The South Island, A Ferry Tale

Well… It was an unofficial long weekend in New Zealand for me and Amy.  We decided to hop the ferry to South Island for our first out of Wellington excursion.  There are two large ferries that run continuously between Welly and Picton.  The Interislander is owned by the state and the Bluebridge is the upstart competitor.  Walk on fares are pretty cheap at about $78 for two each way.

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The route to Picton is about 1 and half hours just getting out of Wellington harbour and then about 1 and half hours navigating the long Marlborough Sounds with about 20 minutes of open water between the two.  It is beautiful throughout the trip even on overcast cool days.  I suspect it would be absolutely miserable on stormy days.  But our particular trip was partly cloudy with startlingly gusty winds.

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I am fascinated by large machines like ships.  I see each voyage as a marvel when you consider each bolt and seam had to be planned, each small task that must be attended before disembark, the sheer power of the massive engines, and yet the fragility of these immense steal constructions on the water.  I know it is just a ferry.  I know it sails about 4 times a day.  But I still say that each trip is something of a miracle.

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I have always loved the ocean.  There is nothing that compares to the wind on the waves.  You can feel the motion of the planet in the wind across the unobstructed seas.  The view from the top of the observation decks of the ferry is both commanding and humbling.  The ship is surprisingly tall and the view is amazing.  But at the same time you can’t help but notice how you are a tiny monkey that doesn’t swim all that well on a very big ocean.  It becomes easier for me to appreciate things on a planetary scale and remember I am just a human.  In much the same way that cat who has just been unceremoniously swept from warm couch to floor must think, “Ah, yes.  I guess I am just a cat.”

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For a while I stood at the front of the ship face in to the wind.  I had to hold on to the rail with both hands as the wind whipped my jacket and jeans.  The wind so powerful it can never be ignored.  Fully braced, I tried to burn the colour of the waves in to my memory--a deep blue green… so completely inadequate to describe it.  It is a colour of thousands of metres of water, of eons of erosion, of millions of years of living things, of endless motion—a colour representing time without end.  Today it was dark in the shadow of grey clouds.  Here and there it turned slightly green in contrast as the sun would strike the surface.  Occasionally, gulls would race the ship and skim the water although they remained uncharacteristically silent—perhaps unable to complain in the face of the unyielding wind.

 

The ocean is awe inspiring all on its own, but it is made majestic by the sun.  I have attempted to describe the sun on the water many times.  Today the sun was half veiled, but still it managed to touch each wave tip and granting each with its magic light.  I imagine there is a struggle fought each day on the surface between the fury of the sun and cool dark depths of the ocean.  Each remains the master of its domain.

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The sounds themselves are beautiful.  Rounded peaks rise from the ocean.  Inside the sound the waves calm to indistinct ripples from the vantage of the tall ship.  The wind is deflected off the tree covered hills and the sun becomes warm again.  I was surprised to see houses all along the shore.  There were no roads behind them.  Each of these homes was only accessible from the water.  Most had visible power lines strung to them.  They dropped down off the mountain crests at impossible angles—but many cabins had none.  I wondered what it would be like to live in a house with no power and no access to the world.  How strange it would be to see the giant ferries as great moving islands of modern existence only a few hundred metres from my shore of isolation.

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Picton is a small township.  You can see all of it from the deck of the ferry.  Indeed I suspect that virtually the entire town is required to support the ferries in some way.  Certainly the town survives on them.  The homes drape from one hillside to the other like a blanket laid over rough ground.  It is less patchy than Wellington.  It appears more well defined and as if it has been comfortable with its boundaries for many years whereas Wellington seems to still be crashing over each valley.  

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One can clearly see Picton’s singular great visible historic claim to fame in the giant dry dock of the “Edwin Fox” on the shore between the large marina and the massive docks of the ferries.  We visited the Edwin Fox museum on our stay.  She is a wooden merchant ship built in 1853 making her the 9^th oldest ship (still capable of floating) in the world.  She is little more than a massive empty hull now, but what remains is still quite impressive.  You can actually walk on to it and put your feet directly on her teak timbers.  You can touch the support beams and hear the wood creak under your feet.  While she has a long and well travelled history, I was amazed to just feel a real wooden sailing ship.

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All of New Zealand is awash in food from the sea, but for some reason we felt extra close to seafood in Picton.  We tried a small restaurant near the water edge (realizing that every structure in Picton is in full view of the water edge).  We ordered some massive platter sampling everything they offered.  There were mussels, oysters, grilled oysters, giant crawfish (more like lobster than crawdads), garlic prawns, calamari and 3 kinds of fish.  It was delicious.  We also tried some local Marlborough Sound wine—a Sauvignon Blanc by Stoneleigh.  It was also excellent.

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The town centre was full of cute shops like any tourist town should be.  The prices were much better than we’ve seen in Wellington.  While it was obvious they catered to tourists, the whole affair seemed to close down at 7:30—even on a Friday night.

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It rained a bit, but not too much.  Amy and I walked all over the town.  In fact the whole getaway was by foot.  We took the train from our house to downtown Wellington, walked to the ferry terminal (barely a block), and walked off the ferry to our motel, the Ferry Link Motel.  We slept in and watched some DVDs on our portable player (Arrested Development).  A prominent feature of our walks was this huge yucca plant… It looked wildly out of place.

We had a great time.  It was very peaceful.  We can’t wait to do it again and range about a bit farther—perhaps to Blenhiem for more wines or down the coast to whale watching Kaikoura or farther still to Christchurch.