Tuesday 13th September
By now the cold had moved on and we were well and truly stuck with the wet. A dripping from the vestibule had kept me up most of the night so when the alarm went off at 6:30, I didn't really feel like I'd got any sleep at all. Despite the rain, we just wanted to get the tent away and move on. Charlotte took our tarp and the outer tent into the kitchen in a bid to get it slightly drier before we plonked it in the car. The weather really was miserable. The cloud was so low we could hardly see the mountains just across from the campsite. We drove north on highway 6 for about an hour and a half before reaching the small town of Hokitika. Along the way we spotted a number of brown birds at the side of the road, we couldn't think that they would be anything else but a Kiwi but rather than jump in and claim we've seen wild Kiwis we thought we'd best double check at the information centre when we arrived in Hokitika. Unfortunately we were told they were Wekas which is very similar to a Kiwi in every way except they have a much shorter beak. The town is very proud that it is the home to New Zealand greenstone or ‘Pounamu’ as the Maori call it. We wandered round the numerous craft shops browsing the goods, with no real intention to buy anything. Once we'd had enough of the pat, we treated ourselves to some fish and chips and ate them on the river bank under the watchful gaze of over a dozen hungry seagulls. Our journey continued to the small town, although after Fox Glacier and Franz Josef it felt like London, of Greymouth. We found the campsite just out of town but this time opted against a tent site. We weren't quite fed up with the cold, the wind and the rain but we needed a good place to store our things for our upcoming car checks, so we got a cabin for a couple of nights. After completely emptying the car of our belongings, we drove into town to pick up a few items for our dinners. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, we were abstaining from meat for the majority of our trip north in the hope it would keep the price down. We had already succumbed once when we picked up some reduced sausages in Fox Glacier and it happened to us again here in Greymouth. We just couldn't say no to beef mince at $6 (£3.50-4) a kilo, so splashed out some more money after getting the cabin. On our way back to the campsite we needed to stop by the bank to draw some money out, so we found our bank and Charlotte tried to pull in to a parking space. I say she tried. A lady in a high viz jacket yelled in Charlotte's open window if we were European. She replied yes, British and was then told that we couldn't park there. We were a bit baffled but the lady went on to tell us that she was a traffic warden and that we weren't allowed to park in the space because we were facing the wrong way. After 6 months of living and (Charlotte) driving in New Zealand, we had only just found out that it is against the law to park facing the flow of traffic. The reason the traffic warden gave us was because we would have to cross traffic flow to rejoin the road but the British drivers seem to be able to handle that pretty well without to much trouble. We both rolled our eyes and Charlotte turned around to avoid a $60 fine. For the next hour or so we were dumbfounded by this crazy law but got over it by watching tv at the campsite for our nightly dose of weather. We cooked ourselves up a chilli with our bargain beef mince, hitting only a slight hitch when I scalded my whole right hand with boiling water when preparing the rice. I got more pain from soaking my hand in the ice cold water than from the burn but the cheap dinner made up for all the suffering. Overall it had been a bit of a strange day in a strange country; imitating birds, crazy laws, a burnt hand but we were back in a proper bed, at least for a couple of nights.
Wednesday 14th September
The time had come to get our trusty car, that had taken us all the way from the Northern tip to the Southern tip of New Zealand, a WoF. WoF stands for warrant of fitness and is pretty much the same as an mot back home. We'd been recommended a place to get it done by the receptionist the day before, so in order to beat the queues, we got up bright and early to hopefully be first in line. When we pulled into the forecourt just before 8, we were first in line but then again, there wasn't really a line, we were the only car there. Charlotte handed over the keys and we kept our fingers crossed there would be no unwanted surprises. The man behind the counter told us to give them half an hour, so we went for a wander round Greymouth to pass the time. The town was certainly living up to its name, with a thick sea mist blotting out the sun and making for a very grey start to the day. After having a look down the 4 or so main streets we walked to a shop called ‘The Warehouse’ to get warm and louder for a while. We didn't actually want anything but with all our tent pegs quickly turning into tent circles we were in need of some new ones. There selection so wasn't great, so we gave up and walked back to the WoF centre. Unfortunately, there was a little surprise awaiting us. One rear tyre was below the legal tread limit, the other was on the cusp and one front one would require attention soon. In order to get our warrant of fitness, we'd need to get some fresh tyres. More money! There were a few minor things like oil check and battery check but nothing else that was keeping us off the road. We drove back to the campsite to take stock and enquire as to the best place to get some tyres. The same man who had given us the WoF place told us of a garage around the same area, so we drove out to get them sorted. We could have just got the rear 2 done for now but thought we'd get a complete set of 4, as we would have had to somewhere down the line anyway. With the car out of action for another hour, we decided it was high time a had a spring hair cut. We found a barbers along the highway, most of the way back to the campsite. The experience would have fitted in well to the odd day we'd had the day before. We heard in the radio that someone down in Franz Josef had lost the plot, bulldozed their house/workshop, set it alight and then made if into the bush with a load of firearms. Had Charlotte and I stuck to our original plans of 3 nights in Fox and 3 nights in Franz we would have been there for the show which could have been entertaining. Then, whilst I was getting my curls shawn off, the lady cutting my hair said “hold on” and was confronted by a very tall man in motorbike leathers and a helmet who quite clearly told her she “had 3 days”. Without being nosy we could only assume she owed somebody money. I wouldn't have thought in a million years that Greymouth would have a mafia! Anyway, despite the distraction, she did a great job and it was nice to feel the wind on my scalp once again. After returning to the tyre place, we parted ways with our money and picked up the car with her 4 new shoes. It may have been psychological buyout we could definitely feel the difference. We turned to the WoF shop to show off the new tyres and they stuck on a new sticker to make us road worthy once more. With that done and dusted we didn't really have anything else to do for the day. We extended our stay for a couple of more nights to get everything done, had our lunch of sweetcorn fritters and then went for a walk to pass the afternoon. The campsite was located right next to the beach, so we could access it through a small pathway. We followed a pathway all the way along to the mouth of the Grey River (no prizes for guessing how the town got its name) and walked along a small arm that stretched out into the Tasman Sea. Despite having turned into quite a nice day, the waves were still making a hell of a dinh. We guessed that being in a similar position to Tasmania, around the latitudes known as ‘The Roaring Forties’, that the waves always crashed on to the beach with a bang. It was a nice little place and there were a few fisherman around who we guessed were after the whitebait. The whitebating season had just started and it's apparently big business, with the west coast of the South Island being the primo spot to get a good catch. We had already made a mental note to pick up a whitebait patty or fritter from a fish and chip shop when we next went. We walked back along the same coastal trail and settled in for the evening, we tried something for dinner that we'd yet to have on our entire trip. Charlotte’s suggestion of ham, egg and chips went down a treat, although when a bunch of Australians asked what we were having, they did scrunch up their faces a bit. Normal service would be resumed the following day with a day trip out.
Thursday 15th September
Our excursion for the day had been found by total fluke. Back in Queenstown, I'd been scouring google maps at various routes we'd be taking after we left. On the road from Greymouth to Westport, there was a little symbol and a title that said ‘Barrytown Knifemaking’. It seemed like a unique thing to do and after some research, Charlotte was as convinced as I was. We had an early start, as we needed to be present and correct at the owners house in Barrytown, 30 minutes north of Greymouth, at 9:15. We filled up on breakfast and hit the road. Initially, it was quite hard to find as the sign was almost ineligible. There was a huge knife on top of it though, so it probably should have been obvious. We were greeted by Robyn and later joined by Stephen, who would be helping us make the kniveses, as he would call the plural (for comic effect of course). We'd heard a few stories from other travellers and read reviews saying that Stephen was a real character, so we weren't really sure what to expect. He was older than we thought he'd be but seemed very easy to like, so we didn't think we'd have a problem. We were joined by 3 other people, a trio of friends down from Blenheim at the top of the South Island, who were celebrating one of their birthdays. Stephen and Robyn took us through what we'd be doing for the day and we got down to it. We were all presented with the bare, untouched carbon steel that we would be using to make our knives. They just looked like a plain shaft of grey metal but we were assured they would look completely different by day's end. The first job was to stick it in to the coal fired forge and hammer it into the vague shape we were after. Despite his years, Stephen made it look a piece of cake. Charlotte had hers started for her, being the only lady in the group but then had it returned to her to give it a bash herself. We were only allowed to heat it in the forge 3 times, incase it got too hot and burnt or we “blew holes” in the steel. This made the rods of steel look slightly more knifey than they had at the start but we still had a long way to go. With the vague shape hammered out in the anvils, we moved on to shortening the handle and attaching the small piece of brass that would become the hilt of the knife. We stuck it on the steel with a blob of glue, drilled a couple of holes through the lot and put a couple of rivets to keep it steady. Plowing on, it was time to fit a vague handle to the knife. Stephen made an outline on our piece of wood for us to cut out with a jigsaw. The wood was a native tee called the Rimu, which is a hardwood. With the templates cut out, we glued them up, stuck them on the handle and drilled in 3 holes for some more rivets to go. While they were drying, we were allowed a bit of a go at some axe throwing. There were some hand made axes and a large wooded wall to aim at. At first it was hard but with a little bit of practice, we could get the axes to stick more often than not. After the handles had dried in nicely, we had to do a bit of grinding of edges and the flat of the blade. It was fine work, very hard for the inexperienced, so it was good to have Stephen and Robyn keeping an eye over our shoulders to make sure we didn't ruin the knives before we'd even finished. Last up before lunch was to coat the handle in some resin to block up any holes and prevent germs from building up around the base of the blade when we came to use them. After we had applied the resin with a masking taped finger (the resin was carcinogenic, so it was important we didn't get it all over our hands), covering our handles and pushing it in as best we could, it was time for lunch, leaving Stephen to grind down the handles and the blades to an acceptable size. We prepared ourselves some toasties and ate them out on their back veranda, which had enviable views out across the Tasman Sea. On a good day, Stephen and Robyn can have up to 12 people making knives, which we could imagine would be incredibly hectic. We were very grateful that there was only 5 of us which, whilst still being quite chaotic, meant we had plenty of attention from the experts. After lunch it was time to shape our knives into the final form that we wanted but not before a quick go each on a huge person propelled swing that was in Stephen and Robyn's back garden. To get the occupant of the swing moving, the remainder of the people would run backwards with a rope and let go. Despite initial reservations at its height and stability, we all had a go and a good laugh. Back to the knives, Charlotte and I were already pretty happy with the design we had, with Charlotte just grinding of a flick that she had at the top of the blade. The other 3 in the group all did a bit of alteration but we didn't want to ruin something that was already pretty much perfect (perfect thanks to Stephen more than ourselves). Knives sharpen, we had to smooth around the edges of the handle, taking care not to grind to much of the steel away. Next up was probably the hardest part of the whole exercise. We were pretty much sanding the flats of the blade to a fine shine. To make sure we didn't go too far with this part, we were told to draw a line on with a marker pen and just sand until the pen mark had been worn away. The fine margins made this a hard task but Stephen and Robyn were very patient and helped us all when we needed it. Stephen had told us earlier that he was suffering from cancer but despite this, he was well and truly living up to his reputation of being a character. He was very quick with jokes (although, probably well rehearsed jokes after 12 years of making knives with tourists), made time for everyone and still very good at his craft. He definitely wouldn't be for everyone though, particularly in this day and age of political correctness but for us, his humour was fine. Robyn had a few more side activities set up for us to pass the times when Stephen was busy on a particular knife. As well as the throwing axes there were some ninja Death Stars to throw at the panel of wood, some quoits to throws at sticks and a BB gun with a tiny cardboard target about 15-20 feet away to hit. Out of about 15 shots each, only I managed to hit it once. We were on the home stretch now and we sat on the veranda with Robyn and sanded the blades to give them a nice shine. We used 3 different grades of sandpaper before moving on to a metal polish for that final gleam. Our last task was to varnish the handle to give it a good colour and a lovely smooth texture. Stephens final job was to put an edge on it and make it as sharp as a razor blade. With all the formalities done, we were all left with fantastic looking knives that we had made, with a little help from Stephen and Robyn of course. Whilst Robyn gave the handles a quick polish with bog standard boot polish, we sat with Stephen at the table and enjoyed a glass of homemade sparkling wine that they liked to call Barry-pagne, a beer, some crisps and a bit of a chinwag. After a hectic, laugh filled day it was time to go home with our new weapo….err souvenir safely in its cardboard sheeth. We all posed for a few photos before Charlotte and I drove back to Greytown. We had had a fantastic day. Stephen and Robyn were wonderful hosts and we were incredibly pleased we had found and done the activity. It was such an unusual thing to do, a lot of fun and we came away with something we would cherish for a lifetime. Back in the real world we got some washing done and enjoyed our second lot of chilli that we'd cooked up a couple of days before. Mixing it up slightly, we had a chilli pie (think shepherds or cottage). Overnight, we were due some horrendous weather, so we were very thankful that we were warm and cosy in a cabin and not in our tent.
Friday 16th September
The wind and rain woke us up pretty early, so we read and caught up with photos to pass the time before getting up. Thankfully, we'd planned something inside for the day, so we wouldn't be bearing the brunt of the awful weather. We somehow made it to the kitchen and back without being blown away by the wind gusts and then hopped in the car to drive to our destination. We had planned on walking to the Monteith’s Brewery, as it was only half an hour away but the weather persuaded us to take the car. When we parked up in the car park, we were slightly surprised to only see 2 other cars there. Peering into the building, it didn't really look open and then we ready the sign outside. It said that the tours start from 11:30, which was odd, because when we booked ours through the campsite, the pamphlet had said 10:30. So we still had over an hour to kill. To pass the time, we drove into Greymouth town centre, parked up and went for yet another wander around. We had already done this but had neglected to take any photos, so we took a couple of snaps of the train station and picked up a pin badge. Time passed pretty quickly, so it was back to the brewery for the tour. The car park was much fuller, which made us feel slightly better that we wouldn't be the only ones doing the tour. We were presented with a high visibility jacket for “health and safety reasons” and then told to hang around until it was time for the tour. There was a history room adjacent to the main room, so we had a quick read up on our Monteith's history to pass the time. What we got from the history was that it was established during the 1860’s in Greymouth. The tour was very brief but we supposed it had to be considering they only make a small amount of beer onsite, compared to some breweries at least. A lot of their brewing is done up in Auckland and unfortunately, like most breweries nowadays is owned by a company that's owned by a company. In this particular situation, it's Heineken that own Dominion Breweries that own Monteith’s. We were shown around the vats they used for brewing and were fortunate that they were brewing a batch that morning, seeing as they only brew 1-2 times a week. What we couldn't see was the bottling or kegging process, instead we were shown this on a TV screen. There was a fantastic hoppy, malty smell undoubtedly thanks to that they were making beer and we both couldn't get enough of it. That was the tour part of the tour done. We were taken back to the main reception/shop/restaurant/bar area and were given the opportunity to pull our own beer from a tap. We all took our turns with varying degrees of success and then enjoyed the beer, which was an IPA. With the tour price came a booklet with coupons for 3 free beers each. Obviously Charlotte and I pooled ours and got a rack of 6 different beers. They had 10 on tap, so there was plenty to choose from. We got “Black Beer”, “Velvet Stout”, “Pointers Pale Ale”, “Original Ale”, “Pilsner” and “Crushed Apple Cider”. Charlotte didn't particularly enjoy the stouts and ales, favouring the Pilsner and cider, whereas I found them all pretty drinkable. We ordered some famous west coast whitebait patties to go with the beers, as we had been desperate to see what all the fuss was about. They were nice but they were no better than a battered sausages we'd get down a chippy at home, we were pleased we'd tried them however. Seeing as Charlotte had had a small amount of alcohol, after leaving the brewery, we walked in to town to hopefully let it get out her system so she could dive. We walked to the Grey River, which has a high sea wall running along its banks to prevent flooding during storms. There was also a memorial to all the coal miners who had lost their lives in the West Coast coal mines. The weather was still awful, so we decided Charlotte hasn't had enough alcohol in the first place, popped to the shops for dinner, returned to the car and then headed home for the day. After such an early wake up call, it was nice to be able to relax out of the weather for an afternoon. We cooked a simple pasta and tomato sauce for dinner, easing ourselves back on to meat free dinners after splashing out on mince and ham whilst in Greymouth. Despite having to get the car sorted and the terrible weather, we had enjoyed Greymouth and its feel of being a proper little seaside town, a reminder of home.
James and Charlotte
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