South Island Saga continued: Doubtful Sound II

 

Our exploration of Doubtful Sound continues....

Jeanne is near the bow and admiring our progress.  

Our guide/naturalist is explaining what we're seeing.  

As we approached the Tasman Sea, they unfurled the sails.  

We're at the opening of Doubtful Sound to the Tasman Sea. Due west from here there is no land until you hit South America. Tasmania lies 1,541 km. away, just a bit north of west, and Melbourne, Australia, lies about 2,000 km. distant if you travel west, northwest.   

I think these rocks are called the Hare's Ears.   

There be seals!

A male fur seal can be eight feet long and from 200 to 330 lbs.  

We're heading back into the Sound. First sighting of the Moon.  

Twilight is upon us, and the Moon and Jupiter are well up. 

I'm amazed that we are here, in a fjord of the South Island of New Zealand, and seeing such sights.    

I was imagining, when I saw this, how cold it must be up there on the peaks. 

The two stars you see just to the right of the center of this picture, are the 'pointer stars' that point to The Southern Cross, which is now lying on it's side with it's top star lowest.  

Remember that the top star of the pointers, Alpha Centauri, is actually a binary star.*

It is full dark now.  Jeanne and I are on the deck just in front of the Bridge.  

I've turned my camera 180 degrees now and there she is, bundled up against the chill with snow-capped peaks behind her.  

It was magical out there.

The winds had died down somewhat, but is was still breezy.  We could smell the sea and hear the slapping of small waves along the sides of the ship.  

We had had a great meal earlier (a buffet with prawns, blue cod, chicken, ham, and lamb) and soon after this picture was taken, went in and topped off  our evening's activities with a mug of hot chocolate.  

We spent the night in a very sheltered corner of the Sound and felt no wave movement whatsoever. 

Tomorrow morning will look very different.  Be watching...     -djf

*I'm including a link to the post I did back in August of 2022, proving that Alpha Centauri is a binary.  

https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/398866872025297364/2073316761687805882

South Island Saga continued: Doubtful Sound

I poked a bit of fun at myself back when I produced the South Island Saga: 'Sailors' post, and was also guilty (a misdemeanor at most) of some exaggerations about the Pacific Ocean's roughness and the tour boat's subsequent movements. I will not do that sort of thing in describing our cruise and overnight adventure aboard the Fjordland Navigator.  

This experience was amazing. The weather cooperated, giving us a gloriously beautiful first day and night, and a misty, moisty, next morning* that contributed its own kind of allure to my pictures. I heard that the perfect conditions we experienced the first day are not common. We were especially lucky.

Let's get right to it. 

We were shown to our cabin.  The bathroom, complete with shower, is behind the door in the corner. We brought only what few items we would need for the overnight stay. Our large suitcases stayed on board our bus. The beds were very comfortable.  

We were on the top deck. This is the view toward the back of the boat from outside our cabin door. 

This is the view from the top deck as we stepped out of the passage I just showed you.  

The view from the prow as soon as I had made my way forward.  

This is the lower deck. The crew's quarters were below this deck. 

Our Captain on the bridge. 

Those who wanted to were taken on a ride on the ship's boat, and others opted to explore our surroundings in kayaks.  I observed that this boat, although it boasted an impressive motor, provided our bunch with a very sedate ride.

(I'm currently reading Corduroy Mansions, by Alexander McCall Smith. One of his characters, Terence by name, has just purchased a Porsche, which, like our boat, is undoubtedly capable of great acceleration, but he shows reserve similar to our boat driver's as he pulls out of his garage each day.  Well, he does at first anyway.  He soon starts experimenting with what happens if you really step on it.  

Look back up at the photo again and notice the strip of very bare rock in the middle of the picture on the right. (And some other, smaller bits higher up.)  

We were told by the onboard guide/naturalist that those are called slips, and happen generally after a rain when foliage is heavier and the plants at the top of the slip loose their grip on the rock.  They fall and take out whatever lies below them.  Many slips go all the way to the waterline. 

We're now on the top deck here looking toward the Bridge. We have a ways to go yet this afternoon. We're heading out to the mouth of the Sound where we'll see seals and dolphins.

Later tonight, Jeanne and I will come up here and take some pictures of the Moon, Jupiter and The Southern Cross.  And one of her bundled up against the chilly breeze with snow-capped mountains behind her.  

Make sure you keep watching.   -djf

a misty, moisty morning*

That is from a nursery rhyme that you may remember...

One misty, moisty, morning,

When cloudy was the weather, 

There I met an old man, 

All clothed in leather,

All clothed in leather.

With a cap under his chin. 

How do you do?

And how do you do? 

And how do you do again?

This is also known to be, I read, the initial lines of The Wiltshire Wedding, a song published in 1680, although it was acknowledged that this rhyme may be even older.   

South Island Saga continued: Into the Southern Alps

I think it's the small things in life that I appreciate the most. Little things that surprise and delight me inordinately.  (caution: this post contains a segment of reminiscence.) 

Here we are, being chauffeured all over the South Island of New Zealand. Seeing sights most folks can only dream about.  At the end of travel each day, our luggage is brought to our rooms for us. We meet again in the bar for happy hour at today's swank hotel and talk smart, as Fred likes to say.  Then dinner, followed by a comfortable bed.  It doesn't get much better, except of course, when it does.   

Today's post starts by recounting one of those little surprises that popped up. But it does more.   

We're going to ride up into the Southern Alps later today. Our ears will pop repeatedly. We're going to a small town on the edge of a deep mountain lake and then cross it.  The scenery, and weather will at long last, both be spectacular; the surface of the lake like glass between snowy peaks.  

This begins what for me, was the highpoint of our tour. Let's be off. I'll tell you a little more as we go.  

What a great name...McCracken's Rest.  Got a ring to it.  It reminds me of Whatever Became of the McGowans? by Michael G. Coney. They definitely rested.  (No, this is not the reminiscing... just a literary reference...soon, though...I'll advise you.)  

It is from here that we begin to get into serious sheep country and later on, start to climb.  After McCracken's Rest, we drive north. 

It was just a couple of hours later, when we stopped for morning tea at a restaurant called Tui Base Camp, in the little town of Tuatapere, that one of life's little pleasures presented itself to me.  I was so pleased. It really made my day!  (Reminiscence begins...)  

I don't suppose that most of you have tried sweet breads.  They are the thymus gland of an  animal. I've now tried beef, veal and sheep sweetbreads.  

I first learned of them after Jeanne and I bought our first home and land from her uncle Albert outside Carney, Michigan in 1975. Her dad was a dairy farmer whose land started on the next forty to ours. Besides milking his herd, he would also raise an animal or two each year for beef.  The butcher who prepared our animal was very careful to ask about any 'special cuts,' that we wanted.  I loved the soft, almost juicy texture of the poached, then fried crispy morsels. They have a very mild taste that I think most people would relish, if they could lay aside their preconceptions of what is acceptable fare, and what is not.   

It was a few years later when I was working a furniture show in Minneapolis, Minnesota, that I surprised and I think shocked at least one of my dinner partners at a fancy French restaurant there. I ordered sweetbreads in a puff pastry shell.  My dinner arrived with a rich beef sauce completely surrounding my pastry. "What the h... is that, one of my bosses asked me? I told him and offered him a taste but he refused it, preferring his steak.   

We were being feted that night by a couple of French furniture company representatives who were anxious to get some their product placed into our showroom in future shows.  I thought that the price of my choice might have clued my boss into how highly the French value a veal sweetbread, but he probably hadn't even noticed it on the menu.  (Reminiscence ends: thank you for your patience.)  

Back in the present now, I've bought sheep sweet breads several times from Aussie Butcher in Henderson.

Anyway, here they were again in this restaurant. It made sense.  We were in the middle of sheep country. I admire these folks. They recognize value when they see it. 

"Why must we waste a good thymus," they must have asked themselves? "No sheep minus the thymus," became (my imagined) slogan of the Tuatapere area sheep industry.    

I absolutely had to taste some.  I all but dashed (well, shuffled) to the counter and placed my order. I got them just as others of our group were beginning to board the bus.  

They were delicious. Jeanne and I sat on the bus and popped them into our mouths over the course of several kilometers. I was grinning like a kid with a sack of candy. 

I thought of one of the most popular recipes for sweetbreads. You may not be aware that a famous song was inspired by that recipe. Think about it. 𝅘𝅥𝅮Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thymus.𝅘𝅥𝅮

Even a book was written, also undoubtedly inspired by this delicacy. It was by no less than Charles Dickens himself and his original text, before it was rewritten, began, It was the best of thymus, it was the worst of thymus.  

You probably didn't know that he was a restaurant reviewer for a local paper before he started his serious career as a writer.  

(Okay, I admit it, this is getting out of hand. I'll quit)    

Chewing them helped clear our ears as Alan and the bus now got down (or rather up?) to the serious business of climbing into the mountains.... 

We are now in Manapouri and about to board the ferry that will take us to the other end of the lake.  

Lake Manapouri I learned is 444 meters deep, or 1,456 feet.  Lake Superior is 406 meters, or 1,332 feet deep for comparison. 

Some scenes from around and on the lake. 

See, like glass, right?

We've reached the other end of the lake and have made our way by bus to the overlook above Doubtful Sound.  

Jeanne indicates, "It's cold up here."   

That is Doubtful Sound far below us.  It is a fjord that Captain Cook discovered way back when. He is said to have commented that it looked like a good place to sail into, but because of the prevailing winds, he was doubtful that he'd be able to get the ship back out again.  

We're now going to ride down The Wilmot Pass Road, the only road not connected to the rest of New Zealand's road system, and the road that cost New Zealand the most to build. I was told that it cost a dollar something per centimeter.  And that was back in 1963 dollars. It was built to allow transport of huge hydroelectric components to a project. The grades are steep; the corners tight and seemingly, never-ending.  

All this effort has finally deposited us at the Fjordland Navigator.  

We will explore Doubtful Sound on an overnight cruise.  Just wait until you see....      -djf

 

 

 

South Island Saga continued: "The sea was angry that day, my friends." (George, from an episode of "Seinfeld")

Our bus journey to Invercargill, on the South Island of New Zealand continues...

Once again, into the hills. The radiance from above, seemingly on a rheostat, constantly changed as the valleys passed below us. We'd move from brilliance to gloom and return again over the course of a kilometer.  Barely a sign of the snow that had fallen earlier in the day, except for the traces that flashed by in the grass on the roadsides, was now evident, but our windows were occasionally spotted with rain from passing squalls.  A reminder.      

This stretch was no place to rush through.  The roads were winding and the grades, whether ascending or descending, required constant shifting through the gears and adjustments to our speed. I felt that I was taking part in the efforts of crossing this impressive landscape as I was shifted about in my seat almost continuously. I think that all of us on that bus shared a common bond during this startlingly beautiful passage.  

I caught glances from some of my fellow travelers now and then, one of them mouthing a "wow," which I agreed to with a nod of my head and a grin. What a place, indeed. I turned back to the window, tried to hold steady, and clicked. You see the picture below. 

A final descent took us to the coast yet again.  The area we had come through is known as the Catlins. The untamed views of the those heights now gave way to equally impressive vistas of the sea in turmoil.   

Notice the angle of the bus. We descended here rapidly. I think that many of the roads here are Baldwin Street wannabes. (But no, not even close) 

As we drew level with the ocean, we were surprised with it's level of turmoil. Well, I was, at least.  

Had the place we were passing at the time even remotely resembled a firth, instead of a straight section of rocky coastline, I would have dubbed it, 'The Firth of Froth.'  

Sadly, we were not, it did not, and so I could not.

Before long, our driver has pulling over into a carpark. He normally opened both front and rear doors to let his boisterous bunch spill out the more quickly, but this time, he turned and cautioned us before easing only the front one open.  

He warned of very high winds. We could tell that they were significant, since the bus was rocking slightly in the blast, but until I stepped out, I had no idea just how wild it was.  I immediately pulled up my hoodie, not so much to keep warm, but to keep my hearing aids from blowing off my ears.  

Jeanne had told me that her phone's weather page was reporting 90 kph (54 mph) gusts.  I could easily believe it was at least that.  I have never before felt such a strong wind.  And, since the temperature outside was not that far above the freezing point, by whichever scale you choose to define that, the wind chill was not pleasant.  

Once, on Kerikeri Beach, during an outing when my grandsons were small, we ran into what I thought were high winds.  The stinging sand forced a retreat inland, back to our car.  Allie grabbed one boy, I grabbed the other, and we lifted them up so they could bury their faces in our chests, and we beat it.  

This wind was twice that. I think it could have been dangerous to small children to be out in it. A great experience for me though.  

I did get a few shots before retreating to the comfort of the bus.  

In this picture, notice the height of the buildings you see just to the right of center, and compare that height with that of the cliffs.  

Now, let me zoom in on the waves and cliffs.  

I can't say for sure, but I think those waves are splashing up several times the height of that house.

I had the cliffs framed in the center of this shot a split second before I took it; then a gust shoved me and I got this.  It's a wonder that it's in focus. 

All of this normally would have been merely interesting and exciting to us. The issue though, which was on all our minds at this point, was that we were due to ride out to Stewart Island, 30 kilometers off shore in the morning.  

Hmmm..."Hey Hon, how's our supply of Sea Legs holding up?  I think we might  really need them tomorrow."   

The next morning, anticipation was running high at the 8:00 breakfast meeting that Barry and Alan hosted.  What were the conditions like?  Would we be able to make the crossing?

Jeanne and I, when we signed up for the tour, had opted to fly out to the island.  It had been a long time since we had flown in a small aircraft and we thought it'd be a hoot.  

Unfortunately, the plane was already booked by enough people that there was no room for us.  We were scheduled to take the ferry instead. 

Alan rapped on a glass and the breakfasters immediately quieted.  Here it is, the announcement from Alan we had been waiting for. 

"Good morning folks, I trust you had a good rest last night. Barry and I have been in touch with the folks that run the ferry.  They tell us that the waves out there are running about 4 meters (over 13 feet) It is not advised that we try the crossing.  If we did anyway and conditions got worse, we could even be stranded out there on the island until conditions improve. The plane is grounded." 

We had mixed feelings. Disappointment of course.  Jeanne and I had really looked forward to seeing Stewart Island and also the stop and walk on tiny Ulva Island, a wildlife sanctuary.  But relief that we would not be subjecting ourselves to very disagreeable, and possibly dangerous conditions. We all knew the right decision had been made.    

Instead, we piled onto the bus and went to at least look across the strait to Stewart Island.  

We did this from the small town of Bluff, which is south of Invercargill and from which the ferry would have left, had conditions allowed it. 

I know you, McKenzie and Fred, are oyster fans.  New Zealand's Bluff Oysters come from the straits beyond this area. They're all wild-caught and are said to be among the best in the world.   

A pretty blue from high above those 13+ foot waves.  

And it's a very long way out there.  

The latitude of Bluff, NZ, is 46.59 South.  Right in the middle of the 'roaring forties.'  This name was given to the area to describe the often gale force westerlies that circle the globe between 40 and 50 degrees, South latitude. 

Those of you who know Marquette, Michigan, might be interested to know that it lies at 46.54 North Latitude.  

We're leaving the coastline in the next post, and climbing into the mountains. Come along with us.  I promise it'll be worth a look.  -djf