There was no sign of the fine weather we had gone to sleep with, as when we woke the grey clouds had returned to mock us. This was our second to last day in the South Island, and we were really hoping to go out with at least a bit of sunshine. As it was, we left the campground in drizzle, bound for nearby Ruby Bay, in order to give Palin some exercise, since the day ahead called for quite a bit of driving. I know I said I’d leave it up to the weather to decide, but clearly the weather was broken, so we made up our minds ourselves. We would head for Cape Jackson in the Marlborough Sounds, or at least see how far we could make it while still leaving enough time to make it to Picton before dinner. Being the last night in the South Island we were splashing out on fast food, and wanted to leave enough time to enjoy it.
After Ruby Bay we made our way to Nelson in order to both check our bank balances, something that filled me with penniless fear, and to fill up the truck in order to make it back from Cape Jackson. On the way in we stopped at the Hoglund Art Glass gallery, as I had seen the name before and as such believed there might be something interesting there. I was right. The gallery was filled with blown-glass vases and sculptures, some of which were so beautiful I almost cried, but didn’t because I am a man and was busy craving beer and violence. Price-tags on the artworks often contained so many zeros I was pushed even closer to the verge of tears. One day I will return with my riches and purchase a couple of pieces to brighten up my mantelpiece, but for now I had to be content with the memories, since photography of any kind is not allowed.
Continuing this artistic streak, we visited The Suter Art Gallery as soon as we arrived in Nelson, under orders from Bridget’s grandmother. This was more of a typical gallery, as opposed to a showroom, however there was plenty of art for sale. There were two exhibitions on, and we weren’t sure if there was an admission charge, so we slowly edged our way towards the entrance to the first as we waited to be asked to pay. Nothing was said by the time we were admiring the first artwork, so we figured it was purely donations, which we had every intention of making on the way out. The first exhibition was something to do with New Zealand, I think. Featuring a number of traditional paintings, those where you can immediately identify the subject, as well as your more contemporary paintings of squiggles and spilt ink and those ubiquitous works that are indistinguishable from the light fixtures. The next exhibition was entitled “Reasons for Being” and featured works from recent graduates of nearby NMIT (Nelson and Marlborough Institute of Technology). These were all a little out there, although one really fascinated me, which was simply a wall of reasons for being, mostly hand written by visitors and pinned to the wall. I left my reason in the box provided thinking I was oh so funny (“It’s the only thing I’m good at”), and was instantly filled with the hope that I’d win, despite there being no actual competition. On exiting the gallery we engaged in a very friendly conversation about our trip with the girl at the desk, during which I glanced up and noticed the “Admission Charges” sign. I felt guilty, but also too awkward to tell her we didn’t pay, although I’m sure she knew. If anyone from the Suter Gallery is reading this, remind to pay and I’ll send you the $6 in the post. Alright, I’ll make it an even $10, but you have to tell me if I won.
After the gallery, we moved on to Nelson’s city centre, which was not a very demanding drive. The weather wasn’t the best for first impressions of Nelson, but I had already come to the conclusion, based on both public opinion (by ‘public’ I mean ‘Auckland’) and the beaches of Abel Tasman National Park, that it is one of the few New Zealand towns in which I could live. With this extremely biased preconception, I wandered around the city centre admiring the atmosphere while searching for an ATM. We didn’t find one, but we did find an internet café, the services of which we used to check our bank balances. As I had feared, mine was precariously balanced indeed, just above the lower limit of my overdraft. Good things take time, and good times take money, and I have had a very good time the last two months, and I had suffered the fiscal damage. There was just enough to make it back to my sister’s in Wellington, however once there we would have to freeload as much as she would allow, with nothing to offer except washing powder and half a block of cheese.
We filled up at a service station before leaving Nelson, and drove to a rest stop along SH6 for lunch. It was still rainy and cold, so our stop was only long enough to suffer through yet another marmite and cheese sandwich before getting back on our way to Queen Charlotte Drive. I was not expecting this road to be so winding, as it was the main thoroughfare between Nelson and Picton. This meant it took us much longer to make it to the turnoff to the road which would lead us to Cape Jackson, not helped by the fact we were stuck behind a truck that just wouldn’t pull over to let us pass. In fact, we were stuck behind this truck all the way to the turnoff in Linkwater, at which point it turned off, much to my annoyance. I thought Queen Charlotte Drive was winding, but I never could have imagined a road as corner-full as the one leading out into the Marlborough Sounds. Lousy weather, twisting road, slow truck. None of it fitted into my vision of a glorious second to last day in the South Island. Eventually the truck pulled over, having neglected a number of previous possibilities, meaning we could now go that extra 5kph faster. About an three quarters of an hour in, I was feeling a little drained, so we looked for somewhere to pull over. There was a DOC campground ahead so we pulled into that, noticed that irritating crossed-out dog symbol and got straight back on the road without stopping. Even campgrounds stuck way out in the middle of nowhere can have the audacity to prohibit dogs. Luckily, shortly after the town of Portage, there was another campground with no such symbol. Picnic Bay was the name, however at this point we had no food for a full picnic, so we settled for the sitting part.
The map was brought out and we rethought our trip. It had taken a long time to get this far, and that was only a third of the way, on sealed road. The 4WD part of the route was roughly three times as long as the Pokira Hill track, which took us well over an hour. Cape Jackson was sadly no longer on the cards. It would have been a really nice swan song, but if we continued all the way there, we were looking at getting back to Picton after dark. I will just have to store that one away for a future trip, but heed my words, there will come a day when I will see the two lighthouses, both old and new. This day was not that day. I couldn’t very well just turn around defeated, that’s not my thing. Instead I decided to drive as far as the road was sealed. If at first you don’t succeed, lower your goals until you do. This new, somewhat diminished, adventure took us just past Kenepuru Head, then it was straight back along the snaking coastal road.
There were a number of small bays that may well have been amazing in nice weather, but the rain, my weariness from all the corners and the feeling of defeat from not reaching Cape Jackson meant I wasn’t in the mood to be amazed. I did give one bay the benefit of the doubt, Te Mahia. As I headed down the dirt road I came across a man towing a trailer full of kayaks. The road at this particular point wasn’t wide enough for the both of us, so someone had to pull over. I thought perhaps he would have reversed slightly and pulled into the small shoulder on his left. No such luck, as he stood his ground. So I reversed along the cliff-side, and squeezed as far over towards the edge of the cliff as I could, with more than a slight fear that the dirt would collapse under my wheels, taking us down to the bay quicker than we had anticipated. The cliff held, and the man managed to get passed, although not with the thank you smile and wave I expected, but rather a dirty glare as though I should never have been on the road in the first place. This compounded my bad mood even more, meaning it was a struggle to find the beauty in Te Mahia. I did find enough to warrant a photo or two, which could well mean it was paradise.
The rest of the drive back to Linkwater did nothing to lift my mood, but surprisingly, as soon as I reached the comparatively straight Queen Charlotte Drive I cheered up to some extent. The drive through to Picton gave a partial view of Queen Charlotte Sound, then the shipyard in Shakespeare Bay and finally Picton itself. We arrived at Alexanders Holiday Park in the rain, and were given campsite 25a. Apparently they felt campsite 25 was way too spacious, and so decided to subdivide. The rain was coming down pretty hard now, so much so that we decided against the tarpaulin and sat in the kitchen instead. When it was time, we got back in the truck and headed for the town centre to get our much anticipated fast food. Sadly, there were none of the regular chains available, so we settled for a chicken, cranberry & brie pizza at one of the less pricy looking restaurants. While this was still quite expensive, and took a fair amount of time, it was extremely tasty, and large enough for us both to be filled to the brim, a little for Palin and two slices spare for lunch the following day. We ate it in the car, as the rain was as heavy as ever, at Auckland Reserve dog park. Once full we let Palin tire himself out in the park, before heading back to the campground to watch some TV and crawling into bed for our last night’s sleep in the truck. The Velcro dots had come off the car meaning most of the screens no longer covered the windows and we had moved our heads to the front, sacrificing head room for air circulation, but I was going to miss sleeping in it, as it had been my home for the last two months. The journey is coming to an end, but it won’t be over until we’re safely back home, warm and cramp-free.
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