New Plymouth to Battle Hill

It was a chilly 1st April morning on the New Plymouth coast. However, as the sun rose, so did the temperature and coaxed the surfers out onto Fitzroy beach.

We took a walk west along the coastal walkway, enjoying the morning rays, the sound of booming waves washing up against the rocks, views of the sugar loaf islands and surfers making the most of the morning's swell.

Morning surf

As we approached the town centre, we encountered the gangly 'Wind Wand' bending out to sea. Initially I assumed that this was an instrument for taking atmospheric measurements, but later discovered that it is a (now iconic) "kinetic sculpture".

Wobbly wand

Venturing all the way along, we passed elaborate and expensive seaside pads, all the way to the end where the walkway peters out unceremoniously in the port car park, where a sign baffled us with some peculiarly New Zealand humour.

I don't get it

Doubling back, we veered off into New Plymouth town centre and stopped for breakfast at Chaos Café.

Chaotic cabinet cuisine

K had a salad with fried halloumi and a poached egg, while I selected from the delectable 'cabinet cuisine' an Italian veggie slice - more like a frittata, packed with potatoes, broad beans, tomatoes and basil. It came served warm with pesto, ricotta and red onion chutney.

Breakfast gourmandise

Setting off in the van, we had a long drive ahead of us - nearly all the way to Wellington for the ferry crossing tomorrow. We slingshot around the west coast of Taranaki on the SH45, also known as the "Surfer Highway". Just outside of New Plymouth, this route afforded us stunning views of Mt. Taranaki across the rolling fields, but sadly I didn't manage to capture the view on camera while driving and soon the mountain had shyly veiled itself in a layer of cloud.

Pulling off half-way point Wanganui for a breather, we took a walk around Victoria lake. Avian wildlife was here in abundance, including blue pukeko with their striking red beaks and heads, swans (both white and black), geese, ducks and shags.

Pukeko

By now it was hot. A Tip Top ice cream soon sorted that out and came with some free top tips from the proprietor on how to tackle the South Island. However, his insistence that New Zealand is "a small country" and can be driven in "two or three days" met our skepticism, built up over the past week or so of repeatedly doubling or tripling our estimates of journey times.

This afternoon's journey was a prime example. We tarried a while too long in the sun at Wanganui, believing the remainder of the trip down to a campsite just north of Wellington - chosen so as to put us in spitting distance of the interisland ferry for tomorrow's crossing - to be a "about an hour". Alas, the required journey time revealed itself to be closer to three hours.

The journey was worth it, however. Pulling off SH1, with the sun low and in my eyes, our route took a sharp turn upwards along a road that was narrow and coiled like a snake. It afforded us a magical view over the sea as we climbed farther to the summit. K was squirming in the passenger seat as she looked over a sheer drop and had to trust in my driving abilities.

Having been led astray a few times by inaccurate directions, we had little confidence that the pin placed in the map actually designated a real campsite. "Who would stay out here? They must be crazy," said K.

After an almost complete loss of faith, and wondering whether the wild goose chase was in fact an April Fool's Day prank, we came upon a well-signposted campsite. Pulling into Battle Hill Farm, we scattered sheep in four directions with our arrival and drove into a field where several sites were marked out, even with picnic tables and pits for a campfire.

I think they've seen us

We steadied our nerves after the long and, latterly, treacherous drive with a glass of (for K) white wine and (for me) Epic Hop Zombie. The last was syrupy and piney with hop oils.

The sun had recently set behind the surrounding hills but I tried and signally failed to light a fire, blaming the damp wood that I could gather by the dwindling twilight for my lack of success.

'Hippy stew'

By the (nearly full) moonlight I attempted to fix us a veggie sausage and lentil casserole with broccoli. Attempting to cook by torchlight under the magnificent blanket of stars was the first time that I felt as though we were actually camping. We mopped up the stew with sliced Vogel's bread. Nothing has tasted so good.