Haast, our destination for today, is a very, very small
town. We stop this morning at the grocery store before we leave Queenstown to
replenish some of our breakfast supplies. Coffee, English muffins and a big
container of spring water to fill our drink bottles with and we are on our way.
We barely make it to the edge of town when I insist I need to get a few
pictures. The sun is shining brightly and the new fallen snow has made the
mountains gleam white in the sunshine.

The graveled area is a place where cars can put on their
chains if they are needed for the road ahead. There is a sign that tells us the
road is open but to expect some icy spots with grit. We suspect that the grit
is sand or fine stone that is spread like we would spread salt back home on our
snowy/icy roads. The sign says nothing about putting on chains so we decide
that we will take that route. The scenery will probably be really nice and Bob
promises to take it slow if necessary.
Sure enough not far along we see a grit truck. It resembles
one of our snowplows only it doesn’t have a plow in front, only a spreader in
back that is spewing something on the pavement. Grit, I’m sure. With the sun
shining so nicely the roads seem dry for the most part. The only place it looks
wet is in the shade of trees or mountainside. . .until we get up higher.
Higher up and in the shade of the mountainside we find a bit
of icy road but not dangerously so. And there is grit on the road. You can hear
the tires grinding it in. Bob slows down around the curves and since there is
no traffic behind us, we don’t feel pressured. We were correct in assuming the
views would be worth the trip. We are right up in the snow-capped area of the
mountains we are traversing. The pine trees we see on the mountain sides around
us have that dusty snow look. Just like any early spring snow, the trees that
have budding leaves are heavy where the snow has hit them but we can see the
sun doing its work as the melting snow drips from the leaves and branches.
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Blue Pool |
The path leads down. That means one thing to me. Coming back
it will lead up and my knees groan at the thought. It is a gentle slope though
and as we walk along, we find signs that tell what kind of native trees and
plants are growing there.
A boardwalk, a suspension bridge and another bridge and we
are there. Below us on the last bridge is the blue pool. Well it’s supposed to
be blue but the recent rain activity has brought so much silt and other stuff
down from the mountaintop that the pool is more green than blue and the trout
that are supposed to be there aren’t. Still, it is a nice walk and the return
to the car is not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.
We see a sign for the Fantail Waterfall and pull into the
car park for it but it appears that to see the waterfall we would have to cross
the river that is swollen with water. There is a trail marker on a tree on the
other side. I’m sure that most of the time the river doesn’t run this deep or
fast. We pass.
Thunder Falls is marked on our map and we find the sign for
the turnoff a short time later. This time we are sure we will see it as it is
visible through the trees from the road. A short walk and we stand in front of
a huge waterfall that is indeed thundering over the cliff before us.

In Jackson Bay, there is a small restaurant called the
Craypot where we want to eat. It turns out to be a funky kind of place that is
actually in a large old railway carriage. A small kitchen turns out quite a
menu including whitebait patties which have been recommended to us several
times. This is the season for them. We place an order and sit at a small booth,
one of six at one end of the trailer. There are places to eat outside but it’s
a little too cool and windy to do that.

Jackson Bay isn’t much of anything that we can see but there
once was a settlement there. In 1875, as one sign tells us, the New Zealand
government sponsored an ill-conceived program to settle more than 400 European
immigrants at Okahu (Jackson Bay) and surrounding districts. The difficult
country, inhospitable climate, inexperience of many settlers, lack of a wharf
to export their produce soon finished the scheme although descendants of some
of those early pioneers still live in the area. Along the way back, we stop at
an old cemetery that holds the graves of some of those early settlers.
Back in Haast, we
stop at the Wildlife Information Center. It sits off the road and you might
pass it if you don’t look for the sign. It is a great display of history and
nature of the area. We learn that the cone shaped nets we’ve seen attached to
what look like flimsy docks along the area where ocean meets river are for
catching whitebait and this is the season for them.
Arriving back at our motel, we find a gentleman sitting
outside his room with nets and a plastic container that appears to be full of
water. Bob asks what he’s got in the container and he smiles and says, “Not
much.” He takes the lid off and we get our first close up glimpse of whitebait.
They are small (2-3 inches) spaghetti-like fish that are silvery but clear. You
can see through them. They look like x-rays of fish.
Bob asks how he fixes them and he tells us how to make
whitebait patties. When Bob asks if you gut the fish, he smiles again. Nope, he
says, you just use them whole. Bob decides he doesn’t want any more whitebait
no matter who might recommend them. We end up with vegetable soup for dinner at
a small nearby restaurant.
After dinner, I make coffee for us in our room and we wait
until it’s almost time for sunset. We go down to Haast Beach and watch the
sunset into the Tasman Sea. No green flash but the sun reflecting on the surf
is pretty. It’s chilly and we don’t linger. Time to rev up those electric
blankets.
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