The Otira Rock Stars

 

Part 2 of the great southern Rock Wren trip

The Otira Rock Stars 

Slowly my internal computer system booted up for the day. The synaptic connections in my brain were fizzling and spluttering, fading in and out but fired up once a solid connection was established.
Once upon a time I could leap out of bed and hit the floor running.
Nowadays it’s not even a controlled stagger, I’m more like a drunken dancer, lurching and weaving around the bedroom until my error correcting software runs its diagnostic program, ignores all my missing and damaged sectors on my hard drive and fools me into thinking I’m running just fine and dandy.
Coffee in hand I walk out on the balcony of the two-story Otira Hotel and I am confronted by the weather trying its best to behave its self, but sadly not having much success.
Drizzle and fog permeated the landscape, but no breeze, so two out of three ain’t bad according to Meatloaf.
Today was to be the big day out there yonder in them there mountains.
Just kilometres up the road lay a beautiful alpine Valley where two tiny little birds lived and we have to find them. I mean how hard could that be?
The very reason we, Steve and I have come to the South Island was to find and photograph the two little Rock Wrens that reportedly live up the Otira Stream.
We are excited to get going, so up to the Otira summit, we zoomed, to have breakfast among the clouds with the local Kea population, hoping that the cloud will lift and give us a great day.

The Kea is a smart bird but also gorgeous.

The New Zealand kea

Southern Rock Shuffle

Part 1 of the great southern Rock Wren trip 

Southern Rock Shuffle

230am, I hug my pillow closer and tighter to my good ear, but no amount of pressure can shut out the loud, excited babble coming from a small group of bikers parked right outside my window.
Looking through the glass I can see them huddled around one of their bikes loaded up with saddles and other carrying accessories and the owner proudly showing off his pride and joy.
Road tripping around the South Island is almost a religious right of passage in this country for motorbike enthusiasts.
Trucks clattered up the ramps, the mixture of sea and diesel fumes fills the gloomy night air.
Sleep will never come, I know that from past experience, but hey, that won’t stop me from trying. But really I know I will have to wait until we can board the Inter-Islander Ferry and I can find a quiet place to spill out onto the carpeted floor before I can let my mind drift off as best I can.
Travelling between Our 2 Islands is best done in the middle of the night, you get to sleep on the 3 hour trip between the two Islands where ever you can find a space on the floor or a comfy seat. I prefer a semi-hard floor where I can stretch out, to a padded seat that has you scrunched up on. When you hit the South Island 6.am in the morning, you can roar off the boat refreshed and you’re on your way.