"Let's make like a hippie couple. Rent a funky VW van and travel the world! OK?" she said.
"OK", he said.
"Let's start in the South Island of New Zealand. We'll stay in campsites or DOC huts or just stay anywhere! Make toast, and bologna-cheese sandwiches! Take hikes along the Abel Tasman and Queen Charlotte trails! Pee in the long drops! Watch the star-filled nights!" she said.
"OK", he said.
"Let's use one of those lime green and magenta colored Jucy camper vans first before buying a VW van! The Lucy Jucy Camper Van!" she said.
"Ah…?", he said.
"It will be so much fun!"
"Oh….?"
"I want to do it."
"K."
Never were Cheryl and Tom true Hippies. They were hippie wannabes... 40-45 years ago. Something in the air or food stimulated the Hippie fantasy to return. Now, the destination--northern aspects of the South Island and territory unseen. Find the Iron Butterfly, Grateful Dead, and Hendrix!
As the date approached for departure, a formidable unknown approached from the north. Spinning through the South Pacific with havoc in her repertoire, Cyclone Luci came knocking. And blowing. And pouring. But, that's camping. Who did Luci have in her sites? Who did Lucy have in her rear view mirror?
The Lucy-Luci dual began from Christchurch. Gear loaded. Initial plans and preparations were altered strategically as Lucy and Luci positioned themselves. A race through northern Canterbury west to Hanner Springs and the hot springs spa took some of the bite away from the oncoming rain. Then, on to the northwest coastline using the mountains to buffer the weather. The plan shaped into a masterful David-Goliath encounter.
Greymouth is the most populated area of the West coast of the south. Known for being the end of the line of the Alpine Kiwitrain crossing and the location of the Monteith's Beer Brewery, it provided a pivot point to drive north. On to Punakaiki and Paparoa National Park.
Old men in rain jackets will hang around the pancake rocks near Punakaiki. Blow holes shoot ocean spray at high tide through the eroded areas. Luci, the cyclone, begin to break apart, but continued to focus on those who dared her.
The beach to Tauranga Bay seal colony offered more than wildlife viewing. Multitude of color and shades tumbled through the sky and across the ranges at the periphery of the storm.
The mountain road accompanied by the Buller Gorge and River led the Lucy Jucy van back into the remnant of the cyclone and the two Lucy(i)'s finally met at Murchison. As Tom and Cheryl prepared for another night, the rolled down 6 foot length bed made way for a 6'2" frame. The rain started. The noise on the van's ceiling impressed the deaf. It was a camper-can.
They survived Luci's best torrent. The bath water shaken off, the van prepared, the campers emerged shakened and rattled, but ready to go to the restroom. Then, on the road again.
The Buller River is one of the longest in NZ, and the clarity allowed glimpses of the bedrock below. This area is known for outstanding trout.
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| Lake Rotoiti of the Nelson Lake Region |
All of the adventure is related to tramping extensive trails (5 days worth) or water usage. Tom and Cheryl did a little of both, because, well, one has to do it all…
Cheryl paddled. Tom watched the world go by.
Certain motifs seem constant in this narrative. Blue floppy hats, blue tops, and big smiles keep recurring. The discovery of your own name carved into the stone of the ancient bay required documentation. Be sure that larger photos are available. |
| Tom sent to the man cave |
For either not paddling hard enough in the kayak, eating the last chocolate lolly, or whining about his 1980's orange swim trunks, Tom was sentenced to the man cave for a time out. He was released in time to be included in Jucy Lucy to the next campsite in the DOC site near Pelorus Bridge, a treat.
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| Queen Charlotte's Sound |
The Mail Run left Picton at 1:00PM. The boat allowed the curious visitor a chance to travel through the Sound and observe what could only be seen by days of tramping.
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| End of the Queen Charlotte Trail at Ship Cove |
At the end of the Queen Charlotte Great Walk lay the bay where James Cook landed on the South Island. Cook had respected Tasman's discovery, but forgot how to spell the place's name. Zeeland became Zealand and the British never tried to correct the poor speller.
The remainder of the journey weaves through the vineyards of Marlborough. The story continues, but the paragraph and photo length would exceed decency. The whole existence starts to blend together like Syrah.
