult. I still couldn't see why it was so hard to return to Takaka to buy food. And then I found out, when the metalled road gave way to a very narrow, gravel track that often slunk its way betweeen high banks sprouting tree ferns. The track got narrower and narrower. Cars would come barrelling in the opposite direction, trailing clouds of dust, leaving inches to pass. Just as I thought, okay, I've got the hang of this, it's not too bad really, we came to the first river. So what you might ask, take the bridge, except there was no bridge - we had to plunge into the water in our Toyota Corolla clearly no made for this kind of thing. We survived and then Tom casually said, that's the first one done. about a kilometre on we came to the next, wider and deeper. I swear the water came to the top of the bonnet and leaked through the door seals. But once again we made it, though with some ominous clanking from beneath the car.

Eventually we came to the Awaroa car park, where I discovered a section of the exhaust pipe seemed to dangling dangerously low beneath the engine. Hving unloaded the car - food, backpacks, suitcase etc - we waited for the boat to take us, finally, to the bach.

This place is exceptionally remote. It is also beautiful. Their house stands above an inlet from the bay, where water ebbs and flows with the twice daily tide. Hill rise behind the houses - there are a group of other baches on the inlet - clad in green vegetation, mostly canukas and tree ferns. From the windows there is a view of the sea, a deep blue, stirred occasionally into white caps by the wind which often blows up from the south (a cold wind, coming up from the Anarctic).

Life here is slow, dominated by the tides and the daylight. During the day the sound of cicadas and crickets is constant. The cicadas click, like crackling electricity, while the crickets saws their legs creating a rhythmic hum. We take long walks, go out in the boat and just look at the sea. It is hard to believe there is another life.

South Island

Rosie (the great map reader) would have laughed, but tonight, because I read the map upsidedown, I ended up at an excellent fish and chip shop with a decent pub next door. Even better, the fish and chip shop actually delivered the fish and chips to the pub on a plate. It was a great and informal pleasure, created by my inability to read a map properly. Sorry, Rosie, but it has to be admitted that my incompetence does sometimes yield bonuses.

The day started early in Wellington on the 0830 ferry to Picton. The Cook Strait can be very rough but today it was moderate with only one stretch of huge swell as we emerged into the strait from Wellington Harbour. The last hour of the three hour journey is stunning, as the ship winds it way up the Charlotte Sound, with hills and rugged bays on either side, before docking at Picton, the port of entry for South Island.

Picton is nothing much to write home about, but the jourrney to Nelson crosses the Marlborough wine district. Row after row of vines flank the road with wineries dotted at intervals. It may not surprise anyone to know that I stopped for three tastings. the wine on offer is predominately sauvignon blanc, chardonnay and pinot noir. At St Clair, it was on offer in industrial quantities from the winery's massive 500 hectares, with little (in my opinion) worth drinking. Then came Herzog, where they surprisingly charge 10 NZ$ for a tasting so, in the words of tabloid journalism, I made my excuses and left. When I asked down the road at George Michel's winery (Michel is French and uses cork not the ubiquitous screwtop) whether charging for a tasting is usual the area, I was told that Herzog is almost the only winery that does. Michel's wines were much better than St Clair's and I bought a (rather expensive) Pinot Noir and a Rose, also made of Pinot Noir. Finally I visited Nautilus, where I'd been told to ask to taste their Four Barrels Pinot Noir. Unfortunately it was wasn't available for tasting, but I had some of their two or three barrels Pinot which nice enough.

Nelson was founded in 1842 and sports a hideous cathedral on top of the hill at the head of the city. Yes, it's a city because when the settlement was founded, Bishop Selwyn, whose diocese included New Zealand and Melanesia, persuaded the powers that be to grant them a cathedral which rendered Nelson formally a city. There are a few handsome buildings, surrounded by loads of small clapboard houses with tin roofs, giving the city considerable charm.

Tomorrow, Air New Zealand willing, I meet Tom and Barbara and it's off to the bach in the Abel Tasman park.

Windy Wellington

There was no direct flight from Sydney to Wellington at a reasonable price. Instead I took the long trip via Brisbane, involving two flights and a major argument with the check-in desk at Sydney Domestic terminal, where the assistant (who failed to assist) refused to acknowledge that UK passport holders do not need a visa for either Australia or New Zealand. At the end of a distinctly chilly check-in she hissed at me that I would be ejected from the country if I didn't renew my visa by April 9th. Oh well, sometimes they don't like the English (but then nor do I).

Wellington is known at Windy Wellington, on account of the winds that whistle up the Cook Straight. As a consequence the Straight is a notorious ship's graveyard. Perhaps the most famous, certainly the most recent, major shipwreck was that of the inter-island ferry Wahine, which came to grief in a terrible storm in April 1968. As I'm taking an inter-island ferry tomorrow, I'm keeping a close watch on the weather.

Wellington has a reputation for culture, but until very recently (so I learned from the excellent display at the Wellington Museum) the city council seemed to spend most of its time knocking down the old buildings. There certainly isn't much to see, at least as far as I could make out. There are some handsome old buildings round the harbour, but mostly its modern glass and concrete or just concrete. Notable amongst the modern is the Te Papa National Museum of New Zealand. I made it there half an hour before closing time and a very jolly old cove told me I had to see the colossal squid and the “Golden Days” exhibit. I raced up the stairs and was led by signs to the formalin bath in which the colossal squid now resides. It didn't seem to me that colossal, but when I complained I was told it was only a baby. This seemed to me a case of “the one that got away”. That said, it was certainly not a creature I would have liked to encounter while swimming.

Tomorrow it's goodbye Wellington, hello South Island, providing, of course, I am not shipwrecked.

Manley, Culture and Friends

“Don't mess about with the harbour cruises, they're expensive,” said Caroline in her forthright way. “Do what Sydneysiders do when they want to take a trip on the harbour. Get a return trip to Manley.”

Good advice. Harbour cruise – 30A$, return to Manley – 14A$, so no contest. Many of the ferries on Sydney harbour are curious reversible craft, with propellers fore and aft, so no turning round is involved. The Manley Ferry goes every half hour and takes half an hour to cross the bay, on the way passing the exit to the ocean beyond. It was a gorgeous day, heating up rapidly under a fierce sun. I sat outside at the front under an awning but still didn't manage to sit entirely in the shade. The Akubra was essential, but still I had to squirm around a bit to prevent my arms and legs going up in flames. The only minor complaint was that a lone man (hey, I'm a lone man) came to sit beside me to eat a Big Mac and fries, scenting the air with that familiar stink of soggy bun and gooey,grey meat. I saw him later stripping off on the beach at Manley and the Big Mcs had nothing for his figure.

I didn't strip off, in spite of a long call earlier in the day from one of Caroline's co-workers who was absolutely insistent that I had, just had, to go snorkeling at the Fairy Bower marine park. “No bathers? Well buy some and a snorkel and mask, it really is a fantastic sight, you have to do it. It's worth it, I promise you.” Instead, I took the long walk to Fairy Bower beach (I have no idea how it got that name), then up the cliff to some wonderful views of the snorkellers a long way below, flapping their way through the surf above the coral. I also encountered a solitary Eastern Water Lizard, a huge, spiney thing that squinted at me through narrowed eyes from a rock. I wondered what my cat, Pepin le Bref, would have made of it, given that he is frightened of very little.

Returning on the ferry to Circular Quai, we passed a beautiful brigantine (I don't know if it was technically a brigantine, but I do like the word), slowly chopping through the swell. Back on land, I made a trip to the NSW gallery, recently renovated, to see the Asian collection. Some wonderful artefacts here, plus an exhibition of paintings inspired by the early Japanese work, The Tale of Genji. The paintings are wonderful and the curator had included contemporary Manga comics to show the continuity of Japanese pictorial story telling.

Jo Cave, ex-CEO of DACS with whom Rosie worked so closely when she was on the Board, came round in the evening and we all went out to dinner at an excellent local Thai restaurant. It was lovely to see Jo, as we were able to talk about Rosie and I really felt a warming sense of continuity – Rosie may be dead but she lives on in the memory of us all. Jo has taken up the position of CEO at Viscopy, the Australian sister organisation of DACS, where she has the job of ensuring the Australian government implements Artists' Resale Right. It's going to be a tough job and already there is huge push back. I wish her luck and I hope she wins but I am not convinced... yet.