Aotearoa, Cape Palliser, North Island, Wild Horses

Shipwrecks in Palliser Bay – I

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Cape Palliser coastline

Heavy, dark clouds hung overhead like a thick blanket. Out to sea, In the distance a wall of weather loomed ominously on the horizon. I was heading for Cape Palliser Lighthouse, the southernmost point of the North Island. Earlier in the day, I read that snow was forecast to fall in the Wairarapa area however that was something I’d chosen to ignore. I’d simply assumed it wouldn’t happen. After all, how often do you really believe snow will fall when it’s forecast. Now, late in the afternoon it seemed they might have been right afterall. 

Sometime around the year 1827, French Explorer Dumont d’Urville named this location ‘Useless Bay.’ On account of the fact that at the time he was unable to go shore due to heavy seas. To some degree he was correct, as there is a long list of shipwrecks and stories of boats sinking after striking rocks along the rugged and dangerous coastline. One such sinking was that of a schooner called the ‘Witness’ in 1854.

On route from port Lyttelton near Christchurch to Wellington, the Witness was transporting a range of produce including a large cargo of potatoes. As the ship approached Wellington Harbour, it hit rough weather and was blown off course towards Cape Palliser and Palliser Bay. As the schooner started to flounder and was driven towards the shoreline rocks, the captain, recognising the danger his ship was now in, called his men together. Fighting against the conditions, he instructed the crew that when they were close enough to shore, he would give the word to jump. He then followed this up with a second series of orders to several close-by crew men. The cabin boy, who mistakenly thought the order to jump had been given, immediately leapt into the violent sea and drowned. His body later came ashore near the mouth of the Wharepapa River, the ship was lost, uninsured, and the owner lost all he possessed.

Aotearoa, Hutt River, North Island, Upper Hutt, Wild Horses

The Hutt River

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The Hutt River

Whenever I stay in Upper Hutt, I make a point of completing a daily walk of between 6 to 8 kilometres along a route I rather like. It ventures along the banks of the Hutt River and stretches into the Akatarawa Valley. The river is always interesting to look at and watch as I stroll along the various paths and bridges that cross the river. It’s really a rather splendid way to pass some time. 

It was on one of these walks that I began to wonder where the ‘Hutt’ name came from. The more I thought about it, the more curious I became. Having plenty of time to think on my walk, I settled on the assumption that a man (sorry ladies, but these places are always named after men) named ‘Hutt’ must have had something to do with discovering the area. Or, at least have made a deep and lasting connection with local Māori, thus forging a new beginning for European and Māori relations in the area. 

But, alas no! I was wrong! The Hutt River and indeed the cities of Upper and Lower Hutt are named after a man named Sir William Hutt. I know this because I looked it up after completing my walk. 

Sir William Hutt was a British politician and aristocrat. Born in 1801 in Surrey, England, he spent his childhood living in the highest class of British society, was educated at the finest schools with private tutors and eventually graduated from Trinity College in Cambridge with a B.A. in 1927. He married heiress Mary Millner and they resided at Streatlam Castle in County Durham, England. In 1832, he entered Parliament as MP for Kingston Upon Hull and went on to have a long and distinguished career in the halls of power. He was a member and commissioner of the foundation of South Australia, the New Zealand Association, was director of the New Zealand Company, served as Vice-President of the Board of Trade, Paymaster General and was sworn on to the Privy Council in 1860. When Mary died in 1860, he inherited mining properties worth £18,000 a year. He remarried the next year, and was knighted in 1865 at the age of 64. Sir William eventually died in 1882 at the age of 81, leaving his vast properties to his brother, Sir George Hutt. 

So, in essence, the Hutt River was named after a man who had never seen it, been near it, heard of it, been in this country or even had the faintest idea what it was. I doubt he could even find it on a map! 

So, here’s a new rule. Anyone that has a place or land feature named after them, must visit it, in person, at least once a year. Just to check on it and make sure everything is in order and there is no erroneous spelling in any nearby graffiti. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to book a boat trip to Caswell Sound in Fiordland National Park. 

Middlemarch, Strath Taieri, Sutton, Wild Horses

Sutton Railway Station

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Sutton Railway Station

These days, the Sutton railway station is a sleepy relic, a station without a train, with nothing but the wind for company. Once a bustling wee hub, a place where locals from the Strath Taieri area came and went on their way to Dunedin. Step inside (or rather, peer through the old door), and you’ll find names scratched into the timber—some dating back nearly to the turn of the century. Among the scrawls left behind by idle hands are the initials of soldiers who once passed through, including one Arthur Charles Peat.

Arthur was 21 when he left Sutton in late 1914, off to do his bit for ‘The Great War.’ He enlisted with the Otago Infantry Battalion on the 13th of December and was promptly packed onto the HMS Tahiti, bound for Egypt. In early April, somewhere on the Red Sea, he wrote to his brother Jack, because that’s what one did in 1914 when one was about to do something life-altering and potentially catastrophic—one wrote home, preferably before seasickness set in. He described three days at sea before spotting the Suez Canal, the excitement of saluting passing ships, and the thrill of buying fruit from enterprising locals. Then came the train ride through the canal, followed by a jaunt into Cairo, where he had a look at the sights but only glimpsed the pyramids from a distance—an experience not unlike visiting Paris and only seeing the Eiffel Tower reflected in a puddle. He ended the letter in a hurry, promising to write more next time, presumably because the postman was already tapping his foot.

That next letter never came. Arthur and the Otago Infantry Battalion were shipped off to Gallipoli, where things quickly went from ‘unpleasant’ to ‘a complete and utter disaster.’ On the 7th of August, 1915, at Chunuk Bair, Arthur Charles Peat was killed in action. His name, along with the others who never returned, remains etched into the wood at Sutton station—a quiet reminder of lives that passed through, bound for places they would never see again.

Central Otago, Clyde, Cromwell, Lake Dunstan, Wild Horses

Lake Dunstan & The Cromwell Gorge

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Lake Dunstan in autumn

Whenever I’m driving past Lake Dunstan I can never decide whether I actually like it. You see, when the lake was made after the Clyde Dam was completed in 1992, it flooded the spectacular Cromwell Gorge, taking with it many historical important settlements that’ll never be seen again. If you never saw the gorge, you have no reason to miss it, however if you remember the famous gorge, you’ll know how wonderful it was. 

It had dramatic cathedral-like rock formations on either side of the Clutha River that dropped dramatically to the river far below. The road, which connected Cromwell to Clyde and Alexandra twisted and turned through the valley, passing historic gold-mining locations that linked to the every origins of European settlement in the area with orchards of every description lining the river banks. Now, in its place is a stunning lake with mountain views and small inlets scattered along the shoreline, making it a popular spot for recreational activities like boating, fishing, and cycling along the shoreline trails. 

I pondered all of this while driving through the gorge. It was a crisp autumn day. I’d left the town of Cromwell and after several minutes I found myself driving past where the gorge had once been, stuck behind a campervan. Do I ever hate campervans! They take up entire lanes on the road, they constantly sway from side to side, they’re slow and they spoil the view. Plus, they always seem to be either lost or unsettlingly disoriented. I can’t tell you how much I loathe campervans!! On this occasion, I just happened to be following two of them, going slower than a snail suffering from a bad case of arthritis. Groups of geriatric’s with walkers could have passed us! So, I pulled into one of the rest areas by the lake to wait several weeks until they were far ahead of me. 

It was mid-morning and there was a cool crispness to the morning air as autumn leaves lined the shoreline. Across on the distant shore, the rocky hillside glistened in the morning sun. It was all very still and tranquil, yet I still missed the old gorge!

Aotearoa, Pukerau, Southland, Travel, Wild Horses

Pukerau

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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.

Beach, Beach Life, Dunedin, Wild Horses

The Devine Beach

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Lawyers Head, St Kilda and St Clair Beach

It was one of those stunning summer days where the sun was shining, it was hot and the sky was clear without a breath of wind. I had spent the morning completing a few errands in town, and having finished all my tasks, I rewarded myself with a walk to the beach. I made my way through suburbs with neatly manicured lawns and streets lined with vehicles of all shapes and sizes. Eventually the coast came into view and the familiar smell of sand and saltwater filled the air. I made my way to the top of a line of sand dunes that looked out over the beach and stretched far into the distance. I was so impressed, I instantly gave it my International Beach of the Year Award before heading off to explore the nearby rock pools while getting dive bombed by contemptuous sea-gulls.

Aotearoa, Gibbston Valley, Queenstown-Lakes District, Wild Horses

Wherever I Wander, Wherever I Rove

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Bic Runga performing at Gibbston Valley

Well, I’m now a month into my 365 project for the 4th year in a row in which I post a new photo everyday here on my photoblog. If you’re new to my wee corner of the world were I hang my hat, this is what I’m all about:

… from a Small City. A photoblog about discovering small towns, forgotten points of interest and the curiosities of my island home. 

Photographed and written from my point of view, with a particular focus on observations of daily life, history and geography, I transcribe my travels around Aotearoa. My goal is to travel around my own backyard and beyond it, taking stock of my home and reconnecting with its identity. Does Ōtepoti reflect its Scottish roots of Kilts, Haggis and Robbie Burns poetry? Are we a nation still obsessed with Fresh Up, Fush & Chups, Buzzy Bees, The Pavlova, Paua Shells, The Edmonds Cookbook, Hokey Pokey Ice Cream with a No 8 Wire mentality? Are these items symbolic of life in Aotearoa or just of an urban myth sold off to tourists who drive on the wrong side of the road and decorate bushes with loo paper? My trips aim to answer these questions as I travel …. from a Small City around Aotearoa discovering small towns, forgotten points of interest and the curiosities of his island home.

Aotearoa, Travel, Wellington, Wellington CBD, Wild Horses

Wellington Railway Station

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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.

Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

The Chinese New Year In Dunedin

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The Chinese New Year at Lan Yuan in Dunedin 

It was the Chinese New Year. So, as a way to celebrate I visited the Dunedin Chinese Gardens. Opened in 2008, the gardens were created with the support of the Shanghai Municipal Government, are New Zealand’s only authentic Chinese Garden and when it opened, one of only three outside China. They are well worth a visit and so, that’s just what I did! 

The place was peaceful and quiet. An inner city oasis filled with tranquil waterfalls and ponds, connected with calm and serene walkways that make all thoughts of the busy city outside its walls, drift away.  Inside the gardens were in festive preparation mode with decorative lanterns gently swaying in the light breeze. All around, there were signs that a busy evening was in store yet the place remained calm and peaceful. If this was anywhere else, with thousands of people expected in a few hours, it would be mayhem!  Yet, here nothing seemed a bother. Everything was happening in a placid, slow motion sort of way, it was all rather nice. 

While I was there I decided to brush up on my knowledge of the Chinese zodiac signs. This year is the year of the Snake however there are twelve in total, all of which have lucky meanings and characteristics. It is believed that people born in a given year have the personality of that year’s animal. If you are an Ox you’re diligent, dependable and strong while those who are a Dog are lovely, honest and prudent. I was born in the year of the Dragon, meaning not only am I the coolest of all the animals, but I’m also confident, intelligent and enthusiastic. They also seem to have missed out devilishly handsome, but I’m willing to let that one slide. 

The festivities in the evening began at 7pm sharp with the gardens open to visitors while outside a Dragon parade made its way a short distance from the centre of the city to the main entrance. At that point a Dragon Dance took place before other various cultural dances and performance celebrations were held, culminating in a grand fireworks display that lit-up the evening sky.        

All of this I missed due to a prior engagement, except for the spectacular 10 minute fireworks display over the harbour basin and could be seen all over the city.

Aotearoa, Central Otago, Clyde, Travel, Wild Horses

Olivers – The Benjamin Naylor Story

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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.

Aotearoa, Queenstown, Queenstown-Lakes District, South Island, Travel, Wild Horses

Eichardt’s in Queenstown

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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?

Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

Life Happens, Coffee Helps

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Crawford Street in Dunedin

It was 5:30am and I was functioning without a morning injection of black coffee into my system. I wasn’t even sure what I was doing up! It had all seemed such a good idea the previous evening, getting up early and photographing the city before sunrise! Now, here I was, standing near a set of traffic lights, barely able to string together a coherent thought. I vowed to seek out a cup of joe as soon as possible. Despite my sluggish brain at such an early hour, one question kept nagging at me; how did we become so addicted to coffee? It can’t have always been like this, right? Surely, there must have been a point in history when the consumption of coffee in the morning skyrocketed and people worked out they might actually be able to make a tidy profit selling the stuff. I pondered this a little longer before setting to see if I could find a coffee vendor at such an hour!

Aotearoa, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Travel, Wild Horses

The Glow Worms at Nicols Creek

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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!

Aotearoa, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Travel, Wild Horses

Nicols Falls In Dunedin

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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.

Owaka, Purakaunui Falls, Purakaunui River, The Catlins, Wild Horses

Waterfalls, Walks & The Catlins

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The Purakanui Falls

From Nugget Point I drove 37 kilometres southwest to Purakaunui Falls. A trip that took roughly 40 minutes and another 10 minutes of walking along a short, but well maintained bush track that terminated at the iconic falls. Located on the Purakanui River, the falls cascade over three tiers, creating a stunning, wide and spectacular waterfall that stands over 20 metres high. Adding to the charm is the surrounding lush native podocarp forest that holds its own tranquil beauty, creating a popular tourist destination for travelers exploring the wondrous natural beauty of The Catlins.

Nugget Point, The Catlins, Wild Horses

Christopher Columbus & The Round Earth Theory.

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Nugget Point in The Catlins

I turned off the Southern Scenic Route and headed towards Kapa Point and Molyneux Bay, eventually arriving at Nugget Point. I parked the car between two campervans (do I ever hate campervans!) and began the 20 minute walk to Nugget Point and the lighthouse. 

The lighthouse is situated at the end of a track that sits an impressive 76 metres above the sea. A desolate and windswept headland on the Catlins coast. It’s a truly spectacular view, however I don’t think I’ve ever been there when it hasn’t been at least a tad windy. On this occasion, the breeze could best be described as lively and vigorous. As I made my way to the lighthouse and accompanying viewing area, the wind pounded the point in surges. At first, the platform was surprisingly empty, gradually more people arrived and squeezed onto the tiny viewing area. This forced me to take in the scenic beauty while being uncomfortably close to complete strangers. 

On one side of me were a group of Asian tourists who, judging by all the pointing were having what appeared to be a very heated discussion about shoes! On the other was a man who was giving a history lesson to his son. He was explaining that once, everyone believed that earth was flat and when an explorer named Christopher Columbus set sail, everyone feared he would sail off the edge of the world.  I wanted to interject and state this was a factually incorrect piece of history that has been repeatedly rolled out so often over the years that people now just view it as gospel. In fact, it is completely wrong! When Christopher Columbus set sail in 1492, not only did he know the earth was round, people had done so for hundreds of years. In fact, philosophers as far back as Pythagoras and Aristotle had already proven through maths and science that the earth was indeed a sphere. So, when Christopher Columbus set sail from Spain to find an all-water route to Asia, the only thing he was endangered of, was forgetting the bread and milk on the way home!

Aotearoa, Cromwell, Lake Dunstan, South Island, Wild Horses

Cromwell & Lake Dunstan

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Cromwell from the Bruce Jackson Lookout

I drove along the shores of Lake Dunstan, the weather was in an indecisive mood. Looking back towards Alexandra and Roxburgh across the rugged peaks above the lake, rain was in the air and dark clouds were gathering for the afternoon.  Ahead, towards Cromwell, the day looked much more promising. The heavy cloud cover was starting to break and large patches of blue sky were appearing above the distant peaks of Mount Difficulty and the Pisa Range.

Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

Hydro Surf Shop at Dawn

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Hydro Surf Shop at dawn

I spent the first hours of the day walking along the beach. It was that eerie period, just before sunrise when the light shifts and the world seems neither awake nor asleep-stuck between a world of dreams and the realities of life. 

The beach was quiet. Most people were sensibly still in bed-it was 5:30am, after all. Even the cafe’s weren’t open yet. I left the beach with the low tide splashing around my feet and trudged up a set of steps, my soaked shoes squelching as I went. I continued along the Esplanade, occasionally I would pass someone and we’d give each other a look that said ‘thank god I’m not the only one crazy enough to be up at this hour!’  

I stood for a few moments and watched the light shift once more, was it worth the 5:00am start? Yes! 

Aotearoa, Central Otago, Roxburgh, South Island, Wild Horses

The Clutha River at Roxburgh

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The Clutha River at Roxburgh

Usually when I stop in the town of Roxburgh, it’s for one of two reasons: to grab a pie from the famous ‘Jimmy’s Pies’ shop or to stock up on fresh, seasonal fruit from one of the orchards. On this occasion, unfortunately the pie shop was closed, and I already had plenty of fruit. So, my plan was to drive straight through without stopping. That idea quickly changed as I rolled through the town. On a last-minute impulse, I decided to take a detour through an even smaller settlement called Millers Flat. I had no real reason, but it was nearby. As long as I crossed the river!

Alexandra, Central Otago, South Island, Wild Horses

The Manuherikia River

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The Manuherikia River

The Shaky Bridge spans the Manuherikia River. Standing on the bridge, I looked down as the river gently flowed past. It seemed to be in a lazy mood, like it didn’t have much to do and plenty of time to do it. I scrambled down a nearby bank for a closer look. The river was low and slow, lazily winding its way past Alexandra before joining the bigger Clutha River. Looking ahead, the edges of the bank reflected in the still water. Above patches of blue peeked through the breaking clouds above. The river didn’t seem in a rush-and neither was I, though I suspected it had a better excuse.

Alexandra, Aotearoa, Central Otago, South Island, Travel, Wild Horses

The Shaky Bridge in Alexandra

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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.

Gibbston Valley, Queenstown, Queenstown-Lakes District, Wild Horses

Gibbston Valley Summer Concert

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Fans wait for Bic Runga at Gibbston Valley.

Ironically, the last Gibbston Valley Summer Concert was my first. I was looking forward to it. It had been circled on the calendar (mainly so I wouldn’t forget) for a number of months. When the tickets were purchased, it occurred to me it might be a good source of material for later writings. I could attend and make all sorts of pointed and insightful observations about New Zealand life and society in the 21st century.

I was wrong. Upon arriving and settling into my surroundings, I quickly realised I didn’t care what anyone else was doing; I found a reasonable view of the stage, I had my chair, a blanket, a miniature picnic, plenty of water, the sun was shining and I was ….. well, relaxed! All thoughts about making observations for later writing evaporated from my mind as I sat, basking in the afternoon sunshine. All around me there were people that were overdressed, underdressed, dressed-up, dressed-down, needing to redress, not knowing their address! But, I simply did care! I had sunshine and music from Everclear, Bic Runga, Icehouse and Cold Chisel for company. So, there I spent the day, nestled in a sprawling sea of sunhats and folding chairs, encircled by dramatic peaks as music weaved through the vibrant chaos around me. And to think, I was sober the entire time!

Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

Tom or Steve From Accounts

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Ancestral Figure – Carved from soft trachyte – Easter Island

I’d been rummaging through the shelves at a local bookshop. Not knowing what I was looking for or finding it, I departed out onto the footpath. I was due to meet my wife at 2:45 pm and with 30 minutes to spare, I decided to fill the time with a wander around a nearby museum. Once inside, for no particular reason I made my way to Pacific Island Gallery. I strolled around for a while, looked in display cases, read labels, mispronounced words written in other languages and generally tried to look knowledgeable and thoughtful. It was then that I came across a series of stone statues typically associated with Easter Island and other Polynesian cultures. Unfortunately, due to the display lacking an information sign, I didn’t know what they were. All it said was ‘Ancestral Figure – Carved from soft trachyte – Easter Island.’ They could be ancient fertility figures or figures representing masculinity for all I knew! Then again, it might be Tom or Steve from accounts. But, I really don’t know!

Aotearoa, Invercargill, South Island, Southland, Travel, Wild Horses

Tay Street in Invercargill

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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.  

Beach, Dunedin, Ōtepoti, Wild Horses

Dune Protection at Smails Beach

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Dune protection at Smails Beach

While driving along the winding roads of the Otago Peninsula, I stopped at a number of scenic spots. One of them was Smails Beach. Nestled on the Otago coast near the start of the peninsula, it features long stretches of smooth white sand, great surf, sweeping views, and a variety of wildlife.

Apart from a few lazy sea lions and a gathering of overly aggressive red-billed gulls, I had the beach to myself. The tide had left large mounds of seaweed scattered across the sand from high tide. With time on my hands, I strolled to the far end of the beach, clumsily climbing a few sand dunes to get a different perspective on the way back. It was while descending one of these dunes that I spotted an old fence line, half-buried in the sand. Intrigued by the angles, I set up my tripod and camera. As I focused on the vista in front of me, lost in thought, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I looked up to see a smartly dressed man in his mid-thirties grinning at me like he’d just won the lottery or on some really fantastic drug.
“Say, what type of camera have you got?” he asked.
“A black one,” I always think about replying.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the conversation, but seriously—why? Why do people feel compelled to interrupt me mid-photo just to talk about their own camera and its features? I don’t go around interrupting people on the phone, saying:
“Hey, I’ve got an iPhone 11 Pro. Mine’s space gray! Does yours have the Super Retina XDR display with a 5.8-inch OLED Multi-Touch screen with HDR and True Tone wide color?”

Thankfully, just as I began to think I’d be stuck in that conversation forever, a DOC ranger appeared, and suddenly sea lion pups became much more interesting to my new friend. I took this opportune moment to beat a hasty retreat or should I say escape.

Dunedin, Otago Peninsula, Wild Horses

Sandymount Recreational Reserve

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Sandy Mount Recreational Reserve walking track

I spent the morning exploring the Otago Peninsula. Eventually coming across the Sandymount Recreational Reserve. There used to be tracks that led to natural land features called the Chasm and Lover’s Leap but those old tracks are now closed and there are mean spirited warning signs that tell you so; ‘Warning significant falls exist.’ ‘High winds and falling trees – beware!’ ‘Unstable land and high cliffs-keep to marked tracks’ and ‘Brodifacoum Poison do not eat!’

Fortunately the new track leads to a viewing platform that offers a stunning vista looking out over Allans Beach, Hoopers Inlet, Mt Charles and inland to Harbour Cone, so you’re not really missing too much. However, on this occasion, the track was closed as the farmer was separating Lambs from Ewes or doing some other farm-ish activity I didn’t understand. So, I amused myself by walking through the trees trying to guess how old they were. My estimate was 376 years, 4 months and 17 days. Though, I’m willing to admit I might be slightly off!

Aotearoa, Bluff, Southland, Travel, Wild Horses

Stirling Point in Bluff

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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.

Aotearoa, Lower Hutt, North Island, Travel, Wellington, Wild Horses

Driving in Lower Hutt

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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.

Aotearoa, New Zealand, Travel, Wellington, Wild Horses

Rydges Hotel at Wellington Airport

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Wellington Airport at night

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!

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