Navigating The Catlins

The sheep promised by all as the south island's greatest attribute, make their appearance in full force in the Catlins — by the thousands. Sheep and cows. They seem to dot every second square foot of the landscape. Over every meadow, up every hill, beside every roadside fence there appears the face of a sheep or cow placidly chewing away at grass and watching us pass.



Grass is New Zealand's great commodity — green, healthy, organic, sun drenched grass. Because the winters here are so mild, there is plenty of it almost all year round, which is why protein needy countries such as China and India are moving in on NZ — where's there's grass, there's protein whether it be milk or meat. It is Colin, our cheese maker outside of Evensdale who puts this in perspective for us as he describes how the price of milk for him has tripled in the past year now the demand is so high from other countries. "We New Zealanders were so excited when we signed a free trade agreement with China," he lectures. "We would sell them all our milk and beef and make lots of money. But these emerging nations are so massive and the demand so great, they'll suck up everything. And no one thought about the other side of things — that in order to meet the demand, China would begin buying up all our dairies and farmland with little political interference."

Surrounded by sheep, Jenn and I debate the life of an ewe. It is raining when we begin this, the sheep in the fields continuing to graze, unperturbed as their wool coats get soaked. It occurs to me that this is life for them — a little grazing, some water now and then. Maybe a snooze and then the search for more fresh grass. They are outside almost all the time, with little shelter and only their coats to keep them warm. And then every few months, a farmer rounds them up, shears their coat and sends them back out into the field to eat and grow more wool.




"Humans couldn't live like that," I muse to Jenn. "About three hours of standing in a field munching on grass and we'd be dying for a movie or an hour of American Idol or something to keep us occupied. They have nothing. Grass. Passing cars."

"Some humans do try to live like that," counters Jenn. "Some of the backpackers out here, they just have the basics — shelter, food, a book at night."

"A-ha! A book. They always have a book or something to fall back on to amuse themselves. What if you didn't even have that? Just grass, passing cars, a field?"

For some reason, the debate stops there.

We are taking big leaps to get through the south and get over to the west coast. At one point, while outside of Dunedin, we considered just skipping the south coast and heading straight across to Te Anau and the start of the Fiorlands and Milford Sound. But, we are determined to reach the bottom, the most southernly point and bookend our trip to the very top of the north island. We also want to have at least two weeks along the west coast, as there will be much to see and do in the mountains.

Big leaps mean lots of driving. Road signs and towns go by. I find myself getting restless and frustrated that we can't stop to see some of them. I decide I like the Catlins and I would like to investigate the area more closely. There are dirt roads that lead to secret bays and caves. On one side of the highway, it is green pastures and hills — on the other, the rugged, rocky, wave crashing south coast with only a few islands and 4800 kilometres separating us and Antarctica.

It is noticeably cooler. The long pants are out.

I don't like this kind of travelling I decide. I think I prefer to immerse — be in a place and absorb it, do things around and then move on, find a new place and settle for a bit. I realize that some of the disappointment I am feeling with the south island is that we are taking big leaps, with little time to stop and investigate.

Jenn drives, which I find difficult — not that she's not an excellent driver. I sit and watch the scenery, slip into my own thoughts rather than navigate. I'm not very specific with my directions. "Somewhere up here, we're going to go leftish." "Try that way." "This feels like the right direction, let's go with it. We'll figure it out."

Apparently, I like to feel my way around, rather than get into specifics.

Not very helpful as a navigator.