I probably should go back a couple of years and give the full context to the current migration, south to north, cold to warm, fires to shirt sleeves. I’m unsure if it will turn out but we have caught a whiff of the myth of the ‘winterless north’ so we’re on our way to check it out. Most myths have a way of disappointing and this one may be no exception. After all, a myth is really just a female moth and we all know what happens to them when they are exposed to a flame or bright light of scrutiny.
Two years ago I began planning the next big expedition to the northern hemisphere, the mop up operation to get to see all the places we missed five years ago. It was to start in Southeast Asia, notably Vietnam, and progress to eastern Europe in time for the warmer months. But we got sidetracked by an apparently innocent event that changed everything.
While staying at our Westport bach we were visited by a friend who, as he was leaving, casually suggested we view his motorhome parked out the front. That led to a conversation which started with a suggestion that perhaps we could forego our long distance travel in future and invest in something that would allow us to travel and see our own country up close and personal.
The ensuing search started with completely open minds but quickly narrowed to caravans only. While climbing the steps to the first house bus I noticed the CoF sticker and realised immediately I wasn’t up for six monthly battles with officialdom, not to mention grease guns et al. The numbers with dollar signs in front of them involved with motorhomes were frankly frightening – certainly the ones we liked – so there was only one option for us.
A month later we were the proud owners of a well used and loved caravan complete with all the extras we needed and plenty of room for two commodiously proportioned bodies. We quickly tried it out with two trips around the south island and now, 18 months later, we felt ready to take the plunge of an overseas trip in search of the fabled winterless north. Interestingly, had we not become sidetracked thus, we would have found ourselves somewhere in Asia or beyond at the time Jacinda ordered us all back to our kennels. A lucky letoff.
On one of our jaunts around the south island I became aware of a deficiency in the braking department. We were heading down the northern side of the Haast Pass hill and I became concerned at the smell emanating from the ute brakes. It prompted a muttered promise to have the caravan brakes checked when we got home. Two trips later I now have brakes that work. The narrative is too long to include here but suffice to say I got it completely wrong and now the required brake controller has been fitted and we have brakes. All I can say is that had I not been towing with a quality vehicle properly equipped with brakes adequate for a total of approximately four tonne we might not have survived our first two trips.
Someone of importance and perspicacity once observed something along the lines of ‘plans can be useless but planning is essential’. So it was with our inter-island bookings. Having always travelled with the Interislander, we decided to try Bluebridge and booked both ways, over on Monday 22 June and return 30 August. The first hint of uncertainty came with a phone call a week or so before departure advising Bluebridge might not be able to accommodate us on the booked return crossing as they would be scaling down for winter. Then, the night before departure another phone call to say next day’s sailing was cancelled because they had got so far behind they had to cancel one to get back into sync with their schedule. Scurrying around trying to rebook found us parked up in Blenheim for a couple of days with the eventual outcome of an Interislander booking for 7am on Wednesday.
5am came all to soon on Wednesday morning and at the required time we were lined up ready to roll the wagons onto the ferry. Very few passengers and an unusually flat sea made for a delightful crossing.
Wellington was grey and overcast but Thursday morning found us heading north in variable weather, over the Rimutakas.
The Wairarapa is an interesting place we had planned to explore a little plus visit friends and rellies but the delay in getting to the other island meant we had litle opportunity. A rellie rang to say she wouldn’t be home and I had neglected to bring the address or contact details for the friends so we trundled on through. Just as well, really, as it was dark when we arrived at the Top 10 in Hastings. Our navigator device took us the straightest but not necessarily the quickest way and the freshly commissioned brakes got a good workout on perhaps one of the more bent stretches of road around.
There was an interesting diversion on the way through. About ten kilometres before Dannevirke She realised where we were and quickly found the address of a wool merchant who produced brightly coloured wool of large dimension. What I mean is that the wool was carded but not spun and came in bags of loose ropes about 25 mm thick. She was desirous of checking it out with a view to purchase. We deviated from the main road as directed by our navigation device and proceeded up a country road that was characterised by two phenomenon: It had a surprising amount of traffic for a country road and, it began to diminish in width quite markedly as we progressed. Before arriving at our destination there was sufficient width for our caravan and not a lot else. Negotiating past each vehicle we met provided some lively entertainment.
The driveway down which we needed to head to get to the farm buildings from which was dispensed the desired product evinced dread and terror. It really was no wider than the vehicle and, because the farmyard to which we were heading was out of sight some distance from the road, I was unwilling to risk heading into a trap from which there might be no turning. The solution was to get Her to disembark and guide me backwards into the gateway after which She walked the track to the house and sheds. While waiting I reversed the tortuous driveway mainly downhill with lots of bends and steep fall-offs to the side and amazed the proprietor and my dearly beloved by managing to get nearly to the homestead before the transaction was complete. She triumphantly produced a big bag of wool and needles the size of crowbars to show it wasn’t a wasted trip.
At Hastings we contacted a couple who have the same surname as us but who are no relation. We first met at our Taupo timeshare ten years ago and have remained in contact ever since. They came to the camp and picked us up and took us to their home in one of the Summerset villages for the evening. Dinner and conversation were both delightful and they returned us to our caravan for sleep.
In drizzly showers we headed for Taupo on Friday morning and arrived at about midday. Check in at our timeshare isn’t until 3.30pm but I had made contact about parking up the caravan somewhere and was keen to get in early to take advantage of available parking spots. A beast of about nine metres doesn’t simply fit in any old carpark but thanks to Mr Google I’d spied out possible places and reception had made suggestions as well. The ute and van fitted side by side with the bike rack of the van protruding into the shrubbery near the footpath. With everything secure we moved into the timeshare villa and enjoyed a spa in the rain.
On Saturday we attended the annual general meeting of the timeshare owners and met some of the people about whom we only knew names. Despite the ravages of covid on the hospitality industry this timeshare seems to be doing okay and reports were reasonably favourable. I was impressed with the people involved in running the show and those who have governance.
Our private courtyard with bbq, spa and parking for the bikes.
Friends from Tauranga arrived in the afternoon and we spent a very pleasant 24 hours with them, catching up on all our mutual acquaintances and having some really good laughs. Old friends tend to be good friends because they have stood the test of time. A wander into town on Sunday morning led to coffee and a look around with marvel at how busy Taupo seems to be. Local tourism is back and booming, apparently.
And here it is on a gloomy Monday morning with threats of rain coming soon. I’m advised we are going for a bike ride before it gets wet so off we go. You’ll hear more soon.