You have to drive South around three mountain ranges and through (yes, through) another mountain in order to reach Milford Sound (unless you’re prepared to carry all your stuff on your back and walk the Routeburn Track, which joins Glenorchy to the Milford Road).

As we continued on towards Knobs Flat, in the direction of Milford Sound, Ken said he thought the Milford Road is the most beautiful road in New Zealand. I was on the verge of protesting again, given the awesomely beautiful roads we’d already driven on. I thought we’d pretty much seen mountains every which way mountains could be. Then, suddenly, this view opened out in front of us:

The change of colour, scope, light, perspective; everything. Wow. I tried to take a panoramic pic but my phone couldn’t cope with the immensity of the panorama. Yes the same phone that took all those other panoramas. Somehow 360 degrees was about 180 degrees too much for it! Wow.

We arrived at Knobs Flat 👆🏼 and the young lady welcoming us offered us the office’s stash of board games. Hurray! It was a bit limited but I picked up Scrabble for our evening’s entertainment (enhanced by wine) and we settled in to the very comfortable cabins.

It has to be said, the quality of showers in New Zealand motels is variable but generally was much better than I’d expect in the UK. Ironically, here in the middle of nowhere, with no WiFi or phone signal, the running water and electricity worked just fine and in fact, the showers were some of the best we’d experienced! And they had a two hob gas burner with mini grill in each cabin too.

In the late afternoon, we followed the ranger’s suggestion of going for a short walk to a hidden waterfall. I suspect her estimation of it being a fifteen minute walk was probably borne out of spending most of her time the last few years mainly in this rather remote spot, where minutes or hours probably don’t really signify much beyond helping to provide an indication of when the sun might rise or set. There’s a lot to be said for joining a slower pace of living in our often far too hurried world, I think. About which more later…

We had a little adventure on the walk when we came to the stream the lady had mentioned and were faced with a choice of two possible tree trunks laying across it over which to cross the raging torrent. Both looked like they’d be tricky to not lose your footing on, and also tricky to disembark from at the other side. Intrepid explorers that we are, refusing to be defeated, we set off in our various conditions of health and mobility, with various different ways of negotiating this hurdle, and all made it to the other side triumphantly (though maybe a bit wary about the return journey).

When we reached the waterfall after a lot of clambering over rocks and tree roots in the forest, it was indeed spectacularly high. I also saw what she meant when she said I could try wild swimming in the pool if I wanted but it was pretty small, though deep and the waterfall would probably flay me alive. Also, I’m not sure I’d have been able to get down there or back up again.

Stu enjoyed taking some decent shots with his proper camera here. After marvelling for a while at the waterfall, we made our way back. Having got most of the way back with no trouble, Ken stepped remarkably confidently over a slippery log and promptly slipped on something small the other side, falling to the ground! Ouch! That’s normally my trick. Fortunately he seemed relatively unscathed so we continued on. And we all made it back over the stream again one way or another.

So the wine we cracked open over dinner was of course purely medicinal! Here’s Stu polishing off our delicious über macaroni cheese:

After dinner I introduced the assembled company to my usual old skool party tricks. (“I pass the scissors crossed”, which Stu guessed almost straight away, the clever bean (maybe it was something in that macaroni cheese?!?!??) and “Magic finger”, which as usual no one managed to guess – yes, I’m still doing that one… anyone who’s been around on such occasions, sorry, not sorry! Anyone who’s not experienced these brain teasers, bring me a bottle of wine some time and I’ll introduce you to them.) Then, we played Scrabble, which Tash won with great panache, while the guys talked photography together.

We stayed at Knobs Flat for two nights, which gave me time to really savour the quiet, and to enjoy the prolific birdsong particularly at dawn and dusk. Below is a video recording some particularly beautiful birdsong. I’ve no idea what the bird was, but the way its song echoed around the quiet valley was quite something. The Milford Road which runs right past here is pretty busy with coaches and cars going to Milford Sound especially during the day, but it is a very beautiful place.

We drove to the south of Lake Wakatipu and then continued on via Kingston and Mossburn to Te Anau, where we had a break before continuing back North up to Knobs Flat.

Most of the countryside consisted of open valleys of farmland surrounded by steep hills, some rugged, some gently green and brown, the odd tree, lots of sheep, a few highland cows and “humbug cows” as I call them and the odd field of more normal dairy herds.

An ethical interlude…

There was a noticeable increase in the number of deer farms in this region too. It was very weird seeing these normally shy and hidden animals in a herd in a field surrounded by a fence. Deer farming has taken off here in the last few years as a way of dealing with the over population of deer, caused by the fact that they are not native to New Zealand, but were introduced by colonisers from the British empire, so they could enjoy shooting them for sport. Because deer aren’t native, they have no natural predators, so the deer population has exploded in size and has been decimating lots of native plants and animals. Great Britain is really not so great. The more I learn on my travels about our dealings with the world, the more appalled I am, frankly.

In response to this problem with the deer, some bright spark developed a method of capturing them by shooting nets from helicopters (they had to use helicopters because the terrain is so mountainous there would be no other way of catching them), and then putting the deer into paddocks surrounded by deer proof fences.

A fashion for venison meat has also taken off in New Zealand, perhaps fuelled partly by the thought that this is one way of getting rid of a pest.

I have so many ethical problems with all of this, and as always with ethical issues, any response or action ends up being a trade off.

Ever since we adopted a rescue cat about a year ago, I’ve found myself becoming much more sensitised towards the experiences of animals. Our cat, Xena (Warrior Princess) (who’s scared of the cat flap), has such a particular personality, particular likes and dislikes, and she’s so responsive to affection and kindness (when she wants to be, obviously – she is a cat after all!). I find that now I can’t look at animals and not consider how they might be experiencing life.

From that standpoint the deer hunting is awful. But of course from the other standpoint, the deer’s decimation of native habitats and creatures is also awful. So I find myself wondering why those colonisers were so thoughtless as to introduce non native species in the first place. And, as is often the case in these sorts of circumstances, I find myself thinking that in order to get to where I think we should be going in terms of looking after our planet, I really wouldn’t start from here. But we have to start from where we are of course. Humph.

Generally speaking I have been trying to eat less meat and consume less animal products, in a bid to do my bit to discourage the over production of it all, which is decimating whole swathes of countryside all over the world and also causing very poor distribution of food among human populations as so much of it goes to feed the animals we insist on proliferating to feed our insatiable appetites. But I must confess I did have a venison burger in Dunedin. And I have eaten more meat on my journey so far than I ever would have done at home. It is quite tricky to avoid in a country whose main industries include meat and dairy farming.

I’m no expert in these things, and I’m aware there are massive economic issues for farmers, too. But is forceably separating mother cows from their baby calves in order to keep being able to syphon off their milk really an acceptable practice? My uncle says the cows make an agonising noise when this happens. I’m not surprised! Then there are these “Peach teats; calves love em” here which are like enormous false udders where a whole herd of calves feed, tails wagging 19 to the dozen. It’s very cute to watch, but what are they drinking? I don’t actually know. If they were drinking natural cows’ milk then why is it more economic for them to drink it in this unnatural way than to get it from their mothers? I have no idea.

Professor David Clough (Professor of Theological Ethics at the University of Chester), whose work on theology and animals is second to none, has worked with others to create this website, seeking to at least challenge churches to take these ethical issues seriously and begin to change their behaviour accordingly: https://www.becreaturekind.org/.

One of his very practical suggestions is that instead of having the default food options set up to favour meat eating, that we #defaultveg. In other words, that the default norm is to offer food that is veggie, and if people want to eat meat they have to explicitly opt for that. Because everyone can eat veggie food. I love this idea for its simplicity and practicality as well as for its potential to facilitate huge cultural change. We do a lot of cooking for others back at home, and we tend to #defaultveg, partly because it’s our preference anyway ethically and in terms of health and it’s cheaper and we love veggie food, but it’s also because it’s simpler because if it’s gluten free and veggie (vegan if possible) then pretty much everyone can eat it so you only have to make one big pot of something to share.

Here are the Prof’s general top tips for dealing with this issue, summarised wholly inadequately and overly simplistically by me (for more detail visit the website or contact him):

We have a choice about what we eat. Other animals don’t. So it’s for us to take responsibility for our choices. To vastly improve the situation we could:

A) eat less meat (consider reducing the number of days/week or meals/day we eat meat or if we don’t eat it often, consider becoming vegetarian or vegan) and consume less dairy products

B) consume fewer animal products (in cosmetics, leather goods etc)

C) when we do eat meat, dairy or buy other animal products or things with other animal products in them, try to find a source for those things that is concerned for the welfare of the animals

Here endeth the ethical interlude…for now, at least.

The next surprise was that we were all going to Milford Sound together, staying a couple of nights in a place en route called Knobs Flat, which has no mobile signal and no WiFi (part of my excuse for not managing to keep up with the blog!! But really, I loved being off line, as I always do on those occasions). Then after we’d visited Milford Sound, we were going to stay altogether for a night in Te Anau, at the lodge (which is a converted convent – about which more later). Then Ken and Les were driving off back up the country to Wellington while Stu and Tash and I continued on around the Southernmost part of the South Island, via Invercargill, Bluff and Owaka and up to Dunedin for a couple of nights before flying back up the Wellington to rejoin Ken and Les.

This whole trip was quite an operation! I’m so grateful for the organisational skills of Les and Tash particularly to put it all together.

Anyway, so here’s a map of our route around the South Island (apologies it’s tricky to read place names… hmmm must learn how to get google maps to do this for me!):

In spite of talking about jet boats and wannabe sky divers, I don’t think I’ve fully communicated the rich playboy paradise that Queenstown is. On the lake at any time of day, you can see paragliders, jet skis etc, alongside the slower cruise boats and yachts. We also saw these crazy “Hydro attack” shark semi submersible vessels on the lake all the time. I did capture some video myself, but to really grasp what they are and with it, what Queenstown is essentially about, the publicity video is better (you might have to copy and paste the link): https://youtu.be/tfhkpJbeOlk

Even just watching that now is making me feel wobbly. Yet another thing I won’t be doing any time soon!

Ah! And there’s one more observation I’d like to make about Queenstown. It struck me, from the moment I first saw all those beautiful snow capped mountains behind Lake Wakatipu, that if you were born in Queenstown, surely you’d be disappointed by the rest of the world. How can anywhere else compete with such beauty? And yet, apparently, people who are born here often can’t wait to escape it. Well, I’m sure there’s a lesson in there somewhere for all of us.

Our last morning in Queenstown was somewhat marred by the fact that some (not very) bright young thing had parked right across the driveway to the garage. After spending about an hour on the phone and knocking on the door of various people who might have been able to help but couldn’t really, the rest of us went off for a lovely breakfast while Uncle Ken sat lying in wait like a hungry lion for either the offending oik (technical term) or the council traffic wardens to put in an appearance.

While I had possibly the most delux granola ever, Ken had words with the oik, who it turned out had been staying overnight for a party and hadn’t noticed the driveway when he parked. We had just returned from breakfast and got the truck out of the garage and were about to drive off when the traffic wardens turned up, about an hour and a half after we’d called them, looking puzzled about where the offending car was. Ah well.

Here was my deluxe granola breakfast:

I liked the signs on the restrooms in the café:

“Servants” was the door to the broom cupboard.

I had another cuppa as Ken finally got his breakfast and everyone else did bits of shopping that needed doing, and Stu picked up the rental car, ready for our next leg of the journey…

On our second morning in Queenstown we woke up to clearer skies and no rain! Hurrah! And I decided it was time for another swim in the lake (Lake Wakatipu). Since it was literally on our doorstop. It’d be rude not to, right? This was where I swam, and the view:

I thought of this swim as a kind of prayer for my fellow breast cancer survivor friend Sharon, whose husband tragically died suddenly recently, and for their children. I’m drafting this post on the day of his funeral. Sharon is one person who has really encouraged me in cold water swimming, especially at our cancer swims at the outdoor pool in Hathersage not far from where I live. It was poignant to be swimming in such a beautiful place. Sharon and her whole family are great at living life to the full, so it seemed a fitting tribute.

Afterwards, I hot footed it back up the hill to the apartment (taking all of 5 minutes) and jumped in the warm shower. Lovely!

After breakfast, we drove along the lake up to Glenorchy. We were met by awesome view after awesome view…

You can hear a lovely Chinese guy educating me all about the sunlight in this video. I fear I was not fully concentrating on what he was trying to tell me. Being dumbfounded by the scale of the view, watching that paraglider. “Would paragliding here be terrifying or just gobsmackingky amazing?” I wondered. The Chinese guy told me later that he’d saved up all his holidays from work to be able to come back here and sky dive, but so far the weather was letting him down. He was hoping for an opportunity in Glenorchy though. “Good on you,” I said, thinking “There’s another thing I’m never going to do!”

Here’s Ken’s latte bowl, he managed to persuade the café staff to make, as a break between all the awe inspiring mountains. Then I’ll just post up more views. A picture tells a thousand words after all.

A bit of yoga to greet the awesome mountains. I wish I knew the moves. I might’ve joined in. It seemed appropriate.

These pictures 👇🏼 are of the end of the Routeburn track, which my Dad walked when he and Mum were over here quite a few years ago:

For scale, see if you can spot Tash in the distance:

From the Routeburn track end, we made our way back along this stunning route to Queenstown again. All the pictures of water are of Lake Wakatipu, which extends a long way in several directions (in a kind of Harry Potter lightning bolt scar shape on a grand scale).

To get some sort of concept of scale, see if you can spot my cousin Stu 👆🏼. He’s unusually tall at about 2m 6cm (6 foot 9 inches), by the way. And yet… where is he???

And then we went up Coronet Peak to the snow line (in the car) and on to Arrowtown, and the settlement where the Chinese gold miners lived back in the mid 1800s.

View from Coronet Peak:

A magnificent magnolia tree:

Imagine living in the snowy winter in these tiny one room stone huts. It was a hard life. And not always particularly fruitful, although most of the Chinese men who lived it managed one way or another to make some money to send back home.

On the way back to our apartment, we finally saw the “Remarkables” and the mountains opposite the apartment in something like all their glory:

Evening in Queenstown:

Another magnificent magnolia tree in the Queenstown Gardens, which were 5 minutes’ walk from where we were staying. Magnolia always reminds me of my friend and colleague Diane, who loved it. I salute you, Diane, and pray for your family, friends and all whose lives were touched by yours, which burned very brightly, though for too short a time. 🙏

We enjoyed the comforts of a meal in the Irish pub, and watched the sun go down. And then popped to the famous Patagonia Chocolatier’s for a posh ice cream on the way home.

Surprise no.1 in Queenstown, we stayed in a very nice apartment with this view from the French windows (called “ranch sliders” here). Obligatory jaw drop again.

Surprise no.2, my cousin Stu and his partner Tash flew down from Wellington to rejoin us for this part of our journey.

And there were many more surprises to come.

But first, a walk along the waterfront:

Kowhai tree 👇🏼; tui birds love to feed off the nectar in these yellow flowers.

My efforts to capture tui song continue (we think this might have been a chick just learning a few notes, who didn’t yet have the full range):

In the rich boys’ playground of Queenstown, where bungee jumping was invented, and the general idea seems to find a means of travelling as fast as possible, with no fear of gravity or water, the children’s playground has slides ending in a river. Start em young, that’s what I say!

Having lined our ribs satisfactorily with breakfast at my uncle’s favourite café, I was let into my next surprise…

Stu and Tash were proposing to treat me to a jet boat ride. This very enterprising waiter assured us that a jet boat ride is the most dangerous, death defying thing you can do in the whole of Queenstown, which is saying something, given it’s the home of bungee. Great. What is this kiwi obsession with going up high things and walking over see through glass, wire mesh, or just jumping off, or powering through water at such a rate of knots that your face threatens to fall off??? And how much longer will the combined obligations of politeness and “Well it’s not every day I get the chance to be somewhere this awesome and do this sort of thing” persuade me to keep saying “Yes” to everything???! (How long is a piece of string…?! 😂)

On the way to the jet boat we stopped off at a winery just up the road in Cromwell (an area famous for its fruit production) and indulged in a mini wine tasting with lunch, which warmed me up nicely and provided some Dutch courage for the challenge ahead.

I must admit, the jet boat ride was great fun. And it was raining, so hey, we were wet anyway. I smelt a rat when Tash said to Stu, “I’ll sit behind the driver”, but I didn’t quite figure out why. Oh my. Several 360 degree spins in both directions later in a fast flowing glacial river, and I realised. I realised a lot of things, including why there were two hair dryers and an enormous open fire in the lobby of the place! I’ve been in some heavy rain before, but I’ve never travelled so fast on a river that the rain pelts your face like bullets. I held my hood over my freezing forehead most of the time, but then when he did the spins, we were under strict instructions to hold on with both hands and push our feet against the floor in front to brace ourselves. During which time my hood invariably blew off my face. But when in Queenstown…

This 👆🏼was the river we jet boated on. At one point, our driver cut the engine and let us spin around with the current, admiring the jagged rocks on every side above us. Then we were off again, narrowly dodging jutting out rock faces at ridiculous speed, effortlessly against or with the fast current of the river.

On the way back from our jet boating adventure, we stopped off at the world’s first bungee jump bridge, started by A J Hackett (the first crazy person to bungee jump off the Eiffel Tower. A kiwi, of course). Already cold and wet, we enjoyed watching other, more crazy people jumping off the bridge from the safety of the viewing platform, sipping a very comforting hot chocolate. Stu watched and it made him think, “Hmmm maybe I could do that…?” I watched and thought, “OK, so I am never doing that. Not ever.” 😂

Having agreed we’d had enough excitement for one day, we hived off back to the apartment to recharge for the next day in this extraordinary place…

We continued south, through Cadrona (a ski field) with its pub that, like so many things here is “world famous in New Zealand”! Cadrona used to be the only way into Queenstown, so this pub was where people could stop and change horses etc.

Opposite the pub there is this extraordinary fence, which exists to raise awareness and funding for breast cancer. Having suffered from breast cancer myself, I was very happy to pop some cash in the box and take this photo. Everything here is in a huge scale, the number of donated bras is no exception!

From here, we climbed through the distinctive Crowne Range, with its golden green grass and steep, smooth hills on either side of the valley.

After a while of driving through this beautiful landscape, we reached the top and the lookout that was supposed to be the most spectacular view we’d seen yet. This was what we saw…

My aunt and uncle went a bit quiet at this point, fearing that it might be so cloudy that we wouldn’t get to see the view they knew was there. But moments later, we descended beneath the cloud and, moment by moment on our descent into Queenstown, this awesomeness greeted us:

Welcome to Queenstown. Obligatory jaw drop 😲

From Westport, we travelled south along the west coast, on the twisty road, through long stretches of mist. Lush greenery extended up the steep hillside to our left, while the cliffs dropped away towards the sea to our right. Every now and again, there were lay-bys to pull into to admire the view over the bays below. For quite a while this route really strongly reminded me of the Pacific Coast Highway in California. The further south we travelled, the heavier the rain became, making me doubly thankful for our second breakfast of warmed scones and coffee.

We stopped off at Punakaiki to have a walk around the “Pancake” Rocks and Blowholes. Called pancake because of the flat layers in the rocks looking like stacked pancakes. The noticeboards indicated some confusion among scientists about what exactly has caused this phenomenon.

Near the car park, we found a very kiwi phenomenon. We had been driving for a couple of hours passing no settlements, and yet here was the postman, in his bright red van, putting post in all these postboxes for people who must live somewhere nearby:

New Zealand has been famous for sheep farming for as long as I can remember. But more recently it has developed a vast dairy cattle farming industry, and also deer farming, too. About which more later. The farmers talk about how they actually mainly farm grass. Because it’s the quality of the grass that improves the quality of the livestock. Occasionally, our progress was slowed by livestock. This instance gives an idea of the numbers of cows involved in each “station” (farm).

After another couple of hours we stopped for lunch in a café with very good pies; in New Zealand there’s a real thing about pies, which are on offer everywhere. This café also had some great art on the walls:

From here on, the rain really set in and this was my view for what seemed like aaaaages:

Apparently, this is situation normal for the West coast, which is exposed to the worst the notoriously rough Tasman Sea can throw at it.

The rain was relentless, as it often is here, but I was heartened when I heard that the South Island gets 98% of its electricity from hydropower. 98%! That’s making the most of your natural resources. As our conversations about climate change continue, we could do worse than to think about how a country with such a small population has managed to get its act together so much better than most of the rest of us regarding using renewable energy.

We drove on through vast tracts of subtropical beech forest. Either side of the road was marked with short white posts with red reflectors on them so you would be able to see where it went in the dark.

After Hokitika the road often narrowed into single lane bridges that spanned rivers with huge floodplains, which fill up incredibly quickly here because of the sheer quantity of rainfall. I’m not sure but I think sometimes these rivers were something like a quarter of a mile wide.

Waterfalls are not an occasional spectacular phenomenon here. They happen every hundred yards or so. The water fell from the hillsides as from a wet sponge.

Grey hills loomed ahead, shrouded in mist. Then we arrived at the Franz Josef glacier. We were hoping to be able to see the bottom of it, but there was too much rain so they had to close the path that would get us near enough to see it. We walked as far as we could from the car park to see what we could see, but in vain. Within minutes, even with very good wet weather gear on my legs and feet had turned into sponges.

As we drove on, we passed some evocative place names:

Stinky Creek Bridge

Alex’s Knob

Caravans Knob Walk

Wombat Lake

Kiwi Jack’s Creek

There were stretches of road where we couldn’t actually see much as the valley sides were so steep and covered in lush greenery and much higher than the height of the car. Vertical cliff faces rose above us on either side and often in front of us as the road twisted and turned its way south along the coastline.

We stopped for the night in the town of Fox next to the Fox Glacier, that we also couldn’t see for mist/cloud/rain. I wrote a note saying, “Where is all this rain coming from??? I wouldn’t have thought there could be so much! I’m sure I heard it stop in the night maybe for about an hour. Then start up again.”

In the morning I was woken by a chaffinch tap tapping on my bedroom window. My uncle kept pointing out tiny bits of snow topped mountains that we were beginning to be able to see, floating eerily in between the clouds and mist. In the morning I went to look where he’d indicated, and finally, though there was still a lot of cloud, began to get more of a glimpse of them. I thought this was pretty awesome. My uncle chuckled and said, “You ain’t seen nothin yet”…

As we progressed further south, we stopped off at the enormous pub in Haast with the lady lighting a welcome open fire, and chatting away to us. The pub is huge and despite there being very few dwellings in the area, apparently it’s packed to the gunwales in season. I found a snakes and ladders game that we played while we warmed up with our coffees and hot chocolate.

From there we headed on up the Haast Pass. Although the weather was still very cloudy and rainy, more snow topped mountains began to peek through. Occasionally there were really special moments that I couldn’t manage to capture well on my phone camera, where the sun just illuminated a snow covered peak in an extraordinary, other worldly way. My best efforts at capturing that are below.

We stopped briefly at a waterfall, where I saw a brave (foolhardy?) fellow wild swimmer. She provides some scale to the waterfall here:

Having got past the glaciers (which end in huge wide rivers looking quite muddy with branches of trees and boulders occasionally strewn across their width), the water in all the rivers and lakes was crystal clear and freezing cold.

Our first sight of the enormous Lake Wanaka:

The Wanaka lake front itself, where we stopped for lunch (during which time the rain stopped, and weather cleared), was lined with willows:

We stayed in Westport for a couple of days. It was great to have some quality time with my friends who I’d not seen for a long time. It was a joy getting to know their children, and joining in with family life, as well as hearing a bit about the joys and challenges of local church life there (Matt is the local Anglican vicar), which bear a lot of similarity to those of local church life in the UK too, although there are significant differences as well. Even in our very short time together, it was interesting to begin to mull over some of the geographical and cultural challenges of the context.

Although the beautiful coast at the main Westport beach is very flat, apparently it has been eroding away really fast as sea levels rise.

You might be able to imagine the scale of this by noticing how close to the sea the rugby goal post is in the picture below. I gather that the other goal post and the other two thirds of the pitch disappeared into the sea over the past decade or so. That’s a pretty sobering thought.

One of the many joys of our time in Westport for me was strokey time with the family cats. This seems to be a theme of my travels!

Here’s old man Micah, very receptive to stroking, no longer a fast mover:

Here he is, obligingly uncomplaining about being buried in toys:

Here’s young Blinky (also receptive to stroking, and also to a warm spot intuit box by the fire):

And here’s Blinky (again) with Pedro, who I barely saw for dust:

Another joy was of course the lamingtons:

And the board games we enjoyed together:

We had a great time, thanks Matt and Jacqui et al.

Right, so… the South Island of New Zealand is a truly awesome place. I’ll do my best to give you a little insight into it.

On our first night, we stayed in Blenheim, a rather well to do kind of place (as you might expect if you’re from the UK, where this is the name of one of the royal residences).

Our motel was very close to the immaculately cultivated little park, and soon after we arrived, I had to venture out, as we heard the last post being played with a beautiful tone, apparently in the park. I’m not quite sure how they managed this but it was actually a recording rather than a live player. Apparently the musician himself does come and play it live every so often, but most days it’s just a recording. I’m not sure why it’s played every day there, but it was kind of lovely to hear it.

The next day, we set off across the island to the west coast. To begin with, we passed through the famous Marlborough wine producing area, with vineyards lining the route. The rows upon rows of planted vines often have rose bushes planted at the end to attract unwanted insects and also to look lovely. And there are windmills scattered throughout the vineyards, which work to keep the air circulating and stop the frost from damaging them in cold weather.

The road climbed gradually, until we began to see snowy topped mountains. We had reached alpine country. We stopped off at a village called St Arnaud on the banks of Lake Rotoiti. In the local café, as with cafés throughout New Zealand, they served a diverse and immaculately formed variety of coffees (often, as in this case with a little jaffa on the side – an orange chocolate covered in red candy), along with some delicious, freshly baked scones and muffins. I really don’t know how such remote places manage to always have a warm scone or muffin on offer that tastes like they just brought it out of the oven, whatever time of day you arrive!

In the café, there was a poster of the lake, surrounded by mountains. I started to wonder aloud whether I might swim in it. My aunt and uncle looked bemused and a bit surprised at the idea, but an older guy with what looked like a permanent grin plastered on his face and a healthy glow to his skin who was another café customer told us he went swimming in the lake every morning. Encouraged by his example, I decided on the spot to do it.

When we got down to the lake side, the toilets and changing facilities were second to none, and sparklingly clean. (I don’t think many people had used them for a while, though, to be fair! Spring is not the warmest time of year anywhere in New Zealand, but particularly not in alpine country!)

The view from the still crystal clear waters of the lake was awesome, and my dip was most refreshing, I must say. When faced with this view, how could I not plunge into it?

From Lake Rotoiti, we continued on towards the West coast. I finally started to look at my “Maps Me” app, which several seasoned travellers had recommended to me. It maps your location using GPS, so you can use it without being online or within the reach of WiFi. At one point, I saw the Buller Creek “swing bridge” ahead of us on the same road. So I asked Ken and Les whether we might go over it, naïvely thinking it was some bridge the road went over or something. Les said, “Do you want to go over it?” To which I replied “OK, why not?” How innocent I was.

The Buller Gorge swing bridge is one of many such bridges in the South Island that you walk over (you really wouldn’t want to drive over one!). It happens to be the longest one in New Zealand, too. Strung precariously over a steep gorge with a raging torrent roaring beneath it. They get you to pay your $10 to go over it before you can really see it. And with good reason! (To be fair they did explain the gist, and gave what, on reflection, was some pretty scary advice; “If you feel scared just walk faster and don’t look down”, which I ignored, thinking to myself, “C’mon, how bad can it be?”) Suffice it to say that it’s called a swing bridge because it swings. And you are walking on a rigid metal mesh that you can see through all the time. If you pay a bit more, you can walk over it and zip wire back. Not on your nelly. One thing at a time. So over we went.

I am not kidding. I had to make up a song in order to get myself across. And only about halfway across did it occur to me that, having made it across, I would have to repeat the experience in order to get back. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, me! The thought also occurred to me that someone should be paying me to go over this, not the other way round! The song went something like this: “Somewhere…somewhere inside is a Maori warrior” (repeat, add infinitum). Well, it got me across. And back. Just about!

On the far side of the bridge there’s a short bushwalk you can do, which was quite effective at calming my nerves to face the bridge back. The markers on this tree show you how deep the river has been in recent years. It’s difficult to get your head around just how much rainfall the South Island has, and how quickly rivers become deep raging torrents, but here’s a starter for ten, with my uncle providing a bit of scale. Bear in mind that he’s standing on a riverbank about maybe 15 feet above where the water level was at the time:

Having traversed the bridge safely back to the car, we continued our journey. We were driving along increasingly narrow and winding roads on the side of hills with steep valleys and gorges dropping away on one side or another, with lush greenery pretty much everywhere.

The further we went on these remote roads, meeting very little traffic, the more I began to wonder what Westport would be like. My friends moved there from Christchurch less than a year ago, and we were going to stay with them for a couple of days. I found it hard to believe that anyone could live somewhere so remote, that required so many miles of windy road to get to them.

Then we arrived in Westport, which was really a surprisingly normal sort of town, considering how remote it is. Because of its location, it does have a surprising number of shops selling stuff that I’d normally expect only in a bigger city. As we arrived in the late afternoon, the sun was up, so we went for a walk to a local beach with my friends and their children.

On the way to the beach, we walked past numerous people fishing for whitebait. The white planks of wood are put under the water close to shore so that people can see these tiny translucent fish as hey swim past, and then scoop them up into their nets.

Having arrived at the beach, the children all braved the chilly sea in their wetsuits, while my friend Jacqui miraculously produced a tub of ice cream and cones for us to enjoy in the sun. Lovely!