Westward ho!

The weather forecast is looking good for the west coast and not so good for the mountains so that helps me decide in which direction to drive for my three-day road trip – out of Christchurch, over Arthur's Pass and down to the Tasman Sea. When I reach the rain-lashed hills, it's so bleak and wet and misty that I could be driving through Drumochter on my way to Aviemore.
But once over the steep descent at Otira with its great feat of engineering, the Otira viaduct bridge, I'm in sunshine and my mood lifts. I cruise down through agricultural villages turned tourist hangouts, wide alluvial plains, the clouds white and fluffy instead of dark and rain laden. At the coast the sun sparkles on the water and the road hugs the cliff.

I can't resist stopping at one of the volcanic-sand beaches, kicking off my shoes and admiring the handiwork of the rock balancers. Then the sand flies notice me. Little blighters. Within minutes my legs are pebble-dashed with tiny bites.
I am aiming for Punakaiki, or Pancake Rocks, a big draw round these parts. A boardwalk trail gives a bird's eye view of these strange layered rock formations and I follow up my tour by ordering a 'pancake stack' at the cafe. It's the touristy thing to do and that's what I am, after all.

I manage to find one of the local caves, which goes further back than I'm prepared to venture without a torch, and it's certainly atmospheric, water drip-drip-dripping, the entrance fringed with ferns.
I've booked into the local YHA and it turns out to be a delightful wooden lodge tucked away in the bush down an unsealed track. My room looks out onto dense rainforest. There are rustlings in the trees during the night – probably the Weka I saw hobbling about earlier, one of New Zealand's plump flightless birds – and a tuneful dawn chorus in the morning.





I don't have any food to cook but fortunately the hostel has a 'wee shop' with fresh eggs, home baked bread and an assortment of tinned and packeted food. So I cook up scrambled eggs on toast and earmark some bread and a homemade strawberry and chocolate muffin for the following day's packed lunch.

I have a feeling that tonight's sunset will be a special one so I follow the Truman track, twisting down through the bush from the hostel, to a secluded sandy cove. The evening sun shines golden on the curve of cliff at the back of the beach, fronds dangle down casting shadows on sandstone and grey bony fingers of rock stretch out across the sand.

The setting sun does not disappoint the small group from the hostel gathered here, as it sinks below the horizon of the Tasman and finally sends up little flares, bright reflections on distant unseen clouds, perhaps. 

Back at base everyone settles into cosy sofas in front of the wood burning stove to play chess, cards, write postcards, catch up on emails or, ahem, blogs. There's a German girl talking to her boyfriend on Skype. It goes on for about two hours and annoys the hell out of the Germans among my fellow guests. I'm so glad I can't understand what she's saying...

So... a tramp a day keeps the doctor away but before you say, whoa, that's a tad extreme Cate, in New Zealand 'tramp' means hike. The next day's tramp follows the Punakaiki River to join the Inland Pack Track, created by miners in 1865 (during the gold rush) to avoid dangerous coastal cliffs (which were originally navigated on ladders made of flax by Maoris trading greenstone).

I'm in the Paparoa National Park, which is a relatively recent one (Janine, my friend in Christchurch, tells me she was at the opening in 1987). The canyons are deep, up to 200m above the river, while the bush is temperate rainforest with groves of nikau palms and black mamaku tree ferns, with supplejack vines creating a jungle-like canopy. Apart from the odd patch of farming it's a true wilderness area unmolested by humans so there's profusion of birdlife, which I hear but rarely see on the walk.

I cross two swing bridges on the walk and the gentle twanging really gives me the collywobbles, even crossing them at a snail's pace. The river is a constant soundtrack with little falls or rapids and there are tantalisting glimpses of the water along the track. At one point the path ducks into a cave and comes out the other side.
I'm also slightly scared of a few horses that I meet by a river and have a spare muffin ready that I can throw down before legging it, but it turns out they're more interested in nibbling at patches of grass or sipping fresh water from the river.

I return to the car via a driftwood beach where people have built twig teepees and standing sculptures.

There's a colony of Westland Black Petrels offshore from Punakaiki and I see them in the distance. It is apparently the world's only breeding ground for this bird. 

It's time to head to the mountains for the better weather that has been forecast and my route back up to Arthur's Pass passes by Lake Buller and the most picturesque railway station I've ever seen. Second only to Aviemore!
I linger for the sunset with a ginger beer. The clouds up ahead tell me the weather in the mountains is still dreich, so I'm in no hurry to be part of it. I eventually move on, checking in to Arthur's Pass YHA to prepare for the next adventure.