“Wherever you are, whatever the weather, you'll be sorted in a Base Jumper,” said the Wilderness Motorhomes website. ‘Really?’ I wondered. ‘Even for five days in a bitterly cold South Island autumn?’ I wanted to believe it – really, I did. But, sceptically, I packed my thermals... All of them.
This trip was always going to be about the weather. So imagine our delight as we boarded our Base Jumper motorhome beneath unseasonal blue skies. Christchurch bathed languidly in the warm May sunshine as we headed east. The crisp autumn day set Lyttelton Harbour all aglitter and she flirted with us shamelessly as we skirted her winding shores. Passing through the buzzing bay towns of Banks Peninsula, the week’s woeful weather forecast was bedazzled right out of our minds.
Flying effortlessly up hills and zipping round corners, our van is soon brimming with the incessant chatter of two old friends and our collection of cruisy kiwi tunes. Behind us is our cache of comfort: a fridge full of treats, a cosy couch-turn-bed, flat screen TV, fully equipped kitchen and all the bells and whistles two girls could ask for. Up ahead, all we see is a winding road and five days of carefree coasting…
By late afternoon we’re zigzagging down to Okain’s Bay. Here, on Banks Peninsula’s remote north eastern edge, the steep surrounding hills have already snatched away the last remnants of sun. Our breath comes out in wintry white puffs. Parked among the deserted dunes of Okain’s Bay Camping Ground we dine on porterhouse steak and new potatoes, sip chilled sauvignon blanc and watch the deep night sky envelop the pounding ocean.
It was surely idyllic scenes like this that John Managh, founder and co-owner of Wilderness Motorhomes, had in mind when designing his fleet of Base Jumper vehicles. Decked out with every conceivable luxury and a battery supply to shame all other motorhomes, the six metre long Fiat Ducato vans are primed for adventures across New Zealand’s rugged, remote and changeable landscapes.
“Camper holidays in New Zealand are about tuning your ears to the sound of a native bird, having a local brew and watching the sun sink beneath coastlines only us Kiwis know about,” says John.
Sounds like we’re on the right track then.
Next day, on the spine-like Summit Road to Akaroa, the calm, blazing morning is engulfed by a whipping wind. Snakes of low white cloud flit across our path and slither about the craggy peaks. At the bottom of the hill, Akaroa is but a pleasantly placid shadow of its thronging summer self. We meander the quiet streets, linger inside a warming café then leap back into our van and wend our way west.
At Rakaia, they say there’s bad weather coming. At Methven, they talk of snow on its way. On the lonely gravel road to Erewhon Station, the clouds mob menacingly together, darkening the toffee coloured landscape and dusting the sharp pyramid hills with snow. The beauty of this area has long been heralded; by Victorian author Samuel Butler who wrote of ‘the vastness of mountain and plain, of river and sky’, and more recently by Peter Jackson who picked nearby Mt Sunday as the location for Edoras in The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers film.
We rumble past wind ruffled lakes and paddocks of gust-flattened tussocks. We stop and leap out, braving the cold to capture this striking, lonely land on camera. We look down at the side of our van and spy a leak…
“Yep, it’s your grey water pipe,” says the mechanic at the Methven garage 70 kilometres later. “Looks like a stone’s leapt up and jabbed a hole in it. Not a problem, we can fix that easily enough.”
With our home patched up, freezing rain and night both begin to fall, cementing our decision to stay put. We park up at a local campground just as the forecast weather bomb detonates above us. Its shrapnel of rain and hail hammers down upon the roof. Peering out from the bright, snug refuge of our motorhome I see fellow campers splashing frantically through the dark en route to the kitchen, bathroom or the warmth of the communal TV room. Feeling ever so slightly smug, I close the curtain, pop in a DVD and kick back on the cosy couch with a glass of red and a platter of cheese.
My thermals lay forgotten at the bottom of my bag.
The morning’s bucketing rain drowns our plans of a jet boating trip and walk in the Rakaia Gorge. But even Mother Nature’s wintry worst wouldn’t keep us from our next destination: The Spa at Terrace Downs High Country Resort.
Once considered the exclusive domain of wealthy golfers and businessmen, Terrace Downs has undergone something of a make-over in recent years. New management has expanded the resort’s activity offerings, turning it into an enticing day-trip destination and entertainment venue. One of the newest additions is The Spa – a meltingly warm, petal scented haven of relaxation. Welcomed with a delicious cup of rice tea, we are soon soothed by the spa’s gentle hush and stare serenely out to the manicured lawns and snow covered hills beyond. Inside the sumptuous massage room I lay contentedly upon the warmed massage table, transported into a near meditative state by the heavenly scents, low candle light and soothing music… When I wake from my trance, the high country hills are swathed in a pink evening glow.
Jack Frost paints the landscape in a crisp white palette overnight. Lounging in bed with the heater on and cooking up bowls of steaming porridge, we pass the time until the slippery roads have thawed. Our long lost companion, sunshine, makes a spectacular comeback, warming our spirits as we set off towards the west coast. The recent snow sits low upon the towering mountains, while the sun illuminates the lush native bush and the cascading waterfalls amongst it. New Zealand is at its breathtaking best and we can’t help but stop and appreciate it; first to explore the peculiar limestone monoliths at Castle Hill, finding giant, warped faces in the time-wrought turrets of rock; then lunch at Arthur’s Pass village, where cheeky keas dance about in the crisp mountain air, stealing peoples’ picnics.
At Blackball – home to 300 people, a rousing political history and a top notch salami shop – we perch outside the town’s most famous landmark – ‘Formerly the Blackball Hilton’ – and enjoy the last of the day’s rays, served warm with a side of local gossip from the barmaid.
The Lewis Pass’s twisting tunnels of towering trees lead us to Maruia Springs by sundown. As night gently settles upon the hills, our travel-weary bodies melt deliciously into the 41C hot pools. Gossamer steam swirls into the crisp, calm darkness. We bob lazily until our skin starts to shrivel and tummies start to grumble. With the on-site restaurant now closed, we pick our way back through the dark to our van and cook up a feast. Shortly after, warm and sated, we fall easily into a satisfying sleep…
A familiar patter on the roof wakes us early. The dismal drizzle follows us, hanging like a low, grey curtain, all the way to Kaikoura, where the dark, choppy sea dashes our planned dolphin-swimming trip. “Sorry,” say the Dolphin Encounter staff, sincerely. “We can’t do anything about the weather.”
Don’t we know it.
Winding our way home along the seal-speckled coast, we laugh at our meteorological misfortune. Five days in a bitterly cold South Island autumn? This trip was always going to be about the weather.
But it’s not until we’re bidding a fond farewell to our Base Jumper amidst the lashing rain of Christchurch that I consider unpacking those thermals…
Amelia enjoyed a week in a Base Jumper motorhome courtesy of Wilderness Motorhomes and New Zealand travel website www.fourcorners.co.nz.
