It is not fair to call New Zealand’s road network patchy.
As far as it goes, it does a very good job at steep drops, hairpin turns and traction control problems that a hard cornering labrador on ice would struggle to beat.
Obviously, it comes from building your towns and cities on different sides of mountain ranges. But there is also an almost perverse tendency to go up rather than round and over rather than through. Even the Italians can build road tunnels through their Alps, and they spend most of their money on nice shoes and ice cream.
Consequently, the coast to coast drive, from the glaciers on the western seaboard to Christchurch in the east, required a journey taking in two sides of an elongated triangle and a distance totalling over 450km. A simple and perfectly achievable 70km long hole through the New Zealand Alps would have reduced this journey to 140km, with the incidental benefit of providing a channel for mass migration of the Kiwi's national treasure; the Kiwi.
Though possibly not all seven of them at once.
We retraced our steps across the Waitanga River and the glacial plains, over Mount Hercules and back to Hokitika where we stopped for provisions, but sadly not fuel which, with the benefit of hindsight, may have been a mistake. We looked in at a jade factory and took a brief walk on the black sand beach made famous by the Hokatika driftwood logo. We shopped for the next meal at the New World Supermarket before beginning the second leg from Hokitika to Arthur’s Pass, the highlight of which is the Otare Gorge.
In the land of trouser darkening roadside drops, Otare is King of Kings. Rarely venturing beyond 2nd gear, we wheezed up a prolonged and winding incline so steep that even the tarmac was struggling to hold on.
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| Hokitika In Sticks. |
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| Arrrgghhh! Run For Your Lives! |
It is not fair to call New Zealand’s road network patchy.
As far as it goes, it does a very good job at steep drops, hairpin turns and traction control problems that a hard cornering labrador on ice would struggle to beat.
Obviously, it comes from building your towns and cities on different sides of mountain ranges. But there is also an almost perverse tendency to go up rather than round and over rather than through. Even the Italians can build road tunnels through their Alps, and they spend most of their money on nice shoes and ice cream.
Consequently, the coast to coast drive, from the glaciers on the western seaboard to Christchurch in the east, required a journey taking in two sides of an elongated triangle and a distance totalling over 450km. A simple and perfectly achievable 70km long hole through the New Zealand Alps would have reduced this journey to 140km, with the incidental benefit of providing a channel for mass migration of the Kiwi's national treasure; the Kiwi.
Though possibly not all seven of them at once.
We retraced our steps across the Waitanga River and the glacial plains, over Mount Hercules and back to Hokitika where we stopped for provisions, but sadly not fuel which, with the benefit of hindsight, may have been a mistake. We looked in at a jade factory and took a brief walk on the black sand beach made famous by the Hokatika driftwood logo. We shopped for the next meal at the New World Supermarket before beginning the second leg from Hokitika to Arthur’s Pass, the highlight of which is the Otare Gorge.
In the land of trouser darkening roadside drops, Otare is King of Kings. Rarely venturing beyond 2nd gear, we wheezed up a prolonged and winding incline so steep that even the tarmac was struggling to hold on.
Spotting a look out parking area with reassuringly level tarmac, we pulled in, only to be set upon by a horde of terrible and blood thirsty predators that began to systematically remove the Hippy Camper roof. The Kea is a parrot native to the uplands of New Zealand and thankfully for the sake of humanity's continued survival, nowhere else.
Not thinking of my own safety, I lowered the window an inch before issuing a curt demand that they desist. This didn’t work I so I implemented Plan B and gingerly eased a crisp to within beak reach. They didn’t object to chicken flavour and the distraction enabled me to escape the besieged vehicle and plan a counter assault from the rear to aid Clare who was still trapped in the fast disintegrating van.
Clearly, recognizing the loss of their strategic advantage, the horde withdrew to a safe distance to deliberate and I took the opportunity to return to the van, now partially denuded of external fittings by their fierce talons and beaks. Largely removed was that rubbery strip that makes the roof rack grippy and when hostilities had ended, this was repairable only with the handle of a tea spoon and considerable manual dexterity. The immediate danger having passed, we executed a text book retreat, pausing only to take some photos of the vista of the gorge from the viewing point, and the increasing numbers of Kea attracted by the unfolding spectacle.
Not thinking of my own safety, I lowered the window an inch before issuing a curt demand that they desist. This didn’t work I so I implemented Plan B and gingerly eased a crisp to within beak reach. They didn’t object to chicken flavour and the distraction enabled me to escape the besieged vehicle and plan a counter assault from the rear to aid Clare who was still trapped in the fast disintegrating van.
Clearly, recognizing the loss of their strategic advantage, the horde withdrew to a safe distance to deliberate and I took the opportunity to return to the van, now partially denuded of external fittings by their fierce talons and beaks. Largely removed was that rubbery strip that makes the roof rack grippy and when hostilities had ended, this was repairable only with the handle of a tea spoon and considerable manual dexterity. The immediate danger having passed, we executed a text book retreat, pausing only to take some photos of the vista of the gorge from the viewing point, and the increasing numbers of Kea attracted by the unfolding spectacle.
There being no petrol light, we had carelessly allowed the needle to migrate fully to the left, and running on vapour, we reached the peak and cruised down in darkness, to the mountain railroad town of Arthur’s Pass, hoping against hope that fuel would be available the next morning.
We dined handsomely on cold chicken, bacon pie and potato salad with the remaining Steinlager, before bed.
Incidentally, it was out 5th wedding anniversary which made the day very special indeed.
The night however, was filled with the passing rumble of freight trains on the mountain tracks and the haunting cry of the Kea which echoed across the gorge, striking fear into the hearts of all who heard.
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