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.

Mainland tour, Day 6 - Picton Perfect

With thanks to NelsonTasman

The Grand Mercure in Nelson looks quite authentically English and is just across the road from the Honest Lawyer pub, so I would unhesitatingly recommend it to any homesick Pom if it were not for the fact that the lighting in the rooms is utter crap. Honestly, just dim ceiling lights, useless for reading by - even bringing the bedside lamp in wasn't a huge help. I did politely mention it to the receptionist at checkout, who was professionally concerned, but I bet nothing's been done. Not very Grand at all, Mercure.

Happily, the rest of the day was much more agreeable. The main activity took place at Cable Bay Adventure Park, to try out two of their half-dozen offerings. It's recently acquired a new owner, Richard, who is a five-times winner of the Coast-to-Coast, and is being upgraded with huge enthusiasm. 

First I tried the Skywire which Fletch, who operated it for me, described as "the world's longest flying fox- and also its slowest zipline" - it's a 300m-high cable slung across a valley, sure, but I sat in a ski-lift-type chair and glided quietly and very sedately above the trees and tree ferns, with ample opportunity to admire the view, look at my shadow below, and appreciate all the revegetation going on as pine forest is felled. It really was very pleasant and, with four side-by-side seats, would be an ideal family activity, no matter how young or old its members. Mind, the more weight there is, the faster it goes.

Then I was taken to meet Jessica, who mounted me on Melody, a nice stocky bay cob, and we rode along the valley and up the hill through the bush to a viewpoint out across the sea to the North Island (it was too fine a day for me to see Mt Taranaki - clear air means weather on the way). We had a cup of tea and a biscuit, fed a prowling weka, talked horses, and then rode back along a different route, splashing through a river and passing the torturous-looking equipment used for the obstacle course race they run. They also do quad bikes through the bush, paintball, archery and Argo adventures, so there's pretty much something for everyone.

Our multiple trips over Takaka Hill still didn't prepare us for the winding road to Picton, especially since we chose the Scenic Route from Havelock along Pelorus Sound - well-named, with Insta-worthy views at every bend, but there were so many of them! Not a road to rush, for sure. It was good to get away from all the ugly forestry, the bare hills and piles of slash, into proper bush alongside turquoise sea. And then we arrived at Picton, to stay at the Picton Yacht Club which is nice but not fancy.

I took a walk around, enjoying the peace (the first cruise ship of the season arrives tomorrow, so it wasn't going to last) and the sunny evening. We ate at the Thirsty Pig - my first whitebait fritter for a very long time, and cider. Yum!

Mainland tour, Day 5 - Round and round

With thanks to NelsonTasman

Today could have begun a bit better. The weather wasn't brilliant, for a start - and then there was a bit of confusion with the Nelson Cycle man who was supplying my transport for the day. It was a good cycle that he brought to the hotel for me, a nice Avanti that was comfortable to ride - but honestly, his maps and directions left a fair bit to be desired. I was to do a section of the Tasman Great Taste Trail today, but it didn't help that I was diverting to a brewery before I really got going. Thank goodness for my phone, that's all I can say.

Anyway, the Trail meanders along the coast between Nelson and Kaiteriteri, with loops and offshoots, is pretty flat for easy cycling and walking, and can be done in bits and pieces. My bit was from Nelson to Mapua, but first of all I detoured to McCashin's Brewery for a tour. It used to be the Rochdale Cider factory, went into decline, was bought by an ex-All Black to develop into the country's first craft brewery, and became a great success. It's a bit more complicated than that, so if you want the full details, go on a tour with Malcolm from Yorkshire and he'll be happy to fill you in. 

It was the usual sort of tour, which I've taken a few of now, but no less interesting for that: lots of information about hops, grains, water, and then a walk through past huge vats, boilers, pipes, gauges, conveyor belts clinking with bottles, big automated boxing and wrapping machines - and very few people. It's not an enormous place, so it was surprising to hear that one vat got forgotten about after its contents were tasted and found to be like turpentine. A whole 65 years later, they re-discovered it, tried a drop and found it had turned into nectar - which is now being bottled to be marketed as something very special. Amazing. Of course we finished with a tasting board in the very popular café, but for me, pre-lunch, the add-on berry cider went down best.

I had a very difficult time getting established back on the Trail, which really didn't seem to me to be as well marked as it should be, but managed eventually. After pedalling along beside the motorway and then past a timber factory belching what a sign insisted was just steam, I got onto a boardwalk across bits of the Waimea Inlet, the rain passed over and things became much more pleasant. I was especially enchanted to come across a paddock of Clydesdale horses, and was just sorry there was an electric fence between us so we couldn't get friendly.

There was green farmland, a swing bridge, wetlands, birdsong and then Rabbit Island, complete with rabbit, and at the end of it a bike-friendly ferry across the river taking me to Mapua where there were good eateries and interesting art galleries in the old wharf buildings. I felt I had earned my glass of rosé and slice of coffee cake at the Apple Shed over the water, in the sun.

Mainland tour, Day 4 - Over and under

With thanks to NelsonTasman

Today was a mix of old and new, for me. Marahau is sort of in the middle, since I was here in January with the Baby, for her brilliant kayak-expedition Christmas present to me - it began and ended just down the road from our motel. But the first stop of the day took me way back - our Abel Tasman Eco Tour with Fay called first at Kaiteriteri, where I had a number of family holidays in my distant youth. The campground now is very different, much more developed and busy - but the beach is still as sandy and golden as when I crouched in the shallows, desperately trying to learn how to waterski (on clunky home-made skis, behind a less-clunky home-made boat that I'd spent my share of time crouching underneath holding a wooden block against the hull as Dad hammered nails into it...)

We went then to Towers Bay, a classic golden sand beach streaked with black iron sand with Split Apple Rock artistically placed off to one side - a slightly more imaginative name than is usual in New Zealand, but still pretty factual. And then, dear reader, we tackled Takaka Hill again! Just as many curves and corners, just as steep up and down - can you believe it, it's a school bus route! This time, though, we stopped near the top at Ngarua Caves, where we joined a tour with Dave that took us down and through, lights on and off, seeing stalagmites and stalactites, 28,000 year-old moa bones, more recent kiwi and possum skeletons, copperplate graffiti on limestone curtains, stairs, straws and puddles. Stories too - like the woman out orienteering, who fell into a tomo, had her fall broken by a dead cow that had done the same thing, and was saved by her PLB. That's the trouble with a marble hill - it does tend to have holes in it.

After a lookout over Harwoods Hole that would have reminded me of Switzerland if I had ever been there (tch), we dropped down to go see the Riuwaka* Resurgence, a river that pumps out of a cave, the beautifully clear turquoise water originally rain that fell on the hill and has been filtered down through the marble. It makes the sort of contrast with the lime-green moss and ferns all around it that only nature can get away with. Gorgeous. And very, very cold.

And that was it for the tour, after six hours of chat and information, conversation and opinion - very enjoyable. Especially the filled rolls Fay supplied for lunch. They were delicious - as was the mushroom soup at the Honest Lawyer in Nelson that night. Though the excellent strawberry and lime cider that preceded it may have had some influence.

* When my story about this appeared in the paper, an irritated reader emailed me, objecting to my use of [officially accepted, corrected spelling] Riuwaka, instead of [former use, bastardised] Riwaka.

His name, dear reader, was Warrick.

Mainland tour, Day 3 - Plenty of frogs and weka, but no mussels

With thanks to NelsonTasman

There was a mix-up about tide tables today - did you know there's also a Collingwood in the US? - so I ended up having to skip breakfast and to shoot off back towards Cape Farewell in order to get to Wharariki Beach while there was still plenty of sand. Fortunately the road was very quiet (and the many one-way bridges were mine, all mine) and I got there in time. There's a car park, a 20-minute walk through a farm, then bush, then dunes, and then there you are, on a magnificently wild and remote-feeling beach with the Tasman rolling in onto the fine, gold-sparkled sand - and not a soul in sight.

In the middle of the bay are the Archway Islands - a typically Kiwi down-to-earth name for some artistically pierced and placed rocky islets. There are caves, sculpted headlands, wind-bent manuka thickets, waving golden marram grass, reflecting pools and, apparently, seal cubs. I didn't see them because I was so occupied exploring the opposite end of the beach that I almost got caught there by the incoming tide, so I had to forgo trekking down to their little colony. It was spectacularly wild, the wind blowing away my footprints in the sand the moment I'd made them. It was well worth missing breakfast for.

Our next call was the Mussel Inn and brewery on the way back towards Takaka. I'd enjoyed their Freckled Frog feijoa cider last night at Zatori, but it was still too early for alcohol (or mussels...) and the pub doesn't have an off-licence (!) so I had to make do with coffee out in their garden. Dogs aren't allowed, because of the weka that wander through; the toilets, walls papered with beer labels, are composting; the friendly barmaid had dreads; and locals have their own beer mugs hanging over the bar (the pub reserves the right to reject those it feels are too big). It's that sort of establishment! Fun.

Taking the advice of Tracey at Zatori, we made a detour to The Grove, a park in behind Takaka with a very pleasant walk through the bush that ends up winding through and around some huge rocks to a lookout over Golden Bay that feels man-made, it's so perfectly placed. But it isn't.

We headed off back over Takaka Hill again, still astonished at the endless curves and corners but entranced by the views, which were highlighted today by unseasonal snow on distant mountains. It was all blue and green gorgeousness - classic Mainland beauty. It's so good to be back! Then we wound down into Marahau, to check into Abel Tasman Lodge, which is a very welcoming and comfortable motel, our room looking out onto a big lawn busy with quails and a weka family, a stream and some stables beyond. 

A ride would have been the icing on the cake, but it wasn't a bad alternative to go for a walk along the seafront, winding along a path through the scrub down to the rippled sand, the tide well out again, and the sun throwing long shadows. We ate that night at the Fat Tui burger van, thoroughly enjoying their basic Cowpat burger, with afterwards the treat of a deep-fried Moro bar (shades of Glasgow - not). Then we settled in for a cosy night serenaded by frogs.

Mainland tour, Day 2 - Fish in a barrel

With thanks to NelsonTasman 

Well, not quite a barrel, and no guns involved - but at Anatoki Salmon Farm, catching a chinook is so easy that pre-schoolers can do it. Just ask Ethan. He was the littlest of the three kids we watched each hook and (with some assistance) land good-sized salmon from a lake swirling with fish. Those were the lucky ones, since alongside were three large pens with about 8,000 fish in each, bred and raised to supply restaurants and supermarkets around the country. I'm not sure Ethan's parents thought they were that lucky themselves, since they then had to pay for the fish, have them cleaned and packed, and then presumably eat nothing else for the next three days of their holiday.

I just watched, enjoyed the green and blue of the surroundings, and then wandered past the café and little petting zoo to the river where some gloriously slimy eels came to check me out with their creepy cloudy blue eyes, hoping for a feed.

Next we visited Te Waikoropupu Springs, which used to be just Pupu Springs. People used to swim and dive in the fabulously clear blue waters too, but now you're not allowed even to touch the water. It's all explained in the fancy entrance, where there's a gorgeously smooth piece of marble to run your hand over - Maori protocol rules today, after long years of being ignored. They're still well worth visiting: the surrounding bush is regenerating nicely after the gold-mining and farming, and the figures are remarkable. The springs pump out 14,000 litres per second - that's 2,400 bathfuls a minute!

Afterwards, we went into little Takaka. It's a cheerfully hippy town still, with shops selling voluminous pants, and bright waistcoats, and lots of art galleries and murals. There are also numerous coffee shops - the one in the old cinema is very colourful. Then we headed back to even littler Collingwood for our next activity: the Farewell Spit Eco Tour.

This is tide-dependent, so we left today at 1pm, driving with Murray along the coast past the sites of many sad whale deaths - not from whaling, but strandings, which happen regularly because of the shallowness of the bay inside the spit. Ironically, it's usually pods of pilot whales that get caught out, bringing masses of people to the mudflats to try to help re-float them every time. Then we headed across to the South Island's northernmost point, Cape Farewell, which is suitably spectacular, the headland furrowed and arched, and the Tasman looking unusually blue and tropical on this lovely day.

The tour's main focus was in the opposite direction, where all that sea-eroded rock ends up - Farewell Spit itself, which is a 27km-long curve around the top of Golden Bay. You can only go 4km onto it by yourself, so this was a first for me, to trundle in the bus along the sand all the way to the lighthouse near the end. En route we got lots of history, natural and man-made, and felt lucky to be there in such perfect conditions. It would have been quite a different story, often, for the lighthouse keepers and their families. We had tea and muffins in one of their houses, were allowed (blind eye turned) to climb up the current lighthouse, and then had a small expedition up onto the wind-sculpted dunes.

Then we bombed back along the beach into the low sun, past hulking big seals, sculpted driftwood, flocks of gannets and oystercatchers, with all the time the blonde sand whirling along below the windows and making us feel that we were flying. We finally got back to Collingwood in the dark. It was a great trip.