Nu Zilland - Day Six

The Northwest corner of the South Island of New Zealand is a 25 km long sand bar called Farewell Spit. Because of the delicate and unique ecology of this special region, visitors are only allowed to walk 2.5 km out onto the spit. However, visitors are encouraged to sign up for a full tour aboard an enormous 4-wheel drive diesel bus that climbs up and down the dunes along the entire length of the peninsula. I don’t mind the restriction, just the bullshit. One kilometer into the hot barren walk, it was quite obvious that the real reason for the policy was undoubtedly the cost of rescuing lost and exhausted pedestrians with poor depth perception from the sandy landscape.

Crossing over from the ‘inside’ of the spit to the Tasman Coast, we began to doubt our decision to eschew motor vehicle transport, but when the trail emptied onto an expansive and empty stretch of pristine beach, all doubts evaporated. In each direction, at the limits of my focus, the landscape dissolved into a mirage of dunes reflecting water and water reflecting dunes. It felt like standing on the edge of the end of the world. I would not have been surprised to see the Statue of Liberty half buried in the tidal zone.



Walking along the water’s edge towards what we hoped was the return trail to the carpark, I spied a large dark lump beached upon the sand. I gasped as a large flipper fanned the air. My sensibilities told me to give the seal its space and privacy, but my sense of adventure told me to go touch it! Unfortunately, my sense of speech refused to stand down, and the seal was soon alerted to my approach.



At the trail head, we encountered an exasperated old couple asking for directions, which was disconcerting, because I was hoping to ask them for directions. They claimed to have taken the trail from the carpark ‘through the pastures’, but they neglected to mention that the pastures were filled with cows and sheep, co-habitating together! Climbing a wooden staircase over a barbed-wire enclosure, we were able to sight a bright orange triangle across a field of grazing livestock, then we would pick our way through poop and paddock until the next orange triangle appeared to guide our trajectory. Soon, I too felt the old couple’s exasperation.

Earlier in the day, we visited Te Waikoropupu Springs (Pupu Springs, for short), a site of great spiritual significance to the Maori tribes that lived nearby. As when visiting churches and cathedrals, I soon felt my eyes swelling with the familiar yet unfathomable tears of reverence and respect. 14,000 liters per second of crystal clear water drain from the Marble Mountains and emerge in aquamarine pools that feed a raging river that is quickly becoming choked by invasive algae. If I were didymo, I would want to live in that river, too!