Mmmm, mushy banana! We waited until 6 months to introduce food to Milo, and then we started with that horrible baby rice cereal. He didn’t like it.  When I tasted it I found out why. He never has liked new foods, so this time I thought we’d give Naomi a chance to try stuff earlier, perhaps before her palate becomes so picky.  So far there’s been nothing that she outright rejected–avocado, banana, pancake, bagel, yogurt, tomato sauce. It’s funny to see the contemplative expression on her face, absorbed in the new taste experience. Milo is always interested to watch her diaper changing. “Done big poos?” he always inquires. Now he’ll get to see bits and pieces coming through–all the more exciting!

While Naomi’s learning new tastes, Milo’s honing his hand-eye coordination. This week he learned how to tie a knot, a basic life skill. Of course, he then proceeded to tie 10 of them in a row on his apron string. Next life skill? UNtying knots.

The Marlborough Sounds are up at the north end of NZ’s south island, and as our boat driver told us, they’re not glacier-carved “sounds” as much as sea-flooded river valleys. The Queen Charlotte Track is a well formed 3-5 day track through green-and-blue scenery with the luxury of boat taxi transport for your packs and hostels or resorts instead of DOC huts for accommodation. Posh!

Our boat taxi took us out to the far end of the sounds and we hiked back south over three days. We abbreviated the trail on the first and last day in consideration of the kiddos, and had one long day in the middle. Water taxis ply these waters on a reliable daily schedule and the places of accommodation pick up the bags at the taxi wharf–it all runs like a well oiled machine. The boat was a highlight for Noah!

Here’s Laura and Noah, her two-year-old. “Mum and bub” as they say here, except as a fellow American, Laura hates the term “Mum.” “I can be Mom, Mama, Mommy…but MUM?! No!” Laura’s older daughter, Audrey (4) stayed home with Papa, just as Milo stayed home with Daddy.  After backtracking for Noah’s dropped hat the first day, Laura sewed it to his collar and it worked like a charm.

Here’s my little “bub,” just big enough to ride in the backpack. I brought the front carrier too and when she got grizzly about bobbing around in the back, I shifted her to the front to tuck in and sleep.

The cicadas have an impressive population this year. Some spots along the trail were so raucous with rasps and clicks that we had to shout over them to converse. The trail was pocked with holes where the mature nymphs had emerged to crawl out of their last skin and finish their lives as adults.

We spent our first night at Punga Cove Resort, which fortunately also has some port-a-builds for cheaper backpacker types like us. The hot tub was a disappointment though. Naomi is eying the murky water with distaste…or more probably just looking at her toes.

Our second day hiking was the long day, 24 kilometers, so we got up early and put a couple hours behind us in the cool of the morning before we stopped for breakfast. Ok, I’ll own up, it was a second breakfast for me. I’m admittedly hobbit-like in my need for morning sustenance.

Here’s our breakfast view–now that feels like home to me. Those narrow sounds are sea water, but they remind me of Adirondack lakes ringed by tree-clad mountains. Even the “wilding pine” on the right that DOC is trying to control feels like a giant white pine from home.

One of the best parts about the trip was being two Moms together. Laura is delighted with Naomi, and I never have to apologize for normal baby behavior like one does when hiking with child-less families. Need to nurse? Let’s take a break. Whiny? Ah well, kids can be like that. Smiley? We love those giggles!

Noah trucked along for bits of the track, giving his Mom’s back a break. He was a surprisingly good walker and enjoyed one of Milo’s favorite track games, hide and seek.

Marshmallow motivation! We alternated between hide-and-seek on the trail and dispensing colored marshmallows liberally. Here they are, holstered for ready action!

Naomi spent our lunch breaks kicking around on a cloth, gurgling and blowing spit bubbles, a recently acquired skill.

Cling-ons! One advantage of walking the track with kids is that we’re moving slowly enough to notice more details around us. These grass seeds reached out at the track edge and grabbed tenaciously onto anything they touched. Laura noticed that when they clung to our arms, the tight V-shaped hook on the end held so tightly to the hair that it pulled out from the root. I thought by the end of the trip I might have lost enough leg hair that I wouldn’t need to shave…..but alas, they were not quite that thorough.

Our second night was at a cozy little backpacker called Debretts, in Portage Bay. It was miles above Punga Cove’s port-a-builds.

Here they are, Pat and Sue. They met at playcenter with their babies more than 40 years ago and are still friends….maybe this will be Laura and me in a few decades. I asked Pat if they do this kind of trip often, and she informed me that it was their first. “How’s it going? Would you do it again?” I asked. “Well,” Pat hesitated, lowering her voice. “I’m not sure. Sue talks so much….I like my quiet time….” and she continued to chat on for half an hour about this and that. Personally, I think they’re quite compatible.

This may look like a plain old tea towel, but look again–it’s a diaper-folding demonstration, courtesy of Sue. “Do you want to learn the best nappy fold for a boy?” she asked us while we were sipping our wine and nibbling our chocolate. And she proceeded with an origami trick on the tea towel, complete with pulling out a triangle and rolling up an edge. Quite handy, I hope I remember it next time I’m without the modern pre-folds!

Sunset at Kenepuru sound, Portage Bay. Noah dropped his Alaska quarter in the water here, saving it to puzzle some archeologist a thousand years from now. Noah never went anywhere without something clutched in his fist, but that also meant that we left a steady stream of kid brick-a-brack along the trail, lost when his grip softened in sleep. The red matchbox car, the expired pass to the Discovery Center, the Diego toothbrush….we dropped them all!

The one dropped item we did manage to recover was Shark, Noah’s fluffy pillow pet. On Friday night Laura picked me up from the airport in Nelson and we drove to Picton, stopping on a side road near Blenheim to feed Naomi. When we got to our backpacker Noah’s shark was no where to be found, and we guessed that it must have dropped out of the car when we took a break. We eyed the side roads on the way back, located the right one, and were thrilled to see a gray furry bundle still sitting on the grassy verge. A happy ending to the trip.

A view out over Queen Charlotte Sound from a ridge section of the track. We have a Kiwi friend that gazes over the “golden tussock lands” (they’re really brown, not golden), and pronounces his contentment with the scene. But I love the green and blue of regions that get adequate rain. These are the views that bring to mind that section of song Mommom and Poppop used to sing…. “God has created a new day, Silver and Green and Gold…..”

The day before we started the Welcome Flats tramp we visited Fox Glacier. The road in to the glacier’s tail end had signs marking its location in 1850, 1930, etc, telling the same story as most of the other glaciers on earth. Despite the record-cold winter in the U.S.A this year, on average earth is getting warmer.

Look again! That DOC guy is just a sign, warning sight-seers like us not to jump the rope barrier and approach the glacier’s tail. I did find that DOC’s sign of the news clipping of two brothers who did just that and got squashed by a bit of falling glacier ice was actually quite motivational, even to my rules-be-damned Harro attitude. The solemnity of the story was a bit spoiled by the unbroken line of tourists climbing the glacier itself, in the company of a well-paid guide ($123 a pop!).  Still, we’re responsible parents now, and we didn’t hop the barrier in broad daylight with the two kids in tow.

We stopped to cool our feet in an icy stream along the glacier path. The glacier river itself was ugly muddy brown, but our paddling stream was so clear that we drank from it. Naomi is completely oblivious to the splendor of the views.

Lake Matheson sits on the small plain between the Southern Alps and the Tasman Sea, reflecting their grandeur at dusk when the wind falls.  I realized how spoiled I am by Adirondack lakes reflecting our humble yet beautiful mountains….the pier was packed with people clutching cameras and waiting for the magic moment when the wind dies, and the mountains mirrored in water actually seemed quite comfortably homey to me.

Milo was unimpressed by the mountain views, but he sure had fun using our camera. Hurray for digital media!

You can’t see them very well, but there are pretty black and white Holsteins grazing this grassy paddock near Lake Matheson, completely oblivious of the views of Mt Cook and the southern alps behind, just like I’d imagine a Stonyfield Yogurt commercial except every cow in NZ has views like this. Well ok, these ones might just have an edge on the ones over in Canterbury in terms of views.

Friday morning we set off on our 18 kilometer hike to Welcome Flat hut in the Copland Valley. According to B.E. Baughan (no, I don’t know who that is either) “This is the Copland Valley; all the luxuriant loveliness of green, rocky creeks rushing with song and sunshine down through leafy glooms, the Noble Nakedness above, the pervasive forest-breath of Romance…..” 1913 prose. Why is it so green? Because it rains HEAPS (to use a favorite Kiwi superlative). Apparently 5 meters of precipitation is average at sea level, while the peaks boast 16 meters! That DOC sign MUST have been including snow on the peaks (perhaps?), but at sea level that 5 meters would all be liquid rain. We had an extraordinary weekend with hardly a cloud.

I couldn’t resist posting this mug shot of a gorgeous slime mold. I had a pet slime mold in college for a couple weeks, must have been a biology lab left-over. Her name was Amarilla. I fed her bits of people-food. If I remember right, she liked bread but didn’t like banana.

For most of the hike I carried the kiddos, and Jeremiah carried everything else. I’ve about reached my max in terms of weight, but maybe once we get the pack hip belt adjusted so the weight sits more on my hips I’d venture to do it again. Yes, that’s the real color of the river behind, not a trick of the camera!

This is how Naomi spent most of her weekend, peering out over the side of the carrier while licking the edge.  Good thing she likes it in there.

This track was a bit unusual among NZ tramps in that all the major river and creek crossings were bridged. And what bridges! Wiggly! Not for those who are afraid of heights, that’s for sure.

Bush diapering! The sandflies were INSANE at the trail head parking lot, swarming so thickly that after a hurried diaper change I later found 5 flies in squished inside her diaper. To my great relief they weren’t nearly as bad in the woods on the trail.

It took us 7 hours, but eventually we did reach Welcome Flat hut. A truly welcome sight. Milo understandably gets tired of riding in the carrier and wants to walk, which would be fine if he actually kept his feet moving in a forward direction. But a three-year-old’s priorities are quite different from those of 32-year-olds, and Milo likes to stop and poke every puddle, pick up stones, flail his walking stick around. Jeremiah just wants to get there. Molly wants to stop and eat chocolate, then get there eventually. Naomi doesn’t care as long as she’s with Mommy.

Check out these gorgeous bunk rooms, just perfect for playing “ride on Mommy.” The hut was just refurbished 6 months ago and it is seriously built to a higher standard than our rented home in Christchurch. There are even screens on the windows. Milo’s favorite past-time was running from one end of the sleeping platform to the other. The night we got there we shared with two Kiwi couples who thankfully thought Milo was cute. He is….but he can also be tiresome at times. Constant. Incessant. And spunky–I love him!

Here’s the allure of Welcome Flats–big natural hot springs. I’m imagining the first person to find these pools was either fascinated or freaked out, or both.

The DOC info in the hut says that the water bubbling out of the ground is 250 years old…I’m assuming they mean it has been underground for 250 years, since most molecules of water remain as water for a lot longer than that. Contact with the hot rocks dissolves minerals into the water, resulting in these red and yellow deposits, kind of like Saratoga springs but hot. The red stream here was too hot to stand in, something like 57 degrees Celcius.

Nope, this water isn’t actually boiling, but the bubbles of some sort of gas are roiling up. It’s not stinky though.

The pools are actually quite shallow, and the silt on the bottom makes a squishy layer of muck, sort of reminiscent of the mucky bottom of Lake George in front of Sunnymeade. The mud is only the beginning of the problem with the ambiance though, the real trouble is the sand flies, a species of black fly. They make total body immersion a necessity, except one has to be careful to keep one’s nose out least you catch a particularly nasty amoebic meningitis, rare but deadly. The sandflies aren’t out after dark, but since it didn’t get dark until 9:30 or so, I didn’t stay up to enjoy the pools without their presence. Consequently, our soaks in the hot pools were brief.

We spent more time playing down by the river than up at the hot pools. The river itself was pretty icy, but there was one tepid side stream coming down from the hot springs that we enjoyed. Milo was hopeful of catching fish in it.

Milo has solidly entered the world of imagination. Here he’s made a fishing pole out of a stalk of grass and excitedly informed me that he was catching fish. “See Mom! Salmon!”

That beautiful river would make a formidable crossing even now, after nearly two weeks of fine weather. You look at the water-sculpted rocks and just imagine the torrent after a typical rain. The very first river crossing near the car park has no bridge, with the intent that if hikers can’t negotiate that first obstacle then the conditions up the valley will be even more forbidding and they should turn back. But we enjoyed ideal weather and water of that mysterious blue glacier-silt hue.

Jeremiah took his rifle and went for a hunt while I stayed at the river with the kiddos. Up the valley a bit he clambered up this series of waterfalls (the biggest one a hundred feet high) and sat down to look for a wandering chamois (a type of mountain goat). Instead up climbed 6 other trampers, and hope of surprising an animal disappeared.

Naomi charmed the rest of the hut residents. She’s at that wonderful stage where she’s happy wherever Mommy is–her needs are simple.

The day we walked out we got up early and started our hike at 8:00, but still didn’t reach our car until 2:30. A dinner stop at Hokitika at Pipi’s Pizza (highly recommend it if you’re passing through!) and a long ride back to Christchurch, which I actually found to be the toughest part of the whole trip. Naomi was NOT happy, just wanted to get out of her car seat, but it’s 2014, and riding on Mommy’s lap in the car is not an option, so we had to soldier on. Hurray for NPR podcasts to help pass the time.  I’m glad we went, though I don’t feel the need to do it again.  Mission accomplished!

Happy Birthday Milo! One, Two, Three candles for his third birthday (yesterday), and plenty of energy and hot air which which to blow them out!  We had his birthday bash on Saturday with cake etc, hence the candles in the non-cake (cornbread) for his birthday dinner. 

For Milo’s party we invited three other families to join us for a beach barbeque at Rapaki beach on the Banks Peninsula.  While we were waiting for them to arrive we were digging around in a little fresh-water seep on the rocky beach. Despite the overcast day the puddle felt comfortably warm, and it finally dawned on me that it was a thermal spring! I’ve always wanted to swim in a natural hot spring!

Here our friends Audrey and Noah are enjoying the thermal pools before the tide comes in and swamps them. We were busy doing birthday prep and the tide was coming in fast so I didn’t get to sit in the pools, but I’ll be back!

Plink, Plank, Plunk! Nothing occupies kids as simply as throwing rocks into water.

I guess dirt cake is an American thing–our English friends had never heard of it. Its unveiling was greeted with much skepticism from the kids and British acclamations from the adults (“Oh, that’s Fab, that’s Brilliant!”). All the recipes involve cool whip, which is non-existent in New Zealand. After two attempts to make it from scratch failed miserably, I’m happy to report that the dirt cake turned out just fine without it. At least we can still purchase Oreos here.

The kids aren’t quite sure about this cake-in-a-bucket thing, but the prospect of dessert was enough to lure them in.  Plus, trying to light candles in the wind is rather amusing.

The excited babbling turned into silent absorption as the cake was doled out. It was met with approval, after all.

Milo sure thought it was “Fab!” Lick those fingers, don’t miss a scrap!

Here we’re actually at an outdoor concert the evening of his birthday party, but tackling the girls was what Milo had been doing all day, too. Not that he’s partial to girls yet….it’s just that among families we’re friends with, they’re readily available. It’s a predictable pattern: they start with a game of chase, then Milo catches, then the girl screeches, then Milo gets told off. He tried it with Amelie, Ella, and Audrey, repeatedly.  Poor kid, he’s just being a normal puppy, but he needs to learn to pick his subjects better.

Yup, Naomi is the next chase partner. Even though she can’t really move away yet Milo still tries tackling her, but instead of screeching, she actually smiles! Hope that attitude lasts!

There’s my boy, complete with a cheeky grin and an enormous birthday cookie! The three-year-old era has begun.

A swing in the park for the first time ever! I actually think Milo had more fun pushing her than Naomi had riding, as chewing her fists seems more absorbing than the motion of the swing.

I’m not sure how much of Milo’s grime is soot, and how much is chocolate. Joshua in the background is showing off the blackened sole of his shoe, compliments of the Sign of the Bellbird hut’s windy open hearth. We had given our friends Graham and Teena some tips on tramping meals, but their first attempt was (reputedly) a repulsive mix of curry and smoked fish, given thumbs down all around. I don’t know, it doesn’t sound so bad to me….but we thought we’d meet up and cook a meal together in the Port Hills to give them a positive experience. Or perhaps to discover that Americans have an uncultured palate? In the end they liked the meal, even the brownie with (unfortunately) a slightly charred bottom.

Fwip-fwap! What little boy (or grown man for that matter) wouldn’t enjoy fencing with grasses. Our admonishments of “just down at their feet, Milo!” went totally unheeded, but at least the weapons were soft.

“Wow, what do you think that is, Milo?” “A Poop!” He knew exactly. The Buskers festival was in Christchurch last weekend, and one of the features was a wild and wacky petting zoo (like something from Dr. Seuss), including this big pile of “Poo” that wandered aimlessly around. Milo poked at it gingerly, then got on all fours to see what was beneath it. “It has wheels!” he declared, triumphantly. Yes Mr. Analytical, it does.

Roar, aren’t cookies exciting! I remember the pleasures of cut-out cookies with Mom when we were little, including the incredibly addicting raw sugar cookie dough. Milo’s birthday is next week so we made cookies to share with the kids at Playcenter. Naomi, as usual, just enjoyed watching the chaos.

A bike ride to school–how cool is that! I started back to work this week, and consequently this week was Milo’s first day at preschool, a highly anticipated event with many pretend practice rounds. He packs his backpack and waves as he closes the door, announcing “Bye, me going school!” Jeremiah will be dropping him off on his way to work, while I pick him up mid-afternoon.

“Me going school in Big House!” The size of the building, which is indeed a big old house, must have impressed Milo on his previous visits. When came to get him at 3:00 I found him nodding off over his snack at the table–must have been a busy day! The teachers said he was very “settled,” which I think just means he hasn’t got a shy bone in his body. He waltzed right in there, waved a hasty goodbye to daddy, and plunged into the fray. It’s a little Montessori school, and while it does appear to be a chaotic hive of “child-led” activity, I think it’ll be a good fit for Milo.  We’re still working out the kinks in the schedule though–he didn’t nap at all, which made for “hangover” grouchy morning the next day. 

Here’s my beautiful baby! Naomi and took 3 days while in Stewart Island and hiked the Rakiura track with two other girls in our group. Naomi did great in the huts, was a champion all-night sleeper, and generally charmed the world with her chubby cheeks and rolly-polly good nature.

Here’s our posse of three women, one 3-month-old, and one to-be-born-in-2-months. Our slower walking pace suited us all just fine, as Steph (the only childless one) was still fighting off the stomach bug.

The Rakiura Track is a New Zealand Greatwalk, meaning it passes through iconic NZ terrain and equipped with well-maintained huts and generally improved trails. That giant tree on the right is a Rimu, a podocarp (that’s a gymnosperm like a pine but with a fruit-like seed), a type of plant well-represented in NZ but not in North America.

This tree is probably a Rimu too, but it’s so covered with epiphytes that it’s hard to tell. Stewart Island forest is temperate rain forest, mossy and green like west coast USA.

In the woods, what’s not covered in moss and vines is swathed in ferns.

On Stewart Island even the sandy beaches had greenery, if you looked closely enough.

Naomi helps to cook dinner in the first hut of the Rakiura Track. It’s not that common for babies to do the tramp, and everywhere she went in the hut about a dozen pairs of eyes followed her. Everyone was friendly though, no complaints.

Look at that stoic gaze. She’s eying up the weather to determine how her nap will be on the rest of the walk.

We didn’t actually walk that far each day, but it still felt good to shuck the boots at the hut door and make a cup of tea.

I’m not sure it would have been so swell bringing Milo to sleep in a bunk room when he was 3 months old and still waking up every few hours to eat, but Naomi slept like the proverbial baby in her home-made sleeping bag, and everyone had a good rest.

Here she is back with the rest of the group in town at the end of the walk.  We were the only couple in the group with kids, and I’m sure the others watched us hopping up and down to meet the kids’ needs with the same quizzical glance I’d have given parents 3 years ago, thinking “hum, that kid stuff doesn’t look like a whole lot of fun to me.” I was surprised to see Mark pick up Naomi voluntarily at the end of the week, just curious I guess.  He seemed to like her.

Milo did score a friend in Carrie, engaging her in various games and enlisting her skills to read him books. Carrie’s baby will be born in two months, so she must be imagining her life with children in the future. I asked her how a week with the kids made her feel about her upcoming motherhood, and she quite carefully said that it made it all seem a bit more “real.” Ah well, I do think it’s easier when they’re your own.

“How would you like to go down to Stewart Island for a week?” Jeremiah asked me a few months before the New Year. “All my hunting buddies are going, plus their partners (NZ term for wife/girlfriend). It’s really remote. We’re getting a hunting block, we’ll stay in a DOC hut and catch all our food. You can come along with the kids. Sound good?” “No, actually, it sounds bloody awful,” was my first response, but after a bit of wheeling and dealing I was talked into the plan. And it actually didn’t turn out half bad. That big island down past the tip of the south island of New Zealand is where we spent the past week.

From the northern tip of NZ’s south island at Christmas (Farewell spit) to the southern tip after New Year. Phew, that’s a lot of driving.  Even so, we’re only half way to the South Pole. 

To sweeten the deal Jeremiah offered to do the drive down south with Milo, while I’d catch up with Naomi by plane a few days later. She and I spent 3 peaceful days at home in a tidy house while Jeremiah and Milo camped and explored their way down to Bluff.

There’s the Stewart Island ferry pulled up at the dock. It runs that wild stretch of ocean, Foveaux Strait, several times a day, unless the wind gets above 50 knots.

The crossing was predicted to be a little rough (at least for land lubbers like us), so they loaded Milo up with a bit of dramamine.

Dramamine didn’t work. Poor little bugger. But after he threw up he did fall asleep.

The DOC hut at the hunting block was on the beach, so they could get a water taxi right to the front door (well, almost….it was low tide when they off-loaded). That means we brought the whole kit and caboodle–there was a kitchen sink already there. Bins of food, books for Milo, hunting and fishing paraphernalia for 4 men and two kayaks packed onto that water taxi, provisions and amusements for the week to come.

Bungaree Hut sits right up off the beach. Hikers use it at the beginning of the northwest circuit track, but hunters must be fairly common too, judging from the functional gun rack in the kitchen.  We must have been an imposing group….one hiker arrived expecting to see the hut brimming with 20 hunters, based on news from other trampers that had passed by.  Not quite–we had only 4 hunters, and 7 adults total.  Perhaps the kids made enough noise to make up the rest.

Look at that view from the hut! It was sunny and calm the day the guys got there. It looks almost Caribbean….except for the water temp.

Unfortunately that first day was one of the only blue sky days we had. Of course we walked the beach anyway, and enjoyed some dramatic clouds and weather from the comfort of the hut.

The sand flies (like black flies, biting midges) hung out right at the hut door, but weren’t as vicious out on the beach or in the woods. Steph, one of our group, was catching a little bug reprieve with a book at the hut table.  Look at all that “kit” strewn over the porch–no wonder other trampers thought there were 20 of us in residence!

Actually, the group got quieter as each person took their turn with a vicious gastro-intestinal virus. Everyone had it, so we had ample opportunity to work out that the incubation period was was 48 hours and the symptoms generally lasted 24….though two of our tough hunters were “crook” (in NZ that means sick, not criminal) for much longer. We even infected trampers as they passed through, or so we heard. To be fair, we warned all newcomers that there was contagion within. I was quite impressed at the virulence of this particular bug–usually responsible adults can keep illnesses to themselves, but not this time.

My birthday was the day I walked in with Naomi and Carrie, a friend. Jeremiah made a lovely dinner, with fresh rolls and smoked salmon noodles, but I think we were the only ones of the group feeling up to eating that night.

Never mind, the carrot birthday cake lasted well to the next morning, when stomachs had recovered enough to nibble at it.

“Shhhh, Milo, we’re looking for deer!” Jeremiah actually did get in quite a bit of hunting time without carrying the little squirt, between the days I was there and the days that other people were feeling sick enough to be happy to hang out at the hut with him.

Hunting in the dense “bush” was pretty difficult, but the deer sometimes come out to the beach, reputedly to eat the seaweed.  And yes, that head gear is sand fly protection.

“I see deer prints!” Unfortunately we didn’t find the deer they belonged to. Ben did get a small deer one evening, but it wasn’t down at the beach.

Here’s what made the guys really happy. Between bouts of “the squirts” and puking they did manage to don the wet suits and go spear fishing, and we ate fresh fish every day. Mark (pictured here with the giant butterfish) said it was like shooting (spearfishing) in an aquarium, the only limitation being the number of fish we could consume.

Blue cod was also on the menu, mostly caught from the kayak…until this baracuta came into the neighborhood and apparently scared away the catch.

What’s THAT? Spiny sea urchins are apparently edible, and usually consumed raw. The insides are the consistency of snot. I tried a bite of the “meat” cooked, and that was enough. Not that it was horrible or anything, but it was pretty strong. Unfortunately the shell gets ruined in getting at the meat.

Our last nights on the Island we stayed at a “bach” (vacation house) near town, again right on a sea cove. Crabs started following them while they were gutting their fish, so they went on an impromptu crab hunt. It was fun watching them from the bach windows, dragging their fish carcasses around to bait the crabs, then dancing around on tip-toe when they got pinched.

Yum?! I have to stay that crabs don’t look that appetizing to me, but they do taste good.

Mark gave us a lesson in cleaning them, then rolling their bodies to press out the meat from between their tough membranes. Legs and claws had to be picked apart by hand, which left us imagining the commercial extraction equipment that real fishermen must use.

Right, another fishing trophy photo! Those round rock-like things are paua (abalone). They’re kind of like snails with only a half shell. One day at the hut they got a few and left them in the kayak. When they went back a bit later to look for them, they had escaped, scaling the sides of the boat and presumably plunking back down into the water. Strange to think of snails running away!

Hurray mighty fishermen!

Farewell spit is a thin strip of sand dunes at the very north end of the south island of NZ. Glaciers down in fiordland grind away at the mountains, and the ocean currents drag the sediment way up to Farewell Spit. Here the current slows in its collision with Cook Strait, dropping sand in an ever-growing beach. The aerial image looks a bit like a kiwi bird beak and head, and we stayed at a campground that advertized itself to be “at the eye of the Kiwi.” A nice way of saying NOT beach front, but near enough to visit by walking.

It’s a long drive up to Wharariki, so we stopped overnight with our friends the Jordans. Audrey and Milo had almost as much fun as Molly making Christmas tree ornaments at their place.

Wharariki is also blessed with many sand dunes through which one must flounder to reach the water.

The evening we arrived I fought the wind down to the beach and actually got to see these dunes being formed. Sand was moving everywhere, snaking around the hills and pelting my jacket hood. Otherworldly isn’t quite the right word, since it’s definitely planet earth, but it was wild and strange and interesting.

Here’s the campgrounds where we stayed, in one of those little cabins in front of the sheep-grazed hills. The kids had a blast with that beached boat-turned-sandbox.

There were some nice little hikes marked out in the hills overlooking the ocean. We spent a chilly day walking, and stopped to watch the farmer herd his sheep. One of the dogs wasn’t being particularly obedient and the sheep were being typically clueless, so it made for good entertainment.

Watch your kids on a windy day! As promised, the trail was “walk at your own risk,” with few markers and no guard rails. It’s refreshingly unAmerican, actually, because no on is worried about getting sued.

There’s one viewing platform over the ocean cliffs that does actually have a hand rail, I guess because it’s where the tour buses come. That impressively striated rock is, according to the DOC info, a neat layout of sedimentary rocks over some millions of years.

Sheep weren’t the only animals grazing at Wharariki! The campsite owner took the liberty of grazing his horses at the DOC trailhead, where they enforced the “no camping except in the paid campground” rule.

Low tide made some of the beach arches accessible for exploration.  The stone is this strange “concretion” of pebbles cemented together.  Milo must have felt like it was slippery, because this was one of the few times he consented to having his hand held.  Independence at a young age!

Guess who was hiding in the soggy rock crevices? These little crabs were beautifully camouflaged, though not big enough to be worth eating. Too bad, hunter.

Kelp makes a little track in the sand as you pull it along, much to Milo’s delight. We enjoyed the beach even on the chilly days.

This tunnel was so long that it felt eerie–Milo wasn’t so keen on entering. Seals sometimes hang out there too, providing another element of surprise.

We made a seal of our own to surprise beach walkers!

We hung our Christmas stockings on the curtain rod in our cabin, opening them after I recited a 2-year-old version of the Christmas story for Milo. Jeremiah’s contribution was this sampler of Kiwi candy bars. They have a mysterious predilection for “foamy” chocolates, all riddled through with tiny air bubbles.

Despite all predictions, Christmas day dawned beautifully and we met some Christchurch friends at the beach. I made this car for the kids to sit in while the tide rose, but unfortunately I built it too far up and the water didn’t swamp it before we had to leave.  What on earth is Tom doing in the background?!?

We brought our Christmas dinner to cook at friends’ house, where we also bathed the kids and enjoyed a relax in the hammock. It was really a sweet time with Naomi. I don’t wear much pink as a rule, but something strange and hormonal must happen after childbirth–when Milo was born, I bought two pink shirts, and after Naomi’s birth I got this one.

Nope, that’s not Jeremiah sporting that nice big brown trout–it’s Ian, dad of the family we visited on Christmas. Being from the UK he didn’t grow up hunting (I get the impression it’s a snobby rich man’s sport there) but he wants to learn. Jeremiah was only too happy to do an overnight trip with him while we stayed at the beach. He looks like he’s in combat gear because of the “sandflies,” biting midges like black flies that are fierce where they hunted.

There’s their hunting camp set-up. No deer to show for this trip, but they came back happy anyway.

Poke, poke, poke! What is this? Does it squish? Does it juice? Can I prong it with a stick?

Yep, like Mommy, like son. Milo spent a long time inquisitively flipping over these beached jelly fish. Turns out that they do squish, they do juice, but they don’t prong very well.

Sand dunes! This is just about the most perfect sand ever, smooth and warm on a sunny day. Milo and his friend Audrey enjoyed these dunes in their own characteristic style. Audrey cautiously scampered down the face, dabbling in the water at the bottom. Milo launched himself off the top, never a thought for personal safety, and bombed into the creek.

Milo spent a lot of time roaring at Audrey, and she spent quite a bit of time running away from him, but here’s one glorious moment of cooperation.

It’s fun to have friends around!  Christmas can feel a bit barren with no family, but we’re fortunate to have enjoyed nice times with friends!

Happy New Year!

For a two year old, this scene is heavenly. Stuff to climb, stuff to jump off, other kids with whom to rub shoulders (or from whom to grab, as the case may be).  Tumbletimes is a little kid’s free-for-all at one of the city gyms, and I sometimes take Milo there to expend a bit of that boundless energy he has.  I do at least remember a time of my life where I had limitless energy and drive, when a good day was going nonstop from one physical activity to the next, when I wasn’t responsible for anyone else’s welfare.  

Mommy can still fit through this tunnel, believe it or not, but it’s not a graceful scene.

Playcenter is like preschool where the mom’s stay and run the show (actually the kids run the show, we just follow around picking up messes). This day someone was doing face paint and Milo requested a green tiger. Other boys were green monsters, but tigers are Milo’s fascination at the moment, so he must have figured that a green breed would be a good compromise, facilitating plenty of roaring chaos.

Whoops, not all paint is for faces. There was silence from Milo’s room for about 2 minutes, and upon investigating I discovered why. Turns out that diaper cream is not that easy to wash off.

“Whappa me up too. Mom!” Milo begged. So here we are, two little peas in their separate pods, grinning from ear to ear.

NOT FOR CONSTRUCTION….at least it gives Milo good practice at his letters. Our drawing paper is scrap from Jeremiah’s office, and recently Milo has been choosing the printed side for coloring.  Jeremiah’s job may be to make sure the Gayhurst Road bridge stands up during future earthquakes, but Milo’s only concern is how many eyes to draw on his fish, his favorite animal these days.