“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.

Naomi was two weeks old in this photo, Omi had arrived a few days previous.

And in roughly the time it takes these furry ferns to unfurl in the woods….

Naomi has turned into a chubby two-month-old with a cheeky grin. They say the time flies…. I must be getting older, because now I’d have to agree. I remember Milo’s infancy dragging a little, puttering around the house in a New York winter, staring out the window, a tad bit bored and feeling guilty over the sentiment. I was happy to return to work when maternity leave was over. This time I’m savoring the days, enjoying this little chickie every day.

Sand + Water = two year old paradise. We’ve done a lot of driving lately and we’re starting to make beach stops a habit, giving Milo a chance to stretch his legs and paddle around before stuffing him back in his car seat. Jeremiah found this neat spot in Dunedin (on the way back from the Kepler run), where the access trail involves a tunnel cut through the cliff to reach a low-tide beach hemmed in by sandstone cliffs.

Fwap! Take that, Water! Milo found this piece of seaweed to be the perfect whip.

Jeremiah shepherded Milo around this peninsula, one hand on his shirt at all times, heading off his attempts to chase sea gulls off the cliff edge.

My charge at this beach was simpler–keep the immobile baby warm, shaded, fed and happy. Maybe I’ll look back at these photos in a few years and see a family resemblance in our faces, but right now it’s just too close for me to discern.

Just a bit up the coast from Dunedin are the Moeraki boulders, peculiar round rocks squatting in the waves on a random stretch of desolate coastal beach. Maori legend says they’re gourds scattered from a shipwrecked canoe, a particularly unsatisfactory explanation for science geeks like us. The tourist sign says they are “concretions” formed by lime migrating around some central point deep within mud and sand sediments on the ocean floor. Still begs the question WHY? (I’m sounding like Milo now.) At any rate, the resulting round rocks are harder than their beds of sandstone and mudstone so when the waves scour away the sedimentary rocks, the perfect Moeraki Boulders are left for curious humans to oogle.

You can see why the Maori came up with a legend to explain the boulders–they really do look like toys of the gods.

One of the strangest things about the Moeraki boulder beach is the continuous stream of camera-waving tourists (us included) that flock to this otherwise abandoned bit of coast. It’s actually hard to get a photo of just the rocks among the crowds.

Here, after all, is the real reason we stop at beaches. Look at those happy toes. Most of that sand makes it back into the car with us too.

“What did you dress him in?!” Jeremiah exclaims, frowning. Well, in this case he dressed himself from the dress-up wardrobe at our friends’ house….a house of three girls. As of yet Milo has no cultural bias against pink, which I think is fantastic. Plus I find Jeremiah’s disgusted response predictable, fascinating and ridiculous all at the same time.  Ella was quite pleased to have a willing groom. 

I met my buddy Laura and her two kids, Audrey and Noah, at Playcenter in Christchurch last spring (October). We missed them a lot when they moved back to the northern hemisphere summer in Alaska (living everyone’s dream–moving from summer to summer each year). This spring they moved back to New Zealand, but had the nerve to relocate up to the hills near Nelson–6 hours drive from Christchurch! Jeremiah was driving up to the Marlborough sounds to mountain bike the Queen Charlotte track this weekend, so the kids and I hitched a ride up to see Laura’s family. We stayed with them on the NOLS base (National Outdoor Leadership School) that you see in the photo.

The forestry in Nelson seems really strange to us upstate New Yorkers. All that dark pine you see in the background is pinus radiata planted on impossibly steep slopes and clear cut every ~25 years. A clear cut hillside looks like a third world country….rapidly eroding soil and almost nothing green. I guess if they don’t want to farm hills, they’ll become flat sooner than later with that kind of treatment, but I hate to think abou the topsoil washing down uselessly into the salty ocean.  Ah well, I’m sure I don’t know the whole story about why it’s done that way. 

Here’s the clan! By some miracle we got a photo where everyone was looking at the camera.  We’re at the Agriculture show (like a county fair) in Nelson where we watched sheep shearing competitions, saw sheep herding competitions, and fingered prize-winning fleeces. Lots of sheep around here.

“My money’s on the black horse!” Milo seems to say. We were watching the horse judging from the stands, and I wondered if the organizers had intentionally put the miniature ponies pulling carts next to the massive Clydesdales for comic value.

Laura bought Audrey this little pull-along puppy at the ag fair and she took to it, carting it around wherever we went, including into the chicken coop! She’s amazing….she can spend hours happily having imaginary conversations with her toys. Made Milo seem like a complete live wire in comparison!

The sad thing about the hills near Nelson is that they’re infested with sand flies (akin to black flies, but they stick around all summer). As long as you’re moving they’re not so bad, but as soon as you stop, they descend. The NOLS property is bordered by a lovely picturesque stream enticing us to swim, but getting out with exposed skin is perilous. This day we let the kids paddle around fully clothed. I was also impressed with the logistics involved in moving 4 small children and two adults half a mile down a dirt road. To go smoothly it took two strollers, two backpacks, sun hats, water bottles, salty and sugary snacks, and two big doses of Mother’s Patience.

Water–there’s nothing like it for amusing children. We froze a couple bowls of dyed water with various kids’ toys embedded inside and they spent a happy afternoon releasing them from their frozen prisons. It was lovely to spend a few days with Laura, chatting about our families while moving at our kids’ pace–and being alright with that speed.

We spent the day before Omi flew home (last Saturday) at Hagley Park enjoying an unseasonably warm day in the town. Omi and Naomi took a leisurely ride in a punt boat on the Avon river, dodging (and sometimes hitting) the erratic kayakers. Jeremiah, Milo and I paddled one of these kayaks, adding our bit to the river traffic. It was such a nice day that the river was fairly strewn with boats.  Soak up the sun, Omi–re-entry into Chicago winter will be rough.

Omi treated us all to ice cream in the park. November is “Movember” in NZ, and somehow that means that men grow silly facial hair in honor of prostate cancer awareness. Milo joined in with his ice cream goatee.

Aw! Jeremiah’s on daddy duty here while Milo, Omi and I were in the wading pool.

Thank you for visiting Omi! We love you!

Imagine walking into a winery to do a tasting with five children (under 5), three grannies, three moms and a friend. Here in NZ, they didn’t even bat an eye. In fact, the winery employee told us to take the kids through to the restaurant kitchen and ask for some fish scraps to feed to the pet eels. We visited three wineries that day and there were toys and kid activities at each one. Kiwis do love their children!

Here’s the crew tasting some wines at Pegasus Bay winery. Two of the families we’re friends with also had grandmothers visiting at the same time that Omi was visiting us. The guys cracked a few jokes about needing an escape from the mothers-in-law, but they’re actually lucky because our moms have been great. My mom never made any critical remarks or judgmental comments. She didn’t even tell me that my house was dusty (which it is!).  The grannies hit it off and got together later for coffee.

We ate lunch at one of the wineries, one whose sign advertised a “cafe” rather than this one where there were two forks and two spoons at each place setting. If anyone visits us here, we’ll take you on a day trip to the Wairapa valley wine region, just an hour north of Christchurch.

Pegasus Bay winery had gorgeous grounds, and the pet eels live in this pond under the bridge.

Yikes, if you’ve never fed eels before, it’s a bit creepy. At first the water appears empty, but then dark shadows start to writhe out of the depths. They come right to your feet, pushing their noses out of the water, reaching for the food. These critters can travel over land, believe it or not. Fascinating for mommies and kiddies alike!

Last time we hiked the Nydia track in the Marlborough Sounds we said to ourselves that it would be a good place to take family. It’s not a difficult hike, it goes through lovely green characteristically New Zealand forest full of tree ferns, and it ends at a beautiful lodge run by a very warm, welcoming family. We took a weekend trip up there when my Mom came to visit. Here we are, decked out with our gear, ready to go. The only catch is that the track starts in Marlborough, of course, a 6 hour drive north from Christchurch.

Here’s Milo’s view for that 6 hours…or 7 or more with the requisite stops.   Milo was using the camera for a bit of that time…. Gone are the days when we can point out an animal and he’s enthralled. He’s just not that excited by sheep and cows and horses and miles and miles of pastures anymore.

Milo actually did quite well on the drive. Here he is dancing in his car seat to kids’ music we borrowed from the library. When music got boring, we read books. When books got boring, we listened to stories on CD. When stories got boring, we resorted to jelly bean bribery.

On the way up north we stopped to pick some early season cherries. Yum!

Healthy cherry trees with a ripe crop are just so scrumptiously beautiful. We were the classic agrotourists, only picking enough cherries for that night’s dinner, but we enjoyed ourselves in the process.

On the way north we stayed overnight at Watson’s Way Backpacker, where we’ve stayed several times before. It’s clean, the kitchen is better than our own, and the proprietors like kids. Upon returning the room key the boys were rewarded a chocolate and the girls got a fragrant garden rose.

From what I read, we still don’t qualify as Sherpas, but I feel like we’re gradually getting there.

“Me step in it?” Milo asked, from his perch in the backpack. “When you walk our hikes, you can step on the mushrooms,” I concede, “but not right now.”  Not that I really want beautiful mushrooms annihilated by a two-year-old, but if he’s walking, then I figure it’s worth it….there must be many more mushrooms growing that we can’t see from the path.  Parenting is full of compromises, I’m discovering.

Here’s Omi just after lunch on the saddle. She wasn’t particularly confident that she could do the hike and we didn’t dole out the snacks soon enough on the uphill (I realized as she started to wobble a bit–she never complained!), but in the end she made it with flying colors.

Here we are, just before Omi slipped and fell into the stream.

Ah well, wet feet got cured in the hot tub at the lodge.

Worn out from a long day hiking? Hardly, but peacefully sleeping nontheless.

Here’s the lodge where we stayed. It was bought 2.5 years ago by a guy just a few years older than us who runs it with the help of his parents. They’re an amazingly warm hospitable family. I’m quite curious to know how much of this loveliness they put on in the morning as they greet guests and how much is natural, but I bet most of it is just who they are.

Omi stayed in the upstairs of one of these cute little cabins, and the Shaws occupied another.

Isn’t this a charming bedroom? Makes me want to get up slowly in the morning, open the curtains and climb back into bed with a book. Not that we got the luxury of doing that with Milo bopping around….

Here’s the bath house at the lodge. Everything here is done with a stylish flair, even down to the door handles and tea pots.

Breakfast with a view!

Naomi for breakfast anyone? This wonderfully immobile stage doesn’t last long.

Omi got bolder this weekend, even taking a kayak out by herself for the first time. Bravo!

This was Milo’s first kayak ride, but I don’t think he’s quite ready for a long trip yet. We sang the kayak version of “the wheels on the bus go round and round” to keep him happy. Omi’s verse went “The Omi in the kayak says I’m All Wet!”  She’s really such a good sport.

The lodge keeps some goats, and this spring they also have an orphaned lamb and calf. Milo’s surprisingly cautious about touching animals, which seems strange considering how bold he is in other regards.

Is the chess set giant, or are Milo and Jeremiah dwarfs?

The lodge is at the tip of a long bay, accessible by boat or by walking track but not by road. It has a limitless supply of throwing rocks that Milo appreciated.

The weather is what it is….but in Marlborough it’s usually nice.

Here we are, ready for our walk out.

Tough Omi! A couple streams are unbridged, so we took our shoes off to keep them dry in crossing. “Why no bridge” asks Milo. “No one wanted to maintain one, honey,” I say. “Why?!” he asks. “It costs money to maintain a bridge,” I say. “Why?!” he counters again. I’ve learned that not every question has a Why-type answer.

Cows must not lead particularly scintillating lives if a few people walking across their pasture can elicit such interest. They all turned their white faces to stare at us blankly as we passed. Perhaps not too much is going on up there.

It’s spring here, and the tree ferns are unfurling new leaves. They remind me of Naomi when she lifts up her fist and stares at it as it turns, examining it as if it wasn’t part of her own body.

We were followed for a stint by a curious Weka bird. They’re like woods chickens, and I think they have a lot more going on in that feathered head of theirs than the cows down in the pasture below.

It’s a rather unusual sight, a dad carrying a newborn on the front and his rifle on his back. Jeremiah went out deer hunting some evenings and mornings when we were at the lodge, but we left all the deer (and pigs, and goats, and possums) in the forest this time.  We’re headed back to our car, and to the long drive home.