The days have passed and none per Plan A hatched after we first changed
Plan B to A, all following the erratic life of a wanderer. Or to put it in
plain English; we had intended to move on further south toward the mountains,
lakes and grandeur of this lovely land. Instead we have delayed for matters
partly out of our control, and have decided to do a side trip or two from
Christchurch, returning in due course to attend to business, then head on our
way as planned.
We hung about our camp at Weedons, taking advantage of the laundry just
up the road at Hornby, and Chris, the
inactivity of the schedule to listen to the first ODI (One Day International
for the benefit of those not in the know). The Kiwi cricketers gave the Sri
Lankans another hiding and I wondered if there was any merit in further
following the series; surely that verged on masochism?
Travellers came and went from the property, but the numbers remained
relatively static. After three days at Weedons, we decided to head away but last
night only got as far as the chestnut orchard in Ouruhia after spending the day
abut Christchurch in and out of hardware shops, RV accessory retailers and the
like. That day was successful only for the acquisition of a small vacuum
cleaner which would require generator power to operate.
This morning we hung about waiting for our host to come door knocking
for his modest tariff; in the end we left it in an envelope for him. I suspect
there are those who come and go without paying which is hardly fair if you make
use of the water supply provided.
As we left Ouruhia, misty rain arrived and by the time we had arrived in
Rangiora, it really had turned out to be a wet day. I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt,
shoes and socks, abandoning the hopeful summer-like apparel, and we called into
one of the supermarkets to stock up of fresh produce and a few more odds and
ends at The Warehouse. At Countdown we found the vegetables reasonably priced,
but a paucity of fruit; at the Warehouse we regretted humming and ha-ing
yesterday over prices where at least there was greater choice. Alas we never
learn!
We had come through Rangiora many years ago; then is seemed a much
smaller rural centre. Today the population is over 15,000, eight years ago it
was just over 12,000; that does represent significant growth, however the town
seemed even larger than that. Perhaps it was the rain?
Rangiora is the
largest town and seat of the Waimakariri District (you will recall we washed
the motorhome with water bucket drawn from the river of that name on our
arrival in the area), in the Canterbury Region. At just twenty nine kilometres
north of Christchurch, it really is just a satellite town of the city.
We learned later
this afternoon that Rangiora had not appeared to suffer much damage during the
earthquakes of 2010 and 2011 and everyone was rather buoyed by that assurance.
That was until the investigation into the CCTV building collapse; engineers and
other associated professionals rushed back to their earlier reports to recheck those
previously given the thumbs up. Such conservative action meant the Farmers
building in Rangiora had to come down and there was fault found in many other
buildings about. Still better safe than sorry, although I may not say that is I
had been trying to operate a business in one of those controversial structures.
After lunching beside an obscure reserve with nothing but a single oak tree
in view, a posse found by our fickle Tomtom, we set off north, back to the main
highway and up into the coastal hills. We passed the intersection at Waipara
which we had come through almost two weeks ago from Hamner Springs, discovered
the number of vineyards even greater than that understood then. The road north
follows the rail, although from time to time the line disappears inland,
skirting around the higher altitudes or through the geological barriers. The vibrant
green of the grape vines in the valleys contrasted with the dry yellow pastoral
hills. As we travelled further north, the rain lessened and it was evident that
the little fallen was not going to make too much difference to the parched
countryside.
We crossed the Huranui River, beside which we camped at the Balmoral
Forest, a few kilometres inland from where it meandered its way out to sea, and
the Waiau River, that crossed immediately south of Hanmer Springs. We passed
through pretty Cheviot, once the Cheviot Hills estate later broken into fifty
four farms and a township, which was originally called Mackenzie. I was pleased
to see that travellers were stopping to utilise the parks and cafes for
refreshment purposes. The population of less than four hundred really do look
after their town. We stopped here once before and while waiting for a gas
bottle to be filled, walked from one end to the other, appreciating its charm.
Today it seemed much the same apart from the busy-ness of the road.
But our destination was beyond, Parnassus eighty kilometres north from
our lunch spot, and our camp for the night.
Parnassus is one of those places you miss if you blink, or happen to be
having an animated discussion with the driver as you come through. There is
nothing left but a roadhouse, less rustic than those you pass by in the
Australian outback, but none-the-less, a roadhouse. The rail line to Parnassus was opened in 1912
and was known as the Parnassus Branch. Now it is simple part of the main trunk
line.
In 2001, it boasted a population of 900, in 2013 it had increased to 936.
Let me assure you that they are not
crammed into the few houses along from this park over property! The figures
must surely take into account the farmers about the area. The school has long
been closed, because it is here that we are camped now. The NZMCA has purchased
this piece of land and the remaining administration building which serves as an
excellent gathering place and communal library for us members. This afternoon
as I write this, and it is not yet five o’clock, there are at least fifteen parties
in, and this is in the middle of nowhere.
I was intrigued to note that one of Parnasuss’s claims to fame is that
it was the epicentre of the 1901 Cheviot earthquake. I have already mentioned
that the Christchurch Cathedral had suffered earthquake damage in the past.
This was one of those events; a 6.9 magnitude quake when only one casualty was
recorded.
I do believe Chris is ready to open a bottle of wine; I had better have
a quick shower and dress for dinner.
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