Rising early we breakfasted in a very nice Christchurch cafe and then proceeded to the airfield and found that our aircraft were still where we had tied them up and no cheeky imps had pilfered fuel or wheels. We planned our route with the minimum of fuss at Christchurch Aero Club (Do you know how we're departing, where we need to end up and which railway line to follow through the mountains?, yes, thats good enough, follow us...) while the aircraft defrosted in the morning sun. We stowed the luggage area and Alex then realised there was someone watching us. Some sort of spotter - complete with waxed utility style bodywarmer effort - was taking pictures of us and darting back and forth from his covert hiding places. Alex said hello and over he came, camera in hand snapping away at our Katanas, even daring to reach over and photograph the Katana cockpit. "Don't see many of these round these parts" he said, and seemed to have scared himself with his confidence and scurried off to a safer distance...until he discovered new heights of boldness and popped up again when we'd taxid to the fuel pumps.
Today's flying was going to separate the men from the boys.
Having kicked the tyres, lighted the fires and declared that the first one in the air was to be the leader, we took off on the grass parallel to the main runway and Alex bacame very excitable when he realised there was a heavy to our right also rolling at the same time. Departing via the low flying area we followed the River Waimak to the Southern Alps and climbed into the valleys making for Arthur's Pass which would take us snaking through the peaks to the Western side of the Island, following for the most part, the world famous TranzAlpine Railway, rated as one of the world's top six train journeys. The scenery was breathtaking and the flying exhilarating. The alpine air was extremely clean, which was fortunate considering the small cockpits and a Thai meal the evening before. Coming out of the other side of the mountains we transitted overhead Hokitika on the Western coast before turning East and heading for the Whitcombe river.
If Arthur's passage (!) was breathtaking, Whitcombe pass was awesome, with higher peaks, more snow, more rugged terrain, more mountain flying skill required and more downdrafts...as James G and Rowan discovered!
Out the other side we headed over the dry (due to a Fohn wind for those who are interested...) baron flat lands of the East side to Timarou where we stopped for fuel. We met another strange bloke with longish hair at the Aero club here who came over to look at our aircraft and then seemed also to become scared and run away, observing at a distance with some others who appeared. We thought he'd gone to sit on a bridge and could have sworn we heard distant banjo music. There was also a mad old professor type terrorising the circuit in a bright yellow James Bond esque gyrocopter. A small child arrived for a pleasure flight and its father was convinced one of us was going to take it, mmm, perhaps not, well unless he wanted to be filled with terror in the lumps and bumps of the mountains where we were going, to say nothing of hitting his head on the roof.
And so back over the mountains heading North West this time at high level (10000' since you asked), and then to Nelson for the night on the Northern tip of the South Island. We found a convenient motor lodge and proceeded to find a restaurant.
We found the 'Nelson Suburban Club' and had a nice roast buffet in a club that resembled Phoenix Nights with a seventies theme and an 'are you local?' atmosphere. Heading off into town we found a bar and lots of Nelsonites who were all as grumpy and depressed as each other, an most obscure place. One of the highlights of the evening was an in depth (excuse the pun) discussion about nuclear submarines, weirdly.
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