Our Last Train Ride In New Zealand

Sunday 17 December

Our last full day on tour today – the second half of this trip has really speeded by, but we still had a long way to go today. The weather had cleared and was fine and sunny when we woke this morning, and as we were off to breakfast, the group were leaving for the airfield just down the road, for their helicopter flight. By the time we were all getting on the coach, an hour later, the clouds had rolled in again and the top of the mountains had disappeared, which meant no more flying for a while – they were very lucky to have had the window of clear skies.

We traveled through flat pastureland surrounded by mountains, where there were very few sheep. The land is quite often water-logged in this region, which affects the feet of the sheep. Cattle are more water tolerant, but the farmers are now building a system of furrows across the fields, so that water drains in to the lower part, allowing the animals to stand on the higher drier ground (only a foot or two higher) out of the wet. This system is working as the animals have been tested to be healthier and produce more milk and better quality meat. We saw many Wekos – look like small kiwis and are often mistaken for the national bird- and Pukekos – also known as swamp hen – bluish colour plumage, looking like a slightly large moorhen with a white beak. These birds can now be shot during the duck-shooting season, as they are a pest to the farmers, pulling up the grass and its roots with their sharp beaks, so there is no pasture for the grazing animals. Farmers are currently campaigning to be able to shoot them all year round. There are lots of pigs and wild boars in the forests around here (they too can withstand the wet ground). They were brought to the country by Captain Cook – the sheep he brought with him all died quite quickly, but the pigs survived and flourished in the forested hills. A favourite tree in this area is the Kohitatia, a white flowering tree, only found in this region now, as it has been cut down on a large scale throughout the rest of New Zealand.

Our first stop this morning was at Hokitika, famous for the green Nephrite Jade (named after “whitebait”, a delicacy in this area) found in the Arohura river. It is a very hard stone (6.7, compared to 10 for diamond), much harder though than its cousin the Asian jade. This stone could be hewn into knives and spearheads with extremely sharp edges, which easily decapitated animals (and people too I suppose). The Maoris used to have a custom as an act of friendship whereby they passed a stone from person to person, and each new hand polished it before passing on, till it shined and sparkled like a diamond. They ended up trading, first the polished stones, then the raw material in exchange for food and other goods. In the Treaty of 1848, between the English and the Maoris, it was agreed that only the local Maori tribe would be allowed to mine the stone, but a few years ago, this was challenged and the dispute has still not been settled, so at present no one is mining the jade, which may cause a problem for the retailers in the not too distant future.

Following the gold rushes between 1862 and 1864, Hokitika became the biggest sea port on South Island, transporting provisions and gold between here and Sydney. But it had no deep water harbour and boats had to traverse the sand bar at high tide which resulted in many running aground, stuck until the next high tide (a profitable business was set up to pull the boats clears with tugs, as a sideline). But by the 1950’s boats had become too big to dock here, so a main road was built connecting Hokitika with Christchurch, through Arthur’s Pass which amazingly took only one year to build.

We visited the local factory and store, looking again at the intricate Maori shapes the stone had been carved into. Whilst looking around here, Juz phoned to say they were in the middle of their “Christmas Day dinner” (Saturday evening at home) and everything was going fine – later photos showed the grandparents and Andy (!) asleep – just taking a nap before waking up for the next course, I think was the explanation. But it was really great to speak to her, and to know that all was going well. It is probably just as well that Colin was outside the shop with the wallet, as I found several pieces I liked, and probably would have spent a fortune.

By the end of the phone call it was time to get back on the coach again to go to Greymouth, the largest town in the region. We passed through gorges and canyons and out on to the coast once more. New Zealand holds an endurance race each year, from Greymouth to Christchurch, whereby competitors have to cycle to the foot of the mountains inland, run up the river valleys through the mountains and come out on the other side of Arthur’s Pass, where they then kayak 60 kms down the river, cycle to the beach outside Christchurch and then run to the finishing line. It used to be a two day endurance test, but now the record stands at10 hours 45 minutes! - it takes six hours by train!! and one man has won it nine times – he has just retired at the age of 40 years old. Ironically it is sponsored by Speights, the local brewery.

The ‘train group’ was dropped off at Shantytown, a faithful replica of a village from the 1900 gold mining days, with models of houses, shops, and services. We saw the printers with the old printing presses and messy ink plates and letters to set up the local newspapers, the fire station with an 1880’s fire engine (I got Colin to take lots of piccys for Alex), the hospital and dentists with all those gory instruments that we can remember still being used on us in our childhood, and the jail, one cell was open showing the wooden bed and not a lot more, but peeking through the closed door, it was a bit of a shock to see the wax effigy of a man lying on the bed, obviously calling out for attention. There was the old record book of felons, showing arrests for larceny, breach of the peace and assaults, resulting in sentences of anything from four hours in jail to four years. There was also a small area to one side of the village, showing the life of the Chinese in this region, who came as storekeepers and traders, supporting the miners. They brought their own culture to the village, but rarely intermingled socially, so that a mixed race wedding was very rare. Many of these Chinese people went back to China after the gold rush, many very wealthy by that time.

Also at this village was the railway station with an old steam locomotive running for a short journey up the repaired track about four times a day. Needless to say, Andrew was straight to the engine sheds to find out all the info (might glean something useful for when his railway opens in April). We saw the stoker loading the coal (all very wet, so that when he pulled the hooter lever, the smoke was dense and black, curling into the environment – no smokeless fuel here – it took a floorful to go up the track and a bunkerful to come back. The engine – Gertie – was built in 1877 and was just as gleaming now as when she first rode the rails. We hurried back to wait on the station, but Andrew managed to ride in the driver’s cab, and didn’t return even when the whistle blew for the journey to begin. We chugged along the short track, stopping for a piccy opportunity on the way out, and at the saw mill on the way back – where you could go gold panning – we had a ticket to go for free – but I decided to give that a miss this time after the disasterous results a couple of days ago.

Greymouth, fifteen minutes away by minibus, is the largest town on the west coast. Its main industry is as a port, exporting the coal mined locally to China and Japan, as well as some to Australia (who are one of the largest producers of coal in the world? - perhaps because it is a very black bitumen which burns extremely hot). When the huge freighters dock, riding high above the water line, the coal is already in large hoppers, which are tipped by crane into the cargo hold where a small digger spreads the load. They arrive at high tide, and by the next high tide they are fully loaded and ready to sail, sunk deep into the water by this stage.

The “grey” in the town name aptly illustrates the town – it is dull, monotone, unexciting, and almost a forgotten outreach. But in fact the river was named “Grey” by Thomas Brunner when he arrived here in 1848, after George Grey, the then Governor of New Zealand. In 1868 the town became Greymouth to recognize the status of the port on the river. It is supposedly a centre for “action-packed” activities around the area, including white water rafting, caving, watching dolphins, walking the glaciers, etc, but none of that has rubbed off on the town itself, and its appeal was a mystery to me. The brochures also tell us it has warm, friendly people (as do most places in New Zealand) with “wild food” including venison, boar and whitebait – perhaps we should have stayed longer to sample their fare. Linda, the lady driving the minibus, took us on a tour of the town (about five minutes to see the docks, the new hospital and the high street) before depositing us at the railway station to make our connection with the TransAlpine train to take us to Christchurch.

This train had comfortable springy seats, and large panoramic windows, and we were seated at one end of the buffet car – handy for those cups of tea and sarnies for lunch – right at the end of the train – we had to walk off the platform and down the track just to get on. The first part of the journey took us along the wide, twisty valley of the Grey River, and around Lake Brunner, through stands of native beech forest, then up into the deep gorge valley of the Taramakau river, where we were surrounded by glacial valleys and snow-capped mountains. The track then climbed steeply into the foothills of Mount Franklin to the Otira Tunnel which stretches nine kilometres through the mountain under Arthur’s Pass (those on the coach actually traveled on the road which took them over Arthur’s Pass). We emerged from the darkness into the Waimakariri River valley, to cross the fertile farmland of the Canterbury Plain. Sheep and goats were grazing to the very edges of the track, which ran about half way up the valley sides. Deep glacial ‘u’ shaped valleys cut into the Plain where rivers joined and provided some spectacular scenery. The rest of the coach joined us for this last part of the journey, and we all arrived in Christchurch around 18.00. Darryl had arrived at the station just before the train, and it was then just a short ride to the hotel.

Our last “Farewell Dinner” for some time, was in the bowels of the hotel again, where they entertain tour groups. The menu choice for main course was chicken or sirloin steak, and lots of people chose the beef option. The menu said “medium”, but of course I like mine “still mooing” and the waitress seemed a little concerned about asking the chef to change it. But when it came, it was “blue” as I like it, although not the tenderest piece of beef I have eaten. But the rest who went with the chef’s recommendation had “shoeleather” – really dry and tough as old boots – and many sent it back almost untouched – not good enough for a posh hotel. But we had lots of wine and enjoyed the party atmosphere, as everyone exchanged email addresses and promised to keep in touch – I might even have a few more readers of the blog. Although taking a little while to get going – maybe the result of Alan’s very quiet, withdrawn character – by the end of the tour the group had gelled well and it was sad to say “goodbye” to some very lovely people. We might meet up again with Elaine and Dick as they live in Cumbria near Hadrian’s Wall, not too far from Juz, and we may even get to see Maureen and Sheila from the US, when we visit Millie next year, as Sheila lives in Pennsylvania – just across the river I am told from New Jersey.