Helen van Berkel takes the scenic route on a classic South Island road trip
When God was handing out beauty, New Zealand pushed to the front of the queue and said, "I'll have a bit of everything, thanks".
And once these scattered isles had been liberally sprinkled with beaches in hues from sparkling silvers to iron black; with perfect volcanic peaks kissed with snow; with valleys of every imaginable shade of green and with rivers that quietly meandered or thunderously gushed through gorges of rocky magnificence, the South Island shuffled up and asked: "Please, sir, can I have some more?".
And thus it is that a South Island road trip is a roller coaster of emotion. Day 1: rock formations, mountain passes and waterfalls – surely it can't get any better than this? Day 2; Glowworms, history and turquoise glacier-fed rivers – surely this is the peak? And yet, every day is like opening a treasure chest. Every day something more magnificent unfolds before our eyes.
We flew Air New Zealand into Christchurch for 10 days of travelling, the highlight of which would be a long-awaited sight of the West Coast's Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers.
The flat, straight lanes of the Canterbury Plains traversed green fields dotted with fat black and white Holsteins. Almost imperceptibly, the foothills of the Southern Alps added curves to the blacktop ribbon and we were swinging through a brutal landscape of blasted brown tussock and ridged grey rock walls.
A roadside sign points us to Castle Hill: an otherworldly collection of limestone rocks emerging from a green hill in a series of fantastical shapes. It's a short walk to the monoliths that sheltered travelling bands of Maori long before the arrival of European ships. A stunted stone circle brings to mind Stonehenge.
We follow those early Maori pounamu traders and the gold miners and adventurers along the shingled spread of the Bealey River and into the West Coast, via Kumara. Early West Coasters were obviously keen swimmers, building one of New Zealand's largest public swimming pools here, the remains of which can still be seen. Kumara also claims Richard "King Dick" Seddon as its own – although his home has long been lost, a plaque still points to the section on which it stood. We also stop to visit the Londonderry Rock (officially a titanic erratic) - a massive boulder that survived the grinding influences of glaciers to retain its double-decker bus proportions amid banks of hand-sized stones.
Hokitika's history as a major centre of the gold rush days is seen in the magnificence of its buildings, its Carnegie library and stunning churches. Your arrival in town will make a measurable difference to the 3000-odd population – down from 15,000 at the height of the gold rush.
Unaffected by the economic winds affecting the West Coast is the Hokitika Gorge, a breathtaking walk through thick bush to the unique hues of glacier-fed streams. Tumbled cliffs of rock speak of the geographic forces at play on the West Coast and as we travel south we see increasing signs of the glaciation that shaped so many of these valleys.
We are stunned at the proximity of the Franz Josef glacier as we pull into the eponymous town. At the tip of the glacier is a ground stone riverbed; lines in the tree-clad slopes edging the valley speak of its various heights. We walk as close as we can – the path to the glacier is closed by rockfalls. A sign showing the glacier's retreat up the valley asks rhetorically: Is this where the glacier will be in 2100? – and points to a spot well below where the glacier is now.
But I want to get closer. The next morning we are looking at the grey valley walls from the window of Glaciers Helicopter. We see the first fissures in the ice face as it drops down the mountainside; we see the cracks as we approach the flat ice field and then we are standing on the smooth ice sheet itself. Its smooth white sheet stretches between rocky protrusions brought to the peak by the active alpine fault. The glacier's path to the distant Tasman Sea is spread below us – a beautiful but, in the context of global warming, tragic sight.
Just down the road is the Fox Glacier. Like its sister, it is in retreat but rounding the mountains that shield the glacier stole our words. We call in at the Matheson Lake to see the alps reflected in the surface (a pernicious breeze robs us of this) and barely remain focused on the road as the glacier hoves in and out of view in a landscape of mountains, fields and picturesque barns. We wonder if we've somehow ended up in Switzerland.
State Highway 6 is a land of one-lane bridges, where ocean meets dark forests and mountain ranges. The West Coast is empty and isolated and rugged and grandiose and mysterious and historic and different and it strikes us dumb. The dotted white line unrolls under our rental's tyres and we see no one. This is New Zealand at its most elemental. This is the New Zealand we resonate with: unspoiled beauty that is just too perfect to be real.
Drunk on scenery, we pull into Haast for food and human connection. A bikie suns himself at the pub, which is decorated with deer heads. Our man is heavily tattooed. He's beringed with silver skulls. He's bearded and be-leathered. He's drinking. He talks to us about the advantages and disadvantages of different motorbike handlebars and which ones make you "look like a dick". This is the New Zealand we resonate with: the Kiwis who give us a glimpse of lives outside our own.
The Haast Pass takes us back inland to Wanaka. We decide the early explorers of this pass - versus those who explored Arthurs - had it easy, following the Haast River's shingle banks under the canopy of the cool forest down to Wanaka. We stop at the Roaring Billy Falls and the Thunder Creek Falls and as the moon rises over the Southern Alps, I feel guilty that I'm rushing to get to Wanaka before dark.
One day, I swear, I'm going to be one of the cyclists we see: taking the time to really drink in this most lovely part of New Zealand.
The maze at Wanaka's Puzzle World keeps us entertained for a few hours and gives us a much-needed stretch of the legs. But we argue from here: daughter can't rank Wanaka's Wildwire waterfall climb ahead of Queenstown's Skippers Canyon 4WD Drive trip and I struggle to place the Kawarau Gorge AJ Hackett bungy jump ahead of the autumn colours of Arrowtown - and did the Chinese miners' village really compare with the picturesque Cardrona Hotel?
Queenstown to Milford is a three-hour-plus drive and we are concerned about a wet weather forecast. But the sounds are even more magnificent if it rains, the Jucy cruise people assure us. Driving in predawn rain we question our sanity but we reap the benefits: waterfalls plunge from previously dry cliffs and we see rainbows where others saw rocks. My advice? Just do it – regardless of the forecast. Truly.
Next stop: Dunedin. Has any city embraced its Anglo roots more? The Scottish influence is inescapable, from the Robbie Burns statue in the Octagon to Larnach Castle on the Otago Peninsula.
It's a city pepper-potted with architectural gems well worth an afternoon's exploration with the bonus of a natural world of seals colonies along the coast - and albatrosses that will cost you $65 each to see.
We are more enamoured with the Moeraki Boulders (free) and the Elephant Rocks (free) and historic Duntroon (free) as we head towards Twizel and the world-recognised Dark Sky Sanctuary.
The lack of urban lighting brings the stars into sharp relief in the clear southern skies – unless the moon is full. It rises from behind the alps as we drive but it isn't until we step out in the chilly night expecting to see the smear of the Milky Way that we realise the moon is claiming all the attention.
We double back to see the Omarama Clay Cliffs in the morning mist. Pinnacles of gravel and silt brought here by glaciers are cleaved by shady canyons in a fantasy landscape.
I'm practically phobic about having to double back but when we later miss the turnoff to Aoraki/Mt Cook I'm too dazzled to care. Lake Pukaki sparkles under a cloudless sky pierced by the jagged silhouettes of mountains as nature presents us with every shade of blue in its palette. Seeing it for the second time is a bonus on our return trip to do the Hooker Valley Track and get up close and personal with our tallest mountain. The distant roar of an avalanche – and the cairn to those visitors who did not leave alive – reminds us that behind the beauty lurks danger.
After a week of driving we both feel the need to slather ourselves in glacial mud and zone out in a steaming sauna. Luckily, Methven's Opuke Thermal Pools offers such an option and we break out our togs for the first time in the trip. Heated entirely by solar panels, the pools only opened this year and are the perfect touch of eco-friendly luxury to end a road trip that only skimmed the best that the South Island has to offer.
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