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Blackball LivesBy Victoria DewBlackball, New Zealand—
The best and the worst thing about Blackball is that it’s pretty much in the middle of nowhere. The nearest real cities are Christchurch (155 miles/3.5 hours away) and Nelson (180 miles/ 4 hours away). However, my native guide, Duncan, had been eager to show me “The Real New Zealand;” the rugged, mining country of the South Island’s West coast. And what could be more Kiwi than Blackball (located 17 miles northeast of the ”bustling metropolis” of Greymouth,) a working class village and early hotbed of socialism. In 1908, the Blackball Miners’ “Crib Time” Strike sought to extend their lunch break (or “Crib”) from fifteen to thirty minutes. The community famously rallied together to defeat the mine owners. The Miner’s Federation was formed and the New Zealand Communist Headquarters was founded in, of all places, Blackball. The Miners’ 1931 strike lasted fifteen weeks – the longest in the country’s history, and lead to the birth of what would become New Zealand’s modern day Labor Party. With the last mine closure in 1964, Blackball, like so many other towns just like it, should have been become a ghost town. It has instead evolved into a strange blend of hardened, old school “Coasters,” as West coast natives call themselves, urban refugees in search of a little peace and quiet, and adventurous travelers who venture off the beaten track. The obstinate, rough-and-tumble spirit of the old mining town remains alive and well in these parts, as evidenced in the quirky renaming of the Hilton Blackball after a trademark scuffle with the international hotel chain of the same name.
At first glance, we might have been put off, but inside the pub we found red and white-checkered dining room tables littered with welcoming little place cards –one of them with our names neatly printed on it. Innkeeper, Jane Wells, goes out of her way to create a family-style, come-as-you-are ambience. The sitting room walls are covered in framed newspaper clippings commemorating the strike era. The rooms upstairs are smallish and decorated with flea market finds. All guest rooms have shared baths. The whole place has the feel of a hostel for the over-40, underemployed set. Formerly the Blackball Hilton is, after all, a great value: a room with breakfast is US$35, per person, and with breakfast and dinner, US$55, per person. The Miner’s Cottage was US$45, per person, with breakfast and dinner. The half-dozen wacky stories you’ll tell when you get home are complimentary. Back at the Miner’s Cottage, Duncan and I did have our own bathroom, but I had a bit of trouble locating the actual toilet. At first I thought that perhaps I was blinded by the orange, 1970’s, floral wallpaper, but after running back to the hotel to query Jane, I discovered that the loo was safely under lock and key in a shack at the back of the cottage. Jane had told us that dinner would be served at 7:30p.m, so Duncan and I arrived at 7:15 to enjoy a cocktail beforehand. We needn’t have worried about being late; there were no signs of dinner until over and hour later, which gave us ample time to sit outside and chat (somewhat nervously, at first) with the locals. I learned that several of the gentlemen worked at the salami factory up the street or at a nearby slaughterhouse. Beyond that, I had to rely on Duncan for translation; Kiwi-English is nearly incomprehensible in these parts, so much so that even my native guide looked a bit bewildered at times. It so happens that the unassuming-looking Blackball Salami Company is actually a famous, award-winning national treasure. Owner, Pat Kennedy, supplies many of the finest restaurants in New Zealand and is best known for his signature low-fat venison salami. Paradoxically, as rough-hewn as locals appeared, the hotel guests were surprisingly well heeled. We met folks from England, and Australia who had heard about the legendary Formerly the Blackball Hilton, and had made special and considerable efforts to get there. Visitors flock to the hotel not only for its quaint and quirky style, but also for the nearly limitless adventures that lie in close proximity. Deceptively sleepy at first, Blackball is actually a holidaymaker’s dream base camp. The region is home to incredibly diverse natural landscapes and in or within 30 minutes of the town are literally dozens of unique activities for every kind of traveler. Blackball itself offers abandoned mines to explore. Tours of the ventilation chimneys of the coalmines gives visitors a good idea why the miners demanded those extra fifteen minutes for lunch. Some gold mines will even let you pan for your own gold. Heli-biking companies transport outdoorsy types to the top of a mountain by helicopter so they can then bike down alpine trails at breakneck speeds. Jane Wells herself leads historic walking tours of the town that even include the underground tunnels. “You’ll need a torch and gummies, (flashlight and heavy rubber boots)” she warns ominously. Further south, in Charleston, Underworld Rafting offers tours of underground rivers. Also known as black water rafting, it is literally caving in a boat. If that isn’t enough, there is also trout and salmon fishing, horseback riding, tramping (hiking,) dolphin watching, ‘possum hunting and swimming to pass the time.
And then a funny thing happened. After a couple of glasses of wine, a hearty dinner, and some fascinating, if completely idiomatic conversation, I began to settle into the strange spirit of Blackball. I felt more at home with the rural idiosyncrasies of Jane, the locals and the fact that we were staying in a dead woman’s house. It was all beginning to seem perfectly normal and for a moment, I felt like I never wanted to leave. I wondered if Duncan felt the same way, but I got my answer when I found him outside strumming away on someone’s guitar. All photographs by Victoria Dew BIO: Victoria Dew is a Los Angeles based writer who has spent her entire career working in film and television. Having survived the wilds of Hollywood for more than seven years, she is currently seeking greener pastures and cleaner air in New Zealand; once she longed to be Bi-Coastal, now she is about to become Bi-Hemispheric. |
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It was our first glimpse of The Miner’s Cottage, part
of the intriguingly named hotel, Formerly The Blackball Hilton (.jpg)
Duncan
had reserved the Miner’s Cottage, about 500 yards down the road from the
hotel itself, because he thought it sounded more romantic. But when arrived
at the cottage, we noticed that it seemed to be distinctly sinking into the
ground on one side. In fact, it looked very much like Dorothy’s house once
it finally touched down in Munchkin Land. Inside, even the décor seemed-- to
me at least, the New Zealand equivalent of Kansas chic. .jpg)
Walking
into Formerly the Blackball Hilton is like walking into a novel; a dark,
quirky, slightly surreal novel. The building itself is weatherworn
but inviting. On the afternoon Duncan and I arrived, the front patio was
populated by men drinking pints and rolling cigarettes while teaching their
scruffy looking sons how to fling pebbles at passing dogs with a rubber
band. 
Lower adrenalin activities are also plentiful; touring
nearby Monteith’s Brewery, there’s arts and crafts shopping in Greymouth,
the stunning “pancake rocks” of Punakaiki, and plenty of Golf and Tennis.
Jane and her team are happy to help plan and book all activities.
When
dinner did finally appear that evening, Jane plopped down at our table and
regaled us with stories about the town. As it turns out, the Miner’s Cottage
is a fairly recent acquisition; it had belonged to an eighty-something year
old woman who had lived there most of her adult life. When she passed away,
the hotel purchased the house. Suddenly, the bizarre, little cottage began
to make sense; everything in it was exactly as the old woman had left it.
The wallpaper, the juice glasses, the coverlets – not even the 2001 wall
calendar in the kitchen had been replaced.