Style: January 11, 2019

22 STYLE | special feature
DIARY OF A
BACH ROOKIE
Ella James spent 24 hours in the Marlborough Sounds, discovering
a few key tips to surviving a Kiwi summer along the way.
Having been tasked with writing a summer guide to
New Zealand’s South Island, I became painfully aware
that perhaps I haven’t explored my incredible surroundings
almost nearly enough. So, my boyfriend and I packed the
car, puppy and all, and headed for a night away in the
Marlborough Sounds.
To get to the bach in Blackwood Bay, we took the
water taxi from Picton. The sea was calm; the dog was not.
Luckily, it wasn’t long before we jumped onto the property’s
private jetty. We were left speechless by a wonderful bach
surrounded by serene waters that were alive with starfish,
rays and schools of fish. We filled the fridge with beers and
jumped into the sea to cool off. We were utterly secluded,
and it was paradise.
Later on, my boyfriend, the puppy and I dried off at the end
of the jetty. The only thing missing was a cold beer. I ran along
the crooked wooden jetty to the bach, a mirage of icy beers
ahead. And a mirage it was. As per most holiday rentals, the
last tenants had unplugged the fridge. Luke warm beers it was.
Back on the jetty, tepid beer in hand, the distant humming
of a speedboat grew louder. “Do you pair like mussels?” we
soon heard. A stocky male, arms dense with tattoos, grabbed
on to the jetty with one hand, offered a bucket of gargantuan
mussels in the other. For some time, the male told magical
tales of the waters that surrounded us, interrupted only by
the occasional insults that he spat out regarding the water
taxi companies and their absurd prices. As conversation grew
drier than our beer supply, the man stated, “The name’s
Tussock.” Then he was gone, sailing into the distance leaving
only a rather intimidating bucket of green lipped mussels.
The sun was beating down on the jetty unremorsefully,
so we decided to walk up to the waterfall to cool off. The
waterfall was supposedly a minute’s walk from the bach.
Thirty minutes had passed without seeing so much as a trickle
of water. The song Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls now seemed
all too relevant. By dinnertime the remaining beers were cold
and we feasted heartily on the colossal mussels. The sunset
was incredible and perfectly punctuated a perfect summer’s
day. Shades of pink grew more and more dramatic until
complete darkness and calm.
We rose early on Sunday morning to the sounds of the
ocean and the wildlife. All was gloriously peaceful, until the
puppy spotted her first weka.
All too soon the water taxi arrived. One night in this
haven simply wasn’t enough. Just a single night away from
civilisation, with limited phone signal had done the absolute
world of good. We felt refreshed, aligned and recharged.
As we approached Picton on the boat, I pictured myself
looking radiant and sun-kissed with tousled hair blowing in the
wind. The reality? Long, matted hair with a burnt nose and
shoulders. (How to spot a bach rookie.)
Car loaded, we started the journey back to Christchurch.
Just minutes in, it became apparent that the car wasn’t running
so smoothly. The culprit? A ginormous screw in the front right
tyre. The solution was simple, just switch the punctured tyre
with the spare tyre in the boot, right? My boyfriend looked
solemn, knowing all too well he hadn’t the faintest idea
how to change a tyre. Dog barking, boyfriend swearing, we
rolled to the nearest garage where an old, leathery mechanic
resolved the issue in the blink of an eye. Life was gloriously
easy at the car-free bach, I thought to myself.
Back on the road, we set our sights for Christchurch.
“Ah, I’ve got some pretty hectic stomach cramps,” my
boyfriend whimpered. Surely not the mussels?