894 km to Sunshine Bay!

The rain dominated the first morning in Christchurch, being heavy and unrelenting. I was up early and checked out of the motel after a chat with Lena the owner at 0900, with a shopping list of things I need next week. Most of them were picked up in the Westfield Mall on Riccarton Street, but I also snared a pair of Keen hiking boots at a 40% discount from a branch of Katmandu (or Crapmandu if you are a local).

In fact the shopping and browsing of outdoor shops like the Icebreaker and Macpac stores in the mall took far longer than I had budgeted for, and it was 11:30 before I was at Natural High, the outfitter providing me with a touring bike for the trip. I went in with the intention of changing my plans and getting a partial refund but soon got to talking with the engaging branch manager Dan Eggleton, who used to run the Bike Hut concession at Halfords in Southampton two years ago before moving to NZ. He had already prepared a Surly Long Haul Trucker to my requirements and had a plastic tarp that would protect the car from the bike so it would have been churlish to ask for my deposit back, so I left with my dream cycle touring model in Woodies' boot and a clutch of cycling route leaflets.

I finally left town after lunch and drove out through the sheets of rain on HW 7 towards Arthurs Pass. I had firmly resolved that since the Able Tasman region boasts better weather than anywhere else on the South Island I would spend a day or two exploring it, rather than retracing the route of our previous trip under leaden skies.

The first stretch across the Canterbury Plains is unremarkable and seems to consist of alternating paddocks and much larger cropped fields with vast wheeled gantries used for irrigation. And then suddenly the landscape changes into steep spikey hills with trees clinging to their sides, which the road switchbacks between - 100 kph stretches, with bends marked as being 35kph every so often... and the further I drove, especially beyond Castle Hill, the more craggy and Tolkienesque the landscape became until it became really quite jaw dropping.

 I can understand why Arthurs Pass is such a magnet for tramping because it feels genuinely primeval as you get higher into the hills (wreathed in long tendrils of cloud). The hillsides are so steep that some are stripped bare of vegetation by recent landslides, and then as you get to the West Coast watershed you suddenly find really dense primary rainforest, nearly crowding vehicles off the road. I wish I had more time to explore here but the rain was so heavy that the flooding river valley put walking out of the question. My thinking was confirmed when I stepped into the Arthurs Pass DOC visitor centre to sound them out about day walks in the area.

Here's a reason for not leaving your car too long unattended in the visitor centre car park though:

Kea, interrupted

I came out of the center with a really comprehensive book on identifying NZ flora and fauna in the forest and a clean DOC T-shirt to wear tomorrow. Resuming my drive down to the West Coast and Highway 7, I pulled off the road a couple of times to enjoy the awesome scenery - especially the Otiro Gorge Road, which was hacked out of the side of a precipitous rock was by hand in the awful winter of 1865 and is still a descent that is just on the doable side if you are driving a heavy goods vehicle.

The West Coast seemed much the same as during the last visit, particularly Greymouth and its surrounds, but at this point I'd found the iPod and was oblivious to the rain and low cloud, with Led Zeppelin IV at full volume. What continues to surprise me though is just how little traffic is on the roads in the West Coast and how small the road itself is for a major national highway. 

I didn't have a particular destination in mind but was getting quite ready for a break by 7pm when I pulled up in Reefton, a small town built around the coal mining industry but with a strong 1860's feel with wooden shop fronts and a broad main street of original buildings. I had the choice of five or six alternative places to stay but it was a no-brainer really, the newly refurbished Reef Cottage was quite unique and had a Queen room with an en-suite available. The whole building is made of beautiful rimu wood, but the particular distinguishing feature of my room was the massive safe door from the 1870s leading to the bathroom; originally the building was a solicitor's office and this was the strong room. Owners Ronnie and Susan have turned the building into a very memorable place to stay and couldn't have been more helpful. He sent me up the road to Wilson's hotel where I had an excellent meal of lamb shanks with all the trimmings. The bar was dominated by a small but raucous group of fly fishermen, Mark and his son Sean from New York and their guide Boris who incidentally were staying at Reef Cottage and had spread fly-tying gear and bottles liberally around the shared kitchen area at the back of the building. However loud and exhuberant they seemed to be (there were three or four empty wine bottles on the table), they were great value - it's Mark's 18th fishing trip in NZ and when they discovered I was a fellow guest, they adopted me immediately. Of course the remainder of the evening in the kitchen of the B&B could probably be heard by people on the other side of the street but it was great fun - probably a good thing that the Cottage can only accommodate four guests though.  Mark is a surgeon who finished his training at Hammersmith Hospital where I worked for a summer and wasn't short of outrageous stories about his time there; his son Sean is a lawyer in New York - and has a brilliant relationship with his father. Boris is nut-brown and lean as a whip and and knows rivers with trout on the South Island inside out, he's also a spectacularly good fly maker, judging by those he tied before we all turned in at 10:50.  I was asleep in seconds in the extraordinarily comfortable brass bed in my room.

Woo-hoo! It all comes together

Fortunately after the setback with the missed flight in Dubai, the replacement boarding card I was given was for a seat next to over-the-wing exit (24F) - and valid for the next three hops to Christchurch!  Nearly went amiss in Bangkok when I zipped past the transit area, engrossed in texting Al on a moving walkway... but then common sense prevailed after spending a few minutes in the queue for customs and entry to Thailand, and I managed to make it onto the third flight in time.

It was raining when we landed in Sydney but only cool and overcast on arrival in Christchurch. I was expecting a fraught time with the people who check for foreign organisms on entry (Al told me they gave him a tough time when he arrived 48 hours before me) but they were quite happy just to inspect my tent, which I had cleaned very carefully.

My bag was in the boot of the hire car within fifty minutes of touchdown. The car itself has seen better days with 250,000 km of NZ roads behind it, but seems to be quite feisty. Has been nicknamed Woody after it's registration plate, EDW050. I keep burning rubber when pulling out of junctions. Our own horrible Diesel Mondeo would stall rather than gallop away on the same pressure on the gas pedal.

I found my way to Hagley Park as the rain started to fall gently, and then drove on into Cathedral Square in the hope of finding a shopping mall for food and essentials. Unfortunately I had obviously arrived a year or two late - it all still looks like a bomb site, mostly weeds and crushed concrete gravel with hoardings and boarded up buildings - in a very sorry state, and it's difficult to imagine how it can recover with the historic heart of the city reduced to this state.

So instead I drove out to Riccarton and my motel on Dean Street, clutching a street map because I couldn't get roaming mobile data on my smart phone for Google Maps.

Lena's motel room was lovely  - scrupulously clean, the Argyle on the Park. She's been running the place for six months and is very proud of their renovations. Initially I decided she might have been brought up in Poland, but after talking for a little while she revealed that she'd been a surgeon in Russia before emigrating to Christchurch, which probably explains why everything is so spotless. The room had a lounge, bedroom, kitchenette with microwave, cooker and fridge, and en-suite. What struck me most was the birdsong heard through the open windows - very exotic in the late afternoon - and the subtle differences in the decor and appliances from home.

I slept for bit and woke up at 1 AM to do a quick shop at a 24 hour convenience store around the corner. Raining really heavily now, glad to be totally dry in a kayaking cagoule that covers me to mid-thigh.  Didn't really feel like a longer walk so went back to bed after toast and a cup of tea back in the room. So everything has worked out I am established in NZ - pretty pleased at the way things have turned out.

Whoops

Just as well I packed my toothbrush in my daypack. Must have just been tiredness but all my planning went out of the window when I got to the top of the queue at the gate for the delayed flight to Sydney at Dubai. They pointed out politely that the Emirates flight had left on time at 0930 and that this delayed flight was the Quantas one and that they were not code sharing as I had assumed through my fog of fatigue. After a dazzling display of keyboard skills by the very helpful staff at the connection desk I was booked into the same flight the next day. Which I was first in line for after a pleasant sleep in the Premier Inn at Dubai airport. just waiting for flight number three now from Bangkok...

Countdown begun

Well in half an hour I should be boarding the Streamliner to Dubai. To my credit I went through Security without being sent for a full body x-ray for the first time in five or six trips as a consequence of not being in cycling shoes with SPD cleats or with a forgotten Allen key on my person. In fact the check-in went remarkably smoothly and my bag has been tagged all the way to Christchurch. Including a small office wheely trolley for convenience the checked bag weighs 28 kilos and the daypack 8... And we are off!

Travelling Light

Excellent, excellent. It's all coming together properly now. A bit like Christmas as hastily ordered goods arrive for Big Al and me ahead of the big kayaking trip into the unknown.

He's having difficulty fitting everything into the rucksack he ordered in Dublin - most of it is still on the kitchen floor. Roy Schneider's line from Jaws springs to mind:

Meanwhile I think I have things under control as long as my body doesn't buckle under the weight of the fifty kilo cargo bag I will be attempting to carry.

I can see us setting off with a string of Ortlieb bags in tow when we set off on Monday 1st.

Stanfords rose to the challenge of sending maps of the Central and Southern parts of South Island published by Kiwimaps by return of post. Really impressed with them for doing that since they only got the order from me yesterday morning.

 I am quite taken with the idea of exploring the new Around the Mountains cycle route shown on the latest editions which was opened last year. If I do this it should be fairly free of traffic for the most part and it looks interesting - though I like meeting people too and don't want to spend the whole trip in the wilderness. More consideration needed. Have you met anyone who has done this route?

10 days to go

Ten days to go to the big Overseas Experience, and I am carefully considering the role of Marmite on the trip.

Apparently it is good for keeping midges away but does it work for sandflies? On Howard Jeff's recommendation I picked up a natty hat with a midge net built in from Joe Browns' in Capel Curig on my way back from Wales last week; he says it is easier to eat under. Also Smidge, now that the formulation of Skin So Soft has been changed to exclude Citronella. So you can imagine me adrift in a kayak with Big Al, lost somewhere desolate in thick mist, wading ashore in primaeval rain forest to dine off a small pot of Marmite under a midge net.

Big Al has been mysterious about flights since we were last in touch ten days ago. He muttered something about a savings account and thirty days notice being required. I hope he's sorted them out now.

I might be about to complicate my own travel arrangements with a Brompton. I have splurged on a deposit for a hired touring bike to be picked up in Christchurch, but as always I'd prefer to be on my own bike without the hassle of securing a full sized bike when I am away from it. I've used the folding Brompton more on trips abroad in the last couple of years than at home since kayaking came to dominate my weekends, but combining the two resulted in a grossly overloaded ride down the Lofoten Islands and various broken spokes. What do you think is best?