Invercargill to Tuatapere

First off, I was corrected by a Kiwi and the pronunciation of Tuatapere is with the accent on the "tap".
Anybody out there remember the Gregory Peck movie called On the Beach? It takes place in Australia in the 1950s and the short plot is that all the people are waiting to die from nuclear/radiation poisoning after an attack somewhere in the world has caused city by city to die out. There are scenes of vacant towns with paper flying around and wind knocking down cans and businesses locked up the the middle of the day and empty cars and deserted streets--all the people having gathered together and playing "Waltzing Matilda" and dreading the hours to come. Well, in short, that is what the center of Invercargill is like. The average IQ is around 70 and I suspect all the population is strangely related.
The road out heads north and then abruptly makes a 90 degree turn toward Riverton and then continues to weave itself over the cliffs with the final views of the southern oceans. It feels strange to be leaving the Pacific and Southern Oceans and its dramatic and sweeping views after two weeks of having it in clear isght, but that is quickly replaced by the towering spectable of the Southern Alps. We drove up along the Waiau River without having seen it. We arrived in the very sleepy town of Tuatapere (pop. 740), a logging town that is also know to be the "sausage capital" of NZ. It reminds me of some of the small logging and mining towns of Northern Michigan where residents have one bar/pool hall/cafe/post office/hotel operation. Everyone looks at you with interest when you come into the room and once engaged the Kiwis will chew your ear off. They are a very witty bunch--love to tell stories. When the town went bust, they reinvented themselves. They worked hard developing the Hump Ridge Track which is west of the town and above the Tasman Sea. The town has become a kind of staging area for trampers who are waiting for their reservation to open up, stocking up on supplies and preparing themselves in all ways for the challenging multi-day hike. We stayed at the historic Waiau Hoel (that mean old) -- a museum to life in the 30s. However, they had the things that matter: hot showers with good pressure (and if that's in a giant tin can in which you can barely turn, I'll take it) and clean slightly stiff white sheets (none of the poly garbage for me). At sunset, after a dinner of blue cod fish and chips that gave me heartburn all night, we took a walk to find the mighty Waiau River. We walked across the broad bridge in time to see the sun setting behind the mountains. The river gradually glowed red orange in the far bend as everything else began to darken. The day had been warm and so there was a hatch on the river and the trout were rising. We had never seen so many trout in one place jumping out of the water. We'd look over at one spot and there would be a kur-plunk in one directions and then turn and a kur-plunk behind you and then . . it was maddening not having a rod in hand. A couple of guys were waist deep in the middle of the river in a slow current fishing with lures without success. From high above on the bridge we could see the fish jumping all around them and imagined their frustration--all of us who fish know what I am talking about.
A large party of men came in that night with a lot of gear. They had "flown" in and seemed weary. They were like mine sweepers or CIA or . . .you get the picture. We thought maybe they were a large fishing party waiting to be guided down the river. To our surprise they were none of the above. It turns out that there had recently been a 7.0 plus magnitude earthquake centered just north of the mouth of the Waiau River where it empties into the Tasman Sea--just west of Resolution Island. These guys fly in once a month and then helicopter out to the island to continue to monitor the activity. We attempted to do our laundry in the back of the restaurant part of the hotel. All was well until the spin cycle--or NON spin cycle, failed. All the wet clothes had to be transferred by the very helpful hotel hostess to another machine to be spun out. It is rare to find a dryer--clothes are hung out to dry. Well, rain had been flirting with us all day and we had road ahead of us so we had to dump it all in a garbage bag to be dried (hopefully) in Manapouri. The winds are continually gusting and it is a strain to keep the car on the road. The sun is out and the sky is so blue, but you'd swear you were in the middle of a tornado if you closed you eyes. The mountains surround us at every turn and we are filled with anticipation. To be continued . . .xo