Daily Photo – Church of the Good Shepherd In Tekapo

Lake Tekapo has always struck me as more of a location than a destination. It is the sort of place you stay in while you go off and do other things. You sleep there, refuel there, buy sunscreen there, and then head out to mountains, lakes, stars or somewhere with a queue. And yet, despite this, it has to be said that Tekapo’s backdrop alone is reason enough to visit. 

I arrived just after one o’clock on a hot summer’s day, parked at one end of town and decided to spend the afternoon on foot. Leaving the car behind, I wandered into the village and ambled through the familiar line-up of shops that cater to travellers who are either very organised or very lost. There were restaurants, gift shops, scenic flight operators, helicopter tours and stargazing experiences promising access to the heavens. It was somewhere near the end of this retail parade that I realised I was hungry, which is always dangerous in a tourist town.

I chose a shop that I assumed sold food. The moment I stepped inside I had the distinct and sinking feeling that I had made a mistake. Before I knew it, I was locked into an enthusiastic conversation about the night sky with someone I presumed was the proprietor. Feeling socially obligated to buy something, I surveyed the options. The selection was minimal. There was a sausage roll that appeared to have lived a long and difficult life, and a sandwich made of some sort of meat product and what looked suspiciously like salad. I chose the sandwich, escaped as politely as I could, briefly decided that I couldn’t afford an airplane flight over the Southern Alps, and took my lunch down to the lake.

For the record, Lake Tekapo, really is as blue as you see in the pictures. The colour is almost ridiculous, a bright turquoise shimmering in the sun. I sat on the edge with my legs dangling in the water, which was refreshing and delightful, neither of which could be said for the sandwich. After two bites, the second of which I did not finish, I decided that food poisoning was not part of my travel plans and discreetly disposed of it.

Still hungry but wiser, I took in the view instead. The mountains sat on the horizon, hazy in the summer heat, clouds drifting slowly across them as if no one had anything urgent to do. I walked along the lakefront, stepping over stones and logs, pushing through long grass, and occasionally stumbling in a way that suggested I was far more adventurous than I actually am. Eventually, after some minor cursing, I reached the bridge and crossed it. The Church of the Good Shepherd came into view.

As churches go, this one has one of the most extraordinary locations you are ever likely to see. It turns up everywhere, in Milky Way photographs, scenic landscape shots, wedding brochures distributed around the world. I stood on the bridge and looked out at the calm blue water surrounding it. I had always assumed the church was older than it is. In fact, it was built in 1935 to commemorate early settlers, based on sketches drawn the year before. The builders were instructed that the church must blend into the environment and that the matagouri bushes surrounding it were to remain. The result is a small, modest stone church that seems to belong exactly where it is.

Tekapo sits not far from Aoraki Mount Cook and has a history that predates its current popularity. The first sheep station in the area dates back to 1857, established by John and Barbara Hay on the lake’s shores. A hotel followed in 1861, then a ferry to cross the Tekapo River. These days it is a firmly established holiday destination in the Mackenzie Basin, busy in summer, busier at night once the stars come out.

One of the more joyful developments in Aotearoa in the last couple of decades has been the national enthusiasm for putting artwork in unexpected places. Wellington has a giant hand, Christchurch has an aluminium staircase in a pond, Tokoroa has towering carved wooden poles. Add to this the giant fruit, vegetables and animals scattered across the country and you begin to realise we are very comfortable with public whimsy.

Tekapo, however, has done it rather well. During my visit, the town was hosting an open-air sculpture exhibition as part of the Mackenzie Book and Art Festival. Scattered through the landscape were an iron globe made from wedges, cast iron birds in bright colours, carved stone blocks and a striking Corten steel piece called Orbit 2. The sculptures felt thoughtful rather than desperate, as if they belonged there rather than having been installed to fill a gap. I discovered later that the sculpture walk is part of a festival celebrating literature, art, landscape and the local community. As I headed back to my car, I noticed the dates for the next festival and thought that by then there might even be some tourists around to see it.

Leaving Tekapo behind, I headed towards Cromwell and encountered another quiet curiosity on the roadside. The Irishman Creek Station sign appeared suddenly, and I pulled over onto the gravel to take a closer look as cars rushed past. It was here that Sir William Hamilton invented the jet boat engine, revolutionising boating in the 1950s by allowing vessels to skim across shallow rivers. I knew the invention, but until that moment I had not connected it to this unassuming place.

That, perhaps, is one of the great pleasures of travelling in Aotearoa. Fascinating stories sit quietly in the landscape, unannounced. Elsewhere there would be billboards, car parks, ticket booths and a fast-food outlet. Here, there is just a sign on the side of the road and the choice to stop or keep going. Tekapo, it turns out, fits neatly into that same tradition. A place you think you pass through, until you realise you might want to stay a little longer.