Elaine's Mussels

On to the Marlborough Sounds!

Over the Bull mountain range we go, with some stunning views of the sounds WAAAY below us.




Our first stop is Elaine Bay, in honor of Jenn's mom.




Here we find another gorgeous landscape and a tiny little community of 18 permanent residents.








The main focus here is the wharf and the mussel business. There is also a slopey DOC campsite here. We drive to the end of the road and end up at the wharf which seems to be quite busy.

We stop and ask a fellow along the side of the road what kind of fish they are catching in the area.

"You can't fish here. There's a cod ban. You can drop your line, but if you catch a cod, you have to put it back."

We patiently explain that we don't want to fish, only want to know what they are bringing in on the wharf.

"Oh! It's mussels. Big mussel farm here. The boats will be coming in soon. And the trucks coming in too. You could probably stop them and ask for some mussels for your tea. Ask for Danny or Brian, the boat skippers. Tell 'em Robin asks if it's okay for you to have some mussels?"

We thank Robin and drive back to our campsite, a few hundred metres down the road. In about an hour, we hear the rumble of trucks and five gigantic rigs go past, down to the wharf. A few minutes later, we spot the first boat coming into the sound, loaded with massively packed white bags. I can't imagine the trucks will all be filled.




In the rain, I walk down to the wharf and watch them move the white bags from the boats to the idling trucks.



I talk to the drivers. They are headed to Nelson, Blenheim, Havelock and Christchurch. Every night they do this, delivering thousands and thousands of mussels from the boats to processing facilities which then send them on to markets and restaurants.

Eventually, I get up the courage to ask one of the busy crane operators if he is Danny or Brian. He shakes his head.

"Robin said to take pity on us and give us a few mussels," I try.

The name of Robin seems to spark action. One of the operators points me to a Maori fisherman down the way. I hang around, watching the process in the rain until they notice I am there. The original guy whispers something to the Maori and they both smile and then he gets a plastic bag and fills it with fresh green lipped mussels.

"This enough?"



I thank them all profusely and walk back to the camper with the heavy bag. I can tell there are more than we will be able to eat, so I knock on the doors of other camper vans and offer free fresh mussels. They are accepted heartily.









We steam the mussels for our dinner. They are much bigger than we are used eating in Canada. Very tasty with a bottle of Pinot Noir!