Stuff Readers Rail Tour, Day 4 - Green and silver, blue and gold

With thanks to Stuff Readers Rail Tour

There was some barely-concealed envy this morning, when those of us who had been consigned to what was clearly, to us, the inferior hotel, came to breakfast with the others. They thought they too had been somewhat hard done by - but there was no comparison. Not that our hotel was bad, just very ordinary, cramped and basic (that's Greymouth for you) - but we were already used to finer things. Spoiler alert: there would be compensation once the tour reached Mt Cook.

Back on the bus, we headed south, across the new bridge that replaces the country's last road and rail bridge (which must have astonished and horrified foreign tourists over the years) and came to Hokitika. We cruised through the town, past the driftwood name-sculpture on the beach, the clocktower roundabout, all the paua and greenstone shops, and along the river which was busy with dedicated whitebaiters.

Our destination was the Mahinapua Treetop Walk, a relatively new operation that is pretty flash. It's the usual elevated walkway, but it's 450m long with a 40m high (or 116 step) tower giving views from the mountains to the sea, and over Lake Mahinapua. It's well done and, from the lack of vibrations, well-built too - though I was glad they provided one cantilevered section for people who like a bit of movement (me) to feel a small thrill. There was lots of birdlife and song, some very tall rimu trees and, back at the cafê, good coffee.

Then we drove back to Greymouth to fill in some time before our next train trip. I have to say, it's a depressing place, tatty and unkempt, with its loveliest things the art and souvenirs inside the shops and galleries. The Grey River would be an asset, if it weren't necessary to hide it behind a high stop-bank. I walked along the top, spotting yet more hopeful whitebaiters, and was quite moved by the excellent memorial to mining deaths, more than a century of them, covered in names from the various disasters, and ending (I hope) with Pike River.

And then it was time to board the TranzAlpine train for our ride across the narrowest bit of the Mainland, through the Southern Alps to Christchurch. It was my second time aboard, the first a few years ago in summer, and I was hoping that this time there might be snow to enjoy - but not really, as it turned out. No matter: it's always a spectacular trip. First of all there's the subdued green and silver of the Coast, with misty Lake Brunner, and an area of untouched virgin bush that's so high and dense that calling it 'bush' is a real insult. The commentary is interesting - in 1908 the Blackball miners went on strike for a half-hour lunch break, an improvement on the fifteen minutes they'd been allowed in their ten-hour day! 

Then came the Otira tunnel, where a row of peeling houses looked dreary enough without our being told that in winter they get only two hours of sunshine a day - and 5m of rain a year. For the next 15 minutes we sat in the dark as we went through the 8.5km tunnel - 15 years to build, on a 1:33 incline - to emerge into glorious sunshine. 

We stopped briefly at Arthur's Pass, where this time there was no kea perching on the sign, and then continued through the golden tussock country to the dramatic Waimakariri Gorge, the blue of the river far below as we crossed a series of bridges and viaducts. 

The contrast with the other side of the Alps was stunning, and we chugged smugly across the farmland of the Canterbury Plains into Christchurch, my home town, where we were to spend two nights at the Commodore Hotel.

Stuff Readers Rail Tour, Day 3 - Larks up, ponies down

With thanks to Stuff Readers Rail Tour

As is usual with this sort of tour, it pays to be a lark, rather than an owl. Which I am, fortunately - bags out by 7.15am is no problem for me though others of my acquaintance would be still in their pit for hours after that time, given half a chance. Tough! We set off at 8am for the Coast, stopping for morning tea in little Murchison. It's a pretty low-profile sort of place, famous really just for its 7.3 earthquake in 1929 which killed 17 people. But it's cute, and has some quirkily interesting shops - one an old stable full of quaint arty junk, another a still-original general store with high shelves and a ladder on wheels for accessing them, and the last a very well-endowed thrift shop with everything from old milk bottles to sets of antlers. Well worth a couple of hours' browsing - but of course we had none of that, pressing onwards to our first proper stop, Westport.

I'm ashamed to say that despite having been to the West Coast many times, I never quite got up to Westport - and that was missing out, because it's a cute little place. Our main focus there was the Coaltown Museum - but first I had another duty to fulfil. The Coast is famous for its whitebait, and it was lunchtime so I had a nice big brown bread fritter sandwich. Delicious!

Then the museum - it's surprisingly flash and professional. Sorry, Westport, that's a bit patronising - but you're a little fishing town right out of the way, and there's been some real money spent here. Mind, Westport has generated plenty of that in its time, which no doubt funded the impressive Town Hall next door, and which the museum told me all about - some gold, but mainly coal, and lots of it. And of course, along with the coal, much hardship and suffering and death, none of which the museum glosses over. (I might have preferred not to know just how horrible life was for the pit ponies.)

But it was interesting stuff - as well as canaries, they used mice in boxes to monitor air quality - and the mock-up of the steeply-angled cart from the Denniston Incline was astonishing. There were videos to watch inside a mine, and the guide was keen to share information and personal experience. Speaking of which, I was really glad to be in Steve's bus today, because he was a miner for a while, and he had some graphic and very personal stories to tell that kept us all agog on the drive down to Greymouth. That was a real bonus, and I appreciated his honesty, especially about Pike River, which is currently in the news. It's a terrible job. 

We stopped at the Kilkenny Lookout over Hawk Crag, which is a quite spectacular bit of engineering - or maybe just plain hard work, hewing a roadway across the stony cliff face. And then we got to Punakaiki, where nature shows us what real engineering looks like, with the sculpted stacks of rock and the surge pool that was scarily impressive even without much of a wind today. 

Not that that stopped the person who ignored the warning signs and stood on top of the wall on the very edge of the drop for a selfie. I was waiting for Darwin to strike, but they were lucky this time.

You'll be glad to learn that the busy café across the road hasn't missed a marketing opportunity. And I have to report that Greymouth doesn't seem to have changed much in the five years or so since I was here. Or, in fact, the forty-odd years since I first visited...

Stuff Readers Rail Tour, Day 2 - Admiring Nelson

With thanks to Stuff Readers Rail Tours

Ah, how prescient! At breakfast a boring and bossy OWM (double that, since he's from Yorkshire) showed his true colours by dissing the World of Wearable Arts museum which was one of today's optional activities for the tour. So it was a matter of honour for me, although I have been to it before and had other made other plans, to make a point of going there to enjoy (again) its fabulously arty offerings. 

First, though, I had another task: to walk to the Centre of New Zealand. Although it's actually a lot more accessible than that sounds, my time was now short so it was more of a route march that I took through about four blocks of suburbs, across a park and up Botanical Hill on a zigzag path through the bush. Arriving, panting and sweaty (it's not that I'm so very unfit - it was a warm morning) at the top, I found an oversized surveyor's instrument pointing down at a plaque claiming that this is the very centre of the country. It's all nonsense, of course - the reasoning was, back in 1877, that Nelson is the central province of the twelve in the country, and on this hill is where the surveyors decided, entirely arbitrarily it seems, to begin all their triangulations. But never mind - it has a lovely and extensive 360 view of sea, city and mountains, and no-one can be much bothered disputing the claim.

I hurtled back to the hotel and boarded the bus to WOW, which was as sophisticated, imaginative and arty as I remembered it, the costumes quite phenomenally detailed and impressively engineered. Pft, OWM! And then, of course, there were the classic cars right next door, a whole heap of them, shiny and elegant, and a surprising number of them with personal connections: a blue Vauxhall Velox, a Morris 8, a Wolseley, and even a 1908 Renault (I once went on a rally in a beautiful 1912 model). Plus there was a duck in the pond outside with a remarkable 13 fluffy ducklings.

The rest of the day was free so I spent it wandering around pretty Queen's Gardens, with its serpentine lake, water wheel, ducks and eels; and then mooching around the nearby Suter Art Gallery (which is free). Usual story - some lovely stuff, some dumb, just as it should be - plus a popular café beside the lake. The Nelson Museum, on the other hand, cost a whole $5 to enter, so it was just as well it was good, and full of interesting facts: Maori dogs didn't bark; the Farewell Spit gannets began with 9 individuals in 1981 and now number 3,000 pairs; the country's first rugby game was played in that park I walked through, in 1870 (teams of 18 each side, and no referee); and Nelson has its own flag.

It was a lovely sunny afternoon for wandering, Nelson's heritage buildings looking pretty, and we were all relaxed at our group dinner where Dale and Philip did the first of a humorous regular double act briefing us about tomorrow's route to the West Coast.

Mainland tour, Day 10 - Joining the Stuff Readers Rail Tour

With thanks to Stuff Readers Rail Tour

Today we finished with our own private famil, set up to generate material for my World Famous in NZ column, and joined the main reason (as if anyone ever needs one) for coming down to the Mainland (aka South Island). Available to readers of the Stuff newspapers, this is nominally a train tour - but, given that there aren't that many passenger trains in NZ any more, it also includes a big coach element - that takes place in each island every year, and has done for about 20 years. The routes vary a bit, Dale and Philip who currently organise it having a great time researching new things to see each time, but inevitably cover roughly the same destinations. 

This one began in Wellington yesterday, and we were to join it in Picton when everyone arrived on the Interislander. That left me with a bit of spare time this morning, which I spent in the Picton Museum being horrified by their comprehensive whaling exhibit. It was a relief to escape to the railway station to check in with Dale and board, with the others, the Marlborough Flyer's fabulous 1915 Passchendaele steam engine waiting there in all its red, black and brass glory.

The carriages were authentically wooden and spartan by modern day standards, but it wasn't a long journey - just under an hour to Blenheim, including an unscheduled stop due to an entanglement with a fence (yes, very odd). No-one minded; and we were soon literally steaming along again, people waving and taking photos, the wheels rattling over the rail joints, the whistle blowing at every crossing, the staff friendly and chatty. 

Then we piled onto two coaches for the drive to Nelson via a stop at Pelorus Bridge, which crosses high above the river and is famously scenic (though perhaps not so much in today's dull weather). I swam in that river as a child but I think I'm too soft now to cope with that fabulously clear, but chillingly cold, water.

Arriving finally in Nelson, we checked into the Rutherford Hotel, now part of a group of about 80 people, ranging in age from 60 to 90, a mixture of couples and singles from both islands, quite a few of them repeaters on the tour. Though we missed last night's meet and greet, today they all seem jolly and cheerful, even the OWMs. Time will tell, she said darkly.

Mainland tour, Day 9 - Pelorus pigs

With thanks to Destination Marlborough

I'd been really looking forward to today, and it felt like a gift that we opened the curtains to classic sunny Marlborough weather. The Vintner's Hotel supplied us with a very promising-looking (and large) picnic lunch hamper to take with us, and we drove very happily back towards Havelock for our day out on a Pelorus Mail Boat Cruise.

The route varies according to the day of the week and today, Friday, we were headed along Pelorus Sound on the outer route, which would take us via many stops right to the mouth of the sound. No day is the same, depending on who has mail, or groceries, or goods, or people - even, sometimes, livestock - to be either delivered or collected. I was expecting it to be scenic - it's the Marlborough Sounds! - but I was very pleasantly surprised to find it was much more than that.

Captain James and his two crew mates were relaxed and friendly, happy to share information about their bit of the world via a droll commentary and answers to questions. We got history (the mailboat run began in 1922), mussel farms, forestry, farming - but also characters and an unexpected animal element. It seemed that everyone on the route, whose homes were hours and hours by dodgy road from town, and sometimes not accessible by road at all, looked forward to their weekly contact and were keen to show off to their visitors. 

So while mailbags, gas bottles, boxes of groceries, lengths of timber and so on were being handed over, we passengers were introduced to tame sheep, dogs, and even pigs. Their owners were chatty, let some kids feed a big fat lamb, told us about the animals - Boris, Ruby, Paul, Buddy... - and were clearly pleased to see us all. 

The pigs were amazing - HUGE, some of them spotted, and one incredibly slobbery. Of course part of that was because the boat crew had trained them to expect biscuits or pellets. At one jetty we didn't see any people at all, just two pigs and a Labrador; but mostly our visit was a highlight of the day - especially to chirpy old Bill, 93 years old and living on his own in a neat little house with his latest boat project hauled up on the beach in front of it. 

At Forsyth Lodge, they proudly pulled a basket up from below the jetty filled with big crayfish for their guests' dinner that night. Further on, Brian, obviously happy to be a bit of a hermit, waved a handful of notes at the crew when he handed over a parcel to be posted; "$15? $50? Take it, it's no use to me here".

And then there were the dusky dolphins riding the bow wave and jumping as we sped away; seals sunning themselves on buoys; passengers happily steering the boat; and our delicious picnic hamper to work through as we sailed through consistently gorgeous scenery. We got back to Havelock after 185km and seven very happy hours; and drove back to the hotel to have dinner in a noisy pub nearby, the Cork and Keg, which served ok food but a very nice rhubarb cider.

Mainland tour, Day 8 - PJ's planes and (other) PJ's car

With thanks to Destination Marlborough

Furneaux Lodge was pretty full last night, and a lot of the guests are walking the Queen Charlotte Trail to its end in Picton but, ever the skimmer, yesterday was my only taster of the track and this morning we took the water taxi back to town. Water taxis have been this year's great discovery for me, by the way: in this part of the country they are very big business, skimming along the coast all day, every day. I was astonished in January to see them everywhere when I was in Abel Tasman NP, and now here in Queen Charlotte Sound they're just as ubiquitous - and essential.

It was nice, though, that the drivers/pilots/captains don't take their quite remarkably beautiful work space for granted and, when we came across a pod of bottlenose dolphins, we detoured to hang out with them for a bit, which we all enjoyed (er, can't actually speak for the dolphins). After several drop-offs at various bays, we got back to Picton and headed straight off to Omaka, driving through endless vineyards with the Kaikoura mountains as their backdrop, with Tapuae-O-Uenuku peeking (peaking?) above them, bright with snow.

We were going to the Omaka Aviation Heritage Centre for the second time because our first visit, last year on a cruise tour, was too rushed. This time we could take as long as we wanted. We had the same guide as before, for the first hangar, Knights of the Sky. This displays Peter Jackson's extensive, not to say obsessive, collection of WW1 aircraft and memorabilia, all presented with typically imaginative perfection. Not that OWM John thought I would connect with most of it, kindly drawing me over to one glass case and saying, "This will interest you". It was a collection of embroidered purses that servicemen bought in France to send home to their womenfolk.

Once we'd got rid of him, we had a proper look around at not just the dramatic stagings of aviation adventures, but also unique items like a bit of tattered canvas from the Red Baron's plane, and a touching tribute to the invaluable contribution of the carrier pigeon (also celebrated, regular readers 😃 will remember, at Bletchley Park). You could spend ages here, and we did, but eventually emerged blinking in the sunshine to visit the second hangar, Dangerous Skies, which covers WW2. This one is the work of a group of enthusiastic collectors and doesn't have quite the same panache (and large budget) of PJ's exhibition, but is still well done and worth visiting.

Our guide here, Brian, was much jollier and woke, and gave us a good tour. There was a pretty impressive staging of the attack on Stalingrad from the perspective of a terrified civilian but for me the most affecting bit was the display at the end of the mortality numbers, by nationality, which ended with Russia, the red symbols rolling up the screen - up, and up, and up, and up: 8.7 million of them. And apparently the real total could be twice that. Incredible.

After all that, I was especially appreciative of the excellent carrot cake in the café, and the moment of personal delight in seeing an orange Mini 1000 displayed outside the neighbouring Classic Car collection hall - the spitting image of my own very first car. And then we drove to the Marlborough Vintner's Hotel, which was friendly and elegant, our garden view suite surrounded by vast vineyards that not only looked marvellously neat in the late evening sunshine, but had a lovely soundtrack of thrushes singing. We were pleased too that our very tasty dinner - lamb, tarte tatin - coincided with that of a tour group, so we not only eavesdropped on all the Forrest family and vineyard info, but managed to score a couple of wine tastings too.

Mainland tour, Day 7 - Four legs amazing

With thanks to Destination Marlborough

I set off early this morning, hotel packed lunch in my bag, down to the nearby wharf to go on the Motuara Bird Sanctuary Cruise. To begin with, the weather wasn't brilliant, sadly - rather grey and dull - so the ride along Queen Charlotte Sound wasn't as spectacularly blue and green as it can be; though the tourists for whom it was all new seemed very happy. After an hour we got to the island, Motuara, which has been a pest-free sanctuary since the early 1990s, so the birdlife has flourished. 

It took me about 20 minutes to reach the summit, passing a monument to Captain Cook on the way with a clunky old-style inscription. He spent a lot of time in this area, on his various expeditions, and was apparently very fond of it. He's famous for having complained about the noisy dawn choruses at various locations around the coast that disturbed his crew's sleep and made him have the ship moored further out, so he maybe wouldn't be impressed at all the effort and expense that's spent on protecting the birds these days.

There were certainly plenty in the bush - the usual bold, cheeky robin inspecting people's boots, plus tui, kakariki, melodious bellbirds, twittering fantails, invisible grey warblers, and little blue penguins. These were tucked up in wooden nesting boxes placed along the path, all the way to the top (penguins, as I saw in Antarctica, being suckers for a view, no matter how hard it is for them to waddle up that high). I looked in at them, they looked back impassively, and then we both got on with our day.

We were delivered next to nearby Ship Cove, which was Cook's favourite anchorage, and where there's another memorial that incorporates a cannon off the Endeavour, salvaged from the Great Barrier Reef where it was thrown overboard in 1770 in an attempt to lighten the ship after it ran aground there. It's a nicely landscaped little bay, but I didn't hang around - I was one of about a dozen setting off along the Queen Charlotte Track, which is a fairly easy 4-5 day tramp back to Picton.

It started off pretty steep and rocky, but fairly soon levelled out and followed roughly the same contour for the rest of the day. It was a very pleasant walk, as the sun had come out to light up the colours, and the views along the Sound were artistically framed by tree ferns and lovely leafy tawa trees. There were islands, boats, the Interislander, and then, when I rounded a corner, TWO DEER! Regular readers 😃 will know that New Zealand is all about birds, so to come across an actual mammal that's not another human is very rare. In fact, this was only the second time in my entire life that I had seen deer in the wild here, and it was quite a thrill. Shame it was so fleeting, then - we stared at each other in shock for a split second, and then they were gone, leaping up the bank and disappearing into the bush.

I ate my nice lunch, kept walking and enjoying the scenery, and eventually started to see signs of civilisation - jetties, driveways and even letterboxes. Finally, after about four hours and 15km, I arrived at Furneaux Lodge, a classic sprawling wooden farmhouse with veranda and manicured garden, in which motel units were scattered about. Ours was near a stony river, quiet and comfortable. 

Furneaux Lodge is of course notorious in NZ recent history as the location for the mysterious, and unsolved, disappearance of Ben Smart and Olivia Hope on New Year's Eve 1998 - so it was kind of amusing to see that, in the pile of board games by the nicely crackling fire, there was a Cluedo set. Irony, or accident?

The lounge was cosy, the staff were friendly, the mulled wine was exactly what was needed after my busy day, and my only complaint was that the carrot and coriander soup, and then the mushroom pâté, were served in such deliciously large portions that I had no room afterwards for the sticky date pudding that I really thought I had earned. We walked back to the room in the dark with the sea lapping on the shore, the stream burbling, the birds finally silent, and the stars bright in the sky.