My ear worm was back. Carol tracked me down in the night. She stuck around till lunch too. I'm thinking of taking out a restraining order.
We left the camping ground and started our first climb of the walk through Mores Reserve, a piece of bush sitting above Foveaux Straight. The local pest busters have an amazing gridded network of 500 bait stations keeping rats and possums at bay. The bush was full of pink triangles and birds.
At the top of the hill we missed our first turn-off. Fortunately it took us to a picnic under Balancing Rock. With a herd of sheep we ate and looked out at a perfect Rakiura/Stewart Island. The sea was calm and cyan.
We herded the sheep around a few beautiful rocky bays until we stopped for lunch and a foot soak. Oyster Catchers and Shags did their thing on the beach. Rakiura was still perfect.
We were sitting on the strangest rocks. They looked like deposits of molten acrylic. Grey, smooth and shiny. They are the stand out feature of the day.
Onwards and we were soon standing on a cliff looking across Colac Bay to the village of...you guessed it, Colac Bay...our destination.
Time for some music. It wasn't long before Patti Smith was scaring off Carol.
The tide was in and the beach was steep. The pebbles were exhausting to walk on so...shock horror...we detoured to the road. Highway 99. Make that 13ks16.
The only good thing about this stretch was the three enormous stoats or average sized ferrets we found flattened on the road. The result of some crazy suicide pact. The local birds get a break.
We made quick but hot time to the beach just before the village, where we came across the local swimming spot. It WAS a picture postcard scene.
The temptation to chunky dunk (old peoples' skinny dipping) was overwhelming, but as we were near civilization we settled for getting down to our grundies (AKA grundie dunking?). The water was almost warm. Just what the physio ordered.
Back on with the gear and around the corner to Isobel's weaving studio. She's been in the game for 28 years and doesn't look like stopping any time soon. I had to pose for some fashion shots of my kilt and we looked through her books of tartan to see if we could find out what the clan was. The closest we could find was Black Stewart. Isobel had woven tartan in the past, which I would guess requires a fair bit of skill. If you're passing through, look her up.
Next stop home. Beer. Chips. Nuff said.
Notes: We've had our first gear failures. Whiona's neoprene gaiters (we wore gaiters yesterday to keep the sand out) have given her a weird heat rash. She's reacted badly to something in the material. Yuck.
My Bluetooth silicon roll-up keyboard has died. It's already been replaced once. They're a good idea but clearly crap. If you see them at JB Hifi ignore them. Luckily my daughter taught me how to use swipe input on my phone. It may even be faster than actual typing. Thanks Ally.
The kilt: I've finally got chaffing. Not a failure I guess. Just inevitable.
Highlights: wild flowers on the side of the road and the blue sky and sea. Magic.