Last Thursday we set forth, to drive from Wanaka to Greymouth, again in the most glorious sunshine. The surrounding scenery was a photographer's dream, although a driver's nightmare. Walter thought that we were never going to leave the shores of Lake Wanaka, because I kept asking him to stop so many times, in order to take photographs.
The mountains kept changing colour, depending on the direction of the sun. Such spectacular scenery.
The last stretch of broad valley before entering the Haast Pass.
The Gates of Haast. This stretch of the road was extremely difficult to build, due to the treacherous conditions - sheer sides of mountains, a deep ravine, and a river that often swept away the road, and the bridge. When we travelled through on a bright sunny day, during a drought, the area looked very tranquil and benign. I think the road through to the coast finally opened in 1960.
This river looks benign, but I can assure you, it is not so. A few hapless drivers have also driven off the road, and plunged into this ravine, and not lived to tell the tale either.
We drove away from the Gates of Haast until we came to a wide valley, which was surrounded by mountains, covered with snow.
And finally we drove alongside the wide Haast river. Before the road through the Haast Pass was built, the only method of getting to the township of Haast, was to drive down along the West Coast. And from Invercargill this was a very long journey - via Christchurch and Greymouth.
After sandwiches, coffee and cake at the Haast Hotel, we drove up along the coast, taking in all the beautiful coastal views, south
and north.
Rocks, rocks and more rocks.
Finally we arrived at the small township of Fox. A stop for fuel only. No looking at the glacier, as it was shrouded in cloud by this stage of the afternoon. Once it was possible to drive to the foot of the glacier, but sadly it has receded back so much that a long walk is necessary, in order to get a really good look at it.
We stopped in Greymouth for the night, and after a lovely meal of Bluff oysters and blue cod, we retired to our very small motel room opposite the bottle shop, in order to dream of beautiful mountain scenes and raging rivers.
The next day our first stop was at the old mining town of Brunner, where we saw the old mine spread out in the valley below. A very misty day, and not conducive to walking down into the mining area.
Walter standing in front of the old chimney. And yes it is a chimney, not the local phallic symbol.
And then we continued on our way, and the clouds lifted, and the sun appeared again. Another glorious day.
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