Posts Tagged ‘Wellington’

Queen Charlotte Sound

April 25, 2011
Captain Cook is more than just a household name in New Zealand – he is admired, revered, even loved.  Everyone, it seems, knows some of his story.  His biographies are prominent on the bookshop shelves, and there’s a new one coming out later this year.  Cook has been credibly described as a genius – for his technical navigational skills his scientific acumen and his extraordinary seamanship. He was one of those enthusiastic thinkers and doers who seem to have abounded in the eighteenth century – and they appreciated him. The ABC (Australian Broadcasting Commission) four-part documentary was being re-run while we were in Auckland, which is how I know all this.  Thank goodness!  We caught two parts of it, and it is absolutely rivetting stuff.  Though the acting is a trifle wooden, and the material on his wife tries to fill out absent detail with mawkish speculation, the information itself  is  marvellous and really well presented.  The descriptions of his closing years and death in Hawaii are moving, and very credibly analysed.  There’s a trailer for the series on youtube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=buS-uK4qxN0&playnext=1&list=PL928D782CD94BD563 
And if you know a bit about Cook (1728-1779), you will never be short of conversation, should you meet a New Zealander.  The BBC summary of his life is good – though it minimizes what he did in New Zealand and emphasizes Australia.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/historic_figures/cook_captain_james.shtml 
I didn’t know much of this back when I booked the ferry from Wellington to Picton (en route to Nelson) – I was just trying to travel overland (and oversea?) as much as possible, seeing lots of the country at close quarters and avoiding the un-green activity of flying. (I am guilty of far too much air travel already).  So you can imagine my delight to discover that Picton is at the southern tip of Queen Charlotte Sound, Cook’s favourite anchorage of all time.  He even travelled across half the Pacific to get there, on one occasion.  Quite why isn’t clear – people say it was such a good, safe anchorage, where he could rest and repair his ship.  But it does seem like an awfully long way to go – I can’t help wondering whether there was more to it than that.  Maybe when I get around to reading the biography I’ll find out.
 

entrance to Queen Charlotte Sound - that little notch between the hills

The ferry here has already crossed Cook Strait (yes, him again) between the North and South islands  and is already within the Sound.  Its route sweeps in westwards, and then turns sharply into Tory Channel.  This picture was taken looking back towards the North (or maybe more like the North East), and you can just see the curve of the wake, outlining where it has travelled. 
I was trying to check the actual compass points for you on a map when I came across this marvellous photo of Tory Channel and Queen Charlotte Sound, taken by Phillip Capper (I found it on Flickr).
 

 All the world was fresh and glorious: as delightful as if it (and I) had been newly created.  It was a Monday so there were not many people out and about.  I was lucky to see one little sailing boat slipping along.  

There are seals in the Sound, but although I pointed the camera at them and it went click, they are quite invisible in the photos.

 

(No – this is not one of my ‘find the seal’ pictures.  I genuinely can’t see it – you just have to take my word that it was over by the little sailing boat, and visibly eating a fish.  I could almost hear the crunching.)  You could draw your own seal into the picture, if you like. 
From Picton, it was a bus trip through flat agricultural land, past the vineyards of the Marlborough region, then over a  jack-knifing mountain range and down into Nelson in the warm glow of late afternoon.   Encumbered by my embarrassingly massive suitcase, I eventually met my friend at the tourist centre.  A long day, and a tiring one.  It was wonderful to be scooped up into her four-wheel drive and transported to her charming home near Nelson.  Bertie the Jack Russell made me welcome.

Bertie Russell
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Auckland to Wellington: a long day out

April 16, 2011

I am falling further and further behind with this blog, so I will omit the fun of our Saturday in Auckland – the boogie boards at Muriwai, the family socialising, the Visitor Centre.  It was great.  This journey took place on the 20th February, and initially I was going to talk us through all the way to Nelson – but I seem to have run away with details and distractions. 

A hot night with little sleep, and the alarm set for 5.30am.  Colin – slightly alarmingly – is up and dressed for running at six, and he drives us to the station en route to his run at Massey.  Britomart again.  It’s in a beautiful old building – one of those dignified pale grey Victorian structures – modernised with automatic doors and escalators down to the tracks. 

The Overlander: a unique journey.  That’s what the railway brochure says.  Also:  ‘a journey to remember’ – and they were right in many ways,  some of them unintended.  It looks like a wonderful way to travel from Auckland to Wellington – a long day through spectacular scenery on a wonderful train.

 Our train looks thrilling: a serious big beast of an old-fashioned huge diesel loco in grubby shades of ochre and tan.  The carriages are pale blue and there’s actually a baggage waggon.  We are really lucky as our seats turn out to be in the rear carriage: the one with the observation area.  A woman and three small children have established themselves back there on the banquettes – there is a strong smell of takeaway, which feels a little odd so early in the morning.  We trundle out through the light-industrial suburbs of south Auckland – static on an early Sunday morning.   It will get better.  Then the smallest children are bedded down for sleep.  It would be churlish to want to sit there.  The kiosk is selling excellent coffees and massive sandwiches – a lovely late second breakfast.  Soon there comes an announcement: the kiosk will be closing in half an hour as there is a malfunction in the electrical system.  Fine – it won’t last long, and anyway we have our coffees already.  Next we hear that the kiosk lady – an efficient-sounding woman – is working on restoring power to the kiosk. It turns out that no electrics in the kiosk means that there is no refrigeration, and thus no possibility of selling us food.  It doesn’t seem so serious.  By the time we reach Hamilton, the cheerful, if slightly hassled, train crew struggle to get power back.  After a bit they tell us that we have to change to a coach to take us onwards.  A new train will come up to meet us later, and we will go on in style.  This is disappointing , but we are all stoical and understanding, adopting the New Zealand mode of coping.    

This whole section may just work better as a kind of photo-journal.

phoning for the coaches at Hamilton

   Our luggage is off-loaded while we wait for the coaches.

waiting by the train at Hamilton - thats the baggage car, I think

 We change to a ‘coach’ that has seen better days.

the coach at last

But the driver is cheerful as she clashes and jerks through the clapped-out synchromesh, and grinds round sharp corners on the (no doubt) scenic road to National Park.  It’s a raw kind of ride – a bit primitive and close to the road, as busses tend to be, and it takes quite a while.  Distances are not short in New Zealand, though it looks small on the map.  The sun glares in, and we are all quietly glad to reach the destination and get back to the replacement train.

the second National park in the world - no wonder they called the town by the same name

Apparently the first National Park was the Yellowstone, in the US.  It was quite a powerful movement – part of that new-found sense of egalitarianism that swept through the world in the late ninetennth century.  We had already seen an early National Park up on Mt Tamborine, at Witches’ Falls, (see https://jilldbarker.wordpress.com/2011/03/02/travellers-tales-beasts-of-the-forest/ )  and I am reminded of Pearson Park in Hull.  This last one isn’t a National Park, but a recreational space donated to the ordinary people of Hull, so that the dwellers in tenements and tiny urban cottages could have access to fresh air and to nature. (see http://www.hullwebs.co.uk/content/k-victorian/leisure/parks-and-gardens/pearson-park.htm )

At National Park we de-coach and find our new train.  We leap on board while those of a nervous disposition anxiously monitor their luggage.  Because it has come from the other direction, the carriages are in reverse sequence.  Thus, the observation car is at the front, and looks directly at the rear of the loco, while the open deck area will be pulled facing forwards, rather than back.   Now the loco is diesel-electric, but it too has problems.  We are not encouraged when we overhear our efficient staff member say on the phone ‘Well, ask him what he did last time it did this.’  Luckily, there is a charming coffee shop at National Park, not to mention some great views.

fabulous Mt Ruapehu in the distance

 Ruapehu – massive and authoritative – is immediately familiar from the primary school textbooks we used in Australia all those years ago. 

Mt Tongariro

  Tongariro’s perfect shape is like a child’s drawing of a volcano.  There are a lot of actors in New Zealand, and, blow me down,Tongariro is one of them.  It played the role of Mt Fuji in the film The Last Samurai.  So if , like me, you thought that movie looked a little unreal, it was.  And it wasn’t the fault of the CGI – or not entirely. 
We stand around on the platform until the cafe starts to close, and hear some interesting political details about  the funding of the rail network, and the ways in which privatisation has led to asset stripping and a lack of maintenance.  Interestingly, the Overlander website now tells us that this much-needed maintenance is being undertaken this year.  We are called to get on and it seems like a departure, but the electrics fail again.  “Our loco is packing a sad,” we are told.  A what?  “Packing a sad,” she repeats – must be a New Zealand expression.  I still look baffled, so she explains: ” a sad – a hissy fit”.  Ah.  Now I get it.

packing a sad

   By now, the whole thing is starting to feel very long-drawn out, stressful and surreal. And we’re still a long way from Wellington.

a unique journey on the Overlander

   Crumpled travellers resort to cigarettes as the day advances.  At one level, it seems almost reasonable: travel shouldn’t be easy or uneventful.  At another level, we’ve paid quite a lot of money for a particular experience which doesn’t seem to be happening.  There is talk of bringing up coaches again – they will take two hours to get to us.  Just as I am buying another coffee, the cry goes up: “We’ve got electricity, quick quick, everybody on board.”  And off we zip, blasting away through countryside, lickety-split, as the driver tries to make up time.  We are over three hours behind schedule.

view from the outdoor observation deck

There’s a very brisk wind, and crowds of people well over the advertised limit of six at a time, especially when the viaducts are coming up.

And thus in the end we really do have the exciting train ride.

another viaduct

I no longer know where we were when they decided to change locos.  Somewhere along the track, anyway. It was a fascinating manoeuvre – so careful and skilled.  I have every respect for the personnel of this railway – perhaps rather less for their grasping managers.

our loco

Bringing up the second loco.

The drivers confer.  The old loco will go forward and away, then the new one will go forward and reverse in.

here comes our new loco

this guy is crucial to the process

He is in touch with the driver via the walkie talkie you can see in his hand.  That triangular piece on the ground will be used to make the coupling.

thats the observation car window

He’s talking teh driver into position.

closing up

This person got in the way a bit.  Behind her is the rear of the loco, moving gradually backwards.

the finishing touches

From this point the train went like the wind into Wellington, trying to make up for lost time.  We arrived around ten thirty, only three hours late.  It had been something of a bonding experience – but even so we were relieved to find that the ‘Downtown Backpackers’ is just across the road from the station.  Although it looks like a dosshouse on the outside, it is actually efficient and clean.  We were so glad to discover the dark, studenty bar and then our comfortable bed.


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