20 February 2015 - Sylvan DOC Camp, Mt Aspiring National Park, Otago

The Plan was to drive up to the end of the Routeburn Road and walk the first eastern stage of the Routeburn Track Great Walk, and this we did, the weather arriving as forecasted, low cloud in the early part of the day, soon rising, or at least as we climbed up into the sunshine. It was about 9.30 am when we crossed the crystal clear river on the impressive swing bridge, the first of many we were to cross today, and set off up into the Humboldt  Mountains. Foolishly I had seen the description of this part of the walk from the Routeburn Shelter to Routeburn Flats Shelter as a gentle amble up alongside the river to the flat area before the track became more challenging in the mountain stages. Well, certainly a seasoned mountain climber would probably interpret this stage thus, but it was not for me. Chris did not tell me that he remembered this as the roughest going stage of the Track nor did he tell me that the great slash of water plunging over the mountain was the Routeburn River. But then had I known this, I might have suggested we return to Queenstown and take in another movie; better not to know. 

The track was described on the notice board as a “3 – 4 hours return, 14 kilometre walk, a gentle climb on an easy track through beech forest to Routeburn Flats with a view of the Harris Saddle” and it is that although I had been blind to the word “climb”. This was a beautiful walk through a spectacular landscape, and so much easier than Chris remembered it. Most of the streams, some wild and turbulent were bridged, and those that were not, were dry today. The birdlife was just marvellous, however when we spoke to others later, they had not seen as many as we did. Obviously the crowds of walkers had scared them off, or perhaps the birds simply like to spend the middle of the day enjoying their siestas. We encountered dozens of Rifleman, the smallest bird in New Zealand with adults a mere 8 cm high and weighing only 6 – 7 grams. We have been cognoscente of this bird for some years and often suspected we have seen one or two in the distance, but today there was no doubt. They were numerous and obviously themselves, darting about in the lower forest growth feeding on insects and flitting here and there. We were delighted! 

The Routeburn Falls are beyond the Flat’s Hut, not those as the river plunges off the escarpment through a narrow gorge. The track climbs steadily alongside this gorge, not zigzagging with any switch back ease as the track at the other end above The Divide, but a steady and steep climb. Then at the top, although the mountain still rises much higher on either side, the track cuts through the pass, Sappers Pass, then follows the river, now in its upper reaches far more sedate, although that is all relative. We crossed again on yet another swing bridge, and were soon walking in a westerly direction across the wide river flat to soon arrived at the Hut, at an elevation of 700 metres. The northern branch of the Routeburn River converges with the main river a little below the Hut, but here both rivers are a more gentle flow, one that would encourage swimming or wading across to access further side tracks if one has a mind to. 

Here at the Hut, this upgraded one opened only in 2008, we sat in the covered patio area on ergo dynamically designed “barstools” from where we had superb views up the valley to snow covered peaks. We were soon joined by a couple of women, mother and daughter, the latter having walked the entire track just a few years ago and gobsmacked at the over-the-top state of the hut. Finches, fantails and paradise ducks distracted us from our discussion, but we were all equally appreciative of the wildlife.

After nearly an hour of rest and dining on our packed lunch, we headed back and soon encountered a couple of women who had walked the track forty years ago. “Really!” I exclaimed, “Perhaps you walked it with Chris?” It turned out that their forty years ago was “forty” and their trip had been frustrated by snow and mud, whereas Chris and his mate had walked the trip in beautiful weather nearly forty four years ago. But they both agreed that the “highway” status of the track distracted from the true tramping experience; the back-country experience was lost and it was not the same at all.

We had taken two hours on the ascent; it took us nearly two and a half to return, but then we paused to chat with more than just these past-trackers, and took a detour nearer the lower end to do the “Nature Walk”. Apart from the path here being a little less manicured, and certainly less busy, we learned several interesting facts form the interpretative panels along the way.

Randomly, and surely not the first time I had read:

• Stoats were introduced to New Zealand in 1884 to control rabbits. What were the authorities thinking!?
• The Mount Aspiring National Park, an area of more than 3,500 square kilometres along the Southern Alps, from the Haast River in the north to its border with Fiordland National Park in the south, was established in 1964. It has since been incorporated into the Southwest New Zealand New Zealand World Heritage Area.

And in a more educational manner, a totally new understanding of forest funghi and toadstools:

·         Each tree, some of the beeches here up to 400 years old,  may be associated with many species if fungus, forming mycorrhizas. Even in forests with only one or two tree species there can be over 200 species of fungus. The “mushrooms” we see, and those I have photographed in fascination, are merely the “fruit” from the fungus that could be as much as twenty metres in diameter, thousands of years old, and connected to many trees. 

 The black “mushrooms” I saw on the Kepler Track were “cortinarius sp., the creamy coloured ones that reminded me of the core board doors with their  “weet-bix” like inners  are “austropaxillus nothofagi” and the “albino” mushrooms are “russula sp.”, these last two seen today on the Routeburn as well.

Now that is very interesting, isn’t it!

We also encountered an incredibly friendly and tame South Island Robin, not the first for the day, but certainly the most curious. This one found Chris’s boots fascinating and pecked at the yellow points, and hopped around frustrating my attempts to photograph this gorgeous wee bird. We learned too that this little bird can live up to fourteen years old, a fact that I found quite wonderful. They are far too gorgeous to expire after a short and pointless death as so many creatures do.

Back at the car park, I crawled in to the motorhome and we headed back to our camp without ado, but once parked up, boots off and hot coffee were the order of the day. After half an hour I felt normal and was able to debrief with Chris is a positive way. It had been such an awesome day! We have now walked ten kilometres of the thirty two kilometres Great Walk, twice, which by my calculation is 31.125% of the Routeburn, or can we call it 62.5%? Probably not, since it does not include the more challenging sections.

19 February 2015 - Sylvan DOC Camp, Mt Aspiring National Park, Otago

 We made a point of making our way back into Queenstown immediately after breakfast, in the hope of securing a park in the upper Council car park in Gorge Road, which we did without too much hassle, although I suggested we might end up being blocked in as the car park filled later in the day.  We shopped for items at the nearby Fresh Choice missed in the previous day’s visit to Frankton’s New World, then after lunch, went to the movies, as you do on a gorgeous sunny day in Queenstown!

The movie was one Chris was keen to see; Kingsman;  Secret Service starring Colin Firth and Michael Caine among other less familiar faces, and we loved it! It is a shocking movie, blood thirsty, gory, ridiculous and very funny. (I really do wonder about the state of our morals and minds to find such mass killing so, however we decided it was probably similar to those finding Tom & Jerry funny, all so very ridiculous that it was okay to consider it so)

Returning to the car park, we were distracted by para-gliders floating hither and thither across the sky above us, all having leapt off the heights above, to which one can take a lift by gondola. I was most taken with the idea of a tandem ride on the thermals, and was on the brink of committing to such frivolous expenditure, however Chris had lost part of his tooth during lunch . Further exanimation proved that this was not part of those left au naturel in his mouth, but part of the prosthetics. Imagining the cost of repair put paid to selfish indulgence; Chris was not keen to doing the leap of faith himself, having been underwhelmed some years ago by the bungy jump over the Kawarau River.

Needless to say, we were trapped into the car park or thought ourselves so. We showered and read the paper without little movement happening immediately about us even though there was an exodus from other corners of the car park. Finally we decided to give it a go; I expected us to attempt a ten point reversal and then get caught in a no-return situation half way through, but no, we had underestimated the steering lock on our new Mercedes truck, and came out carefully in one go! We found the BP Truck stop further up Gorge Road, filling at the highest price for some weeks, then made our way to the Public Dump side perched up beside the cemetery high on the hill, an appalling facility but one we will be bound to use again in a few more days as there is nothing to the north.

Back at camp, we found our space of the previous day still vacant and set up, late but still early enough to enjoy the views and the mass entry of other campers. Yesterday morning we had reckoned there would have been over one hundred parties, and there was no reason to think last night was any different.

The forecasted rain did arrive, but not much more than a drizzle, yet strange to say, we later discovered one of the walking tracks to the north closed because of flooding, so perhaps I did sleep particularly well after all. Not in a rush to head out into wet conditions, we lingered, attempting a Sudoku and generally messing about until we felt if we left it much longer we would have to register for another night.

Glenorchy is only about fifty kilometres north on the same eastern shore of Lake Wakatipu, the distance varying depending on which map, sign or brochure you read. While sealed and two lane except for a few bridges, it is a good road, rising gently up and down along close to the shore and would have been even better today had there not been a party of a several dozen cyclists, most on tandems, heading the same way as us. Most had grey hair escaping from the bottom of their helmets and none looked very athletic, but to their credit, none were riding two abreast which is something that really turns my driver into a raving lunatic. But shall I say it would have been a happier journey had there been no cyclists.

We had read that there are many little free camping spots along the roadside once past the “No Free Camping” sign on the outskirts of Queenstown and beyond the DOC camp we had spent two nights in, but all those spotted were small uneven intimate sites, suitable only for little whizz-bang vans, and the by-law states that only “self-contained motorhomes” may make use of these places. In effect, the Queenstown Lakes Council has made matters so ridiculous, it is a Clayton’s law; they don’t want free camping anywhere at all.

While the clouds were still low, obscuring the many peaks normally visible from the road, the views were still beautiful; ethereal, atmospheric. Here and in this general area are the landscapes that inspired Peter Jackson to film his epic fantasies, the locations for so much of Middle Earth.

We arrived in Glenorchy, home to only a few hundred people, most involved in adventure tourism. Here there is a school, a garage that doubles as the post office and sells newspapers, a pub and a couple of cafes, a General Store that seems to only sell souvenirs and crafts and not newspapers, and not a lot else. We and all the other travellers who followed us up the road drove down to the lake edge and watched the busloads of tourists alight from the buses, board the Dart River jet boats and zoom away to the north for their own pant wetting adventure. I say “pant wetting”, because we were fascinated by the fact that every time one of these boats came in and disgorged its passengers, it was put on a boat trailer and hauled away by a tractor especially for the purpose. We decided that since the tourists were paying so very much for their adventure, they would expect a pristine craft to convey them, and given that the wild ride on the jet boat may well cause some to throw up or wet themselves ….. well, that was our take on it anyway.

Here there is an old jetty, still strong enough to support then many who wandered out and looked down the lake and up toward the mountains between which flow the Dart and Rees Rivers. And inside the red boat shed is an excellent interpretative display including many historical photographs of Glenorchy in its heyday.

I have already made mention of gold mining in the region although that with reference to Queenstown was more related to Arrowtown and the Shotover River. Near here gold was discovered at the Bucklerburn, where a canvas town of three hundred miners sprang up. By the height of the gold rush, gold seekers worked every river and creek flowing into the lake. The Invincible Quartz Mining Co. set up in 1879 supported a significant community up the Rees Valley.

It is always disheartening to read of wholesale tree felling and yet it is understandable given the need for fuel in the days before more modern sources. Sawmilling was well established in the 1860’s and in 1863 the steamer Wakatipu was built of local timber on Pigeon Island, one of the two fairly significant islands in the northern end of the lake. Mines and bridges throughout Otago and Southland provided a strong demand for timber until freight prices on the steamer became too high. The opening of the Invincible Mine in 1883 required huge quantities of timber.

Learning about the scheelite mining was a revelation; I had never heard of this. This was unique to Glenorchy. An ore of tungsten, it was used for hardening steel. The industry underwent a regular boom and bust cycle as the world periodically went to war. After the Korean War prices plunged for a final time and all but a few small claims were abandoned. The Scheelite Battery above the Buckleburn is being restored by the Battery Association.

Tourism was of course to be the saving grace of Glenorchy and for now there seems no end in sight. The first tourists began appearing in the 1860s and in 1870 Richard Bryant opened an accommodation house / bar at Kinloch, which is more or less directly opposite Glenorchy across the lake and guides and transport for visitors were provided. The centre of tourist activities shifted in the 1900’s to Paradise and Arcadia up the Rees Valley. The 14 mile trip from Glenorchy was by buggy and dray.

Until the SS Earnslaw started a daily service in 1912, visitors to the head of the lake had to spend two days in either Kinloch or Glenlorchy. Transport of stock and wool was equally dependant to Kingston. And it was interesting to hear Chris reminisce about his exit from the Routeburn; by tractor and dray from there through to Kinloch from where he caught the SS Earnslaw back to Queenston and that was as late as about 1974.

When Glenorchy and Queenstown were finally linked by road in 1962, it ended the dependence of lake head communities on Wakatipu steamers for their contact with the outside world. It wasn’t until the completion of the Dart River road bridge in 1974, that Kinloch and Routeburn Station had all-weather road access.

We sat inside our cosy little home on wheels and watched all the activity about us and read the day’s Otago Daily Times, reading yet again about the disgusting and dangerous antics of the university students in this, their Orientation Week. Based on the reports, one would wonder why any parent allows their progeny to attend such a place!

After lunch, the day began to clear and we decided it was time to set off yet again toward our destination. Contrary to our map, which must be getting on in years as we all are, the road beyond Glenorchy is sealed, or at least as far as the crossroads immediately after crossing the Dart River, where the road to the Routeburn Track heads north. Less than ten kilometres up this road we came upon the sign for this camp, and came in through the long drive under lovely beech trees to find this camp, even lovelier than when we were here last. 

We checked out the newly constructed toilets and the swing bridge over the Routeburn River, watched the screeching kakas fly across the valley, then retreated from the sand-flies and did a dozen little housekeeping and repair chores; I added hooks and slides to the cab curtains, shortened the privacy curtain which divides the living area in two, sorted out Chris’s books that had disappeared off one off the iPads and grated a heap of Parmesan in anticipation of our Spaghetti Bolognaise.

Currently there are only six parties in tonight, but it is not yet 5 pm; just in time to join Chris to watch the nightly TV quiz shows.

17 February 2015 - Twelve Mile Delta DOC Camp, Lake Wakatipu, Otago

I take back all the negative comments I made yesterday about Queenstown; Queenstown is absolutely beautiful and worth whatever parking challenges one might have!

We woke in our picturesque camp this morning, in the company of far more than the self-contained motorhomes parked up when we did our camp recci-walk. At dusk, a whizz-bank van had come in with three young folk, backed into the lake and in short time, stripped their gear and plunged into the refreshing waters of Lake Wakatipu; I was so reminded of scenes from “Easy Rider” when free love and free bathing was de rigeur. Other camper vans also arrived and set up for the night, none self-contained and as such, adding to the litter and filth in the bushes. Here there were no signs for “No Camping” so everyone was camping within their legal rights, but we would have been a lot happier if there had been signs indicating tolerance for certified self-contained vehicles only. 

Unfortunately the tissue waste and crap in the bushes will eventually cause this spot to be forbidden to all, because of the inconsiderate tourists. Of course, I do appreciate it is possible that these young people are able to control their bladders and other bits so that they are able to wait until they drive through to Kingston to the south, or Frankton to the north, but I suspect they don’t even try.

From this gorgeous, albeit desecrated, spot on the shores of Lake Wakatipu, the road follows the lake shore north, hugging the steep sides of the rugged landscape. Soon we found our journey slowed to almost a stop; a massive great flock of ewes and their large un-weaned lambs were being driven down the highway. We noted at least five “shepherds’ involved in the exercise and dozens and dozens of travellers effected. Chris was particularly impatient with our lack of progress and even more so with the sheep shit (his phraseology, not mine) that splatted up the side of the very recently washed and polished van.

We arrived in Frankton late morning after enjoying the road trip enormously, and both agreeing that the road was more spectacular driven north, than south. We found our way to the Remarkables Park Shopping Centre, a well-manicured and smartly architected collection of shops and car parks. Here we shopped at the very modern New World supermarket and poked about several of the other shops for bits and pieces we think we need for the enhancement of our lives, as you do. As it was nearing lunchtime, we hunted out the free camp spot near the Shotover River Delta, listed in our NZMCA book and found the small car park beneath the noisy bridge. We lunched on delicious crusty bread but decided that we were not enamoured enough by the spot to want to stay overnight. 

We headed into Queenstown and found a park to the north of the Gardens along the shore, some distance from the township and waterfront, but still within a healthy walking distance, especially after having consumed so many calories for lunch. We crossed through the Queenstown Gardens, originally established in 1866 when the first Mayor of the town planted the first two trees, English Oaks, to commemorate the incorporation of the borough. However it was not until he following year that the gardens were officially opened and major planting began.

They really are lovely and offer a traditional touch to the otherwise commercially driven resort. Here can be found the band rotunda, rebuilt several times, stone bridges, fountains in the lily pond, and colourful floral displays in well planned garden beds. From here we headed down to the town foreshore to find thousands of tourists lying about on the sand or grassy lawns, peeled off as far as decorum allowed , and some not too concerned for such niceties, and none at all concerned about the ravages of sunburn and skin cancer. In fairness I have to say that almost all the reclining bods were fine specimens of human kind which is more than you can say for the average beach scene.

We wandered about the town, delighting in the vibrant atmosphere and the bright sunshine. Queenstown was just fabulous today; the cafes were full, the souvenir shops and more sophisticated retail outlets were all doing a great trade. We caught a glimpse of the International Cricket being played out between the Black Caps and the Scots in Dunedin today in a food hall while consuming a couple of rather pricey soft serves. We passed Mrs Ferg, where tourists were lined up at the counter for their gelatos, next door’s Ferg Baker where they indulged in more standard fare and Ferg Burger where at least fifty waited in a queue to try the famous Ferg Burger. Chris decided that he has consumed quite enough for one day, and more than that, was not prepared to wait in line  for an expensive hamburger, albeit a very tasty one. We walked up the hill behind the town checking out the parking areas recommended by the sweet young thing in the Information Centre and decided we were probably better where we were, and decided to spend another day in the melee tomorrow.

With decisions made, we walked back along the foreshore, lingering to watch an amazing spectacle, a chap balancing on a water jet at the end of a flexi-pipe generated by a jet ski, rising up and down, then plunging into the lake waters like a dolphin, then rising once again; we had never seen the likes of it. We watched too as the TSS Earnslaw docked with a boatload of satisfied tourists and marvelled at yet another swish craft fashioned on a jet ski but looking more like a space ship. Here along the boardwalk, one can book and partake in an assortment of water based adventures, including the para-gliding from water drawn craft.

Back at the motorhome, I had to admit that I had been wrong about Queenstown; it is indeed an amazing place.

Queenstown has an urban population  of about 12,500, which makes it the third largest urban area in Otago, behind Dunedin and Oamaru. Although archaeological survey have proved that Maori did pass through the area, there were none about when Nathanael Chalmers, together with his Maori guide, became the first European to see Lake Wakatipu.  Explorers William Gilbert Rees, whose statue and memorial plaques are all about the town, and Nicholas von Tunzelmann were the first Europeans to settle in the area. Rees established a high country farm in 1860, but it was the discovery of gold in the Arrow River in 1862 that brought real settlement to the area. Rees converted his woolshed into a hotel and thus began the urban nature of the place. Eventually the gold ran out and the population dwindled to almost nothing until about 1950 when Queenstown began its life as a tourist destination and more importantly the capital of adventure tourism.

With free or low cost camping opportunities a scarcity about Queenstown, we decided to drive the ten kilometres north along the shores of Lake Wakatipu and camp here at the Twelve Mile Delta DOC Camp. While the camp is situated on the shores of the lake, the shore line is some distance from the camping spots, the scrubby surrounds are not half as lovely as our spot last night, but we are all allowed to be here and will pay for the privilege. Unlike the many other campers here, we are glad to have our Annual DOC camping pass.

16 February 2015 - Lake Wakatipu, Otago

When we woke yesterday morning, we found the forecasted fine day had still not arrived, and instead the day cold and bleak. Our plan was to do yet another part of the Kepler Track, this time the section from the control gates, downstream of the Waiau River toward Rainbow Reach, just an hour or two and then to turn around and retrace our steps.

We drove over to the car park near the river outlet and set off with our lunch and sundry snacks in the backpack, to find the track sign indicating the alternative Kepler Track entry three and a half hours away, contrary to our walks brochure which stated two and a half hours. Undeterred we set off, passing through lovely beech forest and moss covered forest floor not unlike that section to the north along Lake Te Anau. Here too we found a plethora of fungi just as we had on the other section almost a week ago, and dells that seemed more fitting for a world of fantasy than reality.

We stopped after half an hour at Chris’s bidding for morning tea, or more accurately a chunk of Boston Bun and a sip of water. Refreshed, we carried on, at this point not having encountered any other on the track. We discussed the probability that few actually did this part of the track, preferring instead to enter at the control gates and exit at Rainbow Reach, forgoing the “boring flat” bit, the ten kilometres upriver. The track was less untrammelled than that around the lake and the absence of fellow walkers seemed to be proof of our supposition.

A little further on, we met up with a couple struggling with the last leg of their mountain trek. “How far to the Control Gates?” they asked. We told them that we had left an hour before but they were young and fit despite being weighed down by their heavy packs, and should arrive in about half an hour. They also expressed the same opinion about the state of the track through this section, confirming our earlier opinion.

The track mostly followed the river, surprisingly wide and swift, deep and green. We saw anglers fly fishing on the opposite river bank but otherwise the river was quiet, although we were surprised to hear what sounded like waves. The force of the river, eddies caused by the logs on the bottom of the year; there was little invitation to swim.

After an hour and a half, the track sometimes veering away from the river bank, and sometimes heading up onto the higher banks, we crossed sections of regenerated scrub, areas which had perhaps once been grazed by livestock but were now reverting to manuka or tea-tree, and bracken fern. Here too DOC are in the process of doing track maintenance; thirty or so Balance fertiliser bags of gravel having been helicoptered in for the purpose. The weight limit marked on the bags stated 500 kilo; I wondered if a bag full of gravel weighed more than a similar volume of super phosphate.

Walker numbers increased and we asked one couple how far we were from the other end; we were told thirty five minutes and it was still short of the two hour limit we had set for the one way attempt. I assured Chris I could manage and it did seem to be such a shame not to go all the way, and so we did, although I have to admit that I was stiff and sore on crossing the swing bridge to the picnic area at Rainbow Reach.

Here we lunched and checked out the notice boards, and rejoiced at the arrival of the sun, stripping about three layers of clothing off and baring our white skin to the ravages of sun and sand-flies. We learned that a shuttle bus would call by at two thirty to take walkers back up the road to control gates or on to Te Anau, and at regular intervals through the afternoon.

Interestedly one of the shuttles is run by our host, the owner of the yard in which we are camped. But we were not willing to hang about for an hour and a half; I assured Chris I was fit and ready for the return, and so off we went, returning in a slightly shorter time than the trip down. We arrived back at the camper after an absence of five and a quarter hours, having walked twenty kilometres. Enough walking for one day! I made us a coffee before we headed back to our camp, happy to find our space not taken by another, and so passed our last evening in Te Anau watching our Sunday evening regular television dramas.

This morning, summer finally arrived in Te Anau yet we still slept in until late; yesterday’s long walk had taken its toll but happily I felt far less a cripple than yesterday. By the time we had breakfasted and organised ourselves for departure from the excellent little POP made available to NZMCA members, it was about 10 am. We headed for the dump and joined the queue of motorhomes all dealing with the same mundane housekeeping task, then shopped yet again at the local Fresh Choice supermarket and topped up with diesel at one of the three service stations in town. We were sorry to see that the cost of diesel had climbed again after having hit about the dollar-a-litre level; today the pump price was $1.26.

We stopped for lunch at the Scientific Area just east of Te Anau, then continued on through to Mossburn, turning northeast to Five Rivers, crossing over well farmed land to Highway 6, that between Queenstown and Invercargill. The road was busy as we headed up across Jollies Hill Pass, down into the wide valley fed with streams and creeks that all find their way into the Mataura River, that which flows through to Gore and beyond. 

We passed through Garston, last time visited a real has-been place, but now all bright and shiny and excited about the cyclists passing through. It is also the spot where the 4WD road, the famous Nevis Road, heads north east up over the Garvie Mountains and across over twenty four fords or more, over the Carrick and Old Woman Range before descending to Cromwell. We did this route some years ago, alone in contrast to those other crazy motor-homers who go through in convoy. Truth be told, they are less crazy than us! We grounded several times and the fords were crossed only after yours truly had done the wade-through-in-knickers test. Our old trust Mitsubishi Canter coped well but alas now we have “upgraded” to our new camper, the likes of the Nevis must be left to other crazies.

Today staying on the sealed highway north, we noticed the relatively new swing bridge over the upper Mataura River as part of the Around the Mountains Cycle Trail, that still a work in progress. We stopped beside the river and walked back over the bridges, Chris on the cycle trail and me on the road bridge, where I chatted with a fisherman and his wife; she quite happy that such activity kept him out of trouble. As we continued north, with the cycle trail on either our right or left, depending on the whim of the designers, I expressed my wish that we should return next year with our bikes, so much earlier than we managed to travel this year, and undertake all the easy stages of all the trails.

We pulled in to Fairlight, the rail station on the Kingston Flyer vintage steam rail, now defunct but once a popular tourist attraction, a 14 kilometre track between Kingston on the southern shore of Lake Wakatipu and Fairlight. In more recent years the enterprise struggled financially and in December 2012 was suspended due to locomotive problems, too costly to repair. Since then, rolling stock has been sold off and the business put up for sale. Once upon a time, the Kingston Flyer was a passenger service between Kingston, Gore and Invercargill, and sometimes Dunedin, owned by the government Railways Department.  Very recently I have read newspaper reports suggesting the resurrection of the remaining rolling stock between Bluff and Invercargill and somewhere else that does not immediately come to mind. It is a more a question of “watch this space” but the Flyer is certainly not going to run on the tracks once laid through the landscape we travelled today. 

Years ago we stayed the night, with the council or local community’s blessing, adjacent to the station at Kingston. Alas these days Kingston is littered with “No Camping” signs everywhere, most unwelcome and obviously instigated and encouraged by the one little commercial camping ground in the settlement, although in all fairness, they offer a 10% discount to members of the NZMCA. 

Needless to say we were more than disappointed, however acknowledged that this is in keeping with the Queenstown area attitude to free camping; they despise those who are not willing to have their bank accounts stripped of funds and channelled into the town’s coffers. Hence our approach toward the next week or thereabouts in the Lake Wakatipu area is tinged with bitterness and resentment.

But we took advantage of the great body of water stretching to the north, and washed our motorhome; a first for us for this vehicle. I waded into the chilly waters and filled and carted buckets of water while Chris removed the last three weeks grime.

And then with a clean gleaming stead, we headed up the road, just five kilometres and found this charming layby with plenty of trees, a few picnic tables and rubbish bins but little else, apart from several other motor homers who had secured the best level spots before our arrival.

We wandered along the shore, spoke to a few tourists toasting their bodies to a crisp in the hot sun and applauded a few who had plunged into the cool clear lake waters, altogether delighting in our good fortune in finding this wonderful camping spot. 

As I sit here this evening, views of the lake below and beyond, I can see a young family on the pebbly beach. They have lit a small camp fire, despite the fire ban and the two little pre-school blondies are having a delightful time leaping and dancing around the fire while their father tries to catch that one special shot, perhaps one as the child falls into the fire? Hopefully my cynicism is misplaced, for the sake of the children who did not ask to have such silly parents.

Lake Wakatipu is one of New Zealand’s Southern Lakes and one of the most visited by tourists, because Queenstown located on the eastern shore has been heavily promoted as a tourist destination since Adam was a cowboy. Here and nearby, you can snow ski (in the season), water-ski, bungy jump, ride the gondola, paraglide, tramp, cruise the lake on the vintage steamboat, the TSS Earnshaw or eat in the many restaurants on offer. The foreshore of the township is quite charming, so if you are able to find a car park, it is well worth investigating. But if you want to simply eyeball the place and not pay for the privilege of parking your camper wheels, go somewhere else where they are more welcoming. But I say this all before we have arrived for our 2015 trip and maybe, just maybe, things have changed? 

With a length of 80 kilometres, it is New Zealand’s longest lake and with a surface area of 291 square kilometres, the third largest. Like Lake Te Anau it is very deep and has a floor below sea level, with the maximum depth  of 380 metres. (The shore level is at 310 metres ASL.) The Dart River flows into the northern end, where we will head soon, and is drained by the Kawarau River (pronounced Ka-worra as opposed to the North Islands Kawarau which is pronounced Kaworour) which in turns flows into the Clutha at Cromwell as mentioned earlier in this blog.

Tomorrow morning we will head into Queenstown and test the lay of the land. Chris is keen to check whether the Fergie Burgers offered in the busy centre are as good as they were six or so years ago and I am hoping to pick up a few bits and pieces in a few of the chain stores I hope to find in Frankton, the every-man’s suburb of the otherwise tourist Mecca.