South Island

- Fiordland and the Big Freeze

After some thinking during my three days in Invercargill I have decided against going to Fiji for the bank holidays. Instead I just called Kim from the Olive Grove campsite near Oamaru and booked myself in for the entire fortnight from December 24 to January 7. That leaves me plenty of time to explore the south-western part of South Island, the Fiordland.
The weather has been pretty grotty these last few days. Rain, high winds and very cold conditions throughout the country. Meteorologists have just revealed that this month was the coldest December in New Zealand since records began - what else to expect if I ever decide to visit this country. I am very happy to drive around in a van here instead of a motorbike.
Today is no exception from the bad weather; showers and a cold gale force wind from the south are whipping up the waves at Te Waewae Bay this morning:

If I were into surfing I suppose I'd get pretty excited by those waves pounding this fine beach. Instead I am quite happy that the heater in my van is working excellently. The highest temperature today is expected to reach 13 degrees centigrade this afternoon - incredible.
I am still driving along the Southern Scenic Highway, heading due north towards Te Anau at the southern shore of the lake of the same name. This village is the last outpost of civilization on highway 94, which continues another 80 miles north to Milford Sound. This Sound is as of yet the only Fjord ("Fiord" in Kiwi-language) that has been made accessible for motor vehicles.
I rig my base at a motor camp just two miles north of Te Anau. This valley stretching north from the town is a truly blessed place during this bad weather; as it is completely surrounded by mountain ranges on all sides the bad weather is somewhat kept out and depending on the wind direction one might even find the occasional Föhn effect producing some more bearable temperatures in the valley.
On my second day I drive to Milford Sound, but once I pass over the mountain ridge at Homer Tunnel the weather immediately worsens. In the Sound itself low clouds, fog and drizzle prevent me from joining any of the boat cruises that are on offer in this otherwise quite scenic Fjord.
Once I am back in the Te Anau valley the sun comes out and I spend a nice break off the road in this splendid spot:

It is hard to believe that on both sides of the mountains it is pissing down with rain.
The next day is a complete washout, even in this protected valley. The weather forecast is predicting snow for the following night all the way into the valleys.
And they are right - it is so cold that I can not fall asleep, even when using both sleeping bags. At 1 am I give up and leave the campsite. Snow is falling and actually begins to accumulate on the road, making driving conditions fairly difficult. But my van is now nicely warmed up, and I rather tackle slippery roads than cold feet.
Via Lumsden and Gore I reach HW 1 and turn north towards Dunedin. The new day has arrived and at 11 am I stop at the roadside and sleep in my now snugly warm van for a couple of hours. One thing is certain: a New Zealand summer can not be survived without central heating in my van.
I drive into Dunedin in the late afternoon and check out the local retailers: no one has any electric heaters in stock - because they sell them only in "winter". Well, the forecast predicts four degrees tonight in Dunedin, so I couldn't give a toss for what they call this season down here - where I come from that is "freeze your ass off" weather, and I will get me a heater today. At the local "The Warehouse" superstore they find a couple of heaters from last "winter" in their storage room - among it exactly what I need; an oil-filled radiator with variable heater settings between 400 and 1000 watts output.
For 40 dollars that heater is mine and is immediately put to the test at the local motor camp. Yes, it works brilliantly. The cold wind is howling around my van, but inside it is nice and warm. I think I should have spent the second part of my journey in Siberia instead of New Zealand - Siberia would have been warmer.
On the second day a campervan with two Dutch kids parks next to mine. These kids are from Utrecht and are just as perplexed than I am about the horrible weather. We talk to some locals in the pub opposite the motor camp - and they are just as frustrated as we are. Having to heat their flimsy buildings during the bank holiday period is apparently something these people are not used to.
On December 24 I leave Dunedin and head for Oamaru, 75 miles to the North. The Olive Grove campsite is just what I need to sit out the main vacation period in New Zealand - and hopefully get some warmer weather as well.
The road runs mainly a few miles inland. Only for a stretch south of Palmerston does it follow the shore of the Pacific Ocean. By 4 pm I arrive at the Olive Grove campsite and make myself comfortable.

- Oamaru

While most of you probably regard your annual three-week summer vacation as the highlight of the year, I manage to stay for a month at this motor camp and virtually do nothing.
Every other day I drive into Oamaru to buy provisions. In the evenings I chat with the other campers who are usually from all over the world. In the morning I take a walk along the river or watch how Monty, the campsite cat, is climbing a tree to catch a Tui bird sitting on the upper branches. This is a spectacle that frequently captures the attention of a large crowd of resident campers. The cat is an excellent tree climber, and the Tui is mocking Monty all the way up. Once the cat is just three feet away, the clever bird just hops to a branch a bit further up - and continues its serene, lazy sing-song, mocking the cats attempts to struggle further up the tree. Once the two animals have reached the top branches of the tree, about 50 feet up, the Tui then majestically flies over to a neighbouring tree. The human bystanders then watch the second stage of the drama; the hair-rising descent of the cat down the tree. How long Monty's nine lives are going to last under these circumstances is anyone's guess.
I also take the occasional trip through the countryside. Right outside the camp there is the aptly named Breakneck Road, leading after a few miles to a ford through the river. Look at these signs;

It is obvious that the local farmer here got so fed up with people getting stuck in the ford, that he added his own additional sign, kindly informing Joe Public to sod off and not bother him with requests to get his tractor out and rescue someone's vehicle from the torrents.
N.B.: The German weekly magazine "Der Spiegel" is currently doing a series on weird traffic signs from around the world. I have sent them the above photo - and they did publish it as part of their series on 28 January 2007.
The weather has been pretty bad all the way from my departure from Te Anau until now. In fact the Kiwi meteorologists already declare this the worst summer in 59 years - and I am just half through it.
But I make good use of the regular breaks in the bad weather for excursions into the surrounding area. The entire countryside is in bloom and it is sheer bliss to drive or walk around. It is unlike Europe, where it gets far too hot in summer. Here the cool sea and cool breeze ensures that daytime temperatures currently never exceed 25 degrees Celsius - that is on the better days, of course. The bad days may not even reach 15 degrees during the afternoon.

On one of those better days, our landlord Kim invites me together with some other long-term guests to go on tour with him and his 4x4 SUV. First we have a look at the Elephant Rocks near Duntroon.

This fascinating area was used as a set for the movie "The Chronicles of Narnia". Even some film props are still standing around, slowly crumbling away. At Duntroon we have a break at the excellent "Flying Pigs" cafe.
Next destination is Dansey Pass, a lonely backwater dirt road with some great scenery.

On our way back the car suddenly starts to shudder badly. The diagnosis is quick and simple - after nearly 100 kilometres on gravel one of the tyres has given up. But Kim is a practical Kiwi and has a spare tyre and all the necessary tools at hand to change the "Flattie" (as he calls it...). After just a few minutes delay we are back on the road.

The day ends in the campsite's lounge, where we all watch the "Narnia" movie on the large TV screen in there.

For one month I have already stayed here at Oamaru now - it is a bit like staying at Nick's place at Lauressergues in the Cantal in France; it is really difficult to quit such a nice place, especially if one has all the time in the world. Every evening another bunch of people descends on the campsite, from all around the world. Last night a couple from Surinam arrived - and even I did not know where that country is until they show us its location on the large map of the world in the main lounge.
Another new arrival is Rose, a young Englishwoman from Tonbridge in Kent. She is looking for a place to work in NZ. Kim offers her some sort of "work for your upkeep" arrangement.
Rose and me get on quite well, so I invite her for dinner at the fairly famous Fleurs restaurant at Maureaki. The food is excellent and the crew is just the kind of unpretentious lot I enjoy so much in French restaurants. Rose tells me that she has never been taken out for dinner by any bloke back in Old Blighty - shame on you, Kentish guys.
Another sight down here is the night sky; not only is it much clearer than in Europe, but the southern constellations are so much different. Add to that the arrival of McNaught's comet, clearly visible in the early evening hours on the south-western horizon, and you know what I am talking about.
Today Kim and me took the opportunity of another fine day to take some pictures of his campsite for the purpose of updating his website. This is a pcture of the main building:

As you can see, it is a nice place to hang out at. And what normally would be a fairly scorched place this late in the Southern summer is about as green as an Irish meadow in April. There are some obvious advantages of visiting NZ during one of the wettest summers on record.
On my way into town next day I notice a "Special Offer" sign at the local Firestone tyre dealership. And indeed they are willing to replace my fairly worn rear tyres for 100 dollars apiece - fully fitted. That is a reasonable offer, considering that the best previous offer I found was 120 dollars. I was thinking to go for a set of second-hand one's, but they are usually at least half worn, cost 65 to 70 dollars and of course you never know what the previous owner did to them.
The tyres have to be ordered from Christchurch, so I have to stay on until Monday or Tuesday, instead of leaving on Sunday - what a good feeling to have all the time in the world.
Back at the campsite I am told that from today on I am holding the record for the longest stay at the campsite of any guest ever, 35 days in all as per today.

- The Southern Alps and the West Coast

On Monday I have the new tyres fitted as planned, and on Tuesday morning I say good-bye to Kim and his family and finally head west from Oamaru, following State Highway 83 through the valley of the Waitaki river towards Omarama. The river has three dams for hydroelectric power generation on a stretch of 80 km, the Waitaki, Aviemore and Benmore reservoirs.

The scenery is fantastic and for a brief period the weather appears to play along; unlimited visibility and a deep blue sky compensate at least a bit for the horrible weather of the past weeks. But the temperature never makes it above 65° F. in the afternoon.
At Omarama I have a look at the gliding airfield; it is the place which Steve Fossett a few years ago chose for his world record attempt on maximum altitude for gliders.
The airfield is run commercially. Gliding as a sport has survived the Great Depression, World War II and Labour government, but running the sport commercially is about the most effective killjoy imaginable. From 235 dollars upwards is what they charge, beginning with an extended circuit. I believe that about 20 to 25 pounds is what proper clubs in Europe usually charge for that.
So I give the place a miss and continue on SH 8 towards Wanaka and the lake of the same name.

Again the scenery here in Central Otago is breathtaking and the unlimited visibility makes the drive very enjoyable. On the far horizon the snow-covered peaks of the Southern Alps are clearly visible, though they are more than 100 km away. My little van has no problems climbing over Lindis Pass and by 5.30 pm I reach Wanaka. The I-Site tourist information recommends the Motor Camp at Glendhu Bay, about 7 miles further west at the south-western corner of Lake Wanaka, marking the end of the tarmac road.
The campsite is gigantic; it stretches for over a mile along the waterfront, but I manage to secure a fairly quiet spot. The site is pretty well occupied for this time of the year. A look over the lake out of the open sliding-door of my van may give you an impression why the site is so popular:

Unfortunately the weather forecast for tomorrow is really gloomy, so I enjoy the spectacular sundown over the surrounding mountains. For tonight the forecast predicts 8 degrees, and for resorts like Cardrona further up the valley a sharp frost of about 28°F. Considering that the altitude above MSL and the latitude is equivalent to the French Provence at the end of July I can't believe how cold this country can be this time of the year.

The forecasters were right; next morning at the lake we have the odd shower. This is because Wanaka is protected by a range of mountains, topped by Mount Aspiring. But once I am over Haast Pass and exposed to the westerly wind the rain turns into a torrent. It does not ease nor stop raining the entire day. This part of the coast receives the best part of 300 inches of rainfall per year and today's conditions are far from unusual.
At Haast I turn north on State Highway 6. To my right there should be the highest ranges of the Southern Alps. But as cloudbase is about 10 feet above the roof of my van I can see nothing of them.
I know that near the village of Franz Josef the famous Franz Josef glacier and Fox glacier may be admired. But today this all is hidden by the cascading rain and the low clouds. I am just 20 miles west of the point where I took the picture of Mount Cook a few weeks ago.
Vegetation here is a kind of subtropical forest, another proof of the very wet conditions on this side of the mountains.
By 6 am I reach Hokitika, where I stay at the local motor camp. Sometimes during the night the rain stops.

A flawless blue sky awaits me the next morning. The ground all around is perfectly dry. It is amazing how well this soil is capable to absorb enormous quantities of water.
I drive into Greymouth first to top up with diesel. Then I return those few miles back to Kumara junction, where highway 73 forks off - straight into the mountains towards Arthur's Pass. The Pass itself is quite unlike the European mountain passes. Instead of a large number of hairpin bends the road climbs in a straight line up the mountains at an extremely steep angle. For the truckie's up here this means a first-gear job - and of course 3 mph.
At the top of the pass I find two mad Kiwis who actually climbed up the pass in a Ford Model T. I wouldn't mind going up, but going downhill with those flimsy brakes who just act on the rear wheels - no, thank you.

Once I am down the other side I stop and look back. Above picture shows the scenic view I see here.
On this side of the mountains there is no subtropical forest. Instead I find a dry plains country with tussock grass and crisscrossed by numerous small creeks. What an abrupt change of scenery.

I can see the clouds racing over the mountains from the west coast. But then they dissolve in the descending airmass, having left all the humidity on the other side of the range.
At Sheffield I turn north on highway 72 towards Amberley. This is a much nicer road than highway 73. At Amberly I hit highway 1 again - I am back at the East coast. But not for long; after just a few miles I turn back west onto highway 7, heading straight back for the West Coast, but this time via Lewis Pass. But it is getting late, so I stop at a motor camp outside the Spa town of Hanmer Springs.

Next morning I continue as planned. For the last 50 miles I have driven through flat countryside, but now the first mountains of the Southern Alps appear ahead once more. To my surprise an old foe, long presumed beaten and done with, appears once again; the temperature gauge of my van is rising above normal.
I stop the van and check its condition. Water level is fine, so is the oil level. But the radiator fan is once more pretty loose - obviously my previous fix to the viscous coupling was only of temporary duration.
At a coffee bar here in Hanmer Springs I am directed to the one and only automotive repair shop in town. The boss there tells me that he can't allow me to fix my van all by myself - he blames "Health and Safety" regulations.
I realize that I have to get myself the tools required to sort out this problem all for myself. But where is the nearest hardware store? There is certainly none in Hanmer Springs. So I direct my van back to Christchurch - it is just 80 miles down the road. At a hardware outlet in Belfast, just five miles north of Christchurch city centre I find all I need; a set of spanners, a set of files and (most important) an impact screw driver, the lot for 40 dollars.
Driving back those 80 miles to Hanmer Springs is no big deal as the road is all flat countryside and the coolant temperature never rises above normal as long as I keep the air conditioning off - no problem there while we have a maximum temperature of 67°F. today.
I arrive at Habmer Springs Motor Camp at 4 pm - which leaves me with plenty of time to sort out my little technical problem.
Stripping the radiator fan cover, the radiator fan itself and the viscous coupling is just a matter of 30 minutes. Disassembling and cleaning the coupling of its residue oil and filling it with some fibre glass metal compound I have bought earlier on in Christchurch takes another 30 minutes.
I discover that my earlier fix using an old rag to bridge the coupling did not work, because I underestimated the torque produced by the engine upon the coupling: the old rag has been shredded to pieces, therefore negating my previous efforts.
But that reinforced compound will certainly ensure that the coupling will never ever slip again - it is now as if I had filled it with concrete.

The weather next morning at Hanmer Springs is very nice. I take highway 7 west towards Springs Junction. I decide to drive back towards the glaciers south of Greymouth - as I did not see anything of the high mountains last time. I hope that I have a much better chance of seeing the mountains today.
But the further south I drive the more the weather worsens. A few miles south of Harihari I stop at a small airfield to talk to the pilots - they are usually well aware of the meteorological situation.
I am told that the conditions are far from ideal, but that glacier flights are still possible. And conditions will remain like this at least for the next four days. The pilot tries to convince me to join in on a flight in one hour. At 95 dollars that is quite reasonable. But not in a helicopter. These wheeliebirds are in my opinion similar to hospitals; I am happy that they exist, but I sincerely hope that I never have to use one.
When I return to my van I realize that I have left the drivers window open - a bad idea; the van is now occupied by an entire army of mosquitoes. Those copious amounts of rain recently together with the warmer present conditions have bred millions of these tiny bloodsuckers all along the west coast. Driving along for the next few miles with all windows open blows most of them away, and luckily I am not overly sensitive to their bites. But anyone travelling along the west coast between September and April should be aware that these insects are more than a nuisance for the un-initiated.

My coolant temperature is absolutely fine ever since that ultimate repair yesterday. By 6 pm I arrive again at Fox glacier. Though conditions are vastly improved if compared to my visit here a few days ago the cloud ceiling is still only about 1000 feet AGL - no chance to see anything of those 10000-feet mountains all around me.
The local Motor Camp is also heavily contaminated by mosquitoes. That New Zealand has no malicious fauna is a myth that is definitely busted.
Next day the weather conditions are unchanged. After two unsuccessful attempts of seeing the Southern Alps from the west side I decide to give up and head up north again. This time however highway 6 towards Greymouth is much more enjoyable than when I drove here last time through the heavy rain. The lush subtropical vegetation with its ferns and those cascading waterfalls directly at the roadside is magnificent.
At Greymouth I just stop for diesel and continue north towards Westport, the last sizeable town before civilization as we know it ends 60 miles further north at the hamlet of Karamea. Beyond Karamea there are just a few goat tracks through the Tasman mountains until the wilderness ends at the Golden Bay near Collingwood.
At Westport the local I-Site tourist information just shows me the two Motor Camps they have in town. By now I am a seasoned camper in this country - I know that the best camps are those not mentioned by these guys. So I continue on highway 67 further north towards Karamea. After 25 miles a signpost shows the way to the Seddonville Motor Camp. The place is ideal (except of course for those myriads of mosquitoes): two klicks away from the main highway in a quiet cul-de-sac.
This part of the country has one of the few natural resources of New Zealand: coal. Open pit mining by small companies or even individuals was carried out here until it was outlawed by the government in 1983. As a result small communities like Seddonville declined and even the local school was closed due the rapidly decreasing population. It is that very school building where now the Motor Camp is located.
Coal mining on a larger scale is still done by big companies in the vicinity and most of the campsites guests are miners, living in Nelson or Takata and working in the mines on a four days on, four days off schedule. During the four days in the mines they spend the nights at the campsite, returning home only at the end of their tour of duty.
The weather up here is splendid - far better than down south around the glaciers. So the following day I take the van on a drive around the Victoria Conservation Park, first via highway 67 to Reefton and then via highway 7 to Springs Junction. The following 50 miles on highway 65 towards Shenandoah are sheer bliss. Look at this picture of the lovely waterfalls on the Maruia River:

The way back via highway 6 leads through the scenic Buller river valley. Unfortunately the Buller river is one of the numerous South Island rivers already contaminated with Didymo, so some parts of it look more like something out of a 1950's horror movie rather than what foreign tourists normally associate with NZ.
After a refreshing nights sleep at the peaceful campsite I set out for Karamea the next morning. The road up there, highway 67, is really a very nice and scenic piece of road. And very few tourists bother to come along into this remote part of the country, even though today is a bank holiday (New Zealand Day).
At the village of Karamea I have a look at the beach:

In spite of the nice and warm weather and the Bank Holiday the beach looks, to put it mildly, less than overcrowded it is indeed absolutely deserted. There is a cafe and restaurant next to the local supermarket, where they serve excellent food after 4 pm every day at very reasonably rates.
I am back at the campsite by 5 pm and enjoy another luxury seldom encountered anywhere else in NZ these days; Kathleen, the lady who runs the place, is an ardent smoker. And she has no objections against me lighting up my pipe inside the campsite lounge - and soon the pipe smoke ensures that the mosquitoes take a rapid retreat from that lounge.

Next morning I say good-bye to peaceful Seddonville and follow highway 6 from Westport east through the Buller river valley towards Murchison and then onwards towards the north coast at the Tasman Bay. At Kohatu I leave the main highway and take the more scenic route via the Golden Down forest directly to Motueka. There I decide on the spot to take a diversion north-west on highway 60 through the Abel Tasman National Park towards the Golden Bay. The last settlement before the land runs out at Cape Farewell is Collingwood - a sleepy one-street village with a thriving little harbour where Kiwi-boaties enjoy the excellent fishing.
Water and fishing activities are for me the same as winter sports; I can't be bothered, so I stay overnight at a nice seaside motor camp about 5 miles out of town.
Next morning I drive back to Motueka and stop at an Internet cafe. I buy an online ticket for the ferry back to North Island for tomorrow afternoon. Afterwards a stroll through the town proves that this is a much busier place than Collingwood. Like so many other small towns one gets everything here - the town together with Nelson has to provide for the entire northwest of South Island, an area of approximately 10000 square kilometres. Lots of boaties have made Motueka their base for exploring the Tasman Bay.
I drive on eastwards on highway 60 towards Nelson. All the time the number of mosquitoes is decreasing, a real bliss after all these days being pestered by those little bloodsuckers.
Having explored Motueka already today I have enough of towns, so I give Nelson a miss and drive on via Renwick to Blenheim. I still have fond memories of the campsite 5 miles north of that town from my first days on South Island. So I decide to spend my last night on South Island there as well.

The distance from Blenheim to the ferry harbour town of Picton is just 15 miles. In spite of a late start next morning I am in Picton just after 10 am next morning. I find a small cafe on the big roundabout south of the city centre, where I pass the time surfing the web. I also call a few mates in Europe with my Internet telephone - considering the 11 or 12 hours time offset the only chance to call anyone is either early in the morning or late at night.
The ferry leaves on time at 2 pm. After passing again through the spectacular Queen Charlotte Sound I see South Island disappearing on the horizon - and a very memorable time I had indeed on that island.

Below is the usual map with my GPS tracklog and some trip markers.