21.12.18 Curling in Naseby, Dansey Pass & Gold Rush Romance in Central Otago

Friday 21.12.18

I reach my camper limits as I hurry to the washhouse at 7 degrees and even take a shower in this unheated area. For 1$ I am indulged with 7 minutes of hot water, so it is even more terrible when the water stops. Since there is no shower curtain, everything is wet afterwards. So I put on my now damp jogging pants and damp socks and quickly brush my teeth. Hood on my wet hair and be brave. The laundry room is a brick structure with open bricks at the top under the roof, so that the (cold) air circulates nicely here. Since last night I have been considering whether to abort the trip or to stay in hotels from now on. But no, I don't want to give in - it's New Zealand and my third trip here. I specially drove to the South Island to see certain things that I hadn't seen or seen too briefly before. A look at possible hotel prices also cures me of this momentary weakness...

In order to prepare coffee in the kettle, I have to unplug the heater, as both cause the fuses to blow again. But with some movement and the heater switched on again, I manage to have a cozy and warm breakfast in my camper and I leave this cold corner at 9.45 am. Naseby not only has really cute old buildings from the Gold Rush era, but also a world-famous feature, namely the ice curling rink. This is the only one in the southern hemisphere and even world championships in curling are held here. Today there is not much going on when I park in front of the rink. But the caretaker is delighted with unexpected visitors and I am allowed to take a look at the rink - the pride of the club. Inside there are many pennants from international curling clubs, also from Austria and Germany but also from Qatar, where curling is probably quite rare. Unfortunately, no one is training here and the four lanes are empty in front of me. This place treated itself to this rink 14 years ago. Even now in mid-summer, up to 70 athletes are active here every day, but not at 10 am in the morning.

The weather is still quite overcast, but behind Naseby one of the mountain passes that I had planned to visit begins. The Dansey Pass is a gravel road, but it is easy to drive. After 15km I have reached Kyeburn Diggins. I wouldn't even call it a town or village. It is rather just the Dansey Pass Hotel, a rustic wooden building where you could also get something to eat. But I have already spent some time on the road with various photo stops and black clouds are gathering in front of the mountains ahead of me. Just behind the Dansey Pass Hotel there are several warning signs that driving on the steep, winding road is not recommended for larger vehicles. Given the imminent rain and the fact that I don't know if the road is as good as it has been so far, I turn around and drive back to Naseby. The landscape along this route is great. On the one hand, gentle hills, on the other hand, steep slopes. In between meadows with goats and sheep and a wonderful absence of people. It must be extremely cold here in winter. There have been avalanches here, people freezing to death, and registered temperatures well below -20°C.

When I left Naseby behind me and meet the SH87 again, I decide not to drive to Ranfurly, but I turn west and follow a gravel road to St. Bathans in the Maniototo region, still in Central Otago. The village with 10 inhabitants is actually more of a small front with the Vulcan Hotel dominating it, the village pub. St. Bathans also has its origins in the time of the gold rush in this area. Opposite the Vulcan Hotel, I can park and actually planned to hike to the Blue Lake just behind it. A strange formation, this lake whose steep white limestone banks are punctuated with indentations. This was once an active gold mine and this lake was formed by the extraction of the earth and the curvy steep banks are simply man-made. And then it starts raining again and my walk ends after about 150m and since it's cold and I don't feel like driving any further, I settle down as the only guest at the bar in the Vulcan Hotel, order a coffee and a sandwich and watch the owners decorate the dusty walls and memorabilia of the pub with Christmas decorations. Behind me, they light the stove, which radiates pleasant warmth to my cold legs - this summer is truly legendary.

In pouring rain, I drive from St. Bathans back onto the SH85 and follow it south, turn off at Omahau onto the Loop Road and reach the small village of Ophir. Another place from the gold rush era, off the beaten tourist track, and a pretty village with an extremely wide main street and beautiful farm gardens and nice wooden houses from the last but one century. Behind the old post office is the jail with 2 cells. The place is practically deserted. Only two cyclists are walking around here, just like me. The wide main street is lined with ditches on the left and right, which were built about 150 years ago to divert the wastewater from the gold mines. I am lucky that the weather stays dry here in this postcard-perfect village. From this sleepy but pretty little nest I drive towards Clyde. The place is a cute mix of an artist town and gold rush romance, with a main street that has a few cafés and shops and in their shop windows you can find gold jewelry, handicrafts and the like. I treat myself to a real fruit ice cream, the most delicious ice preparation in the world for me. Frozen fresh fruits are squeezed through a press with vanilla ice cream, resulting in an extraordinary soft ice cream with the most intense fruit flavor. Just outside Clyde, you can still look out over Lake Dunstan and the dam. The Clutha River has been dammed here for over 30km, creating a three-part reservoir that is now also used for all sorts of recreational activities.

I continue south, buy some groceries in Alexandra and enjoy beautiful landscape perspectives on the hilly further journey, which leads into a wide plain. This is the fruit-growing area par excellence and there are several signs pointing to farms and food stalls offering cherries, apricots and apples. I arrive in Beaumont at 6.30 pm. I'm glad that the campground is open because the world seems to end here somehow. No houses far and wide and Beaumont seems to consist solely of the small camping meadow and the pub. A rather strange place. Actually, there seem to be only 2 permanent campers here. The campground with a powered site is the cheapest I will have until the end of the trip. There is WLAN, but there is no reception on the meadow next to the building where the pitches are located. I get into conversation with the owner because the toilets were locked, and it turns out that he is Icelandic, married to a New Zealander, and has found his happiness here.

I use the washrooms and kitchen completely alone. Very nice. Showers are also included in the price, the water is warm, and the showers are clean.

The evening sun suddenly shines so innocently from the high sky that you think a sunny summer day is coming to an end. Around me are wooded slopes, and the Clutha River runs behind the campground in its original bed.

The camping table is unfolded, the table is set, and I go to the camp kitchen to warm up something. It starts raining in between, the table is wet, the dishes, the newspaper - aaaaaah! But soon it's dry again, and for the second time on this trip, I manage to eat outside before it gets too cold here too because the wind is so icy.