10 January 2025

Can’t be late tonight as we’ve got to be on the road early tomorrow.

This morning’s breakfast was porridge, made from my sachet by our hostess as they had a commercial kitchen and had to be careful about contamination. Plus, some Greek yoghurt and two slices of toast.

We left our bags at the Foveaux Hotel and went for a walk. Our first ports of call were at various places that might be able to direct us to the Bluff Lookout. We eventually decided to walk back to Stirling Point and then see how the time was going and maybe continue along the coastal track until it branched off up the hill.

So, off we went.

Naturally, I had been to the toilet before we left the hotel, but my bladder seemed to forget that, and I really wanted to go when we were 1.2 km away from Stirling Point and public toilets. I told myself that that was as far as home to Thames Post Office and that I could deal with that.

Which, you will be glad to hear, I did.

Bluff clearly was a Victorian town, which had a boom period during the 1920s, when they pulled down all the Victorian edifices and replaced them with Art Deco ones. But there were more modern houses, with giant picture windows facing out to…

The Tiwai Point aluminium smelter. I’m not sure that this is something that I’d want to spend my time looking at. And me, being me, I could imagine a story where there being an explosion at the smelter sending shockwaves, and/or a tsunami in the direction of these flash houses.

That’s the way my mind operates.

The toilet, when we finally and happily reached it, was very odd to use, (in that I’m not used to something so high tech), and I ended up having a conversation with it. It was fully automated, so you didn’t have to touch anything. Hover your hand over the door opener and the door would (eventually) open – provided the toilet wasn’t already occupied as I found when I got there. Then you got inside, and the door would close behind you and the toilet proudly announce that you were locked in and had ten minutes before you would have to get out again. You did what you had to do and then discovered that all that remained of the toilet roll was a tatted end, and nothing you did, nor anywhere you searched, could you find a replacement. That was until you realised that, above head height, was another hover pad. Hovering your hand over that, released a mile of toilet paper.

I think this contraption must have been designed with the assistance of the Cirius Cybernetics Corporation.

Then it came to washing your hands. There was an alcove in the wall that housed the hand basin which had three nozzles. The first, when you placed your hands beneath, delivered soap. The second, water, and the third airdried your hands. Except that it also blew the remaining water in the base of the sink out of the handbasin and onto the floor. (Which was why I’d chanced leaving my camera bag outside.)

When it was time to finally escape, you hovered your hand over the exit button, the door unlocked and slid open, and you were thanked for using the convenience. With a “you’re welcome” I was out of there.

But at least the rest of the walk was more comfortable.

Having finally got a photo of me next to the Bluff signpost and some of the other local landmarks, we set off along the waterfront track. This was pleasant and offered occasional views of the islands to the south – including Stewart Island.

Then we came to a junction and had to decide whether to turn back, continue on the current trail which ended up at the Bluff Hilltop and then back to the township, or take a shortcut through what was called the Glory Track (2137m). This was named after a ship that sank off the coast. But, as it headed back in the direction of Bluff and was a different track to what we’d just been on, we decided to head this way.

It was Glorious.

Sure, the first section was an uphill slog, which wasn’t a huge amount of fun, but the bush that surrounded us… Be-u-ti-ful! Especially the track beneath where rātā had been flowering. It was like walking the red carpet, and every now and then above us, we’d see a patch of brilliant crimson.

The track was well named, but for the wrong reasons.

Eventually, we had to make the decision to leave all that beauty and head to Walker Street, which must be close to Baldwin Street in steepness – But not as steep as it’s tar-sealed and not concreted. We carefully made our way down Walker Street, Pen stopping to make friends with a couple of dogs, and then back along the waterfront to the 4Square where we bought today’s lunch. And then back to the hotel to eat and collect our bags.

And then it was (almost) over the road to the ferry terminal.

This is markedly smaller than Bluebridge’s ferry terminal, but in some ways more efficient. We dumped our bags (Pen had left her “new” suitcase with unwanted items at the hotel) into the big tin crates outside the terminal, went inside and checked in…

RealNZ representative. “I see you’re travelling with your little friend.”

Me: “Yes, she’s back there.” Points at Pen.

Her: “I meant the one on your bag.” Points at Kally.

We were given our boarding passes which were basically credit cards without the magnetic strip, and then we waited. When it was time to board, we handed our boarding passes to the crew member and were allowed on board.

The sailing only took about an hour, and, because I was sitting one seat in from the window, I couldn’t see much of the scenery changing. So I closed my eyes and daydreamed… Until my head would drop and jolt me awake.

We pulled into Oban on Stewart Island (which I’ve never been to before) and everyone disembarked, leaving those who’d dumped their bags in the crates to wait for them to be retrieved from the catamaran. Mine was on top and I was most grateful to the man who asked if I needed help getting it out.

“Yes, please.”

We walked around to the Stewart Island Backpackers and signed into room 31. And that’s all we’ve got – room 31. Two twin beds. Two bath towels. A little stool. A couple of crates to put our stuff in. And that’s all we’ve got. The toilets and showers are communal.

Well, I was trying to save money when I booked us in.

We went for a walk, initially to find out where we’ve got to go tomorrow. We’re going to Ulva Island at 8.45 am (Pen’s set her alarm), and we have to get to the jetty where the boat leaves from. This afternoon it took us twelve minutes to walk there, including a stop to replace a reindeer that had been riding on the back of a kiwi at the police station, and another to photograph a kereru – except I didn’t have a good lens for that.

It so happened that the water taxi came in which contained our guide for tomorrow, Carly. As of that time, we’re the only two on the tour, so, if that continues, it should be good.

We walked back and then carried on to the Red Shed, which is not “The Warehouse”, but a rustic brown information centre. There we were given details of various walks we could do. Following that, we went to the 4Square, since I was hanging out for an ice cream and all the shops that may have sold one were closed.

That was nice and refreshing and we now also had our breakfast for tomorrow.

We offloaded that and went and checked out other parts of Oban. Including a pounamu carver who gives you the chance to carve your own piece. According to his website, it’s $250 for the lesson, but you do end up with a unique reminder of your trip.

We went out to dinner at a place suggested by the Red Shed. It only supplied limited offerings and we decided to try the meal of the night – tacos – and, whilst that was nice, it was nothing compared to last night’s meal. (We had pulled pork with a little sauerkraut and sauce in one little taco.) For dessert we had caramel slice, and a rather watery iced chocolate.

I don’t think we’ll try them again.

We came back to the backpackers and rested for a bit before blogging.

Tomorrow, Ulva Island! And I think I can hear rain.

Steps = 24,406

Kilometres = 17