November 18, Jackson Bay

Jackson Bay is about 50 kilometers south of Haast and the farthest south that you can drive on the west coast. It is a small fishing community consisting of about a dozen boats; mainly cray fishing boats (they call the lobsters here crays).

Jackson Bay was chosen as the center for a special settlement under the assisted immigrant program in 1874. The dream was of a thriving farming district served by a seaport town. Also fisheries, forests, minerals and other natural resources could be exploited as the south was opened up.

The first contingent of hopefuls set foot on the Jackson Bay beach early in 1875. Others followed over the next two years until the population peaked at around 400, but few were farmers and knew little of breaking new land. The settlement was immediately plagued with problems. Above average rainfall in the first two years rotted crops in the ground, caused a bewildering amount of sickness and isolated families on the wrong side of flood waters. Pleas for a wharf (not installed until 1938) were largely ignored by a government which had quickly reached the conclusion that they had wasted enough money on this experiment. Today there are a few descendants of the original settlers still living in the area. In the “town” itself I counted about 6 houses, a diner, and a couple fish packing garages.

The Cray Pot

In the heart of Jackson Bay is a little diner called “The Cray Pot”. The guide book says the following:

“Dining at the Cray Pot is more than just a classic Kiwi dining experience; it verges on essential. So fresh it was swimming yesterday fish and chips, whitebait sandwiches and mixed grills are served up in an absolute waterfront location”

No way were we going to miss that! Plus we had to cross several rivers that I wanted to check out anyway.

When we were driving up there we had all kinds of visions of a great little shop that sold the best and freshest crays on the coast. In fact, the holiday park host told me that it's so easy to catch big crays there because the fishermen just threw them back. Apparently they mainly serve the asian market, and he claims that they only like the small ones. I'm speculating that the food will either be very expensive because it's remote and there's no competition or very inexpensive because it's very remote and they have little business. It didn't matter because the spousal unit said we were eating there regardless. She gets grumpy if I don't feed her all regular like.

The last little village you pass through on the way there is about 25 kilometers before you get to Jackson Bay. As you pass through town there is one of those wooden signs for the Cray Pot (the kind that opens like a saw horse) that says they're open until 3:30. I guess they don't want you to drive the rest of the way just to find them closed. It was only 2:30 so we were good. I was all slobbered up for gettin' me some gooood lobster! When we arrived it wasn’t exactly what we had pictured.

Al fresco dining at the Cray Pot

Only the finest at the Cray Pot

When we opened the door I was almost knocked down by the smell of burnt deep fat fryer oil. My sinuses plugged up instantly. Worse than that, they don't even serve crays at the Cray Pot!! I asked about this and they told me that they can't buy them there. It all goes out of the area.

We selected a table and sat down. Cynthia had a whitebait sandwich and I had "swimming yesterday" fish and chips. Interesting thing. When my order came it came in a deep fat fryer basket. No plate, just the wire basket with the chips below and the two pieces of fish on top. I'm thinking "where am I going to put the tartar sauce and ketchup?" I commandeered a corner of Cynthia's plate. Then I nonchalantly watched a local. Seems the trick is you hold each fry and squirt a line of ketchup on it then stick it in your mouth. I'm guessing the same technique would apply to the fish. Double-dipping comes to mind. I really wasn't too keen on dragging the tartar sauce squeeze bottle across my fish right after it had been dragged across some slobber-covered fish from the guy before me.

I think that the Cray Pot may have had the only phone in town. While we were there several people came and used the cordless phone outside.

Interesting thing about the rural kiwi male attire. Doesn't seem to matter the weather, they all wear short-shorts, and boots (often gumboots) with wool socks all wadded up at the top of the boots, and either a rugby shirt or some heavy sweater if it's cold. One of the guys outside the "restaurant" deviated a little; he was wearing Crocs with wool socks and shorts; even though the sand flies were merciless. The area was beautiful though.

Home made motor home, kiwi style!

those Ayers sure get around!

That world famous kiwi hospitality...

We don't know what this is exactly, but it was sure cool. It's like the entry to somebody's land