|
a
|
|
|
|
|
Miles of wild open spaces. High desert plateaus extending from the horizons. Virgin
forests of giant prehistoric trees. Grassy plains. Jagged granite rising almost 2.5 miles
above the ocean. Glaciers descending into the jungle. Parrots and penguins in the same
rain forest. A wild ocean crashing into footprint-free beaches. Boom towns. Ghost towns.
No towns. Clapboard false fronts. Dusty main streets at high noon. Cowboys and sheepmen
trading stories at the general store and the post office. Country fairs where lumberjacks
saw and chop, shearers slice wool, and horsewomen debate Western vs. English, while all
covet the prize-winning pies. Wyoming? Montana? Alaska? Mexico? Argentina? Australia? Nope, pardner, it's New
Zealand: last frontier of the West and first frontier of the East, so far down under we
Yanks stage there before departing for Antarctica. Do you think the pioneer spirit of the
Wild West has gone the way of the moa? Nope—it's alive and well exactly where the moa
used to live.
In
Part One we gallop through the North Island,
stopping to gawk at prehistoric trees, Maori fishing villages, clapboard towns, artist
colonies, geothermal playgrounds, until we reached the San Francisco of the South Pacific,
Wellington, and the end of the island.
In
Part Two we fly
to the South Island and explore the water wonders and wine lands of Nelson and Marlborough
country, then head for bloomin’ Christchurch with a short stop to spot the whales off
the Kaikoura Coast. We take a great rail journey from coast to coast, crossing the
Southern Alps and arriving in wild Westland, where we see glaciers, go fishing, and visit
frontier towns along the Tasman Sea. Finally, we cross New Zealand’s highest road
pass, driving from the coast through the rain forest to the alpine heights and down into
the arid rain shadow of Wanaka in Central Otago on the eastern slope.
In
Part
Three we explore some of
New Zealand’s most famous, most majestic, most remote, and most touristed country,
home of the bungy, the kea, the jet boat, and the great treks. We go back a century in
Arrowtown, go extreme in Queenstown, and can't believe our eyes in Fiordland.
Finally,
Part Four
takes us in either of two directions back to civilization at Christchurch. One direction
leads to Scotland on the Pacific Coast. The other crosses the great New Zealand Outback by
way of the highest point in Australasia. Along the way we see penguins and albatross, lots
of rabbits and a few sheep. Come with us as our Wild Frontier itinerary leads back to
Christchurch by way of Dunedin and Mackenzie Country.
|
|
|
MARLBOROUGH MAN Just west of Nelson a couple of hours is Abel Tasman National Park, a region of rain forest, headlands, snowy white beaches and turquoise water that has |
|
|
|
become the most-visited of New Zealand's natural paradises. Diagonally across sheltered Golden Bay from the park is the long sand sickle
called Farewell Spit, a thin barrier sandbar that with a name like an impudent good-bye. Golden Bay at Abel Tasman National Park. |
|
WHALES & CREAM TEAS |
|
|
special brand of culture shock. In a country full of wide open spaces, geological oddities, cowboys, sheep men, and clapboard towns, Christchurch comes on like a lost city from England. Yes, you can still find lots of shops selling sheepskins and adventure clothing, but the natives seem genuinely more interested in cream teas with the vicar. |
|
|
Christchurch, proof that the sun still hasn't quite set on
the British Empire, also is a frontier town: it's from Christchurch that Americans shuttle
to and from permanent bases in Antarctica, like staging at Skagway for the journey
into the Klondike. |
| WILD WESTLAND | |
|
After the dry, sunny climes of Marlbor-ough, and the tranquil, easy vacationland of Nelson, and the transplanted England of Christchurch, the region called Westland seems another world. This narrow strip of barely arable land is wedged between an often hostile Tasman Sea and a wall of still-growing mountains that already reach almost 13,000 feet above the ocean. The wild ocean brings the weather and the mountains block the clouds, making Westland the wettest part of New Zealand. Life is hard here. The 1% of all New Zealanders who have settled here are |
|
|
|
different from their countrymenthese are hardy
loners: independent, no-frills mavericks Americans might call pioneer
stock. They are miners and
ranchers and farmers and they must fight nature to scratch out a meager living by New
Zealand standards. This is New Zealand’s last frontier, and those few frontiersmen
and women who have made Westland their home cannot afford sophistication and complexity,
and have little time for the Empire and old school ties. Instead, it's hard living, and
all that means: hard work, hard play, and hard drink. |
|
CROSSING THE DIVIDE—THE HAAST PASS TO WANAKA, CENTRAL OTAGO |
|
|
Leaving Westland is, well, another great
adventure. The drive begins in the flood plain of the Tasman Sea, in the wettest part of
New Zealand, and climbs the highest, southernmost, and last paved of the three roads
across the Southern Alps. The Haast Pass sees too much moisture and is too high to always
be open to traffic, and its steep grades and countless hairpin curves ought to dissuade
those driving campers and motor homes from using its through route, the ambitiously named
National Highway 6. |
|
|
|
Island to export wattage to the North Island. At the southern end of
the lakes is the frontier town of Wanaka, home of outfitters, adventure companies,
last-chance gas stations, motels and hostels, and first town of any size since Hokitika in
Westland, 265 rugged miles and almost 6 fascinating driving hours away. But the rugged
fascination isn't over yet. Take on fuel in Wanaka, then leave town on route 89, the short
cut to Arrowtown, a dusty, mostly unpaved crossing of the mountains south of town. At the
arid high point of this crossing you suddenly see the promised land of green and blue far
below, and the plunge into Arrowtown is both breathtaking and brake-testing. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
