West Coast Contemplations

I blinked. Rubbed my eyes. Blinked again. The sun was so bright, trying to burst through my eyelids, as if it desperately wanted to show me something. Reaching for sunglasses, I opened my eyes. 

We were gliding through wooded hills, basking in the morning sun. The land rolled; down and around we went, curving along the hills, through valleys not yet touched by the sun, and then back up to the bright golden hill-tops. The South Island, I breathed. As if he could read my mind, Tommy opened all the windows to let the fresh air gush into the Emerald Wagon. It was invigorating.

“Woah!” I couldn’t contain my excitement. The middle seat definitely had the best views! “Yeeep! She’s beautiful!” Tommy said in a deep country voice. His light-orange hair was surfing the wind. Ethan was leaning forward in the front seat, as if the drive was a rollercoaster ride. Toby on my left was half out the window, hair blowing wildly. Our Queenstown show wasn’t for another two days yet - we had two days to just drive and explore the West Coast. “Epic!"

— — — 

Nelson was our first stop. The town felt quaint and inviting as we headed for its centre, driving down wide roads lined with trees, perfectly shaped and bursting at the seams with green. Pot plants hung from roofs, spilling bright red flowers. In Nelson, it seemed, Spring never ended. We parked up and tumbled out. A tremendous sense of aliveness filled these streets, even though few people were wandering them. It was about 10am. We all dispersed. 

I plodded down the brick pavement, perfectly content. There was something about the vibe of the place, or maybe it was the pleasant appearance of the buildings and the brick-laid footpaths, that made me feel like I was back in the South Island. Magic still exists here, I thought to myself with a smile. Normally, I would have headed straight to a cafe for a coffee and maybe a cheese scone. But Nelson made me feel so calm that all I wanted to eat was some fruit! My Feiyues met the pavement with a light tap. tap. as I followed an alleyway, took a right turn, took a left turn, found a toilet, tried to find the others, took another right turn, and then…. 

“A piano! What!” I said out loud. It sat there, on the street, dressed in the colour of the sky and just asking to be brought to life. The sight of it alone had charmed me. I went up and sat down, automatically placing my fingers on the keyboard. The keys felt aged, but loved. This piano did not share the fate of many - gathering dust in some household, unplayed and unloved. It was here, on the streets of Nelson, open to all. I wonder who has played on this piano.

I started playing a song I had composed, called ‘Butterfly’. It was the first tune that came to mind, and matched the Nelson scene with beautiful precision. I hadn’t played piano since before the tour began, and I lost myself for a moment. Suddenly, I had finished the song, and turned to find a few people clapping and smiling behind me. “Go on, play another!” said one of the ladies. Wow! This is surreal! After a moment of consideration, I cascaded into another song - St Clair, it was called. St Clair…

In that moment, fingers fluttering as they were, I was reminded of something I had seemingly swept under the carpet this whole tour. I was the Synth Bass player in SHEEP. I played bass for SHEEP’s songs; for Tommy’s songs… And yet, that was hardly my full expression as a musician. After all, I am a piano player and a composer of my own music. I am a busker, performer; an artist in my own right. Both within and without SHEEP, I am Joshua St Clair. This journey is as much for Joshua St Clair as is it is for SHEEP… 

“Ah there you are! I heard piano down the road, and thought it might be you,” Toby said with a smile. “We gotta head off. The others are already in the car.” I gently closed the lid of the piano, and went to follow Toby. It was time to make haste; time to head toward the West Coast, and onwards to Queenstown!

— — — 

From Nelson, we headed South-West through the upper reaches of the South Island: rich farm-country and forested valleys. We enjoyed the scenery with loud music blaring in our ears, and spilled crumbs as we munched on bread; crumbs I offered to Fish and Mouse in their cage, who graciously accepted them. After a few hours, they were getting restless in their cage, as were Ethan and I in the back. We needed to stretch our legs again - it seemed that the South Island was providing us with more energy than we could handle.

We pulled up in a big green field and each leapt out of the Wagon and onto the soft grass; it was like sponge. Tommy unleashed Fish and Mouse from their cage. They frolicked in the grass like tiny dogs, darting to a fro, climbing Tommy as if he were a mountain, only to leap from him and sprint away again. I realised that I needed to do what they were doing - I felt as if all my energy and excitement had pooled up in my bones. Kung Fu.. thats what I need to do! 

My Feiyues bounced off the grass as I did some warm-ups and started punching and kicking that energy loose. It had been many years since I practiced Kung Fu regularly, and I was terribly rusty, but my body still remembered the movements. I threw myself into the Butterfly Kick, and the Tornado kick, and even practiced one of the old forms I competed with as a child, called Gong Li. These were all movements I used to do quite well. But there was one I still had not yet done successfully: The no-handed cartwheel. The grass is spongey enough. Surely I can do it now!

I eyed the grass before me. Prepared mentally. Prepared physically. Breathed deeply. And then I ran, jumped, kicked my legs up behind me, and just before I made it to the other side, I shoved my hand down to catch myself. Fail. Dammit! So close. The others sat by, twirling the grass in their fingers, watching Fish and Mouse and talking. I have to get it now! I tried again, and failed again. I was so close… And then, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my two crystals: a Citrine and a Greenstone, holding them in my hands. Now I can’t put my hands down. With a tight grip on the crystals, I went for it, and actually landed my first ever no-handed cartwheel. I couldn’t believe it. 

I was on the window seat as we made our way from the park to Greymouth, gazing out at the passing landscapes, wondering about my Kung Fu past and its strange connection to the journey we were on. Practicing Kung Fu in that field made my whole body feel alive and wonderful, as if the movements filled me with all the vitality of the park itself. I knew that true Kung Fu was not for the purpose of fighting. As an Ancient Chinese art form, it has its roots in the cultivation of the heart and mind - that is what Coach Guo had said. I wondered ever more about why this journey had redirected me to my connection with Ancient Chinese culture, and had pointed me towards Taoism, an Ancient Chinese Spiritual practice. The Prophecy and the Pilgrimage aye… What am I to find in Dunedin? Some Kung Fu master of something??

— — — 

The hours passed by, and the day dimmed as the sun receded behind thick clouds. The valley we had travelled through eventually opened up to the infinitely wide, grey ocean. It looked grumpy underneath the overcast sky, its surface ruffled and choppy. We drove across a bridge to the town at the edge of the ill-tempered seascape. The grey buildings all clumped together looked as moody as its surroundings. Behind the wheel, Tommy was getting excited. “Greymouth! Man, this place is so cool!” I looked back at the estuary we just drove over, expanding out and merging with the ocean. “I can’t believe it,” I said. “This place really is a grey mouth!” 

We drove through the town to the docks. The streets were quiet, and the lack of people inspired a sense of mystery. The Emerald Wagon was certainly not quiet though - it was as if Tommy had found his true homeland. “We should have a gig here, with the Rothmans. Man that would be so mint!” We parked up at the end of the road, and got out. The wind was rough, battering us and sending the back of Toby’s jacket flailing. “Woooo! That wind is chilly!” He exclaimed. I looked around. A big mechanical thing jutted out in front of us, decaying in rust. This is the West Coast huh? It wasn’t quite what I expected. “Greymouth is pretty sick,” Ethan said. We hopped back in the car and headed for higher ground, for a good view of the place. Tommy scouted a big mound at the end of a back-road, littered with dead trees and branches. He was in Heaven. “I’ve decided I’m moving to Greymouth when I’m older. Yep. Gonna start a heavy metal band here, it will be FUUULLLY MINT!”

The day was darkening by the minute as we left Greymouth behind us. We had been on the road since the crack of dawn, and tiredness was starting to eat away at us. Yet, we didn’t know where we were going to sleep that night. “Damn, we should have found a place to stay in Greymouth,” Toby said from the front. “There was nothing there,” said Ethan. “We can’t even afford that anyway. Well, I definitely can’t.” His vape crackled as he drew from it. “Na man! Like, we could have played a show at a bar there for accomodation or something,” Tommy said. “Trade music for food and a bed, like in those stories?” I asked. “I like the sound of that!” Suddenly appearing out of the the darkness on the road ahead of us was a road sign that said Kumara 10KM. It pointed to the left. Within a split second, Tommy slowed the Wagon and turned down the road. “Maybe we can try that in Kumara.” 

Spontaneous decisions like this one excite me, and I was really quite keen to see if we could play a SHEEP show for a night’s stay. Kumara was barely a town at all, but its pub was unmistakable - a bold looking building on the main road, holding the iconic Speights logo. We each hobbled through the door and into the brightly lit pub with extravagant carpets and elegant lamps on the walls. “This is no place for a SHEEP show…” Tommy said, and Ethan chuckled awkwardly. Some folks glanced up at us as we took a table - we were definitely out of place here. The first thing I noticed, though, was a piano, sitting on a small stage. “I’m gonna see if I can play, at least! Let’s see if my music can win us a nights stay.” 

I asked the bartender, and she said I could play a couple of songs. Thankfully, I didn’t mention anything about trading some piano music for accommodation for 4 people and 2 rats. I would have looked crazy. So I got up and played some tunes as the others enjoyed a beer. When I had finished, the kind bartender brought us over a bowl of chips. “That’s for playing,” she said with a smile. None of us could believe it - I really traded music for food! “Well, it’s not a room. But chips will do!”

We ended up scouting a campsite in the middle of nowhere, and pitched our 3 person tent on a lumpy patch of grass. Sleep came easily, regardless of the rough ground.

— — —

We woke to rain pattering on the tent. The boil on my neck was particularly painful, which made packing the tent down in the rain a whole lot worse. Eventually, we were all clogged up in the Emerald Wagon, sodden from the West Coast downpour which only continued to get heavier. By this stage, I had already resigned to the discomfort. We were on an adventure, after all.

Through the storm we sailed - packed tightly in the Emerald Wagon as the West Coast was being soaked by thick clouds heaving with rain. Low myst creeped through the trees on the sides of the road, and made West Coast feel like one big sentient mystery, hiding something with all its heavy rain and cloud. West Coast is notorious for such weather. It wasn’t a bad thing. “This is the best scenery of the whole tour!” Tommy said. “I don’t know why people say that when it’s rainy and cloudy, it’s ‘bad weather’. It’s not bad weather…” He was right. The moodiness seemed characteristic to the West Coast, and certainly inspired my imagination. What we could see of the landscape we were driving through looked like Jurassic Park, ancient and mystifying. If a dinosaur walked across the road in front of us I wouldn’t have even questioned it. 

In the later half of the day, we came upon the Franz Josef Glacier and eagerly headed down the stone trail. The rain had subsided, but clouds still padded the sky and roiled around the mountains that stood above us. The great mountain peaks of Mt Cook and his brethren were shrouded, and were not revealed as we descended into the valley. This place is mythic, I thought to myself the closer we got to the glacier. It was the most epic place we had been in the whole tour, and I quietly contemplated the journey for what it was. From the bustling city streets of Auckland and Wellington, to the raging Tauranga gig, to this mystical valley deep within the heart of the South Island. In that moment, it truly felt like a pilgrimage. A spiritual journey. And we were yet on our way to Queenstown, the place within these mountains that had birthed ‘Joshua St Clair’. I was feeling truly at home in the South Island, this legendary land.

— — —

The day quickly slipped through our fingers. It was pitch black outside by the time we reached Haast, and went into a diner for food. Ethan had a map loaded up on his phone, and was scouting the area. “Yep,” he said. “There are no campsites nearby.” I chewed my steak, trying to think up a solution. “Maybe we can just freedom camp here in Haast?” Toby suggested. “Hmmm, na probably not a good idea aye,” Tommy said. He took a huge bite from his burger, swallowed, and then said “Straight down the gullet!” We were treating ourselves to a nice big meal - it was delicious compared to the chutney rolls we were eating all the way down. “I thought there would have been more campsites on the West Coast,” I said. “Oh well. I guess we should just drive straight to Queenstown tonight then, and camp there. It’s not that far.” I gulped down the rest of my steak. 

And so, our journey down the West Coast ended as it had started - all of us crammed inside the Emerald Wagon, flickering in and out of sleep. My eyes drooped in tiredness - Toby and Ethan were already fast asleep, as well as Fish and Mouse, tucked up in their red hammock. Tommy was behind the wheel again, making the most of his ungodly energy to carry us safely to Queenstown. 

I passed into a dreamless sleep, as we hurtled deeper and deeper into the mountains in the thick of the night.