Back from Tallinn. Which means that I must, with regret, finally retire my passport; I cannot now avoid the need to renew it. It’s done pretty well for itself, having now only one blank page, 13 visas (1 Chinese, 1 Saudi, 1 Tanzania, 2 Kenyan and 8 Russian) and 34 pairs of entry/exit stamps. Including proof here, for example, that I did indeed enter New Zealand on 17/2/13. There’s a lot of memories in this now-tatty little book.
Karamea is not an easy place to reach and as I have to be back in Australia by Monday morning I shelled out a few hundred NZ dollars for a flight out, with Golden Bay Air. This turned out to involve not just one, but two chances to have my own personal pilot, as both legs (Karamea – Takaka, then Takaka – Wellington) involved me being the only passenger on a tiny little Cessna. On the first plane I rather meekly sat in the back but here I am on the second flight, sitting up front next to Dallas the pilot as she flies us both over the islands of the Marlborough Sound. It was really cool to be able to talk to her during the flight and hear her conversations with air traffic controllers. I could become quite a convert to this light plane flying actually. Thoroughly worth the money, a really excellent experience.
After my exertions on the Heaphy Track, spent the day chilling out and doing a bit of work at Rongo Backpackers in Karamea, another great hostel in another New Zealand town that feels like it’s halfway to the end of the world. This one was a little community operation, including a radio station broadcasting on 107.5 FM to the local area. “Want to play some of your tunes on the radio?” was asked. Sure, says I. That’s my iPod there, giving it out to the world. Well, to Karamea, anyway.
DOC is the Department of Conservation, the body who look after New Zealand’s wonderful environment, and are trying to continue to do so in the face of the same old funding pressures foisted on us by the moronocracy. Be nice to these people, who are basically trying to help the world. Mind you, they do get to work in some pretty attractive locations.
Last day walking the Heaphy Track – usually people take five days, I did it in three, including a 37km (23 mile) last day. My feet hurt. But I’m happy to have done it, and now I’ve caught up with this blog: however, more photos from the walk, and details on the experience, are shortly going up on my walking blog.
Seven of these huts are spaced along the Heaphy Track, providing shelter, gas for cooking, and companionship – at least, if you don’t mind being woken at 6.30am by a large group of middle-aged hearty types making tea and strapping on their hiking boots. Oh, hang on – that’s me, these days. Still, not a bad view is it?
First day on the Heaphy Track. To save all three of them being just landscapes here is some human – and animal – interest. The bird is a weka, a flightless relative of the kiwi, unique to New Zealand and – this particular one anyway – seemingly well practiced in the art of thievery. This was taken at the shelter/campsite of Gouland Downs, a very atmospheric spot; comedy value was high as Georg, camping out, kept having the weka sneak up behind him, only to scurry away as he turned around. Here the nemeses come face to face with each other.
A day killing time in Collingwood before heading down to the start of the Heaphy Track. This graveyard sits on a hill above the town, and most of the graves date from the 19th century. The engravings etched onto the headstones are often a story in themselves, highlighting the harsher nature of life in the past: the graves of three teenagers, one who drowned trying to cross the nearby Aorere River, and two brothers who died within three days of each other (presumably of the same infectious disease), were the most touching.
As we are at another 50-day milestone – day 550 – I have added some photos to the ‘Best of the Rest’ page. I also note that today marks the end of 18 months of doing this blog since I started on 26/8/11.
I’ve not posted for a few days due to being on a long walk, the Heaphy Track – which you will hear about presently. This seems a long time ago, therefore. This scene is in Collingwood, a small town in the extreme top-left corner of North Island. I had another nice shot of a sunset, but that seemed rather cliched the more I looked at it, and I like the composition of this one.
Officially so. As voted in, in 2012, by the people whose opinion counts in this regard. And a damn fine pub it is too – the Sprig and Fern on Milton Street, in Nelson, at the top end of South Island. The sign to the right is worth reading.
First night on Stewart Island: not only the most southerly place I have been, but pretty much the most southerly place one can go. Only the very bottom of South America, the Falkland Islands (or Malvinas), and Antarctica are further south than here.
Evening entertainment in Oban, the only settlement on Stewart Island, consists either of going to the one pub, or hanging out here on the dock waiting for the penguins to turn up. We did see one. But as is often the case, it turned out more productive to photograph the crowd and not what the crowd was waiting for. (Incidentally, having got to know her a little tonight, it turns out the woman to second right here is a highly accomplished photographer in her own right, far better than me – see her blog here.)
Being 42 