Seen in Invercargill

This poster in a shop window helped to cheer me up. It reminded me of Jiggy in Inverness.

Stewart Island 1

Driving into Invercargill, NZ's most southerly city, last Friday (21 Feb) I was thinking about Nikki having to cope with the aftermath of her father's sudden and unexplained death and about the plight of the little penguin at Curio Bay. The rain suited my mood.
We chose a camp site in the centre of the city; it wasn't a picturesque location but the facilities were amongst the best we'd come across and the site was within walking distance of the city's i-site (information centre).
The woman at the centre was very efficient at arranging everything to do with our trip to Stewart Island, including the ferry crossing on the way out, the flight to bring us back and accommodation for one night. We had asked for simple accommodation;  she found us a cottage at which there was a car for us to use.
Later, as the rain had stopped, we explored the city, which sprawls across a flat, coastal plain, admiring the elegant Victorian water tower and visiting Henry, a tuatara (a species of reptile that has survived since the age of the dinosaurs ) believed to be 100 years old, and his friends, at the museum.

 Then, as it was Friday, we decided to stick with tradition and go for an Indian meal.
By the end of the day I was looking forward to seeing Stewart Island.
But during the night the wind got up....

Absence should make the heart grow fonder

Haven't been able to post for a few days. No Wi-Fi because we've been doing some fantastic mountain tramps in Fiordland and Mount Aspiring National Park. Scenery amazing!
Writing this using free Wi-Fi outside New World Supermarket. It's a bit chilly so I'm off now. xx

Into the mountains

Well at last I've completed what I wanted to write about the Catlins but I still have lots of catching up to do. You haven't been told about our visit to Stewart Island yet.
Meanwhile it's now 24 February and we've turned northwards again. We're in Fiord land, back amongst the mountains.
Tomorrow we're sailing down one of the great fiords - Doubtful Sound. Can my camera take it?

Catlins 4

That part of South Island that is called the Catlins got its name from a sea captain, Edward Cattlin, (yes, with 2 t's) who purchased a huge parcel of land from the Maori in 1840. The Cattlin land included coast and dense forest, contrast and colour. And it still does.

The Catlins :-

Wrecking shores,
Rolling meadows,
Nugget rocks,
Lonely lighthouse,
Plaintive seals,
Giant seaweed,
Peaceful bays,
Waterside hamlets,
Sheep and cattle,
Flax and toetoe,
Low cloud, hot sun,
Swimming, tramping,
Rattling falls,
Meditative rivers,
Sand and sea,
Sky, sky, sky,
Gnarled forests,
Salt marshes,
Tui, bellbird, tom tit, fantail,
Hebe, foxglove, cabbage tree,
Dolphins, penguins,
Freedom camping,
Backpacker bedlam,
English, German, Canadian, Dutch,
Maori,
The Artist, His palette,
Whalers,
Windswept,
Settlors,
Remembrance,
Holiday idyll,
Face to face
With
Reality.

Catlins 3

Curio Bay seemed an idyllic place. Sun, sand and sea. A petrified forest. Easy penguin spotting. In the adjoining Porpoise Bay, a campsite right on the beach and a group of tiny Hector's dolphins cruising close to the shore.  Their dorsal fins, round like Mickey Mouse ears, betrayed their positions.

Petrified tree stump

Hector's dolphins

At about 7.30 in the evening we walked down to Curio Bay to watch again adult yellow-eyed penguins returning from the sea to feed their young. There was no hide, just a yellow rope spread across the rocks to mark the boundary beyond which spectators must not cross. Just feet beyond the rope there were two young penguins in full view. They ignored the people gathering nearby and looked expectantly out to sea.

As we waited we heard a local man saying that the two penguins were the chicks of an adult who appeared to have lost its mate, and that there were signs the parent could no longer manage to catch enough fish to feed both, almost fully fledged, chicks. 'Last night', he said, 'the smaller one didn't get fed.'
As the light faded penguins began to emerge from the sea, and for the first time we saw big chicks coming out from the burrows in the cliff, where they'd been hiding, to look for their parents. The two young penguins nearest to us continued to watch the sea. I saw now that one was indeed slightly smaller than the other but it was just as alert and active.
At last an adult appeared on the rocks at the water's edge directly in line with the pair of penguins who - understanding by some means that wasn't apparent to us, that this was their parent - set off down the beach. I was glad to see that the smaller bird was ahead, and that every time its bigger sibling seemed to be gaining ground the little one found a shortcut, scrambling and jumping over rocks if necessary, and went in front again. Silently I willed the little one on.

When the smaller penguin reached the adult it started squawking loudly; there was no mistaking that it was saying 'Feed me! Feed me!' When the bigger chick arrived it too started asking for food but instead of feeding the chicks immediately the parent started waddling up the beach to where they had been standing originally - and to the spot where we watchers were all sitting.
During the adult's progress up the beach both chicks continued to beg for food and to vie with each other to be in the best position once feeding time arrived. I could see that the smaller one was holding its own, and once again doing everything in its power to hold onto the prime position. 'Surely,' I thought, 'the parent can't ignore such persistence?'

Then, when the adult began to regurgitate its fishy baby food with the smaller chick apparently at the front of the queue, the bigger one suddenly knocked it off balance with a blow of a flipper; a blow so hard that I heard a resounding slap. The parent immediately put food into the open beak of the big chick.
Now the smaller bird had lost its position and scrambled desperately over a boulder to get in front of the parent again but before it could achieve this aim its sibling lashed out once more and the little one fell off the rock. Again, as the smaller penguin struggled to its feet, the adult fed the other chick.
The smaller chick continued to demand to be fed and to try to find a way to get the adult's attention but now it had to waste energy and concentration in order to stay out of the reach of the other young penguin. Everyone watching could see what was happening; the tension was so great that nobody made a sound.
As I saw the smaller bird cringing away from the other, being ignored by the parent and losing its battle to be fed I couldn't bear to watch any more and turned away. 'It's nature,' said Lawson but I went back to the van and cried.
When I create a story I rarely write a happy ending. But in life always I can't help hoping that things will end well. The Walt Disney version of the little penguin's story would give us heart-rending scenes of the chick giving up hope, growing weaker and sinking to the ground to wait for death. But then along would come a wildlife ranger. The penguin would be rescued and live happily ever after, and well fed, on an island sanctuary. As a character in a fairy story once said, 'Only believe.' I'm trying. I really am trying.

Tim's idiosyncrasies

The Carefree travel agency was less than honest when they advised that Tim would be up to the task of transporting us around NZ. They said he was just like all the other vans except that he didn't have matching crockery and fancy patterned curtains.
The truth is that Tim's best years are behind him. Not, given the stage I'm at in life, that I can hold that against him. However it does mean that certain allowances have to be made.
For example, after a night's rest and a gentle awakening as we make preparations for the day, Tim gets going without a grumble but if we stop again too soon he has a habit of nodding off, and has to be coaxed awake once more.
Also he's finding it difficult to do more than one thing at the same time; like run 2 rings on the gas hob. Although I must say that he seems to be making an effort to overcome this since we threatened to trade him in for something younger.
Anyway, Tim has had the weekend off, taking it easy in the parking area at Invercargill airport, while we've been on Stewart Island, so he should be raring to go tomorrow.

Catlins 3 & 4

Will follow. Including our visit to Curio Bay, an idyllic place but at which I encountered a little too much reality.

Gone South

On Friday morning 21 February we reached the most southerly point on mainland New Zealand; Slope Point.

We spent Friday night on a campsite in the city of Invercargill after making arrangements to go even further south the next morning - to Stewart Island a one hour ferry journey off the end of the mainland.
During the night the wind got up so that it was an 'exciting' crossing. Good job I had my Kwells sea-sickness tablets.
Unfortunately the weather continued to be dire at times -  we even had a hailstorm early today (Sunday 23). However we were able to do some walking and to visit the wild life reserve on Ulva Island before flying back to Invercargill late this  afternoon.

Expect to hear more about our off-shore trip in due course but I have yet to finish my account of the Catlins - and this evening, back on the site in Invercargill, the washing had to take priority!

Catlins 2

Walking across a remote, beautiful, and apparently empty, beach I bent to examine the boulders bearing the marks of the molten liquid they had once been, and the flat platforms of stone - of so many colours in regular blocks that they looked like mosaics.
Suddenly I became aware of a small black and white Jack Russell terrier bounding towards me. His joy at encountering me was so great that when he arrived at my feet he bounced waist high to say 'hello' before landing again and rolling over to have his tummy tickled.

Then I heard a voice say 'Paddy, you fool'. It was a woman's voice but deep and gravelly; a voice that suggested both strength and emotion.
When I looked up I saw a woman in faded jeans, peaked cap pulled well down and sunglasses. A woman like a piece of old rope; thin, sinewy,weather beaten,frayed.
Because of the cap and the glasses there was very little of the woman's face visible so that if you asked me to describe her features, I wouldn't be able to do it. But although she didn't struggle to walk towards me, I got the impression of considerable age.
'You like dogs,' she said, watching me patting Paddy and then throwing his disgustingly soggy ball for him.
'I rescued him,' she added. 'I had a dog once who lived to 16 and a half. We went through a lot together. ' She fell silent and gazed into the distance.
'Yes, I like dogs. And know the sadness of losing their companionship after that many years.' I said. Then, after a pause, asked 'Do you live here?'
'This is all my land. But I live over on the other side,' she said, and gestured vaguely with one arm.
I looked around me and saw that there were fields next to the beach and climbing the cliff but that they were overgrown; full of wild grasses about to run to seed.
'Have you been here long?'
'Oh yes,' the woman said. 'I have been here a very long time.'
'Would you let me take your photograph?'
'That's not possible,' she replied abruptly, and brought our conversation to an end by walking off, Paddy following at her heels.

I watched for a few seconds as the pair made their way over the rocks, heading towards the sea. Then I also moved on but just a few steps later came upon a stone bearing a plaque in memory of the first settlors on the land.
Reading the plaque I wondered whether there was a connection to the woman I'd just met and turned to look for her and her dog.
But they'd vanished into thin air.

Catlins 1.

The town of Waikawa is so small that if I'd blinked while travelling through it I'd have missed it.
There's a sprinkling of bungalows, a small church (full of ladies preparing for the local arts and crafts exhibition) and a museum.
The museum celebrates the history of the town and the people who have made it their home. First there were the Maoris but it was only in the late 1800's that the history really began.
The exhibits are personal and touching. Often there's a story only half told, or items are displayed in an haphazard way, so that it's really only those who already know the stories - because they're in their blood- who understand their relevance. Much of the information is on handwritten notes, which makes it even more poignant.
This museum is for commemoration and remembrance; of all those individual struggles by those who travelled to this long-hidden land, and tamed it so that it became their home.

A great day!

7 hours of great walking today (Wednesday 18 February) in the rain forest full of bird song, and along a lovely river, in the Catlins conservation area. It's remote; we didn't see anyone else all day. We started out walking in mist but finished - tired but happy - in sunshine.
More about the Catlins to come.

Tracey

We met Department of Conservation volunteer, Tracey, at Sandfly Bay. She is one of the people who patrol the beach to protect the rare yellow-eyed penguins who live and rear their chicks in the dunes and on the cliffs there.

At this time of year the adult penguins go out to sea at sunrise and return late in the afternoon with food for their chicks. The volunteers do their best to keep people away from those areas to which they know the adults will return.

The penguins are coming in from the sea from about 6pm onwards but don't all return at once, and then take their time making their way to the burrows. So the whole process can take many hours.

Tracey had travelled from her home at Macandrew Bay a few miles away, arriving at Sandfly at about 5.45 and stayed on the beach until 9.45pm. We know when she went home because we camped overlooking Sandfly Bay on Sunday night.

Sandfly Bay from the hide

Those empty beaches

So, to return to the photos I posted of empty beaches, I'll show you now what we,in fact, saw.

Beach 1:-

Beach 2:-

For Emma from Telltales in Falmouth

My friend and talented writer, Emma Timpany (who has won awards for her writing and is about to have a book of short stories published), grew up in Macandrew Bay on the Otago Peninsula.
These photos are for you, Emma.What a lovely childhood you must have had in such a setting.
However, having seen this place, I can understand how you might feel at home in Falmouth with its harbour and boats and university. And the period homes that are being smartly renovated everywhere here reminded me of your bungalow.

I hope your writing is going well.

The Otago Peninsula

From Dunedin a finger of land points towards the open sea along each side of Otago Harbour. On the right hand side a good, level road meanders along the water's edge, in and out of hamlets hiding in small bays. Another road takes the high route, sometimes disappearing into low cloud skimming the hill tops.
We took the upper road but ran down, pursued by the smell of burning tyre rubber, to a campsite at Portobello. After booking in we went straight straight to Sandfly Bay in search of penguins and sea lions. It was was 4pm. on Saturday 15 February.

It's a 40 minute walk from the car park at Sandfly Bay, down the tall dunes, across the beach, to the the hide. It was 5pm when we arrived. We almost fell over the first sea lion snoozing on the sand.There were more lolling on the rocks. They are big, bulky creatures and show no fear of people. In fact they are capable of chasing passing walkers, perhaps merely out of curiosity but I wouldn't want to hang around to find out.
As for penguins, after waiting more than an hour in the hide where the wind off the sea chilled me to the bone, we gave up.

Snoozing sea lion

The next day, Sunday, we pottered from bay to bay, beach to beach, watched Albatrosses surfing the wind off Tairoa Head, and returned to Sandfly (sometimes called Sandflying) Bay after 6 o' clock.

We had made detours around a couple of sea lions basking on the beach - ignoring our presence they scratched, yawned, settled more comfortably and flipped sand over themselves - when I glanced ahead. There, right in front of us, walking up the beach, was a yellow-eyed penguin. The penguin stopped, preened for a bit, walked on, stopped again, looked around and, eventually, taking it's time, proceeded at an unhurried waddle up into the dunes and disappeared. We've seen more penguins since then but the thrill of seeing the first one will never be surpassed.

More Dunedin landmarks

3.  Baldwin Street, apparently the world's steepest. I'm afraid we couldn't resist climbing it.

4. The railway station, its walls covered with tiles made specially by Royal Doulton.

5. Signal Hill Lookout. We decided it would be nice to walk from the Botanical Gardens near the centre of the city to the top of this hill from where we would have a great view over both Dunedin and Otago Harbour. For some reason even the fact the woman in the Information Office said that she'd never walked up to the top but always gone by car, didn't make us reconsider.
An hour later, still toiling up hill through the suburbs, and with the green peak of the hill seemingly no closer, the only thing that kept us going was the refusal to be beaten and the knowledge that we had lunch in our back packs to enjoy once we'd made it.

And it was a tremendous view.

6. Well, there would be more if we hadn't spent so long on Signal Hill!