Abel Tasman is NZ’s smallest national park but has an international reputation that draws tons of visitors, mostly to see the coastline. My guidebook says it is fabulously beautiful, with golden sandy beaches, crystal-clear water, lush bushland, granite outcrops and an abundance of wildlife.  Most people hike and kayak and swim and snorkel along the coast, and most of this occurs from the very accessible east side.  We plan to do that too, but for now we’re going to do the road-less-traveled and hike Abel Tasman from the west side, as well as visit Golden Bay.  Golden Bay is at the northwest tip of the South Island, and is backed by the mountains of Kahurangi National Park on 3 sides, with the bay on the 4th.  It is far less accessible, with access in or out being a single, very narrow, very twisty road over a mountain called “Takaka Hill”.  Some hill.  Oh, and because it’s the only road supplying some 6 towns, there’s truck traffic.  LOTS of truck traffic.  LOTS of very BIG truck traffic!  Not to mention lumber trucks carrying big tree sections.  Luckily, we don’t know this, so off we go.  It’s 70 miles away; later, when we look it up, travel time is estimated to be 2 hours.  There is not one straight stretch of road.  The steering wheel is either hard right or hard left, with very little time between the two positions.  A couple of times on severe switchbacks I was afraid I might rear-end myself.  It is, however, quite pretty.  Stopping is usually out of the question, but there are a few spots to pull over.  Alas, I have the camera on the wrong white balance setting, and the pictures are impossibly blue.  Here is one shot going in, and another at the same location

on the way out days later.  NZ is amazing in its ability to have the same view be mesmerizingly and captivatingly different from one moment to the next.

Coming down Takaka Hill, the Golden Bay ocean (left image) and plain (right image) are

gorgeous, although it’s hard to tell from the Picasso Blue Period I’m in.  Closer to the bottom of the hill, without the blue, you can see that this is a pretty place.

These pictures are from the valley floor near the city of Takaka.

Well, as luck would have it, our plans to kayak and horseback ride on Golden Bay are quashed – the continuous lean-in and lean-out jostling as we wound up and down Takaka Hill have done a number on Ginger’s neck; she can hardly turn it, so we’ll have a few quiet days instead.  She does mention, in a gentle way, that perhaps we might take the curves a little bit more slowly the next time (in my defense: we pulled over more times than numerous to let faster cars go by; but the lady makes a strong argument!).

We’re holed up in a cottage outside of town up a gravel road and on a hill.  It’s a simple place with spectacular views (and a lot of spiders, but we rectify that).  Staying here isn’t so bad.  Nearest neighbors are sheep, which come regularly to inquisitively check on us and to baaaaa quietly.  Cows off in the distance give a far-away moooo.   The “boring” view is straight ahead to the water of the bay, which changes color by the hour.  The flax plants attract Tui, which visit throughout the day to feast on its nectar; Tui are amazing birds with their otherworldly, indescribable, transfixing sounds and amazing dark iridescent feathers set off by that white throat ornament.  We love them.

The major delight is the ever-changing Provence-like light on the hills.  The pastoral view is stunning, changing hour-by-hour from one stunning to a different stunning.  The Impressionist painters would have given their left ear for this light.  Not a bad place for us to crash.  I’ll show you some examples below.

Wow.  And wow again.  Of course, the entire 180° view is better than the snippet shown here, but this gives you a good idea of the incredible beauty.  I’ll also add a couple of pictures of the amazing shade-on-shade color from the layers of receding mountains.

Needless to say, the stars out here are also breathtaking.  It’s hard to see stars in today’s overly lighted world, but here in the country darkness, looking at the blazing glory of the infinite universe, it’s beautiful and humbling.  And guess what?  Orion is upside down, standing on his head with his shield for balance, I guess.  It would be interesting to see what the constellations would look like had they been drawn from the southern hemisphere.

As Ginger recovers, we take a short walk on one of the beaches.  We choose a nearby beach randomly, and we practically have it to ourselves.  Another couple is strolling off in the distance, and a windsurfer is zooming around on this somewhat windy day.  Kiwis do love their water sports!  The water is swimming-pool cool, very comfortable for wading or swimming.  One of the nice touches to a NZ beach is the combination of

beach AND mountains.  It adds to the viewing interest, although the rhythm and sound of the incoming waves don’t really need additional help for our enjoyment.  Not to mention the sea shells and pretty polished rocks and interesting driftwood from the very hard and dark wood of some of the NZ trees.

At last Ginger is better, and we have time for a hike in Abel Tasman. We’re entering from the very tail end of the Coast Track.  It’s an up-and-down hike to the first bay, Whariwharangi, and the “up” is probably the highest climb of the entire Coast Track.  The good news is that the grade is not especially steep.  We’ll see how far we get.

We start from Wainui Bay, which is itself not too shabby (picture to left).  The trail immediately starts climbing, giving a good overview of the bay, as shown below.

And the trail continues to climb.

The trail circles above a small bay, but there is no obvious way down to it.

We wind through what the Kiwis call “bush” – the original wild cover of NZ (left image below).  The reasonably wide trail is mostly a single, or sometimes two, dirt footpaths in medium-tall grass (right image).  The grass sometimes bends over, obscuring the footpath; it doesn’t seem to be a heavily used trail.

The bush itself is interesting.  It is solid, a mass.  It would be hard to walk through without a path.  The picture shows an adjacent hillside.

The flowers along the trail are gay, bright and pretty.   Most are small, but frequently one encounters impressive lupine  (yellow or pink) and the commanding I-am-so-pretty

foxglove, in pink and in white.

Before we get to the top of the climb, Ginger decides she has had enough and turns back.  I’m convinced that the top is not far off, and decide to press ahead.  Sure enough, the top is not far.  This coastal track intersects with an inland track, and the trail is now considerably better – not just a footpath, it’s wide.  Off in the distance is the ocean, and Whariwharangi Bay (shown below), and from here it’s all downhill.  Close but no cigar.  Another time.  Gotta catch up with Ginger.

Next stop will be Nelson Lakes National Park, in the boonies.  Time to do some real hiking!

Nelson Lakes National Park is centered around 2 glacial lakes, Rotoiti (“little lake”) and Rotoroa (“long lake”), nestled in mountains at the northern limit of the Southern Alps.  We’re spending our time at Rotoiti because it has a town there, St Arnaud, population around 100.  The only town that’s close to this park.  I’m guessing it won’t be too crowded there.  The trip

down is pretty, with mountains and meadows.  A river along the route is a beautiful pale turquoise, apparently from glacier run-off.  Most rivers here look like a fisherman’s paradise; too bad we don’t fish!  I can see the pleasure in the skill needed to hook a fish (and then eating it), but I just can’t see me standing still that long in between events.  I could be hiking, with changing views!

Lake Rotoiti is clearly glacial.  In the picture below, one is looking down the glacial bore; the mountains have eroded into a slant, but the effect of the mountains popping up suddenly on two sides is impressive.

Our first walk is around a nearby peninsula that juts into the lake.  It’s an attractive walk.  The path, as shown, is bordered  by a huge variety of mosses and lichens in a great

variety of colors.  There are also quite a few predator boxes!  As we mentioned in an earlier post (Oct 20, NZ Birds, Birds, Birds), early NZ had no mammals except bats, and therefore no predators of birds.  Bird evolution filled this mammal void, resulting in ground-dwelling flightless types.  The introduction of predators was devastating.  NZ is engaged in a huge effort to protect and expand its surviving native birds, much of it with volunteer effort.  In particular there is a strong ongoing program to eradicate introduced mammals like rats and stoats.  We meet three fellows servicing these traps, and one stays to answer our questions.  He says the aim is to effectively eliminate rats from NZ.  I’m incredulous; I think rats and cockroaches will be the ultimate last survivors on this planet.  No no, says our fellow.  Over the last several years their group has killed 12,000 predators in the Nelson Lakes area alone (!), resulting in a substantial growth in the bird population.  Technology will prevail, he says.  Already the new traps are more sophisticated, with gas-cartridge-driven reciprocating bolts killing multiple predators per box, and technology will improve more in the future.  Hmmm, says me.  Maybe.  Thinking about it later, maybe there is a chance; killing is something we humans are good at, after all.  What is heartwarming is the magnitude and commitment of this government/private-citizen initiative, going strong with much enthusiasm and success.  How long has it been since the US has asked its citizens to join in a cause, and gotten a huge response?

We continue our walk, and notice the beech tree trunks are black!  Very black.  I mean, they’re pretty, in fact striking, but what is this black stuff?  Are the trees rotting??  It’s a fascinating story, really.  If one looks closely at the black coating, there are also a whole lot of very fine, white, almost silvery hairs extending several inches from the black surface, many with a tiny drop of liquid at the end, as shown in the pictures below.

What is this, you say?  Would you believe those filaments are insect anuses expelling a sweet liquor that feeds a black tree-covering fungus and also supports entire animal ecosystems?  Butt manna?  No?  Would you believe the trees have a virus, those filaments are dripping beech proboscises, and the trees have the flora equivalent of the Black Plague, explaining the trunk color?  Which crazy answer is correct?  Neither you say?  Actually the first.  Mother Nature does have a giggle at times.  Each whitish filament is the anus of a tiny scale insect that lives under the bark of the beech tree and sucks the sap; the insect extracts what it needs from the sap and then excretes a super-concentrated sugar solution through its incredibly long anus. The black fungus feeds on the sugar solution that dribbles down the tree, but it is not alone.  Entire animal ecosystems depend on the sap: birds such as the Tui and the Bellbird, bats, lizards, and other insects.   Non-native wasps (like the one in the picture) can completely coat the beech trunks, denying the birds, and so at certain times of the year the predator-trap people switch from killing rats to killing wasps.  One bird, a type of parrot called the weka, absolutely depends on the sap to kick-start its reproductive cycle.  All that from just a little scale insect shaking its booty and pooping a sugar solution!  Y’know, it’s hard to make this stuff up.

This hike was the warm-up.  Tomorrow we climb Mt. Roberts, the mountain to the right of the lake in the left

picture, and straight ahead in the right picture.  It will be tough; it’s a 6 mile loop, but also a 2,000 foot ascent.  We’ll go up the Pinchgut Track, which is labeled “steep”.  The trail name itself is slightly foreboding.  Ginger will see how far she gets.

The trail starts off in a beech forest.  It’s pretty.  Soon we start a gentle climb.  The first overview, the picture to the left, below, shows the peninsula we walked yesterday, and behind it the bustling town of St Arnaud.  It’s there, honest, right at the base of the peninsula.  We’re choosing to climb Mt Roberts rather than the Saint Arnaud Range (the

range on the other side of the lake) for two reasons.  The trail to Mt. Robert zig-zags in and out of the beech forest, so there are early views; for the Saint Arnaud range, you’re in the forest until you’re above the tree-line.  Second, both yesterday and today there are clouds obscuring the top of the Saint Arnaud range (picture above right), whereas Mt. Robert is relatively clear.  There is something dispiriting in climbing to a mountain top and not being able to see a hand in front of your face.  As an aside, from the picture above right, do you notice the angle of the mountain we’re climbing?  The climb quickly stopped being gentle.

The trail on the hillside is crushed gravel, as shown below.  The footing is good, and that is needed!  Not only is the trail steep, but the wind is gusting and can blow you a bit.  Ginger

has been setting walking goals for herself – to the next switchback before stopping – but the switchbacks often stop where they have to, at nasty points with very steep drop-offs.  Maybe you can tell from the picture, above right, that you’re not looking down a cliff face, but it’s sure darn close to vertical!  You would not want the wind to blow you off trail!  I suggest to Ginger that maybe she should set her goal to be the next switchback plus about 20 feet.  She sees the point and quickly agrees.

The view is opening up and we can see the vista off to the side.  It’s impressive!  However,

also impressive are the ominous clouds heading somewhere in a big hurry.  It’s also getting quite chilly, especially with the wind.  We have jackets, of course; good thing.  The trail periodically re-enters the forest, however briefly.  The beeches are perhaps even more

picturesque; they have a coating now of lichen decorating the branches.  The trees are also quite a lot shorter as we climb higher.  Note in the picture on the right, above, that this trail is steep!  The picture on the left, below, gives you a feeling for the exposure and the

steepness of this climb; and there is Ginger, still going up!  And up.  And up.  Below is another view of the steepness of the climb.  Note that I am looking almost straight down

on the just-walked trail below me!  Oh yeah, this is steep.  And there is Ginger, still truckin’.  We do take time to notice the varied and colorful moss and lichen, and the

birdlife – like the very tiny tomtit.  The trail does however continue to go up.  And up.

We stop to smell the roses, figuratively.  Surely we’ll find the top soon?   The trees are getting shorter and shorter, the light brighter and brighter.  We’re stopping a lot now; Ginger is struggling, her legs are shaky, and it’s cold and windy.  I’m a bit concerned, but she is determined to get to the top, so off we go.  The forest has changed; moss is everywhere, even climbing high up tree trunks.  The lichen hangs everywhere, looking otherworldly.   The trees get shorter and shorter, a good sign.

And then looking up it looks pretty open, and then we’re out!  The views are quite spectacular.  The clouds are whipping by just above our heads.  Happily there is a hut nearby (how about that!), and we huddle inside out of the wind to have a late lunch.

Looking over at the Saint Arnaud range, I’m glad we did Mt. Robert.  The top is indeed in the clouds.  And the view of the range from here is pretty spectacular, don’t you agree?  The wind is present here on Mt. Robert, but it looks like a gale over there with the boiling, roiling clouds.

Well, we’re near the top but the trail keeps going up – thankfully, not as steeply.  The views are great in all directions, although the rounded nature of the top does block some of the view.  Take a look!

We keep hiking until we get to the top and the trail starts down.  I’ll share the views!

Now comes the hard decisions.  It’s getting late, there’s a chance of rain and storm, Ginger is pretty tired, and her knees ad hips are bothering her.  We’re at the top of the climb, but we’ve taken the steep-but-short route up and have only gone 2.5 miles of the 6 mile loop.  It’s all downhill in both directions, but it’s shorter downhill the way we came up – and we know the route; there will be no surprises.  Discretion wins, and we decide to bail and take the known and short route down.  I’ll close with the triumphant Ginger, comin’ down.

We make it down just fine, no problems.  In celebration of conquering this hard climb, I take Ginger out to dinner to St. Arnaud’s fanciest restaurant, where she has a steak, several glasses of good New Zealand wine, and finishes with a big smile.  As they say here, “No problem, mate”!

Next: Back to Nelson – we’ve decided to rent a house there.

Nelson is NOT a big city (population 56,000, not counting the seagulls) and has no famous attractions, but it’s a popular tourist destination.  Why is that, you ask?   Besides having New Zealand’s sunniest climate, it is within a few hours drive of some great outdoor attractions – the Golden Bay region and three national parks:  Abel Tasman, Nelson Lakes and Kahurangi.  Not to mention a nearby cluster of excellent wineries and the studios of contemporary artists.  Sounds good to us!

The way to Nelson from Picton takes us through the harbor city of Havelock, the world capital for farming NZ’s green-lipped mussels.  I love mussels, and had my first bucket of them at the Bay of Islands (blog of Sept 29).  A bucket of mussels ended up being like only 12 of them – they’re huge, and tough, and I haven’t ordered them since.  A crushing disappointment!  But here we are in the epicenter of musseldom, so I am going to try again.  Ginger demurs.  Havelock is smaller than tiny, and the restaurant choice is pretty obvious (picture), so off we go.

The mussels come, and as you can see, they are not your Prince Edward little guys.  They’re big, ugly brutes.  Mind, when they’re small they’re kinda cute; but when they’re big you’re staring at body parts that do not look particularly appetizing.  I try them, hopefully, and yep.  They’re tough.  Not all parts, mind you, but in that mix some serious chewing is required, and I confess it takes away from the pleasure.  I eat this bucket, but the thrill is gone.  Luckily there are other fish in the sea.  Speaking of that, scallops in NZ are also different.  They’re not much bigger than bay scallops in size and come not only with the white disk of muscle meat we’re all familiar with, but also with an attached red-colored gland that contains the eggs and is about the same size as the muscle.  That new part has a totally different texture and taste, but nevertheless the package is tasty.

Nelson, like most small cities in NZ, is a sleepy town; all stores close at 5 or 6, supermarkets close at 9, streets are largely deserted in the evenings.  The bar scene is more lively, and Friday and Saturday the music plays quite loudly until midnight, when it stops abruptly.  Sunday mornings it’s a ghost town (see picture).  The town itself gives me the feeling that I’m in a Western movie; surely I’ll find horses hitched out front and the bars will have swinging doors.  That’s not the case, but that’s the feeling.

The city does have an interesting cathedral (Christ Church), perched high on a hill.  Gothic in nature, it has good acoustics (I stumbled onto a choral rehersal!) and some beautiful stained glass.

The Nelson Saturday market is impressive, both for its food and for its art.  Below is a small sampling.  Look at that metal fish!  Made of washers and nails.  And those turned bowls and huge burls!  Beautiful.

Nelson has a great beach that goes on forever, and the water is shallow for quite a ways out with occasional sand bars.  Notice the very attractive turquoise hue to the water!  It is stunning.  As you might imagine, there are great seafood restaurants on the waterfront.  Shown is Ginger enjoying lunch, wine and a good view at a wharf restaurant in a nearby suburb.  Just below the restaurant, a local is enjoying lunch as well – a white-faced heron.

Totally NOT

There are a lot of shallow inlets to the bay, and when the tide is out, the water is out of sight.  We haven’t explored this intriguing effect; eg, walking and wading a mile or more out could be very interesting for shell-hunting and the like. We could probably walk beyond sight of mainland; but what happens when the tide starts coming in?  How fast can you wade?  We have a lot to learn about the sea and tides before we get too adventurous.

Early on I mentioned the wineries.  There are about 25 wineries here, many with excellent reputations.  The ones we tried in the restaurants were yummy.  Definitely time for some more winery tours!  Study, study, study.

I also mentioned a strong artist community in Nelson.  There is a big ceramics group here – our main interest – but glass blowing is also a strength.  Let me show you some amazing vases from Hoglund Art Glass.  As in, Wow!

I will close Nelson with a quick note of its small but beautiful gardens containing – like most cities in NZ – roses and flowering bushes and water and streams and – as shown here – very interesting trees.

Next: On to Golden Bay and Abel Tasman National Park.