Day 41. Whites Bay. Hunter gatherer Smith.

Passed our last day on the South Island in Whites Bay. A pretty little place named after a slave who jumped ship in 1828 and set up a shack on the beach, hanging with the Maoris and generally enjoying not being a slave.

It's one of the few beaches in the area safe for swimming. Too cold for even a paddle at the minute, but probably rammed in the middle of summer.



Cranked the wilderness thing up a notch or two when I announced I'd be hunting for our lunch. Kissed my cavewoman goodbye and left her tending the single ring calor gas stove before heading into the unknown. Returned triumphantly 10 minutes later with a handful of green-lipped mussels I'd expertly snared in a rockpool less than 50 yards from the van.

Bloody lovely they were too.

Followed the feast with some locally grown Kiwi fruit that Wend had plucked from a supermarket shelf 2 days earlier.