Take A Different View of New Zealand

There’s an imposing, 1,800m peak that rises patiently out of the South Island’s Upper Waimakariri Basin called Mount Misery. It’s a name that seems more at home in Lord of the Rings than somewhere you might actually visit.

As with many place names in New Zealand (witness nearby Mount Horrible), it is a touch whimsical, conjuring images of tired pioneers too concerned with the business of survival to linger on poetic reference. Of course, it’s also a reflection of the country’s relative lack of history, a sense of newness that is reinforced by its shifting geology. As we hop down from the train at Cass, amid such rugged splendour, comparisons with the Scottish highlands are unavoidable. Still, there is something raw, the sense of a land in flux, to be found here. New Zealand is a land of frequent, low-level earthquake activity, and it shows.

As we take in the view, the endless horizons are reminiscent of driving across Montana’s ‘Big Sky Country’. Still, there remains an air of glorious unfamiliarity about the whole scene. It’s a composite of many places and yet seems utterly its own - mountains roll into hills, tumbling downward through shingled paths into deep blue lakes and rivers. Water tinged with rockflour from the mountains runs fast and white through rivers after rainfall. On the hillsides, shades of brown, yellow, green and grey mingle beneath the clouds, rising occasionally to snow-capped tips. One can only imagine what it must have been like when the first Europeans arrived here in 1857, how wild this land must have been. Mount Misery must have seemed quite an appropriate moniker. The Maori have a more romantic name for the range to which it belongs, calling it Kura Tawhiti, which translates as ‘treasure from afar’.

Cass train station is a shock to one familiar with the bustle of London commuting, amounting to little more than a freshly painted red shed. The ‘town’ this shed serves has a population of one - Barry, its self-appointed mayor and holder of an annual party known as the ‘Cass Bash’, rumoured to attract revellers in their hundreds. For the duration of our short visit, Barry remains a charismatic enigma.

After a short drive from Cass, our party arrives in a pair of Land Rovers at the Lodge’s main homestead. A working sheep station with 1,500 acres of land, Grasmere Lodge sits at the base of Mount Misery, its appointments and service putting it in the same league as Queenstown’s Blanket Bay and LakeTaupo’s Huka Lodge, the latter of which was hired to accommodate the Queen and her staff. Inside, the Scottish echo returns via Little House on the Prairie, with deep tartan carpets, a stag’s head and a most hospitable lounge with a grand piano and no shortage of alcohol. Everything seems perfectly at home in its surroundings.

There’s a symbiotic contentment between the people and the land in New Zealand, and it’s perhaps this sense of balance that breeds such a wariness of outside elements (beware bringing dirty hiking boots through customs). Almost all introduced animal life has had a detrimental effect, with the rampant Australian possum the current source of public ire. And rightly so - these nocturnal, brush tailed marsupials are responsible for widespread devastation of the scenery of which Kiwis are justly proud, and currently number anywhere between 70 and 90 million. But the country is not one to dwell unduly on the negative. In an enterprising development, possum fur, reportedly the fourth warmest in the world, has been blended with that of the Merino sheep to produce the eminently practical ‘Merino mink’. A good number of these fine-wooled sheep are shorn at Grasmere Lodge.

Anyway, I digress. Back to that lounge; Grasmere’s proprietor, Tom, flits effortlessly between guests during pre-dinner drinks, while a fire roars in the hearth. His easygoing, practical and attentive manner is echoed throughout his staff. Passing back through to twin dining rooms, we pass a kitchen in determined form before enjoying an exquisite five-course meal. Dining here is a relaxed experience, unbuttoned but far from untidy. Considering our fine surroundings, I initially despaired at the absence of my dinner jacket - but there is no standing on ceremony. Afterwards, we retire once more to the bar, and then bed. Even the basic rooms are jaw-dropping, with high ceilings, expansive views, complimentary port and more pillows than anyone could reasonably expect. The chalet and cottage suites further up the hill beggar description, but have a more modern edge. All this comes at a price, of course – but for a couple of days’ luxury, Grasmere is well worth it.

For most visitors, getting out and about is surely the point, and there’s all manner of ways to do it. There are some local, relatively easygoing walks, while Grasmere also borders Arthur’s Pass National Park for the more intrepid. Mountain bikes can be good fun (but watch out for puddles, which can be deeper than you think), while there’s also kayaking, fishing and horse riding. Many farmers in the area still use horses to muster sheep throughout the local hills, often leaving their homes for days at a time. After taking just a short ride around the outskirts of the Lodge, you can imagine why. There are places here that you simply couldn’t take a 4X4. Grasmere also possesses a mini-airstrip and helipad, allowing scenic flights and visits to the glaciers further west, as well as heli-skiing access to small ski fields. All this exposure to nature will likely leave with you a healthy glow, but there’s also a spa on site for those who fancy a spot of pampering.

Ultimately, one senses that you could never leave Grasmere with the feeling that you’d seen it all. There’s always so much more. And, while this feeling is echoed wherever you visit in the South Island, at Cass, as you jump back onto the train bound for either east or west, you may find it especially hard to shake.