6 December 2016 - Wairarapa A&P Showgrounds, Clareville

We left the lovely camp beside the Kiriwhakapapa Stream and headed back out to the main eastern road, soon finding ourselves in Masterton. As with most of these places we have been travelling through, this was familiar territory but still worth a stop. We shopped at the busy New World supermarket forgetting there were two other supermarkets in town offering better deals. In fact Masterton is a remarkable spot in that it sits at No 40 on the list of 67 New Zealand districts and is home to a mere 24,000 or so people, about one third of our own home town of Whangarei and yet it seems to have a much bigger commercial centre.

We found our way to Lake Henley, a rather small lake on the edge of the town which sports a network of flat walking and cycling tracks over wetlands and native plantings about this body of water. This day we found crowds of people gathered on the side of the lake, all part of a whaka regatta, the outriggers marked with club names from Porirua and further afield. While we sat eating our lunch, enjoying the activity all about, we were disturbed by the roar of grunty vehicles arriving,  a dozen of Mazda RX3s, 7s and 8s. The proud car enthusiasts pulled into the remaining few car parks, out with their cameras, bonnets lifted to exhibit the machinery and all swapping notes and compliments. It was a disturbance we could have done without, however it showed the diversity of activities being enjoyed here in Masterton.

After digesting the Sunday newspaper, we parked further up the street and walked up and down to check the shops out, always a good day to do so with temptation lessened. Then escaping with no more purchases apart from having replenished out well stocked pantry, we headed a little south then west back toward the Tararuas, but this time to the Mt Holdsworth DOC camp. This is much larger than the one stayed during the last couple of days, and is the starting point of more popular tracks up into the range. 

Above the Atiwhakatu Stream

We walked up through the camp and up onto the swing bridge which spans the Atiwhakatu Stream, but did not proceed further. Clouds were gathering about the surrounding hills and rain was forecasted. The ranger arrived to touch base with us and told us his history and how had he secured his posting there at the foot of the range. He was delightful and we could have stood all afternoon chatting however there were other campers who required his attention. We did however quiz him on the wisdom of allowing dogs into the forest. Here there are no ground birds so dogs are allowed although they do have to be under full control at all times. Yet elsewhere they are forbidden, treated as pests as are possums, stoats, domestic and feral cats. There is no clear ruling over all DOC camps and we were all for setting a blanket ban on dogs, removing the current confusion many dog owners no doubt plead in their defence when caught disobeying  the rules. 

During the night the rain arrived, not much more than drizzle but unpleasant all the same. We had thought we might take a walk up into the forest before leaving, but neither of us was that keen to get wet. Still we hung about with no pressure to head away, reading and drinking cups of coffee, getting colder and colder. I suggested we should leave before lunch after all, and that activity might warm us up, so we did head back to Masterton to fill our gas bottle that had run out the night before then came south to Carterton to dump, refill with water and to buy the days paper. We were walking around this lovely little town when I glanced at my phone and saw the newsflash; our Prime Minister John Key had just resigned. A couple of workers beside the road had just received the same newsflash and we all shared our shock and horror.

We came a little north again to this camp within the showgrounds, enjoying mains power to charge our batteries that have been limping along with little to support my computer habits. We often camped in showgrounds in Australia; this is quite nostalgic. We spent our afternoon listening to the radio and the political commentary most of it based on supposition.

This morning we decided to make use of the laundry facilities here given they are so much more reasonable than commercial ones; $2 for a machine load and $1 for forty five minutes of drying. But then you do get what you pay for. We were given a key to an outhouse which contained two washing machines and a tumble dryer of the kind I apparently used to own, according to my husband. 

Obviously I used it little because I was unable to identify the lint gathering area, and it was not until Chris came to check on progress that he took the opportunity to also check the lint filter. The slow drying was on account of the clogged filter and I had to sacrifice another $1 to complete the task. Matters were further frustrated by the dinginess of the shed and the photochromic  lenses in my glasses, causing me to drop washed socks onto the dirty floor and not notice and to leave something in the dryer which I shall not bother the caretaker about given that everything has since been padlocked up again. However for all this messing about I did get a chance to sit quietly in the sunshine and read my book.

It was lunch time by the time I returned to the camper and as we sat over lunch, I suggested that we stay a second night; Chris could enjoy unlimited power for the televised broadcast of the second cricket ODI match between Australia and New Zealand. It also seemed like an easy option, rather than apply ourselves to thinking about where to next head.

This last comment may seem rather off given that we know we are drifting toward the South Island, but Chris is keen to see the Joseph Parker boxing match with the Mexican pugilist on Saturday night and will only be able to do so by patronising a club or pub that has paid Sky television for the privilege. So he telephoned ahead to the Working Men’s Club in Petone and established that we could watch it there, and then with that time scheduled, we were better able to organise the days immediately before and after. I then encouraged him to ring through to Bluebridge and book our ferry crossing across the Strait; this is now set for Sunday 11 December. And I who may pretend to like this unpredictable gypsy life am a little more comfortable with some planning in the pipeworks.

And as I write this a Stuff notification has just come through about 13,000 salmon having been lost in a botched burglary on the West Coast. This is almost as upsetting as yesterday’s political news; we were planning to have salmon for our Christmas dinner.