Tonight is our third night in the South
Island, something to celebrate if not the fact that it is also the last day of
the year. The latter suggests a wish to rush one’s life away, the first to
acknowledge the beginning of another adventure, albeit rather tame compared to
past travels; this is our third motorhome trip across the Strait.
Our journey south from Taupo to Wellington was
relatively uneventful. We paused in Turangi, that small settlement at the south
end of Lake Taupo that owes its existence these days to those who fish for
trout in the nearby rivers or those who stay during the ski season and commute
through to the Ruapehi snow fields. There are two supermarkets here and both
draw the travelling public in to satisfy their snacking requirement if not
their need for the day’s news, as was ours.
The day had started with low cloud and little
hope to see a few kilometres beyond the roadside, so it was with great delight
we emerged from the gullies of the Desert Road to find the peaks of Mount
Ruapehi glistening in the late morning sunshine. The day cleared as we
proceeded south and as we passed through Taihape and along the high banks of
the Rangitikei River we were treated to the amazing landscapes, much of which was
settled one hundred and fifty years ago by one of the many branches of my
ancestors.
We overnighted at Marton, at the NZMCA park
over property we have used twice before during this calendar year. Here I spent
time chatting with a long term widow travelling alone, still speaking of her
husband as if he were only recently gone; a positive celebrating her love and
loyalty, a negative in that she is reluctant to move on and take a chance on
life. Easy for me to say, but my comments reflect my mixed feelings; sadness
for others without the companionship of a good partner, and envy for the
selfish freedom.
We travelled on the next day, calling into
Lake Horowhenua for morning tea, to find the lake much as it was when we last
called in. Everywhere there are warnings not to swim or consume the waters of
the lake; algae thrives in the lake pleasing only the many water birds and the few
rowers out training, carefully avoiding the contamination.
This shallow lake, not more than two metres in
depth, lies on the sandy plain two kilometres to the west of Levin and covers
an area of 3.9 square kilometres. Between 1952 and 1987, treated sewerage from
Levin was dumped into the lake; needless to say, attributing to the current
state of the lake.
We stopped again at Otaki, probably the most
northern of the towns on the Kapiti Coast, still seventy kilometres north of
the country’s capital. The town has a population of just over five thousand,
and has been shrinking since the turn of the century, a fact that one would
hardly believe seeing the crowds in the street which doubles as the busy north
bound arterial route for Wellington folk heading away for the summer. Otaki is
home to numerous big brand name brands and outlet stores such as Bendon, Amazon
Surf, Pagani, Ziera, JK, Pumpkin Patch
and so on. We were on the hunt for new hiking shoes for Chris and we
spent some time trying on shoes at Katmandu without success.
At Waikanae, we turned toward the beach of the same name and found a
park near the coastline to lunch. Here the crowds were no less and we were
reminded that busy places are not really our cup of tea. We drove on until we
reached the northern Wellington coastal suburb of Mana, and pulled into the
Ngatitoa Domain where self-contained motorhomes are welcome to overnight
provided they park within the marked areas. There were at least twenty vans
already in and we were lucky to find a spot in a tarmacked car park, not very
level or ideal, but luckier than at least a further twenty that came after in
search of the same. From here we watched fishing boats and launches come in and
out of the Porirua Harbour, locals walking their dogs and a lovely sunset. Here
as in the north, the trees were vibrant with red blossoms; pohutukawas are not
supposed to grow south of a line from New Plymouth to Gisborne but here far south,
they are just as stunning as in their native north.
Our final morning in the North Island was passed about Porirua, dumping
waste, refuelling with diesel and sourcing a pair of hiking shoes for Chris at
a fraction of the price demanded even at Otaki where prices are supposed to be
heavily discounted. We were lined up with the many dozens of other motorhomes
and campervans at the Bluebridge terminal two hours before departure time, not
the first by any means.
Our passage across Cook Strait was uneventful, this time on the Straitsman, a first for us, who have in
the past travelled on the Santa Regina.
We are staunch supporters of this company, a family owned provincial affair
with locational links to my own.
In 1963 Otorohanga Transport Limited was formed which was about the year
Otorohanga ceased to be my local town. The company evolved as all successful
business do over decades, and then after problems with transporting livestock
across the Cook Strait during the height of the herd shift season, the Company
purchased a ship and started Strait Shipping, which dealt principally with Line
haul, Bulk and General Freight. Their first ship was the MV Straitsman sourced from Tasmania, with pens able to carry four
hundred cattle. That ship first sailed across the Cook Strait in May 1992 and
it is after this that the ferry we travelled on 29 December was named.
Other ships have been acquired and served since then, but it was not
until 2002 that the Santa Regina was
put into service as a passenger service to compliment the freight service.
Today’s Straitsman was built in 2005
in the Netherlands, is 124.9 metres in length, 13,906 tonnes and has a draft f
5.3 metres. Its service speed is 18.8 knots except in the Sounds when there are
speed restrictions for all ferries. The Straitsman
can carry 400 passengers and has 1,248 lane metres for both freight and
vehicles.
Apart from that, the government owned Interislander ferries have been
plagued with problems over the last year and we were not willing to be victim
to the random luck of such an enterprise.
Despite the gentle seas, I still felt quite queasy as we crossed the
exposed expanse of sea and did not enjoy the crossing until we entered the
Sounds. I had discovered some “Sealegs” tablets left over from our Alaskan
cruise and thought they would do the trick, but on reading the small print,
realised that I should not have taken them overseas let alone considering them
now. I suffered; thank goodness for the smooth crossing. I did decide however
that I would ignore the small-print warnings on the return; we were unlikely to
be offered the same calm conditions on the return.
The unloading was efficient as the loading and we were off on the road
south to Blenheim soon after five in the afternoon. It is less than thirty
kilometres through to Blenheim from Picton, on an excellent road accompanied by
motivated travellers, with a fixed destination in mind. Our planned destination
was the Blenheim Racecourse, aka the Waterlea Racecourse, which offers a space
for NZMCA members owning certified self-contained motorhomes for a very
reasonable fee with a limit on five nights.
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