Coasting to Kaikoura

I don't think the oranges around Ryland Estates were quite ripe (ok, they were yellow), but when Ed and Jennie picked me up in the morning, I had no qualms about stealing a few. What a weird goings-on, leaving Marlborough behind me with the most unsatisfying explanation ever – although, to be fair, as beautiful as parts of the garden were, I don't know if I would have been able to last two weeks on an orchard miles away from anything.

I definitely wouldn't have been able to last two weeks living in that caravan. Someone once assured me that everything happens for a reason, and I think that it was essential I got out of wine country and found the rugged coast along the South Pacific when I did. I didn't know it at the time, but my lucky streak held true in a way I never counted on.

“Does anyone know how to change a tire?” Ed asked as the weird tap-tap-tap noise and jittering got stronger – although, being English, I guess he said, “Does anyone know how to change a tyre?”

“Actually, I do!” I piped up from the backseat. Wouldn't it be something if they actually had to call me on my bullsh—

BANG!

With that, the 20-year-old red Toyota named Michael Caine (old but reliable) swerved onto the grassy side of the highway, just on the outskirts of Blenheim. You never saw a more blown tire than this one before. Here's the thing though: Dad, I actually paid attention. All those times we jacked up the truck and switched over the winter tires, I only appeared to be completely stunned. I knew where the jack was. I knew where to prop it and how to raise the vehicle. I even knew to take the bolts off in an alternating pattern, rather than just in a circle.

When we drove to a service station to check the tire pressure, the wheel we had just changed sat lower than the rest. “Does that one look a bit flat to anyone else?”

Like one of those mystical priests that suddenly starts speaking in tongues, a voice that wasn't my own answered: “That's because it was sitting in the trunk. Once it gets on the road and heats up, the air in it will expand and it will look like the others.”

That's right Dad – I paid attention.

Before we made another attempt to escape from Blenheim, we grabbed a few burgers and a hokey pokey milkshake from McDonald's. Screw getting in shape in New Zealand – getting fat is going to be a lot more fun. Besides, it felt like a proper road trip, cruising out of town with a new tire, the summer sun shining, the windows down, and the landscape changing radically from vineyard valleys to the climbing, winding roads of the yellowed hill country and on to the Kaikoura Ranges. And then suddenly, there she was, b'ys: the ocean, vast, unforgiving, and a sight for sore eyes.

 

If you've ever driven up the Northern Peninsula in Newfoundland, you've got the ocean on your left, a barren wilderness interrupted by small communities right in front of you, and hills to your right. The 130 km drive down the east coast of New Zealand's South Island was something like that – except that when we got to Ohau Point, just outside of Kaikoura, the rocky shoreline was full of seals.

With just over 3,600 people, Kairkoura isn't a metropolis, but it's a decent hub community. For one, it's right on the main road, a halfway point between Blenheim and Christchurch. For another, it's got a lot going for it – surfing, whale watching, dolphin swimming, and hiking are all easy to do here. I got dropped off at a small garage, where I went and met my WWOOFing host, hoping he would actually have work for me and I wouldn't have to hitchhike further south in the morning.

I'm still here, so that's a good thing.

Dave Hamilton is an engineer who's worked throughout New Zealand, and has been living home in Kaikoura for the past 7 years. After he finished work for the day, he drove me up to the base of Mt. Fyffe, where he lives on a large property with his wife and border collie, Russell, who is the first pooch I've seen who actually watches TV and barks when an animal shows up on screen. Passing between woods roads and open fields, he took me through his greenhouse, where he grows everything from strawberries to zucchinis, and along the rows of plum trees literally dropping under the weight of the fresh fruit. From this height, they've got a worldclass view of the fields of Kaikoura, and the ocean all along the sweeping horizon.

 

He's in the process of clearing land on the upper edge of his property, to eventually build a new house. I've got some bush clearing in store for the next few days to earn my keep. Speaking of – in a major step up from a decrepit caravan, there's a trail in the woods just off Dave's driveway, a little footpath that weaves through some trees before a cabin suddenly pops up. There's a TV with one channel, a sleeping loft, some couches, a sink, and a window by the head of the mattress that has a clear view of the Southern Cross just before you fall asleep. If ever I were to live as a recluse and write a novel away from the real world, it would probably be here.

This morning, we planned to be working by 10:00, but ended up swapping songs for about 2 hours.  Not a bad way to spend a Saturday morning.

Dave is a mild-mannered badass who drives a tractor, SCUBA dives, and is a fan of Leonard Cohen covers. I think I'll get along just fine here. I set out to mow a section of land, stopping every so often to gorge on fresh plums. 

We stopped in the mid-afternoon for some sandwiches (cream corn and Edam cheese) and the best instant coffee I've ever had. Soon, we were deep in a forest trail, chopping up branches and unnaturally yellow barberry stumps and piling them on a trailer, clearing a decent path and nearly wearing myself out with an honest day's work. 

 

My legs are scratched up, my fingernails are dirty, and even with a wide-brimmed hat, the sun gave some colouring to my face. I've got a belly full of fresh fruit and sausages, indulgences that you quickly start to miss in the stop-and-go world of backpacking. In other words, I'll sleep well tonight.

Cheers,

rb