Grand Tour South IV

Boxing day it was time to head off again, through Rangiora and towards Arthur’s Pass. The sun was shining but there was rain in the hills. The flat Canterbury Plains disappeared behind us as we started to climb up the river valley towards the alpine tussock. Porter’s Pass was a long steep climb stuck behind a car and trailer that was crawling up the incline, a break in the oncoming traffic, chop down to 2nd and past it, back into 3rd, foot flat to the floor, nearing the top when the engine coughs, splutters and starts to die, we limp over the crest with hearts sinking, down the other side and the engine clears. Huge sigh of relief, but it took a while to be sure it was just a temporary thing, mentally putting it down to float levels too low on the steep incline. Shortly after the drizzle started and the top went up. The cloud was down and it was raining as we crossed over the bridge leading into Arthur’s Pass village, suddenly the bow holding the wiper blade to the arm broke free and speared the now free end of the wiper into the descending blade ending in a tangled mess of steel and rubber as I switched the wipers off to prevent further damage. I pulled over and several words were said that I will not repeat here, firstly for the damaged blades and secondly for what looked like a huge scratched arc across the brand new windscreen. I drove through Arthur’s Pass looking for the open garage, brimming with odd car spares until I realised that there was nothing, it was Boxing Day, everything was shut. I parked off the road, switched off the engine and got out into a misty rain that comprised of half drizzle and half sandflies. More words were said as I dug in the boot for my tool kit while the sandflies feasted on my bare legs and arms. I removed the wipers and by some engineering made one good wiper from the two. I discovered what appeared to be a scratch in the windscreen was just a mark from the plastic knuckle that had broken. That was a relief, at least we wouldn’t be stuck at the top of the mountain plus my windscreen was still in mint condition, things were looking up. I got back into the car and after killing about 50 feasting sandflies, got under way again.

I had never driven down the Otira Gorge before, but from the warning signs over the previous 70 kilometres about it being unsuitable for trailers, I knew it was going to be interesting. Big warning sighs as we approached said “Engage Low Gear” “Slippery When Wet” and “Beware of Falling Rocks”. Peering through the small patch the wipers had briefly cleared on the windscreen, I slipped into 3rd gear and the road disappeared ahead like some fairground roller-coaster. A “Use Low Gear” flashed past, but how low? I pumped the brakes to kill off some speed as we drove under a chute directing a stream over our heads into the abyss beyond. “Rockfall Protection Area Ahead” was the next sign as we headed towards what looked like a landslide with a tunnel through it. Once through that the descent eased and I could let the brakes have a rest. The rain eased too and although cloudy it cleared to allow the road to dry. We stopped at Hokitika for fuel and a fruitless search for wiper arms as the clouds moved in again. Soon it was pouring down, good solid West Coast style. We pulled into out motel at Franz Joseph and squelched our luggage inside. A lake had formed in the garden outside and as the rain got heavier it grew and grew. I braved the rain and trudged into the township for supplies and watched the dark grey water bashing against the bridge supports, it has risen further as I crossed back. Small rivers crossed the footpath and pooled in the hollows. It rained all night. As it hammered on the morel roof I was disturbed by strange dreams of opening the Spider doors in the morning to be met by a wall of water from window level down.