Slumps, bumps on path to paradise
Press cartoonist AL NISBET likes to push the edgeswhenit comes to social commentary. But sometimes things can be toomuch even for him – like trying to survive in Christchurch. He explainshowthe house hunting in Nelson is going.
I’ve always wanted to live in Nelson. It’s close to outdoor paradise destinations like the Sounds, Golden Bay and the Lakes, and I love fishing. The city is also quite nice in its own right, too.
Then there’s the weather: warmer, milder, and not a lot of flamin’ easterlies – apart from when I’m there on holiday, of course. That’s when it lashes down from all points of the compass, especially if I take my tent. Any hint of me camping, and major calamities will follow. Many people have told me that the bad news follows me as a result of all the cynicism and negativity I thrive on to do my job. I wouldn’t say Iwas cynical and negative, though. Bitter and twisted, maybe.
So when the chance finally came to escape the rockin’ and rollin’ of Christchurch, grab my partner Carol and make an assault on Nelson’s fairer climes, I jumped at it. Carol was keen, too. The last 4.6 in the middle of the night was one too many.
Like many in Christchurch, we had been red-zoned. Our little enclave at Brooklands was to be no more. Even our street sign now read ‘‘no exit’’– hardly a good point in real estate terminology.
We had been heavily affected in the September 4 quake. The place looked like a special effects movie set, cratered and broken – a bit like us. Even our ageing bodies had developed a list to port. Our house was liveable, but on a lean. On February 22, 2011, the rest of the city caught up.
The Port-a-loos had taken root when they were finally removed, complete with their Sky aerials and cat doors. After 14 long months, the Cera decision had been made, the offers were on the table, and my three kids had pretty much moved out.
We had previously been scanning the internet for possible properties in Nelson. But, typically, as soon we had started looking, a 100-year rainstorm complete with floods and slips made a beeline for the streets and houses we’d just been street viewing on Google. The same houses were appearing on the six o’clock news that night. The bad vibes were gaining new strength. We would have to go up and see for ourselves.
So with the laptop at the ready for work purposes, cellphone charged and cask of wine suitably begging to be torn apart, we booked ourselves into a small cabin in Tahunanui and began a blitzkrieg of open homes and single viewings.
I know it sounds dumb leaving an earthquake-prone city to begin looking at properties high up on hills, but coming from the lowlands of Christchurch, there is the temptation of being ‘‘up’’ and being able to look over and down.
I had a list of properties that had commanding views out over Tasman Bay in some form or another. Many of these were multimillion-dollar mansions and would never be seen as suitable replacements for our existing house. It was a stipulation by our insurance company that a replacement had to be of a similar standard to what we had beforehand, so we had to make sure it was technically approved by them before making any offers. But it was going to be fun having a pipe dream for a while.
So with a growing optimism at the possibilities, and with a multitude of hill and lowland positions to check out, we set off to look. Our golden rule was: ‘‘Don’t buy another older place like the one we had.’’
So what did we do? The first place we looked at was an older place like the one we had. But the one we had at least had a 10.0 earthquake excuse for its appearance, unlike this supposedly pristine property.
This one had a deck and a view of an overgrown tree and some moss. Plus the wallpaper was old, and the general decor was shabby. There was also a door hanging by three nails, which the agent was wrestling with. Maintaining his professionalism, he offered us chocolate and talked fishing spots once he knew we weren’t interested. I like agents like that.
Next was a quaint little place down a mountainous goat track of an access road. It had superb decks and a hint of a view over the Boulder Bank. The only problem was trying to turn the car around at the end. It meant a 27-point turn on a narrow slope. And there was the shaky balustrade on the deck, plus the volume of giant forest tree canopy that needed trimming.
Then we heard about a classic. We swore we would avoid any situation with potential problems. But like bees to a honey pot, off we went to seriously consider a large hillside home described as a 70s masterpiece with garish colours, unfinished gibbing, great views . . . and its own EQC claim!
Yes, in the big storm, half the drive-on accessway had disappeared off the hillside. Luckily, common sense kicked in, especially as we stood on the edge of the slip staring at the boundary fence that hung in mid-air across the void where tarmac had once been.
We checked out a place in Atawhai that – according to the chap showing it – was the only house worth buying in Nelson. True, it was warm. True, it was solid. ‘‘Good bones,’’ he had said.
Pity about the muscle, meat and sinew, I thought. It was rather tricky hearing him above the crescendo of motorway traffic hurtling past on its way to Blenheim. ‘‘It does quieten down later,’’ he said. ‘‘About 9.30.’’
We said goodbye and headed back to Tahuna, where a cartoon had to be created. It was difficult coming up with themes outside of houses, foundations and land issues, especially as we had a multitude of properties to view over the coming week. As I had tried to explain to the agents, we were more interested in finding a setting, rather than just a house. I fell immediately in love with another place . . . until we discovered a fault line lay 20 metres from themailbox.
The next few days became a blur as we charged around the Nelson streets and suburbs, searching for that perfect setting. I’m not saying that the hills are steep, but we hired Sherpas before clambering up stony pathways into the death zone to view some of the more expensive abodes.
We staggered into the chilling depths to view icy cold cottages shrouded in permafrost and shadow. We even checked out a waterside cottage where the agent stood staring out across the mudflats for an eternity before announcing: ‘‘In the last king tide, the waters only reached the garden shed.’’
One place we looked at had a lovely deck where you could bask in the sun in brief attire – but you’d have the occupants of four houses staring at you.
Their proximity was so close that you could have a five-way conversation and a few beers without any of you having to leave the safety of your own house . . . or your own bed, for that matter.
That’s the thing about Nelson. When it comes to dwellings, they really cram them into every available space. One place was set so close to the road that the ‘‘No overtaking’’ sign was almost attached to the bathroom wall.
We also looked at sections, because a rebuild was a possibility. One development caught our eye. It had sun, some bushy hills and a nice view of some recent slips in the corner.
‘‘Great,’’ I thought. ‘‘Slipview Lane.’’ Yet another appeared to have lovely bush enclaves, walking tracks, native birdsong . . . and massive power pylons humming away, trying to drown out the birdsong.
The last development we saw looked quite attractive, especially when the sun’s rays finally illuminated the frosted husks of vegetation about 1pm. ‘‘Stuck in a bit of a valley, that one.’’
By the end of the week, we were no closer to buying a property. But at least we had narrowed it down to the ‘‘upper- middle South Island’’, I thought cartoonistically.
The thought occurred that as technology was helping me send cartoons around the country, maybe it could help with house searching?
So we wandered into the Nelson City Council. We even managed to park right out the front, and were served almost immediately. I explained to the council staff member that we were red-zoned, and were looking at property and needed information. Immediately, she called up the properties in question on her computer. Amazingly, these were the places we had just been looking at – outlined in red, problems highlighted, and future risks stated.
They also gave us a printout with the basic information for free. Any additional in-depth material could be bought on a disc for a paltry $20. Incredible.
While there, we booked a free appointment with a specialist who answered a heap of questions about land and house issues, especially as we had the ‘‘quake paranoia’’ so common in Christchurch.
Is the house safe? Does it have cracks? Has it subsided? Will it slip off the hill? Is there a fault line nearby? AmI a psychotic, slightly demented Christchurch refugee with a hang-up about land textures?
Apparently, houses can be built quite near fault lines . . . and a lot of houses are. She explained that fault lines are everywhere in New Zealand, but a new house or subdivision isn’t meant to straddle one. Also highlighted was the fact that large tracts of land were actually slumping.
The geotech graphics the specialist so easily accessed confirmed this. But to be realistic, these slumps have been going on for many hundreds, if not thousands, of years.
Was it worth becoming so paranoid that we’d be afraid to do anything in the future for fear of what MIGHT happen?
After some debate, our fears subsided. At least we had options, unlike some poor blighters. Even if we had to rent for a while, we could at least have a decent look around.
Besides, if another big quake strikes, we’d always have Gerry Brownlee to look after us.