Note To Future Self

One more from the St Arnaud gallery:

One Night Only!
Eel versus Black Swan!
Open Water Match!
Two Critters Enter! Only One Leaves!

(ahem)

Much to my surprise, we’re starting to see holidays for a second time. Hard to believe we’ve been here a full year already.

I connived to take a work trip to the wee burg of Motueka (“Gateway to the Abel-Tasman”) right around the four-day Easter weekend. The perfect setup for a little work-play holiday, with work footing the petrol bill. Of course, I had long since forgotten the key lesson of last year’s Easter holiday. Given a long weekend, everyone goes to Nelson and Motueka. Don’t even think of going up there.

In lieu of the sheer madness of trying to find Easter weekend accommodation in Motueka, I opted for the slightly more unrealistic goal of a weekend in St Arnaud (aka the Nelson Lakes). Staying in Motueka is cake. There must be dozens of motels and holiday parks. Why not set your heart on staying someplace with just two lodges.

Heck, why not?

Much to my surprise, I was able to clinch a last-minute cancellation. Throw off the stress of the city life and take in the mountain airs! Never mind that you’ll be hauling around enough inertial navigation and photography gear to quintuple your car’s value.

St Arnaud is a wee little town, nestled at the foot of Lake Rotoiti. Paired with its partner Lake Rotoroa, you have Nelson Lake National Park. St Arnaud bills itself as “the gateway to Nelson Lakes National Park” though it’s more accurately “the only petrol and fish and chips stop within an hour of the lakes.” Fair enough.

I have to admit, it’s a beautiful place. A pleasant little town, a few hotels and a large campground on the shores of the lake. Lake Rotoiti is the “fun” member of the duo, open to boating water skiing and the like, while Rotoroa is the “natural” site. We spent the entire weekend around Rotoiti and I’d say the boaties and campers did little to disturb the natural beauty of the lake. Maybe on a hot summer weekend, but it sure isn’t Lake Mead.

Our travel plans were a little too impromptu to get up to any serious tramping, but we undertook the two premier walks around the lake. First, the obligatory near-vertical tramp to the ridgeline above the lake.

‘Twas a bit cloudy on the tops, but it cleared measurably as we descended, affording us a view over the lake and the valley below.

Though they’re typically heart-achingly aerobic, we’ve grown fond of these sort of “above-the-bushline” (treeline) hikes. For whatever reason, the trees of eNZed have an (er) unnaturally low ceiling. 3000-4000 ft perhaps, which means many hilltop hikes are in the open, providing even modest hill climbs with a chance to show off a long view or vista..

On the second day, we did the around-the-lake track to recover from the previous day’s exertions. As promised, the track traded slope for length, taking 6-ish hours. I have to admit, it was a bit dull. Trees with glimpses of water or the opposing shore.

At the far end of the lake, however, the incoming river had opened an attractive grassy plain.

A pleasant respite from all them darned trees.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end. On Monday we drove into Nelson and I traded Anna for James, my co-worker. Then on to Motueka with work to be done….

In the immortal words of Jim Anchower: Hola, amigos. I know it’s been a long time since I rapped at ya, but we’ve been on the busy side for a couple of weeks. Lots more of the usual travelogue and photo junk on the horizon, I’m afraid. I actually put Anna on a plane back to the States a week ago, and look what I’ve done with my time: zilch.

Well, not exactly nothing. We’re well into fall down on this end of the earth, and I’ve been scrambling to finish up our summer vegetable business before the frosts swoop in and turn it all to mush. In a word, tomatoes.

We made the rookie mistake (again) of planting far too many plants, far too densely.

Before Anna’s trip we survived round one, converting tomatoes to chili sauce (relish).

But in Anna’s absence, I’ve been left home alone with the garden. Gulp. Every day after work, I walk through the garden and pick … and pick … and pick.

And when I can’t see the kitchen table, I think of something to do with the darned things. This time around: pasta sauce.

Roasted garden vegetable pasta sauce.

Hot diggity. About two gallons so far.

In closing, here are a couple of scenes from our late-fall garden.