We hiked out of Mount Arthur and drove to Nelson lakes, arriving around 5:00. We threw our stuff back onto our backs and booked it into Speargrass hut, arriving a little after 7:00, with frayed nerves (well, Molly’s were frayed, Jeremiah was unperturbed and Milo recovered quickly). Milo had been unhappy during the last 30 minutes of our hike out of Mt Arthur, and after another couple hours of driving and hiking, he had reached his breaking point. An animal-centric telling of Noah’s ark kept him amused for an additional 30 minutes (he supplied the animal noises), but he reached a point where even M&M’s wouldn’t make him happy, and he wailed in my ear for the remainder of the hike. I was feeling particular parental guilt, since we should have known he was finished for the day, but had pressed on anyway. Fortunately he bounced back as soon as we entered the hut and he got back onto his own two feet. I gave him the bag of GORP as a reward, and he picked out all the M&M’s, which of course meant he didn’t eat dinner and was bouncing off the walls until 10:30 pm, then awoke hungry in the early morning and refused to eat anything but peanutbutter, consuming about 1/3 of the jar.

Look at this lousy stream. It’s absolutely beautiful, but it gets my frown because it is unbridged, and the stupid track crisscrosses it multiple times. That means wet feet.
A few of the most popular huts need to be booked in advance, so a week before Jeremiah had booked (and paid for) a night at Angelus Hut, located with stunning views at the top of Mt Roberts. We left Speargrass hut in the rain for our 4 hour assent to Angelus, not sure how far we’d get before the weather turned us back. If it was just Jeremiah and I, we’d have pulled down our hoods, tightened our straps, and pushed on. But our family now includes Milo, and hikers coming down said the windchill on the exposed ridge was well below freezing and sleeting, not the kind of weather where we could afford to stop and give him a break. The next day was predicted to be even worse. So we turned back.

You can’t see it in this picture, but there’s a bluff just up to the right. There’s no good reason why the track is down crisscrossing the darn creek bed. The stream doesn’t look that big, but it’s just wide enough and deep enough to prevent rock hopping, at least in this weather. We speculated about the first silly Kiwi who bush-whacked this route many years ago, and the rest of the silly Kiwis who just followed unthinkingly in his tracks rather than making a proper dry trail….but it’s not our country, after all. Kiwis don’t seem to mind wet feet.

Squelch, squish, squash. That’s us hiking after unbridged stream crossings. And these are our pruned feet pulled from our soggy boots. Actually, it’s not as bad as it sounds, even though it feels like sacrilege to break the North American Dry Feet hiking creed. Eventually the water in the boots warms up, and eventually you’ll reach a hut that probably has a wood stove, so even if your boots don’t dry overnight, your feet will.

But here’s the relevant point. Milo’s smiling. So we didn’t get to go where we wanted to go, but he’s still dry and warm, wearing his pajamas under his clothes, and he’s actually happy. We drove into town and found a dingy but dry hostel for the night.

A “Tiki tour” is what they call it here, just drivin’ around, stopping and seein’ stuff along the way. The yellow line marks our two-week holiday travels in the south island of New Zealand. There are lots of switchbacks in the roads that the map doesn’t show, snaking its way up and over the Southern Alps.

We left our friends in Nelson and drove over to the mountains, up a steep windy road that gave our car a workout, to the Kahurangi National Park, and, wait for it, yet another hut! This one is near Mount Arthur, and we shared it with a caving expedition. They were pretty serious, exploring the extensive marble caves under the mountain. They were doing an article for New Zealand Geographic and making a film, and planned to camp down in the chilly darkness for several days. I would have liked to chat with them more, but Milo was particularly grouchy so I was busy trying to satiate him.

On the way up to the hut we passed through a really neat grove of “Lorax trees.” I really have no idea what they are, but they look like the Dr. Seuss creations, don’t they?

Thumbs up Milo and Daddy! Usually Milo points his index finger, but the quick transition to a rainy alpine climate means mittens, so thumbs up is easier.

The forecast was for rain the following day and we weren’t sure if we’d be able to walk up to the summit, so we got out for a short walk in the evening to see the views and give Milo a chance to stretch his legs. Here he is, trotting along, happy as a lark. He got grouchy later…

This time the flower photography was also a way to motivate Milo to keep moving forward up the trail. He likes admiring the flowers too, cupping them in his mittened hand and sniffing them.

This looks like an orchid, doesn’t it? It’s miniature, the size of a violet, making me wish I had carried along my magnifying glass to appreciate it properly.

This “pincushion” of buds was so smugly compact and inviting, one of those cushiony humps you find in the alpine zones all decked out in delicate pink finery.

I guess there are some battles you choose not to fight, as a parent. Milo wanted peanutbutter for breakfast instead of oatmeal, and we decided to throw out the dietary ideals in favor of a quiet(er) breakfast.

It was only spitting rain the next morning so we continued our course, though we skipped the actual summit since it was covered in cloud. On a fine day this would be a stunning walk through tussock lands with views to every side.

The caves the group was exploring all start as long vertical shafts, necessitating ropes and climbing skills to reach. The trail description cautioned hikers to stay on the track, least you accidentally find one of those vertical shafts and fall down it.

There are stoat traps all along the trail, some with poisoned bait and some with snap traps. Stoats were imported in an attempt to control the imported rabbit population, but they found the naive ground-nesting native birds to be easier picking. Consequently, Kiwi birds don’t survive where predator populations aren’t aggressively managed. I guess it takes a lot of human effort to combat natural evolution…..survival of the fittest and extinction of those that can’t adapt. We passed this trap and heard scrabbling, a stoat must have been imprisoned by the rock placed by a fellow tramper. Despite the stoats and weasels being the bad guys in Wind in the Willows, my heart went out to this little fellow facing slow starvation, and I kicked the rock aside. Shh, don’t tell.

We enjoyed good views under the blowing clouds.

This bright red lichen reminded me of home. What purpose the brilliant red color has to the lichen, I don’t know, but it sure made me stop and admire it.

Tussockland grandeur. Those assents to high points along the ridge are a lot steeper than they looked….or possibly I’m getting old. From here we climbed down into a forest that looked just like the Fire Swamp in Princess Bride, though my search for ROUS’s was fruitless.

The map in the hut shows the trails we took, first night at Mount Arthur hut and the second night at Salisbury Lodge, then out past the rock shelters via the Salisbury track.

We reached Salisbury “hut” just as the rain started in earnest and spent a cozy afternoon doing a puzzle and reading. The weather must have kept everyone else away, because we had the place to ourselves. To call this place a hut seems a misnomer–it definitely deserves its Salisbury Lodge title. There was even coal for the stove and gas burners.

Just like my own mother, I find puzzles addicting. I only do them on vacation. Milo was interested, and even put in a few pieces (with some help). Actually, Milo slept most of the afternoon on my lap and went to bed early, I think he wasn’t feeling well. Thankfully he seemed better the next day.

Milo enjoys the view while he brushes his teeth. He finds climbing on those benches irresistible. He usually falls off once or twice, but always comes back for more.

We left in a chilly drizzle to walk out to the car, but that was an improvement from the downpour we heard on the hut roof during the night. Thankfully we weren’t headed to Starvation Ridge, ug!

The sun emerged for our walk out, illuminating a lush green forest and path strewn with colored beech leaves. It felt like fall!

I’ve never seen a wood snail this big before! I poked my finger into its shell to feel its door, only to feel slimy black snail–it had no door! Milo was impressed.

There are a couple rock shelters along the trail, this one has an elevated sleeping platform. In good weather these would be lovely, but as it was I was thankful for the Salisbury Lodge with its coal stove.

We have some American friends with two kids–Audrey (3) and Noah (~16 months), who invited us to spend some time with them at a house near Nelson. Ah, a kid-friendly house! First night we arrived Milo got to share the bathtub and the bath toys, and the next day I did some laundry and Milo played with (or competed with) the kids. It’s interesting to watch the different styles. Audrey gently holds the two blocks together to make a circle, then peers through it at the nicely framed world, while Milo makes a little tower of blocks, runs around showing it off, then obliterates it with one swoop. Audrey is affectionate and likes to sit on my lap, which brings out Milo’s jealousy in about half a second. Mama’s lap belongs to HIM, or so he thinks!

Though Milo competes with Audrey for just about anything she has, he sees Noah as a baby and is usually gentle with him. Plus, he shares his cookies!

Abel Tasman National Park is on the northwest end of the south island of New Zealand. It’s a NZ “Greatwalk,” one of the classic hikes that showcases their splendid terrain and is quite popular with international travelers. There are also excellent rustic accommodations along the way, for those who don’t want to carry a tent (that’s us, these days! We have quite enough to carry hauling Milo around). Here’s the route we walked, from south to north.

Here we are two days before Christmas starting our hike on the Abel Tasman coastal track, north end of the south island of New Zealand. We were in a rush to catch our bus to the track start so we didn’t sort our food as carefully as we could have, and we’re carrying a bit too much weight. Later while we’re walking we’ll admire others’ smaller packs and list the items we could have done without! Extra sausage, all our warm clothing, extra shoes for Milo, three-season sleeping bags…

The track follows the coast line through steep semi-tropical hillsides and golden-sanded coves. The track itself is hardly ever steep, since DOC has done an amazing job of cutting gentle switchbacks up the slopes. There’s plenty of time to stop for lunch and a swim at any of the many beaches we pass. Milo sure appreciated that!

Anchorage Bay hut was our first night’s stop. The name makes me think of frigid Alaska but this shallow warm bay is a popular mooring spot for sailboats. Our bouncy DOC hut warden, Phil, amused us with tails of inebriated skinny dippers hailing the warden’s help at 2:00 a.m. Happy for them that they were women, he said, or he’d have left them to fend for themselves despite the rapidly rising tide!

I wondered if it was wise to pack the rubber duckies on this trip, being extra weight and all….but they were well worth their weight in Milo Amusement! Here Daddy found a shady cave in which to bury Duckie, and Milo unearthed the treasure, to his great satisfaction.

It’s the day before Christmas and here we are applying sunscreen and paddling around in the waves, while our northern hemisphere friends and family shovel snow. Really though, so many of our Christmas traditions involve winter weather that it doesn’t seem like the same holiday without the chill. When it doesn’t get dark until 9:30 pm, Christmas lights seem like a wasted effort! If the holiday was still a celebration of the strange story of Jesus’ birth, then the time of year wouldn’t matter much, but it’s even more apparent here how far from the religious context we’ve come.

Cool, eh? Erosion at work again, in mysterious ways. Who knows why the stone of the archway was just a tad bit harder than the surrounding granite, but somehow it survived while the neighboring rocks succumbed to the pummeling waves. This Abel Tasman granite is not like the hard Adirondack granite I’m used to–it’s brittle, so brittle that the archway is filled with hikers’ graffiti etched into the stone.

The hillsides waved with what looked like palm trees, but which are really giant ferns as tall as trees. For much of the day we got glimpses down to the blue ocean through the waving fronds.

We showed a couple of our hiking pictures to a friend who is the director of NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School) in NZ, and his first comment was on my bad form to have all that paraphernalia hanging off my pack. I caught my snide retort (“well, you just try hiking with a 2-year-old!”), and asked him about NOLS view on the subject. Apparently stuff attached to the outside tends to get whisked away by snatchy branches while bush whacking, which we happily avoided during our hike.

Milo never enjoyed a traditional afternoon nap during our whole vacation, so he snatched a few winks in his backpack from time to time. Good sport!

Several sections of the trail crossed tidal bays and could only be navigated a couple hours before or after low tide, but we still usually took our boots off to keep them dry. We often came upon beached yachts in these bays, the owners just enjoying the sun and waiting for the next high tide (or one a few days later) to put to sail. Seems like a boring sort of vacation, but it takes all kinds…

Guess what Milo finished off his lunch with? Timtams! That’s a chocolate-coated chocolate cookie, if you can’t tell by his face, one of his favorites.

These wiggly bridges would be fun to load up with people and jiggle about, like we used to do as kids at the playground, but we tended to obey the “One person limit” signs, since the consequences of overtaxing the engineering could be dire.

How can you explain to your two-year-old that he can chase the mallard ducks at the park, but he can’t chase the stupid shell ducks that don’t have the sense to run away. New Zealand birds still haven’t seemed to learn a fear of humans, and their trusting nature isn’t helping them off the endangered list! This pair of ducks with one remaining duckling hung around Bark Bay hut, picking up crumbs and admiring their reflections in the hut windows.

The huts slept 20-30 people in bunks, and one of the trip highlights was chatting with our fellow hikers in the evenings. It’s like staying at the UN–we had a Dutch family, a guy from Finland, Canadians, Irishmen, Argentines and Chileans, plus a few Kiwis. One Kiwi family had a 5-year-old and a 3-year-old, and the 3-year-old was WALKING the track. Get ready Milo, next year you’re on your own two feet!

It’s funny what Christmas traditions you decide to bring on the trail. One group had a whole Christmas ham that they gnawed off for days, but most folks hardly acknowledged the day. We made cinnamon roles, and Milo had a very hard time waiting for them to cook.

Aw, family portrait.

The two little Dutch girls, Emma (10) and Iris (8) LOVED Milo. They could only speak a little English, but Milo speaks even less, and they never seemed to tire of holding his hand, picking him up, and following him around. It was great for us parents, I tell you!

Milo fell in the puddle and got his pants wet, and he’s “winching” about it (a term my English friend uses, which seems particularly appropriate). He was probably lacking a nap and feeling delicate at the time.

You have to watch these greedy seagulls, or they’re apt to make off with your lunch, or at least your Cookie, as Milo can tell you!

Milo helped Daddy build this dam by splashing rocks into the puddle…..a civil engineer in the making.

“Smile for the picture, Milo!, And don’t fall!”

It was actually really hot (high 80s) in the Abel Tasman while we were there, so the shady stretches of track were lovely and comfortable while the sunny spots were just endured.

When we reached Awaroa hut I took Milo by myself across the dry tidal flat in search of some swimming water. The hot sand was strewn with cockle shells, and we walked a long way to find water. It was eery, sitting there in the merciless sun, staring at the beached boats through the heat waves, watching the tide come in at a surprisingly fast pace….the black cockle-eating birds could have been vultures waiting for us to croak. Milo was totally oblivious to our frailty, but before long I decided it was time to quit that place and tromp back to our hut before the rising tide cut us off.

The duckies were a hit all around, and Milo was very good about sharing them with the other kids.

“Ug, Mom, what are you doing to me?” We had a big tidal bay crossing just leaving Awaroa hut, and low tide was at 2:45 a.m. and p.m. (roughly). Either we hauled ourselves up at 5:00 to cross in the early morning or we would have to wait until after noon, when the tide was again low enough to walk across the bay. We opted for morning, and after the first few muttered complaints, Milo was a good sport about it.

Crossing a tidal lagoon in the dark is decidedly creepy. In the faint glare from the headlamp you can see the water swirl as some watery creature moves, hopefully moving away from us, but you can’t see the critter and you know that by the time you see the water movement, that thing has slithered off to somewhere else. But no pinched toes or bitten heels this time!

The sky was just getting light as we finished our crossing, in time to illuminate unbrushed hair and a clearing sky. Half way across the bay we could hear a riot of frogs (or so I’m guessing) cheeping and peeping in the trees. I wonder what makes frogs pick a grove of trees to call home…we didn’t hear them on the hut side of the bay.

“No Milo! That’s hot. No Milo! Don’t dump my tea! No Milo! Don’t hit me with the stick! No Milo! Don’t touch that!”
Poor little guy, he’s just being an almost-two-year-old. But cooking in the sand is hard enough without his energetic help. After our early morning bay crossing we breakfasted at a lovely little beach. Amazingly, the pancakes had very little sand in them.

We passed streams emptying onto beaches where they sculpted new channels after each high tide. I’ve been wanting to see a fast-forwarded aerial view of how the eroding Southern Alps fill the plains with gravel (time scale is millions of years), and I think if I had stayed to watch this stream moving tiny bits of sand over 4-5 hours I would have had a close approximation. Unfortunately, I didn’t have that kind of patience this trip, maybe next time.

Most of the Abel Tasman track goes up and down along the coast no more than a couple hundred meters, but there was an inland route we decided to check out from Totaranui Bay to Whariwharangi Hut, up over Gibbs Hill. Unfortunately we chose the hottest afternoon to tackle that shadeless route, but we did get nice views down into big tidal Wainui Bay. Look at all those tan scars in the forest–they’re slips where the steep unstable soil slid off during some rain storm. It’ll take a long time. but eventually the whole coast as we know it will slip and slide into the ocean.

Lunch time, and time to cool off. I’m not sure why eating lunch involved emptying the contents of the pack on the ground, but this time there’s an impressive amount of detritus scattered about.

Looking up into this tree’s branches we could see two types of leaves, but only one trunk. Another tree must have wheedled its way up into the old beech, using its generous limbs for support. Ferns and other epiphytes decorate the nooks and crannies.

Milo likes to get down and walk from time to time, but making forward progress is a slow business when he’s on his own two feet. There are so many distractions to examine along the way! A walking stick helped keep his feet moving forward, at least in this case.

“Ach, Mama, that worm is coming closer to me!” For some reason this harmless green inchworm really creeped Milo out and he wasn’t happy again until we took the offender away.

Milo crashed hard right after dinner at the Whariwarangi Hut. Getting him to settle down and sleep in the hut was one of the bigger challenges on our trip, but this time he seemed relieved to be given the chance to sleep.

Whariwharangi Hut, quite a mouthful for a quaint old house-turned-DOC-hut. “Wh” is usually pronounced like an “F” when reading Maori names….usually, but not always. I guess I shouldn’t complain. Compared to English, the pronunciation rules are usually straight forward and abided by. European settlers built this place in the early 1900’s, but it’s still called by the Maori name.

Aw, another congenial family photo. A front came in and cooled the park down for our last day, much to our relief.

I stared at this delicate green sea urchin shell for a long time, trying to figure out how it grows from a tiny urchin to this size, but I haven’t figured it out. Clams and snails are easy, they just keep adding to the outer rim of their shells, but how does a sea urchin keep expanding in girth? Maybe those seam-looking bits are loose when the critter is alive, letting it add shell in 5 different stripes? That dusky green color is enchanting, as is the perfect pattern.

Some hillsides are covered with these white-flowering manuka trees. The honey is much prized and given various unverifiable health claims, but it’s also expensive so I haven’t tried it yet.

These manuka bushes grow like rhododendrons do in Maryland–not as tall as a tree, but more than a bush. DOC has done an amazing job building and maintaining the Abel Tasman track, from well-planned switchbacks to make the grades more enjoyable to carefully maintained water diversions to slow down erosion. This wide smooth section of the trail is representative of the entire length.

I stopped to snap a photo of a “fiddlehead,” (more like a “Violahead” in size), and I heard Jeremiah giving Milo a little piece of advice. “Just wait,” he said, “Mommy is taking pictures. It makes her happy.” After 7 years of marriage, Jeremiah is quite a gentleman about the waiting, setting himself down with good humor while Molly indulges her interest.

The track was beautifully graded, and to keep the grade on the steep eroded hillsides the trail kept weaving from the dry outer hillsides inland to the mossy cool streams that punctuated the coast, supporting supported shady trees and creepers with their water. This luxurious moss was growing in one of the shady bits.

We booked a water taxi to get back from the north end of the park (or nearly, we had to double back to Totaranui bay for the pick up) to our car. It was 45 minutes late because of engine problems, but at least it’s not as scary as airplane engine problems. Here we are waiting.

I can’t remember exactly what Milo was cross about this afternoon. Probably 5 days without a nap….but I think perhaps the flare-up issue was wanting M&M’s and Mama saying he had to have some fruit first. He kept up the tantrum for a long time, but other parents tell me that’s to be expected at his age.

In a little under 2 hours the boat took us back to where we started 5 days earlier. Many people just go in by water taxi for the day, but I’m glad we walked the track.

The ocean was rough and we were worried that Milo would be seasick (he’s often car sick), so we sat toward the edge and discussed plans of directing the upchuck over the boat edge if it came to that. Thankfully it did not!

Our water taxi landed us in Kaiteriteri. Several water taxi companies ply the coast and they have their system down slick–catamaran boats nose into the shallow bays and long planks bridge the passengers to dry sand.

The term “Saga” might be a bit exaggerated when it comes to the packing required to go camping for two weeks, but it’s not that far out of the ballpark. I spent much of last week shopping for and assembling food (during Milo nap times). We pulled together our clothes on Friday and I had Milo’s and my stuff together neatly in a suitcase until Milo hauled it all back out onto the floor. He was quite pleased to pose for a picture with the fruits of his labor, the little squirt!

Jeremiah masterminded the car pack job. He’s been a stickler for organization in this trip’s car pack, for some unknown reason. He even got an ancient “chilly bin” (cooler) on Trademe to keep some food cool, and the usual miscellaneous bags for the rest of the food were replaced with banana boxes. The seat next to Milo is completely filled up to the roof, which makes me appreciate (with a grimace) the family minivan…. we aren’t quite THAT old yet. After a full day of driving from Christchurch to Nelson (what would have taken us 5 hours nonstop before Milo) the organization had broken down a bit and car-trip detritus floated around our feet–candy cane wrappers, knitting projects, books on CD, water bottles, toy cars–all pervaded by a slight hint of upchuck from the inevitable effect of windy roads on our son’s stomach. Tomorrow we start on the Abel Tasman trail, leaving the car to stew in the sun for 5 days. We’ll see what grows when we return.

Classic New Zealand combined, lambs grazing the vineyard floor. We actually don’t see sheep under the vines that often, so we thought it was a cute photo. Plus we had already stopped a dozen times today, what’s one more to snap a picture?

On Saturday Milo and Daddy had a boys day because Mama went on a “girly day” to Hanmer springs. Westpac, our bank, hosted a Christmas picnic for newcomers with lots of kids’ activities, so after fishing in the morning, Jeremiah took Milo to indulge in the free food. The face painter did a great job making Milo into a puppy, and he stood stock still and silent while he devoured the chocolate pop….and no, the spots didn’t come out of the shirt.

A pony ride is a serious matter–or so Milo seemed to think. He didn’t make a peep or crack a smile the whole time. Maybe behind those snazzy red sunglasses he was a member of the Pony Express, delivering an important message. Or maybe he was an in American colonial times, quiet lest the indians hear him. Or maybe he was just thinking how big that pony was, and focusing on his balance. Unfortunately, we can only guess.

The remnants of the puppy face were still showing at 9 pm, when daddy let him choose his outfit and play with playdough until an ungodly (for a toddler) hour. They had a good day.

Meanwhile, Mama had a day out at Hanmer Springs with the ladies. Naturally heated mineral water is filtered and temperature-adjusted and pumped into an elaborate pool system, replete with man-made stream and fiberglass-coated rocks!

My friend Jennifer enjoys her champagne in pool-side style at the Hanmer Springs Cafe, boasting gourmet burgers and coffee.

We had fun! My first thought upon seeing the pools was how much Milo would have liked them, but it was actually really nice to change zero diapers and enjoy grown-up conversation all day. It was a fun day out–thanks Daddy!

Last Friday Milo and Molly were itching for some exercise, so we went on a day hike up to the Packhorse hut, checking out a route we hadn’t taken before. You never know, we might be able to convince another family to hike up there with us and spend the night, and a good guide ought to have checked out the path ahead of time. Milo checked out that path up close and personal for a little ways–he took nose-dive after nose-dive and didn’t seem at all phased by the experience. Here he is, pleased as punch, tromping along the grassy path with Lyttelton Harbor in the background.

It was a warm clear day, but the wind is what gets you in NZ, and we hunkered down in the sun behind some boulders for lunch. Some day we’ll stay overnight in this historic hut…but probably not during winter as the stash of firewood to feed the wood stove is pretty scarce on the grassy tussock-hills.

Swallows built this nest in the nook over the hut door, too high for me to peer into. I thought I’d be clever and hold the camera up there, hoping for a shot of cozy little eggs or peeping baby birds. The moment the camera edged over the lip of the nest it erupted in a flurry of wings, and we beat a hasty retreat. Not sure how many birds exited, but those “helpless little babies” scared the bejeebers out of me!

We walked through a planted pine forest, listening to the sound of the wind in the branches and the clink and roar of the logging equipment. For some reason these super-cool mushrooms were sporulating, maybe they somehow sensed the impending logging operations and decided they were ready to migrate. Milo was good at spotting them, sometimes seeing them before I did. “MMMMore! he announced whenever he sighted one.

Milo slept in the backpack so I had time to linger over some flowers. Particularly as they were conveniently growing at shoulder height, no bending with a 35-lb-pack required! They look like giant nightshade blossoms to me, but I haven’t had a chance to look them up. I’m not sure why, but it’s oddly satisfying to be able to guess at plant families, even if I don’t know the species at all. Is it the illusion of familiarity that is so comforting?

For various kid-health-related reasons this weekend’s Plan A and Plan B fell through. Both had entailed going on hikes with other families with children, and I had been looking forward to chatting and getting to know some new people while we walked. Plan C was hatched in Jeremiah’s mind of Saturday night–fishing at Lake Coleridge, a giant lake up in the foothills of the Southern Alps, about 90 minutes from Christchurch. Time for true confessions: I HATE FISHING. Alaskan salmon fishing has been the only exception so far, because there are so many fishing that there is always something on the hook. The rest of the time, “fishing” entails swatting at blood-sucking insects on the bank of some random body of water for hours on end, trying to keep Milo from drowning and myself from dying of boredom. Needless to say, I wasn’t in the greatest mood as we bumped along the gravel road to Lake Coleridge (Jeremiah will confirm this, no doubt). But Jeremiah decided to take Milo fishing with him let me go climb up a small mountain near the lake, panoramic views the whole way, and I returned in a much improved frame of mind. There’s nothing like some exercise and alone time to improve one’s outlook on life.

The mountains here must be made of very brittle rock. There’s not much topsoil, and the little vegetation that manages to get a foothold is in constant danger of sliding off the steep sides in a jumble of scree and meager grasses. The whole landscape looks like it’s slowly drooping and schlooping down into the valley, to be carried out to the ocean by the rivers.

Milo spent the day as “Daddy’s Little Buddy,” happily playing in the sand while Jeremiah fished in the lake, sporting his new Cornell hat from Abi and Omi and his snazzy red sunglasses.

For most of the day the lake was glassy smooth, a rare no-wind day in New Zealand. Towards late afternoon the wind picked up and a few minutes after this picture was snapped, our warm little water hole was swamped by waves. That explains the driftwood “tide line” and beach-like appearance of the lake edge.

Jeremiah built a fort with Milo to cast a tiny bit of shade, decorating it with grasses and seed heads. When I returned Milo showed me proudly the part that he built.

Clean at last! The sheen of sunscreen and sand in every crack and crevice (use your imagination) gave way to a hot shower.

“Marlborough” and “Marathon” hardly go together in my imagination, as it conjures up a picture of leathery cowboys chain-smoking Marlborough brand cigarettes as they wheeze their way around a 26-yard track, spurs jingling. But Marlborough is also a region in the northeast corner of the south island known for dry weather, excellent vineyards, and picturesque sounds. And it was where we headed last weekend, to run a half marathon.

The road up to Blenheim (town in Marlborough region) snakes along the coast near Kaikoura, and NZ drivers seem to know no caution when it comes to overtaking on blind corners or towing monstrous boats behind little sedans. Jeremiah sputtered with disdain when this contraption zipped past us. He definitely believes in using the right tool for the job, whatever the situation (plus, let’s be honest, he just likes big trucks), and he shakes his head at overloaded puny cars that we often see towing big loads. I have yet to see one unable to make it up a hill though….maybe a new suspension is less expensive than the fuel it takes to run a big truck here.

I pushed Milo in his jogger for all my training runs, but wasn’t allowed to push him in the actual half-marathon run. Fortunately some of Jeremiah’s colleagues from work came up for the weekend and generously watched over him while we ran. We were both happy with our runs, but in completely different ways. Jeremiah’s goal was to be able to look back and say he couldn’t have run it any faster–he’d given it his all. And he did! My goal was to enjoy myself, and not get exhausted. And I did, starting at the back of the pack and skimming through the cool morning air, admiring the laser-straight vineyard rows edged in roses, with the tawny hills beyond, pony tails flouncing. When you start at the back you pass dozens of people and no one passes you, quite an ego boost. It was delicious.

There were 4 photographers set up along the race route. A mere day or two after the race we got emails giving us links to proofs of photos of each of us, and I marveled at the technological organization that represented. Somehow they tagged 8000+ photos with the correct names, put them with unique links on a website with purchasing information, and generated an email with a link to these personal photos. Jeremiah is crossing the rock hop river crossing.

Cheeky Mama! That’s what Jeremiah said anyway….I thought the photographer was probably tired of exhausted runner shots and might like to add a little variety to his day.

Milo enjoyed the race too, Mr. Social. He doesn’t have a shy bone in his body, and he’ll give anyone a grin or a “hi five.” It makes him lovely to have in groups.

There’s that cheeky grin!

Milo is an up-and-coming photographer, at least according to him. This is one of his shots, taken during the award ceremony when he spent a good hour using our drop-proof camera to photograph everything around him.

The race was held at Villa Maria vineyard, and this picture was taken at a neighboring vineyard, from their old-world style tower that overlooks their vines.

Peekaboo! There are all kinds of styles chosen by vineyards to make an impressive backdrop to their wines and wine tastings. This one chose the Spanish look, with rosy pillars, colorful tiles, and black wrought iron.

Cherries were ready to pick in Blenheim, so on Sunday we stopped at a huge planting completely netted to keep out birds. Lovely cherries, not a spot of brown rot to be seen.

What can be more fun that eating cherries? Why, feeding them to Daddy, of course!

Milo is quite a good little helper when it comes to picking cherries. I remember picking cherries with Mommom and Poppop as a young kid. The day was so hot that they let us take our shirts off. We had a blast. I’m so glad my parents and grandparents took us to pick fruit–it’s a part of our heritage now, and will be a part of Milo’s.

Look at this cool little dude. Or nerdy? He doesn’t care, he’s comfortable. We stopped at White’s Bay to take a walk and let Milo play in the sand. Later that day we emptied it out of his diaper, but it was this morning before all the cracks and crevices got clean.

Milo kept trying to feed the gulls his cracker, but he’d throw it 4 feet in front of him, too close for the birds’ liking, then get impatient and go to retrieve it. He chased the birds in circles trying to get them to eat that cracker. Then Daddy gave him a cookie, and before we knew it he had thrown his gourmet peanutbutter and chocolate chip cookie to the birds, who, after a short battle, consumed it in one gulp without even savoring it! When we asked him later that day what he had thrown to the birds, he remembered quite clearly. He yelled “COOKIE!” repeatedly as he grinned like an imp. I guess he felt it was worth it to loose the cookie if he got to watch the birds squabble over it.

The bluff above White’s Bay looks out towards the Marlborough Sounds. We’ll be back up here at Christmas to hike the Abel Tasman.