Mananui to the Franz Josef Glacier

It was a chilly start in amongst the metal sheds that made up our nights accommodation, but luckily the room heaters did the job come morning and even the shower was nice and warm. It was still nice though to be rolling onto the Highway under fresh morning skies and heading further south towards what would be one of the highlights of the trip – the Franz Josef glacier.

Our first stop of the day, and one built-up by our coach driver as quite a treat, was not really to my taste. The Bushman Centre claims to offer a look at some of the traditional pursuits of New Zealanders including possum and deer hunting. Not content just to shoot a deer though the Kiwi’s of this area preferred to jump onto a deer’s back from a helicopter and wrestle it to the ground. The Bushman Centre supposedly had a small museum dedicated to this and other equally lovely sports. This was one of the few Kiwi Experience activities I decided to miss out, instead heading across the road and down a lonely forest track. This got my a bit closer to some native flora and fauna and was very pleasant in the morning sun.

By the time I returned to the coach the museum tour was over and people were enjoying breakfast. I got a decent cup of coffee and spent a good few minutes reading some of the diverting signs placed around the shop and eating area.

Back on the coach it was a quiet drive broken only by Baabaa explaining (at great length) the different options available to us whilst at Franz Josef. Luckily the landscape was getting more and more dramatic with jagged peaks rising straight from the valley floor, their lower slopes covered in temperate rainforest. Before we knew it we were heading through the tiny tourist village of Franz Josef and out on the not overly well maintained road, crossing the Waiho river and catching our first sight of the tongue of the glacier.

The coach dropped us at the car park from where a variety of paths wind their way off through the rainforest. We took the route up to Sentinel Rock to get the quintessential view of Franz Josef glacier. It was an awe inspiring sight only a short distance across the wide valley floor.

From here, and with the day drawing towards its close we were back on the bus which let us off on the main street of Franz Josef where we booked our heli-hike for the next day. Then it was only a short walk around the corner to the Rainforest Retreat on the outskirts of Franz Josef and our home for the next two nights.

It was a pretty modern though fairly characterless place with white boxy rooms and a large kitchen and dining area. We cooked in in the evening and had the exciting opportunity to see what happens when someone leaves a boiling egg boiling for about half an hour!

Westport to Mananui

Our first stop of the day, as we now turned south to continue our journey to Queenstown, was only ten minutes outside of Westport at the delightfully named Cape Foulwind. Here under sunny skies we left the bus and climbed up to the lighthouse at the top of the headland. Behind us in the morning mist, beyond a series of cliffs and promontories were the cement towers of Westport. Out to sea was a dramatic collection of tumbled rocks off which Captain Cook had weathered a terrific storm and thus found a suitable name for this particular promontory.

The weather was much kinder to us and with the sun out on a fine, though misty morning we had a great walk along the cliff tops, stopping to admire the views out over the sea, and skirting round the great lighthouse. We also met a few horses in the field and found yet another signpost giving directions to places crazy distances away. The final stop on the walk was the Tauranga Bay Fur Seal Colony which live on the rocks just around from Cape Foulwind and which are a national attraction. The DoC have (of course) constructed excellent viewing facilities so that we were able to stand and look straight down to the rocks where a huge number of seals were both lolling around (the adult ones) or playing on the rocks, in the pools and in the sea (the errant children). We watched for almost twenty minutes, fascinated by the fun they were having and enjoying the fresh morning air.

By the time we reached our next stop it was almost lunchtime and the weather had taken a turn for the worse. We could have headed in to the nice warm café but instead headed out to the local attraction, the Pancake Rocks. Formed by a process called Stylobedding which is still being understood by geologists, these are rocks which have formed in thin, stacked layers, giving the appearance of pancakes. A whole area of the coast is made up of them and a trail runs through and amongst them giving you views down to them and getting you up close. At high tides the sea swells up between the rocks and comes up through blowholes but sadly we missed this part of the show. Instead the water was falling from above and we got drenched. Luckily the rocks themselves were a strange and quite bizarre sight. The trail was spectacular, taking us across natural bridges high above the angry sea and passing between great avenues of pancakes.

?When we returned to the warm, dry café we felt we had earned our right to a nice big stack of edible pancake rocks which came with a healthy dose of fruits and a not so healthy helping of whipped cream. They were good.

We continued south, hugging the coastline on good quality, but twisting roads. We occasionally stopped to get off the coach and check out the sights and the cliffs and headlands and try and spot dolphins which have been known to favour these places in the past.

Later in the afternoon we crossed the broad Grey river and passed into Greytown, which lived perfectly up to its name. It was a strange place filled with charity shops and a sense of being run down and worn at the edges. Across the main street the railway tracks ran but the station was empty – very few trains call at Greytown. We also walked along by the banks of the river itself before heading for a local supermarket.

After having obtained our various food and party supplies we left Greytown, passing further south along the coast, and as the afternoon stole on, passed through the town of Hokitika, famous for being New Zealand’s foremost source of Greenstone which the Maori used to gather and then carve into delicate jewellery. Once through here we only had a short drive to our evening’s stop, a strange hotel by the side of the main southward road, close up against the beach and comprised of strikingly ugly corrugated metal buildings.

We were introduced to Les, our host for the evening, and the oldest publican in New Zealand, who assigned us our rooms – small cubic metal boxes located at the back of the hotel each with just enough room for two bunk beds and a surprisingly effective electric heater (which immediately went on). The rooms weren’t particularly inviting and the pub wasn’t yet open so we wrapped up and headed across the road and into the forest on the far side. A walk of ten minutes or so brought us to the eerie Lake Mahinapua which seemed very still. That sort of dead still without the call of a bird or ripple of a fish. Its flat surface perfectly reflected the sullen afternoon skies and we spent some time exploring the shore and the jetty which led down from a boat house.

We didn’t stay too long and headed back, passing the pub again and heading onto the beach. It was a typical expanse of west coach beach, grey and stony with the Tasman Sea breaking over it with a roar.

That evening after cooking dinner in the metallic kitchen we headed into the pub which had a roaring fire and sold cheap beer. It was a civilised evening, mainly spent chatting but which eventually became more of a party with various drinking games being exchanged and everyone having a good time.

Another early start saw us sitting on a new Kiwi coach that had rolled into Nelson the night before. Initially our bus driver, Baabaa made a good impression, berating a guy for being late and sounding like we going to out on the road with no nonsense. However, that didn’t last long as we weren’t long outside Nelson when we stopped for morning coffee. Here he disappeared for twenty minutes, reappearing without an apology. He then proceeded to outline the business of the day, our aim being to cross a corner of the South Island and head down to our overnight stop at Westport and our first port of call on the real West Coast. This same plan was explained to us at least three times during the course of the day and to this day I have not forgotten it…

Our way first led into the Nelson Lakes National Park, a beautiful region almost due south of Nelson where kettle or glacial lakes (i.e. those carved out by retreating glaciers) nestled beneath steep sided, pine-clad mountains, the highest peaks of which were covered in a light dusting of snow. We stopped the bus beside Lake Rotoiti and after a brief call at the visitor centre close to St Arnaud, headed up into the beech woods on a narrow track. It was a lovely two hour or so walk, taking us up into the foothills of the mountains above the lake, heading along a ridge, before turning back steeply to the shoreline which led back to the bus. The beech woods were damp and musty with the gloomy skies not yielding any sunshine, but they did show a promise of spring. Much of the way followed natural water courses and it was a slippery track, steep in places with treacherous tree roots ready to catch out anyone not sure of their footing. There wasn’t a sound of much wildlife, but then those woods probably weren’t used to a dozen or so people tramping through them in the winter months.

Back near the bus we got our lunches and sat out on the jetty above the icy, astonishingly clear waters of the lake. The local colony of ducks came along to investigate what we had but they looked well fed enough that we shared little and they soon got bored.

After that we had a long drive across country to the town of Murchison where we were met by people coming up from Christchurch. Our bus for the journey down the West Coast to Queenstown, almost a week away, was now complete and we pressed on towards Westport.

The final part of the journey took us through the spectacular Buller Gorge, carving its way through this northern end of the Southern Alps. The road which up until then had been broad and largely straight now twisted and turned its way through the tortuous canyon with walls reaching up on either side, and the vast swell of the Buller river between them. The road seemed very fragile caught between such gigantic forces and as we passed over some particularly bad sections Baabaa told us how these sections often got washed away by floods, or collapsed due to erosion; the government simply rebuilt them again and traffic kept on moving.

Eventually the river slowed down, and broadened out, the steep sides of the gorge grew further apart and we pulled in at Buller Adventure Tours. Here a few people left to do Horse Trekking and other activities whilst the rest of us remained with the coach and carried on into Westport.

After a brief introduction to the town, a place founded on a giant colliery nearby, and the fishing out in the Tasman Sea, we were dropped off at Basel’s, our comfortable, homely hostel. Westport is built along American lines with broad avenues criss-crossing in a grid system, and the sprawling one story houses set well back from the roads in decent sized gardens. The main street seemed like something out of a western, with odd little local shops and a strange feeling about it.

We left the hostel to make the most of the afternoon sunshine, heading along the main street and down to the small harbour where the fishing boats were anchored for the night below the towering cement factory that lined one side of it. After the gloom of the day we were now treated to a glorious late afternoon, the sun finally piercing the clouds and giving everything a strange and surreal light. After much map consultation and a wrong turn or two we eventually found our way to the beach, a huge expanse of windswept grey-black sand with the sea breaking over it with a roar. With the sun sinking westward, turning the wet sand to molten gold and casting everything into sharp relief it was a dramatic place where nature truly seemed to be king. Apart from a few people racing down the sands in 4×4’s we saw hardly anyone as we headed up the beach, checking for interesting shells and watching the sun sink ever lower.

It didn’t take us too long to realise we were probably not going to make it back before nightfall so we quickly left the beach, walking down some strange backroads as the darkness crept up behind us. Luckily it was only fully dark when we got back into the suburbs and we didn’t have to resort to torches. Then we were out on Main Street where we found a supermarket to stock up on provisions and cooked a stir-fry back at the hostel.

We were on a bus before the sun had risen this morning, though it was worth as not only were the morning skies clear and filled with bright stars, but as we left Nelson and drove along the coast towards the Abel Tasman National Park we were treated to a stunning sunrise.

In the coach we had local New Zealand radio on and a cheerful bus driver who gave us the lowdown on our day’s activities. As we left the populated areas around Nelson behind, we got into the stunning National Park scenery, climbing up over forested hills to reach the small fishing village of Marahau where we pulled up at the offices of Abel Tasman AquaTaxi. After signing up for our respective activites (some were going via canoe and some via boat) we had only a short wait before being kitted out with a life jacket and clambering aboard our speed boat…in the middle of a car park.

It wasn’t particularly dignified but our boat, mounted on the back of a trailer was slowly towed down to the shore by a tractor. With the tide out it was quite a way out to the water but eventually our boat was in its proper environment and under the most amazing skies we sped round to our first stop at Split-Apple Rock. With an interesting Maori legend behind it (suggesting that it had been cloven in two by an axe-wielding giant), this was a strange feature to be found sitting just off the shore. We then swept north up the coast to visit a few of the bays and take in some more of the sights of this beautiful coastline. The sea was deep blue and astonishingly clear and the dense green forest was broken only by the golden sands of beautiful bays. The boat was fast, and we sped quickly over the still sea, the wind whipping through our hair as we sat at the very back. Only at one point, off an exposed headland, did it get a bit choppy, but here we powered over the waves and we soon back in calmer waters.

At Tonga island we stopped to watch a playful colony of seals, and then at Awaroa Bay we delivered the morning paper before picking up a couple more passengers and heading to the most northerly point of our journey at Totaranui. Here we got off the boat briefly, wading through the cold, clear water to the beach where we enjoyed the peace and tranqulity of this solitary spot. The Department of Conservation Hut would be the biggest building for quite some way around us. We stopped off for a toilet break, having fun walking through the stones in our bare feet to get to the toilet block!

Our cigerette smoking captain then took us back down the coast slightly to Bark Bay where we officially disembarked for our afternoon walk along the Abel Tasman Coastal Trail. On the way back we again passed the seal colony, many of whom were by now splashing around in the water, and a set of caves where apparently a wedding had taken place earlier in the year!

We sat and ate our picnic lunch on the edge of the beach, cutting it short when the local sandfly population got wind of this and came to join the party. Energised, we headed out along the Abel Tasman Coastal Path, winding our way up and out of Bark Bay and into the native bush. The track was of a good quality, cut through the sandy cliffs and lined by trees and undergrowth. Each turn afforded us another view of the stunning coastline, and the crystal clear waters of the Tasmanian Sea. Despite it being the end of winter, under the sunny skies we were soon baking and walked on much more comfortably in t-shirts.

We had been warned that the Department of Conservation were doing some work in the area but to see a sign warning us of explosives ahead was somewhat unnerving. This was nothing to actually coming across a box marked explosives. We hurried on casting worried glances into the dark overgrowth that clung to the narrow sides of the ravine we were walking along the bottom of. Luckily we managed to pass through the area during their lunchbreak, an abandoned mechanical digger the last sign of deconstructive conservation.

The path then led us across a swingbridge with a river flowing languidly beneath it and a stunning view out towards the coast. We crested the next hill which gave us brilliant views round to the next bay and here we stopped to munch on some fudge cake and said hello to a few other people who were out on the track.

After enjoying this view out to the more distant mountains near Nelson (and the cake) we descended down into Torrent Bay, on the way passing through less dense forest where it seemed the conservation work had led to a certain amount of deforestation. Then we were down at the shore where, set back amongst the trees was the little community of Torrent Bay. Mainly summer holiday homes it was very still and quiet and although we could have waited here for the water taxi we decided to carry on to the next bay, Anchorage.

That morning at the water taxi offices I had been sure that I had been told not to attempt crossing the lagoon after high tide as it would be treacherous so I persuaded J to come on the longer trip that followed the high water track around the lagoon. It turned out that this was longer than it looked on the map and we had to set a brisk pace to make sure we got back to the water taxi for 3:30pm. Eventually we crossed the last hill and came down to Anchorage with about twenty minutes to spare!

We now got the chance to rest our weary feet whilst we waited for the taxi to come and pick us up. After our three hours of hiking it was nice to be zipping across the water again.

By the time we got back to Marahau the tide was in and we had to wind our way along a channel of deep water before being pulled up the ramp by a tractor. We were returned to the water taxis where we once again exchanged our boat for a bus and headed back to Nelson as the first stars of evening came out above us. It had been an amazing day when both the scenery and the weather had been on the same side!

It was yet another crisp, clear morning as we, bleary eyed and only half awake, clambered aboard a tiny shuttle bus which took us the short way down to the Interislander ferry terminal. We checked in our bags and only had to wait ten minutes or so before we were allowed to board our ferry, the Kaitaki which turned out to be a former P&O European ferry operating between Dover and Calais, that I had been on several years earlier in a different hemisphere!

As soon as we were aboard we raced up to the sundeck to catch the sun rising over the distant mountains – it was a spectacular sight. Slowly we pulled out of the port and left Wellington, and the North Island, behind us in a wake of churning white water. We watched the many bays of outer Wellington slip by before heading down to get some supplementary breakfast (coffee and a muffin) and a comfy reclining seat.

With the notorious Cook Strait proving surprisingly calm, and J engrossed in Harry Potter VII, I decided to head back up to the observation deck, and spent much of the journey there, sheltering from the ferocious and bitingly cold wind, but still able to enjoy the view as the North Island receded and the snowcapped tips of the South Island came slowly towards us. The quality of light was incredible, the sea a deep blue contrasting with the brilliant white of the ferry.

After about two hours of sailing we had crossed the Strait and entered the network of Fiords and Sounds that mark the northern tip of the South Island. We passed through Marlborough Sound and then Queen Charlotte Sound, both equally breathtaking with green tree-clad slopes meeting the water and the occasional solitary house the only signs of civilisation in this remote part of the world.

The port of Picton was our destination, which we arrived at just before lunchtime after a smooth crossing of just over three hours. Here we joined up with our next big green Kiwi Ex bus for a trip across the mountains to Nelson.

The first part of the drive took us through the Marlborough wine region, famous for its Sauvignon Blancs. We stopped off at a place called The Village for lunch. On a long, straight piece of vineyard-lined road outside Blenheim we were in the heart of the wine region and got the opportunity to sample a few of the wines which were deliciously crisp and tasty. Then we took advantage of the afternoon sunshine to eat lunch outside on picnic tables that stood close by a small lake with jagged mountains forming a stunning background.

We then passed over the mountains to Nelson, including driving along the head of Marlborough Sound. Eventually we dropped back down to the coast and the large bay upon which the town and port of Nelson is built. Beyond it the mountains of the Abel Tasman National Parked marched off into a hazy horizon.

Driving into the town we were given a brief tour before being dropped off at our hostel, the Prince Albert which turned out to be both cosy and cheap, essentially a hotel that had put bunk beds into the rooms and a kitchen and common room around the back.

Not wanting to waste the daylight we headed out of town and followed signs for the Centre of New Zealand. After crossing some parkland we found ourselves at the bottom of a path that wound steeply up and around a small hill. On the way we passed a Kauri tree, and then came up one of the shoulders to eventually reach the crest of the hill where a sculpture marked the centre.

From up there we got stunning views of Nelson, its port, the Tasman Sea and behind us the mountains which we had crossed earlier on in the day. Despite the brisk wind we stayed at the top, sitting on the bench to watch the sun slowly sink into the clouds and evening to fall.

Back at the hostel we enjoyed a hot meal which again was cheap but good before heading for a relatively early bed.