Picton

On our bus we were welcomed by the Picton Flower Ladies, who offered us each a fresh boutonnière. One wife cried out, “are those roses?” and when the hostess waved one in her direction, she shouted that her husband was “deathly allergic” while said husband stood up and left the bus. Mrs. Deathly Allergic looked around for someone to sue or at least to scold. The Picton Flower Ladies were surprised and then departed our bus to offer flowers in the fresh air.

 I’m not inspecting the oldest merchant ship in the world, nor visiting the maritime museum to see what life onboard a convict ship was like. I’m also not sailing around Queen Charlotte Sound in a small boat looking for dolphins. And I am 100% not visiting the Picton Whaling Museum. Sometimes world heritage and I take a break from each other.

So we sauntered up the Tirohanga Track. We climbed switchbacks in the clay soil to a lookout, then looped around on the other side of the hill to walk back through town. We met Steve, a park ranger, who maintains the track. The track reminded me of Saint Joseph’s Hill south of Los Gatos but with tree ferns and palms. We saw sporty runner girls in sports bras and shorts, locals with thirsty doggies, and other visitors. Wildlife sightings: two Wēka, large flightless birds. The clerk in the Environment Centre shop scoffed and said they were pesty natives who ate endangered species and used their sharp beaks to spring the traps set for rats and possums. The Picton Dawn Chorus, a nonprofit, protects the birds, but not the Wēka.