Travel

Wandering along the rocky beach beside Lake Waikaremoana on this wet and blustery day, it was surprising how many photo opportunities could be found with just a break in the clouds, a piece of driftwood and a willing participant…

I wasn’t looking forward to returning to Christchurch.

This was the city that I knew best in New Zealand. It’s where I’d escape to as a teenager and where I went to university. It’s where I had my first real job and where I bought my first house. Many of my old friends and co-workers still live there. If anywhere in the country felt like home, surely this had to be it.

Except it didn’t, and it wasn’t.

The massive earthquake on Feb 22, 2011 severely damaged much of the inner city and eastern suburbs. Now, almost two years to the day since the earth roared in Christchurch, I was finally coming back. I’d come up with many excuses during that time as to why I hadn’t already returned. It didn’t fit with my plans, or I didn’t have enough annual leave, or I was on the other side of the world.

All of those things were true, but they weren’t the real reason.

I just didn’t want to see it with my own eyes.

Now things were starting to look very familiar.

Over the previous month we had slowly headed down from the top of the North Island, which meant that – despite our trip being called “Travel With A Local” – several of the places we went were new to me as well. So much for being a tour guide, really, although with a bit of vowel-flattening I was at least able to speak the local lingo.

“Sux buts of fush and chups” indeed.

The coastline between Oamaru and Dunedin is a rugged, wind-swept sort of a place. It’s beautiful in the way that many of the South Island’s eastern beaches are, all pounding waves and spray-filled air, but it’s not typically somewhere that many tourists would stop.

Except, of course, for a long strip of sand near the little township of Moeraki.

On that particular strip of sand lies literally dozens of spherical boulders, ranging from fairly small to over two metres across. They look as if a bunch of giants scooped them up from wherever they found them and threw them down the beach, cracking many of them in the process.

The scientific version is far less interesting – something to do with cemented mudstone being exposed by erosion.

I think I like my version better.

The easy bit was over.

Over the previous two days we had walked around 25km of the Queen Charlotte Track. There had been a few ups and downs, but nothing too hard. The track was well-maintained, we’d had plenty of sunshine, our beds had been comfortable – hell, we’d even had a hot tub to relax in. As far as multi-day hikes go, this was about as good as it gets.

Things, however, were about to change. The third day was going to be tough.