new surf dialogue

Took the 3am ferry from Wellington to Picton. On the road out of Taranaki, and all the way to Wellington, we were constantly reminded that “Lee Harris Narks!” by way of spray paint on the sides of big boulders and barn doors. Thought we could just sleep our way across the Straight, but had to leave the van in the holding tank and curl up in the dark lounge on cushioned benches. Leaving Picton, once off the big boat, the van was squeaking a bit, and visions of blown ball joints were dancing around our pocket books, so in Blenheim we pulled up to a garage. Hank put our minds at ease, ” just some worn out brushes up under there, nothing to worry about, nothing to fix mates.”

We cruised down to Kaikoura, checking out a few beaches along the Marlborough coast, cluttered with wine grapes and mountainous fields of straw. Found a decente freedom camp in front of Meatworks, a popular surf break, with heaps of locals and travellers fighting over quick drops and one turn waves. Found a few of our own at Mangamoana earlier, and we enjoyed watching the day grow dark and the ocean tide rise up. The waves lulled us to sleep and kept my dreams ebbing and flowing through the full moon night.

Spent a couple days and nights checking out the Kaikoura scene, which is a uber touristy overpriced bore. Thank the devil for free camping and a few good waves. A copper caught me roaring out of town a bit on the lead footed side, and now I have a pretty little fine to pay.

 With the weekend rolling into town, Christine and I decided to keep heading south, even as a good swell was predicted to turn the sea into a surfers playground. Have to keep the priorities straight at this point in the game. The readings are coming along nicely, and the writing is going to come soon.

Had another run in with the authorities last night. Turns out our dairyman back in Taranaki wasn’t so straight and narrow on his Paua harvesting, leading us astray in regards to legal size limits and we were caught with one just on the short side. The mriendly fish warden let us off with a warning and gave us a handy dandy measuring stick. However, we want to run back up to the milkman’s cottage and shove a knee in his nuts for so unabashedly poaching undersized shellfish – a lot of undersized shellfish. Says a lot more about the guy, that we were already saying to ourselves. We were able to gather a healthy amount of mussels, and had a campground feast of sweet chili sauced pasta with broccoli to accompany our green lipped bi-valves.

So we are stopped in Amberley, just north of Christchurch. Stocked up at the farmers market, and chatted with some folks about hitchhiking Hwy 101 back in Washington state, the taste discrepencies of manuka and clover honey and why New Zealand is better then Fresno.

Off to find a laundrymat. Thank you to everyone who has been viewing the blog, would love to hear from you, so please leave a comment or send  me an email.