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I'm not a natural golfer. The thought of playing golf five times in six days sounds like torture to me. The trip was organized, paid for, and unfortunately someone had to drop out. Duty called, what could I do.
Still beats working. Queenstown here we come.
Click the Pic for the full Story
First stop Wellington. The flight in was windy and wet, that's pretty good weather for here. My last couple of trips here are vague memories of misty lumps seen through the lumpy misty stuff. We grab a late lunch check out the sights and barhop till bedtime. The next day the sky is blue and the wind calm, this could be an omen. Our first meetup is that night, we tourist the day away, then head to the pub arranged for our meet. Trevor, Angie, Burt, and Bev, through the window they look like normal people . We drink beer, eat steak, and discuss the the big reunion in a couple of days time. So far so good.
My Mum,s family's huge so the thought of adding another hundred or so relations doesn't faze me. We have always called my Fathers family the " dark side" just because their are so few of them, this might restore the balance a bit. Mick has been writing the history of my fathers family for almost as long as I can remember. I've even read a draft, it's quite good. Not quite a James Bond novel in pace, but plenty of intrigue to keep you interested. During the process he contacted Suzanne, who forwarded him on to Trevor, who after 15 years of thinking about it organized this catch up. Apart from Mick my nearest relation is our Great-Great Grandfather. My Grandmother Mim was a living Great-Great Grandmother, so to me that's not that distant.
The big reunion is in the center of the North Island. Most of them live at either end, and for us it's a good excuse to have a bit of a driving holiday at the same time. We go via Napier, stopping off to meet a bit more family on the way. Then on to Turangi where its all scheduled to happen. Turangi is a funny little place, sort of half housing estate, half holiday town, plenty of accommodation, on a big lake in a scenic setting. First activity is an informal walk around the lake, not the big one fourtunatly. We are not the only ones struggling to learn new names, as many of the others have never meet before, or at best infrequently. We learn all the lake hikers are keen "trampers" probably not a great surprise in hindsight. The big do is spread over two events, a dinner, and a breakfast at a winery restaurant. Fortunately for me we all have name tags, and there is a big Family tree to help us all figure out where we fit in. Unfortunatly I don't, I'm not on the tree, along with a few others who missed the last minute update. There are Waltons, Morpheth, Champtaloups, Walker's, and Bonds present along with many others from eight to eighty. One new member of the family who wasn't there was only 12 hours old, The biggest bunch are the Lovett descendants, some of which we quickly learn hijacked the family riches. Lamb Shanks and Hawkes Bay Red, how could things not go well. I eat too much, and probably don't drink enough of the good red, the desert was coffee tiramisu.
At the 10 AM breakfast the next morning, a bit early for us, for future reference Mick gives a brief history of the Bonds, this he does dressed in a masons jacket in honor of the GGF who we learn was a keen member of the Lodge. We also hear of the other family branches, James Bond's had 5 daughters and 3 sons, many of whom moved from New Zealand within a generation. Eggs Benedict, a group photo, then all of a sudden it's over.
We don't fly out for another couple of days so we head up to Auckland to check out the GGF's block of land which is now in the middle of the city beside the NZTV building. He was a bit of a churchie type, disinheriting any one who dared marry a protestant, so we drop in at St Mathews Church, his regular, and St Paul's where he's is buried out back under the new freeway apparently. From there it's on to the Bay of Islands, and my town "Russell" in the sunny north, this gives my high tech raincoat a good try out. On the day It's the only wet place in NZ. Washed we head back south for the flight out.
To my new family. You all seemed like nice people, there were hints of one of the great aunts having a dark secret, but as no one seemed to know it, it was probably just she once kissed a protestant, or liked bingo. It was great checking out the family resemblances, and nice to know that not even the American contigent were voting for Donald Trump. You are all welcome to drop by in Melbourne for a cuppa anytime. A special thanks to Trevor Walton for organizing the whole shebang, and I'm getting the Aussie Lawyers to start scrutinizing those wills as soon as I get home.
Click the pic for more trip photo's or here for the reunion ones
I've got a Kiwi mate who lives in Queenstown. He's a mad keen cross country skier, paddler and deer farmer. Well actually keener deer farmer. At the camp where we worked together every one else would be reading Playboy except for Flip who would be checking out the centrefold in deer farmer monthly. I was in-between swings and looking for something to do, so a quick jump across the Tasman for a bit of fun seemed in order. The great thing about NZ is you really don't really need to adapt too much on holidays. The drive on the same side of the road, almost speak the same language, and have a healthy disrespect for all Aussies.
Flip lives in one of the most scenic spots on the globe, snow covered mountains rise behind the beautiful lake Wakatipu. The golf course is next door, and his deer farm is on top of the hill. One hundred and eighty acres of prime velvet raising country. Fortunately I'm not here to go farming. Closest I get is a night out with the pump action fixing the local feral problem. The next day we hop into Flips 4 wheel drive van, and head to the top of the south Island, past miles of hydro schemes and endless ranges.
We are planning to walk the Heaphy track which is an old cattle track that goes 80 KM from the east coast to the west coast across the southern Alps of NZ. Being a cattle track it doesn't really have a lot of scenic highlights as it sticks to the valleys and low passes. As a matter of fact it's actually a better mountain bike ride, unfortunately at the time they had just turned it into a National Park so such fun was now verboten. We had to walk. I say it hugs the Valleys but the first day is a 1000m climb to Perry saddle hut. Bad news. Good news, as they say in the classics it's all down hill from here. The walk takes about 6 days, we are staying in the mountain huts which have the usual selection of mostly foreign backpackers.The first night we meet Bob who is a 80 year old organic farmer taking a couple of 20 year old female Scandinavian woofers on a walking adventure. The hill nearly killed me, my feet are really sore and blistered, and my pack seems to weigh a ton. Bob is as fresh as a daisy, must be the organic food. We spend a pleasant night chewing the fat and talking deer farming with the visitors.
We take off early next morning but by lunch time my feet are killing me. I can't go any further. It seems like my feet have grown a size since I last wore my really comfortable Rossies, and now in the middle of the walk I have come to realize they do not fit any more. Fortunately Flip has a pair of sandals, looks like I'm going to do one of NZ's major walks in thongs. As it was a cattle/bike track the surface is pretty good and my feet get better out of my boots. Over the next couple of days we wind our way down towards the coast. When we get to half way we find a tree full of worn out boots. Seems like I'm not the first. I add to the pile. Finally we get to the coast and a place where we can catch the bus which we have booked back to the nearest town. There are a bunch of Japanese tourists and a few other hikers there. After a wait the bus turns up and the Japanese jump on. They haven't booked so the bloke has only bought out the small bus. We wait an hour till he returns.
A night at the local pub, with a real bed, parma, and a hot shower does us wonders. All we have to do is get back over the hill to the car. There are two choices, a $40 bus ride that takes four hours or a shuttle flight that takes 45 minutes. After six days it would be kind of nice to see all we had walked over in 15 minutes. We get to the airport and the Japanese are already there filling up the plane. There where a couple more than he thought there would be so he apologises and tells us he will be back in a couple of hours. So much for the short trip. The field is half an hour from town so we sit down to wait in the luxurious tin shed terminal. The plane returns, we get in and head up the track, but the cloud has closed the pass. "We don't fly through clouds as they tend to have hard centres" our pilot tells us. No worries we will just go around. Our 45 minuet flight turns in to a hour and a half tour around the top of the South Island. Priceless, we see seals, whales and a whole lot of beautiful coast line.
That night we are back in Motuaka having dinner with one of Flips mates who builds boats. John builds custom made wooden canoes for hunting lodges and sea kayaks for adventures He has a model he sells to rental mobs, and his first prototype is sitting in the shed. Why don't we take it while where here and paddle round the Able Tasman national park. Why not.
I walked the Able Tasman a couple of years before, it's spectacular. All great coastline with beautiful bays. You can go diving off the beach for scallops. Sea kayaking is much more civilized than Tramping. You get to take chairs, and fresh food, in an Esky, and beer. The weather is great. We spend about five hours a day paddling between camps, with Flip taking the odd fishing break. I don't remember him catching any thing. In the after noon we pull up on a deserted beach, light a fire, pull out a deck chair and watch the sun set. The only thing missing is a beer. Hold on we have a slab of cold VB, Carlton is dumping the stuff here and its cheaper than the local beer. We paddle about 100 k's over 5 days then hitch back to get the car. Highly recommended.
PS you can now mountain bike the Heaphy track again, as they have changed the rules. You can hire sea kayaks at Motuaka.
Click the pic for more photos
The Mountains.
If you go into the woods today you’re in for a big surprise. No, not Teddy Bears. Hills, Bloody great big ones. Its day 6 and we take off from Kone. After our night of native accommodation the boys where keen to get on the road, and burn up some of the Yams they had consumed. We headed off out of town for a pleasant 15KM of flat road, even a bit of bike track. The roads where still good and the traffic was relatively light. Once we hit the hills it was different. Ern had booked a nice resort on the other side for two nights, and we were going there for a rest day. Not that we had a lot of choice. There was no further accommodation available in either direction for 150 KM. That was fine, but first we had to get there. New Caledonia is about 350 KM long and around 80 KM wide. The coastline is relatively flat but to get from one side to the other you need to go over not just one, but 2 sets of mountains with a valley in the centre. We where heading up the first of these. Fortunately I was driving due to my bung arm, but even the Citron was struggling up some of the 10% plus grades. How where the boys going? Who cares? I switched on the AC, and waited at the lookout at the end of the climb. It was a great view of the previous days ride. Eventually they struggled in. I directed them towards the water and told them to get a move on, as I wanted to get as much time around the resort pool as possible. Another 45 minutes riding mostly downhill with a few tiny bumps and we stopped at a great swimming hole for lunch. Baguette and Brie, great riding food and a half hour break. About 300 meters after our lunch break around the corner was a sign with 10% grade on it and it wasn’t going down. I shouted encouragement from the open window of the Citron, but the brie didn’t seem to be kicking in. I tried to take a photo of the Lads riding up the hill. I could not get them all on the bikes at the same time; some one always seemed to be walking. You don’t see that in the Tour. Eventually they made it to the top of the second climb and where rewarded with a nice 15km downhill followed by a nice flat beach section. All of a sudden we were at the Resort. Beers all round, this was more the style. I drove up the coast the next day to see one of the highlights of the East coast. A bunch of islands around Hienghene which were very pleasant, and copped a good dose of Kodak poisoning. I couldn’t get any other takers for the trip; the others just wanted to hang around the pool. On the way back I drove past the resort, and through Pondmine. The resort was at the start of town, one dogey pizza and pasta place, two gas stations, a poulet (chook) and roti van, and a dubious snack bar. Knowing Erns love of dogey pasta I went and retrieved him from round the pool because I did not want to be responsible for the dinner booking all by myself. We drove back through town and the roti van which was the best looking of the lot had closed and moved on. We ate at the resort again that night.
The next day we got an early start, well sort of. We had to get 160KM down the coast and across the hills to La Foy. A dubious standard hotel awaits us there, as this was the only accommodation available. I chucked Mick in the Citron and drove him 30KM to the next village and up a hill on the other side of town the waited for Ern and Frank to catch up. The coast road was great. Flat, not a lot of traffic, and that palm tree tropical sandy beach with islands you see in the brochures sort of pretty. We all caught up about another 30KM on in the next town. It had a market so I bought twenty ripe sugars Banana’s (most are green) and a great bit of banana pie of one of the locals for a couple of bucks. Then we found a brilliant little cafe, which had the best lunch menu we had seen so far. The local cops where eating there and a bloke who we decided must have been the Mayor was drinking Coolies (Cheap Wine) out the front. When the cops left he came and gave us a great lecture on local history in the native language. He then had a chat to the owner who didn’t seem to be able to understand him either. I chucked Ern’s bike in the car and we headed out of town, and into a nickel mine that used the highway as a haul road up the mountain. We where now headed back across the island, and I dropped him off at what we thought was near the top of the hill. Back down, the hill. We couldn’t fit all four of us and the bikes in the car so someone had to be ridding at any one time. Originally this was to be split four ways over three bikes but due to my arm the other guy’s had to do all the riding. I spent the next 5 hours shuttling bikes and blokes to the top of various never ending hills. I feel I know the road quite well as I generally drove it at least three times backwards and forwards to get everyone. Just on dark we arrived in Sarramea where we had hoped to stay but the hotel had been fully booked. We where knackered, it was dark, and another 30KM on to our booked hotel so we dropped in for a beer while we worked out a game plan. Wait there may be a room available.” For Four”... No... But there is a Gite across the road. We go across the road and check. Yes, It is fully booked... But wait there may be a room... There is a room the owners don’t normally rent it as it’s for their friends. It has a four poster and a 50” TV, not your normal Gite accommodation. The old hang around long enough and something will turn up works again. We ring our booked place and explain about our car troubles, they don’t seem too concerned. The hotel is magnificent, the have a full on French Degustation menu in the restaurant, run by the crew from Faulty towers. Service Lousy, Food Great, and Wine French of course. I still feel sick.
The next day we head off to finish the last 30KM in to La Foa. In town we find a real patisserie with good coffee and free WIFI. I shuttle the bikes and riders 60KM down the road to the airport, where Mick boxes them while I get Ern and Frank. Of course due to Security concerns they have no luggage storage and our flight is the next day. Mick and I cart the boxes in to town, another 50KM, while Ern and Frank catch a Taxi back to Le Meridian. We check in for the night, and the boys investigate Pop light, the local Disco after another fine French meal. It must have been good as they look pretty seedy the next morning. We clean up the car and head back out of town past the odd burnt out and upside down 4 wheeler from last night’s partying that has yet to be cleaned up. Just another Saturday night in Noumea. The planes late, but at least I find all the ingredients for a Bloody Mary in the airport lounge. It’s touch and go but we make our connection in Brisbane, and have time for another drink before getting on the plane back to Tulla. Apart from the arm, which is rapidly improving, it’s all gone pretty well.
New Caledonia, French Polynesia, Atom Bomb Test Site, no matter what you think the cheese eating surrender monkeys have a pretty good hold on this part of the world and there not going to let it go in a hurry. It's only three hours from Melbourne in a plane, or at least it would be if you could fly straight there. Tourism is under developed, with 100,000 visitors a year, compared to 400,000 in the Cook Islands and 200,000 in Vanuatu, and it shows. Most people go straight to a resort, and don't leave until the plane home is warming up on the runway. That's a bit of a pity because the place has a lot to offer. Great beaches, mountains, swimming holes, mine sites, friendly locals, and great bike riding.
That's what the Fatboys where here for. We spent the first day practising our rusty French in Noumea, then headed south through the hills along route 3 to Yate. It was here we first encountered the great local tradition of having no accommodation.There was meant to be a hotel and a couple of native hostels (Gites). No Hotel, and both the gites where full even though there didn't seem to be anybody there. Ern headed off to see if he could find the hotel while Mick and I settled in for a coffee. Seeing that we weren't going anywhere, all of a sudden an offer of a room appeared. "Two beds", we need three. OK then "three". We where learning the basics of traveling in NC. Because everything is always booked out, book ahead. People book rooms which are held for them, and then don't turn up. If you hang around long enough eventually you'll be offered one.Erns search for the hotel was unsuccessful so he was happy when he returned to find a room, meal, and beer waiting for him.
The next morning we took off for the ride back to Noumea. This was along the beach and all went fine for the first 30 KM. Pulling up under a tree the front wheel of my bike slipped out from under me. With my feet locked in to the pedals I hit the ground hard and heard a large crack. My arm hurt like hell and had bits poking out in funny places. The Boys loaded the bikes into the car, no mean feet as it was a little car, while I managed to get in the front seat. We returned to Yate which had a little local clinic. A native woman out the front went in side and an old French doctor appeared. Straight in to the clinic and on to the x-ray machine. Half an hour later I have my x-rays, drugs, and my arm in a sling. I've dislocated my elbow which has popped back into place when I moved it. I'm sorry to say I would have never received such good prompt and free service in Australia.
We go back to Noumea, for lunch, and then 70KM out of town to a golf course near the airport to settle in and await for Frank. By the time he gets in, I've got an arm out of action ans Ear's got a case of the Touristas from a dogey feed of spaghetti in town. Tomorrow has to be better.
The next day we head towards Bourail along the main road. The roads are in good nick and the traffic is pretty good so long as your off them before every body starts driving around pissed after dark. We find our luxury accommodation and are greeted by the manager with his "Porn Star" tee shirt. He's about 150 KG but pulls out a photo of himself later when he was in his twenty's, and the winner of the Tour of New Caledonia.
Another 100KM the next day. The east coast is not very exciting but good bike riding. We head into Kone where of course there is no accommodation. We've managed to book a Gite 30 KM in the hills. A local picks our bikes up in his 4wd and we head into the hills with jokes about us being to nights menu. After an hour of rugged steep mountain roads we arrive in the village. Lots of dogs, one shared room, but a meals included. Where told that another lodger is sharing with us for the night. She turns up half an hour later, takes one look at the place and heads back out of town to god knows where. Every things booked. We share the dinner table with about 10 cats, but the meal is good. Yam's,Tarrow, Plantains, and heaps of Fried chicken. A cat jumps off the wall and grabs a piece of Ern's chicken off his fork but apart from that there are no casualties. Tomorrow we tackle the hills. TBC
Things not to try on your 53 Birthday
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