Day 33. Carters beach / Cape Foulwind. What a stinker.

A gorgeous morning so we set off early on the cliff-top hike to see the seal colony at the fabulously named Cape Foulwind.

There are a couple of theories as to how Cape Foulwind came to be saddled with such a moniker:

i) Captain Cook named it after struggling to come to terms with strong gales blowing his ship towards the rocks that lie offshore here.

ii) Captain Cook named it after his bottom struggled to come to terms with an underdone butterbean and cabbage fricasse that had been sitting in the sun too long.

Both seem plausible, but for me the first lacks real credibility.



The walk was terrific. Lots of animals about; horses, sheep, butterflies etc. and loads of colourful birds including a new one on us - a curious (in every sense) chap called a Weka. Looking like a cross between a moorhen and a small ostrich, one particularly inquisitive female caused much amusement by attempting to eat a pebble from Wend's outstretched hand.

After the japes and tomfoolery of the penguins we'd seen earlier on the trip, the seals were something of a let down. I mean, they looked quite impressive, especially so close up, but there was no ball juggling or backflips. Reminded me a lot of some fat tourists I once saw basking on Benidorm beach. Didn't half whiff as well.

Now here's something we didn't know until today; according to some bearded bloke we met near the beach, the west coast of New Zealand is the whitebait capital of the world. Apparantly the fast flowing rivers along this stretch are teeming with the little blighters, and at this time of the year afficianados flock here to gorge themselves on bucketfuls of the stuff.



Churlish not to join in, so we had a right old scoff at a little place overlooking the sea called the Bay House Cafe. If you ever come here, then go, it really was the mutt's nuts.

Spent the afternoon basking on the beach like a couple of fat tourists.

Day 32. Carters beach near Westport. Wet, wet, wet.

When it rains over here it really rains. A light shower can last 3 hours while a bit of a wet day means no sunlight whatsoever and 8 straight hours of the heavy stuff. It's only when the lord almighty empties his great watercannon in the sky drenching everything in sight for a day and a half that the locals will admit the weather's not looking too clever.

So it was with heavy hearts this morning when we heard the forcast was for sustained downpours and severe gails over higher ground.

This put a soggy stop to any more glacier visits and prompted us to keep driving north until we came to somewhere that didn't require flippers and underwater breathing apparatus.

It was a long day.

We ended up on a corking little campsite on Carters beach near the town of Westport, which is as far north as it's possible to drive without falling off a cliff.



A pretty grim day then, brightened only when we stopped off for a break at Punakaiki to visit the dramatic Pancake rocks.

Well, what a con. We were devastated to discover the cliffs here aren't made from eggs, flour and water at all, but stratified limestone, which is a bit tough on the old gnashers. We begrudgingly admit though, that they do make quite a spectacle, especially when receiving such a pounding from the heavy seas.

Hats off to the Nobbler.

Mr Noble has kindly volunteered to step into Stuey's shoes and sort our blog photo's. We thank him from the heart of our bottoms. Ooooh he's so handsome.

Day 31. Glacier country. Five rockpools and a fox.

Visited a couple of this rugged coastline's beaches in the morning before heading up to the Fox glacier.

I don't know, maybe it's my tyneside upbringing, but there's something totally irresistable about a little cove filled with shallow rock pools. Hours, possibly days, could be spent happily lifting stones to see what weirdess lurks beneath.

This was exactly what we found at Jackson's Bay. I managed to snare a couple of fearsome crabs (one of which was a good inch claw to claw) before the missus told me off for not coming home for me tea and hauled me back to the van by my earlobe, saying I'd been a very naughty boy.

The second beach we came across at Ship's Creek was a more open, expansive affair. If you've ever been lucky enough to visit Bamburgh, you'll know exactly the type of thing I'm talking about. The driftwood was the star of the show here. Loads of the stuff was strewn everywhere, some seemed years old, battered by the waves and sculpted by the wind into the most unlikely shapes.

By the end of the afternoon we'd made it as far north as the Fox glacier.

Well, we'd done the massive mountains, the huge fjords and the lakes the size of inland seas, so why not complete the set by visiting a sheet of ice the size of 120 football pitches that's been around for a few million years.





Just what is it with this country and big things?

After walking up to the glacier face, which at roughly a couple of hundred feet tall is impressive enough, we hiked to the top of the valley to get a bird's eye view. And this is where I run out of words to describe big. Maybe I should concentrate on the colours; vivid blues in amongst aqua-marine greens and of course twenty shades of white (we'll not get into the argument as to whether white is a colour, not now anyway).

Our little digital camera simply couldn't cope with so much information, in fact I suspect there hasn't been a microchip invented yet that could handle an image the size and complexity of the Fox glacier.

Magical stuff.

Day 30. Haast beach.

Having arrived in Wanaka in murky, pouring rain last night we decided to have a proper mooch around this morning.

A cracking little town it is too. A bit like Queenstown's less brash, kid brother, it boast a gorgeous mountain backdrop, a pretty shoreline and one of NZ's dodgiest chinese restaurants.

Tempted to spend the day loafing, especially as the sunshine was putting in an appearance, but opted instead to press on for the beaches on the west coast. Therefore spent most of the day traversing the alps for what seemed like the fourtieth time in two weeks.



More waterfalls, more big lakes and more alpine passes rammed with exotic wildlife...oh, it gets sooooo tiresome after a while.

Day 29. Wanaka.

It rained today. A lot.

Day 28. Doubtful Sound. Hanging with the brothers.

Conscious that there are still six long months ahead of us we've been fairly frugal on the trip so far. Each night I dust off the ledger, sharpen my quill and list everything we've bought that day.

And I mean everything.

Every stick of chewing gum, every cheesy wotsit, every sheet of toilet paper (200 sheets on a roll, and believe me, it's a thankless task itemising what each one's been used for).

Well, today was one of those glorious days when we just said stuff the ledger and bugger the budget. Let's charter a 50ft boat, hire a couple of crew, order in some lobster and champers, then spend the next 24 hours cruising the length of New Zealand's most impressive Fjord.

Yeah, right.

But in a crazy kind of mixed-up brilliant way, that's exactly what happened. We had promised ourselves an overnight cruise on one of the Sounds, and after exhaustive research decided an operation called Fiordland Expeditions would be just the ticket - other than not being able to spell Fjord, they ticked all our boxes:

- Small. Only taking a maximum of 12 passengers.
- Reasonable. If we'd taken a cabin with the main operator it'd have been 3 times the price.
- Existing. We didn't do any research at all, they were the first outfit we came across.

At some point on this trip something is going to go wrong. It has to, because up until now we've been coming up trumps left, right and straight down the middle. Forget trumps today though, when we arrived at the dock it felt like we'd been dealt 5 aces, it turned out that a grand total of two people had booked to go on the cruise.

Fiordland Expeditions consists of Richard, the skipper, his brother Roger, chef, engineer and entertainments officer and their pride & joy, a 17 metre motorised beauty called the MV Tutoko.

And two more genuine, likeable blokes you really would struggle to meet.

Initially we felt a bit guilty for making them sacrifice 24 hours of their time just to pander to two Brit landlubbers. But as Roger was cracking open the first lobster of the day (caught yesterday while Richard was diving) and pouring the champagne, he explained that only so many licenses are issued each year to operate on the Sound and if they didn't run the tours during quiet periods, they'd risk losing theirs.

More importantly though, they both just lived for being out on the water. Yes, it would have been nice to have some more fares that day, but as long as me and Wend had signed up it gave them the perfect excuse to do what they love most.

So anyway, Doubtful Sound.

In marked contrast to the sunshine and blue skies we'd encountered at Milford, today was one of mist, showers and a fair old breeze. It's amazing how the weather can transform the Fjords, turning them into very dark, forboding places.

Minutes after a downpour the waterfalls are in full flow, mainly because there's little in the way of earth or soil to retain the moisture. When the clouds are so low the cliff tops and mountains also quickly become obscured, so there's no way of telling exactly how big that big stuff is that's all around. Pretty big though, pretty damned big.

Maybe it's the satanic streak that lurks inside both me and the missus, but we actually preferred to sail the Sound under these leaden skies. Somehow it makes the place more atmospheric, or - at the risk of sounding a pretentious twerp - spiritual.

It took us a good 3 hours to reach the open water of the Tasmin Sea at the western end of the Sound (Doubtful is three times the length of Milford) and during the voyage, we discovered 4 interesting things:

i) A serious of small island stretch across the mouth of the Sound and it is because of these, that the Sound was given its name. Captain Cook was at anchor a few miles off shore, and couldn't see the extent of the inlet beyond the islands, he therefore reckoned if he'd sailed around them, it would be doubtful he'd be able to navigate his way back.

ii) Quite a few sea lions live on the islands. Richard managed to manoeuvre the boat to within yards of the colony to give us a decent gander.

iii) Dave starts to feel a bit sick when the waves become any bigger than 3 feet.

iv) Dave starts to feel really sick when the waves become bigger than 5 feet.

So it was back to the shelter of the Sound for some Kayaking action before dinner. I even had a shot at steering the boat, expertly negotiating the tricky 600 metre wide channel for a good 15 seconds without hitting anything.


Ever the professional, Richard took one look at my greyish green complexion and steered us to calmer waters along one of the smaller tributaries that feed the Sound. A huge relief, and not a moment too soon, as I could feel my lobster lunch slowly beginning to edge it's way back through my digestive system.

A quick spot of kayaking, which we were both rubbish at, then it was Dinner, beers and a quick game of Scrabble where Wend moaned about her letters and Roger introduced us to some words known only to him and a handful of Maoris, it was lights out.

It was a wonderful day that will live long in the memory, and if anyone is ever visiting this corner of NZ, we couldn't recommend staying on the MV Tutoko more strongly. We've added a link to the boy's website at the bottom of our homepage.

Sadly, however, and it pains me to write this, there is one area where both Richard and Roger really do need to make some improvements.

Their jokes are bloody awful.