Otago Harbour from Harbour Cone
About halfway down the hill, I came to the road. On the way up, this is where the true ascent of Harbour Cone really starts. At this point, I realised I must have taken a wrong turn, I shouldn’t be on the road at all! I should be on the other side of Harbour Cone walking down the side of the hill, dodging sheep poo and enjoying the coastline views of the peninsula. Having said that, the view of Otago Harbour that was now in front of me was fairly amazing.
Wellington’s Lambton Quay
Instead of being where I needed to be, I’d taken a detour to check out Wellington’s Lambton Quay—as if I had all the time in the world. The city lights flickered in the fading daylight, and for a moment, I convinced myself this was a scenic, intentional choice rather than me just getting distracted again.
I was supposed to be at a restaurant 2.5 kilometres away—Monsoon Poon. With a name like that, how could I not be intrigued? Just off Wellington’s famous Courtney Place, it’d been a local favorite for years, known for its Southeast Asian cuisine. If the reviews were to be believed, I was in for a treat. I’d read that the food was delicious, the atmosphere was great, and the whole place had a vibe you just couldn’t help but enjoy. Either that, or the reviewers had all had one too many cocktails.
I was hungry, thirsty, and more than ready for a wander through the city—with the promise of good food and a cold beer waiting at the end. And honestly, at that point, I would’ve settled for a mediocre meal and a lukewarm beer, as long as it came quickly.
Dawn over Halfmoon Bay
The great thing about small towns is that they are so intensely quiet in the early morning hours. Oban, on Stewart Island is no exception. I had risen early to photograph the sunrise and with that task ticked off my list, I went down into the town. Usually in those predawn hours I see at least one other person, foolish enough as myself to be up at such time. But, on this occasion I didn’t see a single soul. I wandered the empty streets as the first hints of daylight crept in, it was almost as if I had the town all to myself. It felt like a world apart—silent, peaceful, and entirely my own.
Bullock Track Walkway
Leaving the town of Clyde, then Roxburgh, the drive to Beaumont and later Lawrence was uneventful. Having caught-up on all my podcasts and not feeling in the mood for music, I filled the time by making a list of random places and things in the area that I might like to visit.
By the time I reached the Beaumont Bridge, my list included:
Walk the Bullock Track Walkway.
Find that random shed in the Tiviot Valley I spotted.
Walk up to the Alexandra Clock.
Visit the Gorge Creek Memorial.
Explore Conroy’s Dam.
Walk the Old Reservoir Trail.
Walk up to Flattop Hill above Butchers Dam.
Visit the ‘Somebodies Darling’ grave near Millers Flat.
Visit the Fairlight Train Station.
Find the Horseshoe Bend Bridge
Now, you might think that visiting the Jimmy’s Pie Shop in Roxburgh should be on the list, however it doesn’t qualify. Firstly, it’s far too obvious and not obscure or random enough and secondly, whenever I drive past, I stop off anyway.
The Lord of Clyde in Clyde
The town, while small, was surprisingly quiet. I hadn’t expected there to be the large crowds that filled the town in early January when summer is at its peak; however I thought it would be busier than it was. After a leisurely amble up and down the main street, I deduced it might be an in-between period of summer when all the locals have gone back to work, while those still in holiday mode are away at more exotic locations like Queenstown, Taupo, or Rotorua. Over the years, Clyde has developed from a sleepy little town filled with construction workers who were working on the nearby dam to a popular holiday spot that swells on weekends as people escape the city rush to pack the tiny town for a few days before heading back to work on Monday.
I stayed in the town once during one of its more ‘busy’ periods. The summer evening was long and warm. It was really rather pleasant. In the evening, it took forever to find a free table at any of the various eating establishments and even longer to order food, which was very nice, once it arrived. Therein lies the problem with many of the more popular small towns in New Zealand: they become so attractive that they simply don’t have the infrastructure to handle the large crowds they attract.
On this occasion, the town was bathed in warm summer sun. It was quiet, meaning the streets were free to stroll around and enjoy all the lovely offerings Clyde had on display.
Jackson’s Inlet at Lake Dunstan
I left Queenstown Airport and spent the next 50 minutes driving to the town of Cromwell. I passed through the Gibbston Valley and the Kawaru Gorge and before arriving at the small, bustling town of Cromwell that was filled with people and bathed in bright sunshine on the shores of Lake Dunstan. Stopping for petrol and a bite to eat, a short time later I rejoined State Highway 8 and crossed the Cromwell bridge, now having the lake for company out of the right hand window. I rounded a bend and was greeted by a serene view of the lake. The lake looked warm, placid and tranquil as the summer sun took over the surrounding hills that once formed the Cromwell Gorge. Not being able to resist, I called in to an inlet for a closer look.
Lake Wakatipu from Marine Parade
I spent the morning in Queenstown. For a short time I wandered through the botanical gardens, eventually following a trail that took me along the lakefront in Queenstown Bay and into the main shopping area. The place was filled with the usual assortment of tourists from various countries, taking in the mountain scenery, all dressed as if it was warmer than it actually was. I had lunch at a place called Vudu Larder which was nice before strolling around the various lanes that link the town centre, in due course arriving back at my car. So, with time marching on, and there being nothing else I wanted to see, I headed off to Queenstown Airport which is found in the nearby suburb of Frankton.
Well, nearby it might be, but easy to get to but it’s not. The traffic was insanely stupid. I don’t know how local residents put up with it, I really don’t! Not having any idea what the holdup was, all I could see in front of me was an endless procession of cars, buses, boats, camper vans, trucks and motorbikes. At one point it took me 30 minutes to drive a meager 2 kilometers. And, this was 10:30am on a Wednesday morning, hardly what I’d classify as rush hour traffic! As the traffic inched forward, I discovered the cause of all this chaos was roadworks at a roundabout that leads into the suburb of Frankton. I later read, the construction works to upgrade the intersections and Bus Hub in Frankton is anticipated to take four years to complete. Four years!! I’m sorry, but any traffic and roading upgrade that is taking four years to complete, better be a shining example in traffic engineering, an impeccable crowning accomplishment. A traffic utopia if you will, a place of perfect peace and happiness where all travelers can intermix in a state of nirvana. Anything less will be slightly disappointing!
Rain on Princes Street
It had been raining. Evidently it had stopped just long enough for the roads to begin drying, but now it started again and it quickly went from a light, mist drizzle to vigorously intense, all in a matter of seconds. One moment I was standing on the pavement admiring the far off street lights towards the top of the hill, next thing the road was a dazzlingly, shimmering glow as rain fell from the early morning gloom. It was all rather pretty, in a sleepy, low-key kind of way.
Corner of Rattray and Princes Street
In the morning, I went to Dunedin’s city centre. It was early, and I expected it to be quiet, and it was. Apart from the occasional car that would cruise past or delivery van that would ignore almost every traffic law there was, I pretty much had the place to myself. The surrounding, dimly lit office buildings were mostly dark and empty, the occasional light beaming out across the early morning from some enthusiastic eager beaver who’d already got a headstart on the day’s proceedings.
Vogel Street in Dunedin
If you’ve never spent time casually wandering around Vogel Street and the Warehouse Precinct in Dunedin, you’re in for a treat. This area is packed with some seriously impressive Victorian warehouses, built on land reclaimed by the Harbour Board in 1879. With the harbour, railway and the central business district all within a stones throw, Vogel Street became a bustling hub of industry, home to some of the country’s biggest companies at the time—especially during the Otago Gold Rush, when Dunedin was actually New Zealand’s largest city for a while!
Dunedin Railway Station
If George Alexander Troup could see the elegant and grand Railway Station he designed, he would be very impressed. He would be even more astounded to see it lit-up at night. But, most of all, he would be even more stunned to be here at all since he died in 1941. When a new Railway Station building was needed for Dunedin, a competition was held to design the new building, and to the astonishment of presumably everyone except Troup himself, he won.
The station he designed is a grand affair, with a central entrance hall bookended by long, dignified wings. It was built from Kokanga basalt perched atop a base of Port Chalmers basalt, with Oamaru stone flourishes to keep things interesting. The basalt came from a quarry in Central Otago that was opened specifically for the project, because if you’re going to build something of this scale, you might as well not just be functional but suitably dramatic, as maybe all good railway stations should be.
The Phoenix Store in Pukerau
I drove past broad hectares of lush farmland, surrounded by low, rolling hills. Occasionally I’d pass an old farm shed or long treelines that stretched up into the hills. The traffic was light and the fields were empty as I headed south towards the town of Gore. At one point, I rounded a bend and to my surprise discovered a tractor taking up all of his lane and half of mine, coming directly at me. He appeared to be leading a strange convoy of vehicles that included a truck, a police car and other assortments of private vehicles. Since, the oncoming procession was clearly focused on taking up as much road as possible, I pulled over to let them pass. I was in the small town of Pukerau.
One of Pukerau’s claims to fame is that of mistaken identity. Originally referred to as ‘The Swamp’, by the 1860’s people were referring to it as Taylor’s Creek. The only problem being there were already numerous ‘Taylor’s Creeks’ in the wider region, thus causing great confusion. On more than one occasion, disgruntled travellers were left confused as they ended up in the wrong location while still being at ‘Taylors Creek.’. To solve this problem, settlers adopted the Māori name for the district, Pukerau –The Land of Many Hills. The place really sprang to life as a settlement once European settlers started searching for decent farmland and the railway line arrived in 1876. Today, it’s a quiet rural community that can take an astonishingly long time to drive through, if you get your timing wrong.
Wellington railway station
I took a train to Wellington central station. A slow, yet not uncomfortable trip I shared with a dozen or so passengers. Along the way people came and went as we stopped at various stations until we reached our eventual destination and alighted at the end of line.
It was Christmas Eve and I had expected Wellington railway station to be a teeming throng of passengers hurrying between platforms, armed with parcels-desperately trying to not to drop everything as they raced to catch a train. I was secretly hoping I might even hear somebody yelling “hold that train!” with a shrill mild sound of panic in their voice watching the train pull away from the platform. Alas, I was wrong. The place wasn’t busy at all. A few people were shuffling around but nothing like what I had expected. The place seemed almost deserted!
In the modern age, there aren’t too many places where commuter rail really survives and Wellington is one of them. If news and TV has taught me anything it’s that on Christmas Eve, places like airports, train stations and shopping malls are a swarming mass of busyness, stress and tension but this was not the case. At the far end of the station a few people were milling around a doorway while the rest of the station was, well, empty! I walked from the platforms inside the main building and looked at the decorative marble surrounds and the high dome ceilings, finished with tile. Footsteps echoed around the vaulted ceilings while on the windows of empty rooms sat ‘to lease signs.’ Once, in the golden age of New Zealand rail, all around the country the railway station was the grandest building in town. Now, most of them are simply empty shells collecting dust and cobwebs inside. It all seemed rather sad and depressing in a way. Then it occurred to me, there is a silver lining in all this, at least they haven’t pulled it down to make a carpark!
Since I pretty much had the place to myself, and I wasn’t in any rush I had a good wander round taking in some of the architecture which really was rather splendid. But to be honest with you there is only a certain amount of time you can spend looking at a lonely railway station, and it was a lovely day outside. Near the exit, beams of sunshine were streaming through the windows, enticing me to venture outside and head for the waterfront docks. So, that’s just what I did.
As I emerged I passed and a disheveled looking man holding a sign saying “hungry, need food?” to which I politely said ‘No thank you, I’ve already eaten’ and walked on towards the waterfront.
Olivers in Clyde
Speaking of gold, Clyde is another place that quickly went from being a tranquil, sleepy hollow beside a river, to a boomtown overrun with gold hungry miners. When gold was discovered in the gorge beyond where the town of Clyde now lies, chaos ensued. Within a year, in the vicinity of fifteen to twenty thousand miners were clambering along the banks of the river and surrounding gullies, seeking a fortune in gold.
So it was that Clyde (then known as ‘The Dunstan’) became a confusion of shanties as calico tents and scantling huts shot up everywhere. Amidst the mayhem of the new town, as thousands of kilograms of gold was drawn out of the once quiet gullies, one new arrival at The Dunstan was Benjamin Naylor. Having been based in Gabriel’s Gully near Lawrence, he arrived with a wagon-load of supplies in 1862 once news of the gold discovery spread across the young province. Affectionately known as ‘Old Ben,’ the merchant and farmer set up a tent store selling produce from his farm in the Manuherikia Valley to the grizzled, fortune seeker prospectors hoping to strike it rich.
Eichardt’s in Queenstown
It’s Welshman William Gilbert Rees who we can thank (or, depending on your views on tourist hotspots, quietly curse) for Queentown. A sheep farmer who arrived in the South Island of New Zealand via New South Wales in Australia, he came across the present day location of Queenstown while out searching for farm land with fellow explorer Nicholas von Tunzelmann (who seems largely forgotten about).
Rees then settled on the shores of Lake Wakatipu, established a sheep farm and happily went about life in the picturesque location. Until, gold was discovered in November 1862. One moment, Queenstown was a peaceful, sheep-filled paradise; the next, it was swarming with fortune-seekers who, judging by the speed of their arrival, had developed a sixth sense for gold. From that point onwards, all hell broke loose! The calm, tranquil shores of Queenstown became a rough shantytown that was overrun with miners. Rees, who presumably just wanted a quiet life tending his sheep, found himself in charge of an impromptu boomtown filled with dishevelled miners and questionable hygiene. To keep up with the boom, Rees converted his woolshed into a hotel, calling it the Queen’s Arms. He then went into partnership with Albert Eichardt who eventually changed the hotel’s name to Eichardt’s Queen’s Arms and then later simply Eichardt’s Private Hotel. So, when the owner’s say ‘so much of the local history has taken place in this spot’ they’re not exaggerating. Although, I wonder what Nicholas von Tunzelmann thinks of all this?
The Glow Worms at Nicols Creek
I left Nicols Falls and stopped off at the Glow worms on my way back down the hill. During my time at the falls, the rain had gotten harder, the track more slippery and to make matters worse, a breeze had picked up. This had the annoying effect of shaking large amounts of rain off the leaves above-directly onto me! No matter where I stood, the water would hit me in sudden bursts. Thump! Thump! Thump! It felt like being shot from a mega charged water-pistol!
Just as I began to think the rain might ease, it would bucket down again, followed by gusts of wind that shook the trees- Thump! Thump! Thump! By the time I reached the Glow worms, I was soaked from head to toe. Worse still, I realised I wouldn’t even be able to see the glow worms. Instead, l found myself standing in the rain, photographing a forest path beside a small stream and waterfall that tumbled over moss-covered rocks, surrounded by lush green foliage.
Oddly enough, it was all rather satisfying!
Nicols Falls in Dunedin
It was Sunday morning and low clouds, mist and rain hung over the city like a bad hangover. This wasn’t the summer I’d been hoping for, or expecting. What I wanted was long, endless days of sunshine that ran for weeks and weeks at a time. That was back when summer was a sparkle on the horizon during a dreary spring day and everyone eagerly looked forward to wearing bikinis, speedos and board shorts at the beach or beside a lake from dawn to dusk. The day would then be completed with a BBQ that ran late into the night. Then, the next day, you’d do it all over again because that’s what summer’s for.
Some months back, I remember reading predictions from experts about what we could expect, weather wise for summer. There’d been much talk about climate cycles and weather patterns. Experts had used terms I didn’t completely understand like La Niña, El Niño, El Paso, El Taco and El Capitán (some of those might not be quite right!). Now, I’m not sure what all that means, but what we got was long periods of El shitty weather and La crappie days of rain.
On this occasion, I didn’t want to be stuck in doors, I needed exercise, I needed to walk-regardless of how hard it was raining. A thought that had been lingering in the back of my mind for a few weeks was a stroll up to Nicols Falls located in the Glenleith, Leith Valley area of Dunedin. And so, that’s just what I did. I have to say, the falls aren’t actually that impressive, but it’s fun bounding over the boulders and through the streams along the way.
The Shaky Bridge in Alexandra
In the morning I awoke with a clear head, feeling refreshed and ready for a new day. This was somewhat surprising. Usually, after spending all day at a concert I would greet the new day with a hangover that could floor a rhinoceros! However, the previous day having made the very grown-up decision to remain sober while attending the Gibbston Valley Summer Concert, the morning seemed full of possibilities. What’s more, I was ok to drive! So, after breakfast, I decided to celebrate my new found maturity by visiting the historic Shaky Bridge in Alexandra.
Tay Street – Invercargill
I rolled through the city of Invercargill. I’m never too sure what to make of Invercargill. Whenever I’m there, the place always seems to have a quiet, sleepy feel. This occasion was no different. I had a look around by walking up one side of the main shopping district and back down the other. It was quiet, very very quiet. I walked a total of four city blocks and only saw a handful of people the entire time. This seemed strange, even for Invercargill. The city itself was surveyed by British civil engineer John Turnbull Thomson who emigrated to New Zealand in early 1856 before working as Chief Surveyor of the Otago Province until 1873. I began thinking about him, as I crossed a depressingly empty street. By the time I reached the other side, I decided he must have been an optimist. Someone with a utopian vision for New Zealand’s southernmost city. Why else would he design the streets so humongously wide? Honestly, they seem massively wide. You could sail the RMS Titanic along the main street and still have room for the RMS Carpathia to come to its rescue.
Stirling Point in Bluff
I was in Bluff. The last time I was standing at the southern tip of the country, it was a bracing 5 degrees. That day, the weather had been miserable. The rain was heavy, a southerly roared across Foveaux Strait and inland somewhere it was snowing. On this occasion, the weather was a more agreeable 18 degrees. A few wispy clouds hung in the sky while a gentle, cool ocean breeze drifted in from somewhere beyond. This was Bluff-Stirling Point at its absolute best. The small car park was full to overflowing and while some had gotten creative with their parking, others were applying the wait and hover method, while I, striking a moment of good fortune, simply guided gracefully into a spot that appeared in front of me like the parting of the Red Sea. Pleased with my luck, I set off along a walking track. There was a skip in my step and a whistle on my lips.
I Love Hutt City – Street Art
While in the North Island I did something rather foolish. I drove through Lower Hutt on Christmas Eve! What I was thinking, I really don’t know! I had been at the Queens Gate Mall where among other things, I went for a pee and deliberately walked against the flow of shoppers for some festive merriment. The real chaos hit when I left—traffic was horrendous! The road layout had clearly been designed by someone with an obsession for roundabouts. I’ve never seen so many in one place outside of a small English village. I drove through five within 700 meters! That’s right-Five! According to the New Zealand Transport Agency, ‘roundabouts simplify decision making for drivers’ and ‘help traffic flow’. That is, unless you drive through Lower Hutt in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. Then, they are just plain maddening and a tiny bit annoying.
I spent the night at the Rydges Hotel at Wellington Airport. At first, for reasons I can’t explain, I was sceptical about staying in such a place. I assumed it would be pricey and beyond my means – but I was wrong. It was reasonably priced, spotlessly clean, comfortable, cozy and with incredibly convenient access to the airport. Right beside the terminal! This proved most useful in the morning. I went from being in my pyjamas at 7:30 am to standing at the check-in kiosks at 7:55 am and I wasn’t even late, in a rush or making a panicking run across the airport in a vain attempt to get to a flight that was determined to leave without me (this has happened before).
That morning, I woke to bright sunshine streaming through the curtains. I made a coffee, read my book, made another coffee and at around 7:30 am decided with check-in closing at 8:15 am, I’d better get dressed. So, I completed my morning ablutions and minutes later presented myself at the check-in kiosks. I then proceeded through the necessary security checks and found a seat beside the allotted gate number, well rested and fresh as daisy. All without stepping outside, it was most civilised. I highly recommend it!
Textures of East Gippsland
This is a very fun and creative thing to do if you have interesting subject matter in your photos, but some parts are a little boring. Adding textures is a great way to add a different dimension to a photo while engaging your inner creativity. For these textures, I went for an old torn and damaged paper effect with a little tin rust added into the layers. It reminded me of what you might find in an old box at the back
Wellington Waterfront.
I like Wellington, I think it’s the waterfront that grabs me the most. Whenever I’m in there I always make a point of having at least one wander along and around the harbour area. They say you can’t beat Wellington on a good day, and this certainly is true. When the weather is fine, and the wind is calm it’s one of my favourite places to amble. There’s always a pop-up store or two to enjoy, various markets and a wide variety of funky art installations to capture the imagination.
The Alexandra Town Bridge
As I passed through the town of Alexandra, I detoured to look at the former town bridge, a structure that is a true feat of skill and engineering. Built in 1882, the remains sit right next to the newer version that spans the Clutha River. The bridge, like the clock on the hill, is a bit of an icon. While the newer version of the bridge is the one most people are familiar with, it’s the remains of the previous bridge that is the real monument. When it was built, it was one of the country’s most glorious structures and a true feat of engineering. These days, the surviving piers and towers are a testament to its wonderful construction, having withstood the force of the Clutha river for more than 140 years.
In the 16th Century, a large number of Flemish weavers started migrating, making their way over to English places such as Lancashire, Yorkshire and Essex (including Braintree). As they did so, they turned the area into a major weaving region. In Braintree, where the buildings are tightly packed together, all sorts of alleyways were created that twisted and turned, eventually arriving at the old market square, where goods were sold. However, instead of being called alleyways, the paths were called ‘gants’, taken from the Flemish word ‘gang’ which meant corridor. So, in the town of Braintree, there are lots of small ‘gants’ throughout the town centre, one of which is called the ‘Pig’s Head in the Pottage Pot Gant‘.
The usual name for this gant has been derived over history. In the deeds from the area dated 1753, an inn is referred to in the gant with the name of “Dogshead in the Porridge Pott” and over the passing of time, it morphed into its current name.
The Whangaehu River at Tangiwai
10 kilometres west of the town Waiōuru in the central North Island, I arrived at a place called Tangiwai. The location of New Zealand’s worst railway accident where 151 died.
The tragedy occurred on Christmas Eve, 1953 and was caused when part of a carter wall containing a lake on the volcano Mount Ruapehu collapsed and a torrent of water surged down the Whangaehu River. Moments before the Wellington to Auckland express train arrived at the Tangiwai bridge, it had been damaged by the fast moving lahar and the bridge collapsed when the train began to cross it. Of the 285 passengers aboard the train, 151 died. To this day it remains New Zealand’s worst Railway accident.
Tunnel Hill railway at McDonald’s Saddle
I had spent the day walking the Catlins River Track near Tawanui in the Owaka Valley and by the time I arrived back at my car, it was mid afternoon. Leaving Tawanui, I arrived in Owaka where I stopped for a bite to eat before continuing on to Tunnel Hill, the location of a disused 250 m long railway tunnel. Built between 1879 and 1915, the Catlins River Branch railway formed part of New Zealand’s national rail network which was constructed to provide access to the local timber industries. The tunnel was finished in 1896.
Stirling Point in Bluff
I was greatly taken by Bluff. Despite the fact that when I was there, it was a bracing 5 degrees, the afternoon swell that was hitting the nearby rocks was only getting larger and I was struggling to stay upright in the wind surges. However, there was something about the town that seemed quite appealing in a confusing sort of way. There’s the Motupōhue Scenic Reserve to explore that includes the Tōpuni track to the top of Bluff Hill which provides spectacular views over Foveaux Strait and the Southland Plains. Close by there’s also the Glory track through dense bush and the Foveaux Walkway looking out at Foveaux Strait to Ruapuku and Rakiura Islands. Along these tracks you can also see the World War II gun emplacements while the shoreline was home to a whaling station at one point in history. Of course, you can always do what I did and park at the famous Stirling Point signpost which marks the end of State Highway 1 to see how far away you are from places like London, New York or Sydney.
Russell in The Bay of Islands
Russell in the Bay of Islands has many places like this, partly obscured views of the Kororareka Bay and they are all lovely. There’s something rather tranquil, serene and relaxing about the whole place. Particularly during summer! Back in the 1800’s, the bay must have been a sight for sore eyes for weary sailors who’d spent many months at sea and were ready for some rest and relaxation.
Wellington Airport at night