Golden Bay...good as!

Undulating is a lovely word. Say it slowly. Savour it. Un...du...la...ting. Ahhh.

I often think of this word when on my bike. With gritted teeth. What may seem like a delightful drive through rural New Zealand becomes a hard grind on two wheels, generally into a head wind. Every joyous minute spent freewheeling downhill is tempered by the expectation of the uphill slog around the corner.

Yesterday's short bike ride turned into such a series of upward and downward swoops.

Nowhere...with a café in its midst

We set off from Puponga mid-afternoon, leaving Bill to snooze under a tree, intent on reaching the top of the West Coast at Wharariki Beach. Despite the inevitable undulations and a ferocious full-face wind, we reached the trailhead for the walk to the beach. Temptation lay in our path, however. Earlier that day we had driven past the only two cafés known to exist west of Takaka. According to Google Maps, that is, and who am I to doubt its infinite wisdom? Both of these potentially delightful establishments were shut.

So you can imagine our joy, nay excitement, when we trundled up to The Archway Café, officially in the middle of nowhere (see map). But it has a Facebook page, of course, attesting to the vision of its owner. Coffee ensued.

The café offers "spiritful trees" and a "hamac" for napping in

On the return journey, we took a detour to the Pillar Point lighthouse, an upward trek that rewarded us with spectacular views of Farewell Spit and the top of the West Coast. The DOC sign promised an EASY mountain bike trail. Yeah, right. We eventually ditched the bikes in favour of walking unimpeded up the boulder-strewn track.

Pillar Point lighthouse itself was certainly no majestic sentinel of the seas.  The charmless rectangular box with an aluminium ladder bolted to its side looked more like a home handyman project on a $50 budget. Its outlook was worth a million dollars though (or 10 million if, heaven forbid, we were in Auckland).

Farewell Spit snakes away in the distance

Feeling virtuous, and with a tail wind for the return journey, we were ready to move on. My motorhome app pointed us in the direction of the Pupu Hydro Power Station near Takaka, where we could stay overnight in the carpark - for free. (We Grey Nomads LOVE that word 'free'.) Just up the valley from the better known and, in fact, world renowned, Waikoropupu Springs, this spot is a hidden gem. Literally, hidden.

This morning, we clambered up a steep zig zag track to the water race, followed this along a narrow boardwalk to the intake weir and then returned by a meandering access road to ground level. All up, it was a 90 minute loop, climbing and descending through spectacular native bush and alongside incredibly clear water.

The story of the restoration of this defunct little power station is testament to the commitment of a bunch of volunteers who took it over after it had been abandoned by the local power board in the 1980s. Thousands of borrowed dollars and man-hours later, it now contributes to the national grid. Here's the Wikipedia link, if you're interested.

The impetus to take a trip to Golden Bay was basically in response to feeling sorry for Bill, who had been sulking in his car park all winter. It didn't take long to load him up on Sunday morning and drive across the top of the South Island, so we were comfortably parked up at Totaranui, in the Abel Tasman national park, that evening. (And, yes, it's perfectly normal to anthropomorphise things with internal combustion engines. I miss you too, Larry.)

Totaranui from the headland walk

Not only is this one of the most beautiful beaches in New Zealand, but it must be one of the largest DOC campsites, with capacity for nearly 900 people. It's fully booked in peak season but felt like our own private estate this week.

The drive to Totaranui involves crossing the notorious Takaka hill and then an unsealed, steep and winding road into the bay. Undulating it is not. Our first stay here, in the 1990s, was memorable for the persistence of the weka population - and for our being under-prepared for a week without power or hot water. We all survived, though the access road was a challenge for one son, and it took only a couple of strong blokes to push-start our station wagon at the end of the week.

This time, we were entertained by cheeky pukeko, the drunken antics of kererū and the daily meanderings of a family of native Paradise shelducks. A fortnight earlier, a motorhome blogger that I follow reported that Mum and Dad were caring for four chicks. By this week, they were down to one baby, the others having fallen prey to weka and pukeko.

Precious only child!

Such are the harsh realities of life, even in Paradise.

Pupu Hydro walkway

On the Abel Tasman track to Awaroa

The day the big shiny thing came to town

The America's Cup win was a Big Thing for Picton.

Born and bred local sporting hero Joseph Sullivan was a cyclor/grinder on board ETNZ in Bermuda. After rising through secondary school rowing ranks to Maadi Cup, Joseph won gold at the London Olympics five years ago. He now has a street named after him in Picton. And the local sailing club, the Queen Charlotte Yacht Club, has a proud tradition of junior sailing successes. It's the little club that could. And still does.

So it was no great surprise that a campaign sprang up months ago to get the cup here. Bring on social media.  Numerous Facebook likes and insta hashtags later, the Auld Mug made its way to Picton on the Interislander ferry this week.

We joined the flotilla of small boats waiting just out of the harbour to help bring the cup to town. There was a choice. Two local boat companies were offering spaces on board for the occasion. One involved a glass of wine, the other didn't. I had a 50% chance of getting it right. Oh well.

To clarify, we were two 60-something women with a 5 year old and a 7 year old. I had warned his sister that Bruce would rather stand on melting tar than be involved in a flag-waving event celebrating the exploits of the rich and famous. And so it proved. We were just doing it for the kids, of course. And, yes, I may have had a silver fern flag in my hand...

As the ferry hove into view (I've always wanted to use that word in a sentence), it was impossible to miss the massively tall and shiny thing sitting casually on the handrail at the bow.

Whoever was steering the Kaitaki that night did a sterling job bringing her into the berth while avoiding the dozens of yachts, fizz boats, water taxis and launches alongside her, hooters blaring. Meanwhile, we disembarked and found ourselves a spot to wait for the street parade.

This was the best bit. Forget the fancy floats, blazered dignitaries and ticker tape. That's for big city folk. We got a pipe band,  marching girls, ranging from midgets to, er, masters in age, trucks and fire engines and a monster of a machine that had something to do with harvesting grapes. Then, after a longish wait, some blokes in Team NZ uniforms hove into view. Oops, sauntered around the corner.

How they did it elsewhere

And there was the America's Cup,  carried casually on foot along the length of High Street and into London Quay. Apparently, at the last minute, the plan to drive the Cup on the back of a ute was ditched in favour of walking with it. This took longer because, of course, people wanted to take photos of it, touch it even. Full disclosure, yes, I Touched The America's Cup. I've also kissed the Blarney Stone and stroked the standing stones of Stonehenge. I'm a tactile person, OK?

Joseph with the silverware. Photo credit: Marlborough Express

Sometimes, small towns get things just right. The night the America's Cup came to Picton was one of those times. This was a Kiwi celebration without glitz or hype. But with a proper sausage sizzle on the beach afterwards.  Thanks, #ETNZ, we loved every minute of it.

And who knows what local amenity will be renamed to mark the occasion? The Joseph Sullivan Town Square has a nice ring to it...

You've gotta love Picton on a fine day😎