Day 1 in the Catlins

In the morning we are treated to a delicious home-cooked breakfast by Diana's husband, Noel. They are a gregarious couple and talk openly to us about the lengthy renovation of the house, their family and travels. We're even given a special tour of the 'behind the curtain' parts of the house, and Noel pulls out some maps to show us places to visit in the Catlins where we are headed next.

We are sent on our way with hugs, full tummies, and contented hearts. As Ross drives us away from Invercargill, the buildings gradually become more sparse and are once again replaced by rich pasture and green fields. We take Noel's advice and leave the Southern Scenic Route for the coast road, which fortunately for us, was only recently completely sealed. In the glorious morning sunshine, we silently take in the gleaming landscape as it flitters past. 

Along the Southern Scenic Route south of Invercargill

Just some of New Zealand's approximately 27 million (happy fluffy white) sheep -
that's around 5 sheep per person

In one hour we reach Curio Bay and as luck would have it, we arrive at 11am to coincide with low tide. It means that we are treated to the sight of the petrified forest. It is apparently one of the best examples of a Jurassic fossilised forest in the world and we can clearly see fossilised timbers (a much more impressive stumpery than yesterday!) and pearlescent wood-grained materials embedded in the rock. 

Curio Bay

The petrified forest at Curio Bay - each "rock" is a fossilised tree stump

The eternal glimmering remnants of a tree that once stood here millions of years ago
when dinosaurs roamed the Earth

Curio Bay is also renowned for being the nesting site for rare Yellow-Eyed Penguins (Hoihos) and if we were prepared to wait around all day, we might see the little birds in the evening as they come back into shore. We're not here at the right time to see penguins however... or are we....

Is this a penguin?

And while nearby Slope Point can claim to be the southernmost point of the South Island, for me and Ross this is the furthest south on the globe that we have ever been. 

Resuming our journey along the beautiful coastline, we stop for coffee at the Niagara Falls Cafe before rejoining the highway for a short distance to Progress Valley. Our next accommodation is down a winding gravel road that passes through hectares of eucalypt plantation. It is interesting that those logs we saw being transported on lorries to Port Chalmers continue to be a recurring theme ... now we can see where they might have started their journey.

When we arrive at the Catlins Farmstay, we're greeted by our hosts Warren and Jackie. It's a big family home which they share with their young boys and Warren's parents who are visiting from Queensland. The house is surrounded by magnificent gardens and fringed by the ghostly thin trunks of eucalypts ... trees that Warren tells us are destined to be pulped for paper in Japan but will hopefully remain unharvested for some time.

The green oasis of the Catlins 

The view from our room of the garden and plantation beyond

For now, this remote little corner of the world is like an oasis, bursting with rich greenery, colourful flowers, and a million birds that chirp and whistle and serenade before vanishing into the shadows of the sentinel gums. 

Warren shows us to our room at the far end of the house. Compared to last night's luxury accommodation, this is very basic. There are no amenities in our room and the ensuite bathroom is so compact that you can touch both walls simply by exhaling. But it will do. 

After a rest and a stroll around the grounds, we make our way to McLeans Falls, purportedly the most beautiful of the Catlins waterfalls. There is a 40 minute return walk to the falls along a forested path. It is a magical walk past giant tree ferns, moss-draped trunks and curtains of epiphytes that hang down from branches. And the sound of water that gets louder and louder until the waterfall appears.

The magical forest

Tree trunks draped in thick moss

Surrounded by green

Ross at McLeans Falls

It is still some time until dinner so we travel a little further along the highway to Lake Wilkie, the remnants of a glacial lake. The wind has dropped and the sky is becoming overcast. A stillness settles and the same dark glassy waters that have been watched by the sky for millennia continue to stare back at infinity.

Lake Wilkie 

As we turn back towards Progress Valley, we make one more stop at the Tautuku Estuary. Here a short walk through a forest that is recovering from last century's quest for timber brings us to a boardwalk constructed over a fragile wetland. Across the estuary are tantalising glimpses of Maori land, thick with pristine forest that escaped the loggers.  

Tautuku boardwalk

Tautuku estuary

Maori land across the water and its beautiful native forest

We are the only people here and as Ross rushes ahead to the viewing platform, I hear a little 'chik chik' sound that breaks the stillness. Fluttering weakly above the reeds is a small brown bird. I am captivated and watch it as it eventually flutters across the boardwalk and disappears into some fringing vegetation. Later I find out that it was a South Island fern bird (matata), a threatened native species that persists here in one of its last strongholds. It is usually heard but not seen and so I am incredibly grateful to have been graced with this small precious moment.

It is still only 4:30pm when we return to the car - way too early to go for dinner and yet we are both hungry. We make the short journey to the Whistling Frog Cafe and Bar and wait impatiently in the car until 5pm. At least it gives me the opportunity to finally figure out how the car's sat nav system works... several days into our journey! The cafe is pretty bogan but is one of the better eateries in these parts. Menu choices are limited to burgers and deep fried specials so I cross my fingers and hope that the non-FODMAP monstrosity that I ingest will not have terrible repercussions tomorrow (no such luck).

We are back in our room by 6pm and with no TV, there are books to read until tiredness descends, and only the sound of a million birds singing through the long twilight.