A window on the South Island
At the far end of the field a small black and white dog gathered up six reluctant sheep and herded them slowly toward his master. Each time a sheep broke away the dog out-flanked it and, with head lowered, stared it down. Working quietly and methodically the dog forced the six sheep into a small paddock and the herdsman shut the gate.
The crowd of two hundred-odd spectators clapped and headed obediently back to the parking lot. Unlike the sheep, who were identified by ear tags, we wore instead, tags bearing the names of our various tours. An indelible stamp on the back of a hand confirmed our admission to the show and each of us had been told to remember our bus number. We took our seats. The Coach Captain counted us and shut the door.
Our tags read "Kirra Tours" and this was a scheduled stop on day 11 of an excursion billed as the "15-day New Zealand Explorer." Feeling more like sheep than explorers we settled back in our comfortable coach seats and watched another swath of New Zealand landscape slip past the window as we headed for the next scheduled stop.
For Betty and me this was a brand new experience. In all our years of travelling this was our very first "sightseeing tour," a trip where everything was planned and all we had to do was follow the pack – no fuss, no glitches, no adventure.
After the initial frustration of having no control, of being spectators rather than participants, we decided to relax and enjoy the trip for what it was – a quick and easy way see a lot of new country. And in fairness to Kirra Tours it is hard to imagine a better planned and executed bus tour – first rate coaches, safe personable drivers with well informed commentary, comfortable accommodation, excellent food, and a selection of side-trips to interesting, though often crowded, tourist spots.
It was 32 hours from Vancouver to a room at the Pavilions Hotel, where we slept off the initial jet-lag. Thankful that we had arrived a day early we spent the afternoon exploring Christchurch, a prosperous city with the reputation of being more British than Britain itself. A footpath along the Avon River is lined with giant English oaks planted there by early settlers as reminders of home. A group of boys is playing cricket in Hagley Park and the Gothic stone buildings beside their playing field could easily be mistaken for those of Eton or Oxford.
The next day we were introduced to Reece, the driver of our tour bus, and we headed south across the Canterbury Plains. Lying in the rain shadow of the Southern Alps this lowland between the Pacific coast and the mountain foothills is the driest and flattest area in New Zealand. The once barren outwash plains of scrub and tussock grass have been reclaimed by irrigation and are now the hub of South Island agriculture. The landscape is dotted with sheep, and every few miles a deer farm – venison for a lucrative Asian market. Reece explains that farming in N.Z. is no longer a lifestyle. It has become a highly centralized and technical industry.
At Rangitata Reece turns west across the snow-covered foothills and along the shores of Lake Pukaki to the Mount Cook Hermitage in the heart of the Southern Alps. We stop for a few hours of rambling and are rewarded with superb views of Mount Cook and the surrounding peaks – the rugged, ice-encrusted terrain where Sir Edmond Hillary honed his mountaineering skills for the eventual conquest of Everest.
After a night in Omara we moved on to Dunedan, a city as Scottish as Christchurch is English. In the centre of the "Octagon," the very hub of downtown Duneden, a large statue of Robby Burns gazes down on the bustling streets. During the Otaga gold rush of the 1850s Duneden was the largest and richest city in New Zealand. But by the mid-1870s the gold was gone and attention shifted to the rich agricultural potential of the Otaga region. The Otaga Central Railway was built to transport farm produce into Duneden but building the line dragged on until 1921, and by 1961 trucks, using newly-built roads, heralded the end of rail traffic.
In 1989 the railway was scheduled to close but thanks to the mayor of Duneden the 60 km portion through the Taieri Gorge continues to operate. The community purchased the line, making it New Zealand's longest private railway, and one of Dunedin's leading tourist attractions. It's hard to impress a jaded Canadian who has travelled our own railway across the Rockies and down the Fraser Canyon. But the Taieri Gorge route, plunging through hand-moiled tunnels, clinging to rock cuts hacked out of steep canyon walls with pick and shovel, and across towering hand-built wooden trestles, is an impressive bit of railway nostalgia. I couldn't help reflecting on the future, if any, of our own Royal Hudson.
From Duneden Reece followed highway 94 to Lake Te Anau where we spent the night before continuing on through Fiordland National Park to Milford Sound. The road climbs steeply to an elevation of 4,000 feet where it enters the upper portal of Homer Tunnel. This kilometre-long marvel of highway engineering plunges down through solid granite before emerging, a thousand feet lower, into Cleddau Canyon and the winding switchbacks leading down to Milford Sound.
At the head of the Sound we were shepherded from the parking lot along a covered walkway to the wharf and on to the "Lady Sterling" for a two hour cruise of Milford Sound. A myriad waterfalls, including the 500-foot Sterling and Bowen Falls, cascade over steep granite cliffs into the ocean. Skirting the base of Mitre Peak, which rises directly from the sea to an elevation of almost 1,700 metres (5,560 feet), we motored out past Dale Point for a brief tossing about in the swells of the Tasman Sea. Although some passengers took on a green pallor we fared much better than Able Tasman after whom this southern Ocean is named. Seems his only attempt to land on the rugged west coast of New Zealand back in 1642 met with an inhospitable welcome from the locals who killed and ate several of his crew.
Next stop Queenstown – "adventure capital of New Zealand!" where, for a price, you can buy all manner of adrenaline pumping thrills. There are now five bungy-jumping platforms in addition to the Shotover Bridge where the sport was pioneered. Thrill-seekers with even deeper pockets can indulge other giddy aerial pursuits including paraflying, skydiving, hot air ballooning, and getting hurled around at the end of something called "fly by wire." Or you can, as we did, get your thrills on the water, hurtling through narrow rock canyons on the Shotover River in a jet boat. These powerful aquatic hot-rods are driven by seemingly mad young kiwis – swerving and weaving within inches of rock walls and periodically lurching into high speed 360 degree spins.
The frantic pace of commercial entertainment seems out of character with the serene natural beauty of Queenstown's surroundings. Nestled along the shores of Lake Wakatipu the wall-to-wall waterfront hotels compete for fragmented views of "the Remarkables" and Coronet Peak. And for those less inclined to seek midway-style entertainment Queenstown has gained the reputation of being "overrated, overpriced, and overcrowded."
From Queenstown we headed across Haast Pass and down into the lush rain forest of the west coast. The road north to Greymouth hugs the shoreline where breakers roll in from the Tasman Sea, crash against spectacular cliffs and sea-stacks or send white foam sliding into sandy coves. We stop periodically to walk through forests of giant ferns with the look of prehistoric jungles from the age of dinosaurs. Following a short trail to the terminus of Fox Glacier we stand aside to let 40 other tourists pass on their way back to their bus. They are sheltered from a light drizzle by bright yellow ponchos bearing the name of their tour – another flock of carefully tended "explorers" following their leader down a well worn path.
We topped off our tour of the South Island with a trip on the Trans Alpine Railway from Greymouth across to Christchurch and up the east coast to Blenheim. It was a good trip – a smorgasbord of visual delights, but served at an indigestible pace. Next time I visit New Zealand I'll take the time to visit those beautiful and fascinating spots that we rolled past between "scheduled stops."
