3 weekends ago, I took a trip down to the Catlins. I wrote this entry the day I returned, but neglected to post it. Bad me. I will be better in the future, I promise.
Not only was this my first trip to this supposed “scenic and solitary heaven on earth,” it was my first trip completely alone. Eddy was up in Christchurch, playing for Dunedin’s Ultimate Frisbee team at the National Competitions. Although I was invited, I would have been the only girl, and I didn’t quite feel like playing the part of cheerleader. So I packed my bags and headed south, armed only with an atlas, 4 books, my knitting, extra shoes, extra towels, my ipod, my camera, 2 days worth of food and clothes for every possible weather situation. This time, I pledged to be prepared.
About 20 minutes into the 2 hour drive, my ipod died. Yes, I charged it fully the night before. Technology, however, seems to hate New Zealand. My drive, then, was spent singing Dr. Horrible and counting the sheep. And there really are a lot of sheep. They remind me of bacteria in a petri dish; a few lone sheep dot the rolling green hillsides, becoming more and more condensed towards the centre and then, boom, an explosion of sheep so thick you can’t see the ground anymore. If you yell out your window, one will inevitably start running, a funny woolly waddle that doesn’t seem much faster than a walk. But once one runs, they all run, up towards the safety of a slightly higher spot on the hill. It is so much fun to torment the sheep. Not that I have ever done this, of course.
My first stop in the Catlins was Kaka Point, a rocky jetty on the “Southern Scenic Route.” I walked down to the beach, and watched the waves. The wind was so strong it pulled the spray backwards off the waves as they curled, creating flying jets of water that trailed after each wave like a veil. I lifted my camera to take a picture, and it refused. Technology hates New Zealand.
My next stop was Nugget Point, an 8km drive down a pot-holed gravel road. I walked down to the wildlife hide, and saw a baby yellow-eyed penguin hiding in the bush. Well, my guidebook told me it was a penguin; to me it looked more like an ugly grey blob that kept peeping. I then walked 900m out to the lighthouse, following a wide dirt path that skirted the edge of a cliff. At one point, cliffs fell down towards the ocean on either side of me. On one side, the ocean raged against the bluffs, a frothing mass of foam and bull kelp that crashed against the rocky shore. On the other side, bladder kelp swayed gently in the deep, crystal blue waters. It was yin and yang, heaven and hell, bull and bladder, and I stood on the thin divide.
At the lighthouse, I ate lunch to the sounds of waves crashing against the large rocks that lined the shore. I watched the fur seals (which are, in fact, sea lions, not seals) playing on the rocks, barking and splashing in the tidal pools. After lunch, I drove down to Cannibal Bay and got to meet some real sea lions up close and personal; apparently, sea lions sleeping on a beach look a lot like kelp. After a failed attempt to do the beach walk to nearby Surat Bay, I met a nice elderly couple about to embark on a short tramp through the surrounding farmlands up to the cliffs above the beach. Not only did they take me on the tramp with them, they invited me back to their RV for “a cuppa and bikkies” (aka tea and cookies) afterwards. I love Kiwis.
I finished my day by driving up to my backpackers, a lonely lodge atop a hill. The sun was setting in the mountains behind me, turning the ocean pink. After moving into my dorm room (the lodge was meant to sleep 12, but there was only me and 1 other girl), I drank tea and listened to the birds as the sun went down. Although I spent the day completely alone (save for the kind Kiwi couple), it was one of the most fulfilling, beautiful days I have ever experienced.
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