The Old Man is Snoring

The old man is snoring and his zs are raining from the sky. New Zealand is experiencing a Norwester. We watched a short movie presentation today at Arthur's Pass on the hows and whys of Norwesters. So now we are well informed but it doesn't make us feel any drier.

After being rained out of Nelson Lakes National Park last week (a foot and a half of water fell in two days), we headed East to drier land. Within four hours we were as east in Christchurch, as 'East' we could get.

trollies and catedrals, is beautiful. We strolled along the river; we took a peaceful walk to Cathedral Square and, in the evening, watched the candle-light carolers. It was a great way to spend Christmas eve. We spent three days before heading inland once again. How could it possibly still be wet there when it was so bright and sunny here?

The drive to Arthur's Pass was spectacular. Hills rose up on all sides of we drove West toward the Southern Alps. Purple, pink and blue flowers blanketed the fields and limestone rocks at Castle Hill poked from the hills. We stopped before sunset and pitched our tent in what felt like the middle of nowhere. Just across a river was a forever flat of grasslands, ending far in the distance at the foot of snow capped mountains. In the morning we were awakened by the distant baas of sheep. "This," I told John, "is what I imagined New Zealand would be."

Twenty kilometers further west we arrived at the town of Arthur's Pass. The sky had turned from wispy blue to threatening grey; the clouds however,seemed to be holding onto their baggage, so we set off into Craigieburn National Park toward Lagoon saddle and Mt. Bruce. It was a straight-up climb. Up, up, more up, a bit more and finally some reprieve and then still more up. Pant pant! We needed 200 more meters of elevation were required to reach the ridge and what we were told would be incredible views of the next mountain range. But with each step the sky seemed to grow greyer and with each ten meters gained another item of Gortex was pulled from the pack. The prospect of incredible views looked dismal. The few views we did get through the breaks in the trees were of fog. The Norwester rains were once again settling in on us. Eventually, before reaching the ridge, we abandoned operations.

So down we went. I started singing Kenny Roger's 'The Gambler' song and John joined in. "Ya got to know when to hold em, know when to fold em, know when to walk away and know when to run." It seemed appropriate. When we got to the car, I shed my jacket, hat and gloves and climbed into the passenger seat. I slammed the door. As if right on cue, the clouds burst open and it began to pour.

At times like these we wish we were back home. The humidity level inside the car reached an all time high; the windows were fogged and our only haven, which had developed a leak under the driver's flooring, was filling with water. So we discussed and examined our options; we invented new options; we went off on tangents; we tried convincing each other that it was all a mirage. But the mirage was slowly causing the moisture level in the car to approaching that of the jungle. John started the engine."Where are we going?" I asked. "We're getting the hell out of this rain," he said. He turned the car around and headed east again.

We are in Rakaia now, just south of Christchurch. It is dry here and we've decided our best course of action is to wait out the Norwester and hug the eastern coast heading south for a while.