We have been back in the country for some five days or so now and only
now do I feel alive. Flying from one side of the world to the other, for those
who are unaccustomed to such activity, is not an easy exercise. But today the
sun is shining, we have enjoyed the warmth of the day and are altogether
settled back “home”.
Our flight came in last Tuesday morning at half after midnight, and
although our progress through customs and immigration was smooth, we emerged
into the cold night rain, and were subsequently delivered to our motorhome at
the back of the storage paddock, cold and wet, by taxi, who charged a similar
exorbitant tariff to that charged for the reverse trip. Chris was not willing
to put the heater on, given the uncertain state of the batteries, and while my
head told me he was being imminently sensible, my body rebelled at the cruelty
of the situation. It was not a happy homecoming; our suitcases stacked in the
limited space of the camper just another aggravation.
When the sun came up, we found the surrounding hills covered in snow;
the Port Hills just dusted and those to the west and south, totally white. We
had left the “winter” of England to be greeted by the winter of New Zealand,
although some would argue that it was the spring we had left, and only the
autumn that greeted us here.
We spent that first day unpacking, shopping to replenish the perishable groceries
we had discarded on our unscheduled departure, dropping our near new suitcases
at a charity shop, and setting up an appointment at UCC for various small adjustments
to be made.
Proper sleep evaded us for several days, but we kept ourselves busy
getting back on track. We drove up to the southern bank of the Waimakariri
River one day, and set off along the river track on foot after lunch, soon met
by a group of men intent on practicing their gun firing skills in the area, in
readiness for the ensuing duck shooting season. They had a load of clay targets
and had to settle for firing out over the river with their steel ammunition
rather than the preferred lead, since we and other identified leisure seekers
were in the area.
On the Thursday, UCC did the requested alterations to our motorhome;
bypassing the water filter, removing the electric step and shortening the
exhaust pipe to improve our ground clearance, and repairing the “soft” drawer
slide. We set off at once, leaving Christchurch for the second time, heading
for home without deadlines or any set route.
The first stage of our homeward route took us north to Hanmer Springs,
across the still drought ridden hills of North Canterbury, up past the Balmoral
Forest which we called into with the half-hearted thought of staying the night
there. Unlike our previous visit, there were only two other campers but it was
still early and Chris had his mind set on the NZMCA Park further north. Here we
found the park only marginally less busy than we were last here after
travelling through Molesworth earlier in the year.
The following morning we set up the generator and vacuumed out; the
housework was done and we were ready to press on. I was looking forward to the
trip up over the Lewis Pass, and had suggested to Chris that we stop at the top
and do the short summit walk, but somehow this particular spot was here and
gone before I noticed and we were descending steeply back into Westland, down
past the Maruia Springs and through the delightful beech forests of the West Coast
before I noticed we had passed by.
Soon we arrived at Springs Junction, where we were to make the choice of
travelling directly north toward Murchison, the sensible and economic option,
or to detour around through Reefton and Inangahua to take in the very beautiful
beech forest drive through the Rahu Saddle between Springs Junction and
Reefton. We elected for Plan A, to travel directly north down the Maruia River,
a fertile valley farmed for dairy, a route travelled at least once in reverse.
We were glad we had chosen this route, our previous experience forgotten in the
intervening years, although we remembered well the Maruia Falls we pulled into
for lunch.
These are indeed spectacular and well worth a pause in one’s journey. We
thought the parking area and pathways changed in the interim since our last
visit, but the falls no less than our last visit. The swirling currents below
the falls held tight a mass of logs, and logs cast free in the past piled high
on the banks of the river. The warning signs against swimming or venturing to
close to the falls were well advised. We were delighted to spot several weka
pottering about at the edge of the car park; they never fail to amuse us.
Had we travelled via our Plan B we would have added a further 50 kilometres
to our journey, although I might have also suggested a further detour to call
on my second cousin in Westport which would have added even more time and
distance, so given our altered circumstances our decision was probably the
wisest.
We arrived at Murchison early in the afternoon, and pulled into the
NZMCA Park, one we had been keen to check out for some years, but not yet
established in the years we did pass through.
Murchison, sitting at 208 metres ASL, lies on the banks of the Buller
River, that mighty river than flows out into the Tasman Sea at Westport, but
more importantly, it is located near the convergence of several significant
rivers: the Mangles, Matiri, Matakitaki and Maruia, all adding their waters to
the Buller.
Dairy farming became the mainstay of the area when the gold rushes had finished
and the forest around Murchison had been milled. Today Murchison serves as a
centre to the rural industry and the tourists who pour through this gateway to
the southern entrance to the Kahurangi National Park, New Zealand’s second
largest park at 452,000 hectares. The rivers have not only created a fertile
farming environment, but also provide a white water playground and anglers
paradise to the idle.
There are only 1,100 folk who call Murchison home, who either serve the
passing public in this bustling little centre or live on the green lush
farmland immediately about. There are two amazing second hand shops, or
“antique shops” to the more discerning, and these alone could hold the
attention of any passer-by for hour upon hour. We spent some time browsing
without intent to buy, although I could have been tempted had we found a couple
of household items still missing from our mobile home. But I did spot an atlas,
an identical one I had as a primary school child, exercise book size, and in
the other shop, three “How the Maoris Lived” type text books by AH Reed,
exactly the scripts we had used during my own early days at school. The worn
books could well have been my own, but for the names inside the front covers;
it really was quite uncanny.
We will have spent two nights here in Murchison, today passing the day
walking some of the many walks on offer, both previously enjoyed. The first was
the historical Six Mile Walk, a one and a half hour return walkway ten
kilometres south of the town. The Six Mile hydroelectric power scheme is believed
to be the oldest power station still in existence in New Zealand, although it
did close in November 1975 after nearly fifty four years of operation.
In 1921 the Murchison County Council raised a loan of 12,000 pounds to
provide a hydroelectric scheme to supply lighting and power of the Murchison
township, Six Mile Valley and Four River Plain, Construction proceeded through
192. Pipes from a nearby sluicing claim were bought for the penstock and other
materials arrived by horse-drawn dray or wagon. The first truck in the district
was used to deliver parts of the plant.
The Six Mile plant with its output of 80 kWs was perhaps the best
investment made by the Council. Dairy farmers in the reticulated area gladly
replaced their steam engines with the much simpler electric motors, the dairy
factory used a considerable amount, the streets were lit, the housewives
abandoned their kerosene lamps or temperamental gas lighting and rejoiced at
being able to do their ironing without having to stoke up the fire to heat the
irons or to use the complicated charcoal kerosene irons.
Even the Murchison Earthquake of 28 June 1929 did no damage to the
electric station; it was financial prudence that closed it eventually in 1975.
The Murchison District Museum and Historical Society Inc now have custodianship
of the station, while ownership is retained by the Tasman Electric Power Board.
Nowadays the track zigzags fifty metres up the hillside beside the old
penstock to the intake and water storage reservoir. This height provided the
necessary head, or fall, for the water to drive the stations turbine. From here
the track initially follows the water race before continuing in the forest on a
higher terrace. The track then leads to a viewing platform above the old weir
which diverts some of the Creek down the water race. Below the weir in the
narrow granite gorge are waterfalls and rapids that produce spectacularly
turbulent water, none more so than today after all the rain we had had
overnight. We took the loop track back, one that descends from the upper
terrace to follow along the water race, before rejoining the main track.
This really must be one of the loveliest short walking tracks in the
country; the scenery is delightful and the birdlife is just wonderful. Today we
saw wood pigeons, South island Robins, bellbirds, tuis, black South Island
Fantails as well and the regular ones which I had thought to be the only ones.
We saw evidence of kiwi activity, no other walkers and agreed we enjoyed this,
the third time on this walk, as much as the previous times.
After a refreshing cup of coffee, we drove back to the town, and then a
couple of kilometres on toward Nelson to the confluence of the Buller and
Mangles Rivers. We had called here before, some years ago, to enjoy either
lunch or morning tea, in the car park. Then we had wandered down to the river
banks, joining many others and sat on the large rocks watching others swim,
play or simply sitting and appreciating the view as we were. Today, after the
rain, the river levels were high, the force of the water ferocious and access
to the river dangerous, although this did not deter the many extreme kayakers
emerge from the swirling waters and climb up the steep banks carrying their
craft. Many more sportsmen and women arrived while we sat over our lunch, some
wandered over to the road bridge and debated the wisdom of embarking upon a
watery adventure, but most seemed to agree that it was to also invite a watery
grave. 
We drove back through Murchison and parked on the west side of the
Matakitaki River, in a space reserved for walkers of the Skyline Walk. We set
off up the steep hill, a three kilometre climb up a well-formed zigzag track
through remnants of beech forest. Just before we emerged out into the scrub
high on the hill, we were treated to a kaka, a bird that is so rarely ever seen
by regular people such as ourselves, outside aviaries.
From the top of the ridge we enjoyed splendid views down over the river
plain. The effort was well worth the reward, but perhaps not the knee pain on
the descent.
This afternoon since our return I have cooked up a big batch of Kiwi
mince, so named for the very ordinary beef mince stew I grew up with, plain for
the fact that there was no Asian or European influence in country cuisine of
the fifties and sixties here in New Zealand.
This evening is so much warmer than those of the past week, in fact the
day has been just beautiful. I have shed my many top layers and even my socks.
I can almost believe that winter has yet to arrive!
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