NZ 1 - Queen Charolette Sound

We make our way around the point, still swaying with the ocean swell of Cook Straits. The rocks of Arapawa Island stand out, taking wave after wave of azure blue water with each swell. A white froth cascades down the blocks of rock, resembling some giants thrown, perhaps the guard at the gates of the South Island. The hills are barren with green pastures, and amoung the ridgelines can bee seen the white dots that are New Zealand Sheep grazing upon this desolate point. The ship works it's way through the strong current of Tory Channel, the southern passage to Queen Charolette Sound.

In my days earlier this year, the very name Queen Charolett bright chills and watchful eyes. Tales of the passage across her reach had been know to take down boats with single waves, if not toss a mariner from his decks. To this day those tales of the inside passage left me completely unprepard for the tropical waters that stood before me here. With bays and inlets abounding, each holding anchorages of sailboats and luxuary boats. The shoreline switched between clearings of sheppaed land and native bush. Following the line of bouyes in we made land fall at the small port of Picton, a hub of inter-island travel.

Walking along through the town, I gained the distinct feel of being on Holiday. Kiwi Palms lined the white sand beach, whit the in the park locals set up for a Reggie Concert later that afternoon. I walked the High Street, picking up last minute items, and passing a group of women dressed as pirates. To stay longer would mean to miss a hop to the beginning of the trail just across the water that I had been offered by a man Ieet on the ferry. It was not the start of the Queen Charolette Track, but with a free ride, I was not going to argue. I had plenty of more miles yet to hike, and not being a purist, I had decided to allow the journey to show it's way before me.

I meet the man and his wife down at the harbor and we were soon flying across then Sound in his motor boat. The lack of waves in these sheltered channels made for a smooth ride. It was not long before we turned and head to Bay of Many Coves, where the couple had planned to spent he afternoon before proceeding to Furneaux Lodge further out towards the sea. Itching to get on he trail, I decided not to beacktrack and instead to begin walking SoBo (Southbound).
Saying goodbye, I gazed back at the orange sand beach and made my way down the trail.

The one thing that first caught my amazement was the chorus of birdsong about me. There were so many different sounds that it was almost an overload. But as the kilometers clicked by, I began to be able to place each sound with a bird that gazes down at me passing throught their Bush. It occured to me that in most of my time in the woods, I have payed little attention to the sound of birds, due mainly to the ever present Raven that seems to keep all other callers at bay. But here the whole community seemed to be trying to out do eachothers song. It was a welcome suprise.

Working my way from ridgetop to beach and back to ridge again, the presence of Large Tree Ferns drew my eyes. It was as if giant sword ferns had been set atop poles, with their dead fronds linning the trunks like a palm. These are ancient trees that have survived here on this island as a hotspot. Having always throught of the PNW ad the land of ferns, to be suprizingly shown up by these giants, at a certain fasinatikn and tug of the homestrings. Like the Canadian Maple Leaf this country has taken the Silver Fern as it's iconic symbol. It makes me wonder what my own nations symbol might be?

On one evening, I meet a local montassory teacher, who schooled me on the plants and animals of the Sound. With more of New Zealand before me, I can only guess what is yet to come that will open my eyes. As for now, watching the sunset reflect against the hillside, while the Aussie Party it up along the beach, I still feel passage between two different world. Yet the popular nature of this track will not be common through out the whole of the trek. In the end, New Zealand is the playground of the worlds travellers, and I am beginning to see why.

From the land down under,
Ridgewalker (Jorj)