Well we’ve made it past our first year here in New Zealand at last and have to say it’s been a pretty good year, all in all.
We arrived here in the middle of October and we have managed to:
Moreover, we’ve met some great people and enjoyed more sunshine than any other year of our lives so far.
Nope, it’s not a typo. Sumner is one of the costal “suburbs” of Christchurch and very nice it is too.
This little bunch of snaps were taken on the 22nd August, and that’s the last week of winter here, give or take a day or two. Spring officially makes it’s grand entrance on the 1st of September, but as you can see, it looks like it’s already arrived. Sumner is a lovely place to live and it’s about 45 minutes from Lincoln, just a little too far to commute these days, where twenty minutes is as much as I can be bothered with.
This little patch of wild bush was on the way up the hill from Scarborough beach, the spring flowers out in force.
I little further up the hill, facing the sun of course, the bloom is out in force.
A lilly. Lovely. Thing is, it was slightly past it’s best, suggesting that spring had been around for longer than we’d expected. Hardly surprising that we didn’t expect it just yet, it’s still bloody winter.
Ah, the Red Army marches against the grey backdrop of the new industrial cities of the new China … perhaps not.
A close up of a tree. Hard to describe it better than that, I simply liked the texture of it and it looks much better on A3. You can simulate that effect by getting really close to your screen …
Delicious succulents. I love the way they do that …
A close-up of the sex organs of a plant, or is it one of those asexual ones? Not sure I want a picture of “that kind of thing” if it’s asexual.
Is there a happier colour than yellow? Not in this picture there isn’t.
Along Scarborough beach, there’s a cafe called Scarborough Fare. How clever is that? I wonder how many times people have asked that question: “Are you going to Scarborough Fare?”.
Winter? ….
Winter, my arse!
Too many choices for this little batch of photographic nonsense, but “Parrots of the Caribbean” wins it over “Are you lookin’ at my bird?”, but only just. It’s stretching the point a bit, given that there’s a hint of snow in the background (it’s about two meters deep, as it happens), but why spoil the party with trifling details like the truth.
They are parrots, but obviously not from the Caribbean. They are the world’s only alpine parrot and they’re cheekier than a bag of monkeys. They’ve been known to let the air out of a car tyre, steal mobile phones, rip windscreen wipers from cars and they have destroyed the padding on the seats of a number of the chairlifts in a devastating trail of wonton destruction.
In short, they are the Scousers of the bird world, and that’s what makes them so lovable.
They are a decent size, too. We’ve seen a few of them now and they seem to exist on a diet of chips and pies (bloody hell, all they need is the tracksuits, you know what I mean?) and they can make a right mess of the car. Their numbers are in decline and that’s a real shame, because they are fascinating to watch (when it’s somebody else losing things from their rucksacks, that is).
Is it just me, or does he look like he’s crossing his legs, desperate for the loo, or what? Must be the cold or something.
This was the view back from Porter’s Ski Field in Canterbury, probably the closest of the ski fields to Christchurch, not much more than an hour and twenty from home and quite a nice ski field, but since we were there on a Sunday, it was too busy for our liking. The thing is, the lift queues were the problem, the slopes were empty. Big field, crap lifts.
As you can see, the slopes were nice and empty … still, it would be a great place to visit during the week when everybody’s at work.
One of the great things about where I work is the journey to and home again. Actually, it’s by far the best thing about the job, but let’s not get started, eh?
I drive North to work, South to return home. To the East, we have the Port Hills and in front of that there’s fields, farms, and not much else. To the West, there’s the Southern Alps and the Canterbury Plains. At certain times during the year, you can get snow, hail or frost on the Port Hills and they look even nicer. However. when the Alps are covered in snow, they are majestic … I have been meaning to stop and take a couple of pictures on the way to work, but never have my camera with me until last week.
Prompted by the frost pattern below, I thought it would make sense to chuck the camera in the car and take one or two shots. It was a wise move …
Frost like this only occurs when there’s plenty of moisture in the air then a rapid cooling – exactly what we’ve had plenty of, with the rains over the last couple of weeks reaching epic, nay Biblical proportions north of here.
Snow on the mountains, blue sky and somebody has let the sheep in with the turnips … the lighting could have been better, but it was early in the morning and the Port Hills to the east were still casting their shadow.
The day started so very well and didn’t improve much until about 4.30 …
I don’t know how long it will take for it to seem right to be skiing in July or August, even though we experienced some particularly crappy weather in the UK during what we used to call the summer time, but for now, winter seems to be at the wrong time of year. The matter is not helped by the weather generally being sunny most of the time.
Anyway, we decided to leave the hustle and bustle of the Christchurch grind behind and head down South to Fairlie for a weekend of skiing and messing about in the snow. Three of us from work with their [obviously] better halves made the reasonable journey to Southern Canterbury and Mackenzie Country.
Jackie and myself arrived first, and as usual went in search of food and beer after the grueling three hour drive from the edge of the city to the edge of the wilderness. Once we turned off the main highway (dual carriageway in parts) onto the road to Fairlie, we couldn’t help bust smile about how close it all was to where we live. Marvelous.
Fairlie is probably the shortened version of the name [sic] Fairlie Small, but it was a lovely little place with more than one pub and a couple of places to eat. We went to the pub known locally as the “Bottom Pub” – a name given because it’s location at the bottom of the street – and were in time to get ourselves a legendary Kiwi Roast. Roast veggies, roast lamb, a gallon of gravy and all this for the princely sum of 10 dollars. That’s not even four quid or seven euros and you have to wonder how you make a profit on that kind of price.
The people in the pub were charming and the hospitality of the place was extended to the four stragglers in the group who were set to arrive on empty stomachs after the serving stopped. Meals were boxed up for them on proper plates that we were to return the next day – how nice is that!
There are two ski fields close by and on the Saturday we went over to Roundhill, just by Tekapo (one of our favourite places in New Zealand so far) and had varying degrees of success on the white stuff. Some old hands were struggling with their old bones and some new blood were struggling with the amount of snow. You can’t please all the people all of the time …
On Sunday, we went to the slightly closer Mt Dobson and I thought it was smashing as the old bones warmed to the task but the novices found the beginner’s area a little tougher. One thing’s for sure, the weather was better, nice and sunny and afforded us some great views back over the Mackenzie Basin.
This one’s from the top of Roundhill, early on in the day before it all turned to custard.
This is the team. What a smashing bunch they look, eh? The handsome one’s taking the picture, so missed out on this one. Jackie, Sue, Paul, Mick and Stef. The smiles hide the pain of a thousand falls …
The top of the T bar and the top of the world. We’re above the cloud and there’s barely a soul about.
Another lovely shot – there are seldom any ugly mountains, even in Wales.
On the way back to Fairlie, we dropped below the cloud and mist (reminds me of a joke about a gentleman who took it out and missed, but I cannnay remember the rest of the joke, so you’ll have to make your own up) but the mountains made one last appearance.
The following day, on the way towards Mt Dobson – typical Mackenzie country scene.
Hard to believe that there was so much snow above and behind us when you look out on what’s not changed much since mid summer over the Mackenzie region. Parched, foreboding, ancient and beautiful, but I felt much better once I got a cup of tea up the mountain.
Young Paul enjoying the ride. If you look behind him, you can see all the way to Tekapo and the lake there.
The last ones standing – Paul, Jackie and Mick – before we called it a day.
All in all, a great weekend away and it really felt like we’d been on holiday, never more so than when that damned alarm sounded the death of the weekend on Monday morning. Ah well, there’ll be more times like this soon.