Appalachian cabin, hound dog extra

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We rolled into Waipu Cove about lunch time. There are basically three options for accommodations; one motel and two “Holiday Camps”. The country here is littered with holiday camps. All British subjects (Canada, NZ, Australia, etc.) refer to a vacation as a holiday. These camps range in coolness from basic concentration camps to very nice all-inclusive resorts.

A similar sort of thing was very popular in the 1950s on the eastern seaboard of the US. It was a place where rich businessmen in NY or Boston sent their wives and kids to spend their summers, while dad would drive up on weekends sometimes. It was very convenient. That way dad had more free time with his mistress, and mom could have an affair with the tennis instructor.

We settled on one of the holiday camps. We got a nice cabin and moved in. All for $50 NZD or about $30 real. It’s right on the beach and it’s an awesome view.

The fishing is supposed to be very good here. We gave it a shot when we first got there. The wind started kicking up, and when the surf started washing away my stuff off the rocks, I figger’d it was time to go. The beaches stretch as far as the eye can see in any direction. Except the short ones. 

I was looking forward to doing some serious something, but the tides were all wrong. Also, the wind really started to blow last night and has not stopped since. Continuous 30 knots from the Sou’east. That means a fetch from NZ to, I don’t know, Africa I guess. We were told at low tide we could pick Green-lipped mussels off the rocks, and dig clams (actually they don’t dig here). At high tide we can fish off the rocks or surf cast. Well with the surf being about 12 feet, full low tide uncovered about 20 feet of sand, and the waves breaking over the rocks could wash John Candy out to sea. So here we sit. Nice and sunny, with puffy white clouds. The only trouble is you have to stand at about a 60 degree angle into the wind.

It was a good evening to walk on the beach though. I converted my handheld GPS to metric, but not before noting that it is 7,124 miles to our cabin in Canada from here. 

When we were walking back we saw that someone had a fire on the beach. We were pretty stunned. Ever since we got here, there have been “No fires without a permit” signs too numerous to count. I get the impression that camp fires are about as politically incorrect here as taking a dump on the sidewalk. Probably Maoris. They pretty much tell the authorities to piss-off.

Some New Zealand sea life:

Total trip cost to date: $13,444.23 USD