matt.geek.nz

Breakfast in the morning is chaos: tables are unwiped, the brewed coffee is spilt and forming rings around all the unused mugs. We check out, and are confronted with the bill for our three nights. We feel a bit short-changed overall: the level of service was not commensurate with the prices we were charged. It’s tempting to say that an easygoing attitude to kiwi hospitality is fine, and that this should not excuse inattentiveness and complacency, but most of the staff were actually foreigners, and I suspect that it’s really mismanagement that is to blame. That said, the food was good, and the setting was spectacular. While waiting for our transport back to Kaiteriteri we sit in front of the open fire and read.

The taxi is full, and we head straight back to Kaiteriteri, stopping at Tonga Island for another look at the seals and at Torrent Bay to drop off a few day trippers. Off the coast of Sandy Bay the skipper turns down the engine because of a ‘strange vibration’. He is unable to fix it, and is worried about the drive belt. He proceeds at a slower speed, but five minutes later there is a load bang, and the drive belt has snapped. There is a lot of racing about, and then he tries a secondary motor, but it gets us moving no faster than we are drifting, so he turns off the motor and lets us drift back towards Kaiteriteri.

Another taxi shows up in half an hour: offering to take the most urgent passengers back to Kaiteriteri. We have a bus to catch, so we, along with an American family, take up the offer and transfer boats.

We arrive back at Kaiteriteri, and head to a cafe there. The food is bad, but it is a nice setting, and I amuse myself listening to a salt-of-the-earth granddad dote on his grand-daughters. He talks about shares with his son and the way things used to be in Abel Tasman before things got all ‘upmarket’. He makes plans to take his family out on one of the larger taxis one day. As he talks, our formerly stranded taxi limps into shore and the passengers we left behind disembark.

A short bus ride later, and we’re back in Nelson. We go in search of another hot chocolate for L, and then as a concession to me we end up at the Mac brewery over the road for a couple of beers. We watched the locals do their thing: they are friendly but fearsome with their tattoos and beanies. A couple of bikies stop in for a drink before heading out on their hogs. A bloke brings in his younger brother for a beer, and they attempt to chat up a couple of German tourists. Two people seated outside appear to be drinking faster than anyone else: they take turns ducking inside for the next round, a black-singleted thug and his shifty-faced companion. While all this is going on, L finishes her book.

At five we catch a shuttle. The driver despairs of the new ownership of the lodge, and preferred the days before it got all ‘upmarket’, when it was just a stall in the bush that sold scones. We caught our flight and then got back home to our cat, who is standoffish to begin with, but it is not long before all is forgiven, and we are greeted with great affection.

In the morning the phone rings: apparently a kayaking guide has been found who will take us. L and I get dressed and grab a quick breakfast (where I have to tell the wait staff to see to the coffee) before meeting with the other three kayakers at reception, the older woman from the night prior and a young honeymooning Australian couple. We are told to walk to Onetahuti Beach to meet our kayaker guide, so we all set out together.

After forty minutes of walking through beautiful native bush we emerge at the top end of Onetahuti Bay, only to find that the high tide blocks our passage with the inward flow of a deep lagoon. It’s short enough to swim across, but we’re unsure of whether to wait or send someone ahead. As we consider this, we spot a lone pied shag fishing in the lagoon. It emerges every thirty seconds or so in a different spot. Eventually it emerges quite near us with a fish in its beak. It disappears, only to be replaced by a lone seal pup who is also fishing, though with less success and a greater amount of time spent submerged.

After thirty minutes, and a mere five minutes away from my resolution to swim across to find help, an water taxi appears and pulls into the lagoon to pick us up. He takes us on to the beach proper where we meet J, a charming kayak guide who is delighted to see us and apologetic that neither he nor us were given clear instructions on how to deal with the tidal situation. In any case, he gives us a quick safety briefing and we get in our kayaks and head out towards Tonga Island. L is in the front of my kayak, and I try to synchronise my strokes with hers, but they seem to me to be following their own erratic, half-distracted rhythm. At the island we watch as seals caper in the high water, while their mothers sun themselves on rock shelves. J talks about the history of the area: the Maori settlements, the first European contacts and their gradual displacement of Maori, the clearing of bush for farmland, the capitulation and return to immaculacy. On the shaded side of the island, less active seals sleepily watch us drift by.

We cross back to the mainland and follow the coastline south, past Mosquito Bay and into Bark Bay, wending our way in and out of rocks. We land in a small bay south of the main beach, where we pull our kayaks up into the sand and grab our packed lunches. We have a muffin and a sandwich each, though I swap my muffin for L’s sandwich, as the carrot it contains puts L off the sandwich completely.

J tells us about some of the fauna, and the strange gossamer threads that can be found on some of the black trunked trees: these are the anal filaments of a particular type of insect, and the small bead of liquid at the base is their waste: a single drop of sugary water.

Our water taxi hasn’t shown up to pick us up, so J gets on his radio to find out what is going on: the transport has been misbooked, and we aren’t scheduled to be picked up until 2:30. It’s 1:30, so we have an hour to kill. J’s ride arrives however, so he leaves us on the beach. We walk around to the Bark Bay beach proper, passing through the forest along the way, where we find the anal filaments that J mentioned. I gather a few and try them: sugary, sticky and sweet. A few hundred and you’d have enough for a snack.

The taxi finally arrives, and we head back to the lodge. We pass through reception and the girl on the counter looks ready for a scolding, but I resist the temptation. We make a dinner reservation instead.

At dinner we find a table, and settle in, only to be told after five minutes that we need to move: apparently the table had been reserved for someone else (though there was no reserved sign to speak of). Once reseated, L had a steak, and I try the special: butter chicken, which is actually pretty amazing but lacks a naan bread: it is served only with rice. We skip entrees because of the Good Friday surcharge, which seems like a rort given the price of the meals and the rooms.

After dinner we borrow a torch and go in search of glow-worms. We find the grotto: it is dark and it has been a long time since I have been out in the wilderness in the darkness. With the torch off the glow-worms gradually begin to manifest: three or four brights ones, or are they merely a drop of moonlight on a serendipitously placed leaf? We aren’t sure.

We head back, and as I cross into the lodge to hand my torch back, I hear noises. I swing the torch around the ground, and then up behind me. A possum is staring out at me from the tree, munching on conifer needles: black eyes, pink nose, and big ears. As I move closer he disappears back into the tree.

Our first morning in Abel Tasman is cold and misty. We wake and head to the lodge to get a cooked breakfast. It’s pretty generous, but still overpriced. We cheekily smuggle out a pair of muffins to cover us for lunch: we feel as though we’ve paid for it.

At reception we inform the staff that our electric blanket is problematic too, so they promise to fix it. We tell them of our plans to walk to Mutton Cove and back, they suggest that the tides won’t let us do that: we need to catch a water taxi up to Mutton Cove and then walk back, by which time the tides on the Awaroa inlet will allow us to cross it.

The staff on the desk are able to organise for us to catch a water taxi in the next quarter of an hour, so we accept.

On the water taxi, an older woman argues with the skipper. She has been told by someone at the lodge that she can catch a 4:00 boat back from Bark Bay, the skipper tells her the 4:00 boat is no longer running. It’s an ugly situation, with the skipper telling the woman that she has plenty of time to catch the 2:30 boat, that his grandparents did the walk in sufficient time, but she is insulted and angry, and decides to go back to the lodge to confront the management. So we turn back after ten minutes and drop her off.

After setting out again we get to Mutton Cove, which is beautiful little bay about four hours north of Awaroa. We are dropped off with an American girl who is travelling alone: she sets out ahead of us while we are busy drying our feet from the landing. We walk fifteen minutes northwards through dappled forest, passing a Department of Conservation worker who is clearing a path with a pickaxe. We emerge at Separation Point, which is reached by a narrow path carved high up into the side of a bluff, with a steep climb down to a lighthouse. As we walk the path we hear the sounds of cavorting seals below us. In the distance we can see Farewell Spit.

We head back south, following the bush through the forest and out along the beaches. The track drops out of the bush at the top end of each beach, and we walk along the beach and rejoin the track at the bottom end. We stop in Anapai Bay to eat our muffins, along with a couple of easter eggs and a few potato chips. A lone gull eyes us gamely while sandflies gorge themselves on us.

We head back through the bush, peeking out through the trees into each departed bay, and descend into Totaranui, where the tide is almost completely out, but not wholly, and I have to carry L across the mud. At the Totaranui motor camp we fill our water bottle. Following our rule of looking for the track at the bottom of the beach, we lose it, and at L’s behest we climb around the rocks from Totaranui into Goat Bay: I’m a little nervous about being caught out by the tide but at this point it’s still going out so we have time on our side. We head back into bush to get to Waiharakeke Bay, where the American girl, who we thought was in front of us, appears behind us. A short walk through the bush and we get to the Awaroa Inlet, which is empty but requires us to take shoes off three times before we cross completely. The water forces us to take shoes off, the vast swathes of empty shells force us to put our shoes back on. The empty estuary is full of variable and pied oystercatchers, spearing their beaks into the wet mud in search of sustenance. L tires of taking off her shoes so I carry her over the last few muddy rivulets.

At the lodge we try to organise kayaking, but the management tell us that it’s ‘uneconomical’, so we go to our room dejected and trying to come up with alternative plan for the next day. I head into the lodge early for a couple of beers by the fire. L joins me and we have dinner: her the salmon, me the steak. After dinner L has a chocolate torte by the fire while I nurse a whiskey that has been served on the rocks, in spite of my requesting it neat. An older woman asks us if we’d like to go kayaking: she has been trying to organise it too but has also hit a wall with the management. She conspires with us to leave a note at reception.

Our holiday began inauspiciously with an alarm that didn’t go off. It put us thirty minutes behind schedule and we struggled to catch up.  We remembered most things, but in our rush we forgot the pasta that we planned to have for lunch, and the wine we planned to have after dinner.

Nevertheless, we arrived at the airport with ten minutes to spare, and I got one of Mojo’s Manuka Smoked Bacon sandwiches to tide us over until lunch time: they’re really good.  Even L, who ‘hates sandwiches’, really liked them.

On the flight I begin my book: Ogilvy on Advertising, which I immediately take a liking to.  L seems to as well, she sneaks glances at it from the pages of her book: the full colour ads draw her in.

We arrive in Nelson and get a shuttle into town.  We have an hour to spare so we go to a small cafe on Trafalgar Street, where L orders a Chili Hot Chocolate.  It’s served with flakes of chili: a really weird flavour but L loves it.  She also has a carrot cake which she likes, but we’re still hungry, so we cross the road and head to another cafe where we order bacon bagels. We’re the first customers of the day and unfortunately the bagels are terrible: they’re stale and hard and the cooked bacon is freezing cold. We don’t have time to make a scene so we leave them half eaten and head up to the Nelson Christ Church Cathedral to enjoy the view before going to catch our bus.

I read all the way to Kaiteriteri so miss the view from the bus: I’m pretty absorbed with the book. L looks out the window.

There’s a bit of confusion when we arrive: we are confronted with three different water taxi stalls lined up beside each other. I consult my notes and manage to find the right one. We pay and go to sit on the beach to await our ride.

We get on the water taxi and head north, skirting around Split Apple rock along the way. We visit Pinnacle Island, which is covered in spotted shags and has a small rock pool in which juvenile seals frolic. We also pass Tonga Island, where larger are seals are sprawled over rocks. Finally we head into the Awaroa inlet. By this point L is a bit nauseous, and when we’re told to that we have to wade into shore, she grimaces. “Or,” says the driver, “you can wear these.” The driver produces ridiculous orange waders which slip over shoes, legs, everything. L and I put them on and we head into shore.

After checking into our room, we head into the main part of the lodge to get lunch. L orders a salad and I get an eye fillet. It’s very nice but we’re both pretty shocked at the prices. We let it slide because we had been forewarned that the prices were a bit higher than normal because of the difficulty in bringing supplies in: but there are no cheap options.

After lunch I fall asleep, and wake to find L upset that the heater isn’t working. She wasn’t able to sleep, even under an extra duvet and with an electric blanket on. After checking the blanket, I wonder whether it isn’t working either. We go to reception and let them know about the heater before heading out for a walk.

The sun is setting: we stroll through the wetlands and hear bellbirds and walk through the reeds that are dotted with tufted white spider nests. The reeds give way to native bush, and we walk across an airstrip where six sheep graze, and then into a large inlet, emptied of the tide. We skirt around the outside, until we notice the moon and take forced perspective pictures of each other pinching it between our thumb and forefinger. We head back along the beach and back to the lodge.

The heater has been fixed in our absence. We head to dinner, where L has the steak and I have a lamb rack. We share a bottle of wine and finish with dessert and whiskey.  It’s still early when we turn in.