We are back here in the security of the Club camp although we had originally
intended to make a whole weekend shakedown cruise, but maintenance and sorting
matters took precedence yesterday, and tomorrow is scheduled for a return to
UCC to sort out those annoying unresolved issues.
This morning we woke early, as we have done for the past week, soon
after daylight, even without
the aid of roosters or constipated chooks. More
installation was undertaken immediately after breakfast and then we headed off
into the sunshine for a Sunday drive and a token shakedown cruise. Our route
took us across a network of parallel roads to that running between Christchurch
and Tai Tapu, whereupon we headed eastwards toward the eastern shore of Lake
Ellesmere and the Pacific Ocean.
We had come this way several years ago, immediately prior to undertaking
the Otago Rail Trail. Then we had our bikes and helmets and the Rail Trail
between Motukakara and Little River looked like a good training course. I
suspect we did little more than half before turning back, my lower extremities
were ill equipped for the rigours of a cycle seat. As I reminded Chris today,
we purchased my wonder cycle pants, Sarah Ulmer cycle pants in Ashburton, an
item of very expensive clothing that turned out to be more valuable than their
weight in gold!
Today we spied a number of cyclists sampling the trail, riding through
the flat countryside and across the eastern edge of the sometimes marshy edge
of the lake. The trail and the road heads back north east from near the sea,
along the north western edge of Lake Forsyth which was once surely no more than
a narrow inlet of the sea. Now and no doubt for many hundreds or even thousands
of years, the outlet is closed more often than not by the high banks of shingle
and pebbles driven by the tides up from the Rakaia River mouth to the south.
Only flood or extreme weather events open up the lake to the oceans, and that
must indeed be an awesome sight; even a terror for those living in the baches
at Birdlings Flat.
Little River, once the end of the rail and door to the steep highlands
of Banks Peninsula, is now a cyclists accommodation and refreshment centre, and
today, a sunny Sunday, a very busy place indeed. We passed on through knowing
we were unlikely to find any parking spot here.
We climbed the steep windy road to Hilltop, and passed over the road
summit at almost 500 metres ASL, from where we enjoyed glorious views eastwards
down into Akaroa Harbour. We passed well over twenty coaches heading toward
Christchurch, or perhaps south, and decided that there must be a cruise ship at
Akaroa, later discovering that the Diamond
Princess was at anchor out in the harbour. We descended as steeply down to
sea level, turning south on reaching Barry’s Bay and heading toward Wainui.
After three kilometres we pulled into a large grassy area, our intended
destination for the day in an area known as French Farm, but still essentially
in Barrys Bay just along from the boatsheds so oft depicted in landscape
paintings.
Banks Peninsula is a tourist destination quite apart from Christchurch
with a unique history and a charm all of its own. The peninsula itself was
formed following violent volcanic eruptions. The craters nurse the harbours of Akaroa
and Lyttleton,; smaller bays indent the rest of the coastline. The first
European sighting was by Captain James Cook in 1770 and Banks Peninsula was
named after Sir Joseph Banks, his esteemed naturalist.
The peninsula was inhabited by the Maori Ngai Tahu tribe, however in
1838 Jean Langois, Captain of the French whaling ship Cachalot negotiated with a local Maori tribe to buy Banks Peninsula.
He returned to France and organised emigrants to leave on the ship Comte de Paris but on his return to
Akaroa in 1840 found the Treaty of Waitangi had been signed and New Zealand had
become a New Zealand colony. Despite the unofficial status of the French
immigrants, Akaroa and the surrounding settlements, even today, have retained
their French flavour.
The spot we chose to park up today for lunch and some down-time, was
established in 1840. Originally known by the early French settlors as “Duke
Decaze’s Bay”, this bay was the site of a French Naval Station from 1843 to
1847. It was chosen for its favourable soils, climate and water. Eventually the
name was simplified to “French Farm”.
We wandered along to the boatsheds and then sat over lunch in our lounge
enjoying views over the glistening harbour through our panoramic windows,
marvelling on our good fortune, or rather the rewards of past hard labour.
We had considered the possibility of pressing on to Akaroa itself, which
really is a charming spot to visit. However from past visits we knew that
parking was limited, and from recent newspaper reports, we knew the locals were
feeling rather stressed about sharing their limited water resources with
tourists. And today, with a cruise ship in, we expected our welcome may be even
less.
We could have simply driven along the shore of Akaroa Harbour and then
up to the heights of the ridge road, from where one can access the little bays
to the north or east on almost perpendicular roads, but again saw little to be
gained, so retraced our route to Little River.
This time we did stop and wandered up and down this tiny settlement,
buzzing with tourists and more local visitors alike. The cafes and excellent
little art gallery were busy; we wandered up to the Wairewa Reserve past the
bizarre Silo style accommodation and decided that Little River was indeed a
delightful place to pause in. We noted too that we had missed the annual show
by just one day; the equestrian jumps were still in place and various canvas structures
had yet to be taken down.
Continuing on toward “home”, we stopped half way down the narrow Lake
Forsyth for a photo opportunity. Ducks were being chased about by three
resident hens, they who had claimed first option to all tourist rubbish. Views
across the lake to the steep dry hills reminded me of those along the edge of
Lake Dunstan further south in Otago, an unlikely destination for this trip.
We carried on to Birdlings Flat and walked up over the wide stony beach.
About forty five years ago my Aunt Rita and her mad friend brought me out here
but mostly I remember her backwardly facing friend who was driving while
offering fascinating commentary to me in the rear seat. This did make for some very
hairy experiences. It was from this beach that my aunt used to gather stones
for polishing and setting into jewellery. I believe I still have the pendant
she gave me all those years ago, stored somewhere with all the other
paraphernalia one simply does not carry in a motorhome.
More recently Chris and I had walked over the stony hills to see the
sea, and today was much like then, very windy and really not that appealing.
However there were dozens of weekend folk who did not think as us; fishing,
walking and picnicking out in the bright sunshine.
It should be noted here that the Flats are not names for birds but for
one of the earlier settlor families, Birdling, who offered three sons to the
Great War of 1914-18, and lost one. Before European settlement, the place was
known as Te Mata Hapuka.
We drove on, back to Tai Tapu, then turned to Lincoln, location of
Lincoln University, formed in 1990 when Lincoln College was made independent of
the university of Canterbury. In 1878 it began its life as a School of
Agriculture and served from 1896 to 1961 under the name of Canterbury
Agricultural College. It is the oldest agricultural teaching institution in the
Southern Hemisphere, but remains the smallest university in New Zealand and one
of the eight government universities. Today a variety of undergraduate study
areas are offered, but for most it remains better known for agriculture.
We were surprised to see the growth of the town since we last drove
through and stopped long enough for an ice-cream. Huge areas of new housing and
those awaiting further development met us as we entered the town, and left the
other side. We shopped, yet again, in the modern New World Supermarket and were
suitably impressed with the place.
I subsequently found that the population has increased from 2,727 in the 2006 census,
to 3,924 in
the 2013. This still did not seem indicative of our impressions. We were
thinking it would be more in line with Rolleston; apparently not so.
From here it was not far back to our camp at Weedons. Arriving there I
checked my phone for texts and learned that my niece, Jamie, with whom we had
met with her sister and all their children less than two weeks ago, had been
delivered of her fifth child, a little girl named Emmersyn; what a lovely name!
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