Goodbye Pork Pie

Well, it's hard to believe, but our six months is up. We've handed in our keys and badges at the hospital, and the farewell teas, parties and prayers are done. We are staying at the Museum Hotel our last night here. Our balcony looks out over our familiar friends--Te Papa and the the harbor. We recognized the Indian cricketers in the lobby this morning, something we wouldn't have been able to do on arrival. We are changed, indeed.

And so let the last blog photo echo the first: girl and harbor . . . Te Whanga-nui-a-Kristen.

Peace, and much love, to all who have come along.

Paraparaumu

We spent our last two weeks in NZ living in a little beach house in Paraparaumu (50km north of Wellington), and have very much enjoyed the beautiful sunsets over Kapiti Island. In a November 2008 post, we described our trip to this magical island sanctuary.

When the tide goes out, we wade into the surf to feel out cockles (and the occasional irritated crab!) with our feet. These delicately-flavored bivalves make a fine feed when steamed in white wine and butter.

Fiordlands, Aspiring and More

Water, rock, forest and sky. These elements, arrayed on an imposing scale, compose the Southern Fjords. Men are only visitors here. Carved by glaciers, the water is as deep as the mountains are high. Both extremes are cold, but the black depths are spared the gales and pummeling rains. The granite here allows no roots to penetrate, so the trees must find purchase upon the mosses that cling directly to the slopes. When the rain falls after a dry spell, this grip is undermined, and great swaths of forest slide into the depths. In time, perhaps one hundred lifetimes, they return. 

We landed in Queenstown before heading south and westward. Below is a view of the Remarkables (etched in cloud, middle-left) and Lake Wakatipu from Ben Lomond Mountain.

And here is a video of us at the summit.

Onward then to Lake Manapouri and Deep Cove, where we boarded the Breaksea Girl. Here is she is moored in Pickersgill's Harbour as seen from Crayfish Island, where Captain Cook spent the better part of 1773.

While the scene is tranquil, we endured roiling seas from Doubtful Sound to the Acheron Passage before tucking into the relative calm of Dusky Sound. Even here, a nor'wester blew at 50 knots all night before the weather settled. Given the conditions, further ocean passage down to Preservation Inlet was abandoned in favor of a deeper and more liesurely exploration of Dusky and Doubtful Sounds.

The two pictures immediately below depict the same view of Cascade Cove at sunset then again at sunrise the following morning. This is as good an example as any of the protean "moods" of the Fjords.

On the fourth day of the voyage, heavy rains fell (the night before, the first fall snow had dusted the mountain peaks). This change in the weather transformed the landscape yet again, as innumerable waterfalls carried the day's rains back to the sea.

The day prior, we had navigated into a massive flock of sooty shearwater (or "muttonbirds") feeding-- an exceedingly rare sight captured on film below.

After our land-legs had retuned, we headed up into the heart of Central Otago, using Wanaka as our base to explore Mount Aspiring National Park. On the advice of a friend, we booked a fly-walk-jetboat combination called the Siberia Experience. Here's some footage of the last couple minutes of the flight, as our cessna 180 hairpins back into the Siberia Valley for a landing.

Here's a picture taken at the end of the hike as we prepare to board our jet boat.

And finally, for good measure, a panorama of the Rob Roy glacier.

Farewells and fond memories

This has been a bittersweet weekend, as our farewell to Patrick--who returns to Minneapolis after 10 weeks in NZ-- reminds us how lucky we are to have this place and these people as part of our lives. We are winding down work here ourselves and preparing for an 8 day sail along the fjords and a week of other adventures in the South Island. We had a skype chat with our future colleagues at Regions on Saturday, and are eager to begin work there (we're coming, Tracy!).

On Saturday night we visited Rosie and Rob's farm in the hills above Plimmerton. After a memorable evening last night (well, I don't remember the last part, but that's another story), we hiked along the coastal mountain pastures with the whole family this morning. Their children are very sweet, and shared their horses with us to ease the uphill climb. As we reached the ridge, a strong Norwester whipped the waves into whitecaps below and nearly blew us over a couple of times, but we made it alright. We're back home at Mahina Bay awaiting the sunset and feeling very, very blessed, indeed. Kia ora!

Mahina Bay

As summer winds down, we've decided to shift from the city to the other side of the harbour, and are now staying in a little cottage at Mahina Bay. We now take the ferry into town, which is (for a while at least), a fun and scenic 25 minute commute. Here's the view from our window this morning:

Actually, the weather has been pretty dismally rainy the last week, so today was also the first day we had the opportunity to explore the reserve that is literally in our back yard. The forest is remarkably intact, with many old podocarps, beech, matai, tree ferns and fruit-bearing karaka, in addition to the ubiquitous manuka and kanuka. There is also an abundance of bird life, and we awake each morning to a chorus of tui, bellbirds and morepork. We think we've even heard the call of the rare saddleback. Here's a view from the trail, again looking back over the harbour. That's Soames island at right, and the city (white area) at left. If you open up the picture, you can see a sailing regatta at left in front of the city, and at bottom-center, the little dock where we catch to 7:15 ferry to the city.

Abel Tasman-Separation Point to Awaroa Bay

Bush, beach and no roads between. The Abel Tasman lies along the west coast of Tasman Bay. To the East lie the Marlborough Sounds (see the Queen Charlotte track post from early December), and to the West, Golden Bay, Farewell Spit and the sea. Very few people live here, but many Kiwis (and others) visit here to imagine Aotearoa's paradise regained. 

Dolphins and rays follow the tides into the coves, while the eels and wading birds ply the tidal marshes. At night, glow worms light up the little grottos created by winding streams and the Southern Cross rises above the hills as the din of cicadas fades.

We chartered a single engine cessna to make the jump from Wellington to a little grass airstrip at Awaroa Bay. Below is aerial footage taken just prior to landing, followed by a 360 degree view of the tidal flat (at low tide) adjacent to the bay. That's a bellbird singing in the background.

Dunedin and the Otago Peninsula

For a city of 125,000 souls (1/5th of them students), Dunedin has a bustling-- and distinctly Scottish-- feel. The very name is Gaelic for Edinburgh, the streets bear Scottish names and the obligatory statue of Robert Burns graces the city centre. The elegant old home at left, called Corstorphine House, is another landmark of this heritage, and perhaps the most gracious lodging we have enjoyed during our travels throughout New Zealand.

Of the many things we could have done with a few hours in the city, we chose perhaps the most touristy, climbing up Baldwin Street, touted as the worlds steepest. To be fair, we also sampled some very fine beers, including an Emerson's London Porter (served from a hand pump!) that was pure magic.

As if that weren't sufficiently lowbrow, we also visited the rail depot (supposedly NZ's most photographed structure) and the very kitschy Chinese Garden.

If our tour of the city was a bit ridiculous, what we found on the nearby Otago Peninsula was nothing short of sublime. We arranged a private full-day tour, and Brian, our guide, provided us with a truly amazing experience. After bird watching along the coastal marshes, we came to Tairoa Head, where a small breeding colony of Royal Albatross have settled. These are truly massive birds, and particularly awe-inspiring in full glide upon the swirling winds. Here also are royal spoonbill, kingfishers, spur-winged plover, gray teal, spotted and Stewart Island shag and white faced heron, among others.

After Tairoa Head, we moved to an even more remote area, where the beaches are shared by two of the most rare animals on earth: Hooker's sea lion and the yellow-eyed penguin. Amazingly, you can walk right up to them, as they have no natural fear of humans. We saw an adult bull male de-glove a barracuda in the cliffside water, slamming it back and forth on the water with vigorous shakes from its massive neck. This juvenile below seemed more interested in napping than hunting--good news for the people and penguins on the beach.
Although we saw several yellow-eyes (including chicks) on the beach and adjacent dune, this lone male had segregated himself to heal a nasty gash on his right fin. Luckily, these fellows are as tough as old leather, and can haul out for weeks without food if need be in order to recuperate. He doesn't look too worried, and we did him the small favor of photographing his good side.

Wellington from the air

After a splendid open-air concert last night at the Botanical Gardens bandshell, we awoke (late) this morning to another glorious summer day. Unfortunately, I've been limited by an ankle sprain, so we headed down to the harbor to view the DaVinci Machines exhibit at the City Museum. Afterwards, we joined up with Patrick for a bloody mary and lunch. In danger of falling into a postprandial torpor, we were suddenly struck with the inspiration to take a helicopter tour around the peninsula.

This is the view of Central Wellington as we lifted off. We live just across from the triangular building to the bottom-right of center.

Here's a view from the air of Oriental Parade and Lyall Bay. In the background is the far shore of Wellington Harbor. We'll be moving over there in February and taking the ferry into the city for work (which as commutes go, seems pretty cool).

Houses quickly give way to hills, and just beyond these, the South Shore and Tasman Sea. As we flew over, we saw wild goats scrambling through the gourse and the giant hulls and blades of wind turbines waiting in piles to be erected. Speaking of wind, it seemed we were getting tossed around quite a bit. Cam, our pilot, commented that the winds along the shoreline "spin like a washing machine". He didn't seem too worried, but we were definitely hoping to avoid the spin cycle.

On the other side of the hills, we sat down at Tongue Point, a remote stretch of rocks between Owhiro Bay and Makara Beach. Here we saw a few male fur seals, early dropouts from the mating season, lounging on the beach. We then squeezed back into the chopper and swung south along the shoreline, passing just over Patrick's studio en route back to the city.

Kaikoura- Tiaki the whale

Kaikoura is really nothing more than a small spit of land along the remote West coast of the South Island. The dramatic Kaikoura Range to the Northwest and the Pacific to the East frame the low, grassy hills and rocky beaches. The coastal shelf falls off steeply just offshore, and it is along this shelf that cold Antarctic currents meet the warmer flows from Fiji. These currents teem with sea life, and act as highways for many species of whales, including orcas, humpbacks, blue, sperm and southern right whales. A "bachelor pod" of sperm whales has taken residence here, and this makes Kaikoura one of the most reliable whale spotting locations on the planet.

Our tour was the first of the morning, and was met with cloudy skies and cold drizzle. As we searched for the pod, we crossed paths with many albatrosses, terns and petrels-- the long-distance vagabonds of the cold southern oceans. After a couple of near-misses, we located Tiaki, a massively built sperm bull whose name means "guardian" in Maori (he has been observed protecting calves from orca attacks). He is fully 18+ meters long and allowed us to sidle up next to him for several minutes before nosing down, turning up his massive tail and powering into the depths. We saw two other whales, but these were only brief encounters.

We spent the rest of the day hiking around the peninsula. To one side, the shore, where hundreds upon hundreds of fur seals laze about on the rocks and vast multitudes of seabirds ride the updrafts along the coastal cliffs.  To the other side, gentle hills covered with golden grasses and colorful goldfinches flitting from thistle to thistle. As we returned to our little beach-side B&B, a rainbow appeared.

Te Kaha

After welcoming in the New Year with a discreet kiss in front of 10,000 of our neighbors at the Civic Square, we hit the road for "the BOP". The sweeping coastline of the Bay of Plenty begins an hour's drive east of Auckland and extends over 200 km to the remote reaches of the East Cape, where the dramatic bush and ocean vistas are broken only by the occasional beach village. Te Kaha is one of these. Given the location, our hotel was quite flash; in fact, the decor was eerily similar to our Welly flat. Unfortunately, rain, holiday traffic, and the winding, shoulder-less roads rendered our planned bike trek impracticable. In a way, it was a relief to just bike up to the cafe a couple of km away, enjoy a leisurely brekkie, then lounge the day away listening to the waves, birds and breeze. The tropical pace was a welcome respite from the rush of work, and Te Kaha is one of those places in the world that makes slowing down seem both necessary and good. So we kicked back, sampled the amazing chardonnays of the region, and enjoyed the company of our good friend Patrick, another Minnesotan wisely spending a few months escaping the frozen tundra. Unfortunately, we were so laid back that we forgot to take any pictures of this spectacular region.

On a whim, we drove to NZ's easternmost point, where (surprize!) there's a lighthouse on top of a windswept hill. Climbing the 750 steps up was the easy part, at least compared to the harrowing drive to and fro along a single-lane of cliffside gravel road with seemingly innumerable blind curves. We also took time to comb the beaches, the quiet focus of which always feels so much like a kind of meditation.