Day Seven – Chasing the Rain

Left Christchurch under continuing clouds and rain, through Porter’s Pass and over Arthur’s Pass as we traversed the Great Southern Alps east to west. The Southern Alps run north-south as a backbone to the South Island much as our Rockies divide the western US. Slightly less altitude here and the mountains are much more rounded and less craggy than our Rockies. Serious snow is evident throughout when we reach altitudes of 1500 meters (4500 feet) and higher but none on the roads which had been closed to traffic yesterday. Makes me think we could have easily made it through based on my 50 years of driving in Wisconsin snowstorms and Denver ski trips. Our traverse today however, was slowed considerably when we inadvertently joined this year’s Trans-Alpine Scooter Safari. Roughly 250 idiots on scooters were on the same two lane highway we were using causing us to slow to about 10 miles per hour for about 50 minutes until we were finally able to scoot ahead of the last of the intrepid idiots. With temps around 40 degrees and a sharp 10 to 15 knot wind, they were all dressed in reflective rain gear but interestingly, most of them were unable to coax their tiny engines up the steeper grades. They were forced to walk beside them on the WIDE 18 inch shoulders as they pushed the scooters by hand. Seems to me the Safari was a less-than-carefully thought out concept. To each his own!

At the crest of the Arthur’s Pass, I pulled off to admire the dramatic canyon views and stepped out of the car into a 25 knot freezing wind as it whistled through the pass carrying the opening blasts of winter to the western coast of this South Island. Two Kea parrots apparently impervious to the wind and cold hopped up to greet me hoping I would ignore the signs warning against feeding the Kea parrots. I did not ignore the signs and they both promptly began pecking and chewing at my tires. Obviously there are two explanations for this behavior. One, they were incredibly hungry, or two, they were just plain pissed about not being fed. I also noticed they were smart enough to not attempt to fly as the screaming Antarctic Easterly wind would have directly deposited them in Australia.

Dropping rapidly out of the mountains to the western coast the temps rose considerably as the long absent sun came out to greet us for the balance of the day. We ended the day at Punakaiki and its famous pancake rock formations and exciting blowholes. The legendary rough Tasman Sea was flat. No surge, no waves, no blowhole action. We look for a place to stay and Kris finds a delightful place right on the beach where the man has one studio room available. She does her usual negotiations and the price is a bit above my budget allowance ($30 NZ above to be exact about $22 US) and I suggest we try another place. Kris says nothing and climbs into the car and I nearly run into a woman driving into the carpark in a huge rush. I curse her and go around and we try the next (and only ) place about a quarter of a mile further north. The room is $20 cheaper and looks like it had not been cleaned in a week. I say “Hey, we blow 25 bucks on beer and sausage when we’re home and now we’re 10,000 miles away and I’m complaining about $25?” She smiles at my magnanimity. We drive back to the nice guy with the expensive cottage and he tells us he just rented it out to the crazy woman who nearly hit me as she did a four wheel drift into the carpark. Much wringing of hands and tears by me produce pity in the man and he agrees to let us have the only other beach front unit. It is for eight people but we promise to only sleep in one bed and use only two towels. He takes pity on me obviously seeing the smoldering volcano that is Kristine, relents and gives it to us at the original rate. Karma again since this is the choice room with a view that extends all the way to Australia. Walking the twenty steps to the seashore, we run into the crazy woman who wants to start a conversation but I am not up to it remembering how well Kristine takes to my criticizing HER driving technique. Still chagrined at my cheapskate-ness, all ill will is washed away at the water’s edge by a stunning flaming red and golden yellow sunset as it flares across the whole of the western horizon. Kris dips her toe in the Tasman Sea and we toast our good fortune to be here with a decent NZ cab and one more sunset not missed. Of course, honoring the British Tradition of applauding the sunset for a job well done was executed at the exact moment it slipped out of sight beneath the Tasman Sea. BUT… for the 4,791^st time in my life, I saw NO GREEN FLASH! Why am I so naive that I believe this obvious lie of an Old Sailors Tale? The morrow will bring a middling trek along the Truman Track in Punakaiki National Park. Can’t wait to ask how it came to be named. Best of all, we have chased the rain… AWAY!