Heading south for Winter...

Blog written at end of July

Like two birds, we head south in winter...

It all begins with an excited Elinor, packing t-shirts, shoes and jeans into a bag. She looks so very very happy, and all I can do is look back at her with warmth.

We know that the next day, after work, we'll be hopping on a big blue & white boat and that will take us to a Winter Wonderland. We know we'll see a place that is very special to us.

Friday rolls around and the day elongates – we get caught up in the strange churn of work and knowing that all we want, is to be back together in George (our car) and heading up the ramp onto the ferry.

A blur of activity... curly fries, documents, nods from men in kiosks, handbrakes on, and we're reclining looking out at the stream of white & red lights on the distant highway, and the mass of rippling black in between. Chugging & smiles, and we glide through the calm waters of the harbour and out to the more undulating Strait.

I always remark at the wonderful tourist publications they put out for the crossings – most people are heading somewhere else in the country, so they're always a showcase of the delights of this beautiful country. Such diversity – be it the snowy slopes & boarding parks of the southern alps, the winter opening of wineries & restaurants in the south, or the bush clad volcano country and geothermal hotpools of the central north – it just makes us wonder when we can take 3 months off to see more, experience more, and get to know this special country more fully.

Lights on, captain's announcements, handbrakes off, tail-lights & driving rain. Maps out, driveways, a search for our room, heads hitting pillows, and eyes blink closed....

We were greeted by the cold grey view of a port town, but then the warmth of southern hospitality brightened the day and assured us the weather was clear where we were headed. Why is it southern hospitality is always better wherever you are in the world?

The open road beckoned, and we were soon enlivened by the endless vines and mountainous backdrop of the premier wine region – the drizzle soon abated, and it was noticeable how our city stresses were already eeking away. The whir of rubber on tarmac took us further into the centre, beyond the viticulture, and climbing into a markedly climatic zone; snow on either side of the road, beech forest and ski's on roof racks. Childish glee flowed forth when we stopped to see the ripples of the lakes and the cunning of children pelting one another with snowballs on a school trip.

We pressed on with abandon, knowing what lay before us was worth skipping quickly through the beautiful forest sections and deep river gorges. The road shrank as the trees grew, and the towns that flitted past became all the more familiar. A climb through the last of the gorges, past the vibrant green of the rimu and the striations of the horoeka, until BAM! Expanse!

The churning West Coast was there to greet us, with its rolling waves, clean beaches, and lush foliage of nikau palms. Home.

Well, it used to be. And it still feels that way we found out... felt like the last year of life in Wellington, was in fact only a month away on holiday in Australia. We went straight to the cabin; ascended the trail, stopped to say hello to the fantails and to give the buns a rest, before alighting at the horoeka patch at the top, hugged the big old rimu, and peeked at the old place through the bush. Little had changed, but this is the place that holds so many memories for us – a true 'story for the grandkids' about how we spent our first 6 months of life together in New Zealand; living in a remote part of the country in a ramshackle little shack in the hills, surrounded by roaming weka, centuries-old rainforest, and the ever-changing elements of the west coast.

I began to ruminate on the little things around the place as El wandered the house and then prepared the wine & cheese. 'I wonder how the weedy patches are coming along?', 'it looks like the original settlers of the place cleared back forest to here, here and here...', 'perhaps there's lots of regrowth around the big tree that fell out the back', 'is the winch still working ok?'... The day-to-day of being ingrained in this place all came rushing back to me, and whilst so little had changed in a year in Punakaiki, so much had changed for us in a year in Wellington. Momentum is an interesting thing, and whilst we still lust to live back on the coast, perhaps losing the momentum that life has at the moment wouldn't be right. In the meantime, it was much more fun watching the flitting fantails, with their wings being caught by the shards of light cutting through the forest.

Tromp down the track, gumboots off, whir of rubber on road, back down another secluded road, smiles & familiar surroundings, warm wood interiors of a beautiful whare, and back to the tavern.

We were greeted back to the Punakaiki Tavern by Jeff, who is pretty much always outside smoking a roll-y, who looked at us, cocked his head, then broke into a smile and extended a hand. It was almost like seeing his mind think “have they been away for a month or much longer?”. Punakaiki's a bit like that, and we were soon to experience that with many more old friends from the village; we had stumbled into the pub on an All Blacks night, which meant half the village popped in to watch too. It was a really warm welcome from some familiar faces, and great to catch up with some of the local gossip, and then two more of our good friends – Si & Charl – joined us too, all the way from Christchurch... a pleasure to see & catch up with them as always. The All Blacks won. Of course.

We'd made an appointment with Si & Charl to make the most of the following day's forecast and explore a spot of Paparoa back-country which they'd not see before. You may well have seen a Cave Creek {LINK} album before, and this time was no different in its stunning beauty of white limestone, lush green moss & surrounding bush, and clear waters flowing forth from deep within the aquifer-riddled landscape. My delicate balance on a knife-edge outcrop was not as sharp as in the past, so on exploring a little further than I had before, I plunged knee deep into frosty waters of cave creek's clear waters after a minor-overbalance

A plethora of greens greeted us wherever we tramped, and snow clad hills formed a beautiful backdrop to the Paparoa landscape, which we enjoy so much. Still, pretty though it was, we had an appointment with the hot pool in Greymouth ~ a favoured Friday night activity back when we lived on the coast. Whilst steeping in the waters of the spa, we were very happy to be joined not only by Si & Charl, but also Breda and Julie – two good friends from our Punakaiki days. We topped off the relaxation & pampering by forcing 3 course dinners on ourselves, complete with slabs of steak for Si & I.

Rubber on road, hugged goodbyes, fluffy pillows, green shapes swaying between blinked eyes, roaring ocean, and light glistening on temperate palms. Coffee, more familiar faces, pounamu carving, quick moving clouds, the crunch of gravel underfoot, salt spray and thrashing waves. You know you're back in Punakaiki when the marked layering of rock types – also known as the Pancake Rocks – greets you on an overcast day with gnarly waves and offshore winds whipping the top off waves creating 'steam trains' smashing into the coastline. A landscape is shaped in front of our eyes.

Putai, the largest of the blowholes, even spat and gurgled for us, as the surge pool continued it's fearsome attack on the eroding rock formations, and the neat sets of waves rolled mercilessly and relentlessly toward Punakaiki.

Our final catch up we'd planned was with our good friend Lisa, who used to manage the beautiful Te Nikau Retreat (where I now sit ensconced in it's beautiful centre-piece whare) and is now searching for something new. Lisa, who hails from Wales originally, is always a delight to catch up with – full of energy & listens keenly to whatever ups and downs of our life we have to share, as well as sharing how life's twists and turns in Punakaiki have changed her time here. Always wonderful to see ya Lisa.

We were treated to a rare showing of a light sleety snowfall as we guided George back from Greymouth along the coast road. I had to pull over and delight in El's first experience of falling snow, and the fantastic showing of contrasty light as the sun bore through the snow clouds over the Tasman.

More kms, blurring bush, another pass of the project site, a return to Te Nikau, a final run back to Punakaiki, an explore of the river track, the coo of kereru in kowhai above, crunching sand & pebbles underfoot and out on the beach spit.

There was one place very close to 'home' I'd never really wandered out on, and it was an iconic part of the punakaiki coastline – what I call simply “the boot”.

This rugged sandstone pillar, stuck out in the ocean, is constantly thrashed by the salty Tasman, but stands strong still. Whilst the light was dimming, it was wonderful to re-acquaint myself with a modicum of the elements which are so base to the world around us, but so often we forget as we tread the pavements of the city. Sand scrunched under foot, salt water splashed my jeans above my gumboots, rain lashed my hooded-head, and panoramic views abounded of the Paparoas which rise directly from where the ocean laps the shoreline. The spit which forms a barrier between the Tasman and the Pororari which flows out of the forested gorge, is sometimes submerged by larger waves which wash over the top – I was in the firing line for one such wave which delightedly covered not only my feet & ankles, but topped my gumboots and filled them with water which I am surprised was still in liquid form, as it felt very much like liquid ice as it sloshed around inside my boots – the disappointing part of waterproof boots is obviously that once it's inside, it wont leave easily. I sloshed back along the beach, squelched down the river track, and squidged back along to the car, and let the muddied water gush out of my boots as I slipped into some spare shoes. Seeing El back in the toasty whare in the green surrounds was warming indeed, as her eyes smiled back at me and I was wrapped in the red blanket she too was snuggled under.

We had the company of some friendly backpackers who were also staying in the same whare, and traded stories of travels, dubbed films, food, Amy Winehouse (who was found dead today) and a variety of other tales as we cooked up our respective morsels of fine dining. The bulbs throw out soft warm tones, the strains of Angus & Julia Stone are played from the stereo in the corner, the heater churns out warmth, and the holiday slowly draws to an end – we go home tomorrow. It's clear we're not done with the south island, as a holiday destination, or as somewhere we would like to return to live sometime – the rugged beauty, feelings of space and big hearted people, have a grip on us which will be difficult to shake.

Double duvets, long deep dreams, starry skies, glistening forest, snatched breakfast, hasty packing & wanders back through the idyllic forest setting of Te Nikau. A wave farewell, and a last shared chuckle. Wheels scrunch gravel, then tarmac, and then eat up the few kilometres back to my old project site one last time in this trip.

Dave & James were there to welcome us, share a coffee, and give us a brief run down of how the site has progressed over the past year. Some of the first trees to go in the ground are now taller than me, but most are between waist height & chest height. The tendrils of the planting extend well out beyond where I was expecting, and there's plenty of plans in the pipeline which will see it hit its 100'000 trees target in the allotted 5 years. It was truly exhilarating to see a patch I spent some intensive time with volunteers, friends & Elinor, flourishing. I have full confidence that a return in 10 years would render me speechless in seeing a densely-forested regenerating area of native bush, full of birds, with cleaner waterways & hopefully a boardwalked loop track where we could meet families enjoying the stunning mix of wetland, regenerating native patches & stands of ancient nikau & kahikatea.

Time was up for us in Punakaiki, so a final stint on the road lay ahead of us, with a little uncertainty whether the roads would be open to make it through to Picton – a massive snowfall hit the south island overnight which has seen the likes of Christchurch and Nelson receive fluffy white dumps down to sea level. We were luckily treated to excellent driving conditions with bright blue skies, and only a little snow on the sides of the roads in spots, but beautiful thick white tops to the mountains which accompanied us all the way to Picton.

“HEAVY” was the sign that greeted us at the Interislander terminal – on enquiring a little deeper into this crossing forecast, we were told “4.5m waves in the Strait on the way over!”. We'll expect some big seas on our way home then – and only the shortest of trips home to the other west coast.

The trip will stay with us for quite some time, and so many highlights we'll never forget.

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