Wild at heart

A heartfelt sculpture sits on the shore of Lake Paringa. Photos by Pam Jones.
A heartfelt sculpture sits on the shore of Lake Paringa. Photos by Pam Jones.
Rimu forest overlooks giant tree trunks at Bruce Bay, on the West Coast.
Rimu forest overlooks giant tree trunks at Bruce Bay, on the West Coast.
Ponga ferns create a special centrepiece along the wild West Coast. Photo by Alex Vilel.
Ponga ferns create a special centrepiece along the wild West Coast. Photo by Alex Vilel.
A clear day welcomes fishermen and women at the Jackson Bay wharf.
A clear day welcomes fishermen and women at the Jackson Bay wharf.
Autographed rocks are piled high by passers-by at Bruce Bay.
Autographed rocks are piled high by passers-by at Bruce Bay.

Wild as it is, the West Coast welcomes visitors, Pam Jones writes.

You could pluck bright flowers to deposit in grimy jars, cook complicated meals to enjoy across intimate tables or charter a small plane and splash your intentions across the sky.

Or, as one sentimental soul has done on the wild West Coast, you could declare your love in a humble, heartfelt monument on a distant, stony shore.

''I heart you'', it murmurs quietly beside a lapping Lake Paringa.

Is the sculptor crouching beside their loved one as they create their heart-shaped tribute?

Is it their soulmate they are celebrating?

The West Coast they love?

Or life itself?

It does not matter as we stumble across the gentle, grainy gesture beneath a silent, sheltering sky.

My youngest is trying unsuccessfully to catch a fish and my husband is warding off the sandflies but, to me, this moment by a still, steady lake could not be more perfect.

Oh, the wonders of the West Coast.

I heart you too.

We are on day one of a four-day sojourn along part of the South Island's most dramatic coastline and could not have got off to a better start.

It is a rare opportunity for our family of five to snatch so many days together, and the celebration of a family milestone as well.

My outwardly flamboyant but inside soft-at-heart husband has politely declined the offer of a large, wine-filled 40th and decided to take his wife and three children on a short family holiday instead.

He grew up beside the Atlantic, so it is no surprise he has taken to this wild, stormy sea, good-naturedly transferring his love to the Tasman while he is away from his beloved Peniche (Portugal).

And today even the weather gods are being kind to us.

There have been only suggestions of rain as we took a slow route from Central Otago to Bruce Bay, tussocks and thyme giving way to cabbage trees and flax as we wove past Lake Hawea, Makarora and the gates of Haast.

Used to dry, dusty hills, we revel in the green, misty landscape.

Jurassic Park-like bluffs stand as stewards over our winding drive.

We stroll through moss-laden totara forests as we visit the icy Blue Pools, and coo over a host of delightful place names.

Flax Mill Creek, Roaring Billy Falls and Dancing Creek no doubt honour some person, flora or sentiment dear to someone with influence over the early labelling of our country.

Kea, Kaka and Rata creeks are just straight-out cute.

The Curly Tree Whitebait Company has a ''sold out'' sign beside its roadside stall at Waita Creek, but a dozen caravans are camped out awaiting the start of the whitebaiting season.

No matter, as we have already filled up with a round of ice-creams and hot chips at the Haast township's Fantail Cafe.

The clean-cut cafe is doing a roaring trade from a mix of camouflage-dressed hunters and fishermen and camera-clicking tourists.

Nearby the Department of Conservation Haast Visitor Centre - surely one of the best Doc centres in New Zealand - reminds us we are exploring the Te Wahipounamu South West New Zealand World Heritage Area.

Large displays tell us of the endangered Haast Tokoeka kiwi - one of the rarest in the country - and ask us to consider buying possum-fur creations to help stamp out the devastating predator.

My husband applies another layer of insect repellent as we head towards the much photographed Knight's Point.

He swears the sandflies there are as big as elephants, but also states that any day you can smell insect repellent is a good one because it means you are on the West Coast.

But - perhaps more experienced in the vagaries of the insidious insect than I - he is scathing of my preferred variety of repellent.

I have chosen the non-greasy, softly scented, family-care variety for my children and me. He has gone for 20% Deet.

We pull in at our home for the next two nights, the Hokitika Angling Club's Bruce Bay fishing hut.

Literally a stone's throw from the beach, we pinch ourselves as we scramble down its rocky shore.

If New Zealand's picture-perfect, family and surfing-friendly beaches are the beauty queen and girl-next-door varieties of our long, stretched coastline, then the South Island's West Coast is surely a diamond in the rough, an honest, free-spirited bad boy that you love for its irreverence and pure, beating heart.

My sons immediately seize upon the machetes and pocket knives from the small arsenal brought with us to make driftwood clubs and chisel names in the giant tree trunks that litter the sand.

A bonfire is constructed within minutes, and we toast damper and marshmallows before heading back to the hut to cook bacon butties for tea.

A thumping, thunderous sea watches over us as we head north on day two.

We arrive at Fox Glacier after a short drive and invigorating walk.

Dozens of others have the same idea, but the steady trail of visitors does nothing to dim the brightness of the creaking, white-blue glacier.

A round of drinks in Fox Glacier township is followed by a drive back past Bruce Bay to the South Westland Salmon Farm, where we invest in a packet of their smoked best for tomorrow's dinner.

There is still no rain, but no fresh fish either; an attempt in the Paringa River by the boys proves fruitless.

Back at the hut, we wait for darkness and then dispatch a tissue-paper ''lucky lantern'' into the night sky.

Day three marks the 40th anniversary of the arrival of the father of my children into this world.

We head south to celebrate, passing more fragrant forest and being courted by flirty fantails at roadside stops.

We add a Vilela-Jones contribution to the mounds of autographed rocks piled along the highway, and glimpse Hector's dolphins in the surf at Ship Creek.

Later, we are thrilled by a close-up viewing of a pod of eight bottlenose dolphins on the way to Jackson Bay.

We watch them glide and feed for half an hour 20m away from us before they somersault off into the distance.

We spend our third night in a hut on Neil's Beach, where the chopper pads and chiller garages sprinkled throughout the tiny community hint at the serious fishing and hunting that goes on here.

Several kilometres down the road at Jackson Bay wharf, my son and daughter finally each catch a fish, small sea perch that we return to the water.

We explore the nearby Jackson River before heading back to the hut for smoked salmon risotto, sauvignon blanc and a late-night poker session with the children.

A light rain farewells us as we leave on our fourth and final day.

It seems fitting and fair after three sun-filled days; we view it as a friendly gesture.

We retrace our steps past chinking waterfalls and more cute place-names - Fantail Falls, Young River Valley, Greenstone and Crikey creeks.

Our stops are few - work and reality beckon - but we feel utterly refreshed by our mini-break.

Family holidays do not need to cost a fortune - we have done this one on a song by bunking down in fishing huts and bringing most of our food with us.

And - with our children aged 15, 13 and 11 - we are enjoying snatching as much family time as we can, before our children scatter off into adulthood.

Our trip to the West Coast has illustrated what really matters: the importance of being with the ones you love, the freedom to run free on a stormy beach, the sweet-salty taste of the sea on your lips.

Happy birthday Nuno.

• Pam Jones is a reporter at The News, Lakes District and Central Otago.

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