On Saturday I set off early. Like a milkman. My big blue car told me it was -1 degree Celsius outside. And it was beautiful. It turns out there is something to be said for an earlier start. There was a light frost and everything looked like it had been dusted with icing sugar. Every single blade of grass, red tussock and pampas was frosted and so their colours muted. Along with the frozen fog that had yet to burn off, it was really quite ghostly. I had a 230km drive to Wanaka ahead of me. Which included a return visit to the Five Rivers Cafe where I picked up a coffee and State Highway 6 back towards Queenstown.
Part of this magical drive took me back along the edge of Lake Wakatipu, the second biggest lake in the South Island. I couldn’t help but pull over at every opportunity to drink it all in. By now I had really got hold of the idea that the drive was the event. I had managed to shake the notion that I was driving to get somewhere. And now found I didn’t want to get there, wherever there was, in any kind of hurry. Because right here was almost always perfect.
At Queenstown I made a quick detour to visit the very pretty, and very old, gold-mining town of Arrowtown. Then, with a belly full of breakfast and a pocket full of steely resolve, I headed up and over the Crown Range towards Wanaka. On a road, I was told, was not for the feint-hearted. The whole range shimmered with golden tussock grass and the road that runs over it is the highest main road in New Zealand. I grinned and grimaced in equal measure. With spectacular views and hairpin bends on the edge of never and full-steering-wheel-locks like a multi-story carpark, it was, without doubt, the best driving experience ever.
It was around 3:30pm by the time I arrived in Wanaka. There wasn’t much daylight left and even though I’d made a concession to begin my days slightly earlier, I still liked to be cosied up somewhere by the time it got dark. So I dumped my bags and headed straight to the top of Mount Iron. And back down again.
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