Doubtful Sound

This seven-hour trip involved a boat trip out of the Waiau River and across Lake Manapouri to a coach which took us over the Wilmot Pass to Deep Cove. Here we embarked on a second boat which took us out through the winding fiord to the Tasman Sea.

It had rained, which meant there were rushing streams…

And lots of waterfalls.

Once more my school geography lessons on glaciation enabled me to identify features such as terminal and lateral moraine left by the retreating glacier.

I was reminded of fiords I’d seen in Norway, only this is wilder with its temperate rainforest thick along the slopes of the fiord. No switchback roads climb the mountainsides and the only sign of a hotel is a bit of a joke by local fishermen.

Blanket Bay ‘Hotel

No bottle-nosed dolphins appeared (others had seen them the day before at Milford Sound) but there was a lone seal (as far as we could tell) and, later, a colony of fur seals at the entrance to the sea.

It was easy to see why Captain Cook was reluctant to enter the fiord with its rocky shoals partly obscured by the choppy water. He decided against sailing in to what he dubbed ‘Doubtful Harbour’. There were floating logs yesterday as well, due to the rain. The skipper of our boat had a digital radar to warn him of obstacles.

At one point, back in the calmer water of the fiord, the skipper turned off the engines and we floated silently, enjoying the lapping of water, bird song and the beech forest.

There were flowering trees. I’m not sure what this is with its masses of white flowers – ribbon wood, perhaps?

The sky cleared to reveal this view as we reached the top of the Wilmot Pass on our return.

The boutique and the quirky

Small towns have to work hard to create appealing accommodation for the tourist looking for something a little different from the usual bland motel. La Riviera in Riverton was the first one I chose for my nostalgic trip south. There was nothing like this when I first holidayed at Riverton Rocks camping ground.

Our cabin at Riverton Rocks.

More of La Riviera.

The motel I stayed in at Te Anau was bland, but I chose it for its view.

Now, in Clyde in Central Otago, my accommodation, is more provincial museum or junk shop than boutique. Not entirely comfortable. Just as well there are beautiful stone walls and views of roses scrambling over a picket fence.

Provincial towns seem to attract the quirky and interesting as reflected in their businesses, such as second-hand shops.

In the Riverton shop I could see that many people had launched themselves enthusiastically into chicken motifs. It seemed they had all got over their obsession simultaneously.

Opposite the Invercargill City Council is this historic WEA building.

Invercargill clearly had ambitions in its past. (It still does, judging by the massive building project currently underway on Dee Street.) I don’t think I’ve seen another church like this one anywhere else in New Zealand. My brother and father used to sing in the choir here when we lived in Invercargill.

Bluff has its famous sign post. Clyde has one too…

An art gallery in Tuatapere is in a former BNZ building and has made a feature of the safe and telephone system.

Could a hoarder live in this Clyde house? Another front lawn here had a collection of cannon and gold sluicing gear.

This quirky, funny creativity puts the ostentatious display of the ‘money-papered landscape’ of Queenstown and, increasingly, Wanaka in the shade.

In Ranfurly, I visited the delightful Curiosity Shop which I had visited some years before. Now it’s on the owner’s property so she doesn’t have rent added to her running costs. I was intrigued by these glass panels made from old crystal dishes and vases and set into window frames.

In the Historic Precinct of Oamaru is a delightful design store. Many of the items for sale are designed and made by the owner. Her young daughter has contributed a collection of cards too.

Here’s the last word from La Riviera:

Te Anau then and now

We had many summer holidays at Lake Te Anau. These photos of my brother and me with our parents were taken on the Te Anau launch in the 1950s. With its wood and brass, the launch is far from the craft which take people on to the lake now.

Faith in Fiordland on the right was built in the 1930s and provides today’s passengers with a bit of class and nostalgia. Otherwise, it’s up-to-the-minute water transport.

We loved to watched the flying boat, the amphibian, landing and taking off from the lake.

There are still gum trees along the waterfront exuding the eucalyptus aroma I remember so well.

Here is the boat harbour where we used to fish for minnows with a bent pin and worm bait. There were often shredded eels which had become entangled in boat’s’ propellers.

My uncle Bill and my father, various cousins and uncles would go fly fishing. I wonder if this photo shows my brother’s first catch.

At the Red Cliff Cafe where I had dinner last night, there was an old Singer sewing machine like the one my aunt had at the crib in Te Anau.

An indispensable household item is now a design feature.

We would often eat fish at Te Anau. My Uncle Bill was a great fisherman and would bake the fish wrapped in foil, with butter and lemon. At The Red Cliff Cafe, I had back strap of wild hare with mushrooms, potato, beetroot relish and pea puree. A local pinot noir from Wild Earth Wines went with it well.

As a child I heard adults talking of Dr Orbell who discovered takahe in Fiordland in the 1940s, a bird previously thought to be extinct. Now you can visit them at the bird sanctuary in Te Anau. Yesterday I was delighted to see a family of five including chicks almost as big as their parents. They were ‘talking’ to each other as they foraged.

Te Anau is in Fiordland National Park so it remains in essence as it was, unlike what Press columnist, Joe Bennett, describes as the “landscape papered with money” in Queenstown which I drove quickly past today.

Well-being and Forests

Tree Sense ed. Suzette Goldsmith (published by Massey University Press 2021) is the perfect book to read here in Fiordland National Park, a World Heritage area in recognition of its original and extensive temperate rainforest.

“Kimmerer points out that the words ‘humus’ and ‘human’ arise from the same root…Why should it not follow that humans might have an intrinsic sense of belonging to the forest world, with its deep, decomposing layers of organic matter, the origin and destination of so much terrestrial life?” (Kennedy Warne in Tree Sense, with reference to Native American botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer.)

At Lake Monowai

There’s nothing like being in native forest. At Lake Monowai the air was so humid that I was aware at first of every breath I took. The scent of beech forest is like nothing else: rich and sweet with honey dew. There was the sound of bellbirds, crickets, and the creaking of branches in the canopy.

The forest floor is dense with moss. Fallen trees feed the new ones coming through. It’s difficult to photograph the extent of it. It reminded me of the superstition that a photograph steals your soul. A photo of the forest is superficial; its soul remains intact.

Before my walk at Lake Monowai, I had just read about Kimmerer’s research which “points to the subterranean mycorrhizae – the fungal filaments that inhabit and interconnect tree roots…’All flourishing is mutual.’ “ (ibid.) This made me take note of the above-ground evidence of fungal life. It was everywhere.

Speaking of the subterranean, the glow worm caves at the foot of the Murchison mountains at Lake Te Anau give a glimpse into what goes on under the forest.

It’s raining this morning. The rivers and waterfalls will be flowing strongly and the rainforest sustained.